#this is not a declaration of resignation btw

[d-atalog]

maybe in another universe i kept pursuing a degree in graphic design and maybe in that universe i actually got pretty far. maybe i graduated and got the fun art job i always dreamed of. but this is not that universe. and i'm ok with that :)

[writing-mlm]

Hello!!!!!! I was wondering if you could do a Damian Wayne x sick male reader and how he would take care of them? It could be hcs or a while fic, I don’t care lol I’m sick right now and honestly really like Damian haha (BTW I LOVE YOUR WORKS!!)

Do as I say, not as I do

Summary: An alien sickness is running through Damian’s house and he’s confident he can beat it. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male!reader Wc: 1.6k tags/warnings: sick fic, alien sickness, fainting, general illness stuff A/n: hopefully you’re not still sick ik this took 4everrr

It’s not that Damian doesn’t like when you wear his clothes— you’re his spouse, of course, he absolutely loves when you wear his clothes. His pants, his shirts, sweaters, hell, he’d let you wear his socks if you’ve asked. It’s just… not while you’re sick, man. 

He watches as you cough into the sleeve of his Nightwing hoodie, resigning himself to hand washing it before putting it in the washing machine once you’re done. He hides his negative feelings; not quite distaste, not quite annoyance. It’s a third emotion he hasn’t found just yet. You inhale and he can hear the mucus getting sucked back into your nose before you hack a flurry of coughs. A nearby tissue gets attacked with the boogers that went from your nose to your throat. 

Despite the… disliking for germs and all things that could get him sick, Damian is not far from you. He hasn’t been more than ten feet away from you at any given moment. You smile when you see him walking back from the bedroom with a mountain of blankets for you to choose from. You’d said you were cold and when prompted, you simply said blanket. Never mind there were nearly twenty tucked away in one of the various dressers. 

“Habibi, which one would you like?” He asks, showing each, still folded, blanket in his arms. 

“The—“ Which comes out as a wheezy da. “— tiger one.” Amazing choice, he would’ve picked that one if he had to. Carefully, he shakes it open and goes to drape it over you when he sees you looking up at him expectantly. He sets the blanket down and leans over, wiping the sweat from your forehead before he kisses the spot. You hum, eyes closing at the warmth that spreads to your face when he holds you so tenderly. The blanket slides over you and he checks on the fireplace, adding another log for good measure. 

He silently curses Jon for giving you some alien sickness, deciding that he’ll give him yet another earful when you fall asleep. Thankfully it wasn’t deadly, confirmed by J’onn, but it was a nasty sickness all the same. Expected to last nearly half the month but could last longer depending on your conditions. And Damian prides himself on his abilities; abilities that include making his home stress-free and sterile. Not clean. Sterile. He won’t allow even a single molecule of dust to enter the house without wiping it away. He, even though it pains him, had temporarily set up Alfred and Titus back at the manor until you were well. 

You told him that part wasn’t necessary, but he insisted and you especially understand just how stubborn he can be. 

Of course, at the news of this alien sickness, Bruce (and let’s be honest, anyone with a working, unbiased, mind) had requested you be set in the WatchTowers quarantine zone where you could be closely monitored. Damian refused, declaring himself the perfect doctor and he doesn’t need anyone subpar attending to his husband. 

Just don’t let him know that every time he leaves the room you see one of the members at the window taking random tests to check up on you. A couple of times one of the speeders has done a drive-by blood sample or something else that requires being in close contact. It’s something you intend to keep a secret from him for a while.

Sinking into the soft pillow, you watch as he turns the channel to something more pleasant. He doesn’t want you watching crime or medical shows while you’re recovering; he thinks it’ll prolong your sickness with the stress. He also doesn’t want to bore you with documentaries. Or stress you with horror or thriller. He doesn’t want to watch RomComs because they’re either too good or too bad. So, cartoons it is. 

“I don’t wanna watch Bluey,” You whine. “I’m a grown man.” He raises an eyebrow at you and you huff. To your horror, a booger flies out from your nose, landing on the floor several feet away from you and you try not to laugh and/or hide in embarrassment. 

“I’ll put on Miraculous Ladybug, then,” He grabs a tissue and wipes up the mucus from the floor. 

“Oh, yes.” The show plays and Damian starts on dinner. He’s a little unsure of what to make; he wants something healthy but nothing too healthy so you’ll eat it without fuss. He tried feeding you nothing but vegetables blended together the first night and you threw it up as soon as the bowl was empty. He knows you’re also tired of soup; he would be too if it was all he ate for nearly every meal for the past week. 

He thinks for a moment, looking at the fridge doors and pictures of what foods are in there. There’s a lot, considering he’d allowed Dick (read: Dick begged him until Damian agreed) to help him with grocery shopping only for Dick to show up with a shopping cart filled with food. Not that he was upset; he even said thank you before slamming the door shut. He’d seen how Dick had an open wound on his face and he wasn’t going to risk any type of contamination. 

His fingers drum on the countertop as he thinks before he stops and opens the door to double-check something. 

“Beloved, how would you like a poke bowl for dinner?” 

“Yes, please,” You cry at the idea of not eating yet another soup. He nods and begins to work, listening to your breathing and stopping every so often when it changes to something too harsh for his liking. You eventually sit up, cracking your back and watching as he chops up the avocado slices, splaying them nearly on top of the rice and other assortments. He drizzles on the kewpie mayo and sriracha like they do in recipe videos, cleaning the sides of the bowl with a napkin until it looks pretty. It’s like watching The Bear. Or BingingWithBabish. 

Changing the channel to something you both enjoy, you open the blanket up for him. He sits close to you, your thighs touching despite the warnings that the illness is communicable.

You eat, happy that it’s staying down because it tastes so fucking good and you’d hate to throw up again. At some point you, though, between chewing on the last bite and setting the bowl on the coffee table, you knock out. 

It startles Damian as he grabs you once he notices you were going down, suddenly limp. Putting a hand to your forehead, he chews at the inside of his cheek when he sees your feverish skin against the back of his hand. It’s not dangerously hot, just a little above your normal temperature. Checking your pulse, he finds that it’s normal and listens to your breathing; also normal. So, nothing that’s immediately alarming. 

Perhaps you were simply fatigued, but he wasn’t going to take his chances. From a small box on the coffee table, he grabs a small flashlight and checks your eyes. They dilate as they should. He then goes into the closet to grab his inflatable cuff, which he would later tell you was exactly why he’d insisted on having one in the first place and tested your blood pressure. Normal. That’s good. In the same box, the cuff was in, he takes the glucose meter and pricks your finger. 

Low. 

Not dangerously so, but lower than he’d like it to be. 

He doesn’t want to leave you on the couch but he needs to as he fixes a cup of a sugary drink and a small plate of your favorite cookies before he returns to the couch. You’re stirring at that point, grumbling as your eyes adjust to the lights. 

“You worried me,” He admits, sitting at your side, gently brushing his fingers against your face. “Here, your blood sugar is low. Eat as much as you can manage,” Nodding, you take a long sip of the drink, relishing the feeling because Damian insisted on those crazy superfood drinks with nothing but kale and spinach. 

“I apologize,” He blinks down at the floor. “I neglected to realize how important eating… fun foods are as well as healthy foods.”

“It’s okay,” You shrug, eating the cookie and then offering him one. He shakes his head, insisting you eat them. “How long was I out for?”

“No more than ten minutes,” He assures, putting the items back into the box but doesn’t put the box away. He inhales and checks your forehead again. It’s the same, of course.

—

That routine continues for another week. A week of tissues and sore throats. Not that you minded all that much, it wasn’t so bad spending all that time being doted on by Damian. At least until you woke up to the sound of him coughing his lungs out, reading blindly for his shirt. 

“I’ll get the soup ready,” You hum, tossing the overs off and stuffing your feet into your house slippers.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll go to the quarantine ward in the WatchTower.” He shakes his head. “You’re just getting over being sick, stay here.”

“Damian, no,” Pushing him back to the bed, he glares and grabs your hand. 

“I do not want to get you sick, your body shouldn’t be under stress after you’ve just gotten over being—“ He’s forced to stop as he can no longer hold back his own coughs. 

“I think I remember the recipe you like,” You mutter, checking his temperature. “I’ll tell Bruce you’ll be out of commission for a while.”

“I’m going to the Watchtower,” He insists, following you out of the room. “I’ve already contacted Father and he agrees. He’s on his way now,”

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“I’m keeping you safe.”

[novaursa]

Maybe a story with reader being the bastard son of the mad king aerys? Idk what fem characters you write for got, any of them would work :)) (maybe lyanna or elia) like aerys betroths them out of spite or as punishment(?)

Love ur work btw <3

The Bastard Prince

- Summary: Your father bethrodes you to Lyanna Stark out of spite, and sends you North.

- Pairing: male!reader/Lyanna Stark

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @literaturedog

The towering doors of the throne room loom before you, their weighty presence nearly suffocating under the shadow of the Iron Throne. Two kingsguard flank you, their white cloaks brushing against the stone floor as they lead you forward. It’s rare for the king to summon you so formally, and your gut churns with unease as you step inside.

The hall is filled with lords and courtiers, their eyes turning to you with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. They know who you are—Aerys’s bastard son, Y/N Waters, a living reminder of the king’s indiscretions. You can feel the judgment in their stares, each gaze piercing through the thin armor of indifference you wear.

King Aerys sits high on the Iron Throne, his fingers drumming against the jagged steel as you approach. His eyes, sharp and blazing with a manic energy, settle on you. There’s a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and you sense something dreadful lurking behind it.

“Ah, here he is,” Aerys declares, his voice booming through the chamber. “My own flesh and blood, though born on the wrong side of the sheets.” Laughter echoes from the gathered lords and ladies, a sycophantic chorus that grates against your ears.

You bow stiffly, keeping your expression as neutral as possible. “Your Grace.”

The king rises, a rustle of fabric and metal, his gaze now shifting toward the northern delegation standing at the base of the throne. Lord Rickard Stark stands at the forefront, his face a stoic mask, but his eyes watchful. Beside him, his son Brandon, tall and proud, and then there’s her.

Lyanna Stark.

The girl is a storm wrapped in furs, her eyes dark and defiant as they meet yours. Her hair, a wild cascade of brown, frames a face flushed with either anger or unease—you can’t tell. She’s beautiful, even more so than the songs suggest, but there’s a fire in her that promises no easy submission.

Aerys gestures toward you with a grand sweep of his hand, his grin widening as he looks back at the Starks. “Lord Rickard, it is with great pleasure that I present to you my son. A gift, you might say, to seal our new alliance.”

You glance at Lord Stark, his jaw tight but giving nothing away. He inclines his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment or resignation—you’re not sure which. Brandon’s fists are clenched at his sides, his face thunderous, but he remains silent.

“And as promised,” Aerys continues, his voice dripping with mock benevolence, “your daughter, the lovely Lyanna, will be wed to Y/N. A union that will bind the North and the Crown in unbreakable bonds.”

The words crash over you like a wave, leaving you momentarily stunned. He’s promised her to you? An alliance, yes, but you can see it in the king’s eyes—this is a convenient way to rid himself of you, to send you far from King’s Landing. The North is the furthest he can exile you while still keeping you under his thumb.

Lyanna’s face is a mask of outrage, her lips parting as if to speak, but her father’s hand on her arm stops her. There’s a beat of silence, heavy and tense, and then Lord Stark nods once more, his voice steady but strained. “The honor is ours, Your Grace.”

You force yourself to breathe, your heart hammering in your chest. This is what you are to him, a piece to be moved, a pawn in his dangerous games. And now, it seems, Lyanna Stark is caught in that same trap.

“Of course, I couldn’t deprive the North of such a strong, loyal companion,” Aerys says, his gaze flicking back to you. “I’ve heard tales of your valor, Y/N. You’ll do well up there, won’t you?”

There’s a twisted delight in his words, a promise of torment to come. You know better than to challenge him here, in front of all these eyes, so you simply bow your head. “I will serve as best I can, Your Grace.”

Aerys laughs, a high, grating sound that echoes through the hall. “See that you do. Now, join your new family. You’ll have plenty of time to become acquainted before you depart.”

He waves his hand dismissively, and you’re left standing there, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room. With measured steps, you move toward the Starks. Brandon’s eyes blaze with fury, and Lord Rickard’s face is as impenetrable as ever. But it’s Lyanna who holds your attention, her stare unwavering, challenging.

“Lady Lyanna,” you murmur, bowing slightly. It’s all you can manage, unsure of what else to say in the face of such hostility.

She doesn’t lower her gaze, doesn’t flinch. “Ser,” she replies, her voice steady but cold. “I suppose I should congratulate you.”

The bitterness in her tone is unmistakable, and it cuts deeper than you expect. “I didn’t ask for this,” you say quietly, though the words feel inadequate, hollow.

Her eyes flash with something unreadable, and she lifts her chin. “Neither did I.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Lord Stark speaks, his voice low and firm. “We will discuss this in private. There’s no need to make a spectacle here.”

He guides Lyanna away, Brandon following with a dark look cast your way. You watch them go, feeling the weight of the king’s laughter still ringing in your ears.

As the doors close behind them, you’re left standing in the center of the hall, alone and exposed. Aerys’s gaze is still on you, his smile lingering like a poison in the air. He’s won today, sending you far from his court, from the city that’s never felt like home.

The cold wind bites at your skin as you ride north, the chill creeping through the thick layers of your cloak and settling deep in your bones. The southern sun seems like a distant memory now, replaced by the overcast skies and vast, snow-covered landscape of the North. The journey is a long one, and the company keeps mostly to themselves. The Starks are quiet, speaking in low voices among themselves, the anomasity between them and you palpable.

You steal a glance to your side where Lyanna rides, her expression as fierce and guarded as the first time you met her in the throne room. She’s wrapped in heavy furs, her hair whipping behind her in the icy breeze, and though she doesn’t look at you, you can feel her presence like a beacon in the cold, vast emptiness.

For days, your conversations are limited to polite greetings and the occasional exchange of necessities—a stark contrast to the easy camaraderie you’ve known among your companions in King’s Landing. But the North is not the South, and these people are not your friends.

One evening, camp is set near the banks of a frozen river. The northern men build fires and huddle close for warmth, the cold seeping in as night falls. You sit alone, apart from the Starks, staring into the flames, the crackling wood a welcome distraction from the silence that has settled over the camp.

A rustling sound draws your attention, and you look up to see Lyanna approaching. She hesitates for a moment, then lowers herself onto a log across from you, her eyes steady and searching. There’s something different about her tonight—less guarded, though still wary.

“You look like you could use something stronger than water,” she says, her voice soft but carrying the hint of an edge.

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at the flask in her hand. “I’d welcome it, my lady.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips, and she tosses the flask to you. The burn of the Northern spirit as it goes down is harsh but welcome, and you hand it back with a nod of gratitude.

“You’ve been quiet,” she says, watching you carefully. “One might think you’re not looking forward to your new home.”

“I’m not sure what to look forward to,” you admit, meeting her gaze. “Winterfell is a world away from everything I’ve known.”

She studies you for a moment, the firelight dancing in her eyes. “Why did you agree to this? The marriage, I mean.”

You look at her, surprised by the question. “Did I have a choice?”

She huffs, a sound halfway between amusement and frustration. “There’s always a choice. Even if it’s a poor one.”

You think about her words, the weight they carry. “And what choice did I have? Refuse and be cast aside by my father, or agree and be sent away to a place where I’ll never belong. Neither seems particularly appealing.”

Her eyes soften slightly, her gaze turning inward. “I know what it’s like, to feel like you don’t belong.” She pauses, her fingers tightening around the flask. “I’m not like my brothers. I don’t want to be just some man’s wife, to sit and sew and bear children while the world passes me by.”

The honesty in her voice surprises you, and you find yourself leaning forward, wanting to understand her better. “What do you want, then?”

“I want freedom,” she says fiercely, her eyes meeting yours with a burning intensity. “I want to ride and fight and live my life as I choose, not as some king or lord decides for me.”

You feel a pang of guilt then, knowing you’re a part of the cage she’s railing against. “I’m sorry, Lyanna,” you say quietly. “I never wanted to be the one to take that away from you.”

She’s silent for a long moment, then lets out a breath. “I know it’s not your fault, not entirely. You’re as much a tool in this as I am.” She takes a sip from the flask, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not angry. Or that I’ll make this easy for you.”

You can’t help but smile at that, a genuine one that catches you by surprise. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

She studies you, and for the first time, you feel like she’s truly seeing you, not just the bastard son of a mad king forced into her life. “You’re different than I expected,” she says finally.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Maybe.” She tilts her head, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “You don’t seem as... desperate to prove yourself as the other knights and lords I’ve met.”

You shrug, the weight of her words settling over you. “What’s there to prove? I am who I am. No amount of posturing or pretending will change that.”

She nods, as if she understands that better than most. “It’s rare to find someone who thinks like that, especially in court.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence then, the fire crackling between you. The cold seems less biting now, the company warmer than you could have hoped. You talk late into the night, sharing stories—hers of the North, the wild, untamed lands and the fierce people who call it home, and yours of King’s Landing, the treacherous courts and the fleeting moments of beauty hidden within its walls.

You learn that she loves to ride, that she dreams of seeing the world beyond Winterfell’s walls. She tells you about her brothers—Brandon’s wild temper, Ned’s quiet strength, Benjen’s mischievous spirit. And you tell her about your life as a bastard in the Red Keep, the half-smiles and whispered slights, the shadow you’ve always lived under as the king’s unwanted son.

When the fire finally burns low, and the first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, you feel something shift between you. An understanding, perhaps, or at least the beginning of one. You’re still strangers, bound together by forces beyond your control, but you’re no longer enemies. Not entirely.

As you rise to return to your tent, she stands too, holding your gaze for a long moment. “Goodnight, Y/N,” she says softly, her voice carrying the promise of something more.

“Goodnight, Lyanna.”

The next day, and the days that follow, she rides beside you more often. You talk, sometimes for hours, other times sharing only a few words. The others notice, Brandon especially, his eyes narrowing whenever he sees you together. But Lyanna seems unconcerned, her defiance burning as bright as ever.

You know you’re still an outsider, a southerner in a land that will never truly accept you. But for now, that doesn’t seem to matter as much. You have this, whatever it is, with her. And for the first time since the king’s decree, you feel a flicker of hope.

Maybe this marriage doesn’t have to be a cage for either of you. Maybe, just maybe, it can be something more.

[necronatural]

Project Moon Discourse Part Whatever: Statement 2

Project Moon's company twitter has released a statement on their perspective.

In summary, the Youth Union who has been rallying a lot of people has been protesting about Vellmori's "unfair dismissal" (firing over previous statements). Project Moon points out that they have not fired her yet, and the YU do not have concrete proof of what happened (AKA why you have to say "alleged" when commenting on crimes yet to be tried). Youth Union discusses the private circumstances and apologizes for repeating accusations as fact.

Kim Jihoon posits here that this was a political conspiracy by the Youth Union to boost their position (they were a very very small group before all this), which the Project Moon User Association must a part of. He posts the draft the Youth Union drew up if PM complied, without the union rep's permission as evidence. OK man.

...By the way, he also sent an official legal notice to the Project Moon User Association with that same info.

The PMUA says hey man! We do talk to the Youth Union, but we're actually a completely different group who has not declared jackshit as fact and have been conscientious in our speech. Fuck you! And posted the letter (legal threat) PM sent publicly along with their reply. (Jihoon references this in the statement above).

Read here. The letter is the pdf at the top of the doc.

It's through this response that we learn that the reason the Youth Union was cowed was because Vellmori resigned.

The PMUA notes: hey, isn't it extremely fucking suspicious that you publicly stated that due to breaking company rules with years old tweets (this isn't legal btw) and Vellmori's most recent statement was that you told her that she's getting her papers in a week (legal but asshole shit btw)? And yet when you're catching heat about the ludicrously illegal unjust firing, you reveal you've been hiding her resignation? Unrelated, why did you post an unfinished draft statement predicated on a round table that never occurred? Why are you threatening us for libel we never posted?

AKA they fucking ate him for dinner.

Kim Jihoon is being cooked alive over his notes app malding & pointed translated repost of his original statement. Everyone and their dog can see his sole deflection only really applies to the Youth Union, who fucked up publicly a while ago, while the PMUA is spotless in their conduct. The fact they have not done anything but ask the Youth Union for info - which they used responsibly thus far - renders literally every complaint Kim Jihoon is making totally worthless. And they made sure he fucking knew it. Meanwhile, the folks who originally kicked off harassment and boycotts (DCInside) remains uncommented on, enraging people even further.

By the way, you may be wondering why Kim Jihoon is suddenly so frenzied in his attacks. The thing is, PMUA just successfully met their fundraising goal! And wouldn't you know it, the money they raised is for applying to file a class action lawsuit over PM's mismanagement.

Stay tuned for more on Crossy News Network. I am too nosy to possibly stop reporting on this

[mytaiyakeylover]

a token of comfort.

synopsis: somewhere in a softly lit street during the late night hours, dabi breaks up with (y/n), but grants her one final kiss as a token of comfort.

pairing: dabi x fem!reader

a/n: i hereby declare that dabi is both my comfort character and the reason for my distress. (same could be said regarding eren from aot🫠). it’s official, btw. i’ve most definitely become an angst addict.

warnings: angst, i had honestly made myself cry while writing this😭

word count: 1k

Late into the night, the clouds hinted at an imminent downpour. Dabi’s standing near one of the street lamps, the light softly illuminating his tall frame. Summoned by her lover for a conversation, (Y/n) arrives at the agreed-upon meeting point. She approaches him with her usual cheerfulness, embracing him tightly. Dabi allowed her to cling to him briefly before gently pushing her away.

He leans against the wall, arms folded, his demeanor icy as his glowing azure eyes locks eyes with her (e/c) ones.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

Suddenly, it begins to pour. ‘What perfect timing,’ he thought to himself.

(Y/n) looks at him with a mix of confusion and hurt. “Did I do something?” She asks with a worried tone.

The rain falls heavily around the two.

Dabi looks away from her, his face blank and unfeeling as usual.

"It's not you, (Y/n)," the ravenette says, his tone empty and cold. "Rather, it's me. I've realized I don't have the necessary feelings for you. This is over." His words are almost drowned out by the heavy rain, but he looks her in the eyes to get a proper read on her.

“Oh…” (Y/n), whispers, forcing a strained smile as she takes in his words. “I see…”

Dabi continues to stare at her, his gaze unyielding and cold. He's expecting some form of emotional outburst, but it seems that (Y/n) is taking his words with calm and surprising acceptance.

‘Is she truly understanding of my feelings? Or had she just resigned herself to being hurt by me?’

Dabi's lips curl up slightly to form a thin smirk. Perhaps he's being too harsh on her. After all, his reasoning for breaking up with her has nothing to do with her specifically.

“Hey…Dabi-san.” (Y/n) suddenly speaks up, going back to the previous polite demeanor she used before they entered a relationship. She doesn’t want to overstep any newly formed boundaries. On the contrary, the (h/c) wants to respect his feelings. Her eyes cast downward as she fidgets a bit with the hem of her shirt.

Dabi tilts his head, surprised by her sudden change of demeanor. His cold expression slightly softens, yet he still seems indifferent.

"Yes? What is it?" Dabi turns to face her, curious about what she has to say.

(Y/n) takes a deep breath, worrying if she’s being inconsiderate. Yet she still wants to ask. “Can we share one last kiss?”

The (h/c) asks hesitantly before quickly adding. “It’s completely fine if you don’t want to! I know I’m being awful right now by requesting such a thing from you, but—” she cuts herself off, unsure on how to proceed.

“Forget it…” (Y/n) mumbled, feeling guilty for even daring to ask something like that from him.

"You want to share one last kiss?"

The corners of Dabi's lips curl up, an amused smirk appearing on his face. Even after breaking up with her, she still wants a token of affection from him. It's amusing, to say the least.

"If you desire a smidgen of comfort, then fine, I'll grant that to you."

Dabi nods and steps closer to her, holding her by the waist to bring her closer. His face draws closer, almost touching hers.

“You really don’t have to. I’m being unfair to you—“ (Y/n) tries to reason, not wanting to make him feel obligated.

"Quiet."

Dabi spoke, his tone sharp. He doesn't have the patience to listen to her reasoning. The ravenette is aware that she's being unfair by requesting a final kiss, but he'll give it to her. Not out of affection, but as a courtesy.

"You wish to have one last kiss, and that is all that matters."

Once more, he moves closer to her, his hand resting on the small of her back. His lips brush against hers, a slight peck on her lips.

Dabi pulls away, satisfied after a simple peck on the lips. Despite the end of their romantic relationship, he's not going to be overtly cruel to her. She'll get a little crumb of comfort before being left alone.

A small smirk remains on his face, though his eyes remain cold. "There. Your parting kiss."

“Thank you,” (Y/n) mumbles with an apologetic tone. “And uhm…I also want to thank you for not hiding the way you felt and being honest with me.”

She adds, swallowing thickly as she feels her eyes begin to water, but does her best to hold the tears back. It won’t be fair to him and she doesn’t want to bother him with her feelings.

“I hope you’ll find someone who can give you what I seemed to lack,” the (h/c) says before taking a shuddering breath as she feels a lump form in her throat.

‘So she really understands my feelings…’

Her words make Dabi feel slightly guilty for his own cold demeanor. He hadn't thought that (Y/n) would be able to accept his rejection so easily.

Dabi sighs and lowers his body height. His eyes narrow slightly, his expression softening ever so slightly. He still couldn't bring himself to give her a genuine smile, but he still felt just a little bit of remorse for hurting her.

"Yeah..." His voice was slightly softer now, no longer cold and harsh.

“I—” she cuts herself off, fighting against the urge to blurt out the, “I love you,” that’s resting on her tongue.

“I wish you the best,” (Y/n) forces herself to say instead. The (h/c) flashes the ravenette a strained smile before quickly sprinting off, finally allowing the tears that had gathered in her eyes to fall freely.

"Hey..."

He attempts to call out to her, hoping to stop her and have her turn back for one moment. He didn't know why he suddenly wanted her to stay. But he knew that he couldn't just let her go like that...

‘I should have tried. Maybe things could have worked out differently. Maybe... I could have felt something other than apathy and bitterness.’

His azure eyes grow darkening as he watches her disappear into the distance, the rain still falling heavily around him.

[noobiestnoober]

Heya, it's me again! The anon who requested Reader interviewing B.O.W.s with a tiny mic and I'm back at it again with more crackfic chaos!

This time, it isn't in the Assistantverse, instead, this is an RE5 AU where Chris and Sheva face a horde of Wesker clones meant to confuse them only to realize they're not as intelligent as the real deal, in fact, far from it. Their true feelings are unfiltered. Basically, they're all just a bunch of himbos that have a huge crush on Chris and they're quite chatty. They all act like like a bunch of fangirls. They swoon over everything that Chris does. For example, they all cheer when Chris punches a boulder lol

Meanwhile, the actual Wesker is hiding away elsewhere out of embarrassment lol

(Btw this is based on an actual RE5 mod where there are multiple Weskers)

https://youtu.be/VL1-OwqChdY?feature=shared

(Sorry if this is too long lol)

(Feel free to delete this ask if you want)

🦠 Chris Redfield and the Boulderpuncher Fangirl Army 🦠

(Resident Evil 5 Crackfic One-Shot | Wesker Clone Chaos)

“I FOUND A ROCK!” “I CAN BE A ROCK!” “Chris, use me for strength training!” “It’s like he’s singing to us. Chris, say ‘boulder’ again.”

Summary:

Chris and Sheva face the ultimate bioweapon: an army of Wesker clones who are... not exactly the intellectual elite. Swooning, chaotic, and utterly obsessed with Chris, these clones make boulder-punching the hottest event in Africa. Meanwhile, the real Wesker is hiding in the vents out of secondhand embarrassment, silently plotting his own dramatic resignation from villainy.

A/N: Huge thank you to the brilliant anonymous requester for this absolute goldmine of a prompt! You inspired one of the most chaotic and joyful crackfics I’ve written in ages—hope you enjoy every ridiculous Wesker-clone, boulder-punching, therapy-bound second of it. Your ideas are always welcome in my inbox! 💖

"Ready, partner?" Chris asks, voice all steely confidence as he reloads his gun, dust caked on his arms, biceps flexing like he’s starring in a protein shake commercial. The sun glints off his forehead in the kind of way that makes Sheva reconsider every life choice that got her here.

Sheva barely gets a chance to respond before the air is suddenly filled with identical, echoing voices: “CHRIS!! OMG, IT’S REALLY HIM!!”

From every corner of the crumbling ruins, a swarm of men in black—sunglasses gleaming, trench coats billowing in the equatorial heat (somehow)—burst out, each one jostling for space and attention. It’s a Wesker-palooza. Something’s… deeply, deeply off. They tumble into the open, like runway models who took a wrong turn at a villain convention.

The clones descend in a wave of excitement, all talking at once—

One twirls his sunglasses and swoons, "Chris Redfield, you’re even buffer in person! Can I touch your biceps? For science?" Another clutches his chest, declaring, "The way you reload… so efficient! So manly! Does your arm ever get tired?" A third, barely able to contain himself, points at Chris’s biceps and exclaims, “Is it true you bench press B.O.W.s for breakfast? Wait—do you need a workout partner? I volunteer!”

Chris blinks. Sheva stares. A clone sighs dreamily and scribbles in a diary labeled “Chris’ Boulderpuncher Era.”

Sheva leans in and lowers her voice. "Is it too late to switch partners?"

Clone #4 perks up instantly. "I’ll be your partner, Sheva! Unless Chris wants me as his spotter—then sorry, girl, priorities!"

Meanwhile, Real Wesker is hidden in the shadows, silently reciting self-affirmations and regretting every choice that led him here. "They’re a disgrace to my genetic superiority," he hisses, trying to squeeze himself further into the air duct. A single, silent tear rolls behind his sunglasses. The duct, by the way, is now full of empty Monster cans and a crumpled villain handbook.

Chris, ever the professional, tries to push forward. But with every step, the Wesker clones trail after him like overeager fans at a world’s strongest man competition. Every flick of his wrist, every tactical roll, every faint grunt—met with wild applause and at least three fainting spells.

It’s then that Chris finds their path blocked by a massive boulder—impossibly wedged in the way, as if mocking him. The clones gasp in suspense, clutching each other. Chris sighs, rolling up his sleeves with the practiced resignation of a man who’s done this before.

He squares up to the boulder. The clones hold their collective breath, a reverent hush falling. He punches—no, obliterates—the boulder. Debris flies. Sweat glistens. There is a beat of stunned silence before the entire clone squad erupts: hats thrown, sunglasses flying, some literally drop to their knees, others begin openly weeping with joy. It’s pandemonium, like someone just announced free protein bars for life.

The clones absolutely LOSE IT.

Clone #5 (screaming): “DID YOU SEE THAT? HE PUNCHED IT! HE REALLY DID! HE’S SO STRONG!!”

Clone #6 (crying actual tears, clutching a notebook): “He’s even more beautiful when he’s exerting brute force! I’m writing this down for my fanfic.”

Clone #7 (clapping): “Can I get your autograph on my Uroboros sample? Please!? Also, do you want to collab on an anti-Wesker workout DVD?”

One clone faints. Another tries to take a selfie with Chris in the background but only manages to capture Sheva’s look of pure existential dread. A third clone starts live-streaming to his 3 followers on CloneTok, hashtagging #BoulderDaddy #ChrisCrush #WeskerIsShook.

Sheva, using the opportunity, starts sneakily herding the lovesick clones into a corner. “Look, if you want Chris to notice you, maybe form a line. Or, uh, bring him more boulders. He likes boulders. Or protein shakes. Or both.”

Instant chaos: “I FOUND A ROCK!” “I CAN BE A ROCK!” “Chris, use me for strength training!” “I brought a boulder. It’s shaped like a heart!” “I made a protein smoothie for you, senpai!”

Chris, whose patience is now breaking down at the molecular level, looks at Sheva with wide, desperate eyes.

"Sheva. Help. Please."

One clone tries to initiate a Chris Redfield Cosplay Contest among the others, resulting in seven clones flexing and tearing their own sleeves. Two more are constructing a shrine out of discarded sunglasses and Uroboros syringes, chanting, “Praise be to the Boulder King.”

Real Wesker—deprived of dignity, pride, and a decent evil monologue—decides to just set off the self-destruct. He flips the switch, but instead of explosions, the speakers across the facility blast a remixed "Eye of the Tiger" with Chris’s grunts autotuned over the beat. The lights start flashing. Clones begin breakdancing, one of them attempts the worm, another tries to crowd-surf but only lands in Sheva’s arms.

Clone #8 is sobbing with joy, mascara running down his cheeks.

"It’s like he’s singing to us. Chris, say ‘boulder’ again."

Chris drags a hand down his face.

"I’m retiring after this."

Sheva lets out a low laugh as she shakes her head.

"Agreed. I’m updating my CV."

One clone tries to start a group hug. Another pitches a reality show: “Keeping Up With the Redfields—Chris, you in?”

As the clones dissolve into a mass of adoration and selfie requests, Sheva grabs Chris’s arm, whispering, “Now, while they’re distracted!” They sneak past Real Wesker, who’s now curled up in the vent, muttering, “None of this was in the plan. None of it.”

Outside, Chris leans against a jeep, dragging a hand down his face. “If I ever see another clone again, I’m leaving the planet.”

Sheva grins, tossing him a protein bar. “At least you have fans, superstar.”

Somewhere in the distance, real Wesker sits stiffly in the waiting room of a clinical, white-walled office. He's surrounded by other washed-up villains clutching self-help pamphlets—one is muttering about capes, another about henchmen unionizing. When his name is called, Wesker steps into the therapist’s office and lowers his sunglasses just enough to make eye contact.

The therapist gives a gentle, practiced smile. “So, tell me about your clones.”

Wesker stares at the floor for a long moment. “They cheered when Redfield punched a rock. I—”

He falters, unable to articulate the trauma. Somewhere deep inside, a single dramatic violin sting echoes. The therapist simply nods, as if she’s heard it all before.

THE END.

✨ Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, reblog, like, or leave a comment—your support means everything!

— Do not repost. Reblogs appreciated! Requests & feedback welcome!

“For all fandoms, check my [Masterlists Here]!” and “More Resident Evil fics? [Resident Evil Masterlist]”

[stellar-constellations]

I think Yuri is still likeable for lot of fans but his story is still very lacking and the growing of his character didn’t shown as obvious much as other main character. And his angry behavior is easy to got hates and judges. Which is sad though because I believe when he’s getting softer and meet different people, we will see a different side of him. That’s why it’s very interesting to see his interaction to other character because most of the times we only see his comedy sides whenever he interact with the Forgers.

I’m do think for a request, I want to know some side story of Yuri and readers in daily life when they still in sss. I do like the details of the reader making brownies and Yuri enjoying it. I do think it will be cute if Yuri invited the reader to the flower store and met his mother grave and gave the brownie as a gratitude. ( or the brownies remind him of Yor or his mother cooking) As something that he wants to make a vow or a promised to taking care of his loved one. It’s will be heartwarming imo but if this is too out of your league ( and since we didn’t have much material of Briars past yet) then it’s okay if you could ignore my RQ.

I do read your updates btw I love it.

        

      Fem! (Y/N) x Mean! Yuri Briar

        This can be read with or without reading my Yuri Briar x Fem! Spy! Reader series: An Alliance (part 1)

        Setting is BEFORE the reader rejoined WISE (so after she declared her resignation to Twilight).

        (Y/N) as her own background in correlation to the Yuri Briar x Fem! Spy! Reader series for plot purposes!

        Yuri is unnecessarily rude to (Y/N).

        Baking is very important for (Y/N). You can take away many things in life; a person's home, their family, their friends, their confidence, their drive, but you can't take away tradition. Tradition is something that will always be passed down, from generation to generation, it can never truly die out, it will always remain in the world. 

        (Y/N) has certain values and traditions that cannot be swayed by anyone, not even the infamous Yuri Briar, a valued lieutenant in Ostania's State Security Service, can change that. Nobody can change (Y/N)'s love for cooking, for family, and for laughter. 

        The first time Yuri woke up without (Y/N) in his bed was a few months ago and he almost had a full blown meltdown. He quickly ran out of his bedroom, half-dressed with his arm stuck in his jacket, hopping on one foot as he tried to slide on his boots.

        "Yuri?" a voice from the kitchen spoke, peeking their head out of the kitchen.

        It's (Y/N)! Yuri smiled, glad she didn't escape. I didn't want to get fired by loosing her, or  have to track her down and kill her in the streets at three a.m. when I could be sleeping.

        "What are you doing?" Yuri hissed, holding his guard up high as he walked into the kitchen. 

        "Jesus, Yuri! You should've said something sooner! I would've stabbed you!" (Y/N) huffed.

        Yuri's eyes traveled to her hands and his eyes widened.

        "YOU WERE GONNA STAB ME?!" Yuri shouted.

        "NO!" (Y/N) shouted back, placing the knife on the counter. "I thought you were an intruder! Like a Westalis spy finding out that I'm working with you or something like that!" 

        "Do you understand that if you stab someone in my apartment, I'll most likely be arrested too? I'm not helping you get away with murder." Yuri hissed.        

        "Boo-hoo." (Y/N) teased sarcastically, a frown on her face. "Just go back to bed." 

        "No! How do I know you're not planning on stabbing me while I sleep? Or trying to run away?" Yuri spoke, then paused as he smelt something drift in the air.

        It was something sugary, something sweet, and something that smelt divine (not that Yuri would ever let her know). 

        "What are you doing? Are you trying to set ablaze the whole apartment complex?" Yuri questioned, moving past (Y/N) to the dessert in the oven as he crouched down, looking into the small window. "Was dinner not enough?" Yuri rudely sneered, causing (Y/N) to throw a wooden spoon at the back of his head. "HEY!"

        "DON'T HEY ME! THE AUDACITY OF YOU!" she shouted, grabbing an oven mitt and throwing it at him.

        At least that's softer... Yuri thought before sending (Y/N) a glare.

        "I just wanted something sweet! You won't let me leave the apartment so I figured I'd make brownies since you have all the ingredients." (Y/N) sighed. 

        "Are they drugged? Are they laced with poison?" Yuri questioned, giving (Y/N) a suspecting glare.

        "You're really insecure and sensitive, you know?" (Y/N) commented.

        "I'M NOT!" Yuri shouted, his pride slightly ruined. 

        "You're also absolutely terrible with social cues! We have neighbors!" (Y/N) hissed.

        "Like you weren't screaming a minute ago!" Yuri huffed.

        "You called me fat!" (Y/N) claimed.

        "Indirectly..." Yuri mumbled.

        "It still held the same meaning!" (Y/N) spat out, before sighing, deciding not to entertain him any longer. "Whatever. Since you're up, be useful and do the dishes." 

        "You're the one baking at three A.M. You do it!" Yuri groaned.

        "Yeah? Well, you're going to be eating some too!" (Y/N) replied, before allowing her composure to falter. "Please... do the dishes..?"

        "Fine. What are you even doing up anyways?" Yuri sighed, walking to the sink.

        The question made (Y/N) frown, a nasty glare shot Yuri's way.

        "It doesn't matter why I'm up. It's not like you actually care anyways!" (Y/N) accused quit boldly (and rudely).

        "You want me to be nice to you but you're so defensive." Yuri groaned, complaining as he rolled his eyes and turned on the sink faucet.

        "I just couldn't sleep, alright? Just some nightmares..." (Y/N) mumbled.

        I understand that... Yuri thought, his hardened angry red eyes softening to plush red, before he put the mask up once more. No! Don't get comfortable! She could be trying to use you for any information from the SSS! Or Yor!

        "You still get nightmares? At your age?" Yuri smirked. "I thought Flower was supposed to protect you?" 

        "Ugh! See? You don't care!" (Y/N) huffed, crossing her arms as she adverted her eyes. "I don't know why I bother when I do!" 

        "No! I'm sorry, sorry!" Yuri spoke quickly, as if afraid she'll leave him. "I... understand. I woke up too because of a nightmare..." he admitted, swallowing his pride. 

        "What was it about?" (Y/N) questioned, scooting closer to Yuri as he started to wash her dirty cookware.

        "You don't nee-" Yuri paused, remembering her words from just a few seconds ago. "Ah..." he grumbled, then took a breath. "I lost my parents too. My mother's affected me the most. Yor looks so much like her, you know..." Yuri took another breath. "Just miss 'em."

        "I understand. My brothers were always at each others throats, including mine. We fought all the time. It's crazy that despite living in the exact same situation, we had completely different views on the world." (Y/N) smiled, reminiscing the past. "My younger brother was so brave and careless, he never let anyone boss him around, so he got in a lot of fights with my dad and authority. My youngest brother was cold one second, then lovey dovey the next. He had some learning problems, but he really just wanted someone to be proud of him..." (Y/N) paused, thinking of her next words. 

        "I had an older sister too, and an older brother. My older brother was really cold, very distant and all. He was kind of like you, believed everyone was out to get him; he wanted to be independent and be his own person." (Y/N) giggled as Yuri paused from washing the dishes to instead watching her smile. "And Yor? God, she reminds me so much of my older sister. My older sister was always looking out for us younger ones, and she was so kind too. I really miss my dad too, he really helped me with who I am today." (Y/N) paused, realizing she was rambling. "What about you, Yuri?" she questioned, turning her gaze to Yuri, surprised to see he was already looking at her. 

        "Oh! Uh..." Yuri gasped, adverting his eyes as he got back to washing the dishes. "I miss my mom... She would make me and Yor this southern stew and it tasted really good, unfortunately, I don't know how to make it." Yuri sighed.

        "Does Yor know?" (Y/N) questioned.

        "Well, she's trying to replicate it. I love Yor's cooking, but... her stew doesn't quite taste like our mom's." Yuri spoke, cracking a smile. "She's buried here in Ostania, in fact, I should go see her sometime. That'd be nice..." Yuri trailed off, getting lost in his own past before he remembered (Y/N) was present and redirected his attention back to her. "So... what about your mom? I just, never heard you mention her, at all." 

        "I don't know much about her." (Y/N) confessed. "She stayed in (birth country) when my dad moved to Westalis for his job. She cheated on my dad and left all of us." 

        "Oh, I'm sorry." Yuri spoke on reflex, but he couldn't help but feel a tinge of pity.

        "Don't be. She never stuck to a mother role even when she was apart of my life. When she left, my dad and I had to start caring for our family. My older siblings weren't reliable with jobs; she had a neurological problem and my older brother was still defying against authority, teenage angst and all. I couldn't have my six and five-year-old brothers working with me, they were still exploring the world and worrying about what game to play next. I forced myself to grow up early since I knew my dad needed help, so I took up that job at the bakery. In fact, that's how I know this brownie recipe!" (Y/N) smiled.

        "Huh..." Yuri muttered, thinking to himself.

        Even before the war, (Y/N) still had a lot to deal with in her life. When was the last time she really had a break? Yuri thought to himself. Whatever. I shouldn't be caring about that! Everyone goes through some hardships secretly, she's no different!

        "Hey, Yuri..." (Y/N) started, pausing to think.

        I want to ask him about his dad, but he hasn't said anything about it (and unlike him, I understand my words can affect people)... (Y/N) thought to herself. 

        "Yeah?" Yuri hummed.

        "...Uh, you think we can skip work Friday? We've just been working soooo much, it's getting boring." she questioned, immediately coming up with an excuse to replace her real question as she smiled stupidly.

        "Don't be ridiculous." Yuri huffed. "We have a job together now, I'm not going to allow you to run back to WISE!" 

        "Hey! I told you in the contract that I'll work with you guys, sheesh! Besides, I was able to get a resignation message across to them." (Y/N) sighed.

        "When? Where? With who? When was this?" Yuri questioned immediately, slamming his hands against the counter.

        "Don't worry! Now back to the dishes with you!" (Y/N) huffed, changing the subject.

        "Fine..." Yuri grumbled. "You know, what's with you doing all the cooking? You're aware I can help out too?" Yuri questioned.

        You're raised by Yor, and I heard from Twilight that her cooking isn't quite edible... (Y/N) thought to herself, avoiding to give him that reasoning as he'd probably throw a knife at her for saying that.

        "You can only take so many things from me, but you can't ever take away what I've learned from my da. Cooking reminds me of my home. Whenever me and my dad had the time, we'd make meals together for the family." (Y/N) explained. "I may have a bad memory, but the day I let go of my family's legacy is the day I die."

        "You're so human that it's a little weird..." Yuri mumbled.

        "That's because I am human!" (Y/N) exclaimed. "You act like I'm a monster or something." (Y/N) sighed, a little disheartened.

        "Westalis sp-"

        "Shut it!" (Y/N) growled, cutting Yuri off. "The rare occasion we actually have a decent conversation, you go ahead and ruin it!" she exclaimed, checking the brownies before grabbing a mitt, removing them from the oven and onto the counter with a towel under the pan, then turned the oven off. "I'm not in the mood for sweets anymore; I'm going to bed." (Y/N) huffed, walking out of the kitchen and turning the corner, disappearing from Yuri's sight.

        Yuri stood in the kitchen alone, thinking of the events prior to her leaving.

        Maybe I was a little mean... Yuri admitted to himself. It doesn't matter. It never said in the contract that I had to be nice to her. 

        It might've not said it in the contract, but Yuri's aware of what little human decency he has towards anyone but Yor, he's aware he's a little too harsh on the poor girl. He knows if he ever acted like how he treats (Y/N) to Yor, he'd cut his own tongue off (after telling Yor over and over about how sorry he is). 

        In truth, he really doesn't know how to act with someone who isn't his sister, much less a girl, much much less his once-enemy (since she does work with him now).

        Yuri didn't have friends growing up, he was too focused on his studies so he can change the world into something better for Yor, so he's never really had the social interaction he should have. Even in school when he had to work with others in groups, he would take the task on by himself because he believed they'd get in his way. 

        Yuri also doesn't have much luck with girls too. Sure, he's attractive and it helps bring in potential suitors, but he's too obsessive over his sister which usually steers girls off (that, or he's convinced they're a spy [which is technically true in this case] trying to get information from him because why would someone say "hi" to him without wanting to betray their country? [Yuri really needs to get a grip]). 

        Yuri finished washing the dishes that (Y/N) requested from him and stared at the pan of brownies, deep in thought. 

        She did say they weren't poisoned... so... I guess I can try just one? Otherwise this'll all go to waste! Besides, she did say I was going to eat them too, so she had it in mind that we're sharing. Yuri thought, convincing himself of why he should give into the ex-spy's cooking.

        He cut a brownie out of the pan and was surprised by the chocolatey delicacy. It had extra chocolate chips in it and it was a perfect mix of fudge and cake. He took another one to eat, then another, and another after that one. He was halfway through the pan before he realized and stopped himself, remembering her words.

        ("...Cooking reminds me of my home")

        ("I'm not in the mood for sweets anymore, I'm going to bed.")

        She made these for herself, but she did have the intent of sharing them with him, so he supposes he can leave some for her. 

        He covered the leftover brownies with aluminum foil and placed the pan to the side, turning off the lights and walking back to his own room, already seeing (Y/N) in his bed and sleeping.

        "Oi, wake up." Yuri spoke, shaking her shoulders.

        She groaned and ignored him, causing him to get a little frustrated and shake her awake a bit harsher. 

        "Wake up!" Yuri hissed.

        "What?" (Y/N) huffed, annoyed she got woken up. "You know how much sleep I need and today's our day off so I wanna sleep in!"

        "I'm sorry..." Yuri muttered.

        (Y/N) looked up at him, a little confused as she sat up from the bed.

        "Sorry...? For what?" (Y/N) questioned.

        "For being rude... and I guess for waking you up..." Yuri huffed.

        "You guess...?" (Y/N) deadpanned.

        "Don't expect so much from me!" Yuri exclaimed. 

        "Oh, don't worry, I'm not." (Y/N) smiled.

        "HEY!" Yuri screamed. "You can never take anything seriously!" Yuri grumbled.

        "I'm messing with you, Yuri. Hop in." (Y/N) giggled, grabbing his arm and pulling him under the covers with her.

        "H-hey! Let go of me!" Yuri shouted, a dark blush on his face as he was shoved in her cleavage.

        "To be honest. I've never heard someone apologize to me before—it's very gratifying." (Y/N) admitted.

        "You're so full of yourself. AND LET GO OF ME!" Yuri screamed.

        "You're such a tsundere..." (Y/N) sighed, obliging as she unwrapped her arms from him. 

        They got comfortable together in the sheets as Yuri closed his eyes, feeling himself slip off.

        "Yuri, earlier you said I never take anything seriously." (Y/N) spoke up.

        "And?" Yuri questioned, his eyes still closed.

        "That's not true." (Y/N) confirmed.

        "...And...?" he questioned.

        "You should be less serious, have some fun. Trust me, it makes life a lot better." (Y/N) smiled. "They say laughter heals a broken heart, and judging by your personality, you could use a good laugh."        

        "Your face is enough for me." Yuri muttered.

        "Aw th— hey!" (Y/N) exclaimed.

        Yuri let out a small chuckle, one that brought a grin on (Y/N)'s face.

        "See? Just like that? You should do it more often..." (Y/N) muttered, her voice a little softer and more sultry than usual.

        "Shut up and go to bed..." Yuri huffed, ignoring the blush growing on his face. "Tomorrow, I'll take you somewhere."

        "Ooo, like a date?" (Y/N) teased.        

        "NO! AND I SAID SHUT UP!" Yuri screamed.

        .

        .

        It was (Y/N)'s turn to wake up alone, confused on the whereabouts of her fake husband.

        "Yuri?" she called out, hopping out of bed and walking out of the bedroom. 

        "Kitchen!" Yuri answered.

        (Y/N) walked into the kitchen and noticed the aluminum foil on the pan. She shot Yuri a curious glance who immediately avoided her eyes. She lifted the foil from the pan and saw half the pan gone, now understanding Yuri's guilty expression. 

        "Damn it! Should've done a larger dose..." (Y/N) muttered.

        "W-what?" Yuri questioned.

        I don't remember it tasting funny? Unless the divine taste was poison?! Yuri thought, alarms going off in his head.

        "Kidding, kidding!" (Y/N) smiled, then loud out a laugh as she recovered the pan. "I saw an opportunity."

        "Ha ha..." Yuri grumbled sarcastically.

        "You like 'em?" (Y/N) questioned.

        "...Yeah..." Yuri muttered, crossing his arms as his face heated up. "Hurry up and get dressed."

        "Where exactly are we going?" (Y/N) questioned. 

        "You'll see." Yuri dragged on.

        "Fine..." (Y/N) sighed.

        (Y/N) walked to their shared bedroom, grabbing a pair of clothes and changing into them real quick as Yuri waited for her in the living room. 

        "Are we visiting Yor?" (Y/N) asked, fixing the sleeves on her shirt. 

        "Close." Yuri replied, causing a delightful smile on her face.

        "We're visiting your mother!" (Y/N) beamed, then ran into the kitchen.

        She grabbed the pan from the counter, returning to Yuri. 

        "What's that for?" Yuri questioned.

        "It's normal to bring offerings to the dead, yeah?" (Y/N) smiled.

        "I guess..." Yuri muttered, then grabbed (Y/N)'s arm. "Let's go." 

        "You can hold my hand instead of my arm, unless I'm courting you? That's cool too." (Y/N) teased. 

        "It's so you don't run away." Yuri reaffirmed quickly, quick to assure (Y/N) wouldn't get the wrong idea as he unlocked the front door and walked out with (Y/N), closing and locking the door behind him. 

        "We're supposed to be a couple, remember?" (Y/N) smiled, shaking Yuri's grip from her forearm and instead holding his hand.

        "If that's the case, let me hold that." Yuri sighed, grabbing the pan from the hand that wasn't in (Y/N)'s grip. 

        "I'm glad to know chivalry isn't dead." (Y/N) teased.

        "Don't start it." Yuri warned.

        .

        .

        Yuri drove to a flower shop, making a quick stop and getting a bouquet of forget-me-nots, having them wrapped in a red ribbon. They re-entered the car as Yuri handed (Y/N) the bouquet, driving to a place unknown for (Y/N).

        "It's really cute you got forget-me-nots." (Y/N) commented. 

        "They were my mother's favorite." Yuri replied, crouching down to the polished gravestone as he held out his hand, signaling for her to give him the flowers.

        (Y/N) obliged immediately, handing him his flowers as she patiently waited for him to finish his internal conversation with his mother from beyond the grave. It must've been a good twenty minutes of watching Yuri silently mourn before he finally stood up from the dirt, clearing his throat.

        "Ready?" Yuri questioned.

        "Can I talk to her?" she questioned.

        "Talk? I mean... I guess? She won't say much though." Yuri smiled.

        "Starting to take to my humor. Huh, pretty boy?" (Y/N) laughed as Yuri shook his head, a blush on his face. "Wanna wait in the car? Or somewhere where you can see me? I wanna have a private conversation with her." 

        "I guess I can. No running off though." Yuri spoke sternly.

        "Yes, sir." (Y/N) saluted playfully, smiling as Yuri walked back into his car, climbing in and shutting the door as he watched her through the window.

        "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Briar. Would you look at that, we have the same title! Well... kind of. It's not official or anything." (Y/N) smiled, kneeling down to the dirt and talking as if she was really present. "I have a gift for you. They're brownies. Yuri ate some, but I hope you enjoy the rest." She spoke, placing the covered pan in front of the grave next to the flower bouquet. "My name is (Y/N) (L/N), my real name that is. In case you're wondering, I'm from Westalis. I do hope it doesn't bring any ill intent or memories to you, I'm not quite sure how you died, but I feel the war might be apart of it. Is that why Yuri dislikes Westalis so much...?" (Y/N) trailed off, before regaining her thoughts. 

        "You have two very beautiful kids, inside and out. Yuri is very entertaining, and Yor is very sweet. I may not be Yuri's official wife, but I really think I'll stick around for some time, or at least until Yuri gets sick of me, which is probably soon." (Y/N) chuckled. "I know we just met, and this is definitely out of the blue, but... I'm starting to warm up here in Ostania. I promise I'll look after Yuri for you. I can tell he's had it rough; I see myself in him, stubborn and determined." 

        "I'm not good with goodbyes, but I don't think that's necessary anyways. You're very important to Yuri, so you're important to me now; sorry, you can't change my mind on that part." (Y/N) smiled. "Yuri's waiting for me. He doesn't trust me at the moment, but I'm making progress. I'll make sure to visit you again, Mrs. Briar. We're in-laws now, so take care of yourself." 

        (Y/N) stood up from the dirt, swiping the dirt and grass off her feet as she bowed, showing her respects to Yuri's mother before running back and joining Yuri. 

        "You have a nice conversation?" Yuri questioned, starting up the car.

        "She told me to tell you that I'm her favorite girl you've ever brought to meet her." (Y/N) joked.         

        "You're the first one." Yuri deadpanned.

        "It's a joke." (Y/N) explained. "But, in actuality. I bet she was really lovely. I mean, she's a good listener, that's for sure."

        "Whatever." Yuri smiled, resisting the urge to laugh. "Let's go home. Find a movie to watch or something. We still have the day off." 

        It's a learning process for the both of them, to learn how to share a space and cooperate with each other. (Y/N) was raised to deceive and kill, Yuri was raised to follow his heart's content (even if his life goal is a bit... peculiar). It's a lot of work to be around someone when you've been alone for most of your life.

        (Y/N) didn't have a family to return to, a friend to tell secrets to and for them to stay alive long enough to keep, a crush to confess to. She had to become everything she wanted; her family, her home, her best friend, and her number one supporter. Yuri didn't have a mother or father to greet once he's come home from school. It also didn't help his sister was working a lot to help support him. He was never greeted home with a warm home cooked meal from mother and a football session afterwards. He didn't have time for things a normal boy would do; get into trouble with his friends, ask a girl out, or even play childish games such as "tag". Now that they have each other, they can be each other's friends, family, perhaps over time, even lovers. Even though they've both been hurt by their afflictions to either the West or East, they can still learn to care and love each other. 

        After all, as the saying goes, only time can heal a broken heart. 

        BONUS! (Daily life + headcannons!):

        This is intended for the Yuri Briar x Fem! Spy! (Y/N) series and there are SPOILERS for the story down below! Click here to read the first chapter: Part 1.

        (Y/N) and Yuri wake up at 5 A.M., a good ten minutes is spent of Yuri fighting (Y/N) out of bed. 

        It's become a habit for (Y/N) to make them both coffee while Yuri reads the daily newspaper. 

        Depending on how much work they had the previous day and how they feel, they either make breakfast together or go out to eat at a nearby breakfast club. 

        (Y/N) and Yuri either drive to work or take the bus, it really depends on how Yuri is feeling (did Yuri drink last night or no?) 

        Yuri refuses for (Y/N) to drive since he's convinced she'll try and drive them off a bridge. 

        Yuri once had to take (Y/N) to the clinic to get her flu shot and was awestruck at how scared she was of needles ([Y/N] cried before they even stuck a needle into her).

        (Y/N) is afraid of needles because of how many she had to see during her time in the Westalis military. Needles usually didn't mean good things. Since there were many injuries in the war and not many supplies or technology, some nurses and doctors had to bullshit their way through things. She saw someone have a bad reaction to one of the needles and it traumatized her since then. 

        Yuri holds her hand when she gets shots (she almost broke his hand from holding it so tight, but Yuri sucked it up [despite having a terrible pain tolerance] and didn't let her see in case she got worried for him). 

        Flower ([Y/N]'s stuffed bunny) was retrieved in the rubble of (Y/N)'s childhood house by Hujo and given back to her at the military shelter. Flower was a toy her father had given her once and it's only the only physical thing she has of her childhood home.

        (Y/N) has a short temper but tries her best to hide it (especially since she lives with Yuri now, everyday is a patience test). 

        (Y/N) sleep-talks (Yuri figured that out the hard way). 

        (Y/N) and Yuri once watched a horror movie together in a drive-in theater. That same night, (Y/N) muttered phrases the demons said in the movies, Yuri was convinced (Y/N) somehow got possessed and hit her awake with a pillow (he did not apologize after [Y/N] explained that she sleep-talks).

        (Y/N) adores Anya and spoils her. (Y/N) doesn't believe she'll find real love in the future, so she doesn't believe she'll have kids (either she won't find someone, or she'll die from the SSS or WISE). Because of this, (Y/N) treats Anya like her own daughter and spoils her with peanuts (Anya likes [Y/N] more because of this). 

        Yuri once had a two-hour study session teaching (Y/N) and Anya basic algebra (the girls both ended up falling asleep as Yuri quietly muttered to himself about how hopeless they are).

        When Yuri got shot during their mission saving one of the Eden Academy buses, (Y/N) refused to leave Yuri's side during the whole healing process. 

        When (Y/N) feels guilty of deceiving Yuri (go to part 8 to understand why), she cooks a lot for him. Her father once told her that food is a way to a man's heart and she fully believes that.

        (Y/N) once ran into one of the WISE agents with Yuri in public, but the agent didn't know Yuri was apart of the SSS! The agent tried to talk to (Y/N) but got punched in the face by (Y/N) who claimed he was a pervert (it was that or being executed). 

        Yuri keeps a close eye on (Y/N) in public, not only so he can make sure he doesn't try and run away, but also so (Y/N) doesn't get injured since she's very clumsy (he lost count with how many times he watched her trip over air or walk straight into still poles). He walks on the side with traffic so she doesn't accidentally walk into ongoing traffic.

        Yuri falls asleep really easy since he's tired from his job, but he'll secretly wait until (Y/N) sleeps so that he knows she's not getting up to any mischief (is what he says, in actuality, he enjoys spending his time with (Y/N). 

        The teddy bear (Y/N) gave Yuri in part 9 is now (Y/N)'s pillow (even though it was meant for Yuri). Yuri gets very jealous of it; he can deal with the small stuffed-rabbit, but the huge teddy bear taking up his bed is very annoying since (Y/N) will subconsciously hold it in her sleep instead of Yuri. 

        I hoped you enjoyed this fanfic and thank you for your requests and support! Feel free to ask for anything else or any other characters from my masterlist! This applies to everyone reading, follower or not!

[cant-get-no-worse]

helllooo

what are your thoughts on scaloni having doubts about his future in the national team ? what do you think is going on ?

love your takes they’re always so well put together

Hii Ro 🫶In the 7 hours it took me to answer, a plethora of information more or less clearing up what happened appeared on twitter sooo... but since I had 2 or 3 other asks about it I'll take the opportnity to round things up briefly for people unaware of the general situation! I'm in no way an expert btw, this is just what I understood/lived as an expat arg and got from my arg side of the family.

So as per Gastón & other news outlet, Scaloni (perhaps some other members of the technical staff of the Argentine NT as well) has had a problem with the AFA for some time now. If we had to resume state of affairs :

The AFA (Argentine Football Association) show

Governing institution of football in the country which would deserve a fourth star of its own for its spectacular dedication to worsen itself by the years. A true marvel of corruption and incompetence display. Its first chairman had presidency from 1979 to 2014, and after he died things went a bit avok (not to say he hadn't already himself some corrupt payments scandals to his name). But essentially, before there was one mogul-in-chief who ran things, whereas after people started to mess it up even more.

For a quick and famous example of how things were (are) run there, the 2015 presidency election opposing Luis Segura to Marcelo Tinelli saw them tie at 38 votes each. There were 75 voting members in the comity.

Anyways what does it matter eh, Segura (elected) lasted two years before he was forced out for "aggravated administrative fraud" (fancy terms they have).

Evidence of discontentment from the players can be found in press comments and some Messi's instagram posts circa 2016 where he highlighted AFA's "disastrous" way of running things. It was also made public by a security agent that they had to come to Messi amidst an internal dispute with AFA to ask him to do something about their 6-months due salaries — quite maddening if you think about it. Regular informations of coaches and staffs not being paid for the competition they'd worked in would come out.

Precedents beefs

Amidst all those organisational/financial/political corruption issues, it's no surprise then for there to be precedents of players, employees and coaching staff beefing with AFA. Tata Martino and his entire team resigned in July 2016 following disagreements.

Tapia

AFA current chairman Chiqui Tapia (in place since 2017) is quite a controversial figure, drawing wide support & affection one day and outrage the other. A few time ago he was praised for having relocated a U-I-Forgot world cup in Argentina, allowing our evicted team to come back to the competition (only to lose again lmfao). Recently tho, it was more outrage that prevaled for how AFA passed a regulation stipulating that the Argentine first championship wouldn't have a three-places relegation anymore. Many pointed it as the death of an otherwise already wobbly championship. He's also branded with various nicknames such as Chiqui Mafioso, pointing at his meddling with politicians (including former Economy Minister and 2023 presidential elections runner-up, Massa) and other shady stuff.

So what's up with Scaloni ?

So now here are a list of stuff people/journalists have come up with over the day regarding the potential reasons for Scaloni's declarations + some own thoughts :

6 days ago - still in the middle of Argentine's presidential elections - a journalist asked Scaloni in a press conference about the clubs' privatisation - a tumultuous topic that has been thrusted on the hands of politicians for more than a decade now. Some think the journalist was mended by Tapia or others to get Scaloni - coach of the National Selection, fresh out of a treble and thus getting lots of media attention and support from the people - to publically stand against the privatisation of the clubs and thus directly or indirectly to give support to presidential candidate Massa, supported by, as I was saying earlier, Chiqui Tapia.

Still on the political, journalists report that last week Massa asked, via Tapia, for a photo with the national team's players who refused : Tapia thus tried to pressure Scaloni in persuading them to do so.

General weariness of the way things are ran at AFA - who apparently have not taken their three peat as a hint to professionalize a bit and have still not paid the coaching staff or players for the WC win in Qatar. They also have been running up and about the globe to face really lower-ranked selections in order to bring cash in which not only tires everyone due to travel but is not to the taste of Scaloni as he'd want to keep playing against levelled opponents in the perspective of the 2024 Copa América and to find an actual usefulness to the games instead of pure exhibition for money.

So all of this = could be a way for Scaloni to publically put pressure on AFA during the break before the next international break in March, to see how they are going to react and let him time to decide if the issues have been fixed or not for him to continue as head coach.

It's worth noting apart from the political turmoil that Scaloni has also been head coach of a national team for about three years now, experimenting immense pressure which is of course at its culminating point now that they've won everything and are expected to continue to do so. A lack of motivation, a feeling of being overwhelmed by the pression can be factors for his statement. In this, I'm dabing a bit into personal experience as I'm recalled of Pep Guardiola's similar situation with FC Barcelona. Once you're on top of the world, with world-class/heavy names players filling the locker room, in a place that puts football above much things, you're bound to take a pause and look around to figure out what the sweet fuck you're going to do now. As they say it's not the destination that counts, it's the journey : the motivation can drag you for one, two, three years to every culminating point you see shining, but once you've conquered all those peaks, you can be left quite empty-handed and disoriented cause you have to find a new hunger to hit a new road again.

So here's a resume + my take of whatever's happening at the moment! I think that it could go either way, although I would be surprised to see him go before the Copa América. Whatever he does, honestly, and even though I'd be truly fucking sad and bitter to see him go, I wouldn't say a bad word about his decision, whatever it may be. How could we say anything about the guy who ended several decades long drought of trophies, put a team as close as a family together and led them to win us three trophies in the span of two years? I love him very much and whatever he does, I'll just be thankful. but yeah aimar do your job omg keep him until june for gods sake

[eleven-of-light]

Too bad I’m doing it anyway. Hits dqxi with my sibling (and knights) (and old men) (and Faris?) swap beam.

If you somehow remember the Jade-as-luminary ficlets I put on main it’s along those lines, with the caveats that a) I’m not posting it in traditional longfic format because I’m in my “writing the scenes I want and nothing more” era, b) I changed some of the swaps for simplicity’s sake, c) basically everyone has their relative age/power set/origins intact except where necessary—so like Jade has luminary powers but El is still erdwin’s reincarnation I CAN EXPLAIN— and d) I went ham on changing stuff because I do what I want. Also I changed like two of the ships from the original incarnation because apparently over the years I got weirdly attached to el/faris and also I think Mia/gemma would be funny. Hang on what all can I yap abt here

Age-wise, Jade is like 23 or so (I should figure this out for cobblestone reasons), twins are 20, El Faris and Gemma are 19 (cobblestone comes of age at 19, Gallopolis at 18) (this is relevant), Mia is 18, the knights (possible exception of Sylv but I don’t care) are 36, old men are old men, and Erik is physically 19 but legally…man idk. I think I went off the idea that Mia was 14 when she got statue’d but I don’t know for sure.

Jade is NOT Erdwin’s reincarnation, because I decided Yggie disconnected the luminary powers from a specific soul. Everyone—including Mordegon—assumed Eleven was the Luminary because of Erdwin’s birthmark and didn’t find out until Jade got her powers saving Gemma during the latter’s coming of age. Girliepop keeps picking up sibling-figures.

Side note Heliodor got destroyed when she was like eight, so she does remember it, as does El (a bit).

Rather than having Erik hold onto the necklace or whatever, this swap reworks the necklace; the curse made Mia so gold-obsessed that she declared she cared more for riches than for Erik, which led to the necklace statue-ing him. That kind of snapped her out of it but she still gets the urge to pickpocket or scam people for money. Imagine how awful she is during the amnesia arc :)

TWIN SWAP TWIN SWAP Serena bailed Veronica out in the crypt and thus she got her age drained instead. Veronica, on the other hand, had resigned herself to inevitably sacrificing herself to save the Luminary one day only to be shocked when Serena does that instead. (Serena gets better. And tall again once that happens.)

Veronica is also a tsundere nightmare. She is flustered by so many women. She falls for Michelle in like two seconds.

Faris ends up joining the party instead of Sylv!!! (Sort. Of.) He bombed his coming-of-age sand national so bad he booked it out of Gallopolis and wound up in the MMA arena. Training under Vince, who I really tried to swap with Michelle because the Steel Siren was one of my fave tr bits. He’s trying so hard guys.

Talking about El without discussing the old man swap is impossible so old man swap. Carnelian is party old man since Heliodor got destroyed here, BUT as with the original jadeinary fic that doesn’t make him free of Mordegon. I decided it would be fun. For me not for anyone else. In the first half his weapon is his scepter which uses the orbs, btw. I thought that would be fun too.

OKAY EL TIME. As stated he was assumed Luminary and no one knew otherwise until Jade got her powers, so after his parents were killed and Heliodor was destroyed, “Carnelian” concluded that it was Rab’s doing and took El under his wing, intending to sour him on the whole Luminary business so Mordegon could destroy the world. Once they found Jade, “Carnelian” pivoted and began doting on her while privately telling El that Yggdrasil had given his Luminary powers to Jade because he wasn’t good enough, which he hoped would get him to turn on Jade and still get him the end result he wanted. This Does Not Work.

Jasper working for Dundrasil is the best thing that could have happened to him, except for the fact that he is so set on proving himself that he fails to realize that Carnelian is possessed and Hendrik is Going Through It.

Hendrik’s loyalty is being used to blackmail him into working with Mordegon. Poor guy.

Rab wants the Luminary found and brought to Dundrasil to keep them safe, that’s all.

Sylv hasn’t left home yet in this au, but once act 2 rolls around she concludes that she can’t keep hiding her true feelings OR just sit around waiting for the world to end, so she outs herself and DIPS to form the soldiers of smile. She’s in the party for acts 2 and 3 :)

I’m retaining the “Serena gets revived after act 2 at the cost of Calasmos returning” bit because I don’t feel like dealing with the time travel, but I’m adding that Hendrik gets revived too. He and Erik have a lot to atone for.

What if I revived this blog to yap about the roleswap I’m doing

[evita-shelby]

Five times we see Eva and Tommy during the pandemic

For @cillmequick/ @alex-in-the-wildeness 's celebration.

I hope i got the theme right

Btw: Tommy and Eva are in their 30s, Tommy is already an Mp, Mosley is his right wing nemesis and the names of their constituencies are the current names they have now.

Also #2 is smut(oral fem receiving) and the last one includes some description of Eva in labor

Not friendly towards right wing people or fans of the royal family

Gif by @valyriansorrows

1

“Who keeps texting you this late?” He asks after the sound of stifled laughter and Eva’s texting woke him up again.

“Izzy, he’s stuck in quarantine with his really weird hook-up. Apparently, Flavio the gigolo had covid and didn’t tell him.” She answered. “Its noon over there, I’ll just send him one last text and I’ll let you sleep, babe.”

And just as Eva put her phone back on the nightstand, Tommy’s phone buzzed with a text message.

“Finn again?” Eva asked as he scowled at his iPhone.

“No, Arthur. Linda made him take one of those at home covid tests and he can’t tell if it’s positive or negative.” Tommy shows her the picture with a positive covid test.

“Fuck. Do you want to do your test right now or tomorrow morning?” Eva groans as she gets up to find their stash of at home tests in the medicine cabinet.

2

“If I have to wear a mask while giving birth, he can wear one during work.” Esme vents to her as Eva tries her best to keep herself quiet.

Working from home was amazing. Usually, she and Tommy were done way earlier or he clocked out early to bother her while she was going over things with Esme who’s going on maternity leave for the next three months.

Too bad this meeting couldn’t be rescheduled.

Too bad that Tommy is bored and horny enough to get under her desk and eat her out like a man starved.

Her husband and business partner was insatiable, but there are moments when she did want to complain about it.

Like now that she’s biting her lip while one hand keeps Tommy’s head between her legs and the other hovers over the mute icon on her Zoom call.

If only he wasn’t so good with his tongue. So good she’s forgotten half the shit Esme’s told her, so good she can’t think of anything else.

“Can I call you back?” Eva interrupts her sister-in-law just as her grip on the fountain pen tightens and he gets her to the good part.

“Really, Tommy, I thought you said sex during work hours was against company policy.” Esme teased her as Eva frantically searched for the end meeting button.

3

Fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes while people gawk at the representative of Birmingham Hall Green and his newly wedded wife after getting the second dose of the vaccine.

This had boosted vaccine rates and gave them an excuse to stoke the fires of Tommy’s little rivalry with the Tory MP from Warley.

Oswald Mosley wasn’t even from there; he was only representing Warley because he couldn’t even get Harrow West with his wife’s connections. But that hadn’t stopped the conservatives from voting him in, nor did it stop him from declaring Tommy his nemesis.

Wasn’t Tommy’s fault he was just better at everything, or that the media dubbed her husband sexiest mp since he was elected two years ago.

“I bet Mosley is bitching about getting the vaccine.” She says quietly as they wait for the giant cartoon clock projected on a gymnasium wall to ring.

“Oh, he is. Says it’s against his will and that he wants his people to pray for him as he is forced to go against his beliefs.” Tommy rolled his eyes and showed her the tweet he was reading on his phone.

“Do you still want me to tag you on the selfie I just posted?” She asked him.

4

“How much longer?” Tommy asked as they watched BBC One go over the mass resignations happening because Boris Johnson refused to step down.

Thomas Shelby MP OBE had made the popcorn and taken out a few beers to watch the shitshow unfold on national television.

“Maybe six hours, cards said July 7th. Is that Mosley’s name on the list?” Eva asked as they read the names listed as the Tory politician’s resignations came flying in.

“Yep, keeps asking me to do the same. Had to block him just to make him shut up.” He is giddy, like Katie and Finn are whenever they get Tommy to go against John on Mario Kart.

Eva wonders if she should tell him she’s seen the Queen’s death on the cards.

5

“That’s fucking impossible, I have an IUD.” Eva reminds Polly who swears Eva is pregnant.

“Congratulations, kid, you’re the one percent who has their implant fail. Baby boy, September 11, 2022.” Polly Gray-Gold said with a smile.

“Oh great, my baby is going to share his birthday with the Queen’s death date.” Eva pouted.

The Shelbys were antimonarchists, Tommy’s grandparents were Irish Travellers who settled in Birmingham, his father married an Irish Traveller with a Romani mother and both instilled good values and a normal amount of hatred for the monarchy.

Tommy couldn’t wait to open the aged whiskey his grandparents wanted them to open when Elizabeth II finally kicked the bucket.

“Gives us a good excuse to celebrate it then.” Polly reminded her.

“There’s no way I’m letting our son share a name with the king.” He says as he drives her to the hospital.

“Gabriel Henry it is.” Eva breathed through the contractions. “Can you drive faster?”

“I’m doing all I can, love, we’re almost there.” He tries to use his free hand to hold hers and she smacks it away.

“Fuucckk.” She groans as she feels her water break. Its not like the movies, feels like she just pissed herself on the spanking new red Cayenne. “I think he’s coming.”

On September 8, at 3:10 pm, Gabriel Henry is born just as the Queen of England breathes her last.

“We’re almost there, Evie, see the light’s even green.” He is grinning, she is in agony and he’s grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

[strelles-universe]

ooo, what is the Twice Shy AU about? And who is Kitetalon?

Basically, Longtail accidentally kills Rusty and his sister (Ahasra/Kite) finds out and is agitated and grieving. She resolves to tear down the clans and avenge her brother even as ghost!Rusty argues with her.

She's irritable and standoffish but powerful so when Tigerclaw starts doing shit, she's not quite as willing to investigate until she overhears Ravenpaw - who she is reluctant to admit she's slightly fond of - telling Sandpaw that Tigerclaw killed Redtail. She resolves to keep an eye on them and rescues Ravenpaw after he was mauled pretty badly by Tigerclaw and becomes closer to a frightened and nervous Sandpaw.

Graystrpe never falls for Silverstream because silvery mollies who can beat his ass is his type and Kite is that to a T and he spends that entire arc mooning after her. Kitetalon does however save Whiteclaw's life at the gorge which makes Leopardshine slightly inclined to respect her.

By Forest of Secrets, ThunderClan has grown on her and even though she still treats him cooly she can see that Longtail didn't mean to kill her brother. Her goal is no longer to destroy the clans but rather, the code that let all of this happen. So she kicks Tigerclaw's ass and is made deputy the same night under Bluestar who btw was her mentor this whole time but has been equally cold and distant because she thinks that if she doesn't show how fond of Kite she is, then StarClan can't take her away.

At some point Leopardshine falls in love with her albeit she casually ignores this for a decent amount of time while Leopardshine struggles with her feelings for a ThunderClan molly until Silverstream tells her that she should do what makes her happy. Kitetalon has little regard for the code so she tolerates both Leopardshine and Graystripe as mates.

When Bluestar's mind dissolves, Kite fully takes over leadership duties and starts making subtle but frequent changes to how the clan is run, slowly getting them to primed for her to bring up the warrior code. Even when Bluestar starts recovering, she realizes the clan is no longer what she knew it to be is slightly worried she allowed something worse than Tigerclaw to happen to it but is at this point, resigned to it.

Kite is accepting pretty much any loner or rogue who wants to join the clan which agitates her clanmates while her loyalists support her. The shift into a more positive light when Kite kicks out a former rogue who was a complete asshole and counterproductive to the well-being of the clan. She informs them that the warrior code was a good code for a long time but now it's time for them to develop their own code of conduct - and the first rule is that all who wish to join may, but those who prove to want harm upon the clan are cast out.

Kitetalon eventually becomes Kitestar of ThunderClan and declares war on ShadowClan after Tigerstar's actions lead to Bluestar's death. Tigerstar tries to create TigerClan as a result but many defect to ThunderClan so he gets BloodClan as back-up. When Scourge kills Tigerclaw, she basically tells him he can have what's left of ShadowClan and decides to go home.

Kitetalon became the fire of the prophecy but she was a simmering, quiet one like natural has until you light a match.

There are 4 Clans at Fourtrees - ThunderClan, RiverClan, WindClan and BloodClan.

Kitetalon takes Scourge to get his nine lives and also appoints a medic in his camp. Over time, Scourge actually simmers down with Tigerclaw dead and tho he was still harsh until the say he died, he wasn't cruel.

Kite spends the rest of her life restructuring ThunderClan until they have no intentions of going back to the old system and begin to subtly influence the other clans to make changes themselves.

[stargaze-sunflower]

Hello! Could you do some Dewey and Louie bonding? Or maybe Dewey protecting his brothers? Your writing is amazing btw.

This ask is from way back when I was taking prompts sajdskj I'm sorry its so late but I dug up something that I wrote for the green beans discord and it sort of fit this so I cleaned it up a bit :]

The context is that Dewey and Louie have been stuck in a magical forest that shows them their worst memories, but it kinda starts near the end of that story so asjdkkjsa anyway I hope you enjoy!! <33

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dewey’s worst nightmare used to be Huey being freakishly tall, but now that he’d been introduced to freakishly tall trees in a disturbingly magical forest, he might be reevaluating that decision.

“We’ll get out of here,” Dewey said, softer than he might’ve, had it not felt like something was watching them. “We always get out.”

“Yeah, sure, we always escape magical forests that trap us and show us our worst memories,” Louie grumbled, sarcastic and defensive; tired and lost.

“You know what I mean,” Dewey said, standing up from where he’d been kneeling in a patch of bright green and glowing moss. He held out a hand for Louie to take. “We’re two-thirds of the Duck Boys, we’ll be fine.”

“It only takes once, you know,” Louie said, taking his hand and rising on slightly shaky legs. “And then always turns into sometimes, and my mental health will somehow get worse.”

“We’ll be fine,” Dewey reiterated, his chest squeezing a bit at Louie’s words, at the fact that he was so scared of sometimes. “I mean, we could probably use some help, sure. Or ideas. Or a miracle.”

“I’m afraid I’m out of stock,” Louie said drily.

Dewey laughed a bit, glad that most of the horrible tension from earlier had dissipated into something more manageable. Running from reruns of their worst memories until Louie collapsed into a panic attack had not been the fun adventure he’d been hoping for.

Still holding Louie’s hand, Dewey turned to take in their surroundings for what had to be the thirtieth time. There were trees as far as he could see, and they were taller than he could even fathom, so much so that he couldn’t see the sky, couldn’t tell if it was night or day. Patches of glowing green moss were spread haphazardly across the forest floor and growing near the bases of the trees. And speaking of trees…

“Do you think we should try climbing?” Dewey asked, his head tilted backwards at an uncomfortable angle as he searched for one worth a try. All the branches were at least twenty feet in the air.

“Nope, no. Absolutely not,” Louie said, tugging on his hand as if to shake the thought of it from his head. “I’d rather you didn’t fall and die, thanks.”

“Maybe one of those giant deer we saw earlier would catch me.”

“I don’t really want to see that either.”

“What? But it’d be so cool!”

“Do it on your own time, then,” Louie said, but a small smile was pulling at the corner of his beak, and Dewey grinned.

“That sounds like a challenge,” he said, teasing.

“That was the opposite of a challenge,” Louie said. “That was a thinly veiled plea to never leap into the arms of a giant deer.”

Dewey pouted playfully. “You’re no fun.”

“No, I just happen to have common sense and a healthy fear of injury.”

Something in the air shifted.

(“Fear, you say?”)

Dewey jumped about a mile in the air, startled, as Louie yelped in poorly concealed surprise. The voice seemed to come from all around them, layered and echoing and amused. Slowly, they turned around, and with wide eyes they took in the figure in front of them.

It was a child, glowing with the same light that had formed imitations of their family members just a few minutes ago. The child looked like a ghost, or a hologram, and despite its youthful appearance, Dewey got the feeling that it was older than anything he’d ever met before; ancient and magic and terrifying, like the trees surrounding them and the creatures they’d encountered throughout their adventure.

But it looked like a child.

The figure smiled, and Dewey blinked, feeling Louie’s grip on his hand tighten as they stared at the entity in front of them.

“Who are you?” Dewey blurted, forgoing a polite hello in favor of getting straight into whatever this was.

(“I am the forest,”) the child said, as if that were a perfectly normal and reasonable response. For their family, it might as well be. (“Why are you here?”)

“Trust me, I’d rather not be,” Louie spoke up, stepping out from where Dewey had subconsciously stepped in front of him. He gave the forest spirit a long, resigned look. “So if you could point us towards the exit, that would be great.”

(“There is no exit,”) the forest said, that amused undertone to its voice again, and then it smiled. (“But there is an escape.”)

“Okay, uh, can you point us to the escape, then?” Dewey asked, already frustrated by the word games the thing was playing.

The forest hummed as if deliberating, and the leaves around them rustled in an echo of it, low and haunting. Dewey felt Louie shiver.

(“It is something you have to find for yourself,”) said the forest spirit, floating forward a bit. (“All I can be is a guide. It is up to you, whether you leave or not.”)

There was a moment of silence, in which Dewey got the impression that the trees were breathing, or something equally as ridiculous.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Louie asked, growing bolder in his irritation. “We want to leave. Let us out.”

(“Freedom is not free, child,”) the forest said, for a moment sounding exactly as ancient as it really was. Sounding sad, almost. (“You have to give me something in return.”)

Dewey glanced back at Louie with a question in his eyes, and Louie just shrugged. Bargaining with the forest. Sure. Now he’d seen everything.

“What do you want?” Dewey asked.

(“An answer,”) said the forest, tilting its head to the side as it examined them. (“An answer to a question.”)

“Great,” Louie said flatly, exhaustion and resignation seeping into his voice. “Ask away.”

What Dewey had expected was some sort of riddle, or trick, or maybe an impossible task. What he got was something completely different.

(“What are you afraid of?”) the forest asked, and Dewey’s breath caught. The child frowned. (“No one ever tells me the truth.”)

“This has happened before?” Dewey asked, and the spirit shrugged.

(“I’ve lived for centuries,”) the forest said, looking around at the trees that were growing tall and proud around them. (“There are always those who wander.”)

“And do you let them leave?” Louie’s voice was careful in the way that meant he was scared. Dewey lightly squeezed his hand.

(“It depends on what they tell me.”)

Dewey swallowed, feeling the pressure begin to press in on him from all sides. He was the older brother here; he had to make sure they made it out.

“Okay,” Dewey said, after a few long seconds of eerie quiet. “I’m sacred of heights, and thunder, and— and rivers.”

He heard Louie’s rushed breath of surprise at his declaration, because there were definitely some things in there that his brother hadn’t known.

(“That is the truth,”) the forest acknowledged, (“but it is not enough.”)

“Why not?” Dewey asked, halfway to being offended.

(“What are you afraid of?”) the forest spirit repeated the question gently. (“More than anything.”)

“More than anything?” Dewey parroted, and the forest nodded. He’d never met a forest who could nod before.

Sighing, Dewey turned to look at Louie, who was staring back at him in resigned bewilderment. The glow from the moss cast him in an eerie sort of lighting, but he supposed it reflected the mood well enough. Eventually, Louie broke eye contact and sighed.

“Okay, sure, if we tell you our greatest fear, then you’ll let us leave?” Louie asked, apparently making sure that if he bared his soul, it would be for a good reason.

(“Yes,”) said the forest, simply. (“You will be free.”)

“Great, not ominous at all.”

“Do you even know what your greatest fear is?” Dewey asked, glancing at Louie over his shoulder. He wasn’t even completely sure if he knew his own.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” Louie said absentmindedly, not meeting his eyes, and Dewey’s stomach twisted into anxious knots.

(“Will you tell me the truth?”) asked the forest spirit, and it almost sounded like it was excited. (“It has been a long time since I’ve heard honesty.”)

“It’s been a long time since I’ve practiced it,” said Louie, “but I’ll do my best.”

The forest nodded, something like a wry smile pulling at its lips. (“That is the truth.”)

“Thanks,” Louie said, and then in the same breath: “I’m afraid of being useless. Of having nothing to offer that makes me worth keeping around. I’m afraid of hurting people, of letting them down. I’m afraid that I’ll be left behind because I’m the only one who doesn’t always like where we’re going.”

Dewey stood rigid in the wake of Louie’s confession, his hand gone still and clammy in Louie’s tight, shaking grip. The weight of the words was not lost on Dewey, who suddenly had something new that he was afraid of. He never wanted Louie to feel like any of that was even possible.

“Louie?” Dewey’s voice wavered around his little brother’s name, but Louie ignored him in favor of staring challengingly at the forest spirit.

There was a long pause, in which everything was hauntingly still.

(“That is the truth,”) the forest said eventually, a bit of pride making its way into its voice. (“Thank you.”)

“Yeah,” Louie said, sounding equal parts fragile and relieved. “No problem.”

Big problem.

“Louie,” Dewey said, looking at him with confused, hurt eyes. “Why do you— You know we’d never do any of that stuff, right?”

Louie just shrugged, smiling a bit awkwardly.

“Somedays it seems more rational than others,” he said, and then, “It’s your turn.”

Reluctantly, Dewey turned back to the forest spirit, who was standing there serenely and watching them patiently. Right. His greatest fears.

“I don’t like to think about being scared,” Dewey opened up with, deciding to just wing it. “So I guess I’m afraid of being afraid. I’m afraid of missing out, being ignored. I’m afraid that no one will ever think I’m special or unique. It would really suck to be thought of as boring, you know?”

(“I do not know,”) said the forest spirit, kindness shining through its old eyes as it looked at him. (“But that is the truth. Thank you.”)

“Sure,” Dewey said, feeling slightly sick. “Anytime.”

“Though preferably never again,” Louie added, his voice thin and weak.

Dewey turned to look back at him, and found nothing but sadness and understanding in his gaze.

“You’re special, Dewey,” Louie told him, “and the fact that we’re standing here talking to a forest spirit is testament enough to the fact that you couldn’t be boring even if you tried.”

Despite himself, Dewey started chuckling, and Louie joined in with giggles soon after, all of the tension tumbling out of them in the form of laughter. The forest spirit smiled at them.

(“Laughter is rarer than honesty,”) the forest spirit mused. (“Or at least it is so where I come from.”)

“It depends on the person, I think, more than the place,” Louie said, and how did their lives reach this point? Making casual conversation with the embodiment of a magical forest. “Can we go now?”

(“Of course,”) said the forest, leaning back against a tree, seeming completely at ease. (“I told you the truth. You may go.”)

“Oka—"

“Why did you need to know our greatest fears?” Dewey asked suddenly, overcome with curiosity. “Are you holding them hostage now? Will we not be afraid anymore?”

(“I am a magical being,”) the forest spirit said, smiling up at the leaves above them, (“but even I cannot make you fearless.”)

“Then what was the point?”

(“To make you brave.”)

“Brave?” Louie asked, frowning a bit.

(“Honesty and Bravery are closely connected.”) The forest shrugged. (“To have any of either is to wear your heart on your sleeve.”)

“That’s another thing I’m afraid of,” Louie said softly, a bit wonderingly, and Dewey glanced at him sharply. “Being known.”

(“And yet you are,”) said the forest, glancing at Dewey and smiling softly. (“And you are loved all the same.”)

“I’d call that a miracle,” Louie said, a wry grin growing on his face even as Dewey squeezed his hand in a silent reprimand.

(“You may call it whatever you want.”) The forest around them began to change, the trees shrinking and shifting in the corners of Dewey’s vision. (“But I call it the truth.”)

The glow of the moss began to fade away, leaving behind a depressing normalcy. The trees had molded themselves into a mere shadow of their former glory, sunlight passing through the leaves that hung shortly above them. Before long, the only thing left of the magical forest was the figure in front of them, fainter and more translucent now that its home was back in… whatever realm it had come from; Dewey didn’t really know much about the logistics of magical forests and such.

“Bye,” Dewey said awkwardly, uselessly, and the forest spirit laughed brightly, eyes crinkling.

The laughter lingered even after the childlike figure had disappeared, until even that was carried away on the wind, leaving Dewey and Louie standing in a perfectly average sort of forest, staring at the spot where the last of their adventure had just vanished into thin air. Too much had happened in the past few hours. Too much to even begin to process.

“That was… something,” Louie said faintly, and Dewey snorted.

Understatement of the century.

Dewey opened his mouth to respond, but the harsh sound of the bushes to their right moving around pulled his attention away. Huey and Webby came tumbling through the underbrush moments later, looking wild and worried. Dewey and Louie turned to look at them with wide eyes, and Huey sighed in relief.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Huey said, rushing over to them to pull them into a hug. “Where have you been?”

“And why were you holding hands and staring at a tree?” Webby added, scanning them for injuries.

“It’s a long story,” Dewey managed, finally letting go of Louie’s hand as they shared a look.

“Yeah,” Louie agreed, looking back at their other siblings, “and we’re not telling it until we’re far, far away from anything resembling a forest.”

“The trees have eyes and ears,” Dewey said, nodding seriously, fighting a smile when Huey and Webby looked properly baffled now.

“And the forest talks like a poet from like, 80 centuries ago. I don’t—” Louie cut himself off with a yawn. “I don’t know. I’m tired.”

Hueys face softened into something concerned and caring.

“Okay,” said Huey. “Okay, let’s go home.”

The wind ruffled their hair gently as they were led back towards the Sunchaser, and somehow the rustling of the leaves sounded like a goodbye. Dewey looked towards the sky and smiled.

[cuppajj]

Hmm. Honestly all 5 of my ocs are like a box set, and not even in the IDW continuity but:

Name: Skysmasher.

Alt: Bomber Jet (I don't draw well but she looks a lot like bomber megatron)

Personality: Cold, Logical, Cynical, (clinically depressed) apathetic, arrogant (imagine her as this, snooty high class kid, basically). Gets grumpy when people make fun of her name.

Story: She's a decepticon commander, though she was constructed almost at the end of the war (which the cons won in this verse. You ever read Eugenesis? Its like the setting at the beginning). Her life started off in chaotic violence, which she was very good at, and when she was declared a war hero at the end, she had to quickly get used to equally violent politics. She's done a dozen horrible things to keep her place in this world. There's an itch in her heart that she's trying not to scratch, out of fear of what will come out. She's used to dealing with monsters; if the war had lasted one more day, she might have become one.

She has two friends who she keeps trying to get a promotion, but Moonshine is a secret Starscream lovechild clone who lives off drinks other cons buy him, and Steelfinger is an incredibly autistic brawler who leans into the 'dumb brute' act because that's easier than trying to get any understanding here. So good luck.

She gets better tho! Becomes a much nicer person, gets the shit kicked out of her by Tarn, and lives to fall for not one but two autobots.

How she'd react to Drillburst: There's gonna be some awkwardness because how do deal with poor people. Or civilians. If she saw him fight well, then she'd probably really respect his cool mercenary moves. The mercenary thing, she probably understands all about fighting just being something you do, just as a job. As for everything with Overlord... depending on how much she knows, in order, Admiration (at his perceived toughness), pity/commiseration, horror/resignation.

Oh, and Steelfinger and Foxlock both sing well, so she'd probably think that's cool as heck too.

Sorry if this is too long! Love your art btw <3

Oooh!

Drillburst would probably be turned off. Post war, he’s still trying to overcome his biases about well-seasoned Autobots and Decepticon warriors, so it would take a while for them to start bonding, especially since Skysmasher seems to embody a lot of what he dislikes about Decepticon elite (apathetic, arrogant, snooty).

For her to have known his mercenary prowess, she would’ve had to see him while the war was still going on; and if they did see each other then, then maybe they’d be a little familiar to each other after the war… However, if they did, maybe Sky would looked at drill more favorably than he would at her :’D

The only thing i could see him respecting about her off the bat is her remorse for those she’s killed, which he gets (and if she learned about his plight in G9 and expressed sympathy, he’d thank her although be unsure how genuine she is). If she starts expressing signs of, well, not-apathy and self-interest, maybe there’s a chance they could bond… but for right now, Sky has a hard time with civilians and Drill has a hard time with arrogant warriors (overlord did not help in that regard LOL).

He’d probably get along with her friends more easily, but it depends!

[highonchocolate]

Take Two: The Guardian in Gotham Chapter 3

First   Previous   Next   Ao3

Bruce sat at the head of the long oak dining table and waited for his children to make their way into the room for dinner. They came in as a staggered group; Jason arguing about some novel with Dick while Tim and Damian brought up the back as they discussed their patrol routes for the night. After Alfred and Damian helped serve the food, Bruce cleared his throat pointedly and waited for everyone to pay attention. 

Once everyone had looked up from their discussions he spoke. “Alfred has a friend named Gina; and she had called this evening to see if her granddaughter could stay with us. She lives in Paris; but her classmates were bullying her and her parents thought a change of scenery would do her some good. I have agreed to let her stay with us in the Manor.” Even before he had finished speaking the table erupted with different questions from his children.

“Bruce are you sure this is wise?” Tim questioned over Dick’s ecstatic squealing (“I’ve always wanted a little sister!!!”), and Jason’s grumbling (“Shut the fuck up Dickhead. I don’t know why the fuck B is bringing someone into this house to live with this dysfunctional family.”). Ignoring his siblings; he pressed on “I mean, how are we going to hide Batman and the vigilante stuff from her?” As Bruce paused to answer Damian stood up and scowled. “Tt. This is a moronic decision. Inform me of when this girl is to arrive and inform  her to stay out of my way.” He lifted his chin and crossed his arms before marching out of the room.

After Damian’s outburst, Jason looked over from where he was arguing with Dick and added his input “Timbo’s right, B. How are we going to hide that from her?” 

“We’ll have to make sure at least two of you remain in the manor each night so that she doesn’t get too suspicious.” He answered. “Now, the only reason I agreed to letting her stay here was namely for Alfred, and also because of what her classmates did to her” 

“What do you mean, Bruce?” Dick questioned. “Did they like assault her or something?”

“Or something” He responded grimly before sending the photo to all three of them. 

As they looked at the photo, he observed their reactions to the image. Dick was not smiling for once, and his sunny blue eyes had darkened to an icy frost. His whole body was tense; and his jaw was so clenched his teeth were grinding together. Jason was standing up with two guns locked and loaded in his hands. He had also managed to procure a knife from somewhere, which appeared as he leant forward and asked “What were the names of the people who did this again?” in a completely lethal tone. Tim, already hacking away at his computer responded “Not there yet, but from what I can find out, she goes to College Francois DuPont and she’s fifteen.” He briefly looked up and made eye contact with Bruce before asking “How fast do you think we can get our lawyers onto those kids B?” At the declarations of his children, Bruce closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “We can not file any lawsuits yet, not without Marinette’s permission.” He answered, sighing tiredly. “Marinette?” Dick questioned. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Tim responded instantly. “That’s her name.” 

“She will be coming on Monday, and Alfred will be picking her up from the airport. She is also going to attend GA, so someone please tell Damian.” Bruce said as he stood from the table. “Now hurry up, we have patrol tonight, and there have been rumors about a drug ring near Crime Alley.”

---

After coming back from the hospital and having a sleepover Thursday night, Chloé and Adrien were completely sleep-deprived as they trudged into school the next morning. Settling into her usual seat beside Sabrina, Chloé silently thanked all the Kwami that she didn’t have to sit next to Lila. Halfway though class, Mrs. Bustier suddenly frowned and looked at the back row. “Does anyone know where Marinette is? She still hasn’t arrived yet!”

“Probably still sleeping at home! She’ll come in completely late as usual!” Alya cackled. At her words, Chloé felt her entire body heat up with righteous indignity. She opened her mouth to tell that wannabe tabloid reporter to get her facts straight, but then Adrien caught her eye and shook his head. He then pointed at his phone, and mimed unlocking it before pointing to her. Catching the hint, she checked her messages to see that Marinette had sent them a text.

FashionableBug: Mari said to tell Chloé and Adrien not to do anything to Lila or anyone else that starts making stuff up. (From Luka btw)

You’reUnderAgreste: Me-ouch, My Lady. I would never!

QueenofMean: shut it with the puns, Noir. Maribug, I will only listen to you because you’re injured and I’m not going to go against your wishes.

Putting her phone away, Chloé resigned herself to a miserable school day. 

---

After school, she walked into Marinette’s room and flopped dramatically onto the chaise, before letting out a long groan.

“That bad?” Mari chuckled as she scribbled sketched one-handedly in her design notebook. 

“You have no idea.” Chloé responded. 

Their conversation continued into mundane things, such as everyone’s patrol routes, and various theories on who Hawkmoth was. Totally normal topics for teenagers. As the day drew to a close, they made plans for everyone to come over to start packing the next day before Chloé left the bakery and headed home.

---

Come Saturday, Marinette, Chloé and Luka spent the morning playing board games one handed “to level the playing field” as Luka put it and eating lots of cookies and pastries-provided by Marinette’s parents of course. Adrien and Kagami were attending their various classes until afternoon, so the remaining three spent their time relaxing, and coming up with a list of things to pack for Mari’s stay in Gotham. Two o’ clock rolled around, and the bells over the bakery jingled to announce the arrival of the final members of the packing committee.  

Any plans to begin their assignment of somehow fitting all Marinette’s fabrics into the suitcase were cut short by an Akuma. 

They all transformed, even though Kagami and Luka has been  extremely reluctant to let Mari go even though the suit temporarily healed her injuries. Climbing through her roof hatch, they set out across the rooftops to defeat their latest villain.

---

Five hours later, the teen heroes dropped into her room, and detransformed in various flashes of multicolored lights. They collapsed onto the bed and chairs and silently agreed to just  sleep , and get the packing done the next day.

---

All of Sunday was spent throwing various clothes and accessories into Mari’s pink and black suitcase. There were several sweaters and hoodies (added by Chloé), as well as several leggings and many thick pajama pants (Sabine).

Adrien (with the help of Tom) had somehow managed to pack over ten different pun-covered t-shirts, and by the time they were discovered, they had been buried under piles upon piles of fluffy socks from Kagami. Luka also threw in some scarves before Marinette added some toiletries, her sewing kit, and her computer.

Picking up the backpack she had decided to use as a carry-on, Marinette rifled through it to make sure she had everything in there as well.

Spare change of clothes in case she loses her suitcase? Check. Phone, headphones, and charger? Check. Sketchbook and pencils? Check. Disguised Miracle Box? Check.

She turned to her family (Not her teammates, not her friends, but her family.) and smiled. It was small, and bittersweet, but it was a smile. “Alright guys, I guess I’m all set.” She said, before joining them all in a group hug. They offered her soft, tearful smiles before Tom carried her big suitcase down the stairs. 

That night, Marinette fell asleep surrounded by all the people she loved, and she couldn’t have been happier.

---

The next day, her Papa carried her downstairs and placed her into her wheelchair (since she had a broken foot, and couldn’t use her leg, they had given her a wheelchair) before wheeling her outside and placing her into the car waiting by the street. 

Her friends were all inside, and she gripped Adrien’s hand tightly as they drove to the airport. 

As she stood to board the plane, she turned back to catch one last glimpse of them all. Chloé was leaning into Kagami’s side who was holding her girlfriend’s hand tightly. Adrien was waving wildly, and Luka and her parents all raised one hand in farewell. Her Maman and Papa has some red rimming their eyes, but they smiled at her as she was wheeled into the plane. Next stop: Gotham, New Jersey.

Since her flight left Paris at 10 AM, she was set to arrive in Gotham at around 12 PM/noon. With that in mind, she decided to stay awake for the entire flight so that her body could adjust better. 

As they crossed the Atlantic, Marinette, sitting in first class thanks to Chloé and Adrien’s combined nagging; popped her earbuds in, and began to sketch. 

She stared out the window as she touched down, shocked by all the dog and darkness in the city. As she collected her bags, and wheeled her way outside to look for her host family, she couldn’t help but notice how everyone in this city was much more on edge than most normal people. ‘They act as though they are expecting an attack at any second of the day.’ She mused to herself. Her train of thought was cut off by the sight of an elderly man with a powerful aura standing next to a limo with a sign saying “Marinette Dupain-Cheng”. She wheeled her way over to him and smiled brightly. “Salut! My name is Marinette! What is yours, Monsieur!” She questioned, holding out her hand for a handshake.

“It’s lovely to meet you Miss Marinette, my name is Alfred Pennyworth.” Alfred responded, smiling gently down at her. “Now let’s get you and your bags in the car, shall we?” He reaches out to shake her hand, and the moment their fingers touched her vision was filled with dark blue and red. She laughed and smiled up at him. “It is an honor to meet you, noble Peacock.” She greeted him in the Guardian language, honoring his position as a True Holder. “And it is an honor to meet you as well, Ladybug.” He answered. She grinned and allowed him to help her into the back of the limo before he climbed into the driver's seat and they sped off to Wayne Manor. 

---

When he saw the young girl, Alfred was shocked to say the least. She was roughly 5’ 4” (162.5 cm), and was very petite. Her stature, combined with her wheelchair, wrist brace, and the cast on her leg, all strengthened his resolve to protect the young girl from any further harm. That was only intensified when their auras recognized each other. How could anyone place the responsibility of upholding balance on such a young child? 

As he drove to the Manor, she informed him that the Cat, Bee, Dragon and Snake were active on her team. Before he could ask her what the threat they were battling was, they had arrived at the Manor, and she had immediately tensed and gone silent.

Deciding that it was better to ask more questions later, he got out of the car to retrieve her bags and chair. Master Bruce and three of his children except for Master Damian were waiting in front of the doors to the Manor, and they all waited patiently for her as she exited the car. 

---

Marinette was nervous. Sure, taking to Monsieur Alfred was really fun, and she couldn’t wait to tell him more about Paris, but now she was meeting her actual host family! What if they didn’t like her? What if they decided to send her back?! Then what would she do?? A small cough interrupted her downward spiral, and she looked up from her lap to see Monsieur Alfred waiting in front of the open door with her wheelchair. Grabbing her backpack, she awkwardly maneuvered herself into the chair and allowed herself to be wheeled out in front so she could meet Monsieur Bruce Wayne.

---

Note: Alfred doesn’t know that Marinette is the Guardian. He just knows she’s a Ladybug holder.

[luhanvirus]

Bunny boy

People said that every family has a little demon in the house and now that Jiang Cheng has his own headache, he could understand why his mother was pissed out half of time when Wei Wuxian was in the house.

N/A:  Xicheng’s family and Lan Jingyi as Xicheng’s love child. Btw, how do you said “Me pase po”? Like I need to know how to express that feeling when I forgot to publish my daily draft.

For the #CultivaTober2020, sorry if my English sucks.

Day 29: Demon

.

When Sizhui started a group facetime call after the online class, he didn’t expected to see at his best friend in that state. “Jingyi, are you okay?”

Jingyi chuckled before to answer and it was painful to see. 

“Yes, why?”

Jin Ling frowned at the other side of the phone screen, looking his cousin red swollen cheek “Well, you have a hand printed in your left cheek.”

Jingyi started to laugh at the memory.

Oh my god, he has to tell Jin Ling about this before his Dad punishes him cutting the wifi!

“Dude, yesterday I heard my parents fucking and hAHAHA” 

Jingyi’s left cheek it hurts like a bitch when he laughs, but it was a pain that was worth it. 

“...And when I was going to turn up the volume on my headphones, I heard my Dad saying ‘I’m your bunny boy!’” He even dare to imitate the panting voice tone that none of his friends asked for. “So today when he was scolding me for forgetting to defrost the chicken, I told him ‘keep calm, bunny boy!’ HAHAHA.”

Jin Ling looked dumbfounded as Zizhen burst out laughing.

“yOU DID WHAT?”

“Lan Jingyi, you are my fucking hero!” Adds Zizhen, still laughing for his friend imprudence and bravery. 

“I wish I would recorded it, but you know. It just came naturally!”

Sizhui chuckled, nervously “Take care of yourself, Jingyi.”

“Don’t worry, Sizhui. It’s just a slap!” He tells him, knowing that his Dad slapped him with the hand free of rings. But Sizhui didn’t knew that and still seems worried.

In the other side, Jin Ling overcame the shock stage.

“Sometimes I don’t know if you are just crazy or you just want to die early” declares with ears all red after knowing his uncle's kinks. Fuck, he didn’t wished to know that.

Sizhui thought that Jingyi was already dead, but Jingyi just didn’t knows.

In the other side, Zizhen cheers him “Good luck to get your Dad’s forgiveness, bro!” 

“Thank you, bro! I would need it!”

. 　   ·  ✦

“Where is the little demon?”

“A-Cheng, don’t call our son like that”, Xichen tell him off, lying on the couch. He had a really long and tiring day in the hospital.

Jiang Cheng snorted, furious. People said that every family has a little demon in the house and now that Jiang Cheng has his own headache, he could understand why his mother was pissed out half of time when Wei Wuxian was in the house.

Seems like his baby boy spent a lot of time with his fucking uncle Wei.

“Then, where is your son?”

Xichen raised an eyebrow, unbelieving “So now he’s my son?”

“Well, your dearest son heard us tonight.”

“What?”

Jiang Cheng wanted to punch something, he really needs to punch something. He never slapped his son before, but this time Jingyi asked for a fucking slap on his face “And he had the nerve to call me bunny boy, can you believe it?”

Xichen tries to hold the laugh on his throat, but he can't not laugh.

Jingyi is only thirteen years and he’s this reckless.

Adolescence would be a nightmare, Xichen thinks as he tried to collect himself. 

Yet, his husband seemed very offended.

“Are you laughing, Lan Huan?”

If glares could kill, Lan Xichen would be dead by two bolts of lightning.

. 　   ·  ✦

That night when Xichen goes to Jingyi’s room with an ice bag in the hand and the dinner in the other one, he didn’t expected to see his dear son with a swollen cheek and smiling brightly.

Jingyi had a slapped cheek, but at least he was happy.

Xichen put the dinner in Jingyi’s desk before to check his child's face  “What have you done, A-Yi?”

“Sorry father, did I mess your night time with Dad?”

“Don’t worry about that”, he says as he applies the ice bag in his son’s injured cheek, without overlooking the worried glint in Jingyi eyes. “Worry about how to get your Dad’s forgiveness.”

Jingyi whines a little, before to speaks again so blatantly.

“Dad will forgive me, I’m his favorite son!”

“Jingyi, you are our only son.”

“What are you implying, father? Princess, Jasmine and Love are my sisters!”

Xichen smiles, resigned. He knew that it would end like this since the day that Jiang Cheng convinced him to adopt three little dogs that will grow up with Jingyi.

“It’s not the same, A-Yi.”

How not? Jingyi thinks, “See, that’s why I am my Dad’s favorite. I know that pets are family too!”

Xichen sighs, bringing him the tray with the dinner.

“Eat something before food gets cold.”

[bthump]

If you could rewrite Berserk (or maybe parts of it), what would you change? I love the way you interpret this story. The way you interpret this work, makes it so much more powerful, than how some other side of the fandom understand it.

thank you so much, i’m glad my interpretations resonate with you!

tbh my ideal version of Berserk is basically a much shorter story that begins with the Black Swordsman arc and ends on this shot:

more specifically I’d open on a similar panel of Guts fighting ghosts, seen far above, and alone. I’d include a version of the Lost Children arc in the Black Swordsman arc after chapter 2, between Snake Baron and Count Slug, also introducing Skull Knight. I’d make some kind of pointed visual comparison between Skull Knight and Vargas, illustrating that they’re both similarly consumed by revenge and cautionary tales for Guts.

This version of Lost Children is even sadder and more depressing - Jill and Rosine’s friendship is highlighted as positive, the scene where they fly together is beautiful and uplifting, and it’s suggested that if Jill did stay with Rosine her influence could remake the creepy Land of the Elves into less of a horror show and more of an actual place of refuge sans monster transformations. Yk, Rosine is open to Jill’s suggestions basically.

Guts still has his humanizing moments with Jill but he’s shown at his most monstrous too when he kills Rosine. Jill returning to her abusive home isn’t uplifting or hopeful, it’s tragic. Guts’ “this is your paradise” bit isn’t an objective statement, it’s a sign of Guts’ depressed cynicism and increasingly monstrous mindset. Oh and despite the Land of Elves being fucked up (in my version it would at least be sliiiiightly less fucked up), Guts destroying it would have some thematic echoes in the destruction of the Hawks. Maybe the raid we see on the Hawks after they’re declared traitors involves a lot more fire and forest burning down. Maybe some of the elf monster kids try to save each other and one of them gets Guts with a thrown knife lol a la Judeau protecting Casca. Idk, something.

Also the Peekaf story is cut, as is Rosine’s tragic flight home, as emotional as it was in the manga. She dies with Jill here. I’m kinda downplaying the dreams as escapes theme wrt Jill’s flight with Rosine and the land of the elves because I don’t think it works in this arc due to, yk, the alternative being abusive homes.

Afterwards ghosts still taunt Guts about becoming like Femto, but without the “your friend” description bc that gives too much away. Skull Knight picks up Rosine’s behelit and has his suggestive “hm this could be Guts eventually” internal monologue even though Guts doesn’t have a behelit yet.

Count Slug arc is essentially the same. I would turn the fetus into some kind of pathetic looking misshapen dog demon (like the Beast of Darkness but in much less cool form, bc that’s essentially what the fetus was before Miura overwrote it) who follows Guts around and reminds him of what he’s in danger of becoming. Guts picking up Slug’s behelit is the last shot before the Golden Age begins.

Theresia is a more angry version of Jill, and they’re both examples of Black Swordsman Guts ruining lives wherever he goes, along with the zombie girl in chapter 2 - it’s all variations on a theme of Guts sort of creating mini versions of himself bc of his traumatized lashing out. Zombie kid is most metaphorical in becoming a monster after listening to Guts’ cynical take on dying by the sword; Jill goes back to her abusive Gambino-esque father when her potential escape, Rosine, is killed; Theresia swears vengeance when Guts kills her father who couldn’t sacrifice her to save himself.

(this mini me thing would parallel Slug and Rosine’s abilities to create their own monsters, btw. Cycle of violence kinda thing.)

Everything else follows the manga up until Guts and Casca start getting romancey. I’d cut that out completely. They can have a burgeoning friendship but there’s no romantic undertones and no sex and no meddling Judeau etc. Casca still fights Guts and stabs him and yells at him about Griff but there’s no sucide attempt. She still confesses to her crush on Griffith because it’s a good griffguts parallel, but definitely doesn’t say she was lying to Guts and herself when she said she wanted to be Griffith’s sword. But I do want that “Griffith’s not a god... and I am a woman” line in there because it’s such a good parallel.

Guts monologues about his newfound dream to Godo in a flashback during the Wyald fight instead, then does the waterfall log thing and breaks several bones, then gets told off by Erika who points out he just wants to fight Zodd again. I’d maybe move some of Godo’s lines about Guts metaphorically being a nicked sword to here too. Also show the dragonslayer leaning up against a wall lol.

Guts still tells Casca at some point that he fully intends to leave again. Maybe during the rescue mission. Because yk we still need that moment where Griffith overhears someone telling Guts to leave.

Finally the last change is that Casca dies with Judeau, Guts manages to survive until Femto wakes up, they have a moment staring each other down, there’s a clear parallel to a moment of Guts’ childhood - I’m thinkin Guts asks “Why?” and there’s a shot of Femto, shadowed so we only see one eye, a la:

Apostles begin to descend on Guts chanting shit like ‘sacrifice’ and ‘ours,’ (comparison to bb!Guts facing down the wolves btw, Guts is resigned) and then Skull Knight appears and rescues him and we get that last shot of Femto.

The End.

The implication is that Guts and Griffith are alone and monstrous without each other, violence begets violence, relationships are a positive contrast to that but they keep fucking those up, etc. There would still be a slight ray of hope though in comparisons to Jill/Rosine and Slug’s inability to sacrifice Theresia, and Femto lowering his hand, showing that, yk, even monsters have potential. It would be a very thin ray though bc Guts killed those monsters lol so the implication would still be that Guts is kind of doomed to roam the world alone with his sword like Skull Knight or Zodd.

Also... I’d fuck around with the world building and astral plane stuff because Guts and Femto being metaphysically separated doesn’t work for this. I want that thin ray of hope even if it necessarily comes to nothing lol, if only because if I was alternate universe Miura I’d want people to write Femto/apostle Guts fanfic. So no mention that the Godhand can only appear when someone uses a behelit, maybe even imply somehow that Femto could show himself to Guts at any time, he’s just snubbing him.

Anyway yeah, ty for asking.

also if you’re interested I once wrote a very long and involved post here about what I’d change if I had free range to adapt Berserk if you want a longer answer with more details that follows the actual story much more closely (including a less involved take on my answer here lol).