#Anyway. Ill explain properly..somewhere

[that1notetaker]

@wixenforever @jundsthoughts Hello, I come with concept art ideas to get the NottPott AuI mentioned rolling, although Im not quite sure how to, yet. Can you feel the worldbuilding?

Also: I listened Into The Unknown for two hours straight because I realized it matches the exact vibes for a scene I have in mind.

[mariasont]

HEAR ME OUT!

post prison Spencer and shy!reader bonding over being total nerds. Books, shows... you name it

Bookstore Physics - S.R

summary: spencer suggests you should compare moral biases more often. you think he's making a philosophical point. he thinks he just asked you on a date

pairings: post!prison spencer reid x shy!medialiaison!reader

warnings: fluff, second hand embarrassment im sure, philosophical debates that are probably wrong bc i had to google and i know hardly knowing about mr kant, existential crisis but make it romantic, post prison reid, shy reader, prolonged eye contact

wc: 1.6k

a/n: thanks for requesting my lovely! happy superbowl to those who celebrate! go birds!

You were so close. Just one more inch, and your fingertips would finally graze the spine of the book that had been taunting you from its impossibly high perch. 

Rising to your tiptoes, you reached with all the reckless confidence of someone who had severely underestimated basic physics. The shelf wobbled under your grip, your shoes squeaking against the polished floor, and in that split second, you were faced with a terrifying possibility that you were about to take out the entire bookshelf, along with your dignity.

Something grabbed ahold of you, steadying you before you could faceplant directly into a pile of literary fiction. 

You went completely rigid. Because that wasn't just something. That was a Spencer Reid hand, long fingers, warm palm, and a freakishly strong grip for a man who treated physical exertion like a concept rather than a practice.

"Oh. Hi, Dr. Reid," you blurted, the words tumbling out clumsy and unpolished, as if your tongue had forgotten how to function. You winced instantly. "What are you doing here?"

Spencer didn't answer right away. His grip on your arm slackened, but he didn't step away, didn't even give you an inch of space, like he had no intention of letting you breathe properly.

Oh, that's fine. Air is overrated anyway.

"What am I doing here?" he repeated as if he were genuinely considering the question, but you knew better.

His expression hovered somewhere between pity and uncontained glee, the corners of his mouth twitching. 

Your lips parted, but your mind refused to cooperate, stuck on an endless loop of oh my god, did you actually just say that?

To Spencer Reid. The same Spencer who had, on multiple occasions, resorted to scribbling entire paragraphs on the back of receipts and once, when truly desperate, his own wrist. Spencer, who physically flinched at the sound of a cracked spine and once spent seventeen uninterrupted minutes explaining the significance of marginalia. Spencer who read like breathing and talked about prose like it was something alive.

And you, a person allegedly with working cognitive abilities, had just asked him what he was doing in a bookstore.

You opened your mouth, whether to correct yourself or just inhale enough oxygen to function again, you weren't sure, but before you could, Spencer, with precisely zero struggle, reached up and plucked the book from the shelf like it had been placed there specifically for him. 

"You should've asked for help," he murmured, and oh, that was definitely amusement in his voice.

"I-I had it under control."

One brow arched, unimpressed.

"Sure you did," he mused, lips twitching like they couldn’t quite decide whether to commit to a smirk. "Although, considering that 20% of bookstore-related injuries stem from ill-advised attempts at reaching high shelves, you were probably just one statistic away from a minor concussion."

You narrowed your eyes. "That's not — there's no way that's a real statistic."

Spencer barely reacted, flipping open the book with the same casual disinterest of someone checking the sky for clouds, except this wasn't a change in barometric pressure, and you were positive your entire nervous system had just gone into meltdown mode.

Your face burned, heat creeping up your spine and flooding through you veins at an alarming speed, and — oh, no — you had officially run out of places to look that weren't him.

And he (unfortunately) made such an easy focal point.

His shirt was rumpled like he'd spent the whole day forgetting to sit properly and a barely-there ink smudge kissed the edge of his palm, the kind only noticeable if you were close. His hair was at war with itself, some strands curling forward rebelliously against the collar of his cardigan, others falling forward, brushing the edge of his cheek.

He didn't glance up as he murmured, "Philosophy?"

The words barely had time to settle before your brain supplied an immediate translation: he was about to analyze you.

You could practically hear the gears turning, the internal mechanisms of his brain whirring at a speed that actually did defy physics. If you concentrated hard enough, you might've been able to hear the faint whir of neurons firing, piecing together a framework of analysis that was surely seconds away from being spoken into existence. He was surely already forming a hypothesis, already constructing some impossibly insightful revelation about what this particular title said about you, your worldview, your subconscious motivations.

"Well, yeah, that one," you said quickly, the words tripping over each other. “I mean, it’s not real philosophy — well, obviously, it is, but not in the way you would define foundational philosophy, but it still presents some really interesting moral dilemmas, and the writing is surprisingly digestible considering the subject matter is so —”

You clamped your mouth shut so fast it was a wonder your teeth didn’t rattle.

What were you even saying?

"Um — yeah. Philosophy. Or... something like that."

Spencer's lips twitched, and then, in a move so profoundly unsettling, he smiled.

Not just any smile, either. A real one. The kind that didn't just curve his mouth but softened him entirely, the corners tugging upward, a barely there dimple surfacing at his cheek. 

It hit you like a perfectly aimed dart —sharp, direct, and entirely crushing. Something fluttered wildly in your chest, light enough to feel stupid, but heavy enough to be a problem.

Then, still smiling, he tilted his head, leaning in just enough to invade your space, his voice dipping like he was handing you something fragile.

"I didn't take you for the existentialist type."

Your first instinct is to argue, to insist that you're far too well-rounded, too multifaceted, too impossible to be pinned down by a single school of thought. But before you can even begin to string words together, Spencer tilts his head just a little more, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that feels dangerously close to that same expression of analyzing once again.

And suddenly, you need to redirect this conversation, desperately, urgently, before your body betrays you, before you start visibly sweating or keel over like a fainting goat. Neither feels like an optimal outcome.

"I — I mean... I could say the same about you."

His lips quirk. "Interesting. And why's that?"

"I don't know. I always assumed you'd be more of a rationalist? Like, Descartes' methodical doubt feels like something you'd respect, and even Kant's categorical imperative, although that's more deontological ethics than strict rationalism, kind of aligns with the way you view morality and decision-making, and —"

You stop. Blink.

Oh no. You’re heavily invested in this man’s philosophical alignment.

You purse your lips, clearing your throat like that’ll erase the absurd level of thought you’ve just admitted to having.

"I mean, I'm probably way off."

Spencer flips the book closed, considering.

"I supposed you could argue I lean toward rationalism," he allows. "But morality is messy. Kant insists on universal law, and let's be real, most people abandon objectivity the second emotions get involved."

He glances at you then, a shift so small it shouldn't feel significant, but somehow, it does.

“For instance, we all make exceptions. We justify things we probably shouldn’t. Sometimes we prioritize people in ways that defy reason.”

His lips twitch. 

"Hypothetically speaking, of course."

“Well, yeah,” you say, caught up in the current of the conversation before you even realize you’ve been swept away. “People make emotional calculations constantly. Even when they claim objectivity, their decisions are shaped by personal attachments.”

The thought unspools too easily, words tumbling forward, carried by momentum.

“And it’s not just morality, it’s cognition in general. Have you read Jonathan Haidt’s work on moral intuitionism? He argues that people make moral judgments first based on instinct, and then rationalize them after the fact.”

You glance up, expecting a rapid-fire counterargument, some impossibly well-structured debate. But Spencer is just watching you.

"So what about you?" he asks suddenly. "Would you say you make exceptions?"

You pause.

"I mean… yeah? I guess I do. Everyone does, right? If someone I care about does something morally questionable, I’d probably be more inclined to defend them than if it were a stranger. I mean, that’s just human nature."

Then shrug. 

"But that doesn’t mean I’m being hypocritical," you add quickly, as if you just realized how that sounded. "I think there’s a difference between conscious favoritism and subconscious moral bias. It’s not like I have a specific person I’d automatically justify no matter what."

Spencer exhales. "I think you're more consistent than you realize."

You blink at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs, lifting the book in his hands, fingers drumming idly against the cover. “You try so hard to rationalize your emotions. But I think, if it came down to it, you’d make an exception for someone. Just one.”

Your stomach knots, and it's humiliating how obvious you must be. You can feel your pulse everywhere, in your throat, your wrists, your temples, like your entire body is broadcasting, Hey, Spencer Reid is making you malfunction because he somehow sees right through you, somebody send help.

“I — well, I mean —”

“Relax, it’s just a theory.”

But something about the way he says it makes you not relax at all. And before you can scramble for some kind of coherent response, he nods toward your book.

“You should get that one,” he says lightly, handing you back the book. “I’d love to hear your take on it next time.”

You freeze. Next time?

Oh. Oh no. The words settle over you like an ill-timed realization, and your brain is running the math like you're about to file a report on your own social incompetence. Next time implies... a prior time, a recurring time, a pattern of times. Next time implies he assumes there will be a next time. 

And you assume that he assumes that you are the kind of person who could logically expect another bookstore trip with Spencer Reid as if that's just a thing that happens in your life. Which is absurd.

Your fingers tighten around the book, like holding onto an overpriced paperback will somehow restore balance to your rapidly deteriorating world. Your pulse is a problem and your ability to think critically is a casualty. 

You scramble for something, anything, to say, but before your brain can reboot, Spencer is already moving. 

Then just as he disappears into the next aisle, he tosses one final parting shot of his shoulder —

"See you soon, then."

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[autisticlalna]

okay. okay watching the tsmp vod has cleared up a thing i got the details confused on, so im adjusting my theorizing accordingly.

Navigator, aka "the Viking that shows up in Twitch SMP sometimes to lore all over the place", explained the spacetime thing to tRuby as "often, when there is not both of us, neither-- the other one is not the manifestation, in order to avoid... conflict of interest and problems."

(roughly. it's too late at night to do an actual proper transcription with formatting and stuff. you get me though)

either i completely missed this line or i just Forgot in the wake of everything else revealed during that stream, but if my half-awake brain is properly understanding it now:

Viking is the manifestation of space and Ruby is the manifestation of time, as established in TSMP. however, there's not always a Viking and/or a Ruby, and in those cases there's a placeholder of some sort to keep things running in their place. ive talked abt this before, i think its neat, its also raised a lot of questions in SBK but ill get to that in a sec

anyway, what Nav mentions here is that in those situations where only half of the spacetime siblings is around, they're not space or time. so, like, Dominion Viking isn't space incarnate because there's no Ruby, and also he's kind of busy being dead / it would probably be An Issue for the manifestation of space to die in an accident and then get his brain scrambled by a cursed book. on the other side of things, Chunklocked Ruby (who i am very excited to watch the vods of :D) isnt time incarnate because there's no Viking.

i think. its late at night and im having to re-process everything all over again, this is not well organized lmao

anyway, bringing it around to Skyblock Kingdoms: we know that the placeholder artifacts (clock and compass) are present, because Cherruby has them. we also know that Cherruby is from... somewhere else. we also also know that Summertime is perfectly ordinary, asides from that one time Nav swapped him over to TSMP for the worst 15 seconds of his life and he got the bajeezus scared out of him by Sapphire.

so, like. with the original understanding of how stuff worked, the theory was that Summertime also must've been from another place in order for Cherruby to have the clock and compass. but now that i'm actually able to check direct quotes, its pointing more towards Summertime is native to SBK, there just isn't a native Ruby so he didn't get to be a demigod (???). either way, "Cherruby is not supposed to be here" is very locked in, and they somehow stumbled across the clock and compass keeping SBK's reality stable in lieu of Summertime and his nonexistent sibling.

STILL RAISES QUESTIONS ON HOW THE HELL CHERRUBY GOT HERE THOUGH

[whataboutsimple]

Did someone say Groundhog Day 8 years part 2? Yes please!!! Only if it’s alright with you

Groundhog Day but it's 8 years Part 2.

TW: blood, mentions of suicide, injuries.

Part 1 is here.

Which race is it? Which number?

He didn't know, didn't remember and didn't even try to. It's all happened again. The same hackneyed conversations, the same faces, the same old world.

Even he's the same. Hasn't changed at all. Only a hideous large scar adorns his neck. To think that he can't even cut his throat properly, what a failure. The man was staring blankly at the wall opposite, ignoring the worried glances of the younger boy. What was his name again? Ah, something like Lukas maybe..

In this race, Jesse decided to save him instead of his friend. Such a pity, he can't properly help them anyway. The "Great Warrior" is even more useless than an ordinary girl. Tired.

Tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired.. why is it so hard?

The coughing became way worse than before. He can almost feel his lungs burst and the uncomfortable warm blood rush onto his rifle.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.. why?

The Warrior repeated the last race. He told Ivor all sorts of nonsense, hoping that maybe this time he would decide not to start the Storm. He didn't kill himself. And was wrong. The Potion Master showed up for the performance anyway. He created the beast.. The Warrior was almost ready to give up and die from the creation of the Command Block. Their eyes convinced him. The eyes of Olivia, the eyes of Axel, Jesse, Petra, Lukas. He shouldn't have looked at them.

There was so much fear. The poor children were so scared. They weren't to blame for this. It just happened that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. He overcame himself and put on a mask. He started playing according to the script.

And now he regrets it. So tired. Sleep.

He humbly awaited the hour of battle with the Potion Master. Perhaps he would allow him to win and put an end to it all. Perhaps he simply wanted to look him in the eye and ask if he was happy. The Warrior didn't know. He knew only a few things: pain, fatigue, and sleep.

The debilitating illness didn't make him feel better. To be honest, he barely made it here, almost dying from a simple zombie attack on the way. Huh, just think about it. And this man believed he could defeat the EnderDragon? Weak. Worthless. He wanted to end it there. He was tired of it.

Jesse went to find The Rogue. Olivia and The Redstone Engineer should be coming soon. He doesn't want to see their fake eyes. He doesn't want fake hugs. He doesn't want to hear another stupid argument that didn't mean anything. He doesn't want them there.

Hours passed. They should have be there by now. He swore he heard Olivia’s voice. So, The Engineer was there. What, she doesn't even want to talk to him now? Doesn't even try? Pitiable.

MaybeLukas explained the situation to them. Maybe not. He didn't care. It hurts so much.

So, so much. His arm was aching. Aching and aching like hell. The withersickeness progressed much faster here than in other races. Perhaps his weak condition influenced this. His hand was literally completely covered in black stuff and throbbing unpleasantly with purple. He could feel it making its way to his collarbone and back. So disgusting.

Maybe he fell asleep at some point. Maybe his brain just decided to shut him off from watching the boring wall. He doesn't know. But he heard a voice. A voice of a former friend. Lover. Magnus. They were back.

The Warrior didn't even try to get up from his seat. He didn't want to waste energy on them. Couldn't. This sleep crushed him even more.

The headache is back. Disgusting. He looked down at his trembling hands slowly. Even if he wanted to stop it quickly, he was unlikely to succeed. Needed to come up with something.

Somewhere far away, Lukas's voice caught his attention. They didn't know where he was or what he was doing. He didn't want to be found. Although he wasn't very far from Ivor's library, he decided to stay there.

What did the children called it? Strange basement.

A dull pain shot through his right lung as if he'd been pierced with a sword. Another fit of coughing, more blood. Pain. Stained armor. Someone's sharp intake of breath. Turning to look to the exit, he saw Magnus there.

Notch, he didn't want to speak to him. Couldn't they just leave him alone?

It hurts. Lungs were burnimg. It hurts, it hurts. Hands were shaking. It hurts, hurts, hurts. The blood flowed.

He looked blankly at his former friend. Nothing has changed. None of them have changed. Boredom. The Warrior closed his eyes for a moment. Magnus tried to tell him something, but he wasn't listening. He didn't want to listen. Couldn't.

The white noise was back. Only veil in front of his eyes. What is it? He didn't know. Didn't feel anything. Just pain and fatigue. Maybe his body couldn't take it anymore and gave up? No, no, he can hear Magnus trying to speak to him. He can hear how angry he is because The Warrior is silent.

A new wave of blood. He bends over, clutching his stomach. Uncontrollable trembling. Red liquid quickly makes its way from his lungs into his throat and then out. There's a lot of it. More than he can handle. The floor is covered in blood. His hands are covered with blood. It tastes like metal. What's wrong with him? This never happened before. Is it a novelty? Side effect? Doesn't matter now.

It's too hot. When did it get so hot here? His head cracked harder. Growling softly at the unfairness bursting through him, The Warrior took off his helmet, trying to reduce the temperature. He didn't like the heat. Ignoring Griefer's continued attempts to say something to him, he abruptly jumped to his feet, tearing off his chestplate with great fury. Perhaps at some point, he threw it somewhere in the direction of Rogue. He wasn't sure, but poisoned "Enough." came out from him. All he managed to say before falling back into silence.

Hurt, hot, tired.

He doesn't understand what's going on. His hands continued to trembling. Trembling, trembling, trembling without a way to calm down. The Warrior tried to grab his sword and finish it all off, to starti a new race, but, dropping it into his own pool of blood, pretty quickly he realized that it was useless. He needed to find another way. Slowly The Warrior leaned back against the wall, feeling hot and sore. Too painful, Too hot. He looked at his injured arm. Purple ripple was stronger than usual. Breathing heavily, he gave up and fell to the floor moaning softly from the pain in his ribs, his T-shirt stained with blood under his armor.

Everything was blurry. He couldn't see anything. Only Magnus' worried cries. Voices of others.

He had heard a lot. Didn't see anything. Heard a former friend asking him to hold out for a little longer. Was he crying? The Warrior didn't know. Didn't want to know. Not anymore. Didn't care anymore. Suddenly, the world went black. The voices faded away. It got quiet.

[ineffable-cats]

ok its late and im not thinking properly but like two days ago i couldnt fall asleep for hours because i suddenly had the perfect plan to make a krakoa charles cerebro helmet and like... i even thought of the materials and what i could use for the wires and how im gonna measure it etc. next day (yesterday) i went in to measure me head and stuff, finally made an X that fits my tiny ass head and doesnt look ridiculous and then i just had to go get some eva foam and wahtever else id need today i did that and i started superglueing the bits together (ive NEVER used super glue before, NEVER worked this intensely with eva foam and NEVER made any kind of custom cosplay item. ever. and im going unprepared. like the fucking moron i am.) then i realised its much more difficult to make a sphere than i thought it was gonna be, got... somewhere and it fits yes but i accidentally downscaled it and now im unsure if my hair will fit under it or not since i gotta hide that thing SOMEWHERE, ill try with my swimming cap but... started on some of the first details of the metal bit itself, im going kind of imaginary with the design bc it looks different in multiple comics so im just guessing that cerebro is genderfluid at this point /j then i realised im nearly out of superglue and im nowhere NEAR done so i decided ill stick to my original plan which was to sew it together, and actually supergluing the base and sewing the details has helped somehow i cant explain in detail why but if i had to sow the base i'd probably have given up on this the moment i touched the needle i also havent sewn in years. was never good at it but im improving, slowly. anyway im starting to think i had false hopes about this helmet because currently the only things that could possibly help with covering up the disaster i made is the metallic paint, wires and the actual X of the helmet. im hella worried i spent my money on false hope. still an experiment, so its not a waste.

[bluewinnerangel]

DEMY ARE YOU STILL WITH US?!

CAN YOU CONFIRM HE IS IN FACT REAL?!

I am on the other side of the world and still can’t move on from this. How does anyone with daily contact with him survive?

ALSO HIS SHIRT. ALSO HIS LIL CURL His curl I couldn't stop watching.... I got the good stuff men i was bless-ed my show fucking ruled so fking hard

Also orange shirt plus Teenage Dirtbag in Amsterdam? This plus that equals:

Also

I just wanna put this pic somewhere too where he might or might not be looking at me and my funny lil shirt im not gonna tell u what it is because i might wanna wear it again and i don't need to be recognised but like who knows its half a pixel but I love these pics lol like the experience bro to experience HIM. LIKE. HE'S REAL. HE'S THERE AND HE WAS SO GOOD. SO AMAZING.

Okay I'll try to stop all-capsing now and tell you all about it. Gonna put a cut in because BLAAAAA about the entire thing including a lot of personal experience queueing and seeing the fans and stuff so if you're here to read a beautiful written concert review about all the songs you're shit outta luck that mans everything i have no words for how mindblowing it was but ill throw some pics at the end to make up for all the rambling ok:

Before the concert - So first of all I have to acknowledge how much of a privilege it is to even be able to watch him like that, not just that he's got a show somewhere close enough to you it doesn't cost you a fortune to even be there (and then still.. to even be able to afford a ticket), and managing to get a ticket in the first place, but I joined the queue in the afternoon the day before in order to be sure of a good spot without being an asshole about it sdfasd (with that I mean, others ensured their spots with other tactics causing quite the.. vibe.. at the front there. It's not even the "cutting line" I'm bothered by it's the part where they'd just brag over and over how they did that. Like you're trying to make people around you feel like shit or start an argument like do you wanna get punched by a horde of exhausted people or what like let's just all enjoy the show instead maybe). Anyway about the privilege thing. You have to be able to afford the time and money to accommodate yourself and also.. who the fuck does that for anyone? that's insane it's absolute fucking insanity what the fuck are all of us what the fuck does this man do to us that we do that for him like it's. ridiculous. I can't believe how willing I was to do that ksadjlakj. I didn't think I was. I don't think it makes sense to do this. I'm gonna be honest here I don't enjoy this aspect of the fandom, this need to be in the first box of people to enter, to run to barricade (tbh that part was kinda fun), to exhaust yourself for 24+ hours, remove comfort, perhaps endanger yourself if you aren't able to do it properly for health reasons or just naivety or whatever, to all keep inching the time you need to be there to get a regular spot further up and up and up as tour goes on until people are claiming the venue doors a full 2 days in advance. And even on the day like if you wanna be in the first 2000 to get in you need to be there for like 8 hours (im just saying numbers here like these are prob total bs but you get the point) like either you camp to be in the first lil clump of people that are let in, or you just arrive just before it starts. Those are your options really. To be honest I wasn't planning on sitting there for 24hrs but I did, like on the spot I decided to stay, because I was there the day before just to bring my friends ( @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk and partner <3 EDIT: @caralara !!! I didn't know if you wanted to be tumblr official so I didn't tag but EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HI) some stuff for camping and then the plan was for me to go to sleep and join them early morning. But once the system was explained it was clear that would mean a lot of queueing by myself and I just wanted to be with them so I stayed and we managed and were somehow still prepared even though it was an improvised thing. It was actually really fun, I didn't mind any of it really. But that was 100% the company. And in that regard I do get this whole... situation we got going on before every show where fans are just all have a big camp out. It's addictive even, it's part of the whole experience, I do really get it, but for that aspect of it, not for the need to be at the front over and over again. That's just... an amazing perk then. Like really I'd queue again if there are people in it that I wanna hang out with and I wouldn't see them otherwise, but in no way am I sitting outside for that long solely to get a good spot at a concert. Even if that's louis. And the best fucking thing I've ever seen. Anyway on friday we just snoozed with a view of the tour bus which was like.. a night under the stars get it asddsf. The next day we sat in the front lil box for the special first 150 and it was funny to recognize a lot of common fandom faces and then figuring out from what exactly.

I also talked to one of the people working at the venue, and they said they've only seen something similar 4 or 5 events in the 20 years they've been doing this work, but they were all huge and in Ziggo Dome, another venue at that square. They also let us store our stuff in lockers beforehand at that venue instead (but i think a lot of people already had means to store their stuff)... I guess they got the memo we would NOT take ANY time putting those safe whatsoever once the doors opened. literally people were willing to risk their lives and possessions for a good spot. Really just all logic is out the window for louis tomlinson istg and I knew this of course but seeing it all around me was new. Oh but talking to other fans? TALKING TO ELLA? my PEOPLE my PEEOPLLLEEEEE I'm SO happy I got to meet you two you are such amazing amazing kind souls we're absolutely gonna meet again weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

So it got pretty shit about 2 hrs before we could get in, because the sun was JUST behind the building and all of us had already stored all our stuff and the temp was being weird, like it almost heated up and then it didn't so we weren't doin too well luv and that was the first moment I really felt like this wasn't it this wasn't the way akasljsal.

Inside - Once the doors opened of course it was total chaos and we ran and managed to get on what I think was 4th row? but by the end it was like 6 or 7. We were slightly to the left, this is the exact spot with the help of louis pointing at me of course its potato footage:

There was a water sent into the crowd, us and the people in front and behind us had a job like we were constantly busy handing over plastic cups, both full ones into the crowd and empty ones back, it got a bit less motivated to keep that up after a while but let me tell you i NEEDED that water and so i also wanted everyone behind me to get it if they'd feel like me or worse. I was well hydrated, i needed to pee but you don't notice it at all with all the adrenaline, but with all the screaming and jumping and post covid lungs/throat you need it.

The intro is LOUD. LIKE. LOUD. Like I felt that everywhere and it adds to the buildup and anticipation perfectly and then the curtain falls and he walks in and I apparently look like a child with wonder in its eyes when he came on, because these bitches were filming me (<3) and I got to see my reaction and its .. askdljalks cute I guess. yeah and then he was just there. he was there. in HD boy real life in very high quality did you know that? and hes fucking perfect like seriously what the hell and he just-. I don't have words I don't get it. I was going in between losing my shit dancing and singing and everything, just standing there staring at him, and trying to take some pictures. Unfortunately the taking pictures caused me to miss his stupidass smileyface green wink flickering thing (did you pick that up online? Yeah it did.). I was taking pictures at that exact moment but it didn't catch it rip.

Another unfortunate bit was that my hearing got fucked from the beginning with all the screaming so I didn't get to fully experience his sound but it was already SO overwhelming in every other aspect I didn't even really mind plus the premise of seeing him again ASAP and experience it then, with the assumption I'll get a ticket (got my eyes on Antwerp so if anyone has one please) that is.

Then there were the stops... again... I don't know if it was just one person or multiple that needed assistance but the show got stopped 2 times and you can tell he's so fking sick of it. I was fking sick of it. Anyway shits not nice of me to say, perhaps these people were in big need of assistance for reasons out of anyone's control and it did end badly but you just get so desensitized to it when it happens constantly I'm just afraid people are either clueless to the point where they just didn't know they couldn't handle it, that with not knowing how to take care of themselves included, or knowing they can't but are willing to risk everything to see him... or they're exaggerating, perhaps not even consciously, to get an unfortunate notice. Like OmG LoUiS CaReS aBoUt Me yeah but do u care about louis anyway I'm just afraid of people, louis included, not responding anymore when there's a very critical emergency at some point and everyone yells to stop the show and louis is just like bitch here we go again whenever i stop the show everyones just good what are we doing lemme just continue? you know? I thought he said something like "really?" something too but it's all a blur.

have a pic have a pic

But man the ENERGY? THE CONFIDENCE? THE even though i know every single fucking bit of this show because ive watched lives 30+x times this was still just all so .. another level. Ella warned me beforehand that it's nothing like it. The lives are missing the sound the vibe the entire stage his whole body how he moves how he talks where he is within the space how awesome his band is the crowd EVERYTHING and man I was not prepared. I have a lil confession i always thought he was a lil awkward. Cute awkward but still... I thought he was awkward and turns out you can make the most confident man look awkward when you zoom in on their face performing without showing the rest of the performance, environment, nothing, and perhaps further made awkward by you as the viewer sitting in your pjs snacking in front of a screen watching it, who knew, apparently. BOY OH BOY he is NOT awkward. He owns that fking stage. What the fuck. Not even a lil bit. I was so so so wrong. I'm. intimidated lol (somehow wasnt at all when he pointed ... i was like YUUUUUHHH BROOOO BRING IT [my partner is telling me to make an edit of mad max where hes like HE LOOKED AT ME HE LOOKED ME STRAIGHT IN THE EYE!!!! i just might]) but yeah so yeah jesus christ omg.

picspics this is a ramble

As for things during the concert I noticed that were cute outside of the regular program... there was a sign in the crowd that said stage dive or something so he saw it, laughed at it, and then pretended to stage dive. it was cute af. he did rock paper scissors, he pointed and agreed with a sign that asked if they could smoke a joint together after the show, he cracked the absolute fuck up about a sign that said "stroganoff to get it wrong? In front of all these people" which was all the way to the right of the stage. Like he deadass just stayed in it it was so fking hilarious watching him just crackling.

He was vibing with someone off stage and making funny movements idk what it was but i was just staring like oh. He really loved some signs all the way to the left as well but I didn't know what they were.

He REALLY hated someone else that seemed to be at barrier on the left of the stage too, it was like... like a fucking dagger stabbed me lol he just gave them the 2 fingers british fuck you sign, then walked away not looking at them and flipping them off behind his back but it was with SUCH force. He was MAD. No idea what he saw but he was not happy. He then looked at one of the bandmembers like yeah they deserve it kinda thing.

He said "I see ya at the back" at some point and we looked back and didn't really see anything. There was a group cheering and jumping, so my best guess is he saw them vibing. There were pride flags on the balcony tho so it could have been that as well.

When he jumped off the stage during kmm we lost him for a long time and then he popped up reaaaaallyl short he just went BLOOP and gone, not sure about that, maybe someone pulled him? idk.

Also he refused to acknowledge a sign that said something not very interesting because we were right behind it and every time he came close like CLOSE CLOSE like i can SEE YOU SO WELL RN close the fucking sign would pop up with the speed of 28 lightyears so stronk so high so present I couldn't see him basically at fucking all i mean... it needs an arrow to show you where louis is because you can't fucking seeeeeeeeee, this is no zoom what it looked like:

I mean.. after the 5th time he has stood right in front of you reading it you don't need to keep holding it up after that? He's read it. What do you want him to do? I'm sorry he's just not gonna interact with it the 28th time if he hasn't 27 times before. It's done lemme see him please :') But this is going somewhere I promise because after a while at more than one occasion he tried to look around it at fucking us god damn it and it was in the way and so I missed 2 or 3 interactions that were directed at either one of us or one of the people next to us because only one of us at the time could see him whenever he got near so I just got half of a sentence or movement or whatever that I couldn't make out now and then, no idea, maybe watch an uploaded live, I know this one was very close to us, maybe I will, but there's one happening very soon so. Anyway he could've been interested in giving us that lil pointypoint for many reasons of which half aren't mine to tell so I won't, but for me it was just 1) going fucking mental, and it wasn't to like get him to see me do that, but lemme tell you when he confirmed that he did and enjoyed it I just got such a fucking sense of like this is the tiny thing I just gave back to him that he's given me. That seems weird probably but I'm very very held back, not just with a celebrity everyone wants to get near it seems, but with anyone I'm just always thinking I'm violating peoples space and I annoy you when I alert you of my existence basically that's just a me thing and makes me not want to like, meet him, send him anything, just... nada. Like I just don't wanna bother anyone. But like this? It's perfect. He had all the freedom to not acknowledge me but he did on his own free will because he enjoyed it and fed off the energy there seeing how ALDKJSDKLJLK we were going from his music and performance? what the fuck else would i want like shit that's just. thats perfect. But then there's 2) which is my shirt, which again I'm not gonna say just yet but you're welcome to ask me in a dm if we talk of course, but it's just combining 2 things he's big on so it would make sense it'd catch his attention.

But that's not what I came there for. I don't wanna be like y/n moment xoxo let's get more (but also, I do now, because he RUINED IT. HE RUINED IT. nothing is gonna compare to him fucking being like YO THIS BITCH IS GOING FOR IT *P O I N T S* like fuck) I just wanted to see him at least once because I could, and I was honestly planning on getting there just before it started and standing at the back by myself, chilling. But that's not what I got, I got to meet amazing people and had the fucking time of my fucking life holy shit. Like everything went better than I could've ever imagined and he was better than i had imagined and i already thought he was everything.

LOOK AT THAT FUCKER WITH THE POINT THAT WILL SHIT ON MY FUTURE CONCERTS:

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

when we first moved to canada we lived in motels for a long time until we suddenly got a house. and i remember thinking, hmm, how did my parents get this house? it looks so big and new? seemed a lil too easy but i was just glad to finally have somewhere real to live. we moved in and it was just like....tense..the air was heavy, thcik, idk how to explain, always felt like i cldnt breathe properly in that house, tightness in the chest. always felt paranoid too, even tho nothing ever happened, i was just constantly on edge n checking behind me. when we lived in uk we lived in way older houses that i didnt feel this way abt. anyways we moved again after like a year. my parents were looking for a different house from the moment we moved in. w/e, life goes on, i was a kid i didnt think anythin of it..then last year my sister randomly messages me, omg ella did mom ever tell u about the first place we lived in canada? someone killed them self in that house. i was like OoooOh. oh. connecting the dots.. and ya..my mom told my sister they got the house for really cheap cus no one would last in it. since my parents were so desperate they just took it. idk if it was haunted but there was defnitly some kind of residual pain..god i wanna tell some of my more fucked up and confrontational ghost stories sometimes but im concerned ill sound too insane lol

[arty-chase]

A Failed Betrothal (4)

Am I doing this right? I mostly do write this when I am between the state of sleep and awareness. Hope you enjoy this.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1) (Part 3)

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PART 4

Marinette came to a dungeon cell with two other prisoners. One of them was awake and he looked vaguely familiar. The other had an ugly red helmet that didn’t help with the headache she had.

“Do you know where we are?” She asked the handsome stranger with beautiful green eyes, her throat a little dry.

Wait. Handsome?

No bad Marinette. Don’t fall for fellow prisoners, no matter how cute he looks. Oh Kwamis, she was already screwed.

He still hadn’t replied. Maybe he didn’t understand French. She tried to ask again in another language before her enhanced hearing picked up the sound of footsteps. She faked unconsciousness. Later, she heard the iron door open. She looked through the tiniest slits of her eyes she could muster while the two held a staring/glaring match. Oh shit, that’s the fame Talia Al Ghul, daughter of Ra’s, head of the League of Shadows, and the boy she was glaring at had some resemblance to her, so he must be her son, Dennis? Daniel? Damon?

"Damian, I hope you know what you should do."

Ohh..Damian. Where had she heard that name before?

"To be forcefully married to that little girl. She is no one special. Why am I getting married to her?"

Ouch, that hurts. Well, Damian, just because I forgot your name does not mean you can call me a little girl. I can also kill you very easily and painfully.

“Well, Jason, you are awake. You can be the best man for the wedding.”

“No. I don’t know what game you are playing but you better release us. B is gonna find us and you will pay. Let the girl go. She is innocent in all of this.” Red Helmet, Jason, is officially not going on her hit list for his atrocious fashion choices. But that red monstrosity still needs to go.

"Ladybug may not seem like it but she possesses great power that my father converted for centuries. Speaking of, she should be awake by now."

Marinette felt her hair being yanked. A little pain was expected but the really sharp claws digging into her scalp was not. Making her cry and tear up.

”I am so sorry, kit.” Plagg whispered in the kwami language, loosening his claws.

"Tch, See, she is more pathetic than I thought. She is not powerful." Damian growled out.

Geez, thanks for the compliment, it’s not like you ever had a tiny cat dig its claws into your scalp out of surprise. (Damian once had a kitten thrown at his head and if he knew about Plagg, he would have been sympathetic.) Marinette started begging for mercy, hoping they would buy the helpless girl out of the suit that is ill-suited for the job she had been chosen for and had no idea on how to escape.

“Like I thought, weak. She is not deserving of the title of my wife.”

Oh kwamis, what did she ever do to have such a picky groom? The more he insults her, the less she wants to be married to him.

"Appearance can be deceiving. Despite her demeanor, she is the current wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous and the Current Guardian. The old Guardian, the old fool had promised her in exchange for his protection."

Great, another reason to stop her mother from killing a senile old man.

"That doesn't mean I want to marry her. She is not worthy of an Al Ghul or a Wayne. Look at her, crying at the slightest feeling of pain."

So that’s where she heard it from. The boy was the son of the daughter of a guy who leads a secret order of assassins and a man that owns a multi-million business. How even did a billionaire meet an assassin, ends up in bed with her and lives? Something to think about for later. She quieted down her sobs, (beat that acting, Rossi) kept her voice low to hatch out a plan with Plagg in the kwami language while the mother-son duo bickered.

“Hey, Plagg before you go, you think I can do that thing, the one which your one of your past holders from Japan can do.”

“You have a lot of potential for destruction but you have not used the ring for a long time yet so I am not sure.”

“I will give it a go anyways. Nothing to lose after all. See you later, Plagg.” Marinette smiled, one that drove fear into the hearts of even the bravest of people. Plagg returned it, already loving the new Guardian before zipping out of the cell to do some scouting. Using the enhanced strength the French superheroine got from prolonged use of the Miraculous, she yanked the chains of the walls and wrapped them around Talia’s neck, cutting off her air supply.

The League of Assassins thought that they could kidnap her and get away with it. But they were no match for the daughter of Sabine Cheng, the deadly Blue Reaper. A high ranking member from the group of assassins and mercenaries called the Guild of Night, who had semi-retired. Kidnapping her was a bad move to make as it meant they had declared war on the Guild, despite the reason behind her abduction having a completely different intention.

She whispered as such to the older woman in her tight grip, making sure the League would know how much they had fucked up. After dropping the limp body, she took a deep breath and tried channeling some of her energy for what she was about to do.

Well, here goes nothing.

She breathed out on the shackles, turning it to rust.

Success!

She introduced herself as Lady and concentrated the energy from before into her hand, forming inky black orbs of destruction in order to free her fellow captives. She felt a little drained from doing magic out of the suit and tried not to show it. Plagg returned, informing her of where the Ra’s and the Pits were. She grinned at the thought of showing old Ra’s who the boss is and made sure he regretted ever messing with her. She explained about Plagg as vaguely as she can, no need to let anyone know about the miraculous than necessary. Sure her plan sounds insane but the boys don’t know who they were with.

She would worry about that curse after she got out of Nanda Parbat. Although she could probably find something in the grimoire to reverse it, she was still an amateur at magic so it was best to have a professional to take care of it. Marinette didn’t want to be with such an asshole, no matter how striking he looks in those regal robes.

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Picking off the League assassins, one by one was easy especially in her transformed state. She hadn’t appraised her suit properly but from what she had seen, it wasn’t like Chat Noir’s leather get-up. She was armoured in vital areas and her colour scheme was mainly black with green accents. There were vials that were probably poisons and pouches which she decided to look at later. She still had a long braid as a tail from her brief stint as Lady Noire and she wondered why her suit was different. While hiding in a niche she found, she called the bakery via the comm in one of her various pouches.

“Hello?”

“Papa, it’s me, Marinette. Do you know where Maman is?”

“She went out of Paris, talking about how this League must pay. I think she is meeting up with several of her old friends. Are you alright, my little blossom? I know you can take care of yourself but I worry.” The relief in Tom’s voice was palpable. However, she was right and the Guild was going to war against the League. Marinette was adored by nearly everyone in the Guild due to her strangely bubbly and cheery personality in the harsh and brutal lifestyle.

“I am fine, Papa. Did Maman use the Horse to leave? And how are my friends?” She knew they might be in a panic after her disappearance.

“I think she did. I didn’t see Kalki when I went to feed the kwamis. Your friends panicked when they found out you were kidnapped. But they are fine now, mostly worried about you. Took care of some akumas and senti monsters by themselves. I think your fencer friend, Kagami, knows more about the League than she lets on.” Of course, she does. Her mother was a member of the Guild before being blinded due to a mission. Kagami and her actually first met during a reunion party of sorts.

“Thank you, Papa. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She hung up and dialed the personal phone number her mother uses that only Marinette and her father knows about. She waited for the call to connect, trying to think of ways to stop her mother from storming into the League’s base of operation.

“Maman, it’s me. I know you want to attack the League right this minute. But I have a better plan. Can you get Tikki’s earrings from Alix? We can use them and the ring to destroy the Lazarus Pits. Make them really angry.” She peeked out of the niche she was hiding in. She had been there for a while and needed to move to gain some grounds.

“Where are you? And are you okay?” Panic and worry filled her usually composed mother’s voice.

“I am somewhere in Nanda Parbat and I am fine. I was nearly married off to Talia’s son but I am not now. I think.” Marinette replied. Better to rip that band-aid off before she showed up with her would-have-been-husband. She jumped out of the niche and looked

“Kalki, Full Gallop. Okay, we will talk about the ‘nearly married’ part later. What was this plan to destroy the Lazarus Pits?” Sabine thought she was already used to Marinette’s brand of craziness that was her normal but apparently, not.

“I am currently on my way there. Plagg said we need Tikki to get rid of them. Since the League pissed me off and by extension you and the rest of the Guild, I thought our first move against them is to destroy the Pits and a trail of bodies. By the way, can you get some cheese for Plagg?” Marinette ran through the halls, knocking out some poor sod with a whack on the head.

Silence. She thought Sabine had hung up when-

“Voyage. Alix, where are you? We need Tikki for one of Marinette’s insane plans. And Marinette, stay safe, sweety, I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

“Bye, Maman. See you there.”

Marinette turned another corner, the last one before the path that leads to the entrance where the Lazarus Pits were. She only managed to find it with Plagg’s voice in her head, whispering directions and Tikki’s luck. Unfortunately, the luck ran out because the entrance had a lot of guards who had spotted her.

Crap.

She hoped her mother would get here soon. Thankfully, being transformed gave her a boost and would help her to hold her ground for a while.

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Damian and Red Hood followed the trail of unconscious bodies and sounds of fights, trying to find Lady. Damian was impressed at the level of her skills to defeat many of the League’s assassins although he could probably do better. They relied on his memory to find the Lazarus Pits which was their best bet to finding her as she claimed to be able to destroy them. If Lady possessed such powers, they must find out whether she is a threat to the world or not. And also break the infernal curse they have.

Red Hood was silent mostly. He made a few jabs about how kick ass his ‘bride’ was and how the current Robin should not let her get away. Damian tried really hard not to just maim his adopted brother and also ignore that little fluttering in his chest that happened every time they saw an unconscious assassin left behind by Lady. The sounds of fighting got louder as they got nearer to the entrance. They turned the final corner to see Lady fighting against the guards who outnumbered her. But she seemed to be doing fine against them. Mostly.

One had slipped through her defenses and nearly stabbed her in the back if it weren’t for Damian grabbing one of Red Hood’s guns and shooting a rubber bullet to the neck. He jumped into the fight, grabbing the fallen assassin’s sword and taking out the knife he got from his mother. Jason joined in too, not going to let the two teens have all the fun.

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“Thanks for the save, Al Ghul but I don’t know why you bothered when me being dead would solve your curse problem.” Lady said as the guards laid around them and they tried to catch their breath.

“It’s Wayne. I go by Wayne these days. Being an Al Ghul is not something I learned to be proud of. And as much as I don’t want this curse, your death is not worth that price.” he replied, “Although, I have to wonder why you would choose to die rather than live.”

She chuckled, “Okay, Wayne, to answer your question. Petty teenage drama makes death much more preferable. On top of that, I have responsibilities that I was practically forced into for doing one little act of kindness.” Her tone was joking but there was a touch of bitterness in it. It made Damian want to find out what caused it. Red Hood looked at her in concern. Lady went down the stairs, ignoring their reactions to her words. They followed her, not wanting to lose sight of her again.

The Lazarus Pits emitted a green glow that lit up the cave and cast strange shadows on the walls. At the edge of the glowing toxic green waters was a woman in dark blue clothing and strangely enough wearing sunglasses. Strapped to her sides were two Dao, ancient Chinese swords. She wore a vindictive expression on her face as she stood staring at the green lake, likely to kill anyone who gets in her way. Damian didn’t recognize the woman as part of the League but taking no chances, he got into a fighting stance and Hood did the same. Lady calmly approached the woman. He reached out to grab her to stop her suicidal nature when she shocked him by speaking to the blue-clad assassin in French,

“Hey, Maman, sorry I am late. I had a little trouble with the guards upstairs. You have Tikki?”

Lady’s mother rushed to hug her, “灵儿 (líng er), I am just glad you are alright. I knew you could handle yourself.”

How the hell did Lady’s mother get to the Lazarus Pits faster than them and snuck past several vigilant guards? Before Damian could question further, a red blur appeared and went to Lady’s face, hugging her cheek. It appeared to be the same size as Plagg but was red, looked like a bug and had a black dot on its forehead.

“Oh, Marinette, you are alright. I was so worried when your mother showed up, saying you were kidnapped and needed my earrings to escape.” Unlike Plagg’s nasally voice, her voice was sweet and shrill.

So, my bride’s name is Marinette. Such a unique name for an intriguing girl.

Wait what?

Wayne, stop thinking such ridiculous notions. That is probably the curse working. Resist against it. He will not be ensnared in the traps of such magic. He hoped that the curse will be reversed before he turns and act like those fools in Grayson’s idiotic shows or Todd’s ‘secret’ romance novels.

“I am fine now. See,” reassured Lady, “We actually need you and Plagg to reverse the Lazarus Pits to what it was before someone made the wish that resulted in them in the first place. Oh, I almost forgot. Plagg, claws in.”

Green light flashed, leaving Lady in her wedding robes (which actually flatter her body. Shit. Think of something else. Drake with a smug superior smile that needs to be wiped off his face. Grayson and his plans for ‘family bonding’) and Plagg to reappear.

“Cheese.” whined the cat-like kwami(?) to which the older woman held out a brown bag that smelled and made Plagg perk up in delight. He proceeded to open the bag, taking out a slice of stinky cheese, muttering about the greatness of camembert.

Todd cleared his throat and asked in English, “Umm...Pixie as much as your reunion is touching. Who’s the new lady?”

“Oh Right, sorry. Well, Red Hood, this is my mother, the Blue Reaper of the Guild of Night. Maman, this is Red Hood and the one next to him is my husband-to-be and Talia’s Spawn, Damian Wayne.”

Lady introduced them, also in English. Damian stilled in fear, recognizing the name. The Blue Reaper nearly became his mother-in-law. She was famous for her efficiency and ruthlessness. And gained her nickname from the blue clothing she often wore as she killed her targets. His eyes also widened at how his grandfather had gone a little too far now by kidnapping the Reaper’s daughter. There were other organizations that could possibly take down the League if it weren’t for the somewhat truce between Ra’s and the other leaders. The Guild was one of them and having the Lazarus Pits to revive their soldiers made the League a little more powerful. But if what the mother-daughter duo were planning succeeded, then the League was going to have one of its most deadly wars in its history and would probably never recover from.

“Tikki, Plagg, you guys ready?” asked Lady.

“Yes, Guardian.” They both replied and emitted a blinding red and green light which Damian shielded his eyes from. When it died down, the Lazarus Pits no longer glowed a toxic green and looked… like normal hot spring water.

“Oh. I wished I could see Ra’s face when he finds out.” Lady laughed. Plagg and Todd joined in.

“Pixie, I am beginning to like you.”

“Voyage. That being said, it’s time to go home, Marinette. Your father must be worried sick about us by now. I hope you boys can find your own way back.” A portal opened up, showing a cozy living room. Damian grabbed Lady’s wrist as she moved towards it.

“Wait, let us come with you. We need to contact someone to get rid of the curse on both of us. And we can also call our father to send us tickets for a ride home wherever you live.”

“Curse? Marinette, you never mentioned a curse in your call.” Blue Reaper said, raising her eyebrow.

“I will explain later. They can come with us and I am pretty sure Ra’s knows that we have escaped by now.” Lady grabbed the two brothers and dragged them through the portal.

She then threw herself onto the couch after releasing her hold on them and the two pocket gods went to comfort her after her ordeal. The Blue Reaper stood where the other portal was and fed a floating tiny gray horse, that must be the same species as Tikki or Plagg, some sugarcubes.

“You boys must be tired but the showers are upstairs and we might have some clothes your size. Dinner will be ready in an hour. You can stay the night if you want. Welcome to Paris.”

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Tag list: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0, @myazael, @tonicxworld, @thewitchwhowaited, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @kissa-chan, @iwantasecretidentity, @theymakeupfairies, @user00000003, @woe-is-me0, @kashlyn, @mochegato,@moonlightstar64 , @greatcatblaze, @moongoddesskiana, @tazanna-blythe. @tonicxworld, @toodaloo-kangaroo, @frieddonutsweets, @local-witch-of-mn, @lady-bee-fechin, @iglowinggemma28, @indecisive-mess-named-me, @k-tea-and-coffee, @jayjayspixiepop, @all-mights-asscheeks, @idk-j-go-with-it , @loysydark, @thenillabean, @lolieg, @zalladane, @silvergold-swirl

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(Part 5)

[krispytidalwavesheep]

Hopes and Dreams II

First of all: HOW AMAZING ARE YOU PEOPLE?! You gave me so much serotonin. All the reblogs with added tags, all the comments and favs and all the new followers, you are amazing. I will add a taglist for future chapters, so if you wanna get tagged, hit me up, and you will be added to that list. Seriously, I love you guys. ***

“Will you be able to walk?” Alcina asked and you just shrugged and motioned for her to lead the way. You walked in companionable silence for a while, which gave her the chance to take a longer look at you. You were pretty tall, even though you were still rather small compared to Alcina. She was pretty sure that you were taller than Heisenberg though, and that made her feel odd. You held yourself with a confidence she wouldn’t have expected after everything that happened in the last few minutes, reminding her again that you were not unfamiliar with the supernatural. It unnerved her to no end, and she found herself wanting to solve the mystery that surrounded you. Where did you come from? Exactly what is it what you were doing here? Would you turn into a threat or into an ally? Alcina wasn’t stupid, far from it. She knew that Mother Miranda’s hold on the Lords was slipping, Heisenberg’s silent plotting was proof enough. Did Mother Miranda know that you were here? Alcina sure didn’t, and the other Lords didn’t mention a stranger roaming the village and the surrounding woods. Although Heisenberg mentioned that an unusual amount of Lycans had disappeared. 

Her eyes roamed your figure again. Your hair was kept in a neat undercut, colored in a hideous blue that still looked good on you. You were clad in a black Hoodie and equally black Cargo pants, as if the cold didn’t bother you at all. It was the middle of the winter and yet you strolled through the cold as if it was springtime. Which made her wonder if you were really just a mere human. Everything she experienced with you implied that you weren’t ordinary and that intrigued Alcina greatly.

“You could just ask me about myself, you know?” you said and smiled up at her knowingly. Alcina flustered and wiped some non-existent lint from her long dress. So, you were aware that she was watching you.

“We usually don’t see strangers in these parts, especially ones who seem to know more than they should. Which raises the question why exactly you are here?”

“Considering that we just met, my lady, it wouldn’t be wise to reveal my whole tragic backstory. And further considering that I don’t know if I’ll see the light of day ever again if I were to enter your castle, forgive me if I won’t trust you with my motives yet. All you need to know for know is, that I am a traveler and have been for my whole life. I search for artifacts, among other things, that my benefactor can sell for good money. He took me in when I was just a child and took great care in training me. He is the closest thing I have to a father figure, although most people think me insane for the trust, I have in him. And as for why I am in Romania, I don’t really know to be honest, or wasn’t when I first got here. It was a gut feeling telling me to come here, and I find that I can trust those feelings, whenever they arise.” You said and stretched.

“I won’t keep you locked in the castle if you don’t give me a reason to mistrust you. There is a reason why no one come to these parts, so I am very wary of strangers. I have daughters to protect after all.” Alcina said, musing about what you said. If you were a traveler looking for artifacts, it would explain why you look at the supernatural as if it was a normal occurrence.

“You will have to see for yourself then, but I can assure you, that I am not here to hurt you or your daughters. My last mission… Didn’t go well and I originally came here recharge a bit, if you know what I mean. Again, forgive me if I am being too careful, but I have more enemies than I have friends, and I really like living.” You said carefully and Alcina kept staring at you. You didn’t seem dangerous to her, how could you, looking like you did, but she was still wary. She felt the sudden urge to protect you from whatever enemies you were talking about, but you were strangers. That realization hurt her more than it should, but with your past lives, it was so different. She always knew who was in front of her, whenever she met you, but this time around was just so complicated.

She felt drawn to you, even with your boyish looks you were still immensely attractive to her, and the way your blood sang to her made you all the more alluring. More than ever before if she was honest. But that is the problem, you were still familiar to her, but not as much as before and it scared her. You still had the potential to destroy her, even if you didn’t know about that.

***

You could practically smell the curiosity rolling of Lady Dimitrescu. She was wary of you and yet there was something in her eyes that you couldn’t quite place, even though it made your heart soar to new heights. She was as much a mystery to you as you were to her, and you felt so drawn to her. Like a moth to the flame. You briefly wondered if it had something to do with her nature. She seemed like a careful person, but considering from what you heard in the village, you totally got that. Which is why her next question caught you quite a bit off-guard: “Do you actually have a place to stay or are you just roaming around the forest, picking fights with Lycans?”

“Are you offering, my lady?” you said, wearing a Cheshire grin and wiggling your eyebrows. The blush that colored the Lady’s cheeks was worth every punishment you could possibly get from that comment. You still valued your life though, so you said: “I don’t mean you any harm. I just enjoy some friendly banter and it has been ages since I felt comfortable enough to do so. To answer your question, no, I don’t really have a place to stay. I’m helping someone with their housework every now and then though, so as a thanks they let me sleep on their couch whenever possible.”

“What kind of housework?”

“Nothing much, some cooking and general repairs.” You shrug and the smile she gave you was positively sinful when she asked, “What else are you able to do with your hands?”

It was your turn to blush and blushing you did; you even felt the tips of your ears go warm and it didn’t help at all that Lady Dimitrescu started chuckling. Still, you weren’t one to miss an opportunity so you said “Well that’s for you to find out, my lady” with a smaller voice you would have liked. How had one woman such a power over you?

“Hmmm, maybe I will, my dear,” she said and winked, making your brain short circuit. You stumbled in your steps and her hand steadying you didn`t help one bit. Sparks shot through your arm when she touched you and you felt something niggling at the back of your mind. No one ever had such an effect on you, no matter how stunningly beautiful they were. Suddenly, shivers ran down your spine, and not the good ones, so you took a protective stand in front of Lady Dimitrescu and said “Careful. Someone is watching.”

And just as you spoke the words, a shadow descended upon you and your instinct started to kick in. Your knife was out in seconds, a voice in your head urging you to protect your Lady. So, when the shadow descended upon you, you had it pinned down, snarling furiously. You felt your fangs elongating and your sense grew ever sharper. Well, seems like the cat was out of the bag now.

“Let go of me!” the girl you had pinned to the ground snarled, but her attempts to flee were futile. 

“Give me one good reason to not kill you on the spot. How long have you been stalking us?” You snarl, feeling your blood start to boil.

“Let go of her, dear. She had no ill intentions.” Lady Dimitrescu said, and against all odds, you calmed. Huh. That had never happened before.

“Is this a new plaything, mother?” the girl asked, and you started snarling again, but a hand at the back of your neck made you freeze.

“Don’t be rude, Daniela. She is our guest, and she needs some medical attention. So be nice.” Lady Dimitrescu said and the girl, Daniela started pouting and muttering something under her breath. You were still on edge, bare containing the snarl that wanted to leave your throat. The hand around your neck tightened in warning and another shiver ran down your spine. One of the good ones.

“So, I was right about you. You are not entirely human.” Lady Dimitrescu purred, and you had the sudden urge to bolt and hide away. You noticed how much she must have hold back until now, the danger rolling of on her in waves was something you never once encountered.

“I told you that something happened to me. If you promise not to harm me, I will tell you what happened. But I can promise you that I am no danger to you or anyone else, if not properly provoked.” You said and dusted of your knees. She let go of you and turned to Daniela, conversing with her in Romanian. Daniela looked at you with sudden intrigue and a nasty smile. She practically screamed trouble, and you weren’t sure if you could handle it.

“Come now, it isn’t far anymore. Daniela will alert the castle of our arrival, to avoid any nasty surprises.” Lady Dimitrescu said and led you away. And sure enough, a few minutes later you reached the castle gate, three figures awaiting you. One you recognized as Daniela, so the other two must be her sisters. One of them looked at you with mild interest, while the other one looked at you with a spark of recognition in her eyes. Had you met before on one of your travels? You were pretty sure that wasn’t the case, but let it slide anyway, since you had bigger problems right now.

“Bela, would you please prepare the sitting room in the west wing? I will need some antiseptic and bandages, warm water would be wonderful too. When you are finished with that, prepare the guest room next to mine. We will talk later.”

The one who seemed to recognize you from somewhere left in a flurry of… bugs? What the fuck? 

“Cassandra, Daniela, please prepare a light super. I will talk to you two later two. Just bring the food into the sitting room when you are finished, yes?” The order was given gently and in another flurry of bugs, you were alone again.

“You can explain yourself when I am cleaning and dressing your wounds. Come now.” She said and led you into the castle. You were still processing the abilities of her daughter, so you followed her silently into the dimly lit entryway. *** Taglist: @imdreamingblo

[flecks-of-stardust]

hey, i was looking through your bug fables liveblog playthrough, and i had tried my hardest to figure this out for a good while but i have a question;

what is the explanation behind the leafbug portrayals in the game being racist? i’ve tried to figure it out for the sake of awareness, but i couldn’t find any sources. don’t feel obligated to explain if you don’t want to, feel free to delete this ask for your comfort.

its racist but possibly a better way to put it is that it plays into a lot of anti-indigenous tropes. for the record, i am not indigenous, so my insight on this front may be somewhat limited, but ill explain as best as i can.

the first time you hear of the leafbug tribe is when youre going into an area that is, directly stated or otherwise, not part of bugaria. theyre Outsiders that do not understand the culture of bugarian bugs. they also have their own language that is 'gibberish' that, funnily enough (/s), no one ever attempts to understand. this sort of othering is already a red flag, because its not portrayed in good faith. add that to the fact that you have to fight them for... no real reason in the game, and its really not painting a good picture.

im pretty sure the leafbug tribe is also explicitly described as primitive, somewhere? which is a very common and egregious anti-indigenous sentiment. theyre different, theyre not knowledgeable in science or whatever the fuck, they have their own brutal customs, theyre just unintelligent beasts that are obstacles in our path, and to get through we just have to kill them. do you see any parallels here?

one of my biggest issues with how the leafbug tribe is portrayed is that, again, there is never any attempt on any of the bugarian characters' part to properly communicate with them. for gameplay reasons they're 'just enemies,' sure, but why? why did the devs make the choice to paint a whole enemy tribe in this light? and also, why does the leafbug tribe have to fight the protagonists anyway? even if they're protecting their territory, why would they feel the need to protect it if they didnt have outsiders who never explain what theyre doing here traipsing on their lands?

one of the worst instances for me would be the team maki side quest where yin becomes an adult moth. maybe im just confused at where exactly the leafbugs live, but that section of the map is in the far grasslands, in wasp kingdom territory. the swamplands are connected to the grasslands, but the specific area yin metamorphoses in is not near it? but then surprise! you have to fight the leafbug tribe! because... idk, theyre convenient antagonists. shrug, its a video game. except its really not just a video game.

fundamentally, the portrayal of the leafbug tribe plays into a lot of anti-indigenous tropes, and everything about them is done in bad faith. the writing of bug fables already has other flaws, and there is another instance of racism in the bug fables universe—cough cough, elizant the second with ladybugs—and also given what ive heard of the devs im just. very wary, and very tired. to be fair i dont think they intended to native code the leafbug tribe, but these sorts of biases are very ingrained in popular culture and media, and just because its common doesnt make it less hurtful. especially not when its this blatant.

im not sure how clear this explanation and analysis is, but its as good as i can muster. other folks with more personal experience/knowledge may be able to contribute more. either way, i resent how the leafbug tribe was depicted.

[birdybirdnerd]

birdys super awesome writing advice for longfic: stolen from someone on tumblr who deleted the post and i cant remember their username. please god if this sounds familiar shoot me a message so i can properly credit you

alright so you wanna write a longfic but you have a chronic problem where you run out of steam partway through and/or you forget where you were going with things. weve all been there. its one of the reasons why there was a three year hiatus in my fic somewhere else. sorry yall but this shit literally changed my life, so im gonna do my best to explain the process ive adopted to keep myself motivated and on track for multi-chaptered fic

you start out with an idea, a concept. you have some pieces you know you wanna turn into a longer story 

write that shit down. go full word vomit in a doc. brainstorm to your hearts content, but, and this is crucial: use bullet points. that way, if you have an idea for something that wouldve gone in earlier, you can skip back up, hit enter, and have a new bullet point to add it in

feel free to get as detailed as you want here, as you think of little things you know youll want to include or connections or foreshadowing youll want to make. keep in mind though, that this phase is exclusively to Get The Idea Out. get the story from point a to point b, etc 

ALSO. while you do this and while the characters develop during your brainstorming, or before if you already know the characters well enough to do this, you should have a separate doc where you go through and describe all major characters. not physically (unless you want to), but rather their personalities. their motivations. their characters arcs that theyll go through during the story- and thats another reason to do it along with your brainstorming, so you can go in and add these things as you think of them

for this demonstration, ill be using my fic fate or a fools errand as examples. wouldve used somewhere else since i mentioned it earlier but i lost the brainstorming doc and also its gone through like. three revisions so whatever

so well start out with my character list: 

(ive redacted a couple things for spoiler reasons, but if youre caught up with fate as of july 3rd then everything thats left is spoiler free. wouldve used bobby as the example but his is. very full of spoilers and would be basically all redacted)

so here, you can see where i gave a brief description of loors personality, and then detailed her place in the story (since fate is a crossover). her backstory, her reasonings for doing things, all of that is laid out. a few things have changed while i wrote, since this was made, but most of it still holds true (and you can see the gdocs comment highlights where i went in and changed my mind; i like to keep the old versions there in case i change my mind again or want to use that idea for something/someone else)

and onto what i have dubbed 'outline: the lesser'

ive taken the part literally from the very beginning of my brainstorming doc. at this point in the process, dont worry about splitting things into chapters; youll come to that later. just get those ideas out, point a, point b, etc etc. 

you can see where i had the idea for the prologue, then skip ahead to bobby in modern day. boom boom boom, idea idea idea. just get those things out and onto the (metaphorical) paper, you can worry about making it flow better later. 

another one, so you can see again just how condensed this is. the events in these four bullet points spanned the course of what, just as many chapters? that wasnt intentional i swear, but yeah. suuuper condensed

so anyways. after youve gotten to the end of your fics brainstorm, take a break. please god, take a break. come back to it in the morning, with a clear head

then when you do, make a new document, turn to a new page, whatever. new space, and title it 'outline: the greater'

now, you go through that super vague bullet point list, and expand upon things. scene by scene, beat by beat; dont try to make it look pretty, dont worry about dialogue or descriptions just yet (unless its jotting down something you might forget later, but even then Dont worry about making it a pretty description just bare bones)

this is where you really connect things. looking back over your lesser outline, connect the dots. insert that foreshadowing. do it bullet point style again, so that if you have an idea you want to incorporate or if a great line of dialogue pops into your head, you can add a new point and indent it and jot that down for later. but other than that, just write write write. this is also where you separate your rambling into chapters, as you write and find those perfect places to split things up

if you do this step right, your greater outline should end up looking halfway like a suuuuper rough first draft. again, no actual dialogue for the most part, but rather 'they have a conversation about this and this. character a has this opinion, but character b disagrees for this reason. character a argues their point, but character c interjects and then this even happens and their conversation gets shelved for later'. same with basically all events

here, you can see ive expanded upon what became the beginning of chapter one. establishing bobby as the protagonist, establishing his mindset at the start of the story. i set up the inciting scene, and leave some notes on indented points to myself about things i need to look up, or details i should include, or expansions for scenes and interactions i can use

more expansion, more elaboration. you can see other places where i changed my mind after writing this, while writing the chapter itself, and plain forgot to make the relevant note here: originally i had bobby and spader actually help out the nomads to get the sunstone, but then i decided against (things were dragging along too much anyways) and also, i realized i wanted to insert more conflict between the two of them to mirror their canon troubles

anyways. after your greater outline is done, once again i insist you take a day or so, a night at the very least, to sit back from it and not look at what youve done so far. let it sit, let it marinate and come back to it with a clearer mind, because if youre like me then youve spent the last few days frantically planning shit out and frustrating yourself to hell and back with the ending. sit back, drink some tea, rest your eyes. itll be there in the morning

now, for the actual writing part: what youre gonna wanna do is make Another doc (i know, im sorry) for chapter one or the prologue or whatever. copy that entire section from your greater outline, paste it in the new doc. hit enter a few times at the start to give yourself a little breathing room, and then go back to the top and start writing, using your pasted outline as a guide. that way, you dont have to constantly switch between docs, and also you can delete bullet points as you go along, having written whats there

another piece of advice thats something i did before i adopted this method, regarding editing: 

when it comes time to edit, what i do instead of going through and editing like that, is i copy the entire chapter into either another doc or like my notes app on my computer or whatever, and then rewrite the entire thing. i know, its a lot, but that way i can edit as i go. if i realize a certain sentence or paragraph doesnt flow the way i want it to, its a lot easier to just rewrite it from scratch than try to edit individual parts of sentences and stitch them back together, worrying the whole time about the format and grammar Like That instead of on making the paragraph actually good

so uh. i think thats it. let me know if you have any other questions, im happy to answer to the best of my ability. using this writing/outlining style genuinely changed the game for me, allowed me to get a better grasp on what i wanted from the story before i actually started writing and ended up writing myself into a corner. both outline stages can feel kind of stagnant, but at least with this, youll have a frame you can work off of and figure it out

thanks! 

[novelconcepts]

The night Dani sees Peter Quint, a blackout happens during the storm. The officers say that it's not safe to stay there in the middle of a storm and without a way to talk to the police if necessary. Hannah and the kids go to Owen's house. Jamie offers a ride, her little flat, clothes and a bath (since crazy Dani decided to run after Peter during the storm).

There's just one bed prompt. Maybe a small couch or chair.

They listen, which is frankly more than Dani expected when Hannah insisted on calling the police. She suspects it has less to do with the Peter Quint of it all, and more to do with the lightning strike, the cataclysm of rain, an old house plunged into deep black. No phone lines, the officers point out with weary expressions that say they are not certain Peter Quint is truly a danger--but Lord Wingrave is not without a certain amount of authority around these parts, and if any further tragedy should befall his niece and nephew, these men would find themselves overloaded on unpleasant paperwork and worse press. 

Bad reasons, Dani thinks with a scowl. They ought to have gone into this field to help people, not scoff at Hannah’s fear and Dani’s unease. They ought to be doing something, not simply waving them off the property for the night. It’s listening, sort of, but it isn’t hearing. 

She glances at Jamie as the officers speak--directly, she notes, to Owen, as though as the only man among them, he has defaulted to de facto lord of the manor. He looks uncomfortable, rubbing a hand through wet hair; Dani remembers him saying, I was born in Bly, wonders if he went to school with either of the men in slick uniform. 

Jamie doesn’t look uncomfortable. Jamie looks angry. There’s a fire burning in her Dani suspects never entirely went out after this afternoon’s rose debacle, one that might have been tempered if they’d been able to track Quint down outside. But he’s in the wind, the product of long legs and a better awareness of the terrain. Dani, giving chase into a fresh downpour before she could think better of her choices, is still itching at the memory of his long coat vanishing into the dark. 

She’d run into Jamie, instead--full-force, a bone-rattling collision that had sent them both tumbling into the sopping grass. It might have been funny, if not for the echo of Quint’s footfalls dying away.

“If he’s here?” Jamie asks now. “Quint. If he’s still here? What then?”

The officer in charge gives her a brief look, barely long enough to register detail. “If he’s here,” he says boredly, “all the better that you aren’t.”

Jamie grinds her jaw. She seems barely to be containing herself, resisting the impulse to explain in no uncertain terms that this is their home, this place Quint is intruding upon. Their home--Hannah and the kids and Dani, at least--where Quint would be trailing slimy fingers. The idea of that smirking face going through the bedrooms makes Dani shudder. It seems to press Jamie toward an unwise argument. 

Without thinking, Dani reaches out, lays a hand on her shoulder. Jamie’s hair is still dripping, her jacket sodden. Her eyes, catching on Dani’s face, widen a little, her teeth unclenching. 

“You have somewhere to go?” the head officer reiterates, glancing back toward the door as though dreaming of a warm car, a comfortable house far from the manor. Owen nods in Hannah’s direction. 

“Mum won’t mind. Can have a little sleepover.”

“Yes!” Flora perks up. She’s been uncharacteristically quiet, leaning against Miles’ side, but her whole face switches on like a lantern now. “A sleepover!”

“How’s about it, Miles?” Hannah taps him lightly on the head. “A little evening adventure.”

He looks uncertain, but when she ruffles his hair, a slow smile creeps across his face. Dani’s relieved to see it--she’s started to believe Miles is thirty-five in a ten-year-old frame, the weight of so much loss bearing him down like an anchor. He deserves a little fun. 

“And you,” Hannah adds, looking to Dani as if reading her mind. “What do you say to a night off?”

Dani blinks. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necess--”

“Chased a man into the storm,” Hannah interrupts. “Not a decision I’d approve of twice, but it was quite brave. And, forgive me dear, but you look like you could use a proper rest in the aftermath.”

That might be, Dani thinks absently, the nicest way of saying you look like shit I’ve ever heard. 

“I’ll just get cleaned up real quick,” she says, “and then I’ll be perfectly fine to--”

Hannah raises a hand. “I insist. Let Owen and I handle them for the evening.”

Dani opens and closes her mouth several times. What’s the alternative? Is Hannah expecting her to stay here? Here, in a house they’re all carefully not admitting feels much bigger in the dark, huddled around the glow of policeman flashlights? 

“Can crash at my place,” Jamie says, almost gruffly. “If you don't mind the company.”

Hannah looks unsurprised by this offer. Dani feels a little light-headed at the idea. 

“I--I’m all muddy.”

Jamie makes a show of looking down at her own clothes, caked in wet clods of grass, soaked nearly to the skin. She raises her eyebrows in Dani’s direction as if to say, Any more sterling arguments?

Dani has none.

Jamie doesn’t say a word as they load into her truck, Dani trying her best to shrink down to inhabit as limited a space as possible. Her legs ache with the effort of holding her feet aloft, her thighs pressed together to prevent staining the whole seat with grime. Jamie glances in her direction, pulling carefully out onto the road, and Dani could swear she’s trying not to smile.

“Know what I do for a living, don’t you?”

Dani nods. Jamie clears her throat.

“Then should go without saying you’re not the first to track mud into the truck. Relax.”

Embarrassed, Dani does as she’s bid. From the corner of her eye, she sees Jamie’s mouth twitch again--sees Jamie’s hands resting comfortably at ten and two, Jamie’s shoulders slightly rounded as though by holding her posture firm, she can punch a hole through the sheeting rain. She doesn’t seem nervous in the least to be driving through this mess with Dani huddled beside her. 

Jamie, Dani is starting to think, doesn’t get nervous.

Well, that makes one of us. 

She has nothing to be nervous about, is the thing. Chasing a strange man into a storm, racing after him with nothing but a fire poker and a hot protective impulse--that should have made her nervous. Should have scared the shit out of her. And it hadn’t. She’d felt bizarrely well-equipped for the decisions she was making, at the time. Peter Quint, she’d been certain, should have been the nervous one.

But now, sitting with wet hair and mussed clothes beside a woman she’s held barely three conversations with, Dani feels distinctly out of her element. No kids. No easy warmth of a carefully-sewn-together family opening its arms to let her in. Just a truck, rattling along a slick road on its way to a tiny town she’s never set foot in before.

And a woman with wet curls plastered to her forehead, stealing tiny glances at Dani like she’s not quite sure what to do with her.

“Flat’s small,” Jamie says, as if apologizing, as she parks outside a pub that looks older than any establishment in Dani’s hometown. “Don’t need much. But there are no screamin’ kids.”

Flora and Miles aren’t much for screaming without reason, but Dani thinks she takes Jamie’s point all the same. Quiet, Jamie is trying to say. Dani can properly rest here, Jamie is trying to say. Jamie doesn’t mind offering up her space.

“Ready?” The rain is still coming down in a torrent. Jamie’s hand is positioned at the doorhandle, Jamie’s posture strung tight. “Make a break for it on three. One--two--”

They run, damp clothes made soggy all over again, and Dani is surprised to hear herself make a whooping sound of joy as she splashes through puddles. Jamie, she thinks, could move faster--Jamie’s got a runner’s stamina when she puts her mind to it--but she’s jogging along at an easy pace, refusing to leave Dani behind. Her hand catches once on Dani’s sleeve, pulling her to the stairs behind the pub, guiding her up to a door at the top.

“Storms like these,” Jamie says when they’ve tumbled breathlessly into her home, “remind me of bein’ a kid. Sitting in school, hoping the power’d go so they’d send us home early.”

“Did it ever happen?” Dani wraps her arms around herself, trying not to shiver, trying not to drip too expansively across the scored floorboards. Jamie grins.

“Once. I was seven. Spent the whole day out in it anyway, caught the worst cold of my life. Best goddamn day a kid could want.” 

She looks so at home here, as Dani watches her pull off her boots, drape her jacket lazily over a chair, stride around turning on lights. At the manor, Jamie is casual enough, rarely inclined to rush or worry, but here, it’s instantly clear she knows every creak in the floor, every stubborn lightswitch, every inch of a domain that is entirely Jamie. 

A domain she has, for no reason at all, opened up to Dani tonight. The reality of it crashes home all at once, landing hard. Jamie barely knows her, and still is willing to give Dani a place to stay. Jamie barely knows her, and still is holding out a gray towel and a bundle of clothes, her smile crooked.

“Thought you might like to get out of those.”

A spike of warmth makes its way up Dani’s spine, settling somewhere around her ears. She crushes it down, forcing herself to accept the sweats and t-shirt with a grateful smile of her own.

“Thank you. Honestly, you didn’t have to do any of this--”

“The rain,” Jamie says easily, “is the fun part. The cold, not so much. Bath’s this way.”

Bathroom, Dani assumes she means--until Jamie gestures at the little tub, barely big enough for a woman her size. She looks marginally embarrassed for the first time, but it’s a resolute sort of embarrassment, as though Jamie has little patience for it. 

“Not much,” she says. “But still better than catching ill. Take however long you like.”

Dani watches her back out of the room, a tumble of unfamiliar emotions in her chest. Someone offering up everything--home, clothes, bathtub--without asking for something in return is strange. Someone doing that much and then leaving, peaceable as the turn of a new day, is unheard of. She hesitates, waiting at the closed door for signs that Jamie will change her mind--or knock, having thought of something else Dani might need--and nothing comes. This room has become, so long as Dani wants it, her space. Jamie will take it back only when Dani’s finished. 

Unwelcomely, she tries to imagine Eddie doing this very thing. Eddie, who only refrains from haunting her European adventures with postcard and phone call because he has no idea how to find her. Eddie, who would think the offer of clothes and a hot bath automatically come with other perks, and who would smile as he stepped in to collect like he couldn’t imagine her wanting to be left alone. 

She shakes her head. Eddie is gone, and she is here, and Jamie isn’t him. Is so unlike him, in fact, it’s hard to imagine them standing in the same room.

And why, some little part of her pipes slyly up, are you comparing them in the first place? 

She shivers, turning on the water, letting it run as hot as possible before sinking in. She leans her head back against a wadded-up washcloth, surveying the simplicity of the bathroom--single toothbrush, single cup for water, a minute assortment of hairbrush, hair ties, sunscreen. There is a dried rose framed beside the door, a small bunch of purple-and-white flowers she can’t name in a tiny windowsill vase. 

It’s all very discreet, all very Jamie. To look at it with this much freedom, to be trusted alone in a space that has belonged to no one else, makes her heart pound.

She’s only being nice. And so what? What does it matter? 

It matters. Even if she never says so, even if she never lets it out of her heart, Dani can’t deny that it matters. Like it mattered watching Jamie walk into the kitchen earlier this week, glancing at her with an easy raise of brows like she was thinking, Sure. You can stay. You’re one of us. 

Jamie, calling her Poppins, telling her she’s doing great, offering her flat without a second’s pause. None of it warranted. None of it asked for. All of it so incredibly welcome.

She stays in the bath until the shivers ease out, carefully soaping her hair with the little bottle of shampoo on the windowsill. A different scent and brand than her own, and as she’s rinsing clean, she realizes she will smell like Jamie now. If for only a night, her hair--and the clothes Jamie gently pressed into her hands--will hold just a little bit of the gardener’s influence. 

The warmth she’s beginning to attribute to Jamie sweeps through her again at the idea. That, and the awareness that these are Jamie’s things hugging her body. Jamie’s belongings, offered up like she feels not the least bit possessive about her living space. Sure. You can stay. You’re one of us. 

“Warm?” Jamie asks when she finally steps back out of the bathroom. Her hair is still wet, though she’s changed into a clean white shirt and sweatpants of her own. Dani nods, confused when Jamie grins. 

“What?”

“I think,” Jamie says placidly, “this is the first time I’ve seen you out of pastels. Suits you.”

Dani glances down. The threadbare black t-shirt bears a jagged white London Calling in peeling letters. She can’t help smiling.

“Maybe I’m a secret punk fan.”

“Are you?” Jamie sounds interested. Dani shakes her head.

“Sorry, no. Always open to learning, though.”

Here it is again: that funny, twisting feeling in her stomach that says she is at home with Jamie. That Jamie is easy and warm, despite the anger simmering somewhere deep down and a tendency toward cropping her sentences with swear words. That Jamie has opened her home to Dani only because Jamie has opened to her, on some level neither of them is entirely sure how to approach. 

“Thank you,” she says, because it’s easier than putting this feeling into words. “For all of this. You didn’t have to.”

Jamie shrugs. “Wanted to. You haven’t had an easy couple of days. Sometimes, a little quiet goes a long way.”

She’s seated on the arm of the couch, bare feet dangling an inch off the floor. Looking at her, Dani can’t entirely wrap her mind around the idea that she’s only known this woman for a couple of days. That she doesn’t, in fact, know much of anything about her at all. 

And still, when Jamie rises and begins arranging pillow and blanket on the couch, Dani’s stomach performs a backflip she’d never come close to feeling with Eddie.

“That’s really kind of you,” she says, the words a blind effort to distract from her trembling hands. “I really don’t need much, you don’t have to go to any trouble--”

Jamie glances over her shoulder. “No trouble. Bed’s just that way.”

Dani turns to look. Sure enough, behind a pulled-back curtain, she can just make out Jamie’s mattress and frame. “I--I mean, I won’t be bothering you, if that’s what you--”

“What?” Straightening, Jamie frowns. “No, I mean, it’s yours. Take it. I sleep on the couch half the goddamn time anyway, it’s no--”

“I am not,” Dani interrupts, “taking your bed, Jamie.”

Not since her last argument with Miles has she been engaged in such a standoff. Jamie, still holding a pillow, looks ready to chain herself to the couch. Dani, heady with the inescapable awareness of Jamie’s shampoo rinsed out of her own hair, can’t have that. It’s too much. Clothes and space and ride--all of that, she can accept. But foisting Jamie from her own bed?

“I’m not doing it,” she says. Her arms are folded, her mouth pulling into a smile she can’t for her life shake. “I’m told I'm very stubborn, so you might as well just let me have that couch now.”

“I--” For the first time all night, Jamie seems to be at a loss. “I’m--aiming for chivalry, here, Poppins.”

“You’ve been nothing less,” Dani assures her. “A white knight, really. But I’m afraid this is where I have to draw the line.”

“I sleep on it all the time.”

“So, it’s my turn.”

Jamie’s whole face seems on edge of some kind of collapse--though into laughter or upset, Dani can’t begin to guess. She has a brief flash of possibility, the two of them standing on either side of the couch all night, arguing well into daylight over who ought to take the proper night’s sleep.

“You’ve got kids to handle in the morning,” Jamie says reasonably, proving her point.

“You spent all day working in the sun,” Dani volleys in return. She thinks for a moment, then adds, “Also, I knocked you into a puddle earlier, and you didn’t get a nice warm bath.”

“Didn’t need one.” Jamie looks exasperated. “Poppins, come on. This doesn’t have to be a big bloody deal.”

It doesn’t, Dani agrees. It really doesn’t. All Jamie has to do is step out of the way, step behind that curtain, put herself to bed where she belongs.

Or, alternatively--

It’s coming out of her mouth before she can stop it. Before she can run through all the reasons not to suggest this very thing. Before she can pin down the butterflies having a dogfight in her stomach and make a decision based in good judgment. 

“Look, if you’re that committed to making me sleep in the bed, come join me.”

Jamie nearly drops the pillow. Her calm has utterly vacated the flat, leaving behind a woman who looks--if Dani isn’t much mistaken--much nearer to frantic than she’s ever seen Jamie before. Much nearer to the kind of nervous Dani had been on the ride over. 

“I,” she says. “That--I shouldn’t--”

“It’s the best compromise,” Dani says, trying to sound reasonable. Trying to sound as though the invitation to share Jamie’s bed isn’t making her entire body run with sudden electricity. “Neither of us is very big, I’m sure we can fit.”

“I’m--sure we can.” Jamie is grimacing. Jamie looks pained. If she had an elegant way out, Dani would take it back simply to erase that look from Jamie’s face, a look that says Jamie would rather sleep in her tiny bathtub than wherever Dani is. 

Elegant way out, she can’t find, and she’s tired. Tired, and buzzing with nerves, and somehow, the au pair wins out over all possible variants of Dani Clayton. “It isn’t that bad an idea,” she says, her voice steady. “I don’t even snore.”

This breaks something open between them. She can’t put her finger on just what it is, or why, but suddenly Jamie is laughing, and Dani is grinning, and she knows the stalemate is at its end. It’s been too long a night. There’s just no point.

“Here,” she adds, settling at the edge of the bed, watching Jamie switch off the lights and creep closer as though trying not to startle a skittish animal. “I’ll lay right on the edge, you won’t even have to know I’m here--”

“Don’t be silly,” Jamie says. She hesitates; Dani wonders if she’s giving a final chance for Dani to shoo her away, to choose a night spent alone after all. She thumps the bedspread with a flat palm, staring meaningfully at Jamie until the mattress sinks beneath the weight of au pair and gardener alike. 

“See?” she can’t stop herself saying. “We fit.”

Jamie stares at her, a lingering gaze Dani couldn’t decipher on her best day. She opts to ignore it, stretching out under the rumpled covers. Beside her, Jamie slides a hand beneath her head, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Not so bad,” Dani says, wishing she could shut up, wishing she could stop thinking--about Jamie’s head on the pillow beside her, about Jamie’s scent sunk into this pillow, about the indent of Jamie’s body in this old mattress where maybe no one else has ever lain. Jamie makes a low sound in her chest. 

“Long day.”

“So long.” Was it only this morning Dani was having a small panic attack, the strain of a new job on top of familiar guilt too heavy to bear? Was it only this afternoon she’d grabbed Jamie’s shoulder, pulled her back from storming off to skin Miles alive?

Was it really only this evening she’d stalked out after Peter Quint, crashed headlong into Jamie, listened to police officers warn them all away from the manor in a blackout?

Jamie clears her throat. Dani’s starting to think it’s a nervous habit--Jamie seems to do it only around her. Why on earth would I make her nervous? “Comfortable?” she asks the ceiling. Dani nods. 

In the dark, the bed seems smaller. The pillows are touching, the blankets bridging the brief gap between Jamie’s right leg and Dani’s left. In the dark, Jamie’s breath is audible, the smell of rain and shampoo and clean clothes twisting together into a single knot. 

In the dark, Dani thinks, they could be anyone. Not gardener and au pair, but anyone, bound by a single unpredictable night. 

She wonders if they should talk--about Peter Quint, about the tension of the evening, about the kids, or the roses, or any number of little odd moments around the manor. She wonders if Jamie expects her to ask questions--who Quint is, what he was to Rebecca Jessel, what he might be doing skulking around the house. 

She can’t quite find it in her. It’s too warm, too soft, the silence as inviting as the rustle of Jamie’s borrowed clothes against her skin. Laying in the dark, Jamie’s foot nearly touching her own, listening to the storm pound the windowpanes, Dani is breathing easier than she has in months. 

“I’m glad,” she says quietly, “you’re here.”

Jamie’s head rustles the pillowcase, turning to look at her. “Yeah?”

Dani smiles. “Yeah. I can’t explain it, but I feel...safer.” Something sharpens behind her ribcage, something that begs her to add, With Hannah, with Owen, with the kids, too. She doesn’t. It’s true, but it’s also not really what she means. 

“He doesn’t know where to find you,” Jamie says, and for a moment, Dani wonders how she could possibly be talking about Eddie. Then Jamie adds, “I hate that fucker. So does Owen. Everyone is safe tonight.”

Right. Peter Quint. Of course. “I’m glad,” Dani repeats. She feels the mattress shift as Jamie carefully settles in. “Jamie?”

“Mm?”

Too many things to say. Too many questions to ask. Too many of those butterflies winging around as Jamie’s elbow bumps her, as Jamie’s breath brushes her cheek. She shuts her eyes, the simple image of Jamie’s gaze inches away too much to handle. 

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, Poppins,” Jamie murmurs. And though Dani’s heart is racing, though her skin is hot, though the storm outside is brutal and Jamie’s bed is much smaller than she’d thought--she finds herself relaxing. Finds herself thoughtlessly shifting to a more comfortable position on her side. Finds herself, even, leaning in toward Jamie’s warmth as the sound of her breathing shallows. 

For the first time in what feels like years, Dani Clayton sleeps.

[yandere-sins]

tbh as a transman like i don't mind reader inserts having certain genitalia? like as long as its disclosed somewhere bc reading it without some kind of tag can be a lil jarring. but like i prefer male readers but i understand a lot of people don't or they aren't male and feel weird imagining themselves as masculine. also sometimes its kinda nice because it lets me imagine that the character i love can see my body, a body that im ashamed of and i dislike and still love and desire me.

and now heres a list of terms transmen use for their downstairs thats less "gendered". even though i don't mind the having a vagina part seeing words like "clit" kinda does make me feel dysphoric.

- slit

- hole

- nub (for clit)

- button (also for clit)

- lower mouth

- i cannot properly explain to you why but cunt

- if you're writing trans male readers boycunt or boy pussy also works

- again for trans male readers specifically using words like cocklet, t-dick (even if your reader isnt on testosterone it feels validating), cock

- bonus hole

just a note I've noticed some trans guys are comfortable with words like womb and cervix? so don't cross that out of your vocabulary completely. idk if this is even helpful but i want reader inserts to be more accessible to people or even just more people to write trans male reader inserts!

if you or any of your followers have more questions ill get off anon and answer them in the lil messenger too

Thanks for reaching out with so much information and insight!

I have written for trans!characters/oc before and my commissioners were very clear and open about what they like and want, so I actually knew about a lot of those words already :D There are definitely options, and some are actually really cute imo, but to write completely genderneutral (which was the original issue) so that no one is left out, there are a lot of cuts to make regardless if some people are okay with varieties or the like. Everyone is okay with different things, and while that's completely valid, it just doesn't make it easier to serve everyone (':

It would help a lot if requesters could just add what kind of downstairs area they want/are comfortable with, because if there's no indication, I'll, of course, steer towards what is most comfortable for me. But as I always say, you can't tell people what to do anyway, so I don't bother advertising it much, but it would be good teamwork if requests were more specific. Some of your suggestions are very common I'd say, but like "lower mouth" I know is something people frown upon a bit so while it's good for you, it might not be for others and then those get offended again. That's how it always was and always will be. I am a huge overthinker and I research this topic every time I write smut, and most information sites agree there are some words that just ruin the mood and that just spikes my anxiety in return. Of course I can't please everyone but well, I try.

But thanks for your kind offer and ask! You stay awesome and I am sure there will always be some content that will suit one individual or another ^^

[mammons-tax-returns]

Hey! I saw that your ask box was open, so I was wondering if I could request how the brothers (if not all then just Lucifer, Beelzebub, and Leviathan) would react to the mc defending them! Like they get into a fight and their only response was "they were talking bad about you" or something! -🥀 (Also side note, do you right for GN! MC's, or just male?)

BROTHERS REACTING TO MC DEFENDING THEM

Hey anon! Thanks so much for requesting! As for your question, This is TECHNICALLY a male reader blog, however, if it isn’t necessary, I will use he/him pronouns loosely. In other words, if the prompt doesn’t specify/depend on it being a male mc, it will be gn!mc! Hope this clears up some confusion! I’ll start putting whether a post is for a gn or male mc at the very beginning of said post from now on.

✖️GENDER NEUTRAL MC✖️

fluff, some angst :).

Lucifer was more angry than anything to hear that MC had gotten in a fight. The one thing he made sure they did was to stay out of trouble. And yet, they seem to be a magnet for chaos.

He stumbled upon the fight before it got bad, and had the demon dealt with as he accompanied MC to an empty room at RAD.

Although he seemed to be sweating out of exasperation, it was easy to tell that he was simply worried about them.

Well. Kind of.

If you look past the hour-long lecture it is.

MC tries countless times to explain themself, and yet he never fails to reroute the conversation back to his lesson on running from a demon before things get bad.

It gets to a point when MC has to put a hand over his mouth to quiet him.

Only then do they explain what happened, and what caused the fight to begin with.

First, he is absolutely shocked. And he can’t really find the right thing to say.

Then, his eyes relax, and his frown seems to melt away. He truly wants to be mad still, to teach a proper lesson. But he just can’t do it.

“It is true that humans tend not to think things through, I suppose.”

He crosses his arms and continues, “Well, I appreciate it, but I don’t need the protection.”

After ruffling their hair, he smirks a little.

“I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you if you rush into situations like that. Maybe put you on a leash.”

After things are cleared up, he finds the situation a little comical. A human defending a demon.

Luckily, the wounds aren’t bad, or else Lucifer wouldn’t have hesitated giving some sort of consequence to the MC.

Mammon is, unfortunately, not around to witness or intervene into the fight.

So when the next time he sees MC there’s a dark magenta ring around their eye, he loses it.

He wastes no time taking them home from RAD. We know he never really cared for classes anyways.

Unlike Lucifer, he wants to hear them out on the way home.

Although he physically feels himself getting butterflies in his stomach from the idea of being cared for, he clears his throat and tries to push it aside.

He knows that they’re not going to be taken away from him anytime soon. At least, not with his unintentionally vice grip on their wrist they aren’t.

And yet he can’t help but constantly flick his gaze back to them and their wounds.

We were all waiting for this one: he feels horrible that they got hurt because of him, albeit indirectly.

He puts emphasis on steering clear of hotheaded demons— or, all demons that aren’t the brothers for that matter.

“I hear ya, The Great Mammon is a gem that all of devildom should be tryna’ protect! But... You’re better off ignoring that... I mean, look at ya! All beat up and stuff... N-Not that you look bad or anything. Well... Um.”

When MC laughs at him, he’s both relieved that they’re not upset enough to sulk, and embarrassed because of his wording.

So they have to reassure him that they simply find him worth protecting— for exactly this. He cares for them, and is probably willing to protect them too.

As he’s sloppily tending to their bruises, he offers to spend the day with them.

He says its his payment, and that he would defend them when Lucifer found out about today.

But it’s more so the fact that he wishes more than anything to spend every day for the rest of his demonic life with them.

Levi is another brother who is unfortunately not around at the time due to his home schooling.

That’s why he’s one of the last people to find out about it, and he feels guilt hit him like an 18-wheeler.

The injuries are a little more severe, but nothing that would keep someone from going about their daily life. Nonetheless, Levi is demanding to be the one to patch them up.

As soon as MC cuts him off before he can start rambling, they make sure to explain the situation, i.e. “I had to defend you! Or else they would have kept talking bad about you.”

He turns red and covers his mouth, undoubtedly mumbling something about how impossibly romantic the situation was.

But after that, he shakily asks that MC tries not to talk as he takes time to let everything sink in. He still can’t believe it.

So he finds himself shakily asking questions like, “So... You just heard him and decided to-... To defend me? No one asked you to?”

For every reassuring nod that he gets, he feels his head spin a little faster.

It takes him a while, but all the wounds are properly sterilized and taken care off beneath his cold fingers.

He leans back in his seat, and blows out a slow puff of air. “MC... You’re badass. Seriously. I don’t really know what I, a demon, have done to deserve you... But... Thank you.”

The conversation ends with tears, but they couldn’t have been anything but happy.

He just can’t believe someone could go as far as to fight for his sake over a simple ill-intended comment.

Satan witnesses the event. Which... May or may not be a good thing.

MC doesn’t notice him at first. They’re too busy with the demon that has her hands on their uniform collar.

But then they see the green flames licking at their peripherals, emitting from somewhere behind them.

The demon girl in front of them seems to lose all color in her face at the sight of those same flames. She instantly drops MC to their knees, and attempts to run.

As Satan steps forward to grab the female student, he spins MC around with ease so that they won’t have to witness whatever he’s about to do.

MC doesn’t know how much time has passed due to the shock of the moment. It could be seconds or minutes. But when Satan pulls them back up to their feet, he is stone faced.

MC walks stiffly to the House of Lamentation with Satan, careful not to set anything else off in him.

The entire walk to his room is silent. The first time he speaks is when he offers a seat on his bed, nudging books aside with his foot.

He takes a deep breath before he begins diligently tending to the injuries.

“Mind explaining what happened?” He doesn’t sound angry at them, but it’s hard to tell with him.

Satan notices the hesitation in answering, so he gives a small smile. “Are you scared? You shouldn’t be. I’m just a bit... Tense, is all.”

After a moment, MC tells him the reasoning for the fight.

Satan sighs once more and places a hand on theirs. Oh to be so selfless yet still be a fragile human.

“MC... Demons talk. And it’s not always nice. It’s best to just let it go, okay? Well... Give me their name first, but I can’t have you losing a limb for me. Who knows what i’d do then.”

MC can’t completely promise that they’ll simply forget about anyone that talks badly about him, but Satan only gives a helpless sigh.

“What ever will we do with you.” He is much more relaxed than before, and his tone is affectionate.

MC doesn’t know what happened to that girl, and you figure it’s best to never ask.

Asmodeus is preoccupied with a hand mirror, but a circle of gathering demons certainly catches his attention.

He hums, interested. He’s always been one for drama.

But as he peeks over the crowd, his heart sinks impossibly deep in his body.

MC isn’t bloody, but by the looks of it, they may be very soon.

While he’s ridden with shock, a punch lands on their face, and the crowd roars. The yells overtake his own, and he can’t get through the group of people pushing and shoving.

Diavolo and Barbatos were alerted of the congregation of students, and are only just now arriving. And at the sight of them, students scatter like bugs. Leaving MC on the ground and clutching their face in pain.

Diavolo and Barbatos leave MC in the care of Asmodeus while they turn to resolve the problem with the attacker.

Asmodeus is frantic, fanning his face as he helps MC to sit up. He doesn’t know what to do first, does he ask to see the wound? But what’s the point when he doesn’t really know how to treat it in any circumstance? No one has ever socked him in the face before.

So he opts to carry them off to the infirmary, bridal style. All along the way, he gives reassuring words that seem to slightly calm the injuried MC.

“Hey, beautiful! Ughh, the nerve of some demons! I can’t even begin to— Oh right... The ice pack, I’ll get that now, so sit tight, love!”

While he allows them to press the ice to their eye themself, he is massaging his frowning face. All while he seems to be worried about all the wrong things.

“Is this type of injury permanent on humans?? Your face is too good for that!” “That low-level demon... I wish I could ruin his face a hundred times worse than what he’s doing to innocent bystanders!”

MC patiently allows him to vent, because hearing him fret of the most “Asmo” things somehow brought light to the situation and distracted from the throbbing in their face.

An hour must have passed before Asmo actually takes in the situation. “Oh, but I haven’t even asked... What in devildom were you doing with such a grotesque demon? Do I have to replace Mammon in guarding you?”

Finally, MC explains.

He’s less than shocked. Instead, he holds his own arms with an almost sympathetic smile, “Oh, darling... It’s better to talk to Lucifer about things like that... If at all. As the Avatar of Lust, It’s kind of part of the program to get nasty birds twittering about you... Fan behavior.”

MC seems less than convinced, replying with a small, “But...”

Asmo grins and puts a gentle hand on their shoulder. “It’s adorable that you’d do that for me, MC, really. I wish I could just dress you up and show you to the world, show them how special you make me feel! But please. Don’t sacrifice your complexion for a-ny-thing!”

Even Asmo can feel himself get butterflies when MC does the smallest of things for him. But taking care of that face is no joke to him.

Beel is at the gym when it happens, and is the last one to hear about it. The brothers are all discreetly trying to decide whether or not to tell him. We all know how scary he can get.

MC listens to Mammon... For some reason. And that entails avoiding Beel until the scrapes and bruises on your body heal.

Bad idea. Beel now looks like a hurt puppy, and is desperately trying to figure out what he has done.

The fateful moment of realization for him comes on a Tuesday night, less than a week after the incident. MC walks into the kitchen, searching for a late night beverage to drink and also hold against their wounds.

Beel is already there, instantly looking ashamed when he sees them.

“Beel...” MC starts, forgetting that they were supposed to be avoiding him. They stop themselves before hastily pulling their sleeves down to cover the lingering bruises.

This catches Beel’s attention to detail when it comes to others.

His eyebrows furrow a bit, and MC gulps.  There was no getting out of this.

Before completely explaining everything, MC has to calm him.  Because if not, he’d be checking every inch of their body for serious injuries.  And even if there were none, he’d never let them leave bed for the next week.  At least.

They take a deep breath and start with the people poking fun at his soft personality in such an intimidating body.  And then finishing with the plan of steering clear of him to keep him from getting worried.  (you leave out mammon’s part last second)

At first, his eyes are serious as he listens intently, silently going over things more than once in his head to ensure that he was understanding the story properly.

Once MC has finished, his eyes change completely.  They’re soft, and concerned, but not overbearing.

MC felt a bit guilty seeing him like this.

Beel reaches out to hug them, but is hesitant, worried that they’d still be hurt.  So MC has to let him know that their wounds have healed for the most part.

“MC....  Firstly, thank you.” He pulls them into a soft hug.  “It makes me all happy on the inside when you do things like that.” His voice is quiet, but much too unstable.  MC knew that this was a telltale sign that he was near tears.

MC doesn’t hesitate to reach up and stroke the back of his hair, feeling him bury his head into their shoulder.

“Beel? Are you okay?”

“I should be the one asking you that.”

‘you should know better’ is what he wants to say. But maybe they don’t, he thinks. Afterall, when was the last time a human with such limited magical capability was surrounded by demons 24/7?

“I just need you to promise me.” He carefully pulls back and sucks in a breath, keeping himself from imagining MC scared and hurt without him— because of him.

“Promise me that you’ll tell me about things like that first. Before you get yourself hurt, or... Or worse.” There’s another word that he has to stop himself from saying. He doesn’t know how he could handle that thought.

There, he thinks. If they didn’t know before how serious it was, now they did. Hopefully.

The brothers notice that Beel is a bit more normal than the days before, so they assume that things have been cleared up for the two.

Although they have to pretend as if they had never heard about the incident when he mentions it.

Belphie was definitely not there when it happened.

But unlike with every other brother, MC was unable to be saved immediately after having found themselves in a brawl with a low class demon.

MC silently curses as they find themselves limping through the halls of the House of Lamentation.

They’re lucky to have only gotten out of that with an injured ankle, they remind themself. It didn’t seem... Broken. But it definitely needed more medical attention than it received now— A knee-high sock they pulled off of their foot wrapped tightly around a ruler they used as a makeshift splint.

They were sure that the majority of the brothers were at school, so they’d have at least a few hours to figure out what to do.

How would the brothers react if they saw them like this? Would they feel that this was a mere inconvenience? Afterall, this may just be a bad sprain, and now look at them. They can barely limp. Much less walk. But maybe after a bit of rest, it would magically heal.

They decide to head to the music room (?), where they knew that none of the brothers would immediately run into after school.

After finding a stool to sit on, MC hisses when they bump their ankle on the floor. The throbbing seemed to shake their whole body.

“Holy shi—“

“MC?”

A sleepy drawl from the couch behind them causes them to freeze. They wanted to slap themself. Of course Belphie would be sleeping here, why didn’t they think of that?

“What’re you doing h—....” He stops.

MC can already tell that he had noticed the poor job they had done with their ankle. “I fell down the stairs. But it’s okay, I just—“

“MC. I’m not stupid. Why are you home so early, alone? If you skipped or left early, Mammon would have sniffed you out like a dog and be here, too. Spill it.”

If Belphie was good at anything (besides sleeping), it was reading emotions. There was no lying anymore. And so MC simply explained the fight and its causes.

When they turn to look at him, he simply blinks. He doesn’t seem very concerned, but he sleepily walks over to inspect their leg.

He’s careful to support their foot as he lifts their entire leg, checking the swelling.

“... Geez. You’re stupid.” His eyebrows knit together with an unknown emotion. Worry? Irritation? A mix of both? “I don’t care about what such irrelevant demons think, and you shouldn’t either.”

MC is a little speechless, but only laughs. “Yeah. It was a little dumb looking back at it. But you should have heard them, Belphie... There was no way I’d go without a fight, okay?”

Belphie smiles back. “If you wanted to prove yourself to me... There were other ways, you know?”

“Should we get Beel to help us set up the pillow fort?”

“Well, how else are you gonna heal? You can’t get better if you don’t rest with me.”

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Lines in Your Skin

read it on ao3

It's a sick sort of irony that Geralt never worried about certain vanities before Jaskier came into his life.

It starts with little things; the state he comes back in after a hunt, the transformation he goes through when he takes his potions, the colour of his hair - all things that once were just an insignificant part of who he is. But Jaskier is youthful and soft and beautiful and Geralt feels old and broken next to him. Before him, it didn’t matter who saw him or in what state or what they thought about him. His body was just another tool, there to eat and sleep and fight and fuck and what it looked like didn't concern him in the slightest.

The only time he ever cared was when people cowered in the streets, but even then he was adjusting to that now it’s become just another thing he tries not to think too much about. It only matters now if it means he’s denied housing or entrance somewhere and Jaskier usually sees to making sure that doesn’t happen.

Before Jaskier, even the lovers he took saw him fully nude and never gave it a second thought. If they did, it was to ask about the scars, to wonder where they came from and there was a time when Geralt was happy to tell those stories. These days, the only time he’s naked is if he’s alone to bathe.

The first time Jaskier tries to get him into a bath, Geralt nearly kicks him out of their room.

Geralt is disgusting, covered in kikimore blood after having to take the thing out from underneath it. He wants nothing more than a peaceful bath alone, but he wrenches his shoulder in an ill-timed strike and Jaskier is worrying over him. He will hardly let Geralt out of his sight, which is going to make bathing impossible, but what worries him most is when Jaskier insists on washing his hair because you can't wash yourself properly with one arm.

Geralt’s blood runs cold and his mind races to come up with any excuse not to get in that bath. His breath comes in short, shallow bursts and he eyes the door as Jaskier busies himself with preparing soaps and oils and all sorts of things Geralt deems unnecessary. He just wants to be clean without all the fuss and muss of whatever this all is.

Geralt only relents when he moves to unclasp his armour and pain shoots through his shoulder. Jaskier, to his credit, doesn’t gloat or even say much of anything as he gets Geralt out of his armour, and, mortifyingly, his clothes.

When he gets into the tub, he sinks as low as he can in the water, thankful when it grows murky, obscuring the lower half of his body. Jaskier pays it little attention, more focused on the bucket of clean water at his feet. He soaps up Geralt’s hair, picking through the tangles like he’s always done it and rinsing the soap out once he’s finished. The first chance he gets, Geralt shoos him from the room so he can get out of the cooling water and dress himself before he crawls out of his skin.

What makes things difficult is that Jaskier always seems intent on seeing as much of him as possible at any given time. Geralt knows there’s an inherent curiosity about Witchers and he can hardly blame Jaskier for wanting to know more about his companion, but there are things he doesn’t want him to know. In the short time they’ve been together, Geralt has grown begrudgingly attached to the bard and he doesn’t want Jaskier running in the other direction when he learns who he really is.

What’s worse is that for possibly the first time in his life, he wants Jaskier to know these things about him. He wants, more than anything, to be able to be comfortable around him because Jaskier is always so carefree with him. The way Jaskier looks at him sometimes sparks a fire deep within him and the way he touches him with such easy affection shatters him from the inside out.

But how can he let him, knowing it would scare him off? Even the thought of getting naked in front of him quells the strongest rush of lust.

Then one night, he’s hurt badly after being blindsided by an alp. He staggers back to the inn, breathless and aching. Thankfully, Jaskier isn’t in the room when he returns, so Geralt collapses onto the bed without having Jaskier worrying over him. The relief is short-lived when Jaskier bursts into the room and even with his eyes shut, Geralt can tell he isn’t happy.

"Geralt!" There’s the quick thud of footsteps and then Jaskier is at his side, one hand sliding under his back to ease him into a somewhat upright position.

Geralt groans as his body shifts but he cooperates well enough to have cushions piled behind them and he’s happier once he’s allowed to lean against them. Jaskier touches his face and runs his hands frantically all over him, checking to make sure he’s alright. He isn’t, but there isn’t much damage to his armour, so Jaskier shouldn't be able to tell that. And anyway, he will be fine, but explaining that to a panicked Jaskier takes more energy than he has right now. So he sits quietly and lets Jaskier fawn over him. Until he starts playing with the clasps on his armour.

He doesn’t stop him, but his entire body stiffens with each piece that’s stripped away and while Jaskier seems much calmer with a task to occupy him, Geralt is not. His heart beats a little too quickly and his fingers itch to grab at Jaskier’s wrists and pull him away, unsure of how far he’ll take this. But he’s too tired to stop him and he doesn’t want to hurt him. But he doesn’t want Jaskier to see him, either - especially like this.

There are deep gashes on the underside of his arms and he knows his back is bruised even if he can’t see it. Jaskier would be horrified. Geralt squeezes his eyes shut and Jaskier pauses, his fingers faltering on a pauldron.

“Geralt? Your heart is racing, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Potions,” he chokes out. It’s a lie, but only partway. Black Blood is still coursing through his veins - yet another reason for Jaskier not to look at him. The little sigh he gets in response is a clear indication Jaskier doesn’t believe him, but he continues in his work anyway.

Jaskier pales when he feels the sleeve of Geralt’s shirt, no doubt drenched in blood, and when he pulls his hand away and finds it black, he looks horrified. Geralt clenches his jaw and waits for the inevitable exclamation of horror, but it doesn’t come. And despite the look on Jaskier’s face, he doesn’t smell disgusted. He doesn’t even smell scared. The scent is off slightly, mixed with something Geralt can’t quite place, but if he had to name it, he’d say Jaskier was worried.

He doesn’t pull away or scream, but lifts the hem of Geralt’s shirt, pressing one palm against his back to help him ease forward. And Geralt doesn’t understand. His brothers and Vesemir have patched him up more times than he can count, but that’s different. Even healers shy away from him when he’s in this state. So why is Jaskier, a bard so at ease with him?

Even with his shirt added to the mess on the floor, Geralt can’t relax. Jaskier can see his whole chest now and if he leans too far forward, he’ll be able to see his back where he’d been thrown against the tree. Bruising like that looks bad at the best of times, but combined with Black Blood, it’s bound to look downright terrifying.

He wants so badly to let Jaskier draw him in and soothe him, but he can’t. Losing him to something like this would be too much.

But of course, Jaskier mistakenly thinks it’s the elixirs that keep him so stiff and alert and he guides him back against the cushions, adjusting to sit at his side. He runs his fingers through Geralt’s hair and rubs his shoulders to try and ease some of the tension. It’s a kindness Geralt doesn’t deserve and he shudders as Jaskier’s hand slides around his back.

He lets himself be tipped forward only because Jaskier is determined and right now Geralt doesn’t have the strength to resist him.

He keeps his breathing as steady as he can, waiting for the moment when Jaskier sees the bruising, but nothing happens. Jaskier is much more gentle as his hands slip down, soothing over the darkening skin, but he doesn't pull away and his scent remains untouched by disgust.

Geralt lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. It's not until Jaskier's fingers slip over one of the thick, tough scars on his shoulder that Geralt flinches away. Jaskier withdraws quickly, apologetically.

"Sorry," he breathes, "did that hurt?" Geralt wants to tell him that it hasn't hurt in years, but he just shakes his head in silence. He thinks Jaskier will be upset with him, but when the bard pushes himself up off the bed and disappears, he returns shortly with a mug of ale and a warm washcloth.

The next time, things are different. Jaskier has seen him and he didn't run away and he's still here now, so that must mean something. Geralt agrees to let him bathe him without a fuss and this time, he doesn't dread taking his clothes off in front of him. He even lets Jaskier watch, though to say he lets him is a bit of a stretch. The room is small, especially with the bath, and Jaskier's eyes have been tracking him since he returned.

He doesn't mind this time. He likes the feeling of having Jaskier's eyes on him and even as he pulls his shirt up over his head, the anxiety isn't as bad as before.

He climbs into the bath and sinks into the warm water, shutting his eyes and leaning back against the frame. Jaskier's hands find him quickly, working clean water through his hair and adding scented oils that smell like him. Geralt isn't sure he understands the gesture, nor the point of it, but he likes the idea of walking around smelling like Jaskier.

"It'll make you more appealing to the locals," Jaskier explains. Geralt doubts that, but he appreciates it all the same.

Jaskier is freer with his affections than anyone else Geralt knows and it took him time to adjust to that. He's still adjusting to that. Like the way Jaskier curls up to him when they make camp even when the night air is arguably too warm for cuddling. Or when he drapes himself over him when he's drunk. Or sings to him when they're alone - or when they’re not. But tonight, Jaskier sings of new things. Things that make Geralt's stomach twist in the most confusing ways.

He sings just for him of the lines in his skin and Geralt settles under his hands despite the new energy buzzing under his skin.

And then the songs are not just for him. Jaskier writes ballads praising his bravery and worshipping the scars Geralt hates so much. And when they're alone, Jaskier seeks them out, running his fingers over the discoloured skin like Geralt is something precious, something to be handled with care.

And slowly, as Jaskier's songs draw attention and praise, Geralt adjusts to the idea of people seeing him again. To the idea of Jaskier seeing him. After a time, he finds himself looking forward to coming back to whatever place they find themselves in and to getting Jaskier's hands on him.

Things change when Jaskier realizes how much he enjoys it. It happens slowly and then all at once; they've had this routine now for what feels like forever, but it's not until one fateful night that Jaskier realizes how much Geralt likes it. He doesn't mean to groan as Jaskier's fingers press in against the base of his skull, but it comes out anyway. He's a little drunk, so he doesn't even try to deny it and he knows Jaskier heard him anyway.

After that, Jaskier pushes the boundaries between them. He’ll let his touch linger, fingertips soft and light against his skin. And when Geralt is in the bath, Jaskier will slide his palms lower than necessary, sometimes dipping just below the edge of the water and Geralt will hold his breath. When they sit together, Jaskier will set his hand on Geralt’s thigh, rubbing softly, almost absently as he works on whatever it is he’s doing. Despite being fully clothed when it happens, this affects Geralt more than anything and he has to focus hard on anything else to keep himself from reacting to the touch.

Then one night, he's preoccupied. They'd been drunk at the inn last night and after a round of sappy love songs, Jaskier had sprawled in his lap, smiling dopily up at him. He'd slipped an arm around his neck and pulled himself up so he was close, so close and Geralt could feel his breath on his skin, smell the vodka on his lips. And he'd wanted so badly to kiss him. And Jaskier, free and loving and wonderful, had been so close, pulling himself within inches of Geralt's mouth before being so rudely interrupted by one of his admirers.

If Geralt hadn't been so stunned, he might have been angry. And now he's just mournful that they were interrupted. He can't stop thinking about it, even as he plunges his sword between the eyes of a wyvern, his thoughts are of Jaskier.

So when he gets back to the inn, he considers staying downstairs for the evening, but he finds himself climbing the stairs to their room anyway. He's already doing a terrible job of not thinking about it when he gets up to the room to find a bath drawn for him already. The scent of Jaskier's salts and oils hits his nose immediately and he shuts his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Soft hands find his shoulders and Geralt hears the door click shut behind him as Jaskier directs him toward the bath. Jaskier lifts his shirt up over his head, brushing his fingers down his sides again as he drops Geralt's shirt to the ground. He slips away to let Geralt finish undressing and a part of him wishes he would stay and finish what he started. But he shouldn't want that so instead, he strips purposefully, aware, with every motion, that Jaskier is watching him.

But now it doesn't feel wrong. It's exciting to know that Jaskier wants to see him; that he's seen the scars and the bruises and the wounds when they're fresh and he still wants to see him like this. So he's not doing a very good job of pushing down his feelings as Jaskier rubs the back of his neck. He's focused more on Jaskier's fingers and the way they press into his muscle; it feels good, it feels too good, but Geralt doesn't want him to stop. Not yet.

Jaskier tips his head back, cradling it with one hand as the other slips around the side of his neck. His thumb brushes Geralt's throat and a soft breathy sigh escapes him. Jaskier hums in response and both his hands push lower down his chest. Geralt presses into the touch, arching off the side of the tub and when the feeling goes straight to his cock, he freezes and he knows Jaskier can feel it.

Geralt silently curses himself as Jaskier's hands pull away from his body. He wasn't supposed to let this happen. He's been doing so well at distancing himself, right up until now. He’s so occupied thinking about what he did wrong that he doesn't realize when Jaskier returns with a sheet for him to dry off.

Geralt gets out obediently, letting Jaskeir wrap him in the sheet and tug him close. Jaskier rubs the linen over his skin and Geralt wants to pull away, the same feelings of shame and inadequacy creeping up on him, but Jaskier won't let him. He holds him close, drops the sheet and takes a step back, reaching out for Geralt's hands to tug him after him.

He's still damp and his hair drips down his back, but Geralt follows and allows himself to be maneuvered onto the bed between Jaskier's legs, his back against Jaskier’s chest.

"Just relax," Jaskier hums, pressing his nose against his ear. "It's just me."

That's the problem, Geralt thinks but he lays against him anyway. Jaskier doesn't have the heightened senses he does, but he's alert and he picks up on things quickly, he'll be able to tell that Geralt is struggling with this like he did before.

He shuts his eyes and tries not to think about it as Jaskier's hands find the familiar dips and planes of his chest, brushing lightly over his skin.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Jaskier asks. Geralt grumbles at him, but Jaskier is unfazed, brushing his hands lower, past his hips and along his thighs to push them apart. Geralt's cock gives a twitch of interest, but if Jaskier notices, he doesn't acknowledge it.

"Geralt," he prompts again, but Geralt says nothing. "Fine. You're lucky I like the strong, silent type." He huffs a little laugh into Geralt's hair and brushes his fingertips along the insides on his thighs and Geralt is only so strong.

His hips twitch as Jaskier's fingers slide over them, pressing into the sensitive skin. Heat rolls through his body and he knows he shouldn't want this, he knows Jaskier is just helping in his own way. Except maybe he's not because he did almost kiss him. Though he was drunk, but he was so soft and pliant in Geralt's lap and the way he looked at him-

"Jaskier?"

"Shh, darling, let me take care of you." He presses his nose into Geralt's hair and he breathes slowly, humming at first. But he seems to distract himself from the song, mumbling against the back of Geralt's head.

"I know you don't like them," he breathes, running his fingers along the length of a thin, bright scar on Geralt’s thigh, "but I do. They make you who you are." He goes on about how brave he is and how strong and Geralt squirms uncomfortably under the praise. At first, he sounds like he's talking out his ass, but his hands are soft and smooth and when he presses his lips to Geralt's shoulder, he switches tracks.

His fingers seek out the rough lines of his scars again, running along them almost lovingly as he whispers against his skin.

"You're beautiful," he breathes. It's a far cry from the truth, Geralt knows, but something about the way Jaskier says it makes him want to believe it. He's still recovering from the surprise when Jaskier leans in against his ear, pushing his hair out of the way with his nose. "I want to kiss you," he says and Geralt squirms. The heat that settled low in his gut spreads up, burning into his chest.

He squirms as Jaskier's hands move up, sliding over his cheek and Jaskier turns his head toward him. Geralt stiffens as Jaskier's lips touch his, afraid he'll pull away and then when he doesn't, Geralt softens again and presses back against his chest.

Jaskier kisses like he expected him to, soft and passionate without trying too hard. And genuine. Jaskier is a performer at heart, but he knows when to quit the act and right now he's nothing if not sincere. When he pulls away, Geralt lets out a soft whine at the loss, but Jaskier's lips seek out the sensitive spot behind his jaw, slipping lower down his neck and out across his shoulders.

His hands move in time, brushing lower toward his hips. He's intentionally light about it, letting his fingers drift almost above his skin and Geralt's hips rise of their own volition, pressing up to feel the warmth of Jaskier's hands against him.

"Can I touch you?" Jaskier asks and Geralt breathes out a shaky yes almost instantly.

He shudders as Jaskier’s hands press more firmly against his hips, twitching with impatience. He wants this, he wants Jaskier, and it seems stupid to deny himself what he's wanted for so long when Jaskier is right here offering, despite the scars and the bad attitude.

Jaskier is quiet for once as he slips one hand lower, curling around the base of Geralt's cock. Geralt is already hard, has been for some time under Jaskier's attention and it feels good to finally have some semblance of relief. He tries not to push, not to force the touch, but Jaskier's hand feels too good on him and he can't help but jerk up against him.

"That's it darling, just like that."

Geralt drops his head back, rolling against Jaskier's shoulder and he can feel the way Jaskier smiles against him. Jaskier grips him more firmly, stroking as well as he can from the base of him right up to the tip. He runs the pad of his thumb over his head and Geralt very nearly whimpers.

He wants so badly and despite all his common sense telling him that fucking Jaskier is a bad idea, he can't help himself. He leans into Jaskier's kisses, rolls his hips with the rise and fall of his hand and when Jaskier starts talking again, it nearly undoes him.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes, "and gods you're huge. Fuck, Geralt look at you. You're stunning-" Jaskier squeezes around the head of his cock and Geralt's thighs twitch, jerking hard against Jaskier's.

Jaskier tells him he's good, tells him he's beautiful and Geralt soaks it all up, wants so desperately to believe it. When he shifts, pressing himself back against Jaskier’s chest, he can feel the jut of Jaskier’s cock, pressing into his lower back and his cock throbs. Heat rolls through him and he rolls his head back on Jaskier’s shoulder. The realization that Jaskier is turned on affects him in ways he didn’t exact and now that he notices it, the scent of his arousal is overwhelming.

His own cock gives a twitch and when Jaskier's hand slips down again, his fingers are slick with precome. He slides down again and Geralt thrusts up, the coil of heat tightening in his gut. He presses his hands to Jaskier's thighs as he creeps closer to the edge, digging his fingers into the soft silk of his trousers.

He wants him naked, wants to feel his skin against him but he settles for tipping his head up, nipping against the line of his jaw. Jaskier lets out a breathy moan and strokes him more quickly. He's not trying to, but his hips roll against Geralt's back and that’s all it takes to push him over the edge. Jaskier gets him off with a couple of quick tugs and Geralt's legs shake against him as he rides through it.

Jaskier strokes him through, kissing his neck and running his fingers through his hair. He's clearly aroused and he slips his fingers over the head of Geralt's cock, sliding through his spend until it's too sensitive and Geralt gives a groan of impatience.

Jaskier's hand settles against his, tracing little wet circles into the skin and Geralt slumps against him, boneless and exhausted. He savours the soft words, the delicate fingers brushing through his hair, and he shuts his eyes as his breathing slows to normal.

"You didn't come," he breathes and Jaskier hums thoughtfully.

"That’s alright love, not tonight."

"Hmm."

Jaskier laughs as he shifts behind him, sliding out to climb up off the bed. The sight of him, hard in his trousers, sends a rush through Geralt and he slips a little lower down the bed. He would argue, pull Jaskier down against him and bring him off himself, but he's too tired now. He watches as Jaskier crosses to the bath, dipping a scrap of linen into the water.

Tomorrow, he thinks, his eyes growing heavy. He'll repay the favour in the morning.

[volfoss]

ships to rate: bruabba and gyjo? maybe even yasugap if you're up for it

ok ur about to see such a long post its nto even gonna be funny, tldr i love them all

also gonna put a fic i really like for them if ive read one/ a fic idea i wanna write plus maybe ranting, this is not coherent but my spelling isnt too bad

post under cut bc its very long

Bruabba:

my loves my lifes

they r so soft for each other

the fucking rain scene when bruno extends his umbrella

and how bruno is like trying to hold back his emotions post abba dying

in case its not super obvious by the sheer volume of bruabba content i reblog this is one of my otps

ALSO the fucking boat scene where abba pretty much is like yeah ur home bruno

ajdskjghdsgjk

hc that they r meeting up in the afterlife w nara and having a good time (also read a phenomenal fic about it that ill link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33118039 it is emotionally fucking me up days later <3)

dads dads dads but bruno is the caring dad that just gets you and takes care of you in the most gentle way and will sacrifice himself over and over again to see u happy and abba is the sitting in the armchair and u sneak in like 2 minutes past ur curfew ur busted but i was also worried about you

these two men own my whole heart (also my ao3 history i exclusively am reading bruabba and dadbacchio)

i have so so many thoughts toward them like yeah i just love them so much

i will never ever not write them as in love

t4t and bi4bi

every single canon thing about them makes me so soft but i think what makes me softest is just how its so clear that they rely on each other in situations

fanon interpretation rant rq:

but how some ppl really interpret them so ooc that its just like bruno mommy and abba cares about literally none of their kids (explanation on the mommy thing is bc most of things that do that are weird bc they really r treating bruno like a single parent who is raising the gang on his own and thats all when abba is literally there and caring about ppl (ie the purple haze incident w giorno, like he wasnt the most nice in his wording but why else would he be like hi move away from the danger if he didnt care??)

ppl also just tend to not really do the separation between how abba acts around others and how he acts towards bruno and has him being kinda aggressive towards him for literally no reason when they r literally so soft w each other

and also they r both so fucking pretty and i am in love with them both

if i think about them too long i will combust and i am blaming u solely for that one

ship dynamic of savior x savior bc they both really did save each other and i love them sm

fic ideas for them r they both live and leave passione and take their kids w them <3 (gang would crumble but thats not my problem)

ok also another hc that i have for them is that bruno will buy larger sweaters and wear them and give them to abba if hes having a rough time, they have a shared closet imo

10/10 ship

Gyjo:

OK OK OK

FEELINGS ON MAX

these guys r also my beloved but in a depressed x very happy but hiding depression way

the the fuckingn way that gyro ltierally risks everything in the ringo roadagain fight to save jognny

and the way that johnny is literally fucking broken post gyro persiheing and adopts his speech pattern a bit and ugh

I am obsessed w gyjo but i think the funniest crack ship is poly but w diego and they all fucking suffer (fic that sold me on that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887796/chapters/54705517)

i cannot find the one fic that i really loved for them but needless to say i am soft w them living and just being together

update i found it: its a modern au and really really sweet! https://archiveofourown.org/works/31821940/chapters/78780595

one day ill actually write the fic idea i had for them which was basically they live and they dont sell the land they got from the sugar mountain arc and johnny wanted to start somewhere fresh anyways and gyro adopts marco and they make a lil log cabin and have a nice rest of their lives

i am a massive sucker for their ship

ALSO how johnny is always laughing at gyros jokes

smth i wish we got more of in canon were those moments where they just chilled and talked and had those kinda interactions

fandom complaining time!! the fucking way that some ppl just really take the gyro funny and johnny submissive trope is like my biggest pet peeve. did they not read sbr?? did they not see the multiple times that johnny has murdery eyes? i think personally its ppl infantilizing him a lot and it makes me really frustrated

ok also a fic that really really fills me desire for a they all live and everyone is happy is this one: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22812394

i love them sm but unfortunately cannot have coherent thoughts about them :(

10/10 ship

Yasugap:

gonna start this out w saying i did mildly speedread through jojolion so i dont have as many big screamy thoughts

BUT!!! them!!!!!

their canon interactions r the cutest thing and even if they werent, id ship it solely to spite joshu

josuke is a million trillion times better for yasuho (not just bc of how joshu is a fucking freak and is absolutely the worst i would run him over with a dump truck)

i really like how they both r so happy around each other but i think my favorite scene w them is when yasuho has to explain to josuke that hes crying and hes just like :') yeah

but they have so so many cute moments and the ending makes them the only couple to make it out of this list

i love how yasuho is just like willing to drop anything to help him and how they help each other out a lot during the whole time (if im remembering right?)

their dynamic is just 2 sweethearts

also love the moment that hes like look away yasuho :) then proceeds to beat a man up

they r canon (as is everyone else sorry <3)

i dont read a lot of part 8 fic since i need to reread it to properly understand the plot post like chapter 65? so i dont have any recs or complaints

BUT i do have a few hcs!!

i think yasuho would get josuke matching phone straps or phone cases

and when they move in together, i think they would raise sugar gliders (or potentially kidnap squirrels from the local park)

i love all of yasuho and josukes interactions but oh man every time that josukes past gets brought up i do start bawling

they both mean the world to me and how their romance is just built on such a clear foundation of trust and care it makes me so soft

they both give off such dog ppl energy tho and i love that for them

ALSO ok the way that yasuho helps josuke w his memory and is always there for him

i will never ever ever get over them

but i think one of my favorite scenes is the one right at the beginning where she gives josuke his name and how that plays into the rest of the story with him discovering his identity but still clinging to the one that she gave him since it was him, he wasnt just kira or josefumi he was josuke

10/10

if i think about them anymore i will start sobbing, the last chapter wrapped every last thing up so well and im so so glad that it did