#I think it's such a waste that his eye was just disposed of! Someone else could've used that (lol)

[sysig]

One better (Patreon)

[jazzythursday]

Wylan leaves in the morning.

He doesn’t plan to, not exactly, but he definitely doesn’t plan on staying, either.

Wylan is no stranger to one night stands. He can’t say he gets around very frequently, but enough to know the general plot of how they're supposed to go.

Flirt, drink, fuck, leave. The order isn’t necessarily set in stone, but the list ends the same every time.

He has a good time, for the most part, and it’s always a welcome break from the awful chemical smell burned into the Tannery or the staleness of the empty rooms in cheap boarding houses (when he can afford them) that Wylan is used to. Wylan likes the freedom that comes with it, too. It’s liberating to go where he wants and do what he pleases; to not worry about who he’s seen with or sleeps with or what they might think of him after. And he likes feeling wanted, for a little while. He likes being reminded that he exists.

So Wylan does not make a habit of falling asleep with the people who take him to bed.

He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, really.

He doesn't remember, and yet, Wylan wakes up with his head pillowed on Jesper’s chest. With Jesper’s arm draped over him. His breath is warm where it ghosts over the top of his hair, and if Wylan glances up he can see the way Jesper’s mouth— those lips— fall open in sleep.

It’s the best morning he’s had in months, possibly. Certainly the most comfortable.

He knows it can’t last.

Wylan looks at Jesper, still sleeping peacefully next to him, and he panics.

He’d woken up in Jesper Fahey’s arms.

He’d slept with Jesper Fahey.

Jesper has a reputation, and Wylan knows it, even new to the Barrel as he is. He’d heard about Dirtyhand’s second and resident sharpshooter plenty— Can’t resist a gamble, never misses a shot, and not just with bullets. Jesper Fahey is an excellent marksman, they say, with terrible luck with the cards, and a soft spot for pretty girls and even prettier boys.

Jesper’s played the field— multiple fields— went on a seismic world tour of fields.

Wylan is very good at not being noticed. He’s also very good at listening. People tend to look past him, they never pay any mind to the too skinny boy with the wild hair and the hunched shoulders and the grime that never seems to wash off completely after his long shifts at the Tannery. Wylan knows this, knows he’s very adept at being able to disappear, when he needs to.

So by the time Wylan actually meets Jesper, he’s well aware of his place in Ketterdam’s booming rumor mill. Jesper has many, and Wylan thinks by now he may have heard them all.

And yet, none of them do a thing to prepare him for Jesper.

They’d met in a tavern.

Wylan had been nursing his drink for the better half of an hour, trying to come up with reasons not to go back to the sad cot he had waiting for him in a rented room, with the only window overlooking the brick wall of a dark alley.

So far, he’d only come up with the one.

Wylan had seen the tall Zemeni man from across the room and hadn’t stopped looking since. He was flirting with a girl at the bar, twirling one of his guns in one hand demonstratively with a drink in the other. The girl— a curly haired blond— was giggling, hand pressed to her mouth with eyes that had very clear and direct intentions.

Wylan had almost resolved himself to a night of wasting the few kruge at his disposal with little to show for it, when the man had looked up and caught him staring. The man had smiled, twirling his gun with an extra flourish and then tipped his hat. Wylan smiled back, and gave a little wave. Embarrassing, He’d thought, stop it, he’s already with someone else anyway. He’d looked down, and stared at the near empty contents of his drink until someone sat down next to him and said, in a voice like apple butter and sweet syrup, “Can I get you another of those?”

Then Wylan had looked up into the eyes of the handsomest man he’d ever seen, and thought, he has the most perfect lips.

Out loud, he’d said, “I, uh, well—” His mouth was wide open, he’d realised, and shut it quickly. Again, the man had smiled. Again, Wylan had smiled back. “Yes, please.”

And that's how he’d met Jesper.

Afterwards, they’d stumbled through the streets— I know a place, Jesper said, If you want to take this somewhere more private— until they’d passed a corner where a vendor was selling traditional Kerch sweets out of a cart.

“Stroopwafels!” Jesper had stopped. “I love stroopwafels!”

Wylan was tugging him toward the cart without really making a conscious decision to move, and Jesper had laughed, surprised and delighted.

Wylan bought them both stroopwafels and handed Jesper his with a shy smile and a shrug. “For the drink.”

Jesper looked at him consideringly, head caulked to the side, and Wylan felt himself blushing in the low light of the lamps. “You’re sweet,” he’d said eventually.

“Is that bad?” Wylan had asked, sheepish. Jesper was already shaking his head.

“It’s good. Just not that many sweet things to be had in the Barrel. It’s refreshing.” He’d bit off a piece of one of the waffles and smiled. “These are sweet too,”— he’d leaned in, smile still earnest but with something decidedly different underneath— “I like sweet.”

Jesper had not touched him like he’d been expecting to be touched. Jesper made no assumptions; he’d asked, about everything, in a way that was near gentlemanly if it wasn’t for the fact that he radiated trouble through his pores. Jesper was— not quite gentle, because Wylan had expected hot and heady and everything deep, and Jesper was all of that and more— but he wasn’t rough. He didn’t bruise, not if Wylan didn’t say yes first, and afterwards he’d laid back down and settled Wylan into his arms in a way that he had no real way of protesting— didn’t want to protest, anyway— and kissed him.

It was that that had scared Wylan the most, he thinks. Because Wylan is rarely kissed for the express purpose of it. It was always the promise of more— the rush of what was to come. But people do not generally tend to kiss Wylan for the sake of kissing Wylan. It’s different. Jesper is different, and Wylan can’t afford to be stupid enough to do something like get attached. Can’t afford much at all— really.

But Jesper had kissed him, pleased and lazy and warm, and at some indeterminate time later they had both apparently fallen asleep.

And it was nice.

It was too nice. It hurt with how nice it was.

Wylan peels himself slowly out of Jesper’s arms, careful not to wake him, and decides then that he cannot stand to be here any longer.

Jesper Fahey is not what he’d expected, he’s better.

Jesper Fahey is lovely, and beautiful, and kinder to him than anyone has been to Wylan for almost as long as he can remember.

Jesper Fahey is more than he could have ever hoped for, and he isn’t going to stick around for someone like Wylan.

So Wylan leaves, and he doesn’t look behind him as he closes the door.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

rivals to lovers spy x family, yor x female assassin reader

where your got captured by a gang during a mission she had and the reader is contacted by yors supervisors/colleague cuz she is one of the best and goes and rescues her.

An Assassin’s Rescue Mission

Yor Briar x She/Her Reader

A/N: These two requests are a bit different than I initially thought, but I think I still managed to mix the important bits together. Not really any angst though. Hope you still like it, thanks for reading! Word Count: 2,690

“What did you just say?” (Y/n)’s back went rigid and her hands clasped together tightly behind her back.

“The Thorn Princess has been captured after carrying out a hit on a rather influential business crook. We need you to retrieve her. Make sure she gets back in one piece. She is the best assassin we have at our disposal… no offense.”

(Y/n) snarled at that. There Yor goes again. Even when she gets herself captured she’s still considered the best of the Garden.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sir, but assassins don’t really do rescue missions. We endanger, execute. Find somebody else.”

“Like who, the police? You’ve been to that part of the city outskirts several times. You are the best shot we have. God knows it may already be too late, but we still owe it to her to try—“

“You mean you don’t know her condition? There hasn’t been any correspondence for some kind of deal?” She didn’t wait for an answer before continuing on, “Then why the hell are we wasting time yapping here? Get me my throwing knives! Where is my gun? Keys? I need a damn car!”

The cultivator who had been sitting in on the briefing groaned quietly and covered his eyes with one hand. He had been the one to train Yor and (Y/n) from quite a young age, and they both grew into impressive assassins, but where Yor was rather sweet and well-mannered, albeit a bit ditzy, (Y/n) was more hot-headed, bitter, but as sharp as her knives. She sent potential clients running for the hills with her intensity.

As much as (Y/n) perpetuated that she and Yor were sworn enemies, it was kind of hard to keep up appearances when Yor was too sweet and clueless to realize that there was supposed to be a rivalry going on. She probably couldn’t have driven (Y/n) crazier if she tried to do so intentionally.

And yet despite this, (Y/n) was quick to go rescue her now because like it or not, the Thorn Princess’ vines had weaved around her heart and the little thorns kept it from escaping her grasp. She was much too prideful to admit anything, but for as much as (Y/n) claimed to be unable to stand the other assassin, she sure let her take up a lot of free real estate in her mind at any given moment.

She was also the only one allowed to give Yor a hard time, not that Yor really noticed. But if someone else tried to speak ill of her, (Y/n) was on them in a second. Yor was her rival, and that meant only she had the license to be snarky and knit picky when it came to Yor.

“Come on, hurry up! Do you want me to rescue her or not?” (Y/n) snatched the keys from the cultivator’s coat pocket and chose to skip the stairs and jump right out of the window. She tumbled through the dewy grass below, ran to the sleek black car pulled up to the curb and got in, slamming the door behind her. As soon as the engine roared to life, she tore down the road and quickly vanished from sight.

“I just got that car yesterday…” The cultivator sighed. Hopefully he’d get it back in one piece.

***

Yor flexed her wrists against the metal cuffs, but it only served to make her skin raw. She had really gotten herself into a pickle this time. If only it was rope, she was pretty good at snapping rope. Not as easy as snapping the neck of that shady business man had been, but still.

She shouldn’t have let her guard down like that. (Y/n) would scold her for sure… if she ever got to see her again, anyway. The thought made Yor’s shoulders slump. No one had helped her adjust to the assassin life like (Y/n) did. She didn’t know what she would do without her cute, grumpy face greeting her in the Garden or the occasional mission. But at least she was safe. Yor didn’t know what she’d do if their positions were swapped. There would definitely be hell to pay, of that much she was certain.

At present she wasn’t sure what was to become of her. Since she was detained, she had only been visited by her captors once for a little bit of water. They hadn’t spoken to her at all. Whether this was going to turn out to be a negotiation or an execution, Yor didn’t know.

Her stomach rumbled for the ninth time that night and she sighed pitifully. Wasn’t it custom to get a last meal before an execution? Although, this was a group of angry underground criminals whose paychecks were frozen after she had killed their boss. She would be rather cross too, she supposed.

“Excuse me,” She called out, “is anyone there? I know you are probably upset with me, but could I trouble you for a little something to eat? I haven’t eaten in—“

She heard a heavy thud against the reinforced door of the bare room she had been chained within and she frowned. If they didn’t want her to talk, perhaps they should have gagged her. Though she was thankful they hadn’t.

But then she heard the heavy click of the door being unlocked and she tensed. If she was going out, she would be going out fighting! However, instead of one of the rugged men who had ushered her into the room at gun point, she saw (Y/n) push the door open. Ring of keys in one hand, a sleek knife in the other and a dead man at her feet.

“(Y/n)!” Yor gasped, “What are you doing here?”

“Keep your voice down! What’s it look like I’m doing, Briar? I’m busting you out, dumbass.” (Y/n) hissed, quickly maneuvering behind Yor to test every key on the ring for one that would free Yor’s hands from the awkward position in which they had been cuffed to the wall.

She had to be quick, it was only a matter of time before one of the bodies she had hurriedly stuffed in the dark corners along the way here were discovered. There were more people in this hideout than she would like to deal with. She still took the time to scold Yor as she worked, however.

“I can’t believe you let yourself get caught! You are so lucky I came to rescue your sorry ass. I don’t care what the higher-ups think. This incident definitely makes me the better assassin.”

“I know,” Yor pouted, but for only a moment before smiling sweetly, “thank you for coming for me, (Y/n). You are too kind. You are always looking out for me.”

“Yeah, whatever,” finally the cuffs fell free, “Now let’s get the hell out of here before those goons discover us. Here,”

Yor quickly finished rubbing her wrists in time to receive the sleek, gold ice picks being shoved at her and her eyes practically sparkled. She thought if she ever got out of this place, she’d have to get new ones made. (Y/n) had found a guy using the needles as chopsticks as she weaved through the hideout. Needless to say, that hadn’t ended well for him.

They stealthily checked either end of the hallway before sneaking out in the opposite direction (Y/n) had come from. (Y/n) had observed that the goons seemed to patrol in a clockwise fashion, so it would make sense to keep following the flow where the people (Y/n) had already taken out were supposed to be.

“Come on, stay light on your feet.”

Though Yor was doing a perfectly fine job of keeping up with (Y/n), the other assassin pulled her long by the hand. The contact gave Yor butterflies.

“Shouldn’t be much further—“

“There they are! Stop them!”

“Damn it!”

(Y/n) shoved herself and Yor around the corner, narrowly missing the spray of bullets that came speeding towards them. They skidded to a halt when they heard shouts coming from the direction they were heading. (Y/n)’s presence had been discovered and now they were being surrounded!

“What should we do?” Yor asked.

“Get in that room and cover your ears!” (Y/n) ordered, taking out a small explosive and slapping it to the opposite outer wall before joining Yor in the room and slamming the door shut.

3… 2… bang!

The bomb detonated, and (Y/n) wasted no time pulling Yor through the debris though the smoke stung their eyes and throat. But once they had made it out to the misty, cold night air, their irritation from the explosion started to soothe over. The explosion had taken out a few of the men that led the pack, but more were quick to take their places, guns blazing.

“Get out of here, I’ll make sure you can make a clean get away. I parked behind those bushes over there.” (Y/n) shoved the car keys at Yor’s chest and made a move to turn back around to deal with the mob, but Yor caught her arm and held on with an almost painful grip.

“You can’t go back. Who knows what they’ll do to you. Just keep running! We can escape together!”

“Don’t argue with me, just go! Despite what everyone else thinks, I know I’m a better assassin than you. Besides, notice how weak the gun fire has gotten? Those idiots are almost out of bullets anyway. I got this.” She twisted her arm out of Yor’s grasp and ran back into the fray, throwing knives into the vital points of several underlings as she ran.

“(Y/n), wait!” Yor bit her lip anxiously and looked between (Y/n) and the bushes where the car was.

She should probably listen to (Y/n) and go to the car, right? But she couldn’t make herself look away much less run away.

(Y/n) was doing well holding off the mob on her own, yet Yor still worried. Then she saw a bullet graze (Y/n)’s arm. The assassin winced and blood flowed freely, but she kept fighting, albeit a bit sloppier, and that cemented Yor’s final decision.

Blood red fury coursed through her veins and she gripped her needles tightly in knuckle-white clenched fists. Yor would paint the streets red with the blood of whoever dared to make (Y/n) bleed those few precious streams that now darkened her torn clothes.

“Hey, I said go! Get out of here!” (Y/n) yelled whilst slashing another throat with her non-dominant hand.

But Yor did not retreat, nor hesitate in carving a path straight to her. She had never seen such hellfire in Yor’s eyes. It made a chill run up and down her spine, not that she would ever admit that Yor could be intimidating in any way.

“Don’t you touch her!” Yor growled, snatching the arm of a man who had run out of bullets as his comrades before him. He had clearly intended to pistol whip the back of (Y/n)’s head, but Yor would have none of that. One wound on (Y/n) was already one too many in her opinion.

The man screamed as Yor contorted his arm into an unnatural position and with an awful crack, he fell to the ground. With one swift stab to the back of his head, he was permanently taken care of.

Then Yor really let loose. It was a a hurricane of blood, no survivors save herself and the woman she sought to protect. (Y/n) wasn’t even sure were her own blood ended and the blood of her enemies began.

“Good god, Yor,” (Y/n) whispered, looking out upon their combined carnage, but mostly at the particularly gruesome ones contributed by Yor.

“I,” Yor took in a deep breath, “I may have gone a little overboard with some of those.” She swallowed uncomfortably.

Would (Y/n) be frightened of her because of this? Even by assassin standards, these were some gnarly corpses. If (Y/n) began treating her differently because of this, that might just break Yor’s heart.

“Ah!” Yor brought a hand to her stinging nose, then she looked to (Y/n), surprised by being flicked from so out of the blue.

“I told you I had it, but you just had to show off, didn’t you? Geez, this was my rescue mission, you were the one who was in trouble, not me!”

Yor blinked owlishly, then gave a slight smile, “Sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just get the hell out of here. You’re probably starving right? I guess I’ll have to make you something at my place given how dawn hasn’t even broke yet. Everyone knows you can’t cook for shit.”

“Thank you, (Y/n) that’s really nice of you, but you should let me tend to that wound first. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It’s just a scratch.“ (Y/n) puffed her chest, “You should see what I did to the other guy!”

Yor giggled, but (Y/n)’s energy was not enough to convince her. As soon as they got to the car, Yor found a medkit in the trunk and put it to good use, though she did make a mess of the hydrogen peroxide and the bandages, spilling them all over the trunk. Given all that had gone down, the cultivator’s car could have suffered a lot worse than a couple bloody bandages soaked in H2O2 left in the trunk.

“Thanks.” (Y/n) begrudgingly mumbled when Yor finished up.

Yor joined her where she sat on the edge of the trunk and gave her a hug, eyes shut tight.

“I’m so glad you’re going to be okay.”

“Hey, do I need to remind you again that this was my rescue mission to save you? That should be my line. So,” she cleared her throat, eyes looking to the side down at the damp grass, “I’m glad you are okay too.”

Yor hummed happily and hugged her just a bit tighter.

“But if you ever let yourself get caught again, so help me I’ll make you my prisoner instead. At least then I’ll know exactly where you are.”

“Do you think we should move in together?” Yor wondered. That would make it easier on (Y/n) somehow, wouldn’t it? In any case, Yor knew for sure that she would enjoy waking up and getting to see her every day.

“That’s not what I was saying at all!” (Y/n) spluttered, but then mumbled, “But I guess I wouldn’t be opposed. Just don’t burn my kitchen down.”

“I won’t, I promise. This is so exciting!”

At that moment, Yor’s stomach chose to growl again. She pressed her hands over her abdomen and blushed. (Y/n) snickered.

“Alright, you driving or not? We have to get some food in you.”

“I’ll drive!” Yor scooped (Y/n) up from where she sat on the edge of the trunk and brought her around to the passenger seat.

“Hey! Put me down, a bullet just grazed my arm. I can walk ten feet.”

“I want to keep you safe too, (Y/n).” Yor replied, “You’re important to me.”

(Y/n) saw the boundless sincerity in Yor’s eyes and swallowed thickly, sinking further into the seat to try to put a little more distance between them. Even she, with her own special brand of cluelessness compared to Yor’s, couldn’t deny that those gentle words did something to her.

It would still take some time for her to admit it, but she was starting to get on the right track. They both were.

Yor wasn’t exactly a smooth driver, but they made it to (Y/n)’s apartment in one piece. First things first, they made either a super late dinner or an extra early breakfast depending on how you looked at it, to combat their hunger. Being on the other end of a massacre was hungry work after all.

Yor helped with food prep, but (Y/n) ultimately cooked it all. Then they took turns getting cleaned off before putting their feet up and laying back against the couch. They ended up falling asleep together, tangled atop the piece of furniture too narrow for two people, but that was only because the night had been so exhausting… or so (Y/n) pretended to reason as she nuzzled closer.

[birdmenmanga]

ok wait before the next episode drops I want to present my theory that elan-4 and norea du noc were siblings just because I haven't seen anyone else say anything (maybe because it's too obvious?)

Mostly it's from the conversation between Elan-5 and Norea during episode 14.

Norea, specifically, knows quite a lot about Elan-5's situation. She clearly knows that this Elan isn't the real Elan Ceres... but that's not really information that's publicly available. Of course, disposable lives are sourced from Earth, so it stands to reason that she could possibly know someone who was a part of this farce. The next lines from Elan-5 really cement this thought.

Aside from the differences in clothing and accessory, the biggest difference between Elan-4 and Elan-5 are their eyes. Elan-5 resting expression has his eyes wide open, which you can see in stand-alone illustrations of him. On the other hand, Elan-4's eyes are constantly half-lidded... quite like Norea's resting face.

Anyways, Norea just went for a dig at Elan-5 and he's like, you know, a little bit spiteful so he really wants to hit her where it hurts. Elan-5's not going to randomly bring up the death of Elan-4 if he had nothing to do with Norea, because it really just cements the point Norea's making: you're a doll for Peil tech and you're going to die at the end of it.

But I think siblings is probably the correct answer, since their interactions seem to indicate that Norea and Elan-5 had never actually met each other until Asticassia. In this scene in Episode 13, Elan-5 is curiously present, and through this he could have deduced Elan-4 and Norea's relationship through their (maybe) shared last name.

(Elan-5's the one holding the pad.)

Anyways back to this scene in Ep. 14.

This description does match up with Elan-4's death pretty closely. Oh, I'm wasting my life away? Check out what happened to your loser brother! Lol!! And he does manage to rile her up. ("You're an irritating fellow.")

But even putting that aside there're a ton of similarities between Norea and Elan-4 regardless of whether they're actually siblings or not. For instance, there's a real strong parallel between how these two characters are introduced. Below are the beginnings of the first scenes where they have spoken lines.

Even their character arcs follow a similar pattern.

Anyways that's all I have off the top of my head thank you for coming to my TED talk can't wait for this to be jossed on sunday

[hopeamarsu]

hi lovely 💐 thank you so much for opening requests & congrats again on your follower milestone ! 💛 [xo from princessxkenobi]

can I please request these prompts, 'hugs that last a little longer than they should', & 'the image of you pops into my head and I just lose my breath' with Will Miller?

maybe he reunites with his lady after being away on a mission with the guys for a while? they aren't together yet, but it feels like they already are, the mutual pining is there, he just needs her to finally see it when he returns ! 💌

Hi darling 💛

Thank you so much. Your kindness and comments are always something I look forward to! Thank you for being you and being here, sharing this space, and making it wonderful.

You are my reason

Will Miller x fem reader (no pronouns)

Word count 1,4k

Rating Teen/Mature

Warnings: Pining, love confessions. Very fluffy.

Summary: If being in this jungle has taught him anything, it's that he no longer can hide his feelings. Prompts hugs that last a little longer than they should' and 'the image of you pops into my head and I just lose my breath'

The jungle is unforgiving and the wound on his stomach aches, but Will feels none of that when he reclines back, letting the lush greenery around him hide him from view. He spies Benny talking in hushed tones with Santiago, heads drawn together as the men plan for the next day. Frankie is napping, ballcap drawn deep over his eyes, his turn to guard the camp later. Tom is off somewhere, but for him Will doesn’t want to waste thoughts. The man has gotten them into this mess, hiding in the jungle and running for their lives. 

He knows it’s petty, but he’s glad Tom is somewhere off from their camp. He’d never say it out loud, but their commanding officer has royally fucked up. But, he doesn’t want to think about that and instead scans the area to count the others around him again. 

Satisfied that the men he considers brothers are safe, Will closes his eyes, hiding the baby blues from others. He doesn’t have to wait long, his mind already knowing where to go. It easily conjures up an image of home. Of wood panels and terracotta accents. Of white fences and a porch swing. Of warmth of a coffee cup in his while he stands barefooted in his kitchen. 

But in his dreams, there is someone else in the kitchen, not as a friend but as something more. Someone who he can only hope wants the same thing as him when Will can return back from this hell. You. 

You with your big smile, hopeful eyes and soft skin that Will aches to touch and explore. You, with your pretty dresses and tempting thighs. You, who he wants to hold close, keep near for all eternity. 

You who he hasn’t had the courage to tell his feelings to. But that stops now. He will tell you everything, every painful and hopeful thing his guarded heart has kept hidden.  

If this trip has taught him anything, is that he no longer has time to postpone telling you how he feels. Will can’t let you slip through his fingers. He jut has to hold onto hope that he is not too late.

**

Will’s dirty, his beard is slightly overgrown and he’s sure the clothes he has on would have to be disposed as hazardous waste but he couldn’t wait a second longer once the plane hit the familiar tarmac. 

Here he stands, metaphorical hat in hand, and waits for you to open the door. He’s run through each and every scenario in his mind already, calculating the odds and anticipating the outcomes. He can’t help himself sometimes; he counts to keep himself calm and it comes to him as naturally as breathing. This is who he is, numbers and all.

The door opens and there you stand, long summer dress floating around your ankles and Will is almost sure the image of you keeps him captivated for life. He’s lost and he never wants to be found it that means he can keep this image of you, smiling like the sun.

Another image pops up in his mind of you and this time his breath is lost. He sees the dress, the white of it glowing and making you look ethereal and suddenly Will can’t wait to see it in reality. It’s that thought that gives him the courage to look you in the eyes.

“Sweetheart, I’m…”

“William Arthur Miller! Where the fuck have you been!?” Your face morphs, the sadness echoing in your voice and filling up your porch. Before he can move, you spring forward like a wired coil and ram into him. The oomph that leaves his chest is more of surprise than anything else. His hands wrap around you, feeling your scent wrap him in a similar warmth and happiness he’s been dreaming about for all those nights in the jungle and middle of the rocks, waiting for a signal, any signal from Benny. 

He buries his face in your neck, breathing deep to ground himself. He tries to count how many moments he has until he has to move away, how long can he steal this moment until the awkwardness of a hug too long rears its head. You burrow deeper into Will, sighing and he can feel your muscles loosen. In turn, he grips you tighter, unwilling to let this opportunity slip by. Given the chance, Will would hold you forever. 

When you let go, untangling your limbs from his neck and back, Will can already see the telltale signs of your embarrassment. “Please don't,” he whispers softly, fascinated by how visceral a reaction he gets when his voice ghosts over the slope of your neck. “Don’t hide. Not from me.”

He waits a beat, before adding. “Never hide from me, sweetheart. My heart could not take it.” 

You look at him with a curious expression, something mixed with hope that Will can’t really discern. Maybe it’s his own hopes and dreams he wants to see reflected back to him. He wants to hope it’s not the case though. He takes your hand, pulling you close as he places one of your hands right over his heart. 

Hi baby blues, the ones that can storm rain and ice over anyone who steps on his way, soften into heavenly clouds and he holds your gaze. He knows he’s normally guarded, a man of routine and precise calculations, but around you his sharp edges soften. He hopes his words that formulate in his mind convey that to you.

“I am sorry I left without a word or note, sweetheart. I can never apologize enough for that. I left for selfish reasons and I am here in front of you now for selfish reasons. But, they are different reasons and these ones are much more important than the stupid ones I left for without saying goodbye.” 

He can see the tears gather in the corner of your eyes and Will smiles softly. “I am sorry if I am too late, or I don’t have the right words. But sweetheart, you are my reason. My reason of waking up in the morning, because I get your message of good morning then. My reason when I’m tired on the road when I come back from speaking because I know you want me home. My reason when I retreat into myself and my PTSD gets too hard to handle because I know you’ll never judge me.”

He takes a breath of air, speaking the next words that will change everything between you. 

“I want to be your reason. I want to be the one who makes you smile, who you can rely on and who you can tell all your worries and happy accidents to.” He speaks your name then, the low timbre of his voice curving into musical notes and he smiles before turning serious.

 “I’ve been in love with you sweetheart for too long and I can no longer keep silent. If you don’t feel the same, that is okay. We can go back to being friends and I’ll,” Will tries not to choke on the words, forcing himself to continue. 

“And I’ll be content. I promise, I’ll never leave you, whether we remain friends or become something more. But if, if you feel the same, please let me finally kiss those lips I’ve been dreaming of for so long.” 

Your lips pull up in a smile, the Mona Lisa -effect taking place and your eyes speak your truth. Your whispered yes is all Will needs and he pulls you in, slotting his lips to yours. He lets his actions speak louder than words, kissing you with everything he has and a little more. Every emotions, each bit of his heart is poured into the kiss. 

The sun can rise or set behind him, he doesn’t care. He has you, he is finally kissing the love of his life and that is all he needs.

It’s the first kiss of many and Will intends to count each and every one of them, storing them as core memories in his mind. He will kiss you until he’s too old to remember what his speech sounded like, until he no longer can respond to any order coming from his superior and his knees grow weak. This is his forever and he can’t wait to see where this goes now that he has this.

*

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this one!

(please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list any time!)

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[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Any thoughts on the casting for The Last of Us season 2?

Oh god. So many.

So, I actually have all of TLOU show related tags blocked - because just seeing mentions of the show gets me kind of ticked. I miss the strike era when production of the show was delayed indefinitely.

But as far as the casting - I think Dina's casting is alright. I was one of those people who was naively hoping that Cascina would actually get to play Dina in the show, but I knew realistically that was never actually gonna happen.

Abby's casting however - I genuinely think that Kaitlyn Denver is a horrible choice. Like they looked up all the people who absolutely cannot play Abby and then they picked her.

Someone said that she looks like young Ellie - and I think for a long time, she was a popular fancast for Ellie. And to me, she looks like she can maybe only play young Abby in flashbacks. So unless they're gonna completely surprise people and only have her playing young Abby and then have someone else playing the real main timeline version of Abby - it won't work.

If you guys know me, then you know that I am incredibly protective of Abby's character. And based on the complete bastardization that they did of Season 1/TLOU 1, I already knew that they were going to royally fuck up Abby's character in some way.

And yes, I am basing most of my opinions on the fact that she is small and thin and Abby is supposed to be muscled, but people don't understand how pivotal that aesthetic is as a part of Abby's characterization.

(And they were never going to find someone perfect unless they used 2 different actors - one for flashbacks and one for the main timeline - because Abby gets ripped over years but it is shown in one short story, and her model was made with 2 different people - one for the face and one for the body, so they could keep her face on a younger, thinner body in flashbacks.)

Abby being muscled is actually a pivotal thing - it means she is feared and respected among the WLF, it means that Lev and Yara immediately fall in and trust to follow her through the woods because they view her as a protector when they are vulnerable and alone. Her body is a tool that is useful to her - it makes her completely immune to Isaac's violence right up until the moment she looks him in the eyes and asks him not to shoot Lev, and even then, he is asking her to step away from Lev so that he doesn't have to kill his best solider.

Isaac was more willing to kill Owen - thinking of Owen as disposable - than he was willing to kill Abby. And I think that breach of our society's typical sexism (where a man is always a better fighter, Abby supersedes that) in their post apocalyptic world, is really, truly shown by Abby's large stature.

Not only that, but it makes her physical malnutrition and how much she has wasted away because of the Rattlers that much more shocking. (Which, if they were going to depict that, it would be easy to do so with a heavily muscled actor and then make them look shockingly thin with CGI and makeup - but that scene is one of the reasons why video games are sometimes a better format. It being 100% computer generated means no actors had to be harmed during those scenes.)

Also (I wish I had screenshots of the specific lines) - but Abby and Owen's breakup at the Aquarium is about her training (her urge to gain muscle in order to aid of her long term revenge mission toward Joel) - Owen is surprised when Abby says she can bench press 140 pounds, and therefore, she can easily lift him. And Owen is insulted that Abby wants to spend more time training than she does with him - he is upset that her trauma and her revenge has overtaken her life to the point where she doesn't want to goof off watching spotted seals, and instead - just wants to train more.

And this leads more into the dynamic of - Owen is a disposable pawn (who pretends to take a pacifist stance when he's really a coward) and Abby has to vouch for his life with Isaac because she is infinitely more valued in the organization.

There is just a lot of layers to it - and they're already fucking it up.

I am trying my hardest to ignore the fact that she show exists, but it's actively lowering the IQ of the fandom every single day, and now I am gonna have to take braindead Abby takes from people who have only seen the show, and I genuinely wish it had never been made in the first place.

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

Permanent

A/N: I don’t know if anyone else has ever felt like this, but I remember someone once telling me something along the lines of, “You’re the girl boys are going to marry. Those other girls are the one’s they’re just playing with for now.” I’m not trying to put other women down at all, but I think I’ve struggled a bit with looking at relationships I’ve had in such a logical sense that I’ve never been able to truly apply myself or feel anything more than a sense of temporariness. So this is about the girls that boys marry, and giving all those girls a bit more peace of mind about their true potential.  Pairing: Gerard Way x F!Reader Word count: 3,304 words Warnings: Angst, panic attacks and anxiety, swearing

You had… struggled with men.

It wasn’t necessarily that you were the problem per se, it was more so that your expectations were. Even in your early 20s you had wanted so badly a boyfriend who was ready to settle down at least a bit, even if it only lasted two or three years. You would’ve never minded the weekend outings with his friends or the independence that most relationships were built on nowadays, but you at least expected some domesticity and consistency.

And according to everyone, especially your friends who were on boyfriend five or six by the age of 25, that wasn’t reasonable.

“Listen, Y/N,” Jessica said through the loud conversation of the bar you were in, music interrupting just a bit in the background. “It’s not that men don’t like you, or that you’re an undesirable person, it’s that they don’t want you right now.”

“You’re the type of girl they’ll marry.” That was the key phrase, the one that had been repeated over and over to you. At this point you were sure it was being said solely because if your friends said it enough, they believed it would come through. You were also slightly relying on that theory too.

And sure, just looking at the men around your age in your life and backtracking their behavior and relationships could easily prove that theory. Most of the girls they dated didn’t last longer than a couple months, a year if they were somehow lucky enough to stick. They were usually more wild, wanted to go out every Friday and Saturday until they were completely wasted and walking through the streets of New York aimlessly. Nothing against them, that just wasn’t you.

“Gerard will inevitably go for you,” Georgie had said optimistically, “Just give him time, ya know? He’s going for crazy girls right now, give him another two years. Once men hit 30, they have a switch go off in their brains and suddenly all they want is to wife up the right woman, buy a house in a nice suburb, and trade in their fun car for a reliable 7-seater SUV.” You groaned a bit at the wait time she proposed and the generally unlikely thought that someone like him would actually date you, let alone marry you.

Sure your crush was relatively obvious, but that’s all it was. A crush. A stupid little liking because, yes, he was attractive, and you two seemed more than comfortable with one another. Only in those fantasy worlds you dream when trying to fall asleep would the two of you be married in a white picket fence house. To begin with, neither of you would completely apply themselves to that lifestyle, and Gerard was off in his own world doing his own things and would never think of you in a way that would allow for such a relationship to exist.

And now, sitting here in a club you didn’t necessarily want to be at, those worlds seemed to divide even more. You slowly sipped on your vodka Red Bull that was meh in the grand scheme of drinks you had drank in your years. Your friends sitting next to you at this round booth that was obnoxiously worn for how nice it looked were off in their own conversation about something you lost track off long ago. Your eyes were now far more focused on the way Gerard was interacting with his newest fling, whatever her name was. He was currently going through a stage of girls he found so disposable that you didn’t even have to know the names of them. Soon enough, they were gone too.

Your stomach only knotted itself in a more complicated tangle when her hands drifted around and to the back of his neck, using his slightly taller frame to balance herself with a stupidly innocent yet dangerous smile on his face, that judging by his smirk/smile combo he was eating up, unlike you. And finally, the way their bodies touched in such close proximity, his hands tightly grasping the hips of her tiny and snug dress, and their lips met it what seemed to be at least a halfway genuine kiss had caused your brain to enter overdrive.

You placed your glass down on the table, the outside now dewey from the contrast of how long it had been out to the growing heat with an obnoxiously large amounts of moving bodies everywhere. “Y/N-“ One of your friends called, trying to grab your attention. 
“I need- air.” Was all you were able to muster out, grabbing your coat. Scrambling through these large bodies of people only made your emotions more spiked and generally freaked out, and finally by the end you were in a dark hallway leading to the exit. You marched towards it and outside.

You were hoping for some fresh air, but living in a big city held no such luxury. Instead, all you could smell was a nearby sewer, cigarette smoke, and some pizza place a couple storefronts down. None of this was helping.

After a moment of contemplation as to whether going back in there was a good idea, your minds reaction switched to a simple “run” and that led you marching home. You were grateful you had gotten over the “I want to look cute so I’ll wear high heels” phase of your life, because your tennis shoes right now were saving you from days of pain and blisters at the pace you were walking.

You weren’t sure anymore if you were running from the club itself and the atmosphere you could care less for, or him. This was a cycle that happened every time and everywhere you went with him. You would show up with your friends to clubs or bars thinking it was somehow, magically going to be different from the last time. Within an hour, you had left usually with the excuse you had a lot of work to do over the weekend (a very blatant lie) or that you just weren’t feeling well (code phrase for: I’m sick and tired of seeing him all up on other girls). You wanted tonight to be different though.

You had quickly decided to not respond to his texts. You would get home, text one of your friends letting her know you were safe, and turn off your phone for the night. You wouldn’t be the one to deal with his text messages that came flooding in about how much he adored you, how pretty you were, how he never wants to make you feel uncomfortable because you’re just such a special person to him. It was probably the adrenaline high, gaining mass amounts of validation from girls prettier than you, but you were over his tendencies to fuck with you and make you believe there was even a slight shot you had at a relationship with him. It was like he ignored your Monday movie nights which always ended up in you cuddling together, or every Wednesday when he would take you out to dinner just to “check in” since you were that important to him. But in moments like these, you realized you were the last thing on his mind. And that was the problem.

As soon as you got home you had followed the plan as created. Texting your friend to tell her you were at home and nothing had happened to you, and shutting off your phone loosely throwing it onto your bed. You slipped off your shoes and took off this stupid little back dress that you couldn’t help but wonder if you even looked good in anymore. He went with you to the mall when you found it. Called you gorgeous, and insisted you buy it, stating “that dress was made for you”. Clearly it wasn’t amusing anymore. You carelessly threw it on the floor of your closet next to old boxes of shoes and hoped it would be eaten by them and never seen again.

You decided on a quick shower, letting the steam and scorching hot water burn your feet a bit before stepping out and prepping your hair for the night. You decided on a sleep mask a friend had gotten you for Christmas from a store that specialized in products for sensitive skin, which unfortunately was perfect for you. Finally, you settled in bed with your computer, debating whether to find a good book or TV show.

Maybe a minor mistake. You quickly realized that your texts transferred over to your laptop, and now here you sat debating whether to open up the five unread messages from Gerard. You decided against it, despite the little red bubble in the corner of the icon that was obnoxiously yelling at you to open it up. But you had some element of self control even in an emotional state, and knew you couldn’t deal with a man child right now for your own sake.

You had curled up with an old comfort show of yours from when you were a kid. Your mind immediately flashed back to the couple of moments when you weren’t doing well, Gerard coming in to check on you and watching it with you. Despite it being a literal kids cartoon probably produced for seven year olds, he had no protests to your knowledge and seemed to enjoy it. But you quickly pushed those remaining thoughts out of your mind and tried to focus on the present itself.

You were nearly on the brink of falling asleep, having gotten through a good four or five episodes, your brewed and boiling tea now room temperature and the surface of the water now staining the inside of the mug where its edge met the ceramic. That was when you got the little ding on your computer, looking at the top right corner where your notifications came in.

“I’m outside your door,” The words flashing under the name Gerard Way made your eyes grow wide. “Please open up, I don’t want to knock and disturb your neighbors.”

Oh, so now he’s being selfless, but only for your damn neighbors who you barely knew. You decided to leave it be, assuming he would leave soon enough.

“Open up. I will start knocking.” Was the next text. You scoffed at the tone of his message, coming off as a complete and utter dick. Which right about now he was.

Only 15 seconds later and the string of knocks came, literally not stopping.

Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock-

The man would not leave your door alone and was clearly unwilling to unwind his fist and take his ass home. You stomped out of bed and up to your door where you swung it open, to reveal Gerard there in that damn leather jacket you loved so much on him, hair in multiple different directions, and eyeliner beginning to smudge and look more like raccoon eyes. “What the fuck do you need.” Was all you stated as he tightly smiled at you.

“It’s nice to see you too,” Was all he could say, trying to casually step into your apartment but promptly being blocked by you moving in his way. 
“If you need something right now, tell me. I’m not playing games.” He took a sigh, leaning against the doorway and crossing his arms, clearly too oblivious to understand any ounce of the problem you were currently having with him.

“Why did you leave? Again?” He asked as if your want to leave a boring and shitty club was your fault.

“Are you for real right now?” You asked him with a scoff as he stood there in his self-righteous glory, “You do this every fucking weekend. Invite me out with our friends, leave me as soon as we get into the fucking place to go and hang out with- whoever your fucking now” He seemed intrigued by your tone judging by his face of amusement which only fired you up more, “And I’m left in the fucking booth with nothing to do.”

“You could come out and dance with me-“

“Bullshit!” You immediately called, interrupted him, “Not when you have a girl pressed up so close against you that you would actually be fucking her had you not had clothes on.”

This time he seemed more startled by your outburst, “Listen,” You sighed a bit, trying to take a deep breath and calm yourself before your apartment manager was called by the neighbors. “I’m really done with this whole situation. If you’re not interested in me, genuinely, please just leave. I can’t deal with someone nagging me on like a dog with a bone, and expecting they’ll put as much thought and effort into this when they don’t. I get you’re still in your phase of experimenting with people, totally fine. But don’t play with me when you know I’m ready for something bigger and more permanent.” You gave him one more tight smile, the most genuine you could pull as he stood there in a bit of awe, “Goodnight, Gerard.”

You were closing the door when you felt a force push back, and this time Gerard actually managed to maneuver his way in. Before you could even process his presence, he had taken your cheeks in his hands and pressed his lips against yours. You froze for a good couple of seconds before giving in against every logical neuron firing their cannons in your brain, and kissing him back. It felt needed, so passionate and powerful that you felt your entire body heat up as if every blood vessel wanted to be known with a blush tone painting your skin.

As soon as he let you go to give you some breathing room, his hands still on your face, you pulled away. You only got a glimpse of his softened face and wide eyes before they turned to disappointment and face dropping in the same fashion. “D-don’t do that.” Was all you could mutter out, now on the brink of tears and choking on the sudden dryness in your throat. “I- we can’t- I can’t do this.”

You had felt your body go to its natural reaction when entering a panic attack, your face scrunching up so it turned sour, breathes beginning to stumble on each other, and body feeling like it was shaking. “Shit.” You heard Gerard mutter, feeling his arms wrap around you and slowly walking you to your couch.

You felt the cloth couch under you given that you were wearing loose shorts and Gerard let go of you which actually felt a lot better than the squeezing sensation against your shoulder. “Sweetheart,” You heard lightly through the pounding in your ear drums, “I need you to take deep breaths, count. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. 1, 2…” The sequence continued as you slowly started focusing on your breath again and back to having relatively more control of your consciousness. As soon as you felt like you could speak again, you mumbled out.

“I- I’m s-sorry.” It was all you could say as your tears stained your face even more. It was a natural response for you to apologize for overly-showing emotions, despite years of therapists and others telling you it wasn’t something you should do.

“No, honey, it’s okay.” He reassured, placing his hand on your thigh, “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done that and led you into a panic attack I- that’s so fucked up.”

“You didn’t mean t-to.” You managed to say out loud. The room was silent for a few more seconds, Gerard grabbing the TV remote and turning it on. 
“Ah, perfect.” He said as your comfort show was of course the first thing that popped up. He hit play without asking for any permission. He got up, finding your pile of blankets on one of the chairs in the back corner of the living room, picking one out and coming back, draping it over the two of you. He was quick to place his arm around your shoulder, allowing you to find the comfort of his shoulder as a resting place for your head. He gave you a kiss on the head before whispering into your ear, “Anything else I can do?” You shook your head deciding you needed some more time to calm down before pursuing the serious conversation you were inevitably going to have tonight and just trying to enjoy the moment.

It all felt a bit surreal, and more like a movie. You had questioned if this was Gerard again just trying to keep you at bay, and if your words actually meant nothing to him but a manipulative tool to make sure you stayed. As your mind ran with this, you finally had to pop the question. “Are we doing this, yes or no?”

Simple as that and turning to him now more serious, he looked back at you, then at the TV with the remote to pause the show. It was a bit comical almost to see this very serious conversation was about to begin with a cartoon character in the background. “Do you want to?” Was all he asked back.

“I’ve wanted to for a while. It’s you I’ve been forced to wait for.” He smiled a bit at your response with it’s hint of snark, “And don’t just say yes to keep me, I can’t deal with this again. If you want to do this, you need to be 100% sure. If you need more time, you can take it. But I don’t want you to say yes for me, you need to say yes for you.”
 He took another moment, his eyes scanning your face while his small smile still remained. “You know I would say yes to anything you wanted.”

“Gee that’s not the point,” You argued back, “I don’t want to be stuck in a full blown relationship if you don’t want one. But I also don’t want to continue to play cat and mouse with you and be left waiting alone every night while you’re out with other girls. If you want me, you have all of me. If you don’t, you have none of me.”

You were finally turning the tables, letting him know how it was going to go. Finally taking control of this uncontrollable ship that was on its way to sink for a while. This was the sink or float moment.

He took a sigh, “I think I’m ready, if we’re being honest.” He admitted, “I’ve kind of realized how stupid it is to spend all this time with these girls who I know I’m never gonna be with in the long run. I would much rather spend it with someone I can picture marrying.”

Well that was a bomb if one was ever dropped. You stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds, before he spoke up again. “Most of the girls I dated was to distract me from you, anyways. I think I was running more from the idea of commitment than I was from you. But I’m ready to settle down, call it quits. Just be normal.”

“You mean it?” Was all you could manage to respond with, “Please tell me you mean it.”

“I never lie to you, sweetheart, you of all people know that.”

He wasn’t wrong. In your years long of friendship/flirty/kinda-dating-but-not-really-situationship he had never lied to you once. He had fucked with you a bit to keep you on edge with him, but never truly, fully lied. You hoped that this was no different.

“This better not be the first,” You said back, “Because I’ll give up anything and everything for you.”

[tornrose24]

TGAMM Aladdin AU ideas part 1

Was thinking of those TGAMM Aladdin AU doodles I made and thought of adding more details to that AU:

-This version of Agrabah used to be ruled by a tyrant (the Chairman) with an iron fist until the Chen family overthrew and disposed of him. While Reuben and Esther are far more benevolent in comparison as rulers, the kingdom is still slowly recovering and is a shadow of what it once was.

-Jinx liked how things were ran under the old ruler and wants to overthrow the Chen family and claim the throne. This is where her need to find the lamp would come in.

-The McGees aren’t poor, but they are just barely getting by. Pete desires to restore the kingdom to its glory days and he and Sharon do whatever they can to make money. Molly is the same way. Darryl is still getting into shady stuff to make money the easy way, but tends to get cheated out of whatever he makes.

-Esther and Reuben are seeking potential future brides for their son and to form a political alliance that could help the kingdom. Ollie would rather focus on restoring the kingdom without resorting to that. June is more of an inventor who keeps to herself and has no interest in getting married off either.

-Molly and Libby are still good friends, and Libby’s mother is also barely getting by as a bookseller and poet for hire. Especially after her husband abandoned their family.

-Andrea is one of the potential brides who doesn’t make the cut. (She’s secretly relieved because she already has her eye on someone else).

-I did not assign anyone to Dalia’s role, because I’m leaving that spot open for anyone’s self-insert/oc.

-The way Molly and Ollie meet up would be like in the 2019 film, which would also involve trying to get her brother out of trouble. (Again.) Like in the 2019 film, she would sneak into the palace to meet up with Ollie, who is trying to pass himself off as a servant. Molly is aided by her brother and Libby in sneaking into the palace.

-The two bond over wanting to help the kingdom's people and to restore it back to what it used to be.

-Molly sneaking into the palace is what gets Jinx’s attention. The woman has Molly, Libby, and Darryle captured and claims that she will only let them go without being reported on IF Molly enters the Cave of Wonders. She doesn’t bother mentioning the real identity of the boy Molly visited since its a waste of her time.

-The trio do find a magic carpet.

–Molly finds the lamp. However Darryl is the one who tries to take some treasure for himself, which triggers the collapse.

-While the magic carpet gets Darryl and Libby out of the cave, Molly gets knocked off at one point and becomes trapped. The carpet leaves so fast that Jinx doesn’t see it happen and assumes that her efforts were all for nothing.

-So yeah, no surprise–Scratch is the genie of the lamp. And he is NOT happy that his new master is a very excited young girl who is delighted to have made a new friend who has magic.

-She still manages to trick him into getting her out of the cave and back home though.

-So desperate to get rid of Molly, Scratch tells her about the three wishes and fully intends to screw her over with each one. Except there’s 2 problems. One is that Molly realizes that she has way too many wishes (mostly to better her kingdom) and cannot narrow them down to save her life. The other is that she doesn’t want to lose Scratch THAT fast and refuses to actually make any wishes until she knows for sure what she wants.

-Naturally, he is NOT HAPPY ABOUT THIS.

-Scratch has a much easier time granting wishes of Molly’s very shocked, but also delighted family, though they quickly wise up to the fact that he’s screwing them over on a few.

-He has even less luck with Libby who is VERY genre savvy about genies. She has to coach Molly on how to approach the matter when she is ready.

-Eventually Molly remembers Ollie and tries to go see him, only to find out that he is in fact the crown prince. She is crushed since she hasn’t seen him since before the cave, but there’s no way she can see him if she’s not even a child of nobility.

-However she knows that he cares about the kingdom as much as she does, and decides upon a wish that can do a lot of good. One that can be both selfless AND selfish.

-Molly tells Scratch that she wants him to turn her into a princess. One wealthy enough to gift the kingdom with enough money and goods to keep it going for a decade or two. If she gets the royal family’s attention, she can visit Ollie once more. Scratch is not entirely impressed with the plan, especially after realizing Molly has a crush on the boy, but hey she’s finally making a wish.

-Molly then makes an offer–since she’s had a hard time coming up with wishes, she will use her final wish for Scratch. Whatever he truly wants, she will wish it for him. He admits that he doesn’t exactly enjoy being forced to grant others wishes and wants to be freed from the job. He’s surprised at Molly’s offer, though he’s sure it won’t come to pass.

-However what he does NOT tell Molly is that if he is freed from the lamp, he will be reduced to a powerless mortal capable of dying and without a place to call home, and that idea terrifies him.

-So Scratch grants Molly’s first wish, even if he’s pretty sure its not entirely going to end well. He turns himself into a human and passes himself off as her advisor to keep an eye on things (and to get a front-row seat because this is BOUND to be somewhat entertaining). Libby also wants in and is made Molly’s handmaiden since she doesn’t want a large role that also forces her into the spotlight.

As for what happens next… well, keep an eye out for part 2.

[always-andromeda]

Fool for Love, Edward Nashton baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!! brain is very foggy yk the biz!!!! but maybe sick-fic??? eddie comforting reader who is sick, exhausted, depressed whatever, gimme the comfort darling!!! aLSO we have discussed how much eddie would enjoy being with someone shorter yk!!! so pls!!! eddie!!! give my short ass some love!!! other than that go buckwild babey do whatever i jsut wann b held

Author's Note | storm. my absolute beloved. my short king. I love you terribly and I'm so so so excited to finally fulfill this request. your support and your love has impacted me in a way that I don't think I'll ever be able to explain or repay you for. genuinely adore you with all my heart and I am hoping and praying this insane dose of comfort hits the spot for you. 🥺

You'd insisted Edward go to work; maybe spend the next week at his own apartment this time. With the limited amount of sick days Edward has saved up in his arsenal, it would only end up being a disaster. He'd get sick and if he didn't take time off, he'd have to trudge himself miserably to work and struggle through the sniffles and coughing fits. It's something he could've easily avoided if he wasn't insistent on being right by your side through all of it.

He also insists that he knows how to take care of you better than any doctor could. And you bet that's not far from the truth. He didn't like talking about his past much. He lived in it often enough in his mind. You're the escape. His safehouse. But based on the little he's let you in on, you figure the harsh winters had turned him into a self-sufficient person. Someone who could stave off the bitter cold and the pervasive rot in order to survive.

But this doesn't simply feel like survival. This feels like living--thriving--as Edward puts himself at your disposal. A continued rotation of mugs of warm tea with honey comes through your door. He'd managed to make sense of your mess of a hallway closet and picked out every blanket you owned. The weight of his care is almost deafening.

Even when he's silent for hours at a time, he seems to sense exactly when you need help getting up to go to the bathroom or when your mug of tea is getting low or when you're too cold or too warm. The day is already half over and Edward has spent all of that time, waiting hand and foot on you.

"You don't have to do this," you chuckle hoarsely. "You should really go home before you get yourself sick."

"I have a strong immune system, bunny. No need to worry your little head." he replies absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the morning paper's crossword puzzle laid across his raised knee. His fingertips gingerly graze across your spine before the flat of his palm lays protectively on the small of your back. The gentle assertion over your being could knock the breath out of you and send you into yet another coughing fit.

Your strained throat struggles slightly to voice the internal spiral you're going down. "Why shouldn't I? You've wasted the day away sitting with me...and if I get you sick...you'll have to take more time off...and I know that you don't get paid time off. I just do-"

Edward's voice raises, "Wasted? You think I've wasted my day by taking care of you?"

Rephrased that way...it almost sounds like an insult. You find another way to begin profusely apologizing for the implication before he scoffs.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be." From where you lay on your stomach, you can't see his expression. But you can picture his round cheeks flushing from the vulnerability; could picture him looking down through his glasses at his lap in order to regain some composure.

You feel him shift as he lays on his side and pulls you into the warm alcove in his arms. Instinctually, you melt into his grasp. In just those few seconds...nothing else seems to matter. He envelopes your figure quickly with his own lumbering height. His long arms seem to cradle your existence. And it quells an ache you didn't even know existed inside.

Head already fogging up from the feeling of his body wrapping around yours, you mumble, "I don't think anyone has ever loved me like you do."

He giggles airily--almost to himself--and kisses your hair, "Good. Because I can assure you...there's no one else like us in this entire world. That's why I can't lose you."

The intensity might've unnerved you if you were in your right mind; if you weren't half loopy from cough syrup and from Edward's suffocating passion. But now...now it just feels normal. It feels like home.

[onthenightwatch]

[Video recording start.] 

[Via: Unnamed_Security_Cam_Blockbuster.]

[The video shows a blonde teenager, Harley, leaning against the wall in the back alley of the Blockbuster. Someone else is there, standing off to the side. Shadows obscuring their face. The blonde looks bored. And he flips a knife over in his hands. He looks up after a few seconds and smiles as two others walk into frame.]

Harley: Hey! You made it!

Wilbur: Why're you sounding so fucking happy.

H: Zip it, I wasn’t talking to you.

Edgar: Can you be at least a LITTLE decent? Or is that out of your limited skill set?

H: I can, I just don’t want to.

E: Lovely. I see you didn’t listen to the rules I set out?

H: Did you expect me to follow them? 

E: No. Not at all.

W: Wouldn't it be fair, then, if I gave you- 

H: Hey! I thought I told you to fuckin’ zip it!

[Wilbur jolts slightly, glancing towards the floor and nodding.]

E: God, you are one of the worst people I’ve ever met. And I’ve met Jason. You’re up there with HIM. Let’s just get this started so you can get to the hospital before your curfew.

H: If you say so, who’s swinging firs–

[Edgar doesn’t waste any time in throwing the first punch, it collides with Harley's right shoulder, Harley retaliates with a hit to Edgar’s jaw. They both take a second to catch their breath. And to insult the other.]

H: You punch like a 12 year old!

E: You look like a 12 year old!

[Harley takes a step back, before going for Edgar’s legs. Edgar manages to hop over the teen as he dives. Although, he lands oddly on his ankle, sending him to the ground anyway.]

[Harley attempts to wrap his hands around Edgar’s throat, but Edgar grabs one of his arms and pushes him away. The two stand up again.]

W: Fuck yeah! Get his ass Edgar! 

[Edgar nods at Wilbur, before turning his attention back to Harley. Who has started running at him again, Edgar manages to kick him in the ribs. Causing him to fold inwards, the kick having winded him.] 

E: Jesus, man. Without a gun or whatever else you have at your disposal, you’re literally pathetic.

H: [Coughing.] Fuck you!

[Harley stuffs his hand into his pocket, grabbing something, but not removing his hand. He glares at both Edgar and Wilbur, before moving towards Edgar again, his speed changing wildly halfway through his slow walk towards the man. Which catches Edgar by surprise and sends him to the ground. The two fight on the ground for a while, before Harley finally takes something out of his pocket and jabs it into Edgar’s thigh. The fighting comes to a standstill.]

E: What the fuck did you just do.

W: WHAT THE FUCK.

H: Ever had surgery done? It’s just like that!

E: DID YOU FUCKING INJECT ME WITH–

H: Yep!

[Harley uses this opportunity to punch Edgar in the face, before standing up, one foot on Edgar’s back, pushing him into the ground.]

W: THIS FIGHT'S FUCKING OVER. YOU WIN, BASTARD. 

[Wilbur starts to move towards Edgar, stepping in quick succession.]

H: It’s not over until I say it’s over. 

[Harley shouts something behind him. And someone darts out of the dark, making a beeline for Wilbur.]

W: No the fuck you don't, that's not your place to do that fucker! Leave him alone!

H: Oh, I’ll leave him alone, alright. But I’m not sure you’ll like this option any better!

W: He shouldn't have been a part of this! Please Harley, do whatever you fucking want with me, but please! Don't hurt him! 

H: Hey, he started it!

[Edgar, who has been trying to keep his eyes open since Harley injected him with the contents of the needle, finally closes them.]

W: Please! You don't have to go this far! I'll fucking stay away from people, I'll do what you want, but please.

H: I’ll think about it! Have fun, Wilbur. 

[The new person punches Wilbur in the centre of their chest, drawing his attention away from Harley, who is now dragging Edgar out of frame.]

W: OW- FUCK- HARLEY, DONT YOU FUCKING DARE TOUCH HIM!-

H: I’d pay a bit more attention to your opponent if I were you, Wilbur! 

[The other person kicks Wilbur’s legs out from under him. And Harley finally makes it out of frame of the security camera.]

W: NO, EDGAR- [He coughs, wheezing heavily.] - FUCKING STOP-

H: Nope! Goodbye!

[After a few seconds, a car door can be heard slamming shut. The car then starts up, and drives off.]

W: FUCK-[He is cut off by grasping its chest.]

[The video suddenly cuts off. Ending it.]

[Recording end.]

[extremelyputridfishbreath]

RICHTA MAMBO NUMBER 4

"You forget everything. Everything."

"Even you?" You asked.

"Yes. Even me."

4. "Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?"

richter has in fact, witnessed something irrevocably life changing. as we all know, i don't portray herbert particularly favorably. not because i dislike him or anything (quite the opposite, i actually like him a lot!) but because well...i don't think canon herbert (especially post blackout) would make much of an effort to clean up his act, even for those who would need it most.

i mean, the guy even attempts to hit klutzy of all people during we wish you a merry walrus, so not even he's spared from herbert's poor temper sometimes. he makes it a point to reject even the nicer options the player has to convince him to back down during psa and epf missions, so my faith in him being a good parent personally is...not great! i anticipate this one being long, and it's a pretty sad topic so more under the cut. warning for some pretty Capital A for Awful parenting

so, sonar and radar started having...opinions about the whole, being expected to spy on penguins and report back without making any friends or having any fun thing herbert had them do essentially since he first built them. at first, it was mildly annoying for him to deal with them sulking about it, but once he overheard sonar suggest they go to the epf and leave...well! that struck a nerve to say the least.

at first herbert considered scrapping them entirely, butsurely it'd just be a waste at that point, right? they'd been getting intel for him for 5 years! and he had upgraded them recently too- plus, there was the issue of disposing of the parts that were too penguiny to use for anything else...but it's like a certain malevolent supercomputer said in a critically acclaimed video game: the best solution is usually the easiest one. herbert decided to just wipe the slate clean: get rid of the twins memories and try again, but with a firmer grasp so they couldn't just decide they didnt want to be used as tools anymore...

now, around then richter had gotten a body of her own for the first time. she was a calculator no more! (well, physically at least) but even before then, it was actually quite close to it's siblings. sure, it couldn't play with them much, or come with them on their scouting missions without drawing too much attention, but much like with klutzy richter adored his little siblings, and they adored him in turn... to say richter was utterly horrified by this development would be underselling it.

this single event led to him quietly sneaking them out one night and dropping them off at a foster home in hopes they would be well taken care of (which they did end up being, since aunt arctic adopted them!) herbert didn't nessecarily believe his story that they wandered off and he couldn't find them anywhere, but they didn't have any memories or secrets to spill anymore...and well, he figured the epf would deal with any robots they found if the elements didn't get to them first. he'd just have to keep an especially close eye on his remaining robot for now...

since then, even after her siblings recovered (while they don't remember anything from before the wipe, they've managed to have a pretty decent childhood thanks to aunt arctic in spite of it) richter is deeply unsettled by the fact that if someone really wanted to, or hell, even if she had a nasty enough glitch then her interests, her personality, her cherished memories of friends and family and parties, or even bad memories...everything that makes richter well, richter could just be gone. forever. and while he's gotten into backing up things onto a personal computer "just in case", it doesn't make the thought more palatable...or less worrying.

[possumsinpeoplesuits]

CW: Literally every mental health trigger you can think of, but primarily suicide and abuse.

It's not a secret to my loved ones that I've been struggling with mental health this past year.

January of 2023 started with me having a huge nervous breakdown that sent me straight into psychosis and ended with me being institutionalized for 9 days, and partially hospitalized for another month.

Then, when I was finally stable enough to go back into work, I was put on an employee improvement plan day 1, with clear intent for them to cover their bases and fire me because they had already hired my replacement.

If that wasn't shitty enough, I then got the call from my brother that my father had taken his own life at the age of 53, and I had to deal with the face that my last call with him, immediately after leaving the hospital... was about suicide.

So, I dealt with stress the only way I knew how, and just... mentally checked out from March until, well... probably the past two months? I don't remember much of what I did until I started going back to college. Just a few tidbits here and there, but that's just kinda how I've always dealt with stress. It's why I have basically no memory of my childhood, either.

Totally normal way to deal with stress, right?

Well, the things I do remember, and an issue that's intensified these past couple of months, is some weird nebulous health issue that miiiight be adrenal insufficiency? We're not sure exactly why, whether it's autoimmune like Addison's disease, a form of hypopituataryism or whatever, but the point is my cortisol, which is a steroid/hormone your body produces to deal with stress is just... not really happening.

There's fucking... boatloads of reasons this could occur, as mentioned, but one that stood out was Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in childhood, and sometimes in treatment resistant depression, like my dad had. I have an entire rant locked and loaded about how many symptoms between the two issues overlap, and how they should reeeeally look into the deficiencies that can cause depression, fatigue, back pain, abdominal discomfort, and all that... but I've got something else I want to shout into the void tonight.

But this realization... and the fact that I don't remember much of my childhood, and the fact that what I do remember is enough trauma to already have my psychiatrist talking about PTSD for years... kinda led me to realized that I might actually have that thing I've been diagnosed with already.

Yes, I know, my roommate already had the "Yeah, that obvious" reaction, but denial is a powerful thing, and this still isn't the point I'm getting to. For that, we need to circle back to my mental breakdown, and all the things that go through my head when I'm in active psychosis.

I occasionally have hallucinations. Not frequent enough, or persistent enough for a diagnosis of any of the diagnosis like schizophrenia or the like, just enough to throw me off kilter when I'm stressed, or haven't slept enough. I usually see visual hallucinations, usually people ducking behind cars, or standing over the bed, or sometimes just contextless gore that follows me around like a gnarly eye floater.

I don't usually hear voices, but when I do, it's not... well, it's not an auditory hallucination? It's like an intrusive thought, but... verbal. I'll start having thoughts in my never-ending mental monologue that just... aren't me. The way I described it to the nurse (when asking for every sedative they had, because I was convinced this fucker was the literal devil) was that it felt like someone thinking using my brain, and that it felt like being possessed.

I never acted on it. Obviously, because I'm back home with my cats, and not in jail. These thoughts are profoundly angry, but despite being in anger management as a child, somewhere along the way I just... stopped having an anger response? To anything? My mom claimed me and my brother were mistakes, insulted my nuclear waste disposal job, outed me as trans to a room full of doomsday preppers because we were, for some reason, having Thanksgiving at their house surrounded by AR15s, and I just... laughed it off, and then blocked her number for a year and a half?

This... voice or thought intrusion thing, though, it only ever appeared before when I would have these angry blackouts, which usually wouldn't happen more than once every several years, between which I'd be a fountain of calm.

The other part of psychosis, though, is delusion. I have depression psychosis that intensifies when I'm really, really down, and when I get the combo of those two feelings together, the conclusion my brain jumps to is that everyone around me is real, but I'm not somehow? I'll sit and think about how I never get mad, or how apathetic I'll feel, and while I tend to also start doubting reality around me, it's almost always centered around this distress over just not... being real, while desperately wanting to be.

I didn't have many hallucinations, though, and talking with a therapist usually keeps me from spiraling into that delusion. The usual medications for psychosis tend to make the depression worse, so it's a careful balance of making sure I don't get too deep, while also being able to, well... function with my ADHD? That I also have?

Well, Christmas came around, and after being pretty stable all things considered, I just... didn't sleep for fourty hours. It was the first holiday visit home since my dad had killed himself, and I was spending it with my mom after reconnecting with some hard boundries to make sure she was on her best behavior.

I've still been ill, vomiting, ect, so I didn't really eat much, and ended up looping back to driving the four hours back home, and once I pulled into the parking lot... boom. I see someone hiding behind a car. Then another. Then I realize that it's EVERY car, and I realize that I'm very definitely hallucinating, and need to get some sleep ASAP.

So, I take my night meds (mirtazepine mainly, which is technically a tetracyclic antidepressant, but seems to function like an antipsychotic for my particular brand of every kind of disorder intersecting), and hide in the bathroom while listening to something not-real rooting around my house when I'm home alone, which REALLY doesn't help with the sleeping thing... but somewhere between all that, I start hearing that same voice/narrative creeping into my head.

First reaction was "Oh shit, I thought I got rid of you" because my last interaction ended with them... storming out? It's difficult to explain, it was like they got frustrated and left, which I sometimes tell as a funny story of that time I annoyed my psychosis into remission.

This time, though... it's not anything angry, and it's not alone? But this very masc voice just starts asking me who I really want to be, that none of these things I hate about myself matter because I can just change it?

I was in full on scared child mode at that point, which tends to happen when I'm really, really scared... but I can still hear my usual thoughts, too? Like the normal part of my brain is still active, as well as the other hallucination, and the night basically ended with normal-me and this voice just trying to calm scared me down.

I slept for about fourteen hours, woke up, and went "What the actual fuck was that?" and tried explaining it to someone close to me with the preface of "Okay, so I don't have DID, but this weird thing happened..." followed by everything that happened put into words as best as I could.

Then, I had a therapy appointment. Same thing, except this time he's like "No, that actually sounds like textbook DID." and it kinda made me realize I didn't have an actual reason against that? So I tried to communicate on purpose, without the whole... staying up 40 hours thing, and kinda came to a realization.

That child is the real me. At least, the original, before the more heinous abuse happened when I came out as trans, but just... dealing with being beaten at ten for not wanting to sleep in a shed in winter.

Then, the angry one I hear sometimes, that's the me that built up during the closeted years. I was absurdly angry, repressed as hell, and getting into fist fights all the time, and just... absolutely not a functioning human being, until it just... stopped.

There's another big gap there. Just a big blur where I never left my room for literal years, and then got my first job in a nursing home, and just sort of became this... very gentle person. I was good with patients with dementia, or ones who were just jerks, because everything they said would just roll off, and even if a patient got violent, it was just immediately forgiven.

When I'm breaking down, it's almost always because that nature is being taken advantage of. I'll just get more and more work piled on top of me, because I don't know how to say anything back because I don't do anger.

Then... I remember that the me I've been all these years, this endlessly forgiving person is just... not real, in the usual sense of the word. That I'm built up to be the functional one who never provokes, because the previous me was an incredibly angry man, who was built up around a scared little girl who doesn't know why mom's hitting her for wanting to sleep inside.

To be honest, I have absolutely zero idea on how to cope with any of this. My self care skills ran out like three disorders ago, but neither of these other people I am can function, so I don't think anyone else can front properly. I'm tentatively calling them alters, but I seriously don't know as much about this as I thought I did.

I don't even know everything that happened, I don't think. The things I CAN remember are horrible enough to have my psychiatrist talking about CPTSD, but there are YEARS missing that I don't remember, but my body apparently does, because even losing my job and my father killing himself somehow hasn't prompted my body to release the amount of a stress hormone I need to live?

So I guess I'm just, like... shouting into the void, asking for any more modern resources about this than Wikipedia. I've talked with one friend who's also got some plurality going on, but like... how the fuck do I reach out to two traumatized people with conflicting gender identity that apparently share my body?

Also holy fuck no wonder I cut my hair into an androgynous style and bought a binder even though I'm transfem and already had breast augmentation. I've also been going through this cycle of alternating masc and fem presentation that I didn't do before this all started.

Bruh.

[softersinned-arc]

@balldwin said: i’ve been waiting all night for this.

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate, she’d warned, tone light and teasing and eyes sparkling with wickedness, but their host had been a fool. Fool enough to take her warning as an invitation, at the very least, and Astoria won’t pretend she can’t guess why; even now, blood dripping down her chin and staining her delicate fingers, she looks as much an angel as she does a demon, her hair loose and wild behind her, her white nightgown rumpled. “I really think he has only himself to blame,” she says conversationally, and Baldwin raises an amused eyebrow at her. “I did tell him he should keep his distance.”

          “You quoted Dante.”

          “Rather appropriately, I think. I doubt he’s feeling particularly hopeful now.” Their host is, currently, standing between them, his head yanked back to bare his bitten throat and his eyes wide with terror, and Astoria looks at him with an expression of almost polite interest. “Perhaps I am mistaken, though. Well? Do you feel much hope, sir?” He opens his mouth to answer and no sound comes out, and Astoria smiles, almost indulgent, before looking back at Baldwin. “I suppose we’ll never know.”

          “Are you going to kill him, or keep playing with your food?” A decade ago — even just a few years ago — it would have been an admonishment, but Baldwin almost looks like he’s enjoying himself. He settles comfortably in the open doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watches her, and Astoria pushes their host forward, her hand still fisted in his hair.

          “Would you recommend I leave him alive?”

          He lets out a huff of dry laughter, and Astoria’s smile only widens. She’s showing her hand, she thinks, becoming too open in her affection for him, but she’s fairly certain Baldwin can read her better than anyone else could; there’s little point in lying, at least to him.

          “You’re rarely so — “

          “Inelegant?”

          “You’re often inelegant,” he retorts. “I mean heavy-handed.”

          She shrugs one shoulder. “He insulted me.” Though considering her methods, what she is, many do. “He insulted you. I saw no reason to waste time or artifice on someone who surely won’t be missed.”

          Baldwin’s eyebrow creeps higher, and Astoria laughs.

          “Perhaps you are too far removed from human expectations, cuore mio — we travel as husband and wife.” Easier to explain, less likely to draw attention, particularly if they’re both missing from an event at the same time. It grants them an immediate excuse for privacy, and she has no complaints. “He came to my room late at night, when he thought you were distracted and sure to be gone until morning. No respect for the dignity of his guests. No respect for the sanctity of a marriage. No respect for what he believes is yours by law and by right.” She draws her lips back a bit farther now, her smile just a touch feral. “I’ll dispose of the body. Shudder and weep in fear tomorrow. Half his family thinks they’d be better off with him gone; the other half thinks he’s useful only as a tool. I doubt they’ll mind much once they’ve put on a show of appropriate grief.”

          Something indecipherable passes across Baldwin’s face — and he may be able to read her, but she is still learning him, the subtleties of his gestures and his behaviors, the face he presents to the world set against the face he presents to her, both of which are no doubt distinct from his true face no matter how well they get along now. “So you’ll kill him for the insult?”

          “In defense of your honor, husband,” she teases, and she releases their host. “Go on, then, apologize to your guest for your assumptions. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife. I expected better from a man of faith.”

          The man between them looks wildly from one to the other, and he opens his mouth to speak again without success.

          “Then I’d recommend you give him a taste, cuore mio.” The endearment is always said in equal parts genuine affection and absolute mischief, though Baldwin has yet to complain, so she has no reason to stop. “I am satisfied, for now, but I’ll finish if you won’t.”

          For a long moment, Baldwin simply looks at her, before he grabs their host by his bloodied shirtfront and pulls him closer. After a beat, he reaches around their prey towards Astoria, and he sweeps his thumb below her lower lip; it comes away bloodied, and Astoria pretends she isn’t committing the sight of him like this to memory.

          He licks the blood from his thumb and he lowers his mouth to the bite mark she left behind, fits his teeth where hers had been to speed the flow of blood before he drinks.

          When their illustrious host is discovered missing the following morning Astoria frowns and trembles, her lip quivering and her eyes wide and filled with fear, but she drags the tip of her tongue along her teeth and she thinks of the sweet taste of spilled blood and she thinks of him, the arch of his raised eyebrow and the wicked curl of his lips when she made him laugh, and she feels only hunger.

[ddarker-dreams]

I want to know what methods the yan genshin boys would use if there was a rival in their way. How would they usually act and what would they do if they can't kill them and have to do something else

team "puts the fear of the lord into the rival"

xiao - there's nothing like receiving a personal visit from a yaksha himself to make you reconsider all your life decisions. that’ll be xiao’s rival’s predicament, if he’s even capable of thinking enough in the moment to recognize xiao as a yaksha. the negative karma which clings to xiao’s skin is tangible, and for once, xiao does little to tone it down. all the rival can see through the dark miasma is the otherworldly, glowing eyes of xiao’s mask. a few words of warning about staying away from you and then he’s gone. xiao doesn’t care for dealing with mortals, after all. it’s very likely his rival won’t be going anywhere near you ever again. 

childe - childe just kinda shows up uninvited at his rival’s doorsteps. he’s all smiles, laughter, acting as if the two of them are old friends catching up over a drink. in reality, it’s likely all the rival knows about childe is that he’s a fatui harbinger. hence, not someone you want to mess around with. they’re dumbfounded over why they’ve received a home visit from a harbinger, until childe’s entire demeanor changes from warm to cold as ice. he gets this uncanny grin and asks when the rival would like to fight, even offers to let them choose where at. when the rival presses for clarification, childe would explain that since they’re pursuing your affections, they should be more than happy to battle to the death for the right. he promises to play fair, his vision pulsing on his hip. childe leaves the house whistling, glad that this particular pest is out of the picture. 

team "ruins rival's reputation"

diluc - diluc would love nothing more than to storm up to you and demand you never interact with his rival ever again, but he has enough sense to recognize this is both suspicious and ineffective. especially since you probably only know him as the owner of dawn winery and nothing else. diluc’s connections span all across teyvat, he’ll find a way to dig up dirt on this individual. to justify this smear campaign, diluc tells himself that this person is clearly up to no good, and potentially detrimental to you as a person. he’s meant to be your knight, your secret protector. what kind of protector would he be if he let this threat remain? the rival’s name will be dragged in the mud with all sorts of scandals in no time.  

albedo - albedo ignores the issue for as long as he can, because truth be told, he barely recognizes the rival as someone deserving of his time. there’s only so many hours in the day after all. he’d prefer to dedicate them solely to pursuing his research and you. he views this rival like a snag that he has to troubleshoot, a mild roadblock. since he doesn’t want to waste too much effort on his rival, he settles for a simple framing, perhaps whipping up an illegal chemical concoction then anonymously tipping of the knights to get his rival arrested. since that’s his area of expertise, it’s likely the knights would consult albedo himself to figure out how to prosecute the rival. he’d write up a report about how this chemical is flavorless, historically used in mass poisonings, and could’ve killed mondstadt’s entire population ten times over. that should be enough to keep the rival away from you. 

team "makes darling dislike rival"

kaeya - kaeya is a bit of a hybrid between making you dislike his rival and ruining their reputation, he’s versatile like that. kaeya is thorough in his work — he ends up knowing this person better than they likely know themselves. now, it could be easy for kaeya to hire some goons to dispose of the rival, but where’s the fun in that? the finesse? he wants to get something more out of it. only someone uncreative like, for instance, his brother, would settle for ruining their reputation and leaving it at that. not him. he’ll let the rival think they have a chance with you, perhaps even allowing the beginning of a relationship to blossom. then he has undergarments that obviously don’t belong to you planted on the rival’s bed, gets love letters forged in their writing and dated recently left in drawers you might look, the works. your heart is bound to be broken by this major breach of trust. don’t worry, though, your old pal kaeya is waiting for you with open arms, and would love nothing more than to wipe away your pretty tears. 

zhongli - zhongli could very well seal this rival into a stone to suffer for eons, which he may have in his earlier days, but he’s mellowed with age. somewhat. they’ll be spared the grisly fate but can kiss any romantic opportunity with you goodbye. zhongli is a reliable figure in the liyue community. you’ve never once heard gossip leave his lips, something that comes to serve him well. when he warns you to stay away from so and so, you’re inclined to listen. he’s never had a bad word to say about anyone before to your recollection. not even childe has earned serious admonishment from the lord of geo, and that redhead almost flooded liyue harbor with an evil, ancient god. he doesn’t fixate on the subject, his grave tone speaks for itself, and he moves on a few words later. 

kazuha - kazuha is the embodiment of spite being the best motivator. whatever it is that this rival thinks they can offer you, he’ll find a way to be even better, and by miles at that. he outshines them in all areas. helps you more, is there for you more, completes quite literally every single request you make more. it’s not so much that you’d start to dislike your rival, just that you’d view kazuha as the better option. kazuha goes to such lengths to earn your approval without making it obvious. he’s got such a calm, gentle personality, that you’d never once think of him as overbearing. you’d barely begin to recognize how much you’ve come to rely on kazuha before it’s too late. that’s just how kazuha likes it too — he wants to be the center of your universe as you are his. 

team scaramouche (scaramouche)

scaramouche - he doesn't care about what he technically "should" or "shouldn't" be doing; these moral considerations are regarded with the same indifference as waving off a pesky fly. they had the audacity to try and claim his belonging, so why should they continue to live? as far as scaramouche is concerned, it's a waste of oxygen for air to continue filling their lungs. he doesn't care if they're a peasant from a small village or a bigshot noble with worldwide connections. what is a person if not a walking, talking lump of flesh with nerves and tissue. he'll find a way to ensure their death. he said it himself — neither mortals nor god are qualified to serve as his judge. anyone who wants to challenge his actions can feel free to voice their dissent to him in person.

[clusterbuck]

“ you're my whole world, you know.” or “could you promise me one thing?” from the prompts list if you feel inspired :)

i think i manifested this in a dream bc i woke up and the entire idea was just There

next to your heartbeat (where i should be)

[2.1k, T, ao3 link]

Buck is the one who buys Christopher the disposable camera.

“I had one just like it when I was around your age,” he says, and Eddie sees how Christopher’s eyes light up at the thought of being just like Buck.

He thinks about the one time he’d met the Buckley parents and can’t reconcile his impression of them with the idea of buying their kid a disposable camera. “Maddie?” he asks, and Buck smiles, soft and a little sad, the way he does when he thinks about his childhood.

Eddie makes a mental note to talk to Maddie one of these days. To—thank her? Thanking doesn’t feel right, exactly, but he wants to—reassure her, maybe. Tell her that Buck turned out fine—that Buck turned out wonderful—and that he knows it probably wouldn’t have happened that way if Maddie hadn’t been there for him. If she hadn’t been there to love him.

Just in case no one’s ever told her in quite so many words.

“Yeah,” Buck says. “So I could send her pictures when she left for college.” Then he grins, crouches next to Christopher and ruffles his hair. “We didn’t have any of this instant photo sharing nonsense back then.”

“Don’t act like you’re above the instant photo sharing nonsense,” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows. “Last night, you texted me a picture of a sandwich.”

“It was an excellent sandwich,” Buck says. “Someone needed to appreciate it with me.”

Eddie huffs.

Buck shows Christopher how to use the camera, and Christopher listens with wide, solemn eyes when Buck explains that it can only take 24 pictures at a time.

“So don’t waste them on just anything,” Buck says, and Christopher nods.

“I want to test it before the aquarium,” Christopher says.

“Good idea, buddy,” Eddie says. “Okay, what do you want your first picture to be of?”

“You guys,” Christopher says. “Buck, go stand next to Dad.”

“Your wish is my command,” Buck says. He flings an easy arm around Eddie’s shoulders and Eddie leans in, instinctive, like the heat of Buck’s body has a magnetic pull.

“Say cheese,” Christopher says, holding the camera up to his eye.

“Timberdoodle,” Buck says.

Eddie snorts a laugh, unable to keep it in. He turns to look at Buck, but Buck is facing the camera with a wide smile plastered on his face as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Eddie’s still looking at Buck when the shutter clicks.

“Wait, do that again,” he says. “I wasn’t looking.”

“No do-overs,” Christopher informs him with the air of someone immensely enjoying the little power they have been given. “There’s only twenty-three pictures left. Buck told me not to waste them.”

“I did say that,” Buck says, grinning at Eddie.

“Okay, but—timberdoodle?”

Buck shrugs. “He said say cheese, he didn’t specify what kind of cheese.”

Christopher giggles. “He’s right,” he says and shrugs when Eddie looks at him, helpless, like what can you do?

“You’re impossible,” Eddie says. “Both of you.” But he knows his voice is more fond than anything else, and there’s a laugh bubbling in his ribcage that warms him from the inside out.

The aquarium is quiet, one of the benefits of keeping Christopher out of school and going on a weekday. Eddie tries not to do it often, and only ever for good reasons—educational experiences like the aquarium, things he can justify to himself—but sometimes shift schedules shake out badly and he’s stuck working weekend after weekend and he just misses his kid.

He’s pretty sure his mother would disapprove of Christopher’s occasional truancy, but Eddie has enough faith in himself by now to know that it doesn’t make him a bad parent.

Quiet is good. Quiet means there’s no one in an inexplicable hurry to break the world record for the fastest circuit through the aquarium, so they can let Christopher set the pace without worrying someone will try to push past them. Quiet means Buck and Christopher can spend as long as they want at a single tank, competing over who can tell Eddie more facts about jellyfish, or at the touch tank asking the aquarium staff every question they can think of.

So maybe Christopher’s missing math class, but Eddie’s pretty sure it’s worth it.

Now and then, Christopher raises the camera to his eye like he’s lining up a shot, but Eddie never hears the shutter click. Not until the shark tank, where he pauses to read the sign and Buck sidles up next to him.

Eddie turns around to see the camera pointed at him and Buck. “Don’t you want to take a picture of the sharks?” he asks, and Christopher shakes his head.

“There are pictures of sharks on google,” he says. “But not pictures of you and Buck.”

Eddie blinks, but Buck just grins. “Can’t argue with that logic,” he says. “Here, you want one where we’re looking at you?”

“No,” Christopher says.

And Eddie’s not sure he understands how Christopher is selecting his photos, but it’s his camera. Eddie’s not about to interfere.

Christopher keeps it up. The camera comes with them on every trip they take, to the zoo and the planetarium and back to the aquarium, to the beach and to the park and the next time Eddie brings Christopher by the firehouse. He takes pictures sparingly, never more than one or two at a time, and always of people. It’s usually Eddie and Buck, sometimes other people if they’re around. Sometimes he takes selfies, squeezing himself between Eddie and Buck and holding the camera out in front of him with both hands the way Eddie remembers his sisters doing with a crappy digital camera back when they were teenagers. No one has any idea if they’ll turn out, but Eddie smiles so wide his cheeks hurt anyway.

It takes a couple of months for the camera to fill up, and several weeks after that for the film to be developed—not many places can develop disposable cameras anymore, and it has to be sent to a facility somewhere. But one Tuesday afternoon, Eddie’s phone finally chimes with the notification that his photos are ready to be picked up, and Christopher, reading the screen upside down from the other side of the table, asks if they can go right away.

Eddie can’t think of a good reason to say no.

Christopher wants to look through the photos as soon as the clerk hands Eddie the envelope, but Eddie talks him into at least waiting until they’re in the car. He helps Christopher into his seat, then rounds the car and climbs into the backseat from the other side, sprawling across the seat and handing the envelope to Christopher.

“Okay, buddy, this is all you,” he says.

Slowly, reverently, Christopher opens the flap of the envelope and pulls out the stack of glossy photographs. He handles them carefully, clearly making an effort not to leave fingerprints.

The top photo is from the day Buck brought the camera over, Christopher’s test shot in the kitchen before they’d headed to the aquarium. There’s nothing particularly out-of-the-ordinary about it—it’s just a photo of him and Buck, the framing a little off-centre and the lighting kind of funny—but it takes Eddie’s breath away all the same.

Buck has his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, and Eddie remembers the heat of his body and the weight of his arm, the urge to wrap himself around Buck and not let go. And it’s—there’s—Eddie doesn’t think he’d be able to explain it if anyone asked, but he looks at the photo and he feels like he belongs. He looks at it and he feels like Buck belongs, like they fit, like their bodies were made to fit together like this.

Buck’s looking at the camera, his smile bright and carefree and just a little bit smug in the wake of timberdoodle, but Eddie has his head turned to face Buck. And his face—

He knows he’s in love with Buck. He’s not—okay, so he was a little oblivious in the beginning, but he’s been fully caught up for months now. He’s aware of this. But god, he didn’t know it was this—this obvious. This clearly etched into every facet of his being. Because he’s looking at himself looking at Buck, and his eyes might as well be cartoon hearts for how subtle they are.

Does he always look like this? Does everyone know?

Does Buck know?

For a second he thinks about asking Christopher, but he isn’t sure that’s an appropriate topic of conversation with his preteen son. Except Christopher must see him staring, because he says, “You always look at Buck like that.”

Eddie swallows. “Like what?”

“The same way you look at me,” Christopher says and flips to the next photo like it’s nothing.

Only it’s not nothing, because the next photo is from the aquarium, Eddie reading the sign and Buck next to him, and Buck is—

Buck is looking at Eddie the way Eddie was looking at Buck.

“Yeah, he does it too,” Christopher says and flips to the next one. And the next one, and the next one, and in every single one it’s the same.

“I’m—” Eddie says, reaching over to buckle Christopher’s seatbelt and sliding out of the backseat. He gets into the driver’s seat and looks over his shoulder. “Hey, buddy, how do you feel about going to Abuela’s tonight?”

He drops Christopher off at Abuela’s, and she takes one look at him and grabs him by the arm. “Eddito, is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, blinking. His heart has been racing since the parking lot, and he’s sure Abuela can feel his pulse thundering. “Yeah, I’m—I just—I need to do something,” he says.

“Nothing bad?” she asks.

“No,” Eddie says, a smile spreading across his face. “Nothing bad.”

Eddie makes it to Buck’s place in record time. He’s not even sure he parks between the lines, but he’s never cared less. He races through the building, skidding to a halt in front of Buck’s apartment.

There’s a key in his pocket, but using it doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel like it fits the moment. So he knocks on the door, and knocks again when Buck doesn’t answer it immediately.

His fist is still suspended in the air when the door swings open.

“Eddie—?” Buck asks, and Eddie steps into the apartment, pushing the door shut behind him.

“Buck,” he says and casts around for more words, for something to explain why he’s showed up at Buck’s door unannounced, but nothing he can think of seems to cover it.

So he takes another step and reaches out, fisting his hand in the front of Buck’s sweater and pulling him close enough to kiss. His other hand snakes up, wrapping around the back of Buck’s neck.

Buck makes a noise against his mouth, soft and startled, then he’s pressing against him, slipping his arm around Eddie’s waist, kissing him back. And it’s—strange, the first man Eddie’s ever kissed. Strange to feel the stubble under his hand and Buck’s broad frame against him. But it’s Buck, the person he knows better than he knows himself. Everything about him is familiar—the scent of his shampoo and his laundry detergent, the heat of his body, the way he feels like home.

“I’m—” Buck gasps out when they break apart, two minutes later or twenty-two, Eddie isn’t sure. “Eddie, what—”

Ice floods Eddie’s veins and he takes an involuntary step back, searching Buck’s face for any hint of disgust or discomfort. “Was that—did I read this wrong?” he asks, and Buck’s hand shoots out, grabbing his arm and pulling him close again.

“No,” he breathes. “No, Eddie, I’m on board—you have no idea how on board, I’m just—why now?”

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Uh—” he reaches into the pocket of his flannel and pulls out a photo he’d taken from Christopher’s stack. “We developed Chris’s photos today, and I—and you—” He unfolds the photo and hands it to Buck. It’s from one of their beach trips, Eddie stretched out on a towel with his eyes closed and Buck looking right at him.

“Oh,” Buck says.

“It’s—they’re all like this,” Eddie says. “So I just—you look at me the way I look at you, so I thought—”

Buck looks up at him. “How do you look at me?” he murmurs.

“Like you’re my whole world,” Eddie says. “Buck, this is it for me. You and me and Christopher. You know that, right?”

When Buck smiles, it’s bright enough that it could power galaxies. “I know that now,” he whispers, settling his hand on the side of Eddie’s face. “Do you know you’re mine too?”

“I do now,” Eddie says, and the words are muffled when Buck surges up to kiss him this time.

[atlabeth]

warmth - zuko x fem!reader

summary: the two times he notices her shivering and the one time he does something about it. 

a/n: lmaoo we have been in a DROUGHT my people. i have barely given you any content this whole month and i feel bad. i wrote this out over the course of a few hours after getting the idea in the shower. i did not proofread. i am not sorry. enjoy.

and NO that end part is not dirty it is simply two kids sharing a bed for warmth bc they got cute lil crushes on each other 🔫🔫🔫🔫

wc: 1.6k 

warning(s): this is pure fluff bbbbbb 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three times. 

It happened three times before Zuko was finally able to get over himself and have a real, face to face, one on one conversation with the one person he hadn’t been able to get out of his head. 

Y/N. It was a name that had made a home in his mind, belonging to a girl that had made a home in his heart. He knew that she was a waterbender from the Northern Tribe and that she had joined the team after the Siege of the North, but apart from that, her life was a mystery to him. She was a mystery to him. 

It was pathetic. How could he become so enraptured with a girl when he didn’t even know the first thing about her? When he had spent the past couple of months fighting against her, trying everything in his power to hurt her? When she had no idea he even thought about her that way? 

Sometimes Zuko questioned himself, but then he caught a glimpse of her — the gleam of her hair, the way her eyes crinkled at the edges when she laughed, the fierceness with which she fought rivalled only by the way she cared for her injured friends afterwards — and he laughed inwardly. 

There was no way he couldn’t feel that way about her. She was simply enchanting. 

But there was only one thing he questioned more than his affections — why in the name of Agni could he not just walk up and start a conversation with her? There was no one else in the world that made him as nervous, as flushed, as completely incapable of basic speech as Y/N, and it drove him insane. 

It drove him insane that it took three times. 

~~~

The first time he noticed her shivering, it wasn’t on purpose. 

Zuko was serving tea to everyone as they gathered around the campfire, chuckling as Aang recounted one of their earlier adventures, back when he was still trying to capture the Avatar. Thinking about his past, who he used to be, was painful, but it gave him all the more reason to be thankful for where he was now. 

He wasn’t as focused on Aang’s story as he was on Y/N, though. She could hardly keep her thoughts to herself, interrupting every couple of seconds to add a detail that Aang forgot or give her own input on the events that he was describing. He started to frown as he noticed her shivering despite sitting right next to the fire — Zuko didn’t even realize how distracted he was until he felt someone hitting his arm. 

“Hey!” He was snapped out of his reverie by the harshness of Katara’s voice, angrily gesturing at the broken teacup and now spilled tea all over Haru. 

“Oh— I am so sorry,” he stammered as he crouched down and started to pick up the pieces on the ground. “Are you okay?” 

“It’s just.. really hot tea,” Haru muttered with a small wince. “No big deal.” 

“You’re right. It’s not a big deal.” Y/N raised her hand and with a small, fluid movement, she bent the liquid out of the fabric and formed it into a tiny sphere in the air. “See? Good as new. And you’re not even burnt.” 

Haru chuckled and pulled at his tunic, giving Y/N a grateful nod. 

“Can a sky bison drink tea?” She mused as she moved the liquid orb around in the air. 

“I don’t think so,” Aang said with a small laugh. 

“Shame we have to waste it.” Y/N bent it away from the group and let it fall to the ground, sinking into the rock below them. “Zuko can always make more though, right?” She said with a hopeful smile. 

“Uh, yeah. Of course.” 

“See, guys? No harm, no foul. You’re the best, Zuko.” She gave him an overexaggerated wink then began to pester Aang to get back to the story, leaving Zuko to continue handing out tea and keep his shaking hands as steady as possible. 

She really had no idea the effect she had on him. 

~~~ 

The second time? It was definitely on purpose. 

The night was unusually cold, even with the bonfire blazing in the middle, and he found his eyes trained once more on Y/N. This time she was the storyteller, giving them all a taste of Northern Water Tribe culture as she recounted a bedtime story she was told as a child. She had a whole arsenal of character voices at her disposal, keeping everyone thoroughly entertained despite the numerous lines she forgot. Zuko didn’t even realize he was staring until Sokka elbowed him in the elbow, gesturing at her with a nod of his head and a cocky grin. 

“What are you doing, just gawking at her like that?” 

“Wh— gawking? I am not gawking. I’m— I’m just listening to her.” 

“Yeah, sure. But I’m pretty sure Appa could start talking right now and you wouldn’t notice because you are hopelessly into her.” He gestured at Zuko’s eyes with his hand then in Y/N’s direction. “Gawking.” 

“I— I am not!” He protested, tearing his eyes away from Y/N’s animated face to give Sokka one of his signature glares. He lowered his voice to a whisper to ensure that no one would hear them. “I’m not into her, I’m not gawking, I am appreciating her storytelling.” 

“Uh huh, yeah.” Sokka looked at her and grinned before glancing back at Zuko. “If you’re not into her, then I can ask her out, right?” 

Zuko didn’t respond, simply kept glaring at him in hopes that it would intimidate him into backing down so he wouldn’t have to say anything and risk embarrassing himself. 

Sokka chuckled and held up his hands. “Alright, geez, I’m just joking. But maybe use some of that fire to keep it going? Looks like she’s cold.” 

Almost immediately, he broke eye contact and fueled the fire with a simple blast. Y/N shot him a grateful smile and nodded as she continued her story, and Zuko noticed her hands falling back down into her lap from their former place on her arms. 

No amount of fire could’ve caused as much warmth as her smile. He was sure of that. 

~~~

There was no way he could miss it the third time. After all, she was the only one there. 

Zuko hadn’t been able to sleep so he ended up outside, and there she was — sitting there, all alone in the middle of the temple grounds, shivering quietly with a moonless night sky as her backdrop. Before he could second guess himself, Zuko started walking over. 

“Hey.” Y/N greeted him without even looking up as she pulled her arms around herself, bringing her legs up to her chest in an effort to conserve all the warmth she could. 

“Hey.” Zuko took a seat on the ground next to her and crossed his legs. “Are you cold?” 

She let out an airy chuckle and nodded. “Strange, isn’t it? I grow up surrounded by snow and ice and I’m perfectly fine, but after a few months away a couple of breezes are tearing me down. I don’t get it.” 

“You’ve been shivering a lot lately,” he said after a beat of silence. Y/N raised an eyebrow and gave him a wry smile. 

“What, have you been looking?”

That sent him stammering. “I-I— yes? I mean— no, I’ve noticed, but I’m not actively looking at you, that’s weird, I’m not— I mean—”

Y/N threw her head back and laughed, the same laugh that sent flutter bats through his stomach and made his heart burst with happiness. She set her hand on his and squeezed, giving him a gentle look that almost immediately ceased his rambling. “Zuko, it’s alright. It’s… nice that you’ve noticed. Like you’re looking out for me or something.” 

He opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find his voice — he was sure his cheeks were as red as his tunic, just at the simple touch of her hand — and it only got worse as she placed her other hand on top of it. 

“You’re warm,” Y/N muttered. “Like… intensely warm.”

“Is that bad?” He wondered aloud, preemptively panicking. “Do you want me to turn it off? I can’t turn it off, but I could find a way somehow—” 

“Thank you,” she interrupted with another small laugh, “but no. I don’t need you to uh, turn off your firebending. That already happened once. But you’re adorable to think of me like that.” 

The two of them stared into each other’s eyes, the air between them heavy with something she couldn’t quite place. Y/N pursed her lips and bit back a growing smile as she glanced at the ground. 

“This is, uh… really helping. With the cold, I mean. And I was… I guess I was just…” Another laugh. “I was just wondering if you’d maybe want to spend the night with me? Just because my room is especially freezing, and you’re so warm, and I think I would sleep a lot better if I—”

Now it was his turn to interrupt her rambling. There was something about her getting so flustered about him in the same way he did around her that made this easier. “I’d love to.”

“Great,” she breathed, the same smile from before returning just a little bit brighter. Y/N stood up and they began their walk back into the temple, hands still intertwined, warmth emanating between the two of them. 

Three times. 

Two strikes. 

One success. 

And that was all he needed.