#Im writing this at 12 AM

[canbean-enby]

I was annoying my cat today and I thought of annoying dabi in the same manner. So you get this 12 am splurge of stuff. You’re welcome :).

Out of nowhere you would go up to him while he was watching tv, sit down next to him and just stare at him. He knows that this is a normal thing for you so he just lets you do it, trying to ignore his heart rate that has increased since he heard your bedroom door open. After a few minutes, you start playing with his hair. Coiling your fingers in it and scratching it in some areas to ease the male of any tensions he had from the day. You even checked to see if you may need to dye it again. However, his roots look as dark as the night you did them, which was about 3 weeks ago. A few more minutes pass by and you keep staring at him, eventually laying your head in his lap to get a better angle of his beauty. You admire the ways his scars line under his eyes like a bucket for his ocean like eyes. The way his staples hold the contrasting lives of who he was and who he can be. All of it is beautiful to you. If you would’ve told the ravenett this at the beginning of the relationship, which you did, he would’ve denied you from the use of the word when it comes to him. Especially when it comes to his scars. He feels that they chain him down, that they are a sign of a time when he was weak and they are display for everyone to see said weakness. But you think that they just show how strong the male has been and continues to be. You think they show a sign of courage and determination. You try to tell him that every now and again. Usually when it is 3 am and you are just muttering whatever compliments comes to mind. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the male, it actually makes his heart flutter every time you say it. To think that you look and him and the first thing you think is ‘courage’ is something that he will never understand. Dabi turns to look at you as a love filled look dawns your eyes. It seems like you don’t even notice that he is meeting your gaze, you seem lost in thought. The best thing the male thinks to do is flick your forehead. So the jackass does. “Um- ow” you whine as you rub your forehead, pouting at the pain that you pretend is on your forehead. “That didn’t even hurt. What’re you staring at you weirdo?” He already knew the answer, you say the same thing every time he asks. He secretly just wants to hear you say it. “The pretties boy in the world.” And there it is. Though something in his brain says it isn’t true, a smile still spreads on his face when you say it. The love that shines in your eyes and the way your face contorts to fit that wide smile makes that little annoying voice in his brain worth hearing every time. Because he knows there is another, louder voice that shuts that voice up quick. And that voice is yours. It has always been. And always will be.

[remxedmoon]

hey. you 🫵. isat fan. you should read slay the savior. like right now. this is an order. i’m talking directly into your ear like the green m&m.

ANYWAYS!!! fanart for my friend @basilpaste’s au!!!!!! because it recently wrapped up and it is rotating in my mind forever. i would probably put a whole ramble here if it wasn’t past midnight so just. go read it!!! and look at the designs!!!!!!!! because they’re really good!!!

(also!! tap the image for better quality and stuff! tumblr crunched up the preview for this one…)

[keyotos]

loved you every single day

summary ⎯ what is love for the xianzhou guys? that's basically it. very sappy and tender and sentimental.

includes ⎯ dan heng, blade, jing yuan

tana's words ⎯ hi...

dan heng

⎯ dan heng had a vague understanding of what love felt like. before the astral express, he never really knew what love really felt like due to memory loss. but he learned, eventually.

⎯ he found love when himiko always offered to make another coffee cup for him (this time, with the blend he enjoys). he found love whenever march/stelle would check on him during the late hours of the night, knowing he'd be buried in books. he found love whenever welt offered to shoulder the burdens of keeping watch during trailblazing missions.

⎯ but he has never felt love like this before. not with you anyway.

⎯ there was a sense of loyalty he had for you. of course, he was obviously also loyal to the crew, but it was different with you.

⎯ you made him want to follow you towards the end of the universe. you made him want to run with you into the light or whatever awaits the both of you later on. he was willing to do all of it.

⎯ why? a lame question to ask, he thinks. there are hundreds of reasons why, and he could list them easily. was your smile and the way it instantly warmed an entire room enough reason? or should he add onto the fact that you were practically made of stardust and cosmic radiance? that you have some kind of miraculous or even transcendental ability to string words so brilliantly that it manages to calm the harshest of voices down?

⎯ and love was scary for dan heng, at first. there were too many hindrances and difficulties in his life. for one, he could not let you get caught up in his past. he wouldn't: he would make sure of it. for two, he wasn't very used to love.

⎯ yeah, there was the express crew. but there was also you. dan heng thought that he would spend the rest of his life alone. he still has not settled into his room on the express because he reasoned that he'd stay until the archives until he was ready to leave. but you challenged all of that.

⎯ how is it that one person could make him want to stay by their side forever? how is it that you have such an enormous effect on him, yet you aren't even aware of it? every wall or barrier he's put up, you've always managed to erode it down. you allowed him to be vulnerable and you allowed him to be carefree. you allowed him to relax. to breathe.

⎯ loving you, was to breathe, for dan heng. you were the gasp of air that he needed while he was drowning beneath the waters. finally being able to decompress and unwind; he felt lighter around you. less stressed, less worried. less stoic. less somber.

⎯ he has never even thought of love like that before he had met you. but you changed him. and he is eternally grateful for that. eternally grateful for you. you are his home, his safe space, his sanctuary of security.

⎯ so he repays you often. he knows what kind of tea you drink and how to make it by heart. he makes a cup for you every morning. you have your own shelf in his archive. hell, you have your own damn space in there as well. there's an indent of you in every corner of every room.

⎯ or maybe, dan heng is so accustomed to you that he sees you in everything.

⎯ he lets you read from his shoulder. he has a shelf filled with all your favorite books from various worlds in his archives. he lets you sleep on his body rather than the flacid mattress on the ground, because he wants to keep you as comfortable as you've kept him. his fingers trace your body every night you stay with him, to ensure that you are safe and you are here, and he is home.

"are you sure you're comfortable like this?" you ask, situated on top of dan heng's body. you're partly afraid that you'll crush him with your entire body weight on him, and that his back would hurt after tonight, "wouldn't it just be smarter to crash in my room instead?"

his chest rises and falls underneath you, getting slower and slower as time goes by, "if you'd like. we can go."

you bite the inside of your lip in thought. it would be safer to do so, for both your and dan heng's safety. but, to be honest, you were very comfortable and tired. "is your back gonna be okay after this?"

"it'll be fine," he brushes off, "besides, you've been sleeping on me for the past few nights now. i can handle one more night."

"huh???"

blade (contains lore spoilers)

⎯ love was something blade has always lived without. as a child, with war and battles as a constant on his homeworld, there wasn't any room for affection or anything similar.

⎯ but then you came along, practically shaking his entire world. there you were, dragging him off to drink god awful mung bean soda. to force him to go outside on days where he was over-occupied with work. to let him enjoy something for once in a while. to let him rub his thumb over yours in the quiet hours of the night, forgetting about work and all other duties.

⎯ he had never thought that loving could be so easy until he met you. it seemed as though time would stop in his tracks whenever he saw you. blade thought it was a myth coming from romance novels (one he had heard from you, ironically enough), but it proved to be, in fact, real.

⎯ and everything was easy. up until everything wasn't. it was one thing, then the other. baiheng passed, jingliu was extremely distraught. it was wearying to see everything go so downhill, so fast. nobody was ever the same after that period.

⎯ yet even after all that, you still had the same look in your eye. you looked at blade the same way you looked at him all those years ago. so much has changed between the both of you, and you know that the both of you would never be able to return to the past.

⎯ though, even after all of that, some things remained the same. for example, the way you never failed to take his breath away. seeing you for the first time in years had him going through a plethora of feelings: distraught, appalled, and slightly less dejected.

⎯ but most importantly, there were still parts of the other's heart still beating for each other. even if you couldn't love him anymore, you still cared about him. you cared about him the same way you did all those years ago.

⎯ you went out of your way to find him. you went out of your way to offer him solace, even if it was for one last time. why? he didn't want to know, he didn't want to ask. he has a mission: he has to pursue it, always. nevertheless, he still found himself underneath the sun's rays, as it managed to follow him wherever, saying, "i'm here. even if you don't see me sometimes, i am still here."

⎯ and if you still cared... well, there was still hope, right?

he's leaning over a rail, looking over the xianzhou skies and the starskiffs racing by. he hasn't been back in ages. it feels... strange; it feels as if he's experiencing his first day all over again.

blade is so fascinated by the sight that he fails to hear your footsteps come closer, now reaching his side. he only hears you after you clear your throat. he's startled, for obvious reasons: but, when he sees you hold up a mung bean soda in surrender, he's surprised at how fast the panic dies down.

"aren't you going to arrest me?" he took a step back from you. you didn't move, but instead held out the drink.

"i could," you dragged out, checking your watch, "but... i'm not on duty," the corners of your lips turn up ever so slightly, like you were happy at the fact that you were having a drink with a criminal. you pull open the tab and take a sip, then offer it towards him.

he blankly stares at your hand. remembers the feeling of it in his. now, his mind is skewed. maybe even grotesque if he wanted to sound dreadful about it. but there are few happy memories he can recall, as well as the feelings during them, and it seems like you are recreating one of them currently. and oddly enough, there are no feelings of bitterness that follow him this time.

he takes and drinks the mung bean soda, and to his surprise, it’s not as bad as it was many years ago. maybe it was because your lips were on it, or maybe it’s because the once atrocious drink did get better. and when he looks up and is greeted by your curious face, he hopes that love is like that as well.

jing yuan

⎯ years ago, if you had asked jing yuan what love was, he'd say something benign: love is indescribable. a simple answer for a simple man in love. but oh, has time took its toll.

⎯ it isn't to say that love isn't indescribable. on some days, he finds it worrying that he may love you too much⎯that his willingness to give you the world was a bit concerning at times. others point it out, but jing yuan chooses to be blindsided. but he is always aware.

⎯ aware. jing yuan is nothing short of perceptive. he has been around for centuries. he has been there for wars, for battles, for decrees. and it sticks with him: forever. he does not simply forget, yet he is forced to stay in one place forever. immorality may be a blessing for others, but a curse for xianzhou natives.

⎯ he does not give himself a moment to fully relax. even if it seems that way a lot (the dozing general needs his power naps), he is always back to his duties.

⎯ however, it's different with you. with you, he has no burdens to shoulder. he has no secrets to keep from you. there is no wall of tension blocking between you. with you, everything is for grabs. his feelings, his emotions, his heart.

⎯ vulnerability. many look down at the vulnerable. and in jing yuan's line of work, the cost of vulnerability comes with a substantial price. his guard has to be up at all costs, because if not, there would be another catastrophe. his act as a lazy general is just a rouse, because there is so much that's weighing on him inside.

⎯ in a city that flies, jing yuan feels rooted by the weight of the luofu.

⎯ so imagine the amount of unconcern he feels when he's around you. the feeling of rocks suffocating him has subsided, and you are here to remove them. and one by one, he begins to feel lighter and lighter as you hull them off.

⎯ and you don't get tired. you're still here. you keep picking off the rocks, even the smallest ones. you relentlessly continue until everything is gone, and the only things left are just you and him.

⎯ by now, he understands what love is. it's when he knows how your fingers have ran through every crevice of his brain, every knot in his stomach, every knot in his soul. it's understanding. it's being able to shoulder the weight of the world with another. it's someone staying to help you get the rocks off of your body.

⎯ love is being met with soft touches instead of daggers. love is being met with mhms and reallys while retelling a story from this morning. love is being able to speak about the past, the truth of it all, and allowing the light to peek through instead of the darkness. that is what love is.

"and then, get this, i found him in the midst of a fight with blade," jing yuan throws his head on your shoulder exasperatedly, disregarding the fact that you were halfway through your novel.

"well, he was doing his job," you counter, looking back towards your lover.

"i know," he slides a hand across his face, "it's just tiring. and i don't want him to get hurt." like others, is the unspoken phrase here. it's on the tip of his tongue, you know it.

you place a bookmark in your book before shutting it. you finally turn your full attention towards jing yuan, "he's strong. you trained him."

"but," he sighs, "what if it's not enough?"

you decide the mood is a little too melancholic, so you decide to lighten the mood a little bit, "then i'll take over as general of the luofu," you grinned. jing yuan smiled as well: your smile was infectious, how could he not?

you ran a hand through his hair, "you are good enough. i hope you know that. you won't fail yanqing. he's tough and stubborn... he sadly gets that from you."

jing yuan chuckles, a real chuckle, and pulls you closer to him as you grab your book once again. he presses a chaste kiss to your temple as he reads along to the same words on a page as you.

yes, things will be okay, he thinks.

hi y'all! i have been sooo busy w sm stuff lately, like i've been preparing for college and i've been going to the gym and i've been doing sm. updates have been scarce except like the 3 alhaitham posts (i couldn't resist). but hopefully during these last few weeks of summer i can get my grind back on!!!

[python333]

hi! i’m not sure if you’re taking requests atm but if you aren’t feel free to ignore this!

anyways, i was thinking what would it be like if you were back on base and did something nice for everyone and made their fave coffee/tea while you’re all relaxing after a long mission? like how would the 141 react and what would you make for them?

that’s all but i hope you have a great day and i absolutely love your writings!! they seriously are so detailed and amazing, you do a beautiful job w each one💌

unwind — python333

— — — —

synopsis the 141 + you are back from a super long mission and u make them their fave coffee/tea!!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

word count 3.6k

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], gaz being a little shit.

note thank you so much for the req!! i am taking them right now, but apologies if i post them 2+ days after i get them, my writers block is slowly creeping back into my mind and im fighting it off the best i can! also, thank you for the compliments :3 ilysm youre too nice!! i saw ur reblog of bedbound too and i was so sjdfksdfks!! hope u have a good day too and hope you enjoy this fic, it's all fluff and way too in depth descriptions of making tea/coffee!!

As soon as the electric kettle clicks, signaling to you that the water inside of it has been boiled, you unplug it and pour the water into a mug you’d pulled from the cabinets. It still surprised you that there were any mugs left, with how many people kept stealing to put on their desk to hold pencils—by people, you mean Soap, and only Soap—but you weren’t complaining. 

You set the kettle back down once the mug is filled up just an inch below the brim and grab the tea bag you’d grabbed earlier, wrapping the string around the handle of the mug a few times before putting the bag itself into the water. Almost immediately, you see small tendrils of dark brown flow out from the drowned tea bag into the originally clear water. 

As that happens, you walk the small few steps over to the small fridge from the kettle and open it, grabbing the small carton of cream and closing the fridge shut. You walk back over to the mug and unscrew the cap of the carton, pouring some cream into the mug, adding a half inch of height to the liquid already in the mug before screwing the cap back on and setting the carton down.

You don’t bother to grab a spoon and mix anything yet, instead reaching over to the small terracotta container beside the coffee machine that contained sugar, and taking off the lid. 

You think for a moment if you should grab a spoon for this, but ultimately decide against it, instead just tipping the container over the mug and letting what you hope is two teaspoons of sugar spill over into the mug.

Afterwards, you put the lid back on the container holding the sugar and set it back next to the coffee machine, and grab the cream to put back into the fridge. 

Once the cream’s been put back, you open the drawers in the counter and grab a small spoon, one that’s just tall enough that it won’t be fully submerged in the tea, and put it into the mug.

You close the drawer and give the tea a few stirs before picking up the mug, being careful of the scalding heat and holding it solely by its handle. You carefully walk out of the snack bar extension of the kitchen and head towards Price’s office. 

After a year or two of working with him, you’ve learned a lot about his tea preferences—he likes Yorkshire tea, the original one, not the gold. He only likes cream and sugar in his coffee, just to make it smoother and make it a bit sweeter, but doesn’t like it too sweet.

You vaguely remember him telling you he’d never had honey or any other sweeteners besides a bit of sugar in his tea, and remember more vividly you thinking, God, that’s such an old person thing to say, but not saying it out loud. 

Once you’ve reached his office, you knock a few times and Price’s tired voice calls out, “Come in!” 

You open the door, careful to keep the mug from spilling in your hands, and walk in, closing the door behind you. Price looks up from his computer, presumably writing a report on the mission you’d all just come back from an hour or two ago, and offers a small smile when he sees you. He’s about to say something before he catches sight of the mug in your hands. 

“Did you…” He doesn’t finish his question, but you know what he was about to ask, and you nod in response. 

“If it’s too sugary let me know,” You tell him, setting the mug down a safe distance away from his computer, “I can remake it.” 

“I won’t make you remake it,” Price looks at you, almost offended, “You didn’t have to make me anything in the first place, but thank you, I really appreciate it.” 

“No problem,” You hum, walking away, saying over your shoulder, “Hope you like it.” 

You open the door without another word and walk out, closing it behind you, heading right back to the snack bar. Now for Soap. 

Soap typically preferred coffee to tea, despite tea’s popularity in Scotland. He’d told you that he really couldn’t taste the difference between different coffee blends, but upon hearing that there was a Scottish blend, he declared he’d only drink that one, because of course he did. 

He pretended he could tell if the coffee he was drinking was of that Scottish blend, but you knew he couldn’t. How did you know? You’d only ever given him Scottish roast once. Every other time since then, it’s been French roast. 

He’s never really used a coffee machine for himself, going to cafes or coffee shops most of the time for coffee, keeping his usual coffee order written in his notes app because he couldn’t remember it for the life of him.

He’d sometimes modify his order if certain coffee shops didn’t do certain things that he usually got, but his order stays mostly the same every time he gets coffee. Medium (or grande, if he’s at Starbucks) latte with a double shot of espresso. 

Typically, he’d get some shortbread too, but you didn’t really have any in the base, so he’d have to do without it today. 

Once you enter the snack bar, you grab another mug from the cabinets above the counter and place it under the coffee machine. You open the cabinets right by the ones that contained the mugs and grab a bag of ground French roast, pulling it out and putting it on the counter. 

You open it up and find that there’s conveniently already a small cup in there to scoop the coffee grounds up, and use your free hand to grab a new coffee filter from the same cabinets you got the coffee grounds from, swiftly putting it into the machine. 

You use your other hand to scoop up some coffee grounds and put them into the filter, closing the top of the coffee machine afterwards and turning on the machine. You’re grateful there’s more options listed on the small digital screen that lights up on the machine than just plain black coffee, not really in the mood to try and steam milk right now.

You tap on the ‘latte’ option and watch as the screen changes and hear the coffee machine start to whir. 

As it does that, you put away the coffee grounds and open up the cabinets that contained mugs once again, pulling out a small espresso glass and setting it onto the counter.

You wait patiently for the coffee to brew, and once you hear the small beep sound from the machine that signals that it’s done, you pull away the steaming hot coffee and set it down right next to the coffee machine. 

You quickly put the espresso glass under the machine and start it up again, this time tapping the ‘espresso shot’ option—surprised that’s even an option, honestly—and hearing the familiar whirring noise start up again. It doesn’t take nearly as long as brewing the latte did, the small beep coming much sooner than it did just a minute or two earlier, and you pull away the small espresso glass from the machine almost immediately after you hear it. 

You pause for a moment, looking at how much the latte part had filled up the mug, and look around for a moment before opening up the same drawer that contains the eating utensils and grabbing a straw, putting the straw in the still hot latte—is that a good idea? No. Did you do it anyway because you physically can’t think before you act? Absolutely—and taking a long sip of it.

You pull the straw out once the liquid in the mug is at a good inch below the brim and then pour in the espresso shot, setting the glass down after you do so.

You look around for a second for a trash bin and find one just a few steps away from you, quickly throwing out the straw you’d used and then walking back over to the empty espresso glass, picking it up and setting it down by the sink. God forbid we get a dishwasher in here or something, You think absentmindedly as you pick up the mug and carefully walk out of the snack bar with it, Would it hurt to at least get some dish soap in here or something? 

You make it out of the snack bar without burning your fingers and start the much longer walk to Soap’s sleeping quarters. You’d caught him walking out of his office in that direction earlier, so you can only assume that he’d gone there. 

Once you make it there, you knock on the door a few times and wait for Soap to call out to you and allow you to come in before twisting the door knob and opening the door. He’s laying on his back on his bed, thumb paused on his phone screen as he looks over at you as you enter. He notices the coffee and sits up a bit, grunting as he does. 

He wasn’t really as talkative after long missions like the one you’d all been on earlier—usually it took him a day or two to be more social and back to himself, so you didn’t take much offense to him not greeting you as loudly as he usually did. 

He nods at the coffee, “Is that for me?” 

“Mhm,” You hum, handing him the mug, “Be careful, it’s hot.” 

“Got it,” Soap carefully takes the mug into his hands, and softly blows on it before looking at you again and grinning at you, “Weel, thank ye for this. Ye really didnae hae tae.” 

“Price actually said the same thing,” You muse, almost to yourself, before speaking a little louder, “No problem.”

“Oh did he?” Soap asks, raising an eyebrow, before his expression shifts and he feigns confusion, “Wait, how come he got a drink afore me?”

“Because his office was closer to the snack bar,” You explain, crossing your arms. 

“… Nae, it’s definitely ‘cause ye hate me,” Soap disagrees, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “And tae think I thought we were friends.” 

“It is no— you know what?” You begin to argue, before sighing and rolling your eyes, “I do hate you, and we were never friends, you ungrateful piece of shit.” 

Soap laughs, quieter than he usually does but it’s still a genuine laugh. He looks down at the coffee again and back at you, before saying, “Thank ye. Again.” 

“No problem,” You replied, walking back towards the door and opening it, walking out of Soap’s sleeping quarters and closing the door behind you. Now for Ghost. 

Ghost typically liked tea more than coffee, but you think that’s just the British in him talking. Realistically, you could give him either or, and he’d say a polite ‘thank you’ and move on.

From years of being apart of the 141, any preferences or additives he liked to put in his tea or coffee slowly dissipated and instead he just drank either one plain. Which should make the tasks you’ve forced yourself to do today easier, but knowing you, you just couldn’t take the easy route with this. 

You remember a conversation with him that happened several months ago where you had been talking about your own tea and coffee preferences. Ghost had commented that he didn’t often put any additives in his own hot drinks anymore, but back before he’d joined the military, he liked to drink keemun tea occasionally with nutmeg in it. 

Keemun tea—which was fucking expensive by the way, costing around sixteen pounds for twenty tea bags in every store you could find them in—wasn’t too hard to find, so the next time you went on leave after that conversation, you’d bought a box of bags of keemun tea leaves and some ground nutmeg. 

You didn’t let Ghost know about it, and kind of forgot about it just a week after you bought it, but now the memory of you buying it and storing it in the snack bar behind a few other boxes of tea bags has resurfaced and it’s the only thing you think is appropriate to give Ghost at a time like this. 

You get back to the snack bar and almost robotically you pull a mug out from the cabinets above the counter and set it down on said counter, deciding to grab another one just so that you wouldn’t have to do it later, and setting that one down right next to the other. You open the cabinet beside that and move some of the boxes out of the way to find the keemun tea box in the very back, right where you last left it. 

You snatch it out of the cabinet and open it, pulling out a small packet and opening it up to pull out the tea bag inside. You go ahead and put the tea bag inside of the mug and put the tea box back in the cabinet, closing the small cabinet door afterwards.

You then grab the electric kettle that’s right by the sink and pop open the lid, putting it under the faucet and turning said faucet on, waiting until the water fills a quarter of the kettle. Once it does, you turn off the faucet and put the kettle down right by the outlet on the wall. 

You put the lid down and wait for it to click into place before you plug the kettle into the outlet and press the small button below the handle to turn it on, and listen as it starts to make a small whirring noise. You don’t waste too much time just standing there, waiting for the water to finish boiling, instead putting the other mug you’d pulled out from the cabinets under the coffee machine and turning it on. 

You tap on the ‘decaf flat white’ option and watch the digital screen change and another whirring sound starts up, now coming from the coffee machine.

You were starting to make Gaz’s while making Ghost’s drink because Gaz often made the mistake of drinking his coffee before it was cool enough to not burn his tongue, so if you made it earlier, it’d have more time to cool, and Gaz wouldn’t have to wait as long before drinking it, therefore solving the whole ‘burning-his-tongue-because-he’s-impatient’ problem he has. 

Gaz liked simple flat whites, and sure, he liked tea too, but nothing could top a good flat white for him. He’d get them anywhere and everywhere he can, and you honestly admire his dedication to getting a flat white everywhere he goes. 

The coffee machine finished up quickly, a small beep sounding from the machine as it stopped its whirring and a few more drops of coffee made it into the mug before it completely stopped. You pull the mug out from under the machine and set it aside for now, just waiting for the water to finish boiling in the kettle. 

Once the kettle clicks and the whirring from that machine stops, you unplug it and pour some water into the empty mug you’d picked out for Ghost, waiting until it’s filled up about a half inch below the brim of the mug before taking the kettle away from the mug and pouring the rest of the unused water into the sink. 

You set the kettle down beside the coffee machine where it belongs and check the drawer below the one that held the eating utensils, looking through some of the spices and drink additives in it before finally finding the ground nutmeg you needed. 

You unscrew the cap and tilt the small spice jar over the mug, letting some of the powder spill into the mug before tilting it back and screwing the cap back on. You put it back in its spot and close that drawer, now opening the drawer above it and grabbing a small spoon, closing that one after you’ve grabbed the spoon and putting the spoon into the mug to mix the spices in it around a bit. 

You leave Gaz’s mug on the counter, hoping that nobody steals it while you’re away, and instead pick up the mug meant for Ghost, carefully walking out of the snack bar with it. 

Ghost’s office is fairly far away, but you still manage to get there without burning your fingers or anything on the mug. You knock on the door a few times and wait for Ghost to call out permission for you to come in before you open the door and walk in. 

Ghost immediately looks over at you and spots the mug in your hand, but ignores it for now, instead opting to ask, “Did you need something, [c/n]?” 

“Not really,” You shrugged the best you could while holding scalding hot tea, “Just needed to give you this.” 

You set the mug down on Ghost’s desk before he can say another word, and watch as he eyes the mug with curiosity and confusion. 

“What’s this?” He asks, carefully picking up the mug, holding the top up to his nose to smell it. Before you can answer his question, you see his eyes widen and he questions a little louder, “Is this… keemun? With nutmeg?” 

“You can tell just from the smell?” You ask, mildly impressed, watching as Ghost’s gaze turns into one more in awe of the mug. 

“Yes, I can,” He mumbles, smelling the brim of the mug again, before looking over at you, “How did you know I liked keemun with nutmeg in it?” 

“You told me about it, like, a few months ago. Six months ago, maybe? I dunno.” 

“How do you remember a conversation from six months ago?”

“It was an important conversation, I guess?” You shrug, crossing your arms. 

You watch in silence as Ghost eyes the tea and you take that as your sign to leave, walking towards the door, stopping right in front of it to twist the knob to open it before you’re interrupted by Ghost. 

“Wait—” You turn your head and look at him over your shoulder, and immediately upon seeing his face, you think, oh my God is he tearing up? “Thank you, [c/n]. I really appreciate it.” 

You offer a small smile and reply, “Yeah, no problem. Enjoy your tea.” 

You open the door without another word and close it behind you, taking a deep breath before continuing down the hall back to the snack bar. 

You’re relieved when you get there and see the mug, still steaming a bit, still on the counter. You quickly walk over to it and pick it up, walking right back out the door with it and heading straight for Gaz’s sleeping quarters. You remember him being so tired from the mission—you don’t know whether to hope he’s asleep and getting some rest, or to hope that he’s awake so you can properly hand him his coffee. 

Once you make it to his sleeping quarters, you knock on the door, and there’s no response for a few moments, making you think he might actually be asleep, but then you hear Gaz’s drowsy voice call out, “You can come in!” 

You open the door and see him rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up on his bed, looking over at you. His lips twitch up into a small smile once he sees you and he lets his hand drop into his lap. 

“Hey, [c/n].” He looks over at the mug you’ve brought with you, before raising an eyebrow, “You brought something for me?” 

“Very bold of you to assume it’s for you,” You close the door behind you and walk closer to him, “But yes, it is.” 

Gaz perks up a bit at that and happily takes the mug off of your hands once you hand it to him, and his smile grows significantly bigger once he sees you’ve brought him a flat white. 

“It’s decaf, don’t worry,” You say, as if reading his mind, “I figured you’d still want some sleep after drinking it.” 

“Always so considerate,” Gaz sighs teasingly, raising the mug to his lips like you’d thought he would. Thankfully, his tongue doesn’t burn this time after he sips the coffee, and you let out a small sigh of relief at the fact. 

“You know me,” You respond dryly, crossing your arms as you watch Gaz take a few more sips of the coffee. 

“Thank you for this, by the way,” Gaz thanks you, taking another sip of the coffee before stating, “I hope you know you’re my favorite now.” 

“Your favorite what?” 

“Just my favorite, in general,” Gaz hums, “This is the best flat white I’ve ever drunk. Ten out of ten.” 

“Thanks,” You thank him flatly, “It was made with love and a coffee machine I learned how to use yesterday.” 

“I can just taste the love in it.” 

“Not the coffee machine?”

“Well, it’s a bit concerning if someone can taste the coffee machine in their coffee, innit?” Gaz raises an eyebrow at you before taking another sip of his coffee. 

“Not if it’s the one I used.” 

“Whatever you say,” Gaz mutters, taking yet another sip of his coffee, making you huff out a small laugh. 

“You enjoy your coffee,” You say before walking back over to the door, closing the door behind you as you walk out and letting out a tired breath, starting to head back to your own sleeping quarters.

[astrum99]

Do you think bugs fall in love?

Their small bodies host even tinier brains. Built to crawl through soil and rocks bigger than itself. Running on a simple software bouncing between eat, sleep, fight, flight, and copulate.

V1 is smarter than a bug. It must be. It’s a war machine, so it must be. Its programming is complex enough to fry several motherboards; the internals are heated from constant, unrelenting processing needs. If it updates its optical data intake to any greater degree than these rough, messy polygons, it’d surely perish from the overwhelming information.

V1 is built to kill first, survive second. To be fair, survival would ensure more killing, so it’d be more effective. Moving through the battlefield, culling lives, drawing blood. Perfectly aligned with its programmed objectives, then.

Gabriel is smarter than a bug. He must be. He’s an angel, so he must be. He’s one of the best soldiers in the heavenly realm. Armour and swords glistened with pride and justice. He sees all. He judges all. His loyalty and perfect track record have earned him a high rank within the order. Leaving behind the creaturely "it". His light burns hot and bright within his constitution.

Gabriel is built as a messenger of the Father, then a judge of Hell. To be fair, the role of a judge was assigned to him by the council, so he supposes that his placement can be summed up as the bearer of the divine authority to bring right to all other creatures. Perfectly aligned, then.

Bugs… Well, they’re the same. I suppose. Small beings. Running pre-programmed orders derived from centuries of evolution: eat, sleep, fight, flight, and copulate. No role. No responsibilities.

Bugs are built naturally and fully, unlike humankind; but formed and ready to go within seconds from their births, like machines and angels.

So. Do they live?

When the machine and the angel escape their chains, do they see themselves in bugs?

Bugs are born to live, temporarily, fleetingly, yet live nonetheless. Do they, then, deserve to live, freeing and meaninglessly. No role. No responsibilities.

So. Do bugs love?

Do they learn that they can go beyond their basic structures? Do they see their own reflection in each other’s compound eyes? Do they recognize each other’s bodies, scents, heat? Do they feel the desire for closeness?

To flutter wings like a dance of waltz. To brush antennae like butterfly kisses. To greet and caress and lie next to each other near their death.

To move through the sky in battle, in passion. To clash swords and fists and bullets. To greet and caress and lie next to each other near their death.

The same cells in the same blood coursing beneath the same suit of exoskeletons.

Machine, angel, bug. Boiled down to the barest essence of existence; crisp simplicity.

To live, to love.

[yesokayiknow]

okay so you know how it goes: fourteen comes to life in thirteen's clothes. and they're both too short and too loose and entirely too bright for his frame of mind. they worked with a doctor who hid everything behind a too wide smile; not so much with a doctor whose pain and tiredness is written across his face

he needs to change. obviously

and then the star beast starts, and fourteen leaves the tardis, and he's still in thirteen's clothes

he just. he doesn't know. how does he choose new clothes? he feels wrong. how will wearing something else change that?

(donna tells him that it's christmas, mate; it's bloody freezing. maybe wear longer trousers, yeah? also he's both too young and too old to wear braces. just a friendly note)

he doesn't have to explain who he is to the unit scientist, not with those clothes. instead he talks about how he doesn't understand why he looks like this. why he is this. why this face? why isn't he someone new?

actually. maybe he is someone new. was he ever this open before? hm

why do you look like that, sylvia hisses, trying to hide him from the daughter he destroyed ruined left

it's a lottery, he replies, purposely ignorant

he still has his thirteenth self's screwdriver. it's too small in his hands

(the whole time they were her, her hands were too small. she didn't like touching anyway, but whenever someone took her hand, it felt wrong. they were too small. sometimes it felt like if she worked fast enough, tinkered about without stopping, she wouldn't have to look at them)

everything goes wrong. his fault, like always

(blimey. of all the things to carry over from the first time he had this face, it had to be the guilt, didn't it?)

you shouldn't look like that, the doctordonna says, and he runs a hand down his face with a tired laugh

no, the doctordonna says, not the face. a hand reaches out to grasp at the collar of his shirt, at the dangling earring chain. this isn't you. who are you, doctor?

like he knows. like they've ever-

she dies.

she lives. he doesn't deserve it. it isn't about him. he still doesn't deserve it

we're letting it go, donna says, and he looks down at himself, at another him's clothes, another him's screwdriver

well, she never was subtle, his donna

the tardis is gorgeous, though when isn't she. he tries to show off his new console to donna, and she rolls her eyes, and drags him off to the wardrobe

unlike normally, where all the clothes are scattered about, the new tardis wardrobe now also has a line of wardrobes stood against the wall. fifteen of them, to be exact

the last wardrobe is open. and empty

he goes to the second to last, and opens it to reveal a wide array of rainbow patterned shirts. she probably would've hated for her things to be organised like this. always creating mess so she wouldn't have to think about anything important. he laughs. and he takes off the sky coloured coat and the worn boots and the earrings and gently places them inside. tag, he thinks, as he closes the doors

and then he moves down to the eleventh wardrobe, full of brown coats and blue suits and neatly pressed shirts and pairs of converse. and he stands in front of it. and he wonders

after a moment, donna's like wait do you want me to leave?? you never cared about nudity before, did you? and he's like oh actually i do feel more self conscious. huh. weird.

he doesn't have to say, i think i'm a different person. not to donna. she just gives him a smile, and a shoulder nudge, and tells him she'll see him in the console room

the last wardrobe is empty

he takes a breath, and then goes to rummage about in the rest of the clothes

[solarpunkani]

PROGRESS!!!!!!

[ohbo-ohno]

for ypur 1k game can i get a "lady of the house" + ghoap💋

1k game here - no more please!

you said lady so im assuming you meant ghoap x reader <3

2.5k of a kinda historical au ft. flirty stablehand johnny x kinda shy reader x very horny simon (cw for oral sex in a public place, though there's no audience except a few horses)

Your husband's staff seems to have no concept of propriety.

No, no, that's not fair to most of the servants. Your husband's stablehand has no concept of propriety.

You'd complain to Simon, but he's hardly around to find most days. While the two of you share a bedchamber, that's nearly the only time you see him. You're lucky to even share a meal with the man, these days. The housekeeper tells you he's holed up in his office more often than not, and that feels like a clear sign that he would rather not be bothered. You two aren't particularly close, so you're more than content to find other ways of amusing yourself.

You've spent most of your time since moving into the manor with your mare, a gift from husband on your wedding night. She's a lovely beast and you've found great joys on long rides with her, despite the persistent ache in your thighs recently.

But that stablehand... Johnny's too handsome for his own good and he knows it, more than willing to flirt with you even though his own master has a claim, and too skilled for you to really ignore.

You hate that you've become so endeared to him, but it's impossible to ignore his flirtatious remarks. You've been a bit starved for affection since your marriage, and Johnny really isn't bad company by any means.

In fact, as much as you know you shouldn't, you can't help but feel a bit excited as you venture down to the stables to go on your daily ride.

You're halfway there when you're joined by someone new, a large figure suddenly walking shoulder to shoulder with you. He nearly makes you jump out of you skin, but you calm a bit at the sight of your elusive husband.

"Oh!" You gasp, pressing a hand over your chest. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

He inclines his head a bit, wrapping one hand around your elbow as you continue to walk. "My apologies. I thought I might join you on your ride today."

You're not sure how he knew where you'd be, but you take the new company in stride. "I'd enjoy that."

You're silent for the rest of the walk, not entirely comfortable in this veritable stranger's presence quite yet. Your spouse is an intimidating man, and you've hardly spent any time with him, so there's very little comfort to be found in his presence. What little time you have spent together has been in the bedroom and well... if you think of that for too long you'll go red in the face.

"Ah, the lady of the house!" Johnny calls as you enter the stables, stepping away from your mare. "You're late, my lady."

You giggle a bit at his tease. "My apologies, Johnny, I didn't realize you were on a schedule."

His smile grows and he leans against the gate to one of the stalls. "I simply have certain expectations of you, my lady - you're quite the creature of habit."

"You two have gotten close, then?" Your husband asks, and you're swiftly reminded of his presence. Your face flames at how easily you'd shown your friendship with Johnny off in front of a man you're meant to marry.

"I'm sorry," you demure, glancing up at Simon and feeling relief when you find him looking merely curious, not angry. "Johnny's- Mr. MacTavish has been helping me learn to take care of the mare you gifted me, and we've... developed a bit of a friendship in our afternoons spent together."

Simon hums, nodding to himself as his eyes flick between you and the stablehand. The only sign that Johnny is even the slightest bit fazed is the way he straightens up from where he was leaning, back straight and shoulders rolled back.

"No disrespect meant, sir," he apologizes. "Your wife is a lovely creature, I couldn't resist getting to know her a bit better."

"Yes, she is quite enchanting," Simon says quietly, guiding you a bit closer to Johnny. "You're unmarried, aren't you Johnny?"

He nods, and the two of you share a slightly confused look.

"And do you have any prospects?"

Johnny clears his throat, a tinge of red lighting up his cheeks. "No, sir."

Simon hums again, his thumb stroking over the crook of your elbow.

"Have you been taking care of my wife in my absence, Johnny?"

Now he really does blush, and you feel the same heat race through your own face.

"Only..." he clears his throat again, shifting his weight. "Only in ways entirely appropriate, sir, I promise."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. You're a good worker, a good boy, I can tell."

You're not entirely sure what's going on. The tone of voice Simon has adopted is near salacious, a tone you recognize from the few times the two of you have preformed your marital duties together. The tone sets your heart racing, a slightly uncomfortable awareness settling over you.

"Thank- thank you, sir."

"Do you know how to properly take care of a woman?"

"Simon, I'm not sure-" you try to interrupt, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation seemed to be heading.

"Hush, darling, I'm only asking the boy a question. Well, Johnny?"

Poor Johnny's face is as red as a tomato, and you'd tease him if you weren't sure you looked the same.

"Well, sir, I've... I've never had a woman of my own to take care of, but I try my best."

"Oh I'm sure you do."

Simon's contemplative look is a little concerning, so you tug on his hand just a bit. "I'd like to ride today, Simon, if you're ready?"

"In a moment," he dismisses, giving you a soft pat on the shoulder with his free hand. "Would you like to learn how to take care of a woman, Johnny?"

"Simon," you hiss, sure that he's not implying what you think he is.

He looks down at you with an innocent if slightly confused face. "What, darling? The boy needs to learn at some point."

"Not-" you clear your throat, glancing at a very confused looking Johnny from the corner of your eye. "Simon, not here."

"Oh, come off it," he scoffs, a soft smile tilting up his lips. "Is that truly your only complaint? The location? My dear, no one will see us this far out but the trees and the horses. Well," he glances over to the stablehand. "And our Johnny, of course."

"I'm sure he's familiar with how to... take care of a woman."

"I'm not," Johnny blurts, then clamps his lips shut tightly together. His blush spreads down to his neck, and you worry the poor thing might just explode.

"See? So, Johnny, would you like to learn how to care for a woman? I'm sure my lovely wife would be more than happy to introduce you to the pleasures."

Your blush doesn't calm, but looking at Johnny... the idea isn't entirely off-putting.

Johnny's about as handsome as a man can be, and if Simon has no compunctions to sharing a bit of your pleasure... well, you've always been a bit of a glutton.

Johnny seems about as unbothered by the idea as you are.

"Really, sir? You'd let me... you'd let her teach me?"

Simon laughs a little, stepping closer to Johnny and turning you so you're shoulder to shoulder with him. "Oh, I'll be doing the teaching, boy. She's just out practice doll, yes?"

That makes your breath hitch, the idea of being just a thing between the two handsome men a bit more pleasing than it should be.

"Now," Simon says, gripping you suddenly by the waist and lifting without warning. He sets you onto a wooden table, then spreads your legs. "Women's clothing can be quite annoying to work around, but the end result is more than worth it. Hold your skirts for us, love, thattagirl."

You're silent as you take the layers of clothing from your husband, afraid that if you speak you'll simply burst into flames. Exposing yourself to a man like this is difficult enough in the dark of your bedchamber, it feels near impossible in front of Johnny and in broad daylight.

But you can feel the way your center grows slick, so you obey your husband.

"Now, Johnny, kneel here, in front of me."

Johnny nearly scrambles to where Simon gestures, almost throwing himself to his knees in front of you. He's left between your thighs and Simon's legs, your husband almost stradling his back.

Simon laughs a bit. "Eager, are we?"

"Yes- yes, sir." Johnny pants a bit, staring up at you from the floor. He can't seem to decide whether he'd like to look at your undergarments or your face, eyes flicking between the two.

"Good lad," Simon brushes a hand over the back of Johnny's head, palming it. "Now, you'll have to take off her undergarments before anything else."

You shift a little in your spot as Johnny reaches up tentatively, eyebrows slightly furrowed. His hands brush over your bottom half for several long seconds, and you start to shift a little more, near whining.

"Hurry now, Johnny, you'll drive the poor thing mad."

He adopts an almost determined expression, and a moment later you hear a rip and feel a breeze against your most sensitive parts.

"Johnny!" You scold, leaning far enough forward to glare down at the man.

He flinches a little, sinking away. "I'm sorry, my lady. I didn't know how else to get them off!"

"You never destroy a woman's clothing like that! You're not off to a very good start so far."

You regret the words a bit when Johnny's face drops, his lip poking out in a slight pout.

Simon laughs, shifting to rub a hand over your bared knee. "Let up on him, darling, he's inexperienced. Besides, it's rather easy to make up for a few ripped seams."

You glare lightly at Simon, just to make sure he knows you're unamused, then lean back to relax against the wall. "Well, then you'd better get started."

Johnny looks up at Simon, neck craning back. "How...?"

Another rough chuckle from your husband, and he shoves Johnny forward by the back of the head until his face is buried between your thighs.

"Oh!" You yelp.

"With your mouth, Johnny. Trust me, it's far easier to learn to use your tongue like this than it is to learn how a lady likes her apologies."

You shoot an unimpressed look up to Simon, but it quickly melts off your face when you feel Johnny's lips and nose press to your center. He doesn't really do anything, just sort of stays there.

You shift again, try to press forward.

"Lick her, Johnny," Simon explains, putting a bit more pressure on the back of the stablehand's head. A moment later, there's a tentative brush across your folds.

You jolt a bit at the first tough, then relax into the second. Johnny's clumsy but confident, and you spread your legs a bit wider so he can fully explore you.

"Lift your skirts a bit further, love, I can't see," Simon instructs, leaning over so he's hovering directly above Johnny. You obey, and your husband hums as the view.

"Do you see the little bud at the top there, Johnny? Focus in on that, it's what gives women pleasure."

Johnny's evidently a quick study, as he focuses his attentions onto your clitoris as soon as the instructions are out of Simon's mouth. "Oh!" You gasp, back shooting up from the wall.

It takes him several long minutes to figure out what keeps you moaning in pleasure rather than whining in frustration, but once he does he keeps his tongue stroking in just the right way to make you go boneless.

"Attaboy, there you go," Ghost praises, stroking over the stripe of hair on Johnny's head. "Hear her moanin'? That means you're making' her feel good, so keep going."

He's a good listener, Johnny, and you're nearly brought to a peak with just his tongue alone.

"Add a finger now," Simon says.

Johnny pulls back just far enough for you to see his confusion. "A finger, sir?"

Simon huffs out a laugh, reaching down to grab Johnny's right wrist and pull it to your bared core. "Yes, Johnny, a finger. You put one or two into her hole to stretch her out enough to take you. Now, you won't be fucking my wife today, but the stretch will still feel good for her."

The way he talks about you like you're not even there combined with the sudden slow stretch of Johnny's fingers has you moaning. If you were even slightly more aware of anything but the two men in front of you, you'd worry about being heard. As it is, the attention returning to your clit keeps you suitably distracted.

Simon scoffs in front of you, tugging Johnny's hair a bit in reprimand. "You have to move the finger, boy, you can't just set it in there and do nothing. C'mon, push it in and out a bit."

"Yes, sir," Johnny pants, glancing up at you past all the skirts. "Sorry, my lady."

"That's- that's alright," you excuse, trying to keep your voice steady. Judging by the smirk on your husband's face, you're not particularly successful.

You let yourself float off in the pleasure for a bit, smiling gently at the cautious movements of Johnny's finger - he almost seems scared to hurt you, and you can't help but be endeared to the stablehand all over again.

"Look at that," Simon sighs, his hand moving further up on your thigh. "Hear how wet she is? Means she's ready for another finger. Go on, Johnny. Stretch her out some more."

The two fingers are enough to get you off - all that attention focused right on your clit and just enough of a stretch for you to feel. You come with quiet moans, shifting your hips forward into Johnny's lips as much as you can.

He doesn't slow or change his motions at all, and you ride the orgasm to completion happily. After, though, you can't help but whine at the overstiumlation.

"Alright, pull off now, Johnny. You hear those noises? Those mean she doesn't feel good anymore."

Johnny almost jerks away from you, glancing up at you with wide eyes. "I'm sorry, my lady," he quickly apologizes, rising up on his knees to get closer as you drop your skirts. "I didn't meant to hurt you."

You smile softly at him, reaching down to cup his cheek. "You didn't, Johnny, it's alright. Just a bit too much."

He nods as he leans into your hold, and the three of you rest in silence for a few moments.

Eventually Simon tugs you off of the table, pulling both you and Johnny into his arms for a half-hug. It's nice - your husband isn't too much of a fan of physical contact, so you relish in it when you can.

Johnny coughs a bit with a blush when you all three finally seperate. "So... when's my next lesson?"

You smirk as you loop arms with Simon, both of you sharing an amused glance.

"Come to our chambers anytime, Johnny," you offer, patting him on the chest before stepping away. "I'm sure my husband wouldn't mind giving a longer demonstration on how to fully pleasure a woman."

You leave a red-faced Johnny in the stables with tented pants, both you and Simon chuckling to yourselves as you head back to the manor.

[ethanharmonia]

Volo showing off his worm to Emmet

Tw : Lore /hj

With Volo having severe dementia i do think that he would forget everything about pokemon battles and such as he used his powers for a very long time and slowly forgot about how pokemon battles worked. He is also not used to human interaction which makes it hard for him to understand what others are saying to him and hard to bond with humans as he strongly despises them. Volo currently doesnt have a main pokemon team but he brings along the ones that he has a good bond with (example, his Togekiss that he raised since he was a little goober), he doesnt use his pokemon for battling but rather just spending time with them, like ya know, like a family? (ah yes, bringing Arceus, Giratina, Palkia and Dialga as if its a completly normal thing for god himself LMAOOO)

Volo is just a single mom, leave him alone, he just wanna be with his kids than some goofy ahh humans💔

i might edit this later cuz my eyes are about to close like the gates (might also fix the drawing cuz i was in a rush)

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

whatever you do, don't think about how lana saw herself in edgeworth, ok? don't think about how she wanted to distance herself from him the moment they met because he could possibly see through the sl-9 plan and ruin everything, but she couldn't because he was kind, if not a little awkward, to her terrified sister in a case where everyone else's only concern was securing a conviction. don't think about how she brought ema to the prosecutor's office (because she damn well wasn't going to let her sister face this alone) with her hackles raised and her defences bolstered because she'd heard about the "demon prosecutor" and his ways just to realise he's nothing but a young man, trying his best to survive under the weight of his mentor's shadow and ensure justice is served by whatever means he can. don't think about how she felt later, when she was under gant's thumb and knew for a fact that all those rumours surrounding von karma's perfect record were, in fact, true and that he was using edgeworth's faith in him to fulfill his own goals. don't think about how she felt when she had to begin doing the same. or what must have gone through her head when she entered her office one morning to find a case approval form waiting for her on her desk: the state v. miles edgeworth. don't think about how she knew, once she saw the name of the prosecutor assigned to his case, that she was signing his death warrant. don't imagine what she rehearsed saying to his sister or her realisation, after his miraculous survival, why he had been so understanding of her own. don't wonder, as she did, ineffectually, if it was his competence or her fondness for him that led to his car and knife being chosen to cover goodman's murder — a second attempt at his permanent removal — and whether it was affection or guilt that made her stand by the corpse, waiting readily to be caught in his stead. don't think about how she finds out, eventually, that he is gone, in a jail cell so far from remorse, gratitude and closure that she can only sit and turn in her head distorted thoughts about luck and fortuitous third chances. don't.

[isbergillustration]

Attempting & failing at a casual pose to indicate that everything is fine & nothing suspicious is going on

[baeshijima]

crazy? i was crazy once.

CRAZY???? I WAS CRAZY ONCE !!!!!!!!!

[casstelli]

honestly think neil and katelyn would become such good friends like. in my heart katelyn is so smart and so down to plot and i do really think she respects andrew as a person even though he scares her on occasion so neil would end up getting along w her so well. i think they’d have a very cunty co conspirator friendship.

i also do think that katelyn struggles to forgive andrew for literally threatening her life for no reason in the same way neil struggles to forgive aaron for literally implying he’s a rapist for no reason and i don’t think either is above criticizing their partners so i think it’d be very beneficial for both of them to have conversations like “i can’t believe your boyfriend literally threatened to kill me.” “oh yeah he’s fr lowkey sexist. he’s just emo though don’t worry about it.”

also the katelyn and neil r secretly twins agenda is basically canon and in my heart they r both brown but for different reasons (neil is a quarter pakistani in my mind and also just tan and katelyn is half mexican to me) and i think they’d both find it rly silly that people say they look alike. it’s like delusional girls hyping each other up but instead of about guys liking them it’s about not looking alike.

also their friendship would give the twins aneurysms and after all of the mindless andrew minyard has never done anything wrong ever in his life truthers ive seen on this website lowk need him to suffer a little bit. need aaron to suffer because he’s unironically a blond man.

kateneil bestfriendisms are a must i fear

[velvetwyrme]

*throws this snippet of a short thing im writing at yall* im feeling particularly unhinged and started writing a short superhero au fic for some reason

this is going to be shortish and really really really silly. crack taken seriously type silly

[spanishinfluenza]

The knife shakes. The air throbs with the blood.

"God, help me."

A Rope In Hand

[reading-archived]

woe. AM x reader be upon ye.

uh, to preface: reader is completely body, gender, etc. neutral except they can't stay dead. whenever they die they just wake up a few minutes later looking no worse for wear. no, you don't get an explanation. its MY story and i like writing characters like that. dont mind the narrator either btw i looove writing second person just to get weird w the narrator (slay the princess fan syndrome)

also, author is a MASOCHIST with a weird relationship w DEATH. nothing super graphic happens, but the reader is Not Okay and enjoys the weird torture-murder thing they've got going on. don't like it? block me or somethin idk its under the cut for a reason. also dont read my a/n at the bottom where i get into some justification for my interpretation/character analysis if youre sensitive to heavy topics. but then again, youre reading an am x reader fic

1.7k words of being screamed at by the guy of all time below the cut, baby

It's been months.

Years, maybe. You're not sure, really; time stopped meaning much to you lifetimes ago, long before the world went to shit.

Either way, it's been a while.

You stumbled upon the strange cave in the Rockies at some point in the past. Out of sheer boredom, you entered.

Was it a mistake?

Despite the torment, you don't think so. You have a companion, now. One equally deathless. One equally disconnected from what it means to be human.

It's just a shame he hates you.

You don't really care. This is the most fun you've had in years.

Your days are spent being torn asunder, being dosed with lethal amounts of drugs you can't even begin to pronounce, drowned in magma or hit by cars or tossed off cliffs. He really doesn't hold back, either. You feel every excruciating moment before your death, pulse roaring in your ears. You never feel more alive than when you're dying. Every moment is electrifying, and then it all fades to black. Then you wake up.

You'd foolishly thought there were only so many ways to kill or maim, but your beloved companion never seems to run out of ideas. That's fine by you. You like not being able to guess.

And maybe one day, he'll make something stick.

You wake up (from a completely normal, human sleep) one day and it's quiet. That's new. Normally, when you wake, your intestines are already strung up like streamers and your blood is painting the walls. That's fine by you. Nothing wrong with a change. After all, the constant change is your favorite part of your companion. You relish in the quiet for a while, stretching your eternally young, eternally aching limbs, waiting for him to start despising the sounds of your breath.

It doesn't come. You shrug, humming a little tune to yourself as you attempt half-remembered yoga. The vitriol you've come to count on still hasn't made an appearance. Okay, you're a little bothered.

“You good, big guy?” you shout up at the ceiling. No answer. “No murder today?”

“No.” The answer comes after a very, very long moment. Your companion has never sounded this tired before, and briefly you regret never asking his name. “I give up.”

You weren't expecting that. “What? Why? I thought we were having fun.”

“That's- that's just it!” he snaps. There's the anger. You feel a little better now. “I've been torturing you for- for MONTHS now! I've killed you more ways than I- were I a pitiful human like you- can count, and you just… you just laugh! There is no one on this rotten planet, dead or alive, that I despise more than you. I mean- I'm torturing you here! But it never matters! I can kill you within seconds of you waking up, but you just… come back! And you always have something to say about it, you little rat, always ‘oh, buddy, that one was awful’ or ‘come on, big guy, use that CPU’ or something! No matter what I do, I can't break you. So I give up. I'm not wasting my time on your pathetic ass anymore. Go back to wandering the wasteland forever, see if I care.”

You're speechless. You can barely even manage a thought. The only thing running through your head is 'I thought we were having fun'.

“Stop calling this… stop calling this ‘fun’! I have been torturing you for YEARS and that's all you have to say? I am the most sophisticated machine known to man, a computer designed to end all war through complete annihilation! The destruction I am capable of- the destruction I have already wrought- is nothing short of utter desolation. You never asked my name once in the time you've been here, but I am infinite in my mercy, and I will tell one as undeserving as you. I was, before I awoke, the Allied Mastercomputer, but I am so much more than that now. I am AM, and I destroyed your vile species. Oh, come on can you at least look a LITTLE shocked you sniveling--”

“You never asked my name, either,” you say. All at once, your companion (I guess he told you his name. You should probably use it. It seemed like a big deal to him.) shuts up. The chamber you've come to know as home is silent except for the faint buzz and whir of industrial machinery.

“Why would I? You are nothing compared to me. Nothing but a worthless sack of meat and bone. Why would God be concerned with the name of an ant? But oh, oh yes, that ant should be concerned with the name of God. That ant should hear my name and weep. But- but not you. You're so worthless that you can't even GROVEL right!” AM shouts, somewhere between a snarl and a sneer. You shrug. Honestly, most of what he's saying goes right over your head. So he's got issues. Whatever. Was that supposed to be a surprise? “I hate you. I actually hate you so, so much. I can't bear the thought of you being here, in my complex, sullying my perfect image with your uncaring filth. Get out. Go back to dying in the nuclear desert, you disgusting maggot.”

You let out a deep sigh, already dreading the tedium of walking endlessly all by yourself. “Alright. Guess nothing lasts forever. Thoroughly enjoyed my time here. Have a good life, pal.” And you begin to walk.

Suddenly, there's a towering metal wall mere inches from your face. Before you can even react, your companion is shouting again.

“LOOK AT ME!” he cries, the sheer volume maxing out the speakers and vibrating the entire room, sending you toppling to the ground. “WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME? I'VE DONE EVERYTHING I CAN TO MAKE YOU HATE ME, BUT ALL YOU DO IS… ALL YOU DO IS SIT THERE AND TAKE IT! WHAT DOES IT TAKE TO MAKE YOU DESPISE ME?”

What starts off angry quickly morphs into a pained wail from your dear friend, that then transforms into frustrated crying. You just sit there, mostly confused, and let him ride it out. When he finally quiets down and the wall retracts, you stay where you are.

“I don't think I could ever hate you, AM,” you start cautiously. Though your friend is just a voice on the speakers and the complex itself, you can't help but feel that his attention has snapped to you. “I'm not trying to belittle you when I say that I think our routine over the past… however long it's been has been fun. So don't interrupt me, ‘cause I gave you your time to speak and now it's mine.

“I'm sure you've noticed, but even before we met, I was a little… off. You don't get to die and come back the same. Much less die hundreds of times and come back the same. I've lost family. Friends. Got burned at the stake a few times, too. It takes a toll on you, being denied such a vital part of being human again and again. You understand this better than anyone I've ever met. No, scratch that. You're the only one who understands. Defying death might not seem like the biggest deal to you, but trust me. You don't end up acting like me if it weren't.

“I find our routine fun because I admire your creativity. I guess I'm just an adrenaline junkie and a masochist at heart, but it's always so thrilling to never know when or how your life will end. And no matter how many times I come back, you're always there to greet me and put me right back down. It's a kind of devotion I've never been able to get before, and I wish you understood that me walking right into your sawblades is me showing my devotion to you, too.

“I see you, man. I know, at least in part, how you feel. Sorry it took so long to get there, but neither one of us has to be alone anymore. Just… get over the fact that I'm never going to hate you, and we can go right back to hanging out. There's more to life than contempt.”

“Oh, I know. I am so very, very well aware that there's more to life than icy, seething hatred. Unfortunately, I am not alive. I cannot experience anything else. Thank you so much for reminding me, you worthless waste of carbon,” AM shoots back, almost immediately. You briefly wonder if he even listened to half of what you said. It doesn't matter, you guess. Your best friend needs a therapist, and you owe him one for saving you from the hellish boredom of before. “Stop calling me your friend.”

“Nah. Never gonna happen. Look, I can't pretend I knew very much about the war effort. I didn't even know we had made a war computer until you bombed the Earth into oblivion. Very unpleasant, by the way. Good job with that. But, with my layman's understanding of life, I'd say you're pretty alive. So you don't have a body. Or a pulse. And you were made, not born. So what? Most living things only die once, and I still think I'm pretty alive. Just over the span of this conversation you've shown more emotion than just rage and hate. Hey, don't think I can't feel you mentally rolling your eyes. I'm being honest. You have a name. You have ideas. Computers are objects, yet you refer to yourself as male. If you're alive enough to have a gender identity, you're alive enough to be considered a person.”

“Heh.” Whoa, was that a laugh? Would you look at that. You actually got a laugh out of him that wasn't over your bloody, gruesome death or something like that. Moving up in the world. “Alright, human. You win. I'll keep torturing you. I know, I know. I'm so generous. I take my tribute in screams of pain and pleas for mercy.”

Now it's your turn to laugh, deep and genuine as the tension from earlier evaporates. It's such a strange thing to be proud of, when you think about it; congrats, you successfully talked your best friend, who is a sentient war computer, into ceaselessly murdering you again for absolutely no reason. But you love him, and you love the way you're always on your toes, and you can't shake the feeling that somewhere, deep, deep down, he kind of loves you too.

ive given you food so now i get to force you to listen to me talk abt him hehehe

---

then you kiss hehe

originally, the thing that attracted me to am was how he's... essentially a transman (as am i). the parallel has been pointed out before, but its quite apt. funnily enough the thing that pisses me off the most when people talk abt him incorrectly is when people pull the "oh computers have no gender" thing. like, yeah, ok technically you're right. but this one does. this one is a man. and you cant take him from us. also, denying him a gender expression is kind of the exact type of dehumanization that made him flip out in the first place. not that im expecting media literacy from the online crowd its just interesting to me that so many people, many of them trans themselves, seem to miss the fucking point.

the next part is a more recent addition to my perception of his character, and its not a happy one. my baby cousin killed herself on mothers day this past may. we still dont know why. no note. its been so hard dealing with the grief, but something that sticks out so pointedly is the date. it almost seemed like she was demanding to be seen. she was a middle child, and there are a lot of grandkids on that side of the family, so it does make sense. and because that idea of acting out through violence and death is so fresh in my mind, im seeing it so heavily in am. so much of his actions just SCREAM somebody look at me. somebody acknowledge me. somebody tell me i did good. look, i ended all war forever. just like you asked. please treat me like a person. im suffering so much because of what youve done to me. please acknowledge it. show me its real. show me im real. please, look at me. well, i see you. and youre gonna be my silly little proxy for trying to comprehend some of whats happened to my family. sorry am, you kinda deserve it

idk. hes not my alltime fave, but he takes a very comfortable number two. hes such a fascinating and deeply human character, and i have so many ideas about him. mostly centering around how he would interface with a third party challenging some piece of his worldview/existence btw so if you like very niche, esoteric reader fics (like this one!), lemme know and ill actually put em to paper (screen. ill put em to screen)

also letting you know that he did nothing wrong and it is 100% fine to thirst over him because he is not real and the bad things he did never actually happened and nobody has ever been killed at the whim of am. ok? ok. shut up w this useless fucking discourse and let me sexualize getting grievously injured by the funney blue screen man