#and then their comradery spirals from there

[dragonroilz]

ive been looking at the female merc concepts that valve made back in the day and it really made me think about how a lot of the more popular female mercs are just genderbends of the original mercs.

nothing wrong with that, obviously, but i think it's infinitely more fascinating to treat them as their own characters since if valve had gone through with female mercs, theyd probably exist alongside the ones in the game.

anyways, meet the medic! she's a physician from britain who practices "natural medicine". not with normal things like herbs. stuff like "you have a cold? well, they say that drinking a single drop of lava from a volcano will fix you right up! ill go ahead and write a prescription~"

she has a belief that modern medicine is wrong and wants to change it from inside of the system. not because she thinks patient care can be improved, but because crystal tonic has medicinal value guys. trust me.

in addition to that, she's got a real fascination with the spiritual and demonic. after all, who cares about how you attain immortality? you have your entire unnatural lifespan to smooth out the rough parts!

have some rough sketches for when i was searching for a design too!

[red-moon-at-night]

I keep thinking about yonah meaning dove in hebrew and the idea of kotoko viewing herself as a symbol of peace and salvation....... I'm so *crosses one leg over the other and leans on the table with my elbows, cupping my chin with my hands and batting my eyelashes* it's just so intriguing y’know

[likehoneyandsilk]

I Wanna Be Yours

Hi everyone! This is a draft I have been playing around with. As per my last post, I am trying out something new. This would be a short multipart piece of writing, however, it is not my usual style. That being said, I wanted to get across some content for feedback and opinions! This may flourish or very well end up back in my drafts. Regardless, it is worth a share! Thank you!

P.S. To get a vibe for what this will be think of "Strangers" by Kenya Grace!

. . .

Any lucid person would tell Savina she was being played by the strings. Like a puppet, twisted, and turned in all directives at the hands of her puppeteer. Filled with life at his convenience. But together, they satisfied each other's desires, the appetite for comfort and comradery. Together, they kindled fires so passionate and uncontainable. What was malignant was also nourishing.

And when he held Savina, she melted like snow underneath a scorching hot sun. Sensed herself wilt into fragments as he pressed his lips to hers, so soft at times and others so intense she believed the butterflies in her stomach would burst. When he replenished her air with his laughter, Savina spiraled into a cordial and pleasant world. And when he pressed into her, yearned every inch of her golden skin, and looked into her doe eyes, she swore she saw glimpses of heaven across his ocean blues.

It all began three months ago when she had caught his eye at a charity affair hosted by the Bengals. Savina was the creative lead for the organization of the event, representing her company with exhibited ease and tranquility, but inside she rippled with anxiety. For the next year, her company was to manage all charitable events held by the Cincinnati Bengals. The pressure to be successful and receive a well-deserved promotion hung above Savina's head like a grey cloud, lingering to storm down on her. She counted down the minutes till she could flee, take refuge in her tiny apartment, and adequately breathe.

One could never see the battles Savina played in her head. Because on the outside, to the dashingly bestowed bachelor in all of Cincinnati, Joe Burrow watched this woman with pure attentiveness, averting his lingering gaze as he worked the bravery to approach her. She dazzled in a black ankle-length dress, hugging her hips just enough and falling effortlessly around her lower limbs. Her breasts were round and full, graced with the black fabric, but not enough to hide the last few lines of an unintelligible script in a tiny black font that peaked from underneath. The straps resting on her shoulder were barely an inch thick. Leaning against a pillar, cradling a half-empty glass of sparkling water, Joe observed the astonishing stranger's doe brown eyes, surrounded by thick black lashes moving around the room.

And suddenly he felt time freeze. His breath hitched in his throat. He was speechless. A haste washed over Joe, the need to speak to the woman before him, to fill her attention with his existence only. Yet, before he could put one foot in front of the other, her cheeks burned red and she turned away, that long jet-black curled hair bouncing with every step she took.

Savina's hands trembled with nerves. Her body felt heavy, her senses foggy when she found his eyes on her. There was a limit to the extent of their paths crossing. Too much was on the line. The peak of her career lay in this event, and had she been seen locking eyes and trading longing glances at the untouchable man, she could have kissed all her dreams and aspirations away. Joe Burrow meant trouble, despite whatever miracle had sparked his attention in her, she had far too much to lose.

Mortified at how far her thoughts permitted her to proceed, how silly it seemed that she was convinced he had taken a liking to her, Savina set aside her drink and busied herself with the event. Presenting herself as efficient and professional, she lingered around the peripheral vision of her boss, who she doubted would even recognize her hard work as he was now numerous margaritas into the night. But to dismiss the urge she felt to meet the lingering gaze of the quarterback as he discreetly watched her move about the room, she occupied her time with the event.

Just before midnight, the bar made the last call. Savina watched as the few remaining guests made their way for whatever they could get their hands on. Thoroughly sober, yet she felt like she was hungover. She had found solitude in a corner of the event space, far from the bright lights and embellishments. She sat atop an unused speaker, leaning her head back against the wall. It was no lie that she had sought out Joe in the crowd. He was impossible to forget. All eyes seemed to fall on him. 6'4", athletic physique, and despite sporting a black suit like many of the men in attendance, he appeared to stand out the most. He smiled guilelessly, baby blue eyes sparkling underneath the lights. Every few seconds when he appeared overwhelmed, he ran a hand through his hair, emerging ever so effortlessly unshakable.

The lights of the bar had fallen dim. The music ceased playing and Savina watched her boss stumble up the steps of the stage, thanking everyone for attending. She stood up, tidying her dress, as she made her way to join the crowd. Engrossed in her boss's horrid speech, she awaited her name to leave his lips, to acknowledge that she had done well, at least some ounce of credit into organizing this event. Unbeknownst to her, she stood next to Joe, hardly reaching his Adam's apple even in her heels. Joe's heart beat profusely in his chest as he watched her through his peripherals.

Up close, despite not being in clear view, she was sensational. The blush embellishing the apples of her cheeks had faded, the rose pink hue now a reminder of the night. Her lustrous lips curled up in a smile and soon fell into a straight line, the glimmer in her eyes abruptly fading as the chocolate brown darkened into charcoal. Forcing his peaked interest away from her, Joe watched the intemperate man before them, dawdle down the steps. A muffled applause fell through the room, and Joe felt a shift in the air when he turned to his side.

The nameless stranger hung her head low. Her hands clutched the silk fabric of her dress. Her hair fell around her, and then behind her as she straightened herself. As if slipping back into reality, she turned her head, tilting it upward to finally allow her eyes to meet his. Her features displayed scraps of dissatisfaction and regret. Joe wondered if he could wish away all her pain. He opened his mouth to speak as bodies moved around them, and all at once he could tell she felt suffocated. Her eyes screamed, and her frame became timid as the crowd moved around her. The lights above them began to dim, and she occurred to freeze.

His mouth went dry. His vision was hazy. He reached out a hand, despite the voices in his head pleading him to stop.

He leaned down, his lips inches from her ear. Savina felt as if she might faint, from his proximity integrated with the irritation she felt towards her boss. All those weeks of hard work faded with the lights as the event closed. But Joe was saying something, and she flinched the slightest when his hand rested on the small of her back. She eased against him, preserving her energy and tuning out all noise to clear her head.

"I know a place you can get some air."

She filled his nostrils with a floral scent, so rich and exquisite. He smelled masculine. Like bergamot and applewood. Together they seemed to harmonize so well.

Savina gulped, nodding her head, and missed the feeling as his hand parted from her body all too quickly. She followed his large and tall frame through the crowd. He steered her towards coat check. As if playing coy all too well he remained a few steps away, fiddling with his phone. He nodded reassuringly as she met his eyes from the line.

Every muscle in her body tensed. Every inch of skin tingled.

Her mouth was parched as she fiddled through her purse for the coat check slip. Offering it to the attendant she watched them vanish into a room full of racks. Savina inhaled a large breath, holding in the air before releasing it.

Get it together Savina. She watched Joe scan the room, his demeanor impatient. He knew he was crossing a line. But so was she.

Joe backed away gradually, eyes scattering around the emptying room before forcing open a door that read "NO ENTRY UNLESS AUTHORIZED" with his back. Savina fell behind, as she scurried after him, flailing her coat around her. As she approached the door, she seemed to recall the reluctance to engage with this man in the earlier hours. All that still stood profound. She promised herself not to pivot from her goal.

Joe was not visible on the flight of steps that led to another door when Savina stopped to breathe in the solitude of the poorly lit room. It smelled of floor cleaner, remains of pine and citrus evident in the air. The voices faded completely, and Savina listened to the footsteps on the other side buffer with each passing second. Either she turns back now and forgets all this happened, or she takes a gamble on her screaming heart.

The air was crisp. Bitterly cold Joe stood against the concrete balcony. Below him, vehicles passed by as specks of light, faster and faster. It was early October, yet the city had nestled into an early Winter coldness. The sky was clear above him. A few scattered stars sparkled, adorning the full moon that seemed within reach this high up. Dispersed cigarette butts littered the ground. Two empty lawn chairs sat underneath a lone umbrella perched within a discarded glass patio table.

Joe feigned composure. His hands rested in his pockets. His nose was slightly red from the cold. With his head bowed, he shifted his gaze between the door behind him and the scene below him. After what felt like a century, the door screeched open, closing behind her with such a loud bang it felt as if it vibrated through the ground.

Slowly, Savina made her way to him. Her heels clicked against the concrete. The bare skin of her legs became scattered with goosebumps. Her lungs felt fully expanded despite the iciness that settled around her. It felt good to catch a breath of true air. Joe turned, catching his eyes with her once again. An invisible string between them pulled them close. Savina found herself situated next to him, her gaze now shifted to the passing city beneath them. She could feel his eyes on her, and she wondered if he could hear how loudly her heart banged against her chest, or how red her cheeks had become.

Willing herself to speak, Savina sighed. But before she could spill out a single phrase, Joe spoke.

"My name is Joe." He offered her his hand, suggesting a handshake.

"Savina." Her voice came out quiet. She carefully positioned her hand in his grasp, and he held it so gently, and when they parted, she felt every electric speck flutter through her as his skin brushed against hers.

"How do you feel now Savina?" Gosh, how her name sounded out of his mouth. Joe's voice was both manly and soft. His eyes conveyed concern and prominent interest. He seemed the least bit flustered, but his calm and cool composure kept Savina grounded and at the same time craving him in all aspects. Savina smiled, slowly curling her lips into a smile.

"A lot better. The best I've felt all night." Joe watched her teeth graze her bottom lip. He stood straighter. A boyish smirk washed over his lips. A cold breeze passed between them. "I take it that asshole was your boss?" Taken aback by his word choice Savina could not help but laugh. She felt unrestrained. Her body was both filled with energy and glow. Joe watched the woman before him unfold. Her laughter was music to his ears.

"That would be true." Savine sighed, leaning against the balcony. A newfound surge of confidence reigned over her, that dark storm cloud above her head slowly evaporating.

"I was the organizational lead for this event. I work for Commons Corporate. This was my big break to show him what I've got, and to be frank, I think he won't remember a single thing."

Savina nodded disapprovingly as she confirmed her thoughts, pulling her hair behind her ears. Her eyes fell to the ground. Her confidence began to quiver, the recognition she would be frowned upon for engaging with a player beyond professionalism.

But she was lonesome. She craved camaraderie and consolation. She desired all the urges a young woman who found refuge in her apartment did.

"I think the event was amazing. And I can't stand men who can't give credit to women when it's worth." Joe inched closer, pulling Savina's attention from the ground back to him. His body emitted heat. Savina was convinced underneath the layers, his body was warm and tender.

"Thanks." The whispered word barely leaving her mouth was audible. Their eyes fell from the others to their lips, the energy around them begging them to do something.

"Savina?'

"Mhmm?"

Savina stepped closer. Joe's arm wrapped around her frame, underneath her coat. Savina shuddered.

"Is this okay?"

Savina nodded, cradling her head against his hand as he rested it against her cheek. "And this?"

Savina nodded again, stepping even closer till her body pressed against his.

"Savina, can I kiss you?"

Joe's blue eyes merged a shade darker. His frame towered over hers, in a way that was protective yet flushed her body with deep desire. He tilted her head towards him even more. "You tell me to stop and I will Savina."

Please don't stop.

"I want you to kiss me."

And with that, his lips were on hers. Every ounce of desperation filled Savina as his lips moved against her. He was delicate, holding her as if she were a feather, and kissing her so gingerly. Joe tuned her, her core pressed against his and she gasped, a rush of blood surging to her cheeks. His arms netled her against him, her own wrapped around his neck. She leaned back as he inclined into her, never once breaking their kiss, as her head dipped above the city below them.

"Savina, god damn it," Joe muttered against her lips, lifting her off her feet as he situated her on the edge of the balcony.

"Joe!" Savina gripped Joe's arms, eyes frantic as she forced herself not to look down.

"Easy, easy." He cooed, instantly calming her nerves as he pulled her off, twisting her body so that he leaned against the balcony now. "I wouldn't let you fall."

Joe Burrow was a stranger. A well-known man in the city, but truly and logically a stranger. Yet Savina trusted him blindly, a flutter of her heart telling her she was safe.

Savina was flush against his chest, her lips inches from his.

He held her so close. How could one feel so at ease when you just met them?

"What are you thinking about?" Joe watched Savina's brown eyes darken, a sudden plead of desire clouding over any logical thought. He'd be a fool to say he didn't present her with the same.

"We shouldn't be doing this." Her hand wrapped around his. She pulled away from him, tugging him with her. She walked backward, pulling him with her.

"We shouldn't." They stopped at the closed door, possibly the barrier to their separate ways. Savina's back pressed against the door, her hand still within Joe's own. Joe held the latch in his free hand, hindering the door from opening.

What they felt was electric. What they desired lay in the other.

What they needed was each other.

. . .

Friendly reminder to let me know what you think! Opinions/constructive criticism welcomed, my interactive options on my page are open! Thank you again loves!

[adiduck]

anotha question ✨

there’s gotta be some icemav pining for each other that’s borderline verbal abuse of one another that makes the daggers think they hate each other (affectionately)…or everyone can tell they like each other cause 22’ is right there

You know what? I think I can do this. I'm gonna give a few different snippets (some of which I have already posted) which, in totality, I believe paint a picture:

Pushups with Bradley (already posted)

“Strong silent type,” he says finally. “No worries, no worries. I can fill the air for all of us.”

“He can,” Ice says, because he’s a damn good wingman and knows when Maverick needs a backup straight man in a conversation.

“One of my many talents,” Maverick agrees, gratefully. “Right under fucking up high yo-yos in new aircraft.”

“One-seventy-one,” Hondo says, and his voice shakes a little like he’s suppressing a laugh. Maverick looks up and winks at him while he’s doing his pushup.

“I got him into a defensive spiral and pulled out right before we hit the hard deck, and he reversed positions and got me on lock when I didn’t drop down to weapons envelope,” Rooster says suddenly.

Maverick pauses and then whistles low. 

“One-seventy-two.”

“That’s closer than I got,” Maverick says. “Fucker using the hard deck against you. One of our instructors did that to me first day at Top Gun.”

“And you broke the hard deck to get tone,” Ice interrupts, voice very dry.

“One-seventy-three.”

“And it didn’t count, because of the fuckin’ hard deck,” Maverick agrees. “Probably made the right call there, honestly. Saved yourself a reaming from the brass.”

“Not that Mav’d know anything about that,” Ice offers up.

“A third talent,” Maverick says easily, grinning.

On Ice’s other side, Rooster’s starting to relax a little.

“You really can just run your mouth, huh?” Rooster asks.

“You have no idea,” Ice drawls.

Rooster snorts.

“Alright, that’s enough chatter, gentlemen,” Hondo says, amused. “One-seventy-four!”

-

Football

“Come on, Captain Mitchell, take it off,” Phoenix crows, just after they’re back in the water post-lunch. The Captain, midway through pulling his white t-shirt over his head, starts to laugh, whole-bodied and amused.

“Been a while since I’ve been objectified by someone under my command to my face,” he says, peering out the neck hole as Phoenix grins, unrepentant. Very helpfully, Hangman puts two fingers in his mouth and wolf whistles, and everyone else cracks up.

The Captain’s played with them for the first half of the morning--keeps up, makes it pretty clear that he’s still meeting those medical standards for flight. He takes a few breaks--Maverick makes sure to tell him to remember to hydrate--old people are more susceptible to heat stroke, right?--and to be careful not to break a hip every time he comes back. Like clockwork. It makes the Captain’s jaw tick, which is hilarious enough Maverick doesn’t mind getting his ass kicked the next round every time he does it.

Eventually, though, it’s just too hot, and the guys start stripping shirts off. Maverick’s been enjoying the view, actually. There are a lot of very pretty people slated for this particular mission, and that’s not even counting Ice, with his wide shoulders and swimmer’s build, the freckles across his shoulders and eyes shining with challenge.

Maverick’s not stupid enough to hit on any of them when he’s gonna need to fly a suicide mission with them in two weeks, even on the down-low--Hangman’s definitely watching Maverick under his lashes when he thinks nobody’s looking, he’s not fucking subtle--but the point really does stand.

The Captain’s just about the last to give in, and honestly it probably is because he’s feeling old next to everyone else, if Maverick had to guess.

But here he is, joining the rest of them in shirtlessness. Maverick grins, soaking in the sun and comradery and good cheer, and knocks shoulders with Ice.

Ice shakes his head. “Keep it to a dull roar,” he calls. “I still have to deal with the younger version in a couple weeks after you all inflate his ego."

“Too late for that,” the Captain says, and winks at Ice, then continues to pull the shirt off over his head--

-

Later in Football

“Gotta ask, Maverick, are you also that crazy, or was that something that came with age?” Omaha complains. Over on the shore, the Captain raises his hands in surrender, laughing as he’s herded over to a chair. Still in the water next to them, Bradley scoffs and turns away.

Maverick frowns, and then shrugs, uncomfortable. “I have a pretty high pain tolerance,” he says. “I dunno, if he says Medical said he was fine, he’s probably fine.”

“So,” Omaha says. “The answer’s yes.”

“The answer’s definitely yes,” Ice drawls, he flips the football up onto his finger, gets a few decent spins before it wobbles and falls into his hand. “Hey,” he shouts at the shore. “Are we playing or what?”

“Hold your horses, we’re coming,” Hangman hollers back, as the Captain laughs again, reaches behind him to pull his dog tags to the front of his chest--

Maverick freezes. “Is he wearing a ring on that chain?” he asks, squinting.

Ice frowns, squinting too.

“Huh,” Omaha says. “Looks like it.”

“Aviators,” Bradley shouts suddenly, and Maverick startles a little. “Move it or we’ll move it for you!”

Hangman flips him off, even as Phoenix also rolls her eyes and the group starts moving back towards the water.

Maverick starts towards the shore. “Play without me,” he says.

“Come on, Maverick, if you go sit down we don’t have even teams,” Bradley says.

It’s definitely a ring. The Captain’s noticed him looking now though, flipped his aviators up to raise an eyebrow at him.

“He’s not married,” Maverick says, as Ice catches up to him. “It would’ve been in his file. Divorced? Engaged?”

“Divorced would have also been in his file,” Ice says. “Mav, if he wanted you to know, maybe he’d have told you.”

Maverick pauses. Hesitates. “It’s not Charlie, probably,” he says, feeling a bit guilty. He--well, he hasn’t been thinking about Charlie. He’s been busy, sure, but--

“It could be,” Ice says. “But if he wanted you to know, he’d tell you. Come on, let’s go back and play.”

Maverick hesitates.

“This’d be the second time you run out on me to go talk to someone about your love life, Mitchell,” Ice says. “Gonna start thinking it’s me.”

“It’s definitely you,” Maverick says automatically, and then huffs, rolls his eyes. “Well when you put it like that--”

Ice huffs a laugh, throws an arm over Maverick’s shoulder and turns him around. “Let’s show these assholes how it’s done, shall we?”

-

Drinking Game

“Star Wars and Star Trek got a complete reboot in the form of a movie. Which one really did?” Fanboy asks, grinning.

“Star Trek,” Ice says, only half a beat later. His voice has loosened to something of a drawl along with the set of his shoulders, the sprawl in his chair becoming increasingly boneless with every wrong answer. “Star Wars is only three movies, I don’t know why they’d bother remaking them.”

“Mitchell?” Fanboy asks.

“Uh,” Maverick says. He’s on beer three in about half an hour, and that’s not a lot, but it’s not nothing. And he barely knows what either of those things are. “I’m going to go with Lieutenant Nerd’s assessment over here.”

“Bite me,” Ice says easily.

“You’re correct,” Fanboy says, and Ice smirks in satisfaction as all around them everyone takes a drink. Maverick grins back, can’t seem to help it.

“Okay, next, a sports question,” Payback says. “Let’s see how well you know your baseball. Use of certain steroids was approved in 2007, or the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004.”

The world stops. “They did?” Maverick says, the words bursting out of him without any input from his brain, maybe too loud.

Phoenix cracks up, leaning over the table.

“Of course you’re a Sox fan,” Hangman mutters, rolling his eyes.

“I’m going for steroids are legal,” Ice informs them primly.

“Hey,” Maverick says. Ice gives him a bland look back, mouth pinched at the corners. Asshole.

“Might as well drink, then,” Payback says. “Sox have won most recently in 2004, 2007, 2013, and 2018.”

“Yes!” Maverick says. “Fact check!”

“You don’t believe him?” Phoenix asks.“I just want to see,” Maverick says, and holds out his hand for the cell phone. “Come on, give it up. This is the best day of my life.”

-

Last run before the mission (already shared in this exercise)

“Still with me, Phoenix?” Maverick asks, swinging into the fourth turn.

“We’re with you, Mav, don’t wait for us,” Phoenix says, and Maverick grins, banking hard.

“Kinda--the point, isn’t it?” he asks through the lung compression, and leans into a bank in the opposite direction. “Can’t do it myself.”

“Red letter day,” Ice says over the radio, sounding equally winded from the banking. “Mark your--calendars.”

Maverick laughs. “You said that, not me,” he says, and turns a flat ninety degrees under the simulated aqueduct.

“Do you know what ‘maverick’ means?”

“Sounds like a story,” Payback gets out.

“Tell you later,” Maverick says, and evens out, grins. “Time?”

“Five seconds under,” Bob says.

Maverick grins. “Fuck yes. Now comes the easy bit. Bob, prep that laser--popping!”

“The easy bit, he says,” Fanboy says. “They’re calling them miracles.”

“Naw,” Maverick says, reaching the apex of his climb. And there’s the target. “They call us ‘Maverick’ and ‘Iceman’.”

[dyedcomrade]

jack krauser x reader having a panic attack/depressive episode

he definitely doesn't understand half of the things you talk about. it my be special expressions you use in work, or for a hobby, maybe you switch languages as you speak

but he encourages you to tell him about all the things that are on your mind. it's better to talk it out, and he wants to know what's eating you up so you are not alone in it

he will tell you how you have the right to be upset and feel yoir feelings, that they are valid.

he knows how your trust is heard-earned and fragile. for good reasons, but he still has to be careful not to worsen your mental state and trust issues with anything he might would want to tell you. he knows, how you feel like, if you lose him, there is nothing left for you. in these triggering topics, even if he'd have a different approach or reaction, he doesn't push it.

he will listen to you vent even at 2 am and yes, you can wake him up with matters like this. it's better to let it out in the moment you get into a bad state, than spiralling further down or hurting yourself. he especially hates when you destroy something you made because you feel unlovable and talentless or if you fall into fantasizing about suicide. - he sees your internet history and he thinks it's disturbing how you, as you told 'feel like you sre too incompetent to even end it all'

if this happens at night he will offer you to watch a little bit of your comfort show - he probably needs to get up early for work, so not too much, but he reminds you he still loves you and the time spent with you in this scenario is not a measure of his love. he will make you some tea and get you some plushies to choose from to hold onto for comfort. he tells you you can take the aggression out on it or on him - not like you could actually do him any harm. if you want to he will make you your comfort food or if he has an uocoming day off, he will drive you to a fast food restaurant. yes, you can bring your plushie

cuddles you sooo tight. feel his love, it's important for him to get it across. tells you so many times that he has still got you, even if the whole world is against you - he is used to it, in military, arguing back and forth with higher-ups for his men's safety; being a double agent in spain while somewhat covering for leon as well, not to let him succeed with recovering plaga samples, but to at least let him make it out alive, not to mention dealing with the trend of treachery in umbrella's barracks as well. if he chose someone to protect, it's for life.

and after leon in comradery, wesker out of respect and gratitude, he chose you. why? answers may vary from time to time. to tell the truth, everything you are, you do enamours him. he secretly believes that the strong people he talked leon's ears off about in spain, are tasked with helping and guarding the weak. leading, yes maybe, but that's not important. he may work for wesker but he still is a gun for hire and his employer won't dictate his ideals or where he really lies his loyalty. with that said, he is fully prepared to fight even wesker or the whole uroboros infected world if that plan succeeds and they'd mean danger for you.

even if you don't believe him, he tells you these frequently as well. he knows after everything you went through, he can't expect full trust and unonditional love too soon if ever. he stands unvavering beside you still.

he has a list of quotes from books and poems he reads that he will show or read outloud for you whenever xou feel out of touvh eith reality, sad, angry or miserable about anything. these are mainly from love poems or from parts where the speaker expresses his unvavering friendship and compassion towards the other. sometimes it's just something that he thinks captures a scene well, from nature to just everyday life things.

his reason for this is that he may not be the best with words but he still can collect the ones that perfectly show what's in his heart.

[namig42]

Part 3/7 of this ask from @inaconstantstateofchange!

Let's discuss my bardic bhaalspawn:

Vero

Her greatest struggle is the dark urges within her, and she spends the entirety of her life after amnesia resisting her evil in order to be good and kind. She's not always successful, but she found a support system to help her through, all while trying to maintain this sense of elegance and strength. She's messy, but does her absolute best to hide that fact behind her poised facade. She may not be a noble, but she will do her absolute best to present herself as one and seem like she is in control.

Let's examine the path if she had been lucky enough to not be born a bhaalspawn.

Vero would've been born into a noble house of high elves and raised to be a proper lady. She would've excelled at her role and taken great pride in it, indulging in the praise and admiration of those around her as she exceeded all expectations. She would be intelligent, articulated in speech, talented in every artform she studied, and revel in her skills and flawless execution of the role she embodied.

Perfection only lasts for so long though, and eventually something would make her stumble, and when she finally did, she'd fall hard. Within her house, she would be seen as too perfect by other family members that would feel threatened by Vero's perfection. The house of the family has a great deal of political power, and if Vero wasn't taken down a notch, she was certain to one day become matriarch and take everything for herself. Vero is normally aware enough to evade any attacks on her character from these jealous family members, but one day she'd eventually miss something. Someone would embarrass her somehow. Perhaps they drug her during a social gathering, sabotage Vero by hurting her or vandalizing her appearance, maybe even go as far as to try shoving her down a flight of stairs and making it look like an accident. Any one of these things would be a notable blight on Vero's flawless reputation, and it would only spiral in Vero's head from there. Even if other's would forget her momentary shame, she wouldn't be able to. She's tried so hard for perfection, but that first stain would always be there, always be remembered by her, and never quite leave.

Vero would fall harder into her expectations, performing them with a bit less grace and ease than before since she was more panicked now, but would still maintain her elegant image to the best of her ability. She'd always be paranoid of trusting anyone, thinking everyone was jealous of her station and out to get her. Being immersed in her household's politics and standards would only ruin her, but it's all she knows. It's all she wants. Vero only knows herself in these expectations. Outside of her role, no one knows her, not even herself. Finding companionship of any kind would be off the table unless Vero could find a way to distance herself from her station. Until then, she's trapped herself in her own mind.

If she still found herself taken by the nautiloid, she'd be just as terrified of being infected and disgusted by the idea. The fact that she'd been tainted by something so disgusting as a parasite would drive her insane, at least until she found others who shared her affliction. The comradery she would find because of the parasite would help her grow and learn more about herself as well as find companionship with people who have no clue who she is and want nothing of her. It's refreshing. She would try to maintain her sense of dignity and elegance for the first few nights, but would find her facade slipping every so often when Astarion confided in her or when Lae'zel made some silly remark that she took completely seriously. Vero found herself laughing with others, caring for others, getting angry at others, and the whole experience would give Vero the idea that maybe it wouldn't be so bad if she gave up that status she tried to maintain for so long. Being hung up on the persona she was so dedicated to crafting only hurt her, so perhaps it was time to let go of it and allow herself to be a little more careless, a little more crass, and find a new version of herself that felt more organic. She'd definitely branch out and try things she's never done on her way to Baldur's Gate, and by the time she would reach the city, she would visit her home one last time to say farewell and revoke her position. From there, she'd go off into the world, maybe with a companion or two, ready to learn who she really is outside of all the chaos.

---

This whole thing was actually what I intended Vero's backstory to be before I started my first durge run with her. I had this whole idea of how the dark urge thoughts surfaced one day when she was young and in her first act of Bhaal, she murdered her family without realizing until it was too late. From there, she fell into the hands of Bhaal and became the Dark Urge, Bhaal's chosen.

That definitely changed when the game gave her lore for me, but I had a plan just in case it didn't.

Before any of that though, Vero was meant to be an actual noble that found herself trapped in her own expectations and ideas of perfection, and would spend the journey to Baldur's Gate learning who she is outside of all of that.

[cursedvibes]

Phos for the ask game :) (btw I haven't read the last two chapters yet... so anxious...I don't want it to end)

yay, Phos! I'm really excited for the last chapter actually, can't wait to read it. The last chapters have been so good, that I'm really curious how it will all tie up. Not to mention that I'm sure it will look absolutely beautiful. Reading the last couple of chapters until the end in one go sounds like the best strategy though. Then you see it all come together. :) I'm definitely gonna reread the entire series when all chapters are out.

Sexuality Headcanon:

Well, I would say Phos is ace like most gems seem to be. I think they do experience romantic attraction though, even if they might not be entirely aware of it. Like I think they have several relationships that might dip to a degree into that territory. Gems also have no gender and see other species as essentially genderless as well like the Lunarians for example, so they don't have any preference there either. Essentially panromantic you could say.

Gender Headcanon:

Genderless like most gems, but they go more into a masculine territory I would say in terms of how they prefer to dress and cut their hair. Or more like, to us, from the point of view of our gender norms it looks masculine.

A ship I have with said character:

Mainly with Kongo. Their relationship is what really draws me to this series and what drives the plot for most of it. It's just really tragic how destructive the love is they have for each other and how they deep down only want the best for each other and see how the other suffers, but only ever end up hurting each other. I'd really like to see some form of reunion between them, even though it is unlikely. Now that both have been relieved of their duty and can engage as equals with less baggage between each other. I won't spoil it for you, but even just that little mention in ch 107 really tug at my heartstrings. Also just the entire part of the story where Kongo meticulously gathers Phos' shards and secretly pieces them back together only for them to attack him again and desperately try to get him to pray...ugh and then Phos realizes that Kongo still loves them. I'm getting sick just thinking of it. Their love isn't necessarily romantic, more somewhere between that and platonic and parental and really hard to describe. They just make me insane just how they make each other insane.

A BROTP I have with said character:

Probably Antarc? They seem to be the most genuine friendship Phos had and what first really made them spiral. The mix of understanding, comradery and later Phos all-consuming grief is what makes it so interesting for me. If we come down to it, they only spend a relatively short time together, but they both started to blossom when spending time together because both were along and isolated before. And that short time together had an immense impact on Phos. The first thing that really mentally broke them but through that allowed them to gain respect from the other gems, which in turn put more pressure and responsibility on them. Of course not great for their mental health.

Besides that, also special shout-out to Brother. He works especially well with post-enlightenment Phos and I think if he met young Phos (the way he is now and not trapped in the ice) they would get along really well together and plan all sorts of mischief. Much to the pain of everyone around them.

A NOTP I have with said character:

I don't think I have any? At least I can't think of any ship that I really dislike.

A random headcanon:

Not really a headcanon, but I like to think about how Phos probably watched Kongo and the other gems sleep during the winter (not always in case of Kongo of course, he would be the one to urge them to sleep more often and in turn watch over them). They think it's kind of comforting, but it's also becoming compulsive because they are worried they might otherwise die in their sleep or any time they go out something would attack the base.

General Opinion over said character:

Love them. I think they might genuinely be my favourite main character, definitely for anime and manga.

[metalsiren-a]

❛   i hid my deepest feelings so well, i forgot where i placed them.  ❜  

𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄. // @salvatoraes + accepting.

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞  𝐡𝐨𝐰  𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐝  𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧  𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐟𝐨𝐫,  sawyer  still  didn't  feel  it  as  much  as  maybe  she  should  have.  an  aftereffect  of  how  she  abused  the  substance  so  frequently,  her  tolerance  higehr  than  most  and,  unfortunately,  that  meant  some  people  just  couldn't  keep  up.  thankfully,  sawyer  had  managed  to  find  someone  that  night  who  could,  a  stranger  quickly  becoming  friend  and  confidant  with  how  their  conversations  began  to  descend  into  the  philosophical.  sawyer  would  always  tell  people  they'd  be  surprised  how  many  friendships  she  made  on  the  curb  outside  a  random  nightclub.  this  seemed  to  be  no  different. with  her  coat  wrapped  around  her  shoulders,  sawyer  found  reprieve  in  the  cool  night  air,  seated  beside  stefan  with  the  intent  to  eventually  hail  a  cab.  where  that  cab  would  take  them,  sawyer  wasn't  sure,  but  there  was  enough  of  a  mixture  of  alcohol  and  ecstasy  for  her  to  forgo  any  sense  of  care  for  the  evening.               ❛  i  hid  my  deepest  feelings  so  well,  i  forgot  where  i  placed  them.  ❜     sawyer  paused  for  a  moment,  head  turning  towards  stefan  with  a  newfound  sense  of  comradery,  because  damn  if  that  statement  didn't  hit  home.  how  many  years  had  sawyer  been  running  from  her  own  anger,  from  her  own  despair  and  self-loathing?  when  was  the  last  time  she  truly  let  herself  feel  everything  that  she  held  within  her  small  frame?  she  didn't  know  if  she  felt  relieved  or  terrified  at  the  realization  that  she  couldn't  remember.  slowly,  her  gaze  became  distant,  sinking  into  herself  as  the  realization  began  to  hit  closer  and  closer  to  her  heart.  

only  the  sound  of  a  car  honking  brought  her  out  of  her  spiral,  head  lifting  and  meeting  stefan's  face  before  seeing  a  cab  headed  in  their  direction,  ❛  i  think  this  is  us.  ❜    

[acrosstimeandspace]

about the past

we are finally getting a little 3h!fae backstory after forever! featuring gossip and revelations (warning for talk about kidnapping and mentions of anxiety) 

Things, as usual, started normally. Lorenz had declared that he, Ferdinand, and Fae should hold tea together since the three had shared this common interest, and Fae had agreed. Unfortunately for them, it quickly spiraled into Hilda inviting herself (she had heard Fae was baking sweets for them, and she could never turn down their baked goods); then Claude coming along with a claim of building comradery; then Edelgard saw the commotion and stopped by; and of course, with Edelgard comes Hubert.

Fae was placed in the worst seat, in their opinion, between the incredibly intimidating Hubert and too social Lorenz. It made them want to sink down in their chair and disappear occasionally, as one would irritate the other and become a bit too loud for their liking. Especially as the tea session shifted from talk about school to gossip that went around the monastery.

“I mean, you would think people would be able to keep their minds and mouths to themself, especially the nobility!” Lorenz complained after Claude eagerly divulged in telling everyone another girl had come to complain to the House Leader about Lorenz’s flirtations. “In this day and age, this is why we have such issues with taking nobles seriously, because they make us seem like all we do is partake in the spreading of baseless rumors!”

Fae raised a brow at this, considering Lorenz’s most recent incident with them. While they did indeed forgive him, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t above for falling for such rumors either.

And it looked like Hilda wanted to dig into him a little too, “But Lorenz! Didn’t you go on and on about Fae being some illegitimate child just weeks ago? I mean, clearly they aren’t, even if they aren’t Jeralt’s flesh and blood, they don’t even look like Dimitri!”

Lorenz opened and closed his mouth before scoffing. “It did not seem baseless to me at the time! … but looking back, it does seem rather absurd. But still, I can admit that, and admit that I believed those claims with good intentions. After all, I was just concerned for them!”

“I will admit as well, those rumors had sufficient evidence to back up their cases, particularly with Duke Rufus.” Ferdinand agreed.

Fae rolled their eyes, pressing themself into their chair. If conversation had to circle to this, they’d rather be anywhere but here.

“That does bring the question, why did Grand Duke Rufus bring you to the Faerghus court if you weren’t his progeny?” Fae’s head snapped up to Edelgard’s surprising question.

“I didn’t take you for a gossip, your majesty,” Claude playfully teased her, resting serenely on his hand.

“Are you too not curious about that truth, Claude?”

“Well, I can’t say I’m not…”

Fae huffed, rolling their eyes again as they turned to Hubert. They whispered to him, “Thank you, Hubert, for your silence on these matters.”

He gave them a ghost of a smile, “You would do best to answer.”

They let out a gasp in shock at his statement. Had they had less restraint, they’d bang their head against the table. Instead, they simply turned forward and placed their head into their hands. “I’ve changed my mind about wanting to unite the houses. I no longer have such lofty desires. Instead, I want to go back on the road and be away from matters like this.”

“That’s dramatic.” Hilda laughed. “I mean, we’ve all had big rumors circling around us too, you know!”  

Fae moved to rest their chin on their hands. “Yeah, but it’s still terrible for you all too. Plus…”

It felt like the entire table leaned in to them as they drifted off in their sentence, not willing to really say more.

“Plus?” Hilda finally urged on after a too long beat of silence.

It only caused Fae to shift uncomfortably in their chair. “I…I wasn’t taken to Fhirdiad on pleasant terms.”

After a beat of silence, Edelgard spoke bluntly, “That’s incredibly vague.”

“It’s a lot to say!”

“So say it,” Hilda urged.

Instead, they shifted back, arms wrapping around themself for comfort. Lorenz responded to this by putting a comforting hand on their shoulder.

“I don’t think it’s wise to pressure them so. It seems we’re all delving into gossip now as well.”

“Is it really gossip if it’s Fae telling us about their life?”

“To me,” Ferdinand replied, a guilty frown on his face, “It almost feels like we’re harassing them.”

They all glanced around at each other before looking at Fae again.

“I just…” Fae mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. “I haven’t had to think about it in a long while. I just thought I was over what happened.”

The rest of the group shared a look again, Lorenz giving another squeeze to Fae’s shoulder.

Claude asked, voice gentle, “Over what, exactly?”

“Being kidnapped.”

The moment of silence was deafening, to say the least. Fae could hear their own heartbeat takeover the sounds of nature around them, their grip on their arms tightening as that familiar pit in their stomach swirled once more. They kept their eyes on their tea cup, the way the breeze moved the liquid inside to try and steady their nerves as time ticked on.

Their classmates, on the other hand, let the shock of their statement sink in. Ferdinand froze with his tea cup in hand, lifted up, nearly an elegant picture were it not for his mouth agape; Lorenz’s face mirrored a similar expression as his hand twitched on Fae’s shoulder. Edelgard and Hubert’s eyes were much less telling, looking Fae over and assessing their words. Claude seemed to be posed in a similar manner as he continued to lean on his hand, face blank, his only tell a little furrow of his brow.

Hilda, meanwhile, went stiff as she tried to come up with something to say, before settling on, “He kidnapped you?”

“Yes.”

“That, that’s—“ It was Ferdinand who stuttered out these words as he put down his tea cup, a surprising “cling” coming from it as he did so. “Are you sure? Those were his words to you?”

“Not to defend him, but were you not found abandoned in a cabin?” Hubert pointed out.

“You don’t burn down said cabin if you’re not trying to threaten the child you’re taking.”

“He burned down your house.” Claude stated, head finally lifting off his head. “He burned it down in front of you.”

“With all of the documents in it. Including those detailing and naming my father and mother. Not even the small painting of my mother was spared.”

“It sounds as if he was purposefully erasing your past,” Edelgard concluded. “But that makes no sense, as your family wasn’t one of note.”

“I think… I think it was because my father was presumed to be still alive, to prevent something from happening with him. But I never understood why he took me. No one knew I existed at the time, I just don’t understand how it happened, why it happened…”

As Hilda, Ferdinand, and Lorenz shot out their own possible theories (perhaps Fae’s mother was Rufus’ secret lover, and this was his revenge? Or maybe he had claimed to have a child and this was his way of covering the lie? Or—), while the other trio remained silent as they observed Fae’s reactions. They still had their arms wrapped around themself, green hair in their eyes as they tried to even their mind. Clearly continuing this conversation was not helping.

Claude interrupted, “I don’t think trying to find our own answers is gonna work like this. Plus, as Ferdinand so astutely put it earlier, it’s just making Fae uneasy now. How about we take their mind off of these troubles with more fun talk?”

“Oh, yeah!” Hilda gasped, catching on to what Claude meant. “That’s okay, right, Fae?”

Their head shot up at their name, pulled from their thoughts. “U-uh, yes!”

“Hehe, well then, speaking of rumors…”

Edelgard let the conversation continue on before she and Hubert parted ways with the group, mind still on what details Fae had given them. As the two were well and safely out of ear shot, Hubert quietly asked, “I assume you are thinking Fae could have ties to Seiros and the Nabateans?”

“I had believed it to be a possibility before, but now I am certain it is so.”

“Then, it is best to take countermeasures.”

“No, aside from their bloodline, I do not believe that Fae knows about this connection much further. But I am certain it is the reason for Rufus taking them. I wonder, just what are their plans for Fae?”

“What indeed, Lady Edelgard. What indeed.”

[scazrelet]

So people love to focus on the are-they/aren’t-they aspects of the obvious euphemisms and queer drama in Goncharov while somehow missing that being ambiguous is also sort of the point? Like this story was made by a gay man in the early seventies when, despite activism, being gay was still a Very Huge Problem. This is a man who we can safely presume struggled with his feelings before ultimately renouncing his family name and *dehumanizing himself to an ID number.* Goncharov is, not in small part, about intimacy and love as a spectrum of emotion. It deals with pretty much every bond people can have - romance, obligation, comradery, respect, loyalty, friendship, rivalry, community, authority, partnership - and how these bonds blossom, mix, overlap, and subsequently fracture as people try to deny them or limit them to a single label. Is the relationship between Goncharov and Andrey friendship? Rivalry? Romance? Matteo JWHJ0715 says “yes”. Because that’s the point. There is no real delineation between these concepts. It’s all a blur, a spiraling soupy mess of complex human emotion. As someone who had to internally struggle with his own attachments, Matteo is trying to tell us that there is no real line between a close friend and lover, other than the one we arbitrarily draw on our own. In fact, it could be claimed that the consequences in the film almost all stem from the characters deciding and hard committing to which box their intimate emotions for each other belong in - Andrey could, in the end, never be Goncharov’s lover, and Katya had destroy her prior attachments so she could form new, stronger ones and free herself from her cage. Goncharov is a tragedy of adhering to self-imposed definitions. P.S. Zampanò probably explained the concept best if you want to do a deep dive though be warned I find his stuff overly academic.

[somethingboutafic]

Angst

I'm Sorry, My Policeman by LilyBlue28 (NR) word count: 1,239 Louis sees My Policeman for the first time at the screening with Harry, and it hits him right in the heart.

Meet Me In The Hallway by bananaheathen (E) word count: 15,846 The sequel where we find out what happens in the New Year after Harry and Louis' one-night stand in It's Thursday.

I Can't Change (But I Wanna Be Yours) by Cy_v (NR) word count: 19,150 Or the one where Harry has anxiety and let's Zayn talk him into getting a tattoo, and that's fine except for the fact that Louis is his tattoo artist, and well...

Get Out Of My Head (and I'll get out of yours) by Imogenlee (E) word count: 29,128 The one for the Bottom Harry Fic Fest where Harry bottoming is more of a side plot, because angst got in the way--but it doesn't really matter because the fest stopped existing when I was halfthrough.

Core 'ngrato by Velvetoscar (NR) word count: 49,626 It's been over a year since Louis broke up with Harry and Harry still believes in forever. And maybe the world does, too.

Chasing Empty Spaces by Lis(domesticharry) (E) word count: 79,028 The year is 1934 and Harry Styles was to inherent the largest tobacco firm in the south. His parents have picked out the “perfect” girl for him to marry and he has the privilege of receiving the highest education possible. The problem was, Harry hadn’t realized he didn’t actually want any part of that future until he met a mechanic named, Louis Tomlinson.

One More Taste of Your Lips by CanadianLarrie, MsHydeStylinson (E) word count: 80,035 It had been eight years since the hiatus began, and Louis had spent that time writing and recording music, touring and making it safely through the pandemic. When the opportunity arose to go back on tour with One Direction, Louis knew he'd be a fool not to take it. Sure, life on the road would be different after all this time apart, but he was looking forward to experiencing that comradery again. What he hadn't realised was that living the better part of nine months in each other's pockets was bound to dredge up issues from his past. And when one of the pockets belonged to Harry, who he'd had a rather unconventional friendship with that drifted apart during their last tour, life on the road again would upend both their lives in irrevocable ways. Harry wasn’t that sixteen year old boy anymore. Nor was he the young man in his late teens who was on the cusp of conquering the entire world. But some traits seemed to remain the same; his vibrant green eyes, the dimples set deeply in his cheeks whenever he laughed earnestly, or his curls that were the same shade of cocoa that Louis remembered fondly. And yet, Louis had absolutely no idea who this man that stood a mere twenty paces away was today.

Perfect Storm by cherrystreet (E) word count: 80,230 What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding. Harry and Louis choose the latter.

Here In The Afterglow by fondleeds (NR) word count: 88,649 1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

Mine Would Be You by crinkle-eyed-boo(KimmieRocks) (E) word count: 114,698 Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

Fucking Animals by pointerbrother (E) word count: 116,687 Louis is the frontman of an equal rights-movement, author of a book about beta-omega marriage and the struggles of being born and boxed into a personality you don't necessarily feel you fit. The notion that an omega must want to be with an alpha or else he or she's just settling for less, is bullshit. But, fucking hell.

Never Be by cherrystreet (E) word count: 117,522 The one where Harry Styles moves to Connecticut from England for nine months as a part of a study abroad program, and he just so happens to move in with Louis Tomlinson and family.

Drops of Jupiter by Itsmotivatingcara (M) word count: 121,826 In a small, sleepy town ruled by prejudice, Louis Tomlinson runs his grandmothers shop for the occult. He finds comfort in his tarot cards, his friends, and a dog that he doesn't have room for. He thought the worst he'd have to deal with would be bigotry, until a new sheriff arrives with a headstrong little girl that's impossible not to fall in love with. But what happens when a string of break-ins leads to a brutal attack, and the towns' darling is murdered right under their Sunday hats? A murder that just so happens to bear the same modus operandi as similar homicides in neighbouring states. Has the killer been circling Virginia, or is he a local of Lavender Hills? And what will Louis do when the charming Sheriff Styles starts to suspect him of such a heinous crime?

In The Name of Being Honest by sunlouwerhabit, therogueskimo (M) word count: 123,563 After two years of living in an everlasting cycle of work, sleep, and regret, Louis finds himself wandering brand new streets perpetually haunted by the ghosts of his past. The Chicago Fic.

Golden by shaylea (E) word count: 128,077 On a rainy night in Auckland in the middle of his world tour, popstar Harry Styles loses his ability to carry on. Instead of continuing to Sydney and the rest of his tour, he seeks sanctuary with Louis Tomlinson, a man with a macadamia nut farm and a mysterious past.

For As Long As I Can Remember (It's Been December) by green_feelings (E) word count: 128,451 After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet.

Love Is A Rebellious Bird by 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews (E) word count: 134,891 AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too. Don't hum Bolero.

Take My Breath Away by RealityBetterThanFiction (E) word count: 153,658 There is a prestigious school in the British Royal Navy classified as Premier Delta - or as it is known by its flyers, 1D. These select pilots are an elite set of Naval lieutenants who are trained in the skill of aggressive aerial combat. They are instruments of war, trained in times of peace. They are dogfighters, relentless and fearless in their mission to protect their beloved country. From their lofty vantage, they are always watching, waiting, and ready to lay it all on the line.Lt. Harry Styles, call sign Sparrow, is a prodigy when it comes to flying. The owner of an unrivaled Naval pedigree, being a pilot was always written in the stars for Harry. With his trusty RIO, Lt. Niall Horan, Harry has made an unprecedented ascension in the ranks of the Naval aerial combat elite, and has been recruited to the esteemed Premier Delta flight school, carrying on his family’s legacy. What he finds there are unexpected friendships, perilous challenges, and something beyond what he ever thought possible. Because as his father had always told him, before the great Captain Styles went tragically missing in combat, you don’t fall in love with the sky, you fall in love with what keeps you on the ground. - Top Gun AU

Given a Chance by Fabby (E) word count: 173,467 The one where Louis and Harry run into each other five years after One Direction ends and learn how to love each other again. Featuring: Reggie as the overweight labrador, Niall as Louis’ last grip on reality, and Nowheresville, North Carolina as the setting for Louis’ worst nightmare to come true.

Fading by tothemoonmydear (M) word count: 202,393 Louis knows about beauty; the combination of qualities that pleases the aesthetic senses. He creates that combination every day in the garments he designs while studying fashion at uni. The cut of the design, the color of the fabric, the intricacy of the stitching; it all comes together to create something beautiful. When the science student with the long legs and dimpled smile agrees to model for him, Louis decides he’s found beauty personified. Harry just thinks Louis needs someone to show him how beautiful he is.

One More Time Again by orphan_account (E) word count: 232,268 On the morning of his second sold-out performance at Madison Square Garden, Harry wakes up to find that he's sixteen years old, on The X Factor, and that he has a chance to make things right. A canon-compliant fix-it fic (sort of).

[starlsssankt]

//this just came to me and AHHHH!! Grishaverse canon I guess? AHH//

Alina's hand tightened on the bond. The image of him alone, the scars of what she'd done to him on full display.

She was loosing bits of herself to this power in her. But she didn't care, it didn't matter - not when this was the price.

To bring the famed Darkling to this. To take everything from him piece by piece.

"Do you even remember? My family didn't die in the border wars."

She spat the words, the memories had begun to come to her once he put the amplifiers on her. Perhapsnt her father had locked them away - or perhaps the witches had when they'd the little orphan in the rubble.

Knowledge was power and she'd dove into her history. Heard of the whispered fae lands beyond the Bone Road. The land of milk and honey hidden behind a wall of ice and cold. Did her family remember her? Did her father even know she lived?

"Does the name Alizeh ring a bell to you Aleksander?"

She didn't know what he'd been like before the war. She didn't know what her father's court had been like before the war. But every scrap of information all said the same. Helion had abdicated, he'd chosen his witch mate against the kingdom he'd been raised for.

He'd left it all behind to start anew with her mother. The reason they'd left Prythian had always been hidden even from herself. But then she'd been four, she hadn't known to ask anything else.

But the legends of that war centuries ago all spoke of the death tolls. Of The Oracle, able to eat the souls of her enemies. Of the way armies had surrendered whenever she'd stepped into the battle feild. Of the way she had brought their nightmares and fears to life.

How her father had finally killed her in the final confrontation. How he'd abdicated soon after even though it seemed to Alina he had everything.

Why would he give it all up and live among the Covenless? Why would he hide himself away?

Alina swallowed gripping the solid wood of her banister. Trying to keep from swaying, trying to keep from spiraling into grief and rage.

"You came to my home. You - Alizeh had fun outside to help usher the village children into - you killed an innocent child! You - why?!"

She nearly didn't ask the question. Something warning her not to. Perhaps it was the part of her that still remembered Prythian or the scent of her father.

"Who was the Oracle to you Darkling?"

Every damn text she read spoke of them in the same sentence. Every legend and time spoke of their ability to win battle after battle together. Was there more than comradery?

She remembered that first time she'd wondered. Had he ever loved? Had he ever wanted a different life? A life filled with domestic bliss?

She couldn't envision that now. She couldn't envision any of that softness she saw for herself in him. All she was Genya's face superimposed over his. Her tear stained face, the way she'd shattered the mirror closest to her.

"I will acknowledge what he did to me! I will not give him that power!"

She thought back to that interaction. The words she thought she'd imagined.

"He killed her all over again. What type of parent does that to their child?"

She'd assumed it had been hypothetical. Everyone knew he didn't have a child. If he did why would he have given it away at all?

But Genya had looked her age but was she? She spoke of living in the castle but had she grown up there?

Her eyes sometimes seemed older than they should be. What had she seen living under the Darkling's thumb?

//Premise!! Helion's mate was a witch named Athalena. She held shadow and light magic. Idk fully what broke the friendship between her and Aleksander. Maybe her fear that he and Annie would become exactly the thing that they were all fighting against? Idk how it happsned but Genya was 5 when Annie left to confront Athalena (and Helion) the conversation turned heated and she got killed in the process. Helion took Athalena and ran to hide from Aleksander? Vasily, Nikolai and Genya were raised by others because Sasha shut down?? Tho I hc Genya did hear stories of her mother. And she took pride in looking like her?? 🥺//

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐌, and the Darkling meets Alina's stare. He's so close to taking it all, and only she stands in his way now. Everything will crumble, everything will fall. He'll make sure of it this time.

Who was the Oracle to you... The question haunts him, and his fingers curl tight against his palms, fists formed. He doesn't care about much any longer--

Not since he'd lost her.

❝ What does it matter who she was? ❞ The words come softly, but there's an edge to his voice, his words still sharp, almost biting. ❝ All that matters is that she is gone... ❞

And that it was your father, your mother, who took her from me.

❝ Fight me as much as you wish, Alina. I will win this war, for you do not understand the depths to which I have fought, to which I will continue to fight. ❞

[firesnap]

I rarely think about c!Techno and c!Wilbur's canon dynamic, but when I do it ends up drifting toward how it was always a missed connection.

Wilbur was so cold about Techno being there, and then embraced him fully and wanted him around. Arguably, when Techno executed Tubbo the betrayal and confusion of it all sealed Wilbur's spiral.

Like, dude really wanted something from Techno, some relationship or comradery, that he didn't know how to approach. He wanted Techno to be a brother-in-arms? He wanted Techno to just be on his side?

And Techno, for his part, didn't know what Wilbur wanted from him either. He offered gear and supplies. He offered help. He offered to be "the blade" for Wilbur's cause. Guy really went and farmed netherite just to make Wilbur armor that Wilbur refused to wear. I just don't think Techno understood that Wilbur wanted him to be part of the sort of family he lost in L'Manberg.

You see that with Ghostbur too. Ghostbur thinks fondly of Techno. Ghostbur thinks Techno is strong and a friend and a brother-like figure. Ghostbur sees Techno as someone safe more than anything else. Ghostbur, when lost from Tommy and left thinking no one wanted him in New L'Manberg, went to Techno.

And Techno, for his part, seemed to treat Ghostbur with a kindness that he never showed Wilbur. I always wonder if that was guilt.

Techno and his interactions with c!Crime in s2 are interesting to me when you look at them as sort of a guilt response. He's still Technoblade. He still thinks he did no wrong there. But there's also, always lurking over everything, this sense that there's little nagging voice saying "but was anything really worth the wreckage left behind."

Technoblade still displays that Pogtopia poster.

[butchbarbieagainstterfs]

ok, here we go: Breakfast Anons Experience in Radfem/Terf tumblr (long post) (tw terf/radfem ideology, transphobia, homophobia, sexism, mentions of rape/SA)

so, earlier this year, i got pulled into the terf/radfem side of tumblr and was active in it, on and off, for about 3-4 months. i dont remember how i got in but it was lilwly something inoffensive that most would agree is a fundamentally good and important perspective to have, like how damaging the porn industry can be, female genital mutilation and abortion rights. looking back, i think it was that unrestrained defense for women that made me start going through their blogs because of course i dont think women should be mistreated or abused simply because they are women. i was never able to be pretty and easily feminine like the girls i grew up around so seeing that comradery around women who felt like i did made me feel seen.

unknowingly, that arguement for women spiralled into men being the sole problem, then men being useless scum that only perpetuate the patriarchy and then it was "all men are monstrous, porn-addicted, misogynistic, rapists in waiting who will do whatever they can to belittle, abuse, use and destroy women whatever chance they get so they should be eradicated for the greater good".

the radfems, the small circlejerk group that they are, would all reblog from and follow one another, and when i eventually got convinced to join the circle by making a seperate account for my own blog (yeah it was that bad) i found myself seeing the same posts over and over from the same 30/40-odd blogs that all agreed with each other and said the same things. that blatant and unquestioned hatred for men is extremely central to their beliefs, which i understood because, even besides the radfem mindset, im generally uncomfortable around men too, and they gave tangible reasons why i should be.

near all of them are lesbians or febfems (female exclusive bisexual females) and being a lesbian myself, the idea of being with a man romantically or sexually repulsed me like it did them so i felt accepted, finally, for who i was. theyd post and repost articles upon articles of "men pretending to be women" who had been charged with assault or rape of children and women and female prison inmates; they'd post and repost pdfs of famed radfem theory by Adrienne Rich (?) and books like The Scum Manifesto which is essentially their "bible"; theyd explain and reexplain society, the patriarchy and the world according to their logic, and because of that, I didnt question their calls for womens seperatism, for women to only be in relationships with other women (romantically/sexually or platonically), for male babies to be aborted without second thought and for all men to be wiped out from existence entirely. and of course THAT spiralled into trans women also being a big problem.

they preached that men are rapists and abusers who get off to it, and trans women are also rapists and abusers who get off to it so much they need to "pretend to be women" or, even worse, "pretend to be lesbians" to force "actual lesbians who dont like dick" to sleep with them. but at the same time, they kept preaching that trans men and afab nonbinary people are lost, innocent, manipulated, self hating lesbian girls/women who couldnt deal with the internalised homophobia and internalised misogyny so mutilated themselves to pretend to be men. and the trans men who "called themselves gay" are homophobic straight girls who have an addiction to gay porn and want to force "actual gay men who dont like vaginas" to sleep with them. there were even some "tehms" or "trans exclusionary homosexual males" in the group but they were few and far between.

the ideology is a self consuming and never ending spiral of despair, hate and misery. and one thing i learned from it is it is so, so easy to hate.

while in it, as much as part of me felt understood and finally seen by other women who experienced certain things and had some of the same thoughta as i did, i also felt so grimy from all the hate and bitterness and cruelty i was reposting and eventually posting myself towards trans and nonbinary people. i would log out and go back to my normal inclusive blog and feel so much guilt and disgust, partly for thw reasons i mentioned but also because i knew i was attracted to trans women and nonbinary people (not that i ever made that clear), both things of which the terfs claimed made me actually bisexual "because trans women are actually men" when i know for a fact im not. im gay through and through.

i knew it was all wrong but they explained awat my guilt too, one of them told me the guilt was because id been brainwashed to blindly support "trans activism" so it will feel incongruent but what im doing is in fact the right thing. so i couldnt or didnt do anything. i felt part of a community that was actually fighting for something tangible, something rooted in apparent reality. i felt like what i was doing was important for society. i was speaking out for the rights of women. how could that bw wrong? it's wrong, but doing so at the expense of others is wrong

eventually, the guilt got to me more than that self-appointed importance did and i ended up deleting the account after it spiked my depression. i couldnt believe what id done, couldn't comprehend the hate id perpetuated and the people i may have hurt. i felt horrible being part of a movement that attacked innocent people who just wanted to live for the sole reason that the way they wanted to live was different from the assumed norm.

and then, by some magical move by Fate, i came across a recently published horror novel by a trans woman named Gretchen Felker-Martin called Manhunt, which is the story of two trans women, an indigenous trans man, nonbinary people, a black female doctor, and a terf who all have to live, fight and survive through a biological apocalypse where men and anyone with high testosterone become cannibalising monsters. and it literally changed and saved my life. i mean that with all seriousness.

now my favourite book of all time, it opened my eyes to so much internalised transphobia i didnt know i had, gave me actual pride about my gender and sexuality and, despite how brutal and painful the novel is (while i highly recommend the book SERIOUS tw for rape, intense transphobia and general crimes against trans people and people of colour), it gave me hope beyond anything id ever felt. i felt truly seen, understood, and loved as a trans and queer person, and a person of colour (i am black), by that novel and it was the key to me finally leaving the radfem/terf mindset and ideology behind. and while im still on a journey towards healing, i am now of a mindset and belief that is inclusive, kind, loving, exalting and full of love for the ENTIRE intersectionl lgbtqia+ community.

and, scene.

Thank you so much for sharing! I’m glad you were able to get out of that space ❤️

I feel you on the guilt element as well. I wasn’t ever a full blown TERF, always respected trans folk for who they are, but I was an ace exclusionist and a “queer is a slur!” person - both of which terfs are often involved in - for a while up until I saw the damage that was going on, stopped and reanalysed. Now I’m way happier and a better, more inclusive person ❤️

Thanks for the book rec as well! I’ll deffo have to look into that ❤️

[themand0lorian]

OKAY I SAW THIS PROMPT AND THOUGHT OF YOU AND YOUR WRITING. PLEASE TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT. "Character Doesn’t Expect Tenderness But Gets It Anyway" enemies to lovers pike or javi x reader where they’re competitive and she gets hurt without telling him 😭

hi anon!! I had some trouble with this, the prompt is more Javi but I always feel like my Javi characterization sucks :( but either way here it is!! hope you enjoy!!

this is part of @agirllovespancakes #7daynosmuthchallenge! I havent written smut in a while but I am so happy to see others participating/reading non-smut writing!

Wins and Losses

Summary: A not-so-friendly bet leads to a standoff between you and Javier.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female DEA!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating:  PG-13 (Swearing, Canon-Typical Violence and Discussion)

Words: ~4200 (AO3)

Tags: enemies to lovers, dumbass bets, blood and guns, Javi calls reader "stupid" but in an affectionate/friendly way, cursing, alcohol mention, hospital mention, Javi and reader are both assholes in the beginning

Notes: Heavily based on B99!

It hard started friendly enough; as friendly as you could be with one Javier Peña. A late night, huddled together in a booth in a run-down bar in the city, whiskey and beer and too much adrenaline flowing freely as you, Steve and Javi all tried to blow off some steam. The hunt that day had gone badly; a key player in the drug empire barely slipping from the DEA’s grasp after a foot chase. Steve was imbibing especially hard, having been the one to lose the man—you knew it wasn’t his fault, but he was taking it poorly, and you wanted to help.

“Steve, don’t worry about it. It happens—we’ll get him next time.” You had joined this fight just before Steve, and always felt some sense of comradery with him. His easy southern drawl, his little jokes; he was all business when he had to be, but Steve was also your friend—you were one of the only people who knew what it was like. To be shunned by Carrillo until you could “prove” yourself, to be given a backseat to Javier, to be coddled and babied like you hadn’t gone through the same training as everyone else. Many nights similar to this one were spent lamenting the DEA; Javier noticeably absent as liquor flowed freely.

“Yeah, I’ll get him next time,” Javier retorts with a roll of his eyes and a swig from his tumbler, as if to remind you he’s not absent now. Steve sinks further into his drink; between his issues with Carrillo’s trust and the failed arrest, you can practically see the downward spiral in his eyes. Javier Peña was really something else. Somehow inherently trusted by Carrillo, the DEA’s golden boy—and you envied it. All of it. Every passing compliment from the ambassador, the attention from other agents as he saunters around the office. You swear you do more than he ever does, that he swoops in at the last minute for the prestige of an arrest after you lay the groundwork for months. You could create an itemized list of reasons to hate Javier. 1) Cocky bastard, 2) Takes all the credit for your catches, 3) Sleeps with his informants, 4) Looks too good in those out of style jeans and polos—Either way, to see him now undoing any work you had done at comforting Steve was just another notch in his belt; unable to convey this, you shoot daggers at him from across the table.

“Oh, please, Peña. You would’ve lost him too, viejo,” you sneer, turning back to Steve. “It’s nothing, Steve.” Steve, and by extension, Connie, were your only true friends in Colombia—to see him struggling, to see Javier adding to it for no apparent reason, made your blood boil. Add it to the list of reasons to hate Javier Peña.

“I bet I could catch him before you could, Chiquita,” he retorts, placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting it. You had eaten a banana in the break room one time, leading to the demeaning nickname—he knew you hated it. You had to guess that was why he continued to use it—add that one to the list too. He took a long pull from the cigarette before releasing the smoke, the lowered lighting and loud music heightening the tense mood. Fueled by alcohol, and a little bit of the anger and rivalry simmering in your heart, you could barely control what came out of your mouth next.

“Fine. Let’s.”

“Let’s what?”

“Bet on it.” Javier seems to mull over the words, stamping the ashes in the tray next to him as Steve silently takes another large swig. A pretty waitress comes over to refill his glass, and Javier eyes her up until you snap in his face for his attention. “I bet that, one year from now, I’ll have made more arrests than you.”

It’s hard to read Javier; he seems to run on alcohol and cigarettes, and the sultry music and dim lighting don’t help. He stares at you blankly, finishing off his own drink like a shot before speaking.

“Deal. What do I get when I win?” He smirks, and you practically growl.

"I don’t know, what do I get when I win?”

“You don’t want me to say out loud, Chiquita--not with Steve here,” he replies with a wink, and you exaggerate gagging. Deep into his own drinks, Steve interjects with a roll of his eyes, ready for the conversation—and, honestly, this stupid feud—to be over.

“Why don’t you guys write it down.” He pulls some official DEA envelopes from his back pocket; you can tell Javi is about to rib him for it, and honestly, you have no idea why he had them in his pocket either--but one thoughtful glare shuts him up. You each take a napkin from the center of the table; you make a show of tapping the pen to your cheek in thought before writing something down; Javier seems to scribble his idea immediately.

“How do I know she won’t change what she wrote?”

“Sign and date it, Javier. Seal it in the envelope, and we’ll give them to each other to hold on to so we can’t change them—I’ll keep yours in my purse. You can keep mine right next to that condom you keep in your wallet,” you scoff. He rolls his eyes with a sneer, but follows the instructions. He watches you slide your tongue across the glue, pressing the flap down and drawing a smiley face over the seal for tamper evidence; he draws a penis in the same place, satisfied with the childish gesture.

“There. Now you can get at least one dick in Colombia,” he grunts, and you gasp in offence; before you can respond, he puts your envelope in his billfold and throws down some money on the table; Steve does the same, shoving himself out of the booth. You catch him before he can leave, a gentle hand on his arm.

“You wanna join in on this, Steve?”

“Nah—” he saunters, looking to Javier at the exit. He sat between you both, but being so over the competition you were always inciting, he had barely paid attention other than providing the envelopes. “This is between y’all.” You nod solemnly, words unable to explain that you wanted to support him while also wringing Javier’s neck; he nodded in understanding in response, giving a sheepish roll of his eyes and walking to the exit to meet up with Javi, who slammed the door with a huff; the bell overtop jingling in its wake.

That wager was over 10 months ago now; if anything, the bet had caused rivalry between you and Javier to amplify. Sure, the three of you worked together, as a team; but when it came down to it, one of you was always out-running, out-smarting, out-lucky-guessing the other to make the bag. A heavy foot chase through back-alley streets, Javier splitting one way and you going the other—Javier nabbed that one. A sting at a bar where you fluttered your eyelashes and ground against the target on the dance floor—he was all yours. Steve was content to let you both do the heavy lifting, and truthfully, the ambassador was pleased--arrests were up, the cartels were going down, it all seemed like a win-win to him.

You were both always all business when it came down to the arrests; reading rights, dragging perps to waiting cars, fastening heavy metal cuffs. It was only in the privacy of the office, late at night when you were wrapping up paperwork, that the true contention came out. A snide remark that Javier ran like an old man; a sneer about how your heavy breathing following a chase made your breasts look nice. One time, when you slipped and fell after traipsing through a puddle, Javier held his mirth for 4 hours until he got the target through booking, then promptly dissolved into fits of laughter, unable to even get a sentence out.

So, ten months later, and the score was even—24 to 24. Obviously, not all of them were high kingpins, or even key players—but nothing was said in the bet about the level of the arrest, only that they had to be involved with Escobar. The score weighs heavily on your mind as you sit at an outdoor café with Javi and Steve, scoping out a target in a house across the way. You know tips have been slow recently, time stretching longer between arrests now that only the larger players were left; if you got this one, you would be set for at least a month, if not more. You could actually win this thing.

You’re so deep in these thoughts, you can practically taste victory—until Javier jumps up across from you, on his feet and gun in hand before you can even register the movement. Steve stands too, the two running toward the building—you figure they must have spotted the target during your daydreaming—and you curse under your breath, following along, though now at a disadvantage.

Steve and Javier moved into the house first, slamming open doors, shooting first—asking later. You followed dutifully behind, covering their backs as they took out a few cronies at the entrance. Surely the target had been alerted from the raucous; misfired gunshots ricocheting in walls instead of bodies tends to raise suspicion. The three of you move up the stairs slowly, hoping to be ready for anything, when you spy it—a back door.

You know this guy had to have heard everything; shouting in English, the sirens in the distance as backup approached. There was no way he would stay upstairs like a sitting duck. Desperate for the win, you broke from the group, instead sprinting toward the backdoor as the guys sprinted up the stairs. When you broke out of the house and into a back alley, you just barely caught a glimpse of your target rounding the corner out of sight; Javier must’ve, too, a muffled Fuck! coming from above as you begin to sprint after the man.

He knows you’re after him, heavy footfalls reverberating in the stone alleys. Your gun is at your side, still in your hand but your arms shake as you run, trying to catch up. Eventually, you corner him; a dead end, surrounded by buildings on three sides; you approach slowly, gun raised as you start to explain what you’re going to do; then, suddenly, searing pain.

You collapse to the ground almost immediately, gun thrown lazily on the pavement as both hands instinctively reach for your side. He shot you. You can’t believe he shot you. You can’t tell how bad it is, can’t see or feel anything but red and pain and agony, and when you get even a little coherence back, you grab your own gun again; firing aimlessly down the street, missing as the target rounds another corner out of sight. You can hear more muffled running, curses and grunts as you lay grasping your abdomen; you know the boys are close. You just have to hold on for them. You’re breathing heavily, mostly in shock, but a twinge in disappointment as you realize you led the man straight to Javier’s arms.

Disappointment morphs to misery as the pain seems to increase. Misery that you’ll never get to see what Javi bet. Misery that you’ll never see him and Steve again, misery that you’ll never get to smooth Javier’s worry lines and make his whiskey at the end of a long day, misery that you’ll never warm his bed. You scoff at the thought—you know you’re in shock, thinking nonsense—if only you could stand. If you stand, you’ll make it out, you’ll be okay—and you’ll have all the time in the world to crawl into his arms. Your attempt is futile at best, the pain so agonizing you crumble back to the ground, no energy even to cry out as you resume your position in a heap. You hear the men coming, you just need to hope Steve got him and not Javier, that Javier was okay, that he was coming for you, that he wouldn’t open that envelope unless he actually won—

“What the fuck, Chiquita? You let him get away? How could you be so—” Javier freezes for a moment when he rounds the corner and sees your crumpled form; all words and movement ceased as his brain misfires over and over. He’s running to you before his mind can catch up, shouting at Steve to call an ambulance, that he’ll take care of you—he practically skids to a stop in front of you, falling to his knees.

He’s unsure what he’ll find. He doesn’t see a lot of blood on the ground, but you didn’t react to his ragging, a sure sign something was wrong. He does his best to gently turn you to your back; breathing a thick sigh of relief when you groan in pain.

“’M’fine, Javi—did you get ‘em?” You mumble; Javier’s scanning your body for injury, eyes darting around until they land on the growing crimson stain on your blouse. Right in the side, puckered and gnarled; a graze through your skin.

“Forget about him, baby. I—I’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing harshly on your wound to staunch the bleeding. He pushes his own thoughts aside as you suck in air through your teeth in pain; his thoughts about how often he wanted to rest his hands in this exact spot, under different, racier circumstances. Javier lifts one of his hands from the wound to push errant hairs from your eyes, allowing it to fall softly to cradle your head. He can hear sirens on the main thoroughfare; stuck in the maze of corridors, he knows they’ll take a long time to get to you.

“Can you walk, baby?” he says quietly; your gaze is piercing him, eyebrows furrowed in what he thinks might be confusion but could actually be pain. He meets your eyes, both of you staring into the other, unable to say what you want; hoping to communicate with a look alone. When you nod negatively, he only nods in response, working instead to squat and lift you bridal style. You wince and groan as he jostles you, moving your hands to wrap around his neck. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front of Javier Peña; but, you had also just gotten shot, and each step he took seemed to aggravate the injury further. You knew it wasn’t on purpose, but still, the tears began to openly flow; you tucked your head into Javier’s shoulder to hide them, the salty water mixing with the blood staining is polo. He cooed to you the entire way; shushing, placating gestures until you reached the main street; a stretcher waiting for you. He placed you as gently as he could, but the movement still caused a choked sob to rise from your chest; EMTs and police moving in a frenzy around you.

You could only look at Javier—only be grounded by his penetrating gaze. As you left his warm embrace, his hand trailed along your arm, eventually connecting with your hand to squeeze it as used his other free one to brush tears from your cheeks.

“Don’t—don’t cry, cariño. You’re alright. You’re gonna be alright.” He looks close to tears himself; before you can return his gesture and wipe them away, the EMTs wheel you into the back of the ambulance, shutting the doors as you spare one final look to Javier. His shirt is stained with your blood, his body language knocked from cocky to defeated, and his face; his face is twisted into an emotion you can’t quite pinpoint as the doors close.

Six hours, two on-call doctors, and 14 stitches later, you’re released from the hospital with instructions to rest and come back in a few weeks for a follow up. The wound was mostly superficial, bleeding extensively due to its size but not hitting anything major. After the adrenaline has worn down and your emotions are back in check, you realize you can walk; you do so to get a taxi back to your apartment. It barely even hurts anymore, more like a deep cut or slice from your cooking adventures gone wrong, but you still wince as you walk up the three stories to your apartment. 

It’s late by the time you get home. Technically the wee hours of the morning, the complex is still and quiet, and the pull of your warm bed is strong. When you crest the stairs to find what you assume is a drunk man sitting on the floor in front of the front door looking aimlessly out the window in the hall, you instinctively reach to your side for your gun, realizing a moment too late that you had left it when you got hurt. The movement caused you to hiss in pain; the noise causing the man to finally look in your direction—you practically hiss again when you realize its Javier.

Neither of you say anything, barely exchanging a glance, but he follows you into your apartment silently when you leave the door open behind you. You pour him a glass of whiskey and a water for yourself, making your way back to find him awkwardly standing in the middle of your living room.

“How are you feeling?” he says quietly. You’re not sure you’ve heard him speak this softly before today, before this afternoon. In fact, you really didn’t expect any of the events of the day; getting shot, the way his hand felt cradling your head, the tenderness with which he soothed you before you were whisked away. It all makes your head spin, and you realize he asked you a question, mustering an answer.

“Just a graze. Doctors say I should be fully healed in a couple weeks,” you reply, sitting down on the couch to swig your water. Javier only nods, seeming to mull over your points.

“Good. Good,” he muses, running a hand over his mustache. “That means I can tell you how fucking stupid you were for not telling us you weren’t following up the stairs—” you can hear his voice change like a switch, whatever softness now lost to anger.

“Oh, I’m sorry, which one of us was right, Javier?!” you yell back, matching his tone.

“It doesn’t matter if you were right, it was a stupid thing to do! And now we lost him and it’ll take months to get him back!”

“Listen, Javi, I’m sorry you lost your catch but I didn’t get him either—we’re still even,” you roll your eyes, the air tense as Javier looks to you incredulously.

“You—you think this is all about the bet?! That—that this is because that asshole got away?”

“If not the bet, then what is it about, Peña?!”

“You could have died! You almost—fuck. I almost—we almost lost you, over some stupid fucking bet!” He’s running his hands through his hair as he yells, stopping on the next words to point an accusing finger in your direction. “You—you’re reckless, and stupid, and—"

“So what? Anything to catch Escobar, isn’t that what you always say? Or does that only apply to you?!”

“You know that’s not—” He looks taken aback, mumbling under his breath, so you continue, fury pouring from your mouth.

“Besides, who cares if I die, right? You’d get them all! You’d win!”

“God—how can you say that?!” He looks honestly hurt by your statement—you didn��t fully mean it, but it’s out in the living room now, and he continues, voice still raised. “I’d care! You stupid fucking—I! Would! Care! Don’t you get it! I--” You stand silently in the middle of the room, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t. His jaw practically snaps shut, his eyes darting over every facet of your face, and in the shocked silence, he moves toward the door, a deep sigh escaping his lips. Your voice stops him in the entryway.

“Javi.” He barely grunts back, but frozen in place, you know he heard you despite the sudden softness in your voice. He idles in place as you speak again. “Finish—finish what you were going to say.” Javier shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably, still facing the door as he seems to contemplate his options.

“I—I love you, okay? And I—I can’t lose you to them. I’ve already lost everything, I—I need—” His voice wavers--he hasn’t turned around, listening to your bare feet pat across the hardwood in his direction. “I need you. I need a—a win,” he pauses, gulping. He can’t see you behind him, but he practically feels your presence, all-consuming and palpable behind him. “Not the bet. You—you’re the win.”

You both stand in contemplative silence for a moment, Javier knowing he’s just put it all on the line. When you don’t speak, his hand travels to the doorknob, ready to accept yet another loss at his hands; instead, he feels you slip his wallet out from his back pocket. He turns slowly in surprise, one hand still resting on the handle as if he needs to make a quick escape as you unfold the wallet and pull out that crinkled envelope stuffed into the billfold. It has his name on it, written in blue ink and your handwriting, the smiley face drawn over the sealed flap proving it hasn’t been opened. You toss his wallet onto the entry table, handing him the prize you had sealed all those months ago. What he would get if he won your bet.

“Open it, Javier,” you say lowly, and he takes the envelope from you, downturned eyes unable to meet your face. He rips the seal slowly, almost afraid of what he will find, pulling out the tattered napkin from that little bar, eyes roaming the cotton and your scrawled handwriting.

“If Javier wins, I’ll finally tell him that I love him.” Below your wager, you have the napkin signed and dated like it’s a legal document, except for the small heart as part of your name. His eyes flit between your face and the napkin several times; before you can explain any further, he turns again, and you think you lost your chance as he reaches toward the door.

Instead of the door, he reaches for your purse, pulling your wallet out from the hook on the wall. He mirrors your movements, unfolding it to uncover the matching envelope to his, your name scribbled in his handwriting. Instead of a smiley face, the back has a crude drawing that you scoffed at showing the seal has never been broken. He hands it to you without a word; you know the instructions. You pull out the same matching napkin, written on in his illegible script.

“If she wins, I’ll ask her on a real date.” Like yours, its signed and dated at the bottom, untampered with since you made the bet all those months ago. You hold the napkin delicately in your hands, like it might disintegrate and this all might fall to pieces, looking into Javi’s deep chocolate eyes. You think he’s trying to say something with them, to convey words not quite formed in his mouth yet; you decide to take the plunge.

“I love you, Javier. I—I always have. All this rivalry, this stupid bet—it means nothing. When he shot me, all I thought of—it wasn’t losing the bet. It was losing you.” Javier gulps so much air you watch his Adam’s apple bob; suddenly, in several quick strides, he’s pressed to you, large hands cradling your face and chin. You can tell he wants more, wants to close the small distance left between you, but he hesitates, speaking instead.

“I—I can’t lose you, cariño. I can’t--”

“You won’t, Javi. You—you won this one,” you whisper, moving to close the gap between your lips. He meets you half way, his plush lips pressing yours chastely at first, hands heavy and cupping your face as he holds you to him, like if he lets you go you’ll disappear. The kiss quickly turns ravenous, all hands and tongue and teeth, the passion you’ve poured into anger and rivalry for so long finally coming out in its true form—love. Eventually, you’re forced to pull away for air, your chests heaving as you catch your breath.

“Does this mean the bet is over?” you chuckle softly, Javier releasing a broad smile as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Fuck the bet. I’ve got my prize right here,” he smirks, and you laugh harder at the cheesiness of it all, letting him pull you back for another deep kiss. He’s right—you both won.

[chaozsilhouette]

A Revealing Performance

My rendition for the Shadow Play in @winterpower98's Swap Au.

It was supposed to be a simple thing, then it sort of spiraled into this whole deal. For the effects of the Shadow Lantern, I drew some inspiration from her Cursed Au as I never thought simply using her friends was cruel enough for the Monkey Tyrant.

It serves to show just how far Macaque has grown, but also to highlight just how monstrous he was.

_____________________________

Mei refrained from downing her bubble tea as she waited for the play to start. It had been a rough couple of weeks with Spider Queen and that creepy girl. And failing to find where Xiaotian had run off to after the misunderstanding. When Macaque sent her tickets to the local theatre, she was ashamed to think it was a trap.

Pigsy and Sandy were right. After everything that happened, she needed some serious me time. She had been too stressed.

Besides, everyone knew Macaque was a total theatre nerd. Few people knew that the star puppeteer was actually the Six-Eared Macaque himself. He would totally send her tickets from his stomping grounds as a way to unwind.

It was a shame that Tang couldn’t join them. Apparently, he finally managed to schedule a meeting with the Celestial Realm and was Taking the demon brothers to figure out a new way of sealing the Monkey Tyrant. It was also his chance to explain their little break-in during New Years. He encouraged her to have fun and if it was good, he’d join them for the next showing.

So here they were waiting for the performance to start. Although she wondered what the fake mayor was doing here. They hadn't seen him since he gave her the skeleton key. Still wasn't sure why he had it or why he gave it to her? Supposedly she was only supposed to have it for a day, but he never stopped by to pick it up.

_____________________________

Sun Wukong was a monkey of many talents, but even he had to admit Macaque was a far better storyteller and his mastery of shadows was sheer perfection. But that just made this plan all the more perfect. What better way to teach his wayward beloved’s little flower a lesson than through a trusted medium.

Obtaining a spot in the local theatre was child’s play, a little magic and they were all but begging him to take center stage. Apparently, they had been scrambling to find a new performer after their star puppeteer had to leave for a family emergency (three guesses as to who that was). And with a little glamor, a set of tickets was left at the little flower's doorstep. As far as she knew, Macaque was proud of her progress and believed she had deserved a reward for all her hard work. She was so desperate for something to go right she hardly questioned how her mentor, who was in parts unknown, managed to secure tickets for a new performer.

In his personal dressing room, Wukong delicately touched up his human disguise. Even if he was going to be hidden in his hanfu and cloak, it wouldn’t do to spoil the surprise. Applying his eye shadow with artful flair, the Monkey King took time to appreciate just how handsome he truly was no matter what form he took. Honestly, who would have thought such perfection existed?

A pulse of dark magic drew his attention to his latest partner in crime.

The Shadow Lantern gently floated before him. Its dark magic practically purring at the thought of being used. Wukong could almost laugh at his beloved’s foolishness. He was there when his darling created the lantern, when he infused his own shadows into its very foundation. Did he honestly think such a masterpiece would tolerate being left to collect dust in a cave?

Normally a magical artifact would never consider turning on its master, but after centuries of abandonment, all Wukong had to do was whisper his intentions to return Macaque to his former self to secure its loyalty. The second he first made contact, he could sense a twisted hunger writhing within and with each performance granting it the chance to feed on the life essence of the viewers…. hehe, he almost couldn’t contain himself.

Looking up at the clock, he saw it was just about time for his next performance. His clones had reported the girl’s presence along with the pig and the water demon. Strangely the one with glasses and the little matchstick was absent. No matter, he could make do with two hostages just fine.

After all, the show must go on.

_____________________________

The overhead lights dimmed, signaling the start of the play. Smoke slowly poured from beneath the floorboards, generating an air of mystery. In a flash of golden light, a tall man wearing a beautiful cloak manifested on center stage. The crowd silenced themselves at the display.

“Welcome viewers to a performance you shall never forget!” From the folds of his sleeves, an exquisite lantern floated in front of him. A mesmerizing yet familiar purple glow emanating from the center.

“Our tale tonight is one of love, companionship, and how even the strongest of bonds can be severed through the trickery of the wicked.”

In the background, the shadows twisted and grew in the lantern’s light. Carefully they formed a beautiful scene of a mountain covered in flowers and trees. Attention was gradually guided to the top, where a round stone basked in the sun.

“It all began with the birth of a King.”

The round stone broke, revealing a figure that resembled a monkey. But no, this was a monkey demon, a monkie if you would. The King journeyed down the mountain until he found a tribe of normal monkeys. The group frolicked for a while as the King established himself as the undisputed ruler of the tribe.

A large figure with an ax appeared. The monster brought down his ax upon a small collection of monkeys only to be stopped at the last second by the King. The King used his superior strength to steal the demon’s ax and used it to decapitate the intruder in a single stroke. The monkeys jumped around the King and praised his strength, but the King did not appear satisfied.

“The young King was born with great power and strength, but he sought out more to protect his people.”

The King crafted a raft and set out on a dangerous sea. The King was shown to face off against mountain gods, human warriors, and demonic sorcerers always to reign victorious but never satisfied.

“In his travels, he learned much and faced many enemies, in time his efforts were handsomely rewarded.”

The King climbed a fleet of stairs carved into a mountain to reach a humble monastery. At the top, a stern human stood, but behind him was another monkie. This one however possessed six ears.

“His quest for power led him to a Warrior of potential equaling his own. At first, neither was sure how to react to their mirror, but they quickly forged a comradery that took them far.”

The two monkies trained together, mastering new powers as they sparred.

“Their time together increased their power exponentially and as they grew stronger their feelings blossomed into something beautiful.”

The two were on a cliff overlooking the stars, slowly leaning closer to one another. Eventually, the two faced their opposite and leaned in close.

“Their fates had become intertwined. Their power was unmatched. It was then the King realized what he had been searching for all this time.”

The two shadows merged together in a complex dance until they separated into two beings once again, but not as they began. The two monkeys were now garbed in elaborate, yet practical armor and silks. The King wielded a staff and the Warrior took up a spear.

“Slowly their strength grew to where nothing could challenge them, whether in the Celestial Realm or on Earth.”

The King and Warrior were shown battling heavenly armies and powerful demons with confident smirks. Each battle resoundingly won through their combination of speed, strength, and cunning.

“But it was not enough. The King wished to ensure that he and the Warrior would be able to fight together forever and sought the power and respect needed to secure their future.”

The King took to the Heavens, where he stood before an Emperor in the most extravagant outfit, surrounded by massive guards in magical armor. The Emperor was clearly afraid as the King effortlessly toppled one guard after another, slowly approaching the throne at a steady pace.

“The King’s noble actions were viewed negatively by those who feared his ever-growing power. Eventually, a prison was crafted that could restrain the King, one that not even his beloved Warrior could destroy.”

Just before the King’s latest attack could reach the Emperor, chains wrapped around his limbs and dragged him down to Earth. With a quick flex, the chains shattered, but the King was doomed as a mountain landed on him with a seal placed at the top. The Warrior tried to pry off the seal or find some way to weaken the mountain, his acts growing more desperate with time, yet nothing worked.

“Cruelly, the King was forced to wait until he could be freed, forced to watch his precious Warrior defend their Kingdom on his own.”

With a heavy expression, the Warrior abandoned his efforts to return to the original mountain as dozens of terrifying figures surrounded the monkey inhabitants.

“Centuries passed and their love still burned strong. Soon their patience was rewarded, the King was freed but he was soon trapped in a new prison.”

A monk approached the mountain and removed the seal. The King swiftly destroyed the mountain. The monk humbly bowed to the King and offered fresh clothing and a fillet. The King garbed himself in the gifts only to collapse in agony when the monk prayed.

“Enraged the King played along until the time was right. The King and the Warrior reunited in secret and crafted a plan that would allow them to take their revenge on those that dared to separate them.”

The two monkies hugged and nuzzled each other in appreciation. A quick conversation later, the Warrior changed to resemble the King and joined the monk as the King headed into unknown lands.

“Decades later the King was ready to retrieve his love, confident in his regained strength. But when he arrived the Warrior had changed. It was as if the warrior had lost a crucial part of himself. The Warrior tried to dissuade the King from killing the monk and his companions. He even tried to convince him to give up his rage at the Celestial Realm, believing the war that would ensue wasn't worth it.”

The disguised Warrior was traveling with four colorful characters. The King dropped from the sky in front of the group, a massive crater forming around him. The Warrior regained his true form, but instead of returning to his rightful place, he blocked the King’s view of the monk.

“The King could not believe his ears. This could not be his Warrior. His love always understood his goals and knew why heaven had to pay. The King knew this change was the monk’s fault. The King moved to silence the deceiver in one quick strike only to find it blocked by the Warrior.”

The King and Warrior exchanged blows that tore mountains asunder, split the heavens, and burned down forests. The other demons following the monk tried to aid the warrior, but nothing they did seemed to slow down the King, if anything their attacks only served to further enrage him.

“The two clashed until the Warrior fled with the jailers. Time and time again they clashed, but never could the King reach the Warrior he held in his heart.”

The group fled from the battle, but time and time again the King tracked them down. The locations may have changed, but the carnage after each battle remained as world-shattering as the first. In the end, the Group managed to truly escape, and the Warrior vanished into the shadows he wielded, leaving the King alone with nothing but his memories.

“Even now the King yearns for the companionship of his beloved Warrior, knowing that at his core the Warrior craves the same.”

With the final line sending shivers down the spines of the viewers, the puppeteer vanished in a flash of light.

_____________________________

As Mei waited for her family to walk out, she couldn’t help but think about the play. It almost sounded like they were telling the tale of the Monkey King. But that was ridiculous. No one knew the Monkey King’s origins aside from minor details from the Journey to the West. Besides the narrator seemed to view the Monkey Tryant as a hero and victim. Clearly, that guy needed a reality check.

“Hello, young one.” Nearly choking on the remainder of her tea, Mei turned to see the puppeteer standing behind her with a knowing smile.

His cloak shrouding the top of his face in shadow. For a second, Mei envisioned her father Macaque. He would adore that look. Actually, didn’t she see a similar outfit in his closet on Flower Fruit Mountain? Doesn’t he wear that outfit when he’s hosting a shadow play?

Wait. How did he sneak up on her like that? Was she that out of it?

How long has she been quiet? Crap! Say something! “Oh. Ah-hello. C-can I help you with something?”

“I was about to ask the same. You do know the theatre is going to close soon right?”

“What?” Mei grabbed her phone. The digital clock flashed that it was past nine. That couldn’t be right. That meant she had been waiting for nearly an hour. But where were the others? Surely, they wouldn’t have left without telling her. Were they in trouble?

“Is everything alright?”

“Ah- yeah, everything’s fine.” It’s cool. It’s cool. She could handle this. She just needed to stay calm. “No need to worry about me. I just ah-I have a few questions about your play.”

“Yes.”

“How did you could up with the concept? I mean, no offense, but your premise could be taken the wrong way.” Maybe it was the panic over where her family had disappeared to, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being sized up.

“Hm. Have you ever heard the expression ‘History is written by the winners’?”

“Yes. It’s pretty common.” Like one of the most used sayings in the world.

“The tale was designed to show that love is one of the most cherished feelings of all and that in order to protect it, one must be willing to do anything to keep their loved ones safe. The King only wished to keep his beloved by his side, but the Warrior was misled and forced to battle against his love. That story may belong to only two, but similar tales can be experienced in anyone’s life. Tell me, can you think of a time you fought with those you cared about due to a misunderstanding?”

Without even considering it, horrible memories resurfaced. Mei arguing with MK as she tried to stop him from leaving with the newly released Monkey King. Mei forced to battle Red Son as his mind was slowly consumed by the True Fire of Samadhi. Tang lying to them about his true identity. Macaque leaving when they needed him most without saying why.

“I see you can.” The puppeteer gently guided her back into the main hall, where she took a seat on an empty bench.

“It’s nothing. I just-” She honestly didn’t know why she was pouring out her heart to stranger. Maybe she really was that exhausted. “-there’s so much going on and I’m supposed to be strong no matter what. But sometimes it hurts, just thinking about all my mistakes. Sometimes I wonder if I truly am strong. What if bringing me into this was a mistake?”

“What if it was?” That voice!

Mei turned to see Macaque garbed in a strange outfit, one that honestly reminded her of the Monkey King’s. She was confused. She had never seen him wear anything like that, he looked like the Monkey King’s twisted shadow.

And that expression! Her father Macaque had never made that face before. It looked as though he was reveling in her suffering.

“What’s the matter, little jade? Don’t worry, I won’t leave you alone.” He extended a hand slowly with the intent to cradle her face. A normal gesture he would use to comfort her, but her every instinct was screaming at her to get away.

Mei jumped to her feet and pulled out her spear, aiming it right between the imposter’s eyes. “Enough games!”

Macaque stared at the spear for a second, his fiendish expression only growing more vicious. He threw his head back with a full-bodied laugh, showing how little he thought of her threat. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

In a flash of light, the Monkey Tyrant was standing before her, still wearing his puppeteer disguise. “Wow. About time. For a while, I was wondering if you’d ever figure out it was me.” His red and gold eyes carefully roved over her body, taking in every shake and fearful twitch. “Put down the spear, kid. We both know you’re not nearly good enough to scratch me with such a pitiful copy of the Dragon Blade.”

That may have been true, but she’d sooner make out with DBP in full view of Queen Iron Fan than leave herself completely open before this tyrant. “So the play was from your perspective. I always figured you were delusional, but this is a new low. Where is my family?” She all but growled, unknowingly her canines had slightly elongated in response to her rage.

“They never left. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize this.” The Monkey King took out the lantern, once more bathing the room in that familiar glow.

“What’s the big deal about a lantern?”

The stone monkie found her ignorance all the more entertaining. To think he hadn’t warned her of his own past.

“The big deal is that my dear warrior crafted this lantern long ago. It was his finest work and like everything he made it has multiple uses.” With a simple hand gesture, the silhouettes of Pigsy and Sandy appeared on the walls. “The Shadow Lantern can do more than enhance one’s skills in shadow magic, it can trap the bodies and souls of its targets. So long as the targets are trapped, the lantern can steal the shadows of its victims so its master can use them as a personal army until there is nothing left.”

“You expect me to believe Macaque made something so disgusting?” Even as Mei said it, she couldn’t help but recognize how similar the lantern’s magic was to her teacher’s. It was cool and soothing, but on the edge, there was an unmistakable edge of malice. “Even if he did, I doubt he made it without you whispering in his ears.”

“Oh child, you have no idea how many secrets he keeps from you. Let me share one with you.” The lantern grew brighter, and the silhouettes of her family members gained more substance as they peeled away from the walls.

Mei adjusted herself so all opponents were in her sight, but nothing could stop the sweat collecting on her forehead.

She sensed something powerful appear behind her. Jumping out of the way as a spear nearly severed her arm. She faced her new opponent. Only to almost drop her weapon.

Standing before her was another copy of Macaque only this one was even more disturbing. Its eyes burned with purple light, the shadows loving curled around it, but worst of all was the sneer filled with razor-tipped teeth.

“Did you honestly think my love was always so nice?”