#but somehow got possessed and wrote all of this instead

[kijosakka]

dramaturgy; celebrity manhunt, pre-london -- im going to make it easy on myself and skim through pre-london first, as the most divergence in this AU happens during and after the fact. part of pre-london is the pre-season itself, the celebrity manhunt special.

so action comes and goes, noah gets out of the season and remains as chris’ PA for the year break. in that time, months before it actually happens, chris finds out about the new season (with producer word both pushing for ‘more drama/engagement’ or smth along those lines, and *noahs actual involvement this time).

while something something contracts might prevent him from just outright telling noah, i’d imagine that he’d all but say there’s going to be a new season and heavily imply that noah wont be able to get out of it this time. not only that but he also implies that maybe noah should give opening up to people on the show a chance,, cause, yk, hes about to be stuck on a jet with them,, for weeks,,

of course, noah is pissed at first. but in so many weeks or whatever he begrudgingly accepts it and just resolves to throw it like usual. as for the ‘opening up to people’, he lands on owen.

owen was nice enough, genuine to a fault and the person least likely to use any of noahs bare slivers of vulnerability against him. hes safe.

[*noahs involvement within the show as something that the viewers are very interested in. he could be ratings gold and they know it.]

now im a little bit torn over the whole ‘chris’ assistant’ bit; similar to the awakeathon i would imagine it might just be missing entirely and he would be fired before the fact. or it could happen, as a way to give his on-screen character some information. as a ‘look everyone, i have Depth. stop prying into my life please’

either way, whatever. *total drama dirtbags show up, chris locks them out of the venue, they dont win any awards, bus chase etc.

^ note here, per usual noah comes off as his usual uncanny self around the cast. sierra is there as well, im sure thats Something for her. however he does take notice of one (1) alejandro burromuerto, recognizing him and focusing on him. < this comes back during introductions, where he notes his behavior towards the cast.

[*total drama dirtbags existed as the original ‘new TD season’ that noah found out about and worked on for a little bit before he finds out that it was not in fact a real show and a coverup for something else (a grab for an extra contestant for WT) < hence, he knows josé from interviews/auditions he helped with, but doesn’t know alejandro since he decided one brother was Enough]

^ and just for extra clarity on the TDD thing bc ive kind of muddled it, say noah finds out about dirtbags, helps out whatever. and then the news breaks that its a fake phish for a new contestant for an actual show — fine enough, he’s already behind the cameras, so he can just stay there, right?

no, actually. its kinda just slung at him that he has to be part of the cast (smth smth his job is threatened under ‘contractual obligation’ like its not wildly unconscionable). and he is soooo pissed off, so incredibly angry at the circumstances he’s landed himself in somehow.

< but he is aware that he cant just bottle everything up because it will spill over; chris said he needs something to his character, so maybe he can funnel his anger into playing the game a little more. as the most outlet he’ll get before he can throw it and just be done with the show entirely.

^ and then,,, alejandro.

while the actual events of pre-london remain largely unchanged, his dynamics are changed with the presence of four different variables: alejandro, izzy, owen, and sierra.

alejandro i’ll get into more later with a longer post detailing what they think of each other mutually, but im gna touch on alejandro a little; with picking off team victory and believing heather is the only person who’s noticed his facade, he just,, doesnt really distinguish noah as a threat worthy of focusing on.

^ throughout the game and the events of, he does single noah out as the most tolerable of all his teammates but doesnt offer much intrigue beyond that until *new york. (to note, he’s a lot more comfortable with [oblivious to??] noahs detachedness than the rest of the cast since that empty demeanor is p common among whatever diplomatic events hes been a part of)

izzy is someone who’s character i established mostly in the long post i had about her?? but it is worth mentioning now though that she does stick very close by to noah throughout her time on the show, and routinely interacts with him where most of the cast had given up trying altogether.

^ it builds,, a kind of rapport between her and noah?? in some way after the fact he’d recognize it as a nice, ‘i-want-to-know-more-about-you-and-also-befriend-you’ thing, but during he reacts more like a yowling cat tbh. he’s built up this reputation and facade that make people stay away from him, and now izzy wants to stick around him and threaten his defense mechanism? no thanks. (< further reasoning for why he belays insults towards her during WT under the guise of his own facade)

owen is a special case — in the bus chase before the season, noah took the time to sit by him and build up the proper beginnings of a friendship, which owen is thrilled about < during his time on island, owen was really fond of noahs quips and ‘just wished he would open up a bit more!!’,, he thinks some friends would b good for him and hes right

^ and again, owen is noahs safest option to 'endear' himself to the audience with a friend. hes so genuine and understanding of where noahs projected character falls flat, and like izzy keeps interacting and wants to interact with him where the rest of the cast gave up (and noah the person becomes very fond of owen and the reprieve their friendship offers him very quickly)

and finally,,, sierra. i actually want to talk more about the Audience as an entity in this AU in a later post and sierra ties into that heavily. as established, noah is the one cast member she just doesn't know anything about. of each blog she runs dedicated to each member of the show, his is the emptiest; the most baseless. being in proximity with the man of mystery is exciting!

^ noah still comes off as very uncanny valley to sierra and his detachedness is immediately clear. but the key difference to her and and cast is that she has the Audience perspective --- he's intriguing moreso than offputting. (and also theres definitely Something there about the meta-analysis of panopticon as an in-universe topic and how sierra would relate/connect that once it becomes clear to the cast why noah acts as he does)

[*new york (same time space as the aftermath?) as the moment when sierra prattles off information about the cast but comes up with nothing on noah that his own interest is piqued just a liitle bit, and he starts building a proper relationship up with noah as the straightmen to the cast. < also come after london is something he looks back on as a Hmm. moment wondering what noah knows about himself.

^ alejandro does believe their rapport is one-sided bc of his own facade, which i want to mention simply bc he's wrong. it is no-sided. both of them r faking.]

now getting to the episodes themselves -- minor changes/additions:

in the yukon, he doesn't try to cuddle bridgette

^ also in the yukon, he shivers less visibly than the cast (think when in cold weather you get those microtremors that really fucking hurt after a few seconds). this is only because it feeds into the android joke-turned-conspiracy for the folks watching on the aftermath set

in new york, he was not actually asleep in the carriage nor did he explicitly pretend to be. he just Kept Quiet when heather did her thing

in germany, he doesn't go up to alejandro when he falls off the platform, but he does prompt owen to ask something along a similar line [to his canon ones]

in the amazon, he's the one to point out owens absence

in paris, the line of 'this totally works on my dog' he changes to smth like 'totally works on dogs',, for his own exercise of privacy really

in the space of the jamaica aftermath, he again disappears from the rest of the cast à la playa des losers save for owen. owen gets a hello during mealtimes and hes the only one.

and finally, the episodes of 'significant' development with noahs intrigue in alejandro:

beginning before any real events of the show during introductions

^ kicked off in germany similarly to canon, emphasized by newfoundland and the grab for DJ's alliance

and cemented completely [his interest in unmasking him] in jamaica, continuing onward with london around when he discovers that alejandro is acting skittery towards him because of his own suspicions

[bachiras-toaster]

Bf!Rin headcanons? 🤭

RIN ITOSHI x gn!reader

authors notes. i am IN LOVE with rin so im glad i wrote this instead of my college essays

╰┈➤ the type of person to keep your relationship strictly private. in fact, it’s because he loves you so much that he wants to keep your relationship private.

╰┈➤ private, not secret.

╰┈➤ it was no surprise to the public when it was discovered that professional footballer, rin itoshi, was dating you, especially since you did have connections to the Itoshi brothers previously anyway.

╰┈➤ from the beginning, the paparazzi pressing on the matter pissed him off. he hated how interviewers would always eventually get to bringing your name up, because it meant that your relationship was starting to be shared with the world.

╰┈➤ but more than that, it was because he had a such a soft spot for you that he couldn’t help but become nervous when people brought you up. and as annoying as the interviewers were, he couldn’t stand to be mad at them when they gave him an excuse to talk about you.

╰┈➤ he’s probably half the reason your relationship wasn’t as private as he’d hoped. he was just such an unintentional blabbermouth.

╰┈➤ when you’re actually with him in public, he tends to get overprotective.

╰┈➤ when you’re in the streets, you need to be holding hands; when you’re at social gatherings, his palm needs to be attached to your hip.

╰┈➤ not just for safety reasons, but he supposed he also needed to constantly remind people that the two of you are together.

╰┈➤ when he realises that he’s getting approached by fans in the street, he’ll subtly hide you behind him so that you’re not pestered, and you’ll watch with a soft smile as rin is forced to take photos and sign autographs.

╰┈➤ despite maintaining a cold facade, he somehow manages to talk do gently when it’s to you.

╰┈➤ if the two of you are at a party he’s clearly uncomfortable being in, he’d slowly scoop your hands into his and plant a gentle kiss on your knuckle before muttering, “it’s getting loud. do you want to leave?”

╰┈➤ honestly, it’s quite impressive how quickly he’s able to switch tones.

╰┈➤ he can go from kindly whispering words of affirmation in your ear to screaming expletives to a random man, threatening to fight him where they stood and ordering him to stop hitting on you.

╰┈➤ rin’s jealousy is actually an unheard of level of rage.

╰┈➤ every time bachira jokes with you, isagi compliments you, or any of his other team members hang out with you one-on-one, it’s like a ticking time bomb in his mind. 

╰┈➤ rin trusts you with all his heart, but his possessiveness is a little louder than his compassion, and he’s rather eat both of his shoes than put you aline in a room with a man that isn’t him.

╰┈➤ he is willing to start the most outrageous scenes over it.

╰┈➤ once, shidou publicly dedicated a shot to you during an important match just to piss rin off, and he went ballistic.

╰┈➤ he had maintained himself on the pitch, but as soon as he reached the locker room, rin was already prepared to pack shidou up and send him to the emergency unit.

╰┈➤ a good fight definitely would have ensued, had he not been stopped by his teammates holding him back.

╰┈➤ plus, you continuously warned him not to fight because you hated seeing him show up to your dates with bruises and marks— his injuries from football were already enough. 

╰┈➤ he hated defying you, but sometimes he just really couldn’t help himself.

╰┈➤ the days where he would literally feel himself freeze before knocking on your apartment door because he knew that his injuries would tell you that he got into another fight were the worst for him.

╰┈➤ because you always looked at him with that certain face of disappointment before simply sighing and letting him in, ready to properly tend to his wounds.

╰┈➤ he’s so gentle when he’s in private with you.

╰┈➤ you could spend hours cradled in his arms, listening to the dulcet mumbles of his voice as he told you about his day.

╰┈➤ when be gets home from a match or training, all he wants to do is cuddle you mindlessly with a tv show in front.

╰┈➤ sometimes he’s mumble about how annoying his teammates were today and how he’s glad he can finally lay down with you.

╰┈➤ to many’s surprise, he’s really the sweetest boyfriend ever.

[rightshoeonleftfoot]

From Afar

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x afab! reader

Summary: You had a bad day and you're head over heels for a Lieutenant that's not even yours. He never even seems to look at you, let alone speak to you. Little do you know, he's been watching you.

Warnings: Stalking (innocent stalking hehe), mutual pining, possessive! Simon Riley, power imbalance.

Words: 1.7k

Part 1 - Part 2

This is not proofread so I'm sorry for any mistakes!! Constructive criticism is 100% welcome :)

I wanna make this a series eventually so let me know if you're interested! I wrote this at work lol

Average. That's what you were. An average soldier. You weren't even a bad soldier, you just weren't outstanding. You simply didn't stand out even though you desperately wanted to. You wanted to stand out to him. To the one man you'd been longing for ever since you saw him walk past you in the hallway when you were on your way to training.

A tall, broad man whose gaze would scare anyone away. He seemed cold, distant, someone you could never get along with. A man with many secrets, someone who wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice his life for his Taskforce. Lieutenant Riley. He never formally introduced himself but you'd heard. You'd heard all the rumours and chatter that surrounded him and you almost felt guilty.

He'd lead training every once in a while, when your superiors were away on important missions. You'd always do your damn best during those times, you wanted his attention, you wanted his praise. Yet, he'd never even so much as glance at you. It left you empty, disappointed and jealous. Jealous of your superior, Sergeant Davidson who'd openly flirt with him in front of everyone, especially in front of you. It's like she had something against you specifically, she'd often make you drop and give her 20 if you did anything that displeased her.

Today had been a shitty day. You'd slept through your alarm and ended up late to an early training session. Your Sergeant made an example out of you, making you run laps and do extra push ups. You were tired and hungry as you'd also missed breakfast, your stomach growling loudly as you were exercising. She had no pity, it was your fault after all. "You shouldn't have been late." She told you. "Don't fuck with the rules." She berated you as you held a plank. She had her foot on your back, occasionally adding weight on you to make you shake and give in to the weight she'd put on you. It was a humiliating morning to say the least, yet your day somehow got worse.

He hated the way she treated you. He hated the way your Sergeant got a power trip every time you did the smallest thing wrong. He wanted to rip her off you, tell her off for treating a Private like an animal. He wasn't supposed to feel anything for you. Hell, he had never even spoken to you once. He would just chalk it up to him being tired and not sleeping through the night. Yet, he couldn't stop himself from looking at you.

At lunch, you were starving and the mess hall was full. Not having eaten since 8 am and you were in desperate need for food. You'd finally picked up your tray and the food looked mediocre at best but you were too hungry to care. You were looking for a place to sit but the mess hall was packed. You skillfully navigated through the crowd of famished soldiers until you found a place. You quickly walked over to it, but it seemed someone had had the same idea as you. In a loud crash, your food fell to the floor, face first because of course it did. Your stomach growled once more as you looked down at the splattered food on the floor. The soldier who had bumped into you quickly apologized, his food untouched apart from the splatter of sauce that had ended on your uniform. Instead of helping you, he bolted off to eat. As you cleaned up your food, you knew your lunch would consist of nothing but vending machine snacks.

He watched. He saw you get bumped into by the careless little soldier. He saw you mutter and swear as you looked down at your food on the floor, completely defeated. "Fuck me, fuck this stupid fucking day." You'd mutter. He saw the way you quietly stared down at your food before picking up the dirty dishes and cleaning up the mess you'd made. He saw the way the soldier left you to your own devices and wanted so badly to berate him for not helping you. But he couldn't. So he watched.

You had a bit of free time after eating your snacks so you went to get changed and take the shower you didn't have time to take. You picked up your clean uniform and headed off to the communal showers, getting ready to wash off the food and sweat off you from this morning. You stripped and eagerly got in the shower. A sudden gasp came out of you. The water was cold. Very fucking cold. It wouldn't warm up even as you waited, your hand in the water. So you took a quick, cold shower.

The shower had left you tense and unsatisfied. A fitting continuation for your awful day. Next came hand to hand combat training. This was led by Ghost, so it lifted your spirits up a little. You walked into the gym early, not wanting to repeat this morning's mistake. Ghost was already there and you saluted him. In what felt like the first time since you'd met, he spared a glance at you. His gaze was cold, his brown eyes felt like they were staring in your soul. It seemed like he was studying you as the glance turned into more of a look, his eyes wandering ever so slightly to your face before he spoke.

"At ease." His voice was deep, deeper than you'd remembered. You felt happy. He had addressed you. It was almost cathartic, hearing him speak directly to you. You almost wantwd him to say more but to your disappointment, he looked away from you and resumed his conversation with your Sergeant. She was laughing and smiling, clearly flirting with him but he wasn't paying her any mind. You found yourself a partner and surprisingly enough, training went without much of a hitch. Both Ghost and Sergeant Davidson were watching over and your Sergeant was being much nicer with Ghost watching over her shoulder.

That was until the Sergeant used you as an example. Ghost looked at her disapprovingly but you didn't notice. She'd tell you to defend yourself but every time would take you down with ease. It left you humiliated and defeated. She finally got off you, clearly proud of herself for whatever reason. Your sparring partner helped you up and muttered something. "That fuckin' bitch." You were happy someone was on your side yet you felt disappointed. Ghost had just stood there, watching. He didn't do anything.

He saw, his mind in turmoil. On one hand, he could stop your Sergeant from taking you down more and cut the training short. On the other hand, he could let her keep going. She was showing a good technique but she wouldn't even give you the chance to try it on her. So he just stood there, conflicted. He wasn't doing anything.

You left training as soon as you could. You were beyond pissed and annoyed at today. You rushed to the mess hall to eat something and for once, everything was going well. You were approached by a soldier. A poor little soldier who was just as oblivious of Ghost as you were. He flirted with you and made you laugh. It was the first time today you'd felt truly at ease. He was making you laugh and over all, the conversation was just nice. You ended up shutting the conversation down early but sharing your contact information with him, a new friend couldn't hurt after all.

Your laugh. Your fucking laugh. Music to Ghost's ears. Music he never even thought he'd like, a soft melody that soothed whatever emotion he was feeling at the time. But that laugh wasn't for him. It was for this other private, this bastard, who dared to approach you while you were eating. He continued watching as you gave the man your contact information and he seethed. He didn't want to be jealous, but he was. He watched you leave to go to the shooting range for your nightly routine and as soon as you were out of sight, he walked to the soldier. The soldier froze when he saw Ghost. Ghost put his hand out, gesturing for the soldier to hand over what you'd given him. The soldier obliged and handed him the paper and Ghost proceeded to chew him out. He was ashamed of what he was doing and couldn't believe he felt the need to chew out an irrelevant soldier for hitting on you. He'd let his jealousy get the better of him.

The range was empty at this hour. Well, not fully but enough for the gun shots to be few and far between, startling you every time one went off. Going to the range after dinner was a part of your routine. There was a sort of pleasure in shooting targets to let loose of your emotions, it was therapeutic. The recoil of the gun as it went off in your hands, whether it was a p226 or an M4A4. You'd shoot for a while, never really looked at the time. But you'd often shoot until you felt the recoil of the gun in your hand without shooting, a familiar feeling.

Then came the cleaning. Cleaning your guns was your favourite part. It was slow and required patience, something you enjoyed. You'd take apart your guns with great care, feeling every nook and cranny as you did so. You'd clean them, taking the time to remove the dirt and grease which had lodged itself in all the cracks and crevices of the pistol. You liked it when they looked brand new. You'd connect your headphones to your phone and would listen to music, wanting to relax and take the edge off as you did a task most thought was tedious. Putting the guns back together was like a puzzle. A puzzle you'd done so much you could do it with your eyes closed. The way everything fit together perfectly, the way each piece clicked together with a soft, metallic sound. It was like a lullaby, soothing you to sleep. A welcome sound as it meant you'd go to bed soon.

Your ritual was over and you felt weary, your eyes closing on their own. With that, your day ended. In your shitty little barrack bed, still oblivious to your shadow. You fell asleep weirdly content with the day you had. Your alarm was set and you were confident you'd be ready for whatever awaited you tomorrow.

The range was big. Lots of places to hide, lots of places to watch. He followed you, his footsteps quiet, completely unheard by you. He enjoyed watching you shoot. It had become his routine as well. He'd watch you, correct your stance in his head without ever approaching you, then he'd watch you clean your guns. It calmed him. It soothed his mind and made him strangely happy to see someone who took such great care in cleaning their guns. He always wondered what you listened to. What had your foot tapping the beat, what had you softly smile when you cranked up the volume. He'd figure it out one day, just not tonight.

[phoenixsbby]

For What It’s Worth - Iceman x Pilot!reader

summary: sometimes all it takes is a RIO who likes to gossip and some friendly competition to help you understand what you feel for Ice.

readers callsign is ‘foxglove’ (a beautiful, but deadly flower 😉)

WC: 5k

a/n: i wrote this fic like a woman possessed yesterday … my bets are on the ghost of val kilmer (even though he’s very much alive).

warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of sex, swearing

This has to be wrong. Someone, whoever’s in charge of keeping score and writing it on the board, has made an error. Ice can’t fathom how hard it could be to get right, it’s simple addition. Yet somehow, your callsign is listed above his. You and your RIOs point total has accumulated to above his and Sliders.

Yeah, this has to be some kind of mistake.

He bites at the inside of his cheek as he stares at it, the word ‘Foxglove’ scrawled in chalk. It’s mocking him. You’re mocking him - in more ways than one. You’re similar to Maverick in that right, a little loud and reckless, not a fan of playing by the rules. And God, does it get under his skin. 

You know it gets under his skin, that’s half of the reason you continue to do it. Riling up Tom Kazansky, the man given a callsign based on his unfazeable nature, is a game you’re always willing to participate in. The reward, the faint red hue that spreads across his cheeks and the amused smirk you earn, is worth it every time. 

When you see him planted firmly in front of the standings, staring at that board like its an enemy MiG-28, you can’t help yourself. You saunter up next to him and put your hands on the hips, humming a curious tone.

“Huh,” you mutter before glancing at Ice “looks like they’ve made a mistake.”

“Yeah, your name is above mine.” He replies, not meeting your eye.

“No, that’s not it.” You shake your head and bite your lip to fight off the grin that’s eager to spread across your face. “I was talking about the fact that they messed up your callsign.” Ice furrows his eyebrows and for a split second, he forgets. His eyes roam over the letters that make up his callsign ‘Iceman’ right next to ‘Slider’ and thinks, what the hell is she talking about?

Then as fast as a split second can pass, he remembers and rolls his eyes.

“They spelt ‘Snowflake’ wrong.” You add, no longer holding any smile back on his account. 

Ice should know better by now. He should know not to engage, not to poke the bear, but as eager as you are to tease him, he’s as eager to receive it. At least that means you’re paying attention to him in some way. You’re a total smart ass, an impulsive flyer, and refuse to call Ice by his actual callsign simply because it amuses infuriates him. Despite all of that, you’re also beautiful, intelligent, and determined. And Tom might be a teeny, tiny bit in love with you.

“Very funny, Fox.” He pulls his gaze from the board and finally meets yours. He tilts his head to the side and lets a small grin show. When you’re beaming like that at your own joke and at there fact that you are truly ahead of him in points, he can’t help but smile too.

“Well, at least they got something right.” You take a step closer, slightly invading his personal space before reaching a finger up to point at your score. Ice doesn’t look, he doesn’t need to, he’s already memorized the number he has to beat. Instead, he roots himself in his spot and holds your eyes to his. He soaks in the moment of your close proximity, the feeling of your warmth and lets his grin grow wider.

You try to act cool and collected but inside, your stomach drops and flips like it’s on a rollercoaster, forcing the rest of your body along for the ride. You don’t want to step away, you don’t want to break this tension no matter how much you ache to. These moments that you share with Ice and the time you spend thousands of feet in the air within your box, that’s when you feel the most alive.

His eyes flicker down to your lips and you tilt your head up slightly and he - 

“Do we need to clear the room or something?” Goose breaks you and Ice from your trance on each other. You snap your eyes toward him and scowl at his playful, suggestive smirk and raised eyebrows. You love him to death but did he have to choose now, of all times, to be his quirky self?

“As if we’d give you guys a free show.” Ice chuckles as you take a step back, feeling a thousand degrees warmer inside your flight suit. 

“Name your price then.” Hollywood leans against the lockers and grins, his words send a chorus of laughs echoing around the locker room. You take that as your cue to leave. Sometimes you forget, for a blissful moment, that you’re the only woman in your class at Top Gun. The group of men you work with are great, really, but sometimes for a moment, they forget too. 

“You wouldn’t be able to afford it.” You wink at Hollywood before turning on your heels and leaving. You feel Ice’s eyes burning a hole in the back of your head up until the second you’re out of his field of vision. 

——

You and your RIO, Playboy, were on a cold streak. As quick as you rose on the leader board, you fell. When the dogfighting exercises grew more intense, you suddenly struggled to keep up. One loss turned into two. Two turned into three. And by then, you felt officially stuck in a rut and felt equally as shitty for trapping Playboy down there with you. He was a very talented RIO and you were failing him as his pilot. You were failing, period. 

There was no reason to believe you weren’t as capable as your male counters. You had earned the right to be in that Top Gun class among the other one percent, you are one of the best. But right now, stomping your way through the base after another loss, you feel nothing more than the uncomfortable jab that is rock bottom.

The last thing you want to do is ‘go at it’ with Ice over the rankings yet, somehow that’s what you end up doing.

“Hey, Fox!” Ice calls after you but, you don’t stop. You’re too determined to peel off this second layer of skin that once was a flight suit, too constricting and tight all of the sudden. “Hey, wait-“ 

He clasps his hand over your shoulder and pulls you to a stop before rounding on you. Suddenly he’s standing in front of you with his hand still lingering on your shoulder. Normally, you’d let it rest there, normally you’d let the warmth of his touch sink its way through your skin and settle in your marrow. But, right now you do not want to be touched or comforted. Just because you’re a woman does not mean you need to be rocked or coddled when things go wrong.

“What do you want, Jack Frost?” You shake his hand off you and fight the urge to smile when he does at the sound of your new daily nickname for him. You don’t want to smile. You want to sulk and wallow until all the self-pity has seeped out of your pores and you’re ready to get back out there and kick ass.

“Just wanted to remind you to check the leaderboard when you go in there. I’ve heard some mistakes have been corrected.” His smile transforms into a smirk, one that you know it’s harmless. This is the dance you two do, back and forth jabs with nothing but lighthearted intensions. Except now his words feel like a vacuum sucking all the air from your lungs. Despite what he actually says, all you hear is ‘you’re a failure, you’re a failure, you’re a failure, you’re-‘ 

“Unless I go in and see the words ‘Abominable Snowman’ written on that board, I’m going to assume nothing on there is correct.” Your normal warmth and frisky tone has turned cold and stony. Ice takes a step closer with more drawn in, maybe even slightly concerned, features and reaches out to rest his hand back on your shoulder. You side step him and shake your head before inhaling a pathetic attempt at a deep breath, all the air you manage to take in is short and jagged. 

“Look, I do not need you to remind me how much I’m failing right now. I do not need a reminder of what I, of all people, have to prove and how terrible of a job I’m doing at that. I just-“ You pause and blink away glossiness suddenly coating and stinging your eyes. “I want to be left alone.” 

A muscle in Ice’s jaw strains before he nods and replies, “Okay.” 

You take a step to move around him when his hand wraps around your forearm, freezing you in place. You glance up at him, now directly at his side, pressing up against him. His eyes flicker over you, they bounce between your eyes, your cheeks, your lips. You wish he’d get on with it, the longer he holds you there with your faces so close, the weaker your will to not smash your lips against his becomes.

“For what it’s worth,” his voice comes out husky “I don’t think you’re a failure. I think you’re pretty goddamn great.” His warm breath against the skin of your neck mixed with his words pulls a deep shudder out from inside you. He must notice the way what he’s said affects you, it’d be hard not to.

But if he does notice, he doesn’t act on it. Instead, he releases your arm and takes a step back to give you your space. 

——

You mope and you brood and you pout and you do it all over again until the sun has long set and Playboy is dragging you by your collar to the bar. He says it’s better to be sad and tipsy than to just be sad and you think there’s a lot to unpack there and make a mental note to sit down and talk to him about it later.

Right now though, you sort of agree with him.

“Can I ask you a question?” You’re three shots of bottom shelf vodka in and you should not be asking this question but, alcohol gets you more loose lipped and daring than normal and that’s saying something.

“Sure thing.” Playboy leans back in his barstool and grins.

“Why have you never tried to pull a move on me? I mean, I appreciate it. Being a woman doesn’t automatically mean I should be hit on. Everyone should treat me as their equal and in this case all your other equals are males and I’m pretty sure you don’t play for both teams, but if you do I totally supp-“

“Holy shit, Fox!”

“What I mean is, your callsign is Playboy for cryin’ out loud.” You laugh, a bit too hard, but Playboy laughs too so it’s okay. “I guess I just expected it from you. Am I like ... unattractive?”

“Oh my god, Fox.” Playboy groans and puts his face in his hands but, you can tell he’s laughing by the way his shoulders shake. When he pulls his hands away, he continues. “I’m going to regret telling you this and I’m hoping you’ll get too drunk to remember I even said anything.”

You narrow your eyes before taking another shot that was slid in front of you. If he tells you that you’re not all that pretty and you don’t actually smell like the honey lavender lotion you slather on everyday, you’d prefer to not remember that tomorrow too.

“You’re a bombshell.” You flush, mostly from the alcohol that courses through you but, the compliment doesn’t hurt. “But, you’re Ice’s girl.” 

You blanch. You were not expecting him to say that. If there was a numbered list of most likely responses to get from him based on your question, his actual response would rank around number 46. 

“I .. I am not!” 

“Aw, Fox.” Playboy coos at you. “You are.”

“I do not belong to anyone.” You poke a finger into his chest playfully.

“Okay.” He holds his hands up in defense. “You’re right, you’re technically not his. But, come on. The guy’s like completely in love with you.”

Suddenly, you’re dizzy. Both because you’re four shots passed your baseline alcohol intake and because Ice is in love with you?

No way. Ice only loves himself. And maybe his F-14. 

“Bullshit.” You murmur, suddenly finding the chipped lacquer of the bar top very interesting.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Playboys words have you dragging your eyes up to him, only then to follow his gaze to the entrance of the bar that Slider and Iceman have just strolled through. 

It should be illegal for someone to look as good as Tom Kazansky does in his summer whites. It’s a government issued uniform for Christ’s sake. Yet, he makes it impossible to decide whether you’d rather stare at him while he wears them or rip them off his body. 

You snap your gaze away from him and back to your RIO who’s smirking and wiggling his eyebrows while you frown. You let your forehead connect with the bar top as you groan and feel a pat on your back accompanied by Playboy saying, “We’re going to need another round.”

You should go home. You should kiss your annoyingly sweet RIO on the cheek and call it a night. But, you don’t. You stay and drink with him, happy to make him happy after still feeling slightly guilty about dragging him down in the ranks with you. After inhaling a dirty shirley and thirty minutes passing with your liver drowning in all the drinks you’ve consumed, you’re effectively trashed.

You’re in the middle of trying to follow the complicated backstory to Playboys even more complicated dating history when you feel a firm hand placed on your back. Just as quickly as it rests on you, it’s being pulled away and you look up to see Ice, grinning per usual.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite water globe!” You beam at him as his eyebrows draw together.

“She means snow globe.” Your RIO cuts in.

You snap and point in Playboys direction, “He gets me!” Ice chuckles and shakes his head. He tries to hold your gaze to his but you can’t stop looking around, swaying slightly to the music flowing from the jukebox.

“How much have you had to drink?” He catches your eye and notices the way they’re unfocused and slightly glazed over. He doesn���t need hear your response to know the answer is probably too much. 

“Not enough.” You grin lazily as Ice scoffs.

“Do you need to go home?” Normally, he’d try to conjure up a witty comeback but, not this time. Ice finds himself slightly worried, he knows you’ve had a rough past couple of days at Top Gun. He’s also never seen you drunk. He has no idea how to act or what to do, all he knows is he’d prefer to ensure you make it home safe. Not every guy at this bar is as respectful as him or your RIO.

“Are you trying to get me to go home with you, Sleetguy?” He can’t believe you’re three sheets to the wind but still manage to call him everything but Iceman.

‘Seriously, Y/N? That one was just bad.” Playboy snickers from beside you.

“So it’s true then?” Your eyes don’t travel to your RIO after his comment, they stay locked on Ice. “You are in love with me.”

Ice’s entire body jerks as if your words hit him with physical force. You don’t notice his involuntary reaction because the song changes to one you’re particularly fond of. Taking the opportunity with your concentration pulled elsewhere, Ice looks over to Playboy who is hiding his wide smirk behind the rim of his beer bottle.

‘You’re dead.’ Ice mouths.

Playboy winks.

“I’m not trying to take you home in that way, Fox.” He puts a hand on your shoulder to draw you back to him and prays to whatever God will listen that your drunk attention span is short. “I’d like to bring you home, make sure you pass out behind a locked door, then leave.” 

You all but moan at the thought of your big, comfy bed and eagerly agree to let Ice help you home. Playboy offers to pay for your drinks, calls you a ‘foxy mama’, then sends you on your way, trusting Tom with you completely.

Part of you is too drunk to walk straight, the other part uses that fact as an excuse to let Ice wrap an arm around your shoulders and for you to wrap an arm around his waist in response. They’ve got his callsign all wrong, you think to yourself, he can’t be Iceman when he’s this freaking warm. He’s like a furnace and you burrow yourself deeper into his side, his heat providing a kind of comfort you never knew you needed.

By the time you make it home, the fun part of being drunk, that small window of time when you feel like you’re numb and floating, has closed. All you feel is woozy and like the room is on an axis, tilting to the left one minute and to the right the next. You cling to Ice’s side shamelessly as he helps you inside and into your room. 

Ice has never been in your place before. Maybe if you were less in need of his assistance, he’d take more time to notice how every detail, big and small, about your home encompasses you. He’d see you in every place he’d look and it would be comforting in a way, to know you were all around him. For now, he settles on making sure you don’t topple over out of fear that if you do, you will not be getting back up.

He sits you on the edge of you bed and kneels in front of you, keeping his eyes pealed on your boots which he starts to untie. He can’t look up at you, he knows what he’ll feel in his chest if he does and now is not the time to feel that way, not while you’re in this state. 

You squeeze his shoulders a few times tightly while he works on getting your shoes off as if you’re trying to draw his attention to you. After the third squeeze, he gives in and glances up. You smile at him softly and yup, there’s that feeling right where he predicted it would be, deep inside his chest. 

“Will you stay?” You ask, your voice just above a whisper. 

You’re going to be the death of him.

“I can’t, honey.” He wraps a hand around your calf and lets his fingers stroke it gently, giving in to this overwhelming desire just the smallest bit. Your smile turns downwards at his words and he aches to find a way to flip it back upward. “You’re drunk. When you wake up tomorrow and see me here, you’ll call me a big Yeti and throw pillows at me until I leave.”

 He sees the way you fight (weakly) against a smile before it bursts through with a laugh to accompany it. His heart swells.

“Please,” you’re still smiling. “You can sleep on the couch. I just-“ He remembers the way you paused at those very words earlier today, like you were physically forcing what you really wanted to say out. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He sighs and thinks sleeping on the couch probably wouldn’t be too bad. It did look comfy based on the small glimpse he got of it earlier. 

“It’ll be my own funeral in the morning.” He gives your leg one last squeeze before letting go.

“I’ll pay for the service myself.” You still have your hands clasped to his shoulders.

“I want Madonna to sing as they lower me into the ground.” He smirks as you let out a bark of a laugh, so loud and pure he may burst if he doesn’t hear it again.

“How rich do you think I am? And how important do you think you are that Madonna would sing at your funeral?” You’re still laughing and holding him onto him, your bodies moving closer and closer like there’s a gravitational pull between you. 

“I’m very important, thank you very much. I’m going to be a number one graduate from Top Gun.” The second he speaks the words, he wants to rip them out of the air. But, you seem unaffected by them, still smiling at him fondly.

“Whatever propels your jet, you big Yeti.” You two could go back and forth like this all night, it’s what you do. But, Ice knows he should get you to sleep and hope you don’t wake up with a raging hangover that’ll fuel your distaste in finding him crashed on your couch tomorrow.

“Come on, Dandelion, you should go to bed.” You gasp dramatically as he stands up and press a hand to your heart, faking being hurt.

“I’ll let you get away with that just this once, Kazansky.” You lay back in your bed and melt into the pillows. “Count your blessings.” 

He chuckles as he throws the blanket over you and replies, “Oh, I certainly am. Goodnight, Y/N.” Your eyes flutter closed at the sound of your name rolling off his lips, sweet and smooth.  

“Iceman.” Tom comes to a halt in the threshold of your bedroom. After a beat of silence, he thinks he may have imagined it, you whispering his callsign. But then, “Ice.” He turns around, looking back at you. Your eyes are barely open and the sleepy smile you have spread across your lips looks so inviting, like you’re begging him with that smile alone to kiss you.

“For what it’s worth, I think I’m in love with you too.” Your eyes drift closed so easily, as if the words you’ve just spoken don’t leave him reeling.

——

The sun is pain. Once, you appreciated the golden light that coats your bedroom every morning in a welcoming, warm glow. Now, you despite it. You are never drinking again, you’re certain of this fact. You’ve had hangovers before, you’ve even muttered those same exact words before but, this time is different, you swear.

After you’re able to open your eyes without them burning so bad that they tear up, you notice a tall glass of water and two Advil capsules sitting pretty on your bedside table. You know you didn’t leave them there, which means ...

Oh.

Oh, no.

You screw your eyes shut again as the whole night comes rushing back like a tsunami, pummeling you in its wake. You doing shots with Playboy. Playboy telling you Ice was in love with you. You needing Ice to take you home. You begging Ice to stay.

You telling Ice that you love him too.

You are most definitely, absolutely, with no uncertainly, never, ever drinking again.

After chugging the water, popping the pain pills and seeing the time, you're grateful for your military trained internal clock waking you up so early. You were hoping Ice had already woken up too and dodged a bullet by leaving before you came out of your room. But, no dice.

You see him there, sleeping soundly on your couch, when you crack the door to your room open. What’s even worse is that he looks so peaceful, not a worry line or wrinkle on his face. You don’t have the heart to wake him up, he deserves that tranquility, even for just a little bit. 

And your desperate need for coffee outweighs your desperate need to get the awkward interaction you know is coming the minute he gets up over with.

By the time you do notice his eyes blinking away any remnants of the dreams he was clinging to, you’ve showered, a pot of coffee has been brewed, the eggs are done, and the bacon is cooking. You’re shocked at this ability to sleep for so long but, also you’re not because being in the Navy is exhausting. You know that first hand.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” You try to keep your voice light and airy despite the absolute pounding of your heart against your ribcage.

Ice rubs his eyes then pushes his hair back before furrowing his brows at you and asking, “Did you just call me something non-snow related?” 

“Anything’s better than big Yeti.” 

You can tell the second he registers the true meaning behind your words when every muscle in his body tenses. He comes to the realization that you remember the events of the previous night on his own and you let him. During the time he was sleeping and you were milling around on your tip toes trying not to wake him up, you realized something.

You truly do love him.

And what’s the point of hiding that? If what Playboy told you wasn’t true, if he didn’t love you back, Top Gun would still come to an end and then you’d part ways. If it was true, if he did love you back, then maybe you could stick together.

Loving a person like Tom meant having someone to push you but, also having someone there to catch you when you fall. You wanted that. 

When he doesn’t say anything, you start to panic and do what you do best in these situations, you ramble.

“I made some food. If you’re hungry, you’re welcome to eat. But if you don’t like eggs and bacon, I can probably find something else to make. And there’s coffee so, if you’re tired you can drink that. You like coffee, right? I’m pretty sure you do. Or you can take a shower, I think I have some spare clothes that may fit you. Or you could-“

“Fox.” You dart your eyes up to meet his. “A shower sounds great.” He smirks. You try ignore the heat pooling in between your legs (although it’s very hard when he looks at you like that) because at least he didn’t choose to leave.

“Okay, yeah, sure.” You clear your throat. You show him the bathroom and how to use the shower and grab him a towel. The last thing you tell him before you leave is that you’ll search for something clean for him to wear. After rummaging around for some of your dads old sweats, you knock on the door.

“Found some clothes!” You call out from behind the wooden barrier.

“Just bring them in here!” He calls back, his voice slightly muffled. You swallow thickly at the thought of going in there while he’s showering. Your shower has a curtain so, you wouldn’t directly see anything but, the idea of knowing what’s on the other side has more searing heat shooting through you.

The bathrooms slightly steamy when you open the door and place the clothes on the sink for him. You utter a strained “All set!” before turning to leave.

“Fox.” His voice is no longer muffled from the water or the door, in fact its crystal clear. You look over you shoulder and your eyes meet Ice’s, he’s pushed the curtain aside enough that you can see his face and the top of his chest and where hot water pools in his collarbones. 

Small droplets travel down the muscles of his shoulders, they dip below the valley of his pecs and curve over the peaks of his abs. When the particular droplet your eyes were shameless following falls off of his body, you shoot your eyes back up to look at this face, feeling heat gather in the cheeks of your own.

You want to touch him, you want to kiss him, you have to know.

“Is it true?” He doesn’t have to ask you what you mean, he knows. How could he not? You hold your breath as he clenches his jaw. His eyes stay locked on yours, they burn through you, see right into you. You hope he can see the way you silently plead for him to say yes.

“Yeah, it’s true.” Your heart is a jack hammer in your chest when he adds, “Did you mean it?”

“Yeah,” you don’t hesitate “I did.” Simultaneous smiles break out across your faces, filled with equal parts relief and bliss. He reaches out, grabs a fistful of your t-shirt and yanks you closer to him.

“Easy, Iceman, you’re going to get me wet.” You laugh as he wraps his arms around you and pulls your chest flush against his. He brushes a drenched hand through your hair before it settles against your cheek, rubbing small circles along your skin. 

“Do not call me by my callsign right now.” He groans as his other hand pushes its way beneath the material of your shirt and up your bare back. Had you purposefully chosen not to put on a bra after your shower hoping a moment like this would occur? Yes. Are you so glad you did when you feel his palm drag across your naked shoulder blades? Absolutely. 

“I thought you’d be happy to hear me call you that!” You squeal as he digs his fingers into your hip. 

“When we’re in those uniforms, you call me Ice. When we’re out of them, I want you to call me by my name. In fact, I want you to moan it so loud that the neighbors never forget the name Tom Kazansky.” 

“Whatever you say, Tom.” With that, he connects your lips slowly. It’s a kiss dripping with passion and greed and holds a promise that it will certainly not be the last time he kisses you that way. Your lips move together rhythmically, effortlessly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He coaxes a moan from you by way of nipping and sucking at your bottom lip, like he’s desperate to taste more of you. 

When he pulls away from the kiss, only to move his hungry lips to your neck, you take the opportunity and say, “For what it’s worth, regardless of what we’re wearing, I’ll always love you.”

“Trust me baby, that’s worth a whole hell of a lot.” He grins against your skin before pushing the curtain aside and pulling you with him under the hot water.

——

^ me when a hot, blonde, cocky pilot does literally anything

[pristine-rose]

sooo Columbina and Arlecchino with a female darling they are possessive of and has long hair? maybe like a new harbinger darling and childe just won't stop challenging her and something that gets on arlecchino's nerves more than columbinas even pantalone talks to the new harbinger sometimes with gifts in hand just to piss off arlecchino

hnnggg y’all know the harbingers are my fav in this game <3 this’ll keep a similar theme to the hair-brushing-doll fic for arlecchino that i wrote previously, just bc i thought it fit :]

arlecchino and columbina — devil take the hindmost

warnings : sfw, female reader, mentioned to have long hair ( enough to brush ), feat. childe and pantalone, themes of possession / jealousy / and “jokes” of capivity , columbina has ‘truth’ powers similar to aponia

“that’s lady signora’s melody, isn’t it?”

“indeed.” arlecchino smiled a bit when she answered you, lips curling up in a moment of slight tranquility at the mention of the late harbinger—one could almost believe she was kind. and with the same grievance, the third harbinger continued to hum such sweet notes from behind you, amidst her fingers threading through the strands of your hair. “columbina knows it by heart.”

the third harbinger made no response, instead choosing to continue humming behind you, dainty fingers threading through your locks. the vocals parting via sealed lips were gentle-sounding, very much like her own appearance. gentle… you’ve come to learn that columbina succeeded in deception.

“where did these come from?”

arlecchino knew no boundaries as she lifted up your wrist with undeniable force. those keen eyes of hers bore only a battlefield, and it was no different when the slashes on pupils matched the faint lines and scratches on the underside of your wrist.

looks like hiding them was no use.

“so unsightly…” columbina mumbled. and it was the first and only thing she’s said to you all day—choosing to only comment in distaste when her play-doll was marked up.

arlecchino glared. “they looked stiched.” the room almost felt colder. “expertly, so. as if a certain doctor did them.” the silence already bit at your stomach. they don’t like it when other people make modifications to what they claim as their own. “it seems like someone here got them in a rush.”

those wretched eyes were settled on you now. and you would’ve avoided them, had not columbina so gracefully clenched her fist at your hair, forcing you to look up. “tell me, who gave these to you?”

you would’ve lied under a guise of self-infliction, you really would’ve. but it was almost as if the mental, twisted powers of the angel behind you hammered nails down your tongue, forcing you to spit out the bloody truth of your comrade.

“childe.” his name felt dry against your throat. “he wanted to spar, and i got hurt.”

arlecchino’s eyes shifted darkly. and somehow—in some sick, decaying way—you wished the bore a look of sympathy. but she would never give anything of the sort, no. only anger fueled from selfishness that someone else would make their mark.

“o, dearest of knights,” columbina sweetly muttered against your hair, calling out the attention of her other harbinger companion. “you haven’t noticed yet another grotesque addition to our darling.”

as arlecchino’s eyes dipped downwards towards your neck, the air in your lungs suddenly restricted.

“a golden accessory dangling from her neck,” columbina whispered so ghastly disapprovingly. “there’s only one man i know who would gift such an expensive, yet tasteless piece of jewelry…”

arlecchino scoffed, “so shes flocking along with the men of our ranks now, is that what is happening?” she seemed enraged. to witness this demented side of her was no matter to take lightly with a temper like hers; it would actually make you thankful of the kind hand that was still choking your airflow,—for if it was arlecchino’s torn, inked monstrous of a hand, your skin would be in shreds by now.

“w…wait…” you croaked out through shallow, constricted breaths. the thin fingers of the third harbinger felt like sharp spider webs at your skin. “please… let me explain…”

“explain well, foolish one,” said the harbinger behind you.

“they’re… just my friends…”

—which was truly, a completely idiotic thing to say. but you were exasperated as it was not even a lie. childe just wanted a friendly spar, simple as that. he would get dottore to stitch your wounds to avoid this exact occurrence from happening. and, pantalone really just gave you this necklace as a welcoming gift for joining the harbinger ranks.

and yet, the chain of that same gold necklace was being clawed at by the knave. she did not care whether she tore at the skin of your collarbone, or at the pout of columbina—all she cared was to tear that accessory to crumbling chains on the hard floor.

“my knight,” columbina frowned, and you took a gasp of breath as her hand suddenly loosened. “you’ve shaken her up. look, our darling is trembling, and her blood is dripping to the new clothes i just dressed her in…”

shaking? were you really trembling so much in the third harbinger’s arms?

“to hell with it,” arlecchino scowled. “if she thinks she can be oh-so good friends with the others, then she better learn to take a scar that damned doctor cannot stitch.”

“but i want her to all clean and pretty for us,” columbina whined. “so mean… i can’t play with a doll that’s covered in her blood…”

a doll… that’s all you were to them. not a fellow member of the fatui, or even a harbinger.

it was times like these you missed lady signora—these cold, chilling nights when columbina returned to humming the late harbinger’s tune and cleaning you up.

but not for kindness, no. just for display.

hi hi i’m still here !! i just left tumblr for a little bit because honestly it did not feel rewarding or worth it to post when no one—like not even my friends—can see my fics since they get labeled so fast… 😭

but we’ll work on it, or i’ll just give up and make a new blog LOLOLOL

[blue-howlite]

Being their significant other headcanons, Dislyte edition.

Feat. Li Ling, Falken, Yun Chuan, Long Mian.

Author note: the first three were requested, the other was added by me for fun. The request for Falken asked for a shy reader but I'm doing really general headcanons here. Buuuuut... Yes I did change his headcanons a bit to fit the request. Also I wrote all this in the most gender neutral way possible, so anyone can enjoy it.

Twigger warnings: none? Maybe Long Mian being the most possessive man on Earth, but it was expected. Oh you can imagine some nsfw situations if you really try, but nothing mentioned here was meant to be nsfw.

Li Ling

You got in a relationship with this walking- floating menace. I'm not going to ask how.

He probably started floating around you a lot, showing off his powers to you until you asked him out because you thought he was flirting. He was not, but now he's glad you thought he was.

Anyway here we are!

First off, let's bust a myth. You know the "If there's something I can't stand is dumb rules"? Well, that doesn't really apply to you.

He might tease you sometimes, but he will never, ever cross your boundaries.

He respects you and you're one of the few people that can make him behave.

And this leads to another of his quotes.

"If you have something to say, you better have the power to back it up", right?

Well, he's your power to back it up. Doesn't matter if you're a normal person, and Esper, if you're in the Union or not, if you have a problem it is now also his problem and he'll back you up.

Yes this did lead to some accidents a few times but it's alright, the other person was always left alive.

Now the important part.

Six arms.

You think he's not going to use them?

No matter where you two are, his hands are always on you. Maybe one is on your shoulder, or on your waist, or holding your hand.

Anyway, if you're not comfortable with that he'll respect you. As I said earlier, he's respecting your boundaries, no matter how hard he wishes to squeeze you in a hug.

But he will lift you up at the most random times with his extra arms. And carry you around like a backpack. Like if he has somewhere to be and he wants you to be with him he won't talk, he'll just take you with him. You'll get used to it.

He isn't really possessive nor gets jealous easily. Probably because no one would dare try anything with you since you're with him. Bonus if you're strong enough that your fame alone is what keeps others from approaching you, Li Ling likes strong people.

Cuddles? Yes please. I feel like since most of his physical contact with others is through punches he's actually very cuddly. And he gives bear hugs. No I won't elaborate.

You're not a fan of physical contact? Cool, then you can do activities together! Maybe he can teach you how to cook meals typical of Tangton, or his family recipes! (Good luck if you're not a spicy food person.)

Pet names? He'll probably use your name more often, but "Babe" and "Sweetheart" are also good options.

And if you try to give him pet names he'll probably go 'uno reverse' and use them on you instead.

He's such a menace.

But he's your menace.

Falken

It all starts with you, who somehow you caught his attention, through an action or a particular feature you have, and now he's thinking about it. But what does Falken do when he thinks? He zones out.

So the first time you catch him staring at you and he doesn't even look away, you'll probably panic a little, thinking you did something wrong. He's an Union Commander after all, if he stares at someone there must be a valid reason, right? So you gather your courage and ask him what's wrong.

When he realizes that he's been staring you can bet he's embarrassed. Like a lot. He usually stares at things or animals, not people. And he'll notice you're a bit agitated now.

Him apologizing for making you uncomfortable is a great conversation starter though, he'll explain why he was staring and so you'll start talking. You become friends.

And soon you start dating. I'm positive Falken has some experience with love and so he recognizes the feeling that makes him zone out whenever he sees you, so he'll confess.

He's very focused on his work, but he keeps his life balanced so that he has time both for his duty as an Union Commander and as your boyfriend

Sometimes he might take some things for granted, like you enjoying PDA or physical contact. Please tell him if he crosses any boundaries, he'll be sure not to let it happen again.

That doesn't mean he'll take you for granted though. He loves you and cherishes you, he just needs help learning about you.

Which is something he really enjoys by the way.

If you happen to tell him about an interest or a preference of yours he will commit it to memory, even if it doesn't seem important at the moment.

If you have trouble speaking up for yourself he'll make sure to be by your side and help you. Not help you as in speaking for you, rather encouraging you overcoming your shyness and speaking for yourself.

Of course if you're actually unable to he'll just do it for you, but you can bet he's going to help you get better at it later.

It's not that he sees shyness as a bad thing, but he knows that sometimes it can get in the way and be an issue for you. He's okay with you being shy, as long as it doesn't stop you from being respected.

He doesn't get jealous but I see him as a bit possessive. Not possessive as in "you're mine", more as in "you're precious to me and I want to cherish and protect you". Like you're his but that's not the main point to him.

Oh you can count on him if someone makes you uncomfortable though. Guys/gals/hoes trying to hit on you? The "Eye of Horus" is on them and if stares could kill that person would be six feet under already.

Pet names? "Love" is the one he uses the most, "Dear" is for when he's back from a mission or he's tired after a long day of work.

He'll let you give him any pet name you want, as long as they make sense and aren't excessively ridiculous.

He just loves you and wishes to always be there for you.

Yun Chuan

Ohhhh boy, another menace. But a sweet menace.

So, how do you get the scary dog privileges? Well, the moment Screamer understands Yun Chuan is into you, that's when the fun starts.

Screamer is his wing man you can't tell me otherwise. He will get in your way so that you stumble on him and his master can catch you in his arms when you fall. He'll jump on you, pushing you against his master. Yun Chuan will apologize to you a lot about it but Screamer won't stop it, until one day his master finally confesses to you.

And you got the scary dogs privileges!

Yun Chuan will take you to befriend the Jagalions, that's for sure. Even if you're not a fighter he will teach you how to train with them and interact with them. Let's imagine that Jagalions don't trigger allergies so that even the allergy people can enjoy this.

Now, what about boundaries?

Of course he respects them. The funny thing is, he might even over-respect them.

He'll always ask if you're okay with anything, be it holding hands or kissing you. Especially in public, he will ask every single time for permission.

It's not that he doesn't like it, he loves giving you affection, he just wants to make sure you're comfortable with it.

He likes hugging you though. He is the master of bear hugs. Hugs in general. He will lift you from the ground while hugging you, no matter your size or height.

And about that.

This man is the best when it comes to body positivity. Like he will love your body for you and teach you how to love it as well.

Of course if you decide to work out he will take you to the Jagalions with him and you'll train together, but only if you're doing it because you want to, not because you feel pressured to.

No but like for real, doesn't matter if it's about a skin, hair or eye condition, or your weight, Yun Chuan will make sure you know he loves you as you are.

Possessive. A lot. In the "They're mine" way. If he's not with you then Screamer is. But he's also shy about it, he'll never admit to it. He's just making sure you're always safe, that's all. Even if you're a powerful Esper you might need assistance, right? Don't mind Screamer getting literally between you and whoever you are talking to, he's just making sure you're alright!

Rather than pet names he likes short versions of your name. He's not very good at pet names.

You can give him any pet name you want. He doesn't really get them but go ahead, have fun with it! But prefers when you call his name 100% of the time.

He might be awkward at times, like if for some reason you show a lot of skin (even though this man is barely covering his own shoulders), but it's just because he loves you and he doesn't want to hurt you in any way.

Long Mian

Because he likes collecting Miramon and creatures he deems unique, he's probably been watching you for a while and his first thought was to freeze you and put you in his collection room.

But! Then you made a different expression from the one you were making a moment ago! Maybe he could freeze you with that.

Your pose changed too! Oh no!

Once he realises that you have too many expressions and different poses, he decides to give you a few days and watch you, in order to decide how you would look best as an ice statue. He even starts talking to you, to see up close your facial features and watch them change with every expression you make.

He gives you a few more weeks, thinking that he needs to choose carefully.

And this plan backfires. He realizes he won't be able to hear your voice if he freezes you. And he likes your voice. He likes talking with you. He likes you.

This annoys him to no end, and he won't admit that he fell for you. But he still desires you, he wants you to be his.

After explaining to him that he can't force you to live in his collection room, you somehow agree to start dating. This way you're his and he'll still get to talk to you and spend time with you. Perfect solution, right?

...

He doesn't know how a relationship works. If it was up to him, you'd never leave his side, but you'll have to teach him that sometimes you have other things to do or that you need space.

He'll see you as something he owns and has to protect for a while at the beginning of the relationship. It will take an active effort from you to make him see you as an equal and not a collection item.

He'll come around I promise, he just needs time to understand his feelings and the fact that he does indeed love you.

Once he figures it out though, you're done for, because he will realize that others as well might develop feelings for you. He will make sure they know you are his beloved. Your neck is now covered in purple bruises and bite marks, he didn't mean to hurt you but don't you look beautiful like this?

Work on boundaries, he'll respect them once he understands why they're important for you. Which might take some time.

It's not that he will just do whatever he wants, he knows what 'No' means. He just won't bother asking, you'll have to say it first.

Loves you a lot though. The fact that he can't just freeze you and call it a day means that the time you two have is far more precious than what he has with the pieces in his collection. He treasures you, really.

He will make sure you know he loves you. Long Mian is self aware, he knows he often acts cold, but he doesn't want you to mistake his coldness for lack of love in your regards. So he always smiles a bit more with you and often tells you that he loves you.

Sometimes he'll just come up to you, kiss you, then go back to whatever he was doing.

He is touch starved, fight me.

He doesn't just like cuddling, he's addicted to it now. He just needs your body pressed against his, your warmth against his cold touch.

Did I already say he loves your voice?

Talk to him when you're together, sing if you want, read to him, just let him hear you. Whatever he's doing just let him hear your voice, let him know that you're here.

If you're sleeping he will come and lay his head on your chest to hear your heartbeat. He just needs to know that you're alive and well.

Pet names for you? Anything which he can put "My" in front of. "My love", "My dear", "My treasure", and so on.

For him? Just call him by his name. But if you really want to make him lose it (in a good way), put "My" first. Play his own game on him. He'll love it.

It is a complicated relationship and making it work requires a lot of effort from both sides, but it's worth it.

[random-fandom-inserts]

Hi, could I please request prompt 25 "Is it that hard to believe I love you?" with the Pied Piper? Thanks so much!

Sure! Sorry if the plot's a little boring I had an idea from a similar story I wrote, but I hope you like it!💖

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

Apocalyptic Far Far Away

You wake up in a much different world than you remember, and you are horrified to find that the man you love has no recollection of you at all.

#25 “Is it that hard to believe that I love you?”

The last thing you remember was going to bed to the sound of your lover's flute. It was a soft and peaceful harmony that the gentle man you knew would play every night for you before going to bed. His presence soft and eyes warm would make you feel safe. The place you and the Piper lived in was small and kind of run down (not to mention the rats), but it was home.

However, when you woke up, you most definitely were NOT home.

The bed was plush and very comfortable, like something for royalty. There was shades of red, gold, and white all over the room. Heavily confused and concerned (thinking you were somehow kidnapped), you slowly got out of the bed which revealed some fancy-looking clothes that were laying out. You ran a hand over them, fear beginning to set in you.

Suddenly, the door swung open to reveal a man of short stature, flanked on either side by witches.

"Look who's awake!" He said cheerfully, which made you feel uneasy for some reason. However, with more observation, you began to realize who the ginger was.

Rumpelstiltskin.

"Where am I?" You asked in concern, clutching your hands to your chest.

And thus, you were given explanation to your change of life. Apparently, a deal was made with him that made the whole world turn upside down. Every event that happened back in the old world was changed, and everything familiar was different. Rumpel was set to be the new king of Far Far Away, and you were told that you...you get to rule by his side. The way he said it was so possessive, like you were an object.

It made you sick.

Turns out those clothes were set there for you, and seeing no other option, you changed and made your way to the throne room. You felt like a prisoner. You sat beside the small man, who was talking about something along the lines of bounty hunters and ogres, you weren't really listening. All you could do was sit there in despair. Here you were in another apocalyptic world, where you were set to marry another man who was not your true love. That made you wonder something.

What happened to Pied Piper in this world without you?

"Mr. Stiltskin, he's here." You barely registered what was being said.

Just as thoughts spun around in your head, the sound of familiar flute entered your senses. However, instead of being soft and peaceful, it sent a chill down your spine. Your eyes landed on a sight that broke your heart as a bunch of rats scattered throughout the area and a pair of dark boots hit the floor. Your gaze traveled upwards to see the face of the man you knew so well.

But right now, the sight of him hurt you.

He was dressed all in dark colors which matched the look in his eyes. Pied Piper seemed devoid of emotion and full of something that you couldn't quite place. From what you gathered, he was some sort of bounty hunter, still holding that flute. That was the only thing about him that stayed the same. But this definitely wasn't the gentle man you knew. That being said, there had to be some part of him that felt the same. Right?

"Piper!" You cried before you could stop yourself. Getting to your feet (and shocking everyone), you rushed over to him and brought him into a tense embrace.

His scent, the fact your head still fit in the crook of his neck, his warmth, and the sound of his heartbeat...that was all still there.

But when you pulled away, a smile on your face and tears in your eyes, your smile vanished. Those blue eyes that once held love for you were void. It was if he was looking at a stranger, and you understood, but it still hurt because you knew another him.

"What are you doing?!" You heard Rumpel yell at you, but you paid him no mind. Instead, you just gave the Piper a sad expression, tears threatening to spill.

His gaze suavely went up and down your figure.

Then, he knelt down and gently kissed the back on your hand. It was enough to send familiar shocks through your body. As soon as he got back to his feet, he sent you a smile. It was a different kind of smile from him, yet also so comforting. It made you smile back, and for a second, you felt you had your man back.

But then Rumpel had to come and ruin things.

"This is Y/N, you know, my fiancé! We're going to get married very soon, and-" His aggressive words soon fell on deaf ears as tears came back to your eyes. Those words were a reminder that things would never be the same again.

Looking back at Pied Piper, you saw that his gaze had once again turned dark, and he began to fiddle with his flute. Then, with one last unsure glance at you, he left to go do whatever he was brought here to do.

And as for you, well, you left the room despite some protests and found a hallway to cry in.

A lot of events happened thus forth, and it was hard for you to believe that it was only one day. The chaos that ensued by the rebellion allowed to escape the confinement and flee to the forest. Even if there was no way for you to get your old life back, you refused to be married to another man. You were certain you were far enough away once the noise died down. As soon as you could, you sat down and leaned against a tree, bringing your knees up to your chest.

"Why...?" You muttered while battering your eyes to keep tears from falling.

You nearly jumped when you felt someone sit beside you.

"Piper..." You breathed, suddenly feeling more reassured. The man in dark looked downtrodden, eyes cast away and flute not even prepped for playing. His eyes cast over at you for just a second, lips in a thin line before looking away again. He seemed to be feeling just as lost and alone as you did in that very moment.

"Say...do you believe that you could have had another life...like, in another reality almost?" You asked him, glancing over with a small smile. Piper leaned up a bit, resting his back against the tree. He glanced over at you before shrugging, not too sure how to answer.

However, after a couple of moments, he had a faraway look in his eyes and nodded.

Without thinking once more, you moved to hug him. But this time, he pushed you away a little. Once away, you looked at him to see not only confusion but also resentment.

"Of course...I know you don't know who I am..." You sat back a bit, resting your hands in your lap. In this world, he was alone and without anybody to love. No wonder he was so dark and seemingly empty; without you Piper had no one. He must believe he was unlovable. After all, who could love someone as cursed as he was?

He shook his head at your words.

"In another world...I love you..." You said it presently and proudly. Your feelings have not changed despite the differences in the man before you.

But he just shook his head again, looking away. It broke your heart.

“Is it that hard to believe that I love you?” You asked him quietly, and his jaw tensed. Obviously, this Pied Piper would have no memories of any tender moments with you. In fact, he probably has none period. This whole world was depressing after all.

"Piper..." You mused, leaning closer to stroke his cheek. He tensed, but didn't shove you away.

"I just want you back." You whispered, a tear falling down your cheek as you finally accepted that you may never have him again.

But just as your tear hit the ground, the world went dark...

When you opened your eyes, you found the morning sun hitting them back, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut once more. Shifting around, you noticed the creakiness of the bed. Once your senses set in, you smelled the musk of wood, and even heard the faint squeaking of a rat or two.

But most of all, you felt a familiar warmth touching your skin.

Heart beating fast, you looked up and noticed the Piper sleeping soundly and holding you close. Even from here, you could tell that his appearance was much brighter and happier than his alternate self. He was holding you close and each rise and fall of his chest was like a breath of fresh air. You didn't know how you got back to your original life, but you were sure glad you did.

You could smother him with affection later. Right now, you rested your head back down on his chest to listen to his heartbeat. Besides his flute, it was the one sound that gave you comfort.

And you took in every second of it.

[distort-opia]

if batman and joker were to enter into a relationship, would it be clandestine? do you think either of them would want to tell others about it? and how would batman's family react if they found out?

If they were to enter a relationship... yes, I do think it would be hidden. Not that Joker would care much about that, but Bruce certainly would. And I don't think it would matter to Joker that much -- because he's possessive, and being the only one to know, sneaking around while everyone thinks Batman hates Joker, would excite him. Not to mention the fragility of things. Joker would know that pushing Bruce for anything like coming out in public would send him running instantly, and he wouldn't want to jeopardize what they had. Part of him would have the fun of his life rejoicing in people's shock and disbelief if they did find out, but it wouldn't be enough for him to risk the relationship.

As to Bruce... well. Getting into an actual honest-to-God relationship with Joker would take some very extreme circumstances (like the ones I wrote about in my fic, repetitio est mater studiorum). I don't think this in itself happening is OOC, because Bruce is quite selfish -- he's hurt members of the Family with many other choices in the past. But it would take some time and some more extreme circumstances for Bruce to want to tell them about Joker. This is something that might drive the Family away for good, and it's something he'd feel so much guilt and self-hatred over. Because, put very simply, the message a relationship with Joker sends to the Family is 'You matter less to me than the literal serial killer who harmed and killed you'.

But. I do think there’s more than one way this could go down, and I have many thoughts about it. Thoughts that got long, so for the health of everyone’s dash, here’s a cut.

So, of course the Family wouldn't react well, if they found out. Pretty sure Jason would try to murder Bruce’s ass (and who can blame him, tbh). Barbara would be this close to joining him, and the rest... I do think Dick, Tim and Damian could potentially come around, with enough time and explanations and justifications on Bruce's side (I’m doing it to reform him and to stop him from killing people! It’s all for Gotham’s sake!). But in the end, it would inevitably fracture the Family, and I don't even know if Bruce would put in the effort to make them understand or fix it. He might think he deserves to be shunned, so he'd act in ways that would cause the rift between him and the Family to widen, instead of giving them chances to understand and forgive. On top of that, the whole thing would make him angry and resentful towards Joker, so it might come out and screw things up on that end, too.

Which is why I personally think the only way to minimize damages and have the Family... reconcile with the idea somehow, is for Joker to make the effort, not Bruce. The fallout might be the worst it could be, but it also has the biggest potential to eventually convince them. Because, once the anger and the betrayal would begin to cool off... Bruce has had romantic relationships with villains and canonical murderers before. Hell, Damian's mother has killed plenty of people, with her sending a clone of him to kill her own son being (regrettably) a thing that's happened in canon; and Selina is definitely not a poster child for the no-killing rule either (her shooting Black Mask point blank is a pre-Flashpoint story that even got referenced in her run and is now canon, if I'm remembering right). The more recent character of Ghostmaker is an excellent example too. Just within the arc he first appears in, he kills dozens of people, and yet Bruce good-naturedly asks him to stay in Gotham at the end, only telling him not to kill again (Khoa is Bruce’s ex, you cannot convince me otherwise). And... well, the complicated relationship Bruce has with Jason, who has killed people, shows things aren't black-and-white at all, in this area. More objectively, the issue of Bruce being with Joker comes down to what Joker has personally done to members of the Family, it doesn’t come down to morality. Bruce has canonically proven he can work/be with someone who's killed people if they just promise to stop killing again, and the Family hasn't taken any issue with that. Or they've at least come to terms with it successfully. With Joker, the problem is the scale of his monstrosity and what he's done to people Bruce cares about.

But thing is, Jason and Barbara are acquainted with how insane Bruce is about Joker already. To an extent, all of the Family knows Bruce has a kind of weird relationship with Joker -- they just really like not to think about it. Barbara, for instance, canonically knows Bruce and Joker laughed in the rain at the end of TKJ, so I'm pretty sure everyone else does too. Not to mention all the times she asks Bruce to just let Joker die, but Bruce refuses. And Jason has had his freaking throat slashed because Bruce could not abide the thought of Joker dying. So... you know. I do feel that a relationship with Joker wouldn't blindside them; it would simply hurt like an absolute motherfucker, because it would be confirmation that Bruce cares less about them than him. Something Joker's been saying for a long time, and something he specifically drilled into their heads in Death of the Family.

But DotF is the reason why I think that, in the context of a genuine relationship, Joker should be the one to break it to them. Joker is the only one who can undo or mitigate the inevitable belief that they don’t matter to Bruce, because of the choice he’s made; not Bruce, who’s literally the problem. And not in the sense that Joker would apologize for what he's done to the Family and to innocents in general, because I very much doubt they'd believe him, and because it would not be honest. While in the moment and for some time after, they’ll all want to beat Joker to death, the fact Joker himself is making the effort to help Bruce will come into play eventually -- and this, in the end, is what could end up mattering enough. The relationship wouldn’t just come across as Bruce taking all of Joker’s shit to stop him from killing people, making Joker out as some kind of monster on a leash with zero agency in the matter. This way, it’d become obvious to everyone involved that Joker is an active part in the relationship, and a part who does genuinely love Bruce. And is willing to compromise with the Family enough to keep being with him, which would in turn send the message that Bruce needs the Family to understand so much it’s making the freaking Joker put in an effort. Oh, Joker would certainly be a manipulative piece of shit about it, and his genuine motivation would be a mix of selfishly preserving his relationship with Bruce (making sure he doesn’t leave him for them, which Bruce has pretty much done before) and Bruce’s peace of mind. But I do feel that, if Joker himself were the one to take initiative in this matter, the possibility of a positive outcome would be much higher. Not to say they’d all become one happy Family and Jason would buy Joker Christmas presents or shit like that, just that they wouldn’t actively try to murder each other on sight and Jason would not sever ties with Bruce entirely. (One of my favorite headcanons is that Joker goes ‘Look, I gotta admit, your beef against me is valid, and I respect that’ -- and then organizes an annual Joker-hunt. Aka, one day a year, Joker runs and the Family gets to hunt him down and do whatever they want to him, barring killing him. Jason and Barbara both get to really vent some anger this way. I do see a point system being implemented after the first couple of times, and whoever captures/harms Joker most accumulates them. And I think it’d just be so funny if Dick is the one in the lead, against all odds. Bruce finds out about this event only like five years in and nearly has a heart attack.)

...Also, I just find the idea of the Family all tied up in the Batcave, gagged and panicking out of their minds, while Joker’s just pacing back and forth wondering how to go about telling them so funny. “Kids, I’m fucking the Batman! His magical bat-dick is stopping me from killing people! Please keep all questions for the end of the session, thank you.” And then proceeds to explain. Can you imagine the chaos.

[corneliaavenue-ao3]

god rest my soul

Ginny Weasley is still haunted by the person who stole her girlhood.

Read on AO3

They whisper about her "How could she not know? Not know about Lord Voldemort, and not realize who she was writing to?" 

But they would never understand that she was his Medusa and he was her Poseidon.  

Poseidon plucked Medusa out of a crowd and tried to keep her all to himself. When she refused, he took her to the steps of Athena’s coliseum and took her innocence. 

Tom Riddle, a hero in the eyes of Hogwarts. Trophies celebrated the lies he told. A god in the eyes of those who worshiped him. A monster to those who witnessed his cruelty. He took one look at her, an innocent girl, and used her. He brought her to his temple and destroyed her innocence. Possessing her mind and her body, forcing her to wring the necks of roosters and write chilling threats on the cold stone walls in their blood. 

Of course she was unaware how devilish he was at first. Blinded by his charm, the sweetness of his promises. The promise of a friend.

If she had known the drink she was handed was poison, she would have spit it out. Instead, she got drunk on the prospect of companionship. When Ron was poisoned, they reacted swiftly, treating him with a bezoar. When she was poisoned, her brothers turned away from her even as she was foaming at the mouth.

She was soon isolated from her family and her only friend was a diary in her pocket.

So when his words turned cruel, she excused them as a joke. Until one day she realized how wretched he was and tried to flush him down a toilet.

Like Athena punished Medusa, Tom punished her. Using a snake to turn friends into stone. 

It didn't matter that she was just a child.

When she tried to fight back, he drug her down below the depths of the Black Lake to that Chamber, the final place where she was meant to lay.

If it weren't for her knight in shining armor who slayed the dragon and carried her off into the sunset, she would be rotting below the castle.

But that was then. 

Now, the trophies dedicated to Tom had long been removed from the halls. The world recognized him as the monster he is and not the Lord he claimed to be. 

His mortal body rot wherever the Ministry decided to dig his grave. Unknown to the public. Even the hero that conquered him wasn't privy to the knowledge of Tom’s final resting place. 

Yet, the memory of Tom still haunts her years after. Wise men say, "Clarity is in death," but Tom Riddle is alive in her nightmares.

The mind healers all of her friends were prescribed assigned her exercises to overcome the nightmares. At first she complied, writing letters addressed to the fire. 

"Dear Tom" she would start each letter, but never make it further than that before her throat burned and panic set inside her at the haunting familiarity of those seven letters.

Thankfully the paper never wrote her back. Even though she was desperate for answers.

Harry’s healers didn't give any better advice. 

When she awoke from nightmares in her too warm bed (she should be waking up on a cold wet floor), the spot next to her in bed was often vacant. 

She would find him nursing a cooled tea at the kitchen table drowning in the misery that he could not save them all.

Her Harry who would volunteer to take Atlas's place to hold up the world if that meant he could save one more person even if it meant he would be crushed by the weight.

She knew she was unworthy of his love, yet she was unable to convince him of the same thing.

Where she stared in the mirror and saw snakes for her hair, he saw golden strands.

His hands warmed her body at night. After the events of the final battle, they clung to one another, and somehow, not yet let go.

Together they grieved and suffered the losses they faced. Together they began to heal.

Slowly, she felt her snakes shed their skin and she felt more human. On days when everything Harry endured became too much, she slid next to him and lifted the world off of his shoulders to relieve some of the weight.

Once she found the strength to fight gravity, she deceived it all together and flew.

When Perseus beheaded Medusa, her child, Pegasus, was born. Pegasus took flight to the skies reaching incredible heights, soaring to the land of the gods.

After the events of the Chamber, the only thing that brought her comfort was flying.

In interviews she would joke that her brothers never let her fly with them when she was a child, so she became a better Quidditch player than all of them out of spite.

The truth was that in the air, the Lord of the Sea could not reach her. Flight was when she finally became the Ginny Weasley she once remembered being before she was ever touched by him.

[ticklishraspberries]

Giggly Glam (Connor, Zoe)

Summary: Connor buys himself makeup, then realizes he has no idea how to do makeup. Zoe tries to help. (Take this Connor lives and gets to heal his relationship with his sister thing I wrote. No one asked me to, I just have an obsession with this stupid fandom. Enjoy it or else /lh.)

He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to buy it. He’d only gone into the beauty aisle to buy a new bottle of black nail polish, and had somehow ended up picking out a few cheap makeup products. It was a completely impulsive, stupid decision, and if Connor had an ounce of sense, he’d turn back around and return it all.

But he didn’t. Instead, he decided to use it as an olive branch, or whatever the saying was. You see, almost dying had sort of knocked some sense into his head. Well, that plus some therapy, and seeing the looks that Zoe kept shooting him across the table at dinner.

So, maybe when he got back from the hospital, he’d made a whole big scene about how sorry he was for the way he’d acted towards her, towards them all, and maybe he’d cried harder than he had in years, and clung to his mom like a scared child on the first day of school.

Yeah, looking back, that had been pretty embarrassing. But it had shattered the layer of ice between him and his family, which he supposed was a good thing. He just hadn’t worked up the courage to dip into that murky water again, afraid he’d do something stupid like cry again, or make it worse by clamming up and telling his sister to fuck off like he would have a few months prior.

But a gift? It was an olive branch, he supposed. Not an apology, not an explanation, but it was something. So when he got home, he went right up to Zoe’s door and knocked.

“Come in,” she replied, and she looked surprised when it was Connor who entered, not her mother. “What do you want?”

Her tone wasn’t overly harsh, just a tad annoyed, mostly confused. Connor cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, I got you something. At the store. I don’t know if you even really wear makeup, but I just…Yeah. Here you go.”

He placed the bag on her dresser, and turned to leave, but paused when she spoke.

“Makeup?” Zoe asked, standing up off of her bed and walking over, snatching up the bag and looking inside. “Thanks, I guess. I don’t wear it that much, but it’s good to have.”

Connor nodded. “Cool.”

“Why though?”

“Why what?”

Zoe raised an eyebrow. “I can’t remember the last time you got me a gift. At least, one that wasn’t clearly bought by mom, who put your name on the label. So why?”

Connor shrugged. “I mean, honestly, I bought it on impulse and realized I was never gonna use it, so I gave it to you. Not very thought out, I guess. Do I get points for trying?” he asked, his tone light although there was a pit of anxiety in his stomach. He still wasn’t used to talking to Zoe like this; normal, casual conversation wasn’t really his forte.

“You got it for yourself?” Zoe asked. “Why wouldn’t you wear it?”

“Cause I get called gay at school for wearing nail polish, I think eyeliner would be pushing my luck,” he replied. When she didn’t seem amused, he continued, “Plus, I have no idea how to use any of it.”

“Where do you think I learned it? It’s not some inherent skill that comes with being a woman. Look up a tutorial online or something,” she said. “Fuck what kids at school think.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he shot back. God, could he not get through one conversation without being an asshole? He opened his mouth to apologize, but it got stuck somewhere in his throat and wouldn’t come out. It was like every time he tried to swallow his pride, he fucking choked on it.

Zoe just rolled her eyes. “I was gonna offer to just show you myself, but if you’re gonna be a dick, I’ll just keep my secrets to myself.”

“What do you mean show me? I’m not just gonna sit here and watch you do your own makeup,” he said.

“I could do it for you. I mean, I’m not great at it, but at least you’d get an idea of what it’s supposed to look like. And if you don’t like how it looks, I’ll keep the makeup and we can pretend this never happened.”

Connor thought about it for a moment, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I guess. Uh, thanks. And sorry for, um, snapping at you.”

“Whatever,” Zoe replied, but she had a small smile on her face. Almost fond. “Sit on my bed. Wait, but take your shoes off first.”

He obeyed wordlessly, feeling incredibly strange. Zoe’s room had changed a lot since they were kids. The walls that had once been covered in stickers of flowers and photos of boy band members were now decorated much more tastefully, although Harry Styles was still making an appearance. Her twin bed had been upgraded to a full-sized one, and it was in the middle of the room rather than pushed against the wall like it had once been. Her sheets were no longer Disney princess themed, but rather soft blue ones with stars on them.

As he sat down, Zoe began peeling plastic off of each makeup product: A stick of black eyeliner, and a palette of four eyeshadows, in varying shades of purple, and a tube of mascara.

“Just your eye makeup, or do you want a full glam?”

Connor furrowed his brows at her, chuckling. “Full glam? Nah, I’ll pass.”

“Okay, okay, fine.”

She placed the products on the bed, then went back over to her dresser to grab a cup of brushes. “Your first mistake was thinking that the little wand this eyeshadow comes with would be enough,” she said. “You’re lucky that mom keeps buying me sets of brushes for every holiday.”

“Every holiday?”

“Every. Holiday. Three Hanukkahs in a row, two birthdays. So many brushes.”

Connor snorted. “I guess she thinks you wear ‘full glam’ every day,” he said, putting air quotes around the phrase she’d used, which made her chuckle.

She sat down on the bed beside him, her tongue poking between her teeth as she thought. “Okay, I think I’ll do your eyeshadow first…Just close your eyes and try to sit still,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” he muttered, shutting his eyes as he was told, and he heard her shuffling around with the products.

After a moment, he could feel her hand hovering in front of him, and braced for impact, ever so dramatic. A somewhat flat, stiff brush touched his eyelid, and his face twitched despite his best efforts. He got it under control quickly, the sensation surprisingly easy to get used to.

“So, I’m putting the lighter color on your lid right now,” Zoe explained. “And after, I’m gonna use the darker one sort of, like, around it.”

“Sounds fancy,” he replied.

Zoe snorted, using her other hand to hold the side of his face, keeping him in place. Connor couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so close to his sister, or shared this much physical contact with her. It was weird, but it somehow felt natural, still so familiar. Her fingertips were rough from guitar string scars, and her hands were steady.

He heard her switching the brush, presumably also switching the color. The heel of her hand pressed against his jaw as she continued.

The brush was much fluffier than the last, and she was doing it so lightly, it felt like an annoying itch, and he scrunched his face up on instinct.

“Stay still,” she reminded him.

He huffed, but attempted to comply. He managed to keep his composure for a bit, but as the brush stroked against his face, turning the outer corner of his left eye the striking color of artificial grape candy, the feeling turned from an annoying itch to a feather-light sensation.

Connor couldn’t help it; he giggled, turning his face away from her.

“Stop moving!” Zoe said, retracting her hand.

“I can’t help it!” he replied. “It…feels weird.”

She ignored him and attempted to continue, but when the brush touched his skin again, he giggled again.

“Does it tickle?” Zoe asked, sounding almost incredulous. “There’s no way your face is ticklish.”

He felt his cheeks turn hot, and scowled. “Shut up,” he said, knowing he had no argument that would convince her that she was wrong.

Zoe’s lips twitched.

“Shut up. It’s not funny.”

She lost it, starting to giggle herself. “I’m sorry, but it is funny.”

Normally embarrassment felt white-hot, a rage-inducing humiliation that sent him running for the hills or taking out his anger on whoever was closest, a pit in his stomach. He was expecting that feeling to surface at that moment, but all he could feel was the color in his face and Zoe’s gaze on him.

Maybe it was because there were very few things his sister hadn’t witnessed: She knew him when he was still a gap-toothed child that was afraid of bugs, or when he grew into a pre-teen with braces and a constantly cracking voice.

So, instead of freaking out, he just glared at her half-heartedly. “Whatever.”

“Are you gonna survive if I continue?” she asked, grinning.

He rolled his eyes but nodded, bracing himself for the brush to return. He managed to sit still for the rest of the process, perhaps by sheer willpower or because Zoe was using a firmer touch to spare him some dignity.

“I’m kind of terrified of poking your eye out if I do your mascara,” she said to fill the silence. “Or eyeliner. I’ve never done it on anyone else.”

“Very reassuring,” he muttered.

All the brushes were away from his face, but he kept his eyes shut in case she went back, which was apparently a mistake, as Zoe had taken his sass as a chance to poke him in the ribs, making him flinch and huff out a laugh.

“I can’t believe I forgot you were ticklish,” she said.

“Please forget again,” he replied. “And, if I remember correctly, you are too. I’m not above revenge.”

Zoe laughed. “Okay, truce. But it’s nice to see you smile again.”

The sincerity of her statement made Connor freeze up, just for a moment. He was wading into foreign territory enough, but genuine conversation was almost too much. “Uh, thanks. I think?”

“Sorry, I just—You know, it’s just been a while since…” she trailed off.

“I know.”

She nodded, twirling the eyeliner pencil between her fingers. “So, do you trust me to not blind you?”

“...Not really, but fuck it.”

It turned out that Connor really rocked the color purple, and he loved the way that black eyeliner looked on him, and Zoe offered to show him how to do it himself next time.

He left his sister’s room and walked down the hallway with a giddy feeling in his stomach, something he hadn’t felt for a long time. It occurred to him that he had really missed his sister, no matter how hard he’d ignored it in the past. They still had a lot to work on, but Connor felt like something healed in them both that day, and it was all thanks to an impulsive purchase.

[mercymermaid]

so

i think it's time for my fnaf movie rant

HUGE HUGE HUGE HUGE SPOILERS (obviously)

these are in no particular order and are just a conglomeration of thoughts that i wrote down immediately after watching so they don't make any sense half the time, and don't include theories i've seen recently

enjoy

- THE MATPAT CAMEO??? THE THEORY LINE???? HOLY FUCKING SHIT. THE THEATER SCREAMED.

- why did golden freddy pull a sans w the blue eye what happened to the white smh

- DUDE. I CALLED THE 'VANESSA AS AFTON'S DAUGHTER' HALFWAY THROUGH THE FUCKING MOVIE

- THE SECOND SHE EXPLAINED THAG SHE KNEW WHAT WAS GOING ON AND THAT SHE WOULDNT BE ABLE TO HELP, IT WAS OBVIOUS.

- because mike explained that their dad was gone, right? and afton clearly recognized the schmidt name. due to this, i originally thought that maybe schmidt was some code name and that only the aftons could recognize it, but now i have a theory

- the families are switched somehow. Vanessa is either a stand-in for Charlie or herself, which makes no sense story-wise

- however, Mike, Abby, and Garrett are clearly afton children. Mike is Mike (and in the games, Mike apparently uses Schmidt anyway to investigate his dad), Abby can bring lengthened to Elizabeth, and the crying child doesn't even canonically have a name 💀

- so i was thinking what if the families were eswitched? vanessa was some sort of charlie stand-in, with afton as her dad, while the schmidts were raised by Henry

- this would explain why he recognized schmidt and offered the job at Freddy's - he'd already killed Garrett, so he wanted to finish off the collection. Mayne this could be a parallel to him killing Charlie, but since there's three kids, he needs to get them all??? idfk

- ONE OF THE GUYS BREAKING IN HAD A MIDNIGHT MOTORISTS T-SJIRT (the guy who got killed by the cupcake)

- i am soglad i went with who I did because i doubt any of my other friends would understand any of it 😭

- THEY PLAYED LIVING TOMBSTONE AT THE END. YES. THANK YOU. THAT IS ALL WE EVER NEEDED IN LIFE.

- the balloon boy bit 😭 i doubt anyone not in the fandom would appreciate it as well as we did smh

- ugh i wish mark had his cameo but iron lung is important too ig

- THE WAY THE AUDIENCE SCREAMED WHEN AFTON TOOK OFF HIS MASK BRAHAHHDHCJC

- WE WERE ALL WAITIJG FOR IT

- we probably won't get to see a "WAS THAT THE BITE OF '87" moment because garrett got kidnapped instead of chomped smh

- BUT. THEY KEPT THE GUILT. IN THE GAMES, MICHAEL SHOVED CC INTO FREDBEAR'S MOUTH. IN THE MOVIE, HE WASNT PAYING ATTENTION, WHICH CAUSED HIS BROTHER TO GET KIDNAPPED. OH THE FUCKING PARALLELS DUUUUDE

- also max getting bit in half is probably all we're gonna get of The Bite

- MATTHEW LILLARD FUCKING ATE. HE KNEW THE ASSIGNMENT. BEST AFTON.

- only issue is the lack of screaming during the springlocking. only your stomach is getting stabbed, not your throat yet. Scream.

- it would've been so funny if he pulled the "MICHAELLL DONT LEAVE ME HERE MICHAEL MICHAEL" while he was being dragged away but homie was too busy dying

- HE SAID THE LINE. "I ALWAYS COME BACK." OH MY GOD.

- NOBODY EXPECTSD VANESSA TO GET STABBED. THE THEATER GASPED.

- "IT'S ME" ON THE MIRROR DBSJAJXJXJXJDJ

- stop bonnie and chica staring down the camera while they release the cupcake is so funny 😭

- MORE ON THE FAMILY SWITCH. ABBY IS ELIZABETH, OBVIOUSLY, WHICH IS ONLY MADE MORE TRUE BC CHICA TRIES TO SHOVE HER INTO THAT DOLL-LOOKING THING. YOU KNOW WHAT IT RESEMBLES? SCRAP BABY. MY FIRST THOUGHT ABOUT THAT SUIT WAS "dude is that scrap baby?"

- the lack of a mrs. afton is so real 🤩🤩

- dude the entire fort scene was actually so fucking hilario

us

- like bonnie just. falling backwards. is so him yk

- BUT GOLDEN FREDDY. THERES THE KID. WHERE'S CASSIDY? IS GARRETT ALSO POSSESSING GOLDEN FREDDY IF HE'S THE PARALLEL FOR CC? WHAT ABOUT VANESSA? 

- the issue with the family swap is that Vanessa just doesn't fit in. we can't play it off as a parallel to Charlie, because vanessa is already an established character with a connection to afton.  fuck you Scott.

- SPEAKING OF. SCOTT KNEW WHAT HE WAS DOING. HE CATERED TO US LIKE A FUCKING ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT BUFFET. THE INSIDE REFERENCES AND EASTER EGGS?! THE MATPAT CAMEO??? THE LIVONG TOMBSTONE?!?!?! 

- a bit upset they didn't keep Freddy's flashing face sequence smh

- THE SPRINGLOCKING WAS SO GOOD BC THEY LEFT HIM IN THE EXACT SAME POSITION AS CANON. ALSO IT WAS GOLDEN FREDDY WHO FINALLY LEFT HIM THERE, WHICH IS A HIT AT THE WHOLE "GOLDEN FREDDY HATES AFTON THE MOST" (cough cough ultimate custom night)

- they kept in the red eyes in some parts but im very glad they weren't in the rest. they looked fucking high. what happened to the black with white?? THAT WOULDVE BEEN TEN TIMES SCARIER AND APPEALED TO CANON, WHATS THE WITH THE CHANGE MAN 😭

- bonnie never got his eyebrows

- cupcake slayed and ate (literally!!!!)

- im actually super curious why half of spring bonnie is so damaged. now, it could go with the whole "this place hasn't been touched in forever, yadda yadda, destroyed suit makes it more sensitive and easy to set off" but. it's only one half of it. there could be a perfectly plausible explanation of "Oh yeah, only half of it was exposed to bad stuff, other half was covered with a tarp" ITS FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S. ITS NEVER THAT SIMPLE. HAVE WE LEARNED NOTHING? also a bit curious about whether movie afton already got springlocked once like book afton did (has game afton getting springlocked previously been confirmed? please lmk)

- i really love how they used the "the robots are just children" because they love abby and just want to play and shit and they're so sweet but they're so easily manipulatable 

like

afton probably didn't have to do much besides show the pictures and convince them he was good

and all it took for them to turn on him was abby drawing a second picture

what if she convinced them vanessa was bad or some shit? they are really fucking gullible.

- also what the fuck was that freddy head saw blade monstrosity??!! what 😭 

- like it never ends up being explained and it's not a stand-in for springlocks or being shoved into suits because those are very very much there

- literally the second i heart matpat's voice my heart went oop 

- it took a second for everyone to register it but we went WILD

- AND HE DROPPED THE "BUT THATS JUST A THEORY"

- HE'S SO SILLY

- FOOD THEORY IS SO REAL THO 😭

- no bc a markiplier cameo would be so great but imagine if they used his reaction thing

- like they got him to film "WAS THAT THE BITE OF '87" as max gets bitten, and he appears in the corner for that one line

- even better, not reaction camera style, just standing there right next to her and then never being mentioned again

- either that or him popping up on the cameras (again, either as a reaction image, or standing there menacingly)

- THEY HAD SPARKY

- also why DID vanessa keep Mike in the dark abt afton (not calling him her dad, not stooping that low) and him trying to kill Abby? fear of authorities getting involved? this is bumfuck nowhere Utah, she is the fucking authority, and considering what his aunt said, a police officer defending her dad against some random guy isn't gonna go well for him

- like sure she told him to not bring abby but she didn't tell him why of course it's not gonna go well

- about the family swap. it's so easy to tell the scmidts are supposed to be a version of the afton kids, why the fuck did they name him GARRETT?

- I love the whole references to phone guy

Would've loved to see actual phone guy (imagine if THAT was matpat's cameo)(coughs in fnaf the musical) but afton is good enough

but abby's "hello" while exploring Freddy's sounds so much lime balloon boy wtf

- abby is a monogram (or whatever it's called) for baby which might not have that much symbolism bc abby is short for Elizabeth but the more the merrier yk

- i think i answered my own question abt whether movie afton has been springlocked

considering how he fuckign SPRINTED at michael and made all these moves like kicking and shit? yeah, I'm more surprised it took him so long to get springlocked

same with game afton actually like.. hello? stop laughing at the fucking dead kids in such a damp room, it's your own fault dumbass

Basically book afton was the smartest about wearing the suit bc of experience

- THE WAY CARL LAUNCHED ITSELF AT MICHAEL WILL NEVER NOT BE FUNNY LIKE BRO FUCKING ASCENDED 😭

- my friend is complaining abt how flirty Vanessa is w Michael which is really funny for no reaskn

- MY FRIEND INSULTED FOXY'S "dum dum dum" SAYING HES NOT CUT OUT FOR MUSIC. HELLO?!?!?@?@?@?@@

- as my friend mentioned, springlock scene was kinda anticlimactic lmao like where's the screaming? the blood?

- according to the same friend mentioned three times already:

Best parts of the movie

1. Matpat saying "that's just a theory"

2. Living tombstone credits

3. Vanessa getting stabbed

- the sounds at the end spell out "come find me" so wooohooo sequel time?? :))

- the "i always come back" was NOT it 😭 at least he said it yk

- okay someone pointed out that it was his last words so they were desperate and mad and showcase his lack of confidence in if he's actually gonna come back 

which is cool

but I like the og more yk

- about abby's springlock suit: its the same doll from 1:35 am (fazbear frights 3), then there's sparky as an animatronic ans restaraunt, wppohoho

[masterqwertster]

Noticing trauma prompt #11. This one is just lighting up for Ashton with his chronic pain. So Bell's Hells letting their punk rock know much they care about him by helping to relieve his pain. Maybe using massage, heat, acupuncture, or something interesting with magic? Get creative it's D&D world after all.

11 "I can't make the pain go away. But I can at least try to make it more bearable for you." You know... I thought about this, and then realized I kind of already wrote it. There's two little stories to this flavor in my Ashton Character Study collection Rockin' It: Pain Yet Strength, and, to a lesser degree, Oil Can Do. So I think I'll fill this using one of my AU set-ups: Bells Hells C2 Class Swap. (Yes, I may/will write AU snippets. No, I'm not buckling down for more dedicated writing-out of any more of them currently. They are up for adoption though, if anyone's interested) Prompt

Ashton comes out of their elemental form, only to be bowled over by the feeling of wrong wrong wrong.

Fuck.

Somehow, despite how often he's used the elemental form since joining this group, he's managed to avoid one of these episodes. But the bill always comes fucking due.

They feel too big for their own skin, like there's not enough room to simply be. It tumbles into a driving need to shift, to let their form occupy a greater space to banish that uncomfortable tightness.

But Ashton knows that won't alleviate the feeling at all.

Whatever that fucking potion was, whatever it fucking did to him that allows him to take on that elemental form and add fucking magic to his attacks in exchange for fucking nasty headaches, it goes deeper, bigger. And he's only caught glimpses of that unknown immensity in hyper-realistic dreams. Is only subjected to the feeling of it in these fucking random episodes after reverting from elemental back to plain old genasi.

"Ashton?"

It's hard to drag their focus outward, away from the too tightly coiled shifting inside. Thankfully, Fresh Cut Grass is short and in their space, putting him perfectly in view of their hanging head as he gently tightens their shoulder straps to restore their vest to its smaller fit.

They manage a low grunt (too low, too rocky. fuck) and fumble for the cross-body straps with the hand that isn't holding them steady against the wall.

Letters gently bats his hand away, taking over that too. They're speaking as they work, but it's not directed at Ashton, so he can't really get himself to parse the words past the pounding in his head and body, the rush of blood and heavy pants echoing in his ears.

There's a vague awareness of more voices drawing closer (the instinct to lash out, he needs space. But also the possessive need for all of his people to be in easy reach). A notion of being gently guided by Letters with the rest of the group acting as a screen against the world. Then there's a bed that creaks and groans (not his bed) from his weight, but is soft enough and has a pillow he can bury his face in.

Ashton?

They groan and curl tighter on the bed. There is no room for Imogen to squeeze into their mind. There's not enough room for them in there by themself. Can't she tell?

Feels kind of opposite to that to me, Imogen's mind whispers into their own, pushing a feeling of sympathetic comfort. You've got too much space and you're hyperaware of it right now.

Well that's fucking new. What the fuck-?

A tremor runs through him and he has to concentrate on not shifting. Which isn't as successful as he'd like, given the creak of leather and the bed. Fucking fuck-!

Magic washes over Ashton, layering him in calm that tastes of lightning and metal. And fuck if it doesn't clear some space for him to think.

"Did that help?" comes the stereo question in twin accents but different tones and slightly off-beat.

"Yeah," Ashton croaks out, shifting so his good eye has a view of the room instead of the pillow. "Can think a bit now."

"Great!" FCG chirps. "You've got a minute to tell us how we can help make it stop, or at least make it easier on you. We're a bit tapped for magic to give you a second dose."

Ashton can see the ring of expectant faces spaced around the bed in an inn room that they've brought him to. Faces filled with concern and sympathy. None of them are rousing his hate of pity. How the fuck did that happen?

"Ashton, you need to focus, darling," Laudna sing-songs, gently poking an arm with her staff as she crouches down to be eye-level with them. "The clock's ticking."

She's right. They take a precious second to breathe and gather their thoughts.

"There's not much more to do," Ashton tiredly explains. "You've already brought me to a quiet space without distractions. All that's really left is to wait it out. Hope I don't shift and crush the fucking bed."

"Eh. We can afford to replace a bed," Chetney dismisses with a wave of his hand.

"That's it?" Orym asks, a little incredulous.

"I don't- It just happens then goes away after a while. Might all be in my fucking head for all I know," Ashton says with a sigh.

The little wizard frowns. "It's definitely not just in your head, Ash. The magic you do has a very particular flavor to it, and right now this room is filled with it."

"Cool. I don't know what the fuck to do with that," Ashton grumbles.

"I... could try a Dispel Magic?" Orym offers. "I'll need a while to marshal some magic to cast it. But it might help?"

"Oh, if it's things we can do with a bit of rest, I could cast Darkness or Silence, if you think that would help," Laudna offers, sinking into a meditative position on the ground.

"...Knock yourselves out, I fucking guess," Ashton permits, kind of bewildered by how much this crew is trying. "Uh, silence is probably more helpful. I can close my eyes for darkness."

As Laudna nods, Imogen and Fresh Cut Grass's spell unravels. The bubble of artificial calm bursts, letting back in the pain and worry and disconcerted feelings.

Yet through the haze he's aware of the other people in the room, how they don't leave. And that's a comfort he never asked for.

I suppose this is exploring the "elementals aren't going to be subject to feral episodes due to lunar cycles like actual werewolves." So instead this dunamancy/elemental "lycan" blood hunter Ashton gets to deal with the very specific alternate reality feedback of "titan unearthed in tiny mortal body." Like, that possibility is always there, but it's only felt during these episodes. And the cycle Ashton's failing to track is that he's used all four of his different Dunamantic Rites at least once since his last episode.

[fontasticcrablettes]

Because it’s Halloween season: How would you do a vampire story in a post game setting? And who would you be the vampire until they are somehow cured?

Ooo fun idea. And honestly this is probably what a majority of people were hoping for when I said I was writing a vampire fic and instead wrote a meticulously detailed medieval AU about 14th century politics in Ireland lmao.

Ok, so, who should be the vampire? I think tonally it depends on if you want to go "sexy tragic vampire" or "horror vampire." Is the vampire one of our heroes, who is tragically condemned to drink blood and lose their humanity? Or is it one of their enemies, thought defeated but returned as the undead and more dangerous than ever?

Yuri is such an obvious pick for a vampire. He's got the looks (pale, dresses in black, moon aesthetic) and the story themes are already there (are you really willing to bloody your hands? have you become a monster?). So I feel like if I were to write a vampire fic, I would not make Yuri the vampire simply because half the work is already done for me.

And let's be honest, the only other choices for me are Estelle or Flynn, because all of my fics focus on Yuri, Estelle, or Flynn.

I did already write about Flynn as a vampire, but in a very different setting. Considering Flynn is thematically associated with light and the sun, there's an extra layer of tragedy if he's cursed to burn in sunlight and unable to set foot in the sun again.

You could get some of that same inversion-of-aesthetic with Estelle, who's generally bright and flowery. Estelle also has some narrative themes that could blend well with vampirism, in the way using her magic hurts the world. Having to literally feed on the life of others makes her CotFM powers even more immediate.

Hm... what if Estelle did die from what Alexei did to her, and unbeknownst to the rest of the cast (and even Estelle herself) the version they get back at the Sword Stair is undead. The more she uses her magic, the more her energy drains, and the only way to restore herself is to drink human blood.

OR we go with the type of vampire in which the human personality is no more, and either a wholly new evil soul has possessed the corpse, or their old self is corrupted and monstrous, so you get "Estelle" who is now a ruthless villain. One of my earliest ToV fics was about "What if Estelle was secretly evil?" so I've always been fond of that idea.

If we're looking at villain vampires, I think Yeager is an obvious choice. I mean. Look at him. He's got fangs. He also has done that vampire thing of disguising his identity by turning his name backward Alucard style (Yeager/Regaey). Plus you could count him as undead given the blastia heart. So maybe post-game, he comes back as extra undead.

Alexei coming back as a vampire could also be fun. I could see him as a Dracula-esque vampire manipulating his way into power and treating his victims has play things before draining them. And I imagine he would especially want to get revenge on the pesky kids who killed him the first time.

Ok, so maybe combine some of these ideas. If this is how I would do a vampire fic, I'm generally more interested in vampires in a horror plot than a tragic love interest plot, so I would lean into Alexei coming back from the dead. Bodies drained of blood start showing up around Zaphias as he grows in strength.

His primary targets for revenge would be Flynn and Raven, because they didn't just fight him, they betrayed him. And especially Flynn, who betrayed him, killed him, and then took his job. Rude. So maybe he can turn Estelle into a vampire as an extra fuck-you to Flynn - taunting him with the girl he swore to protect and now has to fight, but desperately doesn't want to kill.

And then is Yuri willing to kill Estelle? How long until he gives up on the idea of finding a cure and sees this as saving the real Estelle so she can rest in piece? How do the rest of the party like Rita and Judith divide and feud over whether to kill her?

Which is all, of course, playing right into Alexei's hands because while they're distracted with the horror and grief of what's happened to Estelle, he's plotting to retake his position and finish the coup he started.

[andr0medafallen]

Little Trouble

A/N: Republish...ment? of a fic I wrote for @alwritey-aphrodite 's birthday in August. Ilysm! Oh, and today is my birthday I guess, so yeah.

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x reader

Warnings: Fluff, taking songs so far out of context so that they're no longer depressing, confessed love and carnival vibes

Description: I'll tell you that I love you, I'll scream it twice. You ask over the music, "Did I hear that right?"

Word Count: .8k

“You have something on your face,” Santi remarks, sliding his thumb along the corner of your mouth. Your lips part in surprise when he sticks the finger in his mouth, gently sucking off sugar residue and whipped cream.

Luckily, you’re able to make a quick recovery, scrunching your nose as you exclaim, “Ew, Santi, you’re awful!’ You say it with a smile though, and he smiles back with a cheeky and objectively unapologetic shrug as you steal an extra bite of the funnel cake you’re sharing just to spite him.

You’d finally convinced him to go to the fair with you, abandoning his dive bars and angst for some good old fashioned child-like joy. It had taken ages of tolerating Pope’s excuses before he had finally caved, right in time for the event. The sun is shining; Summer is not doing its job of turning into Autumn, the days long and hot. You don’t mind, though, because you’re here, and Santi is here, and a myriad of nearly broken rides and fried food is here, so you truly can’t find any room in your heart to complain about the sun or any UV damage you may be earning.

“You know you love me,” Santi jests, turning towards you with a grin.

You do. But you’re not sure that he knows, and you’re even less sure he feels as unplatonic as you do, so you opt instead to lean in and whisper conspiratorially, “Three carts down they’re selling hard lemonade.”

“Then we have to stage a heist,” Santi responds, echoing your enthusiasm as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

“You’re right! I have a plan. I’ll give them rectangular green pieces of paper, and they’ll be so scared that they give us all of their wares,” you joke, reaching into your bag for your wallet.

Santi grabs your arm, stopping you. “It’s a good plan, but it’s not gonna work.”

“What?! Why ever not?” You tease in your best Bonnie Parker impression.

“I’m more experienced at heisting than you, it’s gotta be me.”

You snort, shoving Santi’s arm. “You’re awful.”

“C’mon, Trouble, we’ve got a heist to plan.” Santi hooks his arm with yours and leads you to the cart.

It's like that the whole day. You and Santi parroting off of each other's energy and laughter until the sun finally sets and you both have your fair share of liquid courage in you. You can’t bear the thought of leaving yet, though. Whenever you’re with Santi, all you can do is wish that time would stand still. You could spend eternity wrapped in his gaze, his smile, his obnoxious arrogance that has somehow become your favorite thing in the world.

When you see a band playing at the center pavilion, colorful lights shining on their instruments—banjo, and fiddle, and harmonica (the cornbread of the musical world)---It takes you about three seconds of contemplation before you grab Santi’s hand, dragging him to the center of the grassy dance floor. 

You’ve danced with Santi before, but not like this. That was all grinding in a crowded room, sweating and laughing as you gave the boys something to write home about. Tonight feels different. Like your heart is exposed, bared to him, and all he needs to do is reach out; To embrace or break it. Lights are strung above the two of you, but their shine doesn’t nearly match the sparkle in his eyes even as he tells you that the music isn’t even that good, spoken in your ear to be heard over the din of the crowd, his warm breath a gentle caress.

“I love you,” you say. You have to yell it over the noise so that Santi is able to hear you, and you do. You don’t know what has possessed you, and you face floods with heat. You nervously look into those big brown eyes, which are doing whatever sort of mental math they feel is necessary to understand the weight of what you have just told him.

It’s Santi who drags you off this time, managing to find a hidden little corner filled with honeysuckle and vines, where the music is that much quieter and the lights more dim.

“What?” He says it like he wants to be sure. Like he’s asking for a pinkie promise that you’ve never wanted to give more.

“I love you,” you breathe. “Do you want me to say it again? I love you, I love you, I love yo—”

He cuts you off, pulling you in by the waist and pressing his soft lips against yours. The kiss is filled with yearning; With the absolution of a promise made to the man who you’ve loved in every past life you might have had. When the two of you break away, Santi leans his forehead against yours as you catch your breath.

“You’re such an asshole,” He says with a smile.

You return it, leaning your head into the crux of his shoulder. “Say it back.”

“I love you.”

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Toughen Up

Summary: Takes place after Just a Kid and actually written AFTER Just a Kid.

After everything has happened in Forrædersk, the last thing Heather wants to be is that defenseless girl who could do nothing to save herself or her father.

Warnings: Minor mentions of violence, Injury recovery, mention of gun use

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 878

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Pairing: Minor Dagcup

Characters: Dagur, Heather

Author's Notes: First fic that takes place after Just a Kid that I actually wrote AFTER finishing Just a Kid!

Anyway, I'm in the process of writing short multichapters that also take place between JaK and the sequel. The outline of the sequel is also being worked on.

Enjoy! :)

-XOXOX-

It was at the mall. Dagur distinctly remembers that it happened then. He gave Hiccup his favorite knife, the butterfly kind, yet somehow it has found it’s way back to him.

Or rather, it was in Heather’s possession and he just happens to have it in hand now. His sister is asleep in the car. At least for the time being, she won’t notice that it’s missing.

It’s late in the morning, the sun is warm and so Dagur parked on a dirt road to sit outside at the side, where a random picnic table waits. Never again will families or couples sit here to enjoy the view of endless fields.

The doors of the car are open on his side for if Heather were to wake up or if they need to make a quick getaway.

He flips the knife open with ease, it’s a move he’s familiarized himself with in the years since he first got it. It wasn’t bought, of course. His father wouldn’t have allowed him to. No, it was stolen and not for any particular reason other than because he could and because he wanted it. They’re bad reasons, but at least when he gave it to Hiccup for protection he did so with good intentions. Hiccup needed a way to defend himself, deserved it. And now Dagur supposes he gave it to his sister for the same reason.

A dull aching rests in his chest thinking about the boy. He misses him, his heart aching if he so much as thinks about thinking of him, and he hopes he’s on the mend. When he left him, his ankle was shattered beyond saving and hospitals have run empty of doctors and nurses. Despite this, Dagur still hopes he’s doing better than he was weeks ago.

He truly wishes he could’ve stayed, but leaving was in Hiccup’s best interest. Dagur has ruined his life enough.

But Heather… as her big brother, he owes her protection and he realizes that now. Alvin shot her and he can never let that happen again.

He twirls the knife around and then flips it closed. As soon as she’s well enough, he’ll teach her how to take care of herself.

-XOXOX-

Heather would be lying if she said that Dagur doesn’t still scare her, but he offered to help teach her how to “toughen up” and she liked the sound of that. She was helpless when Alvin shot her father, helpless to all the abuse she suffered, she couldn’t even help Hiccup. She doesn’t want to be that vulnerable ever again.

Of course, they start out with the knife.

“No, you hold it like this,” Dagur tells her as he takes the knife from her and shows her how he holds it. The handle firmly in his hand, blade out from the pinky finger instead of out the thumb and pointer finger.

“Like this you have a stronger hold on the knife and it’s less awkward to stab with,” he explains as he slashes at empty air. Real targets will have to wait a little while.

There are more ways to stab someone, of course. But for the time being, they’re focusing on one specific way.

He hands the knife back to his sister, who watches him as she accepts it. She’s still not used to this version of Dagur. He was never this patient with her in the past, anything she did growing up used to make him yell and lash out. Yet now there’s almost a rounded edge to him and she wonders where it’s coming from.

She has no idea the amount of blood it took to blunt him.

Holding the knife like he did, she swipes at the air, but only gets two in before a jolt of pain in her side makes her drop it and herself. She falls to her knees and holds the place where a compress still covers a scarring gun wound. It pulls, a sharp pain runs through her.

“Heather!” Dagur shouts and she shrinks in response. There it is, she figures. Her real brother is about to come to the surface.

Except then he kneels beside her and grabs her by the shoulders, knife forgotten. She freezes.

“Be careful!” He scolds her. “You almost died just weeks ago!”

To her surprise, he is indeed agitated, but it’s out of concern for her. Though still shaky, she feels her fear melt away a bit.

“I’m fine,” she says before she rises to her feet, hand still on her side. Dagur rises with her.

Her eyes fall on the knife lying in the grass, she forgot to pick it up as she stood. Dagur reaches for it, but she stops him.

“Wait, I’ll get it,” she says and picks it up herself. Its shape feels a little bit more familiar to her every time she holds it.

She realizes the strength it symbolizes. Hiccup was the one who gave it to her, he was strong for her when she couldn’t be. But she also knows its owner before him was Dagur and he’s showing her strength now by changing who he used to be. Just like them, she wants to be strong, she wants to find a way.

She’ll toughen up.

[eeveearoace-creative]

i. set out to write something, and it honestly wasn't this, but this is what came out anyway. so.

enjoy :3

cw: blood, death, nightmares, guilt, possession, did i mention blood?

OH! also - this was fueled by something @arcadiii just wrote, so. everybody go read all their stuff lol

you’ve had this dream before. 

the sword is yanked backwards and she falls, limp as a ragdoll as she crumples to the cold, tile floor. this never hurts any less. 

you hear screaming. you’re sure who it came from – you, your friend (if she even is your friend anymore), or someone else entirely – but it doesn’t matter, not when one of the loves of your life is lying motionless, alone, as blood gushes from the new, open wound in her chest, pooling around her tiny body. 

you aren’t sure when you started running, but you certainly are now, moving as quickly as you can towards the lifeless body of the girl you loved oh so much, who will never know how much she meant to you, who you should protected, who died because you weren’t strong enough. all you want is to hold her, to tell her that she’s loved, that you love her – that she’s going to be okay, she’s okay, you’ll make her okay, you promise. 

but you never reach her. the faster you run, the farther apart you drift from one another, the smell of burning flesh and blood filling your nostrils. she doesn’t so much as flinch as you call, scream her name, desperate to hold her in your arms and keep her safe from dangers she couldn’t detect, because she’s always been so trusting, so naïve, so gentle, so kind... all the things you love about her. that’s why you had to keep her safe. 

but you failed. and now she’s dying, alone, and there’s nothing you can do. if given the chance, you would’ve give your life to protect her, to protect them. but you never got that chance. instead, she did, and she saved you, both of you, but she paid a price she never should’ve had to pay. she didn’t deserve this. 

she always was so much braver than you ever gave her credit for. 

you wish you had told her everything when you had the chance. you wish you hadn’t gone along with this stupid rebellion – no, you wish you hadn’t caused this stupid rebellion. maybe if you hadn’t, you would’ve realized he was bad news sooner. maybe if you hadn’t, you would’ve been able to convince her that something was wrong. maybe if you hadn’t, she would still be alive. 

but you’re stuck with the horrible choices you’ve made, and there’s nothing you can do to fix them. 

this time, the dream continues longer than normal. this time, you actually reach the broken body of the girl who didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve to die, and your fingers brush her cold, paling skin. 

this time, she reacts to you, and she turns around. 

“sasha,” she whispers, blood spilling past her lips as her body tremors, twitching as her body gives its last, final, desperate spasms, “i’m sorry... i’m so, so sorry...” she coughs up blood. “please, help me...” 

she collapses into your arms, wheezing and coughing up blood. you try to speak, because doesn’t she understand that this is your fault, not hers? doesn’t she understand that she’s dying because of you? doesn’t she understand that no matter what she did, she would never deserve this? 

you try to comfort her, to tell her that everything’s going to be okay, that she’s going to be okay, but you can’t force your mouth to move. you want to, need to tell her you love her, because you can’t lose her, not again, not like this. 

she goes still. so does the world. 

you wail. you aren’t allowed to be vulnerable like this, but what does it matter? one of you is stuck on another planet, and the other is dead – there’s no-one left to protect, and you’ll never be three again. 

your hands sticky with blood, you rock your love’s corpse back and forth, like you believe that’ll somehow bring her back, but it won’t, and you know it. she’s gone. 

abrupt laughter breaks you out of your thoughts. your heart leaps, and even though the laughter sounds wrong, it’s coming from beside you, coming from her. the laughter sounds wrong, but you barely pay that any mind, because if she’s laughing, that means she’s- 

orange eyes split out of her skin, too many and glowing and all staring at you, and if her laughter sounded a bit odd before, this was full-on insanity. a too-wide smile tugs at her lips, and it breaks you, because something tells you that isn’t really the girl you love. 

“see you soon, sashy,” it purrs, and this is wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong- 

you wake up in a cold sweat. 

there’s blood on your hands.