#can you tell i'm just blatantly ignoring all the prompts

[flea-eats-bugs]

"This is Yasha; she's the charm"

[bloodiedrogue]

PAINFUL VULNERABILITIES (5)

SUMMARY: When your past begins to blend into your present, you find yourself longing for Astarion's comfort.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,648

WARNINGS: ANGST, hurt/comfort, body horror elements, descriptions of torture involving a knife, panic attack, sort of made up Illithid lore??? (I promise there's comfort in the end, I'm sorry!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Day 5 literally doesn't have a prompt because this idea got terribly out of hand so let's just ignore that and enjoy the angst, shall we?

(Also again, a lot of people's tags weren't working so next time if you haven't fixed it I will be taking you off the list because taglists are a bitch!)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The nightmares start a few days later.

At first, they’re subtle. Wisps of darkness cloud your thoughts, leaving no memory behind. Silently it lingers, creeping through your skull in waves that inevitably crash against the shore, ripping you awake —leaving you breathless each time you’re left gasping for air in your dishevelled bedroll. When it happens, it always makes you jolt up to look around, trying to find the cause of your plague. The reason why you’re suddenly so wary to lay your head each night.

When you reach the Underdark they only get worse. 

What were once forgotten memories become recurring torments. Endless onslaughts of clawed hands that scratch at your flesh, pulling back skin in massive chunks that pluck excitedly at your insides. 

Thanks to the powers of the Illithid you feel every movement. Every poke and prod slips through you like a knife, cutting you down piece by piece until you’re nothing but a shell. An empty carcass of bone that’ll inevitably be harvested for a purpose far greater than yourself.

Or so she says. As you lie there, writhing in pain, blinking to shield the teeth that bear witness to your torture, you hear her whisper cool and quiet, telling you of your death. Of your fated downfall, and then of your— 

You always wake up before she finishes.

Before you can hear her utter the words you’ve heard a thousand times. Feeling the burn of your lungs, you stretch your fingers across your chest in remembrance, breathing in and out as the skin beneath your digits runs hot and you’re forced to forget the experience all over again.

When you reach camp that night, sore from the seemingly never-ending mushroom forage, you find yourself dreading the prospect of such sleep. Even through the exhaustion, the last thing you want to do is rest your head lest she arrives tonight, so you fight the urge, settling in against the edge of the fire. 

“You look tired.” 

You turn to look at Gale with half-closed eyes, offering him the softest grin you can muster before turning toward the flames. They seem brighter than usual. A decorative flash of warm-toned hues that make you blink and rub your eyes, somehow feeling even more languid. 

“Mushroom hunting take it out of you?”

You hum, making no move to look his way as you pull your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself for comfort. 

As much as you’ve grown to like Gale’s company, all you want right now is silence. A moment of peace where you can just stare into the fire and let your eyes burn from something other than the lack of sleep. Especially after spending the day alongside Lae’zel and Shadowheart as some poorly trained mediator. Just the thought of opening your mouth to speak feels like a threat to your vocal cords. The prospect of speech too much to handle, even as Gale begins to fill you in on his and Wyll’s misadventures with a nearby myconid colony.

“They’re truly such interesting creatures. Did you know…”

His voice falls on deaf ears, earning you nothing but a confused sigh once he realizes you’re not listening. Mostly because it’s not normal for you to just blatantly ignore your peers. 

“Are you alright? Need anything? Perhaps a drink or a—“

You’re standing upright before he can even finish his sentence, brushing the ass of your leathers before walking away, paying no mind to the curious wizard as he looks around the camp, catching the eye of Wyll who merely shrugs. 

It’s not like you to leave. To ignore a friend mid-conversation but your voice is gone. Lost to the void of constant intercession and a brewing anxiety that sits in your chest. As you walk towards your tent you can feel it shifting. Starting at your gut, everything twists to form a sickly sting. A stabbing pain that throbs within your abdomen, threatening to grow as you part the fabric and crawl inside, plopping into bed face first.

Despite your better judgement, you let out a low groan you’re sure at least someone hears causing you to frown, knowing that you’re better than this. Better than neglecting your health because of some silly nightmares. Better than letting the fear of your past get the better of you. Better than brooding about it. 

Turning to lie on your back, you palm the sockets of your eyes in frustration, letting your mind wander. Allowing yourself to feel everything you’ve been suppressing over the last twelve or so hours.

Aside from exhaustion, it’s mostly Astarion that surfaces. His face in the darkness looking at you as you left camp that morning, barely awake enough to give him a nod. In an instant it was as if he was there and gone, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place before shifting out of view alongside an overly excited Karlach. It was the kind of look that made you question its intentions. Its knitted brows and pursed lips rising and falling through your memories between the scuffles of your two companions. 

As you walked along the edges of the Underdark’s cliff sides, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it represented. What emotion it was trying to convey in such a small amount of time before it disappeared completely? 

As you lie there now, once again imagining its form you feel it’s something bordering on pity. A showcase of solidarity in your obviously failing quest for sleep. 

Astarion may not say much about your struggles —unlike him, you don’t complain about the endless problems that you face on the road— but you know he’s still aware of them. He’s too perceptive not to be. 

So why hasn’t he said anything? 

A heavy breath escapes. A shaky one damaged by speculation. Ruined by the assumption that it’s because he doesn’t care. That perhaps you aren’t worth the trouble of a little bit of worry despite previous actions.

You may have killed for him —had his back long before anyone else, but have such feelings ever been reciprocated? Has your worth been proven now that you’ve slain a man in his honour? And if so, how much worth do you truly hold? Is it substantial enough to ask you how you are? Big enough to look at you with any semblance of fondness? Or is it all just for show?

There’s a part of you that hopes it is. That the moments filled with kindness are nothing more than lies told to keep your attention. If he were lying, it wouldn’t necessarily make the way you feel right now any better but it’d mean that there’s an end. A barrier to stop you from getting in too deep. An excuse you could use to explain the naivety of thinking he may care.

Because it wavers —his care. Some days it’s obvious, sometimes it’s not. You can never guess when the care will appear, only that when it’s there and eventually dissipates you’ll be left alone again, wondering why he puts the extra effort in at all. Why he reels you in only to let you go, forcing you to question his intentions as you watch with careful eyes for those moments of reassurance. Moments that you can never prepare for. Ones that gnaw at your heart with pointed teeth wrapped beneath hungry lips, starving for the truth. 

You’re not too sure you’re ready to take that leap yet. To push him for the answers you know he’ll just avoid. He’s never been quick to trust and even when he does allow you in there’s still a blockage of sorts. An obvious resistance that sits between you, forcing you to settle regardless of the fear you hold inside your chest, wondering what would happen if you tried to push. 

You assume it’d ruin you. That, more than likely, pushing too hard would only create an even deeper wedge, making the truth that much more unattainable, leaving you with less than what you started with. 

Shooting upwards, you groan again and breathe, resting your face against your open palms in irritation. 

All you want to do is sleep, knowing the only reason you’re thinking so much is because you’re avoiding it. If you think you can’t drift which means the nightmares can’t come, leaving you with two bad endpoints you know you have to choose between.

It makes you want to scream just thinking about it but instead of giving in to such desires you merely settle back down, pulling the fabric of your bedroll up to your shoulders before closing your eyes. 

You’re going to get some sleep whether or not it kills you. Whether or not you have to endure the pain of a thousand deaths all at once before you’re inevitably woken up in a stupor of suffering.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift. One minute you’re lying there, counting your breaths like sheep and the next you’re out, filtering through a darkness that feels all too familiar. At first, it’s just there, coating your skin in nothingness. Lost to the void of slumber, you’re at peace for the first time in forever but as expected eventually the shadows unfold. Part to reveal a body of pale skin wrapped around viscous veins full of the blood of many. 

It beckons you almost immediately. The flutter of that icy voice saying your name over and over until you come to call, allowing yourself to move. Letting your feet guide you to her presence, you feel the waves and how they threaten to spill over as you kneel before her, feeling her grab your throat. 

Her fingers twitch and curl but never grip as she leans forward, offering you a grin. “You’ve been avoidant.”

You don’t speak. For a moment your lips part, feeling the presence of her thumb glide across the base of your throat but you don’t dare speak.

“You know it’s coming, my dear. You can’t avoid it.”

Your tongue moves to wet your lips while you blink, trying your best to let the visions of her angular face blur into the night that surrounds you, realizing she looks just as you remember her. All papery and washed out —a mere shell of herself now that you’ve gone missing. Her features drying out with each passing day you find yourself separate. 

“Come back to me. Let me protect you.”

You swallow hard and turn your head, feeling the nails of her fingers dig into your neck prompting you to cry out. 

She doesn’t let you do much else. Quickly moving on from the one-sided conversation to grab her knife, you watch as she mumbles under her breath, turning the blade between her fingers with a grin. “In untimely death comes timely renewal, remember?” she says, letting it ghost across your bare chest, pushing the edge against it until it breaks the skin. 

You barely feel the first insertion. As the blade dips through the layers of your flesh, the only thing you feel is her breath. The pattern of air that puffs against your face as she recites those aforementioned words, taunting you as she pulls it down. 

In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal. In untimely death comes timely renewal…

As the knife moves lower, you repeat the words in unison like a mantra, struggling to get them out through gritted teeth as she works to cut you open. To slice your torso from the sternum down revealing countlessly re-healed bones and slimy organs that lie in waiting for her to pluck.

Hovering above you, her hands move to survey such handiwork, her fingers stroking the edges of your open skin before they inevitably dive right in, ripping you awake. 

You feel the pressure of her inside your gut before it really hits that it’s done. Shooting upward, you cough and double over in an instant, pressing your hands shakily to the ground in front of you. 

It’s the worst dream you’ve had yet. Longer than all the others, you can feel the adrenaline of it all penetrating your thoughts. Overthrowing every single anxiety you’ve ever felt as you sniff back tears, pushing yourself towards the entrance of your tent. 

Pulling it open, you look around the camp in desperation, catching the eye of Wyll who raises his brow, watching as you shake your head, slipping further into the ground.

Before you can even think he’s on you, reaching for your shoulders, asking you what’s wrong and how he can help. In response, you make no effort to reach back. To remedy your pain as you continue to shake and cry, sobbing out the cursed mantra through heavy gasps that leave him panicking. 

“Guys! Something’s wrong!”

As he calls out to the rest of the group, you quickly find yourself surrounded by familiar faces. All of them looking down to see your hysteria unfold. 

“What happened?” Dropping to her knees, Shadowheart’s the first to your side, moving her hands to cup your face before you swat her away, mouthing the words over and over and over again. 

“I don’t know!” 

“You don’t know?”

The two of them continue to bicker. As Wyll explains the way you crawled out of your tent, mumbling something about death, you force yourself to shuffle back, maneuvering your body so that you’re half sitting inside your tent again, watching it all unfold. Focusing on the confusion as Lae’zel and Karlach stand in the wings, muttering to each other words you can’t quite hear while Gale stares down at your mouth, watching the words you speak only to yourself as your eyes start to dart around. 

Surveying the rest of the camp, you wipe away your tears and try to breathe, forcing your mouth to stop its repetitions once you remember the ache inside your chest. 

Because of the Illithid, you can still feel her handiwork. Beneath your sweaty tunic, you can sense its edges burning —stinging from the aftermath as you press a hand to your sternum, making sure you’re still intact. Making sure your organs aren’t on display as you catch sight of Astarion coming up the path. 

He’s nose deep in a book when you see him, scanning the pages with interest before his eyes inevitably raise to see your nervous frame, curling into your tent. Then his interest fades. Evaporating into thin air before it’s replaced with fear. Genuine, heartbreaking fear that has him moving so quickly he fades out of view before reappearing in front of you. 

“What happened?” 

Just like Shadowheart, his hands cup your cheeks, gripping the plush as he lowers himself down, moving his forehead to yours. 

Unlike before you make no effort to push him away. Instead, all you do is frown and try to suppress the tears, clawing at his shirt with desperate pleas, begging him to stay. Begging him to tell you that everything’s going to be okay. Begging for him to lie and say he’ll protect you just like you did for him. 

Using your tadpole you beg him over and over again, letting the tears silently fall from your face, not caring that the whole party is watching.

All you need is him. In falseness or in truth, you don’t care. You just need him to ground you. To call you darling and to make you laugh. To make you feel like you’re something more than a vessel of organs one day destined for harvest. 

As your chest begins to heave, letting all the nightmares unfold all over again, you feel the tadpole behind your eye squirm in response, asking you to let him in. Without hesitation, you close your eyes and swallow hard, feeling his thoughts start to overthrow the visions of her and her knives and the mantra that sticks haphazardly across your brain matter.

I’m here, you’re safe.

For once it feels like a promise. A silent vow meant only for you as he ushers you further into the tent, saying something to your peers before closing it up. After that he readjusts the bedroll with gentle hands, always keeping a single palm against the small of your back, even when he guides you to lie against his chest. 

It’s the first time in weeks that you’ve felt safe. Resting a cheek just below his collarbone, you can feel your breath begin to return to its normal state. No longer ravaged by the panic of your dreams, it moves in and out, fanning the fabric of his shirt. 

“Was it a nightmare?”

You nod. Unsure how to explain it because, while it is a nightmare, it somehow feels so much more. 

“Of the past or?”

“Sort of.” 

He hums curiously, glancing down to see your hand slide up his chest to grip his shirt. 

“It feels like I’m answering a call.”

“A call?”

“Like there’s a person trying to reach me and when I answer I can… I can feel them.”

“Feel them?” 

You can tell he doesn’t quite understand. Not that you blame him for it. The whole concept of these nightmares still vexs even yourself. Leave you stumbling in confusion each night you find yourself awake, struggling to remember what’s real and what’s not. 

The nightmares are not as easily explainable as the actual torture you’ve endured. Especially considering that up until now there had been periods where the memories had died. Days where her face was nothing more than a splotch of white against a backdrop of black, slowly fading away. 

It doesn’t make sense why they're suddenly returning. Why your mind is forcing you to relieve these memories night after night. 

“Does your tadpole make it hard for you to dream?”

There's no hesitation when he says yes. No moment thought before his answer, making you wonder if maybe he too is experiencing these dreams. 

“I feel like it amplifies everything.”

Looking up to gauge his response, you can see the worry clouding his eyes. How his expression sort of fades into the abyss as his eyes focus on yours. 

“I dream of the past a lot. Of my life before this and… and I can feel it. Everything that ever happened I can feel all over again and it’s—“

“Painful.” His voice is broken. A crack in the mirror, shattering the often joyous image of his face as he looks away, blinking. 

Without even processing your movements you prop yourself up on your elbow, reaching over to grab his cheek and pull him back in. “I wish you didn’t understand how it felt.”

There’s a flicker of hurt that hits his face, enveloping his features before the previous sadness kicks in again and he’s reaching for your wrist, tightening around it. “Yes, well, not all of us get the luck of the draw when it comes to good lives.” 

“You should’ve,” you tell him.

He scoffs and closes his eyes, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “You’re probably the only one that thinks that.” 

You let your thumb explore his cheek. Let it move in soft circles, taking in the way it shifts beneath your touch. 

It feels strange to be this close to him even after all of the other intimate moments you’ve shared. Something about it feels softer, more honest than the rest of them, making your heart beat rapidly against your chest, threatening to burst. 

“I know it’s not my business but if you ever want to talk about it—“

He places a kiss to your hand, letting his lips linger against the pad of your thumb as he closes his eyes, reaching around to grip your waist. 

In an instant, the words drift out of your mind once you feel it; lost to a touch you didn’t realize you longed for.

Swallowing hard you lay back down to look away, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the tender image that unfolds as his arm shifts again, accommodating your movement. Making you feel that rush of comfort return as he pulls his mouth away and clears his throat. 

“I’m, uh… I’m not good at this kind of thing.” 

“Vulnerability?” you joke, earning yourself a snort. 

“I suppose that’s a word you can use.” 

“To be fair, neither am I.” 

You feel him shift to meet your gaze, looking at you with surprise. “Really now? I think breaking down in front of the whole camp just so that you can find me is quite the effort of—“

Before he can finish you clamp your hand around his mouth. “I was in shock, you bastard. I wasn’t thinking about my dignity.” 

Flexing around your palm, you feel him smile before he pulls away. “That’s good because there was absolutely nothing dignified about the way you looked at me back there. It was…” He trails off, his words catching in his throat for a moment before he clears it again. “You scared me.” 

There’s a moment of silence after that, lasting far longer for it to be deemed comfortable as you lay there, wide awake, wishing you could get him to talk to you. Hoping that maybe if you reach out with the Illithid he’ll answer your questions. 

Closing your eyes, you feel his presence in your mind already, vying for your attention in a way that has you both moving in closer, tightening your hold. 

Show me the dream. 

It isn’t a question or a request but a simple command that has you obeying —letting him enter your thoughts. Letting him stand along the sidelines as she guides you to the ground and cuts you open all over again. Letting him listen to the recital of words that are spoken behind two frozen expressions as Astarion pulls you tighter against him, placing his mouth to your forehead to stop himself from crying. 

-

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[peachsukii]

Hihi, Peach!

I totally don't know if you're even taking asks, and you can ignore this if I you need to but! I had such a horrible, terrible day and I was hoping you could write something small to make me feel better about everything.. 😅

So, seven hours ago, I was a bright blonde but I needed a touch up so I went into the salon and payed 100 dollars for some upkeep.. I sat patiently for nearly six and a half hours, only to turn out with white/bleachy ashy roots and dark brown hair...... So not what I wanted! I sobbed in that stylists chair until my hair dryer and she just brushed ut off. Everyone has been telling me that it looks fine but compared ro the bright, beachy blonde that I came in with, I feel blatantly ugly now.. ☹️

Could you maybe write a super quick drabble or something about how Bakugo would try to comfort? If not, I totally get it! I adore your work so much.

Have the best day, lovely! 💕💕

Awww I'm so sorry to hear that :( There's nothing worse than getting the opposite of what you want, and paid for, done! I hope you don't mind that I use this little prompt for a Softie Sunday piece. <3

₊✩‧₊ ⎯  picture perfect 『 ♡ Bakugo x reader 』

content // age 22, fluff. reader & bakugo live together, he dyes your hair for you. :) 『 #reis softie sundays + softie sundays archive 』

Bakugo's sitting on the couch of your shared apartment, invested in his book while the TV buzzes in the background. He hears your key turn in the door and peaks over the pages toward the foyer, patiently waiting for you to reveal your new hair. You've been gone for over half the day - he assumed you'd be a few hours, but not...all day. Maybe you went with something completely different than usual?

When the door opens, you scuttle inside with your head hung low, a baseball cap covering your hair. Bakugo could somewhat see your hair sticking out from underneath. Why the hell were you hiding it?

"Didn't ya just get your hair done?" he calls from the living room. "What's with the hat?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," you say quietly, taking off your shoes and retreating to the bedroom. Without hesitation, Bakugo tosses his book onto the cushion and quickly perks up to follow you back to your joint bedroom. He leans on the doorframe, curiously watching you pace back and forth in front of the mirror.

"Somethin' wrong?" he asks, arms crossed over his chest. You slowly reach up to take off your hat, untucking your hair and letting it fall naturally.

"I hate my hair."

Bakugo gives you a once over, confused as to why you'd be upset. "S'nice. You're always pretty to me, sweetheart. What's wrong with it?"

"Over six hours and it came out the opposite of what I wanted. They stripped out my blonde color and replaced it with...this." You pull a strand of hair forward as example, showing off the new brownish color.

"I could fix it for ya," he proposes while walking over to you, fluffing your hair gently in his hands. "Used'ta bleach Red's hair for him back in school."

You sniffle and lean against his shoulder. "I'd like that."

He never ceases to surprise you.

Within the hour, Bakugo's back home with all the needed materials to fix your hair - toner, bleach, and gloss. Over the next few hours, he's tending to your hair to help bring it back to what you wanted, extremely focused on doing a perfect job. By the time you're all finished, it's way past his normal bedtime. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he's exhausted, but you're his number one priority - sleep can wait until Bakugo knows you're happy.

Once he's done drying your hair, he brushes it out for you before letting you look in the mirror, admiring his work. For an at home job, it's not half bad. He spins you around and playfully pushes you toward the bathroom mirror, smirking proudly when he catches your initial reaction.

"Wha'cha think?"

You're in awe. How the hell did he do this?!

"Katsuki...it's perfect!" you exclaim while flipping your hair around to see the subtle dimension of color shifting. "Exactly what I wanted. Thank you!"

He hugs you from behind and leaves a soft kiss on your cheek.

"Ya look gorgeous no matter what," he reminds you as he squeezes you tightly. "But I gotta say, I did a damn good job. Now let's get'ta bed already, I'm beat."

When you wake up the next morning, Bakugo compliments your appearance a multitude of times while the two of you are getting ready for work, reminding you just how beautiful you are to him in any light.

I hope this made you smile! <3

all tags; @kirishimaeijiromyman @strwbrrykthv @slayfics

@maddietries @starieqq @liluvtojineteyam

@jays-adventure3 @simp-plague @napbatata @queenpiranhadon

[midnight-black2]

prompt 15 with far? ^^

𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐃

pairing : farleigh start x reader

synopsis : you and farleigh hate each other, so it's just your luck that you two get stuck in an elevator together

disclaimers : this is slightly mild tbh, dom!reader, sub!farleigh, making out in public, maybe some degradation if you're looking hard enough

note : lmk if you guys want a part two! i feel like this ended semi-abruptly.

as you entered the elevator, yours eyes instinctively rolled at the sight of the tall curly-haired boy. he sighed.

"are you stalking me? seriously, why is it that you're everywhere i am?" farleigh questioned, annoyed.

"you know maybe the both of us can actually make it out of this elevator unbothered if you just shut your mouth," you muttered, staring up at him. he scoffed, but you could tell the gears in his mind were shifting from that statement, you just didn't know what he was actually thinking about.

he crossed his arms over his chest, before dryly asking, "whatever. what floor?"

"the fifth," you responded, with the same tone. he pressed it, once...then twice. the third time, you were highly confused, and frankly frustrated.

"what the hell are you doing?" you spat out.

"it's not working," he uttered, brows furrowed.

"what do you mean?"

"i-i don't know it's not working!" he repeated. all of a sudden, the elevator took off, before abruptly stopping once again. you weren't sure what floor you were on. when farleigh tried to get the door open by pressing the button, it wouldn't budge. "fuck."

"shit farleigh what did you do?!" you yelled, beginning to panic as you made your way over to him.

"do not blame this on me, it's not like i want to be stuck in here with you!" he ranted on and on as you alerted emergency services via the helpful button attached to the panel.

"farleigh," you warned, exasperatedly.

"farleigh."

"oh my god just shut the fuck up, okay?!" you had finally snapped. he looked down at you, as he cocked a brow. he smirked confidently, and god did you want to wipe it off of his face.

"yeah? make me," he taunted, with an edge to his voice. you stepped impossibly closer to him. god, he was so infuriatingly gorgeous, as much as you hated to admit it.

his eyes flickered to your lips, yours did the same. in almost in instant, your lips met together in a heated kiss, hot and aggressive. everything in you screamed at you to stop, i mean you guys were in a public elevator for christs sake. but once he let out that little sound he did, you blatantly ignored your better judgement. you finally pulled away, panting. he swallowed, looking at you hazily.

"is this something you've been waiting for, farleigh?" you teased, breathing heavily as you glared at him through clouded eyes.

"oh shut up."

"i think i'm the one shutting you up," you replied, before pulling him back down by the collar for yet another kiss. he could feel your stupid goddamn complacent smirk against his lips, but god did he crave it. there was always so much tension, tension he would have never acted on had you not made the first move. so it was quite honestly heavenly for him, considering it's really what he had been wanting.

he stayed leaning over as your kisses trailed down his jaw and to his neck. you started sucking and biting softly, and he let out soft whimpers and groans. hickeys could be seen all over his perfect skin now. he was like your canvas, just begging to be painted.

your hand traveled up to the hem of his shirt, before resting right underneath the fabric of it. his abdomen was burning--in fact, every part of him was burning, from inside out. there was an ache of desire he couldn't stop, and he was hot to the touch. he hated it. he hated the fact that he wanted all of you. from the way your cold hand felt against him, to the way your lips moved in sync with his, it was all too much for him.

"s-shit, Y/N," he cursed, as he felt his knees slightly waver beneath him.

"you know farleigh, it seems you're all bark and no bite. here i was thinking you genuinely hated me. turns out you were just horny," you murmured against his skin. and for once, he couldn't come up with a snarky response. his head was leaning on your shoulder as he was completely at your mercy. his hands found their way to your hips, as an attempt to ground himself. "you probably get off to the fact that we're in a public elevator right now. pathetic."

he actually whined at that, and his grip on your hips tightening a bit. his head was still buried in your shoulder, and even though he was still way taller than you, you had complete access to him. it was crazy to think that he, without a fuss, simply gave himself up to you, no hesitation. hell, you didn't even have to ask, it was like second nature to him. you continued leaving hickeys on his neck, until you were entirely content. you then lifted his head from your shoulder, and captured him in another kiss.

your tongue ran along his bottom lip, as a way of asking for entrance, which he gladly obliged to. he hummed and sighed and even writhed at your touch just a bit. and right when he found himself getting so worked up, the elevator suddenly started moving down again. the floor indicator came back up, and all of the buttons were lit once again.

just his luck.

fortunately, though, it didn't end there. he knew he needed more as much as you did.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 © 𝐤𝐲𝐚-𝐢𝐬-𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐥

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐲? 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

[andiwriteordie]

prompt! mike has been acting weird, sneaking off after school and spending his afternoon who knows where. will surely doesn’t know, but he fears this random behaviour is because will recently confessed his feelings and then told mike to not say anything and please remain as friends (afraid of rejection). turns out mike had been sneaking to gareth’s garage to learn will’s fav song in guitar for valentine’s day because if he is about to tell his best friend he feels the same way for him he WILL make a big deal about it. guitar is a lot harder to learn than he thought tho. if will ends up calling him a sap then all the better.

nic i hate you for this (i don't ugh) BECAUSE MIKE WITH A GUITAR. I'M YELLINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG.

—

2: know that i’m in love with you 

Mike is acting strange, and it’s all Will’s fault.

Yeah, so… if anyone asks, Will does not recommend accidentally confessing your feelings for your best friend of over ten years after a movie night not-date date for just the two of you. In Will’s defense, he had been considering telling Mike about this for a while now—after all, the two of them are seniors in high school and are planning to go to two different colleges this fall. It just feels right to close this chapter of Will’s life and confess his biggest secret, so he can leave high school and Hawkins behind without any regrets.

… 

Of course, the universe kind of hates Will, and in an ironic turn of events, it turns out that confessing his feelings to Mike is actually going to be Will’s biggest regret.

Because it’s been over a month now since Will finally told Mike about his feelings, and even though Mike had reassured him that this wouldn’t change their friendship, he has definitely been avoiding Will over this past month. 

Yes, Will is aware that he’s being a little paranoid. No, he doesn’t think he’s making this up.

Because Mike has just been gone this past month. Normally, he’s always trying to convince Will to come over and do homework with him, or inviting Will to hang out with him on the weekends, or even just texting Will on a near constant basis. But now, Mike almost always seems busy, and more than that, he’s downright dodgy. Anytime Will does try to initiate anything, Mike seems to have an excuse, and he gets awkward and flustered and basically runs away from the situation.

It’s great. It’s really, really great.

“You know he doesn’t actually hate you, right?” Max says dryly as the two of them walk down the hallways towards their lockers. 

“Pretty sure he does,” Will replies, giving his best friend a look. “He’s hardly spoken to me all month. He hates me.”

Max rolls her eyes. “It’s Mike,” she points out. “He’s literally incapable of hating you.”

“Okay, well, maybe he doesn’t hate me, but he definitely doesn’t want anything to do with me,” Will says, rolling his eyes back at her. “You know, since I just decided to fuck up our friendship of over ten years and make everything weird and shit, like an idiot.”

“You are an idiot,” Max says, and she very blatantly chooses to ignore the offended look that Will’s certain is on his face, “but not because you told Mike how you feel. You’ve been planning to tell Mike about your feelings for him for months now, and you did it. It’s not your fault that he’s an asshole who doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings.”

Will scrunches his nose at his best friend, and he stops at his locker, carefully fiddling with the lock and putting in his combination. “You make it sound a lot less complicated than it actually is,” he mutters. “Mike and I have been friends for practically our entire lives.”

“Which means you’ll work all this shit out, just like you always do,” Max says flatly, leaning against her locker. “And then Mike can stop looking at you like a kicked puppy begging for attention from his owner.”

Will raises a brow, narrowing his eyes at his best friend. “Mike doesn’t look at me like that.”

“Really?” Max raises a brow at him, an amused expression on her face. “‘Cause I’m looking at him right now, and he definitely looks just like that.”

Pure panic rises in Will’s heart, and he turns around quickly. Sure enough, none other than Mike Wheeler is walking down the hallway—directly towards Max and Will himself. He looks good today, dressed in a pair of ripped black jeans, some retro t-shirt Will’s fairly certain he found when El made the Party go thrifting with her, his favorite pair of Converse, and his classic denim jacket. 

Will’s heart does a nervous, fluttering thing, and his cheeks go warm as Mike catches his eye. A slow, shy smile forms on Mike’s face, and he lifts his hand in a tiny wave.

“Oh my God,” Max mutters under her breath. “You guys are fucking ridiculous.”

Will shoots his best friend a glare, before turning back around and smiling awkwardly at Mike. “Hey, Mike,” he greets, waving slightly. 

“Hey, Will,” Mike says, a bit breathless. “Hey, Max.”

Max merely nods back at him, and Will rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “How’s it going?” he asks and immediately thinks about kicking himself. Or maybe throwing himself into one of the massive snow piles out in the parking lot. Nobody would ever find him in there, which is great.

“It’s… it’s going,” Mike says, just as awkward. Behind him, Will hears the sound of Max’s palm hitting her forehead, and he fights the urge to flip her off. “Hey, uh… are you busy right now?”

Technically, Will is busy, and he’s not really sure that skipping his Calculus class is the best idea. But this is the first time Mike has reached out to him in literally a month, so Calculus be damned. It’s not like Will’s ever actually going to use this shit.

“No, no, I’m free,” Will says breathlessly. Max huffs out a little laugh behind him, and this time, Will does actually flip her off. “What’s up?”

A shy smile forms on Mike’s lips. “It’s um… well, it’s a surprise,” he says awkwardly. “I just… wanted to show you something, if that’s okay.”

There’s a rosy little blush on Mike’s cheeks, and Will can’t help but smile. “Of course,” Will says softly, and Mike smiles again, clearly relieved.

“Cool,” he breathes, then motions for Will to follow him down the hallway. “Come on, it’s not too far away.”

Will nods silently, and he follows Mike through the crowded hallways. Distantly, he hears Max call, “Okay, bye! Nice talking to you too!”

Woops. He’ll have to catch up with her later.

Eventually, Mike stops in front of a classroom near the back of their school, and he turns around to face Will, a nervous look on his face. “Okay, so… promise you won’t laugh,” he says with a bit of a wince. 

Will raises a brow. “Why would I laugh?” he asks suspiciously.

He gets an awkward laugh in response. “Because I only had like a month to put this together,” Mike admits sheepishly, and he opens the door slightly. “But I, um… I wanted to make sure I did this today, so… you know… today’s special and stuff.”

Will just blinks, and as he follows Mike into the empty music classroom, he wracks his brain, trying to think of why today is important. Other than the fact that it’s Valentine’s Day, Will can’t think of anything.

…

Surely, Mike can’t mean that, can he?

“Okay,” Mike says, taking a deep breath and turning around to look at Will. There’s a shy smile on his face, and he shrugs helplessly. “So, I, um… I’ve been thinking, right? About… about what you said… the other night.”

He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to. Will knows exactly what night Mike is talking about, and he can’t help but wince, his cheeks going warm.

“Mike—” Will starts to say, but Mike holds out his hands placatingly.

“Not in a bad way!” Mike reassures quickly. “I mean, not like… well… I just…” His voice trails off, and he groans, running a hand through his hair, before deciding on, “Just, sit down please. It’ll make more sense in a second. I think. God, I hope.”

Once again, Will just blinks, and he stares at his best friend, trying desperately to understand what the hell is going on here. “Um… okay,” he says and hesitantly takes a seat on one of the metal chairs in the middle of the music room. 

A relieved smile forms on Mike’s face, and he takes a deep breath, looking around the music room. Finally, his eyes land on a guitar sitting on a stand, and he reaches for it, carefully slipping the strap over his shoulder and sitting down in a chair across from Will.

“You remember when I tried to learn how to play the guitar freshman year?” Mike says softly, and all Will can do is nod dumbly and stare at his best friend in surprise. “Well, I, um… I’ve been trying to learn how to play again… this past month, I mean. Gareth’s been teaching me after school. And that’s why I haven’t… really been around?”

A self-deprecating little laugh escapes Mike’s lips. “Turns out playing the guitar is really fucking hard,” he admits. “And also I think my calluses have calluses, Will.”

Will can’t help but laugh, and Mike beams, the redness on his cheeks growing. “I’m not that good at this, but I wanted to at least try,” he says, softer now. “‘Cause… well… I just wanted to make you smile… and I know this is one of your favorite songs ‘cause Jonathan got you hooked on eighties rock and stuff… So, I hope I don’t accidentally make you hate The Cure.”

“Never,” Will says with a laugh, and Mike laughs with him, ducking his head. “It’s The Cure, and… it’s you. I could never hate either of you.”

Mike’s cheeks turn even redder—probably as red as Will’s own face right now—and he smiles again. “Cool,” he whispers. “I guess, um… I guess here goes nothing then.”

…

Absolutely nothing could have prepared Will for just what watching and listening to his childhood best friend and crush play one of his favorite songs on the guitar would do to him.

But Mike starts playing Just Like Heaven by The Cure, and all rational thought leaves Will’s mind and heart, and holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, Will just wants to kiss him. He wants to grab Mike by the collar of his silly little denim jacket and pull him close and never let him go and kiss him—which is nothing new, but is only amplified by the fact that Mike is playing one of his favorite songs right now.

His brow is furrowed in concentration, and he keeps glancing up at Will, a hesitant and shy look on his face. The quiet raspiness of Mike’s voice is absolutely perfect for the song, and everything about this moment takes Will’s breath away. He thinks he could stay here forever, frozen in this moment for just the two of them.

And when Mike looks up at him and softly starts singing, “Why won’t you ever know that I’m in love with you? That I’m in love with you,” it feels as though the world shrinks and shrinks and shrinks down until it’s just the two of them here. 

I love you, Will thinks to himself, and he smiles at Mike, unable to hold back the tears that sting his eyes. I love you too.

A smile forms on Mike’s face, and he glances down, still carefully plucking at the strings. The rest of the song comes easily to him, and honest to God, for someone who really just learned how to play the guitar this month, Mike is pretty damn good. 

(Will files that away in the back of his mind under the list of things that he loves about Mike Wheeler. He also makes a mental note to ask Mike to learn as many of Will’s favorite songs as possible. Just because.)

Finally, the song comes to an end, and Mike takes a deep breath, looking up and meeting Will’s eyes. “Was that okay—” he starts to say, but he never gets the chance to finish his sentence.

Because before he can, Will all but lunges for him, and he throws all caution to the wind, and he decides, fuck it, this is Mike, and Will knows Mike, and Will loves Mike, and Mike loves Will enough to learn how to play his favorite fucking song on the guitar and sing it for him.

Mike makes a surprised little noise as Will’s lips crash into his, and he nearly tips backwards in his chair. Somehow, the two of them don’t end up falling onto the ground, and as soon as he recovers, Mike wraps his arms around Will, pulling him close. He kisses Will back with just as much fervor and desperation, and Will feels him smile into the kiss.

“I take it you liked the song?” Mike mumbles. 

“I loved it,” Will corrects, pulling back enough to smile at his best friend. "Sap."

A satisfied and also relieved look forms on Mike’s face. “Cool,” he says breathlessly. “Cool, ‘cause… well… I really, really like you, if um… if that wasn’t obvious from the song, and I—”

Will cuts him off by tugging on the collar of Mike’s jacket and pulling him in for another kiss. “It wasn’t obvious,” he whispers, a bit teasing. “But I know how you could show me.”

Mike’s lips quirk up into a little grin, and he moves the guitar aside, pulling Will close. “Oh yeah?” he whispers back. “And how’s that?”

Will just grins back at him, and he leans forward, kissing Mike again—soft and slow—and murmuring, “Just like this.”

Just like heaven.

[foreverindreamlandd]

Hey friends! So this holiday season is going to be a bit of a bummer for me (which will be pretty blatantly explained in a personal fix-it fic I plan on writing in December lol....who's ready for some Lumberjack Bucky??), and decided to do a month-long sleepover to ignore my issues in the real world! Yay!!!!

LOL for real though, I do love the holidays and watching Christmas movies and reading cheesy winter-related fics so I thought it would be fun to do this! It'll be a mix of inbox-related shenanigans as well as a writing challenge-ish type thing (aren't I amazing at explaining things? Lol).

Here is all the fun stuff I have planned

Inbox Shenanigans!

🎄 fic recs: Send me recommendations of your favorite fics to add to my ever growing TBR pile!

🎅🏼 secret santa: Anonymously write a little love letter to another blog and I'll tag them in it!

☃️ christmas cards: Send me some winter-themed asks!

🧣no context ships: Send me a random fact and I’ll ship you with a marvel/stranger things character or bucky barnes au (please tell me which you would prefer in the ask!) ((oh and if you ever wanted to ship ME with someone I’d be the happiest little bean 🥺👉👈))

🌿 mistletoe: Send me 3 people/mutuals/characters and we’ll play classic kmk (kiss, marry, kill...sorry fam but we keep it mostly PG on this blog lol).

🍪 holiday faves: Tell me your favorite holiday/winter books, movies, tv shows, foods, all the things you love about this time of year!

Winter/Holiday-Themed Writing Challenge!

Masterlist

Obviously this is a no pressure thing, it's just that I low(high)-key love holiday fics and want to read any of the ones y'all come up with ;) You're also welcome to share an old one that you wrote and just want it to get some extra love!

Here are a few ideas below! Feel free to use any of them or write something totally different that's winter or holiday themed! I will be creating a separate ongoing masterlist for submissions and will read/share as many as I can!

My only rule on this is that it cannot contain any smut in order for it to be shared on my blog. 💖

Prompt Ideas:

prompt list 1

prompt list 2

The sleepover will last for the entire month of December! Feel free to participate as much or as little as you'd like! Thank you for being so supportive of me and my blog these last 18 months <3 I'm sorry I've been a little MIA but I'm excited to spend the holidays with you all :)

No-pressure tagging some moots:

@sweetascanbee @sweetdreamsbuck @treatbuckywkisses @imaginearyparties @itistimeforusalltodecidewhoweare @rodrikstark @fandoms-writings @writing-for-marvel @carrotfantasimp @traitorjoelite @pellucid-constellations @navybrat817 @simmerandcry

Divider by @firefly-graphics

[ca-suffit]

Genuinely not trying to call you out or start stuff with you, but why do you assume if a black person disagrees with how you go about bullying people that it is baiting? What if some black fans genuinely find your method problematic? I think that is part of the problem I see in the fandom is everyone wants to categorize fans into white vs black, where all black people assume all white people are racists and all white people assume black people are whining and unjustified. There are shades of grey in this fandom.

I'll be honest, I think a lot of the people you have called out was justified but I also think some of it was unwarranted. I don't think it was right how the lioncourts was treated and I'm sure you will tell me "fuck off" because that seems to be the way this account is often handled, which is why I feel like I have to be on anon. Some of these "callouts" are bad takes or naive but does not always mean that person is racist. Have you ever tried talking to someone privately on why something said could be or is problematic before blasting them? Are you open to self-reflection when someone tells you they think something is problematic that you are doing? I think we would get a lot further with each other in this fandom if it was handled that way. Yes. There are some gross, blatantly racist people in this fandom but some of these callouts that prompt and promote harassment just doesn't feel right.

u don't know anything about me or things I've seen here, u think this shit just happened over night. go away, ur clueless to how shit works here.

to be fr for a second tho before I go off more, I do listen to ppl. but most ppl who talk like u are in favor of preserving white fandom values and that's why I don't listen to this, especially when ur framing things incorrectly to begin with about how I think and what I do. u also ignore how much support is here cuz it's easier to make it seem like I'm acting alone and rebelliously. I'm not lol.

also all of u fucking stop with this victim bullshit. if ur not saying "I'm coming with a username cuz I'm not scared" then it's "I'm on anon because I AM scared." just shut up?? can u talk like normal ppl?? what do u think I'm doing here. nobody is doing shit. I'm doing less than the loud fandom has been doing this whole time otherwise and I'm doing shit from the tags only and ur all acting like I'm worse. ur full of it and this is why this is so annoying. u don't know what ur talking about and ur trying to shame the wrong bitch.

u also go hard af for the most random, useless ppl. a lot of this is just a way to manipulate things to make me look like a bully and ur an asshole for it btw. byeeeee. not feeling sorry for poor wittle lioncourts and her hurt wittle feelings about hanging out with white fandom abusers. I was being nice by not publishing all the asks I got about her and look what still happened anyway. look who is *still* being framed as a victim of something. what is this bitch a victim of?! what was she even bringing to the fucking table to begin with??

[aelaer]

“Nobody asked about my writing” meme

Thanks for the tag, @tea-understands :) Thankfully I have a small handful of folks who ask me about such things but I do love these memes.

 1: what are you currently working on? 

The Big Boy Fic! The finale of Earth-197320, which I'm 99% certain I am calling Above the Shadows. And I'll have a fun update on Write Every Day June in a couple days.

2: summarize your current project 

It's the fifth and final fic in a series that I started 4 years ago from an anonymous prompt sent to @amethyst-noir. I really clicked with it and she gave me her blessing to pursue it as a full-fledged fic, and here we are today.

Here's my first stab at a proper summary that I wrote for this questionnaire (tell me what you think y'all??):

2019 starts off in crisis-mode as rifts within the borders of reality begin spiraling out of control, drawing the resources of the Masters of the Mystic Arts thin. Tony now juggles the problems of a suddenly-absent Stephen, keeping his work with the sorcerers a secret, and Pepper's uncertain future. Stephen does what he can to maintain the stability of reality while keeping the promises he made. And somewhere out there, the other Stephen Strange is still hiding, putting his own plans into play.

3: summarize your current project poorly 

An author split up what should have been a single work into five separate stories because she wanted to fulfill Bingo cards in 2019, leading to a series that the readers are probably going to need to reread because there's so much detail in Fic 5 that calls back to stuff that happened in Fics 1-4. Fics 1-3 match the length of Fic 4, and Fic 5 is well over the length of Fics 1-4 combined, making for even poorer fic splitting choices. Whoops.

4: describe your favorite character or characters

I mean. Do I really need to? If you're on my blog you know who my faves are.

I guess quick summary as they are in the series in particular:

Stephen Strange: Has an enormous guilt complex that he's been working through a lot. He got better with the help of new friends. His work has endeared them to him quite a bit.

Wong: Has taken a leadership role, but not the title of Sorcerer Supreme for reasons not yet established to the readers. Carries his own secrets. Excellent poker face, but not emotionless.

Tony Stark: Has been blatantly ignoring the Accords ever since he went against Ross's back to find Steve in Siberia and has been continuing that trend since. Seeing the feds turn their eyes on Peter changed his opinion quite strongly. The Steve Issue is still difficult.

Other Strange: He thinks the Avengers and Masters of the Mystic Arts have failed their duties and that he can protect all of reality by himself. He just needs more power.

5: post a line from your current project without any context 

Closed my eyes and scrolled and went to a random page. This is what came up.

Oh, Jesus Christ. This explained so much about the man.

6: how do you get through writers block?

If it's not something health-related which just makes it physically very hard to work on items, I'll switch projects with my shorter fics. For a long fic like this, I'll put on a sprint and just power through 15 minutes at a time to get the harder bits out.

For health-related stuff (including mental), you sometimes just need to work on that first before you can be in the right space to write.

7: would you want to live in the world of your current work? 

Hell no. Superhero worlds are terrible for normal people.

8: briefly discuss your outlining process, if you outline 

I write an outline with the main beats of what I want in that chapter. Then when I get to the actual chapter, I'll sometimes expand the outline with more detail in that chapter section itself. I often go back to the main outline and add new things as I come up with them, or switch around elements in the story to a new chapter. This is how the planned outline has grown from around 12 normal chapters and 1 interlude chapter to 18 normal chapters and 2 interlude chapters (with potential for more growth seeing as I'm getting into some areas that have original outlining that I no longer am certain I want to use as they were ideas from over 2 years ago and the story's evolved a lot since then).

9: what is the aesthetic of your current project?

So much plot. Rewriting a lot of the end of phase 3 to push my Found Family agenda. Fix it vibes, but I think it's a natural fix it arc from the canon drama that could have happened in canon if the Russos gave a damn. A lot of character exploration into their own separate journeys and growth arcs. Pretty accurate on Marvel tones with action, drama, a bit of snark and humor. An itty bitty dash of canon romance but we all know I'm including it only because it needs to be there due to the plot and character arc reasons and not because I'm all googly-eyed for the genre.

10: what song sums up your current work the best?

Each chapter in the series takes a song lyric from a specific song and I identify that song with the story pretty heavily. For instance, Illuminating the Shadows took "The Light" from Disturbed.

For Above the Shadows, it's "Phoenix" by Fall Out Boy (who I'm seeing live in concert in a couple days, yay).

Tagging those who I know are writing/trying to write: @mckiwi, @sobeautifullyobsessed, @burglarhobbit, @amethyst-noir. No obligation either way. Also if I didn't tag you please feel free to take this (and you can poke me here if you'd like as a reminder that you're still actively writing fic regardless of the fandom and I'll try to remember for these sorts of things).

[softquietsteadylove]

Hi new fan here!!! i made tumblr as soon as i knew that you also write prompts here and i finished reading it all in one sit🤣

I am loving this mob rival bosses prompt, it is so sexy. I liked the plot of the last one you posted, so i have a little idea with me that maybe you could write.

What about them going in some event or party with different dates? Gil with the heiress and Thena with someone idk who, Kro??🤮 This time they're trying to make a way to be together. They came to the party with different dates, but they are leaving having each other as dates.

I'd really like to see them glancing at each other in the midst of the crowd, having a hard time escaping their dates. And can you add some little jealousy and drama, i really find it cute when they're making each other jealous but still reassures that their hearts belongs to one another.

Thank you! please don't stop writing about these two🙏🙏🙏 i am living for them.

He walked in with a scowl on his face and the little heiress on his arm.

It was a private party--a gathering for people 'in the business' to have some fun and make some connections. This year the reinforcement specialists were handling it. The mobsters in Little Italy, the private security sectors, the yakuza, and of course, the group who all-but-owned Koreatown.

Gil looked bored. He felt bored. He half listened as the little heiress chattered next to him, telling him about what strides her family had been making back home in Korea. The subject of him going back kept coming up, only furthering his feeling of being trapped at a family gathering and being set up with someone his family had picked for him.

She entered with Kro, the Prince Eternal's replacement, in a sense.

Kro had been selected by Ajak's right hand to try and rebuild the business they were all lacking since the little prince had gone back to his asteroid. As annoying at the little prick was, he'd had endless wealth to his name, and they all had businesses to run.

Thena looked stunning, as always. She walked down the stairs with him, her hand in his in a display of courtesy. Her dress was white, even longer than usual, with a cape draping over her back. Because looking - let alone touching - the Ice Queen was not free.

"She's pretty."

Gil nodded, only so the little heiress wouldn't feel blatantly ignored. It was one hell of an understatement, though. Thena was a specimen of beauty able to outshine any of the silly little jewels she owned. They were on her fingers, they sat around her neck, they clipped her hair behind her ear and shimmered in all the right spots on her dress.

But they were just decorations. And he'd never been able to see the smaller details when he was looking at a masterpiece.

Thena knew where he was, and made a concentrated effort not to look. It was almost strenuous as she walked by him. The most use Kro had been to her as of yet was blocking the view of Gil and his date on the left side of them as he guided her into the ballroom.

"Are you thirsty?"

Her mouth was dry as a desert and she was in desperate need of some fresh air. "Chilled sparkling."

Kro wasn't great company, but he did listen...somewhat.

She stood out like a white rose among red. Her hair rested on her shoulders, and Gil felt the ever-present desire to pull that lace into his hand from around her shoulders. His memory knew the feeling of winding it around his hands at the ends and using it to pull her closer to him.

Her lips were red, but he missed the cute, pale pink they usually were.

"I'm gonna get a drink," he murmured, interrupting his date in the middle of yet another suggestion they buy out a chain of hotels in Seoul for 'business'.

He didn't ask if she wanted anything. He was going to get a reputation of being a terrible date this way, but he didn't particularly care. He was the Tyrant King, after all. And only one woman in the world could handle him.

Only one had permission, and she was the only one he wanted.

"Ice."

"Tyrant," she greeted, keeping her voice low and still not looking at him. They seemed to be acknowledging each other in passing.

"You look stunning."

"So I've been told," she purred, because she liked seeing him flustered. She liked seeing him jealous.

"Oh, have you?"

"Are you surprised?"

"'Course not," he chuckled, fidgeting with his cuff-links. They were melted down from silver fillings--mementos from some of his career milestones. Distasteful?--maybe. Hilarious?--to him, yes. "But did they mean it?"

"I assume so," Thena raised an eyebrow as he leaned just a little closer.

"Do they really know?" he whispered, looking down at her shoulder under her lace and knowing she had just a hint of perfume clinging to her skin. God, he wanted his lips on that line of her collar bone. "Just how beautiful you are?"

"Gil." She was warning him this early on into the night? Thena glanced up at him, the first instance of it since she'd arrived. "We are here for a reason."

They were here with other people for a reason, she meant. They both had business to conduct, and whatever they were would just have to wait.

Gil had other ideas. "I'm just saying."

Thena used all her practised poise to cover up the shiver in her spine as he brought her hand up to his lips. She glared at him--he was playing too dangerously.

"You look good enough to eat."

An increasingly familiar flush in her cheeks--faint and delicate, but there. It was impossible not to see, when she was as pale as snow. She snatched her hand away from him and drew her lace tighter around her. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

Gil let her go. They were colleagues exchanging pleasantries at a party. He retrieved a scotch for himself. He did not watch the way Kro's hand touched Thena's back. Even with the cape of her dress separating her skin from his, Gil tossed back his drink and asked for another.

"Let's dance!"

Well, he couldn't be a completely cardboard date. He could at least dance with the little heiress.

Thena's eyes watched as Gil led her to the floor, his hand lazily held open for the little heiress'. He wasn't exactly a graced dancer, but he could sway and move his feet to the rhythm of the band playing. He looked around the room. Thena darted her eyes away.

Kro led her to the floor, one hand around hers, the other on her back. This was exactly why she'd had the cape added by her tailor. She was a queen, of course - the one and only Ice Queen - and it was fitting for her to have a cape. And no one had any right to her skin but one.

And he was holding the little heiress.

Thena and Gil traded glares as they spun around each other. They were both playing dirty. The heiress stumbled in her insanely tall heels and landed against his chest. His hand steadied her at her waist. Thena debated killing the girl right here and now.

Gil met her eyes over the little heiress' head and smiled, offering an apologetic shrug.

Thena scoffed, focusing her eyes elsewhere. She didn't know why he was bothering; he didn't owe her any explanations or apologies. They were here to do business, she had said it herself.

"You seem distracted."

Right. Kro. Thena frowned as his hand tightened around hers. She was wearing satin gloves, and even then, she could feel how cold his hands were. She was used to being the cold one; did he have any circulation at all?

"Would you say you're able to relax in a room this dangerous?"

It was a sensible enough reply, and it made it seem as if she were paying attention, and not possessed with following the Tyrant King around the room with her eyes.

"I suppose not," Kro conceded, his breath hitting the top of her head. He was too tall--almost frighteningly tall. Every time she had to look up at him her neck clicked. "But you are here with me, are you not?"

Thena scowled as his hand tightened again. "Watch yourself, Substitute."

"Because you're watching someone else?" he growled back, tightening his grip again, now just holding her wrist in quite an ungentlemanly way. He looked down at her with cold eyes. "I did not accompany you here so I could watch you eye-fuck someone else."

Thena didn't dignify his accusations, or his grip. She halted her steps, meeting his eyes evenly. "You accompanied me here because someone else purchased your company and time. You are no investment of mine."

"And the Ice Queen only makes the best investments, is that it?"

"Precisely," she held her ground, glaring up at him as her hand travelled to the seam of her dress, pulling it up her thigh slowly. "And I do not waste my time on those unworthy of it."

"Stuck up c-"

Thena held her knife at his throat, letting the tip poke into his skin. She made no attempts to be discreet or subtle about it, holding it at arm's length and away from her. "Reconsider your words."

It was no longer advice. It was an order.

Kro held his hands up to her. He knew to value his life. "I apologise, Ice Queen."

She drew the knife back but flicked her wrist. "Out--I'm done with you."

He obeyed, still not up to the task of risking his life just to get in the last word. He nodded, accepting his defeat.

Gil moved quickly, catching his arm before he escaped off the dance floor and into the crowd completely. He looked him in the eye. "Scared of her?"

Kro ran his eyes over the Tyrant King. "No-"

"You should be," Gil corrected him with a snarl. "And whatever part of you she doesn't finish off, I will. So I suggest you stick to business and skip the mingling."

It was way too transparent of him to say. Thena was going to be furious with him. But he didn't care. He wanted to see the look on Kro's face as he came to realise that the Ice Queen was not available.

She would argue that it didn't mean she was his, but he was fine with that. So long as no one else thought she could be theirs either.

Gil let him storm out of the room with the few remains of his dignity. He straightened his own suit jacket, looking around him. The little heiress had run off.

"You have misplaced your date, Tyrant."

"She has her own drivers and security," he shrugged, entirely too nonchalant about his date running out on him.

"What a heartless king, you are," Thena teased as he settled beside her. She let her lace slip off her shoulders to sit around her elbows and billow down to her knees.

"Well, I only have one queen," he whispered close to her, his breath clouding the diamonds cuffing around the ridge of her ear. He held out his hand. "Dance with me?"

Thena looked around as she slipped her hand into his. It was far too intimate to look at him as she slipped off her gloves to do it. "I do seem to be in need of a partner."

[corrodedhawkins]

Congrats, my dude! 300 followers and I'm proudly one of them. Prompts: “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” and “i want to taste you” for the one and only Eddie. Tag me if it comes trueeeee. xo Rhi

That’s so sweet thank you 💕

Warnings: swearing, a little angst, kissing, mentions of smoking, oral (f! receiving) 18+ minors DNI

“Why are you ignoring me?”, you huff as you follow Eddie up the stairs to his trailer. Your best friend had been blatantly dodging you at school, ignoring your calls, and blowing off Hellfire Club. You had gotten so fed up you drove to his place and waited for him to come back from band practice so you could confront him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, he fiddles with his keys before. “I haven’t been ignoring you, I’ve been busy.” He unlocks the door, looking at you when you place a gentle hand on his arm.

“Can I come in so we can talk, please?” He nods and holds open the door, stepping aside so you can walk in.

“What did I do wrong?”, you ask as he shuts the door. You play with the sleeve of your sweatshirt as you pace back and forth. “Please, just tell me so I can fix it.”

Eddie sighs and shifts from one foot to the other, looking anywhere but at you. “You didn’t do anything”, he mumbles. He turns to retreat to his room.

You throw your hands up as you follow him. “Then why are you acting this way? I miss my best friend.”

Eddie snorts, “Yeah, exactly. Your best friend.”

Your brow furrows, “I don’t understand.”

Eddie screws his eyes shut and swipes a hand over his eyes. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified, okay?”, he blurts out.

You stare at him blankly, trying to process his words. He has to be joking, right? There is no way that Eddie has been avoiding you because he’s in love with you. You feel anger bubble up inside of you at the thought of this being a cruel joke he’s playing.

When you don’t immediately respond, Eddie panics. “Just-just forget I said anything. I took one of Garreth’s special brownies during band practice.” Now he’s pacing, “I guess it already kicked in and-”.

“Eddie”, you grab the arm of his jacket as he paces by to still him. The anger you felt moments ago instantly dissipates. “Stop. What are you talking about? You don’t like me like that, that’s why we ended up as just friends.”

Eddie balks, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You huff, embarrassed you have to spell it out for him. “I flirted with you for months when we first met, and you never made a move. I thought you were too nice to reject me, that’s why you never said anything.” You look up to find an utterly confused look on Eddie’s face.

“Wait”, he interjects. “When the fuck were you flirting with me?”

“All the time!”, you exclaim, practically vibrating with frustration.“How about the time we first smoked together and I asked to shotgun all those hits?”

Eddie shakes his head, “You said the heat of the smoke hurt the back of your throat, that wasn’t flirting!”

You swipe a hand over your face and sigh, “Fine. What about that one time when my parents were fighting and I stayed the night. I was in your bed, wearing your shirt, ass practically grinding into you the whole night.”

Eddie sputters, “It’s a small bed, of course you were close! And you said you forgot your pajamas-”

“What about the time I was trying on my Halloween costume, with my tits practically pushed up to my chin, and asked you if it was too revealing.”

Eddie opens his mouth to protest, then stops as it dawns on him, “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” You shrug, “But you didn’t bite, so we just settled into being best friends instead and I buried my feelings for you.”

Eddie sighs, “I’m an idiot.”

You can’t help but snort, “No shit.”

“So”, he says as he slowly walks towards you.

“So”, you reply, meeting him halfway.

Eddie wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close. “Can I?”, he asks as he leans in, stopping just before your lips touch. You close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a chaste kiss.

After a moment, Eddie parts his lips and the kiss grows deeper. His hold on your waist tightens before he moves his hands down to your ass and grips the flesh roughly, pulling you in so your front is flush with his. You pull back from the kiss and laugh breathlessly, cheeks heating, suddenly nervous.

“Oh c’mon, sweetheart,” he teases. “Don’t be shy now. You were in my bed, in nothing but my shirt and your panties, just wishing I’d make a move.”

He brushes your hair off of your shoulder, leaning in to whisper into your ear. “And now”, his breath ghosts over your skin, “I’m finally making my move.” He nips at your neck, tongue swiping over the spot to soothe the sting. You can’t help but moan and buck your hips into his.

“There we go. Just let yourself enjoy, I got you.” He bends to grip the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up to carry you over to the bed. You yelp and throw your arms around his neck, holding on tight.

Eddie places you down on the bed gently before lowering himself over top of you, arms bracketing your head. He leans in to claim your lips again, slow and deep and dirty and utterly perfect. You had spent so many nights alone in your room imagining this, but none of those fantasies could compare to the real thing.

You feel Eddie’s erection grinding into you as you kiss, and you can’t help but spread your legs to wrap them around him, pulling him closer. He groans against your lips and shoves one knee against your clothed core.

“Fuck”, Eddie pulls back to press open mouthed kisses down your throat. “I can feel how wet you are already through your shorts.” He presses his knee more firmly against you as you gasp, arms snaking their way around his neck to use for leverage as you grind down onto him.

“I want to taste you”, he murmurs into your skin. “Can I taste you?” You groan at his request, nodding eagerly.

Eddie hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and panties, dragging them down your legs and onto the carpet. He starts slow, kissing the insides of your thighs until you're squirming for more. He groans when he finally spreads you, seeing how wet you are for him.

“Hey Eddie?”, you ask.

“Hmm?”, he hums, running his fingers through your wetness.

"What we're doing right now. Would you consider this flirting? I know the concept confuses you, so I just want to make sure we're on the same page", you tease.

Eddie barks out a laugh, "Definitely." He leans in to place a sloppy kiss to your clit, making you gasp. "Definitely flirting."

[mammons-best-boi]

Angst prompt 24 I’m leaving And he’s coming with me mammon x mc on the last day of mc in devildom they say to the brothers right in front of them that they will taking mammon with them they will make sure that the brothers won’t ever make mammon suffer again

(okay, so I got a bit over excited to write this and completely missed where you specified Mc's last day in the Devildom, but I think you'll like what I've cooked up for you!!)

Mammon had promised you that the two of you would have a Harison Porter marathon yesterday, so you had waited up for him. It had alarmed you when he hadn't picked up his phone, but then you heard it ringing in the couch and figured that he just lost track of time.

How wrong you were.

It was two in the morning when Mammon stumbled into the house, cradling his arm. You light up and start to head towards him when Lucifer appears in front of Mammon.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?!" Lucifer bellows, most definitely waking up the rest of the house. "You broke curfew! And you didn't even bother to text!"

You sneak to a shadowed corner, trying to stay out of sight of the others who will probably show up at any time.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

Mammon wheezes out something, but it's impossible to understand. The other brothers have piled up at the top of the stairs.

"Unbelievable! You can't even tell me what you were doing! I'm gonna hang you from the chandelier!" Lucifer roughly yanks on Mammon's arm, the one he was cradling.

Mammon shrieks in pain as you see his arm bend like it has a second elbow.

"STOP IT!" You scream, invoking Lucifer's pact. "LET GO OF HIM!" You run over as Mammon falls to his knees, holding his arm back in place.

You plant yourself between the two of them. "Can't you see he's hurt?" Lucifer tries to interrupt, but you plow over him. "His arm is snapped in half! God only knows what happened to him!" You're so emotional that you don't even stop to correct yourself. "I can't believe that you'd blatantly ignore the fact that he was trying to hold that arm just to cause him more pain!"

"That was unintentional." Lucifer raises his voice so you have to hear him.

"What?"

"I did not realize that was what he was doing. I thought he was merely fidgeting like he usually does."

"That doesn't excuse it!" Tears are briming in your eyes, anger having nowhere else to go.

"mc" Mammon squeaks out, taking your attention fully.

You immediately turn around and drop to your knees so you can hear him better. "mc, is fine. 'm kay." His voice is a barely there crackling whisper.

"But it's not okay. You deserve so much more than this, so much better than how he treats you." You slowly rub your thumb through the tear tracks on his cheek.

Lucifer clears his throat and you get an idea. "I'm going to take you somewhere safe, somewhere you can heal. Do you think you can make it to my room, Mammon?"

He nods, and together you two stand. Activating all but Mammon's pact, you order everyone to leave you and Mammon alone, before you make your way slowly to your room.

When you arrive, you quickly dig through your bottom drawer. Letting out a triumphant sound, you retrieve the potion that Solomon helped you make.

"I made it with Solomon in case I was ever in danger again. I know, I know. I'm not in danger with you, but I need to get you somewhere far from here quickly." You ramble to Mammon before you chug the potion.

A searing pain engulfs your thigh as a faint pact forges between you and Barbatos, courtesy of Solomon.

You summon Barbatos, who looks rather disgruntled. "Barbatos! I'll explain later, but you have to take us to the Castle! Or some place safe so we can heal Mammon! Please!"

Caught off guard by everything happening all at once, Barbatos opens a portal to his sleeping quarters in the castle.

You explain as much as you can as Barbatos fixes Mammon's arm as much as he can.

"I can lend you my abode in the human realm until we can discuss this with Lord Diavolo."

"Thank you so much Barbatos!!" You hug him when he finishes wrapping up Mammon's arm.

"First, however, he has to see the royal physician."

[versegm]

Yoo for the director's cut thing, tell me all about EXITS, PURSUED BY A BEAR

BOY DO I HAVE SHIT TO SAY ABOUT THIS FIC

Under the readmore cuz it got really long

First of all, I dunno if anyone has noticed, but it is very intentional that Anne is the only one here with no descriptor. You could read it as being because Anne is fundamentally a stranger to this play, you could read it as the character descriptions being written by Marcy and Marcy being unable to reduce Anne to a few lines, I intentionally kept it vague.

The Core is genuinely surprised when asking "You want to change who you are?" because they're referring to Marcy as a person rather than the DnD character. The Core is someone who is, fundamentally, averse to change- it's a collection of people who got uploaded on the same hard drive because they were afraid to die, or worse, become irrelevant. Marcy stating she wants to try something different, aka to change, aka to grow as a person, is something The Core sincerely cannot understand.

Ok. So. This fic was initially kickstarted by me playing inscription around the same time a friend of mine was watching Amphibia, prompting the idea of "The Core would be like P03 and fucking chain Marcy to a table to force her to play DnD." Followed by "Anne would be like Leshy and play DnD with Marcy as she is literally dying. Her hand crumbles to ashes when she tries to grab the dice, and all she replies is we can just do regular roleplay."

While the idea was largely overwritten, I kept the initial "Marcy chained to the table" thing.

Making sure The Core never used personal pronouns prior to this scene was a fucking pain my guy. I hesitated to keep the "and me," but I thought it'd be better this way.

I am SO proud of this entire scene you have no idea. Marcy realizing who she's talking to, and refusing to aknowledge them as a single individual, because they're not, they're just a bunch of dead guys in a trenchcoat. Marcy realizing that she, too, should be dead, that neither of us should be here. The Core trying to amp up the manipulation. Marcy asking for what she values the most- her friends. The Core once again going for mind games. Marcy disregarding that and instead asking for what The Core took from her- first her life, then her body (through possession) and finally, her death, because if she has nothing else at the very least she should be allowed to die. People die when they are killed. How dare you make her into a puppet for your own use. How dare you make her less than a person.

Friend of mine pointed out that "attempting to tear off/amputate a body part with your own teeth" is a leitmotiv in my works. What can I say. I have a type.

This line is a direct echo to Marcy's earlier line.

And so closes Act One! And starts Act One. These bitches are stuck in a time loop, endlessly rehearsing the same act because Marcy keeps breaking character.

Notice how Marcy does not mistake the Core for Andrias this time. Also how her reaction to the Core bringing up DnD is "huh, weird, how did you know that about me, I don't know you." I wanted to give the impression that despite the Core's best efforts, with each loop Marcy takes less and less time to Realize.

Thankfully this loop is cut short as Anne interrupts the play. The speaking roles are always in the same order, Anne-Marcy-The Core. While Anne and The Core both ignore Marcy, Marcy is very aware of what they're discussing, hence why she goes from "what the FUCK is going on" to "PLEASE don't do this."

And we get to act two! Anne and Marcy have now switched place. Marcy is part of the audience as a mean to escape, though she very much did not want that.

I really like writing the Core because in one hand, yes, they're blatantly manipulating/guilt-tripping people. On the other hand, they're very much speaking the truth, and that's why it hurts so much. I'm pointing out this specific scene, but it was the same earlier with Marcy and the whole "you know your friends will not come for you. They never had. And now they never will, because of what you did."

Anyways! Anne dies. The Core freaks out about it, because, again, the Core was fundamentally created from the fear of death. Someone willingly choosing to die is completely alien to them.

Notice how Anne refers to worlds in plural, while the Core speaks of it in singular. Anne loves both Amphibia and Earth and the people in it. The Core never saw Earth as anything but ressources to begin with.

The Core is right in that Marcy so, so badly wants to save Anne. Hence why Marcy completely bypass them to go to Anne directly.

I just like this bit a lot <3

Something something individuality and fear of death so strong it doomed all of them.

I'm really trying to give the sense that through the whole Act 2, Anne is acting tough and aloof regarding her own fate, but in the end, it's only just acting. She wants to look unaffected to rub the salt on the Core's wound, and so Marcy doesn't get hurt seeing die, but as her fate gets closer and closer her true feelings start seeping through.

Also, that last line was heavily inspired by a real interpretation of Hamlet I went to see a while back. The whole encounter would be too long to fit here but if you're interested I wrote about it over there.

Really proud of this scene too. Anne is right about to die, and all masks are off. She's no longer the proud confident thing that taunted the Core. She's a kid. She's just thirteen. She's a kid and she's about to die, and though she chose this, though she did this to herself- she didn't want this. She didn't want to die. She really, really didn't want to die.

Aka be going insane over the fact that she was crying in her canon death scene.

And at last, the hero dies, because it's the only thing left for her to do.

[dutchdread]

Hi again, I'm the same anon from your last ask. So my next question then is why would you consider it to be a bad story if Cloud ends up with Aerith in the end? You also say Cloud and Tifa supposedly have something going on, but even if they did, Aerith doesn't know that. Neither Cloud nor Tifa tell anyone, or even show that there's anything going on between them throughout the whole story. Did you see that in Remake that Aerith even asks Cloud if Tifa is someone special and he says no?

Thanks for the question. Your question is comprised of two parts, why Cloud ending up with Aerith would be a bad story, and then the secondary part about Aerith not knowing about the history between Tifa and Cloud. I think understanding the later will be helpful to understand the former so I'll start with that. This goes back to what I said in my last reply concerning the difference between thinking someone is a bad person, and thinking they're a bad character. First off, let me just make clear that I don't judge Aerith too much concerning her behavior in the OG, since as you rightly state, she didn't really know that there was anything going on between Tifa and Cloud, she probably knew there was some attraction there, but nothing about the extent or the history. And if in the remake it turns out she's actually blissfully ignorant I'll be more lenient there as well. However, in my opinion the remake heavily implies she does realize there is a thing between Tifa and Cloud. You mentioned Aerith asking if Tifa was Clouds girlfriend, and him replying "no". However, as always, there is context here, for starters, the scene doesn't end there and then. Aerith replies knowingly "but she's someone special". Moreover the scene is also only one scene in a series of relevant scenes concerning Clouds relationship with Tifa, which starts with Jessie asking about who Tifa is too Cloud, this plotpoint then continues through Aeriths flower. When Aerith gives Cloud the flower she mentions that his girlfriend will love it, then later when Aerith asks him who he gave the flower to Cloud says he doesn't remember, and Aerith calls him out on the lie. The question is then answered when Aerith goes to the 7th heaven and discovers Cloud gave it to Tifa, prompting a smile from Aerith. She figured it out, actually, she probably figured it much earlier, but now it was confirmed. She had a hunch about Tifa, just like Jessie, Cloud was defensive at first, then evasive, but ultimately, Aeriths hunch was correct, Cloud gave the flower to Tifa. He can pretend all he wants, Aerith knows. Personally, I think she smiled because it reminds her of the future. Throughout remake Aerith is hinted to know more than she lets on, and that's especially true concerning Tifa and Cloud. When Tifa is kidnapped she pushes Cloud to go after Tifa, calling Tifa Clouds special person. If I recall correctly she even uses the same terminology that she used to describe Elmyras husband. She actively tries to make Tifa jealous by calling Cloud her bodyguard, and then she straight up tells Tifa to follow her heart. She gives me the distinct impression that she knows perfectly well where Cloud and Tifas hearts lie, and is trying to push them into action. This is borderline confirmed during the Aerith resolution where she basically straight up admits to knowing more about Clouds feelings than she actually should, assuming you think that this apparition is at least somewhat related to the current Aerith in some manner. The thing that really clenches this in my opinion is a trace of two pasts, where Tifa straight up tells Aerith about her and Clouds history. If Aerith doesn't get it by then, then she's being willfully ignorant. But lets say she does indeed not know, that would to some degree absolve her as a person. But it would still make her a bad character, because WE, the audience, know. We know that Cloud is supposed to end up with Tifa, we know that's how the story goes. And when you rewrite old stories in such a way that you take things away from one character, just to give more to another character, you run the giant risk of insulting the characters involved. You see this in things like the star wars sequels, where they effectively character assassinated Luke Skywalker in order to artificially make Rey seem better. But there are two reasons why this doesn't work, for one, it tends to create Mary-Sue like characters who just get given everything, and two, it inherently causes the fans of the other characters and stories to resent the character that's taking it away.

People don't like people who are simply handed everything, even fictional ones.

In a sense, this is also why Cleriths so often seem to hate Tifa, because they feel like Tifa took their story away from them. The difference, of course, is that Cloud ending with Tifa is a part of the original game itself, while Aerith coming back to life and ending up with Cloud would be a 25 year retcon which would blatantly disadvantage one character in favor of another, this in turn would reek of favoritism, which in turn would generate bad blood in the player. A character who needs to take away from other characters in order to be put forward is not a good character. Good characters add to the characters around them, not take away, that's what Aerith in the OG does, that's what Aerith ending up with Cloud, would not do. This effect would then be magnified by Aeriths already over importance to the plot. Having the universe revolve around one character generally isn't good writing. One of the things that makes Lord of the rings so timeless and beloved is that Frodo is just a small hobbit in the grand scheme of things. Likewise, one of the key elements that makes FFVII so appealing to human nature is Clouds humanity and lack of importance. The fact that Cloud turns out to not be a soldier 1st class, but just a grunt who wasn't good enough, who still ends up being the one who saves the world, speak to the human spirit. Aerith living and ending up with Cloud wouldn't be just a small difference where the overall story would stay the same with only the love interest switched, no, it would inherently ripple effect into all other aspects of the story. From the smallest details to the overall themes of the story, from directing to the personalities of characters, everything would be effected and all of it would fall apart. I could go over a hundred examples but I'll limit myself to some of the smallest and largest. Stories have a flow, where what is happening follows logically from what came before. It's not that it's impossible to write a story where two characters that are roughly similar to Cloud and Aerith fall in love, get separated by death, and where the Cloud character mourns and pines for her after she's gone. The problem comes when you add in Tifa, Zack, and all the other context and details of the story. Consider Zack, if we take the concept of Zack as it relates to Cloud and Aeriths relationship and boil it down to the essentials we could see it as a story about a girl falling in love with a boy because he's channeling the spirit of her dead ex, the main internal conflict the characters need to overcome could then be the question of whether these feelings are true, or whether they are just the shadow of her feelings for the old boyfriend. On the surface, this premise works as the basis of a story. The problem lies in the execution. If you write such a story there are a few things you can and cannot do. For one, you have to make this love exceptionally obvious, you can't tell a story about whether or not feelings are true if you never even get to establishing the feelings in the first place. One of the key things you need to do for this is establish the two characters central importance to the others internal emotional arcs. The first thing you DON'T do is establish a second female character and have Clouds emotional arc revolve mainly around her. If you want to tell a story where Tifa and Clouds relationship turns out to just be friendship, while Aerith and Cloud turns out to be love, then you show the scenes establishing that. However, whenever Cleriths argue for a story like this they have to assert that Cloud no longer loving Tifa is just something that happened off-screen and is never mentioned. But if this were true, this would be extremely important to show. So again, if this is the story, then this is bad direction, aka, storytelling. Scene choices matter, if your story requires you to assume that the scenes you're shown aren't important, and that the crucial bits have to be imagined to happen of screen, then that's bad writing. And the reason you can't suddenly do it now, 25 years later, is

because of a thing called "set-up". Even if they were to change to story to suddenly direct it as such now, it would constitute a drastic change of direction, which means the larger 2-decade long story we've been told is no longer a single coherent whole. If the story in remake is that Cloud always loved Aerith, then why wasn't the ground work for that lain 25 years ago? If you want to say that the story is about Cloud loving Aerith, and ending up with her eventually, then you can't have Cloud not speak her name for the second half of the original game, and devote that time completely to establishing port-mortem that Cloud wasn't himself while with Aerith, and that his true self has deeply ingrained feelings towards another woman. And not some minor character who exists only as a plot-device, some fake hurdle designed to try to raise some fake tension, but Tifa, a character who is routinely established to be the "heroine" of the game, someone of equal importance to Aerith who cared for Cloud while he was in a coma, whose history with Cloud started his internal character arc, whose history with Cloud resolved his internal character arc, and who lives with Cloud 2 years later.

And the same thing goes for Zack, it was possible to write him as negligible when it was just FFVII, if you ignored the addition of Tifa and JUST focused on the Zack element as a side character. But the addition of Tifa and the existence of Crisis Core cause the narrative to become disjointed when trying to view it as a single story. This is why people so often want you to ignore Crisis Core, because they understand that if a conclusion of a story is that Zacks role isn't that important, then why did your story spend an entire game cementing the importance of Zack? One of the things I hear most from Cleriths is "why couldn't Cloud just get over his childhood crush on Tifa and fall in love with Aerith? It happens in real life" , or some other variation of "why couldn't this happen?" But this shows the problem with how they want the story to go, because stories aren't real life. Anything CAN happen in a story, but not anything should. Stories have a concept called " checkovs gun", if a gun is introduced into a story in the first act, it has to be fired somewhere down the line. If the gun turns out to not have a role in the story, why was it there? But the same thing doesn't apply in real life, in real life, chekovs guns almost never fire, with few exceptions, real life is a bad guide to how to write stories. Stories written like real life, generally suck. If characters in stories behaved like characters in real life, half their lines would be "uhhhhh", and half the scenes would be them sitting on the couch having meaningless unrelated events happen.

The entire flow, pacing, and sequence of events is wrong in a Clerith version of this story. In order to sell the idea that FFVII is a story about Aerith and Cloud getting together you first have to sell the idea that all these plot threats concerning Tifa essentially don't matter. But if they don't matter, then why are they there? What purpose do they serve? What purpose does Tifa serve? Or Zack? In order to "fix" their preferred interpretation, Cleriths need to get around this problem, which causes them to have to re-interpret everything that happens and twist it in order to create the appearance of a coherent story. This requires them to resort to minimizing characters, character assassinating characters, and generally misrepresenting everything that happens. I think there is no bigger indication of why Cloud and Aerith getting together would suck as a story than looking at how the people who propose this version of the story look at Cloud and Tifa as characters. What follows are some excerpts from the dumbest person I've ever debated.

This went on for over 200 replies, this is not a mentally sound interpretation of the story, but this is what you need to believe in order to get the Aerith/Cloud love story to work. You're forced to minimize Tifa and her importance to the story, and you need to demonize Cloud. So basically you have two options here, you either have to say "all this stuff with Tifa and Zack, doesn't matter", all their scenes, all those plot threats, they all aren't a part of the larger story being told and ultimately amount to nothing. Or two, you remove all those scenes or rewrite them to instead focus on Cloud and Aerith. And both those approaches suffer from the same basic problem, they're both effectively going "screw everything, all that matters is Cloud and Aerith". Which brings me back to my earlier point. If your story is pushing everything aside in order to hype up the main character, you're not writing a good ensemble story, you're writing a bad fan-fiction. This is the writing people HATE. Cloud is no longer a sad but likable character with complex motivations and feelings who wasn't as important as he thought he was, no, he's cliche self-insert main character that the world revolves around, who every girl genuinely loves regardless of whether or not it makes sense, even though he's a complete asshole who abandons children and takes advantage of women just because he's "lovesick". No other man could ever compare, a week with him braindamaged and you forget all about the man you pined after for 5 years. Aerith is not compassionate to a man who blames himself for his failings and thinks he'd do more harm than good, she's compassionate to a piece of human filth who refuses to go save children because he doesn't care about them. She's not just a girl with a big destiny and a tragic fate, no, the universe itself resets to make sure she gets laid. Tifa isn't a powerful woman who devotedly supports the man she loves through his darkest hours, instead she's a weak unimportant doormat without self-respect who even in 2 decades could not measure up to a week with Aerith. Zacks connection with Cloud doesn't come with complex implications about Aeriths feelings, Zack never really mattered, his entire story of getting back to her? Doesn't matter, it only exists to show how much Aerith must love Cloud to choose him over Zack. The entire lifestream reveal concerning Cloud? Doesn't matter, nothing matters, it's in the past. The central reveal of the story isn't important because Clouds true self suddenly likes Aerith now.....good writing. etc, etc, etc. Where Aerith was once a part of an ensemble cast, the heroine of the external plot, tasked with saving the world through her powers as an ancient, while Tifa as the equally important heroine of the internal plot saves Clouds through their shared feelings, now everything instead revolves around Aerith, and the other characters only exist in service to her, not as characters in their own right, but only to make sure she and Cloud gets together, like every hated mary-sue in history. The pain of her death? Gone, the impact and nuance of the story? Gone. Literally everything that made FFVII special? Gone. And concerning the small, even the little details would no longer be coherent, Cetras thematically guide people to the promised land, note: "GUIDE", but now Aerith would suddenly be the promised land herself. The through-line of Cetras "returning to the planet"? Gone, if Aerith doesn't die that doesn't link to the story anymore at all. Tifa's bar being the 7th heaven, aka, the final heaven, aka, the promised land where Aerith guides Cloud to? Suddenly a meaningless name. Tifa's last name "lockhart" being a direct hint towards the "tender feelings locked up inside Clouds hart"? Completely trivial, the feelings weren't that important to the story. And I could go on for hours, every aspect of FFVII, from small to large, would be fundamentally poisoned if Cloud ends up with Aerith.

I could rewrite the story to make it work, but that's the point, then you'd be rewriting the story in order to diminish every other character and story in favor of Cloud and Aerith. Which brings us back to it becoming a horrible fan-fiction where no one and nothing matters except Cloud and Aerith. It's ok to write unimportant characters, it's not ok to make your important characters unimportant in retrospect in order to wank off another character. Thanks for asking.

[taags-old-account]

STAGE 1 Of Children Of The Sun AU

Before I start this, I'd like to say that this is totally for fun and I enjoy Tales Of Arcadia immensely (Though the movie is something I will be blatantly ignoring). This is just a take some ideas and things I would change to make it more enjoyable for me personally.

I'm not sure how many stages of this will be. But this is stage one, which is literally counting ep 1 and 2.

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

Our lovely new and improved timeline begins in space. Or to be more precise, on a desolate planet, where General Morando is organizing his troops. He and his lieutenants are looking at a map of Akaridion-5 (I will be shortening it to A-5). Morando makes a vital change to his plan. Allowing them access to A-5 9 months before the attack in the original timeline. (I personally headcanon in a way that Trollhunters started in September, and 3Below started in May).

When Morando does attack, both Aja and Krel are in the same area, to be specific, the announcement of their king and queen in waiting titles. Varvatos is not present, leading there to be some slight suspicion, but not much at the beginning. Zadra does still stay behind, and King Faiklov and Queen Coranda still get blasted, so their cores have to regenerate. (I believe that A-5 wasn’t very well protected during Krel’s coronation in the original timeline, so I think there will be a lot more damage done to Morando’s fleet. Leaving the invasion on Earth till much later).

Krel and Aja land on earth the exact same morning Jim picks up the amulet. Eli manages to see both the spaceship crash land and Bular’s and Kanjigar’s fight. Leading to Eli trying to tell people, catch the attention of Steve, Aja, Krel, Jim, Claire, Toby. (You can tell from the get-go that Eli has a more prominent part of this story.)

Jim and Toby’s mornings go the exact same way that it did in the Original Timeline. I liked how it went and I wouldn’t change that. Same with Aja, Krel, and Varvatos getting their transductions (I think that all three should be latino though, just to make it a bit more realistic). Also Mother is actually up-to-date on human culture, as funny as it was, it will make more sense.

The second major change that really affects this timeline (the first being Morando’s change in plans) is that Archie doesn’t stay in the bookstore (now we don’t honestly know what happened that day with Douxie, but I like to believe that he was at the cafe while Archie napped in the bookstore). But with this I am going to say Archie was bored of sleeping, and decided to go out for a walk. Leading him to discover both Jim with the Trollhunter amulet and Aja and Krel actually being alien. Archie goes to Douxie and obviously tells him about the goings on, and they begin their plan to interfere (somewhat).

First starting with Jim. Douxie and Archie go to Jim’s house, (this is after Blinky and AAAAAARRRGH!!!! appearance), and manage to basically break in and wake Jim up. Slight chaos ensues. But the explanation gets across: Douxie is going to help Jim.

3RD BIG DECISION THAT CHANGES THE TIMELINE: Strickler assigned an assignment he wasn’t planning on doing. In groups of four: Jim, Eli, Steve, and Toby. Jim tries out the amulet the same night under the prompting of the other 3. Leading to a team of sorts is formed. The same night, Douxie goes to Aja and Krel, explaining the situation.

So basically in 2 nights' time, 10/13 of the team is formed (I’m including Varvatos, Blinky, AAAAAARRRGH!!!!, Zadra, Draal, and Claire) I am calling this Stage 1/? (at the moment)

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

So this is stage 1! I hope you like my ideas (and for clarification Douxie did ride his motorcycle to Jim's and to Krel's and Aja's places).

[doubleshotofsomething]

To Hell & Back

Part Three: “I don’t scare you and I guess that’s why”

Summary: You attempts at payback keep getting ruined. Somehow, you keep needing the same idiot you hate.

Prompt: “I don’t want to live on this planet anymore.”

Warnings: Swearing. [Also typos, probably. Which shall be repaired by tomorrow]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

---

Series Masterlist [in case you missed the other ones]

----

"Good morning-" your customer service smile widens just a smidge, "-what can I get ya?"

Bucky narrows his eyes, lips tightening into a thin line as he looks over you. Even with the counter between you and the little fluff in his hand, he still manages to look intimidating.

You're trying your best to not show how much the sight of him, angry and inconvenienced, pleases you. It's a mission, but you keep your professional façade intact.

"I'm going to throw you off the roof." He growls, adjusting his arm as he glares at you. "Then I'm gonna dance on your grave."

"That doesn't sound familiar," you say coyly, tilting your head to the side. "Is that some kind of latte?"

There is a line forming behind him and your co-workers are you giving the both of you side-eyes. Bucky doesn't seem to care, his blue eyes flashing with what you can only hope is anger. You don't care either, you warned him and he didn't listen.

"You took my parking space-" he dumps the white fluff onto the counter between you. "-my fucking parking space."

You shrug. "You made me drink filter coffee."

He glowers. "That justifies your actions?"

"Filter," you emphasize, gently nudging the little fur ball towards him. "Filter fucking coffee, Barnes. Do you know what that shit does to a person?"

You can hear one of your co-workers mumble an "oh, here we go" and you shoot them a glare. Turning back to the mammoth in front of you, you nudge his gift back to him.

"Excuse me-" Bucky turns around, giving you a clear view of the old man behind him. "-some of us have things to do. Can you two hurry the fuck up?"

You both blink at the man, completely unfazed, then turn back to each other. He shoves the cat back to you and it lets out a disgruntled out.

"Take your cat and go home," you gently push it back to him.

"I don't have a cat." He pushes it back.

"Your parking space disagrees." You pick it up and put it in his arms.

He narrows his eyes, holding the cat. "That was just cruel, even for you, doll."

"Not a doll."

"I will be taking your parking space."

"I don't have one-" you grin. "-no car, no space. Also, you can't prove I took your parking space."

His nostrils flare. "Who else would put this-" he gestures to the furball clinging onto him, "-in a box and put it where my bike is supposed to be?!"

You blink at him. Once. Twice. Then frown. "Wait, why do you have a car and a bike?"

"Seriously?"

You nod. "Yeah, I keep forgetting to ask you about that-"

"Sweetheart, I'm going to drop you off in Australia after this-" your heart nearly plummets at the thought and you glare at him. "-and that's your concern, right now? The car and the bike?"

You don't question why or how he knows Australia is on your list of murder sites. You also don't question why the way he just called you sweetheart makes you want things you shouldn't.

You're about to respond, something snarky that will piss him off even more, when the same guy interrupts again.

"Hey!" He rounds and stands next to Bucky, glaring you both down. "Listen, I didn't beat morning traffic for some coffee only to have some gym buff flirt up the cashier."

Bucky's eyebrows shoot up. He tries to blink back the shock, but he can't.

Flirt? With you? He could never disrespect you like that. Not at your job. Never like this.

You have worked with, and for, people like that for the longest of time. So you're not surprised by the tantrum the man throws.

However, you're running low on patience at the moment.

"Sir-"you glare at the man, "-this man, right here, is a war hero. A veteran. The reason half the world is back. You owe your life to him. So if you're gonna be an asshole-"

Bucky cuts in. "Doll, it's oka-"

"Shut your trap, Barnes!" You hiss at him, before turning back to the man. "If you're gonna be an asshole and accuse him of flirting with me, then call him Sergeant - not gym buff. Now, get the fuck out of my shop before I have him throw you out!"

The man sputters, random words flying out of his mouth as he scrambles to form a sentence. Bucky grimaces at the sight and turns back to you.

"That wasn't necessary-"

"He called me a cashier."

He pauses, then nods. You were a barista first, manager second - you worked far too hard on that promotion to be demoted publicly by an asshole - and spiteful third.

You would rather let your neighbour call you Doll, than let a stranger assume your job title.

"Fair point. I'll take a coffee while I wait for you-"

You slit your eyes. "What kind of coffee, Barnes?" You grit the words out.

It's not a question, it's a warning. One he blatantly ignores as he adjusts the kitten in his arm.

He gives you a smile, the most innocent smile you've ever seen on that face of his. And that's saying a lot, you've seen all his smile and none of them are this deceiving.

A pit forms in your stomach at the glint in his eyes. Utter betrayal.

"I swear to god, if you say filter-"

"Decaf." He cuts you off, a sweet smile on his face. "I'll take decaf."

---

You had wiped down the counter three times, before finishing with your queue. Then took over making the drinks, while everyone else worked the registers.

If Bucky wasn't sure that you were making him wait on purpose, the fact that you let everyone else take their breaks first was confirmation enough.

Once you were sure he had been stewing for long enough, you took your fifteen minutes.

With a bottle of water and an empty ice cream cup, you move to the little corner booth in the back. Bucky leans back, eyeing your hands, as you approach.

"That's all you're gonna eat?" Is his question as you sit down.

"Not for me," you pour water into the cup and nudge it towards him. "It's for your new friend. Or roommate. Or whatever it is you called 'em back in the day."

He rolls his eyes, gently picking up the cat from his lap and placing it on the table. He nudges the water closer to cat.

"Now," you fold your arms on the table and rest your chin on them, watching the little thing make it's way to the water. "Tell me more about this fuzzball."

Bucky frowns and shifts slightly in his chair, slowly analysing you. You don't notice, too busy focused on the cat that shouldn't be in the shop.

For a moment, you have this wondrous look in your eye as you watch. It's there for a short moment, then it's gone. He wants it back. In your eyes, where it should always be.

You chance a look at him. "The cat?"

"Why aren't you eating?" He counters. "Isn't it your break?"

"No, it's not for another three hours." You straighten in your seat. "This is just a breather, so use it wisely."

"Okay, then what will you be eating in three hours?"

You sigh, folding your arms and leaning in your seat. "Are you asking me out for lunch, Barnes?"

He bristles. Not because of the question, but the use of his last name. He prefers Bucky, you know he does, but he's gotten so accustomed to you calling him anything other than Bucky that it worries him.

"No," he states.

Not lunch. That's not enough time, it's never enough time.

Dinner. That's a definite. Nights are longer, and you don't have to rush back to work after. It's not enough time either, but it's a gateway to breakfast. So, not lunch. Never lunch.

"Then?" You raise an eyebrow.

He retaliates by raising his. "Will you be eating lunch or working through it?"

You stare at him, eyes flicking between both blues. He stares back, something you've noticed he's good at. And knowing that stirs something inside you, something you wish you could drown.

"Yes, Barnes-" you sigh. "-I will be eating lunch."

"Good."

"I always figured Blondilocks was the mom friend of your death squad. Guess I was wrong."

Blondilocks is a nickname you reserved for Steve. It used to piss him off, but now he realises how fitting it is.

He chooses to ignore your remark. "Now, let's talk about the parking space and the cat."

"I'm innocent."

"No, you're not." He glares. "You threatened to take my parking space and now you took it."

"I plead the fifth."

"And you involved a cat. What am I supposed to do with a cat?"

"I want a lawy–" you pause, his words seeming to echo in your head. You sit up and place your hands on the table. "–wait a minute. What did I do with what cat?"

Bucky points at the kitten laying on the table. You're not seated by a window, but the rays of sunlight still reach your table – much to the furball's delight.

"The cat in my parking space." He says it like you're supposed to know what he's talking about.

Which is both amusing and upsetting, because you don't.

You blink at him. "I didn't put a cat in your parking space."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't. I put something else in the parking space–" you claim, your mind flashing with the images of plates of tampon-stuffed jelly that you placed on his parking space. "–but not a living creature. I'd never abandon a living, breathing thing in a basement parking lot for payback. I'm pretty sure that's illegal."

It's Bucky's turn to be confused. The only reason he was there, at your work, was because he tried to park his car – only to find a large box in the middle of his parking spot. Inside the box, was a small pillow and bowl of milk, next to what looked like a small, white fluffy tennis ball.

He thought it was you. It made sense. The thing inconvenienced him, like something you would make sure to do. And it was added responsibility that you knew he never wanted. So, of course he thought it was you. It had to be.

"Wait, so all you found was a cat?" You frown, clearly annoyed at that little fact.

Bucky nods slowly, confused that it wasn't you. Who else could it be, if not you?

You huff. "So... You didn't get my surprise gift to you? At all?"

"There was a cat," he explains again. "In a box. That's it."

"Now that's just fucking disrespectful!" You're beyond pissed now. "I spent the entire night on those dishes."

"No need to be dramati–"

"Barnes–" you flash your eyes at him, picking up the table's salt shaker and pointing it at him. "I will use this."

His eyes narrow. "I'm not a demon–"

"I," your eyes narrow further, "will use this."

---

There's banging on your door. Loud and insistent. You don't need to ask, to know who it is.

You're also very, very aware of the fact that your mother somehow got a copy of your keys. You called her out on it, one Saturday Session, gross invasion of privacy was the term you used.

Somehow, those words twisted into something far more sinister and you left your childhood home feeling worse than you did when you walked in.

You hated those five years. Watching your mother mourn both your sister and father did things to you, things no one should ever have to go through. But watching your sister's husband –  a man you used to respect – turn into everything you hate, that had to have been the worst of it all.

You hated those five years, you hated the Avengers for not winning too. But now, with everyone back, you wish they'd lost again.

"Psst," you're on your balcony, hoping your neighbour's super serum gave him superhearing. "Barnes."

You slipped out the glass door the moment you heard a key being slipped into your front door locks. You guess your mother is either with your sister, or she gave her a copy of your keys. You made sure to close it on your way out, and hid out of sight.

"Barnes," you whisper again, "Barnes, open up. I will freeze to death out here."

A soft click sounds, followed by your neighbour's glass door opening a fraction. He sticks his head out, a frown on his face as he eyes you.

"Wha–" he inspects your attire, the only light coming from a street pole a few blocks away. "–why aren't you wearing pants?"

You stick your hand out, wiggling your fingers at him. "I will cat sit for you, if you can hide me."

The barrier, a makeshift fence, between your balconies reaches his waist in height. But you have no upper body strength so pulling yourself over it will lead to a disaster, and the amount of noise that will expose your hiding place.

Sighing, he steps out onto the balcony and gently shuts the door behind him.  It takes you moment to realise he's shirtless, and in sweatpants, then another to realise you've never seen him shirtless and in sweatpants.

You're staring. Gawking. And it's shameful, but you can't seem to pull yourself together.

It's unsettling for him, the way you're looking at him. He clears his throat but you don't seem to hear it, too far in your own mind apparently.

Your hand, the one you'd held out for him, slowly lowers to the railing and you blink. The cold air nips at your skin and you have to force yourself to look up at his eyes.

Big mistake. You think as your breath hitches, he looks like he wants to throw you off the roof, but your heart flutters a bit at the sight of his little pout.

The corner of your lips twitch. "Sorry, I didn't mean to," you begin, "you just... You do look like a gym buff in those pants."

He glares. "You gonna stare all night or what?"

You wish you could find that little part of you that wants to say yes, just so you could throw her off that balcony.

This time, you lift both your arms up and pout. "Or what."

Gentle hands grip your waist, warm and cold, and hoist you over the railing. Bucky gently sets you down, your mismatched socks barely warming your feet against the cold metal.

"This is the weirdest booty call I've ever had," you muse, trying to keep your mind off of his hands on you.

He scoffs, taking a step back. "Pretty sure that's my line, Doll–"

"–not a Doll."

"–and  I'm pretty sure this is more of a home invasion, than a booty call."

"You would know."

Sighing, he squeezed passed you to open the door. "Ladies first."

You curtsey and practically leap inside when you catch a glimpse of your glass door opening. A sharp pain slices through your arm as you land on your side.

Bucky is about to rush in, to ask if you're alright, to see if you've actually lost the remainder of your mind. Because you must have.

"Oh."

He shivers, in the worst way, at the sound of your sister's voice and is forced to abandon all thoughts of checking on you. Schooling his face takes priority now.

He turns around, grimacing slightly at her shocked expression. "Hey."

"Uh-uh–" she stammers, eyes that match yours scanning every inch of him as she does. "–uh-uh-"

Nodding, he sighs. "Yeah, sorry–" she's not the first to react like this. He's just glad that your staring didn't result in that. "–I came out for some fresh air. I should've known someone would think to do the same."

Your sister's gaping only seizes when her husband's voice echoes from your apartment. Of course she'd bring her husband.

"Oh," the asshole repeats, stepping out onto the balcony. "Hey, man. What's up?"

Bucky shrugs, forcing a smile. "I didn't know you guys were over. Woulda stopped by and said hi, if I knew."

"Oh," your sister lets a nervous laugh, waving the thought away. "No, no. We were just in the area and wanted to stop by. Ya know, check on her."

Bullshit.

They came because of the poisoned muffins.

Bucky doesn't need to force the smile anymore. "Oh, that's great. How is she?"

This is probably the first time they've managed to leave their place. Or else they would have been there earlier in the week.

The asshole shrugs. "I hope we didn't make dinner uncomfortable for you on Saturday," he adds instead. "We really enjoyed your company."

"Hmm." Bucky nods, still smiling. Near grinning now. By the third twitch of lips, he knows he has to get back inside before it's too late. "Well, goodnight."

He thought the torture was when he had to walk back, slowly, into his own place without breaking down. Then closing the door at a slow pace, as not to give anything away.

But as soon as he turned around, as soon as he saw you sitting on the floor, on his impromptu bed. Legs criss-cross, kitten by your feet, and cup of coffee in your hands. Everything changed.

"Helped myself to some coffee," you whisper, cradling the cup closer to your lips.

Torture would be the following night, and the nights after that. Where he would walk into his apartment, and not find you there – like this.

"Fuck."

----

TAGS :D : @sunflowerxbarnes , @ginger-swag-rapunzel , @arctic-duchess , @sltwins , @thewayilookatbacon , @buckyisperfect , @paryl

[jellyfishinc]

Day 5

S1E5 Bun Control

I know all of you have probably been waiting for this one, so I won't make you wait another second.

Since we all know there's going to be a big moment in this one, I wanna show you just how well that moment is set up from the get-go.

The Warners have finally finished their fruit sculpture of Giuseppe Arcimboldo, after working on it for 3 months.

Ain't it a beaut?

And to make it even better, we get a SONG about it? Sign me up!

Only before Yakko can belt out the first verse, there's a knock on the door.

Who would be stupid enough to interrupt Yakko's newest hit song, you ask? The CEO? Pinky and the Brain?

Nope. It's just a new neighbor, who calls himself Dwayne Lapistol, and he's there to show off his buns.

Which is all the prompting Yakko needs to do THIS.

Only known the guy for less than a minute, and the second he hears him say buns, he's like, "Nope. I'm not letting this guy near us. Buh-bye!"

But Dwayne is relentless, explaining that the buns in question are little bunny rabbits, and that in his opinion it's everyone's God given right to have one.

Of course Wakko and Dot are all over it, and we get THIS.

Two things become abundantly clear from this gif alone.

First, Yakko is the one calling the shots, so of course he's the one they ask for permission to keep the buns.

The second one is the look on Yakko's face as they do so.

That right there is the look of a parent who's authority has been shot to hell because someone gave their kids the thing they already said no to.

He already made his disgust for the guy loud and clear, and now Dwayne's blatantly ignoring him and coming at him through his younger siblings.

And if that wasn't bad enough, Dwayne makes his little sales pitch.

Do me a favor, and watch Yakko's reaction.

First he flinches at seeing his siblings grabbed like that, and even as Wakko steps away, he gets even more pissed at how the sales pitch is still directed at Dot, with his nasty hands all over her, before ultimately walking away.

His body language could not be screaming, "Get the hell away from us!" any louder if he tried.

Back inside, Wakko and Dot are head over heels in love with their pets, and we see THIS from Yakko.

Even if the two of them are happy, Yakko's not about to let his guard down.

Next morning, the bun infestation has gotten worse, to where they've even eaten their fruit sculpture.

And finally, finally, Yakko remembers who's in charge here, and puts his foot down.

They go to Dwayne in hopes he'll take them back, but he instead gives them the run-around and points them to the CEO.

Naturally, the CEO is zero help as well, saying she's not going to tell anyone what they can't have.

And THEN, if that wasn't bad enough, the problems gotten so bad to where they've flooded the water tower, and that's all the convincing they need to go to war. How do they do it? By becoming anime characters!

I've heard so many people gush over how well drawn these guys are, but nowhere near enough people who know the reason why. And because I'm that nice of a girl, I will:

Warner Brothers also produces anime under their name. To name a few, Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, Food Wars and Dammachi. So for those who say they knew what they were doing, you're absolutely right!

Wakko goes first, making a force field of food to protect himself, but of course the bun shoots right through it, and with Wakko on the ground, we finally see THIS.

Seen it a hundred times already, you say? Want something more, you say?

How about THIS?

Or THIS?

Most of us already know this is one big metaphor for gun control, so I just want to put this into context for you.

We all know by now Yakko does not get physically violent if he can help it. He's always been one to use his words first before he ever lays a finger on anyone.

AND, if you were to think about this in literal terms, you'd realize Yakko's not just reacting to Wakko being hurt. He gets hurt all the time and Yakko's pretty much never reacted this badly.

No, Yakko's famous reaction was because he realized Wakko had been SHOT.

So if you're dumb enough to push him to his limits like this, then all I can say is smile for the camera, because anyone that stupid deserves everything that's coming to them.