#especially without any other reason besides sending hate

[nucrests]

I had a few people ask me to turn my anons back on because there’s people who want to send me positive asks and send me love! Trust me, I really do appreciate that and I love that!! But it’s so hard for me to be comfortable with that considering the amount of disrespect I’ve been getting lately 🙁

[ma1dita]

BABEEE happy birthday!! (i'm so terribly late i'm so sorry) congrats on 23💖

🐥 so i'm having thoughts right now about luke x reader and physical affection. like maybe one of them being touch starved and always craving the other person's touch and the other person noticing it and doing it more? maybe from platonic (i will go down with best friends to lovers) to romantic, i'm just on this brainrot tonight

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

luke castellan x reader

a/n: back from the klerb but here with a classic 4am post 🥂 but the hangxiety wont let me rest until this is out! ill edit this in the morning... or not 😗

wc: 1.1k

—

It’s hard to miss what you’ve never had.

Luke Castellan was never a touchy guy. Sure, he’ll hold a new camper’s hand during welcome tours (especially the little ones who can barely keep up with his long legs; if they’re lucky they get a piggy back ride), and he won’t shy away from a clap on the back when his strategies for capture the flag bring his team to victory (they always do, mind you), and when he feels like it, he’ll even shove Annabeth playfully to show her he adores her (but she packs a punch now that she’s older).

It never really goes past that, and he’s never had to think too hard about it—physical touch.

He’s the one who takes care of others—a part of his nature like it is for Hermes’ cabin to take in unclaimed demigods. But something changed in the months that he’s gotten closer to you. At first, he’d bite his tongue at the way you’re so open to patting his cheek when he does something funny (which he doesn’t try to make a show of, but now…), how you choose to sit so close to him during bonfires that your knees touch (the Apollo kids could be singing about the heavens falling down on them for all he cares but he zeroes in on every word that leaves your lips), and the way you’d lock your fingers with him for a pinky promise after every little thing ‘to make sure it’s real’ (Luke didn’t understand the merit of a pinky promise over whether you could have his dessert for the next week if you took over arts and crafts with the kiddie campers for him; truthfully he’d give it to you anyway). It was unusual for him to have someone comfort him, to show care without a true reason. But he didn’t realize how much more it bothered him now that you wouldn’t even look him in the eye.

Silena and some of the other Aphrodite children had asked you the very defining question of, “Do you like Luke Castellan?” and having never thought of it that way, or being able to put your feelings for him in words instead of fingers in his belt loops or in the muss of his curls—that shit was terrifying!

You spent all Saturday afternoon at the docks with them belly down under the glare of the sun’s rays as they explained to you what the five love languages are. By the end of it, sunburn wasn’t the only reason you felt hot.

“Your love language is physical touch,” one of Silena’s older half-siblings—Connelly, says like he’s explaining that the sky is blue, “And Luke’s not that type of guy! Think he’s more acts of service…”

“Ooh, or words of affirmation….” another one of them muses, but the sound of your heartbeat tunes it all out. Well shit, have you been sending him the wrong signals? Or are there even any signals you want to send him? 

Nevertheless, in the matters of love or even the tiniest whisper of it—maybe there’s no one else you can trust with this stuff besides Cabin 10.

Wrong.

Absolutely wrong. Whatever the hell you’ve been convinced or whatever’s changed since last weekend—Luke just knows he hates it, and he’s angry. He’s angry at how you gasp in surprise every time you brush shoulders during archery practice when you used to let him fix your form, he’s angry at how you’ll squeeze campers’ shoulders to tell them they’re doing a good job carrying the strawberry crates—and all he gets is a mumbled ‘Thanks, Castellan’ when he stacks them up and takes your load.

Luke’s so terribly angry that Travis told him he’s been walking around like a big strawberry, face red and irritated—but not at you. 

He realizes he’s also angry at the fact that he can’t protect you from the onslaught of a rain cloud—or maybe it was the fact that you’re so okay with the rain touching your skin and seeping through your orange shirt like he wishes you’d let him. He’s angry at the way the wind blows your hair into your face and your fingers brush the strands away like he wishes he can. Most of all, Luke Castellan is angry that he didn’t know how good a simple touch could be until he lost it—before he even really got to appreciate yours.

You’re sitting on the opposite end of the row in the amphitheater laughing with your friends and the furrow in his thick brow is a tell-tale sign of his discomfort. Luke doesn’t dare to remember what it’s like before you to be honest—he’d rather give up Elysium instead of having you ignore him like this. He calls your name, a tinge of both anger and desperation until you look over at him, eyelashes kissing your cheeks. The hold you have on him transcends the physical touch of your fingers but he wants, no—needs you next to him.

“C’mere! Why are you so far away?”

Luke hopes it doesn’t sound pathetic, but a crooked grin splits across his face as soon as you make your way over, sitting down and crossing your legs away from him. It’s still too far, even if he can feel your breath on his shoulder.

“Did I do something to make you angry? I…” The words escape his mouth in a jumble—quick wit from his father escaping him, though he knows not to rely on that asshole, god or not. You mutter words that almost escape him too, and he leans in, chasing your hands and putting them in his own until they’re gentle and soft in his lap.

“No, no…. I just… don’t want to push your boundaries. I know you don’t like it when I’m too touchy,” and he thinks his heart clenches a little like how you’re squeezing his hands. Luke shouldn’t feel instant gratification from a subconscious action. He wants to know you mean it with him—that’s what he can’t put into words.

“I….like it when you do.”

You notice the way his fingers tangle tighter with yours, pinkys interlocking with yours. When he lets go, Luke wraps his arm around your shoulders until you’re able to laugh in the crook of his neck. He chooses to place a kiss on the corner of your mouth when your head sways to face him at the silly tune about centaurs and then you realize that Luke loves the way you love him. You wonder if he accidentally missed meeting your lips, but then the noise in your head quiets down when he pulls you closer, lips locking tenderly, intentionally—as they were always meant to.

You both hear a giggle that sounds a lot like tinkling bells belonging to children of Aphrodite. 

For once they were wrong about love. 

Luke’s tongue parts through your lips and meets your own like they’re in a long awaited embrace, dancing and devouring you from the inside out but this, you— are what he can rely on. This, your touch, and how he chooses to let it consume him, never letting go.

[finalgirllx]

thought you hated me | mattheo riddle entry 1 of a little anthology series i am starting with mattheo. as a way to practice writing without committing to a long series, i'll be writing a few blurbs for him based on the 'enemies to lovers' trope. 1.1k words | nsfw | minors dni | f!reader this is also a thank you for 2000 followers, like holy cow. that's insane. thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has supported my nonsense.

"Hey, hey! Watch it! The recipe calls for a scoop of rose petals, not the entire bloody jar," you scold the curly-haired prick. He abided by your warning, much to your surprise, but not without tilting the jar above the cauldron a few extra times just to savor your irritation. You can't help but wonder what past mistakes led you to be doomed by fate to be partnered with Mattheo Riddle for potions class.

The whole school was aware of your mutual hatred, and neither of you made any effort to conceal it. It had been this way for so long that you couldn't even pinpoint why you hated him. Well, besides his utterly insufferable personality and a pisspoor attitude that not even his stellar good looks could redeem.

"He's an arrogant prick." "What a wretched tart." "A hotheaded muppet." "An absolute menace to civil society."

These were just a few recent jabs exchanged between you, either spoken directly or whispered through the grapevine. As long as everyone knows how much you despise each other, it suffices.

After your taunt over the rose petals, Mattheo's gaze bore into you beneath impossibly full eyelashes before he released a huff of pure disdain at your rigidity.

"You can piss off with that attitude. I say the one of us who didn't cause an explosion in class last week gets the bigger say over our potion-making," Mattheo countered, to which you promptly stood at attention and turned to face him, hands planted firmly on your hips.

"If that's the qualification, then I've had the upper hand practically every week this entire term! I cause one explosion, and you think you're all that," you argued back, to which Mattheo responded with a tired eye roll before he fixed his spiteful gaze fully on you.

"Well, I do have the right. Especially when you caused the explosion by staring at Cormac fucking McLaggen while biting your lip like an idiot," he grumbled, his voice lowered but the intensity still sending a shiver down your spine. You knew the implications of his words and that the facade could crumble under the man's temper in moments if you didn't tread forward lightly.

"Yeah, well, I don't see why you'd care, but I'll keep my eyes off of him," you begrudgingly relented with a shrug. You would have given him an earful with just about any other provocation, but what he could risk revealing over this wasn't worth continuing to bicker over.

"Good girl," Mattheo purrs the next time he leans closer to grab an ingredient, quiet enough so only you could hear, causing the heat rising between you to stay put. "Guess I'll need to find another reason to cave the bloke's face in," he adds, much to your dismay. You wanted to say something then, but the professor's perfectly timed interjection to order you both to focus on your work momentarily set the matter aside. -----------------

"Are you really going to make an arse of yourself and beat up Cormac if he and I so much as exchange a glance?" You questioned Mattheo incredulously as he hastily pulled you into a nearby empty broom closet with little resistance from yourself. The door had barely clicked shut before he tore off his robe and moved on to remove yours.

"You want to fucking try something? See how that works out for you, I'll make your ass red for weeks," Mattheo growled into your ear as his hands roamed your still-clothed torso, finding purchase on your breasts as he began to knead them, growing desperate for skin-to-skin contact. Your insolence had gotten him painfully turned on, urging him to handle your attitude with touches he knew would render you pliant. The whimpers his groping solicited from you had become the answer to his prayers.

This little arrangement had become second nature to you by now. You give Mattheo lip, which gets him riled up, so you both seek a release for your pent-up frustrations by way of you taking his dick. Each time, without fail, you two agree that this would be the last time. But having 'hated' each other for so long, you know just how to test the other's patience, him becoming as weak to your taunts as you are to his touch.

"Care so much about who I'm looking at, huh?" you mocked Mattheo as he attempted to undo the buttons on your top, his thought capacity overridden by lust. "I thought you hated me," you continued to bait him with a hint of amusement to mask the genuine curiosity for what he might say. A gasp escaped you when Mattheo removed one hand from your chest to take your chin in between two fingers, lifting your head to meet his eyes that were already ruining you in his mind. He pressed his body against yours, letting you feel his hardness through his trousers.

"You know I fucking hate you," Mattheo replied through gritted teeth, his ferocity laced with arousal. "Doesn't mean anyone gets a glimpse of what's mine."

Your lips pulled into a smirk contentedly in response, not the least bit intimidated by him. In fact, you were pretty proud to have evoked such a reaction out of him. Sure, maybe you felt afraid for Cormac, but after witnessing Mattheo Riddle get on his knees to beg for your pussy, it had become difficult to take his threats seriously. The man was down bad, and you relished in the way you could reduce him to a needy mess, though he probably felt similar when you turned into a babbling slut every time he made you cum on his cock. If anything, the rage made you just as greedy for him as he was for you.

You took the lead in removing the rest of your top, freeing Mattheo so he could bury his face in your neck, latching on and sucking the skin to leave noticeable, possessive marks. He proceeded to cover you with hot kisses that trailed further down your chest, with each unclasped button giving him more space to work with until your top was fully removed and strewn on the floor with abandon. He sunk to his knees before you, letting you ensnare one hand in his hair to brace yourself as he took the peak of one of your breasts in his mouth, which brought a moan from your lips. Forgetting the animosity and allowing pleasure to take over, you've all but given up on believing that this time would be the last.

[azrielsdove]

Love and Loss: Ch.7

Warnings: Mention of Injury, Some Smut, 18+

Ch.6 Here | Ch.8 Here

***

You were not happy about being dragged to the Illyrian war-camp with everyone else. Azriel had demanded it, refusing to go anywhere without you since that night after the Hewn City. He acted as if he let you out of his sight you would disappear from him forever. Nothing more had happened since then, besides his need to be more protective than normal. Even at night you would feel the cool brush of his shadows running over your arms, checking in to make sure all was well.

You didn’t mind any of that, but bringing you out here when you had no reason to come? You were annoyed with him and he could certainly tell. You hadn’t said a single word to him since he had dropped you in this cabin. Not that you particularly wanted to stay at the House of Wind when all the Illyrians were gone, but that was beside the point. You didn’t appreciate him making you come, especially when it meant more time around Rhysand.

Luckily for you, he and Feyre had been gone for a few days. You sat on the plush chair with your feet tucked up under you, a book in your hands as usual. You were pointedly ignoring the shadows twirling through your fingers as you read, even more so ignoring their master in the corner of the room. You could tell he was growing agitated with you, not quite understanding why you were so upset.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” He asked, voice low. You didn’t look up from your book or respond to his question. “I know you’re mad I brought you here, but I don’t like the idea of you being alone up there. What if you needed one of us?”

You turned the page in your book.

A shadow swirled up your neck and hooked around your chin, forcing your gaze up to the Shadowsinger. He had stalked closer to you, standing in front of you now. “I don’t like being ignored,” he murmured, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips. You shoved down the heat that was creeping up through you, reminding yourself that you’re supposed to be angry.

“I don’t enjoy being forced to come wherever you go like i’m your little toy,” you shot back. He leaned down closer, hands coming to rest on the arms of the chair below you. His shadow remained on your chin while the others ran over your arms and legs.

“You’d rather I left you unprotected, stuck miles up in the sky?” His eyes were hard, his breath fanning over your cheeks. You glared right back at him.

“It would have been preferable to being stuck here.” Your disdain for the violent Illyrian camps was not something you hid. You remembered the stories Rhysand had told you of their youth, and how hard he had worked to try to change things. How slow that change was coming.

Azriel leaned down even more, lips close enough to brush yours as he spoke. “Mmm, but then you wouldn’t have me around.” His voice was teasing, a light in his eye. You hated how easily he could bring your brain to mush, turn a bad mood into a good one.

You were seconds away from closing the minuscule gap between the two of you and press your lips to his. A loud bang outside accompanied by yelling tore you from the moment, Azriel running to the door as you stood behind him.

You heard the faint voices of Mor and Feyre, and then Cassian was dragging in a near-dead Rhysand. You despised the way your heart stopped at how he looked, the decades of your love for him making his pain your pain. Azriel helped Cassian pull him onto the couch as you hurried to the kitchen, grabbing any healing supplies you could find.

You ran back to the injured male on the couch, kneeling down next to him as you assessed what had happened. Azriel and Cassian shifted behind you, upset at the state of their brother and unsure what to do. “Go,” you told them, “stand outside. Watch for anyone coming. I can handle him.” The pair nodded at your command, following each other out the door. You knew their anxieties would only make this harder, and sending them outside to pretend to do a task would make everyone’s lives easier.

You undid Rhysands shirt, pulling the blood-soaked fabric off of him. He groaned at your touch, eyes rolling back into his head. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, focusing on the injuries in front of you. You took out a warm washcloth and began dabbing the blood away, trying to find where each wound began and end. You had trained in some healing techniques long ago, a useful tool when you married an Illyrian.

You had been in similar situations, cleaning blood and stitching up your husbands wounds. This time was drastically different, and not just due to the fact you weren’t really together anymore. He was quiet. In the past even his worst injuries he had joked through, lightening the mood as you worked on him. Now, he had nothing to say. He wouldn’t even open his eyes or acknowledge what you were doing. It was like something had been sucked out of him, something had destroyed him.

You finished stitching what you could before moving to his wings. “Rhys,” you said, “I am going to have to touch your wings to help you. Is that okay?” You knew he didn’t deserve this kind of respect from you, not after what he had done. You didn’t need to ask his permission to touch the soft leather you knew all too well. Yet something told you that this moment was not the one to start acting on your hurt and anger.

“Yes.” His voice was hoarse, hollow. His eyes stayed closed as you washed his wings with the rag, tears pricking your eyes at the deep slashes through them. You knew how much an Illyrians wings meant to them, how devastating it would be for them to be taken away. You were gentle with them, heart heavy as moans of pain came from Rhysand. You took your time making the stitches as even as possible, spreading a healing balm over them when you were finished. The last thing you did was pull out a roll of bandages, going back over all the wounds you had stitched up. With his fae healing he should be fine in a matter of days, but until then he would be forced to rest.

You had just finished placing the last bandage when his hand shot out for your arm. You startled at his touch, looking up into his now-open eyes. He was staring down at where his hand rested on your elbow, pressing your forearms together. You looked down as well, taking in the sight of your matching marital tattoos. “What I have done is unforgivable,” he murmured, hand tightening on your arm. You were inclined to agree, and you probably would have torn your arm out of his grasp and left in any other situation. The male in front of you now bore no resemblance to the cruel Rhysand of the past few months.

“Perhaps not unforgivable,” you gave, trying to ease his pain in any way. Your gaze caught his, taken aback by the tears lingering in his eyes.

“Do not lie to me to try to preserve my feelings.” His voice was thick, on the verge of tears. “I have treated you in terrible ways. I have said and done truly awful things to you.” He looked down at his chest, at the bandages cleanly placed there. “And yet here you are, tending to me as wonderfully as ever. I never deserved you.”

You sighed. “No, you didn’t.” His head shot back up to you as you pulled your arm from him, cleaning the healing supplies up. “However, that does not change what was done. What we had, once upon a time. Can you truly tell me it was all a lie?” There it was. The question that had been haunting you for months.

He took his time to respond, the silence taking over the room. You carried the remaining bandages and healing balm into the kitchen, putting them away while your question hung heavy in the air. Minutes passed while you cleaned, broken only by the sound of Rhysand’s struggling breaths.

“She’s going to reject the bond,” he finally said, avoiding the question. Your movements stilled, not quite expecting that. “She did enough to keep me alive before dropping me here and disappearing.” Truth be told, you couldn’t blame her. You washed your hands, drying them slowly on a towel.

“So she knows?” You asked, understanding that he must have told her. You walked back to the couch, looking down at him. He nodded, avoiding your gaze.

“She trapped a Suriel, to try to find a way to heal me. It told her. She’s angry that I would hide it.” You gave a humorless laugh, kneeling back down next to him.

“For the most powerful High Lord of all time, you certainly are also the dumbest.” Your blunt words shocked him, making him look back at you.

“W-what?” He sputtered out, not used to you talking to him like that.

“Rhys, please. She is your mate, is she not? You have already devoted yourself completely to her, something she had to have noticed months ago.” You sighed, pulling his hand into yours. “She will come around. Give her time.”

He held on tight to you, the ends of your tattoo lining up perfectly when your hands were connected. That was how it was made to me, to show the unbroken love between the two of you. The love that was now shattered into a million minuscule pieces.

“Remove this bond, Rhysand. It does you no good being tied to me like this.” You knew he still may not agree, that you didn’t not know his true motives behind keeping you around. However, you weren’t sure if there would ever be another chance to ask. When he was vulnerable enough to be kind.

You were pleasantly surprised when he nodded, thumb stroking over your hand one last time before he let go. “Okay,” he agreed, voice weak. “I’ll summon a priestess.” You nodded, standing from your spot next to him.

“Rest now, Rhys.”

***

You found Azriel and Cassian outside, sparring to relieve the tension. They stopped when they saw you, rushing over to ask how Rhysand was. You raised your hands, silencing them before they could even speak. “He will be fine,” you assured. “Feyre found out about the mating bond.”

“Feyre did that?!” Cassian asked in disbelief, eyes wide. You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped at his shock, shaking your head.

“No, no, she found out while trying to heal him. Where is she?” You looked around the two males in front of you, catching no sight of her.

“She asked Mor to take her somewhere far away. Where Rhys wouldn’t bother her,” Azriel explained. You can’t help but wish you had thought of doing that.

“I see. He is resting now, but you may come back in.” You opened the door for the two, Mor winnowing back at the same moment. She pushed past you to get to Rhysand, demanding to know what happened. You don’t try to stop her. While you could feel bad for his current state, you couldn’t deny you enjoyed seeing him get a little taste of his own medicine.

You grabbed the book you had discarded and headed upstairs, mind heavy with the thoughts of your conversation with Rhysand. You were concerned he was only being nice due to the possibility of Feyre rejecting the bond, and where that would leave him. A beat of fear ran through you at the thought of Feyre rejecting him, and he decided to turn back to you. You shook your head as you pushed open the door to the room you were staying in, banishing that idea from your mind. You would never let that happen.

***

You had fallen asleep while reading, waking up with a sore neck and a rumbling stomach. You slept right through dinner, if it was even had. You stood from the bed, walking slowly to the door. You cracked it open and listen for any sounds of life before deciding to sneak downstairs to grab something to eat. You rubbed your neck as you made your way down, regretting falling asleep at such an awkward angle.

You enter the dimly lit kitchen, catching sight of Rhysand asleep on the couch in the living room. You say a silent prayer to the Mother that he stays that way. One interaction with him is enough for the day. You turn your back on the sleeping male and browse the cabinets for an easy meal. You begin to reach up for a pack of crackers when a cool shadow brushes against your waist. You smile down at the thing, wondering if Azriel knows one is out.

Your question is quickly answered when a hard body presses against your back, an arm reaching over your head to pull the crackers down for you. You turn your head to smile at your friend, a little surprised to find his face so close to yours. One of his hands comes to rest on your waist, the other landing on the countertop in front of you. “Couldn’t sleep?” He asks, voice low as to not disturb the High Lord only feet away.

You shake your head, a bit lost in his eyes and his proximity. You turn so you are facing him, hands coming up to rest comfortably on his chest. “Midnight snack?” You tease, gesturing to the crackers he had grabbed for you. His eyes darken and shadows swirl around you.

“Something like that,” he murmurs, leaning closer to you. Your heart is ready to rocket out of your chest, knowing Rhysand could wake up any second and catch you.

“Azriel,” you whisper, glancing at his lips. You should stop this, push him off and run back to your room. You shouldn’t allow his hand to move up to your neck, a long finger angling your head up to him while his thumb rests on your throat. You shouldn’t allow your arms to wrap around his neck, hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. You definitely shouldn’t lean up and kiss him.

You no longer cared as Azriel’s lips met yours.

The kiss was soft, hesitant. You could feel in the unnatural stiffness of his body that he was holding back, allowing you to decide what happens. You pull him even closer to you, increasing the speed and passion of the kiss. Your body melts into his, the hand on your waist wrapping around and splaying across your lower back. Your hand slid up his head, tangling itself into his soft hair. You opened your mouth for him, needing him in every way. You gasped as he lifted you up onto the counter, pushing your nightgown up to step between your legs. You wrapped your legs around his hips, tugging him closer, closer, closer.

He groaned into your mouth, nipping your bottom lip. The hand on your back dropped to your thigh, running up and down the exposed skin. His shadows were twirling around your ankles, your arms, your hair. Everything about him was intoxicating. He pulled away from your lips, traveling down to kiss and suck on your neck. You moaned lightly as the hand on your neck dropped, fingers sliding ever so slightly under the top of your gown. “Azriel,” you breathed, arching into his touch. He growled against your skin, placing a harsh bite in a spot anyone could see.

Not that you particularly cared.

Your hips pushed against his, desperate for him. Your mind was a blaze of lust, of need, and it could only be sated by him. His fingers dug into the top of your thigh at your movement, a warning to think before you did that again. His lips came back up to yours, kissing you so hard you were sure you would bruise. You felt something cold brush against your heat, an almost embarrassing whimper coming from you. “They want to touch,” Azriel said, his voice deep. You moaned when the shadow ran against you again, teasing the edge of your underwear. “Would you like them to touch, my love?”

He was going to be your undoing.

“Yes,” you gasped out, the shadow delving to where you needed it most. You bit hard onto Azriel’s shoulder to muffle your moan, pleasure radiating through your body. He resumed the kissing and sucking on your neck, hand fully sliding down under your top to cup one of your breasts. You dug your nails into his back, the sensations overwhelming. His thumb ran over your nipple as his shadow gave a delicious twist against you, cries falling from your lips. He pulled his hand out of your nightgown to bring your head to his again, lips silencing the noises coming from you.

The shadow began vibrating against you, your legs falling open to allow it more access. You felt the cool breeze of another one dip inside you, Azriel’s hand on your thigh keeping you available to them. You shook against him, moaning his name into his mouth as he kissed you. You felt the shadow push in farther, the sensation unlike any you had experienced. It stretched you open delightfully, it’s twin increasing the speed against you. You bit down on Azriel’s lip, the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth. His nails raked down your thigh at the pain and pleasure as you licked over the wound you had made.

You were close, too close. You didn’t want this moment to end, but the shadows seemed to sense the tightening in your body. They held their current speed and movements, bringing you to the edge. You arched against Azriel, head falling back against the cabinets as stars exploded behind your eyes. You shook against him, his shadows working you through the last bit of your release. He hummed in satisfaction as he watched your mouth drop in a silent scream, the sight one he had dreamed about for far too long.

He called the shadows back when he could tell your mind was blank with overstimulation, allowing you a moment to catch your breath. You brought your head back down, glassy eyes looking up at the Shadowsinger. Rhysand had never made you feel that good, and Azriel hadn’t even touched you yet. He smiled at you, brushing your tangled hair back. He took in your swollen lips, spit and a hint of blood glistening on them. You were the most magnificent thing he had ever seen in that moment.

“What are you doing with my wife, Brother?”

***

This is my favorite chapter so far 🫣 Please let me know what you guys think !!!!! I LOVE hearing your thoughts on this story <3

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[flwoie]

꒰ 🕰️ ꒱ SEND YOU MY HEART — BYUN EUIJOO

⋆ It’s different when it comes to crushing on Euijoo, your bestfriend’s younger brother. He hasn’t done a single thing to you and you highly doubt he knows you other than being his sister’s friend, yet you always find yourself running away from him.

STARRING ≻ bsf’s younger brother! ej x gn! reader [guest stars yeojin of loossemble & f! oc (eunha)] GENRE ≻ fluff, comedy, implied mutual pining, bestfriend’s brother au, highschool au CONTAINS ≻ accidental invasion of privacy WORD COUNT ≻ 1090

SONA SPEAKING ≻ no i did NOT choose ej just bc he reminds me of my crush!!

What’s worse than having a normal crush is having a crush on your best friend's brother, Euijoo. He’s not any typical brother; he’s the younger brother who doesn’t talk to anyone besides his friends and family. The younger brother, who only has one face for every emotion. He’s the younger brother who’s the eldest among his friends. 

It’s even worse when he goes to your school. Fate loves to be a hater and decided that you two should see each other everywhere, whether he’s behind you in line at the cafeteria or walking the same hall after your drama class and his gym class. Wherever you are, Euijoo is there. Some people would think it’s a blessing to be around their crush all the time, and it is. It’s also a curse, as instead of greeting him, you find yourself running as far away as possible from him.

The idea of your best friend finding out isn’t the reason you're running away. In fact, you even told her you liked him, and she didn’t seem to care at all. All she did was laugh. She finds it hilarious how he’s gullible and you’re here trying to keep yourself from running away when he’s around, especially when you’re at her house. From sitting next to you on the couch for a movie night to grabbing a cup from the cabinet in the kitchen where you’re eating, you’d expect her to glare at you, but she only tries to hold her laughter in.

You don’t know why you can’t function when he’s around every time. Is it because he smells like pencil shaving all the time, his glasses suit his face shape, or he wears that umber leather jacket over his uniform every day? It’s weird since you complain all the time that you miss him, but when you do see him, you’re suddenly meters away from his presence. You hate the idea of talking to him, but at the same time, you love talking about him with your friends. When your friends insult him, like his haircut or the fact that he’s part of the chess club, your mouth starts talking back as if you were a lawyer defending their client.

The one question that makes everyone you know intrigued is: How come you’ve never had at least one interaction with him?

‘I saw Euijoo in the hallway first thing in the morning’. You write on the sticky note, passing it to your friend in the middle of your drama class. Your teacher has been too busy blabbering about her life in acting school for the past hour. You look up at the clock; it’s five before the bell rings. Some of your classmates are doing work, and others are on their phones. No one seems to be listening to her at all; they’re all waiting for the bell.

Yeojin passes a sticky note to you. ‘What did you do?’. She stared at you as you retold her what happened with your fingers. You tried to tell her that you walked past him, but she didn’t understand your gestures. “What?” she mouths. You lean close enough so she can hear your whispers.

“I walked past him,” you whisper lowly so the teacher wouldn’t notice but loud enough for Yeojin to hear. She covers her mouth, restraining herself from bursting into laughter. As the bell rings, your teacher mentions a project due in a few days while you get ready to leave.

The performing arts department is in a long, separate hallway away from regular classes. In that hallway is also the gym, where Euijoo finishes his class. The hallway is tiring for you and Yeojin, but all you want to do is get to your next class without having to see Euijoo. Yeojin leaves you for her class, which is the one near the exit of the hall. You’re here, walking alone to the end of the hall. Sometimes it takes you two minutes to get to your class or more, depending on the number of people. As you go through multiple people squished like sardines in a can and make your way to the end of the hall, you halt, hearing your name and an unfamiliar voice.

“Oh, Y/N, you dropped this,” Euijoo says as you look behind. He picks up a notebook from the floor and hands it to you. You’re frozen and silent, and he simply smiles at you and leaves. You run to your next class and sit down in your seat as you contemplate. Many things are happening at once—things that you found impossible.

He says your name and gives you your journal, the one place where you talk about him, then proceeds to smile at you. It sounds impossible, but it did indeed happen. But what’s really important is that he spoke to you.

You haven’t seen Euijoo since that interaction. You don’t see him in the hallways at school or in the living room at their house. Whenever Eunha calls him down for dinner, he’ll just stay silent or respond that he’s busy. When he did come out of his room, it was only to return your journal. Your best friend accidentally gave him your journal when he asked her to get his notebook.

It was a simple mistake; he didn’t mean to look inside. The outside looked like his, but the inside was totally different. When he opened a random page, he noticed how his notes were colourful, his handwriting was curvier than it should be, and the words were the total opposite of physics. He put his glasses on and immediately closed the book as he read the first sentence.

‘I miss Euijoo’. He quickly pushes the book off his table and backs away from it. He’s shocked in many ways. Those words are playing in his head on repeat. All he can imagine is your voice saying those words. He wants to know what else you say about him, but it’s wrong; it’s your privacy. He approaches the book but is wary of picking it up. His hands are trembling the more he moves closer, until the pads of his fingers touch the leather cover.

He leaves his room with the journal in his hand. His eyes meet with yours as he enters the living room, places your journal down on the coffee table, and grabs his. You quickly grabbed your journal and sat on it as he asked you a question before he walked out.

“Are you busy this Friday?”

&team masterlist

[fourstarsoutofnine]

To get away

Chapter 3; Roomies and Rumors

Part 1, part 2, part 3.5, part 4

You were afraid to turn your back. You didn’t want to let your roomie know you were awake. You felt him sit on the end of the bed to kick his shoes off. He didn’t feel as light as the sailor would be—nor the smith, so they were crossed off. And he didn’t feel as heavy as the old man or rancher would be… then, you heard a sigh… and he spoke.

“Can’t believe he wouldn’t room with me… but whatever, the champion’s your best friend now. Sure. Yeah. Thanks, traveler.”

That was the vet. Clear as day. You breathed in deep—but tried to keep it slow so he wouldn’t realize you were awake…

“You don’t have to pretend to be asleep, you know. I can tell you’re tensed up.”

So much for that… you sat up tiredly.

“I don’t like this situation any more than you do, but it’s just for a night. Two, at most. So just scoot over and we can handle this like adults.” He said, taking his armor and chainmail off.

You nodded quietly and scooted closer to the wall.

“And you can speak, you know. I’m not going to yell at you.” He rolled his eyes with a scoff.

“Sorry… I was just under the impression you didn’t exactly like me…” you spoke quietly, still worried that at the slightest chance to get upset, he’d take it.

“It’s not that I don’t like you.” He slid into bed next to you. “It’s that I don’t trust you. You arrive here and claim to not know how you got here, you have this mark on your hand.” He grabbed your wrist—very gently, actually—and made note of the triforce on your hand. “Which is the exact mark we heroes have, except on the opposite hand, and…I don’t know you. I don’t know your motives, if any, and I don’t know what’s to come of this. So for tonight and possibly the next night, we’re stuck sleeping beside each other. We’ll just have to take it with a grain of salt.”

That quieted you down again. He cleared his throat.

“So… goodnight.” He put a pillow between you and laid down, turning the lamp off. You sighed and laid down, turning over. The next morning, as you were still sound asleep, the vet was turned towards you, looking at you. He had a million thoughts running through his head. Who were you exactly? How did you get here? How do you have that mark?

Why couldn’t he bring himself to not feel for you?

He didn’t trust anyone besides his fellow heroes, and Hadn’t trusted anyone with his very guarded heart since Marin, and you know where that landed him. Heartbroken and alone. He was determined to never feel that again, and certainly not because of some mysterious stranger that was dropped in their world, unannounced and without reason. Alarms were going off in his head from that, bright red flags waving…

But he couldn’t hate you. He couldn’t hate you, cast you out, reject you.

Or at least, not directly, anyway. But he could distance himself from you. Put walls between you. Try to protect himself and the others, especially the traveler. And that’s what he was determined to do. He got up, frustrated with himself for lying there so long. He slipped his boots on and left the room.

“There you are. We were wondering when you’d get up.” The rancher grinned, crossing his arms.

“Yeah? Well it’s kind of hard to get out of a real bed after sleeping on the hard ground for weeks, forgive me if I want to pretend I’m home.” He jabbed back, the tiniest grin on his face.

“Is Y/n up yet?” The traveler asked, sending a shock through the vet.

“She’s still asleep. You’re welcome to try getting her up if you want.” He shrugged, rolling his eyes.

“Let her sleep.” The old man said. “She needs the sleep, I’m sure. Yesterday was rough on her.”

“Yeah she’s not too suited for travel, is she?” The sailor thought out loud. Unbeknownst to the chain, you were standing just outside your room, on the landing above where they were seated in the dining area.

“We could just leave her here, you know. The towns are safe. They’re always safe. She’d be better off here than with us. She can’t fight, has trouble walking long distances… she’d thrive in this lazy town.” The vet suggested. Your heart sank. It made you want to run. You wanted to run and hide. Tears pricked your eyes and clouded your vision. You didn’t hear the others protests to that idea, your heart was pounding too loudly in your ears, the blood that rushed your head made your ears and face hot.

The decision to leave felt right, even if it wasn’t. Not only was your vision clouded, but your judgement as well. Clouded by every hurt feeling in the book. You slowly crept down the stairs and out the door. If they didn’t want you here, they wouldn’t have you. You felt burdenous to them anyway. They had enough on their plate, too much to add you on top of that anyway. So, unarmed and stupidly, you walked along the edge of town with tears in your eyes. Your chest felt heavy and your head felt like someone was taking an ice pick to it all around. Your eyes burned, the edges of your eyelids stinging and feeling tighter with each blink you took to clear your vision from tears.

You didn’t notice the rustling in the bush…

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Can I have Tony’s younger sister x Loki? Tony is not okay with this — obviously. Reader is not some soft sub like most loki fics, she is strong and has a smart tongue and stands up to Loki. He likes a strong woman. Maybe they sneak off somewhere during a gala or ceremony tony is organizing? smut plss

With the return of Loki season 2, I couldn't not write about my favorite MCU character. Please keep sending more Loki requests <3

Warnings: 18+, bathroom quickie, p + v, unprotected sex,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Loki Laufeyson had some big reputation, both on Asgard and here — on Earth. After causing trouble on both planets, he earned a spot on Tony Stark’s list of people he hated with a burning passion — and his name was in red underline. Why the red underline? It seemed that the heart of Iron Man’s younger sister had been stolen by the God of Mischief, which made Tony hate him even more.

And what could Tony do? Absolutely nothing. 

A few months passed since the news dropped and you had hoped that your brother would have accepted your relationship by now, but he still wished Loki would stay the Asgardian fuck away from you. 

To make the situation worse, Loki adored to kiss you right and whisper the dirtiest things to you right under Tony’s nose, just to rub it in his face. After all, he was the God of Mischief.

Tony's jaw clenched and his hand tightened around his glass of scotch as he saw you and Loki in the corner of the room kissing. It wasn't just a smooch. One on the low back of your dress, touching your bare skin while kissing you passionately. You’ll need a lipstick touch-up — and another drink — after that. The sight was making any pair of eyes jealous, wishing their man kissed them like that. 

Loki generally didn't like public displays of affection, but he loved to play with Tony’s nerves.

Gently, you broke from Loki’s kiss, keeping your hand on his jacket’s sleeve. ‘’As fun as provoking my brother is, let’s not make him too mad tonight.’’

‘’But you look absolutely delightful in this dress, darling. Pardon me for being unable to keep my hands off you,’’ Loki said, proving his point by lowering his hand down the curve of your back and stopping right at the top of your ass. 

You flashed a mischievous smile at the Asgardian God, wishing you could just leave this event without anyone noticing and finish the night in your bedroom, but it was almost impossible to escape your brother’s gaze. 

As if he had read your mind, Loki leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered. ‘’Do you think anyone is going to notice if we elope for a few minutes?’’

‘’Unfortunately, there's a hawk watching us.’’ 

Across the room, Tony's dark eyes were glaring at Loki and you — especially Loki — as he watched the scene unfold before him, his expression a mix of anger, disgust and frustration. He took a sip of his scotch, trying to calm his rising irritation, but it didn't do much to soothe his nerves.

Loki rolled his eyes back in annoyance. ‘’Does he know you are a grown adult and don’t need a chaperon?’’ 

Tony’s behavior was overbearing, but he had his reasons — besides strongly disliking Loki. 

‘’He's overprotective — always has been. But he got worse after Mom and Dad died. All we had was each other now, so he stopped seeing me as his annoying little sister and gave himself the position of protective figure in my life. He scared so many of my past boyfriends away,’’ you explained with a chuckle. 

Losing a parent was a pain Loki knew. It gets easier with time, but never goes away. 

‘’I’m sorry about your parents,’’ he said, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it gently. You gave him a soft smile. ‘’His tactics are not gonna work on me, though.’’

You exchanged a sly grin with Loki, then reached for his hand and led him away. 

The second the bathroom door was closed — and locked —, your back found the wall and Loki's hands went to your hips, pulling you against him as his mouth found yours, kissing you with a passion and hunger that was reserved for private moments. You didn’t mind being kissed in a crowded room, but some kisses were just too intimate for an audience. 

Loki groaned against your mouth and shifted his hands lower, having been holding back from grabbing your ass through your dress all evening. As much as he loved it, he wanted to rip it off your body. But that would be problematic when it would be time to get back to the party. You couldn’t exactly go back in just your panties and high heels. That would be highly inappropriate — and embarrassing.

Without separating your mouths, you reached between your bodies for Loki’s belt, jostling with the buckle to undo it and unfastening his trousers. You pulled them down just enough to uncover his ass, making him smile into the kiss as his hands left your hips to grab your thigh. He hooked it around his waist as his other hand slipped underneath your dress to slide your panties to the side. 

Your time was counted. Soon, someone will come knock on the door to use the bathroom. 

‘’Ahh, Loki,’’ you sighed, your arms around his neck as he pushed inside of you. Your nails dug into the back of his neck, feeling the pleasure from the pressure and fullness of him. 

He wasted no time before pulling back out and trusting back in. ‘’This is much better than the buffet, isn’t it?’’ he asked, already knowing the answer. 

You threw your head back and closed your eyes, breathy moans leaving both of your mouths as he kept his movements quick but precise, hitting the perfect spot every time. It always surprised you how well he knew your body — your needs.

‘’Fuck,’’ Loki hissed in a drawn-out swear as you clenched around him so good. He kept an iron grip on your thigh, fingertips surely leaving bruises. ‘’If you keep squeezing me like that—’’ 

You cut him off, covering his mouth with your hand. ‘’Less talking, more fu— aah. More fucking. We have to get back soon.’’ 

You could feel your standing leg weakening at each of his deep trusts, forcing you to grip his shoulder with one hand to stop you from falling. The height and style of your heeled shoes was going to be planned accordingly next time. 

Soon, you felt the coil in your stomach tighten, climax building inside you. ‘’I…I'm about to cum,’’ you warned, your mouth close to his ear as he mouthed at your neck and shoulder.

Understanding the message, Loki’s free hand expertly found its way to your clit, skillfully rubbing it as you tightened around him, drawing nearer to your climax. He maintained his movements, his lips back on yours to catch your final moan.

A few more thrusts and he was there too, barely able to register his own orgasm approaching when he shot rope after rope of his cum inside you. Loki growled into your mouth, feeling his own orgasm ripple through his body, fucking into you as deep as he could go until he was finished. 

You shuddered when he pulled out, feeling the dribble of his cum down your inner thigh and on the floor, making you regret not using a condom. It was too late now, the mess was there. 

Forcing yourself to quickly recover, you and Loki took a few minutes to fix your appearance in the bathroom mirror, smoothing clothes and re-applying your lip gloss, doing your best to make sure no one would be able to tell of your and Loki's little escapade. 

You went for another kiss before slipping out of the bathroom together, his lips tasting like cherries and the expensive liquor he had been drinking. 

‘’How mad do you think Stark be when we walk by him?’’ Loki asked, approaching the room the buffet was held at. 

With the way Loki’s shirt was slightly wrinkled and the smudge of your lip liner, it was impossible he wouldn’t pick up what you and Loki had been up to.

Instead of answering, you grabbed a chute of champagne from the nearest tray and took a long sip. Tony could be pissed all he wanted. He’d be a liar to say he had never done this in his younger playboy days.

—

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[merakiui]

Remember the pregnant runaway darling scenario you did for Childe and xiao? How do you think that'd go with Scaramouche and Dottore? 👀

Yes, I do remember!

(cw: yandere, female reader, pregnancy, unhealthy behaviors/relationship)

When he was Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers, he could use his power and influence to find you with great ease. He would send countless Fatui underlings after you, each with a singular mission: capture Lord Scaramouche’s beloved alive and unharmed. And should he find a bruise, a scrape, or a laceration on you, whether surface-level or potentially fatal, he would carve through the unfortunate underling with harsh words and a cold blade. He’s a force to be reckoned with. Scaramouche commends you for your escape. It’s a surprising accomplishment; consider him impressed. Naturally, his words are dangerously sardonic. He’ll be certain to keep a much closer eye on you in the future, especially since you’re carrying his child. 

As Wanderer, he is free to go anywhere he wishes without any obligations to anyone or any group. He may be free, but that also means he doesn’t have nearly as many resources at his disposal as he used to have when he was a Harbinger. When he finds the quaint dwelling he’s shared with you empty and there’s no sign or trace of you or anything you might have left behind, he’s overcome with this intense, gnawing panic. He goes through the entire area in search of you, working through every possible reason for your disappearance. Perhaps you went for a walk and got lost. Perhaps you went to collect resources and materials, something he’s told you before that he’ll handle because he doesn’t want you to lift anything heavy or risk running into dangerous people or monsters. Perhaps it isn’t truly your fault. He’s learned to be more forgiving, though the fact still stands that you left when he’s strictly told you to stay put and let him protect you. 

But then he starts to wonder about other possibilities. Maybe someone took you from him. Maybe they’re holding you captive right now, hurting you, tormenting you, scaring you. Or maybe—and he hates to consider this possibility because it would affirm every fear that’s lingered ever since you started to avoid his delicate, teasing touches—you left him on purpose. Such a betrayal is inexcusable.

Now that he no longer has dozens of Fatui soldiers at his fingertips, he’s forced to do the work himself. But if the result of days and nights spent searching is eventually finding you then he will subject himself to this routine. Scaramouche refuses to admit that he’s worried or panicked. He festers in mounting anger as he tears through monster and Fatui camps alike, determined to snuff these useless feelings of dread and sadness and desperation. Instead, he’s quite confident in his capable nature. He’ll find you. And when he does, he’ll never let you go. He won’t take his eyes off of you for a minute. It seems pregnancy has turned your brain to mush, for you’ve forgotten that your rightful place is beside him. That it’s you who will give him a happy family like in the children’s stories he’s gathered in preparation. When he’s reunited with you, he’ll try to forgive you and push anger and betrayals aside in order to catch up on lost time. To prove to you that his love for you will never dwindle. You’ve taught him these feelings after all! It was you who instilled love. Now you must take responsibility.

Though it depends on just how much time has been lost. He may be far angrier if his search lasts years. 

- - -

Dottore expected this. He’s a researcher, so he’s accounted for nearly every possible outcome in his relationship with you. He’s rather pleased that his most popular hypothesis (the one in which you contemplate and execute an escape) turned out to be true. He has the means of finding you, and while he could entrust this task to some of his most competent soldiers or even a few clones he’d much rather see how things develop for the time being. He’ll allow you to have the oh-so-precious freedom you’ve been craving. In the meantime, he’ll be working on a delightful contraption intended to prevent escape no matter how much you may plan or deceive. 

He’ll have an underling keep a watchful eye on you in secret, and reports of your movement and where you’re theorized to go next are to be handed directly to him. Dottore wonders how long it will take before you learn the Fatui are watching you. What will his little lab rat do then? Will you continue to run? Will you try to fight even while carrying a child? Will you find an ally? Oh, the possibilities are endless! You may even enlist the Traveler’s help. That would certainly make things interesting. 

Though it irks him that you managed to escape, he is curious of what you intend to do next. And when Dottore thinks you’ve had enough fun and you’ve sated his curiosity, he will put an end to his experiment and send the order for you to be captured. He can’t wait to see the expression on your face when you’re dragged back to his lab. He’ll greet you with a smile, as always, and clap slowly to congratulate you on your safe return. He can’t wait to hear all about your vacation. He hopes it was most enjoyable because it was the last one you’ll ever experience.

[muppetears-stuff]

I love Warren but he is high key lost potential and it makes me so sad. His character doesn't have the best writing and has some pretty bad dialogue lines for no reason. Also we don't lnow anything about Warren besides the fact he loves science, movies, and has a crush on Max. Most major characters in the game have a backstory of some kind....except Warren. For god sakes, we get to talk to poor Taylor and learn about her sick mom, but there's net zero info on Warren His character is already very bare bones effort, the fact the devs caved in to procefielders and fucked him up even more to make them happier makes me livid. I stand on my belief that Carlos Luna was sabotaged. I also think there are other LIS1 characters who are lost potential like Brooke, Courtney, Stella, Dana and etc but that's a story for another day. 💀

Me when devs ruin a completely good character with so much potential to appeal to the bigger part of the fan base

NO, BUT FR, I was so mad about this yesterday that I ranted to my older bro about it, and I'll do it again‼️

Long rant, you don't have to read if you don't want to ^^

I just wish we got so much more and to see more of who he was because he is so sweet, and I would've loved to see that more. It infuriates me to no end, knowing that the devs doubled down and appealed to the larger part of the fanbase, giving him fewer appearances, stating that he is a "stalker" in canon. I haven't read the comics but I I'm pretty sure they butchered his character there too.

I get that this game was important to many people, ESPECIALLY in 2014, because of the main female character getting the choice to romance her also female friend, that was super important and still is!!! But it's also not good to completely wipe another character, also stated as Max's best friend and another romance option and just. Giving us the option to hug or kiss him?? I'm not a big grahamfield-er either, but they had a lot of potential if they didn't completely ruin Warren's character because people didn't like him. There's still people who do??

Carlos Luna was definitely sabotaged, I reblogged a post talking about it. Here :3

I would've loved more depth to his character, even though it's really nice to read between the lines and make up some of my own things, I'm super afraid of going off of canon but like. There's barely any canon character to go off of so I can make up my own shit as I please- /pos

But I would've loved some dialogue of him worrying over having to study, and he probably shouldn't be out and about, gives us the feel that he pressures himself too much even if he's already doing his best and is one of the highest achieving students at Blackwell. Would've loved to see him being a bit mischievous at times after being exposed to Chloe, I firmly believe he'd be easily influenced and change his personality for the people he hangs out with without knowing. Which adds more depth!!

But ahhhhhh, I'm sorry for all the rants, guys😔😭 I don't want this to be all of what my blog is but everyone has a little hate/dislike in their heart and for me,,,,is assassinations of good characters. Whether literally or within writing. In Warren's case, it's both. I love sharing my art with all of you, but I still love it when you guys interact and send stuff in my inbox. It makes my day😭💖 This is not me telling you to stop because I kind of like ranting/raving about my favorite characters<3 so thank you ^^💖

Byeeee ^^

[beanghostprincess]

People like to believe that yasopp up and left without any warning or talking about it with his wife (like that other show about gay pirates) but how his wife talked about him and how usopp views him he must of left a good impression on both of them. Yasopp most likely spent at least 5 years with his wife and kid before leaving

Okay, I actually agree wholeheartedly. I know it doesn't seem like it with how much I talk shit about Yasopp around here, but I swear I understand why he had to follow his dream and I am very aware that Banchina literally told him to do so. However! However. Even if we do know he loves Usopp and is definitely worried about seeing him because of feeling guilty for what he did (I genuinely felt so bad when he said he wasn't ready to see Usopp. Although two seconds later I literally stared at my screen and said "grow some fucking balls and see your kid". So. Yeah) I still feel some resentment toward him(?

The whole situation is pretty similar to Oden's, if you think about it. Dude wanted to stay with his family in Wano but Toki literally threatened him to go follow his dream first. That's kind of the same thing that happens with Yasopp. I think people see Yasopp as the bad guy mostly because we never see his POV and instead we just see how that affected Usopp and Banchina. Besides, Oden was away for considerably a lot less time. So,,, Not really the same, but the concept is pretty much the same thing.

I don't hate Yasopp. I understand why he left and I'm sure Usopp loves him to death, even if there are bittersweet feelings there. But there are still a lot of things that don't sit right with me? I personally just feel horrible when thinking that he's the main reason Usopp kept lying all the time and if you rewatch Syrup Island now it just hurts more. The fact that he met Luffy and spent time with him, too? It's just, uh, idk, it feels weird. Besides, send a letter or something. Try to call your son, maybe? Perhaps try to have a way of communicating with him before going away for years? I think we can't ignore the fact that one of the reasons why Usopp is so insecure might probably be him. Not to blame him for everything, because of course Usopp has more personality and insecurities that have nothing to do with Yasopp. But you know. It just feels weird.

Now this part is just personal but parents who leave their children make my blood boil with anger and even if I understand why he did it and everything, I will never completely like Yasopp. Not until we see more of him and Usopp, at least.

And also, I still think the crew (leaving what I personally think aside) would not like Yasopp. Especially Sanji, probably. Not because I'm a Sanuso shipper (although it really affects my opinion on this ngl) but because I think Sanji would have a very strong view of what fatherhood is and he refuses to see Usopp getting hurt again. And I think I said this before but Nami and Zoro would not really like Yasopp either, not unless Usopp verbally tells them he's on good terms with his dad.

I just think Usopp and Yasopp's relationship is very complicated. It isn't about Yasopp being a good dad or not (same thing with Uta and Shanks too, honestly. People keep saying that he's a deadbeat when he was just a stupid dad trying to protect his daughter and that decision ended up backfiring). A lot of people have different views on this, and I think we're all right in some way. He loves his son and Usopp loves his dad and they admire each other a lot. But that doesn't fix what's broken, either. I personally am so excited to see them reunite and see how Oda writes it!!!

[castielsfeatheredballs]

I love deep dives into fandom history, so I tried out the podcast @thisweekinfandomhistory; I listened to the episode about the Johnlock conspiracy and it was overall very interesting and informative. However, I don't think I will listen to any more episodes, due to the hosts taking several (imo) unwarranted potshots at the Reylo fandom throughout.

I do ship Reylo and used to be pretty active in the fandom, so obviously I took it personally, but since I was liking the content I tried to examine whether I was overreacting, and I don't think I was for the following reasons:

The host offhandedly mentioned that their gripes were that the fandom is 'racist and antisemitic'. Okay. Are there racist Reylos? Of course. It is (was?) a big fandom. Every big fandom has all kinds of people, and fans within then form their own groups. I was lucky enough to quickly find my people, the leftist Reylos. Reylos actually put me in touch with some of the most genuinely progressive people I know, in fandom and irl. As far as I saw, the Reylo fandom was also one of the few factions who were vocally pro Rose Tico in the cesspool that is Star Wars fandom.

I'm not trying to claim my experience it reflective of the whole fandom, but I am also not about to take these pretty serious claims at face value, especially since 1. I tried to look for a deep dive into the Reylo fandom in their playlist to see where they were coming from and found zilch (my sincere apologies if there is, I will listen to it) 2. The podcast hosts are seemingly MCU fans?? This perplexed me so much. They seem intelligent and aware of fandom dynamics, are in a big and honestly pretty problematic fandom themselves and can't grasp how ridiculous it is to say that 'x fandom AS A GROUP is...' uh, ok.

I'm a bit sad that I don't be able to listen to more episodes, since the topic is a genuine interest of mine, but I'm not in the mood for one of my passions to be randomly insulted without an actual well-constructed argument. Again, my experience within the Reylo fandom has been largely positive, and I found the self-policing even a bit overzealous whenever a fic or writer was called out due to problematic elements.

I did appreciate the hosts clarifying that they wouldn't go bother reylos--or other fandoms they dislike--by trolling the tag or sending anon hate etc. since sadly, that is never a given on the internet. That's just basic decency though, so I still don't feel, well, not-insulted.

Also, it annoyed me since the episode was on a completely different topic. Again, if it was an actual analysis of the Reylo fandom I would be down to listen to it and reflect on things I might have overlooked or excused. However, throwaway unrelated comments are not giving me any food for thought, they just read as insults.

I am also aware that not everything on the Internet is for me and that I can just stop listening, which I will. Not happily, because it seems like otherwise interesting content and very much in my ballpark. I guess something that annoyed me and prompted this rant instead of just closing the tab was, I personally tried really hard to internalize the thought that, no matter how much bad behaviour I see coming from a particular fraction of a fandom, there is likely a much larger portion of fans that are chill and doing their own thing, and you don't see them specifically because--if you are not in that fandom--the only people you see are the ones acting out of pocket and they're giving you a false impression of the whole fandom. That's the kind of approach I would like to see in any fandom analisys--deep dive, besides the fact that I took it personally this time.

[thevoidofnothingness]

if this is our first kiss, why are your lips so familiar?

“Hey, have you talked to Fionna recently?”

Marshall stopped strumming his guitar and looked up at Gary, who until 2 seconds ago, was quietly baking his heavenly baked goods (at the request of Marshall).

“Not really. Like I said, she always comes and goes whenever she wants. Especially after she gets fired. Which happens like, a lot.” Yet Gary didn’t look convinced. “Why, when was the last time you spoke with her?”

“Spoke? Probably that night she was a corpse walking while looking for Cake and I made her an iced coffee. She yelled something about too much ice and then poof, gone. I was worried back then too, but knew I was supposed to see her the next day anyways and let it go.” Gary made another face. “Actually, the last time I communicated at all with her at all was the day I met you and she texted me that she was fine.”

“Huh, that was a good day. Got a new vinyl and got to taste more of your stuff. Baked, I mean.” The pink tint that covered Gary’s cheeks did not go unnoticed by Marshall. 

He’s been doing that a lot in the last week that they’ve been hanging out. Saying things in a way that he knew would cause Gary to fluster in some way, trying to get his face to match his hair. After Fionna’s disappearing act, their main friend left a hole in their normal routine that needed filling and they did that for each other.

“Yeah, good day all around besides my investors hating me and everything I’ve ever worked for.” Marshall winced at the mention of that particular part of their day.

“And while you won’t let me take blame even though it was all my fault, I’m still sorry about that.” And that was the other thing. Gary had been down since the Lemoncarb twins shot down his idea for his bakery. Marshall took full blame for that incident, even after Gary tried to make him feel better about bringing them in.

And there lies the issue. Gary Prince. It was like there was some string that would tighten every time Gary made him feel something . Whether it was annoyance, amusement, or some third thing he tried to avoid thinking about, the pull Marshall felt towards the other man was clear. It felt comforting. It felt familiar. And the familiar feeling is what confused Marshall. After all, before that day in Fionna’s apartment, he had never even spoken to the man. He lived a life free of any Gary Princes. And now, as forward and naive as it sounded, Marshall felt like he couldn’t live his life without him.

Gary came up to him and grabbed his face between his hands. “Hey, I told you it was okay! You were just trying to do what you thought would help me. I can see and appreciate the kind intent even without proper results.” Marshall froze, being hyper aware of the fact that their faces were very close together, their noses inches apart. “You’d do that for anyone.”

And Marshall couldn’t help himself. “No, I wouldn’t.” He couldn’t lie to Gary right now. He felt an overwhelming need to express just how far he had gone for Gary. “I wouldn’t call in a favor with my mother for just anyone.” He had to let him know that he wasn’t just anyone. Gary Prince was special.

“You called your mom for me?” While he’s mentioned his strained relationship with his mother, he hadn’t disclosed exactly when the last time he spoke to her was.

“Yeah, I asked if she could send the Lemoncarb twins to this bakery because the next great thing was happening right under her nose and if she didn’t scoop you up, she’d regret it for the rest of his life.” Gary’s eyes widened at the end. He searched Marshall’s face for any lies before determining the obvious. There was no reason for Marshall to lie to him.

“You mean that?” Before Marshall could answer, Gary was pulling him forward until their lips met. It was a sweet and brief kiss. One that, unfortunately, would become the only kiss shared between Marshall Lee and Gary Prince. 

Yet that isn’t the end of the story. Because in another universe, unknown to the couple, a mission was completed that allowed magic back into the universe of the adventurer Fionna and her feline companion Cake.

And due to the rebirth of Ooo, the return of all of its citizens' former lives and memories is possible. 

And now there stood two people. Two people that had met before even the birth of Fionna. Two people whose lives had been intertwined with one another for decades, attempting to leave but being pulled toward one another every single time. A pull that transcended anything the universe could throw at them, even when the universe was rewritten. A fact that they both seem to realize that brought a smile to their faces. So instead of a Marshall Lee and a Gary Prince who have just kissed for the first time, you have Marshall Lee, the vampire king, and Prince Gumball, the ruler of the Candy Kingdom, kissing for their hundredth, thousandth, maybe millionth time, and feeling the same sparks as if it was their first.

[valacirya]

So i wanted to send an ask about thingol, especially regarding the "cultural genocide" anon. I in no way want to sound rude, but I do disagree with a lot of points.

Re the quenya ban: while I would not describe it as an act of a cultural genocide, I still do not think Thingol was justified in doing it. There are many ways to enforce consequences besides banning the language of an entire ethnos. It does not bear many consequences asides symbolics at all.

One might say Thingol was protecting the culture of Sindar from assimilation by the Noldor: but by the time he placed the ban the Noldor were in Beleriand for well over sixty years, during which they managed to lay a siege on Angband. Maybe Thingol realises that they will not be able to defeat Morgoth without the Valar: but the alternative is to be killed by Morgoth now, because the Valar won't come, and the Siege of Angband does prevent Morgoth from doing it. Nonetheless, the Noldor have a) proven that they have come to Beleriand to fight Morgoth and b) did not commit any acts of cultural crimes, and the lands they settled on were given to them by Thingol. If anything, if Thingol thinks the language to be that important to the culture, it's he who strives to culturally assimilate the Noldor, not vice versa.

It is also worth noting that the main reason the Noldor came to Beleriand - one of the main reasons Feanor was motivated to come to Beleriand - is because they wanted to fight and defeat Morgoth. "Lands to rule" were one of the motives Fëanor used to persuade the crowd, and they worked - but, again, the lands the Noldor settled in are given to them by Thingol. Besides, Galadriel (whose main motivation were lands to rule) spends most of the First Age ruling nothing and living in Doriath instead; Finrod, who has the biggest kingdom and similar motivations to Galadriel, got his lands by Thingol's will too.

Re: racism; Thingol is known for being racist/xenephobic/discriminating. There's literally no going around that. First, the Sindar (whom Thingols is the leader of) hunt down the Petty Dwarves; then, the humans were not allowed to cross the Girdle, with Beren being the first exception due to the power of Doom or similar forces (and, after Beren, Thingol debates imprisoning Morwen in the CoH, which shows he does not view her as his equal - and, let's be honest, after lifetime in Angband it does not take much to pity Húrin); and, notably, he calls dwarves an "uncouth race" (top ten last words, rip my guy).

Thingol is a great character, and often gets a lot of undeserved hate, but he also has his own flaws, often very serious. I in no way want to sound rude or offensive or "shit on" your posts, as the last anon said, but this has bugged me, so I wanted to state my opinion.

Thank you for the ask, anon, and I appreciate the way you worded it.

I agree that banning Quenya was not a good thing, but I understand why he did it. I'm not sure what other consequences he could have enforced? He didn't have the military force to take on the Noldor (I don't think he would have even if he did since he recognized them as allies against Morgoth). There's no concept of trade sanctions or economic consequences. The Noldor wouldn't let their princes stand trial in Doriath. The ban was also a soft power move to demonstrate that the Sindar were loyal to Thingol above all. Symbolic power is important, and it was a response to the kinslaying.

I disagree with the claim that the Noldor didn't commit any cultural heritage crimes. The theft and burning of the Teleri's swan ships was absolutely a cultural crime. And the Teleri used to be Thingol's people and are his brother's people.

I also agree with his decision to not fight. Like I said, Doriath had to survive. He knew about the Doom and avoided being enmeshed in it (until the business with the Silmaril, which was absolutely a bad move). The Girdle was strong enough to withstand Morgoth, and Thingol had fought and won against him once (though at great cost); multiple times in the Silm he is said to be Morgoth's enemy so I don't think for a second that he abandoned the fight. His decision to stay out of the fight was strategically sound and in Doriath's interest. Not to mention he accepted Sindarin refugees after Bragollach and Noldorin refugees after the fall of Nargothrond.

You have a good point that the Noldor dwelt in the land that Thingol allowed them to. Personally, though, I don't think this or the ban was an attempt to assimilate the Noldor but rather to protect the Sindarin people and culture. Thingol may not have been able to defend those lands, but the Sindar do consider him king of Beleriand as evidenced by their immediate enforcement of his decree.

If I recall correctly, the Finwean grandchildren all wanted to go to Beleriand to rule. I think it was a motivation almost equal to the desire to defeat Morgoth. The language Feanor uses to describe Beleriand I feel has uncomfortable undertones. In my opinion, Galadriel's decision to stay in Doriath was an acknowledgment of that and her complicity in the theft of the swan ships, her decision to continue after the kinslaying and also lying by omission to Thingol and Melian. And for Celeborn of course.

Lastly, I agree that Thingol often acted discriminately. However, he is shown to change his behavior when he learns better. If I recall correctly, the hunting of the Petty Dwarves (which was horrific) stopped when the Sindar learned who they were after establishing contact with Nogrod and Belegost. He changed his attitude towards Men after Beren proved himself, and even before that, he sent aid to the Haladin during Bragollach. I'm not condoning that he didn't allow Men into the Girdle, but that was because he had troubling dreams about them and because Melian prophesized that one with greater power/doom than her would enter. And after Beren and Luthien, Men are allowed in. As for the Dwarves, I absolutely condemn how Thingol insults them and his death was stupid and entirely preventable. However, I think this was a Silmaril and dragon gold-influenced event since we are told that Thingol had a friendship with the Dwarves. They built Menegroth together (I think the exact quote is the "Dwarves labored gladly for him"); the Dwarves came and went freely and adopted the Cirth; they also made weapons for Thingol who paid them fairly with Falathrin pearls. I'm not absolving Thingol of blame (or the Dwarves either), but I don't think this particular scenario was indicative of his actual attitude towards them. If anything, it showed the dangerous power of the Silmaril and the corruption of the dragon gold; and through it, how deeply Morgoth's evil ran through Beleriand.

Ultimately, with all these points everyone has their own opinion/interpretation. I don't expect others to agree with me or like Thingol. I think the Quenya ban was understandable, others might find it unacceptable. We can have engaging and polite conversations about this stuff without changing each others' minds. Really the only thing I would be forceful about is treating fanon as canon. Other than that, you do you boo.

Also, I apologize if I didn't respond to any part of your ask; I'm at work and a bit distracted.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Love and War

Masterlist Next Chapter

Synopsis: Bob Floyd never expected to fall in love during the war, especially not with a pretty, young nurse during basic training. But love works in funny ways and can their love stand the rest of time, the war and the distance that separates them. Warnings: mentions of graphic themes, war, injury, weapons, sexual images, language, 18+. Thank you @callsign-phoenix for proofreading for me ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Currahee - Camp Toccoa Georgia - 1942

When thinking back Bob always thought fondly of his days at the training camp in Toccoa, Georgia. He and his friends had been so carefree, without the horrors of war to haunt their every waking and sleeping moment but in reality, he had hated basic training. It wasn’t as if he’d hated the work as such, he was proud to be a member of Easy Company, he’d enjoyed learning, getting his jump wings, and he would gladly fight and die beside these men. The problem was their commanding officer, Captain Lewis. While the other Company’s had weekend passes and downtime, Easy Company ran extra drills, performed extra weapons training and somehow always managed to have their weekend passes revoked.

On this particular Saturday afternoon the temperature was high, the air sticky and the bloodthirsty mosquitoes were in abundance. Bob had waved goodbye to two of his friends from Dog Company, who were off to enjoy their weekend passes, before joining the rest of Easy on the grass field dressed in his PT kit. Bob couldn’t remember the exact reason for the weekend passes revoke this time. There was a long list but it mainly boiled down to the fact that Lewis seemed to have it in for them. A crease in uniform, a smudge on a shirt collar, a rusty bayonet, eventually it came to the point where the men didn’t dare breathe in Lewis’ presence for fear of having the entire company’s passes revoked.

He was a harsh man with Lewis and a voice like a cat being strangled, that same voice haunted Bob’s nightmares and he often would wake in a cold sweat with the fear that he was there waiting for him.

“EASY COMPANY!” Captain Lewis shouted, bringing all the men to attention in seconds, his raspy voice striking more fear than any enemy could.

“Today you will be running 15 miles, in full kit and carrying all your reserve ammunition. You have 10 minutes to be back out here and ready for inspection.” The whole unit remained silent, watching Lewis in utter shock. “NOW!” The CO screamed.

“Easy Company fall out!” Lieutenant Nelson, Easy company’s platoon leader commanded, sending all the men hurrying towards their respected barracks for their supplies. Nelson was a 1st Lieutenant and unlike Lewis was a kind-faced man, who always treated his men with respect, in return his men respected him. He disciplined them but he had good judgment and his main priority was getting his platoon out alive, which was something the CO didn’t seem to understand.

No less than 10 minutes later Easy Company were back at attention in their full kit and ready for the run. The ones who didn’t make it out had their passes revoked for the following weekend and had to empty the water canteens as punishment.

“You won’t be drinking until those 15 miles are up boys.” Captain Lewis called as he took off jogging, still dressed in just his t-shirt and shorts while the men of Easy Company trudged along behind him.

The trail they took ran along the side of the river, across the meadow and down into the valley, before heading back around to the camp. To start with the men had good spirits and Bob joined in singing with the others as they jogged along. Lewis didn’t like this, Bob realised as he slowed down to run between the men and began throwing insults at them.

“Do you think you’re a good solider, Corporal Miller?”

“Yes, Sir,” the dark-haired medic replied, continuing to face forward and not make eye contact with Lewis.

“Well, you’re not. You’re sloppy and slow. I hope my life never ends up in your hands.” He shoved past him and moved to the next man.

“Your laces are undone, Private Jackson.”

“Yes, Sir,” Thomas Jackson, Easy Company’s radio man replied.

“Well, what are you going to do about it, Private.”

“Stop and tie them, Sir.”

“No Private. YOU WILL NOT STOP!” He bellowed, shoving Jackson out of the way and causing him to trip over into the man beside him.

“Private Floyd,” he shouted in Bob’s ear as he appeared next to him.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you want a weekend pass for next weekend? Because my grandmother could run faster than you and she’s dead? KEEP MOVING!” Bob picked up the pace, as did the men around him as Lewis made his way back to the front of the group.

“You three are on latrine duty for the rest of the week. Starting with Floyd.”

Bob groaned internally, he’d been on latrine duty last week after a mishap during weapons training where his gun jammed. Lewis had made a point to embarrass him in front of the rest of the company, making him run while the Captain firing at him. Bob remembered zigzagging hastily across the field to avoid the oncoming fire while Lewis just laughed. Bob never thought he’d say this but the sooner they were shipped to England the better. Lewis was stationed in Georgia so he wouldn’t be accompanying them, much to the men’s satisfaction.

Latrine duty was Bob’s worst nightmare but seemed to be Lewis preferred punishment. Today Bob was joined by a boy from Fox Company, he was older than a boy but he could barely have been 18 years of age as he stood in the doorway looking around sheepishly.

“You here for latrine duty?” Bob’s thick southern accent was more prominent as he tried to hold his breath against the stench of the facilities.

“Yeah,” the boy replied glumly, taking a seat beside Bob. “I can’t believe I got my pass revoked. I thought I’d be on mess hall duty or something. I thought this was Easy’s job.”

Bob snorted partly in disgust and partly in amusement. “Trust me, Son, Easy don’t choose this punishment, our officer just hates us.”

The boy introduced himself as Connor Dawe, a Private from Fox Company. He was a good worker and helped Bob scrub relentlessly at the basins. The block normally took about 3 hours to properly clean with just one man but between them, they had made good progress when Albert Miller, Easy Company’s medic, appeared in the doorway. He was a similar age to Bob, with a head of dark hair, a lean figure and a strong Louisiana accent. Miller had become one of Bob’s closest friends when they met during the first few weeks of basic training, and they had been close ever since.

“What are you doing here?” Bob asked, looking at his friend, who wrinkled his nose in response.

“I’m on latrine duty, with you two” he sighed, grabbing the mop and sloping it messily across the concrete floor.

“But I thought you started tomorrow?” Bob questioned, scrubbing aggressively at the basin.

“Well, so did I. But Lewis just hauled me out of the barracks and nearly kicked my ass the whole way here. I’ve lost my pass for next weekend too,” Albert groaned. “I was meant to be seeing my wife and baby girl this weekend. Now I’m gonna have to wait another week and pray my pass isn’t revoked again.

“Well if it is, you know where to find me.” All three men chuckled. The work was tough, but at least they were in it together.

The evening was drawing in when the three soldiers emerged from the latrine block, Dawe waved them goodbye and headed towards the Fox Company barracks while Floyd and Miller wandered towards Easy Company.

“Hey, have you met the new nurse,” Miller asked, taking a long drag from his cigarette, inhaling the nicotine and letting the substance circle his lungs as he let the smoke out in a long sigh.

“No, what’s she like?” Bob took the cigarette from his friend, inhaling deeply and trying to contain the cough that was building in his chest. Bob had never smoked before joining the army, his parents never had so he’d never thought anything of it. Bob had a few cigarettes with his friends on occasion but generally he avoided them, always regretting the stale taste it left in his mouth.

“She’s alright, I met her today. She seems quite nice and is very efficient.”

Bob nodded along, taking another drag from the cigarette before passing it back to the medic.

“That’s good, we need someone who knows what they’re doing,” he laughed as Miller hit him over the back of his head playfully. “I look forward to meeting her,” Bob corrected himself, smiling cheekily at his friend. What Bob didn’t realise was that he’d be meeting you sooner than he realised.

Bob always hated canteen duties, the mess hall was loud, unruly and sweaty. It wasn’t too bad if you were enjoying a meal with your fellow soldiers but serving the rowdy lot was another matter. Bob was slopping the grey, gruel-like porridge onto the soldier's plates as they funneled along the line to be served. Each soldier hurried off quickly, shoveling the liquid into their mouths before Captain Lewis could tell them otherwise.

Bob was coming to the end of the morning rush, when one of the kids from Easy Company dropped a stack of clean plates all over the floor, ceramic erupting in shards of white and scattering across the floor. Nowadays, this would have Bob diving under the nearest table or fleeing out of the door but Bob was naive back then, the true horrors of war seemed like something distant in the future.

“Christ's sake, watch yourself kid,” Bob swore, bending down to help the kid clear up the mess.

“Sorry,” the boy apologised and tried to help, but Bob brushed him off.

“Go grab some food before Captain Lewis comes.”

Bob gathered most of the mosaic pieces into the dustpan, picking up the occasional fragments he’d missed. A sharp stinging pain struck Bob’s hand and he pulled away quickly, cursing angrily under his breath, as he watched the deep crimson liquid ooze from the cut, the raised pink skin glaring back at him. “For fuck sake!”

Standing back up, he wrapped his hand tightly in a towel, his eyes scanning the mess hall for any sign of Miller but he was nowhere to be found. Cursing again, Bob made his way toward the temporary hospital set up for the medics and nurses.

The room was empty, well a tent really, its flimsy brown tarpe flapping in the wind when Bob entered, his boots tapping loudly on the wooden floor as he made his way down between the empty beds, all neatly made with crisp white sheets. He took a seat on the edge of one, cradling his arm to his chest, gazing aimlessly around the room, blue eyes scanning over the bare wooden walls to cabinets full of fresh medical supplies.

The sound of shuffling steps brought Bob’s attention to the young nurse in front of him, her clean white apron wrapped neatly around her middle and she had a pencil resting between her plump lips, as she gazed absentmindedly at the clipboard in her hand.

Bob cleared his throat, standing to attention and grabbing her attention, leaving her looking slightly dazed.

“Sorry, can I help you?” She asked, eyeing him suspiciously. (Y/n) wasn’t naive, she had her fair run-in with soldiers pretending to have all sorts of ailments just to be in the company of a woman.

“Ma’am,” the soldier replied, removing his helmet and nodding his head respectfully towards you. “I… umm cut my hand during mess hall duty and I was wondering if I could get it dressed?” He smiled at her sheepishly, raising his hand to reveal it wrapped in a blood-soaked towel.

“Oh you poor love, of course. Take a seat on one of those cots and I’ll fetch some things.”

The nurse scurried away and Bob perched awkwardly on the edge of one of the neatly made cots. The nurse soon reappeared armed with some dressings and a surgical kit. She bathed his hand gently, her hands gliding across his skin effortlessly, like a painter and their canvas. Bob gritted his teeth, hissing as the antiseptic burned the open wound. She gave him a small apologetic smile and he grimaced back, trying to stop his eyes from watering as she rubbed the swab over his wound. When she had finished cleaning his wound, she applied some stitches before dressing it in a simple white bandage. Her hands worked quickly but soothingly and Bob felt a great sense of calm just watching her work, feeling her skin against his. Every time the pair awkwardly made eye contact Bob would look away, his cheeks turning a deep scarlet.

“Right, you’re all done…” she paused, eyebrows pinched in question as the soldier looked up at you confused.

“Oh… Private Floyd. Private Bob Floyd Ma’am,” she advanced her hand towards him, taking his good hand and shaking it gently.

“Well, Private Floyd, I want you to keep this dressing on for the next few days, keep the wound clean and you can have your stitches removed in a week as long as it’s healing well.”

She smiled at him as he nodded along, she wasn’t sure if he was taking in the information but she smiled regardless.

“Thank you, Ma’am.” He stood to leave, replacing his helmet on his head and taking long strides down the aisle to the exit.

“(y/n),” she called out, watching as Bob Floyd stopped in his tracks, turning quickly on his heels to face you.

“My name, it's (y/n).” She watched as his soft features morphed into a wide grin and he let out a small triumphant laugh before leaving the medics' tent. She smiled to herself as she busied herself, tidying away the medical supplies. (Y/n) hoped to see a lot more of Private Floyd in the future.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Taglist: @callsign-phoenix @shadowsintheknight @imjess-themess @averyhotchner @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @alexxavicry @a-reader-and-a-writer @topguncortez @maggiescarborough @callsignmaverick5 @ssprayberrythings @smoothdogsgirl @xoxabs88xox @luckyladycreator2 @abaker74 @elenavampire21 @classyunknownlover @okiegirl24 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @sunlightmurdock @airedale17 @callmemana @shadowolf993 @t-nd-rfoot @topguncultleader @flyboyjake @emorychase @wkndwlff @shanimallina87 @jstarr86 @starkleila @callsignmeiga

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[sailorblossoms-snowbaz]

I’ve said before that I hate when the numpties line is treated like a funny catchphrase or lighthearted joke (I don’t get the appeal of the line tbh, it’s not even catchy, doesn’t roll off the tongue easy etc) and that I don’t think the book is encouraging the readers to make light of Baz’s situation with it either (if it was, it would be huge fucking point against it). The point is that it is saying something about Fiona and even about Baz and their dynamic. The point is that it is specifically Fiona’s type of “humor.” It’s not Baz’s. It’s not his type self-depreciating/self-hating humor. Even at his meanest and absolute worst, Baz is still softer and more emotionally intelligent than Fiona, and this is a moment of his life that he can’t never face directly, even though he’s usually one to think (and overthink).

I’ve never thought about reclamation in this context until someone else said it – I think there’s a delicate and complicated conversation about reclaiming something an abusive person in your life says or does vs just internalizing abuse that I’m frankly not feeling fully equipped to expand on, but my instincts tell me… it’s not right. For one, this doesn’t work with Baz’s type of humor. Its level of punching down goes further than Baz is ever willing to go – not without immediately regretting it. If we’re talking about throwing it back at Fiona in some way (which I doubt he would, he has grown beyond letting her drag him down to her level) I still don’t think Baz would be repeating it or finding some kind of humor or strength in it.

It’s so specifically Fiona. I can’t see any other character saying it. Malcolm and Daphne would likely find it appalling. Penny can be insensitive, and so can Agatha, but never like this. Neither would ever say something like this, especially not with context. Certainly not Simon (you would probably have to hold him back for him not to start vandalizing that car). Maybe Nico would find it funny, fuck if I know. I don’t think about him enough to call that one. But on top of everything… I’ll admit I’m going by memory here, but while this tracks as “Fiona’s dark, fucked up humour,” I question whether Fiona herself is actually trying to be funny here…. Now that I consider it, I kinda don’t think so.

I think, in her own fucked up way, Fiona is trying to comfort herself. I think she’s trying to retain some semblance of control (doesn’t she repeat it after she’s literally rescued from jail?) because she spent all that time looking for Baz, feeling frustrated and powerless each day that passed without finding him, likely fearing the worst (we could even give her some grace and assume not paying the ransom was because, besides making them seem “weak,” she suspected it wouldn’t have made a difference). She’s punishing Baz for it by sending him to the backseat simply because she can – that’s about control. She had none of it when Baz was missing… It’s likely about trying to feel like she’s in control of the situation again. Even saying deeply unserious shit can be about control and comforting herself, about trying to make it seem as less bad or serious than it is while looking at a Baz who’s in terrible (likely even scary) physical condition. In a way, punishing Baz for his literal kidnapping seems like some sort of fucked up version of grounding a kid because they went off somewhere/disappeared without telling anyone in charge of them anything, wouldn’t answer their phone for no good reason and made you worry the whole day or something. She treats the situation similarly, like Baz has some sort of blame and should have known better (he’s a Pitch and so he shouldn’t have “allowed” himself to be kidnapped, he should have been “stronger” than that or some bullshit). I think this might be coming from a place of real worry and fear, but she’s so emotionally stunted, so fucked up, so in her “punk” bullshit or whatever she does to make herself feel strong, that it comes out in an absolutely horrid and hurtful way. I don’t know. Food for thought I guess.

[tokillamockingbird427]

i wholeheartedly agree with ur response to my previous ask, especially with the trilingual and accent one. i imagine its like a somewhat thick-ish accent too that they have (rorke’s is probably more light than logans), since portuguese and spanish are probably the more dominant languages than english. (mainly my hc/theory bc of the fed that was stuttering in spanish and english before keegan killed him during the ajax mission but that’s somewhat irrelevant).

now adding onto ur trilingual hc(?), i imagine logan forgetting certain words and his mind goes absolutely blank in trying to find what the fuck the word is in any of the languages hes fluent in. (example: “i think he went to the… eh…“) and yes, this 100% applies to rorke, and if not the old man is probably WORSE. but unlike logan, rorke is way more fluent in english, as logan cant hold an entire conversation without speaking in either the other two dominant languages. of course though, i would like to think this is when logan decides to speak, because i feel like hes more of a “i hate people so i don’t talk” but is compassionate type of guy. (totally not cause we dont hear the man speak because of the silent protagonist era..)

im not sure what hesh’s(specifically) and the other ghosts reaction would be besides surprised pikachu, “he forgot english? we took THAT long???”, or “what the fuck did rorke DO.”, but im sure itd be something funny or angsty. as hesh and logan in your hc(that i adore cause it honestly suits them) are mixed and dont have that strong of an accent, the accent change from logan when he decides to talk would probably make hesh feel sad in a way, knowing he took too long to find logan before he 1) develops an accent, 2) is now trilingual, and 3) most likely doesn’t remember him or really any of the ghosts if we take that route of angst.

bonus again in favor of your lovely bonus: rorke and logan would absolutely make fun of eachother when they forget a word. (it would also be funny if its other feds who join in but they’re all probably scared of both or they all also deal with the same problem… but they might..)

and i’ll definitely send more asks in the future regarding similar topics like these or hcs in general! :)

— random anon

Logan frustrated to tears because he's gotta sort through three languages to find one word (Four if you include american sign, ASL, headcanon.) when he doesn't even like speaking. He'd make some bad joke about it being the reason he doesn't talk a lot, it's too much work when he can just stand there looking scary and let Rorke do his monologues.

Pls, calling Rorke an old man. I forget he's older than Elias because he really does NOT act like it. They gave him eternal youth in the pit or something because how the fuck was he getting his ass whooped like he was and shaking it off? (Au perhaps, curse of immortality?)

I HC that Logan's selectively mute (as do a few moots of mine) so to me it's not that he hates talking to people, it's just that speaking verbally makes him majorly uncomfortable. So instead he communicates through different avenues. Like writing things to be read, or signing, and even letting Hesh do all the talking for him. (One he uses the most, because it's easiest. Which can be used for angst when Logan then refuses to have Hesh talk for him post pit/beach EHEHHEHE.) He is absolutely so compassionate tho, I love that, I adore giving him a really big heart. Makes the angst where he's cold and angry so much more painful! :D (<- The face of a man who suffers under his own hand)

Oh the angst of the Ghosts being forced to face how much time has passed when they meet Logan again and he's changed so radically his primary language is no longer his "mother tongue." (mother tongue being spanglish, new primary being solely spanish.) Even outside a full "Amnesic Logan" au there'd still be things he'd forget and that is some good angst to explore. Hells yeah.

Hah, Logan and Rorke bullying the shit out of a each other. "Oh you stopped in the middle of your monologue, what was that? Forgot the word did you?" "Stfu that was a dramatic pause." "More like an awkward pause." "I'm gonna put you back in the pit blondie I stg." "Try me you bald bitch." (Subordinates too scared to tell if they're joking with each other or serious)

Can't wait to get more asks from you, I love it :D