#he's wonderful y'all are just mean and evil

[churchofsnails]

i will genuinely never understand Gale hate. he had me from the moment i slapped his hand and he went "perhaps i should've clarified. a helping hand anyone?" he's so funny and silly 😭

"he forces u to give him magic items!1!1!1!" he sure does. do you know how many magic items i've come across that are totally useless? Shit i'll just never use ever? all the time. he only wants Three items too, it's not like you have to consistently give him items throughout the entire game 🥱

and maybe he is a little arrogant and annoying! he's also cute and silly and funny. Astarion can also be annoying but i don't see y'all despising him (i also love Astarion so)

[licorishh]

Replayed Modern Warfare 3 2011 on Veteran tonight and goooooooood night. Blood Brothers never gets any easier to watch no matter how many times you've done it and the ending really never misses huh

I apologize for the amount of yapping in the tags I reread it all on mobile and started giggling because it went on for so long but eh. Blessed are those who won't shut the freak up and all that

[keyh0use]

can u do more about rafe being obsesseddd with his man

wasn't sure if you wanted 🌞✨❤️ obsessed ❤️✨🌞 or 🩸🔪🖤 obsessed 🖤🔪🩸 so both <3 but not really nsfw cause you didn't ask for that

Rafe has to fight with his hair to get it to be presentable, scooping out globs of gel to slick it back. Meanwhile Barry's hair is perfect no matter what and the kook isn't jealous, no, he loves the way the dark hair curls around tan ears and how strands fall out of a loose bun and how soft it is between his fingers. Barry doesn't let anyone touch his hair except Rafe and the boy takes advantage of that every chance he gets, scratching over his man's scalp after pulling out the hair tie or absentmindedly braiding it while they watch a movie. he also tugs on it to annoy Barry when he's not getting enough attention Rafe has been determined to live his house-husband dream since officially moving in but unfortunately his father's opinion still holds weight so when Ward invites (demands) him to attend a work trip, Rafe agrees to go. It's the first night he and Barry have slept a part in a long time and Rafe can't fall asleep no matter how hard he tries, tossing and turning on the expensive sheets; he puts on a movie and turns it off half-way through, gets a snack but he wasn't hungry, turns on ocean-sounds but isn't any more relaxed, even tries making a vaguely Barry-shaped body out of pillows to cuddle but nothing works. The couple talked on the phone before bed and now it's way too late to call, so Rafe whines into the fluffy pillows and gets up super early to get ready, overtired and annoyed. That night in their shared bed Rafe doesn't even wait for the book Barry's reading to be put down or the lights to be turned off, he just crawls right up the older mans body and passes out on his chest

Rafe has a whole photo album on his phone dedicated to Barry, sneaking some pictures but also wanting to look back on the ones willingly taken of them together. He loves them so much; the way Barry's hand curls around his waist, how Barry's smile is genuine and reserved only for those minutes with him, how they sound like they would be an unlikely pair but look perfect together in those shots

He also has all of Barry's favourite things written in his notes app, knowing what soup to (badly) make when Barry's not feeling well and what shampoo to buy and what team he's supposed to cheer for depending on the sport

Though Rafe obviously would prefer Barry not wear anything, seeing his man come home in coveralls and covered in dirt and oil makes him feel literally feral. Barry can barely make it to the bathroom in an attempt to clean up before Rafe is pushing into the room also his regular attire; big t-shirts, basketball shorts, surprisingly well taken care of sneakers. so different to how Rafe dresses but his man pulls it off so well and when Barry cleans up to go to a kook event on the north side...Rafe sweats all night trying to contain himself. AND chains. Rafe lives to give Barry gifts, especially when they benefit him which chains do because he gets to twist his fingers in it to guide Barry into kisses. besides, the dealer always looks so good when its swinging above Rafe's face

Rafe could write poems about Barry's southern drawl, finding his man's voice so calming and so, so sexy

Rafe's not a small guy, people intimidated by just his size. But not Barry. Barry gets in his face and puts him in his place and manhandles him, slams him against walls and tosses him on the bed like a ragdoll

Public displays of affection are very, very important to Rafe because he likes being shown off. yes, Barry is his but he wants people to know Barry chose him too

Barry works really hard and Rafe is never unappreciative, always going on about how lucky he is and how loved he feels and how well he's taken care of to anybody who will listen (most often his sisters, who affectionately roll their eyes but they love Barry too)

And of course he does the same back for Barry, letting Barry teach him to cook and clean properly, so he can take care of the house. Rafe knows it's not what Ward wants for him and society would likely frown on it, but it makes Rafe so happy making Barry's life easier

Another thing Rafe loves is how Barry isn't intimidated by Ward or Wards expectations. And the way Barry always defends Rafe when his father puts him down.

Rafe feels so safe with Barry. Every time his head gets foggy or his hands start to shake he seeks the man out like medicine, content to be held until he feels better, listening to Barry's soothing voice tell him he's alright

Rafe noticed a pattern in Barry's habits; he would leave really early for work and come home starving, and Rafe realised he would just grab something quick to run out the door with and wouldn't pack lunch so Rafe started doing it for him

Rafe knows exactly where Barry is going to be every single moment of the day. Not only is the older man's work schedules in Rafes phone, but he knows where Barry shops for books & bike parts and which gas station he stops at after work

And Rafe knows all that by following Barry around from time to time (at least twice a week) Barry suspects the stalking after he attempts to set up a special date for their anniversary and Rafe loses it and blows up his phone for not being at work, but Barry doesn't actually care either way

nothing about Barry could ever be gross to Rafe. Rafe loves Barry's hands so he licks up blood from cuts (and ignores Barry scolding him about how unsanitary it is, considering they usually come from scrap metal) and sucks on fingers with permanent stains in the creases and lets them inside his body.

there's so much about that one I can think of because literally nothing is off limits for Rafe (as long as it's just the two of them) Barry can do whatever he wants whenever he wants to the boy

literally anything Rafe steals from Barry all the time. Mostly clothes that the older man has worn a lot and carry his scent. Sometimes Rafe wears them (which Barry loves of course but this isn't about his obsessions so moving on) but usually he just hoards them in a large bag in the closet. Barry has no clue why the kook does it and doesn't really care because all his stuff is replaced by better quality items. and then stolen again, as is the cycle In the beginning when their relationship was newer and Rafe insisted on touching Barry, not caring if his own needs were being neglected, he would use the stuff he stole to get off with; smelling the shirts or wrapping boxers he made Barry come in around his dick to jerk off with. but since losing his virginity Rafe can only get off with Barry, like there's some mental block that trained him to only come from being fucked. it doesn't bother him AT ALL because it just proves to Rafe they're meant to be together forever, obviously <3

Barry doesn't really get jealous (and Rafe would never give him a reason to be) but he is just as possessive as Rafe is which means there's unspoken rules. Usually, its the older man marking Rafe up; biting and sucking bruises into fair skin and being rough enough to leave the boy walking funny the next day BUT when its Rafe who gets jealous (ex: i have a rough draft of a jealousy fic where the receptionist at Barry's job has a crush on him and posts about it online which Wheezie sees and snitches and well...) he goes a little insane. like warning Barry he'll go after whoever and meaning it, wanting to be in control when they have (kinda, cause they weren't fighting) make-up sex and letting him make some sort of permanent physical claim like scarring him up. but Barry is so good at talking him down and reassuring him afterwards <3 <3 <3 <3 Barry gets Rafe's named tattooed on him <3 <3 <3 (my fav!!) and Rafe is literally untouchable then. like feels on top of the world, so happy and in love and needy, too. the tattoo needs to heal but Rafe wants to put his hands and his mouth all over it, take pictures of it, stare openly for hours because Barry is really his

Rafe craves Barry's body in more ways than just sexual (though that's a big one, very important to them) he loves worshipping every inch of tanned skin, running the tips of his fingers and his tongue over scars again and again, never giving Barry a chance to be insecure about anything & being so close, wrapped up in strong arms and made to feel safe kinda goes along with the stealing one/gross one but Rafe wants to be all over Barry at all times no matter what and is obsessed with the way he smells. the smell of his shampoo/deodorant/cologne, yeah that's all fine but Rafe likes when Barry comes home from work and needs to shower, that's the scent and taste that drives him wild. and he nuzzles into Barry's hair to breath in lungfuls and licks up sweat

I could probably go on forever <3 thanks for asking these, they make me happy <3

[mad-hunts]

👄 + Scarecrow

there's a pause from barton, or THE DOLLMAKER, as he was currently dressed in all of the garb appropriate to his namesake upon being asked about the complicated case that was jonathan crane. a displeased hum left his lips then as if the act of just mentioning him was bothersome to him — and truthfully, gauging by what he said next, it might have very well been, ❝ ugh. you can't tell because i'm wearing my mask, but i'm rolling my eyes right now. if i tell you how i feel about him, then will you finally leave me alone? i'm busy, you know, ❞ barton's voice was very matter-of-fact as he spoke, though it was raised a degree, like he wanted to make sure whoever this was who was asking him this would hear him. he leaned forward towards them with his hands gripping the autopsy table in front of himself.

❝ i think he squandered his potential the moment he decided to pursue the very unreachable goal that is conquering his own fears, and so, i don't know whether i want to grimace at him every single time i see him or simply avoid him. because fear is something that is engrained in us, and without it, we'd all likely be dead. so by pursuing a way to find out how to remove this very necessary thing we have for survival... it makes him look like he's incredibly ignorant because it's something that doesn't need to be conquered, in my opinion, and so he isn't exactly using his 'smarts' effectively. which is why i consider him a waste of potential; he's just going to keep on running in circles for eternity trying to find a way to get rid of it. but what do i know, i'm not a psychologist like he is. ❞

there's an important distinction there as barton referred to him as a psychologist in the present tense rather than the past tense. barton's mask suddenly creased in the furrow between his brows as if he were getting annoyed, ❝ i also think he's an uppity asshole who acts like he's a lot more important than he actually is, but i have to say... and don't tell him i said this because the last thing i need is for him to think we're suddenly friends; i do somewhat respect him at the same time. he does seem like a really intelligent man, but like i said; if he'd just ditch the whole ' i have to conquer my own fear ' thing, he would so much better off. i suppose he has been kind of drifting away from that in recent times, though, but not nearly enough. he is also someone who likes experimenting on people and exploiting their fears because he likes to feel as if he's being taken seriously and like he's big, powerful. so it was out of insecurity that he started making his toxin at all. or, at least, that's how i see it. ❞

barton shrugged his shoulders slightly and turned around to have his back pressed against the table. whether this was on purpose or not was unclear, but he could've been doing it to hide his reaction to what he was going to talk about next, ❝ i think he himself still has some beef with me over the incident me and him had in arkham. which is fine, of course, i don't really care. but it has been a while since i took that needle and thread to his lips because he really does have the widest smile. and it makes me physically want to squirm whenever i see it because i just... want to fix it. it's too wide, you know. i suppose it's probably likely he remains hung up over it to this day because i didn't use anesthesia, ❞ barton flipped his whole body around then, a bit of a twisted snort leaving his lips. ❝ but where are you going to get that in arkham? they don't even let us see the dentist half the time, so you know. i had to improvise. but anyway, does that answer your question? ❞

[dilatorywriting]

The Prince & The Pauper Prefect

Gender Neutral Reader x Prince Stefan (Twst OC) Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: 'Dear Ramshackle Prefect, you are cordially invited to tour the Royal Sword Academy at your leisure. We hope our libraries may have something of use to aid in your journey home. And if perhaps you find our facilities to your taste, we would be more than happy to extend you a more permanent invitation.’ Clearly, nothing about this could go wrong at all.

A/N: A commission for the very lovely @thefiasco-onyourblock. I'm having so much fun with all y'alls ideas, and this is one of the few that was asked to be public, so I'm happy you all get to see it! It was a lot of fun to dive back into this himbo~

You’d just stumbled your way back onto Ramshackle’s sagging porch after your second third fourth foray into this wonderful new world of Near-Death Experiences when the letter arrived.  It popped into existence in a pleasant burst of bubbles and sparks—a scroll of soft, cream, paper stamped with a shimmering wax seal that looked like it could have been melted down out of literal gold. You waved a hand under it, over it, all around the thing in grand loop-de-loop. The letter just kept hovering in place, occasionally spitting out another bout of multicolored sparkles.

“Hello?” you tried, cautious, and the thing crinkled at the corners. Like it was trying to wave back at you.

You glared up at the grey sky for a moment, daring whatever higher power existed in this stupid world to try fucking with you yet again, before reaching out to grab the ridiculous, magic, note.

It unrolled at your touch, like a cat stretching when you scratched along its spine. And instead of some horrible prank or wayward contract, you were greeted with an opportunity.

.

.

“POACHERS!” Crowley howled.

You sighed and rested your chin in your palm. “So can I go?”

“INTERLOPERS!” he forged onwards, waving the letter back and forth like a parent raging over a bad report card. “Who do they think they are?! Trying to swipe my most precious intern—student! My most precious and beloved of students!—out from under my nose?! As if I wouldn’t be able to see through something so—so—ACK!”

“I mean,” you grumbled miserably under your breath, “it is a pretty long nose. Could hide a lot under there.”

He turned on you with a gasp, like you’d just insulted his mother. Or… whatever the Headmaster’s no doubt vaguely evil and eldritch equivalent would be. 

“It’s a mask! A mask!”

He crumpled the letter petulantly between his clawed fingers and went to hurl it to the ground, but the paper smoothed itself out with another one of those magical ‘pops!’ and floated up on an artificial breeze to land neatly in your lap. Crowley sneered at the thing like he was planning to light it on fire, and honestly, with how strange and ethereal this little letter was, you sort of wanted to see him try.

“I think it’s a perfectly reasonable opportunity,” Professor Trein shrugged, unbothered by his superior’s usual nonsense.

“It’s not as if the Royal Sword Academy is known for their treachery,” Professor Crewel added, sounding a bit like the acknowledgement had to be yanked out of his mouth with a pair of pliers. He glanced your way for a moment with those narrowed, steely, eyes of his before turning that glare back on the old crow. “And in comparison, I don’t think any of us can truthfully claim that Night Raven has provided a particularly safe learning environment for the Prefect.”

Crowley sniffed, indignant. “A sprinkling of danger is all part of the educational experience!”

Trein sighed and Crewel pinched at his brow like he was fighting the start of a migraine.

“They’re just offering to let me look through their library archives for more information on how I could find a way home,” you tried, and then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Which would mean less work for you, you know.”

For a moment you could see the calculations whirling behind those glowing, yellow, eyes—the promise of entirely unearned vacation time and accolades for tasks he’d had absolutely bupkis to do with. But then the sharp line of his mouth hardened in determination and he turned away from you with a huff.

“We’ll discuss this betrayal of yours later—when my poor, old, heart has had some time to stitch itself back together!” he harumphed and you sighed miserably. Then he snapped his fingers with a little ‘ah!’ and turned on you with a perfectly sunny smile. “And of course there’s the VDC to plan for! Do get on that, my favorite, little, busy bee!”

Afterwards you stood in the little alcove outside of Crowley’s office, the golden letter clutched tightly in your fists. The soft edges of the scroll lifted to curl around your knuckles, like a gentle reassurance. Before you could work yourself up into getting too upset about the unfairness of it all, Professor Crewel placed a hand on your shoulder with a heavy sigh.

“I’ll drop you off Monday morning.”

You fought the tremble that was doing its best to turn your mouth into a wobbling mess, and turned to launch yourself into his furs with a crushing hug. The alchemist patted your back with a great deal of aggrieved grumbling, but he didn’t bother to push you away either, so he probably didn’t mind you creasing his coat as much as he said he did.

.

.

Your assurance that this was just a jaunt through the RSA’s library had been… mostly a fib. Or at least, deceptive in the same way that the sweeping, cursive, missive was also sort of sneaky. You’d dealt with enough genuine schemers at this point to recognize subtle promises woven into the words of the well-meaning.

‘And if perhaps you find our facilities to your taste, we would be more than happy to extend you a more permanent invitation.’

You sighed and tucked the letter into your bag. It felt a bit wrong to be ducking away from your friends and your hovel of a home like a thief absconding in the night. But this was just… You were just looking. Spending a day away from the cloying, tarry, taste of pooling blot, and the endless runaround of all your little duties, and Crowley was not nearly the same as flipping your new friends the bird and fucking off into the sunset.

You repeated this to yourself ad nauseum as you pulled on your cleanest uniform, and then again throughout the entirety of the drive down the coast, and then more when Crewel waved you out of his car with a pointed look, leaving you at the RSA’s doorstep with a little shoo shoo gesture to get you moving.

Everything was so white. And not the gentle sort of lightness that came with nice things like fluffy sheep or foam off rolling ocean waves. It was sterile—so sharply bright in the morning light that it was nearly blue. The brick path beneath your feet was white, the guardrails lining the walkways were white, the walls of the looming castle, the impressive archways, the fluttering flags bearing the school’s regal coat of arms—all bone-bleached beneath the sun and shimmering like the architecture itself had literally been polished to a gleam. The only variation to be seen amidst the sea of monochromatic brilliance was the occasional pop of a cerulean spire—like some sort of awful party hat to top off the whole mess of it.

Say what you might about Night Raven’s gothic chic and whole ‘I mean, of course the cobwebs in the halls are Intentional’ aesthetic, but at least walking around the drab buildings there didn’t leave you feeling like someone had just set off a camera flash in your face. You felt like you were dirtying the roads by just existing near them. How did anything ever get done here without everyone having to constantly stop just to sweep up their footprints behind them?!

But such was the way of this dumb world apparently. Everything had to operate in extremes—nothing could just be normal. Real. It was all some fairytale recreation, varying only in if it fell hard on one side of the spectrum or the other.

You pulled out the letter with a sigh, and began roving over the contents yet again to see where exactly you were supposed to be headed. This whole fieldtrip turning into a miserable confirmation of your unintended loyalty to Night Raven or otherwise, at least you might be able to get some information out of these promised libraries.

You managed to cross a sweeping stone bridge, descend three separate flights of stairs, and follow nearly half a dozen signs with little, circled, stars on them before realizing you were probably only making things worse for yourself. You were still on one of those glistening, pearlescent, pathways, but now there were trees everywhere. It was a far cry from the twisting, black, forests smattered throughout Night Raven’s estate. Light filtered down pleasantly through the lush trees and the air was so nicely scented with flowers and pine that it was almost like someone had gone through with a bottle of Perfume de Forest and personally spritzed each and every plant. Which—ugh. Even the birds seemed to singing in tempo to some pre-orchestrated song. It was trippy.

But speaking of trippy—

You were so busy glaring suspiciously at a tree with a literal smiley face twisted into its bark that you didn’t notice the drop-off until it was too late. To be fair, it was still all very lovely—an overhang leading to a crystalline lake that bubbled gently under the roar of nearby waterfall. No jagged rocks at the bottom or anything. You probably wouldn’t even have to tumble all the way into the water, just into the little ditch about ten feet down. But of course, all that didn’t stop you from ‘eeping’ inelegantly in a panic as you stepped over the edge and started to fall.

And then you jerked back with a wheeze when something caught you around the collar of your uniform and tugged. You flailed wildly as you were hauled back up and into the air, and something behind you made a high-pitched, nervous, whinnying noise.

“Woah, woah, woah! Easy! Easy! You’re going to send all three of us over, you big baby!”

The huffing, angry, noises just got worse and you were dropped unceremoniously back on the pathway you’d wandered off from just in time to see a pair of hooves come crashing down precariously close to where you’d been dumped. You scurried back in a hurry, because you’d survived too much nonsense at this point to get taken out from something as mundane as a kick to the head.

The horse eventually got its singular braincell working well enough to realize it had to back away from the ledge, and you were finally able to look upon your savior without being too worried about taking a hoof to the face.  

He was clearly an RSA student, what with the garishly bleached uniform and impeccably put together everything. There was a crimson cloak tossed over one of his shoulders though, which did more to break the monotony of colorless brightness than any other architecture in the entire campus, so well done him you supposed. There was a sort of effortless attractiveness to everyone in this stupid world, but your new acquaintance in particular seemed to fall hard into that ‘windswept, accidental model’ sort of look, with loose brown hair falling in a neat fringe over his forehead, and wide, warm, hazel eyes. He looked a bit like the sort of person that a school might slather on all their recruitment posters to be like ‘see! We have jocks that know how to shower and brush their hair! Look how put together we are!’

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking down at you with a canted head—curious. “You don’t look a student here.”

“I’m not,” you sighed, making your way to your feet with a sore grumble. “I have an invitation. I’m just trying to find the Headmaster’s Office,” you said, holding out the letter like a hall pass.

“Oh!” He chirped, brightening. “I can show you the way,” He offered. “Not that I’m in trouble enough to know the way there by heart or anything, but I guess just enough that there isn’t too much of a chance that I’ll get the both of us lost,” he winked and you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. Normally this sort of overly familiar banter meant you were about to get dragged into all sorts of Shenanigans.

Before you could decide whether to take the chance or politely decline, his stupid, too big, horse reared its head back with a frustrated huff. Mister Red Cloak took the mini-tantrum in stride, despite the fact that the thing had nearly just clocked him right in the face with a head that looked as solid as a boulder.

“Oh, come now,” he sighed, patting the beast’s neck. “We can finish the course later. Don’t be a baby.”

The horse made some sort of unpleasant shrieking noise like some nightmare creature from just beyond the gates of Hell that had you flinching back to avoid being Murdered, but its rider simply rolled his eyes and tugged sharply at the reins.

“What do you think, huh? Just this once?” he asked, leaning forward over the withers to talk to the raging horse in its face. Like a lunatic. “For an extra bucket of oats? And maybe, just a few—” cue an absolutely horrendous eyebrow waggle, “carrots?”

And then the horse tossed its head back with a whinny that should absolutely not have sounded anything like a ‘hell yeah! Whatever you say, dude!’ before turning and prancing around you in tight, bouncy, circles. You scrunched in on yourself, because the thing was still probably a thousand pounds of muscle and flailing limbs. Even if it wasn’t actively huffing at you anymore, now it was just getting closer faster.

“You really don’t have to,” you tried. “Just point me in the right direction and I can find my own way.”

“Nonsense!” he chirped, dropping down from the saddle to land before you in the grass with a heavy thud. He brushed at his trousers, as if he wasn’t expecting his hands to come back completely clean. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on him. “What sort of savior would I be if I let you get lost in the wild and wonderful woods of this grand institution?”

“I can see the castle,” you griped, pointing to the blue peaks over the trees.

“Last I checked, you can see it from the entrance too,” he smiled and gestured to the forested path around you, chuffing a bit like he was laughing under his breath. “Must’ve been quite a turnaround, to wind up here anyways.”

Instantly you felt your hackles rising and a familiar, prickly, heat work its way up into your cheeks.

“Thank you, for your concern,” you grit out and swiveled on your heel. “But I guess even I should be able to find my way eventually.”

The pleasantly amused expression on the brunette’s face instantly fell and he darted back in front of you with a grimace.

“Sorry—that was. Sorry. I guess I put my foot in my mouth,” he rushed out. A gloved hand came up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You snorted and glared off into the trees.

“Now you really have to let me show you the way,” he laughed, stilted and bordering on too polite. “For making an ass out of myself like that. It’s the least I can do.”

You glared at him sourly for a moment before sighing and glancing back at the looming Andalusian still prancing along the tree line. “Will… that be coming with us?”

“Helios?” he asked, like you had any concept of what a ‘Helios’ was supposed to be. Probably the horse. “Oh, no, no, no,” he said, waving you off. “He can find his way back to the stables on his own. Right, boy?”

The horse made another one of those high-pitched, blustery, noises and you forcefully reminded yourself that you had faced inky goop monsters that were personifications of your classmates’ literal demons, and also kidnapping plots involving another of said classmates diving into your brain to rewire it like you were his own personal puppet. And in comparison to all those trials, Sentient Animals should not be creepy.

“Fine,” you huffed. “It’s fine. Just—let’s just get going.”

“Right!” he beamed, instantly bouncing back to his earlier enthusiasm. “I’m Stefan, by the way.”

You offered your own name in return, if only to be polite, and he smiled like the fact that you’d managed to grit out those familiar syllables was a gift in and of itself and not just, you know, generic introduction protocol.

“You have a lovely name,” he chirped, falling into step at your side.

You snorted, still a bit too bitter and sore. “You don’t have to try so hard to be nice, you know. To make up for saying something you feel bad about, I mean. It’s fine.”

His blinked his wide, hazel, eyes at you in way that looked a bit like you’d managed to surprise him. His eyelashes were long and soft, and they brushed against his cheeks with each shutter. Never trust people with nice eyelashes, you thought a bit petulantly. You’d known you were right to be cautious.

“You think I’m just saying that because I feel guilty?” he asked, not sounding particularly incredulous or insulted so much as genuinely curious. He tilted his head at you and some of his fringe slipped in front of his eyes, softening the sharp lines of his face. “Do people normally do that?”

You didn’t quite frown at him, but it was a close thing. You could feel your brow pinch.

“…I guess,” you huffed after a long moment, turning to stare back at the path ahead.

“Huh,” he mused, thoughtful. “Well, I really did mean it. And it’s a lot better than my name by far. I mean, really, Stefan? A bit on the nose, don’t you think? ‘Crown?’ Come on. Couldn’t my parents have been anymore original?”

You glanced over at him, a bit lost. “What does that mean?”

“Stefan?” he repeated with another one of those eyelash-sweeping blinks. “It means ‘crown.’”

“No,” you sighed, long suffering. “As in, how is that unoriginal? It’s a nice name.”

“Well, it’s because I—” he trailed off, gaze lingering in open astonishment. After a long moment of gaping at you like he’d just been clobbered across the back of the head with a baseball bat, he finally cleared his throat and looked back off into the trees with a tight shrug. “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything I guess. Don’t worry about it.” He seemed to chew on that train of thought for a moment or two longer before turning back to face you with a wide grin that was just on the right side of smug. “You think it’s a nice name?”

“Whatever,” you huffed, cheeks starting to heat with something other than bitter chagrin. “Just please get me out of this forest before I fall over another cliff.”

.

.

Headmaster Ambrose the 63rd (the sixty-third! What in the nepo-nonsense was that?!) looked like a wizard straight out of some homey after-school-special, with silver spectacles perched on his rounded nose and a soft, pointed, cap atop his head that flopped endearingly at the tip. He was an antithesis to Crowley in every sense of the word—flowing robes replacing tight vests and formal wear, faded white accents rather than sharp black, and not a single bit of Sparkling Flair to be seen. Like everything else, as nice as he seemed, it was such a stark jump into the opposite direction that it had your hackles raised in caution.

“Our libraries are some of the most extensive in the country,” he smiled, warm and fond. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle behind the rims of his glasses. “I hope you’ll be able to find something that may be of some help to your situation.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said, fighting the insane storybook urge to do something like curtsy.

He waved you off with a gentle shake of the head. “None of that ‘sir’ nonsense. You’re a guest a here! I hope my students have been treating you well?”

Stefan rubbed at the back of his neck and shot his headmaster a sheepish smile that was entirely, unfairly, handsome.

“Doing my best, sir.”

“Good lad,” he hummed, something nearly mischievous sparking in those blue-grey eyes of his. But you were hesitant to label it anything of the sort now that you’d seen what real sneaky nonsense looked like. This was more like… Children’s Program Mischief. That kind that usually involved an adult thinking themselves very clever for being able to sneak some vegetables into an afternoon snack. He turned back on you with that shining smile. “Allow me to find you an escort for the afternoon, and then we can get off to the library.”

“I’d be happy to show them around!” Stefan piped in.

“Is that so,” Ambrose mused, that same little grin playing over his mouth. “I thought you were meant to be in Equestrian Studies at the moment, hmm?”

“Well, I mean,” he spluttered, before collecting his argument and squaring his shoulders with another one of those blindingly bright smiles, “how could I possibly have left someone in need to fend for themselves, sir? I would have brought shame down on this entire institution! Heroes are meant to be made not born, after all!” He boomed, like someone cheering a school’s motto at a sports game.

All of this sounded like the largest crock of self-aggrandizing bullshit you’d ever heard, and by the time you’d had a whole internal debate with yourself over the merits of NRC’s outright nastiness versus this… whatever it was supposed to be, Ambrose was gesturing between the pair of you and saying something that you probably ought to be being paying attention to.

“Thank you, sir!” Stefan grinned, and Ambrose waved him off in that same pleasant way he had you earlier.

“You’re in excellent hands, Prefect,” the Headmaster assured as you were rushed out the door by the guy who was clearly going to be your newest Problem. “Take care! And please let me know if there’s anything at all that we can help you with.”

And then you were back out in the hallway, with Stefan already steering you towards who knew what. The archives, you hoped. But knowing your luck, probably not.

“You must be hungry, right?” he asked, perfectly polite. “Why don’t I take you to the cafeteria before we head over to the library?”

“I’m fine,” you said, just as your stomach gurgled a very loud complaint. You patted at your traitor of an abdomen in a silent reprimand and sighed, “You can just show me the way. I don’t want you to feel like you have to babysit me the whole day.”

“Nonsense,” he beamed, intertwining his arm with yours and tugging you off down another hallway before you could protest. He was so tall, and it should have been hard to keep up with his longer stride, but it wasn’t. “I like spending time with you.”

“What?” you blinked, thrown. Because maybe you’d hit your head or something, but you were pretty sure the last half hour had consisted of very little other than you being grumpy and unpleasant.

He canted his head to look down at you and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile.

“You’re nice to talk to,” he said. “Honest, I think. Would be the best way I could describe it. Genuine.” His hazel eyes went a bit distant, wistful. “There aren’t many people here like that. It’s different. Good different,” he promised, the corners of his smile tugging into something a bit teasing.

Your gaze tracked down to the brilliantly blue carpet beneath your feet and then around to the perfectly white walls. Other students filtered by in their starched uniforms and shiny, black, dress shoes—all impeccably groomed and all chattering idle nothings about the weather, about classes, exams. You could see the muddy imprints from your boots trailing along the floor and a few errant bits of grass fell in clumps from where they were still tangled up in your shoelaces. Something tight in you eased a bit at the mess, and you turned back to your companion with a sigh that was bordering far too close on ‘begrudgingly fond’ rather than the properly ‘put upon’ you were aiming for.

“If you say so.”

You hadn’t thought it was possible for the guy’s smile to get brighter, but somehow he managed. You squinted into the warmth of it with a strange, squirmy, feeling in your stomach that you didn’t think had much to do with being hungry.

“Come on then!” he beamed, tugging you along. “We don’t want to miss the Feast!”

“Feast?” you echoed, incredulous.

“With dancing silverware and everything,” he mock-whispered, like a secret just for the two of you.

“What the fuck,” you gaped, brain immediately latching onto the most ridiculous aspect of all of it. “How do you eat anything if it’s dancing?”

Stefan threw his head back with a roaring laugh that had you wanting to sink into your collar with your shoulders hunched up to your ears. But no one stopped to stare, or point, or snicker into their palms at his open enthusiasm. There were a few curious peepers, but once they seemed to identify the source of the noise, they all went back to wandering the halls in their perfectly pressed uniforms with nary a sly comment or sneer to be seen.

“See?” he beamed, tilting sideways to knock his shoulder against yours. “Honest. Now come on—we don’t want to miss out on all the grey stuff. It tastes way better than it sounds, promise.”

.

.

The pair of you entered the cafeteria right at the start of things, with dishes and forks just beginning to fly overhead in waves of strange, blinking, lights and motes of golden sparks. More than a few people waved at Stefan as he walked in, and he returned the greetings with polite, buoyant, ones of his own before herding you to an empty table off to the side.

“You don’t want to sit with your friends?” you asked, brow pinching in confusion.

“Hmm?” he mumbled around a spoonful of something already shoved in his mouth. There wasn’t any kind of plate in front of him, so he must have snatched it right out of the air. He swallowed and reached up to grab another. “Oh, no. That’s fine. Here! Try this!”

You leaned away from the spoon he held up to your lips with a huff and some obligatory complaints about how ‘you could feed yourself just fine, thank you very much.’ You plucked the bit of silverware from his fingers with a wary frown and very tactfully ignored that lingering, fluttering, warmth in your gut that you still hadn’t managed to completely snuff out.

“Is this… grey stuff?”

“Right on the money,” he winked, leaning forward to snatch up another flying fork. “My family’s not usually a fan of more ‘modern’ cuisine, so it’s always a treat to be able to try all the different foods at the Feasts here.”

You looked hesitantly at the goopy mess of monochromatic paste smeared across the spoon, and then back up at Stefan who was casually digging into his own floating mountain of toxic waste with an absolutely enraptured hum of satisfaction.

“Remind me to buy you a grilled cheese or something…” you muttered under your breath, before bravely swallowing the entire spoonful of sludge. And—huh. That was actually… pretty delicious. How weird.

You spent the rest of the luncheon event picking at random bits of floating foods as they danced by. Occasionally Stefan would lean forward to point out his favorites and give recommendations. He was surprisingly observant, despite whatever initial impressions his jock’s jawline and guileless grins may have led you to believe otherwise—taking easy note of the things you pushed aside and the ones you nibbled at more enthusiastically.

“Oh—you missed the desserts,” he lamented as the last remnants of a picked apart pie flew over your head.

“That’s fine,” you said, but he only shook his head and began to drag you off again with another of those brilliant grins.

And so began a weird sort of pseudo treasure hunt, where Stefan would take your hand and haul you off to some random corner of the castle with promises of whatever seemed to strike his fancy, or more accurately you supposed, whatever he seemed to think you might fancy.

“No one really uses this vending machine anymore, but somehow it always restocks and it has the best ice cream bars I’ve ever had. It’s wild! I’m sure you’ll love it!—“

“Oh, it is pretty cold down here, right? I didn’t even think about that. But… hmm… Here! I know the best place to grab a hot chocolate! It’s just over this way a bit—“

“These walls are kind of a drab view, yeah? Here! If we go down this way there’s a great little area to sit where you can see the whole bay—“

By the end of things, somehow you ended up back at the stables with that terror of a horse of his. And despite the runaround and the vaguely exhausting fact that Stefan’s social battery never seemed to wear itself out ever, it wasn’t… it wasn’t that bad, actually. Sometimes people would wave him down to talk, and he always introduced you and left the proverbial door open for you to join the conversation, but never asked you to participate, which was nice. You’d taken to just sort of slouching against his side in a food coma like a lizard on a rock as he answered whatever mundane questions all the other students asked of him. But otherwise, it was just the pair of you bopping around all over the campus.

Helios saw his master and whinnied merrily, and Stefan made an odd sort of chuffing noise in return that had you laughing into your palm.

“What?” He complained good-naturedly. “You’ve never barked at a dog before? It’s the same thing!”

“Of course it is,” you droned, lips twitching up at the corners.

The next destination was someplace on the coast that he was insisting was the absolute best place in the world to sit and think. Which if you wanted to do research, naturally you needed to get your head together about where to start, right? The only problem was that it was a solid hour hike away, but Stefan assured you that on horseback it was a much shorter journey.

You leaned forward on your tiptoes to get a look down the sprawling corridor of stalls, each larger and grander than the last. And each of their occupants following that exact same trend. There even looked like there was a horse with wings, which was—ah. Not helping the intimidation factor, to say the least.

“You can ride with me,” he offered. “If you’re uncomfortable, I mean. Sometimes it helps to feel like there’s someone more adept at the reins.”

You blinked, a bit taken aback that he’d picked up on your discomfort so easily. But then then you focused on the rest of that offer and you and the horse shared a Look. And wasn’t that a trippy thing to notice. You immediately forced yourself not to think about it.

“I don’t know if that’s fair to Helios,” you pointed out.

“Nonsense!” Stefan waved you off, and Helios pinned his ears indignantly. “He’s an Andalusian. They’re war horses, you know? Built to be as sturdy and strong as any horse can be.” He said the last part with a sickly-sweet uptick to his voice, and leaned up against the beast’s flank like they were sharing an inside joke. “They say Prince Phillip’s legendary steed was an Andalusian, and they rode into battle against a dragon together.”

Helios’s grey muzzle twitched prissily and eventually the horse lowered his great head to thump against Stefan’s side with a gusty ‘harumph’ that had the man stumbling forward with a pleasant laugh.

“There you are, you big baby. I knew you had it in you.”

After giving the horse a firm pat pat on his rump, Stefan turned and offered you a hand.

“It’s easier if I help you up first,” he explained.

“Isn’t there like… a ladder, or something?” You tried, and Stefan grinned sneakily before ducking behind you and hauling you up on Helios’s back all in one go. You absolutely, positively, did not squeak, or anything else ridiculous like that. It was a—a squawk! The most indignant and put upon of noises!

Stefan laughed and waved off whatever terrible sounds you were making with a bemused ‘Sorry! Sorry!’ that was the absolute least apologetic thing you’d ever heard. And then he was swinging himself up near effortlessly into the saddle behind you and looping an arm around your waist.

“Sometimes it’s better to just get it over with,” he explained in your ear, like your brain hadn’t just absolutely Blue Screened at the new weight along your hips. “Like ripping off a bandaid. I know it can all be sort of intimidating for people who aren’t used to being around horses.”

When you didn’t respond, because you were still trying to sort cognizant thoughts of the mess of ‘!!!’ that was hard at work blotting out the rest of your brain, you felt him start to shift a bit behind you. His hands flexed a bit tighter, as if the idea of you not being secure enough in the saddle was in anyway the problem here. After another moment of your continued silence, Stefan leaned forward carefully to hook his chin over your shoulder and spoke in that same carefully polite way he had when he’d worried he’d insulted you all those hours ago in the forest.

“If you’re still uncomfortable I can get you down if you want,” he offered, voice dipping low in something that sounded like hesitance. “I know I—I mean, you don’t have to go riding with me, if you don’t want to. I just thought it’d be…” He cleared his throat, and you must have been going delirious because out of the corner of your eyes you swore you could see the tips of his ears turning pink. “I can… I can just take you to the library now, if you want,” he said. “I know I’ve already been pretty selfish with your time today.”

Helios shifted to stamp his feet and you twisted your fingers nervously into his mane. You really didn’t feel entirely great about being so high, on something so wild and big. And honestly, you had wasted a lot of time sightseeing with your impromptu tour guide. If you were being in anyway rational, you should demand Stefan dismount and take you to the library like he promised. But all the same… Today had been—all of it had been…

“Just don’t let me fall,” you huffed, fighting the urge to duck your chin down into your collar to hide the rising heat in your cheeks.

“Of course not!” Stefan beamed, straightening himself back up so suddenly that he nearly tipped the both of you from the saddle. You sent him a glare over your shoulder and he laughed, loud and boisterous. “Sorry, sorry. From here out starts the ‘of course not.’ That was just a test run.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, letting him maneuver your hands to better hold the reins alongside his.

Naturally, by the time you got halfway to the beach, Stefan remembered that the library closed early on Mondays, and that you’d well and truly missed your opportunity as you’d been off gallivanting with him and his ridiculousness all day.

But you know what? It was fine. You’d just come back tomorrow. And maybe the next day too.

.

.

[bowieandqueen11]

Leon Kennedy Being Protective Would Include...

Request: Hi there!! I saw you were open for Resident Evil requests, and I was wondering if I could request some angry headcanons of Leon being protective of an injured reader maybe?

Sure my lovely! I can't wait to see Death Island, I've missed seeing Chris and Jill together ;3

It's been a little while since I've written so forgive me if this is a jumbled mess, I'm trying :')

Warning: very very slightly spicy! Mentions of injury/blood and a little strong language!

(I do not own Resident Evil or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @halfwayriight.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

I hope y'all don't mind I write for RE4 Leon because PHEW this man just keeps getting finer and finer please-

Being sent to rescue the President's daughter in a remote rural Spanish village wasn't exactly how you figured the few weeks after yours and Leon's engagement would go, but considering your track record you probably should have seen it coming. Ever since the two of you survived the horrifying events of Raccoon City nearly seven years ago, Leon had refused to leave your side for a moment. Wanted to run out and grab groceries while Leon had finally, after hours and hours of arduous training had crashed out on the couch? Too bad! The blanket you had tucked around his waist is soon flung to the floor, a sixth sense ringing in the back of his head that you were leaving, and soon you can hear the soft patter of his socks as he runs to pull his trainers on and follow out the door after you. Krauser wanted to match the two of you up with separate trainees during your sparring matches? Too bad! Leon mutters and argues with him in the corner of the training ground until he swings with a big grin over to you, using the session as an excuse to try and pin you to the wall, or the ground as often as he good, his thick bicep wrapping around the arch of your back until you were trapped impossibly close to his panting mouth.

I mean, he is a giant dork so be ready for a terrible, absolutely cheesy beyond belief one liner. His breath glances behind the shell of your ear as you try to squirm out of his grasp, but his bicep flexes tightly in time, keeping you squarely pressed up against his abdomen. The tip of his knife clashes against your own, propelling you backwards and only further into his eager hands. You should see his face: despite how hard and soul destroying he finds the agent training, the look of absolute delight that crinkles in the corners of his eyes and raises the edges of his usually sullen lips could rival the ferocity of the sun. That's the effect you have on him: enough to bring weaker men to their knees. Enough that he would travel through hell for eternity, relieve the nightmares he wakes up mewling from each night, if only to feel your heartbeat pressed up against his flushed skin.

'Well beautiful, looks like you're caught between a knife and a hard place.'

Although he moves with you, you can feel a slight bulge begin to form in his cargo pants anytime your hips pulse back against his own. 'And you, Rookie', you murmur out, enjoying the way his stomach seems to warm against you at the words: the way you can feel his heartrate spike. 'Should stop moving your mouth and instead look at your feet.'

His eyes widen in surprised horror as you use the heel of your right boot to kick out his feet from beneath him, legs flying up in the air as you use your weight to knock him onto the matt behind his ass. You can't help but bust out laughing at the way he lands on his back like a little bug, holding out a hand to help him back up. You should have known that wasn't going to happen from the shit eating grin that stormed across his face as soon as his fingers grasped against your own, but when you face planted into his neck, your legs bracing themselves by landing tightly around his thighs, neither of you were complaining. Well, until Krauser gave you both clean up duty for messing around, but it was well worth it.

As you're piling away stocks of boot knives back into their correct storage cases, you feel the soft bump of Leon's hip hit against your own; despite being berated in front of all your fellow agents, he was still glowing. You sigh, hitting the back of his shoulder. 'I must really love you, you know that?'

His face whips around, mouth dropping open in mild shock as he blinks at you. 'That reminds me, I haven't told you I love you today!'

'Leon, you did at breakfast, in the canteen remember? And in the changing room. And when I left to use the bathroom', you start to count on your fingers, ignoring Leon who's trying to pull at your hands and tug your attention back to him. 'And when we started clearing up!' He just ducks between your arms, starting to chuckle as he reaches up and presses a kiss to your forehead.

'Well, I still do love you. More than anything.'

When the two of you had received the orders for your current mission, Leon was more than relieved to be coming as your partner. It also meant, though, that during the whole drive up the rickety country lanes, your tired stupors gazing out at the knobbly branches and half-dead roots of the surrounding countryside were disturbed by your fiancée constantly checking up on you. I mean, for the last hour you could find his eyes burning blazing holes into the side of your face, he spent every moment he wasn't flicking through the case files glancing at you behind bowed, wispy eyelashes. It was a continuous thing: catching his reflection admiring you as his irises rolled over your face before back down to his lap with a hoarse cough.

From time to time, when the Spanish police offers here to 'help' and 'accompany you' and 'give you anything you need' in your rescue of Ashley distract him with their hunched together heads and incessant whispering, you'll find him reaching over with a soft exhale to grab the edges of your fingers. He finds it grounding, comforting, to absentmindedly latch onto your hand and fiddle with the engagement ring on your finger; half the time he doesn't even realise you're doing it until he turns to you with surprised eyes, feeling you give his knuckles a reassuring squeeze. You're more than happy to share the adoring smile he bashfully sends your way, sliding his hand into your lap and rubbing your pointer finger tenderly over the scars on his palm.

When the two of you are attacked after a tumultuous journey to the main square of the village, you can barely side step the chickens clucking between your feet before Leon's jumped in front of you like a flailing shield. With arms spread wide like a flapping bird and a torso stiff enough you're surprised the hatchets don't just bounce off his pecs, he matches your every step like a shadows sewed onto your toes. It's almost like watching acrobatics, or more likely a circus act as you try your best to aim past Leon's head while he simultaneously uses his knife to stop a pitchfork from slamming into the side of your head. He's constantly dragging you over the shattered glass of window edges, kicking down ladders and pushing you behind him as he swoops his head out of the way of the oncoming chainsaw. Or worse, he uses his own body as a shield when the two of you have to jump off the roof of a hut you had become very conveniently stuck on, tucking you into his chest like a koala bear and rolling the two of you safely to a stop in a very stinky puddle of mud. He refuses to let you go until the Church bells stop ringing, and only then because he's nearly suffocating you with how tightly his arms are squeezed around your head.

On the lake, Leon is more than willing to let himself drown if it means saving you. When Del Lago tips over your rickety little raft, sending the two of you tumbling down into the imperceptible depths with a loud crash, alarm bells immediately start ringing in Leon's ears. He's not entirely sure if it's the shock of the freezing cold waves, or the way his whole body is nearly convulsing, doubled over in wracking shivers as he swims down into the deep to try and find you, but he manages in just the nick of time to grab onto your wrist and pull you out of the way of a set of mammoth gnashing teeth. He clumsily places his palms flat against the bottom of your ass, and nearly knocks the breath out of himself with how harshly he shoves you back into the boat in one fell swoop; so forcefully, in fact, that he nearly sends you ass over heels tumbling over the other side again. Your surprise is short lived, though, when you grab onto the edge of the rocking wood and peer over to see the fringes of Leon's hair floating almost serenely on the water's edge as he's dragged under.

Once you manage to haul him back up, you grit your teeth as he lands unceremoniously on your lap and clambers into a sitting position. Although he's trying his best to look calm, you can tell by the way he winces his head when you touch his knee that he's injured: the droplets of crimson that adorn your fingertips like the ink of a bleeding heart only consolidates the fact. You do your best to staunch it with your hand, reaching behind you with the other to try and steer the rudder over into the dock of a half collapsed-roof shelter, only to be distracted by the weight of Leon's torso resting against your heart. He literally does not give two shits about the fact that there's a pool of watery blood thrumming in time to the engine's hum as you drive forward, too busy cupping your cheeks with those fervent, gloved hands. His eyes are so wild, and oh so terrified as he checks you over, tilting your chin this way and that way as if to reassure himself. He's beginning to blink rapidly: an early sign that the trauma of your shared past is flooding into the locked away crevices of his head, and he's starting to panic.

His mouth blubbers open and shut, eyes falling sternly as he tries to stop himself from crumbling. As his shaking thumbs wipe some damp hair away from your eyes. As he stares deep into your eyes, the crying rookie you knew years ago locked behind his marred gaze. As his bottom lip trembles, like a man who nearly just lost everything... again.

'Are you alright?', he finally manages to choke out, as if the words are poison seeping out from the corners of his lips. He's terrified to say them: to know the answer, and yet he swallows thickly and repeats the question. 'Are you okay? Tell me your alright. Please.'

'Leon, sweetheart, I need to get the gauze out of my pack to try and stop your leg from falling off', you huff out with an exasperated light-heartedness, trying to make your fiancée smile again. Or in the least, loosen his grip on your cheeks so he didn't leave bruises. You knew what he was doing: back when the two of you were trapped within the enclosing walls of the Raccoon City Police Department, any time the two of you were separated, it would be the first question out of his mouth. His feet barely had time to stop themselves sliding across the floor, the hard material of his body armour nearly slamming into your chest as he wildly asked you. 'Are you alright?' Any time a licker grabbed at your ankle, any time an infected civilian pounced out of an unilluminated doorway to sink their teeth into the sweet flesh of your neck, as soon as the gunshot had finished reverbing through your head it would be the next thing you would hear.

'Are you okay?'

These days, the question usually fell into the night: a broken cry through the imposing isolation of twilight. When he would shoot up in bed, nearly scaring the wits end out of you until you realised what was going on. Glancing out into the dim shadows, you would blink languidly as Leon's hunched back, the juttering of the mattress quickly alerting you to the fact that he had his head tucked down into his hands, his hunched back tense as he cried. As you would sit up to rub at his back and guide him back down to bed, to rest his head down on top of you, his hands would scramble desperately until they reached yours. His bloodshot eyes were enough to send a jolt of fear spiking through your heart as his mouth fell open in heart-wrenching sob. 'Are you alright - are you alright? Are you real?'

It was almost enough to break you.

'Please, Y/n. I need to hear you say it.' Your drawn out of your thoughts by the feel of something damp landing on your fingertips. Leon was doing nothing to wipe them away, and so you finally relent and glance your eyes up to him. Soggy, shivering, a frown horrid enough to drive the devil out of hell, and wet eyes shining like fresh dew, the man arched before you was an enigma of multitudes. You could spot that frightened young boy in him, the one who had flushed crimson any time you had offered him his hand back at Raccoon City, lost somewhere within the hardened lines of the agent he had been berated to become.

You do the only thing in that moment the cogs in your brain can process: you pull him in for a hug. He falls easily against you, weightily, and you notice that he's not holding anything back as he rests the jut of his chin on your shoulder. He lets his hands fall until they're enclosed beneath the brackets of your arms, trying to squeeze his eyes shut and stop himself from whining when he feels the soft shapes you begin tracing over the wide expanse of his damp back.

And then you pass out? And Leon realises that you're infected too? That fear, that anguish he held in his heart suddenly revolved into fresh fury that coursed through every vein in his body. For a moment, as a cold shiver rolling through your tired body wakes you up, you can't figure out for the life of you where you are. Splintered wood seems to be scraping against the back of your legs, your hazy mind nearly lulled back to sleep by the sound of water gently lapping against the edge of the planks. It's only when you feel your head shift that you realise you're lying on Leon's thighs, whose looking down at you like the most heavenly cherub you've ever seen. He's biting his bottom lip, obviously conflicted, until he notices your awake and suddenly you're being tugged up as if you're a ragdoll. Before you can even say anything, Leon's pressing a dozen little pouty lipped kisses against every free inch of your face: drawing his bottom lip quickly over every line of cells that only a couple of minutes ago were tainted black with tendrils.

From then on, he tries not to show it. He tries not to belittle you, knowing you're as fully trained and even more competent than he is, but you're not stupid. You know Leon far too well, far too intimately, far too familiarly and easily for that. You notice the extra little touches here and there: a tighter grip by your hip bone when he gives you a lift up onto ledges, a clenched fist on your shoulder as he goes first through unlatched gates, magnum drawn at the ready as he points the red laser sight down into the cavernous mounds above the fish farm. The swifter, more intense glances whenever he notices you squeezing your fists shut, fingernails digging in and drawing blood as you try to stop the Plagas from burning up your forearm.

It's not until you reach the Castle's drawbridge that Leon's fury really starts to become physically visible. Even though Salazar had only been monitoring the two of you for a couple of hours, he was sharp enough to realise that Leon would raze the whole crumbling heap of a place to the ground if it meant keeping you safe. So what does he do? Clouds your mind, makes you a passenger to your own actions. As soon as your boot lands on the rubbled stones of the courtyard, Leon's swooping his head back as the point of your knife comes dashing towards his face, slicing a thin line across his eyebrow. He doesn't even blink as he races over to grab your arm, trying to pull you back against him as he had all those times in training, only to be met by your wicked grin. He was too slow: just out of reach as his gloved hand reaches out and shudders in horror as he watches you jam the tip of your knife into the soft skin of your side.

The wound is shallow, but it's enough to knock you out for the count. And for the rest of his life, Leon will spend every moment of every day blaming himself for it.

This man 100% gives you a piggyback, running like a wild mare through the bowels of the castle's barracks. He doesn't even seem to notice that a giant ass ogre is throwing huge boulders at his face, not even seeming to care as he leverages the full force of his body to kick out and send another hooded cultist tumbling over into the unfathomable abyss below. He doesn't even break a sweat as he uses his elbow to break the weight holding down the cannon, gripping onto the back of your thighs with clawing fingernails, as if he were trying to crawl into you, or die trying.

Once he's sure the two of you are safely within the Castle walls, he finally manages to catch Luis on his comms. Although you can't hear what he's saying, his knife edged tone cuts through the air as he mutters angrily, his shoulders hunched and tense. You piece together from where you're writhing in pain against the wall that he's 'persuading' Luis in a mildly threatening manner to meet the two of you in the cellars instead of the ballroom.

Luis steps back in surprise when he sees the two of you, not prepared to find Leon holding the agent that had nearly knocked him ass over heels a few hours ago being held bridle style in the man's arms. Leon refuses to let Luis carry you, and so the two finally compromise by you staying tight against Leon's chest, and Luis leading the two of you into a safer area deeper within the winding corridors of the ornate halls.

He surprisingly manages to lead the two of you into a tucked away little alcove by the main staircase with little trouble, beckoning Leon to place you down on one of the velvet chairs so he could clumsily try his best to patch you up. He keeps getting disturbed though, and you notice him getting more and more wound up by the way Leon peers over his jacket and watches his every movement like a buzzing wasp. You try to calm him down by reminding him that Ashley is the priority here, not you, but he just waves you off and crosses his arms with a grim frown. He turns instead to pace the eggshell carpet, distracting his mind by keeping watch.

You know he's worried. You know he's battling an unrooted anguish festering deep within his soul. That's been eating away at him for years. You know he's stressed, that he's sorrowful, that behind his tough exterior he spends his whole life feeling guilty. You know it reminds him of that day back in Raccoon City, when you had taken a bullet for him down in the sewers and he thought he had lost you for the first time. But you just couldn't find the right words the say. Couldn't find the right sentence to comfort him, to offer solace to his shuddered heart, to comfort the joyous kid you know he suffocates. To remind him that you're still here... and so is he. To force him to understand that everything that has happened to you, to him, none of it has been his fault. That he's a victim of circumstance, of it all, just as much as Ashley has been.

But why? Why oh why can't you tell him? Why can't you remind him of all the goodness that came after: how the threat of loss and the scent of death had been eclipsed, lulled into a type of serenity on that sterile cable car? When Leon had nearly jumped over the railings, just managing to slip through the closing doors in time to sit down on the bench next to you.

'You really think you can get rid of me that easily', he had murmured with a hoarse chuckle, but he looked like he was doing his best to choke back tears at the thought of you, thirty minutes ago on death's door, going down to face the dangers of the labs below. Thirty minutes ago, he had been on the brink of giving up as he had wrapped his gore stained jacket around your shoulder, and rushed headfirst into danger. He had been ready to let Mr. X to find him. To crush him. To end it all, at the thought of having to live without you.

He looked tired. God, he had looked so tired, as he awkwardly perched next to you. His lashes lazily blinked the tears back as he bashfully switched between checking his gun was loaded and fiddling with his fingers, unsure as how to start. Unsure as how to unload all the feelings that were stomping down on his chest, kicking up at his lungs and forcing a breathless exhale to leave him.

'You need to come with a warning sign you know, the amount of heart attacks you've nearly given me', he finally starts, mustering up the courage to glance his eyes sideways and look at you.

'Well, when we get out of here-'. He winces, and you grab tenderly onto the top of his hand. 'When we get out of here, I'll just- I'll have to make it up to you.' He smiles then, and you relish in the feeling.

'Oh yeah? How are you going to do that? 'Cause I was about to ask you out, but now you've done my job for me yet again I want to see what you've got planned.' You turn your head away and flush, and his heart swoons.

'How about... shakes and fries? I know a great place on 24th street-'. Before you can get your tangled mess of shaking words out, you're stopped by the pressure of Leon's plump lips gingerly pressing against your own. He pulls away quickly, bashfully nearly doubling in on himself like a tortoise retreating into its shell as he realises what he had impulsively done, chiding his body as his cheeks burn like lava. You watch him, mouth slightly agape but mind blank, and he thinks he's ruined everything until you lean forward and kiss him again.

You thump your head back against the crest that ran around the wall, wincing as you began to feel a headache snake around your temples. A final tug against the knotted bandage wrapped wonkily around your abdomen draws you out of the warm clutch of your daydream.

'You know', Luis starts with a smirk, and you can just tell he's about to teasingly cause trouble. 'Usually in the fairy tales, when the brave knight in shining armour helps the princess, he gets a kiss for his trouble.'

'You're about to get my foot in your mouth for your troubles', Leon growls out from where he's leaning against the banister.

'Thank you', you tell Luis seriously, giving his hand a tight squeeze as he removes it from your waist with a satisfied hum.

'This should hold until we get down to my lab. All my equipment should still be there, unless they've burned the place to the ground already, of course', he replies with a wink in your direction.

He could tell that Leon was growing more and more peevish, so Luis very astutely and very shrewdly decided to give the two of you some space. He tugs at your hand, pressing a final kiss against your knuckle before cocking his head and giving you a salute, spinning around on one heel. He swaggers off, using his shoulder to shove open one of the wing's doors, before peering in and allowing himself to be shrouded by the darkness within.

Leon won't even look at you. You can feel the self hatred literally seething off him like steam.

'You can't lose me that easily, you know?'

That makes him stop in his tracks. He slowly spins round, the frown hardening his face softening into a fond smile as he watches you struggle to a stand. You close the distance between the two of you, cupping his cheek and trying desperately to make him believe you. 'You won't lose me. You know how stubborn I am. I won't allow it.'

For the first time since the two of you had left your apartment a couple of days ago, Leon cracks a smile. You do the only thing you can do in that moment: you reach forward like he did all those years ago and kiss him, your mouth drawing over the salty tears beaded on his upper lip line. You pull away with a pop, and Leon looks at you with those puppy dog eyes, all the tenderness in the world pouring out from his heart and melting out of his pores as he grips onto your elbows.

'You promise?' His voice is harsh, but vulnerability trembles between the gaps of every word as he traces the stretch of skin where your engagement ring lies.

'Every minute of every day, Rookie. You know why? Because I love you more than anything.'

'Hey, that's my line!'

[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 3: Window of Opportunity

Pairing: Gojo x fem! reader

Warnings: language, Gojo being well Gojo, domestic violence, thank y'all for sharing your experience with me, it helped me so much understanding childhood trauma and made me transform it into this fic <3

Synopsis: Being the daughter of the Zenin clan made it your mission to defeat him. Him, Satoru Gojo, the honored one. Him, who makes your life a living hell. Him, who begins to get so much more than your curse...

Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Romance, Hurt to Comfort

<- Previous Chapter l Next Chapter ->

„Oh, did you say something? I can’t understand you when you’re crying like a baby”, you purr as the eyes of the man who writhes in front of you like a little worm fill with tears of sheer fear.

Your grin grows wider and wider, satisfaction filling you to the brim. Maybe that mission isn’t so bad after all when you’re finally able to use your special abilities again.

While you are a skilled combat fighter, the director strictly forbids you to use Phobia Projection against another member of Jujutsu High since your former classmate almost hung himself because of it. You roll your eyes out of instinct.

As if it was his fault that his mind is so damn weak.

“I know he tried to kill us a few seconds ago. But don’t you think you’re going a little too harsh on him, (y/n)?”, Geto questions while manspreading the whole couch and eying you up and down.

“I’m not harsh on him. He’s seeing his own fears, I have nothing to do with that”, you defend yourself with a casual shoulder shrug.

How is it your fault that this guy acts like a baby? You let yourself sink next to Geto, watch from afar how the little bug continues to cry out in agony.

Unfortunately, your powers don’t allow you an insight into what your opponents go through. Is his worst fear a spider, a monster, or even worse…a human? Too bad there’s no way to find out since they never tell you afterwards. Maybe you’ll be able to torture it out of him. With a little bit of cutting and a whole lot of punching-

“P-please, make it stop!”, he yells out over and over.

The violent ringing of Geto’s phone rips you out of your chuckling and more than entertaining thoughts with an annoyed groan. Urgh, who the hell is interrupting that wonderful moment?

“Did you beat him already? I hope the dirty Zenin brat wasn’t in the way.”

You don’t have to look at the screen to know who’s calling, pulse rising to the rooftop. It’s him, the white-haired douchebag. Much to your liking, Geto decided it would be best if you accompany him instead of Gojo. But even if you’re not forced to be next to him physically right now, you’re still doing this mission together. Which means that he’s always there – like herpes.

“Spare your stinky breath. We were done before you decided to-“

“HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME!”

“Can you shut the fuck up? I’m having a serious call with a douchebag right now”, you bark at the man rolling on the floor.

“You’re an evil witch”, Gojo comments dryly on the other side of the phone.

“Evil, huh? Well, at least I’m not as dumb as-“

“Can you two just stop? We have him here as well as the vessel. I’ll send you the location. Don’t cause trouble.”

“Tell that this little-“

Oh right, the plasma vessel. You eye the girl lying opposite of you up and down, her dark hair falling into her closed eyes like a curtain. Must be rough, knowing your only reason walking on this planet is the stinging fact that a part of you will get killed within the next years.

How is she different from you, though?

You, with your family pressuring you into pouring your heart and soul into training, who never accepted you despite your heart work. You, who lost a part of herself in the process of forcing the best version of (y/n) onto you. You, who slowly but surely turned into a frightening resemblance of her family’s shadow, crossing a path she never imagined she’d land on as a kid. You sacrificed your smile, your dignity, your heart for the mission to become better than Gojo Satoru.

Aren’t you just like her?

“Hey, are you good?”

The sheer feeling of Geto’s warm hand resting against your shoulder rips you out of your daydreaming immediately.

“I’m not that Gojo weakling. You don’t need to watch over me”, you reply dryly, gifting him with the deadliest side-eye you have in store.

Well, maybe not the deadliest. That gaze is reserved for Naoya and Gojo only.

“Is there a reason apart from Satoru being a member of the Gojo clan why you hate him? I never understood what’s the deal between both of you.

You can’t help but tilt your head to the side, mind going blank for a second. Now that you think of it…Is there really a reason apart from the fact that your family taught you to hate him for your huge dislike? When you two first saw each other that one evening, he was nothing but a nice boy your age through your innocent eyes. A boy with a quite charming smile, who always had a cheeky reply in store. A boy with a strict family himself. Yes, you actually had a lot in common. And to some point, you began to like him in the few minutes you talked to each other.

Until you came back home and realized who exactly you were talking to.

“You did what?”, your father hissed through gritted teeth. 

Another ruthless slap. Blood spilled to the ground, discoloured everything around you crimson. Eyes widen and teary, lips trembling when his flat palm crushed into your face again.

Over and over.

Again and again.

Until you weren’t able to feel your face anymore, eyes so swollen that your vision faded.

“Let me remind you of wrong little thing.”

He grabbed you by the hair Gojo complimented just a few minutes ago roughly and yanked you into the air.

“You are nothing, the biggest disappointment in my whole life. If it was for me, you’d be dead already. But because of your other lousy family members, you get the chance to surpass that Gojo brat. And you?”

Another slap, your feet tangled in the air like a wind chime.

“You actually befriend him. You disgust me, (y/n). And you always will. You’ll never bring honor to your family.”

“He’s himself, that’s enough”, you press out.

“What do we have here, dreaming about me, (y/n)?”

Speaking of the devil. Before you’re even able to accept his existence in the same room, he stands in front of you and grins you down.

That fucker, the reason for your suffering, for the fact that your family doesn’t accept you…

Your hand reacts faster than the rest of your body. A ruthless slap sends Satoru Gojo straight back to reality, echoes through the room without mercy. Your palm begins to burn like hell while your uneven breath hangs in the thick air between both of you.

“What was that, huh?”

He roams closer, his redden skin showing your act of violence way too clearly.

“Who the hell do you think you are, little bitch?”

Your throat begins to tighten uncomfortably, the veins in your arms throbbing in an all too familiar way.

Hatred. You feel nothing but hatred.

“You’d deserve even more than that, asshole”, you bite back.

He’s so close that you’re able to sense the heat radiating from his body and how his breath wanders over your face. You feel like burning alive, so unusual aroused that it’s hard to keep a straight face. Did he always look at you with his lips slightly parted, his eyes glowing like they normally do in serious fights? You are trapped between both of his arms, roasted by his heat, defeated by the way he looks down at you without saying another word.

What is that? And most importantly, do you want it to stop?

You can’t decide for yourself. In the split of a second you find yourself surrounded by broken glass, free fall down from the 15th floor.

Fuck, who’s responsible for this? Did Gojo go this far, would he actually throw you out of a skyscraper just to get rid of you? He might be the biggest asshole walking on this planet, but he’d never do something so damn basic. No, it has to be someone who is chasing after the star plasma vessel, someone who kept an eye on you this entire time.

Well, who’s responsible for this mess isn’t your biggest problem. At the moment, you are on your rapid way to crash into the ground, your guts feeling as if they’ll spill out of your mouth any given minute. And even though you’re able to inhibit the impact, this will still hurt like hell.

Do you have another way out of here, though? Getting hurt is better than crying for anyone’s help, after all. You close your eyes, embrace yourself for multiple broken bones and a wave of pain as soon as you hit the ground.

But it never happens.

“Aren’t so brave anymore, huh? If you only had told me that I would have to throw you out of a sky-high window to get you to shut up, brat.”

Just to let y'all know, I'm still over here giggling like an idiot over the title of that chapter hehehehe

Tags: @whereismysane @risuola @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @livmarauder @sapphireandange

@madaqueue @chilichopsticks @sugurulefttesticle @boba-is-a-soup @jennapancake

@kentocalls @mrshlf @byakuya61085 @polarbvnny @rzcnlb

@m0k0k0

[ghostedcas]

Ok so like, I really like ghost and könig....I was wondering if you could do a not so safe for work story for me? I don't really mind how it plays out as long as you could maybe put some knife/gun play in there and lots of teasing...would mean a lot to me

knifeplay and gunplay🤭🤤 i am such a whore for these it's so sad

i hope you eat well darling 🫶

könig x afab!reader x ghost

wc: 896

tw: SMUT SMUTTY SMUT SMUT, knifeplay, gunplay, penetration with an inanimate object, a lil bit of a blood kink (just a teensy bit), poorly translated german

MINORS DNI

a/n: i had the most evil lil smirk on my face when i read this request, i love it sm. when i tell y'all i was smirking uncontrollably as i wrote this?? also can y'all tell what petname i like the most lol

a/n 2.0: i tried to make this relatively gender neutral but reader is described with female genitalia

--------

"schatzi, can you come here? ghost and i have something we want to discuss with you." you hear könig say, beckoning you into his and ghost's shared quarters. his tone sounded rather serious and it made you fear that perhaps you may have done something wrong.

however when you entered the room you knew that that was not the case, or so you hoped anyway. in ghost's hand you saw your journal. it was no simple journal though, no, this journal contained all of your dirtiest thoughts an fantasies.

"nice of you to join us, love. we found quite the intriguing... stories in this little book of yours." ghost says, you can practically see his smirk behind his balaclave.

"oh my go- i can explain!" you say, trying to think of a defense for the things written in that book. things that may or may not have involved some very filthy deeds between yourself and your two boyfriends, things far filthier and taboo than you had already experienced with them.

"no, no, maus. we don't want an explanation, we don't want to hear your pathetic little excuses, dirty little thing..." könig says with a chuckle. "there was one entry both ghost and i found rather... intriguing. something that we would love to make a reality, our süße schmutziges mäuschen."

he pulls you over to the bed and has you sit next to ghost who begins to read off an excerpt from your journal. you can feel your face begin to heat up in embarrassment as he reads, making sure to emphasize every dirty little detail.

you wanted nothing more than to sink into the bed and disappear, this was so embarrassing that words couldn't even describe how embarrassed you were at the moment.

"you naughty little minx, writing down all your little fantasies in this little book. i bet you wanted us to find this, hm?" ghost asks qith a smirk. "you knew exactly what would happen, you knew we would find this book filled with all your filthy little thoughts."

"no! no, i didn't!" you protest.

"knives and guns? my, my maus... you have quite the imagination." könig chuckles deeply.

"sweetheart, if you wanted to try these things, you could've just asked us." ghost adds.

the next thing you knew you were tied down to the bed, clothes discarded as ghost and könig sat on either side of you, könig tracing a large hunters knife gently down your torso as ghost ran one of his pistols across your cheek, caressing your face with the gun.

"hold still maus, wouldn't want to cut your pretty skin... unless? would you? would you like to bleed for us schatz?" könig asks with a dark chuckle, you can feel your heart skip a beat at the suggestion. it was hard to tell if he really would or not, especially as he ran the blade of the knife across your skin so slowly and carefully, if he pressed any harder he would definitely break the skin.

"maybe another night little love, for now, just enjoy our teasing." ghost says with a smirk, mask still on, but you could hear the smug smirk in his tone of voice.

"just lay there nice and pretty for us maus, our good little maus, ja?"

and so there you laid as your two boyfriends ran their weapons across your body, slowly and agonizingly teasing you with them, it was torturous, agonizing even. but in the most pleasurable way possible.

just as you were getting used to the sensations they were subjecting you to, you felt könig's cold blade lift away from your skin as ghost trailed the gun down your torso. the next thing you knew you could feel something solid press to the entrance of your cunt. the handle of könig's knife.

without much warning he slowly began to press it into you, watching your face as it contorted in surprise and pleasure, soft gasps and moans escaping your lips.

as könig thrusted the handle of his hunter's knife in and out of you, you felt ghost bring a hand up to your throat, wrapping around it just so.

"that's it love, just lay there and take it. lay there and let us take care of you. we'll make all of your little dirty fantasies come true." ghost mutters as he leans down, whispering in your ear.

you felt ghost bring his other hand down to rub your clit as könig continued shoving the handle of his knife in and out of your cunt, your orgasm building a lot quicker than you anticipated it would. and your boyfriends could tell.

"go on maus, let go for us. cum for us like a good mäuschen..." könig demands.

"yes sweetheart, that's it, just let go. that's a good good mouse." ghost encourages as your orgasm washes over you, body shaking under their touches.

as you come down from the intense pleasure, the two clean you up. ghost hands you a bottle of water after untying your wrists from the headboard and massages some lotion into them as könig wipes your release from your thighs with a warm, damp towel he retrieved from the bathroom.

"you did so good baby, so so good." könig smiles.

"we hope we lived up to your filthy little written fantasies," ghost adds. "because we have many more stories to recreate."

[marvelling-at-marvel-blog]

Richmond weird/funny interview idea.

I was going to write this as a fic but then realised I would have to try to figure out how y'all do awards shows and what they are called and gave right up.

So in AFL (Australian football), we have this awards night for the best player in the league that year and most of the other big awards (called the brownlow). It basically means all the biggest players in the league come together to this award ceremony. And on the red carpet, they do interviews and stuff for radio and tv. Pretty normal stuff. Most the time, it's what are you wearing, how do you think your year has been, who do you think will win blah blah. But there is this one segment a radio station came up with entitled 'sh*t brownlow questions', and the interviewer just asks completely random and stupid questions for fun. And it's hilarious because these players are just so out of depth with the random questions.

Now I cant get a Richmond version out of my head.

Like they go to an awards show, all dressed to the nines and there is some interviewer there who decides to ask random questions for entertainemnt on his channel, when all the guys are expecting the usual questions and it starts of pretty well and funny

Interviewer: Hey Dani, just a quick question. Would you rather fight 1 Isaac McAdoo sized duck or 100 duck sized Isaac McAdoo's?

Dani in his chipper demeanour: oh I wouldn't want to fight any version of Issac at all he is such a great guy, and I love him....

Dani suddenly going serious and grabbing the mic and looking straight down the camera: But if I had to chose, I would go 1 duck sized Isaac because 100 tiny Isaac's would be too many Isaac's, they would completly overwhelm you and tear you apart!

Interviewer: Hey Colin, just wondering do you do your tax returns as soon as you can or wait until just before the cut off date?

Colin going pale: oh no. When are the tax returns due? I don't know when the last time I did my taxes was......

Interviewer asking like this is going to be a football question: Hey Sam, we are getting to the serious end of the season now so I was was just wondering, who do you think will win..... this seasons Lust Conquers All?

Sam with his serious face at the beggining of the question laughing by the end: Oh Janet for sure but I think I would be a amiss if I didn't mention Jamie was robbed last season.

Interviewer: Hey Roy, just wondering.....

Roy barley glancing at him as he walks past: Nope not doing it, f**k off.

Interviewer: Hey Richard, so the big one is coming up, Wembley Stadium, 90 000 people, just wondering........ did you manage to get Taylor Swift tickets?

Richard without blinking: Yes, yes I did.

Any question asked of Ted, Ted is just ecstatic, takes it 100% seriously, and is generally happy to answer.

The interviewer joking pulls out a cross word from the paper and asks for some help from Beard. Two minutes later, he has a completed crossword, and he just looks at it in astonishment.

Then the interview goes off the rails a little.

The Interviewer asks Jamie a random queation about history but instead of stumping him Jamie lights up and peoceeds to give an in-depth answer with alarming detail and the interview now knows more than he ever needed to on the subject. (This makes Roy even more unhappy because Jamie is now going to 100% talk his ear off about this for the rest of the night, just info dumping on him. Let be real he secretly loves it)

Interviewer: Hey Moe, just wondering if you had an opinion on the election in (insert random country here, most people wouldn't know about the elections of).

Moe: automatically goes into lecture mode about democracy and the evil's of government  and gets so passionate and loud aftet 5 minutes of it Issac needs to come and save the reporter who eyes are as wide as saucers and is questiong everything.

Like, I can just imagine the chaos of the AFC and their personalities in a segment like this. The fans would go crazy for it, too

[lalachat]

"And there you were..."

Author's note: Hi loves! I am going to apologize for this one because it is basically just filler because the next chapter is going to be a good one(in my personal opinion). I have been in a chaotic-evil kind of mood recently and I got something good cooked up! However, I am sad to announce that I will probably end this story soon, maybe 2-3 more chapters. Do not fret though! I fully plan on writing some one shots, maybe another series 👀 That meaning, I got some good ideas for my future projects ehehehe! ANYWHO, I hid a harry potter reference in here. I wonder if y'all can find it! Tbh I hide a lot of my favorite movie quotes in my chapters. So far no one has picked up on any😭 anywho, enjoy this one before shit literally hits the ceiling.

Summary: You and Lucien wake up after your eventful night to have an early morning snack before your breakfast with the rest of the night court. However, can you and Lucien hide your growing feelings for one another? And most importantly, does anyone know what you two did last night?

This is for all my Lucien girlies❤️

Warnings: profanity, potential grammatical errors, and LOTS of filler/banter

Word Count: ≈ 4,053

Chapter 9: Pretty Pink Bows

After a much-needed bath, you and Lucien decided that it would be best to get some rest. You both changed into your pajamas and crawled into your bed. Lucien was too tired to go back to his apartment, and with Elain’s uproar, he felt it was best to stay. You did not complain. Sleeping next to Lucien was always peaceful, like your soul knows his entirely. These were always your best nights of sleep with him next to you.

You awoke to the first appearance of light on the horizon shimmering through your window. Lucien was sprawled out next to you comfortably, hair slightly tangled. His chest falling rhythmically with every breath. Poor guy was probably spent from the energy he was channeling into you last night. You smile at the sight of him.

Without waking up the slumbering male, you slipped out of your bed and out your room. You walked on the balls of your feet through the noiseless halls, trying not to wake anyone else who is still asleep. You were headed to the kitchen to grab y'all some tea and snacks. After last night, your body was craving for something to fill your aching stomach. You're sure Lucien felt the same.

You finally reached the kitchen, the beautiful colors of dawn now starting to come to light. You grabbed a pot and filled it with water, knowing a teapot would be too loud. You placed it on the stove to heat up as you set aside two teacups. While you were waiting for the water to boil, you mindlessly went to the pantry to search for your favorite tea. You grabbed two teabags and put them into the cups. The water started to bubble; you decided you still had some time to scrounge for snacks. You cut up some fruit, cheese, and meat and placed them onto a plate. You smiled as you made a little smiley face out of the arranged foods. You walked back over to the water to see that it was boiling. You carefully poured it into each cup and set it aside to cool as you cleaned. Shortly after, you grabbed everything you prepared and headed back to your room.

“Good morning sleepy head,” you sang to the sleeping figure wrapped up in your sheets. Lucien mumbled something you couldn’t comprehend as he still lay there asleep. You rolled your eyes, “Jackass.”

A smile crept up onto your face as you sat your breakfast aside, “This is your last warning, Lu.” A moment of silence passes, and you shook your head, “So be it!”

You jump onto your bed like a child on solstice, the sudden motion startling Lucien. He jolted awake as you kept jumping up and down in a fit of giggles at his reaction, “Wakey wakey Lucy!”

“You are a jackass,” he mumbled as he shook his head and threw himself back onto his pillow. You laughed at his choice of vocabulary because you threw that same word at him earlier.

“Am I still a jackass if I said that I got up early to get us some tea with a complimentary charcuterie plate?”

“What a big word for how early it is,” he smiled at you as he ran his hand through his hair, fingers getting stuck in some tangles. He groans in frustration, you laughed.

“Your hair looks like a bush on fire,” you chuckle as you grabbed your hairbrush and gestured to his hair, “May I?” All Lucien could do was nod, still not completely awake yet. He leaned up allowing you to slot yourself behind him, his muscled back pressed against your chest.

“You’re not tender headed, are you?” You slowly started to brush the ends of his hair first, Lucien hummed at the feeling.

“Obviously not when you were the one tugging at it last night.” You could feel the smirk on his face without even having to look, you pulled the brush a little harder through a knot at the comment.

“Ouch!” He turned around to look at you over his shoulder. You gave him an innocent smile.

“Oops- sorry, the brush slipped,” you halfheartedly apologized as you continued brushing his hair. “You should let me braid it!”

Lucien laughed, “And what’s next? A huge pink bow?”

“Obviously-” you said as you brushed out the last section you were working on and moved on to start braiding his hair.

“Good gods you're going to get me made fun of,” he sighed as his body relaxed at the feeling of your fingers in his hair.

“Anyone who makes fun of you is just jealous of how good you’ll look,” your voice vibrating through Lucien’s back. You worked quietly as you braided his hair into Dutch braids and pinned the ends in a low bun, Lucien just sat there marveling your presence and how close you two were now. Your breath hitting his neck sent goosebumps across his entire body. His body was betraying him from the feeling of you pressed against him.

“Turn around please,” you asked him. He happily obliged as you both shuffled around to a comfortable spot facing one another. You scooted closer to him to pull out some hairs to frame his gorgeous face. Your brows furrowed in concentration as you bit your lip, scared if you pulled too much it will mess the braid up.

Lucien just watched you. His eyes roamed your face while you were distracted with his hair. Having you this close he was able to study every detail. You were astonishingly beautiful. Your captivating eyes that sparked whenever you smiled, your nose that was sprinkled in tiny sunspots, your beautiful rosy cheeks, and gods, your kissable lips that he could never get enough of. He couldn’t look away, not with the way you bit your bottom lip. All he could think about was what it would be like to kiss you again…

“All done,” you smiled as you looked at your work.

Lucien’s eyes glanced up to meet yours, “Thank you.”

You looked back at him, just now noticing how close your faces were. Your cheeks flushed as you let out a small breath, “you’re welcome.”

You did not dare move, not with the way Lucien eyes kept dipping down to your lips. There is something so intimate about the way he was looking at you, and you thought to yourself every kiss you two shared was heated and an act of lust. You and Lucien had never shared a legitimate kiss before. That thought alone sent nerves through your body. Could he actually have feelings for you? Because the way he is looking at you right now makes you feel like you're not just a hookup anymore, that you're something much more.

“Lucien-” you glanced at his lips as you sucked in a breath. Your nose was now brushing against his. One of you had leaned in. You didn’t know if it was you, him, or both but at this moment neither of you cared. You didn't care as his breath kissed your cheeks with warmth causing more of a blush. You two should not be doing this! Friends don’t kiss. This is so wrong, but gods did nothing ever feel so right. Just as your lips brushed against his, it was like Lucien snapped out of a trance at the touch. WHAT IN THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?!

He nervously coughed, “I’m hungry, what about you?” He got off the bed and grabbed the tray you prepared; the tea was now room temperature.

“Oh yeah! I'm starving,” you shook your head trying to clear your mind of the moment he abruptly put an end to. Shit- are you disappointed? This cannot be happening, he’s just a friend! You’re mated to Azriel for gods sake!

“Tea got cold, but everything looks lovely y/n,” he politely thanked you as he grabbed each teacup to rewarm them. “The smiley face is a nice touch.”

“You’re welcome, I thought it was cute! Now, bon appétit,” you smiled. You both were hungrier than you thought. You both devoured the platter you had prepared in minutes as you sipped on tea. The once cute smiley face now nothing but crumbs.

“Such a shame we destroyed the smile though,” he laughed as he downed the rest of his tea.

“At least we made a happy plate right?” you said as you finished your own cup.

“Always the cleaver one in the mornings,” he smiled at you as he gathered his clothes off the floor to get dressed. You figured you would do the same as you pulled out a long skirt and a plain shirt from your dresser. You took a quick look in the mirror and ran your brush through your hair a couple of times before putting it up in a messy bun.

“Ready?” You glanced at him as he was looking at himself in the mirror.

“Hell yeah I am, I’m ready to show off this new dew! This looks really good y/n” he exclaimed as he kissed you atop the head.

“Can I please, please, please add a bow?” you stuck out your lip.

“Absolutely not,” he said as he opened the door for you.

“Are you sure? It would make it look even better,” you wiggled your brow at him as you walked past him through the door.

“Yes, I am sure. If Feyre caught me with that, she would never let me live it down.”

“That’s actually a fair statement,” you laughed as he shut your door.

Just as he turned around Lucien’s gaze went to your wrists, his mouth turning upwards into a wicked smile, “y/n?”

“What?” You looked at him confused as he tilted his head in emphasis to look where he was. You followed his gaze, and your eyes were met with faint red rings around both of your wrists. Tendrils of flame still remnant. “Oh. My. Mother. Above-” was all you could say as you traced your wrists gently. They were beautiful in a way you could not describe...

“Is it obvious?” You looked at him worriedly as you stuck them out for him to see. Pain struck his features like you were ashamed of what you two had done. However, you were only scared of Elain and Azriel noticing them.

“When you do that, yes,” he chuckled. “Here, I can glamour it for you,’ he grabbed your wrists, ‘Such a shame to get rid of my beautiful work.” His grip on your wrists made you blush as you slowly watched the marking go away.

“Thank you,” you breathed closely analyzing your wrists to make sure all proof of last night was officially gone. Lucien still had a pained look on his face but hiding it with wit.

“You should really get those tattooed, they look too good on you to hide it,” he mused as he started to walk to the lingering voices echoing through the halls.

“Maybe you should do that to me more often then,” you clapped back with a wink as you followed.

He shot you a playful smile as he grabbed your wrist gently, “You want more my little fireling?”

That’s a new nickname, you thought. The possessiveness of it shook your core. You tried to hide your liking for it, as you shot him a cheeky smile and walked into the room that your friends were gathered in. Everyone gathered around the room waiting for breakfast. The table set with plates, silverware, and glasses of water.

“Morningggggg,” Mor smirked, leaning against the wall with a cup of tea in her hands. Her eyes gleaming with a knowing look as she dramatically sipped her tea with a wink sent your way.

You look at her confused, “Good morning to you too Mor.”

“Ah good, y/n! We are about to eat breakfast, still waiting for a couple others to join us.” Feyre smiled at you. Her gaze met Lucien’s as he walked into the room shortly after. “Oh, good to see you’re up Lucien, come sit!”

Everyone soon began to make their way to their seats. Mor nudged her elbow in your hip as she whispered, “You are going to tell me everything!”

You hissed, “Yes, but can’t a girl eat first!”

You looked around the room to find Rhysand and Feyre seating themselves at the head of the table. Cassian pulling out the chair next to Rhysand as Nesta chose the one beside her mate. Mor sat beside Feyre, shooting a look to sit next to her so you two could gossip. You rolled your eyes as you sat down with her. Lucien felt awkward being the last one standing, not really having a specific spot at the table. It was either sit next to Nesta, his body trembled at that thought, or sit next to you. He shot you a smile as he gracefully pulled out the chair next to you.

“Where’s Amren?” you asked.

“Went home already, last night was more than enough socializing for her,” Rhysand said with an understanding.

“Gotcha,” you nodded as you sipped some water.

“So, how did everyone sleep?” Mor asked with a smile, obviously up to something, as everyone murmured “good.”

With you occupied with your water and not answering previously, Mor directly asked you this time.

“You sleep okay y/n?” She wiggled her brow slightly as you choked on your water from remembering what kept you up in the early morning hours. Everyone’s eyes looked at you with worry from your choking, but you gave them a thumbs up and a scratchy, “I'm okay!”

“Sorry, the water went down wrong. I slept okay,” you said through small coughs, your face flushed from your thoughts and from coughing. Lucien pats your back reassuringly.

“And what about you Lucien?” Mor asked. You glared at her as he kept patting your back.

“Just fine Mor,” he deadpanned. Not revealing a single thing about either of your nights. Mor hummed, unsatisfied with your answers.

“Where the hell is Az?! I am fucking hungry,” Cassian muttered in frustration. Lucien’s hand stilled at the name. You looked around and noticed the shadowsinger was not here.

“Would you just be patient for once in your life,” Nesta quipped.

“I am sure he will be here soon Cass, along with Elain.” Rhysand said, amused at that neither of them are here yet. You and Lucien shared a mutual glance of, “Oh fuck.”

You mouthed to him, “Do you think they are together?” He gave you a curt nod. His breathing becoming long inhales and exhales as he tried to calm the storm raging within him at the thought of them together again. You could sense his battle and grabbed his hand reassuringly.

“It will be okay,” you mouthed to him once again as the others were engrosed in a conversation about gods knows what. He pursed his lips into a thin line as he rubbed his temples.

“You okay Lucien?” Feyre asked. He looked up at her, and he could tell she knew what was wrong. She was the only other person besides you that knew him, truly knew him.

“Yes, sorry! My head just hurts from this new hairstyle. I'm not entirely used to it yet.” He smiled at her. She knew he lied to cover up what he was truly feeling from the others, so she went with it.

“I understand. I am sure all of us long haired people have experienced the feeling,” she grinned, “It looks good though!”

“Thank you,” you and Lucien said at the same time. You both glared at each other.

“What do you mean by ‘Thank you,’ I am the one who she complimented,” Lucien said.

“Yes, but I am the one who did it! You would not have gotten complimented if it weren’t for me,” you stuck your tongue out.

“You braided his hair?” Mor looked at you. Only then did you realize what you had just exposed. You had to divert! Lucien only looking at you playfully with what you were going to say about the situation now.

“Yes, I ran into Lucien earlier this morning when I snuck to the kitchen to make myself some tea. Neither of us could sleep with what’s going on, so we just stayed up together in the library until you all woke up,” you shrugged. Was that a good enough cover up? You prayed it was, as Lucien just nodded his head as he drank from his cup.

“Can you do that to my hair?” Cassian asked.

“Why?” You asked.

“Because I like it, and it will keep it out my face while I eat,” he said.

“Why not ask me?” Nesta said.

“Because I know you will say no,” Cassian shrugged his shoulders.

“Fair,” Nesta replied as you got out your chair and rounded the table to the other side.

“I wish I had long hair,” Rhys pouted.

“No, you don't,” Feyre said as she patted his shoulder as you stood behind Cassian's chair and started braiding. Everyone began talking about their mornings, chattering back and forth. Every now and then Cassian would move too much, and you would have to push him back in the chair.

“Sit still Cass or you’ll mess it up!” You rolled your eyes at the restless male.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as you continued with his hair.

Mor began talking about having the group do something together to bond after all that’s happened. Everyone at the table agreed except for Rhysand. You looked at him as you finished braiding one side of Cassian's head. It looked like he was deep in thought. He wasn’t talking to Feyre because her and Mor were bouncing group ideas off each other. Cassian, Nesta, and Lucien listened to their conversation, so he wasn’t relaying anything to them either. What could he be thinking about, you wondered.

Suddenly, his gaze snapped to you. Those piercing violet eyes assessing you. You were just now braiding the other side of Cassian’s head.

“What? Does it look bad or something?” you asked.

Rhys shook his head, “No it looks fine, but I cannot help but sense something off about you y/n.” His eyes twinkled as they took a quick glance at your hands. You followed his gaze. He was looking at your hands! Did the glamour wear off?! You panicked, you looked at your wrists while braiding Cassian's hair and saw no swirls of flame. What the fuck is he on about then?

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” you finished the braid you were working on and began to put them together into a high bun. Those always looked best on Cassian.

“Oh really? Y/n, you must forget I am a high lord. I can sense ALL magic,” he put major emphasizes on the word all. Just then it hit you. Rhysand is a high lord. Your high lord, and the most powerful one at that. He can sense all magic… even glamours.

You shot him a look as you tried to keep your hands focused on Cassian’s bun. All Rhysand did was smile at you as you felt the familiar caress of claws on your mental shield. “You have a glamour on, don’t you?” he spoke to you in your head.

“Get out my head you prying prick,” you thought outside your walls.

“What are you hiding y/n?” he purred. His claws once again cascading down your shields.

“Cassian do you have a hair tie?” you asked as he mindlessly handed you one, you were now securing his hair.

“I am serious Rhys, get out of my head,” you thought back, but he kept his presence in your head as he crossed his arms at the table. If you kept yourself occupied with Cassian’s hair and maybe he will go away.

“I am not going until you tell me why you are glamoured. What are you hiding y/n?” His voice felt foreign in your mind, but he was still respectful. The power and information he has on you right now was overwhelming. You could feel your shields slipping at it. You tried to re-ground yourself with the feeling of Cassian’s hair, but you ended up giving into Rhysand. He already knows everything. You could trust him. The people you were hiding from aren’t even here. You let your shield down to show him the image of your wrists. You could see his eyes lighten in surprise as his cheeks grew a shade darker.

���I told you not to pry,” you thought inside your mind.

“He can do that?” he thought back to you in shock.

“Yes,” you thought back.

You bit your lip slightly as you started to reminisce about it, completely forgetting your shields were still down. Rhysand seeing everything before you could stop it. You quickly finished securing Cassian’s hair before you clapped him on the shoulder with an “All done!”

“WOAH!” Rhysand shouted out loud at the images of you and Lucien flashing through your mind, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. You slammed your shields backup in an instant. Rhysand’s face now completely pink.

“What?” Cassin asked confused as Rhysand coughed.

Please come up with something good Rhys... you thought.

“Nothing! Your hair just looks really good like that brother,” Rhysand mused.

“Awe Rhysie Poo- am I so handsome with this hair that it made you blush?” Cassian got up to smother Rhys in a hug.

“Yes, it’d be even better with a bow!” Rhys laughed as he bopped Cassian’s newly braided bun.

“That’s what I think too, but Lucien said no!” You tried to remain calm and continue as normally as possible as you made your way back to your seat. Thank fuck for Rhysand coming up with a cleaver cover up story.

Lucien shrugged, “It would not go well with my outfit.” Everyone at the table laughed.

Rhysand couldn’t look at you or the male without blushing. He has seen too much, but gods it was true everyone undermined the autumn court male’s power in the bedroom.

“What’s got everyone in such a good mood?” Elain asked sweetly as she entered the room with Azriel at her side. Lucien imediently tensed at the sight of them together. You on the other hand were ready to strike at any given moment, scared she might attack you for sitting next to Lucien.

“Rhysand got all hot and bothered over my new hairstyle Y/n did for me,” Cassian boomed as Elain blushed uncomfortably at his words. Azriel laughed at his brothers, your heart skipping a beat at the sound. Damn thing always betraying you when he's around.

“Well I'll be dammed Rhys, you’re picking favorites now?” Azriel smirked as he pulled Elain’s chair out for her beside Nesta.

“Absolutely not! This-” his hands wave around Cassian’s hair, “just threw me off guard! I’m so used to his hair being all up in his face,” Rhysand said as he watched Azriel sit next to Elain.

“It is rather nice to see your face again Cass,” Feyre teased and he glared at her, “Now that everyone is here, let’s eat!”

At the snap of her fingers the entire table was filled with all sorts of breakfast foods. From fresh fruits to eggs and bacon, the table had it all.

“Thank fuck-” Cassian said as he started to pile food onto his plate, everyone following suit. Filling their plates with whatever they pleased.

“Good morning, Elain, how did you sleep?” Lucien asked her as he buttered a bagel, not really hungry after your snack earlier. Azriel smiled at the question, and your blood boiled. You knew that smirk all too well. Lucien had that same smirk when Mor asked about why you braided his hair. Something happened between them and you were dead set on finding out about it.

Elain’s sweet stature faltered for a moment before she recomposed herself and answered, “I slept good.”

“That’s good to hear,” Lucien said awkwardly not expecting the conversation to be that short.

“Good going dude,” you whispered to him.

“I’d like to see you try-” you kicked him under the table. “Ouch-”

“Shut your mouth before I do it for y-” he kicked you back, you glared at him as you rubbed your shin. “Ass-” before you could finish your name calling Mor interrupted you, Lucien only laughed.

“So, Feyre and I were discussing about having a group bonding day today. Everyone else agreed to it, what do you think Azriel?” Mor asked.

“Sounds fine,” he said blandly as he took a bite of eggs as Elain spoke beside him.

“I think that’s a great idea Mor!”

“Okay so it is settled! We will have a group bonding session today!” Mor said as she raised her glass of water and drank it.

"This outta be interesting," Rhysand said with a smile.

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[lapelduide]

Listen y'all. I love Simon&Daphne, Kate&Anthony, Charlotte&George and Penelope&Colin. I love all of them and I can WITHOUT HUMILIATING ANY OF THEM FOR FLATTERING ANOTHER. They all are good in their own ways. You can love s1, s2 and QC -i do too- and I respect that but I have no respect for those who are bringing down upcoming s3 for praising QC. Saying it can never be as good as QC. Fr why can't it be? It surely can. Colin and Penelope are complex characters playing by wonderful actors.

You may not like Penelope and Colin but as it has been said before s1 Anthony was unlikeable too and it literally takes 2 episodes for people to fall in love with him. So why can't you love Polin too?

I sometimes wonder are we actually watching the same series with those who are saying Pen is evil and Colin is selfish.

Well the reason I felt the need to write my thoughts down was a comment I saw. A fans comment basically saying she/he and most of the fans -you are a single person talk for YOURSELF wtf- will not watch s3 if there will not be Kate and Anthony as much as s2. That Penelope has so much screen time and that's why "most of the fans" don't like her.

First of all I think toxic Kathony fans need to understand that their season was season 2. They can't have the whole series and can't be the main focus all of the upcoming seasons. GET OVER IT. IF YOU WANT TO WATCH THEM AS MAIN COUPLE GO AND REWATCH SEASON 2. If you are going to watch s3 just for them then simply don't watch.

And Penelope having so much screen time? I don't think so but even if she does, it is understandable. Because guess what?- She is Lady Whistledown! SHE IS IMPORTANT. If you are disliking a character because of this shitty reason then don't blame the character. I personally don't think there is something wrong about her screen time, in fact we are understanding Pen's pov. -I mean I hope WE are. At least I do.-

I can't understand why some people can't assimilate s3's main couple? One way or another the explanations I read was nothing more than excuses.

-Pen should have character development through season 3 and Polin season should come after that? She will have this in s3.

-There is so much to solve? Well that is one of the reasons why it will be exciting.

I am not even going to talk about the ones who are saying Penelope should BEG Colin, Eloise and Marina; the ones who are saying Colin doesn't deserve Pen, the ones who are saying Pen doesn't deserve Colin; defending Colin loves Marina, that Polin shouldn't be the endgame etc. Huh, I have seen enough.

Anyways. Nobody can change my opinion about how good s3 will be but I was furious after reading that comment. So thank y'all for reading my little verdantly TED Talk.

Since I am so nervous... here are some gifs for some relaxation. (I wish i could create gifs too...)

[arttrampbelle]

Shang tsung isn't evil but a product of corruption and the environment that surrounds him. He's not evil in the sense of black n white thinking of morality. Especially from a western,psuedo Christian American perspective that so many people wanna shoehorn him into. (No shade here but im calling it like i see it nrs)

How is he evil when everyone in mortal kombat kills?

Also shao kahn quan chi and shinnok has arguably done worse

And even more so he's worked more with them,and under them(shao Kahn namely) and had no choice but to follow orders. Namely some things sure were aligned in benefit. But truly can you really argue that it was all his doing? No to say so is ignorant and undermining the other villains and antagonists of the series and their own contributions to the story narrative in opposition of protags and other characters.

The most evil is those who hide behind self righteousness and say they are for peace when they are being manipulated by promises of a better realm or timeline(cough fire god liu kang. COUGH)

Like nah guys mk12/mk1 don't make sense even for the narrative they are trying to pull. Shang is wonderful but yall missed the point even tho the storymode sucks and everything about it makes me nauseous, shang tsung shines thru because of what he represents. The story,It falls through the crack simply because of the fact

In mortal kombats chaotic and cruel world. You kill or be killed. You do what it takes to survive. Or be food for the gods. As you are nothing but entertainment for them.

Everyone kills in mortal kombat. So shang tsung killing means fucking nothing and is a moot point. He does it,everyone does it,how is he truly any different than anyone at that point. Thru mortal kombat,a supposedly Divine system,he's doing exactly what he's supposed to be doing. And what his character is designed to do. Period. So killing,moot point and argument.

Im not talking about. MK12/MK1 specifically. Tho that grinds my gears for many other reasons. Im talking shang tsung,overall as a whole as a character thru the 30+yrs the games and mk has been around. These are common arguments for that shang is "tHe EVil OnE" when there's no such thing in mks world. Truly. It's posturing and posing flowery words at that point. Period.

Stealing souls? He has to,to survive. He is cursed by the very gods and mentors that once swore to protect him. But did nothing.

Climbing for power? He does so because he wishes not to rule over. But so he doesn't have to worry about going to bed hungry,to suffer. He wants stability,comfort,and most of all security. A thing that long ago was robbed of him.

See you can't say shit about my man without having many reasons why he's not.

Could he be evil,nasty,and dowright fucking cruel? Oh you bet your ass he could. But does he enjoy it? Not really. He takes no pleasure unless it's out of necessity or you're considered an enemy.

He is no different than a hungry hunter. Trying to find his next meal or the next place of dwelling. Until he finds his true place of being and achieves a stable life.

Like ffs people it's right fucking there fine print and that still,STILL GOES OVER YOUR HEADS!

Like y'all who don't understand nuanced villains WANT him to be stereotypical,y'all want him to be easy to pinpoint. Because that means you dont get to critique your beloved "Heroic" characters. And use your brains,and critically think that maybe,just fucking maybe. Your nice dudes were wrong for once.

In mortal kombats world (if you can call it that because the world building sucks)

It's kill or be killed. Morality be damned. Shang tsung found that out long ago. Hiding behind morals in a world that could care less than about you. Gods that only see you as food,throw away entertainment,etc.

He may have respect for someone who despite all that crap,has some moral backbone. But isn't blind to the truth,it's survival. Dont be a pushover boot licking lapdog. As long as you don't hide behind your self righteousness and "goody goody" attitude. He'll respect that you have a noble heart. In fact,that may make him actually enjoy your company. But dont be a condescending jackass about your morals. And he'll be fine.

Shang tsung is just playing the game that the world is built upon. The rules,the gods,the empires,have made. And plays them well into his advantage.

And y'all pissed he plays it better than you. 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

That my dears is a truly well done villain,antagonist,and just a beautifully complex character.

That's how you do or are supposed to do shang tsung. Period.

*slams hand down on table and leaves*

🔥💯🔥

[stealingyourbones]

Hi! 💙💙💙 How have you been?

*gently hands you a bowl decorated with rat ribs together with a spoon made out of a mammoth's tibia*

Soooooooooooo, you know how when Joker kidnapped Tim Drake in that one movie, he planted some kind of chip that will program Tim to become the Joker when he grows up/when it becomes activated? Like, it wasn't enough he was Joker Junior? The Joker actually had a contingency for when he dies so that The Joker character never actually dies? (holy shittttt)

WHAT IF when Jason came back to Gotham, or goes to Titans Tower to beat Tim up, the ectoplasm that Jason had in him somehow tranfers to Tim when Tim tried to fight back?

AND THEN the ectoplasm activates the chip?

Instead of the chip controlling Tim to act or behave like the Joker, THE CHIP INSTEAD SIZZLES AND PHASES OUT OF TIM, AND CREATES GHOST JOKER INITIALLY MADE UP OF CORRUPTED ECTOPLASM. *EVIL CACKLING*

*ehem*

Of course, it doesn't happen in a day. It takes WEEKS for this ghost to take form, naturally migrating to Gotham and gathering all the ectoplasm it needs to purify its corrupted core, naturally, on its own, and develop its own consciousness/cognition/awareness/whatever it means to develop a sense of self.

First, it felt empty. Without an obsession. A purpose for its existence.

And then, it saw Batman. It saw Nightwing doing a quadruple somersault.

And, it saw Robin trying (and failing) to go on patrol despite his injuries.

This ghost quietly drifts behind them with fascination and wonder, and little bits of an obsession forming. The obsession continues to form the more this ghost watches the little Robin.

(Well, this ghost doesn't know. Even if it was formed from the chip made by OG!Joker, it did come out of little Tim Drake, who had loved the idea of Robin and what it stood for more than the Bat.)

And then, the Red Hood saw him.

"Joker," the Red Hood growls, guns ready in his hands.

Joker. Yes. That sounds right. That sounds exactly what he should be.

"Looks like being dead can't keep you from obsessing over Batman, huh?"

Batman? No. That doesn't sound right. Perhaps he's fascinated. But obsess over the Batman? No, no, no...

The ghost, Joker, tilts his head. He sees the Red Hood stiffen, and he wonders what kind of expression he's making.

"Not Batman." He giggles, and laughs, and pictures a little Robin losing every little piece of light he's supposed to represent.

Light. Robin is the light. A bright light full of laughter, stubborness, and hope.

This ghost has a small memory of this little Robin bleeding beautifully in his own blood... Still stubbornly bright no matter how much pain the little Robin was receiving...

Yes.

The Joker just knows that it was born from that beautiful pain. And he's born to destroy that beautiful light.

One day, he will. He will capture the little Robin and make that light his... Or snuff it out until he's Robin no more! Yes!

Robin grapples past the alley he and Red Hood was in. And, in a blink of an eye, the Joker turns invisible, his laughs continuously echoing even when he's left.

***

For the first time since the incident in the tower, the Red Hood appears in the Batcave, mask off and face grim.

Bruce pushes Tim behind him. Nightwing tenses where he stands. Tim wants violence vengeance to beat Jason up or kick him in the crotch waits quietly behind Bruce with narrowed eyes.

Red Hood-- Jason didn't care.

"The Joker is back."

***

Welp, this got long! 😂 But please have this! 💙💙💙I hope you're doing okay 💙 Drinking lots of water, getting lots of sleep, and eating lots of good food 💙

the movie you're referencing is Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker

how many qualities does this version of Joker retain from Tim? Does he resemble the Joker or does he look like a very young Joker that looks the same age as Tim, the same way he looks relatively the same age as Tim in the BB:RotJ movie? There are so many fun ways to mess around with this prompt. Go ham y'all

[silver-dragonborn]

What is up with the HOTD fandom's obsession with hating on Laena Velaryon? Laena haters screech and stomp their feet simply because Laena committed the unforgivable sin of pursuing a man she was attracted to, getting married to him, and having his babies. Y'all act like Laena forced Daemon to marry her and that she "betrayed" Rhaenyra. No, you're just mad that Laena, a black woman, got"in the way" of your ship and you punish her by writing dozens of fanfiction where she either dies horrifically by dragon fire, dies in childbirth, becomes this wicked seductress who lives to torment Rhaenyra, etc.

Even worse, Laena's stripped of her personality and turned into a yes-man for Rhaenyra without any thoughts or opinions, or her twin daughters are erased out of existence in every single time-traveling fix-it fic. The blatant racism and hatred towards Laena, Laenor, Corlys, and every single member of House Velaryon is tiresome.

"But she stole Daemon!!!"

Laena didn't steal anyone and Daemon's not a prized horse to be taken when he CLEARLY showed interest in marrying Laena in the show and killed her betrothed in the book to marry her.

"But she betrayed Rhaenyra because she knew Rhaenyra loved Daemon!!"

I'm confused. Do you mean to tell me that Laena deliberately went after Daemon with the sole purpose of marrying him just to hurt Rhaenyra? Just for shits and giggles? Yeah. Okay. Keep thinking that.

"Laena and her family are all greedy and grasping for power!!"

Yeah and so is every single House in Westeros. Everyone wants power and Corlys wouldn't be the Sea Snake if he didn't have the wit and ambition to seize power for him and his family. He elevated his House, married Rhaenys Targaryen, had two wonderful children who became dragon riders in their own right and became the grandfather of royal dragon riders. But yeah, House Velaryon are all wickedly evil for DARING to tie their House to the royal family. Mm-hm. Yeah. Sounds about right.

"Daemon never loved Laena! The show is proof of that!!"

I don't even like Daemon, but I mean this from the bottom of my heart when I say that the show did a complete disservice to Daemon and Laena's relationship. Reducing her to second-best and giving her a brutal death instead of honoring the tender final moments between her and Daemon in the book was insulting as hell.

"Laena and Daemon shouldn't have gotten married!!"

You know what? I'll give you that one. Laena was too good for Daemon and she and Rhaenyra should have been dragon-riding girlfriends who held hands, smooched, and had a Valyrian wedding in secret :).

[gamerbearmira]

🌻That Dazzlings AU has me thinking! So, you said you don't know if Alma is a good or bad person in this AU, so what if she doesn't know because she honestly was never let in on the fact that the "gifts" have an additional curse to them. She just notices that her babies have lockets when the Casita was created or when they turn 5 (whenever you decide), but she doesn't truly understand what they mean. Alma maybe realizing that her babies react to emotions more than other kids might, and finds their musical talent as they grow. But maybe she was so stressed in the beginning since, ya know, that she doesn't truly make the connections. And as they grow, her triplets figure out to maybe hide this, and as she's a first time mother without a great indication of how normal kids are supposed to act, the kids never get really caught. Maybe also helped by the triplets deciding to only in emergencies use their abilities against their loved ones, because even evil people can care for people close to them (let us not forget that maniacs can have loving families, and these are far more minor than those).

When the grandkids come along, I like the idea of then not having control either, the triplets sorta taking it in turns to support their kids. Bruno getting more than he needs and giving it to his sisters when they are napping is an image I love, because strong Pepa and perfect Juli don't ask him for help,but he knows when his sisters need more emotional fuel. Just seeing that they gave too much to his nieces and nephews and making up for it when they don't ask him. And maybe him utilizing the already created image of "bad luck Bruno" in these moments. A more bitter man taking a shred of revenge on these people who so often take his visions as cursed deciding to take their suffering and turn it into help for his family is something that itches well at my brain.

Sorry if the rant went somewhere y'all weren't wanting it to, or if it was too much. Just liking the idea of sinister Madrigals, not quite evil but certainly not the prisms of perfection they try to be in canon.

REALLLLL I LOVE THAT <33 I was leaning towards oblivious Alma lmao 😭 but it makes sense! I mean like you said, she's a new parent. She might have been a babysitter in the past but like these are HER kids its its not a one time thing. She's already busy enough as it is, so she's sorta only half keeping an eye on them and they seem fine most of the time. I think they would get the lockets at 5, gift or no gift, it doesn't matter. It's a curse, ain't NOBODY safe 💀💀 and yeah, I'm sure they figured out fast how to use them and what they had to do. Wasn't hard for them, and they were in it for each other, and their family, everyone else is just gonna have to suck it up (not that anyone truly realizes what they're doing).

ALSO STRONG PEPA AND PERFECT JULIETA I'M CRYING :((( Bruno knows that they'll deny his help if he just goes up and asks if they need more energy. But he sees how drained they are and takes any chances. Also I like your idea of him basically capitalizing on the whole "Bad Luck Bruno" thing, I was wondering if he would use that to his advantage. He probably has purposely bad vision. Like imagine he ends up figuring out how to tilt the scales and make them bad 🦅🦅 I mean I doubt he'd leave in this au. Hell, Mirabel's failed ceremony only fueled him and the others. Imagine how much power they got that day 😛

ALSO PLEASE. I LOVE THE IDEAS KEEP THEM COMING...If you want of course. I know there's a whole lotta people with awesome ideas, and for this au no less??? Don't be shy 🤭🤭 I also like the idea of. Pretty morally gray Madrigals. Maybe even power humger like the Dazzlings. Mfs WILL be adored❗❗❗

They're so...😔

[icarustypicalfall]

ALRIGHT LISTEN

this is just an opinion no need to get in my inbox and hate :)

i GENUINELY wonder if my fics are not good enough, or it's just because i am writing about the "side charachters" and not ghost or könig..

i mean ofc everyone have tastes but the way pepole act on socials and keep out charachters like Rudy and Alejandro makes me wonder if this is a preference or r*cism.

(before you say it, i am not making drama and we can't keep turning around the pot forever)

(also Horangi and Gaz are extremely underrated, fortunately ppl started to include them back after the chaos of September. i understand some people may not like a character or not write for him because they don't want to mess it up. but leaving him out like MANY did isn't okay.)

I am not blaming anyone but genuinely wondering why some charachters get all the attention while we can berly find content for any other character, who are really interesting as well and deserve appreciation.

**

I am not against any headcanon, sticking with the canon events is fine.

y'all need to let people do what they love, even if you don't like it, someone enjoys it. And the purpose of a fandom is to recreate and make new stuff out of the actual product.

Although, what is extremely wrong is oversexualizing the charachters, making from them some mentally ill monsters and manicas. You should educate yourself on disorders and similar stuff before writing it, you may think it's ok, but in reality love, you are making a huge mistake.

(I've seen some stuff that was extremely messed up and the people who wrote that really need to touch some grass and urgent therapy. Some stuff shouldn't be posted at all..)

Also, the face models are actual people.. and the comment section under their posts makes me sick.. some of y'all took the digital footprint for granted..

remember they can read, or see anything you'll say. they have family, friends seeing what y'all say about them..

imagine seeing someone say that stuff about your friend or parent..

Also Samuel Roukin and every other actor are beautiful, they are humans and don't have to be a flawless super model.(he is in fact very handsome 🤭)

Look in the mirror darling and remember that the person you are hating on is a human just like you and have feelings.

AS A CONCLUSION

- you can like whoever you want i am not judging anyone and i am not forcing you to like any character 🤦🏻‍♀️

can't believe i had to add this ppl seriously need to touch grass

-give other characters attention

-dont hate on others for having different opinions

-the face models are humans

-there is some point where you should ask yourself if what you wrote is okay

-its könig not konig

-graves is an antogonist and was supposed to be evil

- all of the charachters did something wrong at some point, this is war and not roses and flowers

this is my opinion and idc i wanted to rant cuz i had enough

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