#i can't find the will to write on an actual fic

[pomefioredove]

Hi! This is very very specific, but…I've had a rough start to my day today, kinda relating to the topic of my request…

So I was wondering, would it be alright to request HCs of Jamil, Ruggie, Leona, Floyd and Rollo with a Reader who runs into an emotionally abusive/manipulative parent they haven't seen in a long time? The kind of subtle abuse that's hard to tell (from the inside, at least) is even abuse at all, and makes you doubt yourself a lot. Kinda narcissistic abuse

Kind of a hurt/comfort thing? Like how they'd deal with the bad parent and the Reader opening up a bit about it. Romantic or platonic, either one is good

Feel more than free to ignore if this kind of request isn't your thing: that's totally fine, I understand it's a bit heavy, not to mention very specific, so please do what makes you feel best. I hope you have a good day!

ahhh of course! I relate to this sort of thing a lot (although I don't use terms like narcissistic abuse since abuse is just abuse to me) and I know exactly what you mean. I love hurt/comfort and you're well within my boundaries since the only thing I wouldn't write pertaining to this topic is intimate partner abuse (like with an s/o). so you're perfectly fine! I enjoyed writing this <3

summary: comforting a reader with an abusive parent type of post: short fics characters: jamil, ruggie, leona, floyd, rollo additional info: reader is not specified to be yuu ("shrimpy" is used as a nickname during floyd's part tho), reader is gender neutral, food mention (ruggie's part), actual interaction w the parent happens during leona and rollo's parts, mentions/descriptions of emotional abuse, although reader is kinda vague about it

Jamil Viper

Jamil knows what it's like to feel stuck.

That's really all he has to know when he recognizes that look on your face.

Perhaps you usually wear your heart on your sleeves, or perhaps you're better at keeping your emotions to yourself, like him, but either way he can tell something is very wrong the second he sees you.

It's a bit strange, isn't it?

Surrounded by people in the cafeteria and yet no one seems to notice the shadow cast over you.

He tries to talk himself out of it for the rest of the day. He has enough on his plate as it is, and it's not his problem. He's Kalim's keeper, not yours.

But that sense of unease doesn't go away.

He drags himself out of bed and somehow finds himself at your door in the dead of night.

And even though it takes you a moment to answer, he can tell you were already awake.

"Here," he says, handing you a warm meal in a container. "I noticed you didn't eat today. We had leftovers."

You don't feel very much like eating, but you accept the gift, anyway. It smells amazing. His cooking always does.

"Thank you," you mumble.

You can't think of anything else to say.

"Are you... well, Kalim sent me to ask if you're feeling unwell," he lies through his teeth.

"I'm fine,"

Another lie, this time of your behalf, which annoys him ever-so-slightly.

"You're clearly not. Are you sick?" the question is vague enough, said in such a way that leaves you with the impression that he wasn't exactly referring to a physical illness.

"I've... had a rough day,"

Jamil is quiet for a moment, thinking to himself. And then: "Do you mind if I come in?"

He's always so careful with his words that such a direct (yet polite) request almost catches you off guard. You step to the side, letting him in your room.

"I don't mean to pry. I know it's not my place," he says, watching you close the door. "But... Kalim is worried. Yes."

You shake your head. "It's fine. I'll get over it,"

It.

What did "it" mean? Surely this couldn't just be a lousy day.

"Did something happen?"

You hesitate.

"Have you ever... ran into someone who made your life miserable? That you thought you moved on from... and it starts to feel like you're stuck in that place all over again?"

Of course. Of course he knows what that feels like.

He has to live through that exact experience every day, without even being able to move on.

But he can't just say that. And this is about you, after all.

"I'm familiar with the feeling. I suppose that's what's ruined your day, then?"

"That's one way to put it," you sigh, sitting at the edge of your bed. "Sometimes it feels like all the progress I've made is just... null. Like I'll never really move on."

He hates how much he's relating to you. How much you're affecting him, now, too.

He follows you to the bed and sits beside you.

"Someday, though, you will. It may feel hopeless now, but... you won't stay stuck forever,"

Unlike me, he thinks.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can't be. But you don't strike me as someone to give up after hardship,"

Like me.

You're quiet for a moment, seemingly considering what he told you. And then you hug him.

A nice, soft hug. Not abrasive or sudden like the ones Kalim gives. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

"Thank you, Jamil,"

He hugs back. "Of course,"

Ruggie Bucchi

It was almost painful, watching you fumble with your wallet like that.

You couldn't seem to get the proper amount out, shaking like a leaf and apologizing profusely. Sam keeps telling you it's okay, but the line forming behind you is starting to grow restless.

Ruggie included.

He has places to be, after all, and he's got two whole crates of energy drinks to lug back to Savanaclaw.

He has half a mind to ask what the holdup is.

And so, he peers over your shoulder, ready to- oh, no. You're crying.

Damn it. Why can't things ever be easy for him?

He can't even chew someone out for taking up all his precious time without being thrown a curveball. And now he feels bad.

Sigh.

"Hey, I got this," he says, setting his heavy crates down on the counter and flashing a card.

Your eyes widen. "Oh, no, Ruggie, you don't have to-"

"Relax, it's Leona's money, not mine," he offers a grin, ignoring the tears trailing down your face. "He won't even notice it's missing."

The line behind you two breathes a collective sigh of relief (much to your embarrassment) and Ruggie shoots them a glare.

"I... I still can't accept this-" you start, before he quickly shushes you.

"Hey, if you wanna make it up to me, you can help me carry these things. I'll call it even,"

You're silent for a moment as Sam finishes ringing you both up, and then you take a crate. As quiet as ever. It's unnerving.

You're walking back to the Hall of Mirrors when Ruggie breaks that silence by bringing up your purchase. "So, what's up with the afternoon snack? Not that I'm judging- I'm jealous. I skipped lunch, shishishi,"

"Oh, it's nothing," you mutter. "Comfort food, I guess."

The concept of comfort food is extremely appealing to him. "Huh. Long day?"

"Something like that... Why'd you skip lunch?"

Trying to change the conversation topic? Clever. But he'll bite, anyway.

"Leona forgot some of his class stuff, so I had 'ta run and get it. Too bad he forgot where he left it... I was all over campus,"

"Did you find it?"

"Eventually. Or else I'd be busy getting my neck wrung instead of 'bein here with you,"

You nod, and the conversation swiftly dies.

After another awkward beat, he clears his throat. "So you... you wanna talk about it, or something?"

"What?"

"You know, your... your day," he mutters, shrugging. He's desperately trying to remember all of the things his grandma did for him when he was upset as a child. "Talking about it might... make 'ya feel better, y'know?"

You're quiet again, and for a moment Ruggie is worried he said something to offend you.

Then, much to his relief, your voice picks up. "I ran into someone today,"

"What? Like someone was giving you trouble?"

"No, not a student. Someone I don't see very much anymore. Um... I guess it just threw me off,"

He tilts his head to the side. "Why?"

"I don't... well, we don't get along very much. Something about them just makes me feel... very... small. Insignificant,"

You don't ask if he understands what you mean, but he does. Not that he'd ever admit that so openly to you at a time like this, but being small and insignificant is basically his job.

And as much as he likes the perks, he can imagine how rough it would be to deal with that and not get to use a bottomless credit card whenever the opportunity presented itself.

He struggles to respond for a moment.

"That's rough,"

Definitely not the sympathetic response he was going for. At least you don't seem to mind.

"I-I mean, sometimes we have to act small to survive. It's a part of life, 'ya know? But that doesn't mean you are small. Just surviving on its own is an accomplishment," he recovers from his earlier blunder, trying to smile. "You should be proud of yourself, if anything."

"That's..." you say. "That's one way of looking at it."

He sighs. "I'm not expressing myself very well, am I? What I'm trying to say is that you're not small or insignificant, and living life feeling like you are is a survival tactic at best,"

The both of you stop in front of Savanaclaw, and he offers another grin.

"And if you ever wanna talk about this stuff... well, I'm around... And you can come inside now, if you want. I could definitely find more stuff to carry!"

Leona Kingscholar

Leona Kingscholar is very, very much enjoying parent weekend alone, thank you.

Of course his folks don't want to attend a school event for their disappointment of a second son. Why would they care? And on Cheka's birthday weekend, no less...

But that didn't bother him. Not at all.

As long as he slept through the weekend without being bothered by any happy-go-lucky nuclear family units, he'd live.

That plan lasts about five hours.

"You'd be better off doing something more useful with your time. Sports, or science, or... something that might help your future. But if you're so sure... I suppose it's better to cut our losses now than put any more faith in you. You just can never decide, can you?"

That voice. Unfamiliar, but drawling, laced with poison. Aggravating enough to stir Leona from his nap in the botanical gardens.

And it's getting closer.

"I just don't understand. Why get accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in the world just to spend your time goofing off?" a long sigh. "But as long as you're happy... we just want what's best for you."

Leona grumbles, turning over and trying to drift back to sleep.

"I'm trying,"

This voice is different. No- he recognizes it. It's yours.

"Are you? You know I know what's best for you, right?"

Sevens. This is your parent speaking to you? No wonder you've been acting all jittery lately.

He sits up, giving up on his nap, and continues listening in.

"I know," you say. "I really am trying, though."

"Did I say you weren't? Don't speak for me,"

This is getting ugly. Leona stands, stepping out of the shrubbery and clearing his throat behind the two of you.

You're the first to turn. "Oh- Leona! Sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you,"

"You're fine," he snaps, sharp eyes turning to your parent beside you. "Who's this, then?"

"This is-"

"Their parent," they go ahead and introduce themselves, cutting you off as if you weren't speaking at all. Like you're a piece of furniture hanging in the background. He's not a fan.

"Really? From the way you were talking, I would have guessed that you were their coach. Or boss,"

Your eyes dart between the two. "Leona-"

"You're fine," he reaffirms. "I was just looking for you, anyway. We really have to talk."

You pause, raising an eyebrow. He? Wants to talk to you? Now?

"Is it important?" your parent asks. The question is directed at you, although he answers.

"Very. I was just coming to ask you, very politely, I might add, to reconsider my offer,"

"Your... offer...?"

Your parent looks down at you. "What's he talking about?"

"Can't blame you for forgetting. I'm sure you're busy with all your... school... things. But I do have to ask you to rejoin the spelldrive club. We're in shambles without you,"

He gives you a certain look, one that clearly reads "Go along with it."

Leona Kingscholar offering an olive branch to someone is a rare occurrence. So you take it.

"Oh! Right, I have been busy with school. I've been meaning to get back to you..."

Your parent looks between the two of you with just the faintest hint of confusion, and then frustration. "You've been playing spelldrive? When was I going to hear about this?"

"They haven't been playing with us," Leona says, a small smirk already forming. "They're the team manager. They're way too smart to be out on the field- no, they're running the team, they're organizing everything, their strategy is like nothing we've ever seen. If only they were in Savanaclaw, we might have a chance at winning one of these years."

"Uhhh..." you start, looking between your parent and the oddly friendly and receptive clone that's replaced Leona. "...Yeah, right."

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we really have to discuss official club matters," he says, shooing away your parent until they eventually give in and leave.

As soon as they're out the door, you turn to him. "What w-"

"Are you alright?" he asks.

Stunned would be an understatement. "I'm fine,"

"Really? Cause you're looking at me like a gazelle caught in headlights,"

"I-I guess it's just been hard... having them here,"

Leona nods, closing his eyes as he thinks to himself. Then, he sighs.

"Yeah. I get that. Come on, then,"

You raise an eyebrow as he starts off in the opposite direction. "What? Where are we going?"

"Somewhere quiet and warm to nap. Being around that person sucked all the energy right out of me, I can't imagine how exhausted you feel,"

He turns to look over his shoulder with a smile. "With any luck, we'll avoid them for the rest of the weekend,"

Floyd Leech

Of course, he can tell something's up right away.

Well... maybe it takes him a little while to tune into the conversation, but once he does, he notices you've been... awfully quiet throughout it.

His favorite little shrimpy? All sad? Moping around like a kicked puppy?

Now this catches his attention.

"Bored?" he asks. It's his first guess.

"Hm?" you ask, looking back at him. "No, I'm fine."

"But you're not,"

"Okay, I'm a little distracted,"

Now that, he can understand. But there's still something very off about the whole thing that he can't quite put his finger on.

"You're not telling me something," he states, matter-of-factly, crossing his arms.

You raise an eyebrow. "...And?"

"And I wanna know. I'm not letting you leave until you tell me,"

Your thought process is probably ranging somewhere between "oh, no," and "oh NO," by now.

"I sweaaar, it's nothing," you insist. "I just had a bad day, okay?"

"Why?"

There's no turning back now. He's invested, and until he loses interest, you're stuck here.

"It was... just... long. Can I go now? I have things to do,"

He frowns, and stands, and then puts you in a headlock. "Alright, where're we 'goin?"

"FLOYD!"

He drags you along with him, remembering not to be too rough as he takes you from place to place on his dailies. You begrudgingly learn to accept it.

When you walk back into the Mostro Lounge, Azul and Jade don't even bat an eye.

"You're thirty minutes late- ah, why do I bother?" Azul says, rifling through a stack of papers on his desk. He only looks up when he catches a glimpse of you. "Oh. Hello, there."

You wave half-heartedly. "Can I get some help?"

"Floyd. What is the meaning of this?" he asks.

Floyd pouts. "There's 'somethin wrong with them and they won't tell me what,"

"Are they ill?"

You lower your eyes at the two as they speak like you're not even there. "Hello?"

"Nah, they feel fine. They're all mopey, though,"

Azul hums to himself, lost in thought. And then: "Well, figure out what it is, and get to work, if you please,"

"Azul!" you shout. He ignores you.

Floyd drags you back outside the office and sits down with you at one of the tables, waving to concerned lounge-goers as they pass by.

"Now will you tell me?"

"Geez, alright, alright. I give up, you win," you sigh. "I... well, my parent was here earlier. At school. And we talked, and they... said some not-very-nice things to me. That's why I've been upset, okay?"

Floyd's smile immediately drops. "I win? But that's not a very good prize,"

"Tell me about it,"

"Why would anyone be mean to you, anyway? You're the best shrimpy I know!"

You avert your eyes. "It wasn't... mean... per se. Just... not nice,"

"Sounds mean to me," he mutters. "I don't get it."

"Well, sometimes these things just... don't make sense. It's my fault, anyway," you sigh.

His gaze sharpens at that. "'An who told you that? You didn't do anything! I'm starting to really dislike this parent of yours,"

His sudden mood swing doesn't phase you, but it does lift your spirits... just the tiniest bit. Even if you wouldn't admit that to yourself. "Hey, it's fine. I'm over it,"

"You sure you don't want me to squeeze 'em?"

"Heh. No, that's okay. I would like you to let me go, though,"

His eyes widen at the sudden realization he still has you in a headlock and he quickly releases you.

You sit up, stretching and rubbing the back of your neck. "Thanks,"

"My arm was starting to hurt, anyway..." he thinks for a moment, looking back to the office door. "Ya think I can use that to get out of working? I wanna spend more quality time with my favorite shrimpy. You could use it!"

You look to the door and shrug. "Hey, worth a try, right?"

Rollo Flamme

Out of all the things to ruin the day, of course it had to be your parent.

The disappointment between the two of you was palpable. And even though it was only a brief encounter, it was enough to sour the rest of the afternoon for the both of you.

The first thing Rollo noticed, of course, was the manner in which they carried themselves. As an authoritative, important figure, puffing out their chest and towering over you. What gave them the right...?

They were not a leader, nor a public figure, nor anyone of interest, if your earlier mentions of them gave him any idea. Nothing but an adult who spoke to the both of you as if you were tiny children.

He loathed being talked down to.

Perhaps he should have said something sooner than he did, and perhaps he should have said something more than the interruption he used to excuse you from the conversation.

And now you're just quiet.

"Are you well?" he asks, looking at you from the corner of his eyes.

You shrug.

"I apologize for not speaking on your behalf sooner. I did not want to be rude,"

No response at all.

Your silence was driving him mad. He couldn't get a good read on what you were feeling when you kept looking away like that.

"If you'd like to return home early, I would understand and escort you promptly,"

"No,"

A response. Not a good one, but a response nonetheless.

"May I ask you a question?" though he doesn't really wait for your permission to go on. "Why do they speak to you like that?"

That comment seems to jolt you, and you turn to look at him with wide eyes. "What? Speak to me like what?"

He struggles for the right words.

How could he describe it? It was so... odd. The words they spoke to you didn't sound cruel, but there was something sinister lurking beneath them. And not even in the typical "polite for the sake of it" sense.

Each response they gave was laced with a sort of venom that seemed to sting you. You had grown quiet, distant, as if you weren't really there at all.

Of course he was familiar with such tactics. He could weave his own words with ease. But you had done nothing wrong- you were guiltless. Why were you being punished?

He couldn't quite come up with an answer.

"You seemed uncomfortable," he finally says, looking away again. "I apologize for such an experience happening to you under my watch."

"It's not your fault,"

"It certainly isn't. And it's not yours, either,"

A blanket of silence falls over the two of you until he speaks again.

"You have nothing to feel bad about," he reaffirms.

Another pause.

"And I don't mean to intrude. But if you ever need my assistance, you know where to find me,"

[terrifyingly-overthought]

Uzi thunk…pls…

"Uzi Doorman those things killed your frikin' mother"

Did you know that Uzi's on the villains wiki? Bc I sure didn't.

Anyway Uzi Doorman hcs under the cut

Main character time lets go, jumping straight into this one:

Uzi will eventually turn into a murder drone (see my post about N for details)

Uzi absolutely refuses to say that she's dating N on principle (this is a lie and she knows it)

Uzi is always really tired, doesn't matter how much sleep she got

Uzi got over killing people waaayy too fast for everyone else's liking

Uzi's slover runs hotter than the dds but she needs to be colder, so she has to drink a LOT of oil

Uzi's tail sometimes gets stuck to things with it's spines

She tries to have a decent relationship with her dad sometimes: but it's hard to get through to him

Uzi wants to be a parent just solely so she can prove to Khan that she would be a better parent than him

Uzi sometimes experiments with her admin rights for N and V while they sleep (she once set their eyes to flash with rainbow colours and had a midnight disco on her own)

Uzi uses the healing powers of the solver to make even more dangerous tools and weapons without the risk of getting hurt

If Uzi ever found Beetlejuice the musical, she would spend days just listening to the soundtrack

Same with a lot of musicals and bands actually

The last time Khan left Uzi alone in the house for more than 12 hours, a large section of the bunker was lit on fire and destroyed

Uzi is oddly supportive of all the weird things N gets up to in the worker colony

V however has been shouted at multiple times for dropping on top of drones from the ceiling

The books Uzi uses to reach her locker are textbooks on doors that her dad wrote

She is the only one in her class that finds it weird that they can't just download the knowledge into their storage like, you know, a robot would

If she could find the spare parts, she would modify herself in any way possible (starting with extendable legs)

Uzi loves any weapon she can get her hands on and is thoroughly disappointed by her lack of claws from the solver

Uzi has a personal vendetta against a pipe that runs through her classroom after it burst and nearly short-circuited her

Uzi would be top of her class if she ever bothered to do the actual work

And if Lizzy didn't always get her dad to lower Uzi's grades

Uzi still hasn't figured out how to bypass her automatic censors, so every time she tries to properly swear she just goes *beep*

Khan fully blames N and V for activating Uzi's solver

Uzi occasionally will sleep hanging upside-down with N if they are caught out by the sun while hunting together

That's about it for this post, there are more but they start going a bit off the wall after here

Currently writing this instead of preparing for my art exam on Monday, 10 hours of lovely silence to enjoy being understimulated as all balls in... yay :(

At least I might get in some more thinking then

[yinyuedijun]

okay maybe i’m toxic or didn’t pick up the hints but can you maybe elaborate more on what makes the readers behavior w aventurine manipulative? bc i feel like lwk i would do the same but i didn’t realize it was bad behavior 😭😭😭 like if he was saying stuff in his sleep i didn’t understand i would totally try to translate it 😭😭 and how they know he might not be comfortable w doing some things like teaching them avgin but asking anyway i took it as a bid for connection almost?? IDK im just gobsmacked bc i totally thought i was a healthy secure individual but if this is toxic behavior maybe im not 😭😭

FKDJSAKSHJA I won't lie anon I love getting chonky questions about my fics so thank you for reaching out about your confusion with this particular subject . in your defense I understand why it might be confusing on a first read because it IS fundamentally a story about two lovers wanting connection. the catch is that they are too messed up to actually achieve it in a mutual manner 😞

SADLY I must write an essay about this because I'm unbearable. but before I do I'd like to share screenshots from a couple of my readers (SHOUTOUT TO LEEHI ANON AND MIN !) that explains it succinctly

okay now my unbearable essay

so basically. I think the mc's first weird thing that they did was wanting to know what aventurine was saying in his sleep and not just asking him LMFAOOO instead they fucking went about learning it in a roundabout way, without his permission, and just did not care about his boundaries gkdhdsldhsmsj

but while that is whack dishonest behaviour, the real crux of the manipulation in this dynamic is that the reader gave the impression to aventurine that he would be able to understand them better via language exchange, but they set him up for failure in this regard. from the outset, they had no intention of revealing anything about their inner world to him because they planned to deceive him in their native tongue. on the other hand, through learning aventurine's mother tongue, they are able to access a deeply vulnerable part of him. and they do it without him knowing.

so they use this knowledge of his mother tongue and his weakness to it to manipulate him into treating them better: crying in it to gain his pity (just as they did with their captors) and asking for gestures of affection using his language because they know he can't say no. they can use his first language to control him, but aventurine cannot do the same. it's very one-sided.

but as you said, it's ultimately a bid for connection. and they resort to this behaviour to achieve connection because, put frankly, aventurine has already created a one-sided dynamic where he has killed any potential for true connection. like tl;dr he really does treat them like garbage 😭😭😭 the mc just got kinda tired of that and wanted to girlboss him back so that he'd be actually affectionate to them. though they also just want to find a way to make him happy.

ANYWAY SORRY THIS WAS SO LONG.... thank you for reading my fic . I appreciate you so much!!!!!!

[dixonsemoboy]

DIXONSEMOBOY'S BLOG

xan/xander, ftm, he/him, ur fav living dead boy

🦴🐾 STUFF IVE WRITTEN SO FAR:

NEEDY MORNING || ୨୧ || ftm reader, smut

DARYL W/ SOMNO KINK || ୨୧ || ftm reader, smut

DARYL W/ SIZE KINK || ୨୧ || ftm reader, smut

BOYDAD! DARYL || ୨୧ || ftm reader, fluff (with moodboard)

ME YAPPING ABOUT DARYL || ୨୧ ||

i will NOT write:

fem! reader, it's uncomfortable for me to write and since i'm male i can't apply myself to the story. no fun in it for me.

any weird kinks, scat, piss, feet, etc (i doubt there's any of u out there who even fw those anyway)

underage reader with smut (ew...)

non-con

i WILL write:

male reader, mainly ftm because that's what i am.

gn! reader.

fluff, smut, angst

pretty much any kinks besides the ones listed up above, i'm open to most things and trust, i'm a freak.

i'm a beginner writer, so excuse me if what i write isn't the best. i'm still improving.

i can't figure out how to link the actual works with the text up above ^ (stuff ive written so far) so excuse me for that. for now you guys are just gonna have to scroll until you find the fics 😭 sorry baes.

daryl is a switch imo, so i can write him as submissive or dominant

this is a strictly norman centered page, i only write for his characters. he's the only man ever. 🎀

don't come into my inbox talking about sum "daryl's straight, daryl's straight!!" cuz trust me i do not gaf. mind your own business.

feel free to send me asks!! my inbox is pretty empty rn.

[tigereyes45]

can you write a fic where Jim has to be the logical one when Spock finds a stray kitten and wants to keep it

You can also read it on AO3.

Summary:

Spock found a kitten. Jim has to convince him that it can't stay.

Story:

Jim wobbles the PADD in his hand, up and down as he ponders its contents. Updated maps, star charts, all evidence that slowly and surely they’re discovering the far reaches of their universe. One week on Earth, and he was actually starting to doubt that. Home. It always makes him feel stir-crazy. Even being back on the Enterprise takes tons of stress off his shoulders, and buries it in the bottom of his stomach.

As the door slides open Jim starts to yawn. He wanders inside, letting his feet walk the familiar path.

A soft, desperate mew stops him dead in his tracks. Forcing his exhausted eyes open, Jim finds Spock, sitting in his usual seat at Jim’s desk. Unusually there’s a small bundle of fur laying on his chest.

“Spock.”

He looks up, completely unperturbed. His fingers run across the all-grey kitten’s head and down it’s back. “Yes captain?”

Jim rests his fists on his sides. “Why?”

“Why what, captain?” Spock raises his head, calm and stoic.

Forcing back a laugh, Jim stares at the vulcan. Not so much as a twitch. He should have expected as much. “It can’t stay.”

“She can as she has nowhere else to go.”

The small bundle mews again. It weakly tries to climb up Spock’s chest. It gets a few steps, before pushing its head into Spock’s chest again. Spock raises his hand and rests it under the kitten’s bottom paws.

Undeniably, adorable. Damn it.

“Spock.” Jim lets his head fall back. “A starship isn’t a place for a kitten.”

“She would have ample food and water. It is not difficult to change a litter box and keep the space around it clean.”

Jim stares at the ceiling, feeling exasperated. Leave it to Spock to put him in this position, of having to be the logical one.

“And what if the ship gets hit?” He can picture it now. A ion storm rattling the ship, or a strike from a klingon warbird and she’ll end up on the ceiling somehow, or worse, ontop of someone’s face with her claws out, desperate for anything stable. “She’ll be sent flying across any given room or hall she’s in.”

No. She can’t stay.

“I can have magnet boots made so that she will always be on a surface.”

How is that logical? “I bet she’d love that.” More than a little sarcasm slipped out.

“It would be uncomfortable for a time, but she may grow accustomed to it.”

Jim moves closer, perching himself on the end of his desk. He waves his hands in a small circle, before clasping them together again.

“Spock think about this logically.” Spock’s eyebrow rises. “What if she gets visiting dignitaries sick? What if she somehow ends up on the surface of a faraway planet? How would we find her? How could we keep diseases from spreading?”

Spock looks to be deep in contemplation, but Jim can tell he’s still unwilling to concede. Jim gets off the desk, moving to sit on it closer to Spock. Their knees bump. Time for the big guns.

“What if something happens to her?” Spock opens his mouth to respond. Jim rushes to ask his other questions. “Who would take care of her? Who could take care of her exactly the same way you would have?”

Spock tilts his head to the right. “Ensign Chekov seemed to have expressed an interest in her, and Doctor McCoy has taken care of animals in the past.”

Resting a hand on Spock’s knee, Jim says softly, “So have I, but the answer is still no.”

Spock’s head tilts against the back of his chair. The vulcan equivalent of kicking his feet up, or maybe it’s just Spock’s equivalent. “You may have a point.”

“Thank you.” Jim pulls back his hand and folds both in his lap. “Now where are we dropping her off at?”

“In fact I know someone in Iowa who expressed an interest in caring for her.”

“Iowa?” What a coincidence. Except this is Spock, and where he’s concerned coincidence is hardly at play. No Jim’s gut was telling him this is exactly what it sounds like. “Spock, you didn’t.”

Spock nods. “I did, Jim.”

Of course he did.

Jim throws on a smile. “When is my mother due to arrive?”

“In three point seven minutes.”

Perfect. Jim shakes his head.

“So you were never planning on keeping the kitten.”

Spock lifts both eyebrows. “I was, but I anticipated your arguments and came to the conclusion that I would have to adhere to your ‘logic’.”

Even when he forces Jim’s hand into being the logical one, this vulcan is still three steps ahead. Jim will have to get him back at the next chess game.

Author's note: If you also want to send in a star trek fic request, feel free!

[echobx]

i would die for some prompts right now

[teecupangel]

Desmond dying gives us the easiest way to throw him anywhere we want thanks to how mysterious the Eye, the Calculations, the actual Global Aurora Borealis device, and all these other Isu bullshit work.

Throw him back to the past to meet the other AC protagonists? Now easier with the existence of the Reader.

Keep him alive in the modern day or throw him further forward (like Watch_Dog Legion timeline maybe?)? Yeah, just say the device didn't kill him but changed him somehow and there was a delay (temporary death), or use some other Isu bullshit to revive him.

Wanna make crossovers? Easy. Every other series you can think of can be part of the Calculations that the Isus didn't choose. Just to name a few:

Horizon Zero Dawn? Change Abstergo to Far Zenith and you're good to go (Faro being a Templar gone rogue is also optional)

Resident Evil? Abstergo's main line of business is pharmaceutical which is also Umbrella's main line (you can make the initial viruses based on some failed Isu research to survive the solar flare)

Prototype? The Zeus virus can be based on a failed Isu research that perhaps Tinia researched (OG Alex Mercer being a Templar optional)

BBC Merlin? Magic came from the humans who got experimented ala Aita and Juno in Atlantis who then passed it on to their descendants together with the Isu genes (also if you like the headcanon that eyes turn gold when they use Eagle Vision, this means Desmond gets to be treated as a sorcerer who has no idea what's happening)

Animal Crossing? Desmond wakes up in a world where evolution was different and he is being driven to a town by some animal-looking person who isn't weirded out that he's sitting on the back of his taxi and, for some reason, now in debt

Armored Core? The Templars decide that making bigass robots is a good idea for some reason and the whole 'humans had to go underground for a while' can either be because of the solar flare, some other Isu bs, or because humans are humans

Prince of Persia? The dagger of time is a POE and it's the one that pulled Desmond to this timeline

Dead Space? The Marker is a POE and the supposed civilization that got taken out by the necromorphs before could be the Isus who couldn't escape to Earth

In conclusion:

It is very easy to turn Desmond into an isekai protagonist.

[galvanizedfriend]

Fic Update: The Wolf III [21/21]

Summary: Months after their return to New Orleans, Klaus and Caroline try to settle into a semblance of normalcy, while Elijah struggles to forgive his brother's sins. But a mysterious prophecy that foretells the downfall of the Mikaelson family brings them all together in a war that will reopen ancient wounds and see each of the siblings doomed: one by friend, one by foe and one by family.

[It's The Originals Season 3, but Caroline had Klaus' baby, now she's a vampire and they are back in New Orleans after a stint in Mystic Falls. It's mostly about Klaroline, obviously.]

---

S03E21 The Bloody Crown Caroline wakes up from something that doesn't really feel like sleep. It’s as though her brain disconnected and went into a blackout state for a few hours. She doesn't feel well rested, not even close, but there's a soft tingle chasing across her skin that is oddly soothing.

She blinks out the drowsiness and follows the sensation, finds Klaus tracing the arm she has draped across his middle. It's a feathery brush, an absent-minded movement he probably doesn't even notice he's doing, but it still has the power to awaken butterflies in Caroline's stomach. Even after years, she feels it every time he touches her. Fire at the tips of his fingers.

He's facing away from her, staring at the sliver of daylight trickling in through the curtains, his usual dark and devious look replaced by something weary and distant. Caroline watches him for a long time, trying to peer through the mask of impassiveness, past the glacial ice in his eyes. She hates it when he's like this, lost in the corners of his own mind where she can't follow. With Klaus, that always spells trouble. The anger she knows how to deal with. The barks and snarls she can handle. It's the blank stares, the emptiness and the silence that scares her the most.

Read the full chapter here

---

😃 Two updates in less than a week, and TW3 is over. 😃 Who am I, what am I doing with my life? 😃

There are loads of info on the actual story about how this will continue and some other stuff as well. We have reached the 1M words mark and I can't decide if this is impressive or if I have just completely lost control of my life. Either way, thank you so, so much to everyone who had read my long-ass fic and stayed with me through all of this. 💜 It's a mess, but I have loved living in this universe, and I hope some of you have too. 🥰

A special shout-out to my friend @definedareasofuncertainty, who was holding my hand when I posted the very first chapter, almost five years ago, and who is still somehow my friend. 🥹

I hope you guys enjoy it! And as always, your reblogs/comments/kudos mean the world to me, please support your local insane fic writer. 🥹

[nari-writes]

Blogging (and other dangerous activities likely to get you adopted by the Batman)

Inspired by Latchkey by goldkirk

Tim wakes up to Batman in his room.

It- well, it's not fair to say it's a surprise, but seeing the looming figure in his window does make his heart seize. Even after the time Tim's spent watching him with the Robins, it's still nerve-wracking to have Gotham's nightmare show up. Especially since Batman does little to dissuade the notion that he's here on genial business.

Maybe Bruce has figured out he knows and is going to silence him. Maybe this isn't actually Batman, but Man-bat, and Tim's about to be twelve-year-old bat jerky. Maybe-

His parents are home this week though, so if he really wanted he could probably scream and get himself some thinking time; but as he takes a breath to decide what to do, Batman puts a gloved hand over his mouth.

And, ugh. It smells kinda gross. Like leather and motorcycle fumes. Probably the right Batman, but also. Super gross? Why does he smell so bad? When did he last rinse his gloves?

“You've been blogging.” Batman says, which isn't a question but is a very unhelpful non-sequitur.

“Mmrnhm?” Tim says, largely unintelligible but not entirely intending words.

What the shit. Batman's only here because of the blog?

Also, unfair. He'd had to jump through so many hoops to spoof his IP and make his own VPN and switch which library he posted from, and Batman still found him? This sucks.

“Don't scream,” Batman says, and Tim nods. Batman pulls his hand away slowly, potentially having expected Tim to lie, but Tim's not stupid. Batman doesn't have to do this nicely, even if he is a kid, and Tim also knows that if he did scream, Batman would either a) be prepared and gag him again or b) vanish, and then Tim would be in trouble with his parents. Either option sucks, so he'd rather opt for the one that lets him keep taking in the details of Batman's suit. It's hard in the dark, but still way easier than through his camera.

“It could've been my parents,” Tim says, when it seems Batman's waiting for him to answer his earlier not-question. Batman hums, and Tim wiggles back so he's against the headboard. “Yeah, I figured you'd already researched their flight times. Have to try though, right?”

“The blog. Why?”

“It's-” he starts, because there's so many reasons and he doesn't actually know which one Batman wants. Or, actually, would like the least? Probably 'I wanted to see you in action' would land with the grace of a sleep-deprived Jason Todd, but 'I was lonely' may be worse. 'I didn't expect it to blow up?' may be okay, but in the end he hesitantly settles with: “I just think that- seeing you, being- human? Or, showing you have humanity- was important.”

“Did you ever think that I wouldn't want that?” Batman asks, and Tim shifts awkwardly.

“I mean. Yes? But also, the way people- talk about you and the Robins. It sucks.”

Batman's mouth looks very displeased.

“It just, it shows that you're human!”

“How do you know?” Batman asks, and he actually kinda sounds like Bruce Wayne now, like this is a joke he's used before, and Tim thinks through what he'd been about to say very quickly and shuts his mouth with a snap. Ow. Now his teeth hurt.

Batman, on the other hand, does something to his cowl that makes him look like he's very slowly raising his eyebrow. Is it weird to think he looks tense, looks more threatening now, even though he'd literally just been looming with the promise of violence? Tim swallows hard.

“I don't?” he offers, his voice breaking, and he literally doesn't think he's ever been more humiliated by puberty. “I mean, I don't! Know you're human, that is. You could definitely be an alien if you wanted. Or a spirit of revenge, or-” Tim flops backward on his bed and pulls his blanket over his head. “I shouldn't be so bad at this,” he mumbles, and doesn't think about he's definitely going to die because Batman's suspicious and Tim's an idiot when he's tired.

Batman is damningly silent, but when Tim finally, hesitantly, peeks his eyes out from the hem of his blanket, the Dark Knight is still standing in his room. Actually, he's half-hunched over Tim's desk, looking at the corkboard of Tim's photos and reminders. He reaches out, and Tim's heart thuds. “Oh, please don't!” he says instinctively when Batman grazes Tim's camera. Batman stops and tilts his head over his shoulder to look, and Tim swallows down the anxiety clogging his throat. “Please don't take my camera. I can get another one but I- that one was-”

“Stop taking photos of us.” Batman says, short and to the point.

“Stop posting them to the blog?” Tim offers, and this makes Batman turn around properly, looking at him head-on again. He's judging Tim, now, and Tim wonders what part of him will be found wanting. In Batman's eyes is Tim's wealth a precursor to change or stagnation? Does he think Tim should be doing more with his life? Or does he simply expect that this is a rich kid's hobby, no sentimentality involved? Bruce Wayne took his billions and made himself a hero and Tim knows he can't do the same, considering his parents are in charge of the Drake fortune, but there's probably a million other things he could be doing that don't involve stalking superheroes.

“You're a child,” Batman says slowly, and his voice has lost the harder overture that's affected his speech so far. “When Batman is out, it is late, and dark, and dangerous. You are a child and shouldn't be anywhere near-”

“I don't go close!” Tim protests, “I'm not stupid!”

“There are always people in Gotham. What does it matter if you're not in the area of the most danger when you're still in danger?”

“I'm not stupid,” Tim protests with a hiss that contains more vitriol than it really should, considering his conversation partner, but he can't help it. “If you never saw me how'd you think anyone else could?”

“How do you know I never saw you?” Batman asks, like a challenge, and Tim scoffs.

“Come on, you think I don't know that if you saw me out there, you'd have me thrown in the back of the Batmobile and at the closest precinct before I could blink? Jason almost-” Tim freezes, then quickly blurts, “-before he took your tires, and got adopted by Bruce Wayne, Jason tried to do the same thing whenever he saw me. I know what I look like, to people in Crime Alley.”

Shoot, shoot, shoot, this is actively a terrible lie; Batman only needs to ask Jason when he met Tim and the whole thing would be blown. And, also, name-dropping a specific kid, like Batman would remember who stole his tires? The connection is tenuous at best and damning at worst.

“You've been taking photographs of us since you were eight?” Batman asks, sounding horrified, and Tim winces internally. Please forgive me, Robin, he whispers in the back of his mind, and then says with all the glib disdain he can muster:

“Well, you let Robin go out when he was barely older than me. It's the same thing.”

He has never seen Batman do a full-body wince before. He's not entirely sure he could get Batman to do it again, and wonders if he should add it to his board of accomplishments. He’d have to encode it if he did, even if the board’s mostly for his own reference, but imagining it pinned up next to his photography awards is making him feel a bit hysterical. Then again, that could also be the fact that Batman is still in his room and Tim is lying.

“He was not eight-”

“I just think that unless the same orders get applied to him I think you're being a bit of a hypocrite. He’s actively in more danger than I am, considering he ends up in grabbing range of Rouges and I don’t.”

“I will be telling your parents,” Batman growls, and this time Tim smirks.

“Yeah? And how do you think that's going to go for you?” Tim can almost exactly imagine it: there's no way his parents will believe Batman, because it's crazy and they'd be freaking out over Batman in their house, and if he does it as Bruce Wayne it'd be a crazy coincidence for Tim Drake, known genius, to have access to. If Tim hadn't already solved their identities, that connection alone would probably tip him off.

Well, maybe Batman wouldn't think about the potential implications - academic strengths don't always translate to detective-solving skills, and it's just Batman's misfortune that in Tim's case it's a little bit the other way around. Detective skills that he's carefully and stubbornly honed have led him to a dogged dedication to his studies.

“Robin is a trained professional,” Batman says, and Tim volleys back with,

“Yeah and I'm not doing the same thing he is at all, so my standards can be different.”

“Tim Drake,” Batman says, this time actively growling his name, and Tim doesn’t know if he should cackle or wince. For one thing, he’s pretty sure Batman has lost this verbal volley, which is why he’s pulling out the doom and darkness voice.

On the other, this is the voice he uses on men triple Tim’s size and with twice the bravery (and crazy), and having the full force of it directed at him makes his stomach drop. He clutches his blankets, fabric pulled tight, and tries to pretend his hands aren’t shaking.

“The blog is being removed - do not start it again. I will not see you on Gotham’s streets again during my patrol.”

The lens of his mask are so narrow that the white is barely visible. He holds Tim’s gaze, like he’s imparting the orders, like he’s checking to see Tim’s fear will keep him obedient, and then nods slowly. The cape swishes behind him as he puts Tim’s camera back on the desk, and then he’s leaving. Leaving, and Tim’s secrets are safe and he is unharmed and undeterred.

“You won’t,” Tim whispers as Batman slips out his window and into the dark.

[allastoredeer]

I discovered Just kiss Already after you uploaded part 3 and I have a question. So Part 1 is 1 chapter, Part 2 is 2 chapters, Part 3 is 3 chapters. When you say your writing "the next fic" do you mean like ALL of Part 4, which you then break down into chapters before you upload them or do you upload chapters individually as you complete them?

The fics themselves aren't so much chapters as they are a serialized collection of fanfics that have an overarching plot.

The reason I'm writing "Just Kiss Already" as a series instead of a multi-chaptered fic is because each fic has its own little mini plot inside it. Each of them are a mini story that's gradually building up the larger story at play.

I'm also keeping it as a series because I go back and forth between POV's a lot. Hopping between POV's in a multi-chaptered fic can work, but I usually like keeping them contained to a single POV. It makes it easier on me and the reader, so I don't have to clarify which character we'll be following in each chapter.

It's a collection of stories that are all linked together, kind of like a TV show, but you can totally view them as parts too.

"De-Lovely" is part 1 , "Holy Suffering" is part 2, and "Damage Control," is part 3.

I've actually split up the entire plot of "Just Kiss Already" into three different arcs (or three seasons if the TV analogy helped), each with their own theme. But I shall not tell you what they are, because that would be spoilers 😈

Sometimes, I don't intend for the fic to be split into multiple chapters, but if it gets bigger than I expected, I break it up because it's easier on me when I get to the editing stage. Editing one large chapter is so much harder than editing a couple small ones 😅

I hope you're enjoying the series! I'm very excited to get into the juicer bits of the story 😏

[i-wiggle-i-squirm-bc-i-am-a-worm]

Unnecessary discussion about Chat Noir and the Drums

There’s something I love so much about Chat playing the drums in Horrificator. This is something that’s been on my mind since I was 13, so hold on here.

First, obviously, Adrien also plays the piano - which obviously still has a lot of meaning!! - I’m not here to diss on the piano, there’s a lot of freedom of expression in every instrument type and music expression in general, but there’s a reason why some people are more inclined to different instruments, and I think there’s a lot more to it than just sound, but feeling as well. The role you play. How it feels to play it alone vs. playing it with others, if it’s typically something that you can play alone vs. in a group.

So first, the piano, and how I think it relates to Adrien’s character, plus how it relates to those points.

The piano, let’s be real, is something that a lot of us were forced to take lessons for at some point. It’s something that has ties to high society (there’s a HUGE discussion and so much more to say about that, but let’s not go there) and honestly?? I think it works pretty well with symbolizing the obsession with perfection that Gabriel shoves onto him. I’ve known many piano players, and while some genuinely loved playing it, it was always easier to somehow stumble onto someone with a deep hatred for it after being forced into lessons. Whenever I asked them why they hated it, I got almost the same answer every time: “I need to be perfect.” (Along with people saying that they were forced to lol)

Then there’s the role you play. You can play with people in a band, an orchestra, as an accompanist, a duet, at a bar with a bunch of people singing - whatever - music has many forms, and many different connections. But the piano is something you can play solo, no need for anyone else. It isn’t what you can do with other people that I’m focusing on for this, it’s the fact that you don’t need anyone. You can play alone, and it’ll still be fine. You can be alone, and you’re still fine - perfect even - which is something that Gabriel shoves down his throat, resistant to him playing with his friends by touching on this ideology.

Which is a glimpse into how he sees Adrien, and how Adrien experiences life. He can be alone, in fact he’s more perfect when he’s alone. And when other people are added, the attention to his perfection is taken away bit by bit, until he’s not good enough. He has to play solo in concert halls, on stage for everyone to watch, not in the back of a bar, playing with his friends.

Alright, so now we move to Chat Noir and the drums. The main play of this fake essay. 

It would be so easy to just ignore everything and just go “haha, he’s the energetic one, so ofc Ladybug gave him the drums! And they’re an easy instrument to play, etc.” but that’s far from the truth.

Ok, so I’m not a drum player or percussionist in any way, but I am a bass player, and genuinely love the drums so much because they’re incredibly important, and here’s my cheesy analogy: the drums are the heart of the band, keeping everyone on beat, it’s what you feel at the centre of it all. The band is nothing without the drums, without the percussion (The bass is what connects the band to the beat of the drums, kinda like the blood vessels, but sadly this ain’t about bass).  Like do you know how easy it is for a band to fall apart if they don’t have a drummer??? You need a drummer. You literally can’t survive without a drummer, because even if you manage to work together, use the bass as a backing, whatever you try, there’s still not much of a heart left.

But besides that, do you know how hard it is to play the drums??? You can’t just throw someone crazy, or energetic there just because “crazy drummers lol” you need someone who listens. Who can set the beat. Someone you can rely on, because they are the person in control, even if they aren’t as flashy as the guitar player. Reliable is the word that comes to mind. The drums can make or break a band.

And wanna know who that reminds me of?

Yeah. I highly doubt that the writers put this much thought into a random five second scene in an episode of season one, but it fits with Chat Noir SO well. 

Unlike the piano, the drums are almost solely played in a group setting - you need other people, and other people need you - he needs other people in his life, his friends are needed, but they also need him. Ladybug needs him, along with all the other heroes in Paris, whether he sees it or not. He seems to get in a state of thinking he’s not needed, but i do really think he’s the emotional glue that keeps the team connected, the heart that keeps them beating. If he’s isolated, he can’t quite reach his full potential that he can when he’s allowed to be around others, just like they can’t reach their own without him.

But on top of that, I think the stereotypes of the drums actually works in his favour for the next part. 

Breaking free from his dad, and being his own person, letting that fame go and embracing what he wants... well, to some that would look stupid. 

Relating it to music, the piano is flashy, you can play it solo, it sounds impressive, looks impressive, and people won’t think you’re just hitting pots and pans in the garage when you say you play it. But the drums are underestimated, a lot of people think you don’t need much practice, that they’re just the guys who sit at the back of the stage, not doing much, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Just like Adrien finally being who he wants wouldn’t be stupid, it could never be stupid, but there’s a stigma. But letting go of his flashy, solo life, and being the heart of his friend group is something that I think makes him truly happy as Chat Noir, and hopefully he gets to be like that as Adrien too.

Like Plagg said, Chat Noir and Adrien are both the real him, and I think the drums capture that perfectly. The heart and freedom, the meticulousness (rather than perfection) and steadiness, those are good qualities of a drummer.

I dunno, I just think it fits.

(sdfghjklkjhgf again I should state that acoustic versions of songs exist, and you can play songs without a drum and it sounds fantastic, but I’m not going into that today. Just talking generalization, and playing in a group setting). 

[finnpeach]

Hunt

(T/HRONE OF GLAS$ SPOILERS AHEAD! IF YOU HAVEN'T READ PAST Q/UEEN OF SHADOW$ BE WARNED!)

My love for R/owan is boundless, and the series would be infinitely better if he was sick.

This is a multi-part fic of A/elin and R/owan training on a mountain and YEAH! HE HAS A COLD!

not much sneezing yet but it will come I promise

likes comments reblogs always loved and giggled over <3

****

Aelin stalks through the underbrush with lethal silence. Leaves covered with dew from the early morning mist streak across her face, dotting her cheeks. Her prey, a mountain hare the size of her head, nibbles on the sparse grass a few yards away.

She knocks her arrow, slipping in a breath. She can’t wait to see the look on Rowan’s face when she brings back a hare this size. Slowly, she pulls the bowstring back, kissing against her face. The hare turns, startled, breaths coming fast. Now or never–

“hh’rZzSHHh’uh!” 

Aelin gasps at the sound that echoes around the mountain. It cracks like a whip, scaring even the crows nesting in trees. The hare takes off and she desperately releases the arrow after her prey. The point finds its home in the thick trunk of a tree rather than the soft neck of the hare.

There goes breakfast. Her stomach growls pitifully. Seething, she rises from the brush and goes to retrieve her arrow. 

Five minutes later, Aelin stalks back to the makeshift camp she and Rowan had assembled the night before. The Fae prince had forced her to run from the castle to these distant mountains, shifting in and out of her Fae form to master control, where he then informed her they would be camping for a week out in the elements. And she was to hunt their every meal in between training.

It was a pathetic time, especially with the rain that has settled across the mountain. Damp and cold to her bones, Aelin approaches their campsite. Rowan, appearing much drier than she, sits by the fire she had sparked earlier that morning. He looks oddly run down, like he hadn’t slept much the night before.

Aelin is sure he hadn’t. The mountains were too misty to sleep outside without waking up damp, so they had packed just one tent to keep their baggage light. Lying beside Rowan, last night she had been the private audience to his tossing and turning, grumbling, and finally his snoring. 

“You fucking bastard. You scared off breakfast,” she hisses as she approaches, throwing her bow and bundle of arrows down by the tent. Rowan does not look up from the dagger he cleans in his hands.

“And how – snf! – pray tell, did I scare breakfast from here?” He grumbles. Aelin catches the way he sniffles thickly, his nostrils twitching up with the force of it.

She drops her satchel, full of only a bundle of pathetic berries.  “You sneezed.” She tries not to give in the warmth that pools in her lower stomach at the memory of the sound. It’s the first time she had ever heard him sneeze, and she was not disappointed. “For someone so keen on silence, I expected you’d know how to sneeze more quietly.”

Rowan doesn’t even grace her taunting with a reply, or a snarl. He just continues rubbing a cloth down the length of his dagger. Strange. He must be feeling really tired if he didn’t bother to punish her for such a remark. 

She sits down across from the fire, on a log they’d rolled over so they didn’t sit on wet grass. Feigning interest in destemming the berries she’d picked, she studies him through the crackling flames. 

His white hair is loose around his shoulders, creating a curtain that shields the dark tattoo running along his tan face. The tips of his Fae ears poke out just behind the white strands. After weeks of training with him, sleeping out in the elements beside him, she’s learned that he prefers to tie his hair up. It’s so rare to see him with it down.

“More hand to hand combat training today, or magic training?” She asks, breaking the silence that is only marred by the crackling flames.

Rowan sets the dagger aside. “Your job was to hunt. And since you still haven’t caught anything, your job is still to hunt.” He settles his sharp green eyes on her, brows set. If he didn’t piss her off so much, she might actually tremble under his gaze.

She raises her palms in defeat. “Fine, fine. But if you sneeze and scare off my prey again, I won’t be sharing the catch with you.” Even if she’d very much like for him to sneeze again, she’d rather eat first.

In one swoop, she picks up her bow and arrows and satchel again before setting off. With her Fae senses, she could scent a herd of deer in the southwest. Now that would show Rowan. Perhaps she’d bring back a buck, and spear him with its antlers.

As soon as she leaves the camp, nearly out of earshot, she hears the same thunderstrike from before. Perhaps Rowan had been waiting for her to leave.

“hhzjHSHHhieWw!”

A shiver runs down her spine as more startled crows caw in the trees.

****

Two hours later, Aelin returns with a small doe slung across her shoulders.

It’s mid afternoon. She had been lucky a herd was still grazing so late in the morning down by the clearing. She’d been even luckier that Rowan had either gotten his sneezing under control, or learned how to be quiet, because nothing had startled her catch this time.

“Lunch,” she declares to Rowan, dropping the deer to the grass. He hasn’t moved from his spot by the fire. “Is served.”

“It was supposed to be– snf! Breakfast,” he mutters, reaching the dagger at his side from earlier. His voice sounds dulled, like he’s congested.

Aelin rolls her eyes. “Well, it’s not like you helped. And I got us a catch to last us days.” She pats the stomach of the doe proudly. It isn’t very old – there’s still a sprinkling of fawn spots across her back. Aelin feels a twang of guilt for not singling out an older one.

Rowan pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing through his mouth. Aelin hardly has time to prepare before he jerks down towards his crotch, a light mist spraying across his trousers.

“hiHh–... yHhZzSHhhyuu!” A familiar, rushing heat spreads through Aelin’s gut. She swallows, watching as he rubs his nose on his wrist and glares up at her. Is he going to get mad at her for his sneezing?

Rowan chooses not to comment on it, something Aelin is secretly grateful for. “You were– snf! instructed to catch something small. We’re moving camp this afternoon.” He angles the pommel of the dagger towards her.

“What?!”

“Rain is coming tonight and will flood this area. I told you this morning. And now you’ve wasted a young doe’s life.”

A flame of rage flickers to life inside her chest. This is all his fault. “Well, I wouldn’t have wasted jack-shit if you hadn’t ruined my catch earl–”

“Aelin,” he growls, a no-nonsense sound. The tips of his canines poke past his lips. Aelin shuts up immediately. 

He stands, crossing the camp in two strides, and shoves the pommel of the knife against her stomach. She glares beneath his gaze. “You missed the catch because you did not act fast enough. Now you can either carry the doe across the mountain, or… hhH—!” His breath snags, eyes looking off into the distance for a split second. Aelin’s heart hammers in her chest.

He quickly recovers and sniffs again, much to her disappointment, and focuses his gaze on her. “Or you can leave it and realise you wasted a young animal’s life for your pride.” 

Before she can retort, he turns on his heel and she offers a middle finger to his large, muscular back. 

As if sensing her, he says over his shoulder, “And– sNf!– pack up the tent.”

[mxtxfanatic]

Hello! I've literally found your Tumblr in the last 24hrs and am having fun going through your posts and analysis 👌 :)

I'm curious about whether you'd recommend any particular fanfiction? Doesn't matter what fandom they're from. I'm keen to see what you'd recommend 🎉

Hello new(ish) follower! I've gotten a few asks for fic recs, so I already have lists prepared lol:

svsss fic recs

mdzs fic recs

I don't have a tgcf rec list because i really don't read tgcf fics like that (fandom a little too small), and my mdzs list is not up to date because I no longer read mdzs fics from people I don't know.

[doofnoof]

Pardon the clunky format but;

This is what I imagine newly-daycare-attendant'd Moon is like when he's attempting to flirt. Like, he's entirely befuddled as to why Y/N isn't swooning into his arms after he's mutilated 5 teddy bears, tied one kid to the jungle-gym, spilled a whole gallon of glitter glue on the floor and sent the children running through it so it looks like they're covered in red glittery blood, and cackled menacingly whenever he's swooped at Y/N from the ceiling, what could he possibly be getting wrong? Maybe next time he should tie them to the jungle-gym instead??? He is scratching his head and crossing out scheme after scheme on his vision-board (hastily scribbled on cork board that looks more like deranged rambling than a put-together plot, and it certainly doesn't help that Sun keeps going over it in Red Crayon to "Correct" Moon's plots, which just makes Moon want to be Even More Despicable and Villainous), and he's beginning to run out of dastardly plans to use to court his Beloved Daycare Assistant.

And Sun is seeing all of this and metaphorically pulling his hair out because No Moonie, That's Not How You Woo Someone, Gosh Forbid You Act Normal And Just Be Nice To The Daycare Assistant. While he firmly believes he's gonna be the one to Woo the Daycare Assistant, Sun is absolutely no better, every time he thinks something Romantic is about to happen he fumbles and falls face first into the ball pit, or trip over his own feet and faceplants into the floor, or he'll get caught looking at how cute Y/N is and break whatever he was holding on accident, one time it was an orange one of the kids needed help peeling and he squeezed it so hard that it exploded all over his face in a delicious, pulpy mess. He was so embarrassed he couldn't even make eye contact while Y/N cleaned his face off with a wet wipe and grabbed an orange from their own lunch-box to replace poor little Jeremy's exploded cutie, not that Y/N would've noticed (they did), because of the whole Completely Blank-White-Eyes-Thing. Nailed It.

The funniest part? Y/N is probably Just As Smitten as Sun and Moon are and Just As Bad At Letting Them Know that the whole Faux-Villain and Clumsy-Hero thing is Working, which doesn't do them any favors, because inevitably it's Y/N cleaning up Moon's Glitter-Glue-Devastations and Sun's Oopsie-Daisy-Cutie-Catastrophies.

[nostalgia-tblr]

u know, once someone has pointed out the orientalism in most of fandom's depictions of jotun!loki you can never unsee it.

[throwaway-yandere]

Man this next fic feels funny (as always lol) but not in a "hehe this is lowkey messed up" sorta way but more like "it's not about the ikemen, it's about sending a message"