#saying anything and everything just to do damage

[cowgurrrl]

Roll The Bones

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Author’s note: I wrote this in the midst of a flare up so please enjoy and be gentle with your disabled friends <3

Summary: A bad pain day with Joel [1.5k]

Warnings: descriptions of injuries and subsequent chronic pain, medical settings and discussion, I think that’s it??

When Joel finds you, you're in a pitiful state. Your arm is folded over your face, covering your eyes even though the blinds are closed and the room is dark. Your right leg is peeking out from under the bundle of blankets and quilt, elevated with a lukewarm towel surrounding the swelling kneecap. The room smells like the salve someone in the town makes that's supposed to alleviate your pain. So far, it's just given you a headache. Your entire body throbs with pain and frustration. It shouldn't be like this, you think ruefully. I shouldn't feel like this. 

Joel lightly pads over to your bedside— his footsteps quiet now that he's discarded his boots by the front door— and perches next to you. His hand finds a home on your afflicted knee and carefully maneuvers his thumb over the tendons to help with the pain. You shift the arm covering your face to reach for him, and he smiles. 

"There she is," he murmurs as you take him in. His hair is long and a little unruly in the back, but you think it makes him look soft and domestic. He's shed his work jacket and heavier clothes downstairs and is clad in his soft, well-worn-in flannel. He smells like pine and leather. You want to wrap yourself in his warmth but settle for having him nearby. "Ellie told me you were havin' a rough day." He says. It doesn't surprise you that she did, even though you promised her you were fine and didn't need him. It's become rare that she doesn't update him daily on your health.

About a year ago, you were on patrol with Tommy when a Runner came out of nowhere and charged at your horse. She startled and bucked you off before you could regain control of the reins. The Runner was dead before you could hit the ground, and your horse would be recovered within the day, but the damage was done. You broke your leg in two places and dislocated your knee, in addition to a low-level concussion and cuts on your face and arms. When you came back into Jackson on Tommy's horse, half-conscious, bloody, and delirious with pain, Joel was horrified, Ellie even more so.

You were in the hospital for a month as they used what they could to put you in something akin to a cast and reset the bones. Joel and Ellie took turns being guards at your bed, monitoring what they gave you, when, and how much, and how your healing process was going. They were there with you every day, learning the tips and tricks to support you and keeping you sane as you stared at the white walls. 

Six months, the doctor said. Six months is all it would take to be back to normal as long as you did everything you were supposed to. Things have gotten better slower than you would like, but they have gotten better. You have really good days where you don't feel anything other than slight twinges when you move your leg in a weird way. Those days, it's hard to remember that you broke it in the first place. But other days, like today, you can feel every muscle in your leg tightening as stiff pain rockets up and down your body. You thought you could persevere enough to go to the store with Ellie, but your body obviously had other plans.

"My leg gave out on me when I was coming down the stairs. Pretty sure I made the whole house shake when I fell." You explain, and his eyebrows knit together in phantom pain as his thumb works your muscle. 

"You hurt anythin'?" He asks. "Other than your pride?" You blow air out of your nose in a half-laugh and shake your head. 

"Just some bruises," you say. He finds a tender spot in your knee that makes you hiss and ball up your fists, but he doesn't let up until the muscle releases. It's what he's supposed to do: break up the scar tissue, relax the muscles, and hope for the best. It still hurts like a bitch, and it'll hurt more in the morning. He mumbles apologies under his breath and kisses you to try and distract you, but your brain's been running wild for hours. "I went so long without any pain." You finally say, breaking the reverie and collapsing the unwanted space your pain often creates. 

"You've been takin' on a lot these past few weeks. It doesn't surprise me somethin' would flare up." It's an honest assessment. He warned you this would happen, but you ignored him. You thought you knew your body better. You wanted to know your body better. The returning thought and the gentle hand on your knee turn your tongue into sandpaper, and tears prick in the corners of your eyes. Despite the low light in the room, Joel catches it and makes a sympathetic noise. 

"Hey, talk to me." He says softly, shifting his hand from your knee to your face to catch a few stray tears. You shake your head and try and fail to form the words. Joel is patient. He always is, but he shouldn't have to be. 

"I'm so tired of being like this." You whisper, hating the feel of the words on your tongue and hating the sound of them even more. Joel gives you a confused look and pushes your hair out of your face. 

"Bein' like what?"

"Sick," you choke out. Now that the dam is broken, there's no stopping the bitter rush of words from leaving you. "We took her across the country and got rid of anyone who even looked at her wrong. Now, I can't even get on a horse without hurting. And I do all the stupid fucking things the doctor tells me to do. I do the exercises and take the medicine and everything, and nothing is making it better, and I'm so tired." 

"Why didn't you tell me that?" 

"Because I didn't want you to think I'm broken." It's a thought you've harbored since you were laid up in the hospital, unable to even walk to the bathroom without help, but this is the first time you've expressed it. You secretly hoped if you just didn't say anything about it, maybe Joel wouldn't notice. It's a stupid idea, given that your entire lives have changed since the accident. You just didn't want to get thrown away like all the other broken things in this world. Joel takes a deep breath and gazes at you. 

"Honey, you aren't broken. Not even close to it," he says. You want to counter him, but the weight of your emotion is too heavy on your chest. "I wanna know if somethin' is hurtin' you cause when you hurt, I hurt, okay? You're not a burden or somethin' to fix. You just… need a little extra care right now, and that's okay. I wanna take care of you."

"What if it's like this forever?" You ask, and he shakes his head. 

"It won't be."

"But, what if it is?" More tears fill your eyes as you await his answer. He didn't fall in love with this version of you. You don't know if you could blame him if he never does. But with enough ease and love to take your breath away, Joel kisses your forehead, right where your temple smacked against the cold ground. He kisses your forehead and the white scars littering your cheeks before finally shifting to kiss the knee propped up on pillows and hope. He doesn't flinch at the swelling or the angry spasms. He treats them with care and attention. He treats them as another part of you. 

"Takin' care of you has never and will never be on the list of worst things imaginable. Your health is not a sacrifice or a burden on me. If it's like this forever, we'll adapt, but I know you. I know how hard you're workin' to get better. I know we'll find a way to live with this," he says. "But I need you to talk to me when things aren't workin'. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's helpin' and what's not, okay?" You swallow around the lump in your throat and nod. 

"Okay." 

"Okay," he echoes. "I'm gonna get you an appointment with Dr. Lutton and see if we can't get you on a new treatment plan first thing tomorrow mornin'. Is there anythin' I can do for you until then?" He asks, fully prepared to go to the edge of the earth if you asked him to. 

"Can you lay with me?" You ask, and he smiles. 

"Of course, baby." He mumbles. He kisses your knee one more time before shuffling to wrap you in his arms. The warmth from his body helps relieve some of your tension and pain, and he kneads calming circles over your shoulders and back. Your focus shifts from the pain in your leg to the song he's humming, the vibrations in his chest a welcome distraction. The pain doesn't go away entirely— you doubt it ever will— but you rest your weary body against his and sleep, finding wholeness in his acceptance of your loss. 

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @maried01 @acupofhollie

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x gn!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller comfort #joel miller hurt/comfort #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel the last of us #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou #joel tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal cinematic universe

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

My central thesis has always been that the Harkles wanted everything the Wales have and more. I know I remember reading that she cried after hearing William was made Prince of Wales. Right from the get go, her PR was all "Meghan is way better suited to be royal". Then there were all the Commonwealth flowers on her bridal veil and their insistence that they move into Windsor Castle. Now I don't believe everthing Neil Sean says, but his latest video mentions that Megxit was an ultimatum to get Windsor. As that is the traditional home of the Monarch, I feel as though they were attempting a coup.

Then there is the thought that Harry believes that the Dutchy of Cornwall should be split and he should eventually be made co-King or King of the Commonwealth. Let the Wales have that tiny island while they are jetted and feted around the world.

Here's my question for you. Did Meghan and Sparry REALLY believe they could leapfrog over the Wales??? I know her jealousy and envy of Catherine is bunny boiler level and he absolutely eviscerated his brother in Waagh. Has this been their plan all along?? Death by a thousand cuts for the Wales to force them to resign their place in the LOS or that they could somehow convince Charles to make Harry the heir??

I'd like to know where you think the delusions stem from. It wouldn't be the first time in history that younger brother has attempted to remove old brother from the throne.

Sincerely appreciate your blog and all the work you put into it. I'm always learning something new.

I'm pretty sure that was exactly their plan: they wanted to use their popularity to force The Queen to name them as her successors. I don't remember where I read this or when, but allegedly Harry sent "documentation" to someone - to whom specifically I can't recall, but options are The Queen, Charles, William, and/or grey suits - providing evidence for claims that he and Meghan were more popular than any of the others and deserved more than what they were getting.

And if they couldn't get the actual crown, they were going to do their damnedest to try and get a co-kingship with William. That's where Meghan's obsession with the Commonwealth came from; she had been told (again, I don't know by whom - all signs point to Harry exaggerating to keep her interested or maybe Charles spitballing ideas during his 'Magnificent Six' planning circa 2012) that William would rule Britannia and Harry would rule the Commonwealth.

I think that's why Meghan went all in on 'racist Kate.' Not only did she want to knock Kate out of the spotlight, she wanted to do enough damage that Commonwealth/realm nations would threaten to quit and The Queen would capitulate by offering to install Harry and Meghan as new leaders. This actually had a chance of working; it's been said quite often during her last years and since her passing that The Queen saw the Commonwealth as her greatest legacy and there was speculation that she would have done anything she could have to keep it in tact. And had Meghan played her cards right, she and Harry probably could have ended up becoming the main ambassadors of and for the Commonwealth, like a Commonwealth version of the UN Secretary-General.

But where the plan failed, obviously, was that it required blaming Kate for problems and issues that don't exist. Because remember, in 2021 when Meghan was making these claims, we'd just gone through the huge global reckoning that was Black Lives Matter and the agreement during/after BLM was "call racist people out on their BS. Put them on blast. Don't let them get away with it anymore." So not only would Meghan have been perfectly justified to name names, cite events, bring receipits, air the real dirty laundry and everyone would've been so much more supportive of it. But she didn't. Instead she played coy and said something like "I'm protecting them even though they don't deserve it."

Girl, please. That was Meghan's one chance to go justifiably scorched earth and air out all the dirty laundry and she fumbled hard.

Anyway. Let's get this train back on track. Where do the delusions come from? Traumatic childhoods courtesy of Mommies Dearest.

We all know Harry's story with Diana. She was a young, fun, free spirited loving mom larger than life with a neediness that she depended on her children to fill, rather than her own husband or other adults her age, so Harry grew to find satisfaction in supporting and providing her what she needed. He probably saw, and understood, the way Diana received what she wanted by exaggerating what she needed and following it up with excluding or isolating herself until whoever came chasing after her to give her what she wanted. And ultimately this led her (and Harry) down a path that ended up killing her; she exaggerated the relationship with Dodi to get attention from Hasnat or the BRF, then isolated herself in France to force whoever (Hasnat? Charles Wales? Charles Spencer?) to come chase after her. We know how that ends.

That's where Harry's delusions, IMO, come from. He saw how it well it worked (mostly) for Diana - exaggerate her needs/wants, then run and hide until she gets it - so he does it too. He probably started doing it right after she died, when no one knew what to do or how to handle him so they kept indulging in everything he wanted, so those wants kept manifesting bigger and bigger. And I think the way we see the BRF treating Harry is what would have happened to Diana had she lived; eventually the public would sour on her (this was already happening, by the way), which would then enable the BRF to grey rock her, devenomizing her in effect, and move on without Diana having too much of an influence on their day-to-day.

It's sort of similar for Meghan. We don't know specifically what happened (the way we do with Harry and Diana), but we know that Doria was a young, fun, free-spirited mother herself married to an older husband who had other priorities (eg kids from his first marriage). Unlike Diana, Doria probably didn't want the responsibilities of motherhood (which is the vibe Meghan and Thomas have given about Doria during Meghan's childhood) and left. And like the BRF, Thomas may have also overcompensated Doria's absence in Meghan's life by giving her everything she asked for, which made her asks get bigger and bigger and when Thomas couldn't deliver, she threatened to leave him...like Doria did and Thomas, erstwhile girldad he was, just kept throwing more and more at Meghan to keep her happy. Her delusions come from preying on other individuals' trauma to ensure she gets what she wants. The bigger her wants (ie the more grandiose her delusions), the harder she manipulates other people's trauma to make sure she gets what she wants. Which is kinda the opposite of Harry and Diana; they create the trauma to get people to do what they want, whereas Meghan exploits it to get people to do what she wants. Both are skills they learned after being abandoned (metaphorically and literally) by their mothers.

And all of Meghan's PR about "young mother," I think it's more insidious than that. Yes, it's a very overt evocation of Diana's narrative. Yes, it's a judgement against Kate. But it is also digs at Doria. "See? Motherhood is hard but I'm prioritizing my kid. How dare you to have left me" kind of spiteful digs meant to shame her for whatever happened that caused her to disappear. Meghan is the kind of person who must always have the last word, so I wouldn't be surprised if she's been targeting or belitting Doria about not knowing certain things about Archie/Lili because she wasn't around when Meghan was that age.

So...yeah.

I've realized now that this is the third or fourth Wednesday in a row that I write these super long analytical/in this essay I will posts. I guess Wednesdays are my thinking days...

#ask #sussexes #theories #brf

[half-bakedboy]

one hell of a story

For @bucktommyweek prompt: alternate first meeting | 1.4k | Teen

Tommy's not usually one to fly for anyone but LAFD and himself, but the Skywitness News Eight helicopter desperately needed a pilot. He owed his old army buddy, Trent, a favor, which is how he finds himself trying to land a failing helicopter in the middle of a baseball field. Unfortunately, he fails. But he meets Evan in the process, so it's worth it.

read on ao3 or under the cut

“This is Taylor Kelly with your morning traffic update… and we are going down!”

----

Tommy isn’t even supposed to be here. He’s not usually one to fly for anyone but LAFD and himself, but the Skywitness News Eight helicopter desperately needed a pilot and he owed his old army buddy, Trent, a favor. Tommy was too kind to tell him to fuck off, though, he’s pretty sure those two words will leave his mouth the next time he sees Trent’s face. 

“Tommy, what’s going on?” Taylor shouts. She’s holding onto the seat belt around her like her life depends on it—and it does, but Tommy isn’t about to tell her that. 

“Some kind of engine malfunction. Does Trent keep this thing in good condition?” Tommy asks. 

“How am I supposed to know?!” He really hoped for a more confidence-inducing answer. “I’m pretty sure he likes this thing more than me if that says anything!” 

“It does,” Tommy mutters, though he knows Taylor can hear him through the radio. Trent always talked about his crush on the redhead and how he would drop everything if she agreed to date him. Unfortunately, Tommy now knows he’s not exactly her type—no man is—so he thinks he’ll have to break the news sooner rather than later. 

“Are we falling?! Why does it feel like we’re falling?!” Taylor screams, panicked gasps following in quick succession. 

“I’m going to do my best to land, okay? There’s a baseball field below us, and if all goes to plan, we’ll land safely and you’ll have one hell of a story,” Tommy relays. 

Taylor laughs humorlessly into the radio. “And if it doesn’t?” 

“It’ll still be one hell of a story,” he declares. 

Then he focuses on saving their lives. 

The baseball field is immense and empty enough that he doesn’t have to worry about collateral damage from the landing, but he realizes quickly it won’t be that easy. Every single control he usually manipulates with ease shakes under his grip, and no matter how much pressure he puts on the cyclic, there’s no tilting his way in the right direction. 

He gets the machine as close to the ground as possible and prays that’s enough. 

All he remembers is the blades getting louder, a metallic screeching, and a terror-filled shriek, then everything goes dark. 

“Tommy? Can you hear me?” 

“I think he’s coming to!” 

“Kinard, open those baby blues for us!” 

When Tommy blinks to consciousness, he feels like he’s been hit by a truck. 

“Nope, just crashed a helicopter,” an unfamiliar voice says. He sees the blur of a few hands reaching out to slap the man, and when he follows the arms, he thinks he must be dreaming. 

“Wilson? Han?” Tommy’s voice is almost hoarse and he wonders how terrified Taylor was of his warning screams—

Taylor. 

He jolts up as best as he can but Hen and Chimney hold him down before he can go too far. The pain that radiates through his chest knocks the breath out of him and he falls horizontal once more, clutching his stomach in pain. He breathes quickly and shallowly, as any attempts to fill his lungs result in sharp twinges of pain. Someone he doesn’t recognize—the voice from before—places an oxygen mask over his face. 

“She’s fine. Not a scratch on her,” the man soothes. Tommy likes the sound of his voice. He stops trying to escape his old teammates’ grasp and instead, angles his head back to connect eyes with the unknown man. 

He’s a boy, really. Looks at least a decade younger than Tommy, but that doesn’t stop the rush of attraction that seeps through him. The man’s hair is mussed up like someone has run their hands through it—Tommy wants to run his hands through it—and he’s wearing his turnout coat unbuttoned like the picture of casuality. Tommy’s not sure he’s ever seen someone wear the uniform with such confidence and such… sweetness. He’s squinting his eyes from the sun though Tommy still notices a few small pink patches surrounding his eyebrow that match the color of his unfairly kissable lips. 

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Hen decides. Tommy knows he’s been caught when he recognizes the sarcasm in her voice. Hen’s always been an observant one. He can practically hear her eyes roll as she makes quick introductions. “Tommy, this is Evan Buckley. Buck, Tommy Kinard.”

“From Air Ops,” Evan says eagerly. Tommy’s stomach flips at the acknowledgment. How has he never heard of Evan before? “What are you doing flying with Taylor Kelly?”

“Slumming it with Skywitness Traffic, Tommy? I can’t believe I saved your life for this,” Chimney teases. Tommy smacks him on his nearest body part and takes the oxygen mask off of his face. 

As if on instinct, Evan reaches to put it back, and their hands brush and linger. 

Tommy hates to be cliche, but they’re lucky the ambulance doesn’t blow up when the sparks fly through the flowing oxygen. Actually, being touched by Evan Buckley seems like a hell of a way to go…

“Was helping out an old army friend,” Tommy explains. “Can’t let L.A. fall subject to bad traffic patterns, can I?” 

Evan laughs, and Tommy’s stomach does a weird fluttering he hasn’t felt in ages. 

“Guess you regret that favor, huh?” Chimney jokes. 

“Not anymore,” Tommy mutters just loud enough for Evan to hear. 

Tommy makes sure to maintain eye contact and only barely stops himself from winking at the poor kid. He’s blushing like crazy, redness spreading up from underneath his high neckline and overtaking his adorable cheeks. From the stillness around them, Tommy doesn’t think this is usual behavior, and he can’t help but feel a little satisfied about that. He chances a glance at Hen and Chimney who are both staring at Evan like he’s lost his damn mind. It takes everything in Tommy not to giggle—both because of embarrassment and the fact he might actually pass out from pain if he does.

“So, what’s the verdict, Evan?” Tommy asks.

The adorable man blinks a few times before glancing up at Hen and Chimney, who Tommy is very aware are the ones with the answer to his question. Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy sees Hen gesturing for Evan to answer himself. 

“U-Um, I’m sure you feel ten-tenderness in your ribs so that’s… gotta be looked at.” Evan shakes his head like he’s all too aware of his stammering, but Tommy couldn’t be more smitten. “You lost consciousness so H-Hen—she checked for any issues with your eyes but nothing abnormal. How’s your head?” 

Without thinking, Tommy replies, “Would you like to find out?” 

There’s a chorus of: “Tommy!” “Get a room!” “Jesus Christ!” “Oh my god!” 

All of which are ignored by both of them. 

Instead, Evan tilts his head and smiles—it would’ve knocked Tommy off his feet if he were standing. 

“I think I just might,” Evan agrees. 

“Oh, you two are made for each other,” Hen turns toward Chimney, “how did we not see that?”

“Buck likes guys?!” Chimney says instead. Evan blushes even deeper and Tommy’s glad that he’s not on a heart monitor for all to see it skip a beat. “No, I’m done with this. To answer your question, Tommy, you may have an acute head injury and you definitely have some broken ribs. We’ve gotta get you to the hospital so if you’re done flirting…” 

“What if I’m not?” Tommy argues, just to rile Chimney up a little more. Tommy always enjoyed that—misses it, really. “What if I want to see Evan blush a little more?” 

“Oh my god,” Buck mumbles. He hides his face in his hands, but Tommy can still see the smile lines between the cracks in his fingers. “Hen, get him out of here.” 

“Got it, Buckaroo,” she agrees, shrugging at Tommy playfully. 

“I didn’t get your number!” Tommy shouts as best as he can with presumably broken ribs. He knows they’ll hurt a lot more the second he focuses on them, but how can he focus on anything but Evan? 

“118.” 

With that, Hen shuts the doors and Tommy sighs the happiest sigh he can muster. 

“Oh, he’s—” Tommy doesn’t even have the words, but Hen seems to understand.

“You’re in trou-ble, Kinard.” She clicks her tongue. 

And Tommy’s never been so excited by the prospect. 

(Chimney derails any further conversation with a line of consciousness that starts with, “Okay, since when do both Tommy and Buck like men?! How did I miss this?!”) 

#bucktommy #kinley #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 on abc #bucktommyweekend #buck x tommy #tevan #i hate tagging that pls stop making me #911 #911 fic #bucktommy fic #my writing

[dwyntwo]

Okay, so... as a collective fandom, we can agree that bullying Kaz is fun, yeah? There's just something about seeing the guy down at his lowest and then prodding him with a stick and going "Come on, do something."

But I'm going to stand in his corner for a bit in this post.

Something that never really sat right with me is the collective implication that Kaz isn't good enough for Inej (and never will be).

I'm totally with you: he didn't deserve Inej in the first book and maybe not even yet in the second because he didn't give her anything to work with. He didn't even visit her after she was stabbed, or show her how relieved he was when she recovered. And this is just the thing: he didn't deserve her because of his BEHAVIOUR, not because he's inherently less important or less valuable or less of a person than her.

However I've read so many post-CK fanfictions where Kaz has been working on himself, is openly communicating with her, basically kisses the ground she walks on, treats her as his equal and goes above and beyond to make her as comfortable as possible, and still everyone INCLUDING Inej (and Kaz) goes "I/she deserve/s so much better than me/him". And THAT implicates that the reason Kaz wasn't good enough for her was not his behaviour towards her, but the fact that he as a whole human being is just "not enough" and "less valuable" than her, and that viewpoint has always made me super uncomfortable, especially considering his trauma.

Now I know what you're going to say, and I absolutely agree: trauma never excuses abhorrent behaviour. But there's just something icky to me about looking at a traumatized person who has not only been making an EXTREME effort to overcome their issues, but also shown amazing results, and going "They don't deserve X", "They're less than X" etc. just because they haven't fully healed yet or might never fully heal. It gives "Traumatized people are damaged goods"-vibes, which is especially weird considering my next point: INEJ IS TRAUMATIZED TOO AND HER TRAUMA GETS IN THE WAY OF A GOOD AND LOVING RELATIONSHIP JUST AS MUCH AS HIS.

She literally admits to herself that she wears as much armor as Kaz does and was being kind of hypocritical when she told him to remove his. Inej is a flawed character (which somehow seems to be a controversial take in the fandom), and to put her on a pedestal because of how virtuous and "better" she is than Kaz takes all the nuance out of her. There are definitely some parts in the books where I felt like she was in the wrong or toeing the line, but the others never really call out her behaviour the way they do with Kaz, not even in their internal monologue, so we're left with this image of an Inej who can do no wrong and a Kaz who simply got lucky.

The fact that in aforementioned fanfictions (that I still absolutely adore btw) Inej too thinks he isn't good enough for her despite everything he does for her and for himself, and despite how far he's come also turns her acknowledgment of her own self worth into something ugly and vain in my eyes. She loves herself, but she also loves Kaz, so I don't think she, or any good partner, would look at her boyfriend who clearly already thinks very little of himself and go "Yep, this fucker isn't good enough".

So often people will look at a healthy happy couple and go "He/she could do so much better than her/him". Like that's a whole person you're putting in a competition of "Who's more worthy?" as if they were some object that is of better or worse quality.

I don't think I articulated this too well and there's a lot more to be said about this, but I hope you understand the gist of it. Post CK-Kaz who works on himself and openly communicates ABSOLUTELY deserves Inej, and I will ROT on this hill.

Now I've been nice to him for long enough I think *whacks him with a crow bar*

#wtf is wrong with me omg #kaz brekker #six of crows #soc #inej ghafa #ck #crooked kingdom

[sequinsmile-x]

The Games We Play - Chapter 4

She’d survived the very worst a person could, lived through things that still kept her up at night, the screams of other innocent people ringing in her head as sleep evaded her.

She’d survived so much, but she didn’t think she’d survive leading him to his death. 

A Hunger Games AU

-x-

Hi friends,

Well, here we are - the final chapter of the most insane fic idea I've had yet. Thanks for all the love on this silly little AU it really means the world.

Please let me know what you think, your comments mean the world <3

-x-

Words: 3.6k

A full list of warnings can be found on the series master list

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

He grunts as the knife enters his chest again, the pain barely there, not matching up with what he thinks it should feel like. He looks up at George, at the crazed look in his eyes, and he knows this is it, that he’d got so close to surviving, so close to fulfilling his promise to Emily, and he’d fallen at the last hurdle.

Emily. 

He thinks of her smile, of the way she’d laugh just when he needed to hear it. He thinks of her beauty, not diminished by what she’d survived but enhanced, her endless strength making her impossibly more gorgeous. 

He had to make it back to her. 

He growls, an animalistic sound escaping him as he surges forward, taking George by surprise as he flips them, the knife scattering out of the other man's hand as he gets the advantage. He hits him, his fists aching and splitting open as he carries on, not stopping as he feels bones crack beneath his knuckles.

He carries on, all the anger he’d ever felt surging through him. Anger at his father. At himself. At the world he found himself living in. 

He only stops when he physically can’t do it anymore, his arms giving out from under him as he collapses off of George, who was eerily still, his eyes, one of the only recognisable parts of his face left, staring straight ahead.

Aaron collapses, his head swimming as blood loss catches up with him, his eyes drifting shut as he hears a canon crack in the air around him.

___

He sucks in a panicked breath, his eyes flying open as he looks around him, his body heavy as he tries and fails to sit up.

“Aaron.”

His head snaps to his left, his eyes wide and wild as he looks at Emily, a mix of relief and disbelief painted across her face, “Emily?”

“It’s okay,” she says, still in her seat, seemingly glued to it as she looks him over, her shoulders tight, “You’re okay. You’re in the private wing of the hospital,” she says, looking around them, “I shouldn’t even be here,” she flashes him a quick smile, “Dave can talk anyone into anything.” 

He nods, taking in his surroundings a little more now the panic has passed. Everything looked opulent, expensive in a way he never would have been able to imagine before he came to the Capitol. He looks past the open door to his room and sees the nurse sitting at a computer and typing, the clack of the keys clear even from where he is lying in his bed. 

“My hearing,” he says, placing his hand over his right ear, “It’s back. After the explosion with Kate…I could barely hear.”

“They restored it for you,” she explains, her smile tight as she sits up straighter in the chair next to his bed, “Nothing but the best for their victor.” 

He nods, blinking heavily a few times before shaking his head, trying to dispel the sleepiness that threatened to overtake him, “What else?” 

“You have a fair number of scars on your chest,” she says, her eyes fixed on his gown as if she could see his damaged skin through it, “And on your knuckles from where you…” she presses her lips together, the memory of the sound of George’s face giving way under his fists sending a shiver down her spine, “They can get rid of the scars too if you want to. Some people keep them.” 

“Did you keep yours?” 

His question takes her by surprise, and for a moment she forgot he didn’t know, that in all the nights they shared a bed he’d never seen her without her clothes on, had never seen the constellation of scar tissue that spread across her abdomen. Pink lines and creases that had faded to white, skin that was still numb to the touch and likely always would be. 

“Yes,” she says, subconsciously placing her hand over the scar through her shirt, “I kept it.” 

He stores the information away for later, not wanting to pry now, but he thinks he’ll make the same decision, not wanting to lose the evidence of what he’d survived. 

“What else happened?” He asks, and she frowns, her eyebrows knitting together as she tilts her head and he smiles softly, “You looked like you saw a ghost when I woke up.” 

She wonders how she should feel about the fact he can read her so easily, that, despite everything, they’d seemingly picked back up right where they left off when she’d been reaped for her own games and her life had changed forever. She thinks she should hate it, but she doesn’t. She likes that he knows her like that, that he understands her. 

It had been so long since she’d felt known. 

“Your…” she clears her throat, her teeth clenched as she tries to breathe through the emotion threatening to overwhelm her, “Your heart stopped when they got you out,” her voice shakes a little, “You were dead for almost a minute until they brought you back.” 

He frowns and places his hand against his chest, his ribs aching, his entire body on fire from pain that the medication in his system barely dulled, “They brought me back?” 

She chokes out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and she nods, “Yeah, they brought you back.” 

“Why?”

His question surprises her, makes her breath catch in her chest as she looks down at her hands, her torn up cuticles something she can focus on instead of him, “Because they need a winner,” she whispers, “None of this works if they don’t have a winner and George died in the arena. So you’re their winner.” 

He stares at her, his focus on the way she absolutely avoids looking at him. He can’t help but wonder how she felt when she was in his place. When she was laying in a bed, stitched back together after barely surviving the unthinkable, alone and wondering what came next. He feels selfishly grateful that he has her, that she can guide him through this next part. 

“So,” he says, offering her a half smile when she looks at him, “Looks like I’ll be able to take you on a date after all,” he jokes, wanting nothing more than to lighten the mood, to feel anything other than despair for the first time since his brother’s name was called during the reaping. 

She scoffs, shaking her head as she crosses her arms over her chest, Dave’s words from just a few days ago weighing heavily on her chest, “I wish it was that simple.” 

He frowns at her, lifting his hand from his bed and offering it out to her, grateful when she stands and takes it without any further prompting, as if she was magnetised to him, moving against her will, “What do you mean?” 

She isn’t sure how to put it into words. She wanted him, wanted whatever sense of happiness was possible in the reality they lived in, but she knew there would be a cost. She’d always known that, it’s why she’d cut him out of her life until he volunteered for his brother, fate intervening and putting them back firmly in each other's paths. She sighs as she sits on the edge of his bed, his warmth even with the small amount of distance between them intoxicating.

“There will be expectations of us,” she says, her chest hollowed out, aching and empty, ready for the heartbreak she can already feel, the heartbreak she’d endure for the rest of her life if it was what he chooses. She reaches out to push some of his hair out of his face, the strands longer than they usually would be, unkempt from his time in the arena, her fingers ghosting across his forehead. “If we do this. Our life won’t necessarily be our own.” 

He catches her hand as she pulls it away from his face, linking their fingers together and squeezing, desperate to keep her close, “What do you mean?”

She looks over her shoulder to make sure they are alone, to check the nurse who was assigned to him wasn’t in earshot. She’d learnt a long time ago that no one could be trusted, that even those who seemed to be her friends here would give away her secrets for free. The only person she did trust, other than Aaron, was Dave. He’d never lied to her, never been anything other than almost painfully honest, their shared burden of what they did year after year something that had bonded them in a way she’s sure she’d collapse without. She leans in and makes sure she talks quietly, her voice low so only he hears her. 

“We’ll get married,” she says, a smile flitting across her face at the treacherous hope that flashes in his eyes, something that even what he’d just been through couldn’t kill. She liked to think that would one day be the country’s downfall - the hope that existed between them all no matter what they had done to them. Hope that planted seeds and bloomed even in the darkest of circumstances, its flowers too bright and beautiful to be ignored, “And we won’t…there won’t be a lot of choice,” she says, hoping he’d understand, that he wouldn’t make her say it, “We would be expected to do our duty as victors.” 

It’s the desperate look in her eyes that makes it click for him. He thinks of their conversation on the train, the way they’d casually agreed children weren’t on the cards for either of them as they drank liquor he’s sure cost more than his parent’s house. It was a moment in time, something that had led him back to her, his volunteering for his brother a crossroads in his life that had changed everything. A decision that, in the grand scheme of things, hadn’t been that long ago but may as well have happened to a different person. 

“Oh,” he says, feeling her hand go slack in his, her expression tight as she starts to pull away, taking his silence and lack of a reaction as confirmation he would change his mind. He holds her hand even tighter, and feels her bones pop against each other, “Well, if there was anyone I’d want to do any of that with, it would be you.” 

She scoffs, disbelief catching on every rib as it forces its way out, “Aaron, it’s not that simple,” she says, looking down at their joint hands, his tanned skin from the artificial sun in the arena making hers look even paler than usual, “We’d have to have children. If we didn’t Barnes would punish us, our families.” 

“Em-”

She carries on as if he hasn’t spoken, as if she can’t hear him. All of the fears she’d pushed down for years finally burst to the surface, escaping from the box she’d hidden them in because he’d knocked it over, his love and kindness tearing her defences to pieces. 

“And as much as I always said I don’t want children, I’d love them. I’d love them so much and then having to send them off to the arena when they turn 12-” she’s cut off as he sits up, groaning at the pain that spreads through his chest, his entire body burning from the points where Foyet had stabbed him, “What are you doing? You’re hurt.” 

“I’m trying to hug you,” he says through gritted teeth as she lowers him back down to the bed, her hands firm on his shoulders as she raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief. He breathes through the pain for a moment and then rests his hands on her hips, “Em, I understand what you’re saying,” he says, encouraging her closer, her face close enough that he can feel her breath skipping across his skin, “I know it won’t be easy, but even if we had a kid tomorrow, 12 years is a long time. You never know what could happen.” 

She huffs out a laugh and presses her forehead against his, “You think the world is going to change enough between now and then to mean we’d be safe.” 

“I think you haven’t even kissed me yet,” he says, his hand on her back, his palm splayed so his fingers sneak under the hem of her shirt, smiling softly as she shivers as his heated skin touches hers, “Everything else will happen as it happens.” 

She thinks she should hate him for being so sure, for the hint of optimism she knew time would kill over the next few years, but she can’t bring herself to. Instead, she allows herself to feel the relief that she’d been holding off since she’d arrived at the hospital. It fills her lungs, her chest fully expanding for the first time since she’d last seen him before he went into the arena, and she shakes her head, pressing her forehead against his for a moment before she pulls back, her smile fond as their eyes meet. 

She leans in and presses her lips against his, her hand on his cheek to hold him in place, as if he’d rather be anywhere else even if he had the strength to move. It’s everything she’d ever imagined it to be and more as he pulls her closer, his hand insistent on her back as his other one finds its way into her hair, anchoring her to him. He tastes of the sugary medicinal drink she’d been made to have when she first woke up when she won the games, a boost she’d never known the name of, a hint of something she knew must just be him lingering underneath. 

He sighs contentedly as she sinks into him, her tongue running across the seam of his lips before he opens his mouth. He’d thought about this moment for so long that it didn’t feel real, almost too good to be true. For a moment he wonders if he really did die in the arena, if this was the last thing his subconscious was doing for him, a moment of heaven before he slipped into darkness. 

He knows it’s real the moment she pulls back, a concerned look on her face as he groans in pain, the two of them having got carried away as he pulls her tight to his chest, the pain reverberating throughout his body. 

“Sorry,” she says, her hand slipping from his cheek to his throat, the reassuring thump of his pulse against her skin calming her down. 

“Never apologise for kissing me,” he replies, encouraging her back in for another kiss, a quick thing stamped against her lips, “But we might have to wait a little while for our date.”

She smiles and nods, resting her forehead against his, taking a moment to breathe him in, “I should get going anyway. Let you rest.”

He shakes his head, “No, stay.”

“Aaron-”

“Please,” he says, wincing as he tries to shift in the bed, making room for her to slide in next to him, “I want you to stay.” 

She hesitates, not sure what people would say or think if they found her in his bed, but she realises she doesn’t care. For the first time in years, she doesn’t think about anyone other than herself and she nods, slipping off her shoes before she carefully slips into bed with him, her head on his shoulder as she snuggles into his side. A sense of peace she hadn’t felt since they’d last slept next to each other washes over her and she tilts her head to look up at him. 

“I love you,” she says, the words not seeming as heavy as they had on the rooftop the night before the games started. It was no longer something she’d only get to say to him once, no longer a rushed confession borne out of a misunderstanding. It was softer, impossibly more real.

Something she would say to him every day for the rest of her life. 

“I love you too,” he replies, kissing the top of her head, tightening his hold on her the best he can with his injuries, “And I’ll spend the rest of my life doing that the best way that I can.” 

___

At first, she’s not sure what wakes her up.

She’d never slept well on the train, not from the very first time she’d boarded it. It was eerily quiet given the speed they were travelling and it left her feeling uneasy, a stillness to it all that felt unnatural. 

She rolls onto her back and groans, rubbing her hands over her eyes as she considers going to watch the sunrise in the back carriage, and then she hears a moan next to her, drawing her attention to Aaron as he sleeps fitfully. As he thrashes in the bed, his fists clenched at his sides, she knows what woke her up and she sighs sadly. She sits up and turns on the light, folding her legs against her chest and wrapping her arms around them as she watches him, waiting for him to wake up. 

The first night he’d been back from the hospital, the same day he’d had his interview with Gideon, she’d tried to wake him up. She’d put her hands on his face and tried to pull him out of it, her words soft and reassuring as she eased him back to her. He’d grabbed her wrist, his grip tight around it, as he woke up, leaving a bruise that hadn’t quite faded yet. He hadn’t forgiven himself, had refused to sleep next to her again until she promised she wouldn’t try to wake him up again, and she hated how he sometimes looked at her. 

As if she had something to be afraid of when she was with him. 

It feels like an age passes before he wakes up, his chest filling quickly with a breath that’s clearly painful as he sits up, his eyes wild as he yells, his fists clenched so tightly she’s sure he could break the skin on his palms. 

“Aaron,” she says quietly, not wanting to startle him. He looks at her so quickly it must pull at his neck, his eyes still wide as they meet hers. She knows that look, she’s seen it on her own face in the small hours of the night as she splashed water on herself in the bathroom after a nightmare. He was in the arena, his mind playing tricks on him even though he was now as safe as he ever would be. “You’re okay. It’s a dream. We’re on the train home.” 

“Emily?” 

She smiles and nods, shifting closer to him as the fog in his eyes starts to lift. She reaches out and places her hand on his cheek, her heart twisting in her chest as he leans into it, seeking out the affection she always had waiting for him. 

“It’s me. I’m right here,” she assures him, shifting closer again until she’s in his lap, something in her stomach easing when he wraps his arms around her and holds her close, “I’m right here.” 

He sighs, his eyes drifting closed as he rests his forehead on her temple, taking the chance to breathe her in, to replace the blood he could still smell with the scent of her, “I’m sorry.” 

She pulls back and cups his cheek again, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

His eyes drift to her bruised wrist and guilt churns in his gut just like it had every day since he’d woken up to find his first wrapped tightly around it. He clenches his teeth and shakes his head, familiar anger he hadn’t been able to shift since the arena burning through him. 

“I don’t know how you can even look at me.” 

She frowns as he looks down, avoiding her eye contact. He barely lets go of her though, as if she was the only thing keeping him grounded, so she wraps her arms around his shoulders to hold him close. 

“What do you mean, sweetheart?” She asks, the moniker slipping free without her meaning it to, her focus on playing with the short hairs at the back of his head, providing comfort in any way she can. 

“I hurt you,” he says, his tone flat as he continues to stare at the wall, “I killed people, Em,” he finally pulls away to look at her, “I killed a guy with my bare hands.” 

“If you hadn’t, he would have killed you,” she reasons, an edge of desperation to her voice that she ignores, “And I’ve killed people too. It’s the only reason we’re both still here,” she smiles sadly, her hand on his cheek as she holds him in place, “Does that make it hard for you to look at me?” 

He shakes his head immediately, his eyebrows furrowing as if the mere idea was ridiculous, “Of course not,” he says emphatically, “Never.” 

“Then it’s not going to make it hard for me to look at you,” she says, making a point of reaching for his hand, of smoothing her fingers over the still healing cuts on his knuckles, “We survived,” she looks up at him, making eye contact as she kisses his hand, soothes away the damage both physical and mental, the scars she couldn’t see but knew were there, “We survived, and now we’ve got to try and live. As best as we can,” she kisses him, her lips firm against his, and she barely pulls back, her breath skipping across his face as she speaks, “Together.” 

He nods, pulling her closer, his grip on her fierce. She holds him back just as tightly, seeking comfort as easily as she gives it. 

“Together.” 

-x-

Me to me: you will not write a sequel…you will not write a sequel…

-x-

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#aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #hotchniss fan fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron x emily #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss

[ihatealimore]

Lover, You Should've Come Over

(word count: 1.432) (angst, comfort)

Sitting alone in the dim room, Kurapika finds himself consumed by a painful wave of regret. His hands curl into fists at his sides, fingernails digging dents into his skin as he thinks about (Y/N). A beautiful woman with sharp eyes that saw right through him.

"I pushed her away," He mutters to himself, the extent of his actions weighing on him heavily, "I was so concerned about dragging her down with me... I didn't consider what it would do to her."

The memories of their past together begin to seep into his mind like venom spreading its poison throughout an unsuspecting body. Their laughter echoing through empty halls, the way she'd playfully tugged on a lock of his blonde hair whenever they sparred together. Each memory brings forth another flood of bitter sorrow that gnaws at the edges of Kurapika's already damaged heart.

"She deserved better," He whispers hoarsely against the icy silence that wraps around him, "And I... I couldn't give it to her."

The taste of regret is sour on his tongue, but nothing stings more than remembering how (Y/N) had looked at him when he walked away, pure understanding reflected in those knowing eyes. A silent acceptance that cut deeper than any blade.

"(Y/N)," Kurapika breathes out, the name slipping from his lips like a prayer. 

His gaze focuses on the empty space before him as if he could summon her back with just his longing.

"I'm sorry. I should've stayed," He murmurs quietly into the stillness of the room, shame lacing every word, "I miss you..."

A strained sigh escapes Kurapika's lips, his eyes dull and filled with sorrow, "If only I could see her again..." His voice trails off into a broken whisper, the words hanging stubbornly in the stagnant air surrounding him.

He would give anything to see those bright eyes again, to see her smiling at him so tenderly, to feel the warmth of her skin against his own. The pain plaguing him seems unending, spiraling deeper within his chest with every passing second.

His hand instinctively moves towards where he imagines (Y/N) might be sitting if she were here, an empty gesture aimed at filling a void he himself had created. He misses everything about her, her stubbornness, her recklessness...

But most importantly, how understanding she was, even when things didn't make sense.

"I'll do whatever it takes," Kurapika declares quietly as if making a vow to himself, "I just want another chance."

The blonde-haired man's hand hovers over his phone, a deep sigh leaving his lips. He contemplates calling her, the weight of his decision making his heart pound louder in his chest. His fingers itch to dial her number, a series of digits he had memorized by heart.

The screen glows softly in the dim room, casting an eerie light onto Kurapika's face as he scrolls through his contacts until (Y/N)'s name comes into view. Her contact picture is one they'd taken together during happier times, both of them smiling so brightly that their joy seems almost tangible.

His thumb hovers over her name for what feels like an eternity, every second amplifying the heavy silence encompassing him. The fear gripping at him feels strong and suffocating. What if she doesn't answer? Worse yet... What if she does?

"(Y/N)..." He says under his breath, steeling himself before finally pressing down on her contact information.

As he brings the phone up to his ear, Kurapika bites down hard on his lip. He can taste the metallic tang of blood dripping into his mouth but he barely registers it. All he can focus on is the rhythmic beating of a dial tone, a stark contrast to his erratic heartbeat.

His grip tightens around the device as every passing second becomes a harsh reminder of how much time had been wasted, how many words were left unsaid, and how many actions were done out of fear instead of love. His breath hitches when after several agonizing moments, her voicemail greeting plays.

But even just hearing her recorded voice gives him a brief sense of reprieve, grounding him back to reality from where regret and pain drag him deep within its clutches. It isn't enough though. He needs more than just echoes of her voice trapped in a digital recording.

Hearing the beep indicating it's time to leave a message, Kurapika takes in a deep breath before speaking. His voice quivers slightly, but he presses on, "(Y/N)... It's me, Kurapika."

He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing.

"I know I'm probably the last person you want to hear from right now but... I miss you."

The words taste bitter on his tongue, an admission of guilt and longing wrapped together.

There's another tension-filled pause before he finally lets out what had been gnawing at him all night long, "Please come over. I need to see you..."

With that final plea hanging heavily in between them, even if she isn't there physically, he ends the call. His phone drops back onto his lap as he leans back into his chair, letting out a sigh full of uncertainty and vulnerability.

She may not come... But at least now she knows how desperate he is without her.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, Kurapika had begun to lose hope. The silence is deafening and doubt claws at his insides with a vengeance. He spends the passing hours aimlessly pacing around his apartment, trying to distract himself from constantly glancing towards his phone.

When he hears a subtle knock echo through the room, the Kurta freezes in place, heart pounding fiercely against his ribcage as he makes way to the door.

Dread and anticipation swirls within him as he gently pulls open the door, revealing (Y/N) standing there under dimly lit hallway lights, her silhouette creating shadows that dance across her features.

For a moment, it seems as if time itself has stopped, everything silent except for their shallow breaths mixing together in sync before he finally releases an audible sigh of relief.

"Kurapika?" Her voice is filled with surprise, and before she can utter another word, he has already thrown his arms around her. His grip is tight, a desperate hold born out of fear that if he lets go even slightly, she'll disappear.

He buries his face into the crook of her neck, every inch of him attempting to memorize her, the way she feels against him, the faint scent of her hair mixing with the outside air lingering on her clothes.

A shaky breath escapes him as he tries to gain control over his racing heart, albeit in vain, because now that she's here within his reach again... He doesn't want to let go.

"Kurapika?" She echoes and the sound of her voice, so close and filled with concern, causes something warm to bloom in his chest. As she returns his embrace and begins to rub soothing circles on his back, he feels a few of the knots in his stomach start to unravel.

"You sounded... Unwell in your voicemail. Are you okay?" Her words resound through him, genuine worry laced into each syllable.

"I..." He swallows hard as he draws back just enough to look at her, meeting those beautiful eyes that hold nothing but sincerity, "I've been better," It isn't a lie but it doesn't feel like the whole truth either.

"I can tell," She replies quietly.

He lets out another trembling breath before tightening his hold around her again, not ready yet to fully face what's been haunting him for so long without having her close.

For now, he wants to linger in her arms. Holding onto her as if she's his lifeline, Kurapika allows himself to sink deeper into her embrace, her comforting warmth seeping through the fabric of his clothes and into his cold existence.

He presses his face further into the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent deeply, "Just let me hold you for a bit longer," He murmurs against her flesh, hoping she'll understand just how much he needs this right now.

"Okay, I'm not going anywhere," She whispers against his ear, the softness of her voice flowing into him and further calming his anxious thoughts.

Kurapika's heart constricts at her promise, gratitude washing over him in waves. He tightens his hold on her further, as if conveying all the unspoken emotions through this one gesture.

He doesn't know how long they stood there in silence, time seeming to lose its grip on him as he simply allows himself to exist within this comforting bubble with her by his side... And for once, it feels okay to let down the walls around him even if it is just for a little while.

This feels like home to him, something he thought he had lost forever.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #hxh x reader #romance #hunter x hunter x reader #writing #kurapika #kurapika x reader #kurapika oneshot #idk if this is any good lol #tried to be poetic

[animeyanderelover]

Hey! Im glad i managed to wake up early in the end! Here are my two requests and thank you so much for your great writing!

1. Yanderes of your choice (the ones who wear masks/cover their faces or are just insecure about their appearances in general) with a darling who always compliments their face, saying they look amazing and that they love all of them/the first time they see the yans face their reaction is to get all :OOOO and compliment it

2. yanderes of your choice with a minor deity reader, who doesn't have the same perception of boundaries as a normal person does plus is just happy they have a follower at least.....?

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional mindset, clinginess, manipulation

Tags: @lovley-valentine7 @leveyani @chxxz

Minor Deity s/o

Ash Landers

▫️​You may not be known very well as other deities are but with Ash you pretty much already have the most devoted and loyal follower one could ask for. Yet the fact that you were forgotten seems to affect him much more than it has affected you ever as he is in utter grief and sorrow when he finds out about it. Deities are supposed to be worshipped and treated with reverence yet humans truly seem to have forgotten how to pay respect and he is determined to see it through that your name will be called in prayers once again. After he has purified London, that is. With his darling being a literal deity though, Ash feels immense pressure to see it through that everything will be perfect for you. He lets churches and temples be build in your name and starts searching for humans he thinks would be worthy enough of worshipping you as he is basically planning to collect a cult for you. Your obvious clinginess is constantly overwhelming him though as he doesn't see himself as worthy for being touched by a deity like this, especially since he hasn't done anything to deserve it.

Juvia Lockser

💧​Juvia is constantly swooning over pretty much everything you do as her obsessive tendencies only increase as she figures out that you are an actual deity. You are literally perfect in her eyes. She spends days and weeks crafting a small shrine for you where she always leaves flowers, pastries or anything else for you as a sign of her adoration and love. She has a rather strange relationship with the idea of collecting other followers for you though. On the one hand she wants people to notice you because you are the most perfect and beautiful being as the mere thought that no one has ever been a follower of yours angers her greatly. On the other hand she also doesn't want to lose all the attention and affection she gets solely because she is the only one who calls herself a follower of yours now. You are very clingy with little to no perception of boundaries but since Juvia is exactly the same, this is just utterly perfect for her. The idea of you giving such attention to other people if they would start believing in you is a big cause of her jealousy as she would like to remain as someone special to you even if you should collect more followers.

Yato

🪙​Both of you share very similar struggles yet Yato shows much more concern for you as a deity will disappear if no human remembers them so he is very desperate to get you more followers. He starts with Hiyori as he asks her to not forget you for her entire life and to remember you and she really goes all out of her way to build you a small shrine similar to the one she has crafted for Yato. Otherwise Yato literally goes around with Yukine to fulfill his jobs whilst trying to advertise for you. Whilst you don't show any panic or fear due to having so only Hiyori as a human who believes in you as of now, he still feels like he has to do everything he can to cheer you up to keep you happy. He has very good intentions but at times he can go a bit too far by literally wracking some damage to induce humans with the belief that it was the work of you just to get their attention on you. Hiyori and you are ususally quick to scold him for it as you don't want to be remembered as a deity who harms other people. Yato happily indulges in your clinginess though because he can be quite touchy himself but he does get jealous quickly when you show similar amounts of affection to Yukine and Hiyori.

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere ash #yandere ash landers #yandere fairy tail #yandere juvia #yandere juvia lockser #yandere noragami #yandere yato

[calmangel]

No because why am I scared of being made fun of for loving these men when Destiel is probably the most beautiful thing ever created.

An angel pulls a righteous man from hell and heals his wounds and is so overcome with this triumph that he screams DEAN WINCHESTER HAS BEEN SAVED so loud that he awakens fallen angels. He rebuilds this man from dust. The man is scared of Castiel, they don’t trust each other, but they need each other—the man begs the angel to see why Heaven, why God’s plan is corrupt and the angel should trust him. Against nature, breaking from the script, against God, his Father—the angel rebels. The angel rips out the part of him that serves Heaven all for this man and only because he asks. Only because now he’s starting to feel, and angels don’t feel.

What’s coming isn’t an easy task—the man considers giving himself up but the angel won’t let him, beating him unconscious while yelling I rebelled for this? And still, when the day comes, the angel dies for him. The angel attacks his own brothers for this man, is incinerated instantly, and never gave it a second thought.

After the angel is resurrected, they spend years trying to fix everything for each other and almost always do it wrong. They are eventually sent to purgatory together, and the man spends every waking moment praying to his angel. He could’ve escaped, he could’ve been angry at the angel for his misdoings, but he stayed, ripping flesh and killing anything in his way to get to the angel. But he doesn’t understand—the angel, upset, says they’re after me, Dean. I avoid you to protect you. The man won’t listen. He can’t. He pulls the angel to the exit but their hands slip right there, on the precipice. And the man is so distraught that he tells himself he’d let go by accident, but we know this isn’t true. The angel wanted to stay, wanted to feel punishment. The angel saved the righteous man and stayed behind.

But they can’t be kept apart can they?

The angel finds his way back, like always, and Dean is seeing his face everywhere. Dean blames himself. It’s easier than thinking his angel wanted to stay. It’s easier than being abandoned.

Heaven isn’t happy with this angel—this silly thing that gave up its innate purpose and programming all for a human—so they attempt to rewire him, resorting to lobotomy as a way to force him into conforming. They create infinite copies of his human and force him to kill each one, testing his loyalties. And after all this, after being turned into a mindless soldier through torture, it only takes one thing to break the connection. Dean, on his knees, saying I need you.

And this does not fix everything. Now the angel is desperate to undo his wrongs, searching for ways to repay him; so desperate that he misplaces his trust and is irreparably damaged, intimately violated by God’s Scribe. His grace, every part of his angelic traits, is stolen from him, literally ripped from his throat before the Scribe sends all angels plummeting to the Earth. And now the angel is an entirely new species—a human, soft and vulnerable, with nothing to his name—a prime target of angry, wingless angels.

There is only one thing he can do. He can call his human, beg for help, but it’s not going to come quickly. He has to decide between eating and warding himself from his murderous siblings. He virtuously refuses to steal or hurt anyone. He just wants to be safe. He trusts the wrong person and, seconds away from being saved by his human, is stabbed through the heart. Although his brother is injured, Dean caresses his angel’s face and sobs, insisting that the entity inside his brother’s body fix Cas despite how it will hurt the entity and likely put Dean’s brother at risk. It doesn’t matter. Then they go home, and the angel feels safe for the first time as a human.

But nothing lasts forever. The entity inside Sam is anxious, insecure around Cas, and so Dean asks the angel to leave. For probably the first time, Castiel feels intense sadness. Betrayal. Grief. Stress. And it’s because of his human, the one human he was attempting to make everything up to before. Well, apparently he hadn’t done well enough. The angel leaves, still desperate for cash and food, resorting to sleeping in the storeroom of a gas station to stay warm.

The angel has to protect himself from enemies, stealing angelic grace just to keep going. At the same time, Dean takes on the mark of Cain and slowly loses sanity. The angel earns a league of likeminded angels that believe in him, and it finally looks like maybe he can do things on his own again. Naturally, this can’t last for long—his allegiance to this dangerous, marked human is too risky for any angels to trust him.

And his allegiance is tested, but holds strong. Dean can tear the angel to pieces and he’ll still lay there on the floor, unwilling to harm him, and Dean will walk away knowing he could’ve killed Cas but didn’t. Couldn’t.

Over and over, they fight together or they fight each other and it never ends any different. They stick together. They get angry about how the other is acting. And they stay, because leaving just isn’t an option.

The next time the angel dies, the righteous man isn’t the same. He can’t accept it now, now that it seems real and now that the angel was so solidly good, so individualistic and pure. He burns his body and watches, red-eyed. This time it’s real. This time God isn’t on their side to bring him back. So he does what he knows—he drinks, he hides in comfort, he puts himself at risk. He starts thinking that maybe the solution to their problems is for him to die—really, hadn’t they destroyed the natural order enough?

And then the angel calls him from a payphone and all thoughts of ending his life are wiped from his mind. Dean didn’t care how he’d returned, just brought him home and indulged in a way they never did—they took a fun case, they dressed up like cowboys and caught a bad guy.

They’re not allowed fun, though. They’re doomed by the narrative—the God that is insistent upon failure. Over and over they’re tested, and no matter whose mother is killed and whose psyche is broken by being blamed for it, they stay together. Because you can hate and love at the same time. Because you don’t really hate them.

And at the end of it all, they’re still together. In the angel’s last moments, it’s still only about his human. What’s important is getting Dean safe, is coming up with a plan that saves Dean. Because even though Castiel had all his grace, Dean was the powerful one. Dean was the one who needed to kill God, who needed to stay alive, and who deserved a life.

And the angel did the only thing he knew how to do, the only thing that always worked—he sacrificed himself for his human. He told his human that he was in love with him, and told him the things he needed to hear, and let himself be swallowed up by eternity. All for Dean. For Dean, who was still beautiful.

And this did save the world, but Dean wasn’t the same, really. He vowed to give himself a good life, try to move forward, but it really wasn’t going to happen was it? It was always going to end in his brother’s arms after a hunt. And he was okay with it. And when he got to Heaven, sitting beside his true father with a beer in hand, he heard Cas’s name and smiled. It had been ages since he smiled.

#spn #supernatural #castiel #dean winchester #destiel #dean x castiel #sorry I’m just like. it’s so good? I know the ending is blegh but like #the love story should be appreciated for what it is as well as what it could’ve been #so many writers know exactly what they created and I think we should appreciate it even if they weren’t allowed to write it more obviously

[mikaela-the-slut-expert]

yayyyy 💕 then can i ask for a scenario in which the reader, who’s a trans guy, volunteering to be the bride in the ghost groom scenario and threatening to stab anyone who says anything about him looking like a girl with platonic feng xin + mu qing and romantic hualian? (or just xie lian, since technically hua cheng is only there for like, .5 seconds lol)

(💥 anon)

Masculine Bride?

HuaLian x ftm(?)reader

IM SO SORRY 😔 I'VE HAD THE WORST FEW MONTHS OF MY LIFE BUT I LIVE I WILL BE COMPLETING REQUESTS AGAIN THANKS FOR NOT GIVING UP ON ME AGAIN GUYS ☺️🖤

____________________________________

☀️Feng Xin didn't want to be in this ridiculous mission at all. He has to deal with Mu Qing in disguise and he has to see Xie Lian who was once his best friend. So it feels a little awkward to him but he gets to see you too! So he's quite happy to see you and Xie Lian again

☀️When he finds out that the plan is to disguise as a bride he immediately says Nuh uh. No way he's doing that, Mu Qing would never live it down.

☀️But when you offer to disguise as the bride, since you do looke somewhat androgynous he's like great!

☀️He doesn't have to do it and he can protect you if you all get in harms way

☀️Honestly he's surprised you volunteered so quickly. Feng Xin knows you'd rather stay in your male form and he knows you don't like appearing feminine much these days. Gods do it all the time so Feng Xin doesn't mind. Have you seen Shi Qingxuan?

☀️So everything was going great, they got you dressed and the one village girl did your makeup so you didn't look like a clown. But then they ran into those annoying men again.

☀️ They were congratulating Xie Lian, Mu Qing, and Feng Xin for finding a pretty bride and even wanted to join up, but they all knew the men just wanted to eat off their success.

☀️So when you laughed and explained you did make a good bride even though you're a man, No one really laughed. The men had genuinely thought you were a woman sooo they try to call your bluff.

☀️You did in fact change forms to look more like a bride but it doesn't feel good to have every single feminine feature to be pointed out. You're used to it so you weren't going to say anything but the group of men freeze and their skin pales when you hear a crack behind you

☀️Feng Xin may or may not have broken a pillar. May or may not have damaged his own temple. . .

☀️it succeeds in shutting the men up because what man is able to just break a God's pillar?!

☀️Feng Xin has to admit he's pretty irritable, but hearing the group of men bully you just pisses him off. He knows he's supposed to be in disguise and not gain your attention but he can't stand by and watch you be passive about it.

☀️ When the men practically evacuate the area you only laugh softly and link arms with him saying, "I found my guard!" You already know it's Feng Xin🙄

🌕Mu Qing was also your best friend and you never really gave him the chance to distance himself from you like he distanced himself from Xie Lian.

🌕Mu Qing has been with you a long time and he knows you're more comfortable identifying as a man. He has no issue with it. It took some time getting used to but he doesn't care as long as you're happy.

🌕so hearing the group of men start pointing you out so blatantly ticks him off. He knows he can't harm mortals but he sure wishes he could.

🌕It's not against the rules to threaten them though, so when he threatened to cut off their hand because it's rude to point isn't against the rules either.

🌕You were surprised honestly, Mu Qing doesn't care about a lot of things and doesn't usually get violent unless it's with Feng Xin.

🌕but you laugh when the group of men run off and you lean on Mu Qing. Saying you're so happy to have your own personal protector

🪷Xie Lian doesn't really fight. It's not that he can't he just doesn't see a point to do so.

🪷but that doesn't mean he'll let people bully you either

🪷 You've stuck with him for awhile so you're used to just taking mean words in stride. Xie Lian has never let them get away with it though.

🪷So it comes as a Surprise to you all when Xie Lian uses rou'ye to tie the group of men up together and he "advised them to go away before something unfortunate happens"

🪷You smiles and kiss his cheek, linking arms with him with a smile.

🪷"You're cute when you're protective"

#tgcf #tgcf headcanon #tgcf xie lian #xie lian x reader #tgcf feng xin #tgcf mu qing #tgcf feng xin x reader #tgcf mu qing x reader #trans reader #ftm #mxtx tgcf

[bones4thecats]

Their S/O Is An Ancestor of Odysseus 

Type of Writing: Random Idea  Name: Their S/O Is An Ancestor to Odysseus  Characters: Poseidon, Ares, and Hades  Idea-Giver: Random Thoughts, Epic: The Musical, and Homer’s The Odyssey 

A/N: In honor of the fifth saga of Epic: The Musical coming out today, I decided to finally write this fun prompt I made months ago. I hope you guys enjoy this piece, I personally loved writing it so much! Anyways, I have a question for you all; What is your favorite Epic: The Musical saga and your favorite song/character? 

⚠️ TW: Mentions of death, attempted murder, and permanent physical damage ⚠️ 

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Deity! Reader ; Ancestor to Odysseus - Relationship: 3/10

🔱 When he first met you, you had told him you had human descendants, and he accepted that whole-heartedly. You cannot change your lineage or who they have kids with *ZEUS

🔱 Anyways. Poseidon did eventually ask to see your only known descendant, at least to you. And he was not amused to see him again 

🔱 You and Hermes just stood alongside one another and lead Poseidon to the male’s home, the only reason Hermes knew is because your initial descendant, who was the human’s father, had a child with Hermes’ female descendant, Anticlea 

🔱 Smiling gently as a young male named Telemachus ran up and hugged you as a female, that being Penelope, also came out and embraced you while she smiled and nodded to Hermes 

🔱 Asking to see the boy’s father, Poseidon gained a small sense of nervousness. Why was he suddenly a hair off about seeing your once-living descendant 

🔱 Oh, this was why… 

" Poseidon, my love. Meet- "  " Odysseus?! " 

🔱 Looking back and forth between your blonde-lover and your brunette descendant, Odysseus, you began to look at Hermes, asking him with your eyes how they knew one another 

" What a coincidence, Uncle Poseidon! It seems that Y/N is the ancestor to Odysseus, the man who you tried killing multiple times centuries ago! How intriguing! "  " You tried to WHAT?! " 

🔱 Odysseus narrowed his eyes at the God of the Seas and walked to you, opening his arms for a hug, which you sincerely accepted as you glared at your husband in silent rage. Your eyes said everything to him; you better explain yourself. 

🔱 Poseidon sighed lightly and began to tell you everything, right from the start of his involvement with Odysseus 

" You do remember Polyphemus, correct? "  " Of course I remember him. Why? "  " Your boy here blinded him. He and his men had come in and attempted to steal his flock of sheep from him. And, after a mild fight, he blinded him with a burning steak, as he slept nonetheless. How cowardly. " 

🔱 While you were now upset with both parties, Telemachus and Penelope eventually got the two to come to an understanding as to not upset you and possibly cause a massive dispute that may end up with you losing your mind, and not fakely like Odysseus tried 

🔱 Odysseus and Poseidon may act nice when your looking, but they literally glare at one another when you look another way. And you know this, but seeing them at least try to bond to help you warms your heart to much to say anything ✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

Deity! Reader ; Ancestor to Odysseus - Relationship: 6/10 

⚔️ You were thankful that Ares had enough free time to come with you down to Elysium to meet your descendant 

⚔️ He has always asked you questions of him, and because you finally got back into contact with the man who distantly shared your blood, you excitedly told him that he, his wife, and his son were all available the following week 

⚔️ Ares was nervous as hell when approaching the house of your descendant 

⚔️ They’re basically the only family you have left, since Hermes doesn’t count because you weren’t related, your lineage members were 

⚔️ But, in a way of generosity, Hermes decided to join you both. In his words, which were twisted majestically with a suave tone that matched the once youthful Zeus had, he just wanted to encounter the man who was the result of two deity-influenced offsprings coming together 

" Lady Y/N! To what do we owe the pleasure? "  " The pleasure is all mine, youngling. Now, where's Penelope and her husband? They invited me here with my husband- "  " Lord Ares! "  " Uh- yeah… "  " Can you please direct us to them, ma'am? "

⚔️ After being directed to a long dining room, which was where you found a young male with brunette hair, an older-woman, and an older-man with the same hair as the younger one 

⚔️ Smiling as you hugged him and the two other mortal and humanized souls, Ares narrowed his eyes at the older man, before asking who he was 

" Odysseus, King of Ithaca. And this is my wife, Penelope, and my son, Telemachus. And you must be Ares, the God of War. It is a pleasure to meet you. "  " And you… Odysseus. " 

⚔️ While Ares was caught off guard by how adaptive and calm-seeming Odysseus was, he was quite pleased with how accepted the human was with his ancestor marrying a relative of the man who tried killing him and did kill most of his men 

⚔️ But, he is thankful that Poseidon doesn’t randomly come up in the conversation. As that would’ve led to Odysseus hearing the stories of how, in Poseidon’s eyes, he was a horrendous person 

⚔️ Well, they ain’t wrong. His personality kinda lacks sometimes

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Deity! Reader ; Ancestor to Odysseus - Relationship: 9/10 

💀 Hades was pleased to hear how adoringly you would speak of your human lineage. Most deities would shun that, as they believe Humanity are a bunch of scum and worse than rust on a boat’s underside 

💀 He is a family-centered man at heart, so seeing how close you were to these humans made him want to meet them himself 

💀 But what he didn’t expect was seeing a familiar face standing alongside a woman and younger boy 

💀 It was Odysseus. The man who blinded his nephew, Polyphemus, and enraged his second-younger brother, Poseidon 

" Oh! How unexpected, right, Uncle Hades? " 

💀 Yeah, he just stood there for a good few minutes, just staring with wide eyes like this; 🤯 

💀 Hades eventually snapped out of his daze and cleared his throat before offering his hand to the King of Ithaca, his wife, and son, while you just opened your arms to embrace them as if you had known them for centuries 

💀 Well, you have, but you get the point 

💀 You and Penelope had nudged Hades through the castle before landing in a room where there laid many tapestries of happenings from Odysseus’ journey back home, but the three decorative fabrics that stood out were Polyphemus’ attack, Poseidon’s iconic rage, and Odysseus in the Underworld 

" Ah, you seem to have found my small shine. I remember all of these events as if it was yesterday, and I suppose 9 years prior. "  " Yes… I seemingly forgot that you had come to the Underworld to seek out… oh what was his name again? Oh, yes, Tiresias. " 

💀 Hearing of Odysseus’ experience in Hades’ Kingdom made them slightly closer, as Hades allowed him to visit some of his deceased previous crewmates and his mother, whom was happy to see him years later 

💀 They have a far better bond than Hades does with the rest of his brothers, but he must keep that from Poseidon. His jealousy knows no end

#Record of Ragnarok #RoR #Shuumatsu no Valkyrie #SnV #RoR Greek Pantheon #Record of Ragnarok Gods #RoR Gods #Record of Ragnarok x Reader #RoR x Reader #Shuumatsu no Valkyrie x Reader #SnV x Reader #RoR Greek Pantheon x Reader #Record of Ragnarok Gods x Reader #RoR Gods x Reader #S/O! Reader #GN! Reader #God! Reader #RoR Poseidon #RoR Poseidon x Reader #RoR Ares #RoR Ares x Reader #RoR Hades #RoR Hades x Reader

[civilight-eterna]

Hiii requesting horndragora, having an angry and steamy encounter in a Londonium alleyway

(cw: dubious consent, toxic yuri, enemies with benefits)

---

The order of "pin down the caster" was probably not meant to be taken so literally.

Horn had routed around Mandragora's cadre, covered by the debris that fell in the explosion, and at first contact, she'd managed to get behind her, far at the back lines of the fight.

A hand over her mouth and a chokehold later, and she's dragging the kicking feline into the back alley, unseen in the chaos.

"I'm not going to kill you. Just take a cat-nap until my squad passes over and I won't have to tear your head from your shoulders."

Mandragora's legs go weak faster than she expects them to and she staggers to kneel with her as she collapses to the ground, her knees splayed to either side of Horn's thigh.

They struggle for a few more seconds, in the interim of which, Horn realizes-

Mandragora is absolutely soaking between her legs.

It wouldn't be the first time someone has pissed themselves with fear while fighting with Horn, but that's precisely why she can tell that this isn't that. She's shocked, but not enough to loosen her grip.

"Are you-" Horn flexes her arm, tries to keep focused, but she can't seem to spit out the second half of her question-

-seriously about to cum from being strangled?

It's so beyond anything she could have fathomed that her arm slips in her distraction, and Mandragora throws her head back into her nose the next instant in a way that tells her she didn't even need to say it aloud. Heat trickles fast down both nostrils and through her bitten lip as the caster reverses her position, closes her hands around Horn's throat.

"Fuck, you-" She's coughing the words out. One of her eyes is red with broken blood vessels. Her hands aren't even that tight, or holding her in the right place to do the worst kind of damage. She's probably never been in a physical fight in her life where she had even glimpsed the 'winning' side. "Fuck you, you corn-fed Victorian cunt, it wasn't enough to try killing me? You wanted, to humiliate me too?"

Horn puts all her force into her legs, walking them inside Mandragora's guard to pound her feet hard into her chest. The feline goes flying through a brittle glass storefront, and when she chases her inside, she finds her scrambling to her feet, clutching a bleeding arm. A wall of rocks erupts behind Horn, sealing the door, the window, everything.

"Still want to blow us up, toy soldier?"

Horn growls, wordless fury building in her chest. Her team is on the other side, bleeding, enduring, and she can't clear it without burying them both.

"No, but maybe I'll use that hard head of yours as a battering ram if you keep talking." She wipes blood from her lip and flicks it across the floor.

A surge of energy bursts out of Mandragora and the rocks grow to triple their size, closing in the storefront, leaving about half the room to stand in. Horn staggers in the resulting quake and closes the distance between her and Mandragora, pouncing on her. A wolf on a kill.

Pin down the caster.

"You really want to die so badly?" Horn can't keep the sudden strain out of her voice.

"Don't you dare act like it's unbelievable or something! You don't get to pity me now-you're about a decade overdue! As if you have no idea how I've lived!" She's wiggling her wrists under Horn's grip, twisting from side to side in futile struggle.

"Oh, I've an idea," Horn breathes out, "'Mandragora'. Something that is ripped, screaming and crying, from the dirt. Did you choose that yourself? Or was it a 'gift'-" Her glare is molten, haloed in the curtain of wheat-colored hair obscuring them, "-from that beloved Leader of yours?"

Mandragora roars, thrashing and kicking, her fingers curling downwards and grasping, desperate to scratch.

"I'd do it again-I'd claw myself out from under as many bodies it takes to make you Victorians bleed even another drop-!"

Horn suddenly realizes how she's going to get them out of this.

It's unpleasant. It's nothing she would ever consider in any other circumstance.

She knows it'll work so she knows she's going to do it.

But it is all kinds of wrong.

"Alright, little feline-" Horn grimaces, and pushes her knee between Mandragora's legs, eliciting a scandalized gasp, "-bury us here, then. And when historians come to uncover us, maybe ten years from now, maybe one hundred years from now, they'll find Dublinn's caster and the 'White Wolf of Victoria'-"

She readjusts her arms, one around Mandragora's waist, the other raised to press a palm to her cheek in the most saccharine and overtly romantic display of affection she can imagine as she presses her forehead to hers.

"-locked together as star-crossed lovers that deserted their battlefield to die in one another's arms."

"You bitc-mmph-!"

Horn kisses her, hard, leans into her with her full weight, pulls at her slight waist and runs her fingers through her hair like she's never loved anyone else in her life.

Mandragora's nails destroy her back. She's screaming against her mouth, biting at her lips, but Horn readjusts for every inch of purchase she makes.

"Fucking Victorians-!" Mandragora howls, as Horn shifts her mouth over her throat, smothers it with bruising kisses, "-Faking's all you're good for-!"

"What about you?" Horn breathes into her ear, "Were you faking it when you nearly came from being choked out? Or are you that much of a pervert in general? Could it have been anyone but me behind you?" Horn strokes her hair out of her eyes, and Mandragora grabs her wrist so hard her nails are drawing blood.

"I don't know, I think you just love me that much that you would die in my arms."

There's something wrong with the kiss that follows. Tears prick the corners of Mandragora's eyes as she tries to force Horn back, but she's no match for her physical force. They're both exhausted.

The kissing becomes ever-so-slightly less performative on Horn's part. Mandragora's lips part just a touch wider, and even though Horn has been avoiding it, she finds her tongue sliding deep into her mouth.

"Hh...Hhah, fuck-" Mandragora whimpers, trembling with the urge to resist using her arts, overshoot her power. Horn's knee rubs slowly between her legs and she swears louder before she's silenced with an even deeper kiss.

"Mmhm." Horn exhales hard and gasps as Mandragora's cold hands slide under her tank, drag it up just over her breasts. This wasn't in the plan, she thinks distantly to herself.

"Victorian pig-" Mandragora spits, "-I bet you're, hah-used to sweating like an animal-on a leash with some crystal-studded plug up your ass, some noble's concubine because they pay big money to fuck their soldiers-"

Disgusting. Horn should be disgusted.

There should be no other emotions present at the revelation of such a filthy fantasy that her enemy has fashioned for her.

"You think about me a lot at night, don't you? All alone with your preoccupying hatred. Hope it keeps you warm, little feline."

"I was born from a grave. I've never been warm in my life."

"Then may my love for you sow warmth anew that entwines us together for the ages. I'll save you. You'll never be cold again under my embrace-"

"SHUT UP!"

The entire store quakes, the roof blowing off into the sky, the rocks vibrating so violently they become dust and powder overhead. Everything comes crumbling down.

On instinct, Horn throws her arms over Mandragora's head, ducks and covers until it's over.

They stare at one another. A voice from afar breaks the reverie.

"Aye! Captain?!"

They're both rolling away from each other, running opposite directions. Mandragora stops at the other side of the store, hand on the doorframe.

"-This never fucking happened, toy soldier."

"-Agreed."

(It's not the first lie they've told.)

#arknights #horn (arknights) #mandragora (arknights) #requests #my writing #foetp: impale you with my rock #dubious consent #toxic yuri #enemies with benefits #manipulation #these two really are the toxic yuri of all time #slowly working through requests #thank you for your patience! #horndragora

[craycraybluejay]

The urge to say one of the select few words or phrases that will have absolutely anyone ready and willing to beat the crap out of me

#compulsive #impulsive #stuff like slurs offensive phrases super edgy jokes about mass death and sex crimes #i dont believe any of that is right or a good idea mind you #i just wanna see what happens #because i want Something to happen #i want the anger i want the bloodshed i want to feel thrilled and scared and excited #i want to run my mouth till i cant even walk #saying anything and everything just to do damage #sighhhh #i'm so bored #i just want to get beat up for a situation i chose to create instead of completely inane shit #its no fun when people are just needlessly cruel to me #might as well #give them a real reason to hate me. to hurt me. #i hope the thought of killing me with their own hands makes them disgusted with how excited it makes them #i hope they are shaking with rage and hatred. seething. twitching. #call me a monster and i'll make one out of you yet #tell me you hate me and i will give you a reason to #no point in tryna change the minds of those kinds of people. take it in stride and throw the first real punch :3

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i only just found your au and i need everyone to have a happy ending so badly im gonna cry ;-; sally is gonna be so freakin upset when she wakes up for real and sees she decimated barnaby.

oh, Barnaby already has his arm stitched back on when she wakes up! and really, even if he didn't, that'd be the Least of her worries. she wakes up into a Real nightmare - partially of her (unintentional) making

#happy endings... well... yes and no. depends on what act you look at #act one? no! actually things get So Much Worse in an entirely festive new way! #act two? eh! sorta! its more bittersweet than anything #act three and four blend into each other so much that three doesn't have an 'ending' #but the final act - act four... well. who's to say! im still workshopping what i want to happen #but i do know it's still gonna have at Least a bittersweet tinge to it #wh lights out au #rambles from the bog #there are consequences and not everyone Makes It. i dont like stories where everything wraps up perfectly fine #even if it hurts! i like it when things hurt in a good way. those stories where the ending is overall positive #but Enough Happened that its just... its an ache. looking at where someone used to be. you know? #my favorite shows and books and fics have ended with me smiling while sobbing bc it yes it Hurts but it was So Fucking Good #and while i wouldnt be able to handle rewatching/rereading due to Emotional Damage... #i think of them fondly and often and theyre Important to me #perfectly happy endings just rub me wrong. it always feels like there's something Missing despite it all being idyllic #i cant let my own stories - original or aus or whatever - have that kind of end #so if thats what people are hoping for! you've come to the wrong person and the wrong au! #i like to be kind but that rarely extends to my creative works! #i like it messy and painful and bittersweet and i like to be Ruthless with my creations with no compromise #sometimes characters need to fight. or leave. or die. or make serious mistakes. etc. #but anyway! anyway.... #i will say that there isn't a happy ending for Everyone. and for others it's... complicated. again - bittersweet

[honestlyvan]

Let me be absolutely clear -- the problems with Tumblr will keep getting worse if the disabled minority and the trans people and the people frothing at the mouth at the opportunity to yell at a transphobe, keep @’ing staff and the developers on this site, tell them to kys, because in the meanwhile the transphobes and racists and white supremacists will keep using the actual tools Tumblr provides for blocking and reporting, further poisoning the datasets used for moderation, and encouraging the idea that using the official tools does nothing to basically ensure the only statistically meaningful data available to Automattic is poisoned, poisoned all the way down, poisoned beyond usability.

Hatespeech and bias needs to be reported for it to be considered statstically significant to act on from a developer point of view. Suicide baiting and spamming any of the official means of communication will get you eliminated as a spammer, even if you’re peppering legitimate criticism within your ventpost about how you hate the new thing. You are playing the TE/RFs game.

#van stuff #the biggest reason we don't have an easily accessible 'report hatespeech' button is a) because people misused the old one #and b) because it's not satistically significant enough to be the first thing people want to report #this is like. COMMON fucking knowledge that moderation on Tumblr is 99% automated and extremely cheesable #and you now who are cheesing it? TRANSPHOBES!!! #Like this is not even a 'the developers won't care' kind of thing #this is a 'THE DEVELOPERS NEED HARD DATA TO JUSTIFY MAKING CHANGES' #if the ARE actively malicious then the data contradicting everything they're saying will FORCE changes #and if they mean what they say when they say they value the site for its vibrant culture #then giving them hard data to share with unconvinced people signing off on them having the budget to change things will ONLY help #the whole 'let's yell at staff every time anything happens' is a shibboleth #You're all being fucking exhausting #I want to quit Tumblr because if the userbase is gonna be like this!!! #If ALL I SEE for DAYS ON END is 'staff this' 'staff that' #that's JUST GIVING ME WORSE ANXIETY ABOUT THIS SITE GOING DOWN #'this change is bad for disabled users' YOUR NEEDLESS CONSTANT HOSTILITY AND PANIC RAISING IS ALSO BAD FOR ME A DISABLED USER #WHY DO I HAVE TO BE THE COLLATERAL DAMAGE??? #'Oh staff could make so much money if they only listened to feedback' you fuckers DON'T LEAVE FEEDBACK THOUGH #you just @ Staff and think that that's statistically meaningful data they can use #Fuck's sake #And that's not counting all the times staff *did* implement changes we wanted for years... AND YOU ALL STILL COMPLAINED #WE MODDED TAG VIEWING IN FOR YEARS AND NOW WHEN IT'S OFFICIAL YOU FUCKERS DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO TURN IT OFF #Fucking EXHAUSTING the lot of you

[reddd-robin]

I feel so crazy about that last episode I knew literally in my soul that the lich would appear eventually and be named the last scholar of golb. Throws up everywherr

#i canttt do this. i love betty and simon so much this new view on their dynamic makes me feel crazy #its undoubtedly like a strange power dynamic that simon is unaware of (heees kind of dumb but not a bad person by any means) that drives- #-betty to act how she does with him at first. like her perfect idolized interaction with a author she loves dearly #and for her to put aside her life like that for him in this manic sort of perfect scenario shes so enthralled by #gah i live them so much. simon being unaware of this and it damaging their relationship in the future unknowingly #she gives so much man. not to say simon doesn't i think hes just as great a lover as betty wanted but betty has this endlessness to her- #-devoting her time and her life and her dreams to this perfect world she gets to live in now #i do think she relaxes with it further into their relationship when she feels less like she has to be cool or prove herself to someone she- #-idolizes. and that they get better and closer and more equal (i say theyre never truly equal considering it revolves around simons whims)- #betty really learns to love for that period of their life. for however long it takes them to get to 'fianceès' its really their perfect life #and then everything happens. the crown. the portal. the war. the world ending. ice king. betty in ooo. and its all ruined again and she cant #acess simon so he is again returned to this state of a forbidden person she desperately chases and gives up her life for. she regresses to- #-when their dynamic was unknown woman and author she loves dearly appearing before her eyes #and that unnatainable aspect is what drives her insane. she cant do anything this time. he doesnt even know who *he* is. its hopeless #her trying to date ice king and freaking out about it because this perfect picture is gone and she doesnt /like/ him like this #agh. bety. siom #fionna and cake spoilers #fionna and cake #talking2myself

[opens-up-4-nobody]

The way that the sun hits leaves and clouds. I feel like I could watch the colors change forever. If I could slow down for that long.

#i keep forgetting a have a deck now. i can go outside and sit there #im doing that now. sitting in the corner of a deck full of empty chairs. staring up at a big pine tree where the sun is striking it gold #at the top. i like how thr light hits the needles. if the sky was black it would look like its on fire #theres a tree outside my bedroom window too. in the morning. after the sunrises it catches thr light and refelcts the most perfect shade #of green. the kind of green that flutters translucent like youre looking up from the bottom of a pool. the light the light its all about #the sun. everything everything is about the sun. when i start my project I'll be focused on understanding how organisms catch the light bc #its so incredible and complicated it would make my chest swell to bursting if there wasnt an empty bleeding wound in my gut. a #metaphorical wound of course. i dunno. its just difficult bc right now my mood is inflated by hormones. not even that much i think I'm #just at what shoulf be a normal level of happiness so i can be slow for a minute. but just a minute bc i kno it won't last long #sorry i cant shut the fuck up when im like this but i dunno i just feel like i havr to document these ephemeral moments before they're gone #its just difficult when you kno the world is so full of beautiful things but 95% of the time your eyes are too clouded to see it #everyone tells me i work too much but i feel like im just staring off into space being miserable 60% of the time. ive just done so much #damage over the past few years im coming into a new lab as damaged goods. ive got an albatross around my neck in thr form of data i #collected so self destructively that the idea of having anything to do with its publication makes me hate myself. everytime someone tells #me good job on collecting so so so much data it feels like they're congratulating me for breaking something within myself. like i slit my #wrists and bled out on a lab bench and theyre saying good job and theyre excited for me and i have to grin and bear it and pretend im #excited too. but im not bc ive burned everything inside me to ash. so when im elevated enough to be distracted by the clouds and trees it #feels like healing. like seeing angels. beautiful ephemeral beams of light. i wish i could slow down enough to watch them. but now thr sun #is hitting the horizon and the sky is going gradually dark and i should go inside. bc i have many things to do in the morning. so that's #what ill do. and ill try to get more thsn 6hrs of sleep but its hard when your body is vibrating over with energy #but at least i dont feel tired in the morning. something in my head must be on fire #unrelated #hm i should maybe add a tw to this #tw self injury #but its the kind thst makes u good at ur Job. its the kind ppl reward. so they don't understand when u say its destroying ur life #but im trying to get better. i say as i gear up for an insane semester lol but i do mean it