#⋆ ― ✧ way up. way up. way up to the moon! / answered ask.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Werewolf

There's something terrorising your town every full moon. And a stroke of bad luck has you running into it more than once.

There's something terrorising your town.

The chickens are turning up dead, torn apart with their feathers and blood clumped together all over the yard. The pigs spend every full moon squealing and running around their pens like they can smell a predator in the air. The hunters say there's strange tracks out in the deep woods, tracks bigger than any wolf they've ever seen.

And there's scratches on your door - deep, gouged out claw marks like something wants to dig its way into your house.

You try not to get worked up about it.

It's probably just a fox or a coyote, right? Everyone knows they steal a chicken now and then. And you've seen the six-packs of beer your dad takes when he goes hunting. Dog tracks look pretty damn big when you're drunk and it's dark out, don't they?

You try not to get worked up about it, but every full moon you double check your locks.

You're squinting at the local paper when your best friend comes up behind you and slings his arm across your shoulders. He plucks the paper out of your hand and scoffs at the headline.

"Chickens found dead at McKinnly farm? No one should be surprised by that. Old McKinnly doesn't even have the coop properly fenced in."

"Hey! I wasn't done reading that."

He balls the paper up and tosses it into the dustbin with a smooth overhead throw.

"You are now. C'mon y/n, don't tell me you're buying into all this werewolf business too?"

Your best friend towers over you, every inch of him well bred, football star muscle. You have to crane your neck to properly glare at him.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's just sensational nonsense."

"Oh yeah? So you ain't scared of a big bad wolf breaking into your bedroom one night?"

It's your turn to scoff. "That's a pervert, not a wolf. How's a wolf even supposed to open a window?"

The school bell rings before he can give you an answer.

He groans. "I've got extra practice again tonight. Will you come watch me? We can get pizza after."

You grin. "Breaking News! Star quarterback needs his favourite cheerleader around to make life bearable."

He flicks your forehead. "Damn right I do. So whatcha say?"

"Sure. Someone's gotta be around to keep you on your toes."

It's only when he's long out of sight that you remember - you're one night away from the full moon.

He destroys his team mates at practice. When he's pounding down the field, head down and his fingers curled like claws around the ball, he almost looks inhuman.

After practice, he catches you before you can scramble away and rubs his sweaty face all over you.

"Ewwww." You shove him at him unsuccessfully. "You do that every time! It's so gross!"

"Gotta be faster than that squirt," he laughs.

By the time he's done in the locker room, you've already ordered pizza for the both of you.

You head up to the overlook, his old Mustang growling down the highway.

The overlook is exactly what it sounds like - a hill high over town with a great view of the twinkling streets far below. It's a clear night, and the almost full moon casts a silvery shadow over everything.

He slings his arm across the back of your seat and complains when you pick the olives off your side of the pizza.

"God, I hope your taste in men is better than your taste in pizza."

"My taste in men and pizza are equally questionable, thank you very much."

He laughs, "At least you're self aware. Speaking of guys, I know Murrey from Algebra asked you to prom, and Dave from Homeroom."

You groan. "How did you even hear about that?"

"I've got ears like a wolf." He turns to face you. "What did you tell them?"

"I said no. You and I go together every year."

"Atta girl." He sounds pleased.

You offer him some of your discarded olives and he bites them straight out of your fingers.

"Y'know, lots of girls were awfully disappointed you didn't ask them. When are you gonna get yourself a girlfriend, mister star quarterback?"

He leans down and ruffles your hair. "I got you in my life, don't I? That's plenty."

Eventually, his arm finds it's way to your shoulder, and he pulls you against his side. He's warmer than you and when you curl up against him, he smirks and says that's what you get for being hopelessly under dressed.

There's an old love song on the radio and you fall asleep with your hand knotted in his jacket.

He drives home extra slow and when he shakes you awake, his hands linger on your waist.

You rub your eyes groggily. "Goodnight mister wolf."

You're already halfway up the driveway before he replies, his voice too soft to hear.

"Goodnight little lamb."

On the night of the full moon, you wake up to a cloudy sky and your dog scratching at your bedroom door to be let out.

You struggle into your slippers and mutter about better toilet training. When you open the back door, he slips past your legs and shoots off into the trees. Yawning, you rest your elbows on the porch railing and try not to fall asleep.

It's only when you hear him yelping that you come awake fully.

"Cruiser? What's wrong boy?"

The street lights reach all the way to the edge of your lawn but the trees beyond are black dark. You make you way down carefully, your sense of unease growing with every whistle he ignores.

Your dad left his old wind up torch near the shed and you grab it. It whirs to life with a dull flicker.

Cruiser is whimpering louder now. You follow the sound of it, ducking under branches and trying not to slip in your flimsy slippers.

The clouds clear and for a minute or two, the forest is bright enough that you barely need the torch. You find Crusier backed up against a tree, his tail tucked between his legs. He ignores you when you call him, staring out into the dark and whining like you've never heard before.

"What's wrong boy? What's out there?"

You can't help the fear you feel. Your dog is hard to scare and you've never seen him this frightened.

Twigs snap in the gloom and you swing your torch around wildly. You try and tell yourself that it might be a deer, wandering in from the deep forest. But all you can think about is the local paper.

"Chickens torn apart. Vet suspects large wolf on the prowl."

But it can't be here, right? You're practically on the main road. You reach down and grab Cruiser's collar, your heart racing. The dog barely acknowledges you when you tug on it.

"Heel Cruiser. C'mon boy."

You try and whisper, but your voice comes out high and nervous. His whimper changes into a low growl that vibrates through his collar.

That's when the moon comes out again. And you see the werewolf.

It's coat is dark and thick, and it's crouched halfway behind a tree. Less than twenty feet away.

How the hell did it get so close without you hearing it?! Adrenaline slams into you and your heart skips into overdrive. You turn on your heel and run.

The funny thing about adrenaline is the way your own body takes control. You duck under branches before your conscious mind even realises they're there. You run faster than you ever thought possible, trees streaking by in black blurs.

You hear footsteps behind you but you can't tell if it's Cruiser or the wolf. You don't bother checking. You just keep your head down and sprint like the Devil is on your heels. Hell, he might be.

The werewolf catches you just as you break out of the tree-line. It slams into you from the side and sends you sprawling.

As you scramble to your knees, you get your first good look at the terror of the town. It's bigger than any wolf you've ever seen. Closer to the size of a small grizzly, with the thick fur to match. It's down on all fours, but it's forelegs are unusually long. It's paws are strangely misshapen and for a second, they look almost like hands. It's body feels more ape than wolf.

Oh, but it's teeth are all canine. All sharp, curving fangs, shining with spit.

It sniffs the air and with a start you realise that you're bleeding. Your palms are sliced up from trying to cushion your fall. Blood, you think numbly. Blood is supposed to make carnivores more aggressive. Whett their appetite.

Staring up at its drooling maw and narrowed eyes, you find it hard to believe anything could be more bloodthirsty.

It lunges for your throat and if it weren't for Cruiser, you'd be dead.

The dog shoots out from the forest, barking loud enough to wake the neighbourhood. He jumps at the creature's back, sinking his teeth into the fleshy muscle where neck and shoulder meet.

The werewolf roars.

It reaches up and tears Cruiser off with one nasty yank. Your dog thuds into the ground with an ugly cracking sound.

You scream - half terror and half rage. Cruiser is trying to stand, but can't manage it. One paw hangs uselessly. Oh, your poor, brave dog.

You act without thinking.

You lunge forward and punch straight at the werewolf's nose. It's hard and wet, and your fist keeps going even after contact. His teeth leave shallow cuts on your knuckles.

The werewolf yelps. Like a kicked puppy.

It backs away a few steps before lowering it's head and snarling. It gears up for another pounce.

That's when your daddy shoots it. The blast from his shotgun knocks the werewolf right out of the air.

It crashes down and scrambles to its feet. Its head swings wildly between you and your father. It growls one final time before turning on its heel and bounding into the trees.

How the hell could it even stand after a blast like that? You shudder, your eyes fixed on the trees.

You can hear your dad on the phone, frantically reporting to the Sheriff's office. You sink to your knees next to Cruiser. He draws his eyes up to yours and whines.

"My brave boy..." You stroke his head with the back of your hand and accidentally stain his fur with blood. "I'm so sorry. I'm so damn sorry."

He cranes his neck and licks the tears off your cheek. Just like when he was a puppy. You laugh, high and hysterical. And once you start, you can't stop.

Somewhere in the forest, the wolf howls.

You can't sleep at all after that. And when the Deputies question you, it takes almost all night. They don't believe you entirely, but the tracks their dogs pick up are strange enough to garner a few nervous looks.

You're on the porch, clutching a warm drink and watching the sunrise, when your best friend finds you.

He sweeps you up in a crushing hug, his cheek pressed firmly against your hair.

"Are you okay? I came as soon as I heard."

You pull away, confused. He cups your face in his hand and gently twists it left and right, scanning for any cuts or bruises.

"What? Who told you?"

He cooks his head. "You did. A few minutes ago."

Did you? You don't remember calling him. But you're tired and frightened. Maybe you just can't remember everything.

He sits you down on the porch swing and carefully inspects your palms while you tell him what happened.

"It wasn't a wolf. You believe me right? I saw it clear as day."

"You were pumped up on adrenaline and fighting for your life. You can't be sure what you saw." He sighs, "Maybe it was a wolf or maybe it was a bear or maybe it was some exotic animal that we've never heard about. But really y/n, it sure as hell wasn't a werewolf."

"Yeah... but..."

In the daylight, werewolves and horror feel silly. Illogical. You aren't a kid anymore, you shouldn't be letting your imagination run wild. There's definitely a reasonable explanation.

But every time you think about it, the more sure you feel. That creature was nothing normal or logical at all. It was wrong. Anatomy all out of proportion, eyes too bright and aware, the smell of it more like human sweat than dog musk.

No, you didn't imagine any of it. It wasn't a wolf at all.

"How's Cruiser doing?"

You take a sip of your drink and try not to cry. "Not good. The emergency vet came by and rushed him to surgery. Multiple broken bones they say, maybe some internal bleeding."

He sucks in a breath. "Oh y/n, I'm so sorry."

He opens his arms and you curl up against him gratefully. His letterman jacket is soft against your skin and the smell of him envelopes you.

"I still remember the day you got him for me," you say.

He rubs soothing circles across your back.

"He was such a runt back then. All eyes and big floppy ears. When you pulled him out of your jacket, I didn't realise he was a puppy. I thought you got me some weird stuffed teddy."

He laughs. "I tried putting a bow on him y'know. But he kept tryna bite my fingers off."

You laugh too. "I could never figure out why he didn't like you."

"Jealousy I say. Didn't want me to steal you away."

You punch his arm, smiling. "You're the only guy who'll compete with a dog for my attention."

"If that's what it takes. Put a leash on me right now if you want."

You scoff and curl up closer against him. "I would but they don't come in your size big guy."

You're too tired to notice the bruise on your best friend's nose, or the way he flinches when you touch his side. For a little while, you make the awful mistake of forgetting about the beast.

Prom comes faster then you expect. Your dress gets measured and tailored and steamed. You spend days practicing different hair styles. Cruiser limps around behind you, whining for treats like he wasn't touch and go just a month ago. The moon grows thin and then round again.

When you pull up at your best friend's house, his parents are on their way to a party of their own. His mother gives you a peck on the cheek and says you look stunning and to not forget the keys when you leave.

You laugh and wave them off and almost forget about the full moon streaming through the trees.

The house is quiet and you make your way to his room, your heels hanging from your fingers.

"Hey princess!" You knock on his door. "Are you ready yet? I'm coming in!"

You open the door to an empty room, his tux still on its hanger.

"Oh. My. God. How are you still not done?"

You can hear the shower running and you pound at the door. "We're gonna be late! I swear I'm going to kill you when you get out of there."

No response.

"Hey! I know you can hear me!"

Still nothing.

You try the handle and the door swings open a crack. Steam billows out and you slap a hand over your eyes before you can see anything too revealing.

"Hurry it up! We're gonna miss all the good songs if you don't get dressed soon. Do you really wanna slow dance to something Mr Jared the gym teacher picks out?"

You hear the slap of footsteps on wet tile and breath a sigh of relief. "Did all that football practice knock your ears outta wack? I've been yelling at you since I got here."

Something growls, low and deep.

Your eyes shoot open and you step back. But you're still too slow to react and the werewolf leaps at you. Its heavier than a man and you tumble to the floor together, its paws pinning you down by the shoulders.

Its snout is right in front of your face, almost touching your nose. Lips curl away from awfully long fangs.

It growls almost like a man, almost like it's saying, "Mine."

You scream, kicking and tossing and failing to get away. It's claws prick holes in the satin of your dress and draw little beads of blood.

You scream your best friend's name, terrified that the beast got him too. You're going to die, you think desperately, you're going to die and your poor mother won't even be able to refund your prom dress. If you weren't screaming, you might have laughed.

But the monster doesn't kill you.

Instead, it licks the tears off your cheek. Just like Cruiser did a month ago. It growls again, but the sound is lighter. Pleased almost.

You grow still, confused and terrified of provoking it. Your best friend's room is cluttered with football gear - trophies and jerseys and signed helmets. The moon shines dully off all of it. And you're in the very centre, with a monster pinning you to the ground.

The moon dips behind a cloud and the werewolf changes right before your eyes. Hair and snout receding, his eyes darkening from wolf amber to warm brown.

It's only his teeth that stay the same. All sharp points that peak through his lips.

Your best friend is on top of you, totally naked and still warm from the shower.

"I didn't want to hurt you y/n, I swear."

His voice is lower somehow, like the wolf's growl is just under the surface.

You're too shocked to move. Too shocked to scream. This must be a dream. It's too surreal to be real.

He leans down and kisses you on the cheek. "I wanted to tell you. But it would have sounded crazy. I grow claws and teeth on the full moon? I heal faster than I used to? I can smell when you're ovulating and when you're on your period?"

He pulls back and tilts his head. "When we were kids, we promised we wouldn't keep secrets. And now you know."

"You...you were outside my house that night."

He laughs. "I'm outside your house every night dummy. That was just the night you caught me."

"Why?"

He shakes his head the way he always does when you say something dumb. "To keep you safe. To keep other animals away from you. To protect you, like I said I would."

His hands slip from your shoulders to your waist. "But now you know."

He grins, his teeth awfully sharp. "Now I can make you just like me."

He holds you down and kisses you and nips at your neck hard enough to draw blood. And when the clouds clear from the moon, you feel your teeth start to lengthen.

Something is terrorising your town. And you should have know better than to cross its path.

[shouyuus]

Pitfighter!vi who makes you keep eye contact with her and say her name while she fucks you because she wants you to know that it’s HER who’s making you feel that good 🙏 (request ish but also responding to the vi thirsts thingy)

i... have such a thing for eye contact!vi u have no idea.

18+, mndi, smut, slight angst, and fluff at the end

"eyes on me, princess --" she says, twisting your jaw towards her as she fucks her fingers into you, her makeup in black streaks running down her cheeks, her skin peppered with cuts and bruises, fat and dark as summer plums.

you whine, blinking up at her, your lashes clumped with salt as she fucks you through the nth orgasm that night, and you know that it's one of the bad nights, one of those nights where she comes home angry off a loss and already drunk. you bite your lips, her name trembling on the tip of your tongue even as she forces your mouth open to bury her own groans in the depth of your throat.

"moan for me --" she says, her voice a honey-bee's rasp against your lips, thick and syrup-sweet, but just as suffocating, the way it slicks across your tongue, "say my name --" she breathes.

you hiss, eyes squeezing shut as her dull nails scrape along your inner walls, making your legs kick out, your belly roiling within you at the relentless pressure.

"vi --" you force out, the breath punching from you as she angles her fingers up into that one gummy spot inside you that has you keening.

"i said look --" she clasps her whole hand around your jaw, squeezing so tight your mouth falls open, spit collecting at the corners of your mouth, "at --" she thrusts three fingers into you, "me."

you force your eyes open to meet her gaze -- and it's well-dark depths. you make a noise somewhere between a sob and a whimper, feeling her fingers digging into the soft plush of your cheeks as she gives you face a tiny little shake.

"vi, please --" and you don't even know what you're begging for anymore. mercy, perhaps, or just some kind of absolution. she stares at you, her gaze flickering from one eye to the other, as if searching for the answer there to a question she's never had courage enough to ask out loud.

finally, she lets you go, and your head thumps back against the pillows, though your hand reaches out to clasp around her wrists as she holds you by the hips and fucks you into the mattress, groaning when she feels you clamp down around her.

she laces her fingers with yours, this one single tenement of softness, as she groans, feeling you come apart around her.

she doesn't say much as she pulls out of you, staring at the shiny slick that coats her skin, brings it to her lips for a taste before shooting you a sharp, crescent-moon grin.

"violet..."

and she stills at the sound of your voice wrapped around the full weight of her name -- like a wish, or a promise. she sighs, leaning down to drop a kiss to your shoulder. you sit up, your fingers still linked through hers.

"it was a bad night," she'd say, looking anywhere but at you, pulling away to run her hands under the murky water from her tiny sink. you watch her from the bed, the mattress nothing more than a few stacks of cushions shoved together, empty bottles littering the floor.

"yeah?" you ask, shifting back a few inches as she settles on the edge of the bed, her head hung low. you reach forward, waiting for her to pull away. but when she doesn't, you curl yourself around the bend of her back and press your cheek to her shoulder, careless of the inky black paint that transfers from her skin to yours.

she lets you hold her for a few, long, solid minutes. they slick by like river water, made thick with silt or shimmer. you trace your fingers along the dark, smudged-out shapes of her tattoos -- and you think to yourself that she's beautiful -- even like this, broken and bruised and so, so angry.

"look at me," you whisper, turning her head with a finger, and she gives a the tiniest bit of resistance before letting you coax her face towards yours, her eyes bright in the slantwise light.

the moon slits a scimitar sliver through the sky, and down here, even the stars take on a sickly purple glow. but, as vi looks you over, allows herself the pleasure of admiring your face, she thinks that you somehow have the gall to be beautiful, even now.

she doesn't stop to think that you might be thinking the same of her.

you are.

"have you got a fight tomorrow?" you ask, reaching out to trace a thumb across the smudged paint on her cheeks. your finger comes away dark, but the tattoo beneath her eye's just a bit more visible now. she shakes her head.

"no. medic said i've gotta take a few days off."

she scoffs, her gaze cutting away.

"good," you say, "a break is good."

"i don't need a break," she gruffs, and you laugh.

"i know. but... that means you can sleep in tomorrow."

she quirks an eyebrow, "i can sleep in any day i want. the fights don't start till --"

"i know, vi -- i'm just saying," you say, imploring as a grin twitches over her lips, "we can... do something together, if you'd like."

vi blinks, "we?"

you purse your lips, looking down at where your fingers are inches from hers.

"unless --"

"yeah. no -- i mean -- it's fine. we -- we can."

and for a second, she sounds so nervous, so uncertain, that you almost laugh. because since when has vi been this bashful in your presence? but when you look up again, it's to catch her watching you with a strange, halfway light in her eyes. and you're not sure if it's the moon or the stars, or simply the cheap alcohol eating through both your veins, but you fancy that it looks just a little bit like affection, stained at the edges with tenderness.

it spreads warmth through your limbs, and tingles at your nose and your fingertips.

"okay then," you say, nodding, even as she pushes you back onto her makeshift mattress and slots her lips over yours once more.

the kiss is long, but soft. and when she pulls away, you're both just a bit breathless. though, not on the heavy, panting way you usually are off the deep, desperate kisses she gives you. no, this is something sweeter, something lighter. something that tastes very much like heartache at the back of your tongue.

"c'mere..." you say, tugging her into you even as the pair of your collapse onto her bed, her rucking the thin blanket haphazardly over the shape of your bodies, nothing more than a tangle of limbs, her cheek pillowed against your sternum, her lengthening hair tickling your chin.

you run a few fingers through the rough patches at the sides of her head.

"the dye's coming out."

vi grunts, her body heavy as she sinks into the heat of your embrace.

"whatever. let it grow."

you grin to yourself, thinking that you'd always loved the natural color of her hair -- bright as rubies in the hungering dark. but as you thread your fingers through them again and again, vi shifts against you, looping her arms around your middle to pull you into her.

she mumbles something into the skin of your chest that you don't quite catch.

"hm?" you ask, leaning down.

she sighs, her breath hot as it washes over your collarbones.

"you'll still be here in the morning, yeah?"

you pause, wondering for a second if it's a question or a plea.

you let out a tiny laugh.

"if you want me to be, then... yeah. i will."

vi only curls her fingers against your waist. she burrows her face more deeply into your chest, holding you close, and then closer.

"right," she says, shifting till the both of you are comfortable, "yeah," she adds after a few more seconds.

then, she lifts her head to look at you, her eyes catching yours in the dust-stricken moonlight -- and you can swear that she's smiling.

"good."

"goodnight, violet," you whisper, as her eyelids flutter shut, and she softens against you.

"night, princess. see you in the morning..." she says, her voice quiet and just a bit slurred.

"yeah. see you then."

[uhhlifeig]

Cozy - Dec. 25th - word count: 348 - @wolfstarmicrofic - (happy holidays!!)

It was snowing outside, making the land look like a scene straight from a postcard.

Sirius and Remus were inside, cuddling in one of the squashy couches in the Gryffindor common room. 

Remus was nestled into Sirius’s chest, arms around his boyfriend but somehow still managing to read a book. Meanwhile, Sirius held onto Remus tightly and watched the snow gently drift down from the heavens.

“Hey, Re,” Sirius said after a while of silence. “What do you think you’re gonna do after Hogwarts?”

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Remus answered, voice a little muffled because of the way he was tucked into Sirius. “I mean, no Wizarding places would want me, because- well, you know. I might be able to get a Muggle job, though.”

“But what if you didn’t have a furry little problem? What would you want to do?” Sirius asked.

“Ooh, well, er. I’d love to be a teacher, y’know, of magical subjects. It would be a lot of fun, and quite a few people have told me that I’m a good teacher.” Remus chuckled softly. “Dunno why, though. I’ve swore like a sailor at tutoring sessions before.” 

Then, taking his head off of Sirius’s chest and looking up at him, Remus asked, “What would you want to do?”

“Ooh, tough question, Moons.” Sirius thought for a little while before responding. “If it weren’t for all of this war stuff happening, I’d want to be a Healer. Maybe Auror though, because it sounds awesome,” he smiled.

“Yeah, that does sound awesome. Say, where would you wanna go after Hogwarts? Places to live and stuff, I mean.” Remus fiddled with Sirius’s jumper absentmindedly, waiting for a response.

“I’d maybe get us a seaside cottage, and then connect the fireplace to the Floo so that James and Pete can come over, and then we can spend holidays together like we’re doing now,” Sirius smiled. 

“Sounds cozy,” Remus replied drowsily. “Can’t wait to unwrap presents with you and the boys while you act like five-year-olds.”

“Oi! That’s not nice. I’m a very esteemed seven-year-old, thank you very much.”

[daryltwdixon]

Know It's For the Better

Was listening to Phoebe Bridger's Waiting Room today and my heart hurt thinking of Daryl pining, longing, and angsty while critical of himself. Never letting himself have you.

There are moments when he thinks it’d be easier to walk away, to stop feeling like this, but the idea of losing even the smallest piece of you feels like a wound he’d never come back from.

The door swings shut behind Daryl with barely a sound—he’d oiled the hinges last week after they started squealing loud enough to wake the dead. Tonight, he steps out onto the porch, pausing when he catches sight of you sitting on the steps, your figure framed by the soft glow of moonlight.

For a second, he hesitates, unsure whether to join you or leave you to the quiet. But his feet don’t carry him back inside. Instead, he leans against the porch railing, his shoulders pressing into the rough wood, watching you from the shadows. He’s always been good at staying silent when he needs to, moving like a ghost, unnoticed until he wants to be seen.

You don’t look up, your attention on the blade of grass you’re twirling between your fingers. Your body is relaxed, at ease in the stillness of the night. There’s something easy about the way you sit there, your body relaxed, your hair catching the faint silver light of the moon. You look at home in this quiet, the same way you do when you’re laughing with the others or tearing through walkers like it’s second nature. He doesn’t know which version of you hits him harder—the one who smiles without hesitation, or the one who stares a little too long at nothing, lost in her own thoughts.

He likes both. That’s the problem.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been watching you at this point—too long, probably. Long enough that every inch of you is burned into his memory, like some kind of cruel brand he’s too far gone to scrape off. And not just tonight, in the moonlight that floods the neighborhood. But always. He's always watching you. He tells himself he’s just keeping watch, keeping you safe, and that is true... But there's more. He knows he'd be lying if he said that was all it was. When it comes to you, he can't stop...watching, looking--admiring.

You shift slightly, leaning back on your hands, your face turned up to the stars like you’re trying to soak them in. It’s so damn effortless—the way you exist, the way you look at the world like it might still have something left to offer you. He wonders what it feels like, that kind of quiet hope. Wonders what it would feel like if you ever looked at him that way.

He’s too old, too broken. Too rough around the edges to be anything you could want. Hell, he wouldn’t even know what to do if he had the chance. Wouldn’t know how to hold you let alone touch you. And definitely, most definitely, wouldn’t know how to tell you just how much space you’ve taken up in his head without scaring you off.

“Something on your mind?” you ask suddenly, not looking back. Your voice is light, teasing, like you already know the answer.

Shit, of course you knew he was there. It was hard to sneak around you, he should've known by now. Daryl clears his throat, pushing the words back down where they belong. “Nah,” he mutters, glancing at the dark horizon instead of you.

You hum softly, like you don’t believe him, and lean back on your hands. The way your shoulders tilt, your neck arching just slightly, still turned to him with your eyes closed, the curve of your cheek catching the moonlight.--it sends an ache through him. The urge to reach out...to feel, to caress, to just touch you.

He wonders if you can feel it too—that pull between you, like some invisible thread tying him to you no matter how far he tries to stay. He wonders if you’ve ever noticed the way his hands shake when you’re close, or the way he looks at you like you’re something he doesn’t know how to hold but can’t bring himself to let go of.

But he’d never tell you. Not ever. He’s too messed up, too worn down and rough from this world and the one before it. It’s better this way—better to stay at a distance, close enough to watch over you but far enough to keep from ruining whatever this is.

Know it’s for the better, he tells himself, over and over, the words circling his mind like a chant, praying one day he'd believe them.

It’s for the better—because you deserve someone who could give you more than silence and scars.

It’s for the better—because he doesn’t know how to hold you without feeling like his hands might break something delicate, like he’s never been made for soft things.

It’s for the better—because every part of him is rough-edged and jagged, and you? You’re all the things he’s spent his life convincing himself he doesn’t deserve.

It’s for the better—because letting himself think otherwise, even for a second, feels like the kind of hope that’d split him wide open.

“You ever think about it?” you ask, breaking his spiraling thoughts, your eyes on him. He's not sure how long since you opened them and had been staring at him, “What life would’ve been like if this hadn’t happened?”

It’s not a sad question, not the way you ask it. Just curious, like you’re thinking about what you’d do with a world full of empty possibilities.

Daryl shrugs, “Ain’t much to think about.”

The truth is, he doesn’t want to imagine what life would’ve been like if everything hadn’t gone to hell. Because then he wouldn’t have known you, wouldn’t have found you. And even if he can’t let himself have you, he can’t picture his life without you in it.

You stare up at the sky again then, “No dreams? No big plans?”

He huffs out a breath almost like a laugh, looking down at the worn wood under his boots. “Don’t think I’d be much different. Probably still out there somewhere, bein' a screw up.”

You don't laugh, don't reply right away, and yet when he looks up the look in your eyes still makes his skin rise with goosebumps.

“You really don't see how good you are, do you?” you say casually, like it’s a fact you’d bet your life on.

He freezes, his throat tightening, because how the hell are you supposed to say something like that and then just go back to looking at the stars like it didn’t knock the world off its axis? He shifts his weight, the words crawling up the back of his throat before he can stop them.

“You should get some rest,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he means for it to be. His fingers tighten around the edge of the railing like it might keep him steady.

Despite his dismissiveness, you don’t look away, and for a second, the world narrows to just the two of you, the soft rustle of the wind, the faint hum of crickets in the distance.

“You should too,” you say softly, finally standing and brushing the dust off your hands.

As you turn toward him, you hesitate, like you’re weighing something in your mind. Then you close the small distance between you, stepping up onto the porch until you’re standing in front of him.

Daryl straightens instinctively, unsure what you’re about to do, his hand still gripping the railing. You tilt your head, your gaze searching his face, and then your hand moves. Slowly, deliberately, you reach out and brush a strand of hair out of his face, your fingers lingering just a moment too long against his temple.

His breath hitches, and he feels rooted to the spot, like one wrong move might break whatever quiet spell you’ve cast.

"You didn't answer my question." you say softly, your voice steady but gentle.

He swallows hard, the words tangling in his throat. You’re looking at him expectantly but with a kindness so soft it hurts, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from leaning into your touch.

"I uh--" Daryl clears his throat, "I dunno,"

For a moment, your fingers linger on his face before you let your hand fall, the warmth of your touch still ghosting across his skin. You smile then, small and quiet, but it’s enough to make the knot in his chest loosen, just a little.

“Goodnight, Daryl.” you murmur, your voice soft as you step back.

But you don’t leave right away. Your eyes linger on his for a second longer, your expression open, unguarded, like you’re waiting for him to say something—do something.

He doesn’t. He can’t. It's for the better.

“Night,” he rasps finally, the word uneven and raw, but it’s enough to make you smile one last time before you turn and disappear inside.

Know it's for the better, he chants in his head again. But damn if it doesn’t feel like he’s been left out here with half of himself locked on the other side of that door.

[marscardigan]

to the moon and back

remus lupin x reader

summary: your son is just like his father. remus hates that.

warnings: angst, mentions of self-hatred and anxiety, panic attack, cursing, not proofread!!

When you gave birth to Teddy, the marauders delight, you noticed he looked just like his father. The same lopsided smile, the little frown, how he looked at you with pure adoration and joy... everything reminded you of Remus. You adored that. It was like you just made him a twin. And it wasn't only you who noticed it, oh no, everyone did.

From Sirius' jokes to Lily's compliments, everyone knew he looked just like Remus. It was only the named one who seemed to dislike it. So when everyone left the hospital the night teddy came, you confronted him about it. "What is it?"

Remus looked up at you, looking confused. "Come on, don't lie to me" He laughed, failing at making you calmer. "I just don't know what you're talking about, dove"

"You've been weird and quiet all day"

"I am weird and quiet always" you scoffed, frowning as if you were just insulted. "Answer me, please. I am worried over here"

He moved his gaze to the window, avoiding your eyes. "You aren't going to like it"

"Don't care, just want to know why you look sad and why you haven't looked at your son in all evening" Remus grimaced at your voice. "So you noticed" Still, his eyes didn't meet yours. "Of course I noticed" You answered, offended.

"I just... don't like... that everyone says he looks just like me" He tried explaining, but you didn't get it, you couldn't bear to get it, after how proud you were your child looked just like his father. "I just wished he looked like you, that's all"

You pouted, looking at Teddy's sleepy face. Remus kept spiraling on his own thoughts. "I don't know why I feel this way, i should be proud of it" The postpartum hormones started to hit you harder, and some tears escaped your eyes. "If it helps, I couldn't be prouder that my kid looks exactly like you"

"Oh baby, please don't cry" Remus got up from his seat, and with his warm sweater dried every single tear left on your cheeks. "Let's just hope he gets your personality"

"We better hope he doesn't get your sense of humor, because we're screwed then" You laughed, and Remus joined too. He then started to believe in the possibility of loving his own son, even if he looked just like him, and made him sick inside.

When things started to get better, and your kid was almost two years old, you received a letter from the Potter's. Teddy was staying with them for the weekend, so you two could get some time alone. But all of your plans got screwed when Remus got a letter from James. He came to you, hand shaking while grabbing the piece of paper, tears threatening to escape from his beatific chocolate eyes. You got up from the bed and swiftly went to his side, grabbing softly his cheeks, which were burning. Before he could explain himself, he started crying, panic running through his veins. You asked what was wrong multiple times, but the only thing that left Remus' lips were "I told you", repeating it until he couldn't breathe. You tried to do everything you could to stop him from the anxiety, but every time something like this happened, you never knew what to do, so you hugged him and make his head hide in your chest, tears falling from your eyes as horrid shouts left Remus' mouth.

Once he got calmer, he just gave you the letter, too tired to even open his eyes. You didn-t have to read it to know what it said. So before he could do anything, you were going to the Potter-s and taking Teddy back home.

You left your son's room after putting him to sleep, and tiredly, you searched for your husband, only to find him smoking outside the porch. Remus didn't turn around, only lightened another cigarette. "I-m going to bed" You said, hoping to get some reaction from him. After a minute without any sign of him hearing you, you sighed, going to your shared dorm. Before you could close the door, you heard him mumble something under his breath. After asking to repeat it, he finally turned around, cigarette between his lips. "I said how bad is it."

You looked at his eyes, ignored the big eye bags those carried for almost two days now. "It could-ve been wor-"

"No. Tell me how bad is it" He cut you off, voice monotone.

You started to lose patience. "Well, if you're so interested about it, why don't you just try to look at your son's face? Then you could see how fucked up it actually is". You spitted at him, angry about his behavior. "But I told you, the scar on his cheek will fade eventually"

"That's what the doctor told me with mine" He almost laughed. You crossed your arms. "Thank god we have a better doctor then." Remus' tries to look guilty were hidden behind a weird smile, "So this is funny to you now? The safety of our child?"

"Of course it's not fucking funny, for god’s sake!" He almost shouted, throwing the cigar out. "I tried to warn you, ya know. About it before we had... him. But as always, you didn't listen"

"I did listen, you dumbass" You answered back, your words sounded almost venomous. "But as I told you back then, I couldn't give a shit, not before and not now, about it."

"You do seem mad about it" He shrugged.

"I am mad about it because our son needs his father, and his fucking father can't even look him in the eye" You pointed out at him, getting closer. "He needs you, and you seem to be gone." Your voice cracked, and Remus gaze softened just a little bit. He called out your name, but you ignored him. "I swear that every day that passes I have more clear that you are going to leave us, leave him, and I, I can't stand it."

"No, listen, it's not-"

"You listen to me" His eyes looked worried at your face, almost noticing now how pale and unhealthy you look, or have been looking for the past week. "I am scared every time I wake up and not finding you in bed, because you're gone" Your throat suddenly feels dry, as if your thoughts somehow would become reality once spilled. "Teddy needs you, I need you..."

Remus grabbed your hips, caressing your skin with his thumbs. "I know, I... I have been on my mind too long" He looked down, almost ashamed. "I was so scared of passing my... condition to him that once it happened I didn't know what to do after" He finally whispered. "I had no one when it happened to me, and I would've loved to have someone" "Let's give Teddy that support he needs, especially from you." You took advantage of the closeness of your bodies to rest your head in the crook of his neck. "He really misses you"

"I miss him too..." He sighed. "God I'm such an awful father" You shushed him, not daring to open your eyes. "Don’t say that. You are wonderful, you just need someone to remind you that"

Without being aware of his smile, Remus looked down at you, hiding the biggest smirk that now rested on his lips. "I love you, dovie. Love you to the moon and back"

"And just so you know" You looked up at him, copying his smile. "I couldn't be prouder that he is just like you"

And Remus started to believe it. He started to believe the blessing he had with Teddy, but mostly he started to believe how lucky he was to found you, and how his son would found just another angel like you in a future.

[marvell-07]

Merry Christmas everyone!! In honor of the holidays, here is one of my more extensive headcanons about the Sonic 3 Movie. SPOILERS ahead so be warned! 🎄

—————————

At the end of the Sonic three movie, Shadow gets nerfed to hell and dies in an explosion. Except we never see his death on screen and we know the movie is based on Sonic Adventure 2 and Shadow the Hedgehog. In those games Shadow managed to eject himself from the ARK and escape alive. However he suffers from amnesia and now has a fragmented memory. He can only remember his name and Maria’s death. So you know I’m about to write some angsty hc off of this.

Shadow would wander around aimlessly, trying to find remnants of who he was and what his life was before he lost his memory. The problem is that there’s barely anything left. Even if he manages to return to the site of the lab, he had set off the mini black hole in there. Any evidence of what happened, any evidence of Maria, was destroyed in that blast.

The only person who would know about Maria and what Shadow did afterward would be sonic. Sonic was in that lab, he heard the story and saw what happened. He was also the one to spend the most time with Shadow and hear about his pain and loss before teaming up.

Except I have a few ideas regarding this. What if something did survive the explosion of the black hole? The picture of Shadow and Maria. While exploring the lab Sonic found Maria’s room and saw the fort and picture. It was a family portrait, and to him it felt too special, too important, to be left behind in an abandoned lab. It reminded him of the drawing he made of him and Longclaw in the cave. It was all he had left of a family member he lost… just like Shadow. So what if he took the photo with him? Sonic intended to give the photo back to Shadow after they made up, but never got the chance. So now he keeps it as a way to honor and remember both Shadow and Maria.

Now keeping Shadow’s most likely survival in mind, what if after Sonic and Shadow see eachother again, Sonic shows him the photo to convince Shadow to at least hear him out. It leads into Sonic getting slammed into a wall by a very paranoid personification of Hot Topic who demands answers. I think even after hearing the story, Shadow would be confused and apprehensive. So Sonic hands him the photo and tells him that he knows what it’s like to be lost, and that Shadow has a friend if he needs it.

With the amnesia, Shadow would have almost a constant source of anger and guilt and sadness for things he doesn’t even remember. It drives him crazy that he feels so much and doesn’t even know why. When Shadow gets too caught up in his own head, Sonic asks him to tell him about Maria. It’s the one thing he can reliably talk about and it’s some of the only good memories he has.

Shadow chooses to trust Sonic not just because of Maria’s photo or the kind words, but because he can feel that Sonic is a good person. Sitting on that moon with Sonic and watching the stars was the beginning of closure and resolution to all of Shadow’s pain and trauma. And then immediately after that he shared the power of the chaos emerald in harmony with Sonic. That connection remains to be something familiar. However, in a way, that feeling of comfortability and kindness is foreign. He hadn’t felt that since Maria and look how that turned out. Part of it scares Shadow and he doesn’t know how to handle not being constantly alert.

Even if Shadow does permanently join up with the team I don’t see him living with them. He doesn’t have that family dynamic with Tom and Maddie like the others, and I’m not sure he wants to yet. Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles had lost their families a while before they met Tom and Maddie, they had time to grieve and find that desire to want and accept a family again. Shadow doesn’t have that, not yet. With that being said, there isn’t really anywhere else for him to go, both the lab and the ship were destroyed.

So what if he lives in Sonic’s old home? Just until they can find somewhere better for him. It’s secluded and private but not so far away that they wouldn’t be able to go see him. Shadow doesn’t have anywhere else to go so why not. Sonic decks it out for him and even finds a picture frame for Maria’s photo.

[luvhaos]

on a winter's night | xmh

pairing: xu minghao x reader genre: gn! reader, black widow! minghao, scarlet witch! reader content/warnings: mild violence and a fight scene word count: 866 summary: your first meeting with xu minghao is as unique as they come. 

author’s note: (i lowkey want to to continue this) happy holidays to everyone!

The streets are pitch black when you follow Xu Minghao out of the bar. His steps are quick and silent despite the layer of snow and ice on the ground from yesterday’s snowfall, leaving no imprint behind. It reminds you why Seungcheol sent you after him.

He turns a corner, and when you do the same only a few steps back, you see nothing but an empty street, lit by dim streetlights. You curse in your head, pulling out your radar to check where the tracker you attached to his jacket is when the world turns upside down and you’re on your back in an alley. 

Minghao is on top of you, one hand around your throat and the other holding a sleek switchblade just above. His expression is neutral but you can see the venom behind his eyes. “Who are you and why are you following me?” he asks, and you feel the frigid steel against your already-cold skin.

Your fingers twitch to use your magic — you could easily move him off you — but you have to keep it low profile. Instead, you reply, “An interested party.”

His eyes narrow and he scoffs, breath puffing in the air. “I’ll pass.”

“Sorry, you misunderstand me. I’m interested in what you can do, Minghao.” You offer him a teasing smile and say, “I’ll explain more if you let me up.”

He just applies more pressure to your windpipe and you cough a little. “Do you think I’m stupid? Who sent you?”

“My—” You pause to consider the wording, “—boss. Your work caught his eye and he’s interested in your skillset.”

“If you two know so much about me, then you should know I don’t do that anymore,” he hisses. “But I won’t hesitate here and now.” He pushes down harder and you feel your airflow thin. 

Above you, the clouds shift, the gray blanket opening up to reveal the moon. In the silvery light, you can see Minghao’s face more clearly — all his sharp angles and surprisingly soft features. His glare is a perfect replica of the one in the photo attached to the dossier Seungcheol handed you three days ago but the tiny photo did not do justice to just how attractive he is in front of you. Black dots pepper your vision and you wheeze out: “Not even for the chance to end the Red Room?”

He freezes above you and in that split second, he lets up just enough for you to buck him off, your lungs greedily accepting all the air you inhale. Your throat is throbbing in pain as Minghao falls but regains his balance easily, getting to his feet with a frightening speed and lunging for you, blade at the ready. You barely dodge him, aiming a kick at his chest. With one smooth motion, he is flipping over you, graceful as an acrobat. He hooks your neck with the crook of his elbow, twisting and dragging your body against his. Even underneath his thick wool coat, you feel lean muscle.

 You see his switchblade coming toward you again. With a flick of your fingers, you send him pin him against the wall, tendrils of red smoke curling around his wrists. His eyes widen and he scowls at you as you approach. “Now you use this? Where was this before?”

“I always like an element of surprise,” you say with a wink. He looks wildly unimpressed.

“So you just let me choke you? Are you a masochist or something?” 

“Or something,” you answer. “But as you can see, we’re more alike than you think — not normal at all. And neither is my boss, which is why he’s interested. He’s different in his own way and is assembling a group of people like us to take down places like the Red Room. He wants to know if you’re interested.”

Minghao is silent as he watches you carefully, eyes flickering around, and you know he’s assessing exit strategies. You sigh, “I’ll let you down if you promise not to kill me.”

“Seems unlikely that I’d be able to with all this.” He nods at the misty bindings. 

You wave your fingers and he lands easily, crossing his arms. He studies you for a moment, eyes roving your face. “You’re not lying, I know that much.”

“I’m not.”

“I don’t know,” he says, voice distant. Although he faces you, you know he’s looking past you and your heart aches in sympathy. It’s not hard to discern what he’s thinking about — you’re all too familiar with what it’s like to be a living weapon. 

“That’s alright, you don’t have to make any decision right now,” you tell him, reaching into your coat pocket and holding out the card Seungcheol gave you He takes it from your hand, reading the words on it. “But just… think about it.”

He’s still, unmoving and as you turn to leave, you say your name. His eyes meet yours, questioning, and you say, “You asked me who I was.”

He repeats it, syllables fading into fog in wintery night air. You hold his gaze and offer a small smile before you turn out of the alleyway and disappear into the night.

[t1red-twilight]

through the ages

part 3

content/warnings: gn!reader, spencer’s pov, season 4, angsty, past!spencelle, guilt, jealousy, crashout lol

notes: bring back men who yearn

word count: 3.1k

masterlist series masterlist s. r. masterlist

prev. part

the office was quiet. spencer showed up early, just as he always did. this was the only time he could hear the buzz of the electricity, and the soft thrum of the heating and cooling system. after setting his things down, spencer headed into the kitchenette to make a coffee.

he knew that pretty soon you’d be in, so he fashioned one for you as well. best case scenario, you’d be in when it had cooled down a little. you took your coffee sweet, but nowhere near as sweet as his was. “diabetes inducing,” you’d called it. he’d told you that type 2 diabetes would have to be triggered by many more habits than just his coffee consumption. you’d laughed, despite him not joking.

your desk was conjoined with his, a pane of glass separated them. he walked to your desk and set the coffee cup down and sat in his office chair. your mugs were part of a set: yours had a star pattern and his had moons. he had still taken the care to label both of them with your corresponding names.

by the time you had come in, it was a quarter to eight. you usually showed up at about this time, only ever held back if you missed your train or the traffic got bad on the off chance you took your car.

“spencer!” you exclaimed when you got to your desk. “thank you for the coffee! how are you doing this morning?” it was as if your voice physically brightened the room, alleviating the harsh led lights.

your voice was melodic, it rung in a way that scratched every itch in his brain. “it was no problem. it should be relatively warm by now.” he smiled, hoping his cheeks weren’t too red. he lifted his mug to his lips and sipped a mouthful of coffee.

oh, you had asked his how he was. he thumbed the corner of his mouth where a droplet remained, and answered your question. he gazed over the glass pane dividing you where you had sat. “i’m doing okay,” he stated.

“just okay?” you followed. one of your eyebrows quirked up, you smiled crookedly. the glint in your eye; ah, you were teasing him.

he took another sip of his coffee and set down his mug. “well, not enough has happened today to say whether today has been good or bad,“ he answered. you leaned back in your chair and smiled at his response. “also, are you free tonight? there’s a film screening that I wanted to go to. it’s in korean, and there isn’t a translation yet, but i can whisper a translation to you like i did last time. did you want to go with me?”

an apologetic look blossomed on your face. before you even spoke, spencer knew what your answer would be. “sorry, i have plans.” you paused, almost as if you were contemplating on if you should say the next part. “i have a date.” his heart dropped to his stomach. a date? of all things that could occupy your time it had to be a date?

spencer swallowed down the sinking feeling that grew inside him. he nodded before he spoke, trying desperately to hold onto his composure; you could not, under any circumstances find out about anything. “oh, okay. i’ll let you know how it goes, though.” he stretched his lips into a smile as casually as he could. “it should be a good one.“

you took a sip of the coffee he had made for you. “please do! next time i’ll definitely come with you,” you stated. your eyebrows were slightly pulled together, and your smile had dropped but not disappeared. it would’ve been much more desirable to melt into his office chair than look at the expression of remorse that you showed.

the paperwork that he was normally completed speedily glared up at him. typical office days usually droned on and on, but something about his earlier interaction with you set him off.

suddenly, the taking of the clock pounded in his ears. he couldn’t focus, and he was always good at focusing. what about your plans was setting him off?

the times new roman print stared at him, waiting for him to do something. the contrast of the black lettering on white background burned his eyes the longer he looked at it. the bustling sound of the office grated his ears.

he felt selfish for the feeling of surprise that swelled in him when you had stated that you had a date. he felt even worse when he had the brief hope that you wouldn’t have another date any time soon. there was a piece of him that wanted to spend every waking moment with you and another very real piece that just wanted you to be happy. perhaps he was merely biding his time until he wasn’t the most important relationship you had.

it was just a date, just one. two dates was not guaranteed, and a lifelong romantic relationship was definitely not guaranteed. memorized statistics assured him of that. this was fine, you’d go on your date and go to work and it’d be perfectly fine. but why did he even care that you had a date? It shouldn’t matter to him.

how dare he think he could have any opinion over your love life? your friendship meant a lot to him, and he knew that it meant a lot to you as well. slipping into a jealous insecure mindset would only hurt his friendship with you.

he looked again at his file. he had already completed one or two, and was midway through another. he could just go home and watch way too much doctor who and pass out on his couch once he finished his paperwork.

by lunchtime he had pushed down his downtrodden feelings in exchange for attempted apathy. it did not help that every time he looked up over the glass pane he saw you, dutifully accomplishing your paperwork.

your forehead crinkled and your lips pursed. you’d comment or ask questions regarding the case you were filling out every now and then and it didn’t seem you noticed his minor distress. as far as you were concerned you were just friends, best friends maybe.

liking you the way he did felt like betrayal, or even like he was lying. you saw him as a friend, he saw you as something else: the difference in this perception felt almost gross to him. he’d known you for a couple of years at this point and felt this way for most of it and everything had gone fine until now. so, hopefully he couple continue to shove his insecurity everything down until you were just his friend again.

-

spencer had decided not to go to the film festival at all. later, he met up with morgan, and derek had dragged him to a bar that wasn’t too far from the office.

he figured that it wasn’t worth it to go to the film festival if you couldn’t participate in his ideal activity, which was spending time with you. it didn’t take long for derek to realize that something was definitely up.

the two of them were sitting at the bar top, derek had an alcoholic drink in front of him, spencer was drinking a water. “all right. pretty boy, what’s up?” derek asked outright. this caught spencer off guard, as he was trying desperately to seem like everything was going perfectly okay.

“what do you mean?” spencer replied, his voice lowered. he avoided eye contact, but tried to keep his face as deadpan as possible. given their profession, obviously this wasn’t working. derek took note of his slump of his shoulders, and the pattern he was repeatedly tapping on the countertop.

derek rolled his eyes. in no way did spencer think derek was stupid, he just thought that he could maybe get away with facing the confrontation of how he was acting. realistically, it was only a matter of time before derek called him out.

derek leaned his head down, trying to catch spencer’s eye line. when he was unsuccessful, he returned to his laid-back position on the barstool, and rolled his eyes.

given that it was a six pm on a random wednesday, the bar filled or crowded. there was another man sitting at the bar for down, but he seemed to be minding his own business. there were a few other people, but no one worthy of note.

spencer picked up his glass and swallowed his water around. seeing as he wasn’t going to elaborate on how he was acting or how he was feeling, derek moved on. he had some clue as to why spencer was behaving the way he was, so he attempted to test the waters. “i heard that someone had a date today,” he stated. he raised his eyebrows slightly, trying to gauge spencer’s reaction.

spencer slumped further over the countertop. one hand raised to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, but he dropped his hand as quickly as it had risen. jackpot.

“yeah. what about it?” spencer’s tone was stiff and standoffish. he said he set his cup down on the counter more harshly than he would’ve liked to. it was just a date. why did he even care? “i hope it goes well.”

derek worked an eyebrow up and denial, but spencer could not see it. he was still avoiding eye contact as best he could. few people knew him as well as you did, and derek was one of these people. it was clear to anyone viewing the interaction that spencer was upset, but it was especially clear to derek that spencer was especially downtrodden.

following elle leaving the bau, spencer had opened up to derek about his feelings, and the things that had happened between the two of them. spencer had firmly planted himself in the position that he would never feel that way about another person again. derek confirmed that he would surely find another person, and spencer vehemently rejected the idea.

spencer hadn’t been, well spencer, derek would have patted his back or rubbed his shoulders in sympathy. but, all he could do was provide comfort in the only way spencer excepted it. and, this was through quiet emotional support. they sat in silence for a couple more moments before derek spoke up again.

“are you sure about that?” any teasing down that he might’ve held had completely dissipated. maybe spencer wasn’t willing to admit to himself how he felt, but derek could see through him clearly like a freshly cleaned window.

if spencer was alone he might have cried. but the admission of tears would in some part be an admission of guilt for how he felt. it wasn’t right the way he felt, you were his friend. and he intended to keep it that way. spencer pondered over what he might say next.

“they deserve it. after everything they’ve been through i think they deserve to at least go on one good date,” he muttered. “or two, or three-“ he trailed off. his voice lowered as he uttered the next phrase. “and if they end up with a long-term partner, that’s all the better.” there was a slight flavor of sarcasm derek felt between the lines of with spencer was actually saying. and he would be lying too, if he said that it didn’t catch him a little bit off guard.

derek didn’t respond for a moment after that. If he was being honest, he didn’t really know how to. usually spencer was pleasant, if not relatively soft spoken. well, soft spoken when he wasn’t dumping copious amounts of information on a random topic. over the past few years your habit of insisting on listening to exactly what spencer had to say rubbed off on the rest of the team. this had approved, extremely beneficial and high intensity situations. though, some team members refused to admit it.

silent glances amongst team members were exchanged when spencer had started making your coffee for you. or, when he brought in little trinkets and doodads when he went on paid leave to visit his mother. that wasn’t something anyone was really quite used to. there was a rhetorical acknowledgment of something that might be going on between the two of you.

spencer opened his mouth and closed it a few times. derek noticed this, and was shocked that spencer didn’t know what to say for once. “what if,” spencer mumbled. “there’s a part of me, a very small part of me,” he clarified, “that doesn’t…want their day to go exactly according to plan?”

he finally looked up at derek; and his expression was difficult to read. it was a mix of confusion, deep thought, and something hard to read. corner of derek’s mouth pulled up, but he wasn’t smiling nor adjusting. this was an expression that spencer was all too used to, but he deeply disliked. pity; something that seemed all too familiar to him.

“i think that’s all right.“ spencer took another step of his water, though it still remained quite untouched. “that’s how you feel. and I don’t think that there’s anything wrong with that.“

spencer looked up at him in puzzlement. this was not the answer that he had been expecting. he had been expecting to be chastised, for he should be happy for how his friend’s life was going. “they’re my best friend. i want them to be happy,” he finished, and he unmistakably meant it.

-

as soon as spencer had gotten home, he had knocked out like a light. the next morning at the office, he was later than he usually was. he didn’t like to be late, but the morning dragged on and on.

the train was a minute and thirty-seven seconds late, the people walking in front of him were way too slow, and most of all he just really did not want to come into work. coming into work meant he had to face you, and pretend like everything was fine.

he still made your coffee. just the way you liked it, like he did every morning. he set it on your desk next to your computer and got right to work. he had so much paperwork left over from the day previous that he had to get done. he saw you out of his periphery, and looked up and gave you as genuine a smile as he could.

“how are you doing this morning, spencer?” your inquiry was not similar to the ones you asked him every single morning. and just like every single morning, he responded with a similar answer.

he sat down his pen, took a sip of his coffee, and met your gaze. “i’m doing fine,” his voice easier to keep steady than it had been yesterday. he pulled a smile tautly across his lips. “i didn’t sleep very well last night, but that’s no big deal.”

you shot him a sympathetic gaze, before setting your things down and sitting down at your desk. “i’m sorry,” your replied.

the clear sheet in between you too provided relief; he could perhaps hide behind it and avoid looking at you.

the silence that was momentarily held was broken when you asked him a question. “how was that movie festival?” spencer instinctually fiddled with the wrist of his sweater. it was his favorite sweater, he hoped that it would help him relax more easily today.

he rested his hands atop one another on his desk, and looked at the space above your eyebrows. maybe you wouldn’t be able to tell that he wasn’t looking into your eyes, not exactly. “it was good!”he had waddled back and forth between the decision of telling you if he had gone or not. obviously, he settled on the latter.

it seemed like you were much too tired to catch on the small tells that he was lying, seeing as his voice had risen in tone and he was fiddling with his sweater sleeves. he knew when you knew that he was lying, your face held itself a certain way. in some ways, you were quite easy to read.

just the look of you made spencer’s stomach sink. he didn’t entirely know why, but he knew that it felt awful. “how was your date?” he said offhandedly as he could. he figured that that was something that he should ask.

your face lit up at the mention, and his stomach sunk even further. it was practically at his toes at this point. “it was good!” you chimed. He could tell that you were being honest, there was nothing in your face or your body that hinted that you were lying to say face. and anyway, you wouldn’t have done that. you wouldn’t lie to him.

be smiled a small smile. “that’s great! do you think you’ll go on another one?”

you thought briefly for a moment, before responding. “i think i will, we have a lot of common interest. he also has an affinity for science fiction. i think you might like him.” spencer was lost on how he should reply to this remark, surely he did not like science fiction as much as spencer did.

eventually, he settled on agreeing that science fiction was a great genre. he and your mystery man most definitely like the genre for separate reasons, but in this moment, he guessed that that didn’t matter. unfortunately, they had something in common.

the awkward nature of the conversation might’ve been lost to you, but it was not lost to spencer. he couldn’t help but feel sick at the small talk that he was being forced to endure in the moment.

finally, he felt what he had been wanting. relief. your date had gone well. you really, truly were deserving of good moments and good people. if, on the contrary, it had gone horribly awry he might’ve felt near violent.

spencer picked up his pen and continued to work on his files. he paused for a moment, and looked back up at you. he opened his mouth and closed it a couple times before deciding not to add anything else.

quickly he was drawn into his paperwork. the pencil scratched away against the paper at moore quick and paste than yesterday, and he was relieved that his mind had finally calmed.

before he could forget that this interaction ever happened, you handedly remarked some thing that he knew would stick with him, even though it was completely insignificant. “i might need help finding movies to watch with him. if we even get that far.”

if he agreed, he would have to learn more about this guy that he already had a distaste for. on the contrary, he would also spend more time with you. and there was no mistaking that he valued his time with you greatly.

“that’s what friends are for, right?”

next part

[souenkun]

I had a nice talk with @teriiblog about my aokabu being married fic, and although we got kabu's hand placement wrong in our excitement, it still got me thinking: what if, after aokabu got married, kabu changed his battle pose by laying his left hand (with his wedding ring on!) over his heart, instead of his right one (which showed the galar league symbol on his glove)? It could become a way for kabu to show his devotion for larry, even if they could still live in their respective regions after tying the knot? 😭💖

Kabu could keep this very same battle pose, just that he'll exchange his right hand over his left one! 🥺🥺🥺 the galar league might not mind it too, especially if this change in kabu's pose takes place in leon's leadership! 💗

[moonlit-dreamers]

for the ship requests idk if this counts, just thought it was silly but sun x a good snooze.💤 a real good mimir.🛏️ a long fucking sleep where every problem fucks off before he spontaneous explodes of the robo equivalent of a stress heart attack.

ive gotten multiple other requests but i had to do this first bc its funny to me

he get sleeb. go bed by time

[front-facing-pokemon]

[skeletalheartattack]

Im soooooo hungry i neeed.... gaming trivia. tO live 😺

i mostly just have TF2 trivia, as its history has always been something ive always been fascinated with, so i hope these suffice:

The Pyro's Beta Head: While 8 of the 9 classes had their heads redone throughout development (to better show off Valve's new facial flex system), only the Pyro was left untouched, leaving them as the only class to still have their beta head.

Reference Posing Medics: In "Trailer 2", there are two Medics who are in their reference pose, during the first-person sequence of the Scout running through RED's base. While their role isn't clear, one likely theory is that they were meant to be camera positions for shots that were ultimately removed, in favour of the Scouts perspective, and Valve just forgot to remove or hide them. The second Medic even turns to look at the Scout as he runs by, maybe further proving their original purpose.

The Teaser Corkboard: While we don't have a clear idea as to what Valve had been planning with the "Teaser Corkboard", one likely theory is that it was created for the proposed update that would've included both Asteroid and Cactus Canyon, due to the few mentions of "Future", the blueprint of the rocket engine from Half Life 2 Episode 2, and Poopy Joe. Also worth noting, the two posters that were added with the corkboard share similar styles Asteroid and Cactus Canyon.

The Balls of Steel Taunt: Originally, The Love & War update was meant to include a lot more taunts than what ultimately shipped. One of the few to get scrapped is a taunt called "Balls of Steel", where the initiator would dare other players to kick them in the groin. While we don't have footage of this taunt, we do have voiceline files that reference the taunt's intention, as well as the name. The few files that remain were reused for other contexts, such as the Soldiers Conga taunt, where his "Ooh!" and "Ahh!" lines were originally his pain sounds for the taunt.

[anemonet]

oh my god thats so sweet of you!!!! thank you :DD also super sorry for deleting your ask btw

To get down to business well uh iterators huh, so I can tell you have read some of my ramblings before (very fun) and I will say in general I stand by those ideas - model differences and stuff - with some smaller changes here and there, for instance I made pebbles antennas stupidly long cause I think it looks funny - plus tons of tiny refinements, but generally I dont have too much to add unless theres something specific your wondering about - so I wont focus to much on that. Instead I'm gonna chat a bit about the other stuff you mentioned (NSH and wire headwear) ^-^ so heres the guys! (I'm gonna expand a bit on their design designs)

Ok so you have actully managed to point out something I really hoped no one would notice, which is that I never draw No Significant Harrasment (NSH) - who I hope you meant when you asked about sig, if not then dont look at me - and that is because I despise him with my whole heart. Or well, his design, the character is fine but I cannot draw this guy, I hate his colour scheme and his stupid little cape and why is his head symbols green on green - who allowed this - and in general we are not friends, which is a pity because I have alot of headcanons about him. But as you can see above I have semi settled on a design for him (note the semi, I am not super happy about it) and I do have some toughts and explanations.

So first of, I put NSH as being from the same model generation as suns - so predecessing moon and pebs by a bit - with older designs that have a larger focus on "religious stuff" combined with the anchients overall bonkers fashion sense - more is more - if you wanna read more about that its in this post about suns.

- I would also, this is a side note btw, like to mention I think having them being older models gives room to have some key differences between the oldies (NSH and suns) and the youngsters-ish (moon and pebs) in that one, they have older machinery and also early machinery which means both rougher quality and more wear and tear - which I like to think give them both the idea of slugcats as messangers earlier than most, as they knew their easily damaged functions (broadcast masts for example) would not last forever, which gives them a reason to want to solve it (by breeding scugs I guess) and added onto that I - and this is pure headcanon and speculation - like to imagine a lot of the "taboos" that pebbles and moon have - or well that I speculate they have, the no killing yourself or harming citizens taboo is confirmed canon, but I dont think its farfetched to asume they have other restrictions programmed - something that would most likely be added in later modles, but would be absent in the earlier ones like suns and NSH (not the earliest models but early) which theoreticly would give them a bit more leeway and "creative freedom", which ok why am I talking about this back to why NSH looks like that. -

Back to that, so suns and NSH will share design similarities: lack of face (to represent a lack of ego), lots of robes and layers, which leads us into the slightly more relevant sidenote of iterator clotheing:

So fashion comes and goes in cycles, your mom rebeled against her grandmothers clothing choises and is horrified when that fashion comes back via her daughter who think it looks cool again (20 year old rule or whatever) and that also applies to iterator design (look at that old suns ask for more info on this). So while I have talked about general trends a little, now I wanna talk about waistlines - in robes, because I have wanted an exscuse to talk about it, I be brief promise!

: so like you probably havent noticed all my iterators have different waistlines, or at least the ones from different generations - ignore moon, I'm a no robe for moon beliver, I like to draw joints and wires to much to give her robes - and I will sadly report I have not looked to closely at actual anchient fashion for the choises I made, but well cant have everything. So the most notable is probably pebbles, where I, ok Imostly fell for temptation of a modern highwaist cut, which while moslty being about my own tatse, also is an atempt to convey some form of "modernity" because while its a bright orange robe on a robot, it has a similar cut to highwaisted jeans. Which gives the silhoute from a couple years ago with a big bulky upper body and stick legs. But pebbles isnt intresting in that way, no its because every other design is a resistence against that.

And this again leads into the cycles of fashion. Because we know iterators were built under many cycles - however long those are - so we can asume it will be kinda like how fashion has changed from the 11th centrury to now. Which gives to reason that iterators have been dressed differently too. This added with that - from what I understood - different iterator cities (colonies) had different cultures (boradcast, red, in sky islands) all this then makes me kinda figure that the iterators should have different robes. Yes that was a long winded way to say that characters look different.

So back to waistlines and how their all anti pebbles robes - the most notable difference is of course suns, who has no waistline. They are not only without to create a bigger difference between them and pebbles, but to also lean a bit on - and this might not be the same for every culture - but on the general idea that older clothes were more "modest" or in this case, there are more layers and any hints of there being a body under there is desperatly covered. and that "modern clothes" have less layers and have show more skin - not that pebble is showing skin, but hes wearing one robe instead of seven. So with that the idea that suns is older is conveyed a little bit at least, and the same then applies to NSH. NSH while also having lots of layers, is different from suns by having an empire waistline, mostly because I think their cute and need them to look different, but also to give a hint that they have different city fashion cultures and also because when I see empire waists i think old paintins and old paintings=old.

-also while I'm on the subject of cultural differences between iterator facilities. Can we talk about how we only really get to see anchient society as its presented in moon and pebbles (shared?) facility. So really its very possible the whole aestetic is complelty different like five local groups away. Food for thought. -

So faceless and robe-rich is a similarity between suns and NSH, and I could mention many more, but I'm gonna restrain myself and only talk about headphones. As you can tell I - and most fanartist here - like to draw their antennas differently for all of them! which is also canon, but I also ignored canon so were gonna talk about it. Mostly the antennas give room for some fun mini details, like how moons look like wings or fins while suns are just sunbeams.

Anyhow so most people make NSH bald, me included, mostly because the super cool official art of him gives him no antennas (sad). I asume that means he works via bluetooth.

(I was about to start speculating about their headphones but that got to boring even for me so sorry if your super intrested in why iterators probably have headphones)

But I had a ulterior motive with bringing up the headphones - and not only to be able to point out moons antenna, which I delight in drawing - but also so that I can transition into the second part of this way to long response! itertors hairdos... wire-dos? basicly this \/

(im reusing my wip because these are a pain to draw so we use what we have - I coloured them in a bit for better oversight.)

(also I was gonna start talking about if iterators would actully do personalisations like this - as we can argue about if they concepulize themself as their puppets and see a meaning to decorating them - I would argue yes but also its complicated- and also explain how iterators have different prefernces, which I realised most people probably already asume so I didnt need to explain that - anyhow so that got to long so I'm not gonna get into it. Instead were gonna go into this section with the assumptions that they do fun things with their wires. and also that the wires connect to their nape and backhead instead of their back or spine.)

So to me th biggest thing to remember when we talk about potetial wire headwear is that:

- iterators live 24/7 without gravity and because of that cannot be bothered by to heavy headwear, therefore theres rooms for them and anchients (and me) to get funky with it without having to concider gravity.

-anchients wore absurdly many decorations - and while giving iterators flashy decorations does take away from my earlier statement that they were based on more humble monk stuff, we are going to asume they used the fancy headwear for cermonies and festivals (which we also know anchients did) and that it was used for showcasing and fun. If some iterators preffered to keep them afterwards is another query.

So with that in mind lets break these headwear thingies down!! :D

so as you can (hopefully) tell there three components in the headwear. The headphones that are different depending on iterator and are not removable (or as unremovable a computer part can be). Then theres the actual headpieces that keeps the wires togheter. These can be switched out and changed depending on whats preffered - also I drew them in gold but any material works, if were being closer to canon they would probably be made of some purposed organism and maybe be neon pink - theres also pearls dangling from them because its a perfect opertunity. Third theres probably the part I think is the most fun which is the actual wires. They obviously go through the headpieces and then are set free via wiretassles (that also comes in different forms) and after that is where my own speculations about wires comes in. Which is really simple in that iterators can most probably move the wires at will - they can control their arm thing, pearls and other objects in their chambers, reasonably they can move the wires - and I think its fun if different iterators move them differently. Like suns keeps them straight and neat, or pebbles moves them in syncronized formations or moon who just lets them hang, so many oppertunities ok ( you can see the general idea in the drawing). The wires then connect to their movement arms and connect to the mainframe.

And thats kinda about it? I dont have like anything super intresting to say about just the hairdos other than that I think its very fun and also that everyone is sleeping on wire customizations I am obbsessed with the idea send help.

Ok I think I'm done chatting!! Hope your still here and that this wasnt insufferable to read. Uh, thanks for the ask :D

(NSH for your enjoyment)

[meateater-rabbit]

is it passive agressive and manipulative to nod or shake your head instead of verbalizing an answer. help

[ofluminance-a]

a tentative ,  exploratory kiss between friends . (Okay but wriorinde first kiss maybe 👀 ??)

for months, she'd worn her heart on her sleeve. her heart told her one thing and yet, her mind, told her something else entirely different. they were colleagues. they had a professional relationship. there should be no crossing of that invisible boundary and yet, here clorinde stood, beneath wriothesley's icy gaze with her heart drumming painfully aloud against her chest.

when neuvillette assigned clorinde to the fortress to ensure a smooth transfer of warden's several months ago, never did the champion imagine that this long mission would turn her life upside down.

wriothesley was just a prisoner -- or so she told herself, at first. yet, the more time she spent in the underworld-- his world, the more accustomed clorinde became to having wriothesley around. he.. grew on her, in doses, of course. & with this mission coming to a close, clorinde was actually afraid a part of her may miss their afternoon tea, daily reports, and of course, that handsome smile. -- what had.. changed? had.. she changed?

tomorrow would be clorinde's last day before she returned to the overworld and felt the sunlight on her skin once again. but, if this was to be her last night with wriothesley for some time, perhaps, it was time to come clean? after all, lying wasn't in her nature.

when wriothesley took a step towards her almost as if he'd read her every thought, clorinde met his gaze with wide eyes and reddening cheeks, very much surprised by the action. " .. monsieur w-riothesley ? " violet eyes searched his own, and yet-- she did not move away. " i -- are you certain about this? " breathless, as she waited for his answer a gentle smile finds her and if he's certain or not, she's not sure she can wait any longer.

gloved fingers slip around his neck to pull him close. quite unsure where she should place her hands or if the angle she tilts her head at is correct, clorinde leans in and presses a chaste kiss to wriothesley's lips. she lets it linger, pulling back slowly and letting a moment pass between them ( so that she can slow her heart) before she lifts her head to gauge his reaction. " .. oh my. that was-- " her eyes search his, and her nose scrunches in embarrassment, clearly flustered. " -- perhaps, we can .. try that again? if you.. liked it as much as i did ? "

[quietwingsinthesky]

I think the nature of Clara haterism on Tumblr can’t be fully understood without the historical context of 2013. Namely that by the time of DW season 7b Moffat was widely hailed as The Bogeyman Of All Misogyny Ever. Clara was considered THE prototypical Shallow Moffat Girl, and she became a sort of figurehead for everything wrong with the show. (Bc everyone was maybe 14 and Smith was too beloved to insult.) Consequently, she evokes a kneejerk bad faith reading response in many users even today.

yeah, alright, i can see that. i am surprised that, at least as far as i’ve seen, amy & river don’t get the same treatment? or if they did, it hasn’t persisted half as long as opinions on clara have. Because having now seen how all three of them were written, amy got treated. so much worse with The Misogyny™️, and River bounces between ‘actually a fascinating character’ and ‘moffat wrote a sexy girlboss who wants to fuck the doctor’ so hard it gives me whiplash. (and i say this as a River enjoyer, I love her and she deserves so much better lmao.)

Of the three of them, I think Clara actually comes out a lot better written overall? She’s allowed more space to be a character rather than be a woman, if that makes sense. Sure, bit of a rocky start in s7, and I can certainly see why the Impossible Girl thing could be aggravating to some people. (I think it was. Fine. fantastic episode conceptually that sort of fell apart when it came to actually doing anything.) but Clara in s8 (and the start of s9) is fantastic. Her relationship with Danny and the Doctor is messy and deceptive and so understandable. “Listen” as an episode almost felt like ‘hey what if the clara putting herself in the doctor’s past was actually interesting and impacted him’. Her becoming more like the Doctor, especially after losing Danny, both as an effort to hold on tight to the only person she perceives as keeping her moving forward and giving her a purpose AND because to her, the Doctor is able to lose so much and not be destroyed by it and she wants that (without really understanding just how much this life is fucking him up, too.), is just. fantastic.

where was i going with this. i have no idea. my point, i think, is: i guess i can see how initial reactions to clara might color a less than flattering picture of the rest of her, but :( consider: i love her so so much and everyone should be niceys to her.