#(he doesn’t do anything by halves)

[archivistofnerddom]

How the Batch responds to someone who denigrates the color pink in front of them

And God forbid if this happens when Omega is figuring out her personal style, preferences, and fashion sense.

The Batch would certainly not ascribe to the belief that pink is for girls and blue is for boys. They make it their personal mission to prove that that’s nonsense.

Hunter

Guess who found pink-handled knives? And guess who will always at least two strapped to his belt at all times?

Rambo Barbie over here has traded out his usual bandana for a bright pink one. He’s wearing it with absolute and complete unfazed confidence. Giggle about it at your own risk and peril.

Just in case the knives and bandana were a little too subtle, he makes a point of wearing pink (possibly flannel) shirts regularly. Said shirts run the full spectrum of pink, but that’s fine. He thinks he looks good in the color.

He will absolutely look anyone who goes off about the pink/blue gendered thing dead in the eye and just go, “No.” That usually stops the BS in its tracks.

Crosshair

This man knows he looks good in black. That doesn’t stop him from having pink be his new go-to highlight color. All of the little accessories and details on his armor and helmet are now a lovely share of pink.

When his hair starts coming back in, he starts coloring to a nice light pink (blush) color. Just don’t mistake the pink hair for friendliness though. He’s still a snarky bastard.

His Firepuncher gets a makeover too. Crosshair enjoys taking people out with a neon pink sniper rifle. (It sets a very specific, very petty tone — and he’s here for it.)

He will also intentionally be a little shit and set people up to get verbally knocked down a peg or three. Tech has roughly five versions of the same speech about how assigned gendering colors is an outdated concept. Crosshair is going to do his twin a solid and let him loose on idiots. (He enjoys watching the chaos and panic that unfolds.)

Tech

Like I said, he will give a full lecture about the fallacy of “Pink is for girls, and blue is for boys.” Oh, did you want to see slides to go along with that? Here, he’s got those too.

Tech shows up with pink-framed goggles, a pink-cased data pad, and pink embroidery on all his pockets and pouches within 24 hours. For him, fashion is functional first, but it can also be fun and make a statement.

Did you say give the Marauder a new paint job? Why yes, it is time that it got a new look. Thank you so much for suggesting that. (And yes, Wrecker helped with the paint job and redesign. They both did such a good job.)

Tech also knows how to recalibrate his blasters so that his blaster bolts and stun rays are pink. He can show you how he did, if you ask him nicely.

Wrecker

This man comes in one setting — loud and enthusiastic support. And the best way to do that? Head-to-toe neon pink At All Times. (Seriously, this man shows up with completely pink armor and a helmet and just continues to do his normal job without commenting on his new paint job.)

Lula gets a wardrobe upgrade too. She’s now for a very cool pink jacket that Wrecker made for her himself.

Wrecker will loudly and eagerly proclaim that pink is his absolute favorite color anytime he hears a person talking shit about the color. He isn’t putting on a front either. He does love the color pink.

Guess who has pink smoke grenades and pink glitter bombs in his pack at all time? Wrecker. Why? Well, why not!?!?!

Echo

Bright pink kama for life! No, he will accept no questions or suggestions to the otherwise. His kama is pink, and he looks fabulous.

Echo may be a part of the Bad Batch now, but he was part of the 501st and Domino Squad before that. If you give him just the slightest scrap of an idea, he’ll run with it in a way that would make Fives proud . . . which is why so many people wind up covered in a violently pink glitter-and-glue mixture when they say stupid shit. (Wrecker may have helped.)

He gets Tech to upgrade his scomp to be metallic pink.

Grumpy Disappointed Mom Face gets deployed with great effect. Echo isn’t mad that you’re spouting nonsense. He had just hoped you didn’t buy into the nonsense that only girls can like pink.

Omega

Omega colors the tips of her hair to be bright pink. It’s actually a whole family project, especially in deciding which shade of pink would look best on her. She also used this as an opportunity to try some new hair styles to show off her color makeover.

She also got Tech to readjust her bow so that it too fires pink bolts. (They’re gleeful menaces on the battlefield together.)

Leaning into pink helps Omega connect with her femininity. For as much as she loves her brothers, that’s one area where they aren’t the best role models (even if they fully support her during this journey). She is the one who helped her brothers incorporate pink into their current wardrobe.

Omega also learns how to give manicures. The only polish choice anyone she gives one to gets to make is whether or not they want glitter. Everyone is going to be rocking pink nails when she gives them a manicure. (The Batch are very diligent and serious about maintaining their manicures.)

[whatsfourteenupto]

They’re in their Taylor Swift era. Just let them be, it’ll pass.

[inspiredrawaw]

Does anyone else think about how both Cosmo and Wanda had an absent respective father/ mother and now do anything to be as present as possible in Peris life because I do.

or how both of them being 2 halves of a whole idiot probably didn’t do good in school especially Cosmo and now make sure to be encouraging and helpful to Peri when he goes through school so he doesn’t have to feel bad for not getting an A or even a B.

I’m emotional about them.

this piece originally had Peri getting an A+ because based on the show he seemed like a straight A student. But I wanted to portray how proud his parents will be of his grades no matter what so he got a B-.

[kquil]

Request: Remus Lupin x ravenclaw!girlfriend!reader

Plot: Just them appropriately loving on each other, chaste kisses on shoulders and wrists while sitting in positions that may not look innocent, but it doesn’t go farther them that?

I don’t usually ask for bland ones, but some peace would be nice.

SIMPLE LOVING

LENGTH : 0.7k

TAGS : fluff ; remus being smitten ; feeding each other ; couple goals ; tickle fight

NAVI.

“How was Herbology, Rem?” you ask, sitting between his outstretched legs under the willow tree as it cried over the black lake. It was lunch break and because it was one of the lovelier days outside, you and your boyfriend decided to have lunch picnic-style along with the rest of his friends. Your group were also free to join, as always, and sat not too far from where you were comfortably melded against Remus, who lent back against the willow tree’s trunk. The both of you were cradled by its roots and shaded relatively well by its mourning silhouette. It was a perfect day. 

“It wasn’t bad,” Remus mumbles against your hair before pressing a brief kiss against your temple. Straining your neck only slightly, you share a smile before relaxing into one another once more, “how was Charms?” he asks, wrapping one arm around your torso as his other hand extends out to your right and pulls the small plate of lunch you brought out from the dinner hall. Remus had done the same but hadn’t touched his lunch yet. He prioritises yours and begins to feed unprompted. Caring for you comes so easily to him. 

In between mouthfuls, you reiterate the happenings of your Charms class. Remus didn’t care if the conversation got boring or had extended pauses, he merely enjoyed being around you. He also really enjoyed tending to your needs in small gestures. People often saw him carrying your heavy books to classes, helping you with your assignments and carrying spare hair ties on his wrists for you. Boys didn’t appreciate his setting of the standard and girls envied you for having such a considerate lover. 

“The flick and swish always gets me. There’s no standard for it so the outcome is always variable. The others made it look easy but I’ll show them and master that charm soon enough,” Remus smiles at your attitude and rids your pout by offering another spoonful. He loves listening to you talk. He loved hearing the sound of your voice; it was one of the most beautiful sounds he could hear. Whenever you got to talking, he always made sure to be completely silent and gave your words special attention. Oftentimes, whenever he’s reading his academic books for references and pre-reading relevant material before classes, your voice would be the one reading out the verses in his mind — that way, learning became a little more enjoyable and he got through the material much quicker. You finish up your plate of lunch soon enough and lovingly turn your face to kiss his inner wrist in gratitude.  

“Your turn, Rem,” you giggle and reach for his neglected plate of lunch. Smiling warmly, Remus observes as you turn in place before moving to straddle his lap. Naturally, his large hands move to hold your hips and you begin to feed him bite after bite.

In the background, your friends gape obnoxiously at the affectionate display, some burn bright red in the cheeks and others hurriedly look away. It was incredibly easy to mistake your activities for something much as the willow tree’s roots cradled your forms and obscured your lower halves. However, your innocent feeding of his lunch was all the indication they needed to know you weren’t doing anything beyond that. 

“You’re a mischievous little minx, you know that, darling?” Remus muses, licking his lips as you set down his finished plate. 

“Hmm?” you tilt your head innocently and lean down for a kiss, licking away the remnants of his lunch from his lips as you pull away, “What do you mean, Rem? I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

He laughs at your playful display and carefully throws you off him, to the grass. As you lay on your back, giggling sweetly, he leans over your form and captures your lips in a heated kiss. A stray hand traces the curves of your waist and hips as the other keeps him hovering above you. He never goes too far with intimacy, especially in such a public place but you savour the scandalised gasps of your distant friends. Your handsome boyfriend pulls away with a hidden smirk and buries his face into your neck, kissing your sensitive skin and tickling the area with his nose. 

“Remus!” you squeal in delight, laughing as brightly as the sun overhead. His wondering hand and the loving kisses to your neck and shoulder had quickly divulged into a tickle attack. Onlookers stare on, envious of such a loving and harmonious relationship. 

“Lily, can we—”

“No!”    

NAVI.

A/N : i'm so sorry it took me such a long time to get to this request, my love, i was in a rut with requests for such a long time and i kept overthinking them all. I'm afraid i don't make any explicit mentions of reader being a ravenclaw but it's still fluffy and cute and perfectly sweet for you x

[leth-writes]

bait

SUMMARY: Damian would like to welcome you to the family.

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans.

MASTERLIST: https://www.tumblr.com/leth-writes/757800060720496640/requests-open?source=share 

Requests are open!

Normally, Damian would hate being babied. He was a trained assassin, the blood of Ra’as Al Ghoul ran through his veins, he was the son of the feared Bat! And yet, here he was, sitting in your kitchen, watching you make him some (vegan) mac n’ cheese. 

Originally, Damian did not understand the obsession his family seemed to have with you. He spent days complaining, stomping around the manor, irritated that his family was wasting time with some… weakling. It seemed that every time he walked into a room, the only topic of discussion was you.

As one of the newer additions to the family, and a biological one at that, it seemed he had missed out on something vital to his family. So, he decided to just… ask, as his father would advise,  just why they were wasting time on someone who wouldn’t ever be able to adhere to the illustrious standards his family had set. 

The person he decided on was Grayson, someone he normally looked up to.

He sat across from his older brother, who was preoccupied with that insipid app that Drake had designed, keeping track of your vitals and ensuring your safety. Finally, fed up with being ignored, Damian cleared his throat to alert his brother of his presence.

Grayson looked up and beamed, bouncing up to flop down next to Damian. 

“What’s up, lil’ D?” Grayson asked, voice jovial even as he spared a glance at his screen.

“Tt. Grayson, I must… request your assistance.”

“Anything for you, lil’ D!” Grayson leaned over and rustled Damian’s hair. Damian, annoyed, fixed his hair and leaned away.

“I do not… I do not understand your recent… Preoccupation. It seems the family has decided, rather unanimously, that we will be gaining a new member. I do not understand why we must lower our standards!” He huffed, crossing his arms.

Grayson’s eyes softened. “Oh, lil’ D. It’s alright, you’re new, we should’ve known this would be confusing…” He looked away, staring out the window for a second, letting out a little sigh. 

“I’m not really sure how to explain it, but sometimes, sometimes people, especially people like us, get… passionate. Dinah likes to explain it away as the way we… deal with the constant loss, the uncertainty. Vigilantes don’t ever do anything in halves, afterall.”

“But why, but why them? They have nothing to add to our family, Grayson! They cannot fight, they are not trained, they have no extraordinary skills!” Damian huffed.

“Well, it doesn’t always make sense, Damian, and it doesn’t need to. Sometimes, sometimes people just… click, it doesn’t always have to make logical sense. I think if you got to know them, maybe you’d understand it a bit better.”

Grayson smiled, looking back at Damian. Damian looked away, blushing. He didn’t like not getting something; it made him feel vulnerable, weak, like he was missing out on something everyone else just seemed to get.

“And this is, this is… typical, for vigilantes such as our family?” He asked, voice quiet with mortification. Grayson smiled softly.

“Of course, Lil’ D. There’s nothing wrong with being passionate, and there’s no way we’re gonna let someone else get hurt. I mean, just think about it; do you think they could defend themselves?” 

Damian shook his head.

“And there’s no way they’ll be able to defend themselves. As vigilantes, especially in Gotham, we see the truth, we see how nasty the world can truly be. Most civilians just don’t get it. So, I think we can be forgiven for being a little intense, right?” He laughed, elbowing Damian gently.

“I mean, just think about Jon getting hurt.” 

Damian scowled. “I would not allow it. It would never happen.” He said, certainty clear in his voice.

Grayson snorted. “I know, Lil’ D. I’m just using him as an example; now take those feelings, and imagine if Jon couldn’t defend himself. ��

“I-I do not know what I would do.”

“And that’s okay, you’ll get it eventually, okay? It’s hard to come to terms with, at first.”

“I still do not understand why you have chosen such an unworthy target for your affections, but I will… try. To understand.” Damian looked down, face tinged slightly red in embarrassment. 

Grayson ruffled his hair again, and peeked at his screen. “Maybe ask Cass to take you, or Jason? I have a shift in a little while. I’m sure they’d be willing to help you, Damian. It’s okay to have questions, to not get it. It’ll click eventually.”

So, Damian did.

While embarrassing, the idea of not getting something that was clearly of high importance to his family rankled in his chest. So, he approached Cain and asked for her help.

She was in her studio, as she normally was at noon on the weekends, working on a new routine. Damian paused in the door, waiting for her to finish up. No matter how many times he saw her, especially during her performances, he was always surprised by just how graceful the young woman managed to be.

It was normal for his family to move with a lithe grace, especially Grayson, who seemed to move so fluidly he lacked a skeletal structure, couldn’t compete with the natural poise Cain held herself with.

She finished up her routine with a flourish, then rose to her feet with a sigh. She floated over to her water bottle and took a sip, before turning around to face Damian. She smiled gently, eyes crinkling at the corners, her slightly damp choppy black hair framing her face perfectly.

“Little brother,” she said, delight clear in her voice. 

“Cain,” Damian greeted, nodding his head and moving into the room.

Cain sank to the floor, back against the mirrored wall, and patted the wooden floor next to her. 

“Sit,” she said.

He did. There was no refusing Cain, after all.

“You seem… confused.” She glanced over at him, taking another small sip.

“Yes. I do not… Understand the new obsession you have all taken with that Civilian.”

Cain nodded. “Yes.”

“Grayson explained the general feelings of protectiveness, but was unable to elaborate; why them?” Damian crinkled his face, nose scrunching.

Cain laughed. “Stubborn, not seeing.” She poked his forehead, startling him. He scowled further, rubbing the spot. It didn’t really hurt, but he was not about to let her get away with poking him like a child!

She snickered at his bewildered expression. 

“It is hard to explain… Instinct.” She hummed, looking away in contemplation.

“Innocence. They do not know… the violence, the heartache… they are kind.”

So it was about the contrast, Damian concluded. The difference between a trained vigilante and a weakling.

“They cannot… protect self. Need help. Like baby.” She continued, sighing and leaning a hand against her cheek, propped against her knees.

“Like… Like Titus, or Alfred the cat. Need looking after.”

Just like that, it clicked.

You were utterly defenseless. Completely alone, with no one to prevent you from being hurt, or worse, killed. You were like a young kitten, unable to open their eyes to see their savior, like the one Damian had fostered.

A warmth bloomed in his chest. You would be like the kitten, and he would protect your innocence, no matter the cost.

Cass smiled widely, scrunching her nose. 

Just like that, Damian was clamoring to get involved. He could not wait until you were home, and he would be able to ensure your safety, keeping you from losing that childlike innocence, that thin film over your eyes preventing you from seeing the true danger.

It was Drake who had the brilliant idea to place Damian in the field; Damian, for all of his sword-related faults, was still young, after all. Someone as naive as you would be sure to enjoy looking after such a cute child, not being able to see who was truly caring for who.

While both Grayson and Todd had failed to make your acquaintance, it seemed you were too aware of stranger danger to fully fall for the ruse, he knew Cain had made inroads as a member of your book club. Surely, having a young brother by her side would only make it easier to get closer to you.

And just like that, the trap was set, and Damian was ready to act.

The next week, your book club would be meeting to discuss the selected offerings. You had wisely offered up Pride and Prejudice. Damian could still hear the muffled curses Todd had let out; you had no clue the extent to which you had so thoroughly endeared yourself to him, just by picking an Austen novel. Damian could not help but be amused, Todd was easy to enthrall despite his tough exterior; it was almost comical. 

Cain had brought him with, dressed in clothes he was told were appropriate for his age (Grayson had laughed and forced him to stand for pictures. He would secure his revenge, and make sure to talk badly about him. He would be victorious in the so-called prank war, after all, and you would stand at his side, unscathed.).

You opened the door, smiling and bringing Cain in for a hug. Even from his position, he could see Cain melt into the hug, smiling and bringing an arm up to pat your back gently.

“Hello,” she sighed as you pulled back, looking her over.

“Oh, Hello!” you said, looking down at Damian. 

He sighed internally. It would take everything he had, but the thoughts of showing you Bat-Cow would get him through the evening. He smiled brightly, artificially pitching his voice up slightly.

“Hi!” He said, stepping forward and shaking your hand with vigor. “I’m Cass’s brother, Damian!”

“Oh, so you have a brother?” You said, smiling even brighter. It almost hurt Damian’s face in sympathy, how widely you were able to smile. Was it due to your innocence?

You ushered the two of them inside.

“Yes, Our father forgot Damian would be home tonight, and did not arrange for a babysitter.”

“Oh, that’s more than alright! Here, are you hungry, kiddo? I’ll make you something to snack on while the book club gets going! Cass, you can take a seat if you want.”

Damian watched as you puttered around the kitchen, enamored with the way you seemed completely oblivious to the danger present in your home. You were lucky he was there to protect you; what if Cass hadn’t been a kind person? You would’ve had no idea you were letting a threat into your house, and into your life! Luckily for you, Cass would never harm a hair on your head, let alone let you get hurt.

“Milk okay for the Mac n’ cheese, kiddo?” You asked, not bothering to turn around as you pulled down a box.

He informed you he was vegan.

You took it in stride, pulling out some soy milk. He was almost surprised you would have some, but your clear kindness would never allow you to potentially offend a guest. Damian could feel a bout of cuteness aggression overtaking him, and he clenched his fists hard enough to draw blood under the lip of the counter.

The rest of the night passed without incident, though you seemed particularly interested in Damian’s contributions to the conversation about Austen’s works. He could not help but be satisfied at the impression he had made; it was not his fault the majority of the people you surrounded with could not understand basic literary analysis, after all.

Every week for the next few months, Damian would tag along to book club; he eventually managed to become your favorite conversational partner, though Cain was a close second, as you slowly began to ignore the others in the club. It was better this way, after all; they could not protect you.

However, Damian soon became frustrated by the lack of progress. They were talking to you regularly, yes, but he wanted you safe at home! He could tell the others were building in frustration as well, and yet the consensus remained; they would need to take more time.

So, he approached Todd.

And Todd agreed.

The plan was set.

Damian waited breathlessly in the alley by your workplace. It would be easy, after all, to get you to follow him down into the dark.

The second he saw you, he took a few wide steps back, and began to scream.

“Help!” He shouted, crumpling to the floor. He let his voice take on a tinge of desperation, pitching slightly higher to exaggerate his innocence and hopefully trigger your panic so you would approach without a second thought.

It worked, and your pounding footsteps soon approached.

“Hello?!” You called, frantically dropping to your knees in front of his crumpled form.

“D-Damian?” You cried, searching desperately for the injury.

Behind you, he could see Todd approach, syringe in hand. 

He let out a groan and rolled over, head in your lap. As you ran your hands over his back, looking for something, he surreptitiously grabbed your waist, hoping to prevent you from running, just in case.

Finally, Todd was in range. He stuck the syringe into your neck without a second thought, and you were out like a light.

Damian was just glad your hand had landed in his hair.

[misstycloud]

Yandere CEO Headcanon

Yandere!CEO who is known to be cold and strict, because he leaves no room for any sort of mistake. As a result, all the employees are scared to bits around him.

Yandere!CEO who despite his outer appearance is in fact very lonely, though he refuses to admit it to anyone. He barely even accepts it himself. Him, the powerful and successful business man; lonely? Pffft! No, no, that’s absurd.

Yandere!CEO who has everyone shocked when you managed to melt his icy heart. They wondered if he even had one to begin with. He must have, considering how he acted while with you.

Yandere CEO who is blown away the moment he realised his feelings for you. It was warm and fuzzy, and gave him butterflies- something that’s never happened before. However wonderful it felt, there was something else brewing alongside it. Something a tad bit…darker.

Yandere!CEO who simply can’t help but spoil you. He wants to give you everything your little heart desires, he won’t say no, it doesn’t matter what it is the answer is yes. You want a new dress? Done! You saw a diamond necklace you really like? It’s yours! Do you wish to go on a trip overseas? He’ll gladly come with!

Yandere!CEO who will let you have anything except freedom. There was no way you’d be allowed anywhere without him by your side. You belong to him just as he belongs to you, you are two halves of one.

Yandere!CEO who hates everyone who is not you. You are his sanctuary; his all. The person he can’t imagine being apart from.

“I will buy you anything and everything you can ever ask for, but I won’t let you leave me. That is the one thing you can’t have.”

[ivymarquis]

Not me vividly hallucinating about a certain scot eating me out until I cry

What you wish for

Pairing| John “Soap The Munch (tm)” MacTavish x F!Reader Rating| E Word Count| ~500 Kinks/Content/Warnings| Cunnilingus, squirting, mentions of safe word, Johnny is A Munch(tm), the author is an American still trying to dial in a Scottish accent

Date a munch, they said.

It would be fun, they said.

And it is, for the most part- you can admit that with no hardship.

It’s just that occasionally (like now), it becomes obvious that Johnny is eating you out for his pleasure and your own is just a happy by-product.

“Shit, ah! Johnny! I’m gonna- hgn- Johnny I’m gonna cum,” you pant in warning as the Scot buried between your thighs goes to town on you like a man starved.

Every time this man drops to his knees in front of you, it is a guarantee you’re going to see stars.

This time he’s got you pinned on your back on the bed. You seem to be wiggling too much for his taste as he’s banded one forearm across your waist and the other hand grips one thigh to keep your legs spread for him.

No matter how much you cry and moan and buck and cant your hips, he just leans his weight on you to keep you still.

He alternates between broad swipes with the flat of his tongue or more pointedly circling your clit or lapping at the inside of you.

While he’s yet to disappoint, he really seems into it (re: you) today. Like teetering on has-something-to-prove into it.

With that sort of dedication and attention, it’s no wonder he’s got you squirting and squealing in record time as he slips two fingers inside and abuses that spot that has you seeing stars.

Johnny works you through your high, lapping up every drop of it like it’s his last meal. Your legs twitch weakly in his hold as he continues on.

You think that maybe he’s working himself down, that he’ll leave you be in a minute.

He doesn’t.

Less attention is paid directly to your clit, but he’s still honed in between your legs even as you squirm. “Johnny,” his voice is a whine in your throat. “Johnny I came- I already came,” like there was any possibility that he is unaware of that- given how you squirted all over his face.

He pulls off momentarily, eying you with a skeptical look. “The fuck’s that got to do with me, bonnie? Cum or don’t, I'm finished when I'm finished.”

Your brain needs a system reboot at that- you stare at the ceiling dumbly as he gets back to business.

He’s trying to kill you- there’s no other explanation for it.

(Distantly you remember how your ex never went down you- still expected head on a routine basis, of course!- and you swore that the next guy you dated would have to be okay with reciprocation. You certainly got your wish in spades, hadn’t you? Almost like the universe was apologizing in the most mind-melting way possible)

It’s all you can do to lay there and breathe. If it actually gets to be too much- well, that’s what safewords are for. But Jesus fucking Christ the man doesn’t do anything in halves.

It’s only after he’s wrenched your second orgasm from you that he lets up, crawling up the bed to collapse to the side of you.

“Soon as my legs quit twitching, I’m returning the favor,” it takes you a couple tries to stammer out the words. Johnny looks every bit like the cat that caught the canary.

“Oh I’m no done with that sweet cunt o’ yours- ye just looked like ye were gonna pass oot. We’ll give ye a break an then back tae it, hm?”

[huiyi07]

hey so do you guys ever think about how often Diluc is referred to as the ‘uncrowned king of Mondstadt’ since he’s like the only male heir to the noble families and like it or not, where Jean is the authority of the nation, he’s pretty much the symbolic face of Mondstadt and the values the nation projects— and despite his temperament, Diluc has learned to embrace it wholeheartedly. He’s charismatic, extremely righteous, and he blazes bright and gives the people of Mondstadt a fire that guides them in the dark, quite literally. Like he’s literally Bruce Wayne lmao

But he doesn’t want this, no, and here’s the proof- maybe he did, once upon a time, before everything happened— but he doesn’t really care about wine, he only cares about the winery because of the people in it and his father. He’s righteous but doesn’t give a damn about the rules and the knights of favonius. After what happened to him, he’s clearly a rebel at heart now, not some charming superhero who does everything expected of him, unlike before. In summary, Diluc was someone who was quite literally ready to become an (uncrowned) prince, pretty much royalty in every way except title- and on surface level, he still is, but he throws that mantle away in secret whenever he can.

And then look at Kaeya, his brother who’s always lived in his shadow. It’s easy to see that now, people don’t really project Mondstadt’s values onto Kaeya the same way they do onto Diluc, since lots of people hardly even remember that they’re brothers. And yeah people still think kaeya is reliable and nice, but also because of how Kaeya built his image after Diluc left— an excessively over the top personality that pretends to be sadistic, mean, and at the same time dripping with false charm. So despite that people still find him approachable and nice as expected of a knight, hardly anyone would call him befitting of a prince.

But Kaeya is actually so painfully and authentically ‘princely’ and kind, deep down— the way he deals with children, his fierce loyalty and willingness to protect people at all costs, his self sacrificial tendencies that most often appear for Diluc’s sake. Even the tidbits of lore we get about him scream aristocracy- his ‘ceremonial’ bladework, Alberich family secrets that reveal just how central they are to the kingdom of khaenriah. This is kinda obvious to any player who’s bothered to learn anything about kaeya, but to the characters in game, there are very few that know that side of him.

And whereas Diluc is forcibly projected the title of royalty and secretly rejects it, Kaeya was actually born into it- his family is very important to Khaenriah, and much like how he does with anything related to his past and heritage, he loudly and outwardly rejects anything to do with ‘royalty’. Diluc outwardly rejects what Kaeya shows (a darker, more ‘means justify the end’ nature), and Kaeya tries to hide what Diluc projects (a sophisticated and aristocratic upbringing).

Honestly? It’s as if they were swapped at birth. Kaeya’s real hidden nature, even after everything that happened to him, remains to be so unwavering and people-oriented, while Diluc’s true personality changed drastically over time. Not that Diluc isn’t unwavering or whatever, but Diluc mostly actively rejects relationships and prefers to do everything alone, obsessed with the idea that he doesn’t want anyone to get hurt, whereas Kaeya always, always yearns for companionship and for people to be by his side- solidarity.

Diluc is the poster image of royalty, but his brother who hides in the shadows is a real king. They complete each other, balance each other out, represent the parts that the other hides. I don’t know if hoyoverse always meant them to be that way, but damn they basically represent each other’s parts of themselves that they lost. Yin and Yang, two halves of the same whole.

[writing-mlm]

Hi, could I make an order for Hiccup Haddock x male reader? In which at the beginning they are at the end of the first movie and, like what happened to Hiccup's mother, a dragon kidnaps the male reader because he liked it (this dragon can be a woolly howl? 🥺 Almost no one knows this dragon). And at the beginning of the third movie, when they are rescuing the dragons from the ship, the reader He appears with a somewhat unkempt appearance, and it turns out that all these years he was trying to locate Berk so he could return but on his journey he came across the hunters' ship. I would like a meeting full of action and romance with tears of happiness for finally meeting each other, please.

Going home

Summary: Being kidnapped by a dragon has its perks, but you really miss home. And Berk, too, you guess. Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x male reader Wc: 3k A/n: idk couldn’t stop thinking about this, rushed it out as soon as I could and I have zero idea how to write fight scenes

It was true that Hiccup had a soft spot for dragons— no one around Berk could deny that fact—  that Toothless had opened up like a gaping chest wound he didn’t know was there at first. Unable to kill the mighty beast that night, seeing himself in the young dragon. Instead becoming the first (technically second) dragon rider from Beek; turning violent hunters into loving but still violent dragon riders. 

Hiccup loved all the dragons, he learned the ins and outs of every single breed he came across. He obviously had a favorite, Night Fury’s but he wouldn’t say he hated any dragons. At least, depending on who was asking him. 

Astrid, Stoick, and Gobber would all hear the endless rambles about one particular dragon; unable to roll their eyes or stop his ramblings because they know the reason for his near hatred of them. 

The Woolly Howl dragon was one he couldn’t bring himself to care about. Not even if you paid him all the money in the world could he be anything more than indifference and he doesn’t think he even has that for them. Not after the dragon nest incident. 

Hiccups remembers the first time he’d taken you flying. Before Astrid, before everything. You’d been braver than he was, had a better grip on Toothless too. He liked that about you, you’d always been the one with a level head, doing what was necessary. It’s probably why his father pushed for the two of you to become friends, hoping you’d rub off on Hiccup. Toughen you up.

Stoick couldn’t imagine what would happen between the two of you, though. 

He wouldn’t say it was love, not yet at least. You’re both only fifteen, although Stoick supposed he was in love with Valka at a younger age. But he can definitely tell it’s coming soon; the way you two operate is like two halves of a missing puzzle. He reckons if his wife was there to see it, she’d say you were soulmates in living color. 

You’d gotten the others ready to follow Stoick and the other Vikings and used Astrid to knock some sense into him. You would’ve done it yourself but you knew none of the others could get the dragons somewhat ready. And time was running out, you needed to be as fast as possible. Although Hiccup did most of the work convincing them to actually get on them— he always was the crowd worker of the two of you. 

Touch as you were, though, you had a terrible sense of direction, so you rode with Snotlout towards the dragon nest. You were going to ride with Hiccup but Astrid was firm that wasn’t going to ride with Snotlout and couldn't fly just yet. 

It was good. At first. The plan was working, you were distracting the leader dragon and then one thing led to another before things went terribly wrong.

You don’t know when, you don’t know how, but you remember falling. It was hot, fire was everywhere. You lost the others in the chaos, you couldn’t see more than a couple of inches in front of yourself. Smoke started quickly filling your lungs and you were ready to give up on trying to escape the flames when it was put out. Suddenly everything was cold, colder than the worst snows on Berk. 

Ice and snow pushed against your face and you hurriedly used your shield yourself while trying to remain standing. When it stopped, you slowly lowered your hands and looked around. 

You thought you saw dark brown fur, but when you reached out you felt the hard scales and a deep timber rumble. Purple eyes stared back at you before it roared and you were shot into the sky. As you were being taken up, you saw Hiccup enter the air with Toothless, the monster of a dragon hot on their tail and tried to scream for him. Scream for either of them to notice you— anything. But your voice was shot, the smoke had done a number on your lungs and throat. 

It was useless to try any longer and you watched as the island got smaller, dread filling your stomach.

The Woolly Howl had flown in the clouds, flying away from the fight you could see in the distance. Purple blasts from Toothless grew less and less as you gave up fighting. Even if you got out of the dragon’s harsh grip, you don’t know where you’d land or how you’d even make it back. 

You never did get to see if they won the fight.

When Hiccup woke up in his room with Toothless at his side and half of one of his legs; he was just happy the plan had worked. He was happy that he saw Berk buzzing with dragons, he couldn’t look anywhere and not see them. Everyone had greeted him like a hero for the first time in… well, ever. Surely he had died and this was his paradise but when you didn’t run up to him, he was sure this wasn’t paradise. 

“Where’s (Y/n)?” He slowly asked Stoick and the laughter and cheers died down around him. Stoick removed his helmet and Hiccup faltered, almost falling on the firing had it not been for Astrid. He looks between the crowd that’s slowly dispersing, his chest heaving up and down as his mind swims with the worst possible ideas. 

“No one could find him,” She said when Stoick couldn’t find the words. “Toothless and the others tried to track his scent but…” She looks off. 

“No,” He shakes his head, looking around. This wasn’t true. “He- he was with Snotlout! How did he lose him?”

“They got separated. One of my men saw a Woolly Howl flying around; they think it's what took him.” Stoick places a hand on his son's shoulder, offering comfort before Hiccup throws himself into his fathers, pulling him impossibly close as he cries. Stoick sucks in a breath before he kneels down, embracing his sobbing, grieving son just as he did when he lost Valka. 

“I’m sorry, Hiccup. I’m so sorry.”

—

You scramble to your feet as the Woolly Howl drops you on top of a snowy patch on a mountain. The snow stings your hands and you’re already shivering; your furs weren’t nearly as thick enough for these temperatures. The dragon tilts its head as you slowly back up, reaching behind you when your back slams into something. 

Glancing behind you, your eyes close when you find you’re backed into a corner. You know you’re too high up to leave, too cold to even think to fight. 

The dragon nudges your leg and you open your eyes, waiting for your death but it nudges you away from the corner and gestures to a cave. There’s a… you squint and smile. There’s a fire inside. Rushing into the cave, it follows after you and you see an older man next to the fire, spinning a long fish over the fire. 

“Good,” He coughs, patting the animal fur rug to make you sit. Settling next to him, you look at the entrance of the cave where the dragon is lying in front of, but not blocking. “BeeBoo needs a new friend.”

“BeeBoo?” You ask, looking back at him. 

“I'm old,” He continues, ignoring your question. “She needs a new friend.” The man takes the fish off and offers it to you. “You’ll get used to the cold. My furs are in the corner, if you’d like.”

“I need to go home,” Shaking your head, you look for the furs and then them lying in a neat corner. Rushing to put them on, you return to the fire. “Please, can you take me home?”

“BeeBoo can,” He nods. “I’ll be gone before nightfall.”

“You’re leaving? Is there a village nearby?”

“No village,” He shakes his head. “I am old. I will be gone soon.” You look him over, his skin hangs the way the elders on the island do, his hair is barely there, and he shivers like no other despite being bundled in several layers and next to the fire. He’s old, you realize, he will be gone soon.

“Oh,” Blinking, you peel back the scales of the fish and eat in a solemn sort of silence before the old man leaves the cave as the sun starts to go down. BeeBoo howls, giving the man one last head hug before he disappears into the blizzard. BeeBoo turns to you, a sad sort of cry echoing from her chest and you can’t help but feel bad for the dragon. 

—

Hiccup checks his notes again, running a finger past each line as he observes two Woolly Howls playing in the nearby snow with Toothless. 

strike dragon

fire type- hail

purple mouth and eyes

fur like scales

tail fins

segmented underbelly— blends into clouds

can withstand blizzards

medium-sized

lives in snowy mountains

Sighing, he wipes his face and turns to his map. This is the fourth snow mountain he’s been to this week. He’s lost count of how many he’s been to in the past five years. 

He calls Toothless back as he packs up his items; it’s nearly time for the steal mission with the others. As he’s packing the items, he runs his fingers over your old arm brace. He remembers when the two of you had carved your initials into it, he’s since outgrown his but he keeps it around. It hangs in this room right next to your other items that he had lying around. 

Hiccup hadn’t given up hope in finding you. He spent every waking moment he could trying. But, he found everyone but you. He found his mother; he’d hoped maybe you were there too. In some secret dragon sanctuary but no. She was the only human and she hadn’t seen you. He had a separate map for you; he’d tracked countless Woolly Howls and where they’d spend their time. A few times he thought he was close, he was sure of it, but nothing. Your clothes had lost their smell and even if they hadn’t, he doubts Toothless or any of the other dragons could track it through the blizzards. 

You hadn’t stopped either. You traveled whenever you could, only stopping when Beeboo needed to rest. But, your sense of direction was still as shit as it was when you still lived on Berk. It felt like you found everything but your home. Even found some weird dragon place that looked like a nice place to live. But they weren’t exactly taking newcomers and you didn’t want to stay. 

Even more unfortunate for you; you’d managed to get trapped by dragon hunters after falling asleep while Beeboo flew over a stretch of ocean. Apparently, she got curious about a boat and went to inspect it. Beeboo had protected you when they found and trapped her, hiding you in her wings so you wouldn’t get caught or hurt. 

Currently, you’re catching the last bit of your rest. You’d been up for nearly a whole day and, Odin, were you tired. But the smell of fire had woken you up and it made Beeboo stirr uneasy with the flames she was seeing. You began to crawl out from under her wings when you heard the gate lock slide open and then the gate slowly opened. 

BeeBoo growled, holding you close as you heard two footsteps get closer. It was from one person, but one of the steps sounded heavier than the other. The other half step had a sort of metal sound to it. Metal hitting metal rather than leather-bound feet. The person sighs; this sort of annoyed sigh you do when BeeBoo goes fishing without you and brings up eel. 

“Hey, easy girl.” Peering out from the wing, you see a man walking up to BeeBoo and slipping out, pointing your sword at the man’s neck. His back is illuminated by the lamps, face is hidden in the darkness of the cage.

“Another rider?” He asks and his voice is so familiar. His voice is one you hear when you sleep, one you’ve spent years trying to find again. With wide eyes you drop your sword and remove your helmet, it clunks as it hits the floor, rolling between you and Hiccup. Hiccup falters, eyes widening as he recognizes you within seconds. You’re messy, sure. Your hair is different, unkept and there are bits of ice inside of it, your lips are chapped and your clothes are wet from the melting ice. 

But it’s you. 

“(Y/n)?” He breathes and you rush into a hug, holding him close. He hugs you, lifting you from your feet and you laugh, doing the same when he sets you down. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” You sob, slipping your hands under his helmet which he quickly tosses off. “I’ve never stopped looking.” Holding his hand, your fingers wrap around the glove, his warmth feeling like a beacon. 

“Me neither,” He pulls his head back, tears in his eyes. “I never stopped.” Laughing out another sob, you hold his face and take him in. His gloved fingers slide across your face, brushing your hair away so he can take you in before his lips crash into yours. They’re so incredibly warm and he tastes like home, gods, you’ve never been happier to be locked in a cage before. 

He pulls you closer, your tears mixing together on your face, ignoring whatever is going on outside because fuck that. You just got each other back. 

BeeBoo makes a noise she only makes when there’s danger around and you pull away. Grabbing Hiccup’s helmet first, he takes it while you grab yours, quickly putting it back on and grabbing your sword when you see guards rushing over. Hiccup fixes his helmet into place and guides you out, his hand never leaving yours. 

“Attack!”

“Get the rescues out of here!” Hiccup shouts as you leave the cage and Toothless drops down next to him. You beckon BeeBoo to follow Toothless, trusting Hiccup's judgment of his dragon with yours. 

“Okay. Who’s that?” Astrid asks but Hiccup just smiles and flicks his helmet down, his sword igniting in a fire. Your sword isn’t nearly as cool as his, but BeeBoo blasts it with ice that creates a jagged blade. 

“Stay close,” His voice is a plea that you agree to without hesitation, the two of you fighting as if you’d never been separated. He goes low while you go high, disarming threats as they attack. Toothless and BeeBoo work together as well, BeeBoo freezes them into place while Toothless launches them into cages. 

Hiccup swings his sword, bringing a guard's sword to the ground and you tackle the guy, tossing him into a nearby cage. With him knocked out, you turn around and see Hiccup struggling under the guards; Toothless is in the middle of helping the twins so you rush over, jumping on one of the guy's backs to pull him off and down. 

He fairs better with the one guy while you wrestle the second into a pinned position. 

“You okay?” Hiccup breathes, his guy knocked into the cage of the first guy. 

“Yeah,” Nodding, you toss the guy's ax away and pick him up. “I’m just used to fighting dragons.”

“You fight dragons?” He asks and you laugh, fixing your clothes. 

“BeeBoo likes to wrestle but she doesn’t know her own weight.” Ducking under another guard, you kick his legs out and Hiccup keeps him down with his fire sword. 

“Yeah,” He nods, his head bobbing like it always did when he was younger. “I wrestle with Toothless all the time.” For a second, he joins Toothless in taking down a small group and you glance around for your dragon. She’s fine, freezing a broken cage into place. 

“Dragons are such babies!” Punching a rogue guard that had escaped Snotlout, you watch as he falls down. 

Somehow you managed to get back to Astrid; although it’s not that big of a ship. You and Hiccup send your dragon to get the others while you deal with the last of the guards.

“I thought this was supposed to be a stealth mission,” Astrid rolls her eyes as she walks up, swinging her around around. “And who is that?” 

“Yeah, they always start that way—“

“Look out!” The three of you split up as a spear gets shoved where you once stood before a dragon takes the man away and drops him into the water. “Thanks, Stormfly! Who is that?” Once again, Astrid looks at you and you wave. 

“Long time no see,” You grin, lifting the visor of your helmet. She gasps and looks at Hiccup who nods, squeezing your hand. 

“Move out! We got ‘em all!” Hiccup tells the others and the fight immediately stops; the others find their dragons with ease. You wonder how many times they’ve done this; it seems very well rehearsed. Calling for BeeBoo, you latch onto her tail before she takes up into the sky. 

You wait for Hiccup, blasting a group of guards that had cornered him just as Toothless barrels into the ones BeeBoo hadn’t gotten. You smile when he joins you, nodding to where the others are waiting for him and for you. You look over at them and smile, wiping your face. Joining the others, you’re given a warm welcome by them all— and a very long apology from Snotlout that you promised wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t his fault you got separated and then kidnapped by a dragon. It could happen to anyone really. Hell, it happened to Hiccup's mom from what she tells you as you’re flying. 

“Wanna ride with me?” Hiccup asks when you’re coasting through the air. You’d been flying side by side with him but that wasn’t close enough and obviously, he felt the same way. Nodding, you stand on BeeBoo and take his hand, letting him guide you onto Toothless. 

“Where’re we going?” You ask, laying your head on his shoulder. He squeezes your hand that’s on his waist as he looks back at you; his lips brushing against your lips. 

“Home. We’re going home and I am never letting you go again.”

[minisugakoobies]

I Know | KSY

Pairing: Hoshi x GNReader (no agab)

Genre: fluff, established relationship, dancer!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: drunk hoshi, grumpy woozi, hoshi is absolutely whipped for reader, this is honestly just very soft and sweet!

Word Count: 816

Disclaimers: none, other than I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Even when he's passed-out drunk, Hoshi still manages to amaze you with his love.

Text Prompt: boyfriend texted me "my love I am intoxicated" and then five minutes later, his best friend sends me a photo of him, passed out, phone in hand, and zoomed in on one of my selfies - tweet from himbowithnofear

A/N: I'm back with another installment of my "texts from svt" series. At some point I'll make a masterlist, but for now, please enjoy this short lil' fic about my favorite affectionate drunk, Hoshi. Fun fact, I've actually had this one finished for a while, but couldn't resist posting Mingyu first!

Unbeta'd as usual. I'd love to hear what you think (but please be kind I'm fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

“Please come get your man.”

Jihoon’s grumpy request is the first thing you hear when you answer your phone. 

“Hey, Jihoon, how are you?” you laugh, unsurprised by his opening plea. Ten minutes ago, you’d received the following message from your boyfriend:

LOML: my love, i am  intoxicatedd

And had been waiting to hear from Jihoon ever since. Though you were a little surprised that he was video calling you instead of just calling or texting.

“To be honest with you, I’m not great right now. And it’s all your boyfriend’s fault.” 

You can’t help but laugh loudly. Jihoon scowls. 

“Why are you upset with Soonyoung? I thought you guys were celebrating tonight.” 

“Because.” Jihoon flips the camera. There’s your man, all 178 cm of him, snoring his ass off in the corner booth. “He’s driving the other customers out of my bar.”

If you’re being honest, you’d been expecting this moment long before Jihoon called you. Soonyoung had gone out for drinks with several of his friends to celebrate one of them getting a new job, and you knew your lightweight boyfriend would feel compelled to try to keep up with those lushes as always. Not at their insistence, but out of his own desire. It was a point of pride for him. 

“Don’t worry. I’m on my way.” 

“Thank you. Please hurry.” Jihoon winces. “I know he calls himself a tiger, but he really snores like a damn bear.” 

You laugh again, about to disconnect, when Jihoon makes a sudden noise of delight. 

“Hold on,” he chuckles, and the screen zooms in on the phone still clutched in Soonyoung’s hand. “Do you see that?” 

It’s you looking back at you. From a photo, one that you recognize immediately as one of Soonyoung’s self-proclaimed favorites, from the weekend you’d spent at the beach last summer. It’s actually a wide shot of you standing in front of a gorgeous sunset, soft pink light dancing on your skin, and that knowledge makes you smile right now. Because it means that your drunk sap of a boyfriend zoomed in on your face, right before he passed out. Probably to dream about you. 

Soonyoung never did anything by halves. Not dancing. Not drinking. 

And definitely not loving you.  

“Come get your simp.” With a grin, Jihoon disconnects.

Tossing your phone into the front pocket of the oversized hoodie of Soonyoung’s that you’re wearing, you grab your keys and head for the door. 

It’s not a long drive to the bar. Inside, you make a beeline for the booth in the back, familiar with the space around you. It’s basically your second home, between being best friends with the owner, and dating (though he’d never admit it) his favorite patron. And, speak of the devil, there he is, the love of your life, head on the table, mouth open, rattling the glasses on the table with his powerful exhalations. 

Something else Soonyoung doesn’t do by halves - sleeping.

Jihoon nods at you from across the bar. All of Soonyoung’s other friends are nowhere to be found, likely having gone home once Jihoon reassured them you were on your way. 

Ignoring the common advice regarding sleeping tigers, you slide onto the bench and gently lay your hand on Soonyoung’s back to shake him awake. 

“Soonyoungieeeee, time to get up,” you trill sweetly into his ear, brushing his dark hair out of his face.

He cracks an eye open. “Baby?” he asks groggily. “Is it time to go to work?” 

“No, dingdong, it’s Saturday. And you’re at Jihoon’s, remember?” 

“Oh.” Soonyoung sits up, looks around. “Right. Oh!” His eyes get wide. “Baby! Those hyungs got me soooo drunk!” 

Laughing, you brush some chip crumbs off his cheek. “I know, ‘youngie.”

“Yeah.” Soonyoung’s eyes slip unfocused as he smiles. “Wait. You weren’t here and now you are.” He hiccups himself into a confused frown. “Why are you here?” 

“To take you home, dingdong.” Running your fingers through his hair again, you grin. 

Soonyoung looks at you and you swear you see his pupils turn into hearts. “You’re taking me home? With you? To your home?” 

You shake your head, gently tugging his beanie down over his ears. “How many shots did they make you take? Yes, you’re coming with me. To our apartment, where we both live.”

“We live together!” Soonyoung’s eyes disappear behind his cheeks as he grins. “You love me!” 

“Yes, I do,” you laugh, yanking on his arm to get him onto his feet. He wobbles slightly, so you duck under his arm, trying to steady him, but he interprets this in another way, cupping your face to pull you in for a slightly clumsy but rather passionate kiss. 

“I love you, too,” he whispers, nose bumping repeatedly into your cheek as you start to lead him towards the exit. 

“I know, ‘youngie,” you repeat with a soft smile. “I know.” 

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[whateverisbeautiful]

🀄️reflecting on richonne

What The Ones Who Live has made abundantly clear is that finding Rick and bringing him home was a mission fit for Michonne, and Michonne alone. Because Rick didn’t just need to be brought back home - he needed to be brought back to life.

Sure, other characters could have located him and tried to rescue him from the CRM, but Rick needed more than a rescue…he was in need of a resurrection. And there’s only one person on the planet capable of doing that for him and it’s his wife, the love of his life, Michonne Grimes.

Rick is a man who for all intents and purposes chose to die because he couldn’t see her face anymore and started to believe he never would again. He was only ever going to come alive again when her eyes, her presence, her heart was back in his life. He was only ever going to be free from not just the literal but mental shackles of the CRM when he could hold her in his arms again and reconnect with the woman whose heartbeat he shares.

I love how this story stayed consistent to the message that was true in the main show as well, and that’s that Rick needs Michonne. And Michonne needs him too. Rick’s relationship with Michonne is the one dynamic in his life where he’s poured into as equally and deeply and lovingly as he pours into her. Where he doesn’t have to be anything but himself. It’s the one relationship that can bring him back time and time again no matter the circumstances.

Richonne is a love supreme because they are two halves of one heart. So saving him - not just in body but in heart, mind, and soul - it could only ever have been her. 😌

[kofiilicious]

“untied shoelaces” // luke castellan x reader

pairing. luke castellan x reader

word count. 803

content. reader doesn’t know how to tie their shoelaces so luke helps them and teases them about it. gn!reader. fluff, because that's, like, all i can write.

notes. my phone was like less than 8% when i wrote both halves of this,, but i pulled through

---

Okay, so it was cross them, then two loops, then cross the loops and put one through the hole… wait. What hole???

You let out a frustrated huff. It was probably your fifth attempt trying to tie your sneakers. You were trying to get ready for the day, but your laces came untied, and you wanted to rip the ears off whatever bunny this method was based on.

So here you were, knelt on the ground, ending up with either a messy knot or laces that fell apart when you pulled them taut. You weren’t about to cave and ask someone for help, either — you were too stubborn for that. If anything, you’d go barefoot before that happened. It was kind of pathetic, being a demigod who has to face monsters hourly and not even knowing how to tie your shoes.

Someone suddenly knelt behind you after another failed attempt. Two familiarly strong arms wrapped around your abdomen, and a chin rested on your shoulder. A mop of dark curls slightly obscured your vision.

“Having a bit of trouble there?”

Ugh. Of course, Luke Castellan, your totally not favourite person on the entire planet, had to interrupt you while you were moping about your shoes. You tilted your head to the side, leaning on the slightly coarse pillow of brown locks beside you.

“Not at all. You’re crazy.”

“Really? Because I just watched you redo that lace at least five times. You look like you’re ‘bout to cry.”

One of Luke’s hands snakes up to tap his fingertip on the tip of your nose. It earns a frustrated huff for you, letting your hands drop back to your sides, your shoulders slumping. You’re officially giving up.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m going barefoot today.”

“Why? Do you not know how to tie your shoes or something?”

The silence following the question was very telling. Luke huffed out a surprised laugh, arms squeezing your gut slightly as he leaned forward, chest pressed against your back, to gaze down at your untied shoes.

“You seriously can’t tie your shoes?”

“Shut up.”

The son of Hermes’ hands trailed down your sides to your hips before finally making it to one of your shoes. His hands were stupid large, and your gaze lingered on the vein that ran through it before trying to focus on what he was doing.

“Watch the professionals and learn.”

Safe to say, you watched, but you learned nothing. Luke lost you when he made the two bunny-ear loops. Everything was confusing, and you couldn’t make sense of it by the end.

“There. Now try on your other shoe.”

“Try what?”

“To.. to tie your shoe.”

“. . .”

“.. You didn’t pick up on a single thing I did, didn’t you?”

Your sheepish grin confirmed his suspicions. The brunette couldn’t help but groan, rolling his eyes as if he should’ve known better than to expect you to remember — or even to watch, for that matter.

“Alright. Switch your knee.”

With a pout, you abide. Earlier, you knotted the shoelaces on this sneaker and pulled it taut, but the two loops didn’t retain. Luke stared for a long few moments, dumbfounded, before bursting into hushed laughter and grabbing your sides to steady himself. You could feel the shake of his shoulders pressed against your back.

Your face burned up with embarrassment. The only thing that held you back from going off on him was that his laugh was probably the most addictive thing you’ve had the pleasure of hearing and causing.

“Are you done laughing at me yet?”

“I’m sorry— haha! I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

That lopsided grin on Luke’s face told you that he wasn’t really. You huffed, saying nothing as he began to undo the knot in your laces, which proved a struggle with his large fingers and his position. You didn’t dare help him.

Eventually, he rejoiced, untying the stubborn tangle. This time, as he tied your shoelaces the proper way, he tried to talk you through the steps. The words just seemed to go through one ear and out the other.

“Cross them over —”

“— loops, like bunny ears —”

“— one loop through this hole, and tighten.”

You were spacing out until he nudged you after you hadn’t responded the first two times he said your name.

“Did that help?”

“.. Totally.”

“…… You didn’t listen again, did you?”

“.. Nope.”

Luke shook his head with an amused smile. He stood, holding his hand out and helping you to your feet. He sighed out your name,

“What am I going to do with you..?”

You gave him a grin and went to take a step.. only to trip and fall flat on your face. Luke burst out laughing.

Motherfucker had tied your shoes together.

---

[welcomingdisaster]

fly!

ao3

He sits in the tub, and Maglor washes his hair. The water stings slightly against the bruises and scrapes on his skin. The teeth of the comb run gently along his scalp. He sifts gently through each piece of tangled hair, cut short due to the damage, starts at the end and works upwards. Steam rises from the water. Maedhros blows at it lightly and watches it disperse, hiccup up, towards the wood ceiling. Remembers he can reach out and touch the water, running his fingers over the surface. His skin wrinkles, finger-tips pruning. Maglor hums. Maedhros wishes he would sing, but he does not. 

“I am sorry,” he says, “I can see this bothers you. We will be done soon. You can go back to sleep.” 

It does not bother Maedhros in the slightest. He likes to be in bed, but in truth does not wish to return there, not now. It does not enter his mind that he could voice the thought, that he has any power at all over what happens to him; all he feels is a bone-deep sense of loss, of longing. Wants to be kept, to feel his hands in his hair, to watch the steam rise, to feel the heat. He wants to break open his bones and pour the water inside them, so that he might carry the warmth everywhere with him. 

Then he remembers that one of his bones is broken open, and he laughs. Imagines pulling off the bandages and submerging the stump, so that it he might be filled with rose-scented bathwater, and laughs more, high and trilling, his head bumping against Maglor’s hands. 

“What is matter?” Maglor asks. “Oh—do you cry, no, are you laughing?” 

Maedhros is. 

“What are you laughing at?” Maglor asks, and that question is concrete enough for to break through the ice around Maedhros’ head, his mind.

“He cut it,” he says, “he cut through the bone. It’s hollow inside. If it weren’t cracked you could fill it with water and it’d hold. But now it’d just trickle out.” 

“Oh,” Maglor says, “oh, no, no. Of course not, Russo, I wouldn’t let water get into the wound. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Maedhros catches steam in his mouth and pushes it deep into his lungs. Blows it out, watching it spin out. It’s like the twisted reptilian things down below, which Maglor doesn’t know about. They used to be halves of one soul, he and Maglor. Now there’s a chasm between them and it’s full of hollow bones and creatures of the darkness. 

“We’re almost done,” Maglor says, “can you lift your foot?” 

Maedhros can, but he doesn’t. 

Then Maglor helps him out of the bath, catching him under the armpits to pull him up. That hurts. Everything hurts. He doesn’t mind. Doesn’t even mind the way it makes him feel like a rag doll, hanging in his brother’s hands. He could probably try harder to be elven, try harder to be alive. He doesn’t remember when he’d stopped trying. 

He watches from somewhere outside of them, as Maglor swaddles him in the towel and dries his skin. They look ridiculous, Maglor pulling each part of him into position, all long limp limbs, like he’s a dead animal, a skinned thrall. It is taking all of Maedhros to remember Maglor isn’t planning to cut him open. 

“Heart on a platter,” he says, “stuff it with— stuff it with anything. The little brown herbs they eat.” 

“Wake up,” Maglor says, “wake up, you’re home, you’re well.” 

He knows. It’s not that he doesn’t know. Words spill from him, as they have for years, and he has forgotten they sound like anything at all. “I know,” he says, “I wish you would sing instead.” 

So Maglor does. 

* * * 

“Come back,” Father calls, “pick up the torch. Are you a boy, or a lord?” 

* * * 

He is in bed, the mattress smelling very slightly of straw, and the pillow of down. Fingon is asleep in front of him, curled up on his side, not touching him. He doesn’t track when Fingon comes and goes. He is like the birds, Fingon. 

His hair is braided in many thin braids, tight against his scalp. Maedhros wonders how they had braided out on the ice, their fingers numb with cold. Finrod, his hair thin and light, might have done well enough. But Fingon’s hair is thick and curly and Maedhros can’t imagine him being able to plait in gloves. Maybe he cut it short. 

He reaches out with his left hand and picks up the edge of one braid. A golden bead runs all the way down it, to Fingon’s scalp, propelled by gravity. Fingon doesn’t stir. 

Maedhros pulls. 

Fingon bats at his hand, turning away. “Ow,” he says, “ow, quit that.” But quickly enough he’s asleep again, elbow thrown over his face, and Maedhros is still holding his braid. 

He yanks again. 

Fingon wakes fully. His amber eyes glow slightly in the dark. “Do not pull my hair,” he says, catching Maedhros by the wrist. “What’s gotten into you?” 

Maedhros doesn’t answer. Fingon sighs and turns away, wrapping the blanket over his head to protect himself. Maedhros pulls at the back of his tunic. Fingon sleeps through that, so Maedhros digs his nails into the bared skin underneath. 

Fingon yelps. Sits up, blinking at Maedhros with barely-contained anger. “What is it?” 

Maedhros says nothing. 

“Do you wish for me to sleep here?” Fingon asks. 

“Yes,” Maedhros says, “I wish it.” He cannot stand it, being left along in the room. It is worse than anything else they could do to him, he thinks. 

“Very well,” Fingon says, “is there something you need of me?” 

Maedhros is silent. 

Fingon breathes deeply through his nose. “Yesterday,” he says, “has left me very weary. Tell me if you need something. Otherwise let me rest.” 

Maedhros cannot remember what happened yesterday. He feels adrift in time entirely, a bead loose from the string. 

“Kill me,” Maedhros breathes. He doesn’t truly feel it, at least not right now. He doesn’t know why he says it. “I need you to kill me.” 

“No.” Fingon says. 

“Then sleep with me,” Maedhros says. “Bed me.” 

“No.” Fingon says again. “I might get you wine, or bread, or some salve for your cuts. I might get you the waste-pot. I might open the window. These are the things I might do.”

 Maedhros thinks about it. “Wine,” he says. 

Fingon stands, swaying slightly. He’s limping. Maedhros feels he ought to know why. But then he’s alone in the room, and time folds oddly, and then he’s sitting up, and drinking wine, cold on his tongue and a little over-sour. Fingon is sitting against headboard, his eyes half-shut. Maedhros watches him fall back asleep like that, sitting up, one hand still raised against the cup. Maedhros listens to his breathing and feels himself seep out of the edges of his skin, thinks he must be dying. 

* * * 

He is awake. Someone with long dark hair sits on the edge of his bed. Breathes. 

“Maglor,” he says. 

His father’s face turns to look at him, eyebrows knitted together, mouth set. There is a bruise, greenish, on his cheekbone. 

“I hate you,” Maedhros says, “I am glad you died.” 

“I will go and fetch him,” Curufin says mildly. 

* * * 

He is on the floor and it is dark. In his mind he is watching himself from the outside, not on the floor but before (or now, is it now? He has no way of telling what has passed and what has not) on the bed, and there are many of them in the room with him and he’s biting them, clawing at their skin, and he can taste blood in his mouth, not just his tongue, hair in his hands, feathers coming out of somewhere on the bed, fluttering in the draft from the window, calm yourself, calm yourself, calm yourself, do not— many faces, flashing white eyes, don’t know who, don’t know where, get off, get off, get off—stop, you hurt him, stop—hand over his wrist, crack of the bed below him, the leg of the bed, crack of the oak, get off—

Now he takes his hands to his mouth. Takes his hand to his mouth. Sucks out the bits of skin and blood caught under his fingernails. Doesn’t know when he’s going to eat again. If he is.  

* * * 

Fingon is holding his head, pressing his head against his own breast. Maedhros hears the beating of his heart, faster and more panicked than he’d admit to. His hair is loose and that is how Maedhros knows time has passed, because Fingon keeps his braids in for weeks. It falls like a cloud over and around Maedhros, so long now. Dark curls. 

He’s holding Maedhros tight and he’s saying, “you’re alright, now, pretty babe, you’re well.” He’s saying, “I have you,” and “all is well,” and “no harm done, hush now,” and he’s running his fingers over Maedhros’ ears, and Maedhros weeps and presses against him. 

Then Fingon is on top of him, holding his wrist in one hand and the back of his head with the other, kissing again and again the top of his head. Maedhros wraps his right arm around his waist and shakes and shakes. 

“Is Maglor coming?” he asks, after the worst of it has passed. 

“He cannot come right now,” Fingon says, “he is not here.” 

Maedhros frowns. “Did I hurt him?” 

“No,” Fingon says, smiling tightly, “not for a long time, beloved.” 

* * * 

“I cannot recall,” Maedhros says, watching Maglor stoke the fire, “I cannot recall if you are dead.” 

“I am not,” Maglor says. “Father is.” 

Father frowns. “I am not either,” he says, out of the fireplace, “I am made of flames and thus I cannot die.” 

“Father is dead,” Maedhros echoes. That seems right. “Maglor.” 

“Yes?” Maglor straightens up. He walks to the table. The table is small, wound, carved of wood. It doesn’t look like anything they had before. Maglor pours wine and waters it down, mixes in honey. 

“You must tell me if you have died,” Maedhros says, “it is cruel if you do not tell me.” 

“He is a poet,” Father says, “he must be cruel.” 

“I have not died,” Maglor says, “come, put your hand on my life-vein and feel my heart beat.” 

Maedhros stands up. He is surprised that he can; that he walks now, stumbles a few steps from the chair to little bench by the fire. That he takes Maglor’s hand. Pushes his fingers against his skin. Feels his heart. Boom. Boom. Boom. 

“You must tell me everyone who is dead,” Maedhros says. 

Maglor sighs. “Father,” he says, “Grandfather…” 

But their father speaks over him. “Maglor,” he says, “Celegorm. My brother’s awful sons, they have fallen beneath the ice and drowned…” 

* * * 

“Where is Maglor?” Maedhros asks. “Maglor, Maglor—” 

“Oh, stars above,” Amras groans. His face is covered in blood, the left half of it distorted and ugly and old, the right fair and young and clean. He is his own twin image. “Down, in the cellar, licking his wounds. That Sindar bitch near sliced open his ribcage.” 

“Maglor,” Maedhros calls, “Maglor, Maglor, Maglor.” 

“He is not here,” Father says, “he is dead. He fell beneath the grinding ice and drowned.” 

“I was never on the grinding ice,” Maglor says, sitting next to him in bed. “That’s the host of Fingolfin, remember?” He is smiling and he is young. There is no blood nor dirt on him. “You are at Lake Mithrim, you are well. Eat some eggs.” 

“You are in Doriath, and three of your brothers are dead.” 

“Which three?” Maedhros asks. 

“You can eat any eggs you want,” Maglor says. 

* * * 

He knows it is Maglor standing over his bed, and snaps his outstretched fingers anyways, out of habit. Crack. Maglor howls in pain and Maedhros is happy with himself, then sorrowful. 

* * * 

“Who was it that had his head broken open?” Maedhros asks. They’re sitting outside, on the grass. He keeps catching blades of it in his fingers and ripping it up. Satisfying burst of the stems, damp brown dirt bared underneath. Worms, scurrying insects. “On the stairs. Brain spilled out.” 

Maglor shuts his eyes like the question pains him. Next to him Fingon calmly sips his wine. They’re outside eating. Beautiful morning. 

“Grandfather,” Maglor says. 

“Burst into flame,” Maedhros says. “Stabbed, bleeding underneath the chainmail, bubbled through underneath, blood on the lips. Then fire.” 

“Father,” Maglor says. 

“Hung out like a pelt to dry in the sun,” Maedhros says, “‘ere Fingon took pity and shot him through with his arrows.” 

“That did not happen,” Maglor says, “he did not kill you.” 

“I wish he had,” Maedhros says. 

Fingon moves suddenly, yanks up his sleeve and sticks out his arm. “Bite me,” he says. 

Maedhros hesitates, looking at him. Maglor gapes. “What?” 

“Plainly he means to hurt you, by making you list such things,” Fingon says, “and he means to hurt me, it seems, through his return to the cliffs. It would be easier, Maedhros, if you just.” 

Maedhros bites him. Draws blood. Fingon sits, blank-faced, and sips his wine. Maglor weeps. 

* * * 

“When will you die?” Maedhros asks. He’s in bed, his head on Fingon’s lap. Fingon is stroking his hair. 

“I already did,” Fingon says, “don’t you remember? They caught me up in their whips and they burned me, and you couldn’t do anything. You failed me.” 

“Oh,” Maedhros says. For some time they are silent. Fingon kisses his hair, lips cold as the winter wind. “I do not wish to be alive, if you are not.” 

“Well, too bad,” Fingon says. 

* * * 

The mud is cool under his hands. Roots of trees. Wood caught under his fingernails, wood splinters. Warm air, cool mud. Sweat. 

“Do not leave,” his father says, far below the dirt. But it is too late, he has gone. 

“How might I help you?” a voice asks him. “What do you need?” He wishes to claw, to bite. 

“Maglor,” he breathes, “Maglor, Maglor.” 

“No,” the voice says. 

His heart beats hard against his ears. He thinks. “Wine,” he says. 

* * * 

Fingon wraps his arms around Maedhros’ waist from behind and kisses the back of his neck. Maedhros reaches for him, feels for his warmth in the darkness. A loose feather on the mattress flutters with his exhale. 

“Are you alive?” Maedhros asks. 

“What do you think?” 

Maedhros hesitates. “No?” 

“Yes,” Fingon says. “I live.” 

“Oh,” Maedhros says. His hand finds Fingon’s wrist. “Please do not die. It would be cruel of you to die.” 

(“He is Fingolfin’s son,” his father says, from the corner of the room, “he must be cold and cruel.”) 

Fingon draws him closer. Kisses his shoulder. “Do not fret for me, pretty babe,” he says, “I will live forever.” 

* * * 

“You’re home,” Maglor says, running his fingers through Maedhros’ hair, tucking it behind his ears, “you are well. We have the gems.” 

“I know,” Maedhros says, “I know.” 

* * * 

“If you had killed me, that day,” Maedhros says, “we would have fallen against the forces of darkness. Your father would never be king; or perhaps he would be, after all my brothers were dead, but not for long. We would never have been wed.” 

Out of the portrait Fingon looks down at him, his amber eyes angry. The artist had rendered the crown on his head oddly, like it is lit by a different light source. 

“It is good,” Maedhros says, “I am glad you did not kill me.” 

Fingon scoffs. “We have fallen against the darkness regardless,” he says. “There was never hope.” 

* * * 

He sits in the bathtub and Maglor trims his fingernails, one after the other, with a little paring knife. Maedhros likes the attention. Likes Maglor’s calm grey eyes on him, his focused attention. There is a perfect little circle bruise in the flesh of his forearm. 

“Did I bite you?” Maedhros asks. 

“Yes,” Maglor says, “it is alright. It was a while ago.” 

“I do not remember,” Maedhros says, “I do not know why I do not remember.” 

“Sometimes you cannot,” Maglor says, “all is well. Do you know where you are?” 

The steam rises from the water. Maedhros blows on it, watches it hiccup at the sudden displacement of air. “Yes,” he says, “I know.” 

“How does that feel?” Maglor asks, tracing his nails with the pads of his fingers, “is that good?” 

Maedhros feels it. Dips it below the water. “Good,” he says, “short. I will not bite it to the blood.” 

Maglor beams at him. The water shrivels his fingers.  

“I never want to be anywhere else,” Maedhros says, “I do not want to go.” 

* * * 

“Who was it, that was skinned and withered in the sun?” 

“No one. That was not anybody.” 

“I am quite sure it was someone. I just need the name.” 

“No one, Russo.” 

“What about the elf that jumped into the flames?” 

“That did not happen. You are coming up with dead elves again.” 

* * * 

They are drinking, the three of them. Outside it is winter, though it has not been some while below. Flakes of dry, crumbly snow stick to the window and melt. Icicles hang over the window, catching the moonlight. Maedhros likes to be in the warmth, likes the flickering yellowish light of the candles, the… 

“Living souls,” he says, sipping spiced wine, mixed with brandy, “trapped in the flames. Father…” 

“Shh,” Fingon says, “shh, you are speaking aloud.” 

“Let him, if he wants to,” Maglor says. 

Maedhros doesn’t know what he wants. He drinks. There is one harp in the room and two players; they get in each other’s way, Fingon starting a melody and Maglor wanting to play it differently. Maedhros likes to watch them together; it feels rare, these days. Here they are, each perching on one side of the harp-stool, meant for only one player, bumping elbows against each other, spilling wine and laughing. Maglor’s hair is down; Fingon catches a lock of it in his hand, wraps it around his fingers, yanks. Maglor shrieks with laugher and shoves him. Somehow someone pulls a harp-string, clear notes ringing out over the chaos. 

It is like watching the birds, Maedhros thinks, it is like watching the birds squabbling and preening in the rock caverns below. He doesn’t know how drunk they are. Doesn’t know how drunk he is. 

“You would be a starling,” he says, “you’d be a thrush.” 

He holds out his arms and nudges Fingon with his mind, and then Fingon is on top of him, arms wrapping about his neck, kissing his cheeks. He smells of alcohol and pipe-smoke and herb oils. Maglor’s next to them, laughing, drinking, eating roasted nuts. Maedhros drifts off like that, Fingon solid and warm on top of him, Maglor’s weight on the mattress. 

When he wakes it is dark, and Fingon is sitting by the vanity, painting his eyes. When he reaches for Maglor he is not there. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, thick, hairy. He can voices a room over, a woman’s and a man’s. 

Mother and father, he thinks at first. But that is not so. Mother, certainly, and grandfather, Mahtan, his low voice rolling as the flames of the forge. 

* * * 

Steam rises from the surface of the water. His hair is so long now it falls deep into the bathwater, swirls about like seaweed. Maedhros catches the steam on his tongue, feels the comb bump against the scars on his scalp. 

“Your hair is growing in nicely,” Maglor says. “Even where you tore out the roots. It will be thick and good in no time at all.” 

Maedhros reaches to touch it. “I wish you’d sing instead, Maglor,” he says. 

“I’m not Maglor,” Maglor says. “Look at me. Do you know where you are?” 

Maedhros turns and looks at his brother’s face, his long dark hair, his stormy grey eyes, the freckles scattered over his nose. “Yes,” he says, “yes, I know.” 

Maglor leans over him, and kisses his forehead. “I know it can be hard,” he says. “You’re doing well.” 

“Are you dead?” Maedhros asks him. 

“Maglor, you mean?” 

“Yes,” Maedhros says, “is Maglor dead?” 

“No one can say that,” Maglor says, “no one can say he’s dead.” 

“Did it hurt?” Maedhros asks. “What happened?” 

“At first,” Maglor says, “after that no one can say if it kept hurting. Can you give me your hand? I would cut your nails.” 

Maedhros can, but does not. 

* * * 

“Come with me,” Father says, “fly. Are you a boy, to fear a little fire?” 

* * * 

Maglor comes to lay down next to him. Next to them, him and Fingon, still sleeping on the other side. His fingers are bandaged up, his eyebrows set with pain. He reaches for Maedhros, and draws him forward, to rest against his chest. Strokes his hair. 

Maedhros lets him. He knows now he is holding a viper, a biting fox, an unloveable thing. Let him do as he wishes. 

“You are in the worst of it now,” Maglor says, “you are weary, and horribly hurt. It will only grow better from here.” 

“I wish you’d sing instead,” Maedhros says. 

[gay-dorito-dust]

🐧

This is going to be really off from how bonding works lol.

But imagine that Aemon rants to Vaghar about reader having claim Cannibal to the Point that Vaghar gets curious over you (HC That Vaghar and Cannibal might have a big hate to friends relationship lol). So on one of these days when Vaghar its free to do as she pleaces she decides to look for the reader who is like "why the fuck does big old dragons keep coming to me" but reader is actually sweet to her and basically respects her a lot. Probably tells her how of a brave girl she is and how unfair too to fight human wars.

And Vaghar is like "oh if you knewww" and starts to like reader more than her own rider.

Cannibal IS getting jealous over this. Reader is his 😤!!

But one random day Aemon has the fantastic idea of try and persuade reader to marry him and he is being lowkey creepy and pushy. And what happens ? Not one, TWO BIG DRAGONS APPEARS.

Yes baby!! Canninal is sooo angry he may as well burn him alive but seeing the suprise and offended look Aemon gives to Vaghar as she protects reader its a nice suprise too.

And Vaghar its on mother mode. 😤💞!! She is lowley ashame over her own rider and will roar to him to stay away, then when reader and Cannibal leave together Vaghar wil ignore Aemons command and fly off with them too.

No because I love the ideas that reader is just so likeable that dragons just finds themselves attracted to them.

Besides I’m pretty sure Aemond and Vhagar don’t have a strong a bond as like daemon and Caraxes for example, so I wouldn’t be surprised if vhagar finds reader to be the better choice and wishes that reader was her rider, and not some wish version of Visenya.

Aemond: they should be mine, we ride the biggest dragons of Westeros, why can’t they see that we’re meant to be!

Grandma Vhagar: *sick and tired of hearing Aemond whine about you and just flies off to seek you out herself*

You would be with cannibal just chilling and all of a sudden an Aemond-less Vhagar just lands in front of you and stares you down as Cannibal growls at her in warning of what he’d do to her if she came here to harm you. He doesn’t fuck with you and neither should anyone else, not Vhagar, Craxes, hell not even Balerion or Meraxes if they were still alive would fuck with you with Cannibal to protect you.

But you just casually go up to Vhagar and start petting her snout and saying; oh Vhagar, you’re forced by the hands of man to do their bidding once again. You poor girl who just wants to be left alone in peace and yet they don’t respect that.

Vhagar is pretty much purring now as she closes her eyes, allowing your sweet words of praise to comfort her old and decrepit body into a state of rest; cannibal, you have chosen a true diamond of a rider with this little one.

Cannibal staring her down, still a little on edge but resonating how she feels about the selfishness of the Targaryen dynasty: I know and I shall treasure them as one until I die. But be reminded Vhagar that they are MY rider, not yours. You should’ve remained riderless if you wished to have them but it’s far too late, I’ve came for them and now they’re mine until death do us part.

Vhagar: I know that, dear Cannibal, but that does not mean you shall keep me from them for I shall always be watching over them when you can not.

Cannibal growls at this but doesn’t do anything outside of that because he doesn’t like you scolding him.

So when Aemond finds out where Vhagar goes when he’s busy, he will be ten times worse then before because if you claimed cannibal and also have Vhagar taking a liking to you, then this must mean that you are destined to marry him regardless! He would hunt you down himself and corner you somewhere remote as he looks at you with a weird and possessive look in his eye, as he then proceeds to spout nonsense about how you and him were two halves of the same soul and how you were truly a blessing for two of the largest dragons in history to come for your presence.

His dragon deity he’d probably call you because when has two dragons ever flew in search of someone before? It had always been people claiming them but never the dragons searching for their one true rider. You were truly a specimen for history to recount decades from now as historians ponder whether you were something else all together.

Could you imagine the future Targaryens reading about you in history books? The one whom summons dragons? Dragon priest/priestess? Whatever other titles they might give you in the future long after you’re gone.

So Aemond is obviously coming on too strong for your liking and all of a sudden, he’s eclipsed by not one but TWO behemoth shadows belonging to Cannibal and Vhagar, they have heard enough from Aemond and didn’t like the unease and fear that they felt coming from you as the one eyed prince kept hounding you with his advances for marriage. Once was fine but this was too much and they didn’t want Aemond to do you any harm just for saying no.

(Whether your are already betrothed to Cregan or Benjicot or Jace, or Addam Velaryon I’ll let you decide that)

Your hand is/is not taken as of yet and they will not allow Aemond to sully that because of his delusions and conceptions.

Aemond is shocked and upset to see that Vhagar was blocking him from you as you quickly mounted Cannibal, who was looking at him as though he were his soon to be dinner, and whispers; ‘Vhagar, why?’

Vhagar only roars at him and growling every time he tried to step closer to her, upset herself that her supposed rider was a weird man with an obsession for things he couldn’t have. She waits for when you and Cannibal to take off to the skies before following behind as a safety precaution, blatantly disregarding Aemond’s cries as they become nothing the further she goes, forcing him to realise that their control over dragons was merely a farce.

[buddie-buddie]

Buck’s grip tightens on the handle of Eddie’s suitcase, knuckles white. He tells himself it’s to keep the wheels from wobbling on the uneven sidewalk, but really, he needs something to anchor himself.

His free hand is shoved deep into his pocket, fingers curling and uncurling around the smooth edge of his phone, as if holding onto it might somehow keep everything else from slipping away. The itch to do something— anything— to stop this from happening simmers just beneath his skin, but there’s nothing he can do. No text he can send, no words he can say, no way to stop Eddie from walking through those doors and toward a future that might not include him.

His chest feels tight, like he’s bracing for impact, and the ache that’s been clawing at him for weeks grows sharper with every step they take. And yeah, Buck knows he could be handling all of this better. He wants to. But he just… he can’t. 

Not when he’s about to lose Eddie.

In his defense, he hasn’t screamed his throat raw, tried to claw his way through forty feet of mud, or scaled a crane, leaving himself completely exposed to a potential sniper’s gunfire yet. So compared to the last couple of times he thought he was losing Eddie, he’s actually handling things pretty well.

Except he’s not.

Because Eddie potentially moving to El Paso? That’s not a battle Buck can fight. It’s just a steady march toward goodbye and the helpless, suffocating feeling of being left behind yet again. And God, that’s the part he hates the most— the way it feels so familiar.

He knows it’s not fair. Eddie isn’t choosing to leave him; he’s choosing to be closer to his son. That’s not abandonment— it’s love. But logic doesn’t quiet the voice in Buck’s head whispering that he’s going to be alone again. 

The guilt that comes with that thought eats at him, sharp and relentless. He hates himself for feeling this way, for letting his own selfishness cloud what should be a simple truth: Eddie deserves to be with his son. Buck tells himself over and over that this isn’t about him, that he doesn’t get to make it about him.

But no matter how much he tries to shove it down, the ache lingers, the fear digs deeper, and the quiet self-loathing grows heavier. Because as much as Buck wants what’s best for Eddie, he can’t stop the selfish, desperate part of himself that doesn’t want him to go.

It’s only a few days. Just long enough for Eddie to visit Chris and see some houses in person. He’ll be back in LA on Thursday morning and back at the 118 for their shift on Thursday night. It’s not like this is goodbye forever. 

It kind of feels like it, though. 

The possibility of losing Eddie to Texas makes Buck ache in ways he can’t quite name. It’s a sharp, hollow kind of pain that settles deep in his chest, refusing to let up. Buck doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t know how to carry its weight. 

But then again, he hasn’t really had to. Not for the last seven years, anyway. Eddie’s always been there, standing steady beside him, ready to take on Buck’s burdens like they were his own. 

One of Buck’s high school teachers had a quote on her wall, something about friendship doubling joy and halving grief. Buck hadn’t really understood it then, not the way he does now. Not the way he’s lived it with Eddie. Every joy, every sorrow, every impossible thing he’s faced— Eddie has been there, cutting the weight of it in half, easing the load in ways no one else ever could.

But this? This is one he has to carry alone. He can’t ask Eddie to shoulder it, to take on the fear, the sadness, the aching uncertainty of what comes next. Eddie already has enough on his plate, and adding to that is the last thing Buck wants.  

He hasn’t let himself think too hard about why it all feels so unbearable, hasn’t let himself untangle the messy, overwhelming knot of emotions that twists tighter in his gut with each passing day. What he does know is that this–– Eddie leaving–– is going to break him.

His breath catches as they get closer to the entrance, the quiet whoosh of the automatic doors opening and closing pounding in his ears like a drumbeat. His heart hammers against his ribs, a frantic, uneven rhythm that steals the air from his lungs. 

The pain of watching Abby walk through these same doors and out of his life rushes back with a vengeance, but this time it’s sharper, heavier than it was almost eight years ago. 

Back then, he thought the pain of Abby leaving was unbearable. It had felt like the end of the world at the time, like he’d never be able to put himself back together again. 

It was nothing compared to this.

This is the ground cracking open beneath his feet, a chasm threatening to swallow him whole. 

This is impossible, suffocating, a slow unraveling of everything Buck foolishly believed he could hold onto.

Eddie isn’t just a part of Buck’s life, Eddie is a part of Buck himself, woven so tightly into his existence that imagining a world without him feels like trying to breathe underwater. Every breath feels jagged, like shards of glass slicing through his lungs. His vision blurs, not from tears— he won’t let himself cry, not here, not where Eddie can see— but from the weight of everything left unsaid pressing against his chest, threatening to suffocate him.

Eddie must sense it, must be able to tell that Buck is one blow of the wind away from falling apart. He reaches out, his hand coming up and resting briefly against Buck’s forearm, his thumb brushing gently over the fabric of Buck’s sleeve before dipping beneath the hem of it and settling on the warm skin of his wrist. Eddie doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask if Buck’s okay or tell him not to worry. He just looks at him— really looks at him— and the storm raging inside Buck’s chest suddenly settles.

Oh. 

Oh.

It’s the way Eddie’s hand lingers for just a second too long, the way his thumb moves instinctively, like he’s memorizing the feel of Buck’s skin beneath his own. It’s the way Eddie’s eyes soften, his mouth twitching with the faintest hint of a smile, as if he’s reassuring Buck without saying a word.

And suddenly, Buck knows.

The realization slams into him, stealing what little breath he has left, leaving him dizzy and unsteady. It’s so obvious now, so painfully clear, that he doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before. The way his heart twists every time Eddie smiles at him, the way he feels more alive when Eddie’s near, the way his world feels smaller, emptier, at just the thought of Eddie being gone— it all points to one single, undeniable truth.

He’s in love with Eddie. 

keep reading on ao3

[forthevillains]

Ok so here’s my idea… came from a video where a man hires a “wife” and pretends to have a loving family in order to get a promotion from his boss. The “wife” decides to play along and even refuses to get paid for it. The man falls in love with her eventually cause she’s so kind to him.

So i was thinking… what if Wesker had to hire someone to be his significant other to attend a big event/party held by Umbrella? Then he fell in love with her? Imagine he was forced to participate but didn’t expect to meet his love in a boring party 😭

This sounds crazy and kinda cringe but this got me so excited lol

I wanted to write something like that for so long so I feel u! I added a few things to make it work in my head so I hope you don’t mind🫶 (I wrote this while being sick so if anything doesn’t make sense, I apologize)

It was a very important evening to all workers of Umbrella. Everyone was invited and well, the more known they were, the more important their presence would be. Everyone was allowed and not just that - they were expected to bring their other halves, significant others. Wesker wouldn’t care at first. He didn’t want to come anyway, he thought of it as a waste of time, so why should he care? Though when he tried to talk to Spencer, to convince him that he could use that time to work on the research instead, it was to no avail. All Spencer did was tell him to bring some girl too.

Wesker’s annoyance and anger got the best of him. If people thought of him as grumpy before, he’s become an absolute Satan now. Especially when he got to know that he’s to take a woman to the party. Why would he do that anyway? He doesn’t have one, he doesn’t need one, it all sounded so stupid. Is he supposed to find a girlfriend that quick only to dump her as soon as it’s over? No that would be even more stupid.

Wesker knew he had to appear eventually and if he was to do so, he needed someone to act as his partner. An act is all it has to be…

Suddenly an idea popped into his mind. A genius one to be exact. He never thought that he’d come to do something like that, but the opportunity like this could not be wasted. If he didn’t have a spouse, he would simply hire one. And who would be better for the job than someone he already knows? Someone who’s worked for him for a while undercover, someone who always gets the job done - you.

"What the fuck did you just say?!” You nearly choked on your coffee when Wesker informed you about the situation through the phone.

"Just one night, you’re going to act like a girlfriend of mine, be nice to whoever talks to you and at least pretend to have manners. That shouldn’t be a problem, right?” He explains once more, his lips curving into a wicked smile at your reaction. You two weren’t on best terms exactly, but he was willing to pay how much you asked and you were willing to do any filthy job for him. You worked perfectly fine, however only as partners at work.

"I’m an agent, Wesker, not some of your whor-“

"How much do you want, dear?“ he interrupted you. He knew you couldn’t say no to such an easy job. All you wanted was money and he was willing to deliver. So you agreed, though you knew he wouldn’t make it easy for you.

You two made the deal and of course, he wouldn’t let you drown in your own questions about the evening, so you were properly informed, even gifted what you were to wear.

For the whole evening you tried not to leave Wesker’s side. As if he’d let you anyway. You knew what Umbrella was and if you felt anything apart from disgust as you entered, hand in hand with the head researcher, it was curiosity. You were nervous, yet made sure to be observant. It was your first time in there, although you’ve been working with Wesker for a while.

It didn’t take much time for people to notice you, their gazes not leaving you for even a second as realization of who you’re there with hit them. Some of them whispered to each other, some just stared in a surprise. It’s not like anyone would expect Albert Wesker himself to be close to someone, especially in a romantic kind of way. He was a loner, someone who didn’t trust anybody apart from himself, who only talked to two people more than was necessary.

Soon you met a few other scientists and you could feel how Albert was tense as he held you, his arm around your waist, gripping onto you tightly whenever someone was talking to you. You looked at him each time he did that only to find out that he was paying you no other attention. Or so you thought.

It was only about time you let loose finding out that there was no catch as you might’ve thought at first. You’ve began to seek fun instead of possible threats. Though when you were ready to leave Albert’s side he only tightened his grip on you, stopping you immediately.

"What do you want now?” You raised an eyebrow.

"You’re staying here with me like a good loving girlfriend would,” Wesker immediately replied.

"Oh right… I should’ve expected that if you had a girlfriend you’d treat her like a dog.” Your words were harsh and inappropriate, but that was the way you are - honest whenever you could. And since no one could hear the two of you as you kept the distance, you said what was on your mind.

"How I would treat a woman is none of your concerns. You’re staying here.” What you didn’t know is that he wanted you by his side to avoid any unnecessary interaction with others. There were too many people that despised him and it wouldn’t be far from truth that he felt the same way towards them, if not even worse. He needed you, you were the most comfort he could have there even if you were just an agent who happened to work for him.

"Albert! I-I mean we have been looking for you.” It’s no surprise that William with his wife appeared, but it almost made you jump, which made them turn towards you. "And who is this?”

Wesker let you introduce yourself on your own, to make it more difficult for you, grinning at you the whole time. It was quite entertaining seeing you struggle with saying out loud that you’re his girlfriend. You surely needed a shot after that. And this time, he even let you go. Which was probably not the best idea. You didn’t get too drunk, but enough to be a little tipsy.

You roamed around like a lost puppy, telling yourself that you were looking for toilets, but deep inside you knew you just grew more curious knowing this place is free for you to explore without any restraints. However Albert never really let you out of his sight. His shades were very good at hiding his eyes so that no one knew he wasn’t listening to them at all, that he didn’t even look them in the eyes as he shook their hands. You were his girlfriend for the day and he would not risk anything knowing how much you loved to play games with him. Even though he loved it too…

When you disappeared in the hallway, he was right behind you, immediately pinning you to the nearest wall. "Where do you think you’re going, dearheart?”

You gasped at the impact and looked up at him. "I needed to pee,” you said.

Wesker looked you up and down, thinking whether to trust you or not. But no matter how hard he tried to do just that, his eyes got stuck on how beautiful the dress made you look, especially in the cleavage area.

"My eyes are up here, Wesker,” you frowned. You maybe couldn’t see his eyes but you sure felt his burning gaze on your skin and the way his head was tilted downwards also hinted where he was really looking.

"Really?” Now he looked into your eyes and you wished nothing more than to see his own in that moment. Drunk or not, you’d always appreciate Wesker when he wasn’t acting like a grumpy old man.

He leaned forward, his nose brushing against your cheek lightly, before he whispered "I apologize, my dear, I didn’t know.” His words sent shivers down your spine and you tried to make a step back, even though you were so close to the wall it almost hurt your back. That made him smirk.

Wesker was never a touchy person, but right now, after he had few glasses of wine himself, he couldn’t resist the way you looked, not only talking about how good you smelled. And you were all his, for this night at least. Before you got the chance to ask him what the hell is he doing, he gently kissed your cheek, his lips slowly moving towards your jaw. He found it adorable when you threw your head back to give him more access, sliding a hand to your lower back to support your trembling body.

"This wasn’t part of the deal,” you choked out, trying your best to not let out any sound of pleasure.

"I feel like this is what couples do, though. Don’t you think so too?” His mouth moved even lower, his tongue caressing your skin before he nibbled at your neck lightly, drawing another gasp out of you. He felt unprofessional, he was suddenly nothing but a man in need. How the hell did you taste so sweet?

He began to kiss your neck, too caught up in the moment, in how good you tasted. His teeth kept grazing your skin, over and over again, teasing you, leaving you scared whether he would sink them into your neck like a vampire or not. You didn’t even want to think about it, because if you did - you’d probably come to conclusion that you like it.

Though, instead of sinking his teeth into you, he sucked in your delicate skin, forcing a moan out of you. It flattered him, it really did. The way you squirmed in his arms, the way your heartbeat quickened, breath ragged and pupils dilated… He was too caught up in all that, he got carried away (or maybe he did it on purpose).

Suddenly an echo of steps could be heard and he was forced to pull away from you, as a few of his co-workers walked by, already giving the two of you disgusted looks. Wesker only nodded at them to get going before turning back to you.

"That was a mistake.” He spoke, breathless, one of his palms already on your cheek, gently caressing it. And it meant one thing - he didn’t mean the words. All of his actions sold him out. No matter what he’d say, it wouldn’t save him now. No matter how calm he acted.

You were a totally different case though, your head was dizzy and you couldn’t tell if what just happened was real or a dream. You felt like you were floating, but still, you nodded. "We should… get back,” you then muttered and tried to make a step forward, but your knees failed you and you almost fell to the ground. If it wasn’t for your boyfriend for the night who quickly caught you. "Sorry.” You only added. He couldn’t comprehend whether it was the alcohol or his doings that got you like that, but he somehow found it cute. But you could never know, he was too good at hiding his own feelings.

When you got back, it was all the same, except for a few details that you probably wouldn’t even be able to catch. Wesker’s hold on you was firm, yet gentle, his gaze kept drifting towards you as he scanned your body language to know if you’re alright. He was trying to see if the moment the two of you had did leave a mark on you only physically or also mentally. He wanted to know how you felt. But he wouldn’t dare ask, not in front of all these people. So he just waited for the end of the night. Only taking in how beautiful you looked, how well you talked your way out of all the questions even with alcohol in your system. He truly admired your talents, how well you worked with people. Though what he enjoyed the most was your warmth. Something he hasn’t felt for a while as he was a workaholic, with no time for lovers, not even affairs. He thought he didn’t need physical touch, but your body next to his felt perhaps too good.

Finally, it was over. You were able to say goodbyes to the very few people that dared approach you, before the two of you finally left the building, both glad it was finally over. The silence between you was uncomfortable, tense and even though you wanted to speak up, you were afraid of making it all just worse. You might’ve talked your way out of discussions about opinions on animal or human testing, but for sure you couldn’t find one good word in a conversation with the man beside you.

Only when you two entered the car, Wesker in driver’s seat and you in passenger seat, then he sighed in relief as it was just the two of you. And that alone made you speak up.

"Don’t say anything, whatever it is, I don’t wanna talk about it, I’m too done for that,” you say before he has the chance to say anything and for once he gives up, knowing that it must’ve been draining for you. Especially knowing that you hate special occasions and tight dresses. But you still did it, for him. And also for money, but that didn’t really seem that important to you as you’ve actually quite enjoyed his company (you wouldn’t admit it though).

Wesker started the car and let you be without any other words. He wanted to give you space after what happened and so he did. You were quick to fall asleep in your seat, making it easier for him to look at you without being seen at all. His eyes kept drifting towards your neck the most and it took all his self control not to grin at the hickeys. God did he want to do it again.

His first intentions were to bring you to your house and drop you off in there, but as you slept in the seat next to him, he changed his mind. You were going home with him whether you liked it or not. He paid you for the whole night anyway, so you couldn’t say a word against it even if you were awake.

If you were still asleep when he got home, he’d carefully take you in his arms and carry you all the way to his bed. You might wake up alone the next day, but you’d surely know who was the one to take care of you. And even though he wouldn’t dare admit any feelings towards you just yet, he’s surely going to be way more gentle with you from now on…