#He’s the first and typically only to criticize himself for struggling

[hylianane]

My first instinct was to get pissed at him on my Zoro’ss behalf, but after some thought I’m more worried that we’re genuinely starting to fucking lose Sanji. Cause this tone and phrasing is so strangely personal? Maybe he’s trying to motivate him, but to me this feels a little more in line with the comments he was making to Jinbe earlier that feel a bit like they might be caused by the mutation…? And I understand Jinbe being worried that Zoro is taking so long with Lucci, but for Sanji to react like this is so odd, since a constant in their rivalry is mutual trust. Why the hell is he sounding like on of his own fans on powerscaling twitter.

[yoditopascal]

Like A Prayer (Part 4)

summary: best friends with wade you’re always being dragged into something even when he’s not trying to, what are you to do when you find the fate of your timeline in the hands of yourself, your chaotic merc and an angry wolverine who’s hellbent on drinking himself to death?

content warning: romance, some angst, a little fluff, character deaths, canon-typical violence, smut, lots of cussing, mutual pining, found family, drug and alcohol use, reader insert but with no use of y/n cuz I hate that shit, deadpool being deadpool, mentions of poor mental health (depression anxiety and ptsd mostly), scent marking, the honda odyssey scene needs a warning all on its own MINORS DNI

a/n: edited by the ever so lovely karmiccc on ao3! Comments and criticisms are welcome!

tag list: sorry if you weren’t tagged I tried tagging everyone that asked but some usernames didn’t work! @allmyn1ghts @blooket-scares-me @amararosesblog @talanyra @spideybv28 @sadslasher13 @night-spectrum @eveieforeve02

Previous Chapter//Next Chapter

On Your Left Babygirl

Wade watches from the corner of his eye as your feet drag behind you, the now limp Wolverine was pressing his full mass into the two of you, and you were clearly struggling with the newly added weight.

“One Anchor Being coming right up, on your left, baby girl!”

“This Logan has everything! He can do pretty much anything the old model could plus he even sings musicals! And he’s actually wearing a costume like he’s not embarrassed to be in a superhero movie for once!”

“I don’t understand.”

“You said my universe is dying, because this sad sack of nuts got himself killed. Well, problem solved!”

“Y-you actually think you can replace an Anchor Being with this?” Paradox says between laughs pointing at Wolverine still on the floor. “I wouldn’t have accepted any other Wolverine bee tee dubs, but you’ve brought me the absolute worst Wolverine there is!

“What do you mean the worst one?” Wade asked, walking closer to Paradox.

Just as Wade was less than an arm’s length away from Paradox, you saw the off brand Mr. Darcy reachout and grab something behind his back. You jump forward placing yourself in between the two men just as Paradox drew his weapon.

“Wade watch-!” You don’t get to finish your sentence as Wade watches in absolute horror as you disintegrate into nothing in front of him.

Wade falls to his knees as if trying to catch your particles that were still floating about in the air before disappearing entirely.

The distinct snikt of Wolverine unleashing his claws breaks Wade out of his trance as he watches the Wolverine, now back on his feet, lunge for Paradox with his claws in pure rage before disappearing too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Logan groans as he sits up, cracking his neck back into place. He raises a hand to shield his face from the harsh rays of the sun above him as he lets out a sharp hiss from the incoming headache he was starting to get from the combination of the fall and all the alcohol he drank earlier.

Barely starting to sober up, he looks around himself with a grunt as he stands, taking in the environment around himself.

If he had to guess he’d had no idea where the fuck he was. The scene around him was dry and arid like a desert, only this one didn’t seem familiar to him at all. There was all kinds of trash and debris around him like it had been dumped here and forgotten. Taking in a few greedy inhales, Logan scented the air, coming back with only faint traces of smoke, dirt and something else, something sweet and fresh and familiar but still different at the same time.

Turning his head to follow the source of the smell Logan spots you, laid out face first on the ground. He walks up to you apprehensively, not knowing if he could trust you or not but as he approaches he realizes you’re out cold.

Getting a closer look at you now he’s able to take in your features up close. If you were a shapeshifter of some kind like he previously thought, you were a hell of a good one. At first glance you looked just like her, the same hair and big doe eyes that used to look up at him. You were even dressed the same way.

Squatting down to your level Logan’s able to get a much better whiff of you from here. There’s no mistaking a scent, even when Morph and Mystique used to try and trick him back in the day but it never worked because they could never change their smell.

There was no doubt about it, the smell was definitely yours. Shamefully Logan found his eyes wandering down your frame slowly as he drank you in, eyes lingering on your ass for a few seconds before turning you over onto your back, and God, even your face was the same. The longer he looked at you the more he realized you really were her. Only, you had less pronounced smile lines, and were less muscular, having probably only known peace in your life, you had appeared more softer than she had been. Just as his gloved hand was a breath away from caressing your cheek, he’s ripped from his inspection by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground behind him.

Standing to his feet, he looks back at you one last time before looking at the disfigured body of the guy in red from before as his bones snap back into place. He sniffs the air again, realizing the man that had just fallen from the sky. He smelled absolutely rancid to him, stinking of blood, gunpowder and a distinct sickly cancerous smell.

Definitely a threat. Logan concludes as he starts to walk up to him.

Wade coughs as he rolls over onto his back, looking down between his legs as Wolverine walked up to him, stopping right as his feet, “Don’t just stand there, you big ape. Give me a hand!”

Wolverine stared down at him, his hazel eyes swirling with contempt and silent fury as he unsheathed his claws.

“No, I’m actually okay, thank you,” Wade barely finishes his sentence before he’s being stabbed through both his sides, letting out a sharp curse as Logan hoists him in the air like a kebab.

“Where the hell are we?!” He demands.

“I don’t know! It all looks kinda Mad Maxy but that would be copyright infringement, wouldn’t it?!” Wade cries out as Wolverine harshly drops him to the ground.

“Fucking jokes,” Logan scoffs before turning his back to him, walking towards your still unconscious form.

“Hey hey! You stay away from my pookie bear, you hear me?” Wade warns as he cocks his gun pointing it at the back of Wolverine’s head.

“Or what?” He dared the man to continue.

Wade lowers his gun as he realizes how fast the situation was starting to escalate, his eyes dart back and forth between you and the very ready to rip his guts out Wolverine before he curses to himself. After putting his gun away, Wade raises his hands up in the air as a way to appease Logan as he began to warily approach him.

“Look, we don't have time for this alright? If we don’t make it back to that Paradox asshole. Everyone I know is going to die,” Wade starts to explain the situation to him but Logan rolls his eyes as he turns back around, continuing to walk towards you.

“No, my fucking problem,” Logan replies coldly as he waves him off.

Wade felt his blood boil. He was never a patient man, nor a very nice one, but compared to this guy? He was a fucking saint. It was an insult to everyone that his Anchor being replacement had to be such a dick.

“Is that what you said when your world went to shit?” Wade shoots back to Wolverine, stopping him in his tracks again.

“Come again?” Logan growls, turning back to face him.

“Yeah, I heard all about you.” Wade began as he turned around, becoming increasingly exasperated by the situation at hand, ”You screwed up everything, but you really should be thanking me for pulling you out of that bed you shit-“

Wade let out a scream as searing pain shot through his body. Looking down he sees the infamous adamantium claws of Wolverine protruding through his chest.

“Oh, you backstabbing son of a bitch!” Wade grunts in agony as he’s hoisted in the air again, this time on his back.

Fighting back against the pain, Wade uses his own momentum to flip himself behind Wolverine, throwing them both onto their backs on the ground, the blades of the Wolverine’s claws tearing more of his flesh and bone on their way out as he did so. Without missing a beat Wade pressed his guns against Wolverine’s sides and shot out several rounds as the older man let out a guttural scream of pain.

“Are you ready to be calm now?” Wade asks almost mockingly, guns still pressed to Wolverine’s ribs.

He’s met immediately with a headbutt, no doubt breaking his nose underneath the mask.

“Fuck!” Wade swears in pain as Wolverine rolls off him.

Not giving Wade any time to gather his bearings, the older mutant grabs him by his ankles before throwing him into a wall. Wade heard the bones in his arm snap as he crashed through the cement wall, tumbling backwards against a sunken monument that seemed familiar to him. Wade groaned as he stumbled back up to his feet, his arm snapped back into place painfully as he reloaded his gun.

“I don’t want to fight you, Peanut! Doesn’t matter what you did. I just need your help.” Wade called over to Wolverine as he stood across from him in the wasteland.

“I don’t fucking care,” Logan snaps back as he spits out a smoking bullet, the rest falling from his torso, his healing factor working over time to push them out.

“Fuck, this is gonna hurt,” Wade says more so to himself than anyone else, “Alright! Fuck it! Let’s give the people what they came for!”

“Let’s fucking go,” Logan says as he crouches down to his knees, readying himself for whatever Wade was about to throw at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You take a sharp much needed inhale through your nose as the final bone in your spine snaps back into place. Sputtering out a cough you sat up bltrying to block out the blinding light of the sun with your hand as a headache pulsed through your skull. Looking around you slowly take in the dilapidated scenery around you.

Where the hell were you? You thought to yourself as you looked down at your watch to check the time.

The screen was broken, a crack having spiderwebbed across the screen. You weren’t exactly sure when it had broken but from what you could tell from when it had stopped working it was well beyond midnight.

“Oh I’m so fucking fired tomorrow,” You say with a groan as you rise to your feet dusting yourself off.

The sound of shouting and rapid gunfire drew your attention in the distance. Approaching the sound as cautiously as you could, you peek over a mound of rubble to find Wade being held down by an enraged Wolverine with Wade’s katanas and baby knife sticking out of him, reminding you of a human pin cushion.

“Let’s see you grow your fucking head back!” He shouts as he goes to sink his claws into Wade’s throat.

Picking up the first thing you see laying around you run up behind the Wolverine hitting him in the head as hard as you could, breaking the branch in your hands on impact. With a heavy grunt, he stumbles off of Wade onto the ground.The Wolverine clutches his ear as he snaps his head up to glare at his assailant. The rage in his eyes shifts to shock as you stand over wade protectively, glaring down at him with your broken branch raised high and at the ready for you to swing at him again if need be.

Snapping out of his daze, Wolverine gets to his feet and with his claws sheathed going to strike the red suited clown again, when hastily Wade rises to his feet, immediately moving you behind him with his hands raised up in surrender.

“Wait, wait, I can fix it! I know how to fix it!” Wade shouted at the Wolverine not willing to put you or himself in the Wolverine’s wraith.

“Fix what?” Wolverine asks has he slowly starts to lower his fist as he looks back and forth between you two.

“Whatever it is that you did that made you so bad! Those freaks in the TVA, they have the power to end our universe, but they can also change yours!” Wade says pushing you further behind him, not liking how the man was eyeing you.

Logan looks between the two of you incredulously as if trying to understand if what Wade just told him was true or not.

“Well?” He asks gruffly, eyes now completely focused on you.

Realizing he was talking to you and that your answer might be his deciding factor on whether or not to help you, you take a deep breath as you walk out from behind Wade who looks at you skeptically for a moment.

“We just traveled the multiverse trying to find you because of the TVA,” You began with a surprised chuckle still reeling in that fact that you actually did do that as you returned Logan's intense gaze,“Until today I didn’t think any of this kinda stuff was possible… But it is so I believe him,” You said exchanging a look with Wade as you finish, he nods his head to you almost in thanks.

Logan stares at you a bit longer before letting out a frustrated huff as he looks away, sheathing his claws. You nearly let out a beath of relief at the sight until the older man resumed his attention on you two again. The Wolverine looked back and forth between the two of you as he felt his nerves starting to grate again.

“How the fuck do you know this clown?” Logan asks annoyed, his fists were down at his sides but still balled up ready to fight again if he needed to.

Peeking over Wade’s shoulder, you part your lips about to answer him when suddenly you're cut off by a new voice.

“Hey! We fight each other, we lose,” Said a voice from above you all.

Puzzled, you all look up in the direction the voice came from.

“Who the hell is that?” You asked scrunching your face up in confusion as you use a hand to block out the harsh rays of the sun from your vision.

“Dear God its him…” Wade said, astonished.

“Who?” You asked as you and Wolverine share a confused glance.

Above you, on a worn down billboard, stood a man. He was covered in loose fitting dark clothes with a hood draped over him, blocking his face from view.

“That my little chocolate drop is the One. The superhero equivalent to comfort food or molly. White guys’ answer to all the disappointments in another A-lister,” Wade went on rambling as the cloaked man jumped down and landed before the three of you.

“Now that’s a superhero landing!” Wade clapped as the cloaked man turned to point out into the desert

“They're coming,” The man said.

Alarmed, you all look in the direction of his focus. On the horizon you all could see three cars speeding towards you, all three of the giving off serious Mad Max vibes.

“Well they’re definitely driving angry,” Wade joked, though you could tell by the drop in his voice that he was assessing the entire situation very much aware of the danger you two were about to be in.

“I got this,” The cloaked man said pulling down his hood to reveal a familiar face, “Stay close.”

“Aye aye, Cap,” Wade says walking up behind him to wrap his arms around the man before he pulls them off of him awkwardly.

As the cars neared they circled around the four of you a few times, some of the men blew out crude whistles making you cringe in disgust as you clutched your broken branch to your chest. Finally they stopped, their vehicles parked around you, caging you four in.

“Cassandra is going to be giddy when she sees what we caught!” A man with stringy greasy hair grins, showing off his filthy teeth to the group, “You know you can’t run.”

“You see anyone running, dick for brains? You’re not gonna love what happens next,” The cloaked man retorted.

“Oh my god, he’s going to say it!” Wade says smacking one of his katana’s that still protruded from the Wolverine’s chest.

Logan stumbled back a bit with a weak ‘ah fuck’ as you instinctively reached out to steady him. He turned his head to look at you as soon as he felt your hands on him. You held his eyes for less than a second before abruptly removing yourself from him, now focusing on looking at anything else but him.

“Avengers Assem-!” Wade begins to shout as if anticipating what the cloaked man was about to say, however that’s not what he said at all.

“Flame on!”

“Sorry, what now?”

The cloaked man shot out into the sky in a ball of fire. He hovered over everyone for a moment before blasting out a stream of fire directly at the greasy man that had spoken before. The greasy man grins as he holds his hand out, absorbing the flames before he twists his fingers cutting off the cloaked man’s power like a faucet. The man barely had a second to register what happened before he began his miserable descent from the sky. He hit the billboard he was standing on before twice before flopping on the ground, completely unconscious.

“We don’t know that guy,” the Wolverine was quick to say.

“We thought we did,” Wade agreed as he looked over the unconscious man before turning back to the group of thugs.

“Oh but I know you,” A beastly looking man with pitch black eyes said as he dropped down to their level from atop a car.

His dark orbs were fixated on Wolverine, who returned his glare with his own as he bared his teeth at him with a growl.

“Holy shit… Sabretooth… your brother,” Wade said, a hint of excitement in his voice as he looked between the two.

“Ready to die?” Sabertooth asked as he stalked towards them, eyes never leaving Wolverine.

“Wait! Wait! Wait! Time!” Wade calls out as he begins to remove his weapons from Wolverine’s body giving him a long winded nonsensical pep talk in normal Wade fashion.

“Shut the fuck up!” Wolverine growls out, shoving him back into you.

What an asshole you thought to yourself with a scrunched up face.

The Wolverine lowered himself into a fighting stance before the two mutants lunged for each other. The two collided briefly in the middle as the familiar sound of metal tearing against bone and flesh rang through the air, before sliding past each other entirely. Both brothers stood on opposite sides of the dry field.

“What is it, girl? Is there trouble at the well?” Wade mocked with an innocent tilt of his head.

You might’ve laughed at the Lassie reference if it wasn’t for the fact that not a second later Sabretooth’s head rolled off his shoulders and right at your feet. You scrunched up your nose again, turning your head away in disgust as Wade picked it up.

“Behold! The head of your precious Queen, Furiosa! I have the Wolverine! I alone control her! You come for me! You come for her!” Wade declares as he raises the head in the air like a prize before he leans over into Logan’s ear, “I’m so sorry. I know it’s pronounced him. I’m gender blind. It’s my cross to bear.” Logan simply rolls his eyes at him.

“Who’s next?” He challenges looking around at the men who were left, waiting for someone to step up to him.

The greasy man let out an amused chuckle before calling out to one of his partners “Toad! You’re up!”

You look towards the other mutant and resist the urge to cringe again as he shoots out his slimy green tongue and pulls a lever. Instantly it activates a giant metal magnet that drags both Wade and Wolverine off their feet and into its pull.

“Wade!” you called out, unaware as a giant sentinel leg comes flying at you from behind, stunning you as it flies towards your companions, carrying you with it.

“Oh fu-“ Was all Wolverine had managed to get out before you and the sentinel leg crashed into him and Wade, knocking out the three of you on impact.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Cod Characters General Dating Headcanons (part one)

+ Random and Some bits of Chubby Fem S/O Headcanons with mentions of different nationality S/O

+ What type of BF/GF they would be

Including John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Fem terms and pronouns like she/her are used for the reader

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

My rules for requests and characters I can write for

Please comment if you want to be added to the taglist, the next part or cod content alone.

Taglist: @marshmallowinamess

A/n: Hi lovelies! Lia here, I'm back after a nerve-wracking week of school. This is a bit short but I hope you enjoy it otherwise. God I fucking hate school. I wrote all of this in a cold room, a heat pad on me (because period cramps) and at 3am so any mistakes will be edited out as soon as I'm aware of it.

This is divided into a multiple part thing (I think 2-3?) because God knows I can't fit them all in one post because of the limited amount of gifs and photos. I'll add more to these in the future, some are longer than others because I can't think. Also because I can't write them all at once, that's a lot to write okay 😭

Disclaimers/warnings: Typical Cod things, OOC characters???, Unrealistic, Some suggestive themes and language, I'm so sorry but English is not my first language so please don't come after me. Most of the content I've seen are on TikTok and Tumblr I don't actually play the game but I love the characters so much, same with any other content I have for other video games.

Tiny sidenote: the reader in this has been describe to be shorter than the characters and has been mentioned to have a soft body rather than the muscular type.

John Price

ꕥ (OH MY GOD LOOK AT HIS SMILEEE) (He's such a quokka)

ꕥ Price who literally is such a father figure, doesn't matter whether the relationship between you two is romantic or platonic. He often takes the dominant caring role.

ꕥ Doesn't smoke around you, doesn't matter if you insist he doesn't. He still won't and definitely will criticize you if you try or do smoke because he doesn't want you do end up like him.

ꕥ If there's a bit of an age gap between you, I'd say he's hesitant. Definitely afraid of what the rest of the task force thinks (He can't help it, they're basically his boys)

ꕥ John Price who wants to settle down with you, maybe have kids if you want but just a white picket fence life with you without the chaos that is war and his job.

ꕥ He only ever let's you have his hat, only when he gives it to you though. Most of the time it would be while you're out, he'd put it on your head from his. (Cowboy hat rule? I heard that in more respectful terms rather than sexual, it respectfully means that you are theirs)

ꕥ John Price who rests his chin at the top of your head no matter how much he needs to crouch down whenever hugging you from behind. Love doing it whenever you're busy doing something too. (Props for the effort because you cannot tell me he doesn't have back, neck and knee pains)

ꕥ Is constantly worried if you share the same line of work, like at first it was nothing but a tiny crush and slowly he finds himself caring about your well-being more and more over time.

ꕥ Can't help but think he's an acts of service type of guy, reaching up for things you need or better yet lifting you up so you can reach them and loves opening things for you like bottles or anything canned. (Girlies who get their nails done or wear press ons know this struggle ( I'm a press on girly)

ꕥ The kind of man who would turn on some oldies music and slow dance with you in the living room, your footsteps and breathing being the only other sounds as you smile at each other, foreheads against the other's.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

ꕥ Ghost who is such Doberman/Black cat boyfriend. Like have you seen this man? He's so tall and intimidating, one distasteful look from him and if it was physically possible that person would drop dead.

ꕥ Ghost whose a chubby chaser through and through, he just looks for something different from what he's used to.

ꕥ Is definitely a tits kinda guy, doesn't matter how big or how small they are. He'll definitely play with them in some way during doing the you know what.

ꕥ Feels like you can take him and his size better because of your plush body. Has a size kink and likes seeing it bulge a bit when he's inside you.

ꕥ You're just so soft and warm, he wants something away from what he usually feels doing his job. Not really that touchy but he gets quite clingy within closed doors.

ꕥ Likes to squeeze your thighs, his grip on them would not falter. Doesn't matter whether it's in a sexual or domestic way.

ꕥ Thinks you deserve better than what he can offer and needs constant reassurance, never says it out loud but you pick up on what he feels. (please be patient with him)

ꕥ More often than not, he thinks you're quite fragile. Even if you can protect yourself, one of his ways of showing you he loves you is through protecting you. Hence the Doberman boyfriend scenario.

ꕥ Doesn't like PDA but knows when it's necessary, him placing his arm around your shoulder is enough to keep perverts in their places. If that rando is really that bold then they'll most likely end up with a few broken bones depending on how pissed Simon is.

ꕥ If you work alongside him, he'd constantly worry about your well-being but at the same time is conflicted because he's confident that he can protect you.

ꕥ Only you and the TF141 can call him Simon, he still feels uneasy when he gets called that but when it's you saying it, it doesn't sound as daunting to him. Still dislikes in in certain tones of voice because his name reminds him of his past.

ꕥ You've seen his face, it took a long time but after that he trusted you enough to show him. The fact that you didn't find his face revolting and even kissed his scars while cupping his face was enough for him to want to marry you.

ꕥ Isn't fully insecure about his face but has his moments. (You know like the voice line where soap asks him to take off his mask and asked him if he was ugly and Ghost said "Negative")

ꕥ Takes a little while to get him to open up and little things like letting you hold him takes him a bit of time to get used to because it makes him feel vulnerable.

ꕥ God forbid something were to happen to you and he couldn't do anything to stop it, Simon would lose his fucking mind.

John "Soap" MacTavish

ꕥ Soap is a Golden Retriever boyfriend through and through. He's energetic, loyal and really affectionate.

ꕥ He's a lighthearted flirt at first because he doesn't wanna scare you off but damn does he gradually get bolder over time.

ꕥ Very hands on, touchy, and could be clingy at times unless you don't consent him, secretly always finding new ways to touch you.

ꕥ A sucker for cheek kisses, lips are his favorite but he can't help but break out a wide grin whenever you kiss his cheek. Can't help but feel kinda manly whenever you do.

ꕥ Adores making you laugh, no matter how stupid your sense of humor is he will absolutely say that joke if it gets a laugh out of you. Would be concerned if you had a dark sense of humor but will eventually get used to it. To describe it, hearing you laugh makes his heart feel full like in a content domestic way.

ꕥ Also, see the gif? You cannot tell me that he doesn't look at you that way because he absolutely would.

ꕥ Loves your weight against his body to the pint he's begging you to lay on him. You, him in the bed while he's shirtless with grey sweatpants on and you in your night clothes sharing each other's warmth with your head on his broad chest.

ꕥ Shows you silly and cute pet videos, especially the cat ones:

"[Name], look at this one!"

"Soap, we're not adopting a pet. Not right now at least"

ꕥ He was upset and gave you puppy eyes the whole time because the only time he had pet was when he was child, it was a hamster which was killed because it got sucked into the vacuum by his older sister.

ꕥ You're the only one allowed to tough his hair, he's very proud of his mohawk and will let you style it. Won't wear it out if you did something silly to it though.

ꕥ Soap who loves showing you off to everyone, loves light PDA but doesn't wanna potential put a target on your back.

ꕥ He definitely is the guy you want to take home to your family and friends (or found family <3), he's funny and easy to get along with. Very flirty with you but he'll straighten out because he's terrified on making a bad impression.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

ꕥ (HE'S SO FREAKING UNDERRATED WITHIN THIS FANDOM)

ꕥ He gives Labrador boyfriend vibes, you can't help but want to take care of him.

ꕥ Gaz who literally had to do a double take when he first saw you, he turned to Soap with that "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" look in a good way.

ꕥ Gaz who literally had to ask you out multiple times before you said yes thinking he's only doing it for a bet or a cruel joke.

ꕥ Constant reassurance from him because he doesn't want you to feel insecure about your looks because to him you are literally an angel.

ꕥ Loves to chill with you, cuddling and just relaxing. Maybe scrolling on TikTok occasionally and show you the funny ones he chuckled at.

ꕥ He has a sixth sense whenever you crave something, say you want chocolate or drink of some sort then he'd definitely being home whatever it is you we're craving without having to ask you.

ꕥ Kyle who has your Starbucks order memorized because he likes being the one to order things for you. Will playfully argue with you on who'll pay this time. (Don't even try anymore, he always wins anyway)

ꕥ Puts his hat on your head mostly when you're out, has done it the first time because it was hot out and the sun was in your eyes. He's picked it up from Price and once you smiled at him through the shade of his cap, he has not stopped doing it.

ꕥ Definitely a words of affirmation and acts of service kind of guy when it comes to love languages. Sometimes whenever he'd give you two thumbs up and a cheeky smile, you can't help but laugh a little.

ꕥ He's very thoughtful, so much so that he prides himself in knowing you better than anyone. Everytime you two go out to eat, when he gets something and know that you'll want to taste it (he knows damn well whether you'll like it or not when he tastes it) he'll bring it upon himself to order you one before you even say you want some.

ꕥ Soft snores when he sleeps, it's cute but you know damn well he's tired. Also I think he's very cuddly, like he just likes reminding himself that he's not alone and that his bed is warm because you're in it. Therefore at minimum always has an arm around you in bed.

ꕥ Dances in the rain with you and loves it when you pull him gently on his arm while your hands are intertwined. Takes note of how the the raindrops sometimes fall on your lashes while you look up at him smiling.

ꕥ Kyle Garrick who wants nothing more in the world to see you happy and smiling. His "this is the woman I'm going to marry" moment was when you baked his favorite cake for his birthday despite it being so hard, you nailed it perfectly. (Whether it's out of luck or skill is up to you)

Alejandro Vargas

ꕥ (idk how to write for this angry Mexican man but I'll try my best, love him and his megamind hairline though <3)

ꕥ Alejandro is definitely a flirt, a very bold on at that. He's quite forward when it comes to liking someone so yeah.

ꕥ He lives for it when you boss him around. That being said, he isn't picky about body type or any of the sort.

ꕥ Will teach you Spanish if you don't know any, definitely prioritizes the curse words and laughs whenever you jokingly call him pendejo.

ꕥ Wouldn't mind you teaching him your own culture and mother tongue. Bonus points if it's similar to his.

ꕥ Has Spanish nicknames for you because I imagine his own culture is important to him.

ꕥ Would hate it if you had the same line of work but will never take it out on you, it's just that it's so dangerous given the people he's involved with. (It's definitely Valeria)

ꕥ Speaking of El Sinombre, I don't think they had anything romantic going on. It's mainly platonic and the "betrayal" sucked on Alejandro's side. They definitely had some rivalry and the tension was through the roof. (Mainly because I headcanon Valeria as Lesbian)

ꕥ Can be so romantic when he tries, you can't tell me this mf ain't a smooth talker because he definitely is. Can be very blunt like in a forward way with his affection too.

ꕥ Likes kissing your wrist and feeling your pulse against his lips because it reminds him you're alive. (The amount of angst this scenario carries would be something I'm up for to write)

ꕥ Is sent on a fit of rage when something happens to you, say you got kidnapped then this man would tears off the walls of every building if he had to.

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

ꕥ (ANOTHER UNDERATED CHARACTER)

ꕥ Another Golden Retriever boyfriend. This man is just loving and dotting, very husband material.

ꕥ Loves chubby women, has a soft spot for them and just likes holding them.

ꕥ He's definitely used to the insecurity that comes with the body, also doesn't get why such beauty standards are even in place. Has and would fuck the insecure out of you again if he had to. (It's in a very gentle and loving manner)

ꕥ If you hold him in your arms, he'd be absolutely living for it. He already has had a long day and being honest he hasn't had many lovers that went far so having you care in this way about him would have him wrapped around your finger.

ꕥ Worships the ground you walk on. That's it.

ꕥ Would take everything to heart whenever you teach him or mention something within your culture if you aren't of Spanish origins like he is. He just loves you so much that it makes him happy knowing more about you.

ꕥ Would adore slow dancing with you, brings him back to reality where he realizes that he has you and that you're there.

ꕥ Terrified that one day you'll end up leaving him so reassurance would be much appreciated by him.

ꕥ Definitely a sucker for receiving forehead kisses, as for giving he likes to kiss the back of your hand.

ꕥ If ever danger presents itself to you too closely, he would have a heart attack like full on crying but not in public though.

[simpee9000]

Not Just Friends - Headcanons -

M.List : Prologue : Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7 : Part 8

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? Also not edited!! CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

Dating since second year of highschool, the two of you shared your first kisses together in first year. The first time you saw him in the hospital with critical condition.

He's never made any moves to advance the relationship, despite having an obvious crush on you since you were ten.

he'd do the typical flirting that a middle school boy does. Teasing you, tripping you, stealing your pencil bag, the list goes on.

But he would become a mess when you would casually lean on him in conversation, his quirk going off at your closeness. Causing him to start yelling that a nerd shouldn't touch him, it'd infect him.

There was even a time where he helped you help after you tripped, you still held his hand when you were up right. The smile you gave him alone caused his hands to spark. Singeing yours slightly.

He somewhat vowed to himself after that, never wanting to touch you unless his quirk was perfected. Just another thing to add to the list of reasons to become number one hero.

while he did get a better handle of his quirk, he still struggled around you. Not at the small touches alone, but if you lingered in a hug for more than thirty seconds, he'd shove you away and hide the way his hands sparked.

The first kiss the two of you shared was under the strong drugs the hospital gave him, the quirk suppressing drugs. He leapt at the chance that he knew he couldn't hurt you.

He backed off a lot from that, avoiding it for almost a year, when he was suppressed again.

He knew that tactic wouldn't work for long, and you proved him right. Cornering him into a talk.

it was a long talk, he hated it every second. When you mentioned a relationship, he refused until you told him you'd move on. Not being able to stand the idea of you in a relationship with someone other than himself, he gave in.

Only the title between you changed though, in his defense he was busy and so were you. But honestly, he was avoiding the typical relationship. Knowing you'd want more. You gushed about it all of middle school after all, forcing him to watch a rom com every once in a while.

He hated that he couldn't do more. It tore him up inside. He tried any solution possible. Drying off his hands proved useless, sparking moments after. Washing his hands didn't work either, his quirk going off even under water.

He debated pills for a while, anything to turn his quirk off for just a second. Izuku convinced him out of that. He walked in Katsuki's room when he held the bottle of pills in his hand. Izuku instantly yelled at him, it could affect his entire career after all, and the drugs were in testing, who knew the long term side effects.

So he gave up.

The two of you started dating middle of second year, and he gave up towards the end. He resorted to anything possible to be near you but without touching.

You haven't complained about his distance, so he thought he was safe. That you'd be happy without all the touching you saw in a normal relationship.

Until he heard you talking with Mei. He was just stopping by your department so you could help him with his gear. But he heard Mei mention his name, clearly annoyed. You talked about how you thought he didn't like you anymore, at least in that way. Mentioning how he kept you five feet away at all times.

He didn't want to lose you, at least for something that was wrong.

Letting the two of you share small touches more often, slowly letting you in. He didn't let anyone touch him, so he hoped that this would help prove it.

Slowly, he opened up more. No one was allowed to touch his hair, or any part of his face really, but he lets you ruffle his hair with just a glare on his face.

When he doesn't like a touch, all he does is give a brief shake of his head and that's all you need to know to stop, an unspoken agreement that he couldn't be more thankful for.

His throat and mouth are a huge no for him, anywhere near his ability to breath and he hates it.

Sudden movements also freak him out, causing his to grip your hands. Majority of the time it doesn't spook him, just on the bad days. He's able to predict your movements any other time, so you could never catch him off guard.

He also lets you trace his hands. They're often smooth, slightly rough from hero work but in the morning they're soft as ever. So any time you want, he lets you trace his knuckles, stopping you after a few minutes. Too afraid that he'll blow your hands off.

He showed his love in his actions, not his touch.

When you moved in together, he let you chose your room. Let you decorate the apartment as well, anything to make you smile.

Cooking you dinner every night, making extra of any meal just for you.

He remembers every small thing about you, proving it every once in a while with a comment or gift.

Your favorite tv show from when your five? He comments about how he saw a ad on TV about it. Leaving you shocked that he remembered, you mentioned it once.

He also mocks you lovingly, obviously. Calling you stupid if you forgot to switch laundry. Repeating things you say with a high pitched voice, for no reason. It's annoying, but you can do it back with the return being a shove, or a long conversation where you both pretend to be the other, voices ridiculous.

Bickering doesn't end there, you guys constantly jab at each other.

Arguments don't happen for just the reason, it taking a casual turn rather than aggressive.

You two have had maybe a handful of arguments, only one of those turning into a fight. The both of you going at it about which All Might era was the best.

Another playful thing he does is bump shoulders with you anytime he passes by you.

Whenever he stands behind you, he puts his head on your shoulder. He regrets that now, because you started doing it back. Making him side step and include you in whatever he was doing before, not being able to handle your face so close to his.

He truly thought you were happy, not having heard a single complaint about anything since. He was proud of himself, glad he could make you happy.

Honestly, he wished he could touch you. Romantically, sexually, it didn't matter. He wanted any of it.

To be able to hug you for more than a minute, to let himself relax around you.

He craved it so badly, it ate him up inside.

But as long as you were his, just as much as he was yours, he'd be content. He loved you and you loved him. You stuck around. He wouldn't do anything to sacrifice it.

So he stuck to his rules, changing nothing on the way he acted, not wanting to push you away by doing too much.

Most of all, he was still too worried to hurt you.

He doesn't think he'll ever not be worried.

That was probably not even headcanons, likely a simplified version of the prologue. I might post another list about how he thinks during the story, but it would only be posted after I finish the story.

As always, lmk what you think <3

M.List in case you missed it at the top <3

In them m.list of this fic comment if you want to be added into a tag list <3

I'll no longer add people to the taglist if they haven't commented there. It's too much to keep up with all the new part. Hope you understand <3

[danny-doodles]

Steve’s Hobby

This is a short 2k blurb about one of my Steve hcs, I am only really good at critical analysis writing so I’m sorry if this is bad!! Creative writing isn’t my strong suit but I felt like I couldn’t really explain this hc in a drawing as well as writing it could.

Growing up Steve was often taught the importance of words from his father, thinking it would be useful for his son’s future in the business. Steve was never the best reader, letters jumping around the page made it too difficult, so instead he listened to everyone around him. Teachers, his parent’s coworkers, older kids, all of them taught him the importance of the meaning of words.

How certain words would make someone a town pariah yet others a god among men. Steve was a more quiet kid but as he grew up he also grew confident in his words. He could tear someone down with one sentence, ensuring they knew he was not to be messed with. That’s why he was so confused when he struggled in his english class, he knew the power of words and the many meanings, but his teacher never understood. Sure he made grammar errors, how no one else struggled with the dancing letters he didn’t get, but how could the teachers not understand his connections? Steve shouldn’t have to explain why the red of the handmaid’s cloaks represented the ripping of humanity from the women, it was so clear to him. Obviously the boar head could be comparable to the church, how could his teachers not make the connection?

Even Nancy didn’t understand, someone he considered smarter than him. He knew she was trying to be nice when she critiqued his college paper but it still left him in the fog. Basketball was war to him, a fight that was pointless with one but possible with many. A challenge that called for leadership and a strict order. Everyone had the roles, knew where and when to shoot, needed the ability to think quickly on their feet and not struggle under the pressure. Uniforms to not only separate from the enemy but to show they are a unit reaching for a common goal. It was so clear leaving no need to explain, especially to Nancy.

But she didn’t get it, no one got it.

Maybe he wasn’t as good with words as he thought.

Steve from then on fumbled his words when he got nervous, scared he would say something that made him sound dumb and point out his weakness with words. The concussions didn’t help either, making him take longer to grasp concepts. Reading felt nearly impossible, the headaches were unbearable. Not to mention the kids' comments, judgmental and brutal as if Steve didn’t have a reason to struggle in the first place.

Everyone around him loved to put him in a sudden spotlight and when he didn’t say the right line he was booed off stage and dealt with the looks of disappointment from his co stars for messing up. So Steve stuck to what he knew, his quick remarks. Were they bitchy? Yes, but not coated in malice like they used to be. Piggybacking off others points with sarcastic comments so the other person kept talking, anything to get the attention off him.

But Steve had a secret hobby that he shared with no one, not even with his platonic soulmate with a capital P Robin.

Steve wrote poetry.

Years of horrors that by law he couldn’t share that caused vicious nightmares and a clammy grasp on reality at times tended to keep Steve up. Another gift bestowed by his father though was a feeling of shame when sharing his emotions. Didn’t help that those emotions were typically down played or outright ignored by others. Therefore a bottle filled with his emotions rested in Steve’s chest, which after Vecna he really realized probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. So Steve took to writing them down, but he did it for himself.

No need to explain everything, he knew what he meant, he knew every context of every word. He wrote on his experiences, his emotions. He wrote when he was happy, he wrote when he was sad. Steve wrote and wrote and found his love for words again. And god did it feel good, it felt like taking back his voice from a world that underappreciated it. In a weird way it felt like revisiting a relative he had last seen as a child, that sense of freedom and the loss of expectation because in their eyes he was still that little kid. All they wanted was to see someone they loved and to Steve the words welcomed him back with a hug that rivaled his Nonna Maria’s.

Steve would ponder over lines at random intervals of the day, biting his pencil between his teeth during the quiet hours at work or simply jotting down a line right before picking the kids up. Steve wrote so often he kept his small little notebook on him at all times, usually accompanied by a pencil bound to it with a rubber band. (Turns out having hearing aids and glasses made it really difficult to put pencils behind one's ears). At this point everyone had seen his notebook, pale blue with some star stickers because he never had a shortage of them. Everyone assumed it was for something different. Some thought it was grocery lists, to-do lists, something productive. Others thought it was like a pocket calendar with all his plans listed so he didn’t forget. Dustin insisted it was meant to hold the definitions of anything D&D related so Steve never forgot, meanwhile Robin argued it was to hold all the wonderfully obscure movie recommendations she loved to give. All of them were wrong though and Steve kind of adored it that way. He didn’t have to explain himself that way, he could continue to hide under the blankets. Steve no longer held his tongue out of fear of others but because he had an outlet he much rather prefer.

Listening now felt less like a pop quiz, waiting for him to mess up his response, it felt like an actual conversation. Steve may not speak up as much as he would have before the Upside Down but he fell back in love with his own voice and maybe one day he would feel confident enough to share it with the Party, but for now it was all his.

No matter how much they wanted to prove who was right, the kids and older teenagers never touched the book when it was rarely separated from Steve. Well...after someone tried to grab it and they learned they really shouldn’t touch it.

While at the Harrington house the Party were preparing for a campaign session when the argument about the pale binded pages was brought up again. Steve had left it on the kitchen counter while he went to the bathroom, and Mike decided he was done with the bickering. He shot up and went to retrieve and open the book but before he could grab it the book flew through the air.

All the heads turned and landed on El holding it in her hand, “We are not Steve, this is his. It is rude to invade his privacy, would you like me to watch you without telling you,” everyone quietly shook their heads, “Then we do not watch Steve without him knowing.”

That’s exactly when Steve walked back in, it takes one look across the room at all the embarrassed faces and El holding his book with frustration painting her eyes to know what had occurred while he was gone. He walks up, kisses El on her head and softly thanks her while taking back his little literature.

After that incident no one dared touch the book or face the wrath of their favorite mage. They would find out when Steve was ready for them to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That damn little book haunted Eddie’s thoughts. He knew Steve was not what he assumed him to be so anything was on the table, he had been wrong about the guy before who's to say he won’t be this time?

Of course Eddie wanted to respect Steve’s privacy because Eddie personally would be mortified if Steve had seen any of his notebooks, mainly because of the pages of lyrics that not so subtly hinted at an itsy bitsy affection for the badass babysitter. If that didn’t give Eddie away the random ‘Eddie Harrington’ and ‘Steve Munson’ with hearts all over would finish the job. So yeah, Eddie was not crazy to offer up any of his notebooks to venture into Steve’s book. He just had no idea the universe would present him with a much more favorable offer.

Steve and Eddie started hanging out a lot more after Vecna, no shocker considering they shared a hospital room, and soon the bat buddies would spend their time together outside of the hospital. That’s why it wasn’t surprising for Steve to let Eddie venture into Steve’s room while he went to pick up their lunch.

Eddie was somewhat of a curious cat, so when he spotted the notebook and some papers scattered on Steve’s desk he was like a moth to a flame. He softly glided his fingers over the blue cover and exhaled some breath in a soft laugh over the star stickers Steve oh so loved. It was the paper though that caught his eye when he finished observing the book. It looked like lyrics at first but then he realized some of the lines were too short to be lines, if anything they looked more like stanzas from a poem. Steve had poetry on his desk, did Steve read poetry? Thee Steve Harrington likes poetry? God his whole doctrine was garbage huh. Eddie moved the paper towards him and started to read.

Watchful gaze

Setules on the glass.

Wishful gaze

Silent pleas of escaping rolling in the mouth

Fingertips slipping through the veil,

Grasping for warm hands,

Receiving lukewarm.

Hesitant to grab.

Dependency clasping the palms

Such a feverish feeling

Poking at the appendages,

A coldness that numbs.

Gently gripping for the heat,

The balmy yields.

Smoke and simmers,

Arms rushing to sides

Frozen.

Yearning for ardor,

Turn not yet given,

Waiting for the impossible,

Waiting for the unobtainable,

So understanding.

So relieving.

So desperate.

So alone.

Standing for the calling.

So patient.

So pathetic.

Empty Hands by Steve H.

Eddie was staring at the very last line on the paper, utterly flabbergasted. Steve wrote this? Steve writes poetry?! Is that what resides in the little book? Before Eddie could even find the power to turn to the book to look, Steve walked into his room. Again a quick look is all Steve needed to take before he knew what happened in his absence.

“Oh! Uh..I’m guessing you read it.”

Eddie slowly looked back up while caressing the paper, “Yeah, you..um..you really wrote this? Is that…uh..what’s in your notebook? Cause I will admit I never would have guessed that.”

Steve started scratching his neck, “I don’t blame you,” he huffs, “But yeah I write poetry, helps to let some of the thoughts out considering our lives y'know?”

“I totally get it dude! Lord knows my lyrics are infected with the whole spring break bullhonkey. So..totally cool if you don’t want to tell me but, why is this one out of the book? Were you gonna write it into the book?” Eddie picked up the paper to place it next to the notebook and turned to face Steve.

“Actually I copied it from the notebook, I’m gonna, okay wait, you can’t tell anyone this-”

“Even Robin?” Eddie exaggerated his smile to look wild.

“Even Robin.” Steve nodded with his eyes shut.

Eddie put his hands together and swayed while standing, “Wowww look at me, lil old Eddie Munson getting to learn the secrets of the mysterious writer Steve Harrington.”

“Eddie, you want to know or not?” Steve sighed as he put his hands on his hips.

“Yes. Yes please,” Eddie eagerly replied, barely letting Steve finish his sentence.

“The last time I went to Indy with Robin to go shopping at their mall we went to a cafe. The bulletin board had a flier for a poetry night and I got curious I guess.”

“You gonna perform the poem there?”

“That’s the plan.”

Eddie could understand wanting a fresh slate when it came to having a reputation. “Craving anonymity? Must be tough considering you are Hawkin’s golden boy.”

Steve smiles brightly and Eddie sees his shoulders lose tension, tension Eddie didn’t even notice because he was so distracted by the fact that holy shit Steve is a poet. “Exactly.”

Honestly Eddie would give anything to hear more of Steve's hidden works, he grabs some of his hair and brings it to cover his mouth, “I know you don’t intend to tell the rest of the bunch, but uh..would you allow a humble bard to observe your lyrical performance?”

Eddie looks at Steve’s face for any hint of annoyance and finds none, instead he finds a look that he could hope to be correct in his guess is excitement.

“Really? You’d want to hear more, it's not confusing or stupid to you?” Steve softly smiled at Eddie, making him swoon inside.

“It's art! It doesn’t need to make sense, it just needs to make you feel good, who cares if others are confused. And for what its worth even if I’m not right on the money that poem made me feel Steve, I mean as the expert in self-expression it felt real and vulnerable, y’know.” Eddie had to shut himself up before he himself waxed poetry about just how much he is dying to hear more from Steve to learn more about him.

“Thanks Eddie.” Steve gazed at Eddie as if no one had ever told him that before. Which now that hes thinking about it that’s probably the truth. Guess Eddie needed to constantly remind him then.

Eddie smiled, mirroring Steves while bending at his waist, “Oh but of course my liege.”

“Oh my god okay Eddie cmon the food’s gonna get cold.”

Steve started to leave his room and Eddie rushed to follow him, “Now that I know what the book is filled with may I pretty please read it?” Rapidly blinking his eyelashes in an attempt to look innocent and pure but instead looking like a piece of dust got in his eyes.

“Nope.”

“Ugghhh c'mon Steve! Just imagine the look on the little hellions when they see me opening the book! God the jealousy! The feeling of betrayal when they see me reading Steve Harringtons’s treasure trove of text and they are none the wiser to what is inside. And the best part, I have permission! The power I would hold Steve! The possibility, I could use them like little puppets to do my bidding while they crave information I alone hold!”

“Eddie that sounds like a headache for me waiting to happen, they’re just gonna badger me to tell them because they would claim it’s unfair you know and they don’t.”

“Eh, their egos could take a little hit don’t you think?” Eddie was now resting his head on Steve’s shoulder as the younger started to bring the food out of the carry out bag.

“Can I read your lyric notebook?”

Eddie’s eyes went wide as his brain proceeded to remind him of every lyric he had written around his devotion to Steve. Red in the face Eddie responded quickly, “Nope! Mmm you smell that Stevie I’m so hungry, aren’t you?”

“Subtle Munson.”

“Tis my middle name.”

Steve fondly rolled his eyes, “Sure.”

As they settled down on the couch Eddie tracked Steve grabbing the remote, “So I can really watch you?”

Steve turned and looked at Eddie with a calmness on his face. “Yeah Eddie.”

Eddie grabbed his hair as Steve stared at him, “Cool, cool, it’s a date.” Eddie froze about to panic silently as he tried to fix his slip up.

“Yeah, it's a date.” The two looked at each other, neither wanting to look away. After a minute or so Steve turned on the TV and if the two fell asleep together it was their business.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Girl, You're My Angel - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley Bradshaw's a down on his luck first baseman in the MLB, struggling to find his stride in the game he loves so much. A wedding invite from his ex-wife is enough to convince him to go for a drink, trying to forget about everything going on. He wasn't banking on meeting you though.

pairing: baseball!Bradley Bradshaw x reader (nicknamed Angel)

warnings/content: baseball au, mentions of divorce, smoking, alcohol, reference to drunk driving, bar fight, mentions of blood, Bradley having a dirty mind.

word count: 3k.

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted

The booming bass drum of a classic rock song thumped in your head as you gripped the cocktail glass in your hand. The liquid sloshed around in the glass as you danced, swaying to and fro with your best friends, trying your best to enjoy yourself on your girls’ night out. Your finals had just wrapped up, and you were this much closer to earning your masters, the only thing standing between you and getting that embossed sheet of paper, was your grades. To unwind after the cram sessions you’d mustered your way through for the past month, your friends dragged you out to some new amusement bar in the Gaslamp Quarter. 

Across the bar, on the other side of the room, stood Bradley Bradshaw, a once promising baseball star who now, had earned himself a reputation as the MLB’s resident asshole - unable to take criticism or a loss without lashing out at someone. His recent stunt involved hurling his baseball bat across the diamond when he struck out in practice, frustrated with his sudden lack of skill, a skill that once came so naturally to him when his mind wasn’t preoccupied. 

The invitation had come in the mail two days before the bat throwing incident. His ex-wife, the one who left him two and a half years ago, was remarrying the fucking prick she cheated on Bradley with. The invite had come completely out of the blue, and when Bradley opened it, he felt all of the air leave his lungs as his fingers traced over the gold embossed lettering, donning her name and the name of her new fiancé. He’d never admit it to anyone, but that single piece of cardstock had been enough to reduce him to tears, slumping down the kitchen wall as he hugged his knees to his chest, crying loud enough that it made him thankful he had no neighbours near by.

Bradley had pulled himself together, lit a cigarette from the pack he’d been nursing for the last few months, reserved only for social events and times of pure stress, and got in his vintage Ford Bronco, his first purchase when he signed his first contract. Taking a drag from the cigarette, his brown eyes scanned over San Diego’s downtown core as he cruised past a few of the typical nightlife spots - each one a little too public for what he wanted. All other options exhausted, he pulled up outside of a newer bar that had opened the previous week, neon lights advertising an arcade on one side and drinks on the other. 

He figured if nothing else, a couple of rounds of Pac-Man on an old video game after a handful of beers might do him good. He could leave the Bronco parked there and walk to the hotel around the corner, and forget about how his ex-wife’s wedding was coming up in six months, how she’d had the audacity to invite him to see her marrying the guy he’d walked in on her with.  

He sidled up to the bar, nodding his head to the bartender in thanks as he ordered himself a beer. Standing across from him was a group of women, not much younger than him, gossiping and giggling together. He sized the group up, thinking to himself that maybe a one-night deal was what he needed to take his mind off his ex. 

You were the tallest girl of the group, with bright eyes, and hair brushed back in a sleek, high ponytail, sporting a form-fitting cocktail dress that made Bradley’s heart race when he saw you. He pounded back the rest of his beer, trying to find his confidence in himself once again in the comfort of the drink. 

Bradley set his empty bottle down on the bar top before walking his way around the circular counter. He rested his elbow on the bar, leaning in with a broad smile as you looked in his direction. He offered a polite wave of his hand, chuckling awkwardly as he felt his confidence wavering as he spoke to you. 

“Hey, could I buy you a drink? He said simply, his Virginian accent dropping into a thicker drawl than usual.

“I’m good, thanks, still got one,” You held up your half-full glass and shook your head politely, not wanting to reject him too brutally. 

Bradley nodded his head once at you, his smile faltering for a second. He quickly regained himself, smiling once again politely before grabbing himself another beer and heading over to the arcade, resolving that a couple of old-school video games might make his night a little better. 

It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to rejection - he’d been turned down almost as often as he’d been accepted, but for some reason, your rejection stung just that little bit more. Maybe it was the wedding invitation still making things sour, or maybe it was the fact that the mere sight of a girl hadn’t been enough to make his heart accelerate like this in a long time. He shook his head once, trying to focus his train of thought once again on something, anything other than what was currently occupying it. 

Baseball? Too stressful, his game was starting to slip up on him. Buying a puppy? No, it’d just be one more thing he could let down. Hitting the gym? He already went 6 days a week - if he went any more frequently, he’d have to consider moving his bed in there. 

His mind raced as he pressed the buttons on the video game, moving the small yellow circle across the screen, collecting points between sips of beer. Behind him, he heard a couple of guys shouting at a tv screen, the sound of the latest sports highlights blaring out in the background. 

“This Bradshaw asshole needs to get his shit together. Twenty-nine and he plays about as well as my ten year old. Drop him down to the minors or get rid of the bastard. He shouldn’t be missing plays like this.” One of the voices shouted at the tv, his friends nodding their heads in silent agreement with his rant.

Bradley felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as the insults about his playing continued to spout from this guy’s mouth. He couldn’t have been much older than Bradley was, one of those armchair commentators who probably hadn’t swung a bat since Little League. As the criticism continued, each jab focused directly at Bradley’s game performance, missing one play that cost a game - one that he’d already been feeling pissed off about - it became harder to ignore. 

“I bet that hot little piece of ass wife of his left him because she knew he was a dogshit baseball player.” 

Bradley spun around on his heels so fast that he swore the room was spinning. He turned to face the group, crowded in a corner in front of the tv, faces all glued to the female commentator. Bradley could practically hear the derogatory thoughts they were having about her and it only fuelled his anger more. 

“Hey, man, if you’ve got an issue with how I play the game, I’d like to see you get off your ass and go play nine innings against Boston. Keep my ex-wife’s name out of your mouth.” Bradley scoffed, narrowing his dark brown eyes at the trio. 

“You got a problem, jackass?” The other man growled, raising an eyebrow at Bradley as he slammed his drink down on the table. “She probably left you for that rookie because even she knew you weren’t good for anything.”

“That so? Your wife would probably like to go a couple rounds with me though.” Bradley retorted, a devilish smirk forming on his face as he folded his muscular arms across his chest. 

Before Bradley had time to blink, the man drew back his arm and landed a hard punch to Bradley’s jaw. Bradley quickly delivered a stronger hit to the man’s face, watching him stumble backwards for a second. Bradley turned around and walked outside, getting ready to light another cigarette as he ran his hand over his jaw, assessing if he had any damage to worry about. 

The man returned, practically running outside after Bradley. More heated words were exchanged, insults flying between them both before the man delivered another hit, this time to Bradley’s nose. He shook his hand off and headed off down the street with his friends, disappearing off to the next bar. Bradley held his nose, blood dripping down from his nostrils and onto his hand. 

You and your friends had heard the commotion when it unfolded inside, and decided to head out, having enough excitement for one night. As you stepped out, you saw the man who’d hit on you earlier, this time with his nose bleeding onto the pavement under him. You ran over to him, raising an eyebrow.

“What did you do, hit on a girl who had a boyfriend?” You asked playfully as you rooted through your purse for something to help clean his nose.

“Called a guy out for saying my ex-wife was a “hot piece of ass”, actually,” Bradley nodded once, gratefully taking the tissues from you and using them to clean his nose. 

“Stick your hand out for a sec,” you instructed, squirting a dollop of scented hand sanitizer into his large palm before raising an eyebrow at him, “You don’t have anything I could catch from helping you without gloves?”

“What the hell is that suppose to mean?” Bradley scoffed, trying to laugh but wincing instead, “And why the fuck does my hand smell like a flower?”

“Lavender hand sanitizer. It’s not as good as washing your hands, but it’ll do while we’re outside. And I’m going to hold the tissues in place while you rub it into your hands, but I don’t want to catch something. I’m just fresh out of latex gloves.”

“Good thing. I’m allergic,” he laughed, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to brave through the pain, “I’m clean. You’re fine. I get drug tested and physicals through work constantly.” 

“What kind of a job provides those? Military?” 

“Professional athlete.” He nodded as you pinched the tissues to his nose, applying pressure to help with the bleeding. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“Your nose is broken, it’s suppose to hurt.”

“What are you, a doctor?”

“No, just wrote my finals for a masters in nursing.”

“Close enough,” Bradley nodded slightly, cringing as you continued to apply pressure to his nose.

You rooted through your purse, laughing softly as you pulled a tampon out of your bag. Bradley raised an eyebrow at you, not quite registering what the item was until you pulled the plastic wrapping off of it, stuffing the garbage back into your purse.

“What the fuck do you plan on doing with that?”

“I need to stick it up your nose on the left side. It’s bleeding more than I’d like to see, and a broken nose should probably be set in a medical setting. This way, you won’t bleed all over my car.”

“Your car? You’ve been drinking.”

“Half a vodka-cran over the span of three hours? I think I’m probably not gonna blow over the limit.”

“You are not sticking that up my nose,” he replied stubbornly, arms folding over his chest like a petulant child. 

“Look at your shirt,” you laughed, gesturing to the white floral print button down he was wearing, its collar now tinged with red and pink splotches. 

“Fine,” he said with a reluctant sigh, “but if anyone finds out about this, I’m denying it.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you nodded as you offered him the plastic applicator. 

Bradley rolled his eyes and reluctantly pressed the bottom of the applicator, pushing the tampon into the edge of his nose. He looked at you with another dramatic eyeroll and shook his head before walking down the street to a garbage can. He discarded the applicator before turning to face you, sighing. 

“I can take myself to a hospital, you know.”

“I’m already here, I may as well come with you. Besides, I feel kinda bad about turning you down.”

“Oh, so you’re taking care of me out of pity?” He teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe. Even more so with a tampon hanging out of your nose.”

“It’s quite the fashion statement, isn’t it?” He laughed softly, unbuttoning his dress shirt. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, revealing a clean white t-shirt. 

You unlocked your car, the familiar beep as the doors unlocked causing Bradley to stifle a laugh.

“What is that?!” 

“My car,” you responded matter-of-factly, “What does it look like?”

“One of those cars for a Barbie doll that my goddaughter plays with,” he said as he flourished his hand, gesturing to your pink steering wheel cover and coordinating seat cover.

“Listen, I like pink. Now are you getting in, or do I have to make you?”

Bradley’s eyes widened for a moment, your playful threat of making him get into the car sending his mind into a frenzy again. He eyed you up and down again, and found himself shaking his head as he wondered what colour underwear you had on under your dress. He bet it was probably a coordinating pink set - the kind that Victoria’s Secret mannequins would model in the store window, with delicate little bows or lace or something adorning them. 

Focus, Bradley. She doesn’t want to sleep with you. Stop thinking about her.

He sat down in the passenger’s seat, watching as you hopped into the driver’s side. As you pulled away from the curb, he raised an eyebrow at your choice in music as Taylor Swift started blaring from the speaker.

“You can change it if you want to,” you nodded. “You can put on whatever.”

“No, no, It’s fine. I actually like this song.”

“You said you’re a professional athlete? What sport do you play?”

“Baseball,” he said, slowly nodding his head, “my headshot’s on a flag outside of Petco Park.”

“I thought I recognized you, you’re that player everyone always talks about, right?”

“Unfortunately. It’s rarely good things.”

“How come?”

Bradley sighed, raising an eyebrow, “You know they talk about me but not why?”

“I don’t follow baseball, I've actually never even seen a game, live or on tv. I just know my friend does and she told me everyone talks about you. Bradshaw, right? Number 10?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Bradley Bradshaw. First baseman, used to have a promising career, then, you know, wife cheats on me with a rookie from a rival team, catch her in a hotel room that I paid for with him, and then, despite me stupidly telling her I forgave her and you know what, I was pissed, but I loved her anyway and I blamed myself for her cheating, she served me divorce papers. Said I was incapable of loving anything but baseball. Says the woman who refused to do anything with me when I tried to be loving and affectionate. My friends swear she only married me for the status and the paycheck. Her new fiancé just signed a multi-million dollar contract that’s being talked about as one of the highest in the league, so it sort of checks out.” 

“Jeez,” you whistled, shaking your head, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It was two and half years ago. I just, I haven’t found my stride again yet, I guess.” 

“Is that why you got defensive about her?”

“They said she left me for this other guy because she knew I was a dogshit ball player. I mean, it’s probably not far off. But, I got an invite for her wedding in the mail today, and I was already on edge, so I sort of…snapped.”

“She invited you?!” 

“Yeah, like that, huh? She probably thought I have someone new I’m seeing and that we could still be friends or some shit.”

“So you need a date?”

“I’m not going,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “I’m not going.”

“Why not? Free drinks for a night, you can wish her well while secretly hoping her husband’s ball career washes out on him in a year or two.”

Bradley chuckled, shrugging his shoulders as he gestured his hand towards you, “I like your thinking actually, but I’m not going alone.”

“I’ll go with you,” you offered, shrugging your shoulders, “When is it?”

“In six months, you don’t need to come with me though. I’ll send her some cheap gift and call it a day.”

“No,” you insisted as you pulled into a parking space at the hospital’s urgent care clinic, “I’ll come with you. I love a good revenge story. Besides, it could be fun. I’ve never partied with a bunch of baseball players before.”

“You’re…you’re something else, you know that?”

“You mean, you don’t have dozens of women offering you a tampon to stop your nosebleed, driving you to the hospital and then offering to accompany you to your ex-wife’s wedding date?” you challenged.

“Can’t say that I do, no.”

“Well, I’m honoured to be your first.” 

Bradley couldn’t help his ear to ear grin as he followed you into the hospital. Despite his bloodied, battered nose, which was hurting more than he cared to let on, and his fledging career, falling apart around him as he stood there, he felt genuinely excited. Excited to get to know you better. Excited to see where things went with you. He felt a promising sense in your words - like maybe, just maybe, he might be able to be done with one-night-stands and empty beds in the morning. He felt giddy, like a teenager going on a first date with his high school crush. He wasn’t sure if it was the pain from his nose or the alcohol talking, but he was almost convinced you were a guardian angel of sorts. Refusing to believe that someone like you could be anything but. 

First things first though, he needed to bring you to a baseball game. 

[lesbianrobin]

Hi for a writer new to writing 911 fics what are some key character points that you think are really important for capturing the vibes of Buck and Eddie?

omg HIII 🫶🏻🫶🏻

so first off i also consider myself New to writing 911 fics fmvjdjc but i assume since ur asking Me of all people you like one/some of my fics enough to think i am an authority which rules. thank u that's so sweet. ANYWAY on to my actual advice.

buck: you know that john mulaney bit where he's saying he's a terrible driver and he's like "i hear you honking and i also don't want me to be doing what i'm doing. i don't like that i'm in that lane either. and i sure would like to get out of it." that is buck in basically every aspect of his life besides being a firefighter. his problem is that he won't pull over long enough to figure out what the hell he's doing. buck acts before he thinks and only Later does he even consider like hey Why did i do that. What was i feeling. What was i trying to accomplish. which often results in him behaving selfishly and hurting others (see: lawsuit, Entire Relationship With Taylor Kelly, maiming eddie during a basketball game, coming to the erroneous conclusion that he was jealous over tommy rather than eddie) as well as behaving recklessly and risking his own life under the cover of heroism and necessity.

as far as more like. basic character things go. buck can be kinda dumb And smart at the same time. people often swing really hard in one direction or the other and i think it does buck a disservice. like, yeah, he loves his fun facts and research spirals and books, he clearly has a love for learning, but he's also not the Best at critical analysis of his sources and maybe has a tendency to take things at face value. like i do fear that buck could be persuaded to join an essential oils mlm.

ALSO buck is a weirdo like yes he Can be charming but he also has chronic foot-in-mouth disease and says shit like "oh we didn't kill him we just WANTED to!" TO THE COPS. WHEN BEING QUESTIONED ABOUT A MURDER. i think buck is just constantly rolling either nat ones or nat twentys when it comes to charisma.

i also think it's important to keep in mind that while buck can be deeply insecure, that insecurity doesn't Usually manifest in him like. noticeably withdrawing into himself or trudging sadly around like a kicked puppy. his response to that insecurity is most often to be loud, to lash out, or to overcompensate (see: his entire personality in s1, eddie's introduction, befriending red and taking on his end of life care, swearing to abby that he'll rescue her fiancé and risking his own life to do it, etc).

ok i think i've yapped enough ab buck SO!

eddie: i actually feel like way less confident prescribing advice for writing eddie fmvkdjc so this'll probably be shorter than the buck section. as far as the Basics go i think people can often characterize eddie as very like serious and grim but he rly is not! he's a very silly guy! mostly with chris and buck, but also a bit with carla and linda and the rest of the 118. i think eddie is a guy who can behave very differently depending on how comfortable he is around somebody, and there are many parts of himself that he keeps locked down around others.

eddie thinks about his feelings and motivations before acting in a way that buck typically doesn't, but that doesn't mean he's correctly assessing those feelings and motivations. eddie is an incredibly unreliable narrator when it comes to his own life! he'll feel the desire to do something (for example, dating ana or going from active firefighting to a desk job) and Then construct his conscious reasoning for it (i'm ready to move on from shannon and i like her, chris will feel better and it's better for him if i have a safe job) while avoiding his Deeper feelings and motivations (the compulsion to give chris A Mother so that he feels like less of a failure as a father, his own ptsd and other mental health struggles in the wake of the shooting).

this doesn't mean that eddie is entirely emotionally unintelligent! he just kinda hates himself and he's deeply repressed and he often feels that he can't do things For Him, they all have to be For Chris.

ok that's like most of what i've got for now i'm rly not an authority on eddie but i tried my best 😭

as a duo: i think the #1 thing to remember when writing buck and eddie is that they're best friends and they understand each other better than anybody else in their lives. like that doesn't mean that they're always on the same page but they Do canonically recognize each other's feelings and motivations most of the time and after the lawsuit/street fighting era, they always respond to each other with patience and care when one of them is having a rough time.

like i think you actually have to try Very hard to justify it if you're gonna have buck and eddie miscommunicating and seriously arguing with each other in a fic. i remember when everyone was like omgggg buck is gonna LOSE IT ON EDDIE when he finds out about kim!! and then when buck Did find out about kim he was literally just worried about eddie and talked to him about it and asked the questions that eddie Needed to be asked so that he could work through his feelings and address the situation. buck and eddie just have a knack for knowing what the other person needs, and they're at a point where they will go to each other for help and be openly vulnerable!

and they have fun together! they're silly! see: "locked room mystery" "locked Yard mystery", the whole bachelor party, eddie being like buck Pwease can we look for the treasure together 🥺, etc etc. they just enjoy being together and i think that is so crucial to writing them.

final thoughts: in general my #1 piece of advice for writing fic is to rewatch the show/clips from the show when you're trying to capture a character's voice. i do not do this nearly as often as i should bc i am lazy but it rly is deeply helpful for making sure that they sound like themselves!

i would also advise that even if your fic is buddie-centric, it helps to include the other characters in even small ways. our relationships with others are central to who we are! references to other characters like chris, maddie, chim, etc. can go a long way toward making buck and eddie feel like themselves.

thank you again for asking me!! it's really really flattering. i hope this was of some help to you!!

[turbulentscrawl]

Identity(V) Headcanons: Norton Campbell

I'm starting off the writing blog with some of these character analysis-esque headcanons! (Starting with Norton bc he's honestly the reason I made this blog.) They'll serve both as practice for me, and examples for any readers on how I write different characters.

Again, I am new to the IDV fandom, and I have never played the game. These headcanons are informed by ongoing lore dives sourcing the wiki, japanese twitter responses, comics, stageplay, and more! Some of these may relate to or even contradict character backstory, and some of them are just pure vibes for me. If you like it, consider shooting a request ;)

-Norton had always been a moodier guy, but the mining accident (and the lack of mental and emotional support he received after it) resulted in a much more obvious split of his temperaments. Without trying to put a name to something I’m no expert in, Norton has two distinct personality states which are both aware of and inform one another. The First is the more common state, wherein he is more level-headed, but prone to melancholy and isolation. His melancholy tends to be more intense after an episode with his Second state, wherein he is very likely to exhibit anger, mania, and cynicism. Likewise, his Second state tends to be more critical when he’s been uneventfully mellow for a good while. He tries his best to balance and regulate the two, but this particular emotional roller coaster is one he never had any say in getting on and has never had any assistance getting off.

-The First state typically lasts longer than the Second, sometimes stretching several days at a time. During the First, he’s at his most amicable and chatty. This is the best time to get to know him as a person.

-When in his Second state, which is usually triggered by something that reminds him of the accident, it’s better to give him a wide berth. Even in the case of a friend or partner who has thick skin and handles harshness well, Norton can become hypercritical of himself for being cruel to them.

-His mother died in childbirth, leaving Norton with only his father, who also worked himself to an early grave. Norton had to start working immediately to keep himself fed (and sometimes didn’t even manage that) so he has next to no education. He does not read or write especially well. He is also not particularly tech savvy and struggles with new concepts. That said, he's never been one to back down from a chance to improve himself, difficult or otherwise.

-Norton was mostly genuine in his visits to the elderly and sick. Many of them were other miners and laborers who helped him find his footing after his dad died. Their help may not have amounted to much in the long run, but they didn’t just look the other way and he understood the loneliness they felt on their deathbeds.

-The one exception to this was Benny, who Norton had also once looked upon in an appreciative light…until he learned how to read. It was then that he scoured his father’s old letters and discovered an infuriating truth: after the birth of Norton and the death of his mother, his father had been about to leave the mining industry. Benny was the one who convinced him to stick around and join the obsessive hunt for gold. It was through a mix of spite and desperation that Norton decided to swindle Benny out of his maps and take the chance at riches for himself.

-Norton does not talk about the mining accident. At all. Not even if he’s paid. Part of it is self-preservation—since he IS the one who stole and illegally ignited the explosives. The other part is that he is well and truly wrecked with guilt. Norton did not get along with most of his coworkers in those final days, was bullied and harassed by them, but he wanted to get ahead of them, not kill them.

-Because he’s been self-reliant from such a young age, he’s naturally distrustful of other people. He has trouble accepting people at face value and often rejects compliments, and other words of affection. He’s the embodiment of “actions speak louder than words.” In general, if someone wants to get closer to Norton they have to put their money (and their labor) where their mouth is and show a lot of patience. Any genuine relationship with Norton is hard-won.

-In line with the above, the best love language to give Norton is Acts of Service. Physical Affection would also work well once you reach a certain threshold in his trust. Gift-Giving is a decent third, but you would need to tread lightly here, lest he start to see the budding relationship as purely transactional. Holidays and birthdays are the best time to really go in on gifts for Norton, since he has a harder time arguing bribery with culturally dictated gifts.

-He genuinely does not find himself to be attractive. I wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s insecure, as he really doesn’t think about it much, but he’s least likely to accept compliments about his appearance. The burn scars certainly don’t help. If you do compliment his appearance, it’s better not to mention the scars at all than to try and make him feel better about them.

-He wholly, genuinely, hates the rich. Which is obvious enough, I suppose, but I think it’s more extreme than people give him credit for. And really it just comes down to unadulterated jealousy and bitterness, which are not easy feelings to overcome.

-Norton is of the opinion that all life is equal—and when he’s at his most cynical, this means he’s willing to take the balance of “an eye for an eye” into his own hands.

-His sweet tooth is limited to donuts and a few other carb-y baked goods. He prefers savory flavors, or sometimes bitter, such as in the case of his black coffee. He doesn’t eat as much as you might expect for his size, but he always eats quickly, and hunched over his food like it’ll be taken away. Old habits die hard.

-He has a terrible sleep schedule, due in part to frequent nightmares about the accident. He’s also somewhat claustrophobic and dislikes pitch-black spaces, so a window is a must in his bedroom. He prefers to have it open whenever reasonable.

-He doesn’t do well with thunderstorms, as the rumbles of thunder sound too much like the beginnings of a cave-in.

-If he has one singular strength, it’s perseverance. Hardships don’t deter him because he’s seen and overcome plenty. He’s a loyal friend as well, once completely won over. If he cares for you, you’ll never have to tackle a hurdle alone.

[rustyironskillet]

Ninjago Character Headcanons

Cole Brookstone

Age: 18

Height: 5’11

Where are they from: A small town full of performance artists.

Fun facts:

Since he grew up in a town full of performers, he is very critical of others' fashion, unconsciously judging everyone's hair and clothing choices.

He mentally categorizes fighting moves with dance moves, and when doing the obstacle course in the monastery, he realized there was a rhythm to the obstacles movements and used this to finish the obstacle course before Sensei Wu finished his tea.

He also uses this rhythm technique in battle, and his attacks are very reminiscent of dance moves.

He has eaten dirt and will do it again.

As many issues as Cole has with his dad, he still is the reason that Cole loves music, especially quartets.

He is a mama's boy.

He was Sensei Wu’s first student.

Hobbies: rock climbing, playing video games, cooking, fashion, and sometimes dancing.

Backstory: Mostly the same as in the show, his dad is a dancer, and his mother died of illness when he was younger. After her death, his relationship with his father worsened as his coping mechanism was to hide away in his work, dancing, which he also dragged Cole into. Cole met Sensei Wu while rock climbing to get away from his father after another fight. After talking for a bit, he decided to lie to his father that he was going to Marty Oppenheimer School of Performing Arts and then became Sensei Wu’s student.

Jay Walker

Age: 17

Height: 5’7

Where are they from: A junkyard

Fun Facts:

He has put a fork in a socket, just to see what would happen.

He is dyslexic and has ADHD.

He has Naruto run around the junkyard.

Has broken all of his bones more than once.

Hobbies: Inventing/mechanics, coding/programming, engineering, playing video games, simping, and watching anime.

Backstory: Even though Jay grew up in a junkyard and was homeschooled there, his parents often made multiple trips to Ninjago City to either pick up stuff for the junkyard or show off their invention. But whenever they went there, Jay never could play with the kids from Ninjago City because they all thought that he and his parents were weird. This caused Jay to lie about who his parents were and where he lived. However, he has a good relationship with his parents, and they love him dearly. He met Sensei Wu after crashing into a billboard.

Kai Smith

Age: 18

Height: 5’10

Where are they from: Ignacia, a small village in the countryside of Ninjago.

Fun Facts:

Too spicy is not a phrase that Kai knows.

Kai is ambidextrous (originally left-handed but learned to use his right).

He is hydrophobic and cannot swim.

Ever since his parents disappeared, he was in charge of cooking, and he is decent at it but puts in way too many spices, so only his sister is able to stomach it.

He styled and cut Nya’s hair until she was old enough to do it herself, and he was pretty good at it.

He cannot haggle for the life of him; this is why he isn’t allowed shopping on his own.

Hobbies: metalworking, woodworking, glassblowing, sword fighting, singing, hairstyling, practicing one-liners in the mirror, and playing soccer.

Backstory: Ever since his parents went missing when he was 7, Kai had to take care of Nya and himself. His neighbors chipped in now and then to help them out, but it was he who had to work the smithy and sell armor and weapons to make sure Nya and he had food on the table. After a few years of doing it, Kai managed to teach himself how to make good-quality armor and weapons—never as good as his parents, but better than most. This and Nya's own accomplishments made the Smiths considered the most gifted kids in the village. Thanks to this, Kai and Nya have a big ego, and they both are pretty independent.

Nya Smith

Age: 16

Height: 5’8

Where are they from: Ignacia, a small village in the countryside of Ninjago.

Fun facts:

Nya is typically naturally good at everything, but when she does struggle getting something, she drops it and moves on to something else. That's why she doesn’t do metalworking, woodworking, or glass blowing because those crafts require a lot of trial and error, and why focus on something she isn’t good at immediately when she can do something she is good at?

She is really good at negotiations because she is in charge of both buying and selling, and she will not pay more than she has to nor will she sell for less than she deserves.

The only one of three people who know that about Zane’s secret garden.

Hobbies: gardening, sewing/knitting/crocheting, reading, mechanics, coding/programming, Taekwondo, swimming, cooking, playing instruments (guitar, violin, flute, bass, piano, and drums), sword fighting, and archery.

Backstory: When Nya’s parents went missing when she was 5, Kai did his best to take care of her. At first, she was terrified to be without them. Nya thought Kai wasn’t scared, but soon she realized he was; he just didn’t want to show her so she wouldn't be as scared. Nya decided that since Kai was putting all this effort into being there for her, she would return the favor, and she began to be more independent and try to make him proud. This is what encouraged her to pick up so many hobbies, and since she had a natural talent for so many of them, she quickly became considered the most talented person in the village.

Lloyd Garmadon

Age: 10 (apparently his voice actor said this, I can't find it but if someone else can either conform or deny that would be great)

Height: 4’7

Where are they from: Darkley's Boarding School for Bad Boys

Fun fact:

Lloyd can quickly learn to drive or pilot any vehicle after only being in it for a bit. He uses this to get getaway vehicles for when he needs it.

He has a reverse green thumb; he kills every plant he tries to take care of.

This caused him to be banned from Zane’s secret garden.

Get overstimulated easily.

Hobbies: playing video games, prank calling, and driving/piloting vehicles.

Backstory: Lloyd doesn’t remember either of his parents before arriving at Darkley's Boarding School for Bad Boys. The only reason he knows his name is because of the letter that was left with him when he arrived, reading Lloyd Montgumary Garmadon, which is a bit more than some other kids at Darkley’s got. In Darkley’s, Lloyd had 2 friends, Brad and Gene, and to them, everyone else were their enemies. Darkley kids often would leave the school to mess with nearby villages, and Lloyd would typically be the getaway driver. During one of these escapades, Lloyd tries to trick an old man, but the man outsmarts him, and Lloyd himself gets tricked. This old man is Sensei Wu, and after learning Lloyd's full name, he finds out the boy is his nephew. After Wu tells Lloyd a few life lessons and tells him who his father is, he tells Lloyd that he is his uncle, and if he wants, instead of living at Darkley's, he can live with him. Lloyd says he wants to stay at Darkley’s (partially because he likes hanging out with Brad and Gene and partially because he thinks everyone will think he is a traitor and weak if he leaves), and Senesi Wu leaves him be. He researches who his dad is, Lord Garmadon, and since he is the evilest guy Lloyd has ever heard of, he won’t stop telling everyone about it. Eventually he gets kicked out of Darkley's, so he is homeless and wandering the streets for about a month before the first episode of season 1.

Zane Juilien

Age: 19

Height: 6’2

Where are they from: A forest (not the Birchwood Forest since he doesn’t recognize the place)

Fun Fact:

Zane moved around from town to town for money but also just in case someone would recognize him.

Zane loves nature a lot.

He has the biggest green thumb, so much so that he is even able to bring back plants on their dying breaths.

He made a garden around the back of the monastery that only Nya, Lloyd, and Sensei Wu know about, but Lloyd almost killed all the plants the first time he was there, so he’s banned.

The reason he is so autistic-coded is because Dr. Julien gave him some of his own habits and traits while building him.

Zane can’t use technology; he is like an old person with it.

Hobbies: Cleaning, growing bonsai trees, cooking and baking, swimming, and gardening

Backstory: Zane’s life before the memory wipe is the exact same. After waking up in the forest with little to no memory, he traveled from town to town, doing tricks for money. During one of his tricks, where he stayed underwater for 5 minutes, he met Sensei Wu underwater with him and freaked out, causing him to surface before the 5 minutes were up. Afterwards, they talked for a bit, and Zane decided to become Sensei Wu’s student.

Ninjago Masterpost

[msilwrites]

Papa Bear Material Ch 5 - (Captain Price Fic) Background Check

Chapter 1  Chapter 1 (Shorter Version)   Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4

Summary: Y/N is a reserved former constable and master sniper in the London police force, now working full-time as an artisan. She reconnects with old colleagues at a grill house for a catch-up, where her former junior, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, tries to play matchmaker. Gaz’s attempt to set her up with the retired SAS and Papa Bear material, Captain John Price, is met with resistance as Y/N is caught off guard by the unexpected attention. @darkangel4121@teenagellamaangel@madzzz0797@callsignferal(To the other’s who want me to tag you when there’s an update, just tell me at the comments)

Warning: Mention of abuse

A quick A/N:

Before jumping to the conclusion that Y/N’s victory was unrealistic or labeling her a "Mary Sue," it’s important to note that her win is grounded in practical, researched tactics. Y/N is an SCO19 sniper with urban warfare expertise—an environment where methodical planning and familiarity with tight, complex spaces trump brute force or traditional military tactics. Her role emphasizes precision, adaptability, and outthinking her opponents, which made her success plausible in this exercise.

On the other hand, Captain Price is a seasoned veteran with broad expertise, but his experience as a generalist operator wasn’t perfectly suited to the specialized demands of urban combat in this scenario. He underestimated how critical environmental mastery and sniper strategy were to the outcome, which reflects real-life situations where even the most skilled operators can be outmaneuvered in domains outside their specialty.

P.S.: I looked into this a lot (and spent time watching actual combat exercises) so I could make it as realistic as possible. 😊

Background Check

The faint buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead was the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Price sat at his desk, staring at the screen of his computer, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. The glow from the monitor cast a pale light on his furrowed brow as he replayed the events of the exercise in his head. He had lost, and not just in the way a typical soldier loses a battle. No, this loss gnawed at him in a way he wasn’t used to. It wasn’t just about tactics. It was about the person on the other side—Y/N.

He hadn’t seen it coming. The way she maneuvered her team, the way she used the urban environment like it was a living, breathing thing. Price, a seasoned veteran with more combat experience than most men could dream of, had been outwitted by a sniper whose reputation, he now realized, was far more than just a title. She was a specialist in a way that went beyond his initial expectations.

Underestimated, huh? He thought with a grimace, his gaze falling to the glass in front of him. He’d poured himself a drink earlier, though it felt more like a reflection of his frustration than anything else. He downed the whiskey in one smooth motion, the burn of it doing little to ease the tension in his chest.

His mind wandered to the way Y/N had handled herself—stoic, calculated, always thinking three steps ahead. She had been quiet during the entire exercise, a stark contrast to the boisterous, competitive atmosphere around her. That quiet precision, though… that was what set her apart. A trained sniper who knew how to stay hidden, blend into her environment, and take her shots at the perfect moment. She was more than just a "tortoise," she was a master at urban combat, a niche so many seasoned veterans struggled to adapt to.

But what irked him even more than losing was the mystery around her. No one in the unit seemed to know much about her personal background. On the surface, Y/N was just like any other operator—quiet, focused, and deadly in her own right. But it was the little things that made her stand out. She was incredibly dedicated to her team, always putting others first, making sure everyone was covered and watching each other’s backs. In a way, she was more dependable than anyone he’d ever worked with.

Her work ethic was impeccable—Y/N had a way of getting the job done without fuss or fanfare. She didn’t need to prove anything to anyone, yet she constantly exceeded expectations, even when the odds were stacked against her. Her teammates respected her for that, and though she wasn’t one for idle conversation or personal revelations, they could always count on her to show up when it mattered.

Still, despite the respect she commanded, there was something distant about her. She kept to herself, didn’t share much about her past, and preferred to stay out of the spotlight. She had no need for recognition, no desire to be celebrated. Her actions spoke louder than any words ever could, and that was the way she liked it.

But for someone like Price, who was used to reading people, that lack of transparency only made her more intriguing. He’d been around long enough to know when there was more to someone than met the eye. And Y/N? She was a puzzle—one he was determined to solve.

----------

Subject: Background Inquiry - Y/N (SCO19)

To: [Recipient Name] CC: [Relevant Personnel]

Body:

I need you to dig into the file for Inspector Y/N, codename "Tortoise." I know the clearance restrictions on her record—believe me, I'm well aware—but I have my ways of bypassing that. The thing is, she’s been in this game a lot longer than anyone's let on. I’ve seen her in action, and if I’m honest with myself, I’ve underestimated her. Urban warfare is her domain, and from what I’ve seen, she’s more than just a sniper. She’s tactical, calculated... and frankly, she’s left me rethinking everything I thought I knew about this line of work.

I need everything—her previous deployments, training, any contracts or associations with PMC units, and anything that might explain what makes her tick. I’ve got a feeling there’s more to her than meets the eye, and I don’t intend to keep looking the other way. She’s got a certain... presence, and it’s time I understood what drives her.

Be discreet about this—no issues with clearance or security. You know the drill.

Regards, Price

----------

As soon as Price hit send, he leaned back in his chair, the weight of his thoughts pressing on him more than the usual operational headaches. He had a habit of never letting anything—especially people—slip under his radar, but this was different. Y/N was different. It wasn’t just her tactical expertise that had caught his attention; it was something intangible, the way she operated with quiet precision, and how her mind seemed to anticipate every move before it happened.

He shook his head, trying to focus. But that damn patch she wore—the snapping turtle patch—kept coming back to his thoughts. The way her team rallied behind her, despite her quiet demeanor, spoke volumes. They clearly respected her, even if she didn’t show it. And then there were the glimmers of a deeper edge beneath her calm exterior—a sniper who didn’t just take the shot, but took the time to understand her environment and her enemy. " That’s something I can respect."

But then there was the matter of what had happened during the training exercise. He thought he was winning—had been winning, until it all came crumbling down with one last sweep. Her team had used the environment to their advantage—exactly how she’d been trained. And she? She’d been silent, invisible in the chaos, only to hit him square in the head when he’d least expected it.

He poured himself a glass of whisky, staring at the amber liquid. "No one had ever gotten the drop on me like that," he thought, taking a slow sip. He’d been fighting in these kinds of environments for years, but here she was, operating with a kind of patience and intuition he couldn’t shake. There was something compelling about that, something that made him want to know more. "Maybe I need to rethink my own game. "

As the glass clinked gently back on the desk, Price exhaled slowly. He’d sent the email—he’d find out what he could about her background. The more he knew, the better.

The sharp buzz of his phone interrupted his thoughts. He picked it up quickly, eyes scanning the message.

[Recipient Name]: I’ll look into it, sir. I’ll be discreet. Should have something for you within the next 24 hours or less. Don’t worry about the clearance, I’ll handle it.

Price stared at the screen for a long moment, his thumb hovering over the reply button. He considered typing something back, but decided against it. No need to overcomplicate things just yet.

---------- As Captain Price sits back, nursing a glass of whisky in his office, the chime of a new email cuts through the quiet of the night. He straightens, his gaze narrowing as he clicks open the message.

----------

Subject: Preliminary Information – Y/N (Codename: "Tortoise")

From: [Recipient Name] To: Commander John Price Date: [Insert Date, 00:10 AM] CC: [Relevant Personnel] Priority: High

Body:

Commander,

Here is the preliminary information on Inspector Y/N, as requested. This is a brief summary, but the full records are still being processed. I will ensure everything is pulled through, but here’s what we have so far:

Family Background: Y/N was born in Portsmouth, raised by a former Royal Navy officer who became an MI5 operative. Her father’s career gave him certain leverage, both in the Navy and with intelligence services. While there is some indication of her mother being complicit in the abuse, details are scarce.

Domestic Abuse Incident: There’s a documented case regarding domestic violence within the household. Social services were involved in the past, though much of the intervention was limited due to the father’s influence.

Missing Persons Report (Age 14): A police record from when she was a teenager indicates a missing persons report filed after a violent argument with her father.

- Missing Persons Reports (Age 14–19)

Frequency: Three documented incidents. Reason: Reports filed by concerned third parties (school staff, neighbors, or local authorities) after witnessing escalating domestic disturbances or after Y/N was seen leaving home for extended periods following physical or verbal altercations. Outcome: Each report ended with Y/N either being found staying with friends or local shelters. Upon investigation, she was repeatedly returned to her family home despite indications of domestic abuse, citing lack of concrete legal evidence or parental assurances. (Reports and Records as per attached)

I’ll send a follow-up once the full profile has been compiled.

----------

Price leaned back in his chair, the glow of the computer screen reflecting off his face as he read the email. His brow furrowed, the lines on his forehead deepening with every word. The contents were brief but revealing—a glimpse into a past that no one had spoken of, not even in passing.

The mention of multiple Missing Persons reports spanning Y/N’s teenage years hit harder than he expected. It wasn’t just the reports themselves, but what they implied: a life lived on the edge of survival, marred by conflict long before she picked up a rifle. The term "domestic disturbances" felt sterile, almost dismissive, compared to the reality it hinted at—physical and emotional wounds that couldn’t be bandaged over.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, his usual composure slipping as he stared at the screen. Her father, a Royal Navy officer. A man who should have been a protector, but instead was the source of her suffering. And her mother, passive at best, complicit at worst. It painted a grim picture, one Price wished he could unsee.

It was personal. Too personal.

The idea of Y/N—a woman who carried herself with such quiet strength—having endured that kind of upbringing stirred something in him. Anger, yes, but also a deep sense of admiration. She hadn’t just survived; she had risen above it, carving out a place for herself in one of the most grueling professions in the world.

He glanced at the timestamp on the email. Midnight. This wasn’t the kind of thing you could read and forget about, especially not at this hour.

Price sighed, his hand drifting to the glass of whiskey on his desk. He picked it up but didn’t drink, instead letting the weight of the glass anchor him. He knew he shouldn’t dig deeper—it wasn’t his place. Yet, the thought of leaving this half-finished made his stomach twist. There was more to her story, and now he couldn’t ignore the curiosity—or the quiet protectiveness—that had taken root.

"Y/N…" Price muttered to himself, setting the glass down as the memories stirred unbidden. This wasn’t new. If anything, he’d been aware of her long before she’d proven herself in the field.

It had all started with Gaz’s cheeky attempt at matchmaking, showing Price that picture with a grin and the bold claim: “She’s your type, Captain. Strong, smart, and she’s not the kind to immediately fall for your charm. Bet you’d have to work for it.”

He’d glanced at the picture, expecting nothing remarkable, but it had stopped him in his tracks. She was a beauty— petite, but a strong profile, and a kind of quiet confidence that spoke volumes even in a still photo. Gaz wasn’t wrong; she was his type.

"Drop by her stall," Gaz had urged a week later, nudging him during a casual chat. “She’s at the she's at stall 30, Just don’t make it weird.”

Price had rolled his eyes but eventually humored the idea. He’d wandered through the rows of vendors, trying to look casual as he approached her table. And when he’d seen her in person? Hell, the photo didn’t do her justice. She was a beauty in an understated way—focused as she sorted her wares, her movements deliberate and graceful. It wasn’t just her looks, though. There was something magnetic about her presence, something that had rooted him in place longer than he’d intended.

Of course, none of that mattered when he’d tried to strike up a conversation. She’d been polite but curt, clearly uninterested in his charm or his rank. She wasn’t rude—just distant, the kind of distance that said don’t even try.

And yet, here he was, unable to let it go.

What had started as light interest had deepened into a quiet admiration, especially now. Watching her in action during the exercise wasn’t just impressive; it had been humbling. She wasn’t just competent—she was exceptional. Calculated, efficient, but fiercely protective of her team. The Tortoise nickname wasn’t just a joke; it was the way she operated, outthinking and outlasting her opponents with sharp precision.

And then there was her past. The cold, hard facts from the report still lingered in his mind, their weight pressing heavy on his chest. She wasn’t just tough—she’d had to be.

Price exhaled, a short, bitter laugh escaping him. He wasn’t sure if he admired her more for what she’d endured or for the fact that she’d let none of it define her. Either way, it made him want to know her even more—a thought that unsettled him, because this wasn’t just professional. It hadn’t been for a long time.

"Damn it, Kyle…" he thought, shaking his head. The lad had been right, and he hated it.

The screen dimmed as the email timed out, but Price remained seated, lost in thought. Some questions could wait until morning, but he doubted his mind would let him rest until he knew the whole story.

Price reached for his whiskey, staring into the amber liquid. “Well, John, you’ve stepped into it now,” he said quietly, the weight of what he’d uncovered settling heavily.

[aaronyoghurt]

"Dance With Me"

Chrollo x Reader

This is the first fan fic I've written.

I dont't know if this will be any good but

Please be nice.

Although constructive criticism will be much appreicated.

I tried.

This will probably be a one shot and I shall disappear under the surface of the earth.

Unless yall find this engaging or if I choose to write more.

Summary: You're attending a fancy auction event. Becoming increasingly bored, an opportunity arises when a handsome mysterious stranger notices and approaches you. He engages in conversation before swooping you away onto the dance floor. Ending is open to interpretation. wink wink

Note: I have written this in Third Person rather than in Second. I wanted to try out the narrative perspective but I am curious to know which of the two you prefer as a reader :)

Enjoy...

(2.06 k words)

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Smooth red liquid of the expensive wine cautiously slid down her throat as she observed her current surroundings. The soft classical music from the band of musicians flowed through the air, creating a pleasant ambience that entertained the auditory senses. Meanwhile, a swarm of mingling bodies idly danced through the grand intricate hall. The ruby wine, slowly swirled around the inside of the glass as the young woman languidly stirred the stem between delicate fingers.

The function she was attending tonight was a prestigious one. A vast ornate ceiling coupled with splendid decorative designs and grand marble columns intwined with golden threads, were all distinct features that screamed eloquence and money. Just the thing to be expected when one attended a fancy dinner party, especially one that was meant to impress the higher classes, under the disguise of a philanthropic art auction for charity. The young woman liked art. It is a universal thing that binds all humans together and anyone can be appreciative of it, regardless if they consider themselves a knowledgeable appraiser.

The reason for her being here tonight was not only attributed to her desire to see the art or enjoy a social gathering, but almost laughable in its’ simplicity; boredom. A result of a spontaneous decision made on impulse and the desire to escape the typical regularity of daily life seemed more appealing to regard it as such. An acquaintance of hers mentioned that it would be a pleasure for him to take her to the auction if she chose to, and she agreed. However, now that she has strolled around the venue and admired all of the art pieces that were to be auctioned, all the while her supposed partner for this evening has left to throw himself into conversation with other groups of people at some stage during the evening, there was nothing more to do other than to enjoy some of the wine that was offered.

Her gaze was trained on the red liquid that sloshed lightly in the crystal while her mind was wondering on what to do next. She glanced up at the dancing couples for a second with an indifferent and almost distant gaze before sighing and raising the glass to her lips. Lamenting on the fact that people had found happiness with their lovers was never a beneficial thought process. It made one consider their own lack of romance in life and wonder how some fall into relationships so easily, while others struggle to even find a match or simply waiting for fate to do its’ bidding.

That is why instead of dwelling on such topics, she sipped on her nearly empty glass, allowing the pleasant buzz to fill her head and enjoy the remaining contents of the drink before deciding to call it a night and go home. Perhaps once she is back home, she will decide between getting even more violently wine drunk and viciously bawling into a pillow, considering the uneventful and quite boring evening that she thus far endured.

She raised the glass once again to her lips while her eyes flickered upwards, only to land on a suit clad stranger in the now dispersed party of the previous dancers, and who was also looking back at her with a soft smile. She blinked and shifted her gaze away to the side, as her breath caught in her throat momentarily. It must have been her imagination or worse, a hallucination caused by one too many sips of wine, because once her eyes travelled back in the direction of the mysterious man looking at her, he was gone.

But not even a second later, the stranger reappeared at her side, standing only a small and respectable distance away. Declining his head a bit and nodding subtly downwards at the glass in her hand and leaning into her side he spoke, “Pinot Noir or Sauvignon?” Her head turns at the sound of the calm and surprisingly soft voice and she is met face to face with the handsome stranger. Her widened eyes meet his cool cobalt gaze as they curiously look into hers, maintaining a present contact.

Apart from his tantalising opium gaze, his appearance was strikingly distinct and unique; a white bandana was wrapped securely around his forehead and his earlobes were adorned with turquoise ball earrings. After taking a few seconds to comprehend the random approach and the appearance of the man before her, she quickly shook off her stupor after realising he is waiting for some sort of answer.

He has asked her what wine it is that was in her glass and she glances down at it as she thinks back. When she was poured the wine by the waiter previously, he had said something similar. She glanced back up at the mysterious man and offering him a response, “Pinot Noir, I believe…” His smile widens ever so slightly as he acknowledges her with a gentle gaze. “I must say, it is a fine choice. The taste is quite refined in its own way.”

She smiles lightly back at him and can’t help but feel her heart skip a beat. Not only is his countenance tolerable and fine, the way he carries himself is certainly venerable with a flair for natural charm. Moreover, his appearance is even more captivating. From the way in which his inky strands of hair fall perfectly around his face, to the structure of his jaw and sharp intelligent eyes.

“Ah, pardon me. I believe I got ahead of myself and forgot the introductions. I’m Chrollo.” His eyes remain soft and looking straight into hers, while his lips are graced with that same calm and friendly smile as he extends his right hand slowly. “Chrollo…nice to meet you. I’m Y/n.” She smiles back warmly and places her hand into his as he squeezes it gently and raises her hand to his lips while lowering his head, looking into her eyes through his lashes with a soft grin as he does so.

This catches her off guard completely, causing a tint of pink to dust her cheeks right before he lets go and continues in a soft, aimable tone, “Perhaps I was too up front with my approach, but I couldn’t help but notice your humble presence and elegant disposition. Are you enjoying the party?”  She considers him for a moment before letting out a small chuckle and looking back up at him, “It could be worse. I was hoping it would be more entertaining for me, but I’m not one to complain.”

⋙ ⋙ ⋙

Chrollo’s company turned out to be a most joyous experience and probably the highlight of the otherwise uninteresting evening. He was polite and a most engaging conversationalist. They talked and laughed for a long duration of time which now seemed to be of no essence. The rest of the people in the expanse of the hall and the air filled with conversation seemed to have completely vaporised into nothing more than an insignificant echo.

After some time, they both seem to be brought back to reality as the music started back up. A notable change can now be heard in it’s quality of performance since a new, more distinguished, band of musicians  appeared, in exchange of the prior orchestra. Most likely to symphonise a final dance before the auction started.

Upon hearing the newborn melody, Chrollo looks at her again with a more concentrated gaze as he utters his next words, “Dance with me.” His voice is soft as he speaks, but there is a certain command in it, which compels one to oblige instantaneously. Her eyes widen in mild surprise at the sudden request. Her heart begins to thump in her chest at a slightly more accelerated speed, as she gazes up into the sparkling depths of obscurity, contained within those enthralling dark grey eyes of his. Chrollo patiently waits, now with another kind smile compared to the more pointed expression he presented mere seconds ago. “Uhm…alright.” She agrees after initial hesitation, as he offers her his hand, giving the cue, to which she immediately complies.

Placing her smaller hand into Chrollo’s, he leads her onto the dance floor where others have already started their waltz. They stop together in the free space as Chrollo raises their intertwined hands into the air fluidly, and uses his other hand to promptly and gently wrap around her lower back, pulling her closer into him. He offers her an unabashed grin while a more bashful smile spreads itself upon her own lips.

“I should have warned you earlier…I’m not a great dancer.” She admits and glances away from his piercing gaze before meeting his eyes once more. His own lips merely quirk upwards after sensing her apprehension before he responds, “I believe it’s a little too late for any inhibitions now, darling. Allow me to be your guide.” Is all he says, before starting to fall into rhythm with her gracefully, leading her through every step as they progress in their dance.

The music flows through the crowded space easily, while Chrollo smoothly dictates the slow succession of steps and figures, occasionally twirling her around and pulling her in extremely close. It was evident that she felt a bit nervous at the start, and not only because of the fact that this handsome dark haired man was present and choosing to be with her, but since she never considered herself to be a capable dancer. Somehow with Chrollo’s efficient guidance, she found herself naturally responding to his movements. It was bizarre yet magnificent at the same time. As if the ability of dancing itself was innately present with her all along and never existed only as a foreign concept.

“I do not know why you feared that you didn’t have the capacity to be a capable dancer. You’re moving splendidly.” Chrollo praises with a soft smile on his face as they continue to dance. She keeps her eyes on his as they effortlessly sway to the soft classical music provided by the orchestra. “Maybe I just have a good partner.” She teases with a small grin. Chrollo subtly smirks at her suave comment as his obsidian eyes fill with mirth.

Don’t be so humble now, dear. I have witnessed how other women dance and some appear to be as stiff as rocks.” He comments in amusement as he spins her around gently before pulling her back against him, her body moving fluently in response to his lead. “I see you have had plenty of experience in dancing then?” She asks as she tries to appear nonchalant. Chrollo only chuckles softly as his sharp eyes pierce into her own. “Call it observation.” He responds enigmatically as his hand slithers down to her waist from the small of her back.

The two continue dancing until the song begins to fade towards its’ conclusion. After spending only around two hours with Chrollo, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to him. His enticing nature and charming persona, coupled with his appealing handsome looks was beginning to get to her. The aforementioned idea of romance, that she approached with much scrutiny and distaste, now seemed not be as bad. She could only hope and fathom the idea that fate has finally been kind to her and bestowed this ridiculously attractive man in her favour.

She didn’t know what approach she should take anymore, but she did know one thing; she never wanted for this dream-like dance to end. But all good things seem to come to an end. So she allows herself to indulge in this as much as possible and drink every drop from tonight’s company before the clock struck twelve.

Chrollo looks down at her with devilish smile gracing his plump lips as his eyes sparkle with a newfound light. “Earlier you mentioned you wished for the evening to be more entertaining…well I can assure you of one thing, my dear…” He twirls her around gently for the final time before smoothly pulling her back against his chest with a hand on the small of her waist. Tipping her backwards ever so slightly, Chrollo leans his head down next to hers and whispers the next words into the shell of her ear, his lips brushing the tender skin with the barest touch, “…It will only get more interesting, from now on…”

~

~

~

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if you survived after reading this, I commend you for your dilligence and patience.

As an FYI: This post is a result of a random idea along with me wanting to test my writing capabilities in the department of fanfiction lol. So I have no clue how this escalated to me posting this on here but take what you want of it.

If you are still reading, I would be eternally blessed if I receive any feedback cuz I deadass have no clue what I am doing.

Stay slay and peace out!

[crearuru]

as a csa/rape survivor whose school in 2010 was full of impressionable young men screaming "rape jokes" and about what theyd do (and some DID) to me the gaiaonline screenshots suck for many reasons. aside from the undeniably inappropriate behavior emile was shown engaging in (which was awful but incredibly typical conversational subject matter for the year 2010) but hiding the other party's name only in the archive of what their 2010 username was (it was Lawly) to make it look like the word loli (which i hate!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) was repeatedly brought up as if lawly was coined as a nickname by emile is Bad (context still sucks!!!!!!!) and even worse is how an autistic person deflecting sexual harassment is what everyone was defending when it was emily who deflected without saying no but when its an autistic man being repeatedly told how the other party plans on "raping him" and he deflects with a (awful and horrible but period-typical) wisecrack "well it wouldnt be pe/do/ph//ilia if the minor was raping" (in response to being told the other person who first brought up rape fantasized about raping him!!! And the other person told HIM in response that "it wouldnt be rape if you liked it and liking it is consent which makes it pedophilia *smiling emoticon*"!!!!!! btw!!!!) People who are (rightfully) criticizing him for not instantly blocking (can you block effectively on AOL??? its before my time and i cant find any tutorials on how to block aim users) but (not rightfully) wouldnt criticize emily for not blocking like be consistent. The messages are sickening to read as a survivor and ive been struggling to even speak all day from how this incident is bringing up old trauma and also emile is in the psych ward now and ppl are saying itd be good if he killed himself and people are spreading unrelated false claims about him forcing masae to give him sexual favors with her feet (which she never claimed he did!!!) And im so nauseous from this whole thing my head hurts so bad

[celestial-specter]

So I finally got around to watching the first three episodes of the final season, and I’ve got to say, I’m very intrigued by the addition of the three clone cadets! Most of my interest comes from their names- and since I haven’t seen anyone else discuss them yet, I thought I’d throw my own thoughts out there.

As we have seen in many star wars projects over the years, character names seem to be overwhelming literal, either revealing elements of their background, or foreshadowing their future (think how in Rebels, Kanan means ‘little wolf’, while his true name, Caleb, means ‘dog’, foreshadowing his link to the Loth wolves.)

Of course, we know that the clones either name themselves or have the name bestowed on them by their brothers (think of Echo getting his name). The trio of clones that we meet in Paths Unknown are named Deke, Stak, and Mox. There hasn’t been much information released regarding at what age clones typically receive their names, however in the Clone Wars episode Clone Cadets, we see Cutup take his name from a trainer who criticizes him for his attitude. As that episode focuses on Domino squad’s final training simulation before graduation, and that they all appear to be fully grown adult clones, it can be assumed that they are all around ten years old, the same age of most clones sent to war. Given that we see Cutup choose his name during this episode, and that Echo is struggling with his nickname and remembering Fives’ name, it suggests that Domino squad had only recently begun thinking about what name they would choose for themselves.

While we haven’t been given a definitive age for Deke, Stak and Mox they are all still clearly children. I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t even have names by the time they were taken off Kamino, and had to create names for each other while trying to survive on the planet they were stranded on.

To begin with Mox, his is the name I could find the least amount of reference for. There seems to be three possible interpretations:

Mox is a type of fuel designed for use in nuclear reactors.

Mox is a shortened version of moxie, meaning ‘energy, courage, and determination.’

Mox is the Latin word for ‘soon.’

I’m not overly drawn to the first idea, but I can understand the second - as Mox is clearly the eldest and protective over his younger brothers, I can see him taking a name which shows that side of his personality. I also see Mox as a direct parallel of Hunter; both are the eldest brothers of their respective groups, and are both incredibly wary of outsiders due to their need to keep their brothers safe.

However, I much prefer the third choice. The idea that Mox’s name means ‘soon’ can have both good and bad implications. For starters, Mox is clearly the most emotionally conflicted throughout the episode, unsure of his place on the mission, and of his place once they leave the planet. Hunter assures him that he has time to consider being something other than a soldier, and Mox offers his hand to Hunter. This action could be foreshadowing that soon, Hunter himself will be able to retire from this lifestyle, by finding Omega and Crosshair. Alternatively, Mox’s name meaning soon could be a very bad omen for the batch, as it could foreshadow the clone cadets being used as leverage against them (I’m thinking this could come into play when the empire attacks Pabu if the cadets are there).

Moving on, the word Deke was originally coined by Hemingway as a shortened form of the word decoy. We do not see him act as a decoy in any way during this episode, so I believe it is solely to foreshadow future events. Considering the many parallels drawn between Deke and Tech during this episode (e.g. Stak dubbing Deke ‘the smart one’ and Deke almost falling to his death in the base) his name meaning decoy only makes me more convinced that Tech is still around in some capacity (even if that capacity is just his body being used for cloning experiments).

Finally, Stak is most commonly considered to be an old version of the word stick, which makes sense when you consider the basic stick-based weapons that the cadets carry, and Wrecker’s first words to Stak and Deke when he meets them: ‘Blaster beats stick, kid!’ Knowing that the Star Wars writers love foreshadowing, this comment has me thinking things might not end so well for Stak. Interestingly, another link I found while researching this is that Stak is a common phrase in the Rogue Trooper series, in which a war is fought between facist Norts and democratic Southers (you can already see the obvious parallels to Star Wars here). In the series, in an attempt to win the war, the Southers create genetically engineered soldiers, but only one, known as Rogue, survives. Even more links involve one of the main stories of this series being titled ‘The Marauders’, and each one of the genetically engineered soldiers having a bio-chip in their body. While not a direct link, these coincidences do make me think there is a direct link between the two medias, it is possible that there is a fan of the Rogue Trooper series within the team behind The Bad Batch.

Either way, I’m very happy to finally be getting some explanation into what happened to the young clones who never saw the battlefield during the clone wars - though I am a little concerned that their worth being tied to their unexplored identity as soldiers could lead to them taking risks in further episodes in the hopes of proving themselves.

[1000punks]

bonding. ⁰⁸//reversing

bonding. //masterlist

pairing: spawn!Astarion x named!Tav (non-binary OC)

warnings: 18+. nsft. mdni. hurt/comfort, angst, canon-typical descriptions of gaslighting/manipulation.

word count: 5,061

summary: two gays remodel a house domestic fluff and some character background building, set in post-game baldur's gate. two people who are weird and traumatized work on their relationship and reclaim their sexuality through a shared kink. lots of gooey romantic smut while these two slowly figure out their future together.

named!Tav is my non-binary tiefling ranger, Festé. i was seeing far too few fics with tiefling!Tav and i thought it was crucial, nay, critical to include them in the headcanons. i hope you all enjoy! ♡

header credit: MANTIS. // @astarionposting

It was hard to slip into a trance, even with his face buried in his imp's chest, and their arm draped over his back. Festé had fallen asleep while petting over his scars and through his hair, and he had enjoyed every moment of it. Astarion tried again, screwing his eyes shut and counting their heartbeats in his mind. He let their rhythmic breathing lull him back to relaxation, their chest rising and falling slowly. The elf turned his head, opting to rest his cheek on their shoulder, and to brush his lips against their neck. They shifted slightly, and splayed their hand against his back before relaxing it. Astarion continued to count, letting his mind wander. As if it weren't enough to be next to them twenty-four hours a day, Festé often made starring appearances in his thoughts and memories. Greedy, he thought, to have them all to himself, and to still desire more from them.

Regardless, tonight he remembered the very first time he opened up to them, to anyone, about his vampirism. Astarion heaved a sigh and recalled how they had looked when he had been caught bending over their bedroll. Almost demure, definitely curious, but not the least bit fazed. He relaxed and slipped into the memory fully, echoes of the conversation they had had that night coming into focus.

He was studying their face as he hastily explained how he had come to be kneeling over them in the dead of night, the sudden anxiety of the situation forcing the truth out. Shit, he cursed himself, as he took in their furrowed brow and tense posture. Why did he have to pick the ranger? They may be small, but from the looks of them… Gods, he was desperate; and he needed this to work. He needed to have just a taste of power, so he whipped up a half-truth.

They softened their posture at his words, he could easily see it, but something in their eyes bore deep into his chest. He felt… exposed under their unwavering gaze. That feeling in his chest, was it shame? The imp probably saw right through him, but they were playing along anyway? Astarion felt a twinge at the very back of his skull, jerking him out of character for an instant. The damned tadpole.

Festé didn't pry, though. It was genuinely disarming, but his lips were already shaping themselves around another half-truth: "…You can trust me." The memory blurred a bit around the edges as he continued, "I only need a taste, I swear." The imp's eyes were piercing, burning; and yet they had still agreed. What were they playing at?

From there, he had shoved the confusion away, the practiced seductive notes slipping into his voice as he invited the tiefling to lay back. Astarion went for their neck, and immediately, fireworks were going off somewhere within his ribcage. The smokiness of their blood was altogether new, but it was jarring how familiar it felt at the same time. His breathing quickened, despite his best efforts to remain calm as the first swallow coursed down his throat. The elf dug his nails into the dirt involuntarily, feeling the imp struggle underneath him with the pain. They raised their hand out of his line of sight, and he only noticed when he felt their fingers tug at the front of his shirt, softly as you please.

"That's… enough," their uncharacteristically deep voice had broken the spell their blood had cast on him, and they gently pushed Astarion away.

He spoke the first genuine truth he had that night, "That… was amazing," and the tiefling's gaze was piercing once more, though they were smiling widely at him. So stupid, he thought, smiling so warmly at the beast who was sure to be one's demise. Eventually, the elf had walked away, a new spark stirring within his chest.

Unfortunately, when he found himself alone just beyond the treeline, he realized he had felt something else stirring, as well. He panted, whirling around to glance back toward the camp before letting one shoulder come to rest against a tree. Astarion felt the sharp twist of lust coupled with the instinctual revulsion, and the act of relieving himself of both only served to instill a deep confusion within him. A confusion he repressed swiftly as he hunted for something he could kill.

The memory swam before his eyes, and he was standing in the clearing outside of camp. Most of his weight was being supported by the trunk of a large tree, and he was panting and clutching his chest. He supposed that if he had possessed a beating heart, it would be arresting right now.

"Just say… your lines, you stupid elf…" he muttered harshly under his breath. Suddenly, rage flared in his chest along with the panic, and he was tearing off his shirt, throwing it aside carelessly. This was just another thing that had been tainted for him, even if he wanted to enjoy it. He pressed his back against the tree, covering his face with his hands, while a litany of whispers fell from his lips. "It's just, one more mark. You can do this. You can do this." He kneaded at his eyes with the heels of his palms. "Just do it," he snarled.

Footsteps were approaching, and his ears twitched, judging the distance: out of earshot, but not for long. Three, two, one… He stepped out from the shadows of the trees; his features composed, but the disgust barely contained.

"There you are. I've been waiting." The bile was rising in his throat, but he smirked anyway. "Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you." A harmless lie; the imp was good-looking, to be sure, but he never imagined he would be doing this again. "Waiting to have you." He looked them over, his vision going double for a moment while he fought the familiar nausea, the pit in his stomach opening up wide as he stepped towards them. He wished that he could vomit, if only just to make the feeling go away. Then he glanced up, focusing on the tiefling's eyes, and fought to keep his features blank and composed. That disarming expression again, as if the damned imp was examining his very soul. They had such a genuinely warm countenance about them, it showed in their smile. Perhaps they knew, he thought, and yet they were playing his little game.

Festé smirked, mirroring him, but their eyes burned and narrowed. "You don't have me yet," they countered in their rich, low voice. He was off-book now, taken aback, but the moves were more or less the same.

The memory blurred and faded slightly. He hadn't wanted to remember the details, but he did recall his surprise at how warm their body had been. It was useless to compare it to the many other bodies he had touched, or that had touched him. Theirs was…different. To boot, they had offered their neck to him once again, which he only imagined was part of some larger fetish.

Astarion withdrew from that one for the time being, and all of the memories collapsed in on themselves for an instant, and then began cycling rapidly. Every night, they had allowed him in, to feed; and he took, and took. He began to look forward to their visits to his tent every morning, bouncing over to check on him, to ask if he had fed enough, to offer him the same that night. Over time, he had speculated more and more that it wasn't simply a fetish of theirs, not with the way they had lingered near him in camp, nor the way they were by his side before and after every meeting, every battle. Over and over, different locations, different lighting, and different situations: every time he had seen their beautiful smile moved, rapid-fire, across his mind. How he had grown to love that smile, and how he had begun to crave it, to covet it.

There he was, the night after they had faced that detestable drow at Moonrise. He caught Festé's arm by his fingertips, and motioned his head to a spot at the edge of camp. It was a tense moment, and he didn't want anyone else to hear him lay it bare. He studied their features as he began to confess, leaving his feelings and sins out in the open for them to judge, but they didn't. When the tiefling had instead wrapped their arms around him so tenderly, he fought the urge to sink to his knees, to weep and beg for them to stop; but also to never stop. He didn't deserve this care, and certainly not in the wake of confessing to sleeping with them to get ahead. But he craved it so desperately at the same time. It was only then, with his face buried in their shoulder, that he had pieced it together. Festé wanted to help sustain him, they didn't want him to feed to fulfill some sick fetish of theirs. The imp truly wanted him to live. They were forcing him to live, to contend with being alive, whether they had intended to or not. They were nurturing him, and to this day, he was still contending with that truth.

Astarion began to ruminate on the past two days, turning it over and comparing it to how he had felt the very first time they had slept together; and something tightened in his chest, distracting him. What if they were able to live on forever with him? What if it was their choice, and what if Gale's plan to get the ring ended up working? On the other hand, what if it was all a trap? He had an inkling that a vampire lord wouldn't stray too near to the city, unless they had plans to claim the now-open territory for themself. It would be a shame if he and Festé had come this far in their relationship for everything to be ruined.

He focused on their argument the previous day, watching their good eye burn dangerously as they looked up at him, their fingers pressing to his lips. "That's right, I don't," Festé spat.

Oh. They wouldn't even consider the idea? He must be more of a burden than he thought.

"But you wouldn't have known that, because neither of you bothered to ask me. You assumed, both of you. I wasn't angry then, but I am now." Their deep voice shot up half an octave in exasperation. He watched them pinch the bridge of their nose, crestfallen. Of course, it was as he thought, he was too much, wasn't he? Why else would they be so upset?

"You d… What?" he tilted his head, sitting back on the imp's thighs, deciding in that instant to push his luck. "You don't… want that? Isn't that what every mortal wants?" he hissed, his thoughts turning back to that drow at Moonrise once again, and to all of the thousands of faceless people he had bedded. They were all entranced by him, and most of them against their will. What was different here?

He blinked softly as Festé heaved a great sigh underneath him. It sounded happy, and he felt their fingers trace over his back, once, while they shifted under his weight, turning their head the other way. He pursed his lips, inhaling against the hollow of their neck, and he concentrated once more, feeling back into his memories of the previous day.

"You didn't, Star. You said you had no choice in the matter." They met his eyes, and he took in their grim expression. His chest felt like it was caving in on itself. "I do, and while I would give my life to spend forever with you, I don't think the risk is worth the potential reward." He knew that if his heart could beat, it would have stopped, right there and then. They wouldn't risk it? Not even for eternity with him?

"You… You don't?" His voice sounded faint, even to himself, and he dropped his gaze from theirs. The weight he now felt in his chest refused to dissipate. He wished…

"You're right, what if someone got hurt in the process? What if one of our friends got hurt? What if, gods forbid, you got hurt, or killed? It's selfish, but the rest of my short life with you, like this," he warmed a bit when their fingers skated over his cheek, "Where I can give you… all of me? I'd rather that than potentially spending eternity with regrets, or deaths weighing on my conscience." The imp smiled, though it didn't reach their eyes. He studied them, and frowned. How dare they call themself selfish, when what they had just said was so entirely selfless? Festé had always put everyone else's needs and desires above their own, even when it was at their own expense or detriment. He wanted to shout at them, to ask what they truly wanted, because he could plainly see something hidden in their eyes. The memory dispersed for a second as he recalled another, after his unfortunate 'siblings' had stormed their camp on the outskirts of Baldur's Gate.

"You're the only one. Other people don't have a heart like you. You're you. No one is like that." He said it with such conviction, and he truly meant it from the bottom of his heart, though he had felt something inside him twist violently as he spoke the words. The context had changed, but not the content.

He withdrew, and thought it over; how unfortunate he was then, not knowing just how true those words would become, Festé's face and the backdrop of their bedroom swam into view once more, and the elf parted his lips.

"You want the same thing as I do." Damnable imp, he loved them so. He closed his eyes slowly, and loathe as he was to accept it in the moment, he knew that the tiefling's big heart would prevent them from taking risks with anyone's safety besides their own. If they faced down a vampire lord, it would have only been in the situation with… him. Astarion couldn't bear to think the name right now. It was only because he, the prodigal spawn, was in clear and present danger. They truly didn't covet this life, that much was apparent. "You want to protect me, and I want to protect you," he sighed. You want to protect everyone except yourself, he added silently.

The thought of having them, though? Forever? It was a tempting prospect. He retreated from the argument, focusing on the point where he had the imp back in his arms; and he contrasted it with the first time he had slept with them. He was sickened that first time by the ghosts of his past, and the mere notion of his own arousal when he gazed over the tiefling's body. How warm they had been, though; and no less warm last night when they had taken to bed together again. His disgust with sex was gradually being replaced with a hunger that he couldn't quite put into words. Astarion, if he had his way, would have his hands on his imp at all times, whether it be a single fingertip or being buried deeply within their body. He decided, as he pinned both of Festé's wrists above their head, that if it were possible, he would crawl inside their chest and make a home for himself next to their heart. "I want to take all of the pleasures of your body, pet. Be good for me." Come now, show your devotion to me one more time. I'm begging you, he thought, feeling them squirm as he bared his fangs and opened a fresh wound on their neck.

They began to shake as he swallowed deeply, and he considered what would happen if he went too far, resting his body on theirs. It was torturous, loving someone so much that your first instinct was to devour them. He ground his hips against theirs, a snarling thought tearing its way through his mind when he felt their blood lose some pressure, their whimpers growing weaker. I'll drain you; I'll make you stay the only way I know how. He blinked in surprise, mentally shaking himself and pulling away with a harsh sigh. He all but tore the lacing from the front of his trousers, pushing the animalistic, bloodthirsty thought back behind a mental wall while he shoved his pants off. The elf patted his thigh and caught them in his arms, glad that they couldn't perceive his fingers trembling as he held them. So warm… It was a bit blurry, he was preoccupied with the feral desire to be inside of them once again. Even being this close was sweet agony. Their skin burned against his own, and he found himself wondering if it was from their hellish blood, or from some other secret. No human had felt this way against his skin. He pressed them closer. "Now that you're weakened and pliant for me, darling," he couldn't help purring in appreciation, his voice coming out rough and foreign, "I think it's only fair that you're further reminded who you belong to." And who belongs to you, you damned imp. Gods, they looked so precious. He raised a hand and pushed it into their hair, framing their face and smiling. He intended the gesture to be tender, but he probably looked terrifying. "Hasn't it been so long? By now, you've probably forgotten how I feel inside you, hmm?" He knew that he had, and he stifled his gasp when they moved in his lap, gripping them and pulling them closer. Anywhere he could reach, please, just…

He slid into them, and moaned against their ear like it had been his first time. It was mortifying, but Festé didn't seem to mind, locking their arms around his neck and rocking against him. Yes. Please, he wanted to cry out. Please hold me. Hold on to me as tightly as I hold on to you. Let me hear you. Let me feel you. Let me love you. He felt powerless as he experienced the scene unfold once again. Drowning, that's what he would call it; he was drowning himself in them. But if this was drowning, was it really all that bad? Was it so bad if he got to hold them, to feel genuine pleasure, to enjoy himself for the first time in two centuries?

Their snarling moan snapped him out of his own thoughts for a moment. What if he was simply hurting them with how - or what - he was? Oh… oh, that feeling, their fingers on his back that had almost driven him mad the first time, but he slowed his thrusts regardless. "H…hurts, Star…" He was sure it did, they looked positively wrecked; then he realized just how deeply he had pushed inside, he was met with resistance. Shit.

"Do you want me to stop, my pet?" He studied their face intensely, his fingers curling tightly around their jaw. They shook their head. "Or would you have me continue to ruin you?" His tone betrayed the lust that he felt radiating from his chest. They nodded and pressed their cheek firmly to the elf's hand. "You like how much it hurts?" He didn't let his surprise show through, and watched the imp nod again, moaning out. All for him. He stroked his thumb over their cheek, alabaster on rose. "Good, darling. I'm not nearly finished with you." I'll never be finished with you, he promised silently. I'm so utterly lost in you.

For the last time, he pushed away from the memory. The elf pressed his lips gingerly to Festé's neck, eyes still squeezed shut, as he slowly drifted back to full consciousness. As delicious as they were, his memories had only served to make him more sickened with himself. Much as he was loathe to do so, he moved his limbs slowly, inhaling their scent for one last time and pressing his fingers between theirs on top of the bedsheets. Astarion peeled himself away with an exasperated sigh, careful not to jar his sleeping imp, and padded into the dingy bathroom. The sunlight was only just starting to fade; and thankfully, this was the only room in the house with no windows.

He reached for the taps of the bathtub, twisting them and sitting on the edge as the basin filled, studying the reflection of the ceiling in the water where he knew his head should have been. With another sigh, he reached down, cutting through the surface of the water with his fingertips.

Astarion didn't want to lose them, not when they had permeated every pore of his skin and every fibre of his being. However, considering condemning them to death? Well, technically life, he rolled his eyes silently. How could he choose between them belonging to someone else, or having them leave him? It was impossible. He turned the taps off and slipped into the steaming water, settling in and watching the light slowly drain around him. Eventually, he wet a washcloth and set it on his head, slinking down further in the water with a relaxed sigh. The droplets of water tickled his shoulders and his chest when they landed, and he closed his eyes, listening. Festé's breath shuddered, and they turned over, their heart rate still slow and calm; and Astarion's ears twitched as he heard them sigh softly, mumbling his name under their breath. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he kept silent; but they didn't say anything else. Once it was dark, the elf heard his imp stir, and the gentle rustle of fabric when they pulled back the bedsheets. They paused, and he heard them exhale slowly and toss their shirt to the floor, followed by the quiet creak of the floorboards when they got up.

"Star?" they whispered, a hint of concern in their voice.

"In here, darling," he called. His throat felt like it was coated with sand, and he inhaled as he heard their heartbeat grow louder.

"Gods, my love. I know we both have excellent nightvision, but we could stand to light a candle, couldn't we?" Astarion heard them pick up the candlestick from the kitchen table and snap their fingers. "There, now it looks a little less like a cave…" The floorboards creaked as the tiefling padded into the bathroom, and he rested his head back against the edge of the tub, looking up at them upside down. They were beaming at him, and he felt his stomach flip over as he lay eyes on what they were wearing, frowning a bit. Confusion crossed their features, and they whispered, "What is it, my love?"

He looked away, covering his mouth with one hand and swallowing. "You look very handsome in that, is all." Not to mention, they would be getting their scent all over it. They laughed softly, looking down at themself.

"Well, my shirt was covered in blood, Star. You can't blame me for picking up the first thing that I saw." Astarion glanced at them and smiled. Their voice was always so rich and husky when they first woke up, and it gave him shivers. Not that he would ever admit it. He turned in the water, crossing his arms over the edge of the tub and resting his chin on top of them, humming. They sat on the small stool, setting the candle on the floor, and arching their eyebrows. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing, darling. I'm just surprised you can still walk." The bravado slipped in, he couldn't help it. He chuckled when they rolled their eyes, pulling the washcloth off of his head and leaning down to kiss his forehead.

"You know…" they whispered softly, leaning in further, and Astarion's ear twitched, he could feel the heat of their breath all too well.

"Hmm?"

"I haven't washed your hair for you in a while, my love. Would you like that?" They sat back, a warm smile playing over their lips. "Maybe a scalp massage?" The tiefling stood when Astarion nodded, moving to let them sit on the edge of the tub, and turning away once more. Festé cupped their hands and scooped water over the back of his head, and he shivered as it ran down his back. He bowed his head as the tiefling leaned forward to scoop more, and flinched slightly when they pushed their fingers through his curls. The elf settled between their thighs as they took up the soap and lathered it in their palms. "Just relax, love," they murmured, and he let his shoulders slump with a long sigh. "Did you have a bad rest?" They spoke in a low voice as they pushed their fingers back into his hair, working them in slow, firm circles over his scalp.

How did they always know? "You could say that. Just a lot on my mind, darling. That's all," he tried to keep his tone airy, and winced as he finished. They would see right through it.

"If you don't want to talk about it right now, we can talk about it later, my love. Just let me know." They pulled his hair back gently, leaning his head back and moving their fingers over his temples. It felt divine, and the elf drew his legs up a bit under the water's surface.

"Mn… you caught me, darling," he chuckled sheepishly. "I will, though, I promise." Even if it would be difficult to grit out. He swallowed again, deciding to change the subject. "You don't want to get in? You're… not to be rude, darling, but you're quite ripe."

"Is it distracting?" They paused with their hands in his hair, looking down at him with a smirk. "I just didn't want to assume…" they slipped their tail into the tub, curling it against his stomach. Astarion shifted in the water, and the imp's smirk grew wider as they ran their fingers along the length of his pointy ears. His eyes fluttered closed instinctively, and he shuddered. Festé leaned down and kissed his cheek before tilting his head back up and scooping more water to rinse his hair.

"That, mnh…" he started, calming himself with a slow sigh, "That felt really nice, darling," he finished in a husky whisper, his shoulders twitching as the water ran down his back once more. He moved one of his arms between his thighs, leaning forward slightly; the imp's tail was flicking against his stomach.

"Good, I'm glad," they murmured, kneading gently over the back of his neck with their thumbs. They were more roughly textured than he expected, and he arched his back with a pleasured hiss. "Sorry, too much?" He shook his head, sending water droplets everywhere, and Festé chuckled. "Alright, my love." They continued kneading slowly down to his shoulders, working on the tight muscles. It was painful, to be sure, but he couldn't recall a single time before the imp had come into his life where the pain was balanced out with such care taken with his body. Festé came upon a particularly hard knot, and he couldn't help but let out a low moan, tilting his head to the side. "Does this feel okay?" Their hands had paused again, gentle on his skin.

"Please… don't stop," he hissed, reaching up to grip the side of the tub, his other arm still between his legs. How humiliating, he mused, getting aroused by a simple massage, not to mention trying to hide it. They were just being nice, after all. He took another slow, steady breath, letting them loosen the knot. "It feels… excellent, darling. A…Ah!" Their thumbs all but pried his shoulder apart where it met the base of his neck, and his entire body tensed. It sent a tendril of heat directly to his groin.

"Lay back," they spoke softly, splaying one palm over his chest. Gods damn it. "It'll feel sore, but the knot is gone n- Oh." They had been looking at his face when they had pushed at his chest, but had glanced down while they spoke. Their eyes grew wide before they averted their gaze from his groin. "I'm sorry, love. I didn't realize it felt that good. Do you need a moment?" Astarion frowned, catching their wrist as they meant to sit up. His voice came out in a pathetic whimper, and he cursed himself silently.

"N…no. Please, darling," he pulled their hand back to his chest, and they huffed softly, grazing their fingernails over his nipple. "Please, don't stop." Suddenly, he was ashamed, he knew exactly what he was craving at this moment, and prayed that his imp wouldn't read it in his eyes. He looked away quickly, his grip loosening on their wrist. To his surprise, they circled his nipple with their thumb and pinched it, eliciting a gasp to rush down his throat, and moved to peck at the side of his neck.

"You want to do things a different way today?" their voice came out as a deep purr, "All you had to do was ask, my love. All you ever have to do is ask." They sat up, ghosting their hand over his throat and making him shiver once more. Damn them for being so intuitive; he had never felt so bare before anyone else in his life. With a soft grunt, he sat up and turned to face them, sitting on his knees and feeling conflicted.

"You don't think I'm asking too mu-" they placed their finger gently against his lips as he met their eyes. They were smiling, and he couldn't find a trace of haughtiness in the gesture. He tilted his head when their free hand rested against his cheek, their thumb stroking his skin gently.

"Not at all," they chuckled. "But I'll have to warn you," they narrowed their eyes at him, "I'm a lot nicer than you are, Star. I'll give you absolutely anything you want, as many times as you want." Their tone was playful, and they bent down to kiss him slowly, tangling their hands in his hair.

a/n: wowzers, first of all thank you for reading! the people who support this fic are actually cooler than everyone else, sorry not sorry this was so weird for me to write, astarion is a completely different beast from festé is. i like exploring his selfishness and conflicted thoughts, and i really hope the way that i wrote his little trip down memory lane isn't too confusing for the folks reading. love you all! stay squeaky! (you get sub!astarion, as a treat!)

[brujitaadinbo]

I find it funny how there are people who still say; that in Star Wars love is not present in the work. Oh my god, what a stupid argument. A galactic opera that reflects what is most inexplicable but at the same time so present in the universe; love.

I had the opportunity to see other works by George Lucas. When I had first seen this movie, I was a girl, too young. A few days ago I was able to enjoy "Willow" from 1988. Directed by R. Howard

A story that totally shows the essence of G. Lucas in all its senses (as well as his good aspects, also his bad aspects) We see how he always talks about something very important; the vindication of characters who are not villains or antiheroes, forgiveness and redemption.

Despite the little time on screen and the short interaction of the characters who are in a process of improving and redeeming themselves (typical essence of SW and G. Lucas)

They manage to connect with the public and enrich the bond, showing us that second chances exist and can be for something better.

Where do i want to go with this?

I have seen how there are people who continue to destroy season 3 of The Mandalorian; with criticism, ridicule and arguments straight out of the trash.

They talk about Bo Katan not having the right to make up for his mistakes and correct his path. They talk about Din being lost as the protagonist and blah blah…..

Din was always there, he was so enriched by Grogu, his path was to develop and be a better person; Filoni and Jon mention it since season 1.

Bo has every right to redeem himself; because the same creed allows it… these are words that Din mentions to the Armorer in this season 3 chapter 1 "Redemption is part of the creed and my right is to claim it, bathe in the living waters and return to the undercover"

I love that Din was so wise this season. And the armorer had no choice but to remain silent and accept the truth of Din's words.

The essence of redemption and change to be better have always been in SW. To deny it is to lie.

As well as love and the very used but very useful resource that also manages to enrich the characters who suffer from it if you know how to use it. Enemies then lovers.

Call it cliché garbage or whatever you want, but this resource is infallible if you don't overexploit it and give depth to the interaction of the characters who are going to experience this process. And believe me in SW, in Willow, in the Mandalorian this resource resists, it shows itself, it is pleasant, it attracts and it works.

Since season 2, the strong attraction between Din and Bo was noticed, even if they want to deny it, all this is observed from many elements, both visual and the process of the story itself and how it makes them see both characters as if they were magnets and that despite their differences, they manage to live together and forgive each other, old wounds or quarrels.

I love it because in Willow, everything happens so fast but you can understand this; An evil queen has control of a magical place, where only a little girl will manage to destroy her and bring peace again. You understand this perfectly. Here the characters are added who do not want to do bad things but are forced to do so, such as "Sorsha", the princess daughter of the evil queen who is the antihero of this story. As he struggles to survive against his mother's cruel reign, following her stern orders, his heart is divided between right and wrong.

It sounds to me like a young Bo Katan, confused and involved in the conflicts of her planet, her family, not knowing what is right but acting out of duty because that's how it "has to be."

And then another of the fallen heroes arrives who is in the process of vindication, a man who lets himself be carried away more by material things or the gain he can get from people or the situation, but who coincidentally meets the girl who will bring hope. to this land, he begins to have faith in this assignment and in himself, he begins to feel that it is time to be a better person.

Madmartigan changes sides and goes with the good guys, that's when Din Djarin also feels this way; cruel and feared bounty hunter, meets a green boy who will bring change and hope to everyone. This is when Din starts to improve because he believes it is right.

The interesting thing is how Sorsha and Madmartigan come to cross paths, everything in common about that girl who will bring hope and who makes both characters in the end coexist and vindicate themselves. It is the love that gets into this relationship and begins to make them interact in a sentimental way, even though it all started with "broken heart dust"

LOL irony? could be? But thanks to that sex, a beautiful couple developed within this movie, so much so that the actors got married for a time in real life and had children.

That little baby manages to unite these characters, allowing them to bond as if they were a family, at the end of the movie. Regardless of rank, lineage, or power, Sorsha manages to rule with order and peace alongside Madmartigan. They save the little baby and keep hope for everyone, along with Willow obviously.

I love that they show that aspect FAMILY, whether or not it is blood, if they are the healthy ties that keep you strong and well. Don't lose them.

I love it because despite the dark overtones in Willow, it makes us keep faith in positive things. Family can sometimes be a burden or a great blessing but when it can be a support, you are in the right place. And it is also good to be able to choose who is part of your family. Just as they show it in The Mandalorian; a new family, a new bond, a clan, people who have gone through similar things, who understand and protect you and who you are willing to care for and protect.

This is the way.

[logicalarachnid]

I have an idea for a potential new Parksborn/Dark Irondad fic, and it has A/B/O in it, but non traditional, sort of. I need help deciding Harry's status.

Anyway, I have this idea, and I don't wanna say too much about it plotwise yet, however the dynamic of Peter and Harry is relatively important for their relationship. So I'll talk a bit about that, there is a poll at the end. I'd appreciate at least having ppl let me know which of the a/b/o options/concepts for Harry Osborn they'd prefer reading about.

Peter's dynamic is set in stone. He is an omega, but he is an oddity, there hasn't been an omega like him before. He doesn't experience the 'head empty only smutty time' mindset that omegas typically have. Instead, it's like he gets a period, but it's just slick and he experiences little to no excitement. He does however display great strength like a typical alpha and his emotions can spiral if he isn't careful. He does display some typical omega traits like wanting frequent affection from his parents (his alpha dads Steve & Bucky), and being comfortable and even pleased at times with their protective and doting attitudes towards him.

I won't talk about that further, I'll leave it for when I get around to uploading the fic on ao3. I'll post a link to it on my blog when I do. For anyone interested it will be dark irondad vaguely inspired by Prodigal Son. I haven't seen it, as it isn't available on any streaming platforms I have, but I've looked into the dynamic Martin and Malcolm have, that is what got me interested in the first place. I found it through a post on here actually, I'll be tagging/linking them for the inspo when I get round to posting about the fic.

So, this is where I was hoping for some input. It is a parksborn fic and I like having Harry being a simp for Peter. What I'm struggling with is deciding what his dynamic is going to be because I am leaning towards them having an 'untraditional' relationship as far as a/b/o worlds go.

To help give a better picture of their relationship, at least regarding Peter, while he is an omega he is by no means 'biologically normal' by the standard of society. It isn't a bad thing, just 'weird' and 'baffling' to them, meanwhile Peter is not bothered by it, instead, he welcomes it. He would be kind and tender hearted as he usually is, which fits the sterotypical omega list of traits, but he will be prone to experiencing some mood swings (these won't always be obvious). He experiences his emotions strongly and a bit erratically. He views them critically and analytically this is primarily because of his job and a habit of repressing himself. Some alphas might feel intimidated by his differences (bcs insecure men always are), and some alphas might think by some of his behaviours and mannerisms that he is an alpha.

The thing about Peter though is that he is will be deceptive in apperence. He would seem warm and welcoming, he dresses up a bit (not much though), he probably does skin care and looks after himself, and he keeps his hair long (I can imagine Tom's wavyish curls, are they called curls, if not what should I call the texture?). However, despite his inviting appearence it can actually be a weapon of sorts to manipulate those around him. Peter isn't bad in this fic, to him he is just trying to survive in a world where omegas are few, fetishied, occationally mistreated, and underestimated. So, what is an omega like him to do when he seemingly has an advantage? He uses it. So, he subtly manipulates everyone he comes in contact with if he deems it necessary, behaving in a way that is authentic to himself but appeals to the outsiders view of a 'good' omega. He doesn't want to be restricted or limited by others, so for him what he does is helping him survive in a world that isn't made for him to succeed. But I can see how it might come across that he could be morally grey and maybe he is...a little..deep deep down.

He can use his pheremones/scent more effectively too, it is kind of like a dr*g he can cast in the air to calm people to the point it manipulates their perception of what is going on. So, angry alphas in the room? Peter puts out a calming scent or one of hurt and sadness that is strong enough to have those alphas become distracted and decide to comfort him instead of arguing. They might even forget why they were fighting or suddenly dismiss the importance the conversation might have held. I imagine that he would have practised this a lot with Stucky, haha. Basically Peter is kinda 'biologically' enhanced in some aspects. With Harry in the picture, Peter would be analysing him, thinking over the best way to navigate him, and uh, yeah, act accordingly. Harry would prefer Peter at his most authentic, that is the whole reason he gets so attracted to him in the first place. He likes how Peter is, no masking, no manipulations, no pretending, just Peter as his lovable, chaotic, maybe mentally ill self. Now that is love.

No matter what Harry will be, he will be facinated by how different Peter is and is attracted to his more authorative-ish (?) nature. I'm not saying they'd be in a dom/sub kind of thing. They're both kind of different, or at least Peter wakes up something kinda feral in him that is like "yeah, this one, this is my man, and I'm gonna stand beside him". Harry will have an obssesion with Peter. Maybe he got addicted to Peter's scent, or maybe he was exposed to too high of a dose in a short time, or maybe they're fated mates like Harry will believe they are. He'll just need to convince and 'prove' to Peter that they are, which will be something, ha. When they do get together though they'll be cute and kinda weird, but its fine bcs they're them yk.

That was long winded, but I wanted some context for how Harry was gonna be paried up with Peter and what Peter will be like. I'm struggling to decide which of the options in the poll I prefer more.

So which would be more appealing?