#I buy the one I like the most and that’s where it ends | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

improbable-outset · 1 day ago

Text

📄 𝐀 𝐙𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞’𝐬 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬

Jayce Talis x gn!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.6k

𝐂𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐖: very slow burn, flirting, unresolved romantic tension, open ending, Zaun and Piltover dynamics, light angst

𝐀/𝐍: Ok I know I said no more tumblr, but I had to share this…if it reaches the Arcane audience, cool. If it doesn’t…ah well at least my moots see this

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: As a Zaunite inventor, you don’t trust uninvited visitors in your sanctuary, especially from Piltover Councillors. But Jayce Talis isn’t like most people. Persistent, curious, and infuriatingly charming, he keeps showing up to your workshop, refusing to back down. And neither are you…

An earthy tang hit the back of your throat as you swept the concrete floor, each stroke of your broom sending swirls of dust in the air. The dust particles caught the setting sunlight spilling through the open doorway, casting a golden glow inside your workshop.

It wasn’t a huge space, but it was yours— clattered with shelves of spare parts, half finished projects, and various tools.

The main door stood propped open, letting in the faded sunlight and occasional cool breeze.

The wind slowly brushed past you as you continued to sweep, the sound of the wind charm that hung outside of your property tinkered in the air. Its delicate sound was a contrast to the mechanical hum that usually filled the space.

Your routine was as steady as the machines you built. Each day was just as predictable as the last. Sweep the dust, sort out spare parts, tinker with inventions that no one would use— or buy.

Most of your work came from the Chem-barons, commissions for complex weapons or gear that promised devastation in the right hands.

They didn’t visit often, but their demands could keep you busy for days. Then, when the work was done, the stillness returned.

No one came unless they needed something done, and you prefer it that way. The fewer interruptions, the fewer chances for someone to stick their nose where it didn’t belong.

And everyone seemed to respect that.

You paused mid-sweep, the broom still in your hand, as you felt a prickle run up the back of your neck.

The air in the Undercity was always thick with pollution and smoke, but now it felt heavier— like the weight of a storm waiting to break.

The usual hum of your machinery seemed muted, and even the wind chime faltered, the tinkering notes faded into the background.

You told yourself to ignore it, brush it off like it was nothing more than a stray thought. But then you heard it again— a faint shuffle, just outside.

It sounded too deliberate to be from the wind, and too hesitant to be a usual runner.

A figure emerged from the shadows of the alleyway, stepping into the dim light of your workshop. It didn’t take long to figure out who it was— his attire was too clean for this side of the bridge.

He moved with purpose, pausing a few metres before your doorway like he’d stumble upon something precious.

You didn’t flinch, broom still in your hand, watching. You’d learn that speaking first was usually a mistake— it only gave the other person the upper hand.

The man looked at you, his stare caught somewhere between admiration and the detached curiosity of someone staring at an animal behind glass.

His height and physique could naturally draw attention. But even without that, his clothes did most of the talking.

The gold trim on his suit caught what little light filtered through the smog. His boots polished to a shine and echoed softly in the quiet streets— just loud enough to announce his arrival.

“You lost, Talis?” you asked, finally breaking the silence.

Your property wasn’t exactly on the map, it was tucked away in the maze of the alleys. Only locals could navigate these paths.

That’s why seeing someone from Piltover standing outside your doorstep caught you off guard.

His name had the desired effect, setting alarm bells in him. His posture stiffened, his expression flickered with surprise with his eyes darting back to yours. “You…know who I am?”

You leaned your broom against the wall and crossed your arms.

“Everyone in Zaun knows the Golden Boy from Piltover.” Your tone was flat, like you were stating a fact. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested. Exit’s that way.”

“I’m not selling anything,” he said quickly, his hands coming up in a half-hearted gesture of surrender. “I just came to see your work.”

“My work? Why?”

Jayce Talis— a name rang out in both Piltover and Zaun. His face was everywhere— on posters, merchandise, and in carefully curated photos plastered across every surface in the city.

You always knew the pictures were crafted to perfection. They had to be. The Man of Progress couldn’t afford a single flaw.

Still, seeing him in person was…something else. You hated to admit it, even to yourself, but the pictures didn’t exaggerate much.

His hair was slick back just enough to look effortlessly polished. His thick brows and light stubble framed his features that were far too symmetrical to your liking.

And then there was his outfit— his crisp white jacket with gold pieces tailored so perfectly it felt like a statement itself.

It wasn’t overly tight, but it clung in the right places, hinting at broad shoulders and accentuating a physique that made heads turn. Each time he shifted, the fabric pulled slightly against his muscles, as if barely keeping itself together.

Even his eyes seemed to sparkle more up close in the low light, a reflection of his boundless confidence and a sign that he didn’t belong here. Not in your space.

“I’ve heard words about you going around and I was curious.”

“So what? You’re gonna give me a gold star? Show off my work at the Piltover parties?”

“No, no. I mean—” he hesitated, the words fumbling for footing. “People say you’re brilliant, and I wanted to see for myself.”

Brilliant. Of course. You’ve heard that compliment being tossed around before, along with other sweet talks from people trying to butter you up before hitting you with some impossible demand.

But he wasn’t fumbling entirely, there was still a smooth air about him. One that came naturally to someone that’s used to speaking to a room full of people hanging onto every word.

Even so, there was something different up close. Was he trying too hard? Nervousness beneath his charm?

“You think I’m gonna perform for you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, his voice dipping lower to a more soothing note.

You narrowed your eyes, holding back a scoff. So he thought a change in his tone would win you over? Clearly, he hadn’t met enough people like you.

But the real question still nagged at the back of your mind. How had he found you? It still baffled you. Your workshop wasn’t the kind of place you could just stumble across— it was hidden by design

So how had Jayce Talis done it? Had he bribed someone for directions? Pulled strings with someone that owed him a favour?

Or had he stubbornly worked his way through the Undercity on his own, pretending to look harmless?

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. He looked glaringly out of place. And yet, he stood there, looking like he genuinely cared about your answer.

Not that it mattered. You learned not to trust a nice tone or an earnest expression.

Before you could tell him to get lost, his eyes flickered past you. He stepped forward, just slightly, but enough for the air between you to shift.

“Is that…a chem-powered stabiliser?” Jayce asked, pointing past you.

You froze, following his gaze to the machinery perched on the workbench. He even had the cheeks to step closer and peered through the doorway to get a better look.

“I’ve never seen one so compact before. How did you—”

“Don’t touch that!” you snapped, stepping in to block out his view. “These aren’t for you to admire.”

He pulled his hand back immediately, fingered curling to his palm, but his eyes were still glued to the device.

“Is this some sort of new hobby? Charity work for the poor Zaunite researchers? You think you could waltz into the Undercity, slap a few compliments, and go back feeling good about yourself?”

You see him deflate a little, genuinely taken back by your words. For the first time, you saw his brows furrow as your words seemed to sting. “That’s not why I’m here, I just—”

“Then why are you here? I don’t need your approval, councillor.”

The title landed a sharp jab, but instead of retreating completely, Jayce straightened his posture.

“Fine, fine— I’m going.” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “But your work is incredible, even if you hate me for saying it.”

His expression softened, his gaze flickered between the stabiliser and you. For a moment, he looked like a wounded animal, retreating quietly but with a trace of stubborn determination in his eyes.

“Don’t come back, Talis.” you called sharply, already turning your back to head inside.

“Can’t make any promises.” he smiled faintly, disappearing back into the shadows of the alleyway.

The muted hiss of the soldering iron filled the quiet. Your hands worked with precision, the glow from the tool casting flickering light across the delicate gears in front of you.

It had been almost a week since Jayce’s unsolicited visit, and you haven’t had a single visitor after that. Days like this weren’t unusual— visitors were rare, and you were accustomed to that.

Despite the chaos of the Undercity, it always felt distant here, muted by the walls and your deliberate isolation. Your workshop was designed to block out the clamour of the outside world.

The only sounds were the occasional clink of metal and the crackle of circuitry.

You adjusted your position, leaning closer to your work, and ran your tongue over your slightly chapped lips as you steadied the gear. The solder melted, releasing a soft wisp of smoke that carried a sharp metallic scent.

With the rare visitors and social interactions, your tools were the only thing keeping you company. They didn’t have any demand explaining or carrying expectations. They only required patience and precision.

The silence gave you room to think— sometimes too much room. After days without a single visit, you felt the weight of it begin to press on you. It wasn’t something you dared to admit to anyone— not even yourself— but you felt the toll of it.

The lack of noise sharpened your senses, as if your ears were always straining to fill the void. You heard every creek of the floorboards beneath your feet, every shift of machinery in the room, every distant echo from across the streets.

Sometimes you could even hear the faint thrum of your pulse in your ear.

And that’s why you heard them before you even saw him.

Boots.

Not the mismatched kinds that the locals wore. These sounded like it came from a clean sole that didn’t stick to the streets. A confidence that you didn’t hear often.

You paused mid-solder and tilted your head slightly, listening carefully. The sound grew louder, sharper, and irritably more familiar. It was the same stride you heard a few days ago.

Placing the iron down, you turned towards the doorway. A shadow lingered in the dim light before a figure emerged.

And there he was, flesh and blood.

Again.

“Still not lost this time,” he announced.

He carried the same easy warmth, light but steady, that seemed to sweep into the room and disturb the peace you cultivated.

Except now, it was more infuriating than the last. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come back?” you asked, glancing at him briefly.

“You did,” he admitted, unfazed. “I have a habit of not listening.”

Your gaze dropped briefly to his boots, taking in the faint sheen leather material that hadn’t been scuffed by Zaun’s grime.

“You really got some nerves, Talis.”

Of course he hadn’t learned. Why were you even surprised? Of course he thought he was entitled to walk back in here, as if the first time wasn’t enough.

“What do you want, Talis?” Your voice was a blade against steel. “You don’t belong here.”

“What, and you do?” He arched his brow, as though he caught you in a contradiction. “Doesn’t seem like you get a lot of visitors.”

“I like it that way.”

Usually, your words were enough to send someone packing. Your cold indifference was a shield, and most people didn’t push past. But Jayce didn’t flinch.

Instead, his expression softened, giving you a steady gaze. There was no mockery. Just…patience.

You didn’t know what to make of that, like his warmth stonewalled your annoyance. You stared, half expecting him to make some sort of patronising comment. But he didn’t.

It dawned on you that he really wasn’t going to give this up.

You opened your mouth and closed them again, struggling to find the words before you finally hear yourself speak again.

“You might as well come in since you came all the way down here…again.”

The words left your mouth before your brain could catch up. Part of you wished you could snatch your words back, but it was too late now.

Jayce had already stepped closer, his broad shadow loomed across the threshold. His boots scraped against the uneven floor. His steps felt measured, like he was testing how far he could go without setting you off.

The workshop always felt just the right size when you were alone— a perfect balance between cramped and cozy. But now it suddenly felt stifling. The creek of the floorboard under his weight and his shuffling steps sounded amplified in the quiet. His height alone made the walls feel closer.

Even his presence had some volume.

The glow lamps casted a soft light around the room. The workshop area had a few overhead lamps with exposed bulbs that threw harsh lighting over the workbenches, drawing attention to every imperfection.

“You know,” he started, his voice carrying a light teasing to it, “most people are at least a little polite to unexpected guests.”

“You’re in Zaun. Niceties get you robbed,” you shot back.

“Good thing I’m not carrying anything worth stealing.”

“Those boots say otherwise, Councillor.”

You didn’t wait for his resort, turning to glance around your workshop. To an outsider, the area probably looked like a disaster— grease stains on the wall, loose screws and scraps of metal littered the workbenches, and half finished work lay abandoned in various states of progress.

But to you, it’s an organised chaos. Everything had its place. You could locate a specific bolt buried under a pile of blueprints in seconds.

If anyone even dared to call it a mess, it wouldn’t bother you. Their opinions didn’t matter.

However, you’d never have a Piltovern in here. Not until tonight.

You didn’t have to look at him to imagine the look of disdain he must feel. A poorly lit workshop that reeked of oil and soldered metal wasn’t part of his orderly world.

Surely the grime and chaos would send him scurrying back to his prestigious lab in Piltover.

But when you turned to face him, the look in his face stopped you short.

Jayce leaned casually against one of the shelves, carefully avoiding anything breakable. His eyes scanned the room like he’d just stumbled upon a treasure trove. The faint glow of the lamps reflected in his eyes.

It only made you stiffer. Was this real awe, or just another layer to whatever act he was putting on?

People didn’t come here to admire your work. They came with demands and offers, often laced with ulterior motives.

His sincerity didn’t fit. It was foreign and dangerous. You weren’t used to it and you weren’t sure if you wanted to be.

And you certainly didn’t trust it.

“You made this?” he asked, picking up the small contraption with surprise care. The device whirred softly in his hand. Despite the scrubby appearance, the mechanism was fine and intricate, every piece deliberately placed.

You frowned, folding your arms across your chest. “Do you always just reach for anything that fascinates you?”

“Sorry I just—” he set the device down, as if it burned his skin. “I guess I got too curious.”

His sheepish tone irritated you more. It was easier to deal with people that were openly arrogant.

He turned his attention past you to the wall-mounted shelves stacked with material. Tools hung from hooks in neat rows, their placement a product of necessity rather than decoration.

Space was limited, so you had to think vertically, every inch of the walls serving a purpose.

Jayce stepped closer, his movement slower and more mindful. His gaze was glued to the tools, taking them in as though each one was a masterpiece.

“These tools look amazing, I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

“Well, I’d hope not. Because I made them.”

“You made them all yourself?”

“Most of them.”

The words came out clipped, but his reaction wasn’t what you expected. If he was fazed by your snarky attitude, he didn’t show it. Maybe he braced himself this time, expecting your hostility, or maybe he found it amusing.

“How long…how long did it take you?” he asked softly.

“Depends on how complex it is.”

“It’s incredible,” he said. “People back in the Academy spend months trying to get this kind of precision…and even they don’t come close”

For a moment you faltered, your eyes twitched at his words. His praise sounded genuine, and you knew it. And that’s what nerved you.

Compliments always came with strings attached.

You quickly deflected. “Flattery won’t work. I’m not one of your lapdogs.”

“Good, I don’t want lapdogs,” he replied, his grin disarming. “I like inventors who can outthink me.”

The casual delivery of his words struck you unexpectedly, leaving a hairline fracture in the armour you’ve built around yourself. It was a small blip in your radar. You didn’t know why you trusted him enough to stretch the conversation this far.

For now, you allowed the unfamiliar feeling to linger, watching as he wandered through your sanctuary.

Jayce’s gaze combed through the shelves and your unfinished project with childlike wonder. At this point, you truly couldn’t decide if this was an act of not.

People didn’t come in here to admire your work— they came to collect it. Usually they would mutter a few pointers about what needed tweaking, toss their payment on the nearest bench, and leave without so much of a second glance.

You were used to that rhythm— content with it.

But, now you weren’t sure.

Having someone appreciate your work felt foreign, and the way he handled your creation with care left an uncomfortable knot in your chest.

You silently cursed yourself for noticing the subtle curve of his smile when he discovered something particularly interesting.

It was only his second time here and for some reason you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. He was already threatening to throw you off balance.

A week hadn’t past before you heard his footsteps again, cutting through the tinkering of the wind chimes, as familiar as the beat of your own pulse.

“Is this going to be a routine now?” you asked, arching your brow inquisitively.

He stepped closer, his voice almost teasing. “As long as you allow it.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead you turned, stepping back into the workshop without looking back. You knew he’d follow; given his last visit. Though you never made it easy for him.

But despite the lack of warmth in your welcoming, the air between you was different now. No hostility, no tension. But no comfort either.

It didn’t take long for Jayce to settle into the rhythm that grated your nerves in the worst way— calm and unhurried. It wasn’t just that he was an inventor, too. It was how he saw things with such fresh eyes, as if the clutter was all just a puzzle for him to piece together.

But there was still an odd feeling that tugged at the back of your mind.

Piltover men didn’t linger; they demanded, bargained, gloated. Then left without looking back. They didn’t come back three times, and they certainly didn’t waste their time applauding your work like it came from some exhibition.

It made you bristle. Not because he was here, but because you couldn’t figure out why.

You’ve already cycled through the possibilities, and none of them made sense. If he was scouting for talent for Piltover, why not send an envoy? If he wanted to commission something from you, surely an assistant could’ve handled it. And why three separate visits, at irregular intervals?

Your thoughts spiralled tighter, refusing to pinpoint and answer that fit. Then, a thought you didn’t dare to acknowledge emerged.

It couldn’t be that, could it? The possibility— absurd, offensive, ridiculous— settled in your mind like a splinter.

Your throat tightened, a heat rising up your neck. You shouldn’t entertain it. But the only way to gain some clarity was to confront him about it.

“You’ve been sulking around my workshop for the third time now…” your voice came out sharper than intended, but you didn’t regret it.

You let him linger around in your threshold once already, and this time, you were determined to figure out what he wanted.

“Yes..” his tone was annoyingly steady. “I just wanted to see your work.”

“Please. I know men like you. You act interested, then expect me to fall into your lap.” You stepped closer, crossing your arms over your chest. The next words edged with frustration. “If that’s what you’re here for, you can save both of us the time and get lost.”

The word tasted bitter, even when you said them. You weren’t sure why you mind went to that possibility. But it felt like the only way to shatter the weird tension that you were feeling when he was around.

Jayce froze. And then his face grew flustered at your words, like you’ve just crossed a line he hadn’t even considered.

“Is that really what you think of me?” he asked softly, before his voice gained conviction. “I don’t care about…that. I wouldn’t be that selfish. I wanted to see what you’ve built because it’s nothing I’ve ever seen before. I don’t have an ulterior motive, I swear.”

You wanted to snap back, to call him out on what you assumed was an elaborate excuse, but you couldn’t find the words. You felt embarrassment cross your form.

The moment of stillness filled the space, the absurdity of your accusation sinking in. A Councilman slinking into a Zaun for…something improper. You almost wanted to laugh at yourself.

He’d never once cross a boundary. His posture was careful and his steps were measured. His gaze on you was momentary, but it never strayed too far from your workbench.

“Hmph…you’re persistent I’ll give you that.” You muttered, your voice far quieter now. “Most people don’t make it past the first visit.”

The corner of his lips quirked up to a bashful smile. “So I’m not most people?”

Your lips twitched before you quickly smothered it, fixing him a look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Golden Boy.”

Despite the harshness in your tone, you felt the lingering awkwardness pressing at the edge. Your accusations made your skin prickle with self-consciousness.

You couldn’t look him in the eye anymore, not that you ever tried before. But now it felt different.

Jayce, on the other hand, redirected his attention back on your workbench. He offered a few offhanded comments, his tone deliberately casual. You could tell he was trying to smooth out the tension, though you barely registered his words.

Just a few weeks ago, you’ve done everything in your power to push him away. Sharp words, cold stares, anything to make him leave and never come back. All proven futile.

But now, you weren’t sure if you wanted to ruin…whatever it was between the two of you.

Having someone like him around brought a spark of something you hadn’t realised you missed.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes. His broad shoulders seemed almost out of place in your cramped workshop— like an elephant in a china shop. But his presence didn’t feel intrusive now.

His eyes scanned over your blueprints and half-finished projects with genuine interest. There was a strange sense of pride that washed over you, one you tried to ignore.

Knowing that someone like him valued your craftsmanship, took the time out of his day to see your work, was almost unsettling. And you didn’t want to think too hard about why.

“This joint,” his voice cut through your reverie, drawing you back to the present, “it might seize under pressure. Have you considered a pivot here?”

You blinked, following the direction of his finger on the diagram. “It works fine as it is.”

“I’m sure it does, but it could work even better.”

He wasn’t backing down. His voice wasn’t condescending or dismissive. But something else that made you tense, and you didn’t want to acknowledge it.

He continued to offer feedback and suggest adjustments, but you weren’t fully listening. His words were slipping through your focus, weaving around you. You were too distracted but his voice. The way he said things. The way his presence seemed to fill the room.

You felt your heart stutter, and you realised you hadn’t heard a word from him for the past minute. All you could focus on was how close he was, making your skin feel tight, his hands moving over the blueprint.

“You know,” you said, leaning back slightly, “you’re kind of cute when you ramble.”

“What?”

“I said you’re cute,” you repeated, shifting your weight and hoping he hadn’t noticed the flush creeping to your face. “You’re not deaf, are you?”

“I— uh— I’ve never had anybody describe me as ‘cute’ before.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“You know, I’m a councillor. You are aware of what that status means, right?”

“Being a councillor doesn’t spare you from being cute. Or are you implying that councillors are above compliments?

Jayce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, letting out a chuckle to conceal something deeper— maybe nerves, perhaps. “I guess it’s a change from the more…superficial compliments I get.”

“Superficial?”

“I get a lot of ‘handsome’ and ‘charming’ and all the usual words.“

“That’s because they’re boring.”

A small shift seemed to pass over him— maybe he hadn’t expected that response. His gaze lingered before he looked away, as if your words had an effect on him more than he let on.

You hadn’t known Jayce for long— not personally, at least. But the more you were around him, the more you realised he wasn’t as unreadable as you first thought.

You’ve seen glimpses of him, like fitting together different parts of him that made him who he was.

The defeated look he wore when you first shut him out of your workshop. The awe that lit up his face when he stepped inside and took in your projects for the first time. The stunned silence after your accusation, as if the words had thrown him off balance.

And how he was flustered— caught completely off guard. His mouth twitched into a hesitant smile, and he quickly covered it with his palm, as though trying to shield it from you.

This was your favourite expression by far.

Something about watching him internally stumble, seeing him stripped off his usual poise struck a chord in you. It wasn’t just satisfaction— but something softer. As if you weren’t the only one out of your depth for once.

After a few heartbeats, Jayce cleared his throat, breaking the momentary silence like pebble tossed in water.

“Well, I should probably let you get back to it,” he said.

His usual confidence faltered as he turned to the door, muttering something along the lines of “cute” under his breath. The door opened to reveal the darkness of the night, with the flickering glows of the street lights.

You rolled your eyes and suppressed a grin as he stepped outside. “Don’t get used to the hospitality, Talis.”

He glanced back with a smirk, a mix of shyness and mischievous. “Wouldn’t dream of it…”

Then he was gone, disappeared into the night, leaving you alone again with your tools.

#★— ayrus writes #jayce talis #jayce talis x reader #jayce talis x you #jayce talis x y/n #jayce talis x gender neutral reader #arcane #arcane jayce #jayce talis arcane #jayce arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane jayce talis #jayce x reader

81 notes · View notes

most-datable-datable-bracket · 13 hours ago

Text

SEMI-FINALS MATCH 2

Karlach propaganda:

“Sweetest girl ever. She could throw you across a room. She can burn down a house. But she just wants a hug and to be cared about and to live her life.”

“Definitively overused phrase but she's a golden retriever she's so cute!”

“She's the perfect woman!!! She's so nice and cute and silly and strong and wow I love girls”

"Karlach is the champion slave of one of the Devils in a layer of hell, and was sold to her by someone she trusted, and on TOP of that she is an experiment with an engine for a heart and she knows she’s going to die and is in fairly constant pain but DESPITE that she is relentlessly positive and outgoing and silly because her spirit cannot be fucking crushed no matter WHAT"

Claude Propaganda:

"To say Claude has trust issues is an understatement—you have to spend half the game earning his. (Claude isn't even his real name!) Once you have it, though, he's absolutely ride or die for you until the stars go out. He is so full of heart and ambition: He wants both sides of his heritage to get along, he wants to open borders and eliminate xenophobia and promote equality between commonfolk, and deep down, I think he craves a partner to stand with him at that new dawn, or an equal who sees his vision for the future and will fight for it just as hard. Nobody believed in him when he was a kid, but if you put your faith in him, he'll return it tenfold. Some people don't like that he's calculating, or has to leave the player character at the end of the game to go back to his homeland, but both are necessary elements for his goals to change things. He will always come back, and everyone who bets against him and his love for his companions is wrong with a big fat W. #KhalidForMostDatablePrez"

"Claude is a fun little onion of facades. He calls himself the embodiment of distrust, he acts like he's carefree and without worries, an unscrupulous schemer--and so many in universe buy into that hook line and sinker. He's used to others viewing him with suspicion and uses it as armor to obscure his not-so-dark truth: that he cares immensely, that he values minimizing the loss of life, and that above all he has so much hope that people will fundamentally choose to do better given the choice.

His front guards a center that his conflict filled world would be happy to tear apart. As the child of people from two nations in constant conflict--one of which is explicitly isolationist and dehumanizes those outside its church's reach--he hasn't really had a place where he can be without his facade. As a child he thought he could run, but when confronted with the fact that this hatred existed no matter where he ran, he chose to instead try to create a more just and kind world.

His inability to let others in beyond his facade at first may lead to a sense of distance, but isn't it then all the more satisfying when you're allowed in? All he wants is a little trust, a little faith, and--like what he wants to give everyone--a chance to be better.

And like that you got a charming young lad with a fun personality that your grandma would be thrilled to have stay forever."

#karlach #karlach cliffgate #Baldur's Gate 3 #BG3 #claude von riegan #Fire Emblem #Fire Emblem: Three Houses #FE:3H #Semi-Finals #MDDC 2

85 notes · View notes

xinganhao · 1 day ago

Text

some thoughts and extra content on my how is your youth? mini-series, where booseoksoon are your youth ✦ stories of the past (soonyoung), present (seokmin), and future (seungkwan).

(1) as mentioned, all titles are from day6's remember us : youth part 2. being a carat x myday strikes again lol. the references are very loose/barely there, but this is one of the first albums i think of when i think of the word 'youth'! it also has some of my favorite day6 songs of all time. (:

(2) when the series was but an idea clanging around in my brain, i went to maplegyu for advice. i gave her an inch ('dk is childhood crush coded'), and in turn, she gave me a mile ('a playmate u met for the summer that impacted ur life but never saw again'). when i say maple has helped me come up with some of my best ideas, i mean it. attaching her review here because it gave me so much joy!

(3) i couldn't find the photos that would pull it off, but i wanted seokmin to show off the rings that he still had from reader ): in my imagination, the rings are the plastic, toy type that you win from a gashapon machine/can buy at the cornerstone/et cetera. some visuals -ish:

(3.1) when reader and seokmin start dating, he starts wearing the ring in a necklace. he also never stops calling reader his 'wife' despite protests.

(4) no better place to drop this, but here's a panel that didn't make it into the final smau because of space/pacing issues! would have been towards the ending. (:

(5) i hadn't intended for lorde's ribs to be a recurring theme throughout the work, but it helped me realize that i wanted each of the readers to have internal conflicts (as much as bss might have). it ended up going as follows:

so cool!reader being scared of growing old

121U!reader holding grudges

days gone by!reader moving on from what-could-have-been's

(6) the first rain of may (referred to as unang ulan ng mayo in my country, and agua de mayo in spanish) is viewed as mentioned— something that's supposed to be 'healing'. it felt most appropriate to associate with seokmin, who embodies healing in his own way. 🌻

(7) the idea of focusing on soonyoung's taekwondo history is once again maple's, and the specifics on the rivalry (i.e. lacing up armor, pulling during stretches, racing during suicides) are all from sarangcoups. i felt very strongly about a childhood!soonyoung being a little bit annoying over having a crush— the type who mistakenly believed that bullying = affection.

(8) by this point, i started locking in the idea of each boy representing either the past, present, or future, which is laid out more clearly as follows:

seokmin, who associates reader as his youth which he wants in the present

soonyoung, who carried his past with him and learns from it on the daily

seungkwan, who plans to face the future with the love he received from his youth

(9) i realized belatedly that soonyoung's smau is shorter than the others, which is why i tried to compensate with a longer -ish headcanon format. nonetheless, it was fun to explore his voice both in the texts and the written part. he's still a little obnoxious, but it's endearing. out of all the work in the series, this one feels like the one that's likeliest to get more parts (but don't hold me to it! haha).

(10) up until posting, i was on the fence about whether i should conclude seungkwan's story the way that it ended. that's why i ended up publishing it a couple days off 'schedule', primarily because i had to contemplate whether i was cheating seungkwan out of a 'happy ending' because soonyoung/seokmin got theirs.

and so maybe that's why i feel like i have a soft spot for this particular verse now because it helped me remember something important: romantic love is not the end all be all. a happy ending is still possible without it. how foolish of me to forget that, and how apt is it for me to be reminded with a story of seungkwan when it's something he would very easily tell people in a heartbeat.

(11) the alternate romantic ending would have still featured a similar line wherein seungkwan insists that 'kwannie' belongs to reader, but i pulled it out at the last minute when i realized— 'kwannie' doesn't exist anymore. it's a past version of him, one that the reader has maybe romanticized in her head. so, yes.

high school almost-lover 'kwannie' is reader's, but present-day 'seungkwan' is not.

(12) MOAs might recognize this, but the last line of seungkwan's interview is from a well-known soobin quote. it's something i think of constantly, and i feel like it's also something that seungkwan himself would believe in.

(13) another slide i cut for space reasons (replaced with seungkwan's '27' tweet):

it was posed as a gentle reminder from reader -> seungkwan that, as the lyric goes, life has just begun. it's also a prompt for him to not pick up only on the sad parts of the song/life, when the good lyric/part is in the very next breath.

tl;dr, your youth is whatever you want it to be. whether you are stuck in the past, living in the present, or afraid of the future— know that there is a love that waits, and it will be a good love. i promise you that.

like i always say: this story was mine once, but it's all yours now. ❥ thank you for reading along, and happy bss comeback szn!

how is your youth? 📢 a booseoksoon three-parter.

three independent smaus featuring booseoksoon, who you've had the pleasure of knowing throughout various stages of your life. or: verses where bss are your youth.

ⓘ synopses under the cut. aus will be linked back here once posted. happy bss comeback season, everyone!

do you remember...

so cool ✮ seokmin x reader.

... the kid you pretend-married on the playground? you were only 'spouses' for one summer, but you have the photographic evidence to prove it. it would be nice to know how he's doing, right?

121U ✮ soonyoung x reader.

... the annoying guy from your after-school taekwondo class? you hated his guts. you don't even really care much for the sport anymore; you just want to get back at him for making your life a living hell.

days gone by ✮ seungkwan x reader.

... your first love from high school? sure, you never really dated him, but your feelings were very much valid. whether they've stood the test of time is the real question— and it looks like you're about to to get some answers.

with love, kae ✎ a very special shoutout to the best of the best, @maplegyu, for helping me brainstorm some of these (..◜ᴗ◝..) starting the year with bss, lfg!

all titles are from day6's remember us : youth part 2.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

#── ᵎᵎ ✦ yapping

314 notes · View notes

thecoffeelorian · 18 hours ago

Text

I'm At Soup! (TBB Edition)

Title: I'm At Soup!

Fandom: Star Wars/The Bad Batch

Characters Involved: Crosshair, Batcher, Hunter, and Wrecker

WC: 486/Under 1k.

A/N: This is the one-shot to celebrate me reaching 300 followers on Tumblr! Thank you all for getting me here, and let me also tag the following people specifically:

No Pressure Tags:

@oraleandreu @gun-roswell @harmless--dreamer @built-on-hope-1977 @orangez3st

@hellhoundmaggie @lulalovez @momojedi @lazyprofessorpursesalad @still-nix-d-goffic

@archivewriter1ont @cloneflo99 @tink1221 @leapingbadger and anybody else who would like something funny to read. :D

Don't call unless it's an emergency, Hunter had requested, wanting nothing less than near perfect silence during his latest shopping trip. Under normal circumstances, Crosshair would have done just that, as he already had first-hand experience with being overwhelmed and also wasn't all that eager to force others to go through the same thing.

However...no thanks to Batcher having run off ten minutes ago, her confusion as to whether or not the moon-yos of Pabu were living animals or squeaky toys, it was unfortunately time to call in the reinforcements.

Specifically, calling up Hunter himself over the commlink, all the while he himself stood at attention by the dining room table.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Cross, what's up?"

"I need your help, can you come here?"

"Uh, I can't, I'm buying clothes."

"Alright, well..."

Letting out a small sigh, Crosshair just shrugged and continued with the call. Best not to overthink the situation, after all...yet.

"...Hurry up and come over here."

"I can't find them."

What.

"What do you mean, you can't find them?"

"I can't find them, there's only soup."

A small crackle of static popped over the system, then an awkward silence followed...and curiously enough, no 'Gotcha' or other hints that this was just one big joke from Hunter.

"What do you mean, 'there's only soup'?"

"It means there's only soup!"

"Well then, get out of the soup aisle!"

"All right! You don't have to shout at me!"

Next came the sound of footsteps as Hunter continued down a different aisle, a small huff of annoyance, and then--

"--There's more soup."

"What do you mean there's more soup?"

"There's just more soup!"

Two aisles of soup now...? This was getting out of hand, and no, that wasn't a round of self-deprecating humor.

It. Was. Madness.

"Go into the next aisle!"

"There's still soup!"

"Where are you right now?!"

"I'm at soup!"

At Soup?! How could any Trooper in the known galaxy, be it far far away or a few klicks ahead, suddenly be 'At Soup'?!

"What do you mean you're "at soup?"

"I mean I'm at soup!"

"What store are you in?!"

"I'm at the soup store!"

"Why are you buying clothes at the soup store?"

"Kriff you!"

Both Troopers turned off their ends of the commlink with a loud slap, each of them so frustrated with the other that they most likely would not be on speaking terms for the next hour.

Back on Crosshair's end, he would merely shake his head in disgust before going off in search of the dog treats, if only to give Batcher a reason to come running the moment he jostled the bag loudly enough.

On Hunter's end, however...he would be comforted with one of Wrecker's hands upon his shoulder, along with the following vote of confidence:

"I think we're gonna have to stun this guy, Sarge."

"Dank Ferrik," Hunter sighed in return. Today just wasn't his day.

#star wars #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #star wars memes #i'm at soup #this is getting out of hand #now there are two of them #i think we're gonna have to kill this guy steven #tbb batcher #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #star wars humor #300 follower celebration #the bad batch fanfiction

35 notes · View notes

hexedwinchester · 17 hours ago

Text

What the later seasons of Supernatural are Missing?

It's no secret that as Supernatural added more seasons, the quality of the show deteriorated and the only reason it ran so long was because of Jared and Jensen. This dilution is attributed to a lot of reasons: Kripke's era coming to end, change of writers and show runners, poor writing on the part of new writers, focus of the story shifting from Sam and Dean to supporting cast. But here's something I don't see folks mentioning a lot and that is it lacked a good villain and not just that but rather a good villain with personal interest/vendetta with our boys. Let me explain..

Season 1 and 2: Though season 1 starts off with the boys looking for their father, the plots twists into Yellow Eyes chasing Sam down for personal reasons. He is invested in Sam, personally. That's what makes it beautiful

Season 3: Stakes are high as Dean is on the clock to walk the red carpet to Hell. While that's a major crux, Lilith who holds Dean's contract is also making the vendetta quite personal

Season 4: Sam is pumped on Demon blood being manipulated by Ruby to kill Lilith to stop the apocalypse with a side of getting some revenge for dragging Dean into Hell. See what I mean? Personal again. It's all about the boys

Season 5: it can't get any more personal than Lucifer and Michael twisting the guys to say yes to being their vessels. While the angels try everything to get a yes from Dean, let's put that aside for a minute and focus on Lucifer. His first interaction with Sam is in the form of his dead girlfriend. His obsession with his vessel is so fucked up, as if he knows Sam inside out, like he already has crawled under his skin. One look at Lucifer will tell you he only has eyes on the prize: The Great Sam Winchester. That's what made this season great!

Season 6: This is where it subtly starts to go downhill. While the Soulless Sam storyline holds interest, the whole find the purgatory feels like a side quest i'd be happy to skip because the prize is not our boys' journey. Frankly, I don't care a damn about the war between Heaven and Hell

Season 7: Probably in the top 5 of my least favourite seasons. Leviathans were lame with their world domination plan by buying real estate and their leader Dick Roman sucked. It seemed like a USA problem than Sam and Dean problem. The worst of it all? Borax kills them?! Say what?! Wut?! The oldest creatures with a weakness of cleaning agent?! What's next? Shedim are scared of hyaluronic acid? Let's squirt them with moisturizer!

Season 8: This was one of those seasons without a proper antagonist. And yes, the angel/demon tablet fiasco. Nothing against advance placement student Kevin but I didn't enjoy the prophet storyline. It would have been interesting if they made it personal to the boys. I loved the Trial Sam storyline and what would have made it better would be if instead of Kevin if Sam could translate the tablet after spending all those years in Hell, you know?

Season 9: Though Gadreel wasn't the main antagonist, his possession of Sam was good. I would have loved it if they extended the part when he doesn't get out of Sam, made it personal, something like Meg!Sam situation. On the other hand, I was happy with Metatron. He was sneaky, cruel and power hungry and it was personal after he got Kevin killed.

Season 10: Somebody jog my memory of what Season 10 was supposed to be other than Demon!Dean and Mark of Cain. I have already made a post on how Demon!Dean was not utilised to a full potential and i stand by it. And that's all I have to say about this season.

Season 11: Darkness and her personal connection to Dean. Now, see the idea sounded good in theory. But sadly, they never exploited this personal connection. It could have played so well but no, they made it about God and his sister. This season also provided a gateway to bring back Lucifer but...

Season 12: it brings us to the season I hate the most. We got Lucifer back but he was no longer obsessed with Sam? (Yawning!) We got BMoL but oh god they were nothing more than a bunch of snobs in suits or as Sam rightly said "accents in a pansuits". Like seriously, what could they do to him? Nothing, that's what. Then whole Lucifer's son plot was so weak, it makes the entire season difficult to watch.

Season 13: things get very blurry for me from this season onward, so bear with me if I don't get everything right. Probably second on the list of SPN seasons i hate. This is the AU plot right? It was interesting when they mentioned Michael lived in AU but oh god they should have made Michael obsessed with Dean. Stalking him, torturing Sam to get the yes. But nope, none of that.

Season 14: we get Michael!Dean but see it's missing that personal grudge. It feels like a random possession. They could have played this so well, perhaps given us the OG Lucifer vs Michael battle.

Season 15: God? The villain? Again one of those plots that sound amazing in theory but the success lies in the execution. At least, they made it personal so that was really great. What I don't like about this season is the finale. And no, I don't mean the whole who dies, who lives. Or the rebar. Or the safe life with blurry wife. I mean the epic showdown between God and the Winchester that we all were expecting. That storytelling was missing. I don't want punches, I want a freaking battle!

Simply saying, what do you think makes Joker or Moriarty or Lord Voldemort a good villain? It's not just their power. It's their obsession with the protagonist. You take them out, that's the end of it. (I'm looking at you, Sherlock, BBC show)

In conclusion, when the show stopped making the battles personal to the brother, stopped writing the hero's journey, skipped the storytelling element and wrote villain that weren't quite as obsessed with the brothers, that's when it started falling apart.

#Supernatural #Spn #Supernatural rant #sam winchester #dean winchester #Lucifer #Michael #Gadreel #yellow eyed demon #Lilith #Soulless Sam #Metatron #Demon!dean #Sam girl

31 notes · View notes

venomwrites · 2 days ago

Text

Despite the fluff this is a ficlet written purely because I 100% believe Vi would leave lipstick prints on Caitlyn before Caitlyn would leave them on Vi. Also on Ao3

“Violet.”

Vi is caught off guard enough at the sight of Tobias standing in the doorframe. The two of them have a fragile sort of truce going. One she’s happy to keep going. It’s centered around Caitlyn, who needs them both. Usually when he comes to get her, it’s for something Caitlyn needs. Tobias looks at her with that tight, sad expression he always makes. Vi is stunned he doesn’t ask her about her intentions with Caitlyn. But she guesses it’s pretty clear what those are since she’s here. She’s given up the expectation he’s going to tell her to get out again. It’s become clear that he actually didn’t have the right to do anything more than question her presence. The house isn’t his. It’s Caitlyn’s. But he doesn’t ask anymore, he just nods when she helps Caitlyn in a way he can’t and she does the same when the tables are turned. But now it’s just the two of them staring at each other.

“There’s talk of rationing electricity,” he says, “we need to preserve the candles.”

Heat creeps up her neck but she refuses to give into it. She opens her mouth to point out the rations definitely wouldn’t apply to the Kirammans. And besides she’s been rationing candles for seven years. She knows how to get soot from her eyes and not ruin them. When they start rationing matches they can talk. Tobias’s throat works and then he shoves a bag at her.

“Cassandra always kept a supply. Caitlyn needs something more specialized now,” when she doesn’t move he puts it in her fingers, “goodnight.”

Then he vanishes as quickly as he came leaving Vi standing there with a bag, a blush and not much of an idea of what to do with either. Behind her there’s a shift of weight as Caitlyn tries to see what’s happening. She’s condemned to the right side of the bed where the IV hook was already set up from Vi’s own time there. But that puts most of the room out of her field of vision unless she turns her head. It’s uncomfortable on the best days right now so Vi tries to do everything in her field of vision. She walks over to where Caitlyn is laying and watches something flicker in her visible eye at the sight of the bag.

“Your dad—“ Vi says holding it up, “said it was your moms.”

Caitlyn offers an almost mischievous curve of her lips and Vi looks down to see the bag is full of that fancy tissue paper stores up here use. Caitlyn taps the side of the bed and Vi walks over. Of all the injuries, the jaw might be the worst for Caitlyn. Vi looks over at the pad as she scribbles what the wires won’t allow her to say.

Sorry. Didn’t think you’d take it otherwise.

Vi shakes her head at the apology. Only Caitlyn would feel the need to apologize for something like this. She nods and Vi moves away the paper. Inside are a ton of small boxes. She’s quickly learning nothing in Piltover just comes in its natural state. Especially not stuff you buy. Caitlyn is looking hopeful so Vi tries to smile and tips one of the boxes into her hand. She has a feeling she knows what it is. The candle scolding was kind of a give-away. She braces the black box against her casted arm and slips her thumb under the top flap. There’s a sticker on the bottom of a pinkish red that makes Vi’s heart skip even though it shouldn’t. The world ended. This seems so irrelevant. But her fingers in the cast itch as she tips the container over and the silvery tube spills out. It’s heavy with a band of gold denoting the seam. When she pushes with her thumb, it slides up to reveal a bullet of color.

One of us needs two eyes.

Vi laughs. The sound strange after all the grief in this room. But it’s the first joke she’s seen on the pages and when she looks back, Caitlyn actually looks pleased. She nudges the bag closer and even though Vi wants to say one is enough. That she doesn’t even need one, she doesn’t want to do anything to take away the pleased look on Caitlyn’s face. Caitlyn motions for the bag and extracts a black case that expands like magic. There are hooks for a mirror, but someone has thought to tuck it away. She opens box after box until the bag is full of them and the case is full of tubes and compacts. Vi wonders if there are any cosmetics left in Piltover, but she’s learned there is always more up here. These are hers. It’s a dizzying array of colors, ones that exist in paintings. Not ones you cobble together out of whatever pigments you can find. The feeling in her chest is strange as she looks at them. Not bad, but not one she’s used to.

“Thanks, Cupcake,” she says touching the tubes. She goes to close the case but Caitlyn stops her. Strokes her thumb across Vi’s knuckle and looks at the case, “later,” Vi promises.

Caitlyn gives her a look that needs no words and with more strength than Vi thought she had, she tugs the case towards her hip. Vi watches as she flips it open. Her fingers move towards the mirror and Vi darts forward. They’e not there yet. Caitlyn’s not there yet. But she’ll put herself through it to help Vi. And Vi can’t stand the thought. She tries for something confident as she looks back at the endless array of tubes.

“Come on, Cupcake, you think we had mirrors in Stillwater?” She says, “I could do this blindfolded.”

Caitlyn gives her a half exasperated look as Vi looks between a forgiving nude and a deep berry. Opting for the latter she thumbs the tube open and glides the color along her lips. She’s known she could do it blindfolded, but there’s still something satisfying about running her thumb under her lip and it coming away clean.

“What do you think?” She asks.

Beautiful.

The word stings but Vi lets it. The lipstick feels nice against her lips. Better than anything she’s come up with. Definitely better than the greasepaint she was using in the pits. Her lips feel softer than they have in a long time. It’s strange to think that in the life ahead of her, they can be soft and colored whenever she wants. Without her having to barter or decide what she’s willing to sacrifice for a bit of comfort and autonomy. It’s just there. She doesn’t know how to voice that in a way that doesn’t make her sound insane. Or, worse, would make Caitlyn try to push herself to help Vi feel better. It’s a good feeling. Jus not one she’s used to. But Caitlyn is Caitlyn, so Vi is only mildly surprised when a tissue is handed to her and the notepad comes into view.

Another?

“Oh I see,” Vi says, “you just want a preview for when we’re both better.”

Caitlyn flashes the thumbs down that means no but Vi ignores the insidious voice that says she’s being honest. Vi waves her away and Caitlyn frowns. Vi gets it, she has no idea how any of this will work when they’re more whole. It should be the last thing either of them are thinking about. But she wants to figure that out with Caitlyn. She wants to figure out a lot of things with her. Maybe it’s not fair to put that on her, on their bond, but in her worst moments when she can’t hug Caitlyn it’s the only bright spot that keeps her going. Caitlyn still looks a bit perturbed but it’s in that fond way she seems to reserve for Vi. So Vi finds the darkest color she can and draws it across her lips. Caitlyn swallows but her eye focuses only on the dark bruise of Vi’s lips.

“Too oil slick?” Vi offers.

It takes Caitlyn a moment to respond.

Thumbs down.

No.

Caitlyn taps on the paper.

Beautiful.

“You can’t say that with every one,” Vi says, “then you’re just being—“

Hot

Vi swallows the word nice as Caitlyn holds the pad up. She’s not as pale as she was, but the flush of color on her cheekbones still makes something warm start in Vi’s belly. Fortunately the smart little case has several pockets in the lid. Vi takes the tube and tucks it into one of them. By the end of the night it’s joined by a nude rose color and a berry tone. Caitlyn falls asleep with a faint smile on her lips as Vi looks down at the case in her hands. It’s hard to wrap her head around it. There’s a dark part of her that points out the frivolousness of the products. How the money could be better spent elsewhere. How no lipstick was going to remove the cast from her arm or bring back anything she had lost. But the rest of her feels something much closer to happiness. Something like when she woke up wrapped in Caitlyn’s embrace before they both fell apart. When she kissed her and Caitlyn kissed back. This was orchestrated by her, but there’s something profoundly selfish in the tubes laid out in front of her.

They are just for her.

Even though it’s late, Vi finds herself rifling through for one of the longer sticks. She eases the cap off and drags it across her eyes. She uses the edge of a finger to find the places she wants the pigment to go and then drags it along her waterline. That part is always the easiest. She figured it out first, taught by another prisoner who showed her how to make sure things were clean enough. The pigments now glide smoothly along her flesh, so smoothly she nearly jams the point into the side of her nose. She drags the line across the other with more care. The usual stinging is lessened by the quality of what she’s been given. But it makes her feel better when she presses her eyes shut and feels the slight tack as the lines come together.

Before she can overthink, her fingers flip open one of the compacts.

It’s an odd thing to be excited by your own face. To be excited you recognize your own face. She feels impossibly different, but she knows the features that look back at her. More importantly she sees the choice on her face. She’s chosen what to put on her eyes. What color to make her lips. That was the advice of the other prisoner who showed her the matches. The world would take most of your choices, but if you could choose what you put on your face it was a good day. This feels like the start of one. Somehow it feels easier to crawl up to the pillows and lay down next to Caitlyn. There’s a pillow between them to help Caitlyn sleep straight, but her hand usually drapes on it. An invitation Vi hasn’t known how to respond to. This time she picks up Caitlyn’s hand and brings it to her lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

When she wakes, Caitlyn is smiling at the back of her hand in a way that sends a warm feeling though Vi’s core. She keeps her breathing even and closes her eyes as Caitlyn very carefully puts her hand back on top of hers. When she truly wakes up, it’s time for bandages changes, liquified breakfasts and all the things that keep them going. Well, mostly keep Caitlyn going. After the latest bandage change Caitlyn goes distant, like usual. But unlike usual, Vi has an idea of how to reach her. She fiddles with the darker tube before swiping it across her lips, picking up Caitlyn’s hand and pressing them to it. It shocks Caitlyn out of her stupor as Vi considers the lip print. Caitlyn stares at her, eyes wide. Vi rifles though the case and picks a different tube. She paints her lips and then presses them to the base of Caitlyn’s thumb. Caitlyn swallows tightly as their gazes lock. Vi nods towards the notepad and Caitlyn gives the barest shake of her head. So Vi picks up another tube and this time kisses her fingertips, brushing something pink and sweet to them.

By the time she’s done she has no idea what color her lips might be, but Caitlyn’s hand is covered in color. Everything except red. She can guess there’s enough red in Caitlyn’s head when she looks at her hand. So Vi kisses every other color there instead. When she lets Caitlyn’s hand go, Caitlyn brings it against her chest and cradles it close. There’s no scribbled note, but there doesn’t need to be. The soft look on Caitlyn’s face tells Vi everything she needs. And for the first time in a while, Vi feels like she can hear it.

So she keeps it up.

Sometimes just the one.

Sometimes the whole rainbow.

But there is always a print somewhere on Caitlyn’s hand. It seems to make things better in a way Vi can’t quite explain. But it’s working, so she doesn’t care about anything else. Even though it’s the longest few weeks, it’s still hard to wrap her head around helping Caitlyn into a paper bonnet so her jaw can be freed. They can’t jostle anything else so they want her to be out. She looks at Vi who smiles encouragingly and presses a kiss to her knuckles. Caitlyn pulls her hand to her chest and nods, relaxing as they take her away. Vi sits with her after. Her face is still puffy, but when she shifts her head and her lips part, Vi can see her tongue move.

“Hey,” she whispers, coaxing Caitlyn back into the waking world. Caitlyn looks at her hazily and smiles.

“Beautiful,” she whispers, sleepily raising her hand to inspect her clean skin. A soft thing she would hate to call a pout comes across her lips, “Vi?”

She has to be gentle as fuck, but Vi leans over and finally gets to brush their lips together. Caitlyn inhales softly into the kiss, her hand steadying Vi’s cheek. When she pulls back, she touches her fingertips to her lip and smiles at the pigment that clings to them.

“I was hoping you’d do that,” she murmurs but still holds up her knuckles.

Vi is only too happy to press a kiss there as well.

#caitvi #caitlyn kiramman #vi #arcane #piltover's finest #one of the shades is called cupcake s2g #i love all the fanart of caitlyn kissing vi and leaving lipstick prints #no disrespect #but i have a MIGHTY NEED to see it the other way around

26 notes · View notes

electricneonvalkyrie · 5 hours ago

Text

Abby notices when you’re depressed. Let’s talk about how she handles that as your partner.

These are modern Abby headcanons. The list was much longer, but I cut it down considerably to keep it from getting too long-winded. I do have a piece written for WLF Abby. If it's something you want to see, let me know.

Thanks for reading. I'm glad you're here.

• Maybe it’s a slow descent this time… little by little, losing interest in your favourite pastimes and finding it hard to discover meaning in daily life. In the midst of trying to survive, there is suddenly no room left for indulging in your hobbies.

Abby, with every random blanket and sheet she owns, constructs a blanket fort in the living room, offering a pressure-free zone where you can do nothing but feel completely safe and loved.

Super cozy, not too busy, and mega peaceful against the demands of a world that is asking far too much of you in this moment.

Does she deep-dive Youtube tutorials on how to build epic forts that probably belong in a magazine? I mean, yeah. Give her a break, alright? Complete dedication is the way this girl operates, and I’ll die on that hill. Also, Abby is a tall, sturdy girlie, and she needs to fit inside it with you. If you’re going to live in this fort together for the foreseeable future, she needs it to be good for you.

Now, if you want an enormous blanket hanging precariously off the side of the couch with a half-dead flashlight and crinkled comics shoved underneath some pillows, date Ellie. Still cute, still the thought that counts, but she’s no Abigail it’s my mission to save you Anderson.

• Abby stocks up on all your go-to snacks because she gets that it's hard to think about the basics when you're too bone-tired to move… nevermind prioritizing measly things like providing yourself sustenance. She’s got you covered.

• She refuses to let you marinate in the feeling of being a burden. She shuts that shit down fast.

“You’re my person, okay? I’m not going anywhere. End of story.”

• Abby grew up around doctors, so she'll for sure be the one to look up therapists and leave the info pinned to the fridge beneath a small magnet that is, of course, a laminated photo of the two of you on your first date. She describes it as the most important day of her life and brings it up regularly.

“You know, I’ve seen this picture a hundred times, but every time I look at it, it hits me all over again—how much that day meant to me.” Her voice dips low as she confesses something so immensely sacred to her. “The day I realized you weren’t just someone I wanted in my life. I’d been waiting for you without even knowing it. I thought I had it all figured out before you. Fuck, was I ever wrong.”

(Just know there's no rush to decide anything big when it comes to choosing a method of healing, but it's there when you're ready.)

• On your hardest days, she stays close, but she doesn’t push. She’ll busy herself with repairs around the home or folding the mountain of laundry shoved up against the wall in your bedroom.

• Abby loves to buy those cute nightlights with little animals on them or the ones that change colours, and she scatters them around the house. When you’re lost in the darkness, right?

• She serves you warm drinks in your favourite mug and nothing else. She’ll handwash it a million times a day if she must.

• Abby's phone chirps with little alarms throughout the day, reminding her to do something special for you. This is all the time, not just when you’re depressed, to be certain.

• Weighted blankets everywhere. Vehicles included.

• I don’t care what anyone says, Abby is soft as a motherfucker, okay? Is she rough around the edges? Maybe. Yes. 100%. Fine, she’s a hot mess, but will she read you poetry aloud, until her voice is hoarse, and her lips go dry? Without a doubt. There are sticks and jars of lip ointment all over the place wherever Abby resides.

Fun fact: Abby hates when her lips feel dry, even slightly. She is constantly reaching for ChapStick and all its cousins. Whenever someone tells her she should stop using her precious lip stuff because it will improve the sensory nightmare in the long run, she’ll immediately do that pouty, nose crinkle thing at them and ignore the advice without a breath.

• Abby lets you wear all her sweaters. That’s a given. But when you’re depressed, she tends to reach for yours as well. It helps her feel close to you when she’s dealing with her own inner turmoil.

• She doesn’t fuck around when she senses you’re starting to spiral. Her routines are extremely important to her, but she will put them on pause to be there for you.

Now, does she gently, lovingly, force your ass to go on walks with her to get some fresh air somewhere you feel comfortable? Yeah, she does. This might be annoying at times when you’re really struggling, and she knows it. She’ll still encourage movement in a way that is manageable for you if leaving the house is too daunting.

If that means you’re standing on her feet, arms wrapped around her neck while she sways side to side with you, so be it.

• She'll binge-watch your favorite shows and movies with you until she drains all the power in the entire city.

• Abby won't make you feel awkward if you cry. She'll just start crying, too, even if she tries so hard not to. She gets better at keeping it to a little glossy eyed moment, but sometimes your pain is her pain, and the dam just… breaks.

• Abby is an actions over words type of human. She’s a doer. Also, timing doesn’t matter much to her. She is desperate to give you a future to believe in because she is so certain that what the two of you share is everlasting.

Abby proposes to you when your hair is a mess, and you’ve been in the same pajamas for days. Fuzzy teeth? Fear not. She isn’t afraid of the hard times. Her love is an anchor. A constant.

She wants to remind you that you’ll never have to face your dark times alone.

Shadows dance on the tapestry walls of the blanket fort, illuminated by the warm, flickering lights hanging inside. Across from you, Abby lounges with her legs stretched out and her back propped against a pile of soft pillows. She’s quiet for a moment, fiddling with something in her hands.

“You know,” she begins, her voice gentle and husky, like gravel smoothed by unrelenting water. “When I was little, I used to make forts like this with my dad. We’d sit in the middle of all the chaos and just… talk about random shit. Nothing outside could touch us.”

As she glances at you, there is a small, almost shy smile playing on her lips.

“That’s what this feels like—being with you. Even when everything else seems like it’s falling apart, you’re my safe place.”

Abby leans forward, her knees brushing yours, and you realize she’s holding a small velvet box. Her confidence wavers, revealing a hint of vulnerability you rarely see.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while. About us—what we mean to each other.” Her voice cracks a little, causing her to pause and clear her throat before she continues.

“I know you’ve been feeling lost. And I know I can’t fix it, even when it kills me—even when all I want to do is make the hurting go away. But I can promise you this...”

She opens the box, the ring glimmering in the soft light, her affectionate, earnest gaze meeting yours.

"I promise you'll always have someone by your side to help you through it. No matter how dark it gets, I’ll be right here with you. For the tough days, the good ones, everything the world throws at us. Because you’re it for me. You always have been."

With each word, her voice grows softer, filled with an unmistakable tremor of emotion.

“Let me be your person forever. Let me love you, fight for you. Let me build you giant blanket forts until we’re way too fucking old to do it by ourselves—and then let me find new ways to take care of you. Because it’s all I want in this lifetime. You’re all I see. Will you marry me?”

#abby the last of us #abby x fem!reader #abby x masc!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #abby tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson #abby anderson tlou2 #tlou #lgbtqia

24 notes · View notes

shewhowritessometimes · 6 hours ago

Text

Changes

“Keeping the place like this was easy when I lived alone, but now I need to make some changes.” A prompt I saw on tumblr and thought i’d write something about it but in a sweeter tone with Simon “Ghost” Riley.

His apartment is as simple as they come. He spends most of his time away on missions to even think about putting any effort in it. But then he met you.

You, who started staying at his place more often than not. Waiting for him to come home from his missions with your sweet smile and heavenly cooking. You, who welcomes him home every single time with open arms and tightest hugs despite the fact that you can’t even close your arms around him.

“I miss you.” falling from your lips like a prayer every time he enters the door.

Until one day, Simon has finally decided it’s time to ask you to move in. There’s no sense for you to be renting your own apartment when you stay at his house all the time.

You said yes with no second thought and before he knows it, everything has changed.

He used to only have one couch, now he has different kinds of seats in his living room which you said serve different kinds of purposes. He used to only have one set of utensils, he rarely even used them. Now? He has loads of them, different sizes even. Who even uses those small spoons which you called a “coffee spoon”? He can use any kind of spoon to stir his coffee or tea, doesn’t matter.

And pillows? He used to only have one. Now his bedroom is full of different kinds of pillows which most of the time ends up on the floor in the morning when you wake up. His apartment used to look black and white and now it’s screaming in colors. Your throw pillows on the couch in different colors that you said makes the place look more alive.

The potted plants and flowers all around the house that you always move to the window facing east every morning because you said it might wither and die if it didn’t get enough sunlight. The walls now adorning pictures of you both together or just you and some pictures of him you have taken without his knowledge, he swears every time he comes home from a mission, there’s a new one hanging in there.

Your pretty dresses and pastel clothes in his wardrobe right next to his almost all black clothes and pants. Simon also ended up buying and assembling a vanity mirror in his room where you can put all your skin care and make up products on and where you can do your make up every time you need to.

There’s a lot of changes… but welcome ones. And you are the biggest change that he loves the most.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #ghost cod

29 notes · View notes

rosewoodcafe · 20 hours ago

Text

So It Goes...

You've married into high society, the sacred twenty eight being the group you're seen in most. Though the Malfoy name and riches have suited you well, there's only one name on your mind.

18+ tw for smut

Ominis x Reader

[This is to make up for the sad post of yesterday lol]

[This is like my first time writing smut so like if it's bad I'm sorry]

[This is inspired by So It Goes... by Taylor Swift. Enjoy!]

"Darling, are you ready to leave?" My husband asked from the bedroom.

"In just a moment I will be." I responded.

My husband, Mr. William Malfoy, a respectable man in the wizarding community, and filthy rich. When I caught his eye after Hogwarts I took my opportunity to rise in the ranks of the wizarding community. These past two years have been the easiest, making this man fall so deeply in love with me that he turns a blind eye to how much I am using him. His money fueling the many parties I host, and the many things I buy to fill the mansion I call home. I have everything I want. How could I ask for more.

I settled the last part of my outfit, a diamond pair of earrings, before looking at myself in the full length mirror. A silky black dress hugged my figure, the sleeves long but sheer, and a slit up the left side. My hair was undone with it perfectly curled around my face, red lipstick being the only pop of color. I smiled at myself, knowing that everyone would be looking at me, and only be this entire party. The youngest bride amongst the other twenty eight families, yet the most stunning.

My walk out to the main hall was quick, clutch in hand with my wand tucked safely inside. I saw my husband waiting below, pacing in his all black tux. His eyes met my body and his jaw dropped.

"You look stunning my dear." He said, holding my hand as I walked down the steps. "You will draw the attention of everyone, and I shall be the one to break it to them that you are mine."

"Thank you, you look incredibly handsome as well." I smiled. He placed a small kiss on my cheek as I got into our carriage.

The Gaunt Manor was nearly identical to last year.

Not a single thing on the outside had changed, its haunting look being elegant against the sunset. The carriage landed amongst all the others, and the door opened quickly. William helped me out and wrapped his elbow in mine, leading us the marble steps of the Gaunt home.

Inside there were people everywhere, each in black or white, a mask adorning each face.

"Sir. Ma'am." A house elf said, handing a mas up to the each of us. William took his and quickly put it on, and I did the same. We entered the main hall where more people were, dancing in the center of the room.

There he sat, at the front end of the room, like a king.

Ominis fucking Gaunt.

I knew he would be here, obviously, but I did not expect him to be the one hosting the event in total. I hated seeing him.

William walked us closer to Mr. Gaunt, the two of us having to greet him. The crowd practically parted for us, the gasping at the display of the Malfoy name.

"Mr. Gaunt, wonderful to see you." William spoke to Ominis, who looked entirely unamused.

"Welcome Mr. Malfoy," Ominis spoke, "and, Mrs. Malfoy I presume."

"I am," I responded. "This is a beautiful party you have hosted Mr. Gaunt."

Ominis's eyes widened just a bit, the shocked expression turning to normal as quickly as it came.

"I hope you enjoy. I will be making my round soon." Ominis said.

William walked us both from the front table, Ominis's blind gaze following our direction.

The night went on without a hitch, my husband dancing with me in front of the crowd, the many whispers reaching across the party. Each only had one thing to say.

She's the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen.

It fueled my desire. I could feel Ominis's foggy gaze on us the whole night. The power I held of these people that gawked over me, over my looks. They were looking at me, and that's all that mattered. Our dance concluded and William stepped closer to me.

"I have to deal with some business," he whispered, "don't get yourself into to much trouble."

"No promises." I smiled. He returned the smile before leaving, disappearing into the crowd.

I walked back towards the wall, where not many people were at, needing a breath of fresh air. A door lead down an empty hall, one I knew I should not be in, but even if I was caught nobody would punish me. A balcony overlooking the garden was visible, and I opened the door, letting the warm summer air grace my lungs. I wasn't sure how long I had been standing there when I heard his voice.

"Malfoy, huh?"

I turned to see Ominis leaned against the open doorway, his arms crossed.

"Yes, I married him earlier this year." I said smugly. "You were invited, but I suppose your invitation got lost in the post."

A small smile crept onto his mouth, a devilish grin that any normal person would be afraid of.

"Don't be short with me dove," he paused, "you may be a Malfoy now, but that still makes you less then a Gaunt."

I could feel my jaw tighten. I hated him, I hated his smugness, and I hated how despite it all if he took me right here and now I wouldn't say a word.

"Cat got your tongue?" He chuckled.

"Actually no, the snake did." I shot back. I leaned over the railing, looking over the garden. I felt a hand snake up my back, resting just below my shoulder blade.

"I missed you." He spoke softly.

"I haven't."

"You most certainly have. If you didn't you would be letting me touch you right now." He smiled again, that damn smile that got him everything he wanted. But he was entirely right.

"If my husband saw you now-"

"He would say nothing," Ominis interrupted, "he would think it's an honor that he picked such a wife that a Gaunt heir wants her."

"You don't want me, you made that clear when I last saw you."

"And you told me that no matter what I would never touch you again, yet here we both are. Breaking both of our promises."

He moved his hand low, settling it on my hip. I wanted to pull him in, to kiss him and feel him.

"You ruined me." Ominis whispered into my ear.

"You ruined me." I whispered back, his other hand was on my arm, tracing up the fabric. "I was bound to marry the man I loved until you said he wasn't enough for me."

"Because I will never be enough for you." His fingers delicately moved their way up to my shoulder. "I will never be enough of a man for you."

"I didn't care."

"I do." He breathed heavily as he moved his body behind mine, pressing into me. "I did."

"If you don't care anymore, then take me." I whispered. His hand placed itself lightly around my throat.

"You are another man's wife." He hummed into my ear. "I can't take you."

"He hasn't had me."

Ominis quickly loosened his grip on my neck, spinning me to face him, my ass pressed against the railing of the balcony.

"He hasn't had you yet?" He said quickly. "How could he resist a woman like you?"

I smiled at his comment. Of course Ominis was shocked, even I never let him have me before. I was waiting for marriage, but William said he didn't enjoy such past times, so only when we wanted children is when he would provide that service to me.

"He has never once asked to take me." I said softly, pulling Ominis tie bringing him closer to me. His breathing became heavy. His hand weaving into my hair, tugging slightly.

"Would you let me take you?" His face was so close to mine, one slightly movement and our lips would clash.

"Only if you ask nicely." I smirked, leaning ever so close to him. He pulled my head back.

"Please dove, let me be the one to take care of you for the first time." He whispered into my ear.

"Yes, you may."

He pressed his lips needily into mine, his lips soft and sweet against my own. Ominis's lips trailed down my jaw, his hand tugging my head back by my hair to reveal my neck to him. I moaned into his deep kisses, the slight bites and licks he gave after.

I placed my hands on the side of his face lifting up to me. Our lips met again, with more of a hunger then before. I wanted him so badly for so long, and only now do I get him. My fingers fidgeted with his tie, attempting to undo it while I was also unbuttoning his shirt. I kissed down his jaw and neck as he caught my wrists in his hands.

"Not here my love."

His arms tucked under my thighs, hoisting me around his hips. I kept kissing him, leaving red around his jaw, neck, and cheeks. He walked inside, and to a room on the left, opening the door as he held me up, and closing it just as quickly. He carried me to the bed, placing me down so gently.

"You don't know how badly I've wanted you. How badly I wanted to please you in the way you deserve."

He ran his hands up the curves of my dress, taking in the sensation of the fabric. His lips trailed kisses up to my lips, leaving a heat behind that was addicting.

"I wanted you so badly." I moaned as he sucked on my neck. "Omi- I want you."

My hands found his hair, entangling my fingers in his old money locks. He gripped harder on my waist, holding me under his grasp. He made his way back up, kissing me deeply and letting his tongue explore my mouth. I tugged off his tie, throwing it hastily to the floor. He broke our kiss, taking off his suit jacket.

"Open your legs my dear." He whispered, a hand running up my bare thigh.

"What if I say no?" I humored, letting a small smile cross my lips.

"Then I will leave right now, and promise to never pleasure you again." Ominis smiled, leaning closer in and giving me a deep kiss. He settled his body between my legs, pressing his body against mine. I could feel the heat building in my stomach, and the warmth below from him.

He kissed me deeper and I moved my hips against him, making him groan into our kiss. He pulled me up so I sat on the edge of the bed, his hand wrapped in my hair as he explored my mouth further. I grinded my hips further onto him, making him groan more.

"You tease." He laughed as he kissed down, pulling at the neckline of my dress. "I need this off of your body, now."

"Then take it off."

He smirked at my challenge, pulling me in for a kiss as his hands worked at the back of my dress, pulling the top down to my waist. His kisses trailed down my body, hot and wet, his tongue finding my peak, taking it into his mouth and sucking on it. I felt so sensitive as I held his head, pushing him closer into me.

"O- omi- " I moaned out.

"Shh, you must be quiet." He licked around my nipple, giving it a kiss. "Unless you want the entire party, and your husband, to know I am making love to you."

"I don't," I let out a breath, melting to Ominis's touch. "I'll be quiet."

"Good."

He continued his assault on my mounds, taking time to pleasure each one until I was throbbing below. He teased me until I reached the edge, denying me the release. His fingers gracefully traced over the wet fabric of my panties, making my whole body shiver.

"I don't know why I pushed you away, when this could be you every night." He spoke softly between kisses. "This could be you as my wife ever night my dear."

I wanted to explode, every nerve ending on fire for how far he had pulling the string in me. I needed to release, every part of me needed to feel him.

"O-h Omini-s please." I moaned out as his fingers pressed into the fabric of my heat below.

"Someone is needy hm?"

He pressed against my sensitive bud, releasing a louder moan from me.

"Open your legs my love."

I did as I was told, opening my legs wider, the dress being pushed aside as he lowered himself to be in line with my heat.

"I'm going to taste you love. If you become uncomfortable, please tell me." Ominis placed a kiss at my stomach before moving the fabric down my legs, reveling my soaked opening. His finger moved along the inside of my thighs, finding the opening. "God you're going to be delicious."

Ominis's head delved into me, and I felt heaven for the first time. Each stroke of his tongue, each press of his finger, each suck made me reach higher and higher. I moaned his name as he held me closer, pulling my thighs into his face. I could feel that string tightening again.

"Ominis- I'm goin-"

He kept going at the same pace, relentless in the pursuit of my release. I could barely breath as I felt the string snap, sending me over. I felt as if everything was right, that I truly was Ominis's in this moment, that I only would ever be his. He lifted his face from me, licking his finger clean of my release.

"You are the best this I've tasted at this party my love." He whispered into my ear. I held his face as I kissed him, tasting myself on his lips.

"I want to taste you." I said softly.

"No, this is all for you tonight." He smiled. "I want you to feel as amazing as you can, so when you have to crawl back to that husband of yours, you'll think of me when you have to touch yourself."

Ominis raised himself from me, undoing his pants, and pulling out his length. Unintentionally I let out a small gasp.

"Like what you see?" Ominis chuckled.

"I- I didn't know they were that big," I paused. "I don't know if it will fi-"

"It will," he smirked, "you were made for me, of course it will fit. Now breathe, it will be a bit painful the first time, I will be gentle."

I took a breath as he lined himself up with me. I could feel his tip rub against my fold, a tingling sensation arising through my body. He finally eased it into me, slowly inching himself deeper into me. It was painful, like a stab into my body, but I also felt entirely complete. Ominis buried himself deep into me, finding my lips and exploring my mouth with his tongue. After a moment he pulled himself out partially, and pushed himself back in.

"Fuck darling, you are so wet," he whispered. "It's taking everything in me to not release into your perfect self."

He pushed in a little harder, releasing a groan from his lips. When he pulled out again it was nearly his whole length, and upon pushing it back in I moaned out one thing.

"Harder."

Something clicked in Ominis, his ridged body before gripping into my flesh. His careful demeanor gone, and the gentleness disappeared. Harder then before he began pushing and pulling himself in me, making me body shiver to his touch.

I wanted to scream his name as he pushed deeper into me at a harder pace. His lips searing hot as he kissed my body. I felt my nails dig into his back, scratching down as his dick slammed into the most sensitive spot in my heat. The string in me tightened each time he pushed into me, his hand held my wrists above my head. My body was at the complete mercy of Ominis, and I liked it. He moved his other hand to my bud, rubbing it as he pressed against me harder. His breathing became erratic as he pushed harder and deeper into me, making me see heaven again.

"Release for me darling, I want to feel you." He whispered as he kissed my neck. It sent me over the edge, my walls pulsating on his length as I rode through my high. "Fuc- love I can- I'm going to-"

"Do it in me!" I moaned out as he slammed into me.

"I-"

"I want to be yours Ominis Gaunt!" I felt my legs shake as he pounded harder, letting himself release into me.

He let my wrists go, holding himself up while still plunged deep in me.

"Love, I need you to leave your husband." He chuckled. "I can't live without this- without you, anymore."

"Perhaps Mr. Gaunt, maybe a certain someone is slipping a poison into Mr. Malfoy's drink as we speak." I smirked. "Leaving me a fortune, and a widow."

"You're such a bad girl."

"I only do bad things for you."

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #ominis x mc #sebastian x mc #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis #ominis gaunt smut #ominis x reader #hogwarts legacy sebastian

21 notes · View notes

justjesse116 · 1 day ago

Note

Can I pester you for your thoughts on Dabi and Hawks' respective canon endings (if you haven't posted em somewhere already and I've just missed it)

Oh yeah, I did say I'd touch on that and sure never did huh. I got so fed up that I just ignored the ending and didn't feel like acknowledging it with a post anymore.

But I do have an answer for you. It's gonna be a long one, buckle up buttercup.

As for Dabi's 'end'.

Ah yes, fantastic message Horikoshi, if you're not a perfect victim and don't shrink away and make yourself small and hide away from your abuse/abuser - if you get mad and lash out then you should just fucking die. Your ABUSER gets a second chance, but you can just go fuck yourself.

(For a better understanding on how I feel about Dabi's story as a whole I got, what, 2 sentences in and had to pause because I'm sick as hell right now and a little fucked up on cold medicine, and I got so mad my hands started shaking and my heart tried to do it's best impression of a wildebeest stampede in my chest. (Emotional regulation who?))

Dabi is my ride or die, because I came from a home where my sperm donor terrorized me my whole life for the crime of being alive and having the gall to take after my mother. I have an unfortunately personal understanding of how he feels, at least in part, and his end in the story is what bothers me most, and will continue to do so.

Did he go about it the best way? No, I'm not a fan of the murder (arson I couldn't give 2 fucks about, destroy that government property babey) but I can't blame him for turning out the way he did. He went through literal hell and came out the other side torn apart physically and mentally. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't fantasize about killing my sperm donor for all the ways he fucked me up every once in a while, so I can't blame him for that either. I think it's a natural reaction to want to eliminate a perceived threat, especially one as traumatizing as one of the people who are supposed to be guaranteed to love you turning on you the way Endeavor did.

But anyway, I'm rambling at this point so in a nutshell; FUCK Horikoshi and his wishy washy writing and bitchass cop out. The end to Dabi's story is insulting at best and harmful at worst. It's very obvious that he was over My Hero, since he bulldozed over anything that would resemble a satisfying ending in regards to multiple parts of the story, but his handling of Dabi as a character is the most egregious in my opinion. I have well and truly had enough of this man (derogatory).

So now I shall move on to the man, the myth, the legend, the love of my life - you get it. Hawks. And if I'm being honest I'm not very keen on his ending either.

First of all, what ever happened to giving heroes more time to kill?

Ahem. Excuse me, getting a little heated.

Fucking give me that man, he needs to be sat down in a plush fucking armchair, with a mug of actual coffee, not that canned shit, bundled in the softest blanket money can buy, just relaxing and reading or watching a show. LET THAT MAN REST. HIS ASS HAS NO BUSINESS BEING THE PRESIDENT OF AN ORGANIZATION THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ABOLISHED AT THE END. THAT'S WHAT IT FELT LIKE HORIKOSHI WAS HINTING TOWARDS THE WHOLE TIME. GET RID OF THE HERO SYSTEM. BUT NOOOOO.

To be a little more coherent (hopefully) about it. It's not to say I don't think he could do it, I just think it was one fuck of a leap. That was some Olympic level stretching, at least in my opinion. I just think that man deserves to rest. He belongs in a quiet little house in the countryside and he has a part time job at like, a local farm or something and in his spare time he volunteers all over town and preferably Dabi is there as well 🙄. Give him peace and quiet, let him rest.

I honestly don't know what would have satisfied me canon wise for his ending, but HPSC president just ain't it. Again, I feel like it was Horikoshi catching the cooties for his own work; he just wanted to be done with it so he slapped together what he thought was the most likely of scenarios and just left it at that. In a word; disappointing.

I see a lot of people saying he should have died, because out of everyone of the heroes his death would have made the most sense and had the most meaning or whatever, and I can agree with that, but I'm still glad he's not dead. It absolutely is fucked up how disproportionate the deaths were when it comes to heroes vs villains, no one can deny that. But dammit I need a win, I need a fave who ain't dead.

I think that about wraps up my thoughts without me writing a god damn dissertation. Thanks for the ask, it was a nice distraction.

#jesse answers #dabi #todoroki touya #bnha hawks #mha hawks #takami keigo #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia

20 notes · View notes

once-i-stay-in-neverland · 2 days ago

Text

Minsung fic recs Part 1: Pure Fluff (Smut-free and mostly Angst-free)

as I promised a few months ago, here's the first installment of minsung fic recs. These should be mostly or completely angst-free. Additional comments by me will be in brackets and italics [like this]

No Touching by Iknowyouknowleeknow | 3'405 words | Not Rated

“I bet you a whole month of convenience store runs that you can’t go a week without touching Minho.” Jisung scoffed, pushing his bangs off his forehead as he stared at Seungmin, “If you wanted to buy me food that bad, you could have just told me. No need for a stupid bet.” “Yeah, yeah,” Seungmin smirked. “Are we on or what?” “Oh, it’s on,” Jisung extended his hand to Seungmin and his friend grasped it, pumping it twice. “I can’t wait for a month of free ramen.” “You sure are cocky for someone who can’t seem to walk down the street without holding Minho’s hand.”

2. Debunked by luway | 2'049 words | General Audiences

Minho gets home late from practice, and doesn't seem to remember that they switched rooms around the day before. So maybe he accidentally ends up in the wrong bed, but Jisung isn't exactly complaining. aka dumb fluff inspired by the 9th s4e4

3. lyrics of an improvised love song by orphan_account | 28'408 words | Teen and Up Audiences

Minho is behind the counter, taking orders and misspelling names. Since it’s a university, the coffee shop is fairly full, with a constant background noise of people talking. Then, out of nowhere, the talking stops, and the thing happens, one of those moments where everybody just collectively decides to fall silent, but one unfortunate soul doesn’t get the memo. In specific, a guy with brown hair and a blue t-shirt sighs into the dead quiet, “Dammit, somebody date me.” There’s a second where the guy doesn’t realize anything is wrong, but then his expression freezes, and he shrinks down in his seat. Minho is amused, embarrassed on his behalf, all normal reactions. And then the impulse kicks in, the urge to pick the most idiotic and unconventional choice just because he can. “Okay,” Minho replies, and everybody in the room looks at him. “I will.” [It isn't fake, but it isn't real, either. Until suddenly, it is.]

4. even in a chocolate shop, you're the sweetest thing i've ever seen by natigail | 32'916 words | Teen and Up Audiences

Jisung was weak to hot guys, he would be the first one to admit it, but he was even weaker for hot guys who were also smart and kind and approved by his friends. Lee Minho walked through the door and Jisung didn't stand a chance. As if pining wasn't enough of a distraction, Jisung also feared that his little adored work family was coming apart. He wanted nothing more than to keep them together, and perhaps to get Minho to join as well.

[this one isn't completely angst-free afair, but mostly; and it has a meet-cute + found family, super adorable]

5. serendipitous by stellalunar | 8'446 words | Teen and Up Audiences

"Hi, how can I help you this evening?" Jisung's exchanging his practiced customer-service greeting almost robotically before his brain even catches up to what's going on. The guy's wearing a long coat and his ears are cherry red from the cold, but he's kind of cute. Well, more than that, Jisung just has an inferiority complex and immediately doesn't like the fact that he's handsome. "I'm going to pre-apologize for my blatantness," the customer leans forward slightly and tucks his hands in the pockets of his coat, "but could you write 'fuck you' on a cake?"

6. Cozy Gamer Boyfriend by AlphabetMinusQ | 14'938 words | General Audiences

Youtuber Jisung has been keeping a secret. Intentionally, but not maliciously – its just a lie of omission, to keep everything running smoothly. It wasn’t going to last forever though, and slowly his fans are piecing it together.

[this one is set during the 2024 olympics with athlete Minho; AlphabetMinusQ has such a wonderful writing style]

7. fist that helps you survive by orphan_account | 12'104 words | Teen and Up Audiences

“What do you think of gay adoption?” Jisung asks again, taking a mouthful of cereal. “I mean,” Minho furrows his brows, “I am gay, right? You do know that.” “Of course I know that. I wouldn’t move in with a hettie if it killed me,” Jisung grimaces at the mere concept. “But I mean, for us.” Minho closes his eyes and purses his lips, “come again?” aka Minho and Jisung adopt a Dracaena and then some.

8. growing pains by Asgeir | 33'333 words | Teen and Up Audiences

Minho has never hated himself more than he does in this moment, because the first thought that crosses his mind once his eyes land on the face in front of him is please, please be the roommate, please be the roommate. “Thanks a lot for letting us stay here,” the taller of the two says with a smile that’s courteous, yet still seems genuine. “I’m—” not the roommate, not the roommate, Minho pleads silently “—Seungmin. It’s nice to meet you. Seungmin. The roommate. Minho smiles anyway, gives him a quick, polite handshake, and then turns back to who can only be his cousin’s boyfriend. “That makes you Jisung, then?”

[Felix brings his boyfriend Seungmin and his roommate Jisung home for the holidays and Minho is convinced that Jisung is Felix' boyfriend, chaos ensues]

9. Bad Apple by velooscuro | 13'594 words | Teen and Up Audiences

Jisung has the power to resurrect things from the dead with just a touch—but if he touches them again, they'll be gone for good. Minho has the power to kill anything with just a touch—and he decides to view it as a gift, even if he thinks it might be a curse. Wherein Jisung wants to use his ability to bake delicious fruit tarts, Minho wants to use his ability for good, however twisted, and the Universe wants to force them together for the sake of balance.

[a dash of angst, a dash of fantasy, some morally gray minsung and a whole lot of fluff, I like this fic a lot]

10. heal with thyme by luckyday | 70'572 words | Teen and Up Audiences

Minho's used to silence. He's used to the way the villagers avoid his eyes when they visit him asking for help, the way they look at him with fear and distrust when they think he can't see. He's used to his world being the sprawling garden within the old ivy-covered iron fence and the familiar warmth of the cottage. He's used to it just being him, his cats, and the old journals. It isn't until a villager somehow wanders into the garden despite the enchantments that he's faced with how unbearably isolated he's become, or how hard it is to open up to someone after years of being alone— or how freeing it is to know someone understands him. - Or, the one where Minho is a lonely village witch and Jisung is a plucky village boy who's determined to befriend him.

[this deals with grief quite heavily, so even though it's very fluffy and there's not really angst, it's something to look out for if you're not in the right headspace for it]

more fic rec lists:

coming soon...

#minsung #minsung fanfiction #stray kids #skz #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfiction #fic recs #rains minsung fic recs #rains skz fic recs

16 notes · View notes