#I might not know how to reply to them but I have read them all and I'm very thankful for all the support what you guys have given me🌱

[moonstruckme]

I love your work! I spent so long yesterday reading through just about all of them and you are an incredible writer! I have a request but regardless if you want to write it, I can’t wait to read what you write next!!

Request: I would love to have a fic with any of the marauders (+lily) (single or poly pairings) that are helping the reader on a bad chronic illness day. Due to their chronic illness, the reader’s body feels really weak so they need help from their partner(s).

Thanks so much angel! <3

cw: unspecified chronic illness, only explicit specificity is that reader has really low energy as a result of it

poly!Jily x fem!reader ♡ 743 words

Sometimes, James can’t help but stop and think about how ridiculously lucky he is. He was worried about you all day at work—you weren’t feeling well when he left that morning, though you’d claimed you were going to take it easy—but there’s no sweeter sight to come home to than you and Lily curled up together on the bed, your head on her chest and her fingers in your hair. James’ heart slows to a lovesick thump-thump as he watches you. 

“Do you think you have the energy for a shower?” Lily murmurs. 

You make a small sound to the negative. 

“No? Okay.” Lily kisses your hairline, consoling. “How about a bath, love?” 

Her eyes flicker up to James, telling him she’s heard his entry whereas you seem not to have. The sad uptilt of her lips tells him you’ve had as hard a day as he worried you might. He takes off his shoes, moving toward you. 

“I could wash your hair for you,” Lily goes on, coaxing. “Add some of those oils you like.” 

James is just barely close enough to hear your mumbled reply. “I don’t know if there’s time.”

“There’s always time for a nice bath, isn’t there?” he asks lightly. Grins when you look up, noticing him. “Hi, angel.” 

“Hi.” You sit up for a kiss. James meets you halfway, folding an arm around your back to help support you. 

He gives Lily a kiss, too, sparing an extra for the worried line between her brows. 

“What are we worried about time for?” he asks. 

“She wants to go to dinner with her friend’s mum.” 

“I don’t want to,” you say, sinking back against Lily’s front the way Remus sinks into his chair after a long, long day, “I’m supposed to.” 

James feels his lips tug. “Well, there you have it, lovie. You don’t want to, so don’t.” 

“She’s visiting from out of town, and she asked to see me,” you mumble. You seem reluctant, like you’re fighting for a cause you don’t truly believe in yourself. “It’d be rude not to go.” 

“It’s not rude. You don’t have the energy for a shower,” Lily reminds you gently. “It doesn’t make any sense for you to go.” 

Your lips pull down, fretfulness lined with resignation. 

“Do you know where she’s staying?” James asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why don’t we give her a ring at her hotel, then, and let her know you’re not feeling well. I’m sure she’ll understand.” 

You look to be gnawing the inside of your lip, but James recognizes the slow wash of relief over your features. “Okay. That could work.” 

“It’ll work great. And then, say, you could think on what might sound good to you for dinner here at home.” James begins tracing the planes of your face as he talks, down your cheekbone from the corner of your eye, up the bridge of your nose, and across your opposite eyebrow. “I’ll go to the store once you decide, and you two can have your bath while I whip dinner up for us. Okay?” 

Lily holds you to her so she can lean forward without jostling you, kissing James ardently on his cheek. 

“I think that’s a lovely plan,” she says while he grins. 

You’re smiling, too, looking at them with much the same expression James imagines he wore when he came home to find the two of you together. “You don’t have to go to the store,” you say. “We have food here, don’t we?” 

“Probably,” James agrees. “But you’ve had a long day, you deserve to have whatever you want for dinner. At the least.” 

You open your mouth, but James speaks again. 

“And if you say you want frozen lasagna or butter on toast or the leftovers from last night, I won’t believe you.” 

Your smile goes sheepish, caught. 

“Why don’t you think on that,” Lily suggests, “and James, could you bring me the phone book so I can look up the hotel?” 

“Be right back,” he says, kissing both you and Lily again before he hops up. Lily takes his jaw in her hand, kissing him hard and with gratitude. It’s the sort of kiss that leaves James trying to blink himself back into focus as he leaves the room. 

He must look it, too, because your laugh, arguably the loveliest sound on Earth, follows him out. “Thanks, Jamie,” you say. 

Yeah, James is definitely the luckiest guy in the world.

[gay-dorito-dust]

This is really, really, really long…

A lovesick Joaquin was a sight to behold Sam figured as he watched the new falcon practically brimming with joy when you stepped into the room, and while she was already smiling before but Joaquin’s face might as well have been split in half with how widen his smile had become within a matter of seconds, Sam would be surprised if in the end his cheeks didn’t end up hurting by the end of the day.

Sam could read Joaquin like a book -a short one- as he always wore his emotions on his face no matter how often he tries to disprove this observation from him, all the while his face and body language contradicts his words, especially when your name was brought up. All of a sudden his posture was straightened, chest was puffed up like a prideful birds and his dark eyes would eagerly scan the entire room for you, only to deflate and dull when Sam doubles over in laughter.

‘You’re so whipped for them man it’s not even funny at this point.’ He says between fits of laughter, his abdomen aching with each full body laugh that came out of his mouth.

‘That wasn’t cool Sam, not cool at all.’ Was all Joaquin replied with, feeling a little silly for falling for an obvious prank -that and remembering that you were out on a rather simple solo mission- but his mind, heart and soul were that infatuated with you to a degree where all he needed for a good day was to see you.

If there was anyone aware of his own tell tell signs of being a lovesick idiot besides Sam, it was Joaquin and he couldn’t help but internally groan every time he was with you, knowing he was bound to do something stupid that would be clear enough for you to know his feelings as if he has written: I like you very much, and I would’ve done something more romantic then this, but please spare me and go out with me? Onto his own fucking forehead.

He can’t help how he feels but he swears that if he saw himself outside of his own body somehow, then he would wished to die as he could already see that he was far from subtle, especially with how eager he was to find his arm over your shoulder or grab you by the elbow when you were walking close to the road before switching sides with you. And that’s not to mention how eager he was to partner up with you on missions to the point where the team expected you two to be partnered together; Joaquin could still remember the knowing look upon Sam’s face whenever he did this, something that made him wonder if the rest of the team knew of his feelings, and something deep down told him that they did but didn’t say it like Sam did.

Sam pats him on the shoulder one he had recorded from laughing, wiping a tear from his eye. ‘Aww is someone sad that they’re not here and won’t be back until later this evening,’ he then narrows his eyes as he leans towards Joaquin, who tries to lean away from him but finds his attempt in doing so useless, ‘are you going to be first in line when waiting for them so you can hug them first or?’

‘I’m glad my feelings for them are amusing to you man.’ Joaquin says as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Sam only squeezed his shoulder, his teasing smile became reassuring, having already done enough testing of the poor man for a day. ‘I’m just trying to have you attempt to actually say something to them about your feelings instead of looking at them like a lovesick puppy!’

Joaquin raises his brow. ‘And teasing me about my feelings is your best solution?’ He asks sarcastically, which makes Sam give him an unimpressed look. ‘Just tell them when they get back or me teasing you will be the least of your issues.’ He says rather pointedly, as though it was a promise he’d keep if he didn’t uphold his end in all of this.

Joaquin groans, throwing his head back. ‘And how can I when all they have to do is batt their eyelashes at me and smile and suddenly I’m weak in the knees, it’s difficult, nothing will happen between us.’

Sam makes a face at this and remarks ‘it’s only difficult if you keep trying to finds ways in making it difficult, someone in love would leap at the chance to be with that person, not run away from it and make excuses.’ Sam then puts his other hand on Joaquin’s shoulder, looking him deep in the eyes so he knew he had Joaquin’s full attention. ‘So are you going to let the love of your life walk out of your heart and into the arms of another because confessing was too difficult for you, or are you going to finally allow yourself and them the happiness you both deserve with each other?’

Joaquin didn’t need to think all too deeply about it, he never did when it came to you as there was not a doubt in his mind that could have him questioning or second guessing himself, especially for when it came to matters of the heart as he often lead with it as much as his mind. The fear of rejection was strong but he knew Sam was right in what he says, he could claim that confessing would be the death of him but that would only be him speaking with fear, not his actual voice.

Joaquin’s actual voice would tell him to confess because he wouldn’t know unless he tried, he wouldn’t know whether you felt the same towards him or not, and making assumptions that you didn’t on your behalf wasn’t helping and might as well have been an insult towards you. He would speak truthfully from his heart and not let anything cloud his judgment, not even the hypothetical scenarios where it could all go wrong could deter him from speaking the truth, and all it took was for Sam to be serious with him about it.

‘No, I won’t.’ He says and Sam smiles, knowing that he finally gotten through to him.

‘Good. Now why you standing here for? Go get them!’ He then exclaims as he all but practically shoved Joaquin out of the room and in the direction that he knew you’d soon enough take when come back from a mission, wanting to destress from it all by changing in your comfiest clothes. Meanwhile Joaquin was trying to keep his resolve as he planned on meeting you halfway when he saw your figure from afar, a smile stretching across his lips as though it was second nature.

‘Joaquin?’ You asked.

‘In the flesh.’ He says as the warmth feeling started to blossom within his chest as he felt light on his feet as though he might start floating, but that was the usual feelings he got from being within your presence. ‘So how was the mission.’ He adds.

‘Nothing worth being haled a hero for. Only a simple get in and get out with important information that could destroy or save humanity depending whose hands are on it type of deal.’ You shrugged before deciding to change the topic of discussion. ‘How are you? I didn’t keep you waiting long did I?’ You added, wanting nothing more then to hear his voice after going long without it, even if it was a small mission it didn’t change the fact that you missed Joaquin’s ability to make them go by faster.

Joaquin chuckles as he steps towards you. ‘Not at all. If anything you have me at the best possible time, which so happened to be right now.’ He adds a little clumsily but it only made your smile widen as you took a step forwards him, solely for the purpose of being close to him and nothing more.

‘What is it that you’ve got on your mind that it can be only said right now pretty boy?’ You asked as casually as you could as to stop yourself from saying something stupid, not wanting to let your mind misread the situation before he could say what he needed to say.

Joaquin scratched the back of his head as he began to shifted his weight on one foot to the next, a habit you’ve noticed that only happened when you were near or complimented him in any capacity, it was cute but it made you wonder the reason behind such sheepish behaviour, when you knew the man was far more confident. Was it you? You couldn’t help but internally scoff at such a selfish thought, no matter how much you wanted it to be true.

‘I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date?’ He asks you, all the while his heart within his chest was now in his throat as his hands became clammy with nerves, his feet feeling like lead that rooted him to the floor making him unable to move even if he wanted to. You hummed playfully. ‘Depends on who the person I’m going on this date with is.’

‘Me. It’s me. so go out with me before I start listing off 101 reasons why I think we’d be great together.’ Joaquin responded almost immediately and the sound of your laughter man the man feel as though he was on cloud nine, so when you reached out to touch his arm reassuringly, Joaquin swore he saw the rest of your conversation in some sort of outer body experience.

‘Yeah I’ll go out with you, as long as I still get to hear this 101 reasons though because I wanna cross reference some things to my own 101 reasons we’d be good together just to be certain.’ You replied, squeezing his arm as you leaned to kiss his cheek before passing him by, making sure to look back at him as you add over your shoulder. ‘See you then pretty boy!’

Joaquin only smiled dopily to himself as he pumped the air with his fist. ‘Fuck yeah!’ He says to himself as he all but walks past Sam with a swagger in his step, his mind completely elsewhere for him to realise that neither of you had chosen a time or a day for your fate.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

That Italicized Oh Feeling (Olivia Benson x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Once Babs points it out to her, Liv has a hard time denying what's staring her right in the face. Why does she seem to have all the symptoms of a crush around you?

Words: 5.9k

Warnings: Normal SVU cases, swearing, jealousy, alcohol

Olivia wouldn’t have even thought about it if Babs hadn’t said anything. If Elliot hadn’t fed into it. If you hadn’t laughed in that way of yours, your eyes sparkling with mirth at the whole thing. It would have been so easy to continue on and never investigate any of those things about herself. She could have lived in blissful ignorance.

But your existence wouldn’t let her.

Keep mentioning you

“You can just ask her, you know?”

Olivia’s mouth snapped shut.

“Ask who?” she asked.

Your name made her still. Elliot was looking at her with that expectant gaze that made her shift her weight from foot to foot.

“Why would I ask her?” she asked.

“You keep bringing her up,” he replied.

She blinked, mouth snapping shut. Any argument was gone from her lips. She hadn’t thought she was bringing you up that often. It wasn’t even a conscious thought. But maybe she had.

Shaking her head, she turned away from him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, El,” she said.

“You’re usually much more convincing,” he called after her retreating back.

Keep thinking about you

After a long day at work, Olivia knew that sinking down onto her couch with a large glass of wine might not be the cure to her thoughts, but it didn’t hurt. Her head fell back, a long sigh parting her lips before she took a long drink from her wine. Some cases ate at her more than others.

With her eyes closed, the image of you from that day flashed through her mind. The way she saw your heart break right there in front of her. Lips parting, eyebrows drawing together, eyes widening. The soft light hitting the tears gathering along your lower lids.

It was stupid how beautiful you were even when upset.

She took another long drink from her wine before standing up. Food was a good idea if she planned on drinking at the rate she was. Her mind flitted away from the task, wondering what you were eating tonight, if you were eating tonight, if you needed a drink as much as she did.

Placing the order for takeout, she sunk down again, cradling the glass in both hands, forearms resting against her thighs. Staring into the dark red liquid, she swirled it, trying to read what was to come in the future like it was tea leaves.

You’d done so well that day, fighting for the kids she hadn’t be able to be there for. Finding you in the precinct with a group of them, keeping them distracted and entertained as they waited for the parents to come find them, she’d let herself watch you. Even now she could see you. All soft smiles and patience, sweet voice and twinkling eyes. That image was burned in her head.

The knock on the door broke her form the replay of your actions that day. Standing, she opened the door, offering money to the delivery man before taking the food back inside. Sitting, she unpacked it, knowing she’d ordered more than she needed. But clutched in her hands was your favourite and she couldn’t even remember ordering it.

She ate the entire thing, working out why you loved it so much. It was almost like having you there with her. It was a surprisingly comforting thought.

Trying to impress you

Olivia wasn’t one to spend a lot of time in the gym. She’d done enough to always get through the physicals she had to, but it wasn’t her preferred hobby. That was, until she’d found out you liked to go down there when you were especially frustrated with a case to try and work it out of your system.

You were on the treadmill, steady pace as you glared. She could practically hear the gears turning in your head. Doing her best to act as if she wasn’t paying attention to you, she walked past, heading to the weight station.

She was strong. She knew she was. She wanted you to know it too.

Warming up, she glanced over her shoulder to find your head titled as you watched her. She shot you a small smile before she turned away, pretending to focus on her own workout.

She couldn’t understand the burning desire to show off in front of you. But she was willing to indulge it, if only to take the edge off so she could focus on the case too.

Taking her place at the bench press, she lay down. She focused on the weight in her hands, muscles working. It was easy to ignore your presence, even if she wanted to know if you were watching.

“Shouldn’t you have someone spotting you?”

She heaved the bar back onto the stand before sitting up. You were standing by her, sweat slicked skin and bright eyes, staring down at her.

“I’m fine,” she said, wiping the back of her hand over her forehead.

“Really? Because with weights like this you could do some serious damage,” you said, finger running along the bar her fingers has so recently been curled around.

“I can handle it,” she said.

“And as impressive as that is, I’ll just be wracked with guilt if I saw this and did nothing and you had an accident,” you said.

“You think I don’t have this?” she asked, a scoff of a question.

“Maybe.” You shrugged, “or maybe I just wanted an excuse to get a closer seat to the show.”

Heat spread over her skin. She lay back down, not having a smart remark, having gotten essentially what she wanted. You were completely focused on her as she showed off her strength. There was something addictive about doing it under your watchful gaze.

Gazing at you

Your head tipped back, the laugh on your lips light and airy. Your hair caught the morning light, shining like something out of a dream. Your lips were curled up in a delighted smile, all soft edges and sweet curves.

Olivia felt her heart constrict just looking at you, chin resting in the palm of her hand, pen clutched loosely in the other. She’d been watching long enough to know she was procrastinating her paperwork. You were a nice distraction.

You shook your hair back from your face. Leaning over, her eyes caught on the way the neckline of your shirt dipped. Shadows and light played over your skin and she found herself hypnotised. She couldn’t look away.

You were so beautiful.

Someone passed between you and her, breaking her gaze. Shaking her head, she looked back down at her report. It was hardly as captivating as you were.

A movement in her periphery, her eyes darted back up, finding you as you turned towards her. Your gaze landed on her and she watched as your lips pulled up on one side. She should have been embarrassed, being caught watching you. She would have.

But your eyes swept over her and she found herself preening. Leaning back, she offered more of herself to your gaze. She didn’t even think about it. She wanted you looking at her the way she looked at you.

A blaze of heat went through her.

Your smirk only made it worse. Turning away from her, she let the disappointment fade away, eyes lingering on you. There was no reason you should be so captivating, but she was finding it hard to look away.

She always seemed to find it hard to look away from you.

Seeking you out

Olivia was staring at the board, the faces of the victims staring back at her. Arms crossed over her chest, her lips pursed. Elliot was at his desk, watching her with that heavy gaze that always made her skin itch, like he could see more than she wanted him to.

You had taken the morning off. Something about an appointment you couldn’t get out of. Curiosity had been eating away at her all morning. Then, when you’d breezed in, it was with a cheery hello, nothing more. Now, sequestered upstairs, she could feel your presence even if she couldn’t see you.

“What’re you thinking?” Elliot asked.

Something he wouldn’t appreciate hearing.

“Didn’t someone have something on the fingerprints?” she asked.

“Yeah.” His eyes darted up to where she knew you were sitting.

It was all the excuse she needed.

You looked up from the food you were in the middle of consuming, a sub from the bodega down the street. Wiping your mouth on the back of your hand, you grinned. Something in her chest calmed, while butterflies erupted in her stomach.

“What’s up?” you asked, leaning back.

Something in her chest settled seeing you. She straddled the chair across from you, eyes sweeping over you. You let her without question.

“You had the report with the fingerprints, right?” she asked.

“Sure, it’s sitting on my desk,” you replied.

She watched you suck on your fingertip, tongue flicking over it to remove the sauce before you reached for a napkin. With your hollowed cheeks and your pretty eyes watching her, heat skittered over her skin.

“You need help finding it?” you asked.

“Your desk is a mess,” she said, letting herself smile at you.

“Organised chaos,” you shot back, “c’mon Benson. Surely you can find a measly file on your own.”

“Indulge me,” she said.

“I always do.” Your hand lingered on her shoulder as you passed by.

“Subtle,” Elliot said as she walked past, following you back to your desk.

She ignored him, the idiot, refusing to admit to what he was saying. Or implying. Wanting you to join them help put another predator behind bars wasn’t weird. It didn’t have to mean anything.

It didn’t.

Protective

The man shouldn’t have even managed to get into the building. Let alone with a gun. He should have been stopped before he could even enter the building. Someone was going to have their ass handed to them.

But he was practically foaming out the mouth, shouting for someone, his face a splotchy red.

Olivia had been standing with you, grabbing a cup of coffee, chatting about your plans for the weekend. She wouldn’t say she’d been fishing for information but she did keep prodding for answers. She was curious about what you got up to outside of work. There was no way she would admit to thinking about it as often as she did.

At first, she’d ignored the shouting, nudging you to keep talking. With her eyes on you, it was easy to block out the rest of the world. You smiled and she found herself leaning closer.

When the first shot rang out, she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

It was instinct, the way she reached out, forcing you down. Her body covered yours, eyes scanning over the precinct, trying to find where the shots were coming from. Your fingers curled around her forearm, digging in.

She crowded you back against the wall, hidden under the table. A roar punctured the air. She could feel the tremble in your body, keeping herself between you and the danger. She wasn’t about to let anything happen to you.

He crashed through the doors, huge and imposing, lunging forward as he screamed. Your sharp inhalation of breath was loud to her ears, even with the rage. The gun in his hand was being waved around indiscriminately.

It was Elliot who took him down. Of course it was. Testosterone meets testosterone.

She extended a hand to you, helping you to your feet once the man had been disarmed and thrown in lock up. She could feel the tremble in your hand. When your gaze met hers, it was wide eyed, the glisten of tears already receding.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” you said, hand hitting her bicep.

“Do what?” she asked.

“Put yourself in danger,” you said.

She might be able to tell your legs were shaking, but your lips were pressed together and you were fierce. It took her breath away.

“Reflex,” she said with a small shrug.

“I can’t have anything happen to you,” you said, “what would I do if it did?”

Something warm bloomed in her chest.

Butterflies

You laughed, bright and happy, fingers curling around the drink she’d just deposited in front of you. Closing a case always brought out this lighter side in you, like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders and you could breathe again. She slid into the booth beside you.

Your thigh was pressed against hers, shoulder brushing her. You were leaning over the table, uncaring of how sticky it was from spilled beer and drunken antics. Elliot was leaning back, debating you about the joys of living in a dorm at college.

“You’re coming at it from the perspective of a father,” you said.

“Well, I have to,” he said back.

“Consider how much growing your kids will go through. They’ll learn to be adults when they don’t have the crutch of you and Kathy to fall back on,” you said.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” he said.

“Wouldn’t it be nice not to do their laundry?”

He just raised an eyebrow at you.

“Liv, back me up here.”

You turned to her, grinning right in her face. It happened in a moment, the flutter of something exploding in her stomach. She blinked, looking down at you, not sure what to do with the feeling. You were still smiling. Each bump of your shoulder only made it worse.

You turned away, but your hand landed on her thigh as you tried to lean further over the table, using it to steady yourself. It was like a shot went off in her heart. It was making it impossible to follow the conversation.

“None of you are fun,” you said, falling back in your seat, reaching for your drink, letting her leg go.

“Or maybe we all appreciate not living in close quarters with other young people,” Munch said.

“I guess I’m the only one who had any fun in college,” you said.

Your hand landed back on her thigh as you shifted, the butterflies going crazy in her stomach. She lent into it, letting herself feel every flap of their wings. With you, it was a pleasant feeling.

Leaning closer

Sitting together in the car, Olivia was doing her best not to keep glancing over at you. Your gaze was trained out the windshield, staring at the front door of the building the both of you were watching. She’d found herself doing that a lot, stealing glances at you when you weren’t likely to look back.

“Who do I have to screw to get a place like this?” you asked, “sorry, that’s not appropriate. Ignore me. I’m tired.”

“Someone with a lotta money,” she replied.

You turned to look at her, lips already pulling up into a smile. She could see how tired you were, dark circles beneath your eyes. It was the early hours of the morning, still dark enough for the street lamps to be lit. She liked you like this, a little loose, a little less filtered than usual.

She liked seeing the inside of your brain.

“Know where I can find one of them?” you asked.

“If I knew that I wouldn’t be out here. I’d be in there, sleeping easy,” she said.

“No you wouldn’t,” you laughed.

She laughed too, finding herself tipping towards you. You were already leaning towards her, head bent like your conversation was intimate. Her eyes dipped down to your lips then back up. Your fingers brushed over the back of her hand.

“You could never give up this job,” you said, voice quiet, “you’ll never stop fighting for the victims.”

She found herself falling into the well of your gravity. You were looking at her like she was something impressive, something wonderful, and she found herself drawing closer. She wanted to feel the heat of your skin, the heat of your gaze, the heat of your admiration.

“That guy look shifty to you?” you said, breaking her out of her thoughts, your gaze having strayed over her shoulder.

She turned away, only just realising how close she’d grown to you. She hadn’t even noticed how far she’d lent towards you. And yet she had known she wanted to be closer.

It was probably for the best that the suspect decided then to try and sneak out. She didn’t have to investigate her feelings if she was distracted by the job.

At least that’s what she told herself.

Blushing

“Yeah yeah,” Olivia called to whoever was trying to hammer her door down.

She’d just closed a case, returning to her apartment to try and catch up on all the sleep she’d lost from her nights awake hunting the sick bastard who did that stuff to those women. Halfway to sleep, the knocking on her door was unappreciated. She was going to kick the ass of whoever had interrupted.

She pulled open the door, coming up short when it was you on the other side.

“Hey, sorry, I know it’s late,” you said.

It was the early hours of the morning but she wasn’t going to get pedantic with you.

“I just… I didn’t want to be alone tonight and so I came here,” you said, “I can go.”

“No, no.” She held the door open wider for you, “come in.”

You slipped past her into her apartment and she could see the heavy slump in your shoulders. You dropped onto her couch, a long sigh passing over your lips.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. We got the guy so I should be fine but every time I close my eyes I just see…” You passed a hand over your face.

“It happens. Some cases stick with us more than others,” she said, sitting beside you.

You fell towards her, head coming to rest on her shoulder. Your cheek pressed to the bare skin of her shoulder, warm and soft and lovely. The weight of it was comfortable. Her irritation dissipated, enjoying the feel of you there with her.

“You’re so good at this,” you sighed.

“Good at this?” she asked.

“Catching the bad guys, not letting it fuck you up,” you replied, “making me feel okay.”

“You are okay,” she replied, finding her fingers running through your hair.

You sat up, turning to look at her. Drawing your legs up, you rested your chin on your bent knees, your gaze sliding along her bare skin. She let you look your fill, not sure what you were seeing.

“How are you still so gorgeous even when you’re woken up in the middle of the night?” you asked, almost a sigh, a small laugh at the end, “it’s just not fair.”

She laughed, even as her cheeks heated. Shaking her head, she let her hair fall forward, hiding her blush from you. Your fingers ran along her forearm, more of a brush than a touch. Peeking up at you, she found you leaning closer.

“I bet you get told all the time, but you really are beautiful,” you said.

She felt herself blush harder.

“Sorry for coming here and waking you up,” you whispered, “you were the only one that was going to make me feel normal again.”

“You know you’re always welcome,” she said.

“Especially if I keep complimenting you?” you asked, lips pulling up into a small smile.

“Those don’t hurt,” she replied.

“Then I think you should know, this nightgown is making it hard to focus on your face,” you said.

Your fingers brushed the silk of her nightgown, right over the warmth of her thigh. Her face was on fire and your eyes were sparkling.

“It’s very pretty,” you murmured.

“Flatterer,” she scoffed.

You pulled back, curling up enough to rest your head on the back of the couch as you gazed at her.

“You mind if I crash on your couch? I know there’s not exactly a plethora of hours left tonight but… my place is too quiet,” you said.

“Let me get you a blanket.”

When she lay down in her own bed, the light from her living room chasing away the dark, she listened to the sound of you settling, wondering if her proximity gave you any comfort. She hoped it did.

Finding excuses to touch you

Olivia’s fingers were soft as they reached out, gently moving your hair out of your face. It had fallen as you’d lent forward, eyes scanning over the file she’d placed on your desk. You glanced up, lips quirking up into a smile. She snatched her hands away, clutching the edge of your desk as she lent against it.

Her fingers itched from the feeling of your soft skin against her fingertips. She was still close enough to feel your warmth. You weren’t even looking at her and she felt the impulse to reach out again.

You looked up at her again, from under your eyelashes.

“Good catch,” you said, “but look at this pattern.”

Her hand rested on your back as she lent forward, looking at the file with you. You lent into her touch, your cheek coming to rest on her bicep. Her heart stuttered in her chest, but you didn’t seem to even notice.

It was like the long nights when her head would drop onto your shoulder. She wouldn’t even think about it, tired and eyes itching, head heavy, sinking into you. When her defences came down she sought out your warmth, wanting to feel you breathe beneath her.

“Gonna go bring him in?” you asked.

You were gazing up at her, lips curling up in a small smile that had her head swimming. Her fingertips brushed over your cheek, brushing your hair away again. You lent into her touch, just until she snatched her fingers away again.

Something warm bloomed in her chest along with embarrassment.

“Good job,” she said before she swept out of the precinct to pick up the perp.

Feeling hot around you

A wolf-whistle rang out across the precinct. It was late enough that the place wasn’t busy. Olivia’s head snapped up, eyes darting from Elliot to the where his gaze was focused. He was leaning back in his seat, grinning as he turned his head towards her.

You were waving away the whistle, a shy smile on your face. In the floor length dress, clinging in all the right places, you were a thing of beauty. She found her breath tumbling over parted lips. A rush of heat went through her, leaving her reeling.

“I take it you’re not going to chase down our suspect,” Munch said.

“Not unless he happens to show up at the restaurant I’m going to. Or the show,” you said with a small shake of your head.

“Hot date?” Elliot asked.

“You offering?” you shot back.

You paused by Olivia’s chair, hip cocked, hand coming to rest on the back of it. You were close enough she could smell the scent of your perfume clinging to your skin. Her skin was heating just from having you so close dressed like that. Looking like that. Leaning forward just enough to draw her eyes to the shadow of the curve of your breast.

Heat washed over her. She felt sweat gather at the skin on the small of her back, climbing up the back of her neck, spreading across her chest. You weren’t even looking at her, resting against her desk as you talked to the boys. But she was so aware of you there, right in touching distance.

“Right, well, try not to have too much fun without me,” you said.

Your chin dipped down, catching her gaze. The wink you shot her went right through her, warmth spreading in her lower stomach.

“Have fun,” you said, voice lowering just for her.

Elliot was giving her another very knowing look once you’d disappeared into the Manhattan evening.

“What?” she snapped.

“You’re looking a little flushed there. Feeling hot under the collar?” he said, that self satisfied grin on his stupid mug.

“Go chase up the ME report.”

His laughter haunted her, cooling the fire you’d left in her veins.

Craving your attention

“And why would they do that?”

Olivia was watching you from her desk, pen clenched between her teeth. You were sitting on Munch’s desk, feet continually kicking at his chair as you stirred your coffee.

“To keep the masses from realising they hold the power to control their destiny in their hands,” Munch replied, “wake up to the group mind think they force us to live in.”

“Sure but… why?” you asked.

The curl of your lips told her you were teasing him, just feeding into his conspiracy theory riddled mind. Still, she would have liked for you to be playing with her instead. She could be just as fun.

“Mass control of the population lets them test experimental drugs for biowarfare in third world countries,” he replied.

“Right. So why did they kill JFK?” you asked.

You didn’t even look at her.

“He was going to shake things up. Watch the way people responded to him. They loved him. He was going to end the mass control before they could pump chemicals into our drinking water,” he replied.

Why weren’t you looking at her?

“Now I’m being poisoned too? When will the madness end?” You scrunched up your nose at him.

Why weren’t you asking her?

“When we can all see the truth they work so hard to obscure,” he said.

She watched you make eye contact with Fin, a shared eye roll she wasn’t invited to partake in. Why wasn’t she invited? Why were you ignoring her? Had she done something to piss you off?

“Keep making that face but you’ll wish you had your freedom soon,” Munch said.

She wanted you to look at her.

“And when I do, you’ll be my first port of call,” you said, patting him on the shoulder.

She wanted you to touch her.

“Now, I’m going out for lunch. If you need me, no you don’t,” you said.

She wanted to get lunch with you.

You left her disappointed. Sweeping out of the precinct, she felt herself stewing in her want. She felt itchy, a desperation clawing up her throat, choking her with want. She wasn’t used to this feeling, a craving she couldn’t seem to sate. No amount of your attention was ever enough, even when she gorged herself on it.

She wanted to drown in it. To revel in it. To let herself split apart from how much of it she received.

Being denied was a feeling she wasn’t able to reconcile. An ache in her bones, a pang in her gut, a twist in her heart.

She was driving herself mad.

Flirting

Sliding into the chair across from you, Olivia glanced down at the paper you were reading.

“Defenestrate. Three down.”

You glanced up, the smile ready on your face. Her foot nudged yours under the table.

“Smarty pants,” you said, but it was so soft it made her heart squeeze.

A flash of blue had her reaching out, grasping your hand. With a soft brush of her fingertip, she smeared the ink stain on your skin.

“Having fun there?” you asked, a slight prod, teasing her as her finger continued to trace over your skin.

“I can think of something more fun to do with you,” she replied.

Your gaze swept over her as she looked up at you from under her eyelashes. Your eyes were sparkling, badly hidden amusement on your face.

“Did you need something from me, detective?” you asked, voice lowering.

She lent closer, her fingertips finding the pulse in your wrist. She could feel it thrumming, fast enough to let her know you weren’t as cool as you appeared. You pressed your wrist more firmly into her touch.

“Am I making you nervous?” she asked, almost a whisper, forcing you to lean closer to catch her words.

“Beautiful women always make me nervous,” you replied.

You were so much better at this than she was.

Her fingers returned to your hand, threatening to intertwine with yours. Her foot nudged at yours again, a gratified purring in her chest when you let yours rest against hers. You were leaning closer, that small smile on your lips ruining her.

“Must be difficult when you look in the mirror then,” she said.

You laughed, soft and beautiful and fond. Your hand moved forward, linking your fingers through hers. Her heart stuttered in her chest.

“How about you follow me home so you can find out?” you said.

You were definitely better at this than she was.

“Gonna protect me from all the big bad beautiful women?” you asked.

“How about some hands on exposure therapy?” she suggested.

“Careful, Liv, or I’ll think you’re serious,” you said.

You flipped your newspaper over to her as you drew your hand back. Standing, you shot her a wink before making your way down the stairs. She looked down at your half finished crossword.

Maybe she was beginning to be serious.

Getting jealous

The air of celebration was palpable. The sick pervert had been put away for a long time and the team had rolled into the usual bar. You were grinning from ear to ear, your laughter coming easy, shoulders loose and light.

And you were talking to Alex.

Olivia had been keeping half an eye on you through the night, the itch to monopolise your attention back. You were so beautiful when you were full of joy. She wanted to celebrate with you.

Instead, you’d ended up in a shadowy corner, Alex’s lips at your ear as she whispered something to you. Your smile was naughty, and when you laughed it was throaty.

Heat crept over Olivia’s skin and something in her stomach clenched. Her fingers tightened around the glass of her beer. You tipped your head closer to Alex, dragging your eyes up to meet hers as a smirk flirted with the corner of your lips.

Alex’s hand reached out, making contact with yours, sliding up, lingering longer than was appropriate. You shifted your weight, growing closer to her. When you took a sip from your own drink, she watched blue eyes focus on your mouth.

“That’s a sour look for someone who just took another perv off the street.”

It was a struggle to tear her eyes from you, focusing on Elliot again. The look he was giving her was so full of understanding it almost made her hit him. She didn’t like the clawing feeling in her chest. The whole thing was getting ridiculous.

“Mind your own damn business,” she said.

“Bet you wouldn’t be saying that to her,” he said, lifting his drink in your direction.

“You don’t know that,” she said.

You laughed again, stealing her attention and her gaze. Alex tucked your hair behind your ear, unaware of the daggers Olivia was glaring at her. You fluttered your eyelashes at her.

“Good thing looks can’t kill,” Elliot muttered, “although it looks like Alex might need witness projection again.”

“Keep talking like that and you’ll need it,” she snapped.

“Touchy,” he said, hiding his knowing smirk behind the neck of the bottle as he drank.

She drained the last of her beer then slammed the bottle down on the bar. Ignoring his continued prodding, she strode towards you. Your gaze was lazy as it dragged to her, your smirk deepening.

“I need to talk to you,” she said through gritted teeth.

“We’re in the middle of-“ Alex began to say before you cut her off.

“Sure.”

Olivia held Alex’s eye, a sense of triumph filling her. Your hand slipped into hers, tugging until she turned away, leading you somewhere more private. Somewhere you wouldn’t be interrupted. Somewhere she could be alone with you. The back corner of the bar. Away from prying eyes.

“What’s up?” you asked, leaning against the wall, looking up at her.

“You and Alex,” she said.

“What about me and Alex?” you asked.

She gave you a look, unimpressed, not playing games with you. She didn’t have the patience. Not as her heart began to tear itself apart just remembering the way the blonde had touched you.

“Am I not allowed to have other friends?” you asked, “or am I not allowed to flirt with other women?”

“So you were flirting?” she asked.

“I didn’t know I had a reason not to,” you said.

That shut her up pretty quickly.

“Liv.” Your voice softened, “what’s going on?”

She hated the pity, the softness, the uncertainty. It scrapped against the jagged edges of the sharp feeling in her chest. Shoving your shoulders against the wall, she looked down at you, really taking you in. She let herself feel it all, all the things she’d been pushing down for months, all the little things she’d begun to take notice within herself, all the things that led back to you. And all you did was look up at her with your pretty eyes and pretty lips, waiting, waiting so patiently.

So she kissed you.

Luckily for her, you kissed her back, hands sliding around her waist, pulling her closer. You didn’t try to stop her or question her. All she knew was that she’d been wondering what it would be like to kiss you for longer than she’d been able to admit to. And now she was.

You sighed into her mouth, such a nice sound it made her kiss you deeper. You were so soft against her, even as you kissed her with a mouth she hadn’t known you’d possessed. Dirty and hot, making her feel weak and desperate, even as you gave her what she wanted. She wanted more.

You made her greedy for things she couldn’t put into words.

She whimpered when you drew away, wanting more, ever more, from you. You were looking at her like she was something precious, like you were blowing her mind, like you understood her hunger.

“Liv,” you sighed.

“Can’t we just?” She lent forward to kiss you again.

You laughed, your hands on her shoulders keeping her back. The sharp sting of rejection bit at her skin until she saw the way you were gazing at her. Your fingers were soft as you tugged on the ends of her hair, fond and easy.

“I’m afraid I’m going to be annoying and ask you what’s going on again,” you said.

“I…” She didn’t have an easy answer.

“Is it maybe that you don’t want me flirting with anyone who isn’t you?” you prompted.

“No, you’re allowed to flirt with whoever you like,” she said.

“But you’d like it if it was you I wanted to flirt with,” you said, not asking, the confident tilt to your head both frustrating and endearing.

“You’re not making this easy on me,” she said.

“I really like you Liv, but I thought I wasn’t your… type,” you said.

“I’m beginning to think I don’t know what my type is,” she said.

Your fingertips brushed over the apple of her cheek, gentle in a way she wasn’t used to. With men, it wasn’t quite like this. It wasn’t so… soft.

It was hard to believe she’d been living without this for so long.

“All I know is that the way I feel about you can only mean one thing,” she said.

“What’s that?” you asked.

“Babs might have been right about some things.”

She muffled your laughter with her next kiss.

[oh-phoenixx]

"Dream" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 816 words

@abductedhiko

-

Regulus was unable to accept that he was worthy of good things, that they came to him and they stuck around. Inside of him festered evil, cruelty, and so much of his parents that he was scared every time he opened his mouth, that whatever came out would be their words and their voices and not his. So why, why would James Potter, a boy who embodied the sun, who had so much warmth and love to give, who could have whoever he wanted; why would he want Regulus? Some part of him feared it was one big joke, one of the Marauders’ pranks. He knew, rationally, that none of them would stoop so low, but it seemed more plausible to him than James Potter liking him.

“What are you thinking about, angel?” James asked. 

Regulus, who was resting on James’s chest, shook his head and buried his face deeper into his boyfriend’s t-shirt. His boyfriend. It didn’t make sense. This was a dream. It was the only explanation, in Regulus’s mind.

“Regulus,” James whispered, hand moving up to card through the younger boy’s hair.

“‘M fine,” Regulus said, not prepared to ever pull away from James.

James seemed to accept this, or at least accept that Regulus didn’t want to talk. But that voice in Regulus’s head just kept on going, getting louder and louder, overwhelming every other sense. 

“Why do you…” Regulus started, but his fear of vulnerability, of scaring James away, made him think better of it. “Nevermind.”

“Baby, talk to me,” James pleaded gently, tilting Regulus’s head just enough that he could see his face.

“Why do you like me?” Regulus asked quietly. “I’m…You could have anyone.”

James was perfect. He was kind, considerate, smart, talented, angelic, beautiful. He was everything that Regulus wasn’t. Regulus was… Regulus was mean and cruel and had to force genius upon himself. He wasn’t naturally gifted in any way; he studied for hours trying to be half as smart as Barty or Sirius or James. And yes, he was second in his class, but he could never do it based on intelligence alone. And he wasn’t…he wasn’t handsome like James was. It was something he had almost come to terms with. Everyone in the school liked Sirius, thought he was handsome or funny or whatever. Regulus could never be any of those things, not without working for it. It was always meant to be as such; Sirius, the brightest star, and Regulus, always so far behind.

So, why had James chosen him? Him over smart and pretty Lily Evans, him over his brother, him over anyone else?

“Because you’re the best person I know, Regulus,” James said, so honestly that Regulus thought he might be sick with it. “You’re perfect. You’re- You’re funny, even when you don’t mean to be. You remember every detail that people tell you about themselves. You act all guarded, but the second someone brings up a book you like or asks about what you’re reading, you have so much to say and so much excitement that you can’t even hide it. I love everything about you, Reg. I love how stubborn you are and how kind you are, even though you try to keep walls around you by being mean. I love your hair, but this strand especially because it falls in your eyes and it annoys you, and the little pout on your face every time you can’t get it to bend to your will makes me crazy. I love your eyes. I could spend the rest of my life just staring into your eyes and die thinking I accomplished everything I ever dreamed of doing. I love you, angel. You don’t see it yet, but you’re so good. You’re so perfect.”

Regulus had been making a list of protests as James spoke, up until the end. Up until, ‘I love you’. Once those words had left his mouth, Regulus had forgotten his list. He had forgotten everything else that James had said.

“You love me?” Regulus mumbled, quietly for fear that he had misheard.

“How could I not?” James replied, suddenly seeming nervous.

In response, Regulus finally lifted his head and captured James’s lips in an embarrassingly needy kiss that he had the dignity to feel at least a tiny bit ashamed of. This shame immediately dissipated when James responded by pulling one of Regulus’s legs over his lap so that he was straddling him, sitting up and grabbing his hips, his grip so tight yet so gentle. 

“I love you,” Regulus said into the kiss. “So much. Love you. Fuck. I love you.”

Those might have been the only three words spoken between them for the rest of the night, past moans and curses. 

Regulus still had a very hard time accepting that good things came to him and stuck around. This was progress, though. He was getting there.

[coldsaturn]

hiii! i have a question i thought you might be able to answer: how did aftg originally get so popular? i know it was mostly word of mouth on tumblr (still is, i think) (who says this website is unmarketable!!) but what were the early days of the fandom like? personally i've "only" been here since 2016, and by then the series was already decently popular. i remember at that time that the fandom was really welcoming and kind in a way that felt really exceptional to me, and it definitely contributed to me picking up the books, which is the only explanation i can really think of for why it got a bigger following than some to other books which did receive a whole big-publisher marketing campaign aside from it just being well-written. do you have any theories for why it got so massive on here? and do you know how the first readers found it? i hope you don't mind me asking you this, but i remember your blog from wayyyy back when and thought that if anyone had the answer, it would probably be you :)

Hello! I always get so happy when I can talk about the early days of the fandom <3 Sit down here around the fire, let me tell you about this wondrous tale.

So, story time: it was spring 2013, I had just finished a thorough read of In The Company Of Shadows and I was starving for another black hole. It was automatic for me to look up the goodread lists ICoS was featured in, to see what other titles I could pick up, and ended up on the list called "Online M/M stories that deserve to be published". The Foxhole Court was right there (it's not anymore because it IS published <3), so I read it. That was the start of the end lmao

If I remember correctly I didn't wait too long before reading TRK, but TKM didn't come out until the end of the following year, so in the meantime I all but shelved it as something that had incredible potential but that was possibly doomed to never be completed. Fast forward I think the start of 2015 when I accidentally stumbled upon TKM and I couldn't believe I could finally know how the story ended. Nora had a blogspot where she talked about the books (including updates between TRK and TKM), and I remember trying to get as much info as I could on this series. And that was it. For a bit.

So, by the first half of 2015, the fandom was made by people commenting on her blogspot, on her livejournal, the book pages on goodreads, and Ao3 literally had 2 fics ( webarchive gives you what we saw - btw Don't Speak Against The Sun is FIRE and instantly became a new standard for f/f for me). You can still find all this content online. Tumblr had a handful of scattered posts about TFC, mostly Nora's mutuals/friends on tumblr, and a couple of readers screaming into the void with no one answering their call.

I was pretty active on here, especially in the bellarke fandom, and I engaged with mutuals and other blogs often enough that I knew if I talked about something, at least someone would reply. A mutual was reading The Raven Cycle and got me curious enough to liveblog it myself. Instant love, of course, and if you've read TRC you know how strong the found family vibe is. So at the end of my liveblog (we've reached July 2015) I threw out a comment where I recommended AFTG as another worthy title. With the first book being free while the other two were only a dollar each, it sounded a fairly easy commitment. One mutual decided to read it (if you're reading, hi!!!) and liveblog it, and that got the party started.

A party of 2, and I'm not kidding. While we chatted and made up headcanon after headcanon on the phone, the intention was to get others interested in this story. But they'd never do it if there wasn't enough content around to engage with and motivate them to blog themselves, so we started with quote posts, liveblog reactions, a few timid edits and poems. An important choice was figuring out which tag to use (at the time tumblr search only scrolled through tags, not post content): "all for the game" was an actual sports tag, "the raven king" was the title announced for the next TRC installment, "the king's men" was the last book of the trilogy and it wasn't even the free one, so we settled for "the foxhole court" which was an empty tag. Even now my blog content is organized around "tfc" because of it, even though we took over all the relevant tags. A couple other mutuals I had from bellarke fandom got curious as well, and now we could consider ourselves a proper group. We were so starved for fan content that whatever you put out would be automatically reblogged and enthusiastically engaged with. It was a happy little fandom bubble. Then Nora noticed us and started interacting with us, and you got the birth of what would become the extra content page as she replied to our questions.

I possibly had a little bit too much time on my hands because I appointed myself as fandom archivist and tour guide. I reblogged every single post I saw in the tags, and I started a welcome page where I could keep track of everyone announcing they were reading the series. It was meant as a way to find mutuals to interact with since tumblr hadn't yet "canonized" all the tags, and it was entirely possible to lose each other in dashboard chains. I used to reply to everyone reading the series by "officially" welcoming them into the fandom, linking them the page where they could find mutuals, Nora's blog, and the extra content present up to that point. Oh and there was a fictional exy team where you could choose your position and then put it in your blog for fun or roleplay it. I also used smashword's gift system to buy the series for whoever said they couldn't pay for it, just to try and avoid pirating the book (good for word of mouth, bad for sales). This was on my side, but this fandom had so many people pouring their entire heart out I still get emotional thinking about it.

Everyone (before January 2016) made as much content as they could, be it meta, fanart, fanfics, headcanons, edits, wikia pages etc. We had fandom challenges where we pronounced the names of the characters and aftg keywords with our native accent, others where we said our favorite scene. Every headcanon was the first headcanon ever seen in the fandom. The fun thing was that at the time there was a strong etiquette toward "if you have nothing nice to say then don't say anything" so fan content really went in all directions with basically no limits. We tagged for triggers and that was it, we had free reign. For those who were around at the time, the sin squad was a group of us fans churning out the saddest/filthiest/fluffiest/most problematic content we could think of.

Then we reached January 2016. We were around 300 in the fandom at that point (I know because I counted them, literally), it had been slow but constant growth where each new fan brought at least other two people with them, and we had around 20 posts per day in the main tag. Then someone bridged the gap between us and the TRC fandom. If you ask me how the fandom got really popular, that's it. The TRC fandom was stuck in hiatus waiting for The Raven King, and now you had 300 rabid foxes spamming aftg content on tumblr, using trk as tag, too. Popular fanartists that were active in that fandom helped making aftg known, and semi viral posts did the rest. We went from 300 to 700 people in a couple of months, and shortly after I had to stop adding people to the welcome page because the post broke. I didn't even know that could happen. It wasn't long after that we were featured in the tumblr end of year recap for book ships. We were so many it was suddenly possible to meet in real life! Cosplays, tattoos, merch. You name it, someone in the fandom did it.

But how did it feel when we were only 20 people and a cardboard dog cutout? It felt like the most chaotic book club ever, and every new fan was automatically a friend. Nostalgia is a lying bitch, but I really don't think I'm making shit up here. We had fun and made great memories.

By the way, if you want to see how things were in 2015, you can! Just go through my archive starting from July 2015 (I think 17th) and onward. You can also search my blog for the tags "fandom history" and "started from nothing and now we're here", whereas here you can find a list of aftg fandom tags I used.

Tl;dr We were starving for good content, we wanted to have fun together, and we were lucky enough to half-hijack a bigger fandom in hiatus. That was all the marketing AFTG needed on tumblr.

[gargoyleofgotham]

Little doll

The opposite of a neglected reader fic where the Batfam are consistently trying to get to know you (after “accidentally” doing some kidnapping. It’s started by a miscommunication because they’re all simultaneously geniuses and stupid, and then the reader goes along with it because they’re silly) and you keep trying to shove them off and leave after getting bored. -no gender mentioned for reader, no use of y/n

-Tw: brief mentions of creeps, reader feels like they’re being watched

You probably should have thought a bit more before going anywhere with Asher. He was stupid and impulsive (at least you two had that in common,) and with his memory problems, probably wouldn’t even remember to pick you up. For all you knew, he might not remember dropping you off at the library anyways, and it could be a few hours until someone else managed to come find you. You clutch your doll closer and steel your gaze on your book, even if your gaze flickers up every time someone walked by. 

After an hour or so, you’re sick of it. Normally, you could stay in a library for plenty of time, reading books or looking at pictures depending on your mood, but right now you’re a bit too preoccupied for that. So you decide to at least preoccupy yourself with something useful. If you walk around enough, you should be able to find a store your father has some hold in and find someone with his number who you can get to call him.

As you walk down the streets, you start to get a feeling you’re being watched. You don’t like that in general, but feeling that that in the streets of a city like this? That’s even worse.

As the prickling up your spine gets deeper, you go with your first idea and try to assimilate yourself into the group of people standing in front of the next shop. You slide in to stand next to two boys with dark hair and act like they’re relevant to you until the feeling eventually subsides. You were so focused on the creeping dread that you didn’t even notice the gaggle of people had noticed you come into their little group until one of them spoke. “Hello?”

You wave politely and mumble under your breath about just trying to hide from creeps, and go to leave, before one puts a hand on your shoulder. Your heart stops a beat.

“Yea? Do you need help finding your parents?” The oldest one in the group- you assume they’re all a family, and based on age, this is probably the father- asks. He seems well-meaning, but you don’t know if that’s enough right now.

Technically, you do need help finding your parents, but you don’t think you want random strangers helping with that. Maybe it’s just because it’s reliable, but you feel like you have a better chance finding a store your father owns. “Uh… no thanks.”

A few of the people look between each other; they don’t even try to hide it. Two or three of them speak at once, blurting out questions like “are you an orphan?” and “why, are they bad to you?”

Technically, you are also an orphan. You can’t really see what that has to do with anything, so you hesitantly reply “yes? To the… orphan question.”

Most of the group look at each other and nod. Ominous. “Well, you’re getting adopted now. No question about it.” One tuts, while another rolls their eyes. Someone sighs while another mumbles about letting people know, and a few other people say things you can’t hear over everyone else.

This is moving pretty fast, and you could stop it all with a few words, but you, for now, decide to keep your mouth shut about how just because you’re an orphan doesn’t mean you don’t have caretakers. This is getting interesting, and even if not biologically, you’re your father’s child; you can’t help but want to cause a little mischief and see what happens.

Please feel free to comment, I really like when people interact with me, I promise I don’t bite

Also, this is my first fanfic, and I’m aware I have a very robotic writing style sometimes (probably due to all of the essays I have to write) so if you feel like anything could be said better, please let me know, as well as any tips you may have

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Sorry if you've done this before, but I was wondering if you could explain whether or not Floyd has ADHD? I see that alot when people make posts or headcanons/roleplays of him and was curious of your thoughts. Thank you!

Yeah, that's a definitely a common Floyd headcanon I see (at least in the English-speaking side of the fandom; I do not see it much in the Japanese side). I think a lot of it comes from (EN) fans with ADHD seeing a lot of themselves in him and his behaviors.

Now, I could go into a bullet-by-bullet review of the diagnostic criteria and how Floyd does or does not fit them. I really, really could—but I’m not going to. I’m going to refrain because I don’t want to encourage others to keep coming to me to diagnose [character] with [condition], nor do I want to be treated like an “authority” in this area. Please do not send me asks of this nature in the future, thank you.

I'm going to repeat a lot of the things I said back in my reply to the "Does Leona have depression" ask. This applies to every instance of diagnosing fictional characters (I apologize if I sound cold, clinical, or “too serious” here; this is just how I discuss matters of mental health):

We cannot feasibly diagnose a character by just looking at the very limited scope in which we see them in the game. This is especially true of Twst because the primary setting is a SCHOOL. We do not know if Floyd’s (theoretical) symptoms persist in all other settings, nor do we actually have all the information that would typically appear in a case history. I only bring that second point up because I’ve seen some theories claiming Floyd gets his ADHD from his mother (she talks to him for long periods of time on the phone, which some have interpreted as going on tangents/being easily distracted). Oftentimes, other health conditions and/or confounding factors are not being considered at all. This again goes back to lacking the information we need to paint a full picture of the individual and their history. We can never assess, examine, or know a fictional character to the same extent that we can a real flesh and blood human being.

Each person with ADHD presents differently and may not fit neatly into the diagnostic criteria laid out in the DSM-V. Even if Twst came out right this second and said, “Yup, Floyd has ADHD,” his symptoms may manifest completely differently than the next guy’s. This is another reason why I'm not eager to jump and diagnose--because then people might look to that character and generalize them to real people who actually have that diagnosis. This oversimplifies things way too much and can lead to misunderstandings when neurotypical people interact with neurodivergent people.

At best, "reading between the lines" or using the phrase, "[character] displays [condition]-like symptoms/traits/characteristics/behaviors" is all that I am comfortable doing. I don't like definitively saying that a fictional character has a particular condition, even if they do display several signs or symptoms. It just conflicts with my own code of ethics. I hope you can understand 🙇‍♀️ The best I can say here is that canon never states that Floyd has ADHD; it’s largely a headcanon, reading, or interpretation of his character that is popular within the EN fandom.

As for myself, I do believe that Floyd has ADHD-like symptoms, but I don’t believe that it’s to the point of being diagnosable. This is because I feel many of his “ADHD” behaviors are incorrectly attributed to an physical inability to focus (“he literally cannot pay attention even in situations where he wants to focus or stay on track”), when this is not true. If Floyd is interested in something or has a goal set that aligns with his current mood, he can focus and nail the task. Mood changes or easily changing interests alone don’t automatically equate to ADHD. This could indicate overlap with other conditions, or no condition at all (it could just be individual personality eccentricities). This is why I stress that we need a “fuller scope” of a character to get a sense for their health conditions and why I don’t feel comfortable judging them “for certain”. There’s too many confounding factors unaccounted for.

I want to close off by reassuring the people who do headcanon Floyd with ADHD that it’s perfectly fine to have this headcanon. If you enjoy it and find solace in the thought, go for it!! All the more power to you. Different thoughts can and will exist in a fandom, and we should welcome them as they enrich the space and allow for the sharing of unique ideas.

***Content warning: I address the second ask, the Idia-focused one, under this cut, which will involve mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation.***

As I have said with the Floyd and ADHD ask, I don't feel comfortable "diagnosing" characters and do not want to go into detail for asks of this nature in the future. I will only be speaking generally here and from the perspective of a personal interpretation, not a clinical one. I am not intending to “diagnose” Idia with anything, I am only going to be bringing up some concerning beliefs and behaviors. Thank you for respecting my wishes.

In the case of Idia, I do personally believe that he experiences significant anxiety (rather than it being a funny character quirk), as well as heavily implied suicidal ideation due to dialogue that appears in his post-OB flashback scenes. He doesn't outright say he wants to "game end", but there are many suspect lines like Ortho--remember, DEAD Ortho--telling Idia "But you shouldn't come here yet", "[...] now's not the time", "You want to read the next chapter of your manga, and go to idol concerts, and play all the latest video games... You love this world too much to give up on all of it", and "You still don't have to give up on everything. You have a future." Idia also protests by saying, "I'm going with you. I promised, remember?" All of this dialogue paints the distinctive impression of Idia wanting to "cross the River Styx" and join Ortho in the afterlife; it sounds like he's willing to throw it all away right now, to give up all his earthly indulgences (ie his interests and hobbies) to be with the dead.

Notably, Idia is the ONLY OB boy thus far with more than one chapter dedicated to exploring his backstory + trauma. This, paired with the continuous theme of Idia grieving or dealing with the loss of Ortho (this is mentioned off-handedly in vignettes as well as major story events such as Glorious Masquerade), makes me think that Idia is still coping with the guilt and shame of that death, and that death still haunts him to this day. I actually did write an analysis a while ago about Idia and his grieving process; you can read it here if you'd like! There's also this analysis, which compares and contrasts how Idia coped with his loss and how Rollo coped with his loss.

Now, as for his anxiety, I do believe that a large part of it stems from Ortho's death. The other part of it is that he seems to have been socially isolated for most of his childhood in order to educate and to train him to eventually succeed his father as the director of S.T.Y.X. When you lack the experience of dealing with people, are dealing with the trauma of losing your brother, and are forever tied to an organization and a curse that discourage forming close bonds with people (who are going to forget you exist anyway in order to keep S.T.Y.X. secret + you constantly need to be around Phantoms to burn blot instead of fellow mages)... Yeah, that's a recipe for anxiety and social awkwardness. I think there's also something to be said about his gloomy demeanor possibly being hereditary, as the Shrouds sometimes indicate that their father is also a very depressing person.

Anxious or shy characters are a dime a dozen in animanga. However, as I've said earlier, I think Idia's extremes indicate an actual issue since it's not solely played for laughs and does, in fact, hinder his everyday performance. He barely leaves his room and has to attend lectures mainly via his tablet, expresses unreasonable concerns whenever he does have to go in public, has to literally be physically dragged along on some trips, and can only really feel comfortable speaking under very specific circumstances (ie his head is covered like in his Halloween costume, he's not actually speaking like when he uses a voice generator for the cultural fair, or he's too caught up in ranting about his interests). In the Ceremonial Robes vignettes being cited, Idia skips a ceremony he was obligated to attend in-person, is frightened by the mere idea of people looking at him, talks himself down, and then follows it up with reassuring himself that this is all for the best. You can see how this cycle of thinking could result in creating obstacles or struggles in living one's daily life, especially seeing as this is a repeated pattern for Idia. I don't even need to list more examples here; chances are that you're already thinking of some in your head. His strong initial refusal to pitch in at the Starsending, relying on machines or Ortho to do simple tasks like fetching his mail, etc. Even if no specific examples come to mind, you're surely thinking about the tablet he uses 90% of the time while he hunches in his mancave. If Idia is not already talking with his tablet, he will often switch to the tablet halfway through conversations with his peers. It should be noted that Idia is fine communicating if it is over a board game or about his other passions (idols, anime, manga, etc.). He also seems fine speaking via a screen (ie his tablet, when talking with gaming buddies via his computer, etc.). However, in cases where he has to speak face-to-face, Idia feels more comfortable if his face is concealed, usually either with a helmet (like in his Halloween Dress) or with a mask (like with his Masquerade Dress). Idia even refers to the mask in his Masquerade Dress as "a life preserver in a loud sea of people. and credits his helmet in the Halloween Dress as being the reason "[he can] keep [his] cool around all these crowds." Yes, there are definitely times when Idia's anxiety is used for a comedic bit or reads as just extreme introversion (like not liking attention being on him, avoiding crowds, disliking small talk, etc.), but I think there's plenty of evidence to suggest his behavior is an actual hinderance to himself. He has to rely on outside support (ie Ortho, extroverted classmates, etc.) or use devices (masks, helmets, technology, video games, etc.) in order to help himself overcome his own limitations, and has a hard time functioning without them.

Anyway, those are my thoughts on that matter. I'd really encourage you to read those two other analyses I linked if you're interested in similar topics!

[sirhamburrger]

rin itoshi has never been good with words.

on the field, his actions do the talking - precise, ruthless, confident. but being good in spoken language doesn't have anything to do with the way his tongue seems to freeze whenever he even goes anywhere near that three-word phrase.

so late at night, bathed in the glow of his laptop, he pours his innermost thoughts into unsent emails, knowing he’ll never have the courage to send them. when he's stressed, when he's exhausted, or when he could really use some of your love. (at least, what he imagines your love might feel like.)

so he writes.

"you make the world feel less suffocating." delete.

"i think about you a lot, a lot more than i should." delete.

"i love you."

backspace, backspace, backspace. delete.

and tonight is just like any other night, except the events of the day are weighing a little too much on him. a too-narrow victory on the field, a bruise to his ego.

he's written a veritable essay. he could scroll at full speed for five whole seconds and he still might not reach the end. his finger hovers over the backspace key, as it always does. but exhaustion weighs on him, his mind clouded from training.

send?

his hand slips in slow motion -

click.

sent.

no. oh, no, no. no.

rin stares. his breath stills. a sickening wave of panic crashes over him as reality sets in. his heart pounds against his ribs his hands fly to the keyboard. maybe he can delete it? no, it's only going to be deleted on his end. unsend it? no, no, it's way past the fifteen second window, and the option is long gone. maybe -

a notification pops up.

you have one (1) unread email.

how long has it been? three minutes, max?

he shuts his laptop. stands up. walks out of his room like running from it will erase what just happened. but like the universe's cruel version of a joke, his phone buzzes in his pocket almost immediately.

he ignores it. then again. and again until he's had enough. he groans, utterly mortified, dragging a hand over his face before finally pulling it out.

[y/n] : did you send that email to the wrong person? [y/n] : it was kinda sweet ngl [y/n] : rin? You : you read it? You : like, all of it? [y/n] : well, i'd say i'm a pretty fast reader.

his grip tightens around the phone. his ears burn.

You : it was just practice You : sorry to bother you so late at night [y/n] : it was no bother lol [y/n] : if only guys sent me emails like that [y/n] : i'd be swooning immediately

he feels a sense of relief, suddenly. or is it more like a crushing weight on his chest? he can't really tell. after saying a quick goodbye to you, he flings his phone on his bed, exhaling heavily. better you don't know about his feelings than he gets his heart broken before he's ready for it.

idly, his hands reach for the mouse, and he clicks on the unread email.

his heart stops.

it's from you. a reply to his - his vulnerability.

FROM: thetrueynln@gmail.com TO: itoshirin0909@gmail.com SUBJECT: RE: [no subject] dear rin, i wasn't sure how to start this, so i figured i'd just... start. first of all, i read every word. i'm not entirely sure i was supposed to, but i did. and i need you to know that i’m glad you sent it - even if you didn’t mean to. you say you’re bad with words, but rin, the way you wrote? it didn’t feel like that at all. it felt real. raw. like i was looking straight into your heart, even though i know you’d probably rather die than let me do that. so, should i say something back? or hould i pretend i never saw it? you didn’t exactly give me instructions, and knowing you, you’re probably freaking out right now, debating whether to block my email or delete your entire existence. but before you do that - before you try to run from this - I need to tell you something. the way you see me? the way you write about me? rin, i don’t think you realize that i see you the same way. i love you too, rin. more than i could ever express. for your perfections, but also for your perfect imperfections. i think my hands are cramping up now, so i'll end off with this: if you ever decide to write for me - or to me, whichever - don't delete it. because i'd like to hear what you have to say about me. i might have some words of my own to share, too. with love, y/n

his phone pings again, a singular text from you lighting his lock screen up.

[y/n] : see you in school tomorrow! get some rest, okay? [y/n] : <3

rin's heart stumbles in his chest, then soars.

maybe - just maybe - this unfortunate mistake wasn’t really a mistake at all.

rin itoshi writes love letters to you in his email drafts but deletes them knowing he’ll never have the courage to send them to you

[houseofblve]

𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝗃𝗈𝖻

𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴

𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗑 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌

𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝖽𝖾

You could’ve cried tears of joy when you got that call back from the wine bar. Was it a dream job? No, but for now, it was the best opportunity you had.

The Challenger held a special place in your heart. It wasn’t just where Art, Tashi, and Patrick liked to hang out—it was where you re-entered their lives. Now, it was even more appealing, since you were working there as both a bartender and waitress.

It was your first night on the job, and of course, the trio had to show up. It made you a little nervous because you knew they’d be watching your every move, but you knew they were just there to support you.

"I'll have a glass of your finest wine, ma’am," Patrick said, his voice making you turn around. You found him leaning against the bar, a wide grin on his face.

"Mhm, coming right up, sir." You played along, putting on your best professional act.

"Careful now, calling me that... I might start liking it."

You shot him a look, glancing around to make sure your boss wasn’t nearby. "Go sit down. I’ll come over in a minute."

Patrick chuckled and walked back to the table where Art and Tashi were waiting. You quickly helped another customer at the bar and then grabbed some menus to bring over to their table.

"Hi, I’m ( ), and I’ll be your server tonight. What can I get you started with?" You kept your tone professional.

"Look at our girl, staying all serious," Tashi smirked, and you rolled your eyes, that familiar warmth bubbling in your chest at the words “our girl.”

"Yeah, yeah. What can I get you guys?"

"Surprise us with your wine choice. You seem to know your stuff," Art said loudly enough for the neighboring tables to hear.

You rolled your eyes again, scribbling down the order. "Okay, I’ll be right back. And please, don’t embarrass me," you warned them, half-smiling.

Back at the bar, you worked to serve drinks, then grabbed their wine. Luckily, they didn’t cause any more drama and kept to themselves while you worked. It was overwhelming, but you found yourself enjoying your new job. Plus, the tips weren’t bad, though you couldn’t help but wish they were higher.

Of course, they knew you too well, they could basically read your mind. Art and Patrick approached the bar, wearing grins that could only mean trouble.

"Wow, are you new here? This is the best service we’ve ever had," Art said, making sure the others sat at the bar heard.

"Agreed. I’ll have to recommend you for all my future visits. And I think that calls for a VERY generous tip," Patrick chimed in, dramatically pulling out his wallet. He opened it and then glanced at Art.

"How about you leave the tip?"

Art rolled his eyes but held back a laugh. Of course, Patrick's wallet was empty. With a sigh, Art pulled out a wad of cash and stuffed it into your tip jar. Patrick leaned toward the person next to him and tapped them on the shoulder.

"Don’t you think this server deserves a generous tip?"

You wanted to crawl under the bar in embarrassment, relieved the customers didn’t realize these were your idiots that were pulling this stunt to get you more tips.

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure," the customer replied awkwardly, placing a dollar in the jar.

"A dollar? That’s all?" Patrick scoffed, looking at Art.

"Hey, that’s a dollar more than you have."

"Oh, fuck off."

"Can you two stop arguing at the bar?" you called out, before heading off to take care of more tables. You were surprised—every table seemed to leave a larger tip than the last. By the end of your shift, it had turned into a pretty amazing first night on the job.

Eventually, Tashi, Art, and Patrick left to go back to your and Tashi’s apartment to hang out and wait for you to get back so they could hear about your night. You walked in, exhausted but excited to tell them about it.

Art and Patrick had the biggest grins on their faces, clearly puffed up with pride. They bragged about "getting you all those tips," and you just laughed. Tashi didn’t say a word. She leaned back, watching them with a smirk. It was funny that they thought their over-the-top show was the reason for the big tips. But the truth? Tashi had been the real mastermind, talking you up to customers while you were distracted with the boys’ antics. And of course, people listened to her, she was THE Tashi Duncan. But she would let the boys have their moment.

[makoredeyes]

So I heard you saying you can go into a full analysis of the Memory of Felwinter artifact... *settles with a cup of tea* I'd love to hear your thoughts on it! 👀💙

Aaah I wanted so badly to reply while I was sitting and waiting at the Pet ER with my damn cat (she's fine just... old with old lady problems) but my phone was nearly dead when I got this TT^TT I had time to (sort of) gather my thoughts at least. Sort of! My brain is glue. But here's a shot at it.

@zalia wanted some relic analysis too <3 Ya'll're teaming up on me I love it XD

I'm actually going to try really hard to keep my headcanons and exaggerations out of this, as tempting as it is to really lean into some of this stuff, and you'll maybe recognize how a fair bit of it has seeped into my writing...but today, I'm going to try and keep it mostly to what I can read about.

First some facts:

The Memory of Felwinter could be used to trade the player's super in exchange for an extra melee, extra grenade, and boosts to armor, recovery, and agility*.

In a way the imagery on the artifact actually somewhat describes what the artifact does! It is extremely militant, and at first seems a little contradictory, but I think is actually really insightful.

The crossed swords, when facing downward like this, symbolize peace, the end of a conflict, or even surrender.

The Laurel wreath behind them on the other hand, broadly refers to victory. (Laurel is also associated with the god Apollo, and while there seems a clear martial reference here, it is also used to reference competitive and collegiate accolades which I think I would be remiss in mentioning) That particular knot around the border is tougher for me to make out but it might be from my guess a Celtic Dara knot which is a symbol of strength, wisdom, and endurance as referenced by the mighty roots of the Oak tree it's meant to resemble. I admit I am far less placed to make a solid call here and will gladly be corrected but it seems fitting. So who do we have here? Someone who willingly gives up what one would suspect is his greatest power (super) to boost his more militant aspects: in this case specifically hand to hand combat and ordinance, as well as his defenses. He is stronger, faster, and better armored, and better equipped to pack a real hard hit up close and personal. What looks at first like surrender is actually a wicked tactical move straight for victory.

Now pair that knowledge with the stun aspect of Felwinter's Helm (**Reminder for other readers: this was not Felwinter's exotic. This was Felwinter's signature move, bestowed upon the rest of us through that exotic. "Felwinter's Helm" was just Felwinter's hat. But I have to describe it somehow so I'm doing it per in-game meta for the sake of my own analytical sanity...) and the stacking boost of eliminations with melee strengthens melee with Winter's Guile (...which we don't know for sure but can pretty safely assume were Felwinter's exotic of choice if you will) and all of this paints the picture of one pretty scrappy rough and tumble hands-on guy if you ask me. *As a complete aside: I love that there's a boost to agility too. All the brawling tendencies of a Titan and the speed of a Hunter. Dude spent his formative years playing Frogger dodging Warsats I bet he could outrun anything if and when he needed to.

[hapuchika]

The Alliance - Part 6

Warnings: None really, some swearing i guess?

A/N: Hello my darlings, this is the last chapter for the main story. I will be writing more one shots for this universe cause I fucking love it and I want to. Anywayyyyy, enjoyyy.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

X--X--X--X--X

Your return to the Avengers’ compound was less than welcoming. The entire team came to the main entrance to greet you, weapons ready.

Tony and Clint seemed to be the only two who didn’t see you as an immediate threat.

“Good to see you surrendered,” Steve commented, cautiously optimistic.

You snort, confidence radiating from you.

“I know you saw the footage. If Robocop can’t make a prison sophisticated enough to contain me, what exactly is the point of locking me up?” you ask, nodding towards Tony.

“Speaking of…” you continue, focusing on Tony. “I owe you an apology. In my defence, I told you not to do it, you bit-“

An elbow from your witchy girlfriend made you stop mid-sentence.

Taking a deep breath, you start again. “I went too far. It won’t happen again. Not unless you fuck up.”

Tony looks unimpressed. “That was the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “I’ve heard worse from you, Tony.”

The archer looks at you and your girlfriends, a smile forming on his face at the proximity. “So, after months of pining, you finally asked her out?” he asks the spy.

Natasha stiffens imperceptibly with a cool “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Steve relaxes his form at the casual banter, holstering his shield. 

“Since you’re not here to cause trouble, how about we talk inside?”

X—X—X—X—X

You sit down on the chair, the Avengers currently present, looking at you expectantly.

You stare back, “the fuck you want?”

This earns you a punch on your shoulder by a certain spy.

“If you’re not here to surrender,” Steve begins, “then why are you here? You’re a criminal. Why would you come here?”

You shrug. “I fell for a certain witch and spy.”

You hold back a smile in excitement at the way Wanda’s hand tightens on your thigh.

You hear a low whistle from Tony, “You’re definitely punching above your weight there, Kratos.”

There is silence as you stare at him in disbelief. 

“…Bitch, did you just call me ashy?” you ask.

“What? No! Cause.. cause of your daggers.” he says, a hint of discomfort in his voice.

He looks at you apprehensively as you chuckle.

“Careful there, Stark,” you warn, “Or I might just have to tell your bride-to-be about you sleeping with her best friend on her birthday…”

“Okay- HOW do you know that?” He shouts, half shocked, half frustrated. “How do you just… know all these things? You shouldn’t have known about that, and you definitely shouldn’t know about Project GK57”

You sigh, then proceed to give them a general gist of your abilities.

Banner looks at you with intrigue. “So how does it work? The moment anything happens, you know about it?”

You nod at the scientist, who gives you a look of pure fascination.

Bucky looks at you suspiciously. “Everything?”

You give him a soft look and ask for a pen and paper. You scribble something onto the paper and fold it, handing it to him.

He reads it, eyes widening into a look none except Steve had ever witnessed.

“Really?” he asks.

You nod gently. “Free of cost, too.”

He nods, his features cooling, yet his eyes contain a certain excitement that couldn’t be quenched.

“So you’re not actually smart,” Tony remarks, “it’s just your power.”

You roll your eyes.

“I thought you, of all people, would know the difference between ‘knowing’ and ‘understanding. ’”

Tony processes this and nods curtly.

“I have a question”

You look at the captain expectantly.

“You’re clearly smart. Why not just get rid of all your opponents? Why not take over the world? You clearly know everybody’s weakness.”

You sigh, expecting this question.

“Ae, begin example 3 level 1” you call out.

“Sure thing, y/n/n”, Ae replies.

Tony doesn’t even look surprised, just annoyed. He grumbles to himself about how long it took him to completely reboot FRIDAY the first time.

Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake plays from the speakers.

“Now, captain,” you say. “I want you to focus on the cymbal playing in this piece.”

Steve looks at you, confused.

You sigh, “The violin, then. That will be one bad guy in particular”

He focuses for a second and nods.

“Level 2, please”, you call out.

A few more songs play simultaneously.

Steve winces, still trying to focus on the original song. 

You give him an understanding look. 

“This is the knowledge in my head for this room in the past five minutes.”

He looks at you, shocked.

“Ae, make it city wide,” you say solemnly.

Hundreds of songs start playing, and the room fills with harsh cacophony.

Clint grimaces, lowering the sensitivity on his hearing aid.

“Global,” you say, a slightly fatigued look on your face.

The speakers begin to tear as many, many more songs start to play—perhaps all the classical songs known to man.

Several members of the Avengers cover their ears.

“Still able to focus on the violin?” you ask, chuckling humourlessly.

Wanda clenches her fist. She’d initially been able to relate; the ability to read people’s minds could be similar. However, her power’s radius was a few kilometers at best. This was—this was too much.

You stand up, a grave look passes on your face, and you whisper.

“Show them, Ae.”

The result is immediate; the only way to describe what is going on was sound. It is an absolute, utter chaos of sound, a song being added every second.

Clint had turned off his hearing aid, but his body could feel the vibrations reverberate throughout his body. He was beginning to feel nauseous.

You raise your voice, “This, Captain. I feel this. Every fucking second. Every moment of time. All of history, every history. The beginning, every single atom, every attosecond. All of it. All the fucking time. Every little secret. This ever-expanding universe. It never ends.”

You turn and look at your girlfriends, looks of abject horror on their faces. You smile sadly.

Moments later, the speakers tore. Complete silence caused a ringing in everyone’s ears.

Nobody spoke, the temporary tinnitus fading.

“Now that you have an idea,” you start, “let me get to why I am here.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“I will make a deal. An alliance, of sorts. You leave me alone to my devices, occasionally help me out with something I need. In return, I shall give you valuable information. The kind you won’t get anywhere else, well, not until it’s too late anyway.”

Steve ponders on this.

Tony stood and sat nearer.

“Negotiable?” he asks.

You smirk. “What kind of deal isn’t?”

He nods. “You help us with projects.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Banner and I have our experiments from time to time, as much as I hate to admit it. You’re good. I could use your help.”

Bruce perks up at this, nodding his head energetically.

“Me, too. Maybe we could find a way to stabilise the transformation between me and… the other guy.”

You think and nod.

“Projects and experiments cost extra, amount to be decided based on project requirements. Payment up front.”

Tony nods in agreement.

“Wait.” Steve calls out, “No more bank robberies or injuring civilians.”

You huff in amusement. “I do not need to rob banks. I never have. My business is plenty.”

Wanda looks at you, confused. “Then why did you rob all those banks?”

You look at her with a sheepish smile.

She looks at you in disbelief. “Don’t tell me…”

You shrug, “It was the only way I would meet the both of you.”

You turn back to the rest of the group.

“Captain, I agree to yours and Tony’s demands.”

You grab the tablet from Tony’s hands, entering the password as though it was your own.

Tony grumbles, “I’m only using biometrics from now on.”

You ignore him and tap away, then call out. 

“Ae, write up the contract and add in my signature. You have my consent.”

The tablet beeps, and a small “Sure thing, Y/n/n” can be heard from the speakers.

Tony ignores the fact that you downloaded your AI onto his device and snatches it back from you, going through the contract.

“Y/n/n, huh?” he teases to no one in particular.

“Call her that again, and I leak your bikini photos to everyone.” Came out a short reply.

Tony scowls while the rest chuckle; even Bucky lets out a small smile in satisfaction.

“I like her,” the super soldier murmurs.

You hold back a smile at the interaction, your heart warms at the thought of Ae getting to make friends.

Once both parties have signed the contract, you clasp your hands.

“As a bonus, I have some information for you,” you tell the group.

Once again, you scribble down on the notepad, this time tossing it to Steve.

He shoots up the moment he reads it.

“We need to leave, now," he tells everyone.

You raise a finger, relaxing into the chair.

“Everyone except Wanda, Natasha, and James,” you say with authority.

All eyes turn to Steve, who looks at you and Bucky.

The winter soldier nodded in reassurance.

As the rest of the team files out to their urgent mission, you play with a fidget you brought along with you.

Wanda stands and stretches while Natasha looks at you quizzically.

“Where did you send them?” she asks.

You smirk mischievously, “To a three-month-long goose chase that will result in the capture of some very important Hydra operatives.”

Wanda laughs out loud, planting a kiss on your cheek for that.

Bucky asks, an easy smile gracing his features. “Why’d you ask me to stay back instead of just you and your girlfriends?”

Your smirk widens into a smile as you stand walking towards the door.

“Well, I did say I would fix that thing of yours. Also, I know you could use a break from Steve’s activities.” You say teasingly, patting his shoulder gently.

Natasha uses all her will power to not let out a ‘I FUCKING KNEW IT’ at Bucky’s red face.

Wanda lets out a laugh.

“Great. Now you don’t need to scream all that stuff in your head,” she says, grinning.

The three of you leave the Winter Soldier there, spluttering and blushing.

“So… what now?” Wanda asks, giddy with excitement.

You give her your most mischievous smile.

“Whatever. We. want.”

X--X--X--X--X

ITS DONE (THE MAIN STORY NOT THIS UNIVERSE.)

THERE ARE A LOT MORE ONESHOTS AND STORIES COMING FROM THE MACHIAVELLIAN UNIVERSE

PLEASE LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS

ALSO, IF YOU HAVE ANY ONE-SHOT SITUATIONS OR SUCH YOU'D LIKE TO RECOMMEND, SEND THEM TO ME!!!!!!!!

Pls comment and tell me how it is and what you'd like to see next.

OKay thank you byeeeee

[hyperions-light]

WIP Wednesday!!

Thank you @biowaredisasterbisexual @covertleathers @flowersforthemachines and @thedissonantverses for the tag!

I made something new yesterday! Basically just Leth being messy in modern!Thedas with Teia and Viago lol. But a new supporting OC appeared! Yay! Welcome, Arcadio!

Going to just grab some of my fave bits that will probably make it to final edits in some form, so going to be a little disjointed ! (Also VERY unedited lol)

***

Under the harsh, gasping glow of the kitchen ceiling light, Leth sits, a jar of peanut butter and a sleeve of saltine crackers open before them.

They pick up the knife and slather one of the crackers, reaching for the Redbull to wash the stickiness from their teeth.

Breakfast of champions. Well, brunch, technically— it’s two p.m.

Their phone buzzes against the Formica countertops, pale and jaundiced. The screen reads: Viago— not a work call, then.

They poke the accept call button with sticky fingers, and put him on speaker.

“Hey, Boss. What’s up?”

“I need you to come over.”

The phone buzzes, again.

A text from Teia:

Columbina, would you come and see me today?

Ah. They’re fighting again.

“Teia break up with you?”

Viago grumbles something unintelligible in Antivan.

“She is impossible! Do you know what she said to me, this morning? She—“

“Uh huh,” Leth says, texting Teia that they’ll be over tonight. “I‘ll be by in a couple hours. Gotta run some errands, first. Don’t pace a hole in the floor or break anything you can’t replace, yeah?”

“You—“

“Gotta go. See y’later,” they say, hanging up on him.

***

“She won’t, Lucanis, come on. Don’t be paranoid. She wouldn’t start a war because she’s annoyed with me.”

“But she might if she thought you were dangerous. Or… you were— interested.”

Well, they are, but neither Lucanis nor Caterina needs to know that.

Leth snorts.

“What is she, your fucking matchmaker? It’s none of her business who you’re with.”

“She does want to arrange a marriage, actually. She keeps bringing it up. Says she needs great-grandchildren, soon.”

“First of all,” Leth says, fumbling the light on in their dismal bedroom, “Illario has definitely already given her great-grandchildren. It’s just that neither of them know about it, yet.”

Leth hears the soft huff of his laughter, again, and smiles as they rummage through the closet.

“And secondly: What the fuck? Is this the Steel Age, or something? Tell her no!”

They throw aside a pair of heels, instead grabbing the thrifted combat boots that Viago hates.

“Oh, like you do with Viago?” he says, archly.

***

They’re scrolling through their phone when someone elbows them.

“Hey, Sfiga,” says the only person they won’t stab for calling them that.

“Hey, Shitheel,” they reply, looking up at Arcadio. “What’re you doing here? Thought you were out of town on business.”

“I was. Can I have a cigarette?”

“No,” they say, immediately. “You’re what, like ten? S’bad for you. Rots your brain, or something.”

“That’s television,” he says, unimpressed. “And I already smoke. If you don’t give me any I’ll get some from the guy who takes out the filters.”

They grumble, but pull out their own pack and hand him two.

“Who sells eleven-year-olds cigarettes? That’s fucked up,” they complain.

“I’m seventeen,” Arcadio corrects, tucking the gift into his shirt pocket.

“Fuck off— you’re not.”

“Am. You losing track of time, in your old age?”

“You wish,” they say, ruffling his hair to ruin the artful messiness. “Where’re you headed?”

***

“It was her fault,” he bites out. “She wanted to talk about the future— how could we possibly discuss that without King Fulgano being involved?”

“Did she actually want to talk about the future, though?” they say, skeptical and needling. “Or did she wanna talk about your future? Together.”

“How was I supposed to discuss that without discussing The Plan?” he demands, emphatic.

To Leth, The Plan always has capital letters. There’s only one that matters, after all.

“I dunno, Vi. Maybe by just not bringing it up? She was probably trying to see how committed you were, not looking for an excel spreadsheet mapping the whole thing out.”

Viago’s eyes flicker briefly toward the computer.

“You have one, don’t you?” Leth sighs. “Creators. Did you at least tell her you love her?”

***

Really convinced Modern!Viago loooooves spreadsheets. Soooo many spreadsheets.

Oh also, Sfiga means “unlucky” in Italian

Tagging @basedonconjecture @uchidachi @dymme @i-had-bucky @littlemissgeek8 @lottiesnotebook @erin-unknown @ofcrowsanddragons @katuary @bygonesigh if you want, and you haven’t been tagged!

[asaka-lucy-dr-rc]

Thanks for the incredibly detailed feedback, Pixel! 💖💖 I am so glad you are pleased! I had no doubt that you would notice all the little details, and knowing that you did makes all the time and effort I put into them so worthwhile! (｡˃ ᵕ ˂。) It would be too long to reply to all of them, so I will only cover the parts that I really want to mention:

--- One of the reasons I originally considered drawing multiple scenes was that if I put everyone on the same canvas, it would create a crowd around someone who’s sick, which might feel a bit off to look at. After all, it’s not good for people to get too close to someone with a cold. So when you mentioned that Yuma’s expression makes it look like he doesn’t want people approaching him and that he’s conscious of not spreading his illness, I felt so relieved—it meant that part of the intent came across!

You also pointed out the lines on Yuma’s cheeks to indicate his fever, and I was actually torn about that while drawing! I thought they would have made the heat more visually obvious, but since the official artwork doesn’t include them, I ended up removing them. The fact that you still caught on to that detail really impressed me! 😆 Here’s another version with the lines added:

I made a few other minor corrections; I forgot to draw the shadows cast by Yakou's arms.😅

I also adjusted the number on the thermometer after you mentioned that his fever could have been higher. That was another thing I debated while working on this! I did a bit of research on fevers and found that children with colds often have temperatures of 39–40°C. Even though Yuma is an adult, I wondered if his fever should be at a similar level. (You mentioned that you liked how his pajamas made him look childish, and I felt the same way, which is why I chose to have him wear them. I also intentionally wanted to make him look even more childlike—not just because of the pajamas, but by emphasizing his weakness, despite the fact that he’s actually an adult. So that was very much a deliberate choice!)

Reading your feedback, I realized I forgot to mention how much I genuinely enjoyed drawing this. While it was a birthday gift for you, that was really just the starting point. I had so much fun bringing out the things I love about their relationships and personalities. The composition was a challenge, but finishing this piece gave me a lot of confidence! But above all, the reason this turned out the way it did is because of the wonderful work you’ve shared—I had such a clear vision of what to draw thanks to you! (,,>᎑<,,)

Thank you also for encouraging me to create another piece. At the very least, I want to draw something about Yuma and Makoto sometime—and I will! (Probably this June!) Wishing you a happy year ahead! ✨

Happy Birthday, Pixel (@pixelatedraindrops)!!! 🎉🎂💜

Yuma:Cough, cough... hack! Yakou: Yuma, are you alright? Yuma: Y-yes, I’m fi— cough! Yakou: ...Ah, looks like your fever’s spiking. This is probably the peak. It’s tough now, but once your temperature maxes out, you’ll start getting better soon. Yuma: I’m sorry, Chief... I’m causing trouble for everyone... Halara: If you have the energy to apologize, focus on getting better instead. Here, take your medicine on time. Yuma: Thank you, Halara... Fubuki: Yuma, if you’re having trouble sleeping, I can gently pat your chest for you. They say tapping at the same rhythm as the heartbeat has a rest-in-peace effect! Yuma: Thanks, Fubuki... Wait, what did you just sa— cough! Desuhiko: Yuma! If you can’t sleep, I can sing you a lullaby! Yuma: Cough! A lullaby doesn’t need a guitar, Desuhiko... Shinigami: Good grief, how’s anyone supposed to sleep with all this noise?

Vivia doesn’t have any lines in this scene, but he’s somewhere in the picture. Can you find him?

The description of this picture and the message to Pixel are in the collapsed section below:

--- Once again, Happy Birthday, Pixel! 🎉 I’ve been saying for about a year now that I wanted to make a proper sick art painting someday, and I’m happy to say that I finally did. Haha 😄

I had a hard time deciding what to draw. I really liked your idea of tenderness exchanged in a moment of illness, so I considered drawing multiple scenes and combining them like stained glass. But if I did that, I’d probably have to reduce the level of detail in each one to finish it by your birthday. I didn’t want to go with an ordinary composition either, so I ended up with this perspective—looking down at Yuma lying on the sofa. I hadn’t planned it that way at first, but in the end, it kind of feels like looking down into a crib, and I really like that. hehe

The theme for this project was “messy, but still cute.” I had decided from the start that Yuma would be the main focus of this picture, so I paid close attention to making sure his face looked cute. At the same time, I wanted to make him look as messy and pathetic as possible:

It was challenging to paint a pretty face while also making it look disheveled—hot and sweaty, with tears and a runny nose from all the coughing. To be honest, I feel there’s still room for improvement in that regard. So, at some point, I’d like to try drawing it again from a different perspective.

By the way, you may have noticed that I drew the pattern for Yuma's pajamas based on your design!

I liked the pattern of the key that suited him so much that I wanted to draw it someday, and I finally did it this time. I liked the picture linked above, so I matched the temperature displayed on the thermometer to it:

Oh, and I assume Vivia has moved under the sofa in case something happens to Yuma, so he can take care of Yuma quickly. If I hide Desuhiko, this is how he is:

I also hope he is secretly responsible for putting the tissues on the floor in the trash. (But I don't think he would bother to clean up a full trash can, so that would be left until Yakou cleaned it up... 😂) There are many other aspects of your past work that I’ve referred to, but it would be too much to explain them all, so I’ll leave it at that. Finally, I’d like to show you a time-lapse:

(It may look like the colors were applied in an instant, but in reality, 85% of my work time is spent on line drawing, and only 15% is spent on coloring. So if you fast-forward it, it may seem like the coloring was done in an instant. 😅)

I hope you like the picture (and the little details of the characters)! Wishing you a wonderful birthday! 🫶💕💕

[inkly-heart]

please don’t be sad little sprout, you are loved 🌱 🖤

🌱

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[frstwomn]

Tamsin is not an ordinary human. Well, she supposed that she would fall under the criteria of an average human her age, but she had no interest in extending her life. Or pursuing an avenue of immortality. Truly, she had lived a long and successful fifty-four years on this planet. She wanted to live as many as she could but without having to extend her life with magic or reincarnation. The thought set her stomach churning in discomfort.

She places her dirty spoon in the sink alongside his, leaning against the counter to observe him for a moment. She knows briefly of what he had undergone but going through the files on him had set her on edge. She'd ordered all of them burned. She didn't want to know the truth, didn't want to know exactly what he had gone through. Unless Alanis wished to tell her, she wouldn't EVER know what he had undergone. And she was happy with that.

President King might have been her best friend, but she definitely saw him in a flawed light now. Reading more of what he had ordered would have ruined any positive memories of him. She wasn't sure that was a path she wanted to go down right now.

"Not all of us are evil." She replies after a moment. "Even though your arrival on Earth wasn't positive, and even though America hasn't treated you kindly at first, I want you to know that the actions of a few do not indicate an overall concensus." She knows that he KNOWS this but she needs to ensure that she says it. "I do hope your experience is much more positive from here on out. I want to change how your kind...aliens in general...are seen."

She pauses for a moment. "I would like you to travel with me to the United Nations next month."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“You are one of few humans who isn’t. Magic and resurrection… Many humans crave power and immortality. The most common fear people have is death, after all.” Finishing his own spoonful of ice cream, he casually leans on the counter as he watches her put it away. The cotton candy flavor is a bit too sweet for him but he can see why she likes it. Still, part of him wonders if it would be easier just to eat actual cotton candy.

There is much of his imprisonment that he keeps from her. Not only are living the memories traumatic for him, but he knows they are also painful for her. After all, she had been close to President King before his death. Although he himself loathes the man he would spare her the agony of seeing who he really is – a monster. “I am kind to those who have earned my kindness and respect. You are very deserving of both,” he gently insists before putting his dirty spoon in the sink.

“I appreciate your vow and your help, Madam President,” he adds with a small but nevertheless thankful smile. “It is nice to know some humans do not fear me nor want my head on stake.” Fear and anger seem to be the most common reactions humans have to aliens on Earth. He’s hoping that his kind and steadfast presence can change those reactions to be more positive. “The woes of politics seems to be a universal struggle, I’m afraid. Still, you wear leadership well. America is in good hands, even if the country hasn’t realized it yet.”