#I thought it was going to be a disaster for sure

[luminni]

I have a feeling Johnny would try and set up Simon with one of his friends

like

“M’ tellin ya mate yer going tae like ‘er,” Johnny teased, bounding a couple steps in front of Simon, turning back to him and rocking back and forth on his heels, hands shoved into his pockets to protect them from the cold. As Price often quipped, the 'scott can't stand still for the life of him.'

“Mhm,” Simon just grumbled in response.

“See mate, That’s the attitude that scares all the girls away.” Johnny commented, hands outstretched and exaggerated.

“Whatever.” Simon huffed, shaking his head. Johnny wasn’t wrong, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything with a girl that wasn’t a quick lay, and even then it had been months, not to mention going out on a proper date. Well, a date was a stretch, you were Johnny’s close friend for a couple years. He had heard of you, but never met you and now Johnny was insisting that he go on a date with you because he was convinced it was going to work well, Simon wasn’t convinced in the slightest.

“She’s real nice though- so put away the tough guy act big man- girls don’t like that.” Simon couldn’t believe he was getting dating advice from his sergeant, so he just doubled down and kept scowling but Johnny kept pressing. “I'm telling you she's a real sweet girl, kinda lass who would try tae make a crying baby laugh on the tube or go and feed some mangy stray dog, perfect for a prickly bastard like yerself.”

“Okay okay, Jesus. ’s not like ’m going to scare ‘er off on purpose.” Simon relented 

“You better not, gettin' laid might do ya' some good man, calm yer ass down a wee bit” Johnny chuckled

Simon would have yelled at him for that comment but his friend cut him off, “‘Kay we’re ‘ere,” Johnny chirped, “Gaz and his girl should be inside already and she’ll be ‘ere soon,” Johnny said, pushing his Lt. through the pub door.

Johnny had invited Kyle and his girlfriend for a kind of double date situation because he thought having another girl there would help you feel more comfortable, something Simon couldn’t argue with. Why Johnny’s single ass would be attending was a mystery.

and he's been playing both sides

“Ya like serious guys right?” Johnny had asked you out of the blue, a week or so prior while hanging out at your flat.

“Uh yeah sure? I mean I guess so, more than immature assholes like you.” You had joked back across the small kitchen.

“Well,” He had began, unphased by your teasing, “There’s this guy I work with-”

“Don’t even.” you cut him off

“Wha'?!” he whined

“Don’t try and set me up with one of your military bros,” you warned, “I’m not interested.”

“Jus' 'cause yer last dates 'ave been busts doesnae mean you shouldn't keep tryin’,” He pleaded, catching the sponge you threw at him, “He’s a real good guy, kinda intimidating but you’d like him, promise!”

You glared at him before going back and forth, Johnny was really trying to sell this guy, and he wasn’t wrong, your last three dates had been nothing short of disasters. So, after lots of pleading -and a couple tasteful photos from them at the gym- you agreed. So as you walked closer and closer to the pub, your nerves were buzzing. Just gotta get past his tough exterior is all, Johnny’s words of advice rang through your head. Thankfully he had invited another one of his friends there along with his girlfriend, you would have been hyperventilating if it was just going to be you and some guys. As you reached for the door, you could only hope Johnny was right about this guy.

So, who would be surprised when it actually works out, when Simon actually falls in love with you and your sweet smile at first site. When you find his corny and sometimes morbid jokes genuinely funny, having to cough around your drink to prevent spitting it out.

Johnny's just happy Simon might finally chill out, and he won't have to listen to you complain about failed dates every other week.

[ladybirdswritings]

HUNTRESS, FIC — emperor geta x reader.

DESCRIPTION: the blood of the emperor’s brother is on your hands, a betrayed huntress facing death in the colosseum. your every move watched by the vengeful emperor who loathes you as much as you despise him. but amidst blood, betrayal, and survival, hatred begins to twist into something dangerous. NOTES - little enemies to lovers fic !! leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | next part

one;

The thrum of hundreds of drums cocooned your ears in an awful medley, vibrations snaking like vines across your very skin.

Here and now, standing before scorching iron twisting into mangled gates, you allowed a chill to kiss your skin.

You were afraid—very afraid—and for good reason. But even so, gladiators didn’t cower before their fate.

It was a good thing that wasn’t what you were.

This was all just an unfortunate consequence of one painfully violent decision.

For my brother… you had whispered into the chill of the winter season as you plunged a gold, ornate blade into the chest of the wrong ginger.

Sure, the younger one was no better than the older. Even so, it was not his crimson you had wished to coat your hands with, for he had not killed Pietro. Geta had.

And Geta would kill you too. Whatever growled beyond these iron gates was no better than a gruesome death.

“Huntress,” Lucien called, clad in bronze armor and pleated wraps. You winced.

“Don’t call me that.”

But he paid you no mind as he stepped forward, wrapping your lanky arm in a cuff of gold.

“It’s what you are, what you must be, if you intend to slay whatever beast lurks beyond these gates. Listen to me: do not be foolish in there. Do not give them a show. You run, and you hide in the very dirt if you must. Here.”

With a worried glance toward the guards, he hastily pulled out three violet berries and pressed them into your palm. His calloused skin guided your hand to wrap around them.

“This is poison. You squeeze, and it erupts into a sea of death. Use these, and you may survive.”

May.

It was too awful a word—too insignificant.

“Bring out the girl!” a horrid, broken voice roared to his many peasants. The iron groaned in deep complaint as the gates began to part.

It was then that you felt every bit the weak, fearful girl you truly were. Your doe-like eyes locked on Lucien’s. His palms gripped your biceps, a huff of frustration escaping him as he scanned your face—perhaps to remember it. Then he leaned forward to press a warm kiss to your forehead.

He was saying goodbye.

“You will survive,” he murmured against your skin. All you could do was nod with a gulp as he pulled away.

Facing the liquid gold rays of the sun now blinding you, you stepped through the gates.

Despise was not a strong enough word to describe just how much these people loathed you.

So destroyed over the death of half of their precious emperors. You scowled at the thought—the same emperors who kept them on pretty leashes.

Slickened tomatoes crushed beneath your boots as you limped forward. You were no better than Pietro here, and it seemed as though history was only going to repeat itself.

Bruised beneath the bronze armor, thirsty and starved, they had purpled your skin, nearly dislocated your hip, and robbed you of any sustenance that could aid you in this impossible battle.

They had cheated, just as they had with your brother in this awful colosseum.

You would die on the very same dirt as your brother had—your twin.

Even so, a vicious grin tugged at your lips when your eyes locked on the lone ginger emperor scowling down at you. His jaw was taut, his arms littered with veins, but his eyes—they gave him away. Dark. Exhausted.

Even if you were to stain his dirt with your blood, he would remain as you were now: a lone twin. His brother in the dirt, too.

Perhaps your revenge had not been such a disaster after all.

“Traitorous whore!” he screeched at you, and the peasants roared in agreement.

His words were no bother. You’d fight well enough—and when you died, you’d die with a smile.

“Bring out her death!”

Vibrations crawled up your calves as you squeezed the oak wood bow clasped in your hand—your only weapon.

The gates opposing you parted, welcoming two awful horns held back only by frayed rope and a growling man atop the beast.

“He shall impale you as you impaled my brother!” Geta growled from his castle above, his voice guttural and animalistic.

“BEGIN!”

His roar was so vicious you swayed on your feet.

Perhaps the bow was meant to deter you from survival, but you were grateful for it now. With your weak bones, you had no chance of surviving close battle. No chance of escaping a sword fight or a seething rhinoceros.

But your bow—you could fight from afar.

Thrum-thrum-thrum-thrum. The beast neared closer, working into a charge so vicious it drowned out the crowd’s excitement. You could feel Geta’s eyes scorching your skin.

He did not simply want you dead. He wanted you mangled.

“HUNTRESS—KILL THEM!” Lucien roared from behind the gates, snapping you back into the present moment.

Your purpled hands trembled as you grabbed an arrow and loaded your bow. You had to treat this as any other time—locked away in the forest with just you, the glades, and your bow.

A rhinoceros could be no different from a fawn, right? Animals—all the same. And you were starving now, just as you had been all the other times you hunted.

Closer, closer. You steadied your rapid breaths best you could— imagining doe-eyes approaching as opposed to horns and squinting as you found the place between the beast’s brows.

Closer.

Even closer.

A moment more and you’d lose your shot, so you released the tension-bound arrow.

Laughter—cruel, cold, and entirely at your expense—rattled the stadium.

Your eyes fell to the ground, where the arrow landed not two feet away from your boots.

No, no, no.

Your fingers trembled against the string. It was loose.

Bastard.

Your eyes flicked to Geta’s, cold and swimming with satisfaction. He had rigged your bow.

And the beast was still charging.

“HUNTRESS!” Lucien’s cry was lost on your ears as you steadied your feet. Your heart hummed like a bird in your chest.

You hissed as sharp pain licked the flesh of your wrist. Violet trickled from your cuff.

The berries.

Crying out in exasperation, you shook the berries free.

You would be impaled in a moment, but at least the poison would piss the wretched thing off.

With a cry, you crushed the berries in your palm, tossing the violet liquid into the air just as the horn grazed your bronze armor.

And you waited.

No darkness or light found you.

A screech so awful it could have burst your eardrums shook the colosseum. The beast reared back, thrashing in a violent dance before collapsing to the dirt.

Its tongue slack, its eyes white, it crushed the man commanding it.

You breathed then. For the first time.

As your eyes lifted, you found a flicker of awe in Geta's gaze-beyond his rage.

The colosseum roared in disbelief as Geta flipped the fruits and wine before him, storming away.

And you breathed.

Alive.

[immortalbumblebee]

Kiss It Better?

Young!Vander x Medic!Reader

First Vander one-shot in *checks notes* three years! Holy Shit y’all! Had two separate asks from ppl wanting a medic!reader soooo here we go!

It’s good to be back

Masterlist

The clinic was dimly lit, the hum of faulty fluorescent bulbs blending with the faint metallic clangs from the mines outside. It smelled of antiseptic and iron, a scent you’d come to associate with long nights and questionable patients. Back then, you were still green, running on coffee and ambition under the sharp gaze of an older, jaded medic. And yet, even with your mentor’s grim mutterings about wasting resources on “repeat offenders,” he always came back.

The pit fighter swaggered in like clockwork—dust and sweat clinging to his skin, his knuckles split and bloodied or some fresh stab wound marring his side. A walking disaster, and yet somehow grinning through the pain, cracking some awful joke the moment you picked up a suture kit. You used to roll your eyes, scoff at his shameless flirting, brushing off his comments as easily as you patched him up.

But after a few months, when he insisted on waiting for you even when another medic was available, something shifted. You started noticing the way his gravelly voice softened when he talked to you, the way his laughter filled the quiet corners of the clinic. And against your better judgment—against all your judgment—you began to look forward to those visits. It was maddening, really, the warmth you felt when he called you “doc” like it was a nickname meant only for you.

The sigh you let out feels like it’s been building for hours, maybe days. As you press your fingers into your temples, you try—really try—to recall what it was about this infuriating man that once made your stomach flip. The memory is distant, hazy, like trying to grasp smoke.

“You…” you start, pausing as though the sheer absurdity of the situation has stolen the rest of your words. “You fought a man three times your size?”

“Yup.” His response is maddeningly casual, accompanied by the faintest smirk on his stupidly chiseled face. Like he hadn’t just dragged himself in here looking like a near-death experience wrapped in bruises.

“And you thought this was a good idea…why?” you ask, more exasperated than concerned. You’re not sure why you bother asking anymore; his explanations rarely hold water.

He leans back on the examination table, as if your question requires deep thought, though the glint in his eye says otherwise. “Maybe to get some more time with you, gorgeous.”

Your jaw drops slightly before you clamp it shut, heat rising to your face despite every effort to suppress it. “Unbelievable,” you mutter, grabbing for the antiseptic. His grin only widens.

As you began to apply the serum to his wounds, Vander sat on the edge of the exam table, his broad shoulders hunched, shirt torn and bloodied as you worked to clean the deep gash along his ribs. He barely flinched at the pain, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands gripped the edge of the table like he was bracing for a fight that wouldn’t come.

“You’re too old for this,” you muttered, your tone more fond exasperation than scolding.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, focused on your task. He watched you, his gaze heavy but soft, as if you were the only steady thing in a world full of chaos.

“You take better care of everyone else than you do yourself,” you finally said, taping the bandage in place.

“And you take better care of me than I deserve,” he replied, his voice quiet, almost reverent.

You paused, caught off guard by the honesty in his words, before shaking your head and packing up the supplies. “Please try not to make this a habit,” you said, knowing full well he wouldn’t. But the faint smile he gave you, a mix of gratitude and something deeper.

As you step closer, lifting the damp cloth to the cut along his cheekbone, Vander tenses—just slightly, almost imperceptibly—but it’s enough for his hand to shoot up, catching yours mid-motion. You freeze, startled, but the pressure of his touch is unexpected: not the iron grip of a pit fighter, but something softer, deliberate, as if he’s afraid he might hurt you.

Your gaze snaps to his, and for a moment, the room feels smaller, quieter. His calloused thumb grazes the veins on your wrist, a slow, almost unconscious movement that sends a warmth skittering up your arm.

“I’ll try to be gentle,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. You’re not sure why you feel the need to apologize, but the words slip out before you can stop them. “I’m sorry.”

His lips twitch into a faint smile, the kind that feels more like reassurance than amusement. “It’s fine,” he says, his voice low and steady. “Just… surprised me, is all.”

The silence stretches, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. Slowly, his hand slips away, and you return to your task, though now your fingers tremble faintly. For all his strength, all his rough edges, moments like this remind you of the man beneath the fighter. And for some reason, that makes it even harder to focus.

“What’d you say to me taking you out tonight?” Vander asks, his tone laced with that easy flirtation you’ve come to expect. There’s no edge to it, no weight to sway your answer—just an offer, simple and open.

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips twitching despite yourself. “You visit a free clinic twice a week,” you say, giggling as you finish securing the bandage on his arm. “You can’t afford a night out with me.”

He leans in, close enough that you catch the faint scent of smoke and leather, his voice dropping to a warm rumble. “If it’s you,” he says, eyes locked on yours, “it’ll be worth it.”

Your cheeks heat under his gaze, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, brushing past him to clean up your tools. But even with your back turned, you can feel his grin—and the weight of his words—lingering in the air behind you.

“You know the bar across from Jericho’s?” you ask, still facing away as you organize the tools on the counter. You don’t need to look to know Vander’s posture shifts—straightening up on the table as if he’s been caught off guard.

“Yeah?” he replies, cautious but curious.

Finally, you turn just enough to catch his eye, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Nine o’clock sharp,” you say, tilting your head toward him. “And you better be wearing something nicer than this,” you gesture vaguely at his torn, bloodstained shirt, “or I’m leaving.”

Suture kit in hand, you step back toward him, fully prepared to get to work on the fresh wound on his arm. But before you can begin, his face lights up with a smile so boyish and bright it nearly stops you in your tracks.

“Oh, trust me, Love,” he says, leaning just a little closer, his voice soft but sure. “I’ll be there.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrays you. As you thread the needle, you find yourself already imagining what he might look like when he shows up. Because, for all his teasing and bravado, you know he wouldn’t dare miss it.

[abiatackerman]

Can I request a sfw Oneshot of crying levi getting confronted by the reader and being snuggly with each other? Also love your works (>∆<)

Throughout the whole show Levi only cried twice. Once when his mother teacup broke and twice when Isabel and Furlan died. It's really hard for me to imagine Levi crying in a sober state but I tried to write a Oneshot for you.

Also sorry for being so goddamn late... I was really busy and couldn't get the time to write! Anyways enjoy!

When steel shatters

⚔️Levi Ackerman x Female reader⚔️

Captain Levi Ackerman x Female reader! Fluff and comfort! Emotional breakdown! Fluffy romance! 1.1k words!

Summary: After a rough day and getting drunk, Levi finally expresses his true emotions, searching for comfort from you.

Tags: @theremainsof @spouseofleviackerman @levisbrat25 @itsnathateasy @violentvaleska @anti-cupid @meowmewow7 @mikabella7 @satorella

🩷If you want to be tagged let me know🩷

✨Masterlist✨

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

The small space of Levi's room is dimly lit by the soft glow of a single oil lamp on a sturdy wooden desk, casting warm, flickering light across the room as you sneakily enter. Shadows dance on the plain stone walls as a neatly made single bed with crisp white sheets and a simple gray blanket rests against one wall. The air carries a faint scent of tea leaves and cleaning supplies, a testament to Levi's meticulous habits.

Normally Levi keeps his room unlocked since he doesn't have anything important or expensive in his room and also because he knows no one dares to enter HIS room. Not that he spends much time here either.

You smile as you hear the sound of water splashing against the floor from the bathroom attached to the room. Of course Levi's taking a shower after a busy day and after dealing with lot of shitty things in his opinion.

You sigh and sit on the bed with a smile as you try to imagine him naked and wet while his showering. Blushing you shake your head because you know if you keep imagine him a little bit more you'll lost your self control completely and probably jump on him. And you don't want that... At least not today because you're here to show him some support after a hard day, not to jump on him.

As you hear the door opening you sit straight and smile widely.

"Hey Levi... I--"

You pause as you look at him. He's practically wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, displaying his deliciously stunning body which still have little droplets of water here and there.

"What are you doing here?"

Levi's annoyed voice slaps you out of your not so innocent thoughts and you blink. Smiling, you reply softly.

"Just wanted to see you. That's why I'm here."

Levi pulls a shirt out of his drawer and starts to wear it without looking at you.

"Didn't I told you not to come to my room?"

Levi asks coldly and you sigh.

"Heard you had a rough day... Just wanted to..."

You try to find the right words but Levi stops you.

"Console me? Show some sympathy? I'm not that pathetic that I'll be needing that. Not go back to you room."

He says as he wears his usual pants and you look at him speechless. You take a deep breath and stand up.

"Look Levi, I know you had a bad day but don't you think you're being too rude with me? When I just wanted to give you a little bit of comfort?"

You ask in an upset tone.

"No… You don't understand. What if someone else had sneaked in? What if your loud entrance had let them know you were coming, and they had hurt you? I'm the Captain of the Survey Corps, I have made a lot of enemies. I need to make sure you are safe and out of the spotlight so nothing happens to you."

You look at him worriedly as he lashes out. Then softly hold his hand, you look at him worriedly.

"You're acting out of your character, Levi? Is something wrong? What happened?"

You ask softly, not pressuring him to answer but still expressing your worries for him.

"Everything is wrong with me! I'm a disaster. I'm a bad leader, a bad friend, and a horrible lover! The only thing I’m good at is hiding. Hiding my emotions, my pain... Erwin's shitty plans."

There are tears pooling in his eyes, threatening to fall.

"I lost lot of people.. Was their sacrifice even worth it? When their family member were cries holding their corpses... I can't even look at them. Sone of them even had a children...."

You see Levi's eyes tearing up and you realise that he drank a lot. That's why he was late and since he is good at handling alcohol he's not completely drunk. But because of the alcohol he's showing his emotions and opening up to you.

Wrapping one arm around his neck and by patting his back with the other you start to whisper softly in his ears.

"Don't say that, Levi. You're the best soldier out there.... You've killed a lot of titans! That's a huge achievement! You're everyone's encouragement, darling. And you're a great friend... Also lover."

You say and move your head right in front of his while wiping his tears away.

"Don't say that please.... It hurts me. Seeing you hurt... Insulting yourself.... It hurts me."

You say as your voice cracks and as you try to smile.

Levi pulls away slightly so that he can look at you in the eyes.

"I'm not the best with words. I'm blunt and harsh, I know. But I would never intentionally hurt you… I love you too much."

He whispers, cupping your face with his hand.

"After losing Isabel and Furlan.... If I lose you too.... I'll be broken completely.... You're the only one to whom I can truly open up. Please don't leave me."

Levi whispers and hugs you tightly, burying his face in your neck. You sigh and pat his back, smiling softly.

"I won't... As long as I'm alive."

Then you chuckle again as you feel Levi nuzzling his face against your shirt to wipe his tears.

"What are you doing?"

You ask in an amused tone and feel Levi's body getting more heavier.

"It's just... Shit... I drank a lot today... And now it's hitting me. I'm tired."

Levi mumbles and you smile as you help Levi to lay down. He sighs deeply and covers his eyes with the back of his arm. You smile softly and cover his body with a blanket.

"Go to sleep, love. You've been working hard."

You mumble softly as Levi hums sleepily.

"Night, Angel."

[wheelsup-sevenup]

whumpuary 2025: day 3!

prompt: choice / storm / black eye

pairing: clint barton & natasha romanoff (marvel)

warnings: arguments + violence, implied dissociation

“…And will that be one or two beds?” the woman behind the desk asked Clint, looking askance at the muddy footsteps he’d tracked over the patchy carpet.

“Two, if you’ve got ‘em,” Clint said absently, wrapping the soggy Ace bandage back around the already bruising sprain on his wrist.

Clint was the only other person in the lobby aside from the receptionist. The motel was by no means nice, just the first Holiday Inn he could make out through the pouring rain. He’d asked Natasha if that was alright, but she’d just kept staring out the window. Nothing behind her eyes. He had yet to get used to it.

Apparently, Clint hadn’t got to know his new partner during her months of debrief as well as he’d thought. Their first unsupervised mission together had been something of a disaster: though they’d managed to get the intel they needed, the cover identity he’d spent years building up was left as ashes in their wake.

He was pissed. The car ride had been spent in silence.

“All right, your room’s gonna be 113, just across there.” The receptionist slid across two room keys, and Clint thanked her before ducking back out into the rain.

It was still pouring outside, and Clint jogged across the parking lot, trying in vain to keep himself from getting more soaked than he already was. In the car, Natasha still sat in the passenger seat, curled up loosely with her chin against her knees. She didn’t react when Clint rapped on the window the first time, and, irritated, he knocked again. “Natasha. C’mon.”

She opened the car door, turning minutely to face him while keeping herself out of the rain. Clint tossed a room key to her, which dropped onto her thigh, then fell into the footwell as she continued to stare at him.

“Natasha. I’m freezing. Let’s go.”

She didn’t move.

“Let’s go, I said.” Frustration swelled within him — at her, for being dry while he was wet, for not saying a word to him the past five hours, for the cover identity of Jamie Baker that no longer existed — and he leaned forward, seizing her bicep in his grip.

For some reason, he hadn’t expected the blow that came, swift and hard enough to knock him on his ass.

“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes watering, fireworks of pain shooting their way through his eye socket. “Natasha, what the fuck?”

He looked up at her, sitting curled in the passenger seat like she hadn’t moved at all, but this time he recognized the look in her eyes. He’d seen it before in wild animals, in the eyes of a fox about to sink her teeth into her own leg. Clint took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Anger still roiled in his chest, but he pushed it down. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you. Shit, Natasha, I’m learning too. I’m new at this. I’m sorry.”

A flicker of recognition. She met his eyes.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said, and to his surprise, he wasn’t. “I’m gonna go inside. You can follow me, or not. We don’t have to talk, if you do want to come in. It can be your choice, got it? Your choice. I’ll stay out of your way.”

Slowly, he got up, retrieving his bag from the trunk and leaving Natasha in silence.

The room was nothing special. Quiet, small. Two beds. Clint barely noticed any of it, checking through the window as soon as he got in to make sure the car was still there in the parking lot. He half-expected it to be gone, for her to be on the interstate already. But she had waited.

When he got out of the shower, the car was gone.

Her choice, he’d said. And if she’d chosen to leave, take her chances elsewhere? Well, he’d never live that down at SHIELD, but ultimately, she might be better off for it.

He took the bed farthest from the door. Didn’t secure the extra locks, just in case. He flipped through the channels for a moment before he fell asleep still sitting up, in the middle of a rerun of Family Feud.

He woke up to the shower turning on. Somehow, Clint hadn’t registered her presence when Natasha came in, and he wondered what it said about him, that he already trusted her that implicitly.

The room was dark, save for the TV, now playing Wheel of Fortune. He couldn’t see out of his right eye, didn’t even want to know what the swelling was going to look like.

Illuminated on his nightstand was a plastic shopping bag, a CVS receipt piled alongside it. Inside the bag was a hard wrist brace, a new Ace bandage, Tylenol, and a bag of Haribo gummy bears.

Clint couldn’t help but smile. It was something.

i feel like i’ve wanted to write more fics like these about clintnat, those early shield days where they didn’t know each other as well yet, where maybe things weren’t so smooth as they are later. and i’m really glad i did, because i love the way this one came out :)

i will probably keep this one a tumblr exclusive. but watch out bc i have at least another two-parter for clint/nat coming, (which i’ll probably post on ao3) with a lotta hurt and a lotta comfort ;)

[wcnderlnds]

saving the world | peter maximoff

・❥・summary: when the weirdo at the coffee shop turns out to be a superhero ・❥・warnings: none! ・❥・word count: 1k ・❥・authors note: if you saw this posted earlier no you didnt (i messed it up) 😭 but first peter fic of the year lets go!!

The delicious smell of coffee invaded your senses the second you stepped foot into the small little coffee shop you worked at. The morning shift was your least favourite but at least your co-worker always seemed to arrive early enough to get the coffee brewing. It was another task you could tick off your schedule for the day. As you made your way to the back to grab your apron, you noticed the head of silver hair that you’d seen around lately. He was hunched over, flipping pages on some comic book. You guessed he just enjoyed the place — coffee shops always seemed to have the best kind of vibes.

However, as the day went on, he stayed put flipping through the comic book that never seemed to end until you noticed there was a stack of them on the table now. He hadn’t left so did he bring that many with him? Was he really spending his day sitting in a coffee shop? Whispering to your co-worker to take over the cash register, you headed over to the silver haired boy, pot of coffee in your hand.

“Want a drink or anything?” You asked, holding up the coffee in a gesture. “It is a coffee shop after all.”

“No, thanks,” he shook his head, offering you a small smile.

“Okaaaay.” You’d just turned around to go back to the counter when you heard him call out for you again. You span on your heels, turning back around to face him.

“Do you work here everyday?” He peered over the top of the current comic book he was reading, brown eyes meeting yours. “I mean, I’ve been here every day this week and I feel like you’re on every shift.”

You sighed. “Got to make money somehow, huh? What about you? Don’t you have a job? Or do you just like spending all your time at a coffee shop doing nothing?”

“I save the world and stuff, no biggie.”

“Yeah, okay.”

With a laugh, thinking this man was crazy, you headed back to the counter. It was always the cute guys that ended up being a little weird. Unfortunate, really, because he was cute. The silver hair, the deep brown eyes – he had a unique look, one that you were sure had most people swooning. That included you. Too bad he seemed like he was crazy. Saving the world? Maybe in his little delusional brain.

A couple of weeks passed and he was in every day. You’d found out through another brief conversation with him again that his name was Peter. He always seemed willing to talk, like he was surprised that someone actually wanted to talk to him. In fact, he often struck up conversation with you as you worked. It was nice, actually. Maybe he was a weirdo but he seemed sweet. The only problem was that now you were starting to think about him when you were at home. As you’d sit on the couch watching your favourite show, you’d think about whether Peter would like it or not, making a note to ask him. Or finding new songs to share with him. You’d found out he was a big music fan – he’d even brought you a mixtape one day full of all his favourite artists. It had become your favourite thing to listen to.

As you walked into work one day, your heart sank when you noticed Peter wasn’t sat in usual seat. The day progressed and he still hadn’t shown up. Anxiety gripped you, your brain automatically thinking the worst. Something must have happened to him. Why else wasn’t he here? Unless he’d found somewhere else to occupy his time. The thought alone made your heart ache. Damnit, you’d really started to fall for this weirdo who sat in your coffee shop all day.

The sound of the TV in the corner drew your attention, a news piece about the latest disaster in town. Something about how the X-Men had saved the day. You were about to turn away when you saw that familiar head of silver hair on the TV donned in one of the infamous X-Men suits. You blinked, confusion etched all over your features until it dawned on you, his words from weeks ago echoing in your mind. 

I save the world and stuff, no biggie.

He really hadn’t been lying. All this time you’d thought he was just pulling your leg but turns out he really was out saving the world. He was part of the friggin’ X-Men. How hadn't you put that together? He must be a new addition to the team or you hadn’t been paying enough attention lately.

A gust of wind blew the door open and before you could even process it, Peter was stood in front of you, his hair a windswept mess as his gloved hands pulled the goggles over his eyes onto his head. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Was busy….”

“....saving the world and stuff?” You cut him off, a smile tugging at your lips. He grinned, pointing his finger at you jokingly. 

“Didn’t believe me, did ya? I’d never tell a lie to a pretty thing like yourself.”

“Shutup.”

“Ha! Made you blush. So, hey, you think you could get me a coffee? I’m pretty spent.”

His request took you off guard for a moment. He never requested a drink so it took a moment for your brain to process it. “Uh, yeah…”

“While you’re at it, take your break and have a coffee with me. I was going to ask you on a date today but with all of that stuff happening, didn’t really go as planned so… why not just make it happen now, huh?” He folded his arms across his chest, his lips upturned in a cocky grin. He was so damn confident that you were going to join him and… he was right.

You called to your co-worker that you were taking your break, throwing your apron off and into the back. A first date at your work place wasn’t ideal but nothing about Peter seemed normal anyway. In fact, it seemed perfect.

taglist: @marchsfreakshow @ldydeath @bohnerrific69 @evansroses @mistysconcilium @decaf-mother @lacucarachapisser @strawb3rrystar @honeymoon8 @urmomsg1rlfreind

[malt-rants-and-stuff]

HEHEHE SO GLAD YOU ENJOYED IT<333 LOVED THESE NOTES SO MUCH I JUST KEEP REREADING THEM AND GIGGLING

I have some note of my own to share!! which is why this response took a bit (sorry about the dark screenshots I'm writing this in the dark at 3 am)

first off, yes I indeed reached into your mind to channel the vibes I put into this fic.

no fr though this was such a fun fic to write from my perspective as someone who has moved about 10-ish times in my life and who will surely move again. I dug into my own memories of moving out of the places I lived the longest just for this. that whole first section was inspired by the time I moved from living in my grandparents big house with tons of cousins and family, to suddenly being basically alone with my mom who was barely home. tashiro really dragged out those feelings I had and made them his own lol.

haha. yeah. to add onto this: there was a version of the draft with hanzawa haunting the narrative like this in like half the scenes. little tid-bits and mentions of his activities. but in the end that concept didn't stick bc I wanted the main focus to be on shirashiro

i wrote this while hanging out with a friend and she said they sounded quote "really fucking married" so it's nice to see that wasn't just her saying things lmao

this whole section was a fun one. the scrunchie is a bit I added after a very heated debate with myself over whether I wanted longer haired tashiro or if I wanted to have a scene of them cutting his hair. as you could probably tell I chose the longer hair

the gag gifts are in tashiro's room. while they didn't decorate much of the main sections of the apartment, their rooms are basically full of all the stuff from their old houses. he keeps the pots on his window sill and later down the line adopts some lovely little fake plants from a guy on the side of the road that turn out to be real plants. he lets shirahama name them.

the soup is a silly story. if I'm ever inclined to do a follow up to this I'd write it out fully. basically it's from ogasawara to tashiro, but he gave it to shirahama in a really awkward interaction and then sasaki mocked him for it. not pictured in that part is that miyano brought sasaki to help lift the couch, who brought oga because free labor, who brought soup because hid family said to bring a housewarming gift and he thought 'soup is warm'. some other shenanigans occur including hanzawa that we wont get into. its a fun time.

and on another personal note, the soup is inspired by my first meal in my current apartment. ive posted about it before, but my current move was an absolute disaster of legal bullshit and ridiculous time crunches that almost left me homeless. and during that time, there wasn't really a chance to think about food. it was a mad dash to move apartments in 12 hours that by some miracle worked out. so when I finally had the chance to breathe, I realized I A: had no food and B: was too tired to go get some. thankfully, my aunt stopped by during the chaos and left some surprise soup for me, and i warmed it up and ate it out of a pot with a ladle bc I couldn't find bowls or spoons. it was vegan soup and it tasted like freedom

thank you for drawing my vision and adding to it. this is so wonderful... fun fact: the headband is tashiro's. there's a deleted scene of him taking it and giving that explanation and some other things happened but it didn't feel right so it didn't make the cut. that face mask is so fun tho I love it

[rubbing my hands together] muahahaha yessss!!! the implications!!!!!

my exact feelings writing that scene

hilarious that you spotted that, it was in fact a sunnnfish reference! it actually said sunfish before but it felt too on the nose lol

this bit haunted me for a while because I couldn't figure out an animal that fully captured my vision of him. then I visited a museum and saw a hare and went "oh shit. shirahama."

Yeagh.....

i know what I wrote and it was on purpose but also in my heart they are always seated at a circular table that wobbles every time one of them leans on it and they take turns standing dramatically from it and watching it teeter

yeahhh he's grown so much!!! he's older and not much wiser and he still!! plays!!! ping pong!!!!!

another deleted scene included them playing a game that they got married in for tax (loot) benefits but I sadly let it go because it was focused around a plot line I abandoned for atmosphere purposes

here lies sunny, died from a lethal dosage of shirashiro jajsjsj

no but seriously this part was especially fun to write. I want to note in that second to last paragraph that the way he did that was on purpose very odd. he could've used just his hand to clean it off, or a paper towel, or just told shirahama and had him wash it off himself. but he didn't. it was also a very sudden full body turn. why did he do all that <-knows why

and the ponytail tashiro drawing!!!! cups him in my palms

if there were ever a b-side to this from shirahama's pov, it would mostly just be composed of a million "oh. oh." moments on loop

this whole project was a lot of fun for me mostly just from an editing standpoint. i had so much time to change and adjust scenes to make them work how i wanted. and all that left me with tons of deleted scenes and ideas i can reuse later which is awesome. thank you so much for the awesome prompt and lovely notes<333

@sunnfish okay Take Two!!! hello sunny sunnfish you wonderful sea creature! I was your secret santa for the @ssmygiftexchange! so sorry for the delay on this, my scheduled post was taken by the tumblr void and I wasn't home with my laptop to remake this post haha.

Your prompt was shirashiro college roommates au and prev pres, hanzawa, and tashiro hang out!! hope i was able to do this justice, this is officially the longest oneshot ive posted :)

Now with an Ao3 version, i would recommend reading there because Tumblr messed up some of my formatting and I can't fix it right now ^_^

Summary:

Tashiro and Shirahama are college roommates. It's a relatively peaceful life.

A non-linear story written for the sasamiya & hirakagi winter gift exchange!

As it turns out, moving in with a guy that you’ve known for almost half your life is pretty unremarkable.

Maybe it has something to do with being too familiar with each other. There have been too many sleepovers for the sound of snores to phase him, too many gym classes for the sight of skin to fluster him, too much time for anything to feel awkward between them. And yet…

And yet.

Packing your whole life into boxes is pretty hard, as it turns out. Looking around his room now it seems hard to imagine how it’ll feel to see the whole place emptied out. Cleared of every reminder of himself.

Tashiro tries not to think about it so hard as he turns back towards the closet. He’s never felt the need to go through everything he had stuffed in there until now, remnants of the past mixing with comforts of the present.

He reaches out to grab one of the hangers, pulling it free. His ping-pong jacket, he thinks despairingly, is slowly becoming small on him. His name spelled across the back in white lettering brings him back to when he first noticed. The growth spurts he’s been having refuse to slow even for a moment, and though he likes that some days, it mainly makes him face annoying things like this.

If he leaves the jacket, it will probably be packed up and put away somewhere to be forgotten. He can picture it now, sitting in a box stuffed away as it slowly fades from his memory. It makes him feel sort of heavy. But, if he takes it with him, he’s not sure it would be much better in the long run. Just holding it in his hands reminds him of how much time has passed. Of how fast it will keep passing.

He stands there, gears turning haphazardly in his mind, as he tries to breathe it all in.

Then, a knock.

His eyes dart to his doorway in surprise– knowing none of his family was home right now– only to remember that he’d invited the others to help him out.

Shirahama stands in front of him, knuckles resting against the already ajar door. His slightly bored face and tellingly awkward posture show that he hadn’t expected to be the first to arrive.

“Is your doorbell broken?” He asks as his socked feet pad their way into the room. “I tried using it, for once, but from that look I guess you didn’t hear.”

Tashiro finds himself a little amused by this, as he knows for a fact Shirahama has his own key. Perks of coming over to play games most weekends out of the year. He remembers them making jokes about going into each other's fridges while no one was home when they traded keys.

“Nah, guess I was just distracted,” He says with a casual shrug, placing the jacket back in the closet.

Shirahama gives him a questioning look. “I thought you were moving out, not back in.” His friend jokes as he passes Tashiro, grabbing a couple of shirts from the closet alongside the jacket.

He feels his eyebrow twitch in a way that reminds him a little of Hanzawa; and what a scary thought that is.

“I’m feeling indecisive.” He says, his mouth twisting to match how the word makes him feel. All twisted up and confused.

Shirahama turns to the side to face him, having stacked more clothes into his arms that look to be on the verge of falling to the floor. “About what? If you should take your whole house with you?”

That jacket. If I should re-dye my hair. Growing up. You. The future.

“What if we paint all the walls yellow?” He says instead of the hundreds of things his racing mind pushes forward.

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” Shirahama responds resolutely, his eyes showing no room for argument. Not that Tashiro will let that stop him.

“Or maybe green? Something bright.” He continues on, stepping away from his thoughts to grab the jacket out of the teetering pile and place it to the side. “Actually, scratch that, blue would be great too.”

Shirahama gives him a withering look that has no effect on his enthusiasm. Now that he’s thinking about it, the fact that he isn’t going to make these kinds of decisions on his own anymore is pretty fun. He’ll have a roommate, a friend to work through his troubles with. The thought makes him feel lighter.

“Hey, d’you still want this?” Shirahama asks some time later, long after Kuresawa and Miyano have come and gone. Tashiro looks up from the stack of boxes he’d just finished labeling.

“Oh, yeah I almost forgot!” He says as he takes his jacket, tying it around his waist for safekeeping. He really hopes he didn’t overestimate how much closet space he has.

It’s only a few hours after the final box has been unloaded and the moving van is hauled off when Tashiro makes a chilling discovery.

“Dude, we have no food.” He says, eyes staring at the bleak emptiness of their new fridge.

“Yup,” Shirahama responds as he walks up beside him, handing Tashiro a scrunchie in a sort of placating manner.

Tashiro’s shoulders droop with the weight of his exhaustion. Moving was one of the most tiring things he’s ever done, and coming from him that’s saying something.

Turning away from the depressing artificial fridge lighting, Tashiro turns toward the kitchen counter behind him and grabs his keys. As wrecked as he might feel, the growls of his stomach refuse to be ignored. “I’ll go buy something quick,” He says.

“Ah- wait, I have an idea,” Shirahama says suddenly. Back straightening, he moves away from the fridge of doom over to a bag of housewarming gifts the others had left. It was mostly a small array of gag gifts, little plant pots shaped like ping pong balls and a lampshade shaped like a pudding cup, but in a small container alongside the rest was something else. A saving grace for the hungry:

A tub of butter.

Tashiro looks at it in confusion, asking if his friend was really that hungry.

Shirahama smirks, “With food, no container is ever as it seems.”

He opens the tub’s lid, revealing its contents. Inside is not butter, but a large frozen serving of chicken soup. Tashiro feels his jaw drop as he gasps in disbelief.

Quickly shaking himself of his shock, Tashiro grins brightly. He takes the soup and stuffs it into the microwave, but Shirahama stops him from starting the timer.

“Y’know it would taste better if you put it in a pot instead.” Shirahama says, his hand gently clasped around Tashiro’s wrist in a way that he chooses not to internalize. His fingers are a little cold.

“But it’s already cooked.”

“So? You can still warm it up in the pot. Plus it’ll make it taste closer to how it’s supposed to.” Shirahama retorts, opening the microwave and placing the tub on the counter as he goes to try and find a pot in the sea of boxes.

Tashiro stays behind as he thinks. He hadn’t ever had a reason to go so far out of his way to warm up food before. He feels himself smile a bit, the first change he’ll have to get used to in this new life.

As it turns out, keeping a relatively small apartment clean is a little difficult when you’re living on your own as two messy 18 year olds.

They tried the whole chore chart thing at first, Shirahama said he used to have one at his parent’s house and it worked fine. But, well, it’s a little different when it’s just them.

The dishes are stood in a precarious stack, plates and glasses towering in ways gravity should never allow. Tashiro faces his task with a body radiating reluctance.

He’s been busy the entire week. Classes and work keep him out of the house, and even when he is home he prefers to spend time relaxing or hanging out with Shirahama. He had forgotten about his chore, and now it’s become a problem.

Carefully reaching towards the tower, he grabs the cups first and goes for the sponge right as Shirahama walks out from his room.

He has his hair held back by a headband, because my bangs are a nightmare right now, he’d explained the other day.

He walks towards the kitchen and looks at Tashiro, who has begun to work through the dishes.

“…Need any help?” He asks as he reaches toward the kitchen cabinet, pulling out the chips he’d come for.

“Oh, no I’m good,” Tashiro responds, though the overwhelmed look in his eyes doesn’t match his words.

Hm. Shirahama puts his chips down on the counter, turning towards the sink and stepping up beside his friend. “I’ll dry and you wash, okay?” He says with a smile.

Tashiro blinks at him for a moment, lips parted in an ‘o’, before he nods and sends back a smile of his own.

They make it through everything eventually, though not without some effort and accidental water sprays. They decide afterwards to just do the dishes together, just to save them time.

There's this strange sensation that comes for him one day. The apartment is dark, the steady hum of the aircon welcoming him home, and immediately something feels amiss.

Tashiro kicks off his shoes, only to turn back around and place them carefully on the shoe rack. He always forgets that it’s something he should worry about now. Keeping his home in order was never really a big deal before, it was usually only him spending time there anyways.

Passing through the short hallway, his eyes catch on a small black and red container. He looks around suspiciously, but finds no sign of Shirahama. Crossing the creaky floorboards, he inspects the tupperware and finds a green sticky note pressed onto the lid.

Went to a mixer.

Put this in a pot and try eating real food for once

Tashiro blinks away his shock. His eyes trace over the words on the note. Again, then again.

Thump

Thump

Thump

His hands warm the plastic as he goes to hold it, and a smile breaks out across his face. He’ll have to say thanks later.

Placing his food back onto the counter, he turns to go change. He feels anticipation swirl around inside of him, and even without tasting the soup, Tashiro feels warm.

Tashiro finds out in the second month of living with his best friend that they’re maybe not the best at making their place livable.

“How have you guys been living like this?” Miyano asks, part judging and part concerned. They’re standing in the living room, which consists of a couch, a tv, and a shelf balanced on two boxes that they use as a coffee table. The tv sits on the floor with a console, video game cases stacked beside it.

It’s not like they haven’t talked about decorating. They joked about it before moving, and made plans about what they wanted to do. The plans just… didn’t end up happening.

At some point between the exhausting move-in and the rush of classes starting up, decorating didn’t feel like that urgent of a thing.

But now classes have been in session for a while, and they still haven’t bothered with it.

The click of Kuresawa’s camera bounces off the empty walls. “A total bachelor pad,” he says, sounding just to the left of impressed. “My girlfriend was wondering what it looks like when two college guys live together.”

Tashiro groans at that, knowing that another classing girlfriend ramble is on its way.

“We live just fine,” Shirahama says, and as if on cue the boxes fold into themselves, sending the shelf clattering to the floor. Right.

They decide to go furniture shopping, just to make sure that they don’t have to deal with any more Looks from Miyano or paparazzi from Kuresawa.

Tashiro suppresses a laugh, pointing towards a table with odd looking fish for legs, “We need that.” Shirahama laughs along with him, but shakes his head.

“We have a budget, we’re only getting what we absolutely need.” He reminds Tashiro. His eyes turn towards a yellow and white coffee table that is practically calling for him. He turns away.

Tashiro salutes him, and doesn’t retaliate when Shirahama gives him a playful shove in response. He turns around and walks towards a different part of the store, twisting strands of his hair between his fingers as he goes. He really needs to touch up his roots.

Spotting something on a shelf, he picks it up. It’s a decorative statue, a silver painted hare taking a nap. He smirks and turns around, walking back to Shirahama. “Hey, look, I found you…” he starts to say before trailing off, eyes focusing on Shirahama’s side profile.

His eyes look focused in the way they always do when he’s overthinking something simple. His brows are pinched and his thumb is pressed flat on the side of his lip. Tashiro breathes in the expression, and decides he can show him later.

Laughter reverberates through the restaurant, one table in particular shining with rays of excitement and teasing.

“No, but seriously, how many more piercings can you get?” Tashiro questions dramatically, standing from his seat to stretch across the table and investigate. Hanzawa only laughs behind his hands and turns his head, showing off another new hole in his ear.

“If you ask that every time you’ll keep giving yourself a headache,” says the eldest one at the table, the previous ping pong president in all his red haired glory smirks mischievously and pats Tashiro’s back.

Crossing his arms and dropping back into his seat, Tashiro tries to keep up an air of frustration. It lasts about a second before he breaks out into a smile of his own.

These little meet-ups are a lot of fun for him. It’s not every day that all three of them are in one place. Especially not with their current schedules. It’s a nice break from the busy life he’s been settling into.

He feels his heart warm as he sits with his friends, ready to bring up his latest win in his college ping pong club, when his phone vibrates. Flipping it over, he sees that Shirahama texted him.

Divorce Soon: hey r you home

I left my jacket and this place is freezing

He pauses to consider. He’s not very far from the apartment, he could run there, grab it, and drop it off pretty quickly. But… he glances up from his phone to the two in front of him. He doesn’t want to leave yet. But… looking back at his phone he sees the spam of crying emoji’s Shirahama has begun sending. 

“Hey guys, sorry but my roommate needs me to get him something,” he says with an awkward expression. The conversation pauses as the two process what he said. “Oh sure, you need a ride?” His absolutely genius red haired friend offers, pulling his keys out as he says it.

“Yes!” Tashiro replies as his expression lights up. He tells Shirahama he’s on the way, and they head out towards the parking lot.

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Tashiro fiddles with the edge of his shirt. He tries not to move too much, looking back and forth from his hands to Shirahama. His friend has that same look in his eyes that he did back in middle school art class. Focused, determined, trying and failing to keep paint off of his face. Only this time the paint is a bright yellow dye.

They’ve been like this for a while. He hums along to the music playing from his phone. His butt feels a little numb and he has counted and recounted the tiny floor tiles at least a million times, all 173- no, 175 of them. He tries to focus his attention on anything but the gloved hands in his hair.

He carefully reaches over for his phone, switching the playlist to a random one he saw in his recommendations.

It’s not as if he couldn’t survive in silence for a little while. He usually doesn’t have anyone else to do this for him, so silence is kind of a given.

But as he taps the beat into his leg and opens his mouth, no words come out. He lets the silence linger even as Shirahama begins humming the words to a song he remembers coming out in their first year. He thinks about laying on the floor of his bedroom, phone conversations bouncing off his poster-lined walls and music blasting.

He remembers the telltale clicks and clacks from the other end of the call, the curses against ridiculous route mechanics spilling into his ears.

Tashiro feels like this is sort of like those moments, just a little bit more. His legs are longer, his hair can go into a ponytail now, and his world feels so much bigger. His eyes turn towards the boy-technically-man in front of him. His eyes look sharper and his face is more angular.

But, in a lot of ways he feels the same as he always has. The same Shirahama who cried during their graduation, and sat next to him on their first day of middle school. The same Shirahama who bullies him for counting on his fingers, but forgets what comes after 3 when he’s drunk enough. 

The same yet different Shirahama. They match in that way, at least. Both the same, but not fully.

“I… think I’m done?” Shirahama says, breaking their steady silence. Tashiro stands to go look in the mirror. He giggles at the sight of his foil-wrapped hair sticking out at odd angles.

Shirahama laughs along with him, and it really isn’t that funny, but they still stand there giggling like idiots. Tashiro pulls at the corner of his shirt again, turning around and raising it up to Shirahama’s face and wiping away some of the dye.

He drops his shirt and turns back to the mirror, looking at the two of them in the reflection. He watches the way Shirahama’s face stays frozen, and how his whole face flushes like it always has. It’s nice to see some things will never change.

[adhd-merlin]

x

[vulpixelates]

i am being so brave about my storm anxiety, i deserve a cookie

[dreamsy990]

was messing around with coloring wof bases and made girlfriends or something

bases by tenebris-aurea on deviantart

[bikananjarrus]

it's actually so important to me that avar is a little bit (or a lot) of a mess.

she had this huge responsibility as marshal of starlight placed on her shoulders, mainly bc of her actions as the "hero of hetzal," not necessarily because she wanted to be marshal. people across the galaxy know her name, see her as a hero. even the nihil talk about her as this figurehead of the jedi, the one who thwarted them over hetzal, and has been a nuisance to them since.

she (not unlike starlight) has been elevated to be this beacon for the entire galaxy.

so when it falls, so does she.

she runs, because it's easier than confronting that failure; her failure. but i think even before this, she'd gotten good at running. when she and elzar had that moment on starlight after the dedication ceremony (where he admittedly leaned in a bit too close in such a public space), she distanced herself from him then, hardly talking to him and giving him the cold shoulder when they did see each other. she pushed stellan away, was combative with him instead of seeking his support, and their last interaction was spent that way: terse and upset.

she's been running away from this weight on her shoulders, and from the people that mean the most to her long before starlight fell. so when it fell, of course it was just easier to run from that too. instead of facing this failure, instead of facing her grief.

she's reckless and she's running and she's messy and she's alone but she's still trying so hard to find that hope again. to find that belief in herself again, and to find those connections again, that she keeps shoving away. you can feel her clawing for every little bit of ground, to push back against the nihil bit by bit until she doesn't feel like such a failure anymore.

and i just appreciate that the road to recovery for her isn't clean cut. she's a mess and she's falling apart, but she keeps trying anyway. and i can't wait for her to realize that she doesn't have to walk this road alone the way she has been for so long.

[skitskatdacat63]

Please god, can someone give me the strength to write ANOTHER 900 word essay in German, I DON'T WANNA I DONT WANNA PLEASE NO

[cloudbends]

I feel a bit wary saying this because it doesn't feel quite real yet, but! had my last week of college classes last week. I still have to get through my last exam period but it's very odd to think this degree is almost over and done with. many thoughts about it in general.

[braceletofteeth]

Congratulations to Never Let Me Go for being the second drama to get the highest rating from me this year. Currently preparing my mind and body to be insufferable about it forever.

[tariah23]

I know that you talk about antiblackness amongst Asians, but can we step back for a moment and talk about antiblackness amongst Latinos because holy shit

https://x.com/bthetsunami/status/1730731475736375399?s=46&t=QiKHdDdvKoMxWGyakqTvxA

https://x.com/basedvasco/status/1730321408348369358?s=46&t=QiKHdDdvKoMxWGyakqTvxA

https://x.com/basedvasco/status/1730712739503558765?s=46&t=QiKHdDdvKoMxWGyakqTvxA

I know that there’s Afrolatinos, but people act like their existence disproves antiblackness amongst Latinos.

A couple of weeks ago a Mexican classmate dropped the n-word and justified using it because he was Mexican. I hate it here so much.

They’re holding hands and running through a field of colorful flowers when it comes to their levels of antiblackness and it’s not even funny. Sm of them love saying nigga and then when confronted about why they chose to use the word, all that they say is that “they’re Mexican,” or whatever, just like you said, and would be dead serious. Almost smugly. As if being a poc absolves them somehow and it’s just very sad.

[the-busy-ghost]

Warning- this is a very petty post, but I think I'm entitled to at least one petty, pissed-off reaction every time I finish a classic novel that hit harder than I expected so take this as my quota for the year.

Also spoiler warning for a book that came out over a century ago but still, I didn't know the plot going in so don't want to ruin it for anyone else, if you haven't read it shut your eyes. (Also Local Tumblr User Going Wild Over Book Published a Hundred Years Ago That Everybody Else Already Read should probably be categorised as akey part of indigenous tumblr culture at this point).

Anyway I just finished the War of the Worlds and in between studying I've thinking about Themes and Motifs as you do, and idly looking for further analysis. I then accidentally ran into an article called 'A Quiet Place II Succeeds Where the War of the Worlds Failed' and:

Now I haven't seen any of the Quiet Place films, this is not a rant against them and of course everyone is entitled to their own opinions. But re: the ending of The War of the Worlds, I have to ask, did this guy somehow miss, uh, the entire point of the book or am I just utterly insane?