#This got way longer than I expected

[archonofthestars]

Red, the Color of You

Phainon learns the meaning of the red lines Mydei wears.

Characters: Phainon, Mydei, Algaea (mentioned) Tags: N/A

AN: A gift for the wonderful keroroppi; they requested a Mydei/Phainon moment. I was inspired after reading some Garrus Vakarian/Shepherd fan fiction from Mass Effect. It’s like 99% likely that Mydei’s red designs are tattoos, but I’m playing fast and loose with canon here (aka I do what I want, jazz hands).

Want to see me write something? Submit an ask!

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Phainon noticed that Mydei had a specific ritual after combat.

It was a simple one, very unassuming. If Phainon didn’t pay such close attention to Mydei, he would’ve probably missed it entirely.

But after some random battle, the details of which Phainon no longer remembered, he saw that the red lines on Mydei’s shoulders were smeared. Normally, the red lines streaking across his body didn’t change in any way; Phainon could’ve almost sworn they were tattoos. 

Hell, they didn’t even fade or wash off when the two of them entered the Hero’s Bath to wipe off the grime of combat. Whatever Mydei used to paint those on, it was stubborn and very good at its job (just like its owner).

But the next time Phainon saw him, the red lines were back in their full glory, nothing smeared or out of place on the Kremnoan prince.

It intrigued Phainon, and what intrigued him, he pursued relentlessly.

He didn’t get another chance to find out more until weeks later. Another series of attacks on Okhema resulted in him and Mydei going to the battlefield, where waves of titankin attempted to beat down the gates of the holy city. The fight was ultimately nothing too difficult, other than that the titankin never seemed to run out of reinforcements.

The two of them managed to amass a sizable collection of cuts and bruises, including one that ran straight from Mydei’s shoulder and across his chest. It bisected a few of the red lines on him, and where the skin had healed, the red coloring was gone, leaving only pale skin. 

Algaea had needed Phainon elsewhere after the battle, and it wasn’t until a few hours later that Phainon was able to find his way to Mydei’s room. It was almost second nature to find his way there from the amount of times he had gone to visit Mydei (the latter insisted it was less ‘visiting’ and more ‘bothering’, but Phainon politely ignored him).

He knocked quickly on the door, more out of courtesy than anything, and opened it before he got permission. Even if Mydei had told him no, he still would’ve entered. 

Mydei glanced up at him from the floor, looking faintly annoyed but saying nothing as Phainon entered. In one bare hand was a small clay pot, filled with a deep red liquid, while he held a dark brush in the other hand.

“You know, I’ve always wondered what your marks were made of,” Phainon commented, eyeing the pot with curiosity as he joined Mydei on the floor. “You wanna spill the beans on what that paint is?”

Mydei scowled at him, dipping the brush into the liquid and carefully setting the pot down. “Do you truly have nothing better to do right now?” was all he said as he focused his attention on redrawing the line on his shoulder.

“What, I’m not allowed to find out more about my dearest lover?” Phainon asked cheekily, coming to sit down next to him. “Usually, lovers tell each other everything.”

“You’re not my dearest lover,” Mydei said, almost reflexively. The words lacked any real venom. “And because I know you’ll bother me until I answer you, it’s Kremnoan war paint. It’s designed to withstand even the fiercest battles.”

“Is it just meant to look scary?” Phainon grabbed the clay pot, watching the liquid move around. The viscosity reminded him of honey, slow moving and thick. 

“No,” the prince retorted, (carefully) snagging the clay pot from his hands. “It’s meant to symbolize your heritage and family lineage. Only those from the royal family can use this red color.”

The Deliverer stared in surprise; to be honest, he wasn’t expecting that answer. He really had thought it was meant to be a scare tactic against their enemies, but now that Mydei mentioned it, he hadn’t seen any other Kremnoans wearing this vivid red color. And every Kremnoan’s design had been different.

Dipping the tip of his pinky in the paint while Mydei was distracted, he asked, “Why would you need to paint your family lineage on yourself?”

Mydei sighed, clearly tired of all the questions. “If you fall in combat, your symbols will tell others who you were and who to return your body to for burial. No one knows every soldier in an army.”

“That’s kind of morbid, but I guess it makes sense.” Kremnoans tended to do things very differently than the people of Okhema.

For a moment, silence descended on the room and Phainon watched as Mydei continued to fill in the lines on him with even, smooth strokes. It was clear the prince had done this many times in the past. It felt a little like watching an artist painting a masterpiece.

He wondered…

“Can you paint some on me?” The words tumbled out of his mouth without him really thinking about it. The image of him wearing the same red marks at Mydei on his body thrilled him. Something about it felt surprisingly intimate.

The other man looked startled at the request, and it took a moment for Phainon’s brain to catch up. The symbols of the royal family, the red color only they could wear. Phainon had basically asked to write that he was officially part of Mydei’s family all over his body. They may have an arrangement that was something like lovers (if lovers meant avoiding talking about what exactly they were and any feelings they might have) but this was definitely beyond the scope of their current relationship.

Phainon might as well have asked if he could marry Mydei right there before all of Okhema. 

He could feel the heat pool on his cheeks, but decided to wait for Mydei’s response. If the prince got angry, Phainon would apologize and try to calm him down. If he played it off like Phainon had made a bad joke, Phainon could throw out jabs and jokes until the atmosphere went back to normal.

After what felt like the longest moment in Phainon’s life, Mydei slowly nodded. The movement looked uncertain, but the prince began moving closer to him.

“Take your coat and shirt off,” he ordered, dipping the brush into the liquid.

That…was not the response Phainon was expecting. The implications of Mydei going along with this were…he couldn’t even begin to grasp all of it. A little stunned, he awkwardly quipped, “If you wanted to see me naked, you could’ve just asked.”

Mydei rolled his eyes so hard, they looked like they could’ve come out of his head. “Unless you want me to paint all over your clothes…” He moved the brush closer, emphasizing his threat. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! No need to ruin my clothes,” Phainon conceded, quickly pulling the articles off and tossing them somewhere in the room. “Algaea would kill me if I ruined another outfit.”

The Kremnoan merely huffed at that. Carefully, he leaned in and Phainon felt the cool touch of liquid trailing on his collarbone. 

The sensation was kind of relaxing, he had to admit. And something about Mydei’s steady hand working across his skin had Phainon closing his eyes to enjoy it. The prince rarely had quiet moments with him. Usually, their time together consisted of sparring, throwing playful jabs at each other, or tangling up in the sheets. Sometimes all three at once, depending on the day.

He hadn’t even realized how much time had passed until Mydei uttered a quiet, “Done,” and the feeling of the brush and ink on his skin disappeared. 

Opening his eyes and glancing down, Phainon took a long moment to admire the curving red lines along his arms and abdomen. The color stood out strongly on his pale skin, really drawing an eye to their designs all along his body.

Phainon made his way over to the mirror in the corner of the room to admire the full picture. And wow, what a picture it made. He hadn’t anticipated how he would feel, seeing Mydei’s familiar symbols painted on him. It made him feel…

It made him feel like he really did belong to Mydei, their undefined relationship be damned. And something in his traitorous little heart just melted at the idea of that.

If any Kremnoan saw him right now, Phainon could only imagine their reaction to the Deliverer of Okhema basically wearing, “I am officially part of Crown Prince Mydeimos’ family,” all over himself.

The man himself was quietly watching Phainon, the line of his shoulders slightly tense as he waited for Phainon’s response to his work. 

Turning around, a grin crept onto Phainon’s face. “I think it suits me, wearing your colors. Don’t you?” And, ever the one to be obnoxious, he held his arms out and gave a quick spin, like he was a young girl showing off a beautiful new dress.

“Don’t go fishing for compliments, Deliverer,” Mydei retorted, but he sounded more amused than anything. He stashed his tools in a cabinet near his bed before reaching to put his gauntlets and armor back on.

“Besides,” he continued, smirking over at Phainon. “You’ll be stuck with that for weeks now. Good luck explaining that to the others because I won’t.”

[arcanacenturia]

GOOD OMENS 2 SPOILERS

Something's so not right in S2 though.

The only time we "see" God is whenever she talks to Job and just blabbers stuff at him because she's bored af and doesn't have anybody to speak with except maybe the Metatron.

When Aziraphale tries to talk directly to God in S1, the Metatron tells him "Speaking to me is speaking to God" and categorically refuses to listen to Aziraphale's request.

That's weird. That's so weird.

We have no proof that he's actually relaying all this information to God. She hasn't appeared to anyone in centuries. He's also aware of Aziraphale's will to stop the arma-fucking-geddon.

He's aware of Azi's relation to Crowley.

As I've seen stated somewhere on Tumblr earlier, he's aware that just by trying to perform a teeny tiny miracle together they performed a huge ass one that triggered alarms in Heaven and succeeded in separating the two, because he's aware, and could be scared, of their combined powers.

Okay but why would he need to separate them?

A second too late, he told Aziraphale about The Second Coming, which is most likely linked to a new Armageddon again.

Related to that, we never heard God herself about the destruction of earth. Anything said about it is told by other characters. Note to myself: list up who talked about it.

The Metatron seems to be hiding something. Unlike the other (arch-)angels he's not naïve, he wears a black coat, he doesn't sugarcoat his speech to humans (and my synesthesia says he speaks Spiky, and not a good spiky).

I think it's also noteworthy that Crowley & Aziraphale don't communicate, not with words, Crowley never told Aziraphale about what Gabriel told him but he also never told Aziraphale what he found out about Gabriel in S2. He never told Aziraphale that his bosses were planning to restart Armageddon until Gabriel went Nah, that it's the reason the Metatron demoted him. He demoted the current Prince of Heaven for stopping it, then promoted Aziraphale, who is a lot more tame and also has been a cause of Armagenope to fail, to lead it.

I don't think Crowley fell because he asked questions to God. I think he sauntered vaguely downwards because he asked too many questions to the Metatron, that would put his plan in danger.

This bitch is SHADY AS FUCK and I'm honestly so eager, so curious to see what he (and season 3) is going to bring us. I wonder if he's lived among the humans, too. Besides, I feel like he's going to try (and maybe manage) and use Azi as his marionnette for whatever stuff he's preparing.

And I feel whatever he's preparing is really against God.

Thank you Neil Gaiman for this ending because even if it HURTS it's so interesting. There are so many things that could be going on behind the heartbreak. I could be going on about how Crowley probably even found out part of what happened. I've seen people speculate with good arguments that Crowley lost part of his memory after falling, and if it is the case that could be another thing done to prevent Crowley from stopping the Metatron.

There is SO MUCH that could be, so much that WILL be, and so little that we can know.

No matter in what form, I'm so excited to see how this will develop in the future.

[myhyperfixatedmess]

Serpentine. Pt 2

Tom isn't so certain anymore, which only makes things worse.

Word count:3.4k

Content warning: None that I am aware of.

Pt. I

It seemed Tom's mission to get answers had taken an unexpected turn, beginning sooner than he anticipated. As he entered the common room, he was taken aback to find you engaged in an animated conversation with some of his acquaintances. A mixture of surprise and uncertainty washed over him, leaving his eyebrows furrowed and his body momentarily frozen.

Tom observed the scene in front of him, silently contemplating the implications of this unexpected encounter. He knew his deep-seated hatred for you had been evident to those around him, including Avery, who now locked eyes with him, a flicker of fear dancing in his gaze. 

It was understandable for Avery to feel apprehensive, considering the consequences they could face for being in your presence, given Tom's previous animosity towards you. However, things had changed, even if Tom hated to admit it. This unforeseen circumstance presented a unique opportunity—one he couldn't ignore.

With a calculated shift in his demeanor, Tom made a decision. He would leverage this situation to gain the answers he desperately sought. It was a chance to bridge the gap between his festering resentment and the curiosity that had begun to bloom within him.Taking a deep breath, Tom approached the group, suppressing the remnants of his disdain. He wore a carefully constructed mask of indifference, concealing the internal turmoil that churned beneath the surface. As he joined the conversation, his words were measured, his tone guarded. 

"Clarence, Abraxas, Orion," he addressed the boys surrounding you, causing a collective tension to ripple through their bodies. It was an expected reaction, and you, of course, remained unfazed. A serene smile graced your lips, your gaze steady and unyielding as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. Tom couldn't help but feel a surge of irritation as he watched you, his jaw clenching with the intensity of his simmering hatred. He fought against the impulse to let his anger consume him, knowing all too well that it would only hinder his objectives. With a calculated restraint, he nodded in your direction, his voice carrying a curt formality, "And hello to you as well."

The sudden acknowledgment of your presence caught everyone off guard, including Tom himself. The room fell into a momentary silence, as if time itself had momentarily paused to witness this unexpected exchange. Tom's eyes remained fixed on you, scrutinizing your every movement, your every gesture. He detected no hint of vulnerability or discomfort in your demeanor, and that only served to further fuel his resentment.

As the weight of the unspoken tension settled upon the room, Tom made a conscious effort to regain control. He straightened his posture and composed himself, a cold resolve settling over him like a shroud. Deep down, he knew that engaging with you would disrupt the carefully crafted walls he had built, yet he couldn't resist the magnetic pull that compelled him to address you in that moment.

Though the others exchanged bewildered glances, Tom was resolute in his decision. He would face you head-on, determined to navigate the treacherous terrain of his emotions. In that fleeting acknowledgment, a subtle shift occurred, challenging the established dynamics and setting the stage for an unforeseen journey—one that would force Tom to confront the depths of his own conflicted feelings.

Your smile widened at Tom's greeting, a glimmer of amusement dancing in your eyes. Perhaps you had indeed noticed his simmering hatred towards you, or maybe you were genuinely surprised by his acknowledgment. Tom couldn't quite decipher your true feelings, and that in itself was a source of vexation. While he had a knack for reading people like open books, you remained an enigma—a locked tome with secrets he couldn't pry open, no matter how hard he tried.

"Hello, Tom," you spoke, your voice dripping with sweetness that could almost be sickening to some. Your words seemed to have an almost hypnotic effect, and Tom felt a strange sensation stir in his stomach as his heart rate quickened. He couldn't quite explain the odd fluttering feeling that you seemed to evoke within him.

Shaking off the unexpected reaction, Tom's eyes darted to one of your hands, which he suddenly noticed was placed firmly on Malfoy's arm. The sight brought him back to his senses, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation. What business did you have being so physically close to Malfoy? The notion bothered him more than he cared to admit.

As Tom tried to regain his composure, the realization hit him that he had been acting strangely around you for some time now. It was disconcerting to find himself affected by your presence in ways he couldn't comprehend. But then again, he was no stranger to feeling out of sorts, especially when it came to matters involving you.

Pushing aside his internal turmoil, Tom questioned your presence among his "friends." He found it hard to believe that you had any genuine friendship with them, and the idea of you casually chatting with them unsettled him. However, he was quick to remind himself that it no longer mattered. He had his own objectives and didn't need to concern himself with your interactions.

"Shall we go to dinner?" Tom suggested, attempting to appear unaffected by the situation. He knew his followers were probably shocked by his behavior, but he couldn't bring himself to care about their opinions. What mattered now was understanding the complexities of his emotions, even if that meant appearing out of character to those around him.

Your eyes brightened at the suggestion, and your smile remained as radiant as ever. Tom couldn't help but notice the trepidation in the other boys' expressions, seemingly unsure of what was happening between the two of you. In all honesty, Tom didn't know what was happening either, but he was resolute in seeking the answers.

You stood gracefully from your chair, your composure unwavering as you turned to address the other boys.

 "Let's go then," you said with genuine enthusiasm. Your readiness to embrace the situation both surprised and intrigued Tom.

As the group made their way towards the Great hall, Tom's mind was consumed with thoughts of you. He knew he had to tread carefully, for he was stepping into unknown territory—one where his mind was in disarray and the line between loathing and fascination blurred. It was a dangerous path he was traversing, one that held the potential to alter the very fabric of his existence.

But for now, he would focus on the present, on this peculiar situation with you, and on the unraveling problem that was slowly consuming his thoughts and emotions.

-

Tom was certain he was losing it.

He was watching you laugh at something your friend had said, throwing your head back and lightly hitting them for whatever the comment had been. His followers were talking about something, pondering when the next meeting would be, he was pretty sure.

 However his focus had long drifted from the topic and was now placed upon you. He felt a mixture of envy and anger when he saw your male friend, a muggle-born no less, reaching out to fix something in your hair. The intensity of his feelings surprised him; for once the burning  hatred wasn't aimed at you. But at the scum who had the audacity to touch you.

Tom's thoughts were threatening to swallow him whole.

Why was he touching you? Why were you letting him touch you? And why did Tom care so much?

 You weren't his responsibility; he had no reason to care about you beyond your status. Yet there was an inexplicable pull towards you and, despite his attempts to deny it, he felt responsible for you. He didn't understand why or how this happened, but he felt compelled to be around you, despite what it could cost him

Oh how he wished he was just ill, at least then there'd be a cure and a reason.

Instead, it seemed, he was terminally obsessed with you. With no cure and no reason.

And Tom was deathly afraid of what that could mean.

-

You had invited him to study with you.

He should've said no, but the look in your eyes and the urge to discern the way he's been feeling had him saying yes. 

And the way your eyes lit up had him reveling in the fact he had. 

Just what exactly had you done to him?

So, now the two of you were studying in a quiet corner of the library. You were flipping through a runes book and he was watching you do so. His own book lay forgotten on his lap. It truly was a miracle you hadn't noticed his unrelenting gaze, but then again you seemed rather entranced.

If anyone saw the way he was looking at you, they'd probably say the same about him.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he examined you intently. His mind was preoccupied with a million and one questions, each vying to dominate his attention. It was difficult to keep them in check as he struggled with what to make of this situation, but he forced himself to remain calm.

You suddenly looked up and Tom's eyes flew off your figure, determined to hide his previous staring. You didn't mention it though as you glanced at him, and he pretended to only then look up from his book and meet your eyes. 

"Do you know where I could find that book on advanced runes, Professor had mentioned? This ones not very useful," You laughed lightly, tilting the now closed book in his direction. His mouth went dry again, and he nodded. Pointing in the direction of the shelf he was sure the book would be, before speaking.

"You should find it under "M ''," Tom said and you beamed, wasting no time in getting up and waltzing over to where he'd pointed. Scouring the shelves and running your fingertips over the spins of certain books.

Tom felt his heart pounding in his chest as he saw you find the book then proceed to struggle with obtaining it. Without thinking, he was already beside you, his hand extending to retrieve the book for you. As you turned around with a grateful smile, his breath caught in his throat, realizing how close you were.

Your innocent gaze and the genuine warmth in your smile overwhelmed him. He found himself lost in the depths of your eyes, and all rational thoughts seemed to vanish. In that moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you.

Kiss them.

The intrusive thought echoed in his mind, shocking him back to reality. He tried to dismiss it, to convince himself it wasn't his own desire. He couldn't afford to be vulnerable, to let his emotions take control. Yet, the more he resisted, the more the temptation grew.

He wouldn't kiss you, he couldn't kiss you. He wasn't going to give in, he wasn't going to show weakness and he definitely wasn't going to—

.

.

.

He kissed you.

Time seemed to stand still as the world around him blurred into insignificance. The softness of your lips against his sent a rush of emotions through him. It was both thrilling and terrifying, like dancing on the edge of a precipice.

For a fleeting moment, he forgot about the darkness within him, his ambitions, and the path he had chosen. In that kiss, he felt a connection he had never experienced before. It was as if the walls he had built around himself were crumbling, and for once, he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

But as quickly as it had begun, the kiss ended. Tom stepped back, his expression a mixture of surprise and fear. He couldn't comprehend what had just happened and how he had let himself succumb to such weakness.

Regret washed over him, and he turned away, unable to face you. The conflicting emotions inside him continued to rage, leaving him more uncertain about himself than ever before. That impulsive moment had laid bare a part of him he hadn't even known existed, and he was terrified of the implications it held

"Tom?" You called out to him, but something was off, you sounded so sad. He turned back around to look you in the eyes. You looked so sad. Why? Why were you sad? What was wrong with–

Oh.

It was him.

He's what was wrong.

"I apologize for taking advantage of our proximity, I do not know what came over me," Tom spoke, reverting to the cold, calm and detached persona he was more comfortable with. He watched your eyes widen at his words.

"No, Tom, that's not–"

Tom shook his head, cutting you off before any of your protests could escape. 

"There is no need to continue." He was already moving toward the door, his mind focused on nothing but escaping the library and finding somewhere else for him to be. He didn't exactly know where he was going, he just had to get away from you.

He heard you softly call out to him once more, but he continued walking, unable to face the emotions stirring inside him.

-

When he finally returned to his room, confusion and regret overwhelmed him. There was a knot in his stomach, making him feel queasy. How could he have let that moment happen? It was a mistake he knew he shouldn't have made.

But he did.

Tom's head throbbed intensely, each heartbeat pounding against his skull like a hammer. His throat felt dry, no amount of swallowing could quench the parched feeling. He hadn't felt this drained in a long time. Weary and unsteady, he practically stumbled onto his bed.

With a heavy sigh, he collapsed onto the mattress, closing his eyes in an attempt to escape the tumultuous emotions swirling within him. Sleep enveloped him, providing a temporary respite from the turmoil.

He prayed he wouldn't dream of you.

-

The next day brought an unexpected encounter. You stood in front of him, appearing nervous and maybe even a bit guilty, though he couldn't fathom why. It was him who had acted out of line.

Your presence perplexed him, and he wondered what troubled your mind so profoundly.

He hoped it wasn't because of him.

You fidgeted with your tie, and your eyes kept darting between him and the floor, searching for the right words. Tom observed you, contemplating your intentions. Were you here to reprimand him for his behavior? Or perhaps to humiliate him? In his experience, those who tried usually regretted it, but he couldn't discount the possibility that people would believe anything coming from you. Tom was pretty certain that in everyone's mind, you were the female version of him. Which, he didn't like, because it was just so far from the truth, you were nothing like him.

The crimson red that stained his hands would never dare taint yours.

"Can we talk about yesterday?" you finally asked, breaking the silence. He frowned, reluctant to delve into that painful subject. He didn't want to discuss yesterday, as if it would somehow make things better.

"Why do you wish to discuss yesterday?" he inquired, a hint of detachment in his voice.

"Are you serious?" Your expression fell, and Tom couldn't decipher if you were mocking him or genuinely upset.

"Why do you seem so insistent upon making this a conversation? Are you that intent on berating me?" he questioned, the tension between you palpable.

"Of course not, Tom! I just want to talk, please," you pleaded. Tom noticed the desperation in your eyes, which softened his resolve. He knew he couldn't remain in that place of distance forever.

"Very well," he acquiesced, gesturing for you to sit beside him. As you took the seat, he noticed how your gaze remained fixed on him, silently assessing him.

He wanted to run away from you, from everyone connected to you. But a part of him also yearned to reach out and feel your presence once again.

"So..." you began, and he turned his attention to you.

"You kissed me," you said, and Tom felt himself freeze, as though bound by a spell.

"That's right," he replied simply, his emotions kept in check. His questioning gaze encouraged you to continue.

"Well...why?" you asked, and he found himself struggling to articulate an answer.

His brow furrowed as he tried to find the words. He had thought about it before, trying to understand why he acted on his feelings, why he didn't resist the temptation. But at that moment, he couldn't find a satisfactory explanation.

"...I...I do not know," Tom admitted with uncertainty.

"Do you regret kissing me?" Your question made his shoulders tense.

Did he regret it? Of course, he did. Regret filled him every moment after that kiss. But the kiss itself, the act of it, he couldn't bring himself to regret that.

"I suppose… I do not," he finally managed to say. It was true; he didn't regret the kiss itself, though he regretted how it played out and the turmoil it had caused.

"That's good," you smiled, even letting out a light laugh. Tom couldn't help but feel a bit relieved to see you happy.

"Pardon?" he raised an eyebrow, not quite grasping your response.

"Yeah! I mean the guy I like kisses me then runs off, I thought that felt bad. But it would've been soooo much worse had you regretted the whole thing," you explained, and Tom's heart skipped a beat.

What had you just said?

"You like me?" he whispered, the words hanging heavily in the air.

You smiled and nodded energetically, "Yep!"

Tom couldn't believe what he was hearing, and he couldn't believe the warmth that spread through him at your admission. He was both elated and terrified at the thought of what this revelation could mean.

"Oh," was all he managed to say, but he could see your disappointment. He quickly attempted to clarify his reaction, feeling the need to salvage the situation.

"Wait, that is not- I was not trying to..." he stumbled over his words, but you just giggled.

"You know what, I give up," he sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. He allowed himself to get lost in the sound of your laughter, feeling a sense of relief that he didn't quite understand.

"It is not funny," he murmured when you stopped laughing, but you only smiled at him.

"Sorry…"

"You do not need to apologize," Tom said quietly, shaking his head.

As you both sat in silence, looking out at the black lake, he couldn't help but feel that everything was so messed up. Days ago, you were the last person he wanted to see, and now, having you there felt almost right.

But it couldn't be. He couldn't allow himself to feel this way.

He couldn't afford to let himself get attached to you.

But he wanted to so badly.

Tom felt you gently lean forward and press a soft kiss to his cheek. He felt himself stiffen momentarily before relaxing. A smile graced your features, and he allowed himself to bask in its radiance.

Tom refused to believe he deserved this, that he deserved you. He knew everything would eventually fall apart, everything would go back to the way it used to be. Back to when he hated you. Or atleast whatever cheap imitation of hate he convinced himself he felt for you.

And yet, here you were, willingly giving him a chance at happiness, despite knowing he didn't deserve it.

And although it felt unnatural, and unfamiliar, and uncomfortable, he wanted to embrace this change.

He really wanted to.

"Hey..." His voice surprised him, its softness unfamiliar.

"Hi.." You responded, a genuine smile lighting up your face.

"Would you, perhaps... like to attend the next Hogsmeade trip with me?" Tom's voice was hushed, as if he was unsure of his own words.

You, on the other hand, felt a spark of delight within you. Your smile grew wider, your eyes sparkling.

"Hmm, perhaps..." Your reply carried a playful tone, enjoying the moment.

"Oh, do not be coy," he said, his voice pretending to be stern, but the hint of a smile betrayed him.

"Alright, alright, I apologize," you laughed, the sound musical and infectious.

"I will accompany you to Hogsmeade, Tom," you finally agreed, and you could see the tension release from his posture. He licked his lips, turning his gaze away from you, mostly to mask the budding grin on his face.

"Brilliant."

Abruptly, the clamor of thoughts in his mind hushed. Inner turmoil gave way to an unusual serenity, and the torment subsided.

Casting another glance at you, a sense of alignment washed over him. Everything felt oddly harmonious.

For if you were a rose, then he'd be the thorns, drawing blood from all those who try to corrupt your beauty.

[ihatedean]

If you still want to do that ask game - 5, 9, 16

im always down for ask games :D

5. what made you start your blog?

dadrockenjoyer's influence frfr....

though really i was watching s12 and the show had gotten SO bad i needed an outlet to complain about it<3 the friend that got me into the show was stuck in S10(i think?) and i didn't want to spoil her. also i knew jack was coming and really wanted to document the progress of me falling in love w him

i was (and still am, a little bit) intimidated by the history of the wincest fandom and how talented everyone was. I'm used to small ships and that "built this from nothing" feeling that comes with making stuff for blorbos only 5 other people care about, so i didn't think whatever i could contribute with would be relevant in any way. as in. i didn't create this blog with a "oh i'll share all the stuff i've been working on with like-minded people! :D" mindset it was more an "i hate this so much but im obsessed with it so I can't let it rot inside"

(also my f1 blog has a completely different vibe compared to this one. this blog is kind of like my main where i dump everything + the 2014 "grunge" aesthetic blog i always dreamed of)

9. tell a story about your childhood

i don't really remember a lot of my childhood:3 mostly bad stuff.

also afaik i was a boringgg kid. i lived in a second floor in a neighborhood full of old people!! no backyard!! and i was too anxious to go out on the street to play and have something interesting happen to me lmao. most of my childhood consists of eating chalk and playing on the ps2

16. if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

physically? the shape of my face<3 round face + double chin is like my one and only insecurity i wish i could do something about. many parts of my face are so small that compared with these huge cheeks i've got i think i look a lil funny.

and like personality or whatever i wish i could keep the yapping to regular levels. im either oversharing like crazy or disappearing for three days:/ which is not a nice way to treat people. i try to avoid my phone when im manic because i can say SO much shit I'll regret. im also uhhh a bit of a bitch. i can get really really mean for absolutely no reason other than like a mild disagreement.

fun questions!!

[manicpixietrashbag]

I fucking hate the sanctification and pseudo-solemnity of 9/11 and I will tell you all why.

I’m old enough to remember it. I was 8. Me and my family and my abusive fucking cult were all on a plane from Boston Logan to Orlando (We were on an all-school field trip for some reason.) We left about half an hour before the first plane hit.

We had a layover in New Jersey, and I remember seeing all the flights delayed or cancelled. I remember staring up at the monitors, laughing and joking about it with my fourth grade classmates. Our connecting flight was NOT cancelled for whatever reason, and we continued on to Florida.

Once we arrived in Florida, they kept us on the plane on the tarmac for a long time. Like, a REALLY long time. Eventually they let us off, and once they did, we found out our plane was one of 5 left in the air after the order had been given to shoot down all planes left flying.

We tried to call our families. The phone lines were jammed and crashed with the volume. We eventually got through and told them we were ok (we had left from the same airport as the hijacked planes, only two gates away from those ill-fated flights.)

It’s important to remember at this point that I was there not just with my family, but with my cult as well. At this point, our pastor’s wife (ever the astute propagandist) realized her opportunity.

She made us all kneel.

My primary memory of 9/11 isn’t the destruction, the loss of life, or the fear - it isn’t even the confusion or the sense of my entire world indefinably changing for the worse. My primary memory is a false performance for strangers.

Susan Hicks, our pastor’s wife, made all of the 26 children she was entrusted with kneel down. She bade us to pray. We were forced to kneel and perform spiritual raptures none of us truly felt. She made us kneel on the sidewalk outside the arrivals terminal, and she made us kneel in the Enterprise/Hertz rental car office that we barely fit in.

Strangers joined in. Men took off their ballcaps. Women bowed their heads. I folded my hands, I lifted my head, and watched as every screen in my line of vision showed a plane I didn’t care about fly into a building I’d never seen before.

I didn’t even talk to God. I assumed the position, and I watched though sinfully slitted eyes as people I never saw before (people I would never see again) drew some kind of comfort from a false ritual that an abusive charlatan forced onto children under her absolute power.

9/11 is a joke. It’s fucking hilarious. It doesn’t mean anything, and it never did. The men who made it happen were forged out of the DISASTROUS failure of decades of US foreign policy. The event catalyzed an equally disastrous “war” which cost millions of lives and billions of dollars.

9/11 is a fucking JOKE. Laugh at it as much as you can. The only people who want to take it seriously are people who want to take advantage of you.

9/11 is great because they tried to turn like one instance of blowback from US Imperialism into an excuse for Forever War, only for the hyperbolic and over-saturated presentation of this "greatest tragedy of all time" to quickly lose any emotional effect on the generations too young to have understood or even witnessed it at the time. So now it's just a fucking joke to everyone like under the age of 25 (including non USamericans who learned of it through osmosis from the global hegemonic culture) and if anything has served as a jumping off point for people to learn about US imperialism (both as the cause of attacks and as actions 9/11 was used to justify) and come to oppose it. So even among like Liberals, "9/11 is funny" is just the consensus opinion and "9/11 was completely justified" isn't even that controversial. In conclusion; a merry 9/11 to all and to all a good night

[fallisl1fe]

TF ONE SIDESWIPE MY ADORABLE BELOVED<3

I have this headcanon that Sides and Arcee are besties, kinda like sister and brother. Why? Cuz they stand next to eachother in the movie for 3 seconds

AND BLURR!! I love this lil guy so much 🩵

[nell0-0]

Hyrule Warriors but instead of the lil' hero of time there's the hero shade :)

[hersterical]

Alright, I literally cannot stop thinking about these friendships.

Right from the get go Miles and Sokka have similar “I’m super awkward so I try to be cool and emulate older male figures who I respect but then I’m actually so much cooler and more like those role models than anyone realized once I just start being myself” vibes. So many of the themes explored with these characters are so similar!!!! I love it. But also both of them being these huge science nerds. Put them in a room with The Mechanic! And Hakoda! And Peter B! Can you imagine all the wild crap they would come up with? All of the unintended consequences they forgot to consider because they were just too excited about the science! I think Miles and Hakoda (and maybe Peter as well but only due to experience) would be the voices of reason in that group and that is such a scary thought. Miles could teach Sokka the Shoulder Touch (he tries it on Suki and her reaction is anywhere from laughing to flipping him over on his back) (I also think that Suki and Gwen would really get along while we’re on the subject). A+

And Katara and Hobie!! Adagdhjsksjdk!!!!!!! They would feed off of each other in the scariest, most intense way imaginable. I do think Hobie would try to help Katara to take a step back and think through her plans, but if they have any time to get into a discussion I think Katara could get him up to her level of recklessness. He would have been her literal biggest supporter in her duel against Pakku. And these two just literally can’t stop adopting people into their found family. With these two feeding off of each other their army on The Day of Black Sun/at the end of AtSv would’ve been twice as big. Can you imagine a Katara who is taught by Hobie how to properly channel her anger? Hobie would’ve backed up every single one of Katara’s hope speeches in his own style. There’s also a 50/50 chance that Hobie could’ve convinced Katara in season 1 that Jet was bad news (don’t get me wrong, Hobie at Katara’s age probably would’ve been just as taken in by him as she was but he has experience with charismatic leaders who seemingly offer you everything you could want) (Katara would probably also briefly develop a crush on Hobie. Like the kind of crush you don’t actually expect or even necessarily want something to happen with but this is a person you feel safe with as you’re figuring out what what you do and don’t like). They also have legendary arguments. Their political opinions are in perfect alignment roughly 95% of the time but when they’re not the results are explosive (one time literally). More often their arguments are more about the execution of how to incite a rebellion/confronting one of the others for acting stupid (Hobie believes a little too strongly in letting people learn things the hard way than Katara is usually comfortable with). Katara would be able to see the weight of too much responsibility too soon resting on Hobie’s shoulders better than anyone else just because he’s way too good at hiding behind his cool guy image and yeah, she is the mom friend. She’s the mom friend in all of the best ways (and in some of the not the best ways as well) and seeing the struggles her friends are going through that the others don’t is what she does. It also helps that Hobie is also the mom friend and so that’s just another way they understand each other (political activists/revolutionaries+mom friend= Katara and Hobie). I also think Hobie thinks Katara is unintentionally hilarious. She’s mad about it at first but eventually grows to appreciate it. And let’s not forget that Katara has already dealt out some masked vigilante justice on her own in canon, imagine if she was friends with Spider-Man! If this happens while the gaang is in Ba Sing Se then they could run into The Blue Spirit while they’re out and team up without any of them realizing (it’d be funny if Jet and Zuko stayed together and were vigilante partners as well in this scenario. But Jet would be recognized immediately because even if Zuko convinces Jet to wear a mask it wouldn’t be a full mask and Jet would rather die than part with his hook swords). They would keep their vigilantism a secret from the others because Toph would draw too much attention, Aang can be sneaky but he can’t lie or keep a secret to save his life, and Sokka would be the one holding the brain cell in this situation and insist that they knock it off (if Miles is there he would definitely join them obviously). There are so many ways in which Katara and Hobie are similar, but what I think is the most significant way is that they both have a natural talent in recognizing when others are in need and offering up their own considerable wells of emotional and mental strength in order to nurture the strength within others.

current twitter trend is saying two characters from different universes that would be besties and i feel very strongly about these two

[avnasace]

had an interesting realisation the other day, about how Buck is the only one who has not Purposely left the 118.

Hen decided to leave for med school (even though it was only for like 5 seconds)

Chimney left to find maddie.

Eddie left twice, dispatch and texas.

Bobby tried to retire.

Buck is the only one who has never intentionally left. and honestly at this point i kind of want him to? not permanently, but to stand on his own two feet for a spell and find his confidence.

he is a good firefighter, and someday a good captain, but in the 118 its beginning to seem like he is stuck because of both the solid set chain of command, and because they know him too well.

i kind of want to see buck leave for a change instead of trying to fix everything with the team (especially after how he's been treated this season. the difference between how his '118 family' treat him, and how well his (ex)boyfriend and sister treat him and understood him is vast).

we know buck is a really competent guy, between the s6 freeway collapse, how he stepped up for bobby when he was grieving wendall, the good advice he can give (if one of the others isn't in his ear making fun of him) like with ravi or lucy, and how good a firefighter he is in general. it just so happens that he is always (unintentionally i think) put down by the others who still see buck 1.0 in him and can't let it go. it would be a good arc for him to discover what he can do outside the 118 that he could bring back with him.

[thecandymaticart]

A silly little idea I had

[amphibianaday]

how long have you been aware of Atul from spirit farer?

day 1532 this is obviously just an excuse to draw him again (referenced straight from an ingame screenshot) i've been passivley aware of him for a while. i'm pretty sure someone requested him and i intended to draw him and just forgot actively aware - about a week, since i started playing the game myself :)

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Ok, I think I have a pretty good idea of why a lot of Akechi's dialogue is... like that.

So, even before his confidant truly started, I noticed that he has a real knack for directing the flow of a conversation. This is very fitting for someone who is both a detective and skilled at interviews - when there is a topic and a goal, Akechi is in his element.

All this to say, he's actually kind of controlling when it comes to conversational flow. He probes for information, or turns the conversation around to a particular topic, usually the Phantom Thieves. He manages to take a few of Joker's dialogue options and spin them so they sound mildly incriminating in the context he's placed them in - the only way to truly get around this is to pick answers that feign indifference, and even then, that's more than a bit telling. He's clearly very good at this kind of thing.

But then, we get conversations where either Joker does something he didn't expect, or else he doesn't have a particular goal in mind - and the conversation stutters. In the first instance, Joker does something (a particularly egregious example is putting his glasses on him and fluffing his hair in rank 3) which both leaves him wrong-footed and no longer in perfect control of the situation. He just kind of... freezes, for awhile. It's hilarious. He has no idea how to respond.

He picks up control again in the phone call afterwards, having chosen to play into it, turning this "fooling the crowds" into a kind of game or secret between them. Nice save.

But in instances where there isn't an obvious topic and the goal is somewhat nebulous, for instance, that one Leblanc scene, it becomes pretty apparent that Akechi doesn't have the right "script" to go off of. Again, it's particularly notable in that scene, because I'm fairly sure he didn't have any specific reason to be at Leblanc, other than him looking for a quiet spot now that public opinion has turned on him. And because there isn't anything specific he's digging for, he kind of just ends up throwing things at the wall to see what will stick. Probing for any kind of recognizable reaction that he can jump on and work with, and that just doesn't really happen in this scene.

He references Sae, a woman in a respectable position, to Sojiro, but instead of that netting a welcome, it earns his ire, given Sae's recent actions against him. He then tries to greet Joker, his... rival? friend? enemy? person who at least seems to somewhat enjoy spending time with him? But Joker's responses are somewhat short, and Akechi practically wilts. He tries to commiserate by oversharing. He tries to involve Futaba and reaches out for the only topic of interest he can think of around "young people". He compliments the coffee. He compliments Joker. He tries to invoke that connection between them. None of it is really sticking, nor does it serve as a jumping off point for him to steer the conversation, or even really start one.

So, he basically just ends up having a one-sided chat with himself and then leaves. Hilarious. Also a little sad, if I'm being honest. It's really giving "guy with no friends who only knows how to speak to adults" energy. If there's no specific purpose to the exchange, or he is not in control of its direction, he seems to be kind of out of his depth. He succeeds only in being a little awkward and confusing, more than anything.

[anonymous-chicken-was-taken]

There is a man named Stanford Pines.

Just about anyone in the scientific community knows his name, and most know his face. It would be hard not to. It's plastered on magazines, on websites, on informational guides about the Institute of Oddology. Stanford Pines is synonymous with the word odd, peculiar, strange; it takes very little digging to find that.

Yet, when it comes to actually meeting the man? No matter who you ask, the answer is almost always no, they have not met him. Everyone knows of him, but nobody knows him. They see his face, they hear his name, they read his papers, they know his arguments. A lucky few even converse with him through email, or letters, or phone conversations. However, meeting him face to face seems to be an occurrence even rarer than the beasts he writes essays about.

Sometimes, he makes a public appearance. Sometimes, someone will see him walking about in some small, secluded space. His co-founder follows him like a shadow, never long taking his eyes away, full as they are of both care and peculiar caution.

Even more unheard of, sometimes, Stanford Pines will do something that interacts with the public. Once every few years, he will appear for an interview, or a photo, or something else to please the magazines that fill up his inbox. McGucket will be with him, every single time, and afterwards there will be whispers on the very internet he created from the people he'd spoken to. By all accounts, Stanford Pines is a very subdued, polite gentleman. Someone who is very intelligent and awkward, and attached to his co-founder at the hip. A man who is followed at all times by an army of personal security and NDAs. "For safety," McGucket will say as Pines' face goes dark. No one ever explains who's being kept safe, or from what.

To the students at the Institute of Oddology, it's even stranger. Nowhere does it say that seeing or meeting the core founder is guaranteed -- in fact, in comparison to other institutes, it's hardly even advertised that he's there -- but it's still surprising. If Stanford Pines is seen at all, it's almost always from behind a screen. Some students graduate without ever having seen him in-person. He does not attend events. He does not greet families. He does not make speeches unless he's being projected on a screen, a stark contrast to McGucket and his exaggerated mannerisms as his very real and present form hovers nearby. He holds no office on the entire campus. It is not unheard of to see him taking a walk with his co-founder, but it's rare enough to be shocking.

Rumors fly. Some are silly, absent things that would seem implausible to anyone who hasn't spent time in Gravity Falls. He's a vampire. He's a robot made by McGucket. He's a whole eldritch entity. Some rumors are more serious, whispered when his reclusive nature rings suspicious among the masses. None of them change the facts.

Perhaps it would make more sense if his co-founder was similar. However, Fiddleford McGucket is the polar opposite of Stanford Pines. He responds to interviewers asking about his computers. He makes speeches. He wanders around campus, stopping to chat with anyone who cares to listen. He's amiable and approachable as long as you can get past his rather extreme eccentricities, with an open-door policy and only one question he won't answer. If anyone builds up the guts to ask about Stanford Pines, and why he's so gosh darn reclusive, his only response is a sad, painful smile and a change of subject. In general, however, if one were to ask a given student of the institute where they could find Fiddleford McGucket, the chances are would be they'd be able to relay the information. However, like so much having to do with Stanford Pines, there is always a but.

At least three days a week, Fiddleford McGucket disappears for hours at a time. In theory, this would not be unusual. There's a section of the campus, slightly separate from the rest, dedicated to research. It takes much clearance to get to this area, for it is full of many very dangerous things. Some of the newer students fall under the misconseption that this is where he goes off to. However, there is a secretary at the entrance to this section of the campus, and when McGucket disappears, no amount of asking will get them to respond that he lies within. There is no summary of what he's there for, and there is no estimate of when he'll be back in his office. He is not there. For those hours, it's like he's vanished off the face of the planet.

There is another building seperated from the rest, barely visible through the trees. Tucked far behind the research area of the campus and heavily guarded at all times. No amount of clearance, or ID, or begging, will get anyone in. This place, most know, is where McGucket goes. No one can be certain, but there's a conviction there that this is the truth. It's the same way people know that this is where Stanford Pines resides. In those hours, McGucket disappears to the same nowhere at all that his co-founder lives.

No one tries to get there. Not anymore. There would be no point.

In order to do so, one would have to get into the research zone of campus. Already, this requires more clearance than most students could imagine. From there, one would have to go through a building only staff can open, at the very back of the campus, where only the most dangerous of research is kept. A security officer stands ever-vigilant at a back door leading to a winding pathway, intersected halfway through by a pair of guard stations. Past them lies a towering locked gate, centered in the midst of a towering electric fence. There is no guard station at the gate itself, though guards patrol the perimeter, even though the underbrush is too thick to walk through. There is no visible way to unlock the gate, but if one managed to get through regardless, they would find that the obstacles were still not over. The acre the fences encircle is thick with security, only some of which is human. It's impossible not to get caught, but if somehow, someone did, they would find themselves face to face with the sloped roof and charming wooden exterior so vaguely visible from the more well-trodden paths.

If one were to make it behind the reinforced door and yet one more pair of security guards, they would find nothing of note at all. In fact, were the windows not so thick, and the place not full of rooms with no place in a residence, and the path not so elaborate, and the whole area not so heavily reeking of isolation and uncanniness, one could almost mistake it for a normal home.

Inside, one would find Stanford Pines. Shorter than his head-and-shoulders shot makes him seem, and with a tangible air of melancholy about him that no projection could ever communicate.

Above all, Stanford Pines would appear incredibly alone, with only security, a McGucket Computer, and shelves upon shelves of books for company. If this someone who somehow managed to sneak in got lucky, they would arrive in this not-quite-a-home while McGucket had disappeared to there. They would find the two of them in deep conversation, and Stanford Pines would appear happier and more animated than most any living soul had seen him in decades, content in the company of his one connection; his shadow. Even when they had serious conversations, about the most serious topics in the world, something about him would be just that bit more lively. The visit would end, every time, with McGucket asking the same question. Every time, Pines would shake his head sadly as he responded; would the answer have been different, they both know that McGucket would have been informed long before he arrived.

Upon his co-founder's departure, one would be able to see Stanford Pines either sigh and sink right back into his melancholy, or the energy persist for another handful of hours. One would wonder why he was so reclusive, if he seemed so much brighter when he was among friends. One -- the impressive, unstoppable individual who managed to get into such a heavily monitored area -- would more than likely leave confused.

They wouldn't realize, unless they stayed within the bounds of the not-quite-home until it was far too late, what the hoards of security was designed for. Wouldn't realize that just as much as much as they are meant to keep someone out, they are also meant to keep someone in.

[laugtherhyena]

What a lovely group of students, i sure hope nothing bad happens to them ever ❤

For now, things are kinda chill tho

[cylove]

raijinshuu/thunder legion headcanons:

these will be about dynamics within the group ! some of these hcs will be under the pretense that they all live together

bickslow designed laxus’ tattoo design. i personally see bickslow as an artsy guy, if we consider his dolls to be self made. i like the idea of bickslow helping laxus with a form of self-expression since laxus had identity issues back when he was younger. i think it would have been one of the major moments in their friendship

bickslow calls everyone in the group baby INCLUDING laxus. thats his babe. i dont know when laxus starts allowing that to happen, but its definitely a thing now. it probably started with only freed and ever being called baby, but one day he called laxus baby too and reallyyyyy deep inside laxus enjoyed being close enough to have that term of endearment too

everyone knows the names of bickslow's babies. they could pretend and say "they're all so similar, how am i supposed to know who's who??" but they know. i would even go so far as to say they can discern the different personalities of his dolls. like the raijinshuu have been a thing for years, its not unbelievable that they remember the names of 5 dolls during that time. sure they all sound very similar but its not impossible to get it right

i see the raijinshuu as family but not any concrete dynamics like mom/dad or siblings like some people hc EXCEPT bicks and ever that feels like an older brother terrorizing his little sister. everyone has seen the way he teases her about elfman lol. this getting slightly off track but i do ship bicks and lisanna, because the day that bicks and ever actually become siblings will be the funniest day ever

their hypothetical house is soooo interesting to me. like i wouldn’t say it’s ugly but… it certainly has character. it’s like bickslow’s paintings and woodcarvings on the walls or coffee tables. freed’s knitted throw blankets and filled bookshelves, evergreen’s potted plants near the windows and not as unsettingly stone statues, and laxus’ persian rug in the living room RANDOM IK but i think he’d bring something beautiful to the table. that and a nice record player. he’s considerate and keeps his leopard print to the bedroom

in terms of cooking, freed does it the most, hes pretty skilled (except for the flying fish incident) and more importantly more driven to not let everyone fend for themselves for food

evergreen can cook too, but only a select few recipes which shes really gotten down. shes lazy to cook though and since freed has that sense of duty, shes more than happy to let him take over

bickslow is fine, many ppls interpretation of his backstory notes he used to be in a circus and i agree! i hc he was one of the older teens there and he probably had to help out with cooking from time to time. but again freed is there, so he chooses not to. if hes in the mood he'll make food that tastes perfectly fine and with a fun presentation. think likeeee the sauce being drizzled around the meal, stuff like that

laxus.. sandwich.. you may then wonder how he survived pre-shared living situation and to answer that he just ate at the guide before he goes home. or just eats out because hes a nepo baby. or chicken and salad, literally nothing complicated or else he messes it up. like he tried to cook for them once, but they all arrive home and its like "oh thank god you guys are here, help me im stuck on the steaks but the potatoes are gonna burn" freed unfortunately finds it very endearing and decides to cook with him

because everyone doesnt cook as much, freed makes them take up the other chores of the house, laxus and bickslow taking out the garbage (evergreen: did you honestly expect me to touch trash?!) , cleaning after dinner, etc

as for washing clothes its evergreen and laxus. evergreen wants to make sure everything is being separately or hung up properly. she and laxus probably have the most clothing items so it makes sense. as for laxus have you seen that one translated comic where freed breaks into his house? he was STRESSED leaving his clothes in the washer. he definitely cares for his leather and the likes

evergreen is laxus' backscratcher, he loveessss her long nails so they could just sit on the couch watching tv while she drags her nails down his back. ive always liked how casually physical she is with him based on 2 the times she hugs him, which is a pathetic amount but for side characters ill treasure it

evergreen whacks everyone with her fan if they annoy her she does not gaf. happens the most to bickslow for obvious reasons. this is a specific scenario but if shes hanging on the couch opposite to one of them, she'll also just shove her feet into their faces when they say something she doesnt like LMAO. its just playful fighting

they definitely get back at her, just simple stuff like shutting off the light in her room randomly and forcing her to get up, usually they do this when she has to be called for dinner. she throws her pillow at whoever's at the door and proceeds to have to pick it up for herself

laxus is a sniff kisser :) not super intrusive but still intimate, this is mostly towards ever and freed since theyre shorter than him. with bickslow he wears his helmet a lot so he doesnt have the chance to nearly as much. he does tease him and tells him he reeks when hes helmet-less tho. its just a very quick sniff kiss to the hair for all of them. hes a very sensory type of person ever since he became a dragon slayer and really enjoys the comforting scent of his friends

[whitehotwild]

i've never done an anon before so i'm so sorry if it sounds weird 😭😭 but do you think billy and his younger s/o would go to like, those summer carnivals? like, the ones that are at night? idk if that's js in my hometown tho 😭 she most definitely dragged him there and he reluctantly went bc he loves her, but lwk he ends up enjoying it. idkkk i js feel like there isn't enough soft!billy content on here and you are my only supplier of it 🙏🙏

OUUUUUUUU OU OU OU you just scratched an itch... im so giddy about this. (also ily and i'll gladly be ur supplier)

we only have fall carnivals in my town which sucks bc summer carnivals sound so much more fun.

you like... heard from a friend that there's this one in NJ, you try to convince butcher to go with you. you tell him that it's only 2 hours by way of penn station (nightmare nightmare nightmare), that he doesn't have to drive you, that you'll buy the entry tickets.

"let's just go to coney island, yeah? i'm not goin' to bleedin' New Jersey for a night just because you wanna ride some roller coasters. you got a ride right here..." he smirks, thinking he's oh so clever.

all it does is make you whine and go limp in his hold, "but pleeeeeeease??? It'll be fun! you're such a fucking party pooper."

it doesn't ever take much to make him give into you, that's his one weakness, "i ain't no fuckin' 'party pooper'. you're just a pain in me arse."

"okay... so are we going or not?"

butcher sighs with an unimpressed look on his face, "fine."

and then like when you're actually at the carnival, you make good on your promise to buy the entry tickets (wristbands whatever), and butcher pays for the games/rides.

after half an hour, he's spent only about $20, "I ain't spendin' over 50 bucks, got it?"

at the moment, you're more worried about what you're gonna get from the food truck than anything coming out of his mouth, "mhm. yup, got it."

you beg him to get on one of the rides with you and he finally gives in after a while, but the second you get off the ride he's looking at you like he kinda wants to kill you... just a little bit.

"you're tryna give me a bloody heart attack. i ain't doing that again."

(i'll die on the hill that butcher hates roller coasters just because i think it would be very funny.)

$100 and two hours later, butcher's finally cutting you off after winning you one of those big teddy bears from one of the game booths.

(yes, he knows he said $50. yes, he knows he's wrapped around your little finger)

"you happy, pet?" he asks you once you both settle on the train back to the city. there's no snark in his voice like you'd expect, just genuinely wanting to know that you had a good night.

you nod against his shoulder, your legs propped up in the empty seat in front of you, "yeah, i'm happy. you happy?"

butcher looks down at you, the way your head rests against him, the way your arm is snaked through his. he allows himself, just for a moment, to believe that he does deserve this... that he does deserve you and the joy you bring back to him.

"i suppose so. you like your bear?" he nudges you gently, motioning to where you sat the big stuffed bear in the seat in front of him.

"mhm... gonna name it 'billy jr.'" you tease with a tired smile, you're halfway to falling asleep and the train's barely left the station.

billy (sr.) huffs, unimpressed, but there's a small smile on his face, he untangles his arm from yours and wraps it around your shoulders, covering your eyes with his hand as he pulls you a bit closer into his side.

"ah, fuck off... you're delirious, go to sleep."

୨ ♡ ୧

just wanna say sorry that im not getting to requests as quick as i'd like! got a lot of shit happening atm BUT im on vacay atm so hopefully i can pump some out this week! LOVE YOU BYEEEE!