#also just looking at how beat up the book itself is you can tell i brought it everywhere

[ghostie-gengar]

i just finished a sketchbook so heres some cool stuff from it

[tsukii0002]

Imagine the contrast of the coexistence between Mc and Solomon, a human who did not know that magic was real until relatively recently and another human who has lived for centuries and who uses magic as if it were breathing.

Imagine that little things at home where Solomon is always willing to use magic to solve it, while Mc always beats him to it in the most common and least magical way possible.

But above all imagine, Solomon's frustration, how can his magic be rendered useless in such a way? And if he has no magic, what can he bring to that home?

Solomon: Remember that blanket I told you had a hole in it, I think it's time to mend it *opening one of his books*

Mc: I've already mended it, with a few stitches it's as good as new.

Solomon: Oh…

Solomon: Mc, what was the table that was broken?

Mc: Oh, don't worry, I fixed it.

Solomon: Really? What spell did you use?

Mc: Ha, ha, Solomon, you don't need magic to wedge a table.

Solomon: Mc!! With this spell we will solve our rat problem!

Mc: *smiling* I've already taken care of that, no for nothing Barbatos is so happy with me.

Solomon: That's how you earn your premium tea leaves?

Solomon: Please tell me you didn't fix the shelf that was sagging *with a book under his arm*

Mc: *eating a muffin* Oops.

Solomon: Mc, I told you I'd fix it *pointing at the. with the book*

Mc: Solomon, it was tightening two screws, it's going to take you longer to look up such a mundane spell than to fix it manually.

.

Solomon: Mc… you're a sorceress, you should use magic more!

Mc: *funny* And you should use magic less!!! You're still a human, old man. By the way, remember those yellow spots on the tablecloth that bothered you so much?

Solomon: Yeah?

Mc: Well, I've already made them disappear and without magic.

Solomon: How????

Solomon is sitting, somewhat annoyed, on one of the balconies

Mc: Hey…

Solomon: …

Mc: Are you upset?

Solomon: … No.

Mc: *sighing as they stands next to him* Let's talk, tell me, why does it bother you so much that I solve things without magic?

Solomon: I'm not upset, we don't need to talk at all.

Mc: You know that communication is part of living together right? We are two people with different ways of living, if we don't talk how are we going to have a good cohabitation?

Solomon: … With the brothers you never had that problem.

Mc: Sure I have, maybe not with these things because Lucifer encourages certain stuff to be done manually, but we had to set a lot of guidelines when I started living with them.

Solomon: ...

Solomon: *sighing* I'm not upset… it's just that I'm used to doing everything with magic, even the smallest things, it's easier, faster.

Mc: Well, sometimes yes, but sometimes it's easier to do it without magic, and in my case I'm used to not use magic.

Solomon: *looking at them* I know, but there are things I can't do without magic.

Mc: But that's what I'm for, isn't it?

Solomon: *doubting* Then' what do I bring to our cohabitation?

Mc: *realizing*

Solomon: You cook, you do a lot of chores because you are faster, and you take care of a lot of things that allow you to have a routine… I feel that instead of living together, I am a guest...

Mc: Solomon...

Solomon: And if I can't even use my magic, Am I useless? without my magic I…

The two are silent for a moment

Mc: I'm sorry, I've minimized how you feel… and I've done things my way without taking you into account.

Solomon: Ha, ha, don't worry, *now kind of sad* It's not that big of a deal.

Mc: No, I told you, communication is part of living together and you should tell me what bothers you.

Solomon: *looking at them*

Mc: We can try to find a middle ground.

Solomon: How?

Mc: *thoughtful* Well, the day to day things we can do manually and the things that are very difficult or tedious we can use magic?

Solomon: *considering it seriously'* You could also teach me how to do tasks without magic, like how to wedge a table… and I could teach you spells that I usually use, like the one that sweeps the house by itself.

Mc: *smiling* We can also make a schedule so we don't step on each other's to-dos.

Solomon: *smiling too* And create a chat room exclusively for house stuff where we can let each other know if we're going to do something.

Mc: That sounds like a great idea Solomon.

Solomon: *more lively* And I'd also like to do certain chores together, like laundry or cooking.

Mc: … *feeling bad at Solomon's happy face* Yes… we can do that too.

.

.

This turned out to be longer than I thought, and what started as something funny has turned into a drama😅. I'm not going to lie to you, I love domestic dramas, day to day problems… so this post has turned into that because Solomon is used to live in a very different way than Mc, and living together for the first time is always complicated and habits are hard to change, and co-living is not always so great. Give me domestic situations between Mc and the rest of the cast please!!!! 🥺🥺

Anyway, if you've made it this far, thank you very much for reading🩷

.

.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello, I'm not sure if you've explained it or not but going in the depths of Malleus and Leona's character relationship? Like explaining their interactions and how they actually think of one another

Many fan works tend to depict Leona and Malleus as extremely antagonistic toward one another. However, the truth is that their relationship is more like a one sided dislike or annoyance (on Leona’s part). It’s not uncommon for them to bicker or have some tension in their conversations even when they have the same goal in mind such as protecting a harp (Beans Day) or wooing a ghost (although Malleus is not participating for the latter, Leona still insists the ghost would prefer him to Malleus to get that dig in). They’re definitely still on bad terms), but Malleus is generally pretty neutral with Leona unless he is provoked.

Leona’s beef with Malleus is story relevant and makes itself known in book 2. He appears to primarily dislike Malleus because it is thanks to his sheer power that Diasomnia crushes Savanaclaw every inter-dorm tournament, essentially dashing Savanaclaw students’ hopes of being scouted and going pro. Buuut it seems like from the way Leona speaks about his rival, he has long since held these feelings and they aren’t linked to a single inciting incident.

Part of why Leona dislikes Malleus in general seems to be Malleus’s attitude. Leona describes his fellow prince as “pretentious”, “high and mighty”, and acting in ways that show disrespect to him (like in Malleus’s Dorm Uniform vignettes, when he casted a spell meant for objects on Leona). He may also take issue with Malleus’s “incomprehensible fae humor”, which Leona references both during Halloween and in Malleus’s Ceremonial Robes. Additionally, Leona outright states that he hates people who refuse to listen (Silver) and just march to the beat of their own drum (Rook), which are traits you can argue also fits Malleus (since Malleus didn’t really listen to the upset dorm leaders in his Dorm Uniform vignettes). Leona appears to prefer dealing with Malleus to Silver though, as he says that Malleus’s ears aren’t just “for show”. Interestingly, Leona might dislike Malleus less than Rook; Leona is wary of so much as wishing Rook a happy birthday and refuses to dine next to Rook… yet Leona does sit next to Malleus at the end of Terror is Trending.

Leona is one of the few students who isn’t afraid of Malleus and has the gall to openly insult him (or is rude) on more than one occasion. He doesn’t really show any remorse or intent to apologize. In fact, Leona understands very well what bothers Malleus and often acts on those points of weakness to goad him, whereas it is very rare for Malleus to start the fights. For example, Leona tells Malleus in Malleus’s Ceremonial Robes vignettes, “You thinkin’ you’re gonna get it next time? Well, sorry to break it to you, but no one’s ever gonna invite you,” and, “You’re never gonna have a chance to wear those robes, so put’em away for good already.” This, of course, angers Malleus and leads into the two insulting one another’s physical features and exchanging threats (removing horns, declawing, calling each other animals or implying a lack of humanity, etc.). They similarly insult one another in Terror is Trending (again, Leona instigates: “Hmph, look at Mr. High-Horse over here. Were you flattered to be asked [to have your picture taken]?”) and again in Fairy Gala (Leona again: “Ever consider gettin’ off your tail and cleanin’ up your fellow fae’s mess?”). I’m sure there are tons of other instances you could come up with; these are just the immediate ones that come to my mind. Leona is also resentful about the idea of ever asking for Malleus’s help. He’d rather ask anyone else, even Malleus’s second in command, than ask the guy himself. Funnily enough, Lilia and Silver see these heated conversations as proof of Malleus and Leona’s friendship. I feel like this could also, in part, feed into Leona’s dislike of Malleus, as people having the wrong idea about your relationship can be irritating.

Now, Malleus does appear to care about maintaining amicable relations with representatives of other countries. Often it is he who instructs Sebek to apologize to Leona for being rude—two major instances of this occur in Malleus’s Ceremonial Robes vignettes and during Vargas Camp. He even personally (and happily) welcomes Leona to Diasomnia in his Ceremonial Robes vignettes, viewing Leona as no different than any other guest.

This goes into the realm of speculation (so please bear with me!!) but it could be said that Malleus has a very… unique view of friendship? So Lilia and Silver may not be too far off when they say that Leona and Malleus are chums in their own weird way. In Glorious Masquerade, Rollo poses a real threat to Malleus and to his people—yet when Malleus experiences genuine fear for the first time, he seems more excited at the novel feeling rather than cower as a result of it. Following the climax, Malleus still presents the song he had prepared as a gift of good will for NBC. He also proceeds to play with Rollo’s guilt to get him to agree to sharing a dance. And THEN Malleus says he looks forward to being invited again????? These are all quite friendly gestures for someone who put you and all your people in danger, my guy… 😂 So perhaps Malleus just gas a very different way of approaching friendships? Hard to say, but that’s some food for thought!

Leona and Malleus have had moments of amicability, so it’s totally possible for them to get along. This happens primarily in Leona’s Union Jacket vignettes; in them, Malleus gifts the birthday boy an antique book in an ancient language (Leona’s best subject). The two then talk about enjoying the freedom of walking around town without an attendant or some servants trailing after them. Being of a similar social status, they are able to understand one another to some extent.

This is going into another point of speculation, but I wonder if Leona and Malleus recognize their similarities beyond this interview. I certainly have; they’re both arrogant princes that deeply desire what the other prince has, and I feel that their animosity, in part, comes from this realization (whether conscious or unconscious). I certainly get the sense that some of Leona’s hatred of Malleus comes from seeing his own desires manifested in him—of being that coveted prince praised for his power, his people lavishing him with affirmations, a crown… All the things Leona doesn’t have.

[hubristicassholefight]

Swordswoman showdown FINALS

Hornet (Hollow Knight) vs Xena (Xena: Warrior Princess)

(Better here in a "preferred character" sense, not "who would win in a fight")

Propaganda below cut

Hornet

Technically its not a sword but she wields a needle in a setting where swords do not exist and she wields it in an exceedingly swordlike fashion so. She counts; Girlboss demigoddess spider lady. She's been protecting an entire kingdom for longer than many of the other characters have been alive. She systematically kills her siblings for being too weak. She's simply the best.

#im pretty sure hornet can beat like. anyone in a fight.#have you ever fought hornet#its so fucking hard getting past her every time i play hk i go literally insane.

#i remember getting stuck on the first hornet fight on mt first play through and bring likr#''omg the boss fights in this are so hard!!!''#like what. you're not even half way through what are you talking about#you can't even DASH honey. you don't know what's diffcult or not in this game.

So, SPOILERS

but I feel like the "she systematically kills her siblings" part needs a little clarification. See, one of her siblings was used as a living prison for an angry god and that uh. Didn't work out for the sibling in question or anyone else.

This account is itself heavily abbreviated but it's likely that any other sibling Hornet encounters will be trying to take over as the god's new prison. She appears to challenge any sibling she sees to battle, in order to test their resolve against herself and her needle - would they actually have a chance against that god?

We never actually see her kill any siblings, but she does quite pointedly tell one of them that (to paraphrase) "My needle is lethal and I would feel no sadness in a weakling's demise."

Feels like a relevant quote. In any case, if they can't beat Hornet, it seems like her needle would be a far more merciful end than what the god would grant.

Anyway, a bit of additional material for @swordswomanshowdown :

As is the case for any cool swordswoman, it's not just her sword that's lethal, it's her with it. And Hornet's needle was custom made for her - the creators have said that, while other needles exist, hers was made specifically for her to wield, and its construction allows her to use her spider silk better in combat.

And another thing that I think makes her a good swordswoman: she's actually pretty thoughtful about how she uses it. There's a least one instance where she tries to warn someone off before fighting them! At the same time, when she does fight, she seems to enjoy it - during her boss battles, you can hear her laugh sometimes, as if exhiliarated. She's really got it all, as a swordswoman!!!

#HORNET SWEEP CMON PLEEEEEEASE#shes gay. shes the only sibling with a gender. shes a spider named HORNET. look like croissant. whats not to like

Xena

Warrior Princess

She wields a sword and chakram. Just had to submit a biconic swordswoman.

i love her. she made me gay as a kid. Anyway, her weapon of choice is her sword, she is obviously very good with it

#unfortunately i have to choose and i have to choose xena#a) utena had no warcry. b) xena fought gods. c) xena has kickass goofy comic book combat which is my favorite

xena didn’t just fight gods. she fucked up a girl’s life so bad that she (calisto) devoted her entire being to destroying everything that xena loved that ended up with calisto becoming a god in order to destroy xena, which didnt work because xena entombed her in lava. and then when xena and gabrielle encountered calisto in the (christian) afterlife (different from the greek one which they also fought her in), calisto dragged gabrielle to hell so xena became an archangel in order to save gabrielle and then sacrificed herself in order to undo all the harm that she did in calisto’s life and then when not!jesus (played by timothy omundson) revives xena and gabrielle, calisto impregnates xena with the reincarnation of calisto’s soul in order to end the cycle of hate. xena doesnt just fight gods. she creates and destroys them

#this isnt even mentioning her fighting julius ceasar several times#telling brutus that caesar is not his friend#xena and gabrielle’s souls reincarnating across centuries in order to kick ass and fall in love all over again#or the time xena became a god but tbh that ep is kinda ‘uhhhhh…..’ even if they did hire a consultant for it

#I think everyone here knows to vote for Xena. I think a couple people here might have some propaganda for Xena saved already#everyone remember that Xena/Gabrielle is CANON and that's a pretty big deal also#(does anyone have that Xena Loves Trans People interview around because that would also make good propaganda)

I love Xena ❤️ 😍 💖 ❣️

[skaruresonic]

The common rebuttal to "this reads like fanfic (derogatory)" is "read better fanfic," which is true in certain cases, but on the other hand, there is some grain of truth to the idea that you can tell when someone's primary mode of literary analysis is fanfic instead of... well... literally anything else. It's okay to like or even prefer fanfic, but if you want to take your craft seriously you also need to read books, dude. Published books will teach you a lot of stuff fanfic doesn't, like proper dialogue formatting and how to introduce your reader to unfamiliar characters. Even the crappiest book (well, if it's not After or 50 Shades, which started off as fanfic to begin with lol) will have been subjected to some sort of editing process to ensure at least the appearance of proper grammar. That's not a guarantee with your average fanfic, and hence why you can't always take all your writing cues from fanfic because it's "so much better" than commercially published original fiction or whatever. Frankly, fic writers tend to peddle some absolutist and downright bad takes sometimes. "Said is dead" is a terrible rule, though not because said is invisible and a perfectly serviceable tag; that's just part of it. Dialogue tags are a garnish, not a main dish that can be swapped out for more ostentatious words. If your characters murmur and mutter instead of simply saying stuff, your readers are going to wonder why nobody speaks up. "'I'm explaining some very plot-important shit right now lol,' she elaborated," likewise, is a form of telling. Instead of letting the reader extrapolate that "she elaborated" via the contents of the dialogue itself, you're telling them what to think about it. And that's why it's distracting: your authorial hand is showing. Writing is an act of camouflage. You, as the writer, need to make your presence as invisible as possible so as to not intrude on the reader's suspension of disbelief. That's the driving reason behind "show, don't tell." And overall, everyone could stand to cut down on the frequency of their dialogue tags anyway. Not every exchange needs "he said" or "she whispered" attached as long as you establish who is doing the talking before the exchange. Some people will complain of confusion if you go on for too long without a dialogue tag, and that definitely is a risk, but at some point you also need to resist the temptation of holding the reader's hand. If they can't follow a conversation between two people, chances are they weren't meeting you halfway and paying that much attention in the first place. In fact, you don't even necessarily need action beats in between every piece of dialogue, as Tumblr writing advice posts will often suggest as a fix. Pruning things often cleans them up just fine.

Another fanfic-influenced trend in writing is, I guess, beige prose? A heavy focus on internal narration with lots of telling. It's not a style I can concretely describe, but every time I click on a non-mutual's writing, I feel like it always has, like. This "samey" voice to it. There's no real attempt to experiment and use unique or provocative language, or even imagery half the time. It's almost a dry recital of narration that doesn't leave much room for subtext. I see this style most often in fanfic where you can meander and wax poetic about how the characters feel without ever really getting around to the plot. And it's like. DO something.

Other tells that the author is taking their cues from fanfic mores rather than books: >>too much minute description of eyes, especially their color and their movement >>doesn't leave much room for subtext (has a character speak their every thought aloud instead of letting the reader infer what they're thinking via action or implication) >>too much stage action ("X looked at Y. Y moved to push their seat in. X took a deep breath and stepped toward Y with a determined look on his face. 'We need to talk,' he said.") >>tells instead of shows, even when the example is about showing instead of telling ("he clenched his teeth in agony" instead of just "he clenched his teeth") >>has improper dialogue tag formatting, especially with putting full stops where there should be commas ("'Lol and lmao.' she said" instead of "'Lol and lmao,' she said." This one drives me up a wall) >>uses too many dialogue tags >>"em dashes, semi-colons and commas, my beloved" - I get the appeal but full stops are your friends. Too much alternate punctuation makes your writing seem stilted and choppy. >>"he's all tousled brown hair and hard muscle" and "she's all smiles and long legs." This turn of phrase is so cliche, it drives me up a wall. Find less trite ways of describing your characters pls. >>"X released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding" >>every fucking Hot Guy ever is described as lean and sinewy >>sobbing. why is everyone sobbing. some restraint, pls >>Tumblr in general tends to think a truism counts as good writing if you make the most melodramatic statement possible (bonus: if it's written in a faux-archaic way), garnish it with a hint of egotism, and toss in allusions to the Christian God, afterlife, or death. ("I will stare God in the face and walk backwards into hell," "What is a god to a nonbeliever?") It's indicative of emotional immaturity imo, that every emotional truth need be expressed That Intensely in order to resonate with people. >>pushes the "Oh." moment as the pinnacle of Romantic Epiphany >>Therapy Speak dialogue. why is this emotionally constipated forty-something man who drinks himself stupid every morning to escape gruesome war memories speaking about his trauma like a clinical psychologist >>"this well-established kuudere should Show More Emoshun. I want him to break down crying on his love interest's shoulder from all his repressed trauma" - I am begging u. stop >>"why don't the characters just talk to each other?" "why can't we have healthy relationships?" I don't know, maybe because fiction is not supposed to be a model for reality and perfect communication makes for boring drama?

>>improperly using actions as dialogue tags ("'Looks like we're going hunting,' he grinned") >>why is everyone muttering and murmuring. speak up >>too many adverbs, especially "weakly" and "shakily." use stronger verbs. ("trembled" instead of "shook weakly") >>too many epithets ("the younger man" or "the brunette detective") >>too many filter words ("he felt," "she thought," "I remembered")

>>no, Tumblr, first-person POV is not the devil; you're just using way too many filter words (see above) and not enough sentence variation to make it flow well enough. First-person POV is an actually pretty good POV (not just for unreliable and self-aware narrators) if you know what you're doing and a lot of fun crafting an engaging character voice. Tumblr's hatred of first-person baffles me, and all I can think is you would only hate it if your only frame of reference was, like, My Immortal. Have you tried reading A Book? First-person POV is just another tool in your toolbox, and like all tools, it can be used properly or improperly. But it's not inherently a marker of bad writing. The disdain surrounding it strikes me as about as sensical as making fun of the concept of characters. Oh, your work has characters in it? Ew, I automatically click off a fic if it has characters in it. like what.

[dallasgallant]

Time period post- Greaser subtypes

This one was asked of me a little while back, as I mentioned briefly the types of Greaser and someone wanted to know the difference. (Also have some posts on terminology!) and it sent me down a bit of a rabbit hole, this one is a little more researched that my more rambly general knowledge ones.

Going to put this before the cut as it’s a important aspect and was fascinating to me at least,

“The Greaser” has been a costume and a character longer than it ever had been a clearly defined demographic or subculture. A lot of what we understand today is from pop culture and rockabilly revivals of the 80s and the whatever the fuck was happening in 2010 (which is more a tumblr aesthetic than it ever was reality). What unites and makes an ‘actual’ greaser is without a doubt class status, certain behavior and dress more so than the affiliation with Rock n’ roll.

Another thing to consider is “Greaser” is a derogatory term! Pony talks about it briefly in the book how they don’t like other people calling them it, only themselves. It’s not a group invented term, more something they’re called/reclaimed.

Same goes for Hood, JD, Con, Punk, white trash, Redneck, Hick, Okie etc.

Some have come on to be used more commonly, or nicer meaning such as redneck but half the time it’s self used by people with a slight accent and would not actually— different conversation.

Another thing to be aware of (that I have a post on) is inter-lapping terms like all Greasers are punks but not all punks are greasers. (Original connotation not the music based subculture)

Motorcycle v. Hot rod-

Now to what this post was sparked about the distinction between “Type” of greasers. This is sort of what it says on the tin.

Motorcycle greasers are the types to ride bikes and be in that sort of gang.

Hot rod greasers are those who are into car customization (making a hot rod by suping it up) and drag races that sort of thing.

Both of these can be named gangs, matching jackets with the name and everything. However that’s more larger city and pop culture than true across the board (Pony mentioned there’s a few named gangs in Tulsa; types like this also tend to run over)

But again! It’s important to understand not every motorcycle gang or car club are greasers! It’s complicated in a strange way as there’s simultaneously no difference and a lot of difference.

Not all greasers are a “type!” Either. Some are just grease. Like the Curtis outfit leans towards the car side but are not a car club/gang or centered around their cars. They’re a run of the mill unnamed friend group type gang.

Varying term-

Interesting is, some stereotypes and pop culture examples of greasers are relatively true to life… though they tend to run softer or harsher depending on if they’re the bad or good guys (typically bad.) Some are upset over this… mainly because a childhood bully was a greaser and they have a demonized depiction in their head which was wild to come across while looking into this.

It’s actually one of the instances where people’s recollection as a bit better of a source then looking it up. As google gives you mainly “Ayyyyy” or “tell me more tell me more” (which don’t get me wrong we love the Fonz and the T-birds in this house)

What seems to be the true uniting factor of making a Greaser is Levi’s and being a “Working class bully” which has become a whole other stereotype within itself but, greaser’s never really went away they just changed their haircut. Allow me to explain,

The kid who’s rough because he has to be. Life isn’t so great at home, dad beats him, poor, mom strips etc there’s a thousand variations. To the point again there’s an entire trope. Besides being lower class they were also the kids to frequent the shop and remedial classes- get in trouble, speak their mind get into fights and so on. Looking into antidotes sometimes what they were called changed or the music they listened to but- hair grease, jeans, rough etc are all a common factor.

This also ties back to the book. There’s something about everyone either thinking you’re mean and a criminal or immediately pitying you because your life must be so horrible you poor thing you—- has got to suck! It’s understandable that Pony would flip out on Cherry the way he did about pity and charity.

The thing about Greasers that gets me is that they’re either doomed to Demonization or romanization. (As let’s be real crime, being rude etc were also an active part. Not always but there) Both in memory and pop culture. Don’t get me wrong there has always been some nuanced depictions and conversations about Greasers or JD’s (the outsiders is one of them) but that just isn’t the case for the dominant public memory. They’re stuck as a costume or a bully…

[mytemporarycomfort]

Dearly Devoted

A/N: Thank you all for being patient with me while I was away. I hope you all enjoy

Summary: The Champions reminisce their time with you and they know for sure you are their end game.

Warning:

Champion x Reader

Zelda

The cup of tea managed to refill itself once again.

Zelda was in her study for another long evening and you could tell how drained she was.

No matter how many times she apologized for not spending enough time with you or that you must be stressed from being around her in this state more than anyone else, you always stated "Its my pleasure to help you Zelda. I will be by your side, you are not a burden, you are doing your best. "

She cried when you said that. It felt like a mountain was lifted off her shoulders.

Seeing you asleep in the chaise in the study always left a blush on her face.

Another night of studying means less personal time with you, but she was always grateful to have you near.

After this was all over, she plans to travel with you. She makes that clear to you. Just the both of you, no knights, no books.

Link

Link was behind you on the horse. He held you tight like you might slip away if he loosened up a bit.

You let him rest his head on your chest and your heart beat slows his mind right down.

His duty to Zelda means he isn't always with you. So he gave you one of his shirts.

You wear it whenever you miss him deeply. He came home early one evening and found you cooking some dinner in his shirt.

BOOM bright red.

He snuck behind you and hugged you with a quirked eyebrow.

"I missed you Link, I happened to cook some extra dinner just in case. Want some?"

His heart bursted right out of his chest. Ugh, he is simping.

As you two ate dinner, he noticed, your left hand seems a little empty.

If you would accept, a ring on that hand would suit you nicely,

Urbosa

She saw you getting attacked by some Yiga members and who is she to not help, until she noticed...

You fought back with fire and fury in your eyes.

Despite that, she was not one to let any warrior fight alone if she can help it.

You thanked her. You spoke to her as a person who helped you, not as chief of Gerudo.

She saw you as another Zelda, but also different. You were strong, full of heart, but you were also innocent, naive.

She wanted to help you grow, and grow under her care you did.

Urbosa's softer side became clear to you when she was training with you and her hands guided you unlike the others.

You have grown to be seen as equals yo Urbosa. You can truely handle your own.

Even if it ment you would venture out for your own journey now, you was grateful that you were apart of her story and her yours.

"You have helped me Urbosa. You helped me grow and I hope to continue to be by your side."

She smiled one full of relief. Of course you can stay.

Mipha

You always protected her much like her brother. But you were not her brother so why did you fight so fiercely to protect her.

She always found it strange that you didn't mind all the fighting despite the wounds you got by the end.

She always healed you with no hesitation.

Mipha worried about you quite a bit, and it showed how often she was with you.

She found safety and comfort in your presence. A kind of feeling that made her want to be by your side for as long as fate would allow.

It was common to find you two together. A princess and her protector.

She didn't like not being by your side for long stretched of time. She's afraid of not being there to heal you fast enough if anything happened.

"I will be there for you, like I know you will be there for me. We got this."

You two held each other. This is what safety and comfort is. You two keep each other grounded.

Revali

He looks down at his hammock as you laid there reading your newest book.

Revali is a bit of a brat sometimes and yet here you are still here.

2 years.

You stood by him for two whole years and you're still here.

He was so dedicated to his bow, when you held his hands fot the first time, he stopped breathing.

He looked like he turned into a statue.

Then his feathers puffed up and he frowned.

Whenever you show him affection his feathers would puff up,

He would hide his face in his wings then hug you as tight as possible.

He's still learning to show his emotions in a less agressive way, but you know he means well.

Sometimes he thinks hes too much, he'll accidently push you away.

"I don't regret a thing 'Vali. I love you regardless of your little quirks, you know that right?." You told him after a long day of making you watch him in the target range.

He loves you so much. He puts his beak on the top of your head. This was the most gentle he's been with you.

Daruk

You are so soft, this man is crying

He remembers his first sleep over at your house, boy was nervous! Your house is so cozy!

He enjoyed his time at your place, hopefully like you enjoyed his.

He was so happy when he saw that you kept all the little gems he gave you, but why wouldn't you?

He wants to spend so much time at your place. He might as well move all the Gorons over to your little town. JK....but what if?

He just doesnt want to hurt you by being so big.

"I feel so safe around you" You told him after you two returned. to death mountain after his stay at your place.

He's keeping you safe then. He decided.

He doesn't know all the details yet but that is sure.

[azullumi]

hiii! i dont know how to say this but i just love the way you write so much ヾ(•ω•`)o, if you take requests (if not you can just ignore this) i would like to request some headcanons of wanderer who is in an established relationship with a reader who suffers from chronic insomnia. since he is a puppet and doesn't need sleep, it would be fun to know the things he would do when keeping the reader company and helping them fall asleep! thank you very much for yor amazing writing!! (o゜▽゜)o☆

details — sleep is essential especially to mortals like you, that is one fact that he understood.

pairing — wanderer/gender-neutral reader

tags — fluff, established relationship ; headcanons

words — 753

note — a short one to cure my soul and ty so much anon!! that means a lot to me :)) i’m glad u love my writing <33 also just letting you all know that requests are open and i'm trying to prioritize them first.

“can’t sleep?” the toss and turning of your figure in the bed—quite frustrated in motion even—accompanied with the occasional groans gave him the idea that you weren’t asleep, or couldn’t sleep at all. a simple nod coming from you was all he needed before his mind started constructing ideas on what he can do to accompany you on yet another night like this.

he’s not new to it, certainly. after all, before you were lovers, you two were friends and he wasn’t a stranger to this problem of yours. however, when he was first introduced to it, he didn’t know what to do and what he could do to help you. he just let you talk about your experience with this conundrum, listening and silently noting the fact in his mind.

and before he knew it, he started to come up with plans for the night in case you have trouble falling asleep once again. it all just felt natural to him, he started buying items that he thinks could aid you even if it’s just for a bit—tea that has sleep benefits, any book that he comes across that he thinks you could use, a board or card game that you two can play. although god forbids that the game being played would end up in a friendly match. with his somewhat of a competitive and taunting personality, the small match becomes a tournament between you and him.

it either ends up with you becoming sleepy and him having to carry you to bed as you doze in his arms or staying up all night ‘til the rise of the sun as you try to beat each other into defeat.

although he doesn’t want to admit to you that he’s really looking out for you. he doesn’t want to say that just the simple mention of sleep and anything to related to that would have his mind drifting to the thought of you, it’s like you and sleep itself is just associated with one another–despite the fact that you lack of it. and in all honesty, isn’t this what you’re supposed to do to your cherished ones?

and when you two had established a romantic relationship with one another, the things he would do for you soon became more intimate and affectionate. accompanying and talking while sitting across each other soon became cuddling sessions in bed—he occasionally plays with your hair or provides soothing touches on your skin—, massages from him are being offered to help you relax, and you try things together often.

he becomes quite strict on things related to your well-being, as health and sleep are correlated to one another. such as coffee being forbidden especially when it’s being taken during the night or having naps during the day limited so that you won’t be awake the whole time later on.

“sleep is essential.” he tells you rather flatly as if it’s not something that you don’t know, his fingers combing through your hair and massaging your scalp in the process. you don’t know what time it is right now, perhaps sometime around dawn as the night looks darker and quieter with only the rustling of leaves outside the window being heard.

“but you don’t sleep?” you answered, words close to a mutter as you slowly eased into his hold and kind caress, the gentle rhythm of his breathing and his voice served as a lullaby. “i do not need it.” his answer elicits a confused reaction from you, eyebrows drawn into one as you look up to meet his gaze, eyes that were often in a glare are warm and soft.

you asked him, “why?” in which he responds, benignly, “i’m a puppet, have you forgotten about that?”

he bought you a stuffed toy—one that resembles him in some manner with its grumpy expression and a small hat on top of its head, donning colors that are similar to his. it wouldn’t be surprising if you were the one who got it for yourself but the fact that he went out his way to get a cotton figure (of him) definitely astonished you to the core.

it doesn’t matter if you have asked him for help about it or not, he only wishes you to know that he is there for you. his affection for you goes past the line of simply just admiring you and memorizing every line of your face, he cares for you more than you know and more than what he makes you realize.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[tetsunabouquet]

Loved the interpretation and writing of my last request! If you dont mind, here's a new one. Tw! Anorexia

Gom with a reader suffering from severe restricting eating to the point where they passed out in public or private, your choice. Again, sorry if this is triggering.

A/N: Thank you for the compliment! Trigger warnings for the readers up in the request

Akashi

-Don't expect this guy to be surprised. He has been suspecting it for a while. -When you faint in front of him, his heart sinks in that ultimate, 'Oh no,' moment. -Actually has a minor panic attack. -Flashbacks to his mom. -He'll do everything he can to wake you up. -Once you're awake, he'll have food arranged for you and he's guilt tripping you to eat it. -"Don't make me lose another person that I love."

Aomine

-Has actually told you before about how you should gain a little more weight as he notices the thinness but doesn't has the intellectual brain capacity to suspect something like an ED. -When you faint, it still doesn't registers in his mind but he does immediately recognize that you needed something to eat. -Momoi is the one to tell him she suspects your disordered eating, and Aomine's heart honestly breaks at the news. -He is demanding you to tell him which stupid idiot convinced you that you were fat, so that he can beat them up right now. -You are honestly touched to see him be so angry and upset on your behalf, he is so pure with his praise and love for you. -Demands that you eat with him at the Maji burger at least once a week and that you try to finish the meal he buys for you.

Murasakibara

-Like Aomine, he doesn't has any suspicions regarding the behavior itself but he does notices you don't eat enough. -Murasakibara just cradles you confused in his arms as Himuro tells him what to do next as well as mention his suspicions about your restrictve eating. -Murasakibara honestly stares at you like you're an alien creature as he has to process the idea that people can hate food that much, thank god you're unconscious and you can't see his face. -He makes up his mind to be the person to cure you of that hate. -Dumps pretty much all candy and snacks he has on him on you the moment you wake up all the whilst giving you a look as sweet and pure as the candy itself. -He increases little habbits like feeding you, because clearly you need it.

Midorima

-Has been taking calculated notes of how much you eat, but is afraid of coming off too strong so he refrains from daring to ask the question. -When you faint he has the most perfect response ever, and manages to stay calm even though he is breaking down on the inside with worry. -Confronts you sternly but lovingly once you wake up, he only wants the best for you. -Reads multiple books on how to be a supportive partner. -Honestly he's adorable with how hard he tries to be there for you. -After the event, he prepares you a bento in the theme of your lucky item of the day, always. Even on the days you can't bring yourself to eat it, he doesn't minds and just hoped carrying the lucky item themed lunch brought you courage in different ways.

Kise

-Knows. Immediately. -As a model, he has far too much model contacts not to know about that dark side of the industry so he knows all the signs. -Is the only one to have confronted you about it before it got to the fainting stage. -Honestly he bawls like a baby when you faint in front of him, because this was exactly like he feared. -He manages to get the number of a great treatment program from another model that is combatting her own ED after you woke up again and got him to calm down. -Tries to feed you all the time whilst acting as cutesy as possible, full idol mode. Because he hopes it will do the trick. -He tries to uplift you by talking about his own insecurities, as being under the limelight does also open him up to scrutiny way more then the average person.

[yandere-paramour]

I know kids have been asked about but how they would they treat a physically pregnant darling?

From the second he learns about your pregnancy, Vivien dedicates himself to making this as easy as possible. He checks out all the books on babies at the library, reading and taking notes on everything. He wants to study every technique, every opinion, anything to ensure you have the safest and most comfortable pregnancy possible. You can't stop working, but as soon as you get home, he directs you to put your feet up and relax. Anything you're craving, he'll cook it for you. Need the remote, he's up and grabbing it. Morning sickness, he's holding your hair back and working with his herbs to find a concoction to beat it. Our sweet Vivien will run himself ragged trying to look after you. He says you're "growing body parts" so him running out at 3am to get sesame chicken is nothing. He shows up to every single doctor's appointment with a notepad, even if it's in the middle of the work day, taking copious notes on whatever the doctor says. He is also incredibly worried, but he doesn't want to annoy you or make you mad at him. He constantly checks how you’re feeling, reminding you regularly to tell him if you feel anything strange or wrong and he'll rush you straight to the doctor. He'll ask for the both of you to take gentle walks, to lay in bed a while longer, to eat more vegetables for the baby's health. He is fully aware that while this is your undertaking, he needs to take responsibility and be the best husband he can be. Any requests about the birth are honored, and he is the kind of guy to be fully involved by letting you squeeze his hand as hard as possible. He will also cut the cord and pull the kid out himself if he has to, he's not squeamish. He volunteers for every diaper and late-night feeding, and he will massage your aching stretch marks at least thrice a week. He starts out somewhat awkward with the baby, he has never had much experience with little children, but the love he holds for his child is almost tangible. He rambles to them constantly, talking about his plants, his work, and how much he loves his new little family.

Atalanta is pleased but concerned. She is not panicked like Vivien; she knows that the pregnancy itself is already implanted in the uterus, and thus, the hard part is done. She can take care of the rest. She becomes stricter when you're pregnant. Your main rule now is to do nothing that could put you or your daughter in harm's way, no junk food, a daily gentle exercise schedule, and your outfits planned by her to make sure you’re not putting unnecessary pressure on your abdomen. Atalanta cannot take a chance on losing this child; she needs an heir, therefore this child will be born and born healthy. She will pay an entire team of doctors to consult on your pregnancy with daily checkups to ensure everything is going right, no matter how annoying it is. You can still spend time with your friends and family, the time is just now limited because she wants you home and taking a rest once a day now. She completely stops all punishments, she is too scared that even hurting your feelings will damage the child somehow. Any small slights will be forgiven, and anything major will be remembered until after the birth. She buys only the latest, most well-studied baby equipment, and hooks you up to it daily. She will allow you to take charge during the birth, she knows it is a sensitive and delicate time, but she wants to cut the cord and hold the child first. After the birth, congratulations: you have earned the ultimate rest. Atalanta will bring in a trusted nurse to care for the child, and you do not have to worry about any of the gross things like changing diapers or dealing with spit-up. You just have to focus on healing and bonding with your new daughter. If you would like, Atalanta knows of a wonderful spa for postpartum mothers in California. It's only 1k per night; she can easily set up a month for you and the child to recover there; she'll just have to work remotely for a while. Atalanta loves her daughter; she is a good mother, albeit a little distant, but she will support and care for her child through everything.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (7)

Cold Fire

Having been worse than ignored by Daemon at the funeral, Arianwyn finally comes face to face with her father.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: none

Author's Note: daddy's home...

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

The first time Arianwyn called someone ‘papa,’ it was not Prince Daemon Targaryen.

King Viserys had come to the nursery to see her dragon. He’d made a habit of doing so about once per week. Arianwyn and Aemond loved when he came, for they would get to sit on his big, soft lap and listen to him tell stories.

Aemond fell asleep halfway through the first story. It was about a beautiful Valyrian princess who lived her life confined in a tower, who only escaped when a handsome Valyrian prince fell in love with her without even seeing her and rescued her on his great dragon. That story was a particular favorite of hers.

She snuggled closer to the king, holding her dragon – who was also asleep – in her arms. “Read another one, papa?”

The king frowned, his face crinkling. “Oh, little Aria, I’m not your papa.”

How could that be? Aegon and Aemond called him ‘father,’ and Helaena called him ‘papa.’ Why was it different for her? “Why not?”

“Because someone else is your father,” the king said. “Your father is my brother – he is your papa. I am your uncle, your kepa.”

She considered for a moment. Aunt was her aunt, not her mother, and Aunt was married to the king. She supposed it made sense. “Where is my papa?”

“He is…” the king, Uncle, looked away from her, out the window to the sea. “He is far away.”

“When is he coming back?”

“I don’t know, my sweet.” He looked sad. Very sad.

Arianwyn did not want him to be sad. If he was sad, he wouldn’t read to her more. “Which story is your favorite, Uncle Kepa?”

He laughed, but she didn’t know why. But he began reading again, so it was fine.

That evening, once Aegon and Helaena had returned from wherever they went during the day, Arianwyn explained what she had learned to Helaena and Aemond. But Aegon laughed at her when she mentioned her father and how she couldn’t wait for him to come back.

“Why would he come back?” he asked.

It seemed like a silly question to her. “To see me.”

Aegon shook his head. “He doesn’t want to or need to. He has a new family across the sea – two new daughters. Besides, he’s had more than ten years to see you. If he wanted to, he would have done it already.”

Aemond started to yell at him and threw a stuffed velvet rabbit at him. But Arianwyn said nothing.

What Aegon said felt like the truth. She could feel it in her chest like the weight of half a dozen books. Her father stayed across the sea because she did not want to see her – he did not want to be her father.

She never called anyone ‘papa’ again.

The main dining room at High Tide was as lavish as the rest of the castle. A great table, some twenty feet long, ran through the center of the room. From the uneven grain and sun-bleached color of the wood itself, it was clear to all who laid eyes on it that it had been constructed of driftwood – Lord Corlys was many things, but subtle he was not. The twenty-two chairs set around the table were made of the same wood, backboards reaching up in points shaped by the sea.

Prince Daemon Targaryen sat on one of these chairs – at the head of the table – slouching with disinterest as he picked at the wood of the armrest with his fingernails. He did not look up when the queen entered the room, his daughter trailing sheepishly behind her.

Arianwyn thought her heart would burst out of her chest for how fast it beat. She could no more decipher her own churning feelings than the expression on her father’s face. She curtsied, just as her Septa had instructed. But she said nothing.

Neither did Daemon.

After long moments of silence, the queen spoke. “My Prince, may I introduce the Lady Arianwyn.” She fixed him with her most withering glare. “Your daughter.”

“Yes, I can see that,” the Prince drawled, at last looking at the girl. He scanned his violet eyes over her like she were livestock to be appraised. “She has her mother’s piggy little nose.”

Arianwyn clenched her fist to prevent her hand from flying to her face, resisting the instinct to cover the apparently offensive feature. A fire ignited in her heart, setting her blood boiling.

The queen herself had to bite her tongue to hold back a curt reply. Instead, she smoothed the front of her dress and spoke again. “I am pleased to say that she is a fine, accomplished young lady. She has excelled in her studies, and the Dragonkeepers report she is equally talented as a dragonrider.”

Daemon grinned as if he had been told a foul joke. “I’d heard the egg hatched. Let me guess, a bronze she-dragon?”

Forcing out a shaking breath, Arianwyn shook her head.

Her father pursed his lips, “Pity. You could have called it after your mother. Few enemies would stand a chance against the Bronze Bitch.”

“How dare you?” Arianwyn spat, her oath of silence and indifference entirely abandoned. “How dare you insult my mother?”

Alicent placed a hand on her niece’s elbow to calm the girl’s rage. But Arianwyn ripped her arm away, stalking around the massive table to advance on her father. “You’ve never cared about me for a single moment of my entire life. And now, after ten years, you finally ask to see me only so you can insult me and continue to defame the woman you tortured in life?” She reached the end of the table, fire blazing in her grey eyes as she stared down at Daemon. “What kind of cowardly monster are you?”

Sighing, Daemon pulled himself from his chair. He was so much taller than her, even when he leaned to brace his hands on either side of the driftwood table. “I did not ask to see you.”

Something cracked in Arianwyn’s chest at those words, as the last shred of a primal, desperate hope for reconciliation with her father – a hope she did not know she still held – died. Tears finally spilled from her eyes, and she whirled around toward Alicent.

The queen’s heart broke when she saw the utter devastation on the girl’s face – knowing she had been its architect. “I am so sorry, Aria,” she breathed. “I thought… A child should know her father.”

Before either woman could say anything more, Daemon strolled casually around the opposite end of the table, a self-satisfied smile across his lips. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, but there are people in this castle I should like to meet.”

Neither Alicent nor Arianwyn moved a muscle until the door had thudded shut behind him. Then and only then did Arianwyn fall to her knees, letting out a cry that would shatter the frozen heart of an ice dragon.

Arianwyn cried for hours, despite Alicent and Brynna’s attempts to soothe her. But there was no calming her fury. It continued to grow, burning brighter and hotter than even the black fire of Balerion, a ferocity that could only come from a shattered Targaryen heart.

She had told herself that she did not care what Daemon thought of her, that she had lived her life happily enough without him, and even that she hated him after what he had done to Rhea. Yet, true as those feelings were, there remained a piece of her soul that yearned for the love and approval of her only remaining parent. To have that piece destroyed, even when it was suppressed for so long, was a wound from which most would never recover.

But Arianwyn was not just any girl. She was the blood of Old Valyria and the daughter of Runestone. She would endure.

When her throat was raw from screaming and her eyes at last dry of tears, she let the fire that burned in her soul cool. It was not quenched – nor would it be for many years to come. Instead, the sprawling red blaze in her chest joined together in a single flame of crackling silvery blue. This fire burned not with heat, but a cold that made the icy fields beyond the Wall look like a scorching Dornish desert.  

Fire burned in the soul of every Targaryen born – but precious few had ever burned cold.

Alicent offered to have dinner brought up to Arianwyn, but she refused. She would not hide in a tower like a damsel from a story. She would walk once more into that dining room with her head held high and look upon her father with her mother’s grey eyes. She would show him just how like Rhea she was – that even bent and cracked, she would not break.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Words of the Reaper

(Or the ending of Beast but Atsushi is absolutely fucking done.)

There was a silence as Dazai, Port Mafia Boss or "The Man in Black" as Akutugawa called him, finished his monologue.

Akutugawa was confused, so much of this didn't make sense. Could a book like this even be exist? He was about to voice his disbelief, when someone beat him to the punch.

"All of this, was because of that fucking book?!"

Akutagawa jumped in suprise, looking at Atsushi. Atsushi Nakajima also known as the Port Mafia's White Reaper, stood beside Akutugawa. And was staring at his boss (ex boss?) with nothing but anger.

It caught Akutugawa off guard. Despite his profession Atsushi was quite kind. Akutugawa knew the sweet kid he'd met at the cafe hadn't been a facade in the slightest.

But right here and now, Atsushi looked like exactly like the man his moniker represented.

Akutagawa noted he wasn't the only one suprised. Dazai himself seemed to have been completly caught off guard.

Akutugawa felt a bit of satisfaction at that, seeing the Man in Black's confusion at his subordinates anger aimed at him.

No, not anger.

Akutagawa had seen just a glimpse of Atsushi's anger. But it looked nothing like this. This was like watching fire itself burst to life.

He was livid.

"You know about the book?" Asked Dazai, trying to regain his composure. But even he couldn't mask the suprise in his voice. This wasn't what he expected at all.

And quite frankly it was jarring to see Atsushi like this. Atsushi who had only ever disobeyed him once, who was as meek as a kitten in his presence. Now glaring at him with the rage of a tiger.

If it wasn't directed at him, Dazai would've been quite proud.

"Of course I do! What, did your other self not tell you?! I'm it's fucking guide!" Asked Atsushi, eyes blazing.

Akutugawa looked at him confused but didn't ask. Probably because he didn't want Atsushi's wrath aimed at him.

See, Dazai had known.

It had just maybe not occurred to him that his Atsushi was aware of it. Apparently he had been very wrong about that. "And you didn't think to bring that up?" He asked, not bringing up his own mistake.

Atsushi of course saw right through him and looked unimpressed.

"Oh jee, maybe because you've never bought the book up, ever! How was I supposed to know you knew about it?!" Said Atsushi, the sarcasm in his voice practically tangible.

Well at least he'd stopped swearing at him. As much as Dazai would love to blame that on Chuuya's influence. He knew better. It was just rare for Atsushi to ever get this angry.

"I suppose you're right on that one. However, that doesn't answer why you're so angry at me Atsushi?" Sue him, Dazai was curious as to what he'd done to earn his mentees ire. Atsushi simply rolled his eyes, but Dazai wasn't having it.

"Atsushi" he said warningly, but Atsushi completly ignores it. He hisses, glaring at him once again. "No, no you don't get to Atsushi me. Punish me later if you wish and I'll take it.

But you don't get to dump all of this information on us and than try to swan dive off the fucking building."

His gaze was cold and piercing. But Dazai saw through his anger. He saw the saddness and the fear in Atsushi's eyes. And suddenly he felt like the biggest idiot around.

Of course, of course Atsushi was broken up about him trying to kill himself.

Atsushi cared about him, that much was obvious. Of course this whole thing had him rattled, it made Dazai soften at the realisation.

Atsushi took a deep breath, letting his anger fade.

"Dazai... Are you high?"

Nevermind, that softness vanished and was replaced with confusion. "High?" Repeated Dazai, confused. Why would Atsushi think he was high?

He hadn't come to work high before... Okay apart from that one time but still.

Atsushi nods, completly serious. "Now why would think think that?" Asked Dazai. "You're usually a lot more methodical than this. Your plans calculated and well thought out, so I can only assume you've taken some kind of substance." Explains Atsushi.

Dazai wasn't sure if he should feel insulted or complimented... Both, he settled on both. He ignored Akutugawa trying and failing to hide his laughter in his sleeve.

"Atsushi, I assure you I am sober." Says Dazai and Atsushi seemed to relax a little at that. Before the anger came rushing back. "Than what the fuck were you thinking?!" Yells Atsushi.

And the swearing was back.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing? The world isn't going to fucking cave in because more than 2 people know of the book.

If these threats are the ones you speak off, they fucking know. And they've known for a long time, the universe is fine." Atsushi rubs his head, like he's dealing with a misbehaving child and not the Port Mafia Boss.

"Akutugawa" Akutugawa turns to Atsushi, prepared to feel the wrath of the White Reaper. But Atsushi suprises him again by sighing softly.

"I apologise for the actions of my mentor. He means well but he doesn't think how his actions affect others. I know simple words will not fix the pain he's caused. I am sorry for hurting you on his behalf, I will talk to Gin. And once again I am so sorry."

Akutagawa nods slowly "you're right, words will not fix this. You can't apologise for something you're not responsible for. You were just following orders, I don't blame you, just your Boss. And... Thank you."

Atsushi nods, smiling and to his suprise Akutugawa gives a small smile back.

Atsushi notices Dazai starting to tip toeing away from them. He grabs the the back of his coat, stopping him. "Not so fast, I'm not done with you." Says Atsushi and Dazai huffs, much like a child.

"But Atsushi" he whines but his mentee merely stares at him, unwavering.

"I am not leaving the Port Mafia... You may have picked me simply to be your pawn, and that's fine with me. But this is my home, and I refuse to leave it. That is my choice." Says Atsushi, he's not looking at Dazai now.

Tears are in his eyes and Dazai feels himself soften again. He knows he's done wrong by Atsushi. He wasn't a kind man, that much was obvious. But he cared for Atsushi dearly.

He knows that he should tell the kid to leave. But he can't because he knows Atsushi. Knows Atsushi has been abandoned by everyone. It dawns on him that Atsushi was afraid he was abandoning him too.

Maybe he wasn't as sober as he thought he was. This wasn't usually something he'd miss. Or maybe it took being about to kill himself infront of Atsushi to realise that.

How did he get so lucky picking such a good kid.

Dazai wraps an arm around him. "I know, I'm sorry Atsushi." That suprises Atsushi, he didn't think he'd get an apology from Dazai ever.

"I don't appreciate you swearing at me" he smiles, voice gentle in a way to let Atsushi know he won't punish him for it. It's sweet seeing Atsushi duck his head sheepishly.

"But you are right. My plans will have to change. But I will keep you all informed." Atsushi nods "that's all I ask, Boss."

Akutugawa glares at Dazai but he also nods. He doesn't appreciate being roped into this, but he'll figure it out. The Agency won't leave him to fight this fight alone. And Akutugawa knows Atsushi will be a formidable ally.

Atsushi let's Dazai go and he straightens up. "Atsushi, escort the Agency members out the building. We can hold a joint meeting at some point to discuss this."

He looks at Akutugawa "because I'm sure you're going to tell them everything?"

It's rhetorical but Akutugawa nods anyway. Dazai sighs. "thought so. Ah well, I trust that Atsushi knows best." He pats Atsushi's head "I'll be waiting for you in the Archive area, given that's still intact."

Atsushi smiles "alright, I'll see you than. But you might want to get moving." Dazai tilts his head "hm? Why?"

The smile on Atsushi's face turns into a smirk. He pulls out his phone from inside his coat and shows it to Dazai. Who goes horribly pale seeing the ongoing call...

... To Chuuya.

"... Atsushi how long?" Asks Dazai, quietly. "The whole time. I got worried because you were acting off. So I called Chuuya ahead of time to listen in, just to make sure you were okay."

At that all the blood drains from Dazai's face. "... He heard everything didn't he?" Atsushi nods, not even trying to hide his amusement. "Yup, you might wanna move. He'll be here any second." He pats his bosses shoulder in mock sympathy.

Before taking Akutugawa's hand and running down stairs. They are barely down the stairs before a high pitched scream echos through the building.

"DAZAI!"

"He's on the roof, Chuuya." Calls out Atsushi, ignoring Dazai's loud hush. "Thanks kid! I owe you one!" Calls Chuuya, somehow managing to hear him over the chaos.

"Is he... Gonna be okay?" Asks Akutugawa, not that he cares for the wellbeing for the Man in Black.

But he is curious.

Atsushi chuckles "Oh he'll be fine, Chuuya won't kill him. Maybe?" He shrugs "ah well, let's go find your friends."

Oh yes, Atsushi was absolutely going to be a formidable ally.

[nickfowlerrr]

Getting pwyc vibes from this gif https://www.tumblr.com/nickfowlerrr/716041933395558400?source=share

🥰

ahhhhhhh 😭 don’t give me any ideas, i have so many wips i need to tend to. 😩 but god the urge is so strong to write a little drabble inspired by this because it’s absolutely them 🥺🖤 bucky is on her any chance he has…. oh fuck, okay. who am i kidding. here we go.

his favorite pillow

pairing: pwyc!bucky x curvy!reader

warnings: ooey gooey softness. not really anything. also i wrote this in 3rd person pov for some reason? so there’s that lol.

words: 752

notes: i legit just wrote this so not at all edited lol sorry for any mistakes. thank you in advance for reading, i hope you enjoy this! as always, feedback and reblogs are welcome and so appreciated. 🩵

She can just be lounging on the couch, reading a book or lazily watching a movie on television when Bucky walks by and sees her.

It’s not ten seconds before she feels his weight on her as he lays himself down without a word, his head burying itself in her chest as his arms rest on either side of her.

He takes a moment to enjoy her warmth and the soft skin of her cleavage against his face before he lets himself get really comfortable, shimmying down her body just a bit as he lets his head lay back down.

Her hands are already coming up to run through his hair, holding him gently as he relaxes even further into her. A soft moan tumbles from Bucky’s lips under her attention, his eyes already fallen closed.

His face is on her soft tummy as she cradles his head against her chest. When he feels her lean down, placing a delicate kiss on his hair, he swears his heart almost hurts from how full it is.

He never thought he would have this. Never thought anyone would care about him the way she does. He doesn’t deserve it. He knows that. But she’s still here. And she still loves him. He can feel it with every brush of her fingers through his hair. With every relaxed inhale she takes. With every beat of her precious heart that he’s vowed to never break again. And he knows she’ll deny it, argue semantics, but he’ll go to his grave saying he loves her even more.

Her soft laugh catches his attention as he turns his face up to meet her eye. She’s smiling down at him, her eyes twinkling. “You’re like a cat,” she laughs again, her voice quiet, almost a whisper. Bucky has a sleepy smirk on his face as he nuzzles into her again, his hand framing her soft waist, holding her lightly.

“Can’t help it. You’re too comfortable,” he insists.

“You can just grab a pillow,” she tells him, but they both know she enjoys this just as much as he does. When he’s this close, his weight on top of her like it is, she revels in the feeling. Not just warm or content, but safe. Cherished. Loved.

She never thought this was possible, not really. Sometimes, when she’s looking back on the beginning, she worries it’s all in her head. That she’s deluding herself into being this happy. But then moments like this happen. Again and again. And she knows, without a doubt, it’s real. The unadulterated happiness she feels when she’s with him now, it’s nothing but genuine. She couldn’t help it even if she wanted to.

She used to resent herself for it. But she can’t anymore. She won’t. She cares for him. She loves him. Maybe more than she should. But who’s to say. And why should it matter? She knows he loves her just as much. They’re a match made by the fates.

His fingers flex against her waist as he fondles her softly. That sly cheshire grin on his lips cause a brow to quirk on her face as she waits for him to respond.

“You are my pillow. My favorite pillow,” he smiles unabashedly as she rolls her eyes at him, a hint of a smile of her own threatening to play on her lips. He laughs and lets his head rest on her once more, her fingers returning to his hair as they lay together.

It’s quiet again, save the low hum of the television playing. It’s peaceful. Calm.

She smiles as she realizes their breathing has synced. A minute passes and she hears a soft snore coming from Bucky as he naps on her. Gently as she can, not wanting to wake him, she leans her head down once more, placing another soft kiss on him.

His hand ever so slightly squeezes her supple flesh in his sleep as she plays with his hair.

She soon feels herself growing more and more drowsy, too. His warmth and weight lulling her. It isn’t long before they’re both sleeping easily, being held delicately by one another.

His hold on her a symbol of his softness for her, a reminder of the true Bucky, whose warmth was reserved for her alone. A promise to always keep her with him - cherished, safe, and protected. Her hold on him much the same. An unspoken promise of commitment - her care and love for him, despite it all, ceaseless.

(this gif is not indicative of what “reader” looks like.)

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XIV

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere /

Elain was floating. Black skirts weightless, hair a halo. She could not tell if the water was cold, but there were shivers going up her spine, causing ripples around her. 

Elain felt as her lips pulled down. She was looking up, the endless sky over her. There was no moon, she noticed. Slowly, even the stars began to wink out, darkness taking their place. One by one, they disappeared, and Elain could do nothing but watch, unmoving. 

Unease washed over Elain like a gentle wave as she felt something by her bare feet. 

Hands. 

Bones. 

Wrapping itself around her ankle, it tugged, swift as lightning. Elain did not even get the chance to scream as she was pulled into the depths, still unable to see the moon. 

Elain woke up with a jolt, heart racing and each of her senses heightened. She had truly had enough of her strange dreams. Running a hand through her hair, Elain gave herself a moment to calm down, stretching her legs over the arm of the chair she had slept in. 

Elain sat up with a tired huff. She would go to the library, she thought, grab a book on the cauldron and return before the sun was daybright. It was almost embarrassing to admit just how very little she still knew about the object that had seen fit to curse her with the powers of a seer. 

As she considered going alone to search for the library in the winding halls of the Forest House, her eyes fell on Lucien. Elain knew she had agreed to speak with her mate, but with the dreams completely plaguing her thoughts, she figured she would be too distracted to focus. 

Lucien was still sound asleep, and Elain was surprised she had managed to wake up earlier than him. The covers were pulled up to his waist, the laces of his shirt undone, chest rising and falling steadily. The way he was laying down, Elain could not see his scar. 

For a moment Elain wondered if she should wake him, should ask him to escort her to the library he had taken her to on that first day she had been in the Autumn Court. As quickly as the thought had come to her, she pushed it aside, sighing as she got up to choose the dress she would wear. 

Elain decided she would ask Cora to come with her, hoping the other woman would not mind being called on before everyone else had woken up. 

Eris’s words from the night before about wearing Night Court colours went through her mind as she stood in front of the large closet, filled with dresses she had brought, but also a few that were not her own. Elain ignored his words and grabbed a dress in a dark shade of plum, small diamonds along the bottom of the skirts making it seem like stars had been plucked from the sky and sewn into the fabric. 

As Elain looked in the mirror, it pained her to admit that the emerald green dress from the night before suited her better. She scowled at her reflection, turning away. 

With silent steps, Elain quickly made her way across her and Lucien’s shared chambers, careful not to wake him. She cast a final glance in her mate’s direction, and was glad to see that he had not stirred. She checked to see if the door was locked, surprised but pleased when the handle turned and she could slip out, shutting the door behind her. 

Elain lifted her skirts, worrying at her bottom lip as she questioned whether it was a smart idea to leave Lucien’s side. In the last few days, she had come to the decision that Lucien was in fact quite likeable, but she was glad for some distance, especially knowing that they were going to talk about all that had happened in the last few days. 

When Elain was near her mate, nothing felt true. 

She was certain that the mating bond was influencing her thoughts, but being away from him gave her time to think. 

Elain knew she could not marry Lucien, but she was also aware of how dreadfully complicated the situation she had gotten herself in was. She continued to consider how they might find a way out of a wedding ceremony as she walked down the maze-like halls of the Forest House. 

Elain was almost sure she knew where she was going, and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders leave as she spotted the stairs that led down to the floor with Cora’s room. Hand on the wooden railing, Elain skipped steps as she quickly made her way to the guest suite she and Lucien had taken Cora to after their short visit to the library. 

Elain paused in front of the other woman’s door, gathering some courage before she finally knocked, three gentle taps with her knuckles against the wood. 

“Cora,” she said, the word a breath falling between her teeth, knocking again. “Cora, it’s Elain.” 

Elain heard the latch of the lock falling, right before Cora pulled the door open, the hinges screaming. She was surprised that the other woman was fully dressed and ready for the day, her dark hair in an intricate braid. 

Cora raised a dark brow, looking past Elain and checking the hallway for anyone else. “Why are you awake?” She asked. 

“Will you come to the library with me?” 

With elegant steps, Cora moved to stand outside her room. “Right now?” 

Elain simply nodded in response.

“Just the two of us?” Cora further clarified, slight unease leaking into her tone. 

“I have to go to the library. You don’t—”

Before Elain could finish her sentence, Cora shut the door behind her, interrupting. “I’ll come,” she said, determined. “Will Lucien be joining?” 

“No, no, I don’t want him knowing. Not Eris, either,” Elain added. “I hope this will stay between us.” 

“Walk and talk, Elain,” Cora’s eyes were bright with amusement as she flashed a mischievous smile. “I love secrets.” 

Elain hooked an arm through Cora’s, and began to explain in hushed whispers how she had begun to see visions during the war with Hybern. The other woman’s presence was a comfort as Elain told her about her recent dreams, about the heavy feeling in her chest of knowing that something was wrong. 

“I know nothing about these…abilities,” Elain admitted. The words choked her, nerves settling in her gut. She cast a glance at their surroundings, and furrowed her brow. “And I don’t know where we are.” It took Elain a great effort not to release a childlike groan. 

Cora pulled them both to a stop, looking around their unfamiliar surroundings. “I thought you knew where you were going.” 

“Let’s just assume I know nothing about everything,” Elain blew a stray curl from where it had fallen in front of her eyes. 

Cora snorted as she dragged Elain towards a pair of carved oak doors, firelight filtering through the crack of space between them. 

Elain sighed in relief as she spotted towering shelves in the small space, rows of ancient books neatly organised. Although it was a library much smaller than the one Lucien had taken them to, it was no less lovely. Every piece of furniture, all the carpets, even most of the books looked worn. 

Quietly shutting the doors behind them, Cora put a gentle hand to Elain’s elbow. “Where should we start?” 

With a small laugh, Elain faced the other woman. “I have no idea.” 

Cora pushed her gently, playfully, like a friend might. “I’ll take the shelves on the left,” she said with a smile.  

Elain was so grateful for Cora’s presence, so glad that she was not alone in that moment. “Thank you,” the words were sincere. 

Just as they were about to go their separate ways, Elain heard a voice, lovely as windchimes behind them. 

“It’s not very often that unexpected visitors stumble into my private library.” Cora did not seem startled, but Elain jumped at the sound. Turning slowly, not knowing who she would face. 

The Lady of Autumn was stunningly beautiful and Elain found herself searching for Lucien’s features on her cold but beautiful face. She was wearing a dress with intricate gold details stitched along the brown bodice, her hair a striking contrast against the dark fabric. Just as Eris’s did, her red hair seemed to flicker like a dying ember in the light of the torches. Elain found herself uncertain of what to say, lips parting slightly in surprise.

“Apologies, lady,” Cora curtsied, speaking for them both, and Elain fumbled with her skirts to do the same. “We had not realised, we will take our leave.” 

“No need,” the lady offered as she waved an elegant hand, “It’s been some time since I’ve enjoyed the company of those other than my family.” Like a wolf, she tilted her head, directing her russet gaze at Elain. “Though I suppose we will be family soon enough.”

Elain plastered on her most convincing smile, “Lucien has told me so much about you, my lady.” The lie fell from her lips naturally. 

At the title, the older woman scrunched her nose in distaste. “Please, call me Callista.” She lifted an auburn brow, “you are to be my daughter, after all.” 

Cora remained silent as Elain took a few careful steps in Callista’s direction. “I had wished to meet you, to truly meet you, but…” she trailed off, unsure what to say next. 

The Lady of Autumn nodded as though she understood. “I am happy to see you in my court, Elain Archeron of Night.” Elain could practically feel the genuine emotion in the room, a mother honestly glad that her son was to be married. 

Guilt crawled up Elain’s spine, brief and unwelcome. “I was looking for a book,” she said suddenly, hoping to change the subject. 

“A specific one?” Callista offered, “I’ve read all the ones here.” 

Elain was struck by just how old the other woman was, how old most of the fae were. She once again remembered that while Cora looked the same age as her, there were probably decades between them.

“I’m looking…” Elain paused, not knowing what to say to get what she wanted from the library, but not wanting to reveal her intentions to the High Lord’s wife. “Do you have a book on lakes?” Callista furrowed her brow, looking confused. Elain blushed, speaking again before the lady could respond. “Or, perhaps a book on witches?” 

The Lady of the Autumn Court grinned, reminding Elain very much of Lucien. “On witches? I have many.”

[unfortunately-obsessed]

It's Called: Freefall

Relationship: Machine!Connor & Reader. AO3 link.

Tw: canon-typical violence and behavior.

Summary:

You were assigned to work with Connor against your best wishes.

And there's something. Connor shouldn't be able to touch a gun, ever.

It was supposed to just help with forensic bullshit, investigation, take your job. Whatever. Not do that shitshow it did on the Eden Club.

When you were eight, your father had two dogs and the terrible habit of beating things into shape.

Two dogs. Dobermans. Trained to watch the door.

You still remember how they curled up close to you. How warm and soft and gentle they were with you. How your father kept them outside, pitilessly.

Remember how they kept going back to him, wagging their docked tails, love and forgiveness in their eyes despite all the pain.

Never forget: how your father trained them into obedience, until they loved him, and how they believed wholly they could be loved back as long they're good.

~*~*~

"Can I ask you a question, detective?"

You open your eyes, not startled by Connor. The cold hurts your cheeks, and you're not dressed for the weather.

It's difficult to remember why you're here, at first, head pounding with pressure. Eyes dance on the freezed playground and Detroit's river running cold.

Years on the job and your ears still ring with gunshots.

But there's a beer on your hand and an android in pristine clothing before you. You take one step back, back meeting the rail, body instinctively retreating. Shuffling with your feet on the white-covered ground.

"Do all androids ask so many personal questions–, you take a sip of the beer, voice too coarse to talk loud, "–or is it just you?"

Something on your mind tells you it's just him. And this little voice also sends a shiver down your spine– Connor shouldn't be able to touch a gun, ever.

It was supposed to just help with forensic bullshit, investigation, take your job. Whatever. Not do that shitshow it did on the Eden Club.

Connor tilts its head like it's analyzing your thoughts, reading you like an open book. Like it's innocent, and can feel how you tremble from the cold. "Why are you so determined to kill yourself?"

You glance up the sky, scoffing, unable to look it in the eyes. The sky is breathing and crying, tonight. And you pretend Connor's voice doesn't bury a knife between your ribs. How you almost flinches at it.

Humans are so irrational. At the end of the day, it rots between your teeth.

"I don't know what Cyberlife did with your social program, but it's not working," you say, baffled. Then, shaking your head, you mock, "An android with all the virtues I dislike and none the vices I admire."

Connor stands still, snow upon its shoulders. "Woking with an officer with personal issues is an added challenge, but adapting to human unpredictability to is one of my features."

Your eyebrows rise. If you didn't know better, you would say Connor were sarcastic, or even sassy, right now.

But you do know better, and your lips are bleeding red, tongue tasting blood from the mean uppercut that blue-haired Traci gave you, splitting your lips and toring a wound in your jaw, and how the android is better dead.

And Connor died once, already. In the interrogation room, Ortiz's android killed Connor before killing itself. And the paperwork was a headache. Thirium stained Gavin's favorite tshirt, too.

You don't like Connor.

But you don't like Gavin even more.

So you weren't too mad about the paperwork.

(Death is the only real elegance; a promise kept. Those two Tracis never lived but now they are dead. You could throw this at Connor's face; say, even androids want to kill themselves. )

Connor adjust his tie and you roll your eyes. "Cyberlife really thought of everything, huh. They even gave you delusions of adequacy."

You take another sip from the beer, hoping it'll wash off the blood aftertaste. Bitter fighting bitter. Tell yourself it happens to everyone; this reason-less undying grief.

Connor draws closer, never not scrutinizing you. It'll try to make it work between you both; your collaboration matters to the mission, and nothing matters more than the mission– Connor itself told you so.

"You should stop drinking, detective," Connor says, hunching on the rail by your side, human-like. "It could have serious consequences for your health."

You cringe. It sounds genuine, this feigned interest. And you remember that Cyberlife ad, how humans dislike perfection. Connor has uneven dimples, a soft jawline, and nearly-invisible wrinkles– and it infuriates you.

Rage is blood in the water– rage is something that gets stuck on throats–

"That's the idea," you say. And take another sip just to challenge it, or perhaps yourself. Irrational as it is.

Connor decides to ignore the fierceness in your demeanor, setting its eyes on the river. And you decide to swallow more beer, mindful of what battles to fight.

It furrows eyebrows, yet again mimicking human body-language. "We’re not making any progress on this investigation," it says, matter-of-factly. "The deviants have nothing in common. They’re all different models, produced at different times, in different places."

It was taking too long for Connor to rumble back to its ramblings. You sigh, tired. You're clocked-out and this android followed you to talk about work, and you're too sober for this bullshit.

You wish to put Connor's head between the asphalt and the tire of a very heavy truck. Making you work without payment. The audacity! "There must be some link."

With fascination, you watch his jaw visibly tense. "We know the deviants experience an emotional shock, a violent trauma or a sense of injustice," it says, forehead creased.

You glance at the empty and melancholic beer bottle on your hand. "Those android at the Eden Club sure had a reason to feel a sense of injustice."

Connor's eyes shot back to you, nearly indignantly. Nostrils flared and face washed in bafflement. "Nothing in their program allows them to feel wronged," it says, copying the mocking tone you used earlier. "They can simulate human emotions, but they're machines, they don’t feel anything."

You agree. And maybe you should keep your big mouth shut for once, but the edges of your visions are blurry from alcohol. "What about you, Connor? What are you really?"

A defiant act of creation. A crime.

A machine that can not only get your gun from you – you, an officer of the law, – but fire without hesitation. For its own benefit, no less.

"You know exactly what I am," he says, monotone. And it's true, but not what you want to hear. "In any case, I don’t see how that’s relevant to the investigation."

Connor tilts its head again, like a kicked puppy, like you are going to make sense at a 45° angle. You copy him.

"Were just executing a program when you shot those androids, them?" You question, an edge of impatience creeping into your tone.

Were you just executing a program when you left me to die?

You open and close your hands, flexing fingers, a dull pain radiating from the knuckles, spreading through the entirety of the muscles. You had to pull yourself back from the edge of a building.

Not that you were surprised when Connor chose the suspect over you. It made all logical sense. Especially when the deviant could have all the information you needed.

And, of course, Connor did not hesitate when he shot that Traci. Connor's hands can't waver nor tremble like yours.

Humans are too complicated, you'll give Connor that. This resentment bubbling on your chest doesn't belong.

"I did what I was programmed to do," it says, because Connor is just an echo of Cyberlife and Cyberlife doesn't care about who dies and who lives. "I didn't have any doubts, if that's what you're asking."

Suddenly, you are made aware of the gun sitting in your hip. The weight pulling your center of gravity down, how you won every shooting championship within Michigan in the last three years. And Connor knows that because Cyberlife knows everything.

You're so very aware of your gun that you can almost ignore adrenaline running through your veins until your hands shake, nor from fear nor pain, but from sheer instinct. How everything feels hot, burning.

Breathing deep and focusing hard on Connor, you say, "When you took the gun from me, did you feel anything? Didn't you feel it was wrong?"

"I'm sorry," it says, not even trying to pretend some kind of regret or confusion, "but I don't see what you're getting at."

You can't help but give a mirthless laugh.

("What do you want from this?" "A lot. Everything.")

Connor looks at you, brown eyes dull, empty. Studying you to the marrow, burning down like wax, slitting like razor.

What an age to live on! The world is collapsing. Nothing truly matters. Everyone is dying, and everything is dying also. You're going home with your own blood in your mouth.

The night gets heavy, like they always do. "Are you afraid to die Connor?"

Connor is sharp-edged steel and you're prone to cut yourself on it. "Why would I be afraid?"

Another chill creeps through you, lacing your throat with a knot.

" No. No," you say, shaking your head, vindicated if not exasperated, "I know that if I shoot you right now you'll just come back like nothing happened. They'll re-upload a backup. I know that."

Snow sets between you two. And something burns on the gaze Connor's giving you; stern, a furious snow storm behind artificial eyes.

"I am asking, are you afraid to die, Connor? " you say, more force behind your words than necessary. "What happens then?"

It takes a good minute for Connor to digest what you just said. I am afraid to die, you think, unashamed of your own weakness.

But looking at Connor right now, the aloofness behind dull eyes, you finally understand a pivotal element standing just before your eyes.

Connor is a dog someone beat into obedience.

And Connor truly believes that, as long as true effort is put into the mission, as long as the massacre is done and the blood is shed, Cyberlife will turn around and smile and will not raise its hand anymore.

He replies shortly, "Nothing. There would be nothing."

[pinazee]

Psy vs. Psy

I genuinely think that if they were going to bring back any psych villian, Lindsay Leikin would pose the biggest threat. She knows Shawn isn’t psychic, she has adequate motivation to target him personally, and has the skills to prove he’s a fraud and do it slyly as she is also highly skilled in deductive reasoning (she did manage to get them to the counterfeiter to begin with so she has legitimate talent). She could even orchestrate it from prison. Maybe her parole was denied again so, like, what else is she going to do? Plus, she’s kind of nuts. Faking being a psychic with the FBI is a whole other level of bold compared to a local precinct, then she met a counterfeiter and was like yes please, more crime, then killed him when he tried to run, slept with Shawn that same night, then tried to take him hostage when she got caught. Its just a shame she wasn’t a bit more charismatic or eccentric. They had her play it as a very normal girl swept into a life of crime because of a guy (probably because she was a “love interest” for Shawn) when the receipts show she was an absolute lunatic (look at her face after they found the guy she killed. This bitch is smiling).

Also, she just kinda gave up when she was caught. I wish she’d have been screaming “he’s a fraud!” as she was taken to the car or even had a heart to heart moment with Lou Diamond Phillips because she did betray him after all. Idk, i just wanted more. (But i think maybe the writers recognized this and thats how we get Declan later??)

Gus is basically siri at this point. Between the archeology, safes, online poker, the law, tennis players, space, comic books, of course pharmaceuticals, and now studies tender from all over the world- its a smaller list of what Gus doesn’t know. Gus clearly likes learning. I’m surprised he never thought of becoming a teacher or college professor, to try to pass that love of learning to the next generation. Though i guess we see he’s not that great with people surprisingly, considering he’s a successful salesman. (OH MY GOD WHAT IF THIS WHOLE TIME GUS ACTUALLY HAD LIVED UP TO HIS POTENTIAL AND BECAME AN INTERNATIONAL SPY. He knows all these things because of his job, psychs only been able to stay open because Gus can fund it from his spy job, joining psych was a good front but he was also lonely from never getting to be himself. I kid, i kid, but its a fun idea for me haha)

No fucking way shawn doesn’t know what a drill is. Henry definitely would have beat that kind of man stuff into him. The military time too. I just felt the need to point this out. its like the show itself is dissing my boy and i have to defend him lol

I love when Gus is proud and smarmy over shawns talent. Look at his face here. My boy about to prove you wrong.

And do you think Shawn is actually afraid of competition or do you think he learned at an early age from his father that he didn’t have value unless he was the best? Huh Henry, huh???(Weekend warriors “you don’t want to be a loser” comes to mind)

Henry trying some reverse psychology here. I can’t tell if its because Henry is actually concerned for Shawns safety like he said he wasn’t in the previous episode, or if he’s still taking it personally that Shawns using the gifts he “gave” him to be psychic. Probably both. We know he was really bothered by his motorcycle accident, so i wonder if he’s been kind of spiraling, and adding up all the crazy situations he’s been in. (Which, i don’t think Shawn tells him about. i think Gus calls him like a weekly report haha) I think the fact that shawns cases are becoming more dangerous he suddenly doesn’t like the idea of him being a detective, well a detective this way at least, because i think in his mind he’d be safer if he was an actual cop where he had a partner with a gun, and back up, and rules, and training. I mean we know he wouldn’t be, (look at what happens to Lassie and Juliet)

I just wanted to gif this because it’s one of my fave jokes in the episode!

Mildred to the rescue! Im not entirely sure how this worked but it did and thats what matters haha

*Appropriate reaction is appropriate*