#and i love them for who they are. we are not at war so stop trying to fight

[goosewriting]

The Aftermath

summary: reader visits Joaquín at the hospital as he wakes up from surgery.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: established relationship, spoilers for captain america: brave new world, mention and description of injuries and medical procedures, mention of accident and explosions, brief mentions of PTSD from events in Infinity War/Endgame, self-doubts and guilt

word count: 2.2k

A/N: i started writing this the moment i came home from watching BNW. can't believe it took me this long to write for him,, he's been rotating in my mind ever since tfantws <3 we really need more fics for joaquín, he’s so blorbo coded like cmon!! 🥹🥹 if you have any recs pls send them my way!

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Sitting by Joaquín’s hospital bed, you bring your hands to your face as you remember his accident on the Indian Ocean. You had watched the broadcast in horror, your heart in your throat as his figure fell from the sky into the open water. 

At that moment, you couldn’t help but remember the video from all those years ago, where you saw how Rhodey had fallen as well, like a rock, everyone watching, unable to do anything to stop him. Just like War Machine, Joaquín had turned uncontrollably on his descent, one of his wings ripped from the suit by the missile exploding right in his face.

You’ve been in the Avengers’ orbit since a little before the battle against Thanos on Wakanda, where you had also fought with everyone, but then got blipped. The transition back to society with a gap of 5 years had been very hard on you, and while you stayed in contact with everyone who remained, helping out whenever you could, you didn’t really have it in you to go back out to the battlefield. Even after all this time, you still have nightmares about the snap and the Battle for Earth. 

Bringing your hands back into your lap, you let out a trembling breath, clinging onto the constant soft beeping of the machinery to tether yourself to reality and not fall down a spiral of despair. Every time your eyes roam over Joaquín’s injuries, you close your eyes, pressing the base of your hands over them, then open them again. Your sight is momentarily sprinkled with dots, and as it clears, you hope for everything to have been a horrible nightmare. But once your view clears up, he’s still there. Unconscious. Hurt.

The surgery he’d been in last night had felt like it was never going to end. Still, you had stayed the whole time, and once he got out, you stayed at his side. 

It’s been several hours since Joaquín got wheeled into his room, the head medic saying he was still unconscious but stable. You shift in the armchair by the bed where you sit. One of the nurses brought you something to eat earlier since you refused to leave, the wrapper of your sandwich still in your hands as your eyes start feeling heavier and heavier, and you can’t find it in yourself to fight the welcome embrace of sleep, slowly spreading through your limbs. You’ve almost completely dozed off when you hear a groan, and immediately your grogginess dissipates. You straighten up in your seat, the wrapper falling to the floor as you scoot closer to the bed, tears stinging behind your eyes. How you still have tears left, you have no idea, given how much you’ve cried in the past hours, terrified of losing the love of your life. 

Joaquín blinks several times, scrunching his face, eyes trying to adapt to the light. He lifts his good arm, looking at the tubes attached to it, and his gaze roams the room and down his body, face contorting in pain lightly. Then his eyes land on you, and his face immediately softens.

“Hey, there,” he croaks out. 

“You’re awake,” you whisper, holding his hand in your trembling ones. “I was scared you wouldn’t.”

“Pfft, it’ll take more than a meagre explosion to defeat the Falcon,” he retorts with a pained smile.

Normally you’d laugh at his jokes, enjoying his silly side, but right now you have no humour left in you. Another wave of tears rolls down your cheeks, and his smile vanishes.

“Please don’t joke about that,” you plead, giving his hand a squeeze. “You were hit by a freaking missile. From a fighter jet. While up in the air between two armies about to start a war with each other.”

“Well, if you put it like that…” He sighs. 

There’s a moment of silence where you again study his bruised face, your gaze landing on the massive burn covering his whole shoulder, streaks of red raw skin visible on his jaw and throat. Your brows furrow in frustration.

“I should have been there,” you mumble, angry at yourself for letting this happen.

“What?” he asks, craning his neck to fully look at you.

“I should have gone with you,” you say, bringing your eyes to look up at him. “Then I could have helped and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

Joaquín exhales through his nose in disbelief.

“We were in the air, and I went head to head with the missile even after Sam told me to back off,” he retorts, shaking his head. “There was nothing you could have done.”

His tone isn’t scolding; he’s telling the truth and you know it. Still, you can’t help but feel like the outcome could have been different, if you had just been better, braver. You try to choke back a sob, unsuccessful, and his hold tightens around your hand.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” He speaks your name softly. “This isn’t on you. Please don’t cry.”

You grimace, biting the inside of your cheek.

“For a moment I thought you died, Joaquín. I was so scared,” you say with a shaky breath, bringing his hand to your face, and he cups your cheek. You place your hand over his, holding onto it and leaning into his touch like it was the last time you could hold him like this.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

Your heart shatters at the thought that even after getting hurt, after getting blown up, he’s the one apologising to you. He’s about to add something when the door opens and a nurse comes in. You back off a bit and hastily wipe your face with the back of your sleeves as she does some check-ups, both on Joaquín and the machines, taking some notes on her clipboard. She then takes one of the tubes attached to his arm, and places a syringe at the other end.

“What’s that?” you ask, suspicious. She gives you a quick look with a raised brow, but when she sees the state you’re in, her face relaxes again.

“Painkillers and antibiotics. He’ll need both of them,” she explains.

It doesn’t take long for the fluids to reach Joaquín’s blood system, and he visibly relaxes against the pillows and closes his eyes.

“Oh, hell yeah. That’s the good stuff,” he sighs, and the nurse chuckles softly. You still can’t get yourself to let go of your worry. Once she’s done with everything, she leaves the way she came, exiting the room. As the door closes behind her, your eyes land on the wrapper on the floor, and you pick it up with a sniffle, crumpling it up further.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you anything?” you ask as you throw the trash into the bin from where you sit, to your surprise making the shot. He doesn't answer, eyes still closed.

“Joaquín?” you ask softly, not wanting to wake him in case he fell asleep again.

“Huh? Wha?” His eyes open and he turns to look at you, his face visibly relaxed now.

“You okay?” You take his hand again, and he gives you a squeeze.

“Hmm-mm,” he hums with a nod, blinking slowly as he tries to focus on your face. “I just think I’m… kinda high right now.”

That’s when you finally break, unable to hold back an endeared chuckle, shaking your head. Joaquín’s eyes are filled with warmth and then concern as they land on your face, brows furrowing as if he just noticed something. His hand comes up to wipe away the remaining streak of tears. He also playfully pinches your cheek for good measure, eliciting another smile of yours.

“That’s better,” he concludes, a smile spreading on his face as well. The smile that could light up any room he’s in, in your humble opinion. 

You prop your elbow onto the edge of the bed, head in your hands as you look at him, and he looks back at you with a silly grin. The beeps on the machine speed up a bit, and you look up at the screen, then back at him with a brow raised in amusement.

“Usually you can’t tell because I’m smooth as hell, but it’s true,” he notes, like a huge secret was just uncovered. “You still make my heart race.”

Heat prickles on your cheeks at his words and you avert your gaze with a snort. As long as your heart is still beating, you think, remembering that they had to resuscitate him after the accident, but you shake those thoughts away, preferring to focus on the fact that he’s still here, alive.

“I know that the moment you’re back on your feet, you’ll be out there again, suited up,” you start after a moment, shooting him a serious look. “So I won’t ask you to stop. But promise me to be more careful next time?”

“Pinky promise.” Joaquín lifts his hand, fingers curled except for his pinky, and you can’t help but chuckle as you mirror his gesture, curling your finger around his. He shakes your hand like that side to side for a bit, then drops it back down onto the bed. A strand of hair falls into his face as he leans back, and you brush it back, caressing over his bruised cheekbone gingerly. 

“When was the last time you slept?” he asks suddenly.

“Hmm.” You look at the timestamp on the muted TV in the corner, currently playing some movie or other. It’s only then that you realise you’ve been intermittently awake for almost two full days now. “Can’t really remember,” you lie.

“You need to rest. You look exhausted,” he remarks, gesturing to himself. “I’m taken care of.”

“No, I’m not leaving you,” you say, putting as much finality into your voice as you can in your state.

He says your name softly. You look away. He sighs.

“Well, if you insist on staying, then at least I can get pampered a bit, yeah?” he starts, and you narrow your eyes at him in feigned suspicion. He asks with a playful pout, “You know what would make me feel better?”

“Hmm?” 

Joaquín turns his head, offering you his cheek. You can’t help but laugh. 

“I thought you were high on painkillers already?”

“Even the best medicine holds nothing against your kisses.”

“Pfft, is that so.” Now it’s your heart’s turn to speed up. You two have been together for a while now, but he still makes you feel warm and fuzzy, and gives you butterflies in your stomach, when he isn’t on the brink of death, at least. “Well, in that case, I better get started on your dose.”

You lean forward, placing a kiss on his cheek, and he hums pleasedly. He doesn’t move, though, clearly waiting for more. You’re more than happy to oblige, placing kiss after kiss on his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, being especially careful around his injuries. Finally, you hold his chin to turn his face towards you, and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his lips. It's chaste but sweet, and he smiles into it. When you lean back, his eyes are filled with love, slightly unfocused because of the meds, a goofy grin on his face. As you hold his face, you consider saying something cheesy, hoping he won’t remember it. But before you can speak, there’s a knock at the door, and someone steps in. It’s Sam. He looks surprised to see you.  

“Damn, you’re still here?” he asks with concern, then turns to Joaquín. “How’re you feeling?”

“Splendid, really,” he replies, leaning into your hand still cupping his face.

“He got a decent shot of painkillers,” you explain, looking up at Sam with a tired smile. “He’s high as a kite.”

Sam chuckles, then looks at you worriedly. 

“You need to rest. Both of you.” He places a hand on your shoulder. “Go home, I’ll take it from here.”

You hesitate, looking between the two, and Joaquín nods, his eyes pleading for you to also take care of yourself. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Joaquín says, taking your hand from his face and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here when you come back.”

“Right,” you sigh and rise to your feet with wobbly legs now that the exhaustion is finally kicking in full force, and Sam holds you up when your knees threaten to give in. 

“Whoa there. You need a nap, ASAP.” 

“Yeah, yeah I do,” you say with a sigh, steadying yourself as he lets you go, his hands still hovering over your arms for a moment in case he has to grab you again, but you manage to stand straight. You grab your jacket from the back of the chair, and turn to Joaquín. “I’ll come back this evening, okay? I’ll bring your favourite snacks too. Don’t tell the nurse, though.” You wink at him with a knowing smile.

“You’re the best.”

“No, you are.” You lean over him to kiss him goodbye, whispering ‘I love you’ against his lips, and pecking him once more for good measure. The machine’s beeps speed up again.

“Love you too. See you later.” Joaquín brings his hand up to caress over your cheek one last time, then you leave the room.

Sam is still standing there, hands in his pockets, looking down at his friend as the beeps slowly start decreasing back to normal.

“Very cute,” he remarks, unable to bite back a teasing smile. 

“Don’t even,” Joaquín says and rolls his eyes playfully, knowing perfectly well that Sam will never let him live that down.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!]

[courtofjade]

Somewhere in the Haze, Got a Sense I’ve Been Betrayed

Pairing: Azriel x Archeron!reader, Lucien x reader (past)

Notes: This is my first ever time writing so please be gentle with me <3

She stood frozen as she watched the bolt strike through Azriel’s chest, letting out a sob as he fell to the ground. Y/n grabbed at her chest as a pain shot through her. An internal war raged inside her between the fear of Hybern and the pull she felt to run to Azriel.

The bolt was coated in bloodbane that the King claimed flowed where he willed it. She knew that if they fought, if they did not follow him, the poison would go to his heart. The heart that longed for the Archeron sister since they had locked eyes. Azriel let himself be hauled up the stairs by Cassian and Rhys- feeling utterly helpless. Feyre grasped onto a shaking y/n, who balked at the sight of the arrow protruding out of Azriel’s back.

Y/n was ignorant to the events that had occurred under the mountain, having been sent back to the Mortal Lands with Feyre before they had occurred. She had been told of the things her sister had to do, had to endure, while under Amarantha’s trials. Even though Rhys had made her aware of the things Hybern could do- even though she had been trained by Azriel and Cassian to be prepared in times like this- all of these things had fled her body as she walked into the King’s throne room.

The King mounted a dais carved out of dark emerald- his throne assembled of bones. As she inspected further, her mouth dried. The bones were that of a human. Brown and smooth with age. They all stopped before it, Jurian leering at their backs. Y/n flinched as the throne room doors shut.

The King said to no one in particular, “Now that I’ve upheld my end of the bargain, I expect you to uphold yours.” Two figures emerged from the side door. Feyre began to shake her head harshly as Lucien and Tamlin stepped into the light.

In the chaos that had then ensued between Rhys, Feyre, and Tamlin, all Y/n could do was stare at Lucien. His eyes on her were forever filled with an intense guilt that somehow still couldn’t mask the look of love. Her face slowly began to morph into that of hurt. Of betrayal. All she could do was think to all of those months ago. Of being in the Spring Court. Initially to find her sister, but in the end finding a bond she had never dreamed she would have. His lips began to slyly mouth words that she couldn’t comprehend. His lips. The lips that had once shared his deepest feelings. The lips that had once been on every part of her body. The lips she could no longer look at as her ears perked at the name of her sister.

“You will find, Feyre Archeron, that it is in your best interest to behave.” The king stated. She followed Feyre’s gaze to the door where the King’s guards had dragged her sisters, gagged and bound, before the King of Hybern.

She began to hyperventilate at the site. She sobbed silently at the sight of her eldest sisters, nights gowns dirty and torn. Elain stood sobbing with fear in her eyes. Nesta looked disheveled, hair wild and eyes fierce, like she had put up a fight. Of course she had. She barely let Y/n go back to the Faye Realms let alone let someone drag her there.

How did they get to them? How they know where they lived? She attempted to catch Feyre’s eyes. A way to silently ask her these questions herself. Though Feyre couldn’t meet her eyes. Little did she know that, unknowingly, Feyre had given every detail of their lives to Ianthe. Fucking Ianthe. She knew there was something off about her. She glanced over at Lucien whose face had gone slack.

“She sold out- she sold out their family. To you.”

“Sold out?” The king snorted. “Or saved from the shackles of mortal death? Ianthe suggested they were all strong-willed women, like their sister. No doubt they’ll survive. And prove to our queens it can be done. If one has the strength.” Her breath caught in her chest. “I thought we would have to put up more of a fight for the third. Fortunately you brought her right to us.”

With their focus on the King, none of the inner circle had noticed when a pair of guards had made their way to the youngest Archeron. She gasped as they grappled her and began to drag her towards her eldest sisters. Their heads all whipped towards her.

The King smirked. “I suggest bracing yourselves.” And then hell exploded in the hall.

Power, white and unending and hideous, barreled into them.

Y/n screamed as she was dragged away from her friends. Her family. She watched as they attempted to shield each other from the onslaught of power coming from Hybern. She watched as Mor made her way to him- a feeble attempt of revenge for Cassian who laid behind her, wings torn to shreds.

Azriel cried out in pain. Another gasp from Y/n as a pain radiated in her chest. Mor froze and dropped her knife, it clattering to the floor. Mor backed up as the King rose. He descended the dais, eyes sweeping over the defeated circle. His eyes burned a hole into Mor’s head before moving his gaze to Y/n. He slowly walked over to her- raising a hand to push the hair out of her face.

“What a prize.” He drawled.

Azriel let out a deep growl from his chest, eyes full of rage and pain and he snarled at the King. “ Don’t you touch her.”

The King held her trembling chin in his fingers. Her eyes slanted as she held his gaze, fearful but unwavering.

“Put her in first.” He sounded before turning back to his throne.

Feyre lunged but the guards grabbed her instantly, Rhys soon going to interfere. Before he could he froze in his tracks, hearing Azriel shout in pain as he writhed on the floor.

Y/n screamed as she thrashed in the guards arms.

“Please refrain,” the king said, “from getting any stupid ideas, Rhysand.” He smiled at Feyre. “If any of you interfere, the shadowsinger dies. Pity about the other brute’s wings.” He gave the sisters a mockery of a bow. “Ladies, eternity awaits. Prove to their Majesties the Cauldron is safe for … strong-willed individuals.”

Mor held onto Azriel as he weakly attempted to crawl towards Y/n.

Nesta began to thrash wildly in the guards arms, watching as her baby sister was dragged toward the cauldron. Tamlin said, “Stop.”

The King did no such thing.

“Enough!” Shouted Lucien frantically while reaching for his sword. Nesta bellowed at the guards, at the King, at anyone who would listen. Y/n watched as the King waved his hand and liquid filled the cauldron to the brim.

Y/n continued to thrash and kick as the guards dragged her closer and closer to the cauldron. She fought and she fought- thinking of her friends, thinking of her sisters, thinking of him. He who had taught her to fight and to never stop fighting.

She sobbed as she felt herself being lifted. Felt her foot touch the cold liquid of the cauldron. For a split second, she caught Lucien’s eyes and it felt as though time slowed. He thrashed against the white leash of power holding him back from running to her. From killing anyone who dared touch her. While in his eyes were love and pain and guilt- in her eyes were fear and anger and betrayal. Angry with whatever part of Lucien thought that working with Hybern was a good idea. Feeling betrayed by the man that she had once thought she loved.

She closed her eyes and gasped her last breath before the guards swiftly shoved her into the cauldron.

The inner circle held their breath. They dared not move as they waited for her to come out of the cauldron. But she did not. Nesta’s screams were all that was heard throughout the room.

The King smirked- raising his hand toward the cauldron. “Behold.”

They waited with bated breath as the Cauldron turned on its side spilling out Y/n- as if washed onto the shore. It felt as though hours had passed as they waited for her to move- to breath.

Feyre released a breath she didn’t know she was holding as she watched Y/n gasp for air. She pushed herself up, pushing her soaked hair back to look at Feyre. The room once again stilled. Her skin began to glow. Her beautiful face somehow becoming even more beautiful, and her once rounded ears were now pointed.

She then looked at Azriel, who was laid on the ground trying to find an ounce of strength to crawl to her. He looked up at her as though he felt her eyes looking at him. As she stared into his eyes, it was like she couldn’t pull look away. Her brows furrowed as she felt a tug on her chest. A tug she had felt multiple times before- begging her to go to him. Pleading with her to hold him and to never let go. Except this time, the tug felt stronger. Stronger than it ever has before. Though time continued to move around her, chaos never ending, she reached deep into that part of her to grab onto that invisible force pulling her towards Azriel. And when she did, she felt something inside of her snap.

Through the seemingly never ending pain he had been feeling, Azriel had felt it. He had felt the tug he had been longing to feel since the moment their eyes had met. Back when Rhys had called in the bargain for the first time. When he brought her and Feyre to the Night Court. And for a moment, in the hell that was surrounding them, he felt at peace.

She snapped out of her stupor as she noticed Lucien rushing to her. She let him help her up to her feet and bring her closer to Feyre.

As he stood next to her, holding her up on shaky legs, his heart had not come back to where it had belong since it had dropped. Since he had witnessed the moment between Y/n and Azriel. Since he watched the first love he had felt in a long time- find her mate.

[heliosunny]

Hi hi, I read your lucky egg yuan x reader and thought a bond system was super creative!! So I have a request!!

Can I request a streamer/general Jing yuan playing an otome game where you/the reader are one of the love interests? And he was absolutely obsessed with character!reader that he’d literally drop so much money on the game, but one day, after maybe a poisoning incident, he ends up isekai’d into said otome game. Reader has a favoribility bar and everything and he does all the quests to raise your bar 🤭🤭. And and! If a love interest hits 100% favoribility in the game, they go yandere so maybe a bit of soft yan y/n?

It would also be super interesting to see yuan scheme everything cuz of his big brain 😌😌

I hope you have a good day and stay hydrated!!!

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠… 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫.

[𝙇𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙤𝙣] Chat: — "Jing Yuan, you’re literally broke because of this game." — "BRO JUST DATE A REAL PERSON." — "He’s already too far gone… let him be." — "Who’s your bias again? (Not that we don’t know lol)." — "Watch him go straight to Y/N and ignore all the others."

The chat scrolled at breakneck speed, but Jing Yuan barely paid attention, his fingers already navigating past the main menu. His voice was smooth, teasing, as he leaned closer to the mic.

“Come now, you all know the answer to that” his lips curling into a smirk. His stream setup was pristine—dual monitors casting a cool glow over his silver hair, the dim lighting making his golden eyes gleam.

The title screen of Astral Regnum shimmered before him, revealing the stunning artwork of the heroes of the kingdom. But his gaze, as always, honed in on the one he cared about most. You.

Chat: — "Damn, he didn’t even LOOK at them LMAO." — "He’s speedrunning a 2D romance with Y/N." — "NPCs crying in the corner."

Jing Yuan chuckled, skipping past the banners of the other love interests like they were mere background noise. “Why waste time?” His voice dipped lower, fond. “Y/N is the only one that matters.”

A swordmaster. A warrior feared on the battlefield, but with a heart that only opened to those they deemed worthy. In the game’s lore, [Y/N] was the blade of the Astral Regnum heroes—a relentless force of nature, cutting down enemies with precision. And yet, their favorability system was notoriously difficult.

That only made it more satisfying when he raised it.

He knew what you liked. What you hated. Every hidden event, every dialogue choice that made your heart skip.

And he had spent—How much money again? He didn’t care.

Tonight, he was going to hit the final 100%.

With a flick of his wrist, he loaded his save file—the one where his favorability with you was already in the high 90s.

The screen faded to black.

…A sharp knock at the door.

Jing Yuan blinked, momentarily snapping out of his immersion. Who the hell—?

His chat reacted instantly.

Chat: — "Uh oh, debt collectors?" — "Jing Yuan’s about to get isekai’d, watch." — "Bet it’s his manager coming to stop his spending spree."

With a lazy sigh, he muted the mic and pushed his chair back. He had just reached for the door when a strange, sharp scent flooded his senses.

His vision blurred.

The last thing he saw was the game screen still glowing on his monitor, your character’s sprite standing there, waiting.

𝐋𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝…

The first thing he felt was the cold, the way it bit into his skin—so vivid, so unlike the temperature-controlled room he had been in just moments ago. His ears rang with the echo of distant battle cries, the clash of steel, the unmistakable scent of blood.

Jing Yuan opened his eyes. His smirk returned instantly.

He knew exactly where he was.

Above him, the skies of Astral Regnum stretched endlessly, clouds tinged red by the fires of war.

“…I really hit the jackpot, didn’t I?”

A shadow moved in his peripheral vision. He turned just in time to see you- covered in blood, battle-worn eyes feral with focus. Your sword pointed straight at him.

Jing Yuan had always admired you— your presence, your unwavering strength. But seeing you in the flesh, drenched in blood with the weight of battle in your stance?

It was exhilarating.

The tip of your sword hovered just inches from his throat, gleaming under the eerie glow of magic-infused flames.

“Identify yourself.”

Jing Yuan barely resisted the urge to grin. Even in the game, you never trusted strangers easily—it was one of the many things that had made raising your favorability so difficult.

But unlike his first playthrough, he didn’t need to fumble through dialogue choices or waste time figuring out what worked.

He already knew exactly what to do.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender, keeping his posture relaxed despite the threat at his throat. “Ah, forgive me. I seem to have found myself in the middle of a battlefield, and I’d rather not lose my head before I’ve even introduced myself.”

Your eyes narrowed, scanning him like a predator sizing up prey. He knew you were analyzing everything—his stance, his expression, any hint of deception.

Chat would’ve gone wild seeing this. Too bad they weren’t here.

“…You’re not dressed like a soldier” you noted, your grip on the hilt still firm.

He wasn’t. The clothes he wore were a mix of modern and fantasy—game mechanics at work, likely adjusting his form to fit the world. He still had his signature robes, but now they looked more battle-worn, reforged in Astral Regnum’s style.

“Observant, as expected” he mused. “I’m not part of any faction. Just a traveler who seems to have ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Your expression remained unreadable, but the fact that you hadn’t killed him on the spot meant he had already passed the first test.

“Captain!” A voice called from the distance. A scout.

Jing Yuan watched as your gaze flickered between him and the approaching soldier. You had a decision to make—cut him down now, or deal with him later?

The game’s mechanics dictated that you wouldn’t kill someone outright if they weren’t confirmed as a threat. That much, he remembered.

“Tie him up” you ordered.

Jing Yuan barely bit back a chuckle as rough hands grabbed his arms, binding his wrists.

Oh we're doing this route? How fun.

“Smart choice” he murmured as your men hauled him up. “But I do wonder… how long will you be able to keep me restrained?”

You didn’t answer. You only turned your back on him, leading the way toward your war camp.

He didn’t mind starting as a prisoner.

After all— He was still going to reach 100%.

----

Jing Yuan sat calmly, bound at the wrists, as the flickering glow of firelight cast shifting shadows across the war tent. Soldiers bustled outside, sharpening blades, murmuring strategies, unaware that the man they had just captured knew more about their war than they did.

It was strange watching everything unfold in real-time.

Even stranger was seeing you like this—not through a screen, but right in front of him. The real you, expression unreadable as you stood by a large map, analyzing war strategies.

A part of him wanted to watch forever.

But that wasn’t the plan.

You finally turned your gaze to him, those sharp eyes glinting under the lantern light. “You don’t seem particularly concerned about your situation.”

Jing Yuan gave a lazy smile. “Should I be?”

Your soldiers shifted uncomfortably, but you merely crossed your arms. “You’re suspicious. You’re too well-groomed for a lost traveler, and you don’t have the look of a mercenary. Are you a spy?”

“No,... But I might be useful to you.”

One of your officers scoffed. “You expect us to believe that?”

“I expect your Captain to consider it.” His gaze remained on you. “You wouldn’t have kept me alive if you didn’t at least think there was value in hearing me out.”

You didn’t deny it. You're still the same, that calculative and careful one. And yet strangely soft toward those who prove their worth.

He could work with that.

“…Fine” you finally said, tone measured. “You’ll stay here under guard. Prove your worth, or you’ll regret it.”

Jing Yuan chuckled, flexing his fingers slightly. “I thought you weren't the type to threat-”

“Don't test me.”

The chains around Jing Yuan’s wrists weren’t tight enough to hurt, but they were a firm reminder—he was not trusted.

But that was fine.

Because trust could be built.

He watched as you dismissed your soldiers one by one, your fingers ghosting over the map on the table. The battlefield was shifting, and you were at the center of it.

Jing Yuan had watched countless cutscenes of you strategizing like this, studying every small movement, every sharp-eyed decision. But seeing it in person was entirely different.

“You’re staring” you muttered without looking up.

Jing Yuan chuckled. “Nothing, I was just thinking.”

Finally, you glanced at him, arms crossed. “About what?”

“That I can help you win.”

“Oh? And why would a ‘lost traveler’ know anything about war?”

Jing Yuan leaned forward slightly, “Because I know your enemies better than they know themselves.”

That caught your attention.

“Go on”

“Your next battle is in three days. Your enemies will try to flank from the west, but their supplies are running thin. If you push them into a defensive position before they can regroup, you’ll win with minimal casualties.”

“And how exactly would you know that?”

Jing Yuan’s smile didn’t waver. “Does it matter?”

“Fine, I'll test your theory.”

If you followed his strategy, he’d prove his worth.

And when you won?

You’d start to trust him.

The war camp was quieter than usual. Outside, soldiers murmured in low voices, preparing for the upcoming battle.

Jing Yuan stood a few feet away, his hands still bound, watching you with a patient smile.

Just as he was about to speak, the tent flap rustled.

"You're still awake?"

Jing Yuan's smile faltered for the briefest second as another figure stepped inside—one of your close friends. They walked in casually, eyes flickering to Jing Yuan before turning back to you.

Jing Yuan had seen them before, an important side character, someone who frequently appeared in your storyline. But now that he was here, living in this world, they felt like a nuisance.

"I'm reviewing the battle plans again" you replied, rubbing your temples. Your friend sighed, stepping beside you.

"You should rest. You've been at this all day."

Jing Yuan watched as they reached forward, lightly flicking your forehead in a playful manner.

He had never liked this character, even when he played the game. They always lingered too close, always made you smile in ways that should have been reserved for him.

But now?

Now, he was right here, watching them steal your attention.

He could see the way you relaxed around them, how comfortable you were. He knew it was natural—you had a long history together in the game. But that didn’t stop the quiet frustration from simmering beneath his skin.

That should be him.

Jing Yuan let out a soft chuckle, stepping forward slightly, just enough to make his presence known.

“You know,” he mused, tilting his head, “for someone so concerned about their commander’s well-being, you don’t seem too worried about distracting them.”

Your friend raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”

Jing Yuan’s smile didn’t waver. “An observer.” He let his gaze linger on your friend a little too long before shifting back to you. “Besides, I don’t think they need to be reminded to rest. They know their limits.”

You let out an amused exhale. “You talk as if you’ve known me for a long time.”

“I just have good instincts.”

Your friend didn’t seem convinced, but they let it slide, instead turning back to you.

Jing Yuan barely heard what they said next. His focus was elsewhere—on the small details.

The way they leaned in when they spoke. The way you didn’t pull away. The way your voice softened, just slightly, in response.

He didn't like it.

But he wouldn’t show it.

----

Jing Yuan was a strategist. Whether in the real world or in this one, he always played to win. Now, you were real. And he would ensure that he was the only one who mattered to you.

The game had always emphasized that actions mattered more than words.

So he made sure every move he made left an impression.

He cooked for you when you were too exhausted after training.

He tended to the wounded, proving he wasn’t just a fighter but someone who cared.

He trained with your soldiers, earning their respect.

He always stayed one step behind you, never overstepping—but never too far away.

And every time you hesitated, every time you looked at him as more than just an outsider, his favorability bar climbed.

[ +15 Favorability ] [ +5 Favorability ] [ +20 Favorability ]

It was slow, steady, but inevitable.

Sure he had made mistakes. Like that one moment where he didn't take your concerns seriously.

"Something’s off about this place" you had murmured, scanning the area. "Maybe, but worrying too much causes wrinkles."

You shot him a look. "Remind me why I even talk to you?"

He laughed. "Because you like me."

At that moment? Not so much. [-15 Favorability]

Or that other time when he was overconfident.

"You should fall back. I’ll handle the rest."

You had scoffed, annoyed. "I don’t need you to protect me."

He shrugged. "Still, wouldn’t want you to get hurt—"

You ignored him and struck the final blow yourself. [-20 Favorability]

Still, everything was carefully choreographed—down to the smallest details. And every time you acknowledged him, every time your gaze lingered just a second longer than before, he knew—

Your favorability bar ticked up.

[ +5 Favorability ] [ +10 Favorability ]

Jing Yuan was patient. But patience had its limits.

When another comrade slung an arm over your shoulder, laughing too freely—his grip on his sword tightened.

When someone dared to flirt with you, his golden eyes flickered with an emotion no one caught.

When you smiled at someone else with the same warmth you gave him, a quiet hum left his lips.

For now, he could hold back.

Because soon, it wouldn’t matter.

Because soon, you wouldn’t even look at anyone else.

----

Jing Yuan never gambled. Because every move has its purpose.

And right now—

Your favorability stood at 75%

It was a beautiful number. But it wasn’t enough.

So, he prepared.

𝐒𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞: 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠...

The system had always been a passive observer. A tool meant to track your feelings, your reactions, your downfall into love.

But today, it would be more than that.

Today, it would be his weapon.

—— Favorability Shop Opened. Current Balance: [Unlimited] Recommended Purchases:

1️⃣ [Memory Trigger Perfume] – A fragrance designed to evoke past emotions and subconscious attachments. [50,000 pts] 2️⃣ [Heroic Crisis Event] – An orchestrated situation where the player can prove their devotion to the target. [100,000 pts] 3️⃣ [Lingerie Set??? ] – Also a valid strategy.... [25,000 pts] ——

Jing Yuan exhaled slowly, amusement flickering in his gaze as he scrolled past the last item.

I'll save that for later.

For now—he bought the first two.

The memory trigger

The next time you saw him, the scent was already on him.

It wasn’t overwhelming. Just a faint trace. Familiar.

You frowned slightly. “What is that smell?”

Jing Yuan feigned confusion. “Does it bother you?”

“No, it’s just…” You hesitated. Something nagged at you. Something you couldn’t quite grasp.

It reminded you of safety. A feeling you had lost.

And deep down, your heart tightened.

“Maybe you’ve smelled it before” he mused, watching you struggle. “Maybe… it’s something important to you.”

You didn’t respond.

But later that night—long after he had left—you found yourself missing it.

And just like that, your favorability rose to 80%

The Heroic Crisis

Jing Yuan knew you were strong. You didn’t need a savior. You could protect yourself. But even strong people had moments of weakness.

And he was going to be there when it happened.

So, when the system triggered the attack, everything was perfect.

Your instincts kicked in immediately. You dodged, countered, struck back.

But the moment you faltered—

Jing Yuan was there.

His blade met theirs. His body shielded yours.

Blood dripped from his arm, but he barely noticed. His eyes stayed on you.

And then, as if in a trance, your lips parted.

“Jing Yuan…”

Your favorability skyrocketed.

90%.

95%.

----

The fire crackled softly, flickering between the two of you. It wasn’t often that you got quiet moments like this. No battles. Just peace.

And strangely—you didn’t mind his presence.

Jing Yuan sat across from you, his white hair slightly tousled from the night breeze.

“Is there something on my face?”

“N-No..Nothing”

“Then why are you staring?”

“I'm not!”

He chuckled. “Not that I mind.”

You scoffed and looked away, but you didn’t deny it. Truth was.. this felt nice.

Jing Yuan stretched his arms behind his head, letting out a content sigh. “You know, this is rare.”

You glanced at him. “What is?”

He smiled lazily. “Seeing you relaxed.”

“I like it.” His voice was quieter this time. “I like seeing you like this.”

Jing Yuan had always been playful, unpredictable. But tonight—his gaze was softer.

And something inside you stirred.

You cleared your throat, shifting slightly. “It’s... nice.”

“Then let’s have more nights like this.”

Your heart skipped. That's not a bad idea.

----

Jing Yuan knew, step by step, you were falling.

Not yet—not completely. But you were softening.

And tonight, he was going to make sure you fell just a little bit more.

The town was lively even in the late hours. Lanterns swayed overhead, casting warm golden hues over the bustling streets. You walked beside Jing Yuan, carrying a small pouch of supplies for your next journey.

It had been his idea to take a detour here. A little break from the usual battles, something about “enjoying the little things.”

But just as you passed by a fruit stall—

“Hey—!”

You barely registered the blur of motion before your pouch was yanked from your grasp.

A small, ragged figure darted through the crowd, slipping between merchants and customers like a shadow.

Jing Yuan reacted immediately.

“Stay close.”

Then he moved.

You both weaved through the market, dodging carts and startled pedestrians. The thief was fast, but you were faster.

“Persistent little one, aren’t they?”

You didn’t waste breath responding—just focused on cutting off the escape.

And then—a dead end.

The thief skidded to a stop in a dimly lit alleyway, chest heaving.

A boy, no older than ten. Grimy, thin and desperate.

Your pouch dangled from his shaking grip.

Behind him, three younger kids peeked out from behind broken crates, their eyes wide with fear.

He wasn’t stealing for himself. He was trying to feed them.

You felt something in your chest tighten.

Jing Yuan stepped forward—not in anger, but with a sigh.

“Stealing is a bad habit, you know?” His voice was light, almost teasing. “But... I suppose sometimes, there’s no other choice.”

The boy flinched, hugging the pouch close.

“Please...” he whispered. “I—It’s for them.”

Then, to your surprise, he pulled out his own pouch and tossed it to the ground. The coins inside jingled.

“Go buy food” he said simply. “Real food. Not stolen.”

The boy’s eyes darted between the pouch and Jing Yuan, as if expecting some cruel trick.

“You... you mean it?”

Jing Yuan chuckled, ruffling his own hair. “I’m not heartless, you know.”

You stared at him.

The boy hesitated before dropping your pouch and taking Jing Yuan’s instead. Then, with a quick bow, he grabbed the younger kids’ hands and ran.

Silence stretched between you two as you picked up your pouch.

Jing Yuan smiled, tucking his hands behind his head. “Well, that was fun.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned. “Handsome too, right?”

You rolled your eyes—but your heart wasn’t in it.

Because for all his teasing and laziness—Jing Yuan was... kind.

And when he turned to you, golden eyes glinting under the lantern lights—

98%

Almost there.

100%

A quiet chime echoed in the back of Jing Yuan’s mind.

It's done.

You belong to me now.

The favorability bar had maxed out, but he wasn’t foolish enough to expect an immediate, dramatic change. No, your obsession was something that would seep in—gentle, like ink bleeding through parchment.

And oh... he couldn’t wait to see it unfold.

----

The battlefield was long behind you. The mission had gone well, leaving only exhaustion and the quiet hum of victory. Now, beneath the vast night sky, a small fire flickered between you and Jing Yuan.

For once, the silence between you was... comfortable.

He leaned back, arms folded behind his head, watching you.

Watching you watch him.

There was a difference in the way you looked at him now. Before, your gaze was wary—guarded, even when amused.

But now?

Now, your eyes lingered.

His lips curved. “Something on your mind?”

You blinked, but instead of denying it, you simply tilted your head. “You’re... a good person.”

His amusement deepened as he sat up slightly, propping his chin on his hand. “Is that so?”

You hummed in response, shifting closer—not much, just enough that the warmth of the fire wasn’t the only heat between you.

And then—you touched him.

Your fingers brushed against his wrist, tracing the faint scars that lined his skin.

“Y/N...”

Your fingers paused, but your gaze didn’t waver. “I was just thinking.”

“How long do you plan to stay with me?”

His smirk faltered for a brief second.

Then—he chuckled.

“Forever.”

He expected a laugh. A scoff. A shake of the head at his dramatic words.

But instead— You smiled.

“I like that answer” you murmured. “You’d better keep it.”

Something in your tone sent a shiver down his spine.

I like that.

I like that a lot.

He had reached 100%. And he couldn't wait to see how far you both would go.

[sloanout]

It's interesting to see the occasional post where someone lays out all of Solas' crimes as if people are unaware of them or have forgotten. The condescending tone in a lot of them is what gets me, like it's not enough to loudly profess how much you hate the character, but it's also necessary to treat people that do enjoy them like children who can hardly read.

Like baby... Yeah, he did those things. We know. Your honor, he absolutely did that shit - but that's not the interesting part of the character. It's the circumstances and the ethical dilemmas therein that many find so compelling. War makes monsters of everyone, and no, that doesn't excuse every action taken, but it does lend it color and consideration. Solas is beloved in part because he's a fascinating study on the objective nature of good. It's wild to me that the most comparable character that comes to mind, Emet-Selch from FFXIV, is almost universally loved in stark contrast to the controversy around Solas (And sometimes there's good controversy. I enjoy having a nourishing discussion when everyone is respectful to each other and the source material).

I think so much of it has to do with how they carry themselves - Emet is absolutely steadfast and confident. He doesn't slip for a moment, the only soft center we see to him is legitimate love and longing for the past, not doubt or hesitation. Solas, on the other hand, is straight up repentant. He's not going to stop, but he's also absolute shit at hiding his pain and torment. Unlike Emet, he agrees that what he's doing is harmful. He acknowledges it over and over, but he's still a slave to the "greater good", as he sees it. There's a real vulnerability there, and I think it has this fracturing effect where it makes those who love him care for him more, and those who hate him go for the throat. For as much as he tries to be, he's not a perfectly cool and composed villain. The writers and devs make damn sure to break that facade of his, and I imagine that makes him hard to latch on to and rally for if you're a person that likes an absolute bastard.

Weakness is baked into him, and a lot of people find that utterly incongruous and revolting in a big bad with such a devastating history. But those that give him the time of day and try to understand get a lot of depth and intrigue to pour over. It's a double edged sword. His failings are his greatest appeal.

[enhaeil]

WE'RE SO DIFFERENT ! ☆ 박종성

"how can we stop this war, i'm still bleeding, babe.. 너와 나 사이를 막은 게 뭔데"

different - woodz

c/w: angsty... but fluff .

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

you and jay had been married for two years and you recently gave birth to your first child.

usually, people say babies bring them together, but you were worried it was driving you and your husband apart.

you barely saw him since he was always working, except for mornings and late at night.

and when he would take days off to spend time with your one month old, you would be at work yourself.

both of you were always on edge or slightly more irritable due to the lack of sleep and your new baby, and post partum was personally kicking your ass.

barely seeing each other also left zero room for intimacy, which was huge for a couple who could never keep their hands off each other.

you still loved jay. you love him the same way you did when you met years ago, even more than that.

but you can't help but wonder if he still loves you. is he falling out of love? does he still find you attractive the same way he did before you gave birth?

all these thoughts run through your head as you craddle your baby, LED clock flashing 3:23 AM.

god, she had jay's nose and eyes. you wondered if she'd be as much trouble as he is.

you giggle to yourself before you hear feet treading behind you.

"she's sleeping?" your groggy husband asks from the doorway.

you give him a nod before hesitantly turning back around. he comes up behind you, peeking over your shoulder.

god, she has your lips and your chubby cheeks. he wonders if she'll have your stubborn attitude as well.

he smiles to himself before suddenly wrapping his arms around your waist, caressing the stretch marks carrying his child gave you.

it catches you off guard, but you instantly melt into him. it's been so long since he held you.

he doesn't say much else as his lips press into the side of your head, letting out a muffled sigh.

"jay..." you call out, not quite knowing what for.

"i love you," he starts.

"and we're gonna be okay."

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Hi, what do you think of the ceasefire between Hamas and Israel? I’m glad the hostages are being returned and am so happy for them and their families but I believe another war is inevitable because Hamas will surely attack Israel again.

What do you think?

I can answer that with a single image.

They pivoted from "wE'rE dYyYyInNnNgGg!!" to reloading their weapons in an instant. They learned nothing. To them, this ceasefire is nothing but an opportunity to rearm and plan something even more awful than 10/7.

It's inevitable. When the 10/7 terrorist attack occurred, it was Hamas breaking a pre-existing ceasefire from 2021.

It's relevant that in exchange for just 3 hostages, Israel released over a hundred Hamas terrorist criminals. In the most recent one that occurred within the last day or so, Israel got back another 3 hostages in exchange for 369 terrorist criminals. That says all you need to know about who values life and who values death.

Their ideology demands that they attack again and again and again. They've made no secret of the fact they intend to do so.

Their ideology demands it.

There is no solution for the Palestinian question except through Jihad. Initiatives, proposals and international conferences are all a waste of time and vain endeavors.

Their religion demands it.

Abu Huraira reported Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) as saying: The last hour would not come unless the Muslims will fight against the Jews and the Muslims would kill them until the Jews would hide themselves behind a stone or a tree and a stone or a tree would say: Muslim, or the servant of Allah, there is a Jew behind me; come and kill him; but the tree Gharqad would not say, for it is the tree of the Jews.

Their leaders demanded it.

"Israel is only the first target. The entire planet will be under our law."

The mothers demand it.

"Every year, there will be another October 7th. Our children will harm you. We won’t tell you the exact date, but I swear to you, it will happen."

Their social media influencers demand it.

"I would love it if they [Hamas] would do it again and again and again and again and again and again and again."

Their children demand it.

"And you Zakariya, what would you like to be?" "An engineer." "An engineer? Why do you want to become an engineer?" "So that I can blow up the Jews."

"We have to constantly stab them, drive over them and shoot them [the Jews]."

"Stabbing and running over Jews brings dignity to the Palestinians. I’m going to run them over and stab them with knives."

They attacked Israel when they tried to take over Jordan in the 70s.

They attacked Israel when they destabilized and fought a bloody war in Lebanon in the 70s/80s.

They attacked Israel when they collaborated with Iraq in the invasion of Kuwait in the 90s.

The only thing they're oppressed by is the barbarism of the appalling Islamic death cult.

The blood of martyrs is what Allah loves most. Martyrs live in a place that is beautiful like no other. Martyrs are the first ones to enter Paradise. Martyrs will not faint when the trumpet is blown (on the Day of Judgment). Martyrs will see the black-eyed virgins even before their blood dries. The best of martyrs is the one whose blood was shed and whose horse was wounded. If we take into account all that I mentioned - Allah’s rewards - then we can understand the secret behind the laughter and smiles of the martyrs’ family at their funerals.

When all of this starts back up again - and as history shows, it's an absolute certainty - I will be completely out of sympathy for them. They had an end to this battle, but that wasn't enough.

We heard wail after wail about their supposed suffering, yet it wasn't even over and they were claiming victory and ready to go again.

When the moth has declared a moral crusade, a covenant, an ideology, a determination and wish, a holy crusade to go jihad and murder the flame no matter what, eventually you're going to stop feeling sorry for the moth. And I have.

When - not if - it starts up again, Israel will, as it always has, go over and above what it's obliged to do by international law to protect lives, but it should not be dissuaded this time - not by manipulation, not by blackmail, not by sanctions, not by the corruption of the UN; by nothing - from finishing the job of hunting down and eradicating Hamas from the face of the planet.

Again, given history, this would certainly be short-lived. Even when Hamas is exterminated, the support for violent jihad evident within these people will result in something just as bad taking its place.

[lordfancy]

My quick take on ShadowVanilla

(not a negative post/ask me anything)

This is kind of random, but I can’t stop thinking about the dynamic between Shadow Milk Cookie and Pure Vanilla because I do honestly really enjoy it. Also, this is mostly just my opinion, so please bear with me.

Overall, I don’t ship them. No matter how much I think about it, I just can’t see them in a romantic relationship.

However, I really love the idea of them having a strong, loving friendship instead. There’s still care and compassion between them, but in a way that feels more natural rather than romantic.

I think another reason I’m not the biggest fan of the romantic ship is that I’ve seen their pairing and dialogue reduced to nothing but "really gay yaoi," which is kind of upsetting. It feels like their dynamic gets dumbed down to that; but I’m not saying all shippers are like that, of course.

Most importantly though, I don’t have anything against anyone who does ship them I’ve just had trouble finding more content that focuses on their platonic bond.

Honestly, I’d love for anyone to ask me questions or just talk to me about this because, overall, I think ship wars are childish, unless someone’s shipping something borderline illegal, you know? I like understanding different perspectives, even if we don’t see eye to eye. Just because someone likes cheeseburgers doesn’t mean you have to hate them cause you don’t like cheeseburgers.

But yeah, that’s all my rambling. Feel free to drop your opinion I’d love to hear other people’s takes on this from both perspectives 🙇‍♂️🙏

[fortytworedvines]

I'd love prompt 28 "There's a stain on your clothes" :)

Send me a prompt

28: There's a stain on your clothes

Siegfried is not enjoying his evening. Mrs Pumphrey’s ball is usually a highlight in the social calendar, and even with wartime restrictions, she has put on a fabulous do. But the ratios are out this evening. Fewer men, more women. More ferocious women, Siegfried thinks, hiding behind the curtains as another one stalks past.

He’s enjoyed escorting women round the dance floor in the past, has been perfectly happy as Mrs Pumphrey has sent woman after woman his way. But it’s different tonight. And part of it is that the women are looking at him like they want to eat him, hunger vivid in their eyes, and partly it’s because half his mind is at home, in the living room with his housekeeper, his feet up, a book in hand, listening to the click of her knitting needles.

When, he wonders, has he become so domesticated.

The curtain twitches and polished talons land on his arm. “There you are.” He’s dragged out into the open by another of the terrifying women. Her hair is blonde and perfectly coiffed, her face is made up nicely, her outfit is perfectly in-tune with the event. He wants to run away.

“Were you hiding?” she asks as she steers him onto the dance floor. He stumbles over his feet and manages to change their pace so that he is leading, at least. “We were talking earlier about the war effort,” she says, as she leans closer into him. He holds his arms stiffly and nods like he remembers.

She laughs, shrilly. “Oh, Mr Farnon. You are so funny!”

He isn’t.

She’s pushing closer to him again. How is she so strong?! Her lips are coming closer. He jerks away, and she stumbles in his arms and her face collides with his shirt. She catches herself on him, pulls herself upright and stares at him.

“I – beg your pardon,” he says, realising his behaviour could be construed as ungentlemanlike. “I – I’m afraid I’m feeling rather unwell. I must make my apologies.”

He turns and almost runs from the dancefloor, doesn’t stop to say goodbye to Mrs Pumphrey or Tricki, just hurtles past them as he heads for the door, for the Rover, for safety.

At home, he goes straight upstairs, pulls off his smart clothes and puts on his everyday trousers, a soft shirt, his favourite cardigan. Then he sighs. He finally feels better.

Downstairs in the living room, Mrs Hall has a cup of tea waiting for him, a bottle of whisky to doctor it with, if he likes.

“Good evening?” she asks, pausing in her knitting to look up at him. “You’re home earlier than I was expecting.”

He smiles down at her. She looks so perfect, sitting there, Jess curled up next to her. “It was fine,” he says. He doesn’t want to explain. Splashes some whisky into his tea and sits back with a sigh. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

She slips a smile at him. “You’re welcome.”

It’s laundry day. Mrs Hall is already hard at work when he comes downstairs. She’s scrubbing ferociously at his shirt. She glances up as he comes in but the usual fondness in her gaze is absent. “Breakfast is ready for you.”

“Thank you.” He looks up at her but she’s got her head down again, concentrating. “Is it that bad?” he asks tentatively. He can’t think what he could have done to his clothes to cause this. A ball at Mrs Pumphrey’s surely has nothing on a farm visit.

“There’s a stain on your clothes. Lipstick is hard to remove.” Her voice is clipped, and there’s an undertone of something that twists at his heart.

“Lipstick?”

“On your collar.” She thrusts it towards him. There is, indeed, a bright red smudge on his collar. He remembers the woman falling against him and almost laughs.

She turns her back again. “I’m glad you had a good night.”

“But I didn’t!” he blurts out.

She pauses for a moment and he wishes she would turn around so he could see her face. “Oh?”

“The women were terrifying! They kept chasing me. The one who left that, she tried to kiss me and when I pushed her away, she fell against me.”

“Right.” Her voice is quiet.

“And the main reason I didn’t have a good night,” he says, and his heart is thumping now, “is because I wanted to be here. With you.”

She’s dropped the shirt into the tub and she still hasn’t turned around.

“Audrey,” he says, and he lets the longing he feels for her seep into her voice.

And then she’s turning around, damp arms are around his neck and she’s clinging on to him. He holds her tightly, feeling her warmth, her slenderness.

“Say it again?” she asks.

“Audrey.” He cups her face, tracing her cheekbones with his thumb. “Audrey.”

Her dark eyes are swimming. “Siegfried,” she whispers.

A tear falls down her cheek and he wipes it carefully away. “You are the only person I want to leave lipstick stains on my clothes.”

Her smile is luminous. He kisses it.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Thousand Yard Stare Chapter 6

Summary: Bucky Barnes has served his country well, and at a great personal cost.  After being rescued as a prisoner of war, he is struggling as he gets back into civilian life.  His newfound PTSD is severe.  His friends and family try to help, but he needs a lot more than they can give.  His mother signs him up for a Veteran recovery home, where he meets people struggling just like him, and the home director who has her own dark past to deal with.  He might just find love along the way as he searches for peace.

Warnings: mentions of physical assault, violence, being taken prisoner; sexual assault/r@pe; PTSD/anxiety/depression/panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares; suicide/minor character death; eventual smut

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8 months later

Bucky was not okay.  He went through the motions of civilian life.  He’d found a part time job doing office administration, which he hated.  Steve and Sam had tried helping him get back into regular life, inviting him to parties and get togethers with other friends, trying to get him going to clubs with them, meeting people, dating, but his heart wasn’t in it.  He was living in the guest house behind his parent’s home, since he couldn’t afford to get his own place, and as much as he loved his parents, it was hard living under their watchful eyes.  He had all the support and resources open to him, but he just could not stop thinking of her.

He hadn’t told anyone about his almost-relationship with Y/N, but Steve and Sam had been suspicious of something happening when he rejected their attempts to set him up on dates.  “Buck, did something…happen while you were there?” Steve bit the bullet one day as they sat in the backyard having a beer.

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked.

Steve sighed.  “Don’t bullshit me, Buck.  I know something’s up.  I could see it when we visited Mama’s House for Thanksgiving,” he said, giving Bucky an unimpressed look.  Bucky tensed up, looking away from him. “You like her,” Steve said.  “And I think something happened with her while you were there, but circumstances as they are have made you feel like it’s not a possibility–”

“She made it an impossibility,” Bucky said angrily.  He rubbed his face with his hand.  “I really don’t wanna talk about this, Steve.”

“I know your nightmares have come back,” Steve accused.  Bucky shook his head.  “Your mom heard you the other night, and she called me.”

“God,” Bucky quickly stood.  He chugged the rest of his beer and went back inside the guest house.  

“Buck, come on,” Steve said, quickly following him.  “I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

“I don’t want or need your help, Steve,” Bucky rounded on him.  “I’m back, aren’t I?  Isn’t that what you all wanted?  For me to come home and get back into regular life?”

“Not if it makes you this miserable,” Steve shook his head.  

Bucky stared at him.  “I’m not miserable.”

Steve scoffed.  “Sure.  If you’re not miserable then come out with me and Sam, try to actually have fun, hook up with somebody, something!  But you can’t keep living like your mind is still there.”  He clapped Bucky’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry whatever it was didn’t work out with her.  But you’ve got to work past it.”

Bucky felt so tired.  A part of him wanted to move on, but the thought of that also made him feel sick.  He patted Steve’s hand.  “Fine.  When were you guys planning on going out?”

Steve smiled.  “Friday night karaoke.”

Bucky sighed.  “Fuck me.”

***

TRIGGER WARNING

Bucky didn’t like this bar as much as the one near Mama’s House.  It was fine but didn’t have the hometown feel, and it was filled with undergrads that made him feel old and out of place.  Each person who got up and sang was terrible, with only a few that could hold a tune, and he knew there wouldn’t be any saving grace at the end of the night.  Sam got up and sang “Edge of Glory” by Lady Gaga, which was the only time Bucky laughed all night.  

There was also a lot more dancing at this bar.  Whether it was during a karaoke performance or the music that was played in between people, there were people dancing and grinding up on each other constantly.  He had to maneuver his way through the crowd so as not to get accidentally thrusted at after grabbing another beer from the bar.  There had been a few brave, flirty souls who had come up to him, Steve and Sam, but Bucky had rebuffed their advances.  It just didn’t feel right.

While the three of them went back up to the bar again for another refill Bucky was suddenly grabbed from behind and pulled into the crowd of people dancing.  He tried to turn and see who was touching him but being surrounded by a tight group of people made it nearly impossible.  Other hands began touching his arms, his chest, his shoulders.  Drunk voices were all around him.  “Hey handsome…”  “Come dance!”  He tried pushing and pulling their hands away, then stiffened when he felt someone with large hands on his waist thrust their hips, a bulge poking into his ass.  “Pretty boy…”  He blacked out.

***

The buzzing woke Y/N up.  She groaned as she turned over and blindly grabbed for her phone.  Glancing at the clock as the light stung her eyes it read 3:32 a.m.  “What the fuck?” she grumbled.  She sat up on her elbow and answered the call.  “Hello?”

“Y/N!” the voice yelled.  “Please, we can’t find him, you have to help us.  I don’t know–”

“Wait wait,” Y/N sat all the way up.  “Who is this?”

“It’s Winnie,” she cried.  “Bucky’s gone!”

“What?” Y/N was now fully awake.  “What do you mean?  What happened?”

Winnie was uncontrollably crying and she heard a muffled noise as someone else took the phone.  “Y/N?” they said.

“Who is this?” she asked, getting out of bed and starting to get dressed.

“Hey, it’s Steve.”  He sounded exhausted.  “I don’t know what happened.  We took him out tonight to a karaoke bar and he got caught up in the crowd and then there was all this shouting and pushing, then he ran,” he said.  “We tried following him out but he was long gone.  We’ve been searching for hours, trying to call him, but he won’t answer.  We don’t know what to do…Winnie just called thinking you might be of help.”

“Shit,” Y/N sighed as she put on her shoes.  “Send me your address.  It’ll take me a few hours but I’m coming.  I don’t know how much help I’ll be…”

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve said.

“Too bad, I’m coming,” she said as she ran down the stairs, grabbing her wallet and keys and booking it to the front door.  She opened it and as she turned to close and lock it she froze as she looked at the porch swing.  “Steve,” she whispered.  “He’s here.”

“What?!” Steve asked incredulously.  

“Listen,” she said quietly.  “I’ll take care of him and call you guys in the morning, okay?  We’ll figure it all out then.  Just know that he’s here, and overall he looks like he’s okay.”

Steve sighed heavily and she heard a noise like he was rubbing his face.  “Okay, thanks Y/N.”

“No problem. Bye,” she hung up.  She slowly approached the porch swing.  Bucky was laying on it, facing away from her, his long legs dangling over the side.  “Bucky?” she called out.  She reached a hand out and shook his arm gently.  Bucky inhaled shakily.  She leaned over him to find him staring wide-eyed at the porch swing slats.  “Buck,” she reached her hand down and caressed his cheek with the backs of her fingers.  His eyes fluttered shut.  “Come back to me,” she whispered.

Bucky shivered and slowly turned his head to look at her.  When his eyes found her they were wet and his chin trembled.  “Y/N,” he whispered.

“Hey lover boy,” she smiled at him.  “Come on, let’s get you warmed up,” she said, pulling his arm.

Bucky stiffly allowed her to move him, sitting up on the porch swing.  She pulled him to stand and brought his arm around her shoulders.  Y/N led him through the house then to the back buildings.  She unlocked the comfy building, pulling him toward the cuddle room, then had him sit on the bed.  She started pulling his jacket and shoes off and looking him over.

“Are you in any pain?” she asked quietly, her hands checking his hands, arms, feet, ankles, neck, and anything else she could immediately see.

“No,” he mumbled.  She looked at him and saw the tell-tale thousand yard stare.  He was in shock.

“That’s good,” she said, watching him carefully.  She cupped his face in her hands, trying to get him to look at her.  “How did you get here?”

Bucky’s eyes were unfocused.  “Bus,” he murmured.

“For fuck’s sake,” Y/N grumbled.  She couldn’t find any injuries and so she pushed him up further onto the bed, sitting in front of him.  She grabbed his hands, taking one in each of her hands and massaging it.    “Do you wanna tell me what happened?” she asked.

Bucky’s eyes closed.  He seemed to be reveling in the touch on his hands.  “Guy grabbed me,” he muttered.  “Touched me…thrusting at me…hands everywhere…” he shivered again, his free hand tightening into a fist.  Y/N quickly grabbed it, forcing his fingers open to massage his palm.  “I…don’t remember.”

“That’s okay,” Y/N soothed him.  “He shouldn’t have done that without your consent.  That wasn’t right.  I’m sorry you felt unsafe.  It’s okay,” her hands moved up to his wrists, massaging them.  “You’re okay.  You’re safe here.”  She took her time as she moved up his arms to his shoulders, massaging along the way.  Her fingers softly scratched up his neck and his face.  His beard had grown in more, and his hair was even longer than when she last saw him.  Y/N leaned forward and scratched up into his hair, gently smoothing out any knots and massaging his scalp with her fingertips.  Bucky’s eyes flew open and focused on her, flicking across her face like he was finally recognizing her.  “I’ve got you,” she whispered.

Bucky’s face scrunched in pain, his eyes filling with tears and spilling over.  He leaned forward until his head rested on her shoulder, Y/N holding him and shushing him as he cried.  His hands reached out and pulled her toward him, Y/N moving herself to straddle his lap as he hugged her tight.  “I’ve got you,” she murmured into his ear, kissing the side of his head.  She pushed him so he would lay down next to her and held him, pulling a blanket over the both of them.  He nuzzled into her chest as he cried, his tight hold never letting up.  “I’ve got you.”

***

The sun streamed into the room and shone on Bucky’s face.  He groaned at the offending light.  He was so comfortable he didn’t want to move.  The steady beating under his ear was soothing, but the pillow seemed to be moving.  He slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the light, before looking around.  He wasn’t in his room.  He was in…the cuddle room?  The pillow was a body, he was laying on Y/N’s breast.  He moved to sit up and looked up at her.  She was still asleep, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her mouth slightly open and her eyes moving behind her eyelids.  Her arm that cradled his head against her chest was hugging around him, her fingers still poised in his hair.  He smiled.  For the first time in months it was like his heart was settling down, his mind was quiet and his body was at ease.

Bucky settled back down, not wanting to wake her yet, and milk every moment of this peace that he could.  Unfortunately, his squirming made her groan as she stretched next to him, slowly waking up and rubbing her eyes with her free hand.  Y/N looked around momentarily before turning and looking at him.  She sleepily smiled at him.  “Good morning, Buck,” she whispered.

“Good morning,” he answered hoarsely.  He cleared his throat and moved so that he was hovering over her.  He reached a hand up and touched her face, his fingers tracing over her cheek, to her nose, and down her lips.  “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?” Y/N asked, watching him.

“For this,” he said, looking away.  “Just showing up out of nowhere in the middle of the night, having a panic attack, making you take care of me–”

“No,” Y/N interrupted him.  “You have nothing to apologize for.”  She grabbed the hand near her face and kissed his knuckles.  “I told you, I’ve got you.  But you should probably call your parents.”

Bucky hummed and nodded.  “Probably should.”  He sat up and she joined him, reaching for her phone on the nightstand next to the bed and checking.  She had multiple texts from Winnie, which she quickly answered.  “Your mom’s freaking out,” she said quietly.  “Do you have your phone?”

Bucky checked his pockets and found it.  “Yeah,” he said, trying to turn it on.  “It’s dead.”

“Here,” she said, pulling up Winnie’s phone number.  He thanked her and hit the call button.

“Y/N?” his mother’s voice answered.

“Hey Ma,” Bucky said.

“Bucky!” she yelled, and there was a clattering on the other end and multiple voices calling out.  “What happened?  Oh honey, we were so worried–”

“You fucker!” Sam yelled.

“Sam,” Steve chastised him.  “Buck it’s okay–”

“Bucky,” his father’s voice cut through.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky said, watching Y/N hide her smile at all the concerned voices.  “I’m okay.  I just…had something happen that was triggering.  I honestly don’t remember much of last night.”

George sighed shakily.  “Okay.  I’m so sorry, my boy.  Just, come home, okay?  Do you need a ride?  We can come get you.”

“Dad, can I…” he paused, glancing at Y/N.  She was looking down at the bed.  “Can I call you guys back?  And we’ll figure it out?”

George paused.  “Sure, sure.  Just call back soon, please?”

“I will,” Bucky said reassuringly.  “Love you guys.  I’m sorry–”

“Don’t be!” yelled Steve.

Bucky chuckled and said goodbye once more before hanging up.  He handed Y/N her phone back.  “Thank you,” he said.  

“You’re welcome,” she said, giving him a small, polite smile.  She moved so that her back was against the wall to face him.  They stared at each other for a long moment.  “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked finally.

“Yeah,” he answered, looking at his hands.  “I’ll be okay.  Just had a moment.  I’ll stay away from packed bars for a while until I can work through it.”

“Good idea,” she agreed.  They sat silently again.  “I can drive you home,” she offered.

“I don’t wanna leave,” he whispered.  Another moment of silence.  

“You…you gotta go home, Bucky,” Y/N said.

“I can’t,” Bucky shook his head.  “It doesn’t feel right.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighed.  “I feel peace here.  With you.  My mind is finally quiet,” he glanced up at her.  She didn’t move.  “My heart feels calmer.  My anxiety is gone.  Please, don’t send me away,” he reached a hand out and gripped her ankle.  She didn’t move again, but her breathing was getting heavier as she watched him.  Her brow furrowed in the middle and she looked sadly at him.  “I’ll move up here,” he said, scooting forward.  “I can work here, for you, keeping up the property, doing office stuff, whatever it is you need from me,” he said more earnestly.  Y/N opened her mouth to protest.  “Yes, my family and friends are there,” he interrupted her, “but that doesn’t make it home.  You’re home,” he said, sitting in front of her, cupping her face in his hands.  Y/N closed her eyes, hesitantly nuzzling her face into his palm.  “My life is here.  You’re my life.  You, and this house, and this work, and Teddy,” he chuckled, and she snickered with him.  “All I want is this.  All I want is you,” he leaned forward and kissed her nose.  “Please, Y/N,” he whispered.  “I’ll do whatever you need, whatever you want,” he rested his forehead against her forehead, his nose tracing along her cheek.  “I’ll be your lover boy, for as long as you’ll have me.”  

Y/N giggled.  “How can you say so many sweet things and sprinkle something dirty in there?”  

“See?  I’m fun to have around,” Bucky said.  

Y/N looked up at him, the desire in her face giving him hope.  “I want you,” she said.  “I’ve missed you…so much,” her voice wobbled with emotion.  “I just don’t want to take you from your family.”

“They’ll understand,” Bucky said, kissing her cheek.  “Dad will probably want to move up here anyways.”

Y/N huffed a laugh and shook her head.  “You would drop everything to stay here?  With me?”

Bucky nodded.  “I love you.  I would have done it 8 months ago if you’d let me.”

Y/N smiled softly.  “I thought I was doing the right thing.  I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  She nuzzled her nose against his.  “You’re so much more than inappropriate timings and stolen moments,” she said.  

Bucky sighed and pulled her into his lap, his hands on her hips as she wrapped her arms around his neck.  “You love me?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, nodding.

He leaned in and kissed her cheek.  “Say it.”

Y/N smiled teasingly.  “Or what?”

Bucky looked at her in surprise.  “Hm, so you’re not always Mommy are you?”

Y/N blushed and shrugged.  “I said sometimes, didn’t I?”  

Bucky’s eyes narrowed.  “Brat,” he called her teasingly.  Y/N’s eyes widened.  Bucky leaned in again and kissed her other cheek, then her jaw, her chin, then the side of her mouth.  She tried to chase his lips but he moved away and a small whine escaped her throat.  “Say it,” he whispered against her skin.  Y/N minutely shook her head and he groaned.  He started kissing up to her forehead, over her eyelids, her nose, and back to her other cheek, littering kisses all over her face but just out of reach of her lips.  Y/N tried to guide his face back to her mouth but he grabbed her wrists and held them behind her.  She gasped as he kissed her neck.

“Bucky…” she whimpered.

“Say it,” he grunted, nipping at her collarbone.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Again,” he licked a long stripe up her jugular.

“I love you,” Y/N said a little louder.

“Again,” he growled in her ear.

“Fuck, I love you,” she moaned loudly, pulling at her wrists in his firm hold.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckled before releasing her wrists.

“God,” Y/N sighed, cupping his face in her hands again.  She leaned in and started kissing all over his face.  Her hips started to grind down on him, making his breath stutter.  “Are you trying to drive me crazy?  We can’t do this in here,” she breathed.

“Then let me take you out,” Bucky said, trying to keep his wits about him.  He stopped her kissing, even though he really didn’t want to, and made her look at him.  “You can drive me back, I’ll tell my family and friends what’s going on, and then we’ll come back home, and I’ll take you out sometime.  Or,” his hands ran up her sides, his fingertips barely sliding over the sides of her breasts, “you can sing me another song next karaoke night, and I can show you just how much it affects me every time you sing?  Especially those sexy songs?”

Y/N hummed as she scratched the back of his neck gently.  “It all sounds perfect,” she sighed.  

Bucky smiled, leaning in and finally kissing her lips.  “Then let’s go.”

@wintrsoldrluvr @isitbiorisitlesbian @starfly-nicole @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger @idontknowhowtonormal

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 23 - Get your sh*t together, boy!

Summary: Katsuki lands in Y/N’s (Khm, I mean Izuku’s) sacred garden. The plants tremble, Izuku trembles and the world trembles with it.

He also gets a surprise visit; so Izuku trembles once again, like an underweight chihuahua in the wind as he stands in front of…

… You thought I’m gonna tell you? Haha, go and read the chapter.

You fool.

Warnings: Swear words, Y/N gets a little nosebleed, but “in a good way”. Hihi oh and also, someone has a bit too much to drink. Please, drink responsibly.

Warning number two: spoilers from the last anime season - the rest of the story is fictional - if it sounds similar to the actual ending of the manga, it’s a coincidence. Don’t kill me. Thank you. Also, please do not discuss the actual my hero academia ending/ war ending in the comments.

First Chapter Master list PotatoSupport

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The meteor lands.

“You fucking son of a bitch!” Katsuki - explosions still coming out of his palms - barges toward the terrified Izuku. If this wouldn’t be such a serious situation you would laugh at Katsuki in his fancy ass suit acting like a child having a tantrum but the amount of hatred, or to rather say, utter disappointment coming from his eyes makes you take a few steps back and let the boys sort it out themselves; you being too close to the fire (pun intended) would only make Izuku more aggravated which would only escalate the fight further.

“Kacchan, calm down and let me…” Izuku tries to reason but he gets smacked in the face, hard.

“Dude!” You try to yell as Deku’s fragile back hits the (thankfully) soft grass but Katsuki ignores you and keeps hitting the poor broccoli boy. He takes a few hits in with his eyes closed, probably hoping the blond calms down after getting his anger out but it doesn’t seem to work. “BAKUGO FUCKING KATSUKI!” Izuku uses your favorite way to reprimand him against his best friend and surprisingly, the tactic works perfectly; Katsuki stops and stares at the green head with eyes the size of saucers. After a few seconds of awkward silence he looks at his own hand with utter confusion. “Yeah, you just pummeled me into the ground. I would prefer to have a conversation, not to go back ten years and fight for no reason. We are past that.”

Damn. That was hot… you mean… that was a good way to reason. That piercing stare Izuku gave Katsuki was also extremely sexy… you mean… uhm…

“I don’t care about your stupid ass excuses! You ruined everything! Everything!” Katsuki yells back but finally stands up, taking a few steps back in the process. You take a deep breath. You are stressed as hell but you also know Katsuki wouldn’t inflict too much pain, even though you must say that statement wavered as you watched the blond smack the shit out of the poor man who can’t even use his powers properly right now.

“I did what I had to do to be able to heal without having constant pressure on me! You guys told me to do what’s best for me and I did!” Izuku yells and stands up; you can’t help but notice how his hands are shaking. You really want to hold them until they are steady again, but this is not your fight.

“You lied to me, you selfish fucking prick!”

“I did not lie! I couldn’t tell you what I’m about to do because I know you enough to know you wouldn’t have let me go through with it! The one being selfish is you! Your fucking obsession with taking the number one spot from me is stronger than your love towards me! That’s what’s fucking selfish!”

Izuku is right but that doesn’t mean Katsuki appreciates the tone; he’s shaking and his palms start to spark up, a few falling sparks hitting one of your plants; you watch it in slow motion as a few of the leaves become splattered with dark brown.

“I’ll fucking…”

“Oi, my baby!” You yell as you run towards the poor plant; the leaf is getting darker and darker as it slowly burns away. If a stare could kill, Katsuki would be dead by now. “Hurt by babies ever again and I’ll chop your dick off with a pair of dull scissors, young man!”

First, there is silence. A really awkward one, from both sides. Then Katsuki starts laughing maniacally for a few seconds then bursts into tears as his knees hit the grass.

“What the fuck…” Katsuki mutters as he hides his eyes with both of his arms. “What the fuck is happening, I don’t know what to do, I can’t…”

“Oh, Kacchan.” Izuku is right by his best friend’s side like he didn’t just try to kill him a few minutes ago. That’s real friendship to ya’. “We will get through this. I promise.”

By the time Eijirou sprints into the garden (he came in through the main entrance like a normal person) his eyes are met with two bawling, half drunk idiots cuddling on the couch because apparently they both needed a drink after all the drama. One drink became two in a matter of minutes then Izuku brought out a bottle of vodka from somewhere. Yes, this all happened in 30 minutes. Maybe 40.

“I don’t know.” You look up at the confused redhead who’s still panting from sprinting too hard. “Katsuki smacked him in the face a few times then there were tears and… then this.”

“Sweets let Kacchan pummel me to the ground but yelled at him when he singed one of her plants.” Izuku adds; they are both about to stop crying, finally.

“Hey, the plants can’t defend themselves, you can.” You retort with a proud smile. No regrets.

“That’s a fair point, you are a true hero, Sweet Pea.”

“Was that sarcasm, Izu-Izu?” You give your boyfriend a stern look.

“I had too much to drink, the sarcasm came out.”

“I thought you are an emotional drunk?” Eijirou adds, utterly entertained.

“I used up all my emotions in the past few hours, so sarcasm it is.” Deku adds with a straight face then starts laughing for no reason at all.

“What’s so funny, shithead?” Katsuki adds, still sniffling.

“We are so pathetic.” Izuku answers. “But I like it. It makes us humans. Crying, yelling, fighting, drinking for no reason at all, making mistakes we wouldn’t do on a normal day… I like it. I like being a mere, stupid human.”

“It’s not bad.” Katsuki slurs with a smile on his face. You sigh.

“Eijirou, why don’t we leave these two and have some cider in the garden? We are clearly not needed.”

There is a weird feeling of comradely in the way Eijirou smiles back at you; it’s fond and knowing, a little bit worried but also excited to be able to spend some alone time with the newest addition to the family.

“Sure!”

~•🥦•~

“…I would like to announce my temporary retirement from the hero business.”

Toshinori is speechless.

He can’t really say he is surprised; his boy Izuku could never accept a single compliment when he had felt like he had not earned it properly. Hence him not being able to bask in the light of being the number one right now makes so much sense.

But then here’s the other side; the side where All Might, the number one hero of Japan left the country in his hands, asked him to step up in his place when he looses his powers, and while Toshi understands he’s also, technically speaking, incapable of doing anything right now, Toshinori can’t help but be a little bit disappointed that his boy decided to break the public’s heart, put in seeds of doubt into everyone’s mind by stepping aside in such a crucial moment, letting the promise for All Might be swept away, under the rug, where no one can see it.

“I need to call Izuku, oh, my poor baby!” Inko is about to jump off the sofa but Toshinori pulls her back into a seating position.

“Don’t. Please.” Inko’s tears are unstoppable; she’s worried and confused and wants nothing but to be with her boy, but… “He’s in good hands and he’s an adult. As much as it might hurt you, the last thing young Izuku needs right now is nagging parents.”

“Are you mad at him?” Inko asks and Toshinori sighs; sometimes he forgets that his love doesn’t understand the world the same way he and his boy does. She might have been around heroes in the last few years, but she’s a mere civilian. Heroes have a certain depth to them that can only be found in people who play Russian roulette with their lives on a daily basis.

But that’s okay, don’t get him wrong! It is exactly what he needs. Peace and quiet with someone who makes him forget about all the bad things happening in the world. He wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s just… there are a few situations, around 3 or 4 every year, when he and his new love won’t be able to agree.

“I’m not mad. But I thought he’s better than this. He’s been nothing but stubborn when it came to the hero life, even when it ended up giving him trouble and I’m just a little bit sad that he decided to let go of this annoying trait of his right when stubbornness would have been the key to the right solution.”

Inko blinks a few times, clearly trying her best to understand Toshinori’s words. Toshi appreciates it, a lot.

“He should have talked to his friends about this.” Inko stares at Katsuki’s disheveled figure in the background. Her heart breaks from seeing his second “son” looking so sad and terrified. “He should have talked this out with you. I know we can’t hold his hand all the time but this is what parents are for. This is what mentors are for. People lost their symbol of hope and they’ve seen their symbol of victory being defeated, all in one go…” Inko points at Katsuki.

A light bulb switches in Toshinori’s brain.

“That’s it!” Toshi yells, or rather squeals. He gives her a soft, apologetic smile. Oh, his love DOES understand. Oh my, Toshinori is so happy about this revelation. “Mentor! He needs his mentor! You are a genius!!!” Toshinori pulls Inko close, his fingertips stroking Inko’s soft little face. He leaves a massive, wet kiss on the woman’s lips then runs into his bedroom to get his phone to make a quick call. This is it. This is the solution. This man will be able to put Izuku together without making him feel like he’s being treated like a weak baby.

It only occurred to him after the phone call was done that Inko and him… haven’t actually had their first kiss yet as they are both too awkward to start their romantic journey, even though they both now they want the other.

“… oh shit.” Toshinori runs out of his bedroom just to see Inko sitting on the floor with her whole face red as a tomato, smoke coming out of her ears as she shakes with… terror? Excitement? Both?!

Oh, well. - Toshinori smiles to himself. He can’t help but feel extremely giddy because his love is the cutest creature in the whole wide world.

He’ll need to thank his stepson later, when the drama is over. But first, Toshinori needs to make sure he does as much as he can, secretly in the background, to help young Midoriya to find the right path. Toshi sits down next to the fuming Inko, rests his chin on the top her head, his heart making a somersault in his chest as Inko hides her face in his neck. Her cheeks are really hot. Then he makes another call… to America.

~•🥦•~

Needless to say, Izuku wakes up… with a headache. By the non-sexual moaning coming from your old room, he’s not the only one suffering. He goes back to sleep for another few hours. Understandable.

At the end of the night, the day turned out really well; you had a lovely conversation with Eijirou where you talked about your relationships, worries, future plans and all that jazz while the two menaces had their own pity-party in the living room. After a while you two went in and put your respective partners in bed; there was no point in trying to get Bakugou home at the crack own dawn; the four of you are close enough to share your own space for a day or two with the other.

Once you are ready to start your day and get out of the comfy bed, there is a sweet, alluring scent in the air; for a second you think you are still dreaming, as there is no one else in this household who’s capable to make a proper dish - sorry, Izu-Izu! - then you remember you have two, more than capable guests sleeping over; there is also another telltale sign of the person making the sweet treats… the yelling.

“Why the fuck to I need to make Taiyaki in the shit ass of dawn, old man?!”

“More moving and less talking, the food won’t make itself!”

“Who the hell is that.” You mumble into Izuku’s plumpy pecks, but your boyfriend barely even registers your words; he grumbles a few times, hides his head under the pillow and …

“5 more hours…”

With that said, you leave your bed after a big sigh to check on the commotion. Izuku had a stressful week and he probably hasn’t slept at all so you let him rest for a little bit more.

“Kisses.” Izuku grumbles as you open your bedroom door; you can’t help but look at him with fondness and love.

“Sure.”

You can’t help it. You are incapable to say no to this man.

You crawl back into the bed, completely ignoring the drama in your own house as you give your boyfriend a deep, wet kiss, morning breath be damned. Izuku smiles into the kiss, his gaze full of mischief, then pulls you on top of him; you end up straddling the green haired hero who’s busy looking at you like you are the prettiest star on the sky, his hands stroking your sides.

“I thought you want to sleep for longer.” You mutter with a disgustingly lovesick face; it’s really hard to be mad at him for what he had done when he finally looks so happy and calm.

“Life is too short to not spend every second with you.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“I hope you will say the same, even after a decade.” You snuggle closer, your whole body touching with his. Izuku only pulls you closer.

“I’ll say the same when I’m 75, old and wrinkly. If I make it to that age. I never wanted to live a long life but since I’ve met you… I want to live until I’m 100. Then we can die together, hand in hand.”

“What if I die early?”

“Then I come after you.”

You can barely hold the tears back; in some way, it’s a silly conversation; no one knows when they die, no one knows if it’s possible to die with someone in a natural way, but the thought is so beautiful, so pure you can’t help but tear up a little bit.

“Stop making me fall in love with you over and over again. Every time I think it’s not possible to love you more, you say something or do something that makes me feel like I’m a teen having their first crush.” You leave a single kiss on Izuku’s cheek. “I really want to stay here, but I need to check up on the boys. Also, there is a random old man in the house. Or at least that’s what Katsuki yelled just a second ago.” You grin at the green head, who grins right back.

“Hmm, exciting. Let’s investigate then!”

“Put on a shirt. This sight is only for me and me only. Or at least until Calvin Klein puts you on a fucking billboard again.” You sigh dramatically.

“Hmm. Maybe I can ask them to put a sheer fabric shirt on me. Then they won’t see every detail.” Izuku contemplates. “Hmm, that kind of shirt looks really hot with a nipple piercing…”

His words are met with utter silence. Then blood drops down from your nose.

“Uhm… I guess you really liked that idea.” Izuku deadpans.

“No comment.”

~•🥦•~

“Okay, I’m going to see what the ruckus is about.” You scramble out of Izuku’s lap with a red face. Izuku takes a few deep breaths, probably doing his best to not devour you while his friends and the “random old man” are just outside his door. Honestly, you would think the sexual tension settles after a few occasions of eating that “cake” but hell, it’s just as bad in your case as it was in the beginning. There is always something new to try, or at least Izuku thinks so. You shouldn’t be surprised that Izuku wants to learn everything about sex, the same way he needs to learn everything about others and about the world. His hunger for knowledge and for you is insatiable. This situation has both.

You take a deep breath and open up the door; you stole one of Izuku’s hoodies as all your stuff is still in your old room.

“I’m ready Sweets. Let’s go!” Izuku says excitedly. “I wonder who came over to say hi!”

The smile on Izuku’s face falters as he takes a good look at the guest. It’s a tiny old man with an unpleased frown in his tiny face.

“Abort mission, abort mission!” Izuku mumbles with his eyes a size of saucers as he slowly starts walking backwards; the old man sighs and JUMPS ON THE CEILING, then bounces right into Izuku’s neck who screeches like a wild animal. Kirishima puts his hand on your middle and pulls you towards him, just to be sure you don’t get harmed in the “vicious fight”.

“You are the worst, most problematic student I’ve ever had and I taught Toshinori!” The old man yells while he attacks Izuku’s sleepy head. “How dare you retire at your age?! I fought a war in the age of 70! I need to use a cane to walk, you ungrateful son of a bitch! I didn’t play gamble with my life, for you to retire before even reaching your prime!!!!”

“Okay, Gran Torino, sir, why don’t we eat some Taiyaki before it gets cold?” Kirishima smiles pleasantly at the old man like he’s not trying to tear out every single strand of hair from Izuku’s scalp as they speak.

“Oh, I forgot.” The old man, Gran Torino, jumps off Izuku’s shoulder and makes his way to the table like nothing had happened. You just follow Eijirou to the table, too shocked to even think about what’s happening around you.

The food looks delicious as always and it also tastes like heaven; it’s really hard to enjoy it though, as the old man can not stop calling Izuku random names with every single bite he takes. Katsuki looks at him like he’s trying to decipher the old man’s mumbling, probably to understand what made the old man so mad, but by the guilty look on Izuku’s face, he knows the answer already.

“You said you will go as far as to change the faith of a person whose future was already decided.” The old man mumbles, more clearly this time.

“And I did, sir.” Izuku mumbles back, avoiding eye contact with his old mentor.

“You were told you are too weak for this power yet you broke every single one of your bones until you’ve learned how to use it.” Gran Torino starts up again. There is a sudden tension in the air, far worse than it was before; Katsuki and Eijirou forgets to breathe, your hands start to shake under the table, the penthouse is silent, so fucking silent you can hear the fly outside in the garden, flapping its wings, right in front of the glass door.

Izuku does not answer this one; he just looks down to his lap, his eyes full of tears, lips wobbling as he tries to keep it together.

“When your best friend died on the battlefield… He almost lost his heart, and was also told he might never be a hero again.”

The tears start to stream. Eijirou joins. Katsuki’s hands are also starting to shake. Gran Torino ignores all of this.

“Do you want to know what that boy said when I asked how is he not exhausted from trying so hard?”

“No…” Izuku shakes his head, utterly devastated.

“He said Izuku would sweat blood and tears to be able to save more people, he would challenge anything and everything if it means he can be a hero for longer and he doesn’t want to be left behind.”

Katsuki’s facade shatters. He’s just as shaken up as Izuku is.

“I still haven’t… caught up to you. Not for real.” Katsuki’s voice is wobbly and weak as he stares at the empty plate in front of him.

“Kacchan…”

“When Toshinori had lost his power for good, was he looking at the tv screen in the shelter during the battle?”

“No…”

“Indeed. He tried to help in any way possible.”

The silence hurts at this point. You want to scream into the void.

“So tell me, son…. What are you doing with your life?”

“Fuck…” Katsuki scoffs, his smile full of respect towards the small, old man.

“Fuck.” Izuku just stares into his lap, tears dripping down on his cheeks but judging by his face, he just had a massive revelation.

“Melissa. I need to call Melissa! Oh my god, maybe with her help, I come back sooner and save my spot and then…”

“Toshinori already did that, you big moron, what you need to do is to get your head out of your fucking ass and apologize to your friends and family for being a disappointment.”

“That was way too harsh, sir.” Mama Eijirou tries to save the conversation but the old man is having none of it.

“Put on a shirt then try to talk to me again, you meathead.”

Katsuki GIGGLES.

“Not the time, Kat.” You try to reprimand him, but a little chuckle escapes your throat.

You two look at each other and…

“Don’t you dare…” Gran Torino tries to stop the inevitable but it’s for naught; you two start laughing, “ruining” the mood. The old man sighs.

“I can’t believe the top ten is full of monkeys. I wonder how is our country still in one piece.”

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” Izuku mumbles and the whole room gets silent once again.

“Haven’t you heard the wise, old man? The country is still in one piece. Yes, you fucked up but it’s not the end of the world.” Katsuki says calmly. “I don’t need your fucking apology, by the way. Get your fucking spot back and we will forgive you.”

“Talk for yourself, blondie.” Gran Torino grumbles. “But yeah, the apology can wait. Melissa wants to talk about her plans with you so go and get your phone. You, pretty boy… fishies. More fishies. Chop-chop. Meathead, help him. New face, get me something strong. I deserve a treat.”

“Is my food not enough of a treat for you?!” Katsuki grumbles with his hand on his waist, utterly offended. The sight is already funny enough, but the blond is wearing an All Might Themed apron so needless to say, everyone giggles, at least a bit.

“Cute outfit. Can’t believe blowing up buildings and villains is your day job. Could have fooled me with the whole housewife look.” Gran Torino teases and for your surprise, Katsuki doesn’t show off his murdering skills on the “fragile” old man.

“Says the senile, wobbly old man who still kicks ass like there’s no tomorrow.” Katsuki grins. “Put the bitch on speaker, I want to hear everything.”

“Bitch?!” You yelp, but Izuku only laughs at that.

“She doesn’t mind the nickname.”

“Kinky.” Kirishima can’t even finish the cheeky wink by the time Gran Torino smacks him in the face with his whole body.

There is blood on the carpet. Again.

“It’s not broken! I hardened it just on time!”

“Like a fucking care, you deserved that.”

“Meanie-beanie.”

“Jesus, get a room.” Gran Torino shoves both of them into the kitchen. You are surprised that he knows this slang at his age but you decide against voicing your feelings because you value your life… and your nose.

Izuku still looks guilty and sad but there is a tired smile on his face now. You are so glad his old mentor came over to talk to him. You have a feeling that no one else would have been able to talk sense into his hard little head right now as kindness clearly didn’t even penetrate that thick skull of his.

“When shit goes down, smack him with a hammer.” You nod to yourself, accidentally saying the whole sentence out loud. Izuku gulps. “In the game I’m playing, I mean!”

“Sweets…?”

“Please, just forget I said that. I beg you.” You look at your boyfriend pleadingly. Izuku just sighs.

“Please don’t actually smack me with a hammer. I hate that feeling. I would rather be smacked in the face by a whole building.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“What is your relationship status again?” Gran Torino asks, utterly confused.

“Same as mine and Eijirous.” Katsuki laughs, clearly knowing he’s about to confuse the poor old man even more.

“…just get that phone.” The old man sighs, clearly too tired for this shenanigan.

Izuku runs into the bedroom like a good boy.

You can’t help but take a really deep breath; this friend group is getting more manic but somehow, you still manage to keep up with them, because at the end of the day… There is no family without a little bit of drama here and there.

… to be continued!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- Jeeeeeeez this chapter was so long! I hope you enjoyed it!

- If you miss cheeky Deku… the next chapter will have some “food” for you! Maybe too much food… sorry in advance.

- You see, I had a hard time deciding if Deku making such a mistake is OOC or not but then I remembered how he went all vigilante before so I was like “yeah, he probably thinks he’s doing the right thing”.

- Thank you for the anon who asked about Toshinori’s side of the story! I hope you enjoy his POV! 🩷 thank you for sending me such a lovely message!

- What are we thinking about Deku’s photoshoot idea? And what about his piercing idea? What if I say I have a fan art ready about him in that attire? *hides*

- Send me your thoughts, guys! I’m always happy to hear from you and I hear anything I really like I usually put it in the next chapter so go one, fire those fingers and tap tap tap!! :P 💜 see you next week! (I hope)

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @katsuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @themultifandomgirl @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai @happydragonfrog @eeerreehhh @vinivave @alyss-eiz @sleepisfortheweakpooh

[papercranesandpride]

I've never actually talked about why I identify as loveless, have I? I want to do that. I think my experience with it is interesting.

A lot of time lovelessness is paired with aromanticism and aplatonicism, and that's interesting because while I am both, it isn't about either of them for me. It's really just a consequence of my schizophrenia. I have pretty much always been apl and aro, but I definitely used to feel love.

I had a pretty sudden psychotic break. It dulled all my feelings pretty much immediately. For a while there, they were pretty much gone, and they're still significantly less strong. That includes love. I did used to feel love. And then suddenly, I didn't.

I panicked a lot. A lot, a lot. I cried about it. For a while I only sent people orange heart emoji to signify the lack of real love. The only way I eventually got past it was by concluding that I did love other people. Clearly I did. I continued talking to them. I did things for them. I maintained relationships with them. I worried about them. Obviously if I did all of that, I still loved them. All of that is love. Love is a choice. It's a continuous action. It isn't just a feeling.

Except that's bullshit. It took me years to realize, but it is. Why did I need to feel love in the first place? Why was love something I needed to have? It's just a feeling. It's one thing that a person can experience. Nothing more and nothing less. Yes, it means a lot to a lot of people. That's great for them. So do football, and Star Wars, and Jesus, and Disney. None of those are mandatory, though. None of them are claimed to be universal across the human experience. No one says that being a fan of any of them is what makes you a good person. If you woke up one day and suddenly stopped caring about any of those things, the sudden change would definitely alarm you, but you wouldn't need to find a way to like them again. You'd be okay without them. The same should be true of love.

Because you know what? I used to feel love. And for about five years now, I pretty much don't. It really hasn't made a difference. A lot has changed in my life. Some things are better. Some are worse. I've certainly discovered a hell of a lot about myself that I didn't know when I was 16. But if I got love back? I don't think it wouldn't improve or worsen any of it. I wouldn't mind feeling love again. It wouldn't cause any problems. If tomorrow I started feeling it again, it'd be weird as hell, but I wouldn't be upset. But I don't particularly want it, either. I'm used to living this way. Having an additional feeling seems unnecessary.

There's nothing wrong with not feeling love. Period. End of story. Whether you demonstrate any kind of devotation or caring towards other people or not. Whether you still have friends, family, and lovers or not. Whether you can pass as someone who does feel love or not. It's just a different experience. That's all. Deciding that any one experience is the one that counts, that matters, that is universal and makes us human, is pointless and ridiculous. We all experience and define and feel things differently and that's the entire point.

That's why I don't use that word anymore, even for the handful of people who I do genuinely still feel something warm and fuzzy for (pretty much just family — my sister, my brother, my grandfather, some aunts and uncles). I'm still not over how fucked up it was that I needed to make up a way that I did love all the other people in my life when I just didn't, just to feel like I was a complete person. That's bullshit. I don't like it. And as a result, I reject the entire concept. I don't need it. It isn't my experience. It isn't useful to me. I don't love. That's fine, actually.

(Also please don't have your takeaway from this be "schizophrenics don't feel love." I've never heard another schizophrenic have this outlook on love. Love is experienced and defined in different ways by different people, and schizophrenia manifests differently for everyone. This is just about me.)

[multiheadcanons]

MARGINAL ANALYSIS OF MERCS THROUGH MUSIC— A LITTLE HEART TO HEART/MEDIC!

i’m gonna take you on a journey. and we’re gonna start this journey with the fact that i only took the music theory class, i did not graduate with a degree of any kind in music theory. and i haven’t been in school in years.

imagine, as the music begins in standard waltz style; you are a question. begging for answers. you stand against the wall, scanning for the man who will answer you, complete you, and put you to rest.

in steps a tall, vivacious german man. a doctor. you hear the quiet woodwinds walk you, very gently, into the beginnings of a dance with this man. a curious step, with a curious man. a standard dance, you would think. as you look into his eyes you see something brewing behind them. and as he dips you, you hold your breath… yet he returns you back to your standing position with a light smile, and you continue to twirl around each other. the woodwinds continue to walk you down, down, down, into another dip.

you wait to be returned to your standing position. but he is done beating around the bush.

the strings begin with insidious intensity, keeping and controlling the woodwind’s pace, repeating that same pattern of eternal, dangerous curiosity as he begins to tinker with, and ponder you. it is a dizzying process of him attacking from all angles as he becomes swept up in his mission of answering a question. as his mind moves faster, the music’s pace picks up, and you are spun faster, and faster, but he is a confident man. he does not falter. each step is firm, calculated, even as you trip over yourself and him he does not budge, the curiosity in fact grows as he becomes enthralled in the beauty of knowledge unknown, releasing you for a moment, but never losing sight of the prize here, as the pace never returns to what one could call, at this point, a mild tempo in reference to the rest of the song.

he is a man who gets results. he is a man who doesn’t stop until he is sated. and literally this is my favorite part of the piece, as the woodwinds drop off to leave you only with the quickening pace of the drum, and the strings— the strings that it sounds like they’re sawing at. they’re putting so much force on the strings that you can just barely hear the squeak of the hair on the string past the rosin. and i love that sound, i don’t know why. it just makes the entire section sound frantic. like they’re being held at gunpoint to play and the conductor just got shot dead. it gives me the feeling of crunching snow but better because i hate snow. even as you are spun away from him at the swell of the completion of the chord, he does not leave you to fend for yourself for long.

it is time to go practice medicine.

the man’s mission is holy; that is undeniable as the chorus cries out over the beats of the war drum and light strums of the harp, and the doctor’s personality begins to truly shine. long, flared, brassy notes as the man’s scientific method reaches new heights of madness, as he recognizes his work simply isn’t complete. he’s getting answers that are of no use to him; answers he knew; the chords remain incomplete as he tries again; a little more meticulous in his approach as the notes are plucked off the instruments. the addition of the bells is insane. still can’t even imagine why it’s there. my brain thinks it could be a fucked up nod to “don’t ask for whom the bell tolls” but in one of the goofiest ways imaginable, which would only make sense for this dumbass. but he is still not getting he answers he wants. the chord remains incomplete as he delves back in completely. unwilling to let it go, unwilling to walk away and regroup. he grits his teeth and pushes through, the horns coming in with even more punch this time, more flare, more grit, leading into the absolute tastiest fucking sax solo. i always imagine the solo as his laughter. he’s just going crazy up there as he finally strikes the gold he’s been searching for, as we get those triumphant horn blares. and i know someone has that meme photo. you know the one.

i think a character’s soundtrack is so vital to understanding the fundamentals of a character. and i think medic is a wonderful example of this. it’s very easy to take a character like the medic and reduce him to “madman” or “doctor”; and throw the rest of what makes him such a wonderful, truly beloved character to the wind. and i think a lot of the nuance of this dr. doofenschmirtz dumbass gets lost very easily in the noise of ships and the noise of more universally beloved characters, but i think when you have a game like this, with characters like these, where it does seem like every hand that was laid on these characters was done with love and care… it’s easy to find what you’re missing. you just have to look.

anyway i love tf2 medic and i love music and i love the valve orchestra

[seagull-scribbles]

I want you to tell ‘em that you love the way that they don’t stick out like sore middle fingers

[Continuation of this]

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Yesterday my wife and I were discussing the abject nonsense that is the Designated Survivor tv show (I like trash because it's trash fuck off) and I was talking about like. The motivations and informatics of warfare tactics [some people are War Guys TM because they like nazis, I'm a War Guy TM because I think strategy is a fun way to occupy my brain when it's about a war that already ended] and wifey was just like "Yeah, obviously the Geneva Conventions are just a suggestion" to which I replied "as in all things, I remain unconventional" so now whenever she sees me around the house she points at me and goes "most likely to commit a war crime for fun and profit" AND I CAN'T EVEN ARGUE I DID THIS TO ME

[acourtofquestions]

“He'd deceived her, had lied to her. This man who she'd believed held no secrets between them. She didn't know why it made her want to shred everything within sight.”

— cause um… as you just said Miss Manon YOU CARE (& it’s even giving Chaolaena vibes in the I CARE way)… so like all I’m saying is you love him duh?

[summertimemusician]

Linktober Day 6

Mask(s)

Soft and sweet with just a hint of melancholic because 1.I'm tired and probably need a nap father than coffee, 2.I actually managed to make a pretty good mocha and the Anchorage LOZ animatic came onto my playlist before writing this and it kind of influenced my mood, and 3. I'm saving the usual Majora's Mask flare of angst for another prompt because I was having way too much fun dissecting the tragedy of the Hero of Time before sleep deprivation snatched the idea away which is usually my sign to pass the heck out and save the second option for when I have more energy lol.

For the Warriors fans, also Warriors is a disaster of an older sibling but we adore and appreciate him for it in this household, as always can be implied romantic or platonic between him and reader.

You were all but pinned down to the ground, brought down more effectively and unable to find the strength to get up.

Well, not literally, there were no enemies nearby, the chaos at camp had long since died down and there wasn’t anything much to do now that night had fallen, the heavens deigning to put all of it’s glittering jewels on display.

Were it any other day you’d probably focus more on appreciating it in full, the fire was crackling merrily, you were safe and had a full stomach and even with the ever present threat of the Shadow possibly deciding to ambush you all while most of your guards were down, you had your boys with you and the crisp autumn petrichor was a balm on your soul, weary from the journey.

Maybe it would be fine to rest for a little while.

And then the small figure clinging to you flinched, burrowing closer and holding onto your tunic like a lifeline. And awareness came to you like a smack over the head with a log, your fingers gently carding through blond locks as you hum gently. Weighting options and just how quietly you could move without bothering the precious Sprite at your side.

You had guessed Time had been a sweet kid, and you still wanted to lodge a formal complaint with the gods for writing such cruel fate for him because the man couldn’t catch a break and you’re not the only one to take it personally. But he was killing you here, this is how you die, with an adorable but oh so heartbreakingly sad little boy having fallen asleep leaning against you after telling you all sorts of stories about his extensive mask collection.

(You don’t know wether you want to cry, scream or laugh, Mask was so, so young. It breaks your heart, just a little.

Really, the deities of Hyrule must adore tragedies. Bastards.)

Sighing, you decide to compromise, gently keeping the Kokiri boy right where he is, fast asleep and with barely any nightmares as you hum and card your fingers through the spun gold strands, you brush your fingers through the last masks he fell asleep mid through telling the story of how he’d acquired. If you were careful surely you’d be able to reach his pack on his side so he wouldn’t worry later.

A pair of brown boots invade your vision, Warriors crouches down. You think you spot a flash of surprise on his eyes as he spots Mask napping on you, and then fond amusement of a big brother you knew he directed often towards Wind, tone low, “Well would you look at that, out like a light. It’s a rare honor for him to trust anyone like this.”

You chuckle a bit, shaking your head, “I can tell, he’s a good kid. I’ve barely met him for a day and I’d already take on an army for him.”

“Welcome to my world.”, comes Warriors dry response, though you both knew he was a hundred percent serious, his own mask quickly falling away as he gently picked up the Deku Sprout Mask to put it back in the small sprite’s pouch, hiding it’s confused, fearful sadness from your gaze (and it’s an effort, not to twitch, as your rage towards Majora gained even more kindling to burn) as the soldier handled it with the due solemnity of being one of the few Mask would allow to even touch the masks without his immediate supervision, “... I never thought I’d see him again, as...”

“I know.” Your tone was quiet, as you carefully picked your choice of words.

If there’s one thing you knew about any Link, is that they’re all really good elder brother’s and that they are too hard on themselves. Warriors specially, Mask and Wind were his everything, there wouldn’t be words that could describe how gutted he was, after confirming his suspicions with you, regretting not saying anything against Mask joining the battle field back then, loathing himself for not convincing him or Lana into letting him stay in spite of his bad feeling that as soon as the young hero of time passed through that portal he was unlikely to ever meet him again.

... You settle for something simple, instead, reaching a hand to softly pat his head, taking care not to mess his hair too much, “You did good, Wars, it’s not your fault. Mask also knows you did your best.”

He still, sighing, the mask falling away as he guides your hand to his lips, quietly thankful (really, like big brother like little brother, your wonderful, silly, caring boys. You make a point to cheerfully bat away the butterflies in your stomach, ), “... Feels hard to believe that, some times. Thank you.”

You hum, after putting the Zora mask away, Warriors takes Mask’s other side, pulls you closer and breathes.

(Just in case, he lies to himself.)

You quietly listen to his stories about his little brother, and Warriors is content.