#anyways. here’s to today !!!!! <33333< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[kijeu]

hyunjin x lollapalooza chicago [240802 tiktok]

[loverboybrightsideghost]

me: can't fucking stand her superbat ass

me two seconds later holding a world's finest comic: me and the bestieeee

[tojiscrack]

ive done some thinking and i think im gonna jump kamo.

STOP GETTINF IN THE WAY OF MY CUTIES PLEASEEEE 😭😭😭💔💔💔 PLEASE LET MERCUPINE SAIL PLESSE KAMO FUCK OFFFFFFFFFFF

i deem YOU a liar, wdym theres NO ANGST YET???? the recent chapter seemed soooo angsty 😭😣💔 (an obstacle between endgame) HOW DOES IT GET WORRSEEREE 💔💔💔💔💔

#kamoisOVER. #kamohateclub

(yes hes a guy w a crush, no I DONT CARE)

i mean 😀

join the rest of the liars ig, they all wanna jump kamo, the poor guy

mercupine can’t sail if mermaid and porcupine don’t get their act together tbh, and we both know that one of them is clueless and the other has 0 game 😔🤚🏽

also, how the hell am i the liar here? 🤨 I’M TELLING YOU, THE ANGST REALLY ISN’T HERE YET 😭😭😭

literally the only way you’re gonna believe me is when it absolutely does arrive (and i won’t even have to say it, you’ll know when it does) and you’re gonna sit there thinking to yourself how you genuinely believed that kamo’s crush was the full extent of the angst 😀

i swear the last 3 chapters so far have just been building up plot 🫨

kamo rn: 😐

[valleynix]

How I Would Have Written Resident Evil: Village

let me preface this by saying a few things: i am slightly tipsy as i write this, so i apologize for any misspellings, incorrect lore, or things not articulated well. i also do not hate Ethan nor the original story of RE8, but i do think there was a lot of wasted potential and unnecessary plot holes

moving on, under the cut

i'll start off by saying that i loved Biohazard. it's genuinely one of my favorite games and the atmosphere is done so well. i love the horror, the mix of action, and the genuine fear you can feel as you run around, searching for answers.

Village did not have this, and it was a massive disappointment, as was the game itself, overall. i do still love it and it'll always be one of my favorites, but Capcom fumbled hard with the plot and the general story.

let's start off with this: in my own little fantasy land where Capcom doesn't hate women (joke), Mia would have been the protagonist in Village. think about how well the story could have gone between her knowledge from the Connections, her unknown relationship with Miranda, the fact she likely would have been struggling to actually fight (just like Ethan should've), and how much different her interactions would be.

i'm genuinely so tired of seeing husbands and/or fathers searching for their lost wife and/or child in horror games. appeal to a different audience!!! where's my mother searching for her lost child, taken by Eldritch horrors???

anyway, i won't be super detailed, but we'll say Mia is the protagonist and Ethan is sidelined :3

throughout the game, i personally would have made it much more obvious that the lords are indeed a family. like, i thought it was obvious enough, but apparently lots of people in this fandom didn't get the memo?? so i would make it more apparent.

and just like i mentioned in the one video i'd already made on this (kinda), i would have changed the lords' appearances and their deaths, pretty much meaning that only Donna (maybe) would have been killed. everyone else would have just been something for her to escape from.

(i'm sorry this isn't super detailed. i don't want it to turn into an eight hour essay, which i may do for a video later on, but anyway)

i will say that i probably would have changed the beginning sequence and made it more mother-daughter focused before Rose is taken. like, imagine Rose being kidnapped right from under Mia's nose without all the brutality and shooting, as comedic as that was, once you knew. the whole thing with Chris not telling Ethan what was going on was probably the dumbest thing in these games and i will forever stand by that.

so, we'll just say that Miranda somehow finds a way to subdue Mia long enough to kidnap baby Rose, and Mia wakes up cold and alone and has to follow a barely-there trail of footprints and feathers that eventually lead her to the village and the horrors within

i also probably would have kept the game during nighttime or early morning, simply because of how terrifying that would be. it's not as fun when you can blatantly see the mutants trying to stalk you (ahem. lycans.)

at this point, Rose is taken and we now have an angry mother on our hands that is very wary of what's going on around her, but now knows that Miranda is a culprit (because in my mind, Miranda has no real reason to hide from Mia, and came to her in her true form). this would leave the audience to question what she really knows and what she's been hiding, and while it would create skepticism, it would also generate curiosity.

Mia traverses the village in relative darkness, led only by the moon's light (hehe symbolism) and the occasional torch. she searches the village for any inhabitants, and while she mostly finds blood and corpses, she also finds a group of people still surviving and untrusting of her.

i think the scariest thing would be that every time Mia progresses and comes back to the village, more people are missing and she finds out rather quickly that it's Miranda's doing. this would leave a sense of fear within her: Miranda is watching and waiting, she is causing Mia distress and threatening her without outright doing anything, letting her know she is unsafe and alone without ever laying a hand on her.

we'll say she goes to Donna's first, under the impression that the hermit dollmaker could have taken Rose per Miranda or she's just being mislead by Miranda posing as a villager (or even the witch lady). from there, she's forced through hallucinations, vivid fabrications of Rose and Ethan, all while struggling to see what is real and what's made up.

she finds out that Rose isn't at the Beneviento Estate, but now, Donna isn't letting her leave. she's not allowed to let her visitors through those doors, saying something similar (though perhaps slightly more afraid) to, "Don't leave... I can't let you." this may hint at the fact that Donna herself does not want to hurt Mia, but cannot let her leave.

Donna's boss fight consists of hallucinations and fabrications, and Mia "dies" when she succumbs to one and doesn't realize what it actually is. there is no "monster" in this section, but it's probably one of the scariest parts, as it takes place throughout the blackened estate and the dolls are, in fact, still moving and making little noises.

Mia escapes somehow, and when she returns to the village, she overhears a conversation from Miranda and someone else (perhaps Rednic?) basically hinting at the megamycete and the ritual and what needs to be done. this begins the plot of finding out what the fuck is going on and where the hell is her daughter, which she believes will be found together.

(sad mother moments, of course. i'd make them tearjerking.)

Mia then finds herself stumbling to Moreau's reservoir, cold and angry, and from here, she starts to realize just how deep Miranda's corruption really goes and how much danger she's actually in. in her mind, prior to this, she thought Miranda was under some kind of control or that she was simply a lackey in a larger scheme of things.

after all, the Miranda she knew was much different than this one, much less angry and violent. Mia doesn't recognize this woman any longer, and she begins to find herself very afraid of what she's gotten herself into, though she doesn't regret it.

Mia hears Moreau's pleas for his mother to help him, to be proud of him, to notice him, and all Mia can feel is the heartbreak of a mother watching this child throw a tantrum for his mom's attention. she tries to kill him, but in the end, she finds herself out of ammo and cornered and freezing her ass off, as well as injured from wounds so graciously gifted to her by lycans and the varcolac.

she escapes, leaves Moreau to his cries and his desperation, and at this point, Mia wonders just how much farther she can go until she collapses. she remembers those little moments with Rose when everything was starting to look up and when she thought her life was going to be normal again, and for a time, she fades into unconsciousness.

when she wakes, it's eerily quiet, and she knows she needs to leave. after more of the villagers go missing and they mention laughing and screaming from the castle, Mia decides she will go there next in her attempt to find Rose and take her away from this fucked up place, get her out of Miranda's grasp before she can do god knows what with her.

the castle is... eerie, yes, but not quite as dangerous as she had been expecting. she meets the Dimitrescus and she's most likely flirted with a bit (as they tend to do), and because Mia is a woman, her pleas are heard and she is allowed to speak, if only for a moment. they come to find that Mia is only there for her daughter and she will gladly leave once she's found, but they're under orders from Miranda now to keep Mia alive (wink wonk).

that doesn't stop them from chaining her up and giggling as they leave, as they did before. i'd make the castle much darker and make more noises throughout the halls, like footsteps or quiet laughter, maybe some soft clanging or things slightly being moved, like vases or chairs, only for there to be nothing.

it's creepy, but there's nothing outright dangerous until Mia finds herself cornered in the kitchens with a very angry Bela now out for blood. she holds back only a little during this little spat, but eventually, it gets to the point that Mia shoots open the window and only distracts Bela before she runs and manages to get away.

(it's now a safe room for her, as Bela would have run away when her weakness was exposed and warmed up, bruised ego be damned. she'll just regroup with her sisters and go from there).

i think the phone call scene would still happen, but it would be a little different. at the very least, it would still show that Miranda does not care about the lords as much as she claimed to and cares more about the ritual and ceremony, but now Lady Dimitrescu is pissed and wants Mia out of her castle before she can actually kill one of her daughters.

(i like to think Bela and/or Cassandra would be in the room, quietly observing, and if the player looks away long enough, looking back would show one or both of them staring right at Mia before quickly looking away. you know the drill).

Mia somehow finds a way to sympathize with Lady Dimitrescu, perhaps because she refuses to kill Daniela while the former is nearby or something, and she ends up escaping (though it's obvious the action is allowed, as Lady Dimitrescu is blatantly keeping her distance but ensuring Mia is chased out. yada yada).

more creepy village stuff happens, more fights with lycans, blah blah. i'm not entirely sure what to do here, but i'll think more on it.

the factory would be last, and i think it would be incredibly interesting with Heisenberg likely knowing that Mia and Miranda had a past together. he might try to use that against her and try to convince her that Rose is their only hope for being free (maybe playing into what she'd seen with his siblings), but he's ultimately denied again.

Mia doesn't know this dude, doesn't know his true intentions or if teaming up with him will guarantee her death at the price of his freedom. everything she'd gone through would have been for nothing, and so, she refuses.

i think the factory would have been creepier if the mechanical noises weren't so loud and in-your-face, but that's just me. keeping the lights low and the enemies quieter but still lit up would have been great, but oh well.

after making it through the factory and proving how strong she really is (never doubt a mother), she is, once again, faced with the opportunity to join Heisenberg or join the dead. she denies him once more, manages to escape the factory (and Sturm) as metal flies by and she's probably pierced a few times, and when she eventually becomes free, she just collapses in the middle of a dusk-lit village.

she's been through so much, lost everything dear to her, and she still hasn't found answers or her daughter. she begins to wonder if she ever left that first hallucination at Lady Beneviento's but she's too tired to care-

and then the moldy tendrils begin breaking from the ground, near enough to terrify her but far enough to know that she's not in immediate danger. she hears laughter and searches through the mold (which she comments on), vision blurry, only to completely freeze when she finds Miranda standing near one of the tendrils, watching her with a fond smile on her face.

this is all i've thought about (because the ANGST of seeing your, at the very least, old coworker/friend who is now a CULT LEADER and trying to kill you...) but i'll probably expand way more on it if i ever do a video on it. i didn't want this to turn into a massive ramble (even if it already did), so i'll pause here for now.

i didn't hit everything i wanted to and i'm sure i'm missing a LOT of points, but these were all the major things i would have changed or implemented. i am very tired and tipsy, and i do apologize for anything that doesn't sound quite right or that's left with like... no other point or explanation. i'll do better next time <33

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

Dude I’m so good at cooking sometimes <33

[roaringroa]

me, busy? oh not really, just staring lovingly at the drawing my girlfriend made of us for valentines day while i handmake a card with a poem i wrote about her

[cattlemons]

hi :)) a bit of a personal request but could i get wanderer comfort for a fem or g/n reader? (your choice) i have a...difficult relationship with my father. when he's sad/angry/upset he usually takes his frustration out on me by yelling at me and calling me names and other hurtful things. then when i cry he tells me that I'm pretending to be a victim, and blames me entirely for his feelings. i just had a sitution like this earlier tonight so its on my mind :) anyway, could i get wanderer comfort for a situation like this? or if this is too specific maybe where reader just doesn't get along with their father? thanks sm <33333

A Salve For Unhealed Wounds

TW: Toxic dad, name calling by a parental figure, emotional distress and familial conflict, crying in public, there's a swear word in there, 1,5k words

a.n. Nonnie, sorry for the wait :( I had an exam and couldn't be on here at all (also left you a short message at the bottom)

It happened again. 

The man you were supposed to trust with your life yelled at you again. Your heart aches at the implication that the weight of his love for you changes depending on the emotion reigning his mind and heart. Your mind crumbles when it recollects the words he spat out so easily when red paints his iris. 

It wouldn’t have hurt as much if he’s always this way. It hurts because you’ve seen the smile that escapes his guarded heart on rare occasions. You’ve also heard him say good things and do good deeds the way an honorable man would–when he’s not mad that is.

It’s unfair that he can’t always be that way with you.

You took off towards the Puspa Cafe, hoping the bustle of Sumeru evening would be the cooling salve you need to soothe your battered mood. 

Yeah, that’s a good idea.

Entering the establishment, scents of coffee and spice filled your nostrils as ease settled between the spaces of your bones. The balmy yellow and brown hues greeted your weary state as the inviting warmth of the cinders burning in the oven beckons you to rest. You made the right call to come here tonight.

Or, so you thought.

Despite being on good terms with the otherwise lonesome man, you did not want to see the infamous hat guy; not tonight. It’s less about his presence and more about yours. The dynamic between the two of you is akin to that of a flying serpent and a scorpion. You’d take frequent jabs at each other, flinging teasing remarks and poking fun at one another but somehow, in a very weird roundabout way, there’s always a sincere sort of care behind it all. 

Right now, however, you don’t think you have it in you to take what you know he can dish. You did get lucky and got a secluded seat, you just hope he does not notice you here. 

“What are you doing here, prickly bush,” he called out to you just as your train of thought chugged away to somewhere beyond the oak doors of the cafe.

Right, so much for peace of mind.

You turn towards him, the frown that began dissipating moments ago returning in full force. Grumbling before speaking, you let out, “Not today, please, I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh yeah, someone’s definitely a prickle bush right now.”

You were at a crossroads between telling him to leave and bursting into tired tears when he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Your eyebrows scrunched as he sat across you. You looked at him but his eyes were trained away from you, staring at some other patron sitting at the wooden bar just a bit away from the both of you. 

Since when was he a caring man?

Your thoughts and confusion settle into a prolonged silence. You half expected him to grumble out an insult along the lines of “Are your ears clogged” or “Need help finding a hearing aid” but he, surprisingly, sat still; eyes now hopping over to a woman by the door having a conversation with a balding man. 

Is he patient now? What kind of patron-saint bullshit is he pulling?

Not that you’re complaining, though. You much prefer this despite the weirdness of it all; or rather the newness. 

“I’m fine–”

“Don’t lie, if you can’t lie,” he interrupts as he points at your fingers curling in on each other. 

He sure is perceptive when you don’t want him to be.

Silent gathers the both of you in its arms once more as you think of a response to give to him. He’s being kind right now but you don’t feel like divulging everything to him. Your friendship is just beginning to stand on two feet. It’s taking baby steps at best. You don’t want to scare him away by dumping all your shit on him. By the abyssal name, he probably carries more baggage than you and you don’t see him throwing them around.

“You don’t have to tell me, don’t get all constipated just because I asked,” he said before continuing even softer, “You seemed down, just thought it’d be helpful to ask.”

Though you did not notice it at the time, your heart slowly began to lay down the walls you raised from the events that transpired earlier under the roof of your father’s house. 

Perhaps, he can help.

The wanderer was about to take his leave when you whispered with a certain weariness he found familiar, “My father isn’t always a nice man.”

He sat back down as quickly as he could. He probably sat on one of the ornate hanging detailings of his hat or on that long sleeve of his but he couldn’t be bothered by it. Though his eyes look past you, you know his focus is solely on what you have to say.

So, you told him. At first, you tried to be as close to the baseline as possible, choosing to speak of the basic details but soon you choked up and told him everything. Your thoughts, your fears, even your longing for a better version of the father you wanted to look up to, bubbled out of your tired heart. As the night sky grows darker outside, you find yourself slightly teary-eyed as your long story comes towards its end. 

Your eyes were still on your hands that laid on your lap, palms now sweaty from excessive nervous rubbing. You stole a glance at him and, just like you, he barely moved from his previous position. He’s still not looking at you, almost like he’s not listening at all but you know he is. 

It took a beat or two, almost like he was waiting to see if you had more to say before he opened his mouth to speak. 

“You’re kind, you know?”

What?

“I don’t get it. What do you mean ‘I’m kind’?”

“Just that. You’re kind, maybe even too kind.”

You fully looked up at him now to see that his eyes were already on you. 

“I listened to you tell me about the horrible things that man says to you and, yet, you still call him by a title he doesn’t deserve,” before you can question him, he answers, “A dad.”

You’re silent as he continues, “This cruel world decides to give him something so precious and he decides to lie and say all these shitty things. He’s not a good man but he’s dumb too if he’s got something so precious and decides that the best course of action is to call it untrue names. Does he not realize the power a name holds?”

Wet droplets stain your hands and lap as tears fall from your eyelids, lungs heavy, and muscles sagging. 

Taking a look at his surroundings he sighs before taking his hat off and placing it on you.

“I’m sure you don’t want anyone seeing you like this and speaking about it tomorrow, here.”

The tenderness of his voice and action winds your heart up as more choked sobs gurgle out of your throat.

Your neck tightens in protest as you try to speak but you fight the pain of your contracting muscles as you force out, “On a good day I… I know that he's lying… but sometimes I can’t help but think he’s right,” you sniffled and let a wave of uncontrollable sobs pass you by before continuing, “I mean there’s only so much… so much… I can deny before something false starts feeling real.”

Your admission broke the puppet's imaginary heart as he wills himself to hold back his instinct to swing insults and fists at your father. Instead, he chose to let what he supposes are comforting words drown your sorrow. It’s rigid and almost primal the way he tries to soothe your sadness but it's tender and warm in its own way, just as he is. 

“Are you… are you sure he’s wrong? How can you… you be so sure?”

The staccato of your unsure question is met with unwavering eyes as he nods. 

“I’m sure. I wouldn’t have said what I said otherwise.”

You hid your face with your hands as your back slumped forward. The wanderer could see the heaving of your shoulders and he could only comfort you by repeating his praise for you. Much like a devotee chanting his faith, he whispered kind words in hopes that by repeating it, you will believe this too. He hopes he’s done enough to override the names your father engraved into you with angered frowns, at least temporarily. The road to recovery winds away and is far from linear but he's ready to accompany you if you want him to.

As you continue to let out the emotions you thought dried up years ago, you hear him say, “Even if you forget again, just tell me and I’ll remind you that you’re nice, you’re smart and you’re so, so kind.”

Nice, smart, and kind huh? 

You don’t think you can believe it right now but slowly, you hope you will.  

Part two (not really that intertwined but I made it with the same characters in mind) To Nonnie, I'm sorry you have to go through this. I hope this little piece of fiction brings you some comfort, even if it might not fully capture what you're feeling. If there's anything more I can do to help or if you just need someone to talk to, please let me know.

[teecupangel]

Hi teecup, I hope ur having a great day/noon/night!

Forgive me if the things i'm about to say don't make much sense. It's been a vey, very, very, difficult time for me and my countrymen here, and my ability to make coherent sentences have declined drastically. So, yeah... BUT! That doesn't matter haha.

Anyways, I had a thought. And i'm not even sure how or why i got it but.... hear me out now...

Our boy, Desmond, gets thrown back in time as usual, same old same old, right? Exept, this time he doesn't end up in the Big Three™'s time-line. He ends up in Al-Mualim's time. *insert mind-blown emoji here cuz i can't find it rn*

And ik that i'm not a certified AC Expert like u and many others, and i haven't really finished any of the AC games yet (i've only seen bits of AC III and have only started AC 2, I also haven't finished AC 1)

But I do know that he wasn't really that creepy and evil in his youth/ b4 he became The Old Man of the Moutain, so i was thinking maybe Desmond ends up in that era of Al Mualim or is it Rashid al-Din Sinan? I know that he's based on a real historical figure but i'm not so sure if he's called that in-game?

And knowing Desmond, he'd probably get the urge to kill Rashid (i hope i'm using the name correctly) the time he figures shit out and connect that dots. But he would end up not doing that, cuz u know, it might fuck up the time-line and Altaïr might end up not being born, creating a domino-effect.

I want Desmond to meet Rashid before he starts to becom the Al Mualim we know today, so that Desmond can see how he was b4 the evants of AC 1.

Maybe Rashid's an arrogant ass, or a nerdy loser, or a popular assassin- who knows! The possibilites are endless!! (or maybe he's an obsessive bastard who gets obsessed with Desmond cuz he's just full of mysteries and wonders :Dc )

And blah blah blah, plot here, plot there, Isu-bullshit this, time shenanigans that, and BOOM they meet.

And romance ensues? :3 (romace wil absolutely ensue :}}} )

NOW, BEFORE- BEFORE YOU TIE ME TO A STAKE AND BURN ME ALIVE FOR THIS- i think it'd be a cute idea, and who knows? maybe Rashid was hot in his prime *insert lenny face cuz even after all these years i still don't know how to type it and is too lazy to cop paste it* and maybe he liked to solve mysteries and had a thing for the unexplainable. And Desmond is the most unexplainable, most bizarre thing to have graced the earth :33333.

Now that i've got this idea out of my system i'm gonna go pray for the down fall of my coutry's shit for brain, good for nothing military government/hj.

bye! *evaporates*

I hope you’re doing alright and I’m sorry that it took two months before I could answer your ask TTATT

As far as I know, he was only called Al Mualim because of legal reasons but Rashid ad-Din Sinan was the leader of the Assassins in Masyaf during 1191 so it’s safe to assume Al Mualim is AC’s version of Rashid (historically he died in 1193, not 1191.

.

Okay. We can make this work.

We put Desmond at around the same time he’s the recruit and we make it hard for him to realize he’s Al Mualim until it’s too late by doing one simple thing:

Desmond doesn’t know Al Mualim’s real name.

He always knew it as Al Mualim. As far as he knew, Al Mualim was his actual name.

Then he remembered that Al Mualim can mean mentor and bangs his head on the nearest flat surface.

His mission has been clear from the start.

Become an Assassin, take out Al Mualim before he does shit, find Umar and adopt him then play matchmaker so Altaïr would be born.

And no.

Desmond wasn’t going to think about the whole “can you truly be sure that the person who will be born will be Altaïr if you change the circumstances of his conception?”

Yeah.

His head hurts just thinking about it so he won’t.

For now, he’ll focus on his training while keeping a look out for anyone who gives of Al Mualim vibes.

What’s the Al Mualim vibes?

Manipulative old man vibes.

The problem is…

Rashid is one of the recruits in the same batch as Desmond and he becomes Desmond’s closest friend.

And there was no way Desmond would ever be friends with a future power hungry asshole like Al Mualim.

No way.

.

The way their relationship becomes romantic really depends on the kind of personality young Rashid would have.

A nerdy loser who starts making a name for himself because of his intelligence and tactical mind would start off as the kid Desmond sorta looks after. When he starts to show that his strength lies in making plans and quick judgments, he becomes the man whispering on Desmond’s ear. Providing plans and suggestions while giving Desmond a heads up on the less savory words people say about him. Desmond would never think this Rashid is Al Mualim because he’s nice and truly do want to help Desmond. This is also how Rashid would show his love for Desmond and, really, Desmond would think they’re bros and when he realizes that Rashid actually loves him, he’d think “oh, I am Ezio’s descendant”

An arrogant ass Rashid would butt heads with Desmond but Desmond would find himself fond of the man because he reminds him of AC1 Altaïr. This is the Rashid who would definitely be counted as a tsundere and their relationship would start when Rashid just flatout tells Desmond that he wants to do unspeakable things to him while they’re arguing. Desmond is offended because “tugging on my pigtails doesn’t work in real life, dumbass!” and Rashid is just “???” because what the fuck are pigtails??? Lots of awkwardness until Desmond realize that butting heads with Rashid is really how they flirt.

Now. Popular Assassin Rashid is more on the side of polite but is absolutely Desmond’s rival. Whatever it is, the two of them are always competing. Unlike the arrogant ass version, this Rashid is always nice to Desmond. The whole “no hard feelings” and pure competitiveness are what drives their relationship. This is the one where the two of them spar privately one time and things happen. They would try to distant themselves from one another for a bit until they finally talk it out. Rashid honestly didn’t think he loved Desmond until the whole ‘after-sparring’ thing.

Whichever you pick as Rashid’s background, he will become obsessed with Desmond but it’s more on the side of “I will do everything to make Desmond happy” which is good for Desmond but not really good for anyone against him.

.

Desmond is the one who adopts Umar in this one and Umar imprints on him like a baby duckling to a mama duckling. Everyone actually assumed Umar is his bastard son. Desmond ignores it even though he’s only like… a decade and a half older than Umar.

Rashid definitely treats him like Desmond’s son. He’s Umar’s favorite of all of Desmond’s friends.

And really, Desmond should have seen that as a hint of Rashid’s ‘future’.

Speaking of the future.

He’s been looking for Al Mualim this entire time and he has his suspects (Rashid, however, is not on the list) but honestly?

He’s just waiting for the person who would be picked as the one to lead the expansion to Masyaf since that would be Al Mualim.

Desmond has, unfortunately, fucked up the timeline so badly that the person chosen to lead the expansion?

It was Desmond.

.

Sidebar: Faheem would be that cute younger brother who turns grumpy when he grows up. Desmond will forever grieve the lost of little cute Faheem. Faheem is always embarrassed when Desmond talked about his ‘past’.

[mactavishwritings]

HEYYYYYY, HYWD?

I will beg for a: Gentle Dom! Price, Hard dom! Ghost or König and a Brat!Reader.

PLEASE, I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!

oh fuck dude you are speaking my language <33333

a lil nsfw 18+ only please <3

Gentle Dom!Price and Hard Dom!Ghost asking you to behave just for once. You sat in the meeting room, just the three of you when Price knelt down in front of you. "Be good today. This mission is important and you need to pay attention." you nodded, but then Ghost gripped your thigh tightly. You winced and Ghost leaned down to whisper in your ear. "Be. Nice." His voice was firm and stubborn, causing your back to stiffen.

During the meeting, Ghost had his hand kept on your thigh. It didn't stop you however because you started wiggling. Ghost's fingers dug into your thigh and you pushed yourself up to sit on your knees. You started doodling on your paper instead of taking notes, figuring that you could look over Soap's later. Price was giving you disappointed looks the entire time, knowing that you weren't paying attention like he had asked you two.

What made Ghost snap was when you leaned back and tossed a paper ball at Gaz, who giggled and tossed it back to you. Ghost's hand snapped out and grabbed the ball before grabbing your arm. "Enough." His voice was loud and direct, making Gaz jump. Not you though. You were used to this so you just made eye contact with the man like a challenge, your eyes were filled with such mischief that Ghost physically sat up to appear even bigger than normal.

Price approached the table, breaking up the staring contest to refocus you. Once he got you back, he continued the meeting making sure that Ghost had an arm around you to hopefully keep you in place.

After the meeting, Price dismissed Soap and Gaz. As soon as they left the room, Ghost immediately pinned you to the table and forced your arms around your back. you gasped at the sudden movement and fought back against Ghost’s strong hold, kicking your feet back in an attempt to fight back. Ghost was used to your antics by then so he pushed his chest against your back. Price sat across from you two, tablet in hand. "Be gentle this time with her, Simon. Need her fit and able for this mission." Price fiddled with his tablet while Ghost forced your pants down to your knees. "Don't worry, only enough to make sure she understands what she did wrong."

You cried out with each hit to your ass. Ghost held your arms with one hand while he delivered blows with his other hand. Price watched with a small smile, counting each hit with you, and would make Ghost restart every time you missed a count. Each hit would get harder and harder, making a loud clapping sound that almost drowned out your crying. Ghost smirked with each hit that he delivered, basking in your cries.

Price soon stood after putting the tablet on the table. "that's enough, Simon. Let's see how our baby is doing." You looked up at Price with big, teary eyes. Ghost rolled his eyes, but released you anyway. "The slut is just fine, John. You go too easy on her." Ghost pulled you up by your shirt, but left your pants down. "Was Simon too rough with you, angel?" You nodded, rubbing your eyes as Price inspected your bruised ass, rubbing your reddened cheeks. He took you in his arms and you stuck your tongue out at Ghost. "Meanie." You growled at Ghost and Price was quick to grab your chin. "Do not think that I won't bend you over this table myself and have my way with you." Price delivered a quick strike to your already sore ass and you sobbed loudly.

"I'm sorry!" You whined as Ghost came up to pull your pants up back to their normal place. Ghost kissed the top of your hair and tapped your ass lightly. "Be glad that he was here because if I got what I wanted, your pretty little ass would be black and blue. You hear that? So what do you say? Hm?" You tilted your chin back until you saw Ghost. "Thank you, Sir." Ghost hummed and Price pulled away. "Alright, you two, go train for a little bit. I want you on your best games for this mission."

[thrpr0phetuseek]

[ they smile, listening to the gentle silence before starting to sing a low, nearly inaudible hum. It held the same few notes constantly on loop; a lullaby of sorts that they intended to keep silently singing had they not nearly tripped over the roots of their tree. In that action, they leaned against him, finding balance before straightening themself up again. They waltzed with him for a few moments more, just in the general vicinity and not too far away, before they slowed and reached a hand to cup his face, kissing him again to make a peaceful end ]

“We made it. You want to come sit?”

[ they tugged on his hand gently, the one still intertwined with their own, pulling him towards it. With their other hand, now free, they shifted their scarf and then their cloak, pulling the remnants of dried blood hopefully out of his sense of reach, ensuring they would not receive questions or worries during what is now a long and peaceful night ]

[ they were sat peacefully by the shore of the mingling rivers, swaying lazily with no lingering thoughts. This had been how they’d spent the past few hours — though time is irrelevant in the underground, everyone knows this — getting up and wandering tipsily when they felt the itch to move, settling down for however long their body would let them before they were spat out to wander again. It peaceful, if not irregular, and the prophet could not think to ask of a better way to spend such a quiet time. Well, nearly could not ]

“ . . . Muse?”

<< @thrpr0phetuseek =} >>

"Hey there, love." Odysseus greets the call, slinking out from the water to move towards the peophet. Upon getting close, the king's face scrunches, catching whiff of the alcohol lingering on their form. Even if they faint, they unfortunately couldn't escape it, not with heightened senses.

With a quiet, almost inaudible hum, he plants himself by Tiresias' side, not yet shifting out of his seabound form. The prophet was still one of the few people he felt he didn't have to be on edge around; let alone hide certain features he had learned to humanly mask.

"Red wine?" He asks, playfully poking their side, though it was also meant to give them a general understanding of where he was sat.

[anzynai]

Nothing Special

Scaramouche & Lumine (Genshin)

a/n: first fic of the year so i couldnt start it off with just anything. happy birthday scara!!! ur like my second favorite character and i surprisingly havent written for you that much (i know right?? 💔💔) anyways, he prob ooc since i dont write for him a lot but i hope its not too bad. disregard any typos you might see as well. someone needs to tickle him BAD. this was supposed to be posted later today but im impatient so youre welcome i guess. ANYWAYYYY i hope u guys enjoy <33333

summary: it’s scara’s birthday. tickles ensue.

wordcount: 1.5k

——

Scaramouche’s birthday had never been anything special to him. It was nothing but another day of the year. He couldn’t count how many of them he spent crying or alone. Or both.

Eventually, he became used to being alone. Instead of feeling sad or upset or angry, he felt nothing.

He sat against the tree, reading a book he had gotten from the library at the Akademiya. He was barely a quarter in when a small bird flew atop of it, lightly pecking at his finger.

He stopped. Blinked.

“..Hello,” He muttered. The bird looked at him, chirping in response.

It hopped from the book to his wrist, its wings fluttering as it continued up his arm. Scara almost couldn’t help the smile that found its way onto his face as the bird finally perched on his shoulder, leaning against his neck.

“I suppose you can stay here. As long as you let me finish reading this,” He said to the bird. Again, another chirp, as if it actually understood.

He looked back at his book, only getting about two words in when..

“Oh, there you are!” He heard a voice calling out to him. As he was in the middle of nowhere, it was likely him who was being called. He looked to his right and lo and behold, it was the traveler walking towards him with a blue and green decorative box in her hands.

“..Hi,” Scara, the man of many words, said.

“Hi,” Lumine giggled, her expression bright as she walked up to the other. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Oh, then you must have really needed me,” Scara replied.

Without saying anything, Lumine handed him the box in her hands. It didn’t take a genius to assume what it was. “A gift?”

“Happy birthday, Scara!” Lumine exclaimed, clapping along to her words.

Scara ignored the flutter in his chest, heart warmed by the gesture, but he kept his face straight and controlled. Sometimes, he felt as though the traveller could tell what he was feeling because she tended to notice even the smallest cues.

Instead of focusing on that, he focused on pulling the ribbon from the gift, pulling open the box.

From inside it, he pulled out a small bag of the only candy he really had ever liked. Taking a curious glance at Lumine, he could notice how it looked like it pained even her to give him black licorice. For the sake of his birthday, she stayed silent. It was an amusing sight, perhaps even better than the candy itself, Scara thought to himself.

Inside, there was also a small stuffed doll that resembled him too much to be a coincidence. “Is this.. me?”

“Yeah, it was custom-made by me and a few others. What do you think?”

He got the urge to feel for the other doll he has in his pocket, so he does. He took it out, comparing the two.

“Now your doll has a playmate,” Lumine giggled to herself. It sounds childish, like being gifted a doll.

And yet, he found he liked it quite a bit. His lip quirked up just slightly, but Lumine caught the action anyway, if the gleam in her eyes had anything to say.

As if it was excited, the bird chirped gleefully in his ear, nuzzling and poking at his neck. “H-heheey! You stop that,” Scara gasped, scrunching his neck.

“You’re ticklish?” Lumine asked, cupping her hands over her mouth and suddenly, he felt a bit embarrassed.

“…Not at all,” He answered, lying.

“Really?” She tilted her head, staying silent for a moment that lingered too long to be anything but suspicious. Then a second later, she had this scary looking smirk that Scara found he didn’t particularly know where this was going. “So you won’t laugh or anything if I do this?”

The ‘this’ in question was Lumine quickly reaching out to grab his sides before he could stop her, squeezing gently. He flinched, unprepared and a blush arose on his pale skin.

“Lumine—“

“Ah, you lied,” Lumine tutted. “Birthday or not, don’t you think you deserve some form of punishment?”

Where was the almost too kind Lumine and who replaced her?

“Don’t you d-AHAHARE— stohop!” Scara felt his sides being kneading into some more, sensitive tingles spreading throughout his body unbearably. It was a feeling that was once foreign to him, but has since found himself quite found in these past months since meeting Nahida and a few others who insisted on bothering him each time they crossed paths. He hated to say that even then, he quite enjoyed their presence. He never realized how nice it was not being alone.

“You’re so cute! Who’d have thought you’d be so ticklish?” Lumine cooed, in a way where he couldn’t tell if she was teasing or didn’t realize the effect of her words. Her quick and nimble fingers found his ribs, lightly grazing and tracing over each rib. Like a piano, his laughter rose the higher she got. The bird, seemingly encouraged, began pecking gently against his neck again, causing him to scrunch up more, bringing his knees up to himself.

He felt the urge to kick out, but resisted with all his might, not particularly wanting to hurt Lumine or the bird.

“S-stohohop thihihis..!” He sputtered, trying to bite his lip to conceal his laughter, which apparently had the success rate of 0% if the fact that there was still laughter pouring from his lips was anything to go by.

“Should I give you some mercy for your birthday?”

“Luhuhumine! Y-you…!” Scara could barely say anything when she started digging into his underarms, a spot that he hadn’t known was so sensitive until recently.

“Yes? No? I need an answer,” Lumine sighed, slowly and dramatic. Scara wanted to roll his eyes, but he was a bit too distracted to pull off the action effectively.

He curled in on himself, his arms clamped to his sides, but Lumine was always stronger than she appeared, able to tickle him anyway. He felt much weaker by the tickling, which he was sure also helped give her the advantage.

“O-ohohokay, yehehes! Nohoho mohohore!” Scara shouted, at last, feeling overwhelmed by the ticklish sensations. Lumine relented, giggling proudly at herself. The bird continued pecking softly at his neck for a few more seconds, residual giggles falling from the wanderer’s lips. Eventually, it hopped onto his cupped hands.

“That was fun,” She admitted. “I don’t get to tickle people often, but I like making them laugh,” She added, with a sort-of melancholic look in her eye. Scara didn’t ask, getting the sense that she didn’t want to talk about it.

“For you, maybe,” He replied, to keep up appearances, but a part of him was already craving more.

“Now come on,” She stood, holding out her hand for him to grab. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” He asked, because he didn’t realize he was supposed to be anywhere.

“I’m not letting you spend your birthday alone—“ The bird chirped at that. “Okay, mostly alone, with your nose in a book. I’m taking you out to eat. My treat.” She insisted, flexing her fingers to urge him to grab her hand. This time, he took it.

He walked with her to a restaurant that he had always seen, but had always walked past. The second the doors opened, he squinted his eyes at the darkness.

“Are you sure this place is—“

“Surprise!” Multiple voices shouted out at once and the light flickered on. Confetti shot into the air, popping loudly.

Adjusting to the light, he saw that there were more people than he thought, all of them which he recognized as people he had, “against his will” he often claimed, became quite acquainted with.

Sethos. Nahida. Paimon. Tighnari and Cyno, as well as Kaveh and Alhaitham, the two pairs seemingly a package deal at gatherings like this. There was also Nilou and Collei. Even though he would never admit it, he had grew quite fond of each of them, getting along with him much better than he thought he was capable of.

“Happy birthday!” each of them congratulated him, and he mumbled his thanks in a bit of a daze. The tips of his ears were hot and no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop it.

“How are you feeling?” Lumine smiled next to him, as everyone chatted with one another. He heard Kaveh and Alhaitham bickering with each other as Nilou giggled at the sight. Collei and Sethos seemed to be engaged in conversation as well and Tighnari seemed to be miserable as Cyno tried to tell everyone bad joke after bad joke.

He grumbled. “There’s quite a bit of people here,” He replied. Lumine turned to look at him. “But I guess company like this isn’t so bad once in a while. So.. thank you.” He admitted, feeling himself turn a way, feeling a bit flustered as he fidgeted with his doll in his pocket.

Lumine chuckled beside him.

Thank you. He thought to himself. Maybe my birthday can be something special if I get to spend it with all of you.

[hatsukeii]

HATSSUN’S CORNER CAFE GRAND OPENING!

Welcome in, welcome in! ...Oh, you recognise me? Well, I guess building bands just wasn't paying the bills anymore... but anyways! I'll be serving you today, what are we looking for?

We are officially CLOSED! Thank you for your patronage!

Step 1. Pick your order!

☕️⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ latte - fluff 🍵⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ tea - angst 🧋⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ boba (yes, we serve that too!) - crack 🥐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ something from our (experimental) bakery - suggestive/mild nsfw (18+) feel free to mix and match! order more than one if you'd like!

Step 2. Got an allergy? Can't stand the texture of powdered sugar? Give me any modifications you'd like with your order! (prompts are linked! give me the number that you want and i’ll fix it up:))

🍯⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ extra sweet! 🍃⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ sugar free! 🍂⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ got an allergy, need a substitute!! 🍪⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ there's something specific that's not here!

Step 3. Pick your match!

🎀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Hey.. so like... it would be a total HR disaster if my business partner found out I was matchmaking for customers, but if there's anyone that catches your eye... pass their name and where they're from over on the back of your receipt, then let me handle the rest;)

Step 4. Place your order, sit back, and relax, your order is coming right up!

☕️⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Keep track of your order here!

Disclaimer(s)!

Final exams for college entry are starting next Tuesday for me, so this corner cafe will be open for a while, and all orders are going to start getting prepared from around the end of next week onward. Apologies for the delays that I KNOW are going to happen. The mild nsfw/suggestive is just that. MILD. I'm doing this to practice writing different things and getting comfortable with dabbling in smut so please for the love of GOD don't send me something too crazy because even if I had the ingredients for it I wouldn't know how to make it. Any requests made to me about the 900 event, or from my cry for help a few days ago can be redone here as well! (I'm looking at you my beautiful mooties and the two wonderful anons in my inbox thank you very much and I love you all)

author's note:

thank you all so much for 1000>!?!>!??! insane absolutely crazy impossible to fathom that i've managed to keep this blog going for so long and people actually enjoy my writing UGHFDIU i love you all so much<33333 so excited to see what people come up with!!!!

[chasedeys]

do you write any rpf, like on Ao3? I’m new so idk if you’ve posted about it or not but IM LITERALLY OBSESSED with your answers to any anon ask. I would read a whole ten page essay from you about joemarr and im not joking. anyways, i love anything you post!!

hiiiiii loveeeee, thank you for liking my thoughts on joemarr!!! kind of self conscious abt it honestly bc im drawing up conclusions abt them technically without any basis but yeah 😭❤️ (also english is very much not my first language so i struggle to word things so saying you'd read a 10 page essay from me is very <33333)

i have written and posted 1 (one) fic and its a ja'marr gets nipple piercings fic lmaooo and opposite to the way it sounds it's not even horny or even tender horny its just like full of love and devotion ahaha no but really don't expect much please

some extra under the cut wkwkwk

SORRY BUT im taking advantage of this ask to add a whole unfinished 2k- jumble of another fic i was working on but probably won't finish bc the lack of full understanding of how contract and free agency works and like refusal to actually research shit bc i get stupid sad thinking about it so:

Joe stares down the stretch of the field, Ja’Marr standing by the rest of the receivers laughing as Chuck and Andrei try to playfully (....maybe) murder each other via sumo wrestling moves that are definitely not regulation. He’s just wearing tights today for bottoms–so the delicious tautness of his thighs are free for Joe to gaze hungrily at. Truck, 30 yards in front of him very patiently waiting to catch his warm-up throws, has cleared his throat three times in the past 45 minutes for Joe to tear his eyes away from Ja’Marr Chase and throw the damn ball.

It’s torture. It’s love, devotion.

It’s disgusting levels of Down Bad.

(joe gets introspective throughout practice post ravens lost yada yada they go back home, joe invites jamarr for sudden cheat day meal at like 2 am)

Ja’Marr shows up in his front door bleary eyed and sleep rumpled. He’s decked in thick flannel pajama pants that absolutely do not look cheap, dark grey geaux tigers hoodie with purple LSU letters that clashes with the red of his pants, last season’s bengals beanie that also clashes with the rest of his outfit colors, and gucci slides…that also clash with the rest of the outfit. It’s a mismatched sort of vulnerability that twists up Joe’s insides. Here’s his north star wrapped up in all the things Joe cherishes.

Ja’Marr turns up his nose when he finally finishes yawning right at Joe’s face and notices Joe with his raised eyebrow looking up and down amusedly at his outfit.

“Shut up,” he says. “It’s a 2 am non-party night. Like hell I’m dressing up pretty for you.”

Ja’Marr’s always pretty to Joe, but that’s fine.

“I didn’t say anything.” Joe replies back, moving to the side so Ja’Marr can drag his feet inside the threshold, “I don’t judge you for your fashion taste.”

Joe cleverly dodges the foot being kicked back to his side. Amazing reflexes, of course.

“Where’s this hearty meal you promised me?” Ja’Marr just talks loudly over the dig Joe makes at him.

“On its way. DoorDash says it’s 7 minutes out.”

“Did you get extra cream soup?”

“Yeah, of course.”

(yada yada some banter some cute shit wanted to describe them sitting in joes billion dollar custom renovated kitchen that i would stress out is 'modern and kitschy' with different shades of pink for accents)

He’s been making insane catch-and-runs, Joe reflects. Offers to his agent would be stacking up starting next year, his last year in his contract with Cincinnati.

“It would be easier.” Joe says, throat cramping. “If you want to trade.”

Ja’Marr’s hands stutter and his stupid little butter knife clatters to the table.

“What?”

Joe darts his eyes to the other man, a millisecond glance and he’s gazing back to his ice cream. The receiver’s voice had been harsh, choked up in surprise. Joe feels his insides curdle even worse.

“Just–” he starts, a mess of thoughts jumbled in his head, “if you wanted to. I would understand. Your stats are amazing. If Duke’s still gunning to be an idiot and wait for your contract to dry up before resigning, you can–”

Here he pauses. Saying things makes it real. Saying they’re not a championship level team made him want to gouge his eyes out. Saying how Ja’Marr could leave him would possibly end his life as he knows it.

But Ja’Marr deserves to know Joe won’t hold him back. He refuses to. So:

“If you want, you can sign up for free agency. Next season.”

Well.

Ja’Marr’s face is heartbreaking to see. Joe feels the corner of his mouth drag down, his eyes are fucking burning, his throat is closing up, his hands are clammy, his ears are ringing, his neck is cold but his head is on fire.

“Do you–” Ja’Marr starts, but his voice is cracking, so he has to start over again. He’s scrunching his eyes shut and his mouth is quivering and Joe feels like he’s clumped up dirt under a needlessly expensive boot. 

Twice this season now he’s caused Ja’Marr to look like this. At least this time he’s not pushing him physically, but with the way Ja’Marr’s trembling all over this might just be worse. God, Joe can’t even blame being in Kansas City for this. This time, Ja’Marr isn’t hiding from the thousands of eyes scrutinizing him from the bleachers, from across the field, from the houses of unknown fans through LED screens. The agony is clear in the widening of his eyes and the curl of his mouth and the crack of his voice. 

“Do you not want me?”

Just the barest whisper like Ja’Marr’s vocal cords has up and left. Joe feels insane thinking of the heart-clenching anymore? Ja’Marr doesnt say.

Joe’s mouth falls open but no sound comes out. There isn’t a single universe in the hypothetical collection of potentially diverse multiverses Joe believes in, that a Joe Burrow wouldn’t want Ja’Marr Chase to stay by his side. But would saying this to the other be right? 

He takes too long to answer. Ja’Marr’s face shuts down, going cold.

“Wow, okay, fuck you.”

Joe flinches back at the viciousness of the curse. He has never once in his life been the direct recipient of Ja’Marr’s brand of tiger claws defense, teeth sharp, no mercy. 

“I cannot believe you. I thought we were fine now! We’re on the same page again! I leave that contract bullshit behind, you fixed your anxiety over your wrist, but, what, another fucking shitty pick and you don’t think I got it anymore? Fucking free agency, shut your stupid fucking mouth, Joe Burrow, before I do something I regret.”

Joe’s hands automatically flashes to settle the plates rattling when Ja’Marr abruptly stands up and slams his hands to the table. He’s looking up at him now, still sitting down on the bright pink stool in his billion dollar kitschy kitchen with Ja’Marr Chase looming over him in fury.

“I followed you here! To fucking Ohio. I hated the idea of even stepping foot in this state before I fell in love with this fucking city! I did it because of you! I have said multiple fucking times that I’m not leaving you. I said to the fucking media that you were like a god to me, are you fucking kidding me? I bullshitted my way through all those disgusting interviews trying not to say the wrong thing and still having people say I’m stalking you or some shit because I can’t help word-vomitting over you! I have been this fucking close–” 

Ja’Marr shoots his right hand up right in the space between them, pressing his thumb and pointer finger so close the skin whitens.

“–to saying to fucking Hobs that I’m ass over tits in love with you! And now you’re telling me it’ll be alright if I leave? That it'll be easier? Just because, what, this stingy ass poverty franchise doesn’t know how to handle its players unless they’re you? That we keep losing even when you throw fucking bullets and I run across the entire fucking field from endzone to the endzone for 60 points? Joe Lee Burrow, I swear if I loved you less I would kill you.”

Ja’Marr finishes his rant with another slam on the table like he needs one more outlet for his anger. He’s heaving breaths, tears running down his cheeks (god, no), face all twisted up. Through Joe’s frozen state, he could see Ja’Marr’s face pale rapidly as he fully realizes what he’s said. Mouth always running a full minute over his brain.

God.

Joe stands wobbly quick when Ja’Marr stumbles around the table towards the kitchen doors.

For all that Joe unashamedly lies over how fast he is–(’i am fast, ja’marr. I can outrun you.’ ‘be so for real right now.’)–he can never outpace Ja’Marr. But for this one thing–this one thing–Joe slams against a blurring Ja’Marr and uses the momentum and extra inches and pounds he’s got over the man to cage him against the nearby fridge.

Ja’Marr yelps as his back rattles against the fridge doors, magnets and receipts and photos and post-it notes not trapped between him and the door fall to the floor. One of those brightly colored humanoid magnets slam against Joe’s left toe. A polaroid of Joe and his Mom somehow balances perfectly right on top of Ja’Marr’s head before fluttering away when Ja’Marr shakes his head in furious disbelief. His beanie had fumbled off his head in the initial tackle, lying on the ground right next to Joe’s right foot. 

Joe’s left hand is pinning his man’s right shoulder against the fridge door, hips flushed against him, a leg between his thighs, right arm tucked against the side of Ja’Marr’s waist, face right up against each other like every other overly enthusiastic helmet slam in the field after a ridiculous yard run–but there’s no helmet this time, and there’s no reason for Joe to hide how his eyes slide down the length of Ja’Marr’s face to his lips, letting his gaze linger deliberately long.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Ja’Marr blusters, cheeks going deep red, eyes pinballing widely over Joe’s own features (to his lips even! how exciting.), hands curling on each of Joe’s elbows with his nails biting down through the thick fabric of his sweatshirt over his skin. “What, are you going to hit me? Break my heart? You already did, asswipe, no need to be an annoying overachiever this time! Get off of me, I swear–”

“I don’t want you to go. I never want you to leave. Ever.” Joe cuts him off brutally. Let this be the firmest truth he’s ever said in his life. “I asked you to come here. I always want to play football with you. I always want random midnight DoorDash dinners with you. You keep saying insane shit about me in interviews, have you heard me talk about you? The last KC presser I had to hold back saying I hurt you in front of 50 people sitting down with their laptops open looking at me like I’m a bug to study. I have never been normal about you. You drive me insane, stop staring at me with those cow eyes. Who the fuck lies about dressing their friends up in magazine interviews? And that fucking photoshoot! Were you planning on killing me? Tee sends me your Instagram training pics from back in May like once a week to torture me! I nearly blocked his ass, Ja’Marr, shut up.”

(like. i want the speech to be more?? idk more emotional in the confessional aspect but alas i don't know how to write shit out)

Ja’Marr looks back at him wide-eyed. He hasn’t really said anything throughout Joe’s turn of ranting, but even so Joe needs him to shut up, genuinely. This beautiful, beautiful man doesn’t know Joe loves him. Stupid. Stupid.

“Ja’Marr.” Joe says, low and hoarse. He slides his hands up to cup at his cheeks now that Ja’Marr isn’t pushing his weight back at him. The wetness of his cheeks from his previous tears seeps into Joe’s skin. “I love you.”

“Oh, wow.” Ja’Marr just says back, hoarse and dumb. This man, Joe swears.

Whatever.

Joe kisses him hard and gets dizzy with it. Ja’Marr chokes in surprise, but gets with the program quick enough.

The side of his nose presses against Ja’Marr’s, he’s biting at his bottom lips, his lashes brush against the cold wetness of his cheeks, his hands press hard against the side of Ja’Marr’s neck and he feels like he can count each heartbeat against the tender skin of his wrists pasted to Ja’Marr’s jugular.

“Hi,” he murmurs over his man’s lips, heart feeling so fucking full.

Ja’Marr laughs against his lips incredulously, eyes screwed shut and lips stretched stupid wide. The prettiest thing Joe’s ever seen in his life. Insanely, he feels that if he were to play all 12 games of the season left this morning right after separating himself from Ja’Marr, he’d throw over 300 yards each. Things love could fuel you to do–winning a championship of a sport he’s thrown his entire heart in, with a man who’s gripped it tight since he knew how to throw it to him too.

“Dumbass,” Ja’Marr murmurs back, nudging his nose to Joe’s for the softest nose kiss Joe has ever experienced, “hi to you too.”

ok bye

[oneofgodsowncreations]

shє hσpєd hєr slíght trєmвlíng wαs nσt vísíвlє tσ phíllíp. ít hαd just вєєn sσ lσng. shє hαd míssєd hím, αchєd fσr hím, lσngєd fσr hím, prαчєd fσr hím- αnd hєrє hє wαs. чєt shє fєlt sσ much guílt, mσrє thαn hєr σwn rєlíєf thαt hє wαs αlívє αnd wєll. guílt thαt shє hαd strαчєd, guílt thαt shє hαd nσt cσmє вαck sσσnєr. surєlч hє wσuld undєrstαnd hєr σвlígαtíσn tσ thє mєrmαíd wσrld. surєlч hє cσuld… σr wσuld hє?

sчrєnα wαs nσ fσσl. shє cσuld píck up thє chαngє ín hís hєαrtвєαt, thє єvαsíσn σf hís єчєs. shє knєw. hє díd nσt hαvє tσ sαч ít. shє swαllσwєd, sílєnt. αftєr αll, ít hαd вєєn σvєr twσ чєαrs. phíllíp wαs єntítlєd tσ hαppínєss. shє cσuld nσt αnd wσuld nσt єхpєct tσ hαvє hím wαítíng fσrєvєr.

вєfσrє shє knєw ít, hє wαs plαcíng thє вíвlє ín hєr hαnds. shє hєld ít fσr α mσmєnt, hєr hєαd shαkíng ín α símplє 'nσ.' "í cσuld nσt," shє sαíd, mєєtíng - trчíng tσ mєєt - hís єчєs. "чσur kíndnєss ís αpprєcíαtєd. вut чσu dσ nσt hαvє tσ, nσt shσuld чσu. í sєє чσu hαvє σthєr … cσmmítmєnts."

hєr vσícє wαs sσft αnd lσw. nσt unkínd. shє knєw ín hєr hєαrt σf hєαrts thє místαkє wαs hєrs. чєt ít stíll stung… αnd mαчвє ít αlwαчs wσuld. phíllíp wαs nσt just αn σld lσvєr. hє wαs hєr fírst lσvє, hєr σnlч lσvє. hє hαd tαught hєr sσ much αвσut hєrsєlf- sєєíng hєrsєlf thrσugh thє єчєs σf sσmєσnє whσ rєαllч lσvєd hєr hєlpєd hєr sєpαrαtє hєrsєlf frσm thє fαmílíαl mσnstєr shє fєαrєd shє wσuld вєcσmє. lєαvíng hím hαd вєєn nєхt tσ ímpσssíвlє; lσsíng hím, wσrsє.

shє hαd lσσkєd. shє hαd scσurєd. thє sєα hαd чíєldєd nσthíng, αnd shє wαs nσt α crєαturє σf thє lαnd.

gєntlч, αnd hσpíng hєr smílє wαs kínd єnσugh, shє prєssєd thє вíвlє вαck íntσ hís hαnd. "thαnk чσu. вut ít wαs σnlч tσ rєmínd mє σf чσu, αnчwαч, αnd í вєlíєvє wє mαч вє вєst lєαvíng thíngs whєrє thєч αrє."

shє hσpєd hє dídn't nσtícє hєr vσícє trєmвlє.

shє hσpєd hє nσtícєd thαt shє dídn't rєαllч mєαn thαt.

tímє wαs α funnч thíng.

ít cσuld pαss, αnd lєαvє, αnd língєr. ít cσuld crєαtє dístαncє αnd чєt nєvєr fullч rєmσvє trαcєs σf whαt wαs. ít cσuld gívє чσu fαlsє mєmσríєs αnd fαlsє єхpєctαtíσns, αnd ít cσuld trαp чσu αnd kєєp чσu αnd αllσw чσu nσ αír frσm α prísσn wíth lєss rєspítє thαn cσuld єvєr вє fσund вєnєαth thє σcєαn's surfαcє.

αnd чєt, σnє glαncє íntσ fαmílíαr єчєs cσuld cαtαpult σnє чєαrs вαck íntσ tímє.

shє hαd cσmє tσ thє shσrє lσσkíng fσr α chαngє. hєr jσurnєч undєr thє sєα hαd tαkєn α tσll σn hєr. fαmílч míssíσns, lσst trєαsurє- ít hαd cσst hєr mσrє thαn shє hαd hσpєd tσ spєnd. чєαrs ín thє sєrvícє σf thє spαnísh quєєn, lσckєd íntσ lєgs… shє hαd thσught σnlч thє sєα cσuld вє hєr rєmєdч, σnlч thє wαtєr's єmвrαcє cσuld вє hєr thєrαpч. чєt shє wαs rєstlєss, sєαrchíng fσr sσmєthíng shє cσuld nєvєr trulч fínd nσ mαttєr hσw hαrd shє sєαrchєd.

sчrєnα hαd α gíft wíth lαnguαgєs. ít cαmє frσm вєíng α mєrmαíd αnd frσm вєíng sσ íntuítívє rєgαrdíng thσughts, íntєntíσns, αnd єmσtíσns. shє hαd nєvєr quítє hαd wσrds fσr whαt wαs єncαpsulαtíng hєr- thє єnglísh sαíd, "í míss чσu," вut ít wαs thє frєnch whσ cαpturєd hєr hєαrt σn thє mαttєr ín hσw thєч put ít- "чσu αrє míssíng frσm mє."

вut shє wαs surє hє cσuld nєvєr fσrgívє hєr dístαncє.

tσσ much tímє undєrwαtєr hαd mαdє hєr fσrgєtful. tσσ much tímє wíth hєr sístєrs hαd rσввєd hєr σf hєr chσícєs αnd mєmσríєs. ít wαs nσt hєr chσícє- shє hαd nσt wαntєd tσ fσrgєt fσr α mσmєnt. fulfíllíng α fαmílíαl dutч tσ rєtríєvє thєír lσst trєαsurє hαd вєєn αn σвlígαtíσn, αnd whєn ít wαs σvєr, shє wαs cєrtαín tσσ much tímє hαd pαssєd. hαd phíllíp fσrgσttєn hєr cσmplєtєlч? wσuld hє єvєr lσvє hєr αgαín?

shє símplч wαs αfrαíd tσ fínd σut.

чєt.

hєr вrєαth cαught ín hєr thrσαt.

shє hαd вєєn rєαchíng frσ α вσσk ín thє mαrkєt, α вíвlє σf αll thíngs- mєmσríєs, cσmfσrt - αnd hαd nσt quítє lσσkєd whєrє shє wαs gσíng--

untíl hє crαshєd íntσ hєr, tσσ, αnd thєír єчєs mєt, thє dístαncє вєtwєєn thєm fínαllч cєαsíng. hєr hαnds trєmвlєd; shє nєαrlч drσppєd thє вíвlє. thє shσpcαrt kєєpєr snαtchєd ít σut σf hєr hαnds, вut shє wαs unαffєctєd. hєr whσlє wσrld hαd pαusєd, lσckєd íntσ α fαmílíαr fαcє вєfσrє hєr.

σnlч σnє smαll, símplє wσrd єscαpєd hєr líps, αs hєr fєαturєs wαrmєd αnd hєr smílє rєαchєd hєr єчєs. α míllíσn чєαrs σf αgσnч, wσndєr, αnd sєpαrαtíσn vαníshєd αs shє sαíd, "hєllσ."

[brotherhumphrey]

i spent a lot of time in the infirmary today monitoring one of the unwell laymen; he was asleep most of the time, and so my eyes drifted to the various herbs on the shelves. in light of this, here’s what your favourite herb says about you:

tansy: you’re one of my fun girlies. you’re always down for a good time, you always match the other person’s vibe, you’re the backbone of every banquet you’ve ever attended. you definitely know the lyrics to all the latest hymns. 

agrimony: i don’t know what to tell you. if your favourite herb is agrimony, that’s an autism diagnosis right there. my favourite herb is also agrimony, but that’s unrelated. 

radish: it’s giving high maintenance. and that doesn’t have to be a bad thing! because, ultimately, even though you’re high maintenance, and even though to use radish for painful urination you have to boil it and reduce it and then make a poultice and it takes a long time, in the end, it’s worth it! everyone needs different things— and that’s okay!

wormwood: you’re one of the most chill people i know, to the point where i begin to worry. someone could tell you that they saw the abbot and the prior making out in the refectory and you wouldn’t react at ALL. you definitely wouldn’t pass the knowledge on to anyone else. anyway unrelatedly. i have something to talk to you about. it’s to do with something i saw in the refectory. 

mint: it is only through my love for all of god’s creatures, no matter how initially loathsome, that i respect you at all. change your ways; and soon. 

sage: a basic choice. i bet your favourite prayer time is vespers too. find something more original. 

rosemary: <33333 love you bestie never stop believing in yourself. please nobody ever show this sweet summer child an ao3 account or let them speak to brother eustace

[anincompletelist]

happy wednesday! :D

HELLO I know I have missed at least the last one (if not two) rounds of tags but I have the brain space to share today so THANK YOU @onthewaytosomewhere @welcometololaland @littlemisskittentoes @kiwiana-writes

@suseagull04 @msmarvelouswinchester @priincebutt @itsmaybitheway

@thinkof-england @thedramasummer @nocoastposts @agostobuwan for the lovely tags! I am very much looking forward to reading through all of these this afternoon! <33333

today's snip is a bit longer, so I'll slip it under the cut! I *think* this is the first time I've debuted this guy so.... enjoy? kdjhfkjhsgkfhjg

hope you're all well! xx

+

“So… I guess you’ve probably seen the news,” Alex says from the doorway, more so to his shuffling feet than to Henry himself. 

“I usually try to actively avoid watching the news,” Henry tells him. “You’ll have to be more specific.” 

“Right. The, uh, Claremont-Diaz-for-2040-thing?” 

“Ah, yes,” Henry nods, his fingers twitching where they’re tucked underneath his crossed arms. “Your dream come true. Your parents must be so proud.” 

Alex’s face twists up into an odd half-grimace, half-smile, a divot between his brows as he surveys his wringing hands. “Anyway. I was kind of hoping that…” 

“If you’re looking for some kind of endorsement or political favor I’m afraid I’m not involved in any of that anymore.” 

His gaze finally snaps to Henry, shaking his head. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t— I just…” 

He sighs, dropping his hands, lifting one to drag through his curls, much longer than Henry remembers and a little silver with age. He’s always been able to tell when Alex was overthinking, even if they were never close. That much, at least, hasn’t changed. 

“I was wondering if I could live with you. For a little while. Here,” Alex says finally. 

Henry blinks. “Sorry?” 

“I was wondering,” Alex huffs, his eyes rolling briefly, “if I could live with you.” 

It doesn’t make any sense. Alex is a well known politician back in New York, the primary presidential candidate for the upcoming election. Henry presumes he could likely stay just about anywhere he’d like, and he has an exceedingly difficult time believing that that place is in the foothills of Finland with the ex-prince he’d made very clear on several occasions he, quite emphatically, disliked. 

The damage control hadn’t worked, because Henry was damaged enough for the both of them. The avoiding was better. He’d thought he could be rid of Alex for good. Could finally put to rest the feelings he’d had in his youth, shove them under the years that have built up between them since then and pretend they never existed in the first place.

Staring into his wide, hopeful, bottomless brown eyes, the same fire in them from years past, Henry thinks he really should have known better. 

“I’m sorry,” Henry murmurs, his throat tight, “it sounds like you’re asking me if you could live here.” 

Alex only shrugs. “Well, I mean. It should, probably. Since that’s what I’m doing.”

+

no pressure, of course, and OPEN TAG!

@wordsofhoneydew @firenati0n @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @affectionatelyrs

@cha-melodius @anchoredarchangel @rmd-writes @read-and-write-

@magicandarchery @happiness-of-the-pursuit @getmehighonmagic @junebugclaremontdiaz

@bigassbowlingballhead @eusuntgratie @inexplicablymine @whimsymanaged

(here's hoping the tags work friends jshdkjshgkfhjg <333)

xx