#are there still pieces i wish I've gotten? yes

[per-the-jellicle-magician]

The final tally of the Warsaw costumes I do own now is:

2 full Misto costumes (2 sets of: top, pants, vest and gloves)

1 full Munk (both versions of the top, pants, both versions of gloves, detachable fur shoulder pad, collar)

1 full Bomba (unitard, gloves, shoes)

2 Cassandra unitards

2 Macavity tops

1 par of Old D pants

1 pair of Tugger gloves

1 pair of Grizabella tights

1 pair of gloves that I'm guessing were likely Sierściuch's ?

1 pair of gloves that honestly could have belonged to any grey coloured character, likely a male one

[vivwritesfics]

Going to be a little self indulgent but how about Lestappen or Charlando and reader is so overworked and exhausted from studying. But she’s worn herself down so bad while the boys were gone they come back to her like that! Hope this is okay, I haven’t requested something in so long 🥺🩵💙🩵

Grief makes me write apparently

"Yes Max, I promise I'll sleep," Y/N said into the phone as she held it between her head and her shoulder. "I'll just stay up long enough to watch the first corner."

"Mijn liefje, no. You've got a test tomorrow; you need sleep," Max said as he sat in his drivers room, using the last piece of privacy he had before the race. "Promise me you'll prioritise sleep over us."

Actually, Y/N's test was that day. Her test was in six hours, actually, and she hadn't yet gotten any sleep. She'd been either calling her boyfriends while he could or watching videos of them online. Y/N had tried to sleep. And if she wasn't sleeping, she was trying to study, but even that was proving fruitless.

"Okay, Maxie, I'll try," she muttered and wished him good luck for the race. They said goodbye and around a thousand 'I love you's' before Y/N hung up.

She scrolled down to the next name on her contact list.

Lightning Mclerc 🏎💖

Y/N swiped her finger across the screen and pressed the phone against her ear.

There was a good minute before Charles picked up the phone. "Chérie!" Charles cheered as he answered the phone. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

Y/N let out something of a sigh as she leaned back in her desk chair. "I've already done this with Max," she mumbled.

"So you should be sleeping."

"I just wanted to wish you good luck before the race."

"Aw," she heard Charles say down the phone. "Thank you, mon amour. Good luck with your test tomorrow."

She thanked him quickly. "Charlie," she began, dragging out the eeeee. "When are you guys coming home?"

"Soon, baby. As soon as the race is over, Max and I will come home to you."

"Thank you, Charlie. I miss you guys so much."

"I miss you too, Chérie."

After making her promise to try and get some sleep, Y/N hung up the phone. But she couldn't sleep. She had the build up to the race on in the background as she tried to study for her test and complete her essay. It wasn't going to tell.

Within half an hour Y/N was asleep, drooling on her notes.

She woke just a few hours later to her phone, blaring in her ear. She woke with a start, almost falling out of her chair. "Holy shit," she mumbled, wiping the drool from her face. Her notes were a mess, the ink smudged to the point of being unreadable. "Fuck, shit, fuck," she mumbled as she tried to sort through them.

Y/N made her way out to her test. She wasn't prepared, not in the slightest. The boys had probably just finished her race by the time she was heading out towards her campus.

Throughout the entire test, Y/N was sweating. Her hands were shaking as she wrote, but she got through it. She answered every question with little confidence, but the questions were answered, at least.

After the test, Y/N didn't speak to anybody. She walked out of her exam and made her way straight home, straight into her bed, trying her best to sleep.

She couldn't sleep. No. The test may have been over, but Y/n couldn't stop thinking about it. She couldn't go back, couldn't change her answers now, but she was still stressed about it.

Suddenly, the door to her apartment opened. Y/N jumped out of her bed, dressed in Charles' old Ferrari shirt, and made her way to the door.

There they were. Her boys. Tired and exhausted after the first ever race in Vegas, but they were there. They could have gone home to Monaco, but they'd gone to Y/N's instead.

"Oh my god," she muttered as she walked into their awaiting arms. "You're here. You're actually here." Her face was buried in Charles' chest as Max wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

"We missed you too, Schat. So, so much," he said, pressing a kiss to her neck.

"How was your test, Chérie?" Asked Charles as Max took their things into the bedroom.

Y/N didn't answer. She kept her face buried in Charles' chest as he walked her further into the apartment. Not good, that much he could pick up on. The test hadn't gone well at all.

When Charles released her, Max grabbed her shoulders and turned her towards him. "You look so tired, schat. Have you been sleeping?"

She nodded her head. Maybe it wasn't enough sleep, but it was still sleep. "But you guys must be tired, too," she said, leaning against them.

The boys settled on the sofa as Y/N ran to grab her laptop. "What're you doing?" Charles asked as she settled down between them.

"Uni work," she answered quickly as she opened the lid.

Before she could type in her passcode, Max pushed the laptop shut. "No, baby. You've just had a test. You can relax, now," he said as he placed her laptop down.

Reluctantly, Y/N accepted it. She cuddled up to her boys as the three of them watched television. If they weren't going to let her burnout, so be it (actually no, she was very grateful that they were forcing her to take a break. Y/N never would have done it on her own.).

[edgeray]

Ray! 🍅 anon here, I said I wasn't going to request but there's one idea I've been really, REALLY itching at.

So you know how you reblogged "cold nights" by beiibeii? Yeah about that... I think I cooked an angst idea of this on a related tangent? (If you choose to write this, ofc)

How about Mother!Reader who is faced with the same scenario of Arle neglecting them to the point that she loses hope in their relationship? Think of the angst when the children constantly remind their Father of important dates but she's away or somehow missing most of them because of work. To the point reader just implies for them to stop trying and accepts the fact that they married Arlecchino but is now simply the Knave's wife? Like even the children can see them losing hope which is why they sometimes lowkey plead with their Father to actually pay more attention to Mother. Mother marrying Father means that Mother is strong but behind their strong facade you can see their sadness! You can feel their loneliness! And their sense of isolation and sorrowful acceptance of their new reality. And Arle does not pick up on the subtle signs until it's Too Late. Like. Reader in the coffin Late.

And as the Knave's wife Reader does need to undertake missions like in "I am Fine in Your Arms" but because reader has lost so much hope in living a wife outside of being the Knave's wife, reader does not make an effort to return alive. The angst of the burial, maybe the children blaming their Father etc. The really young ones aside, I don't think they would be actively angry with their Father, just very, VERY, disappointed. HotH would lose its warmth for a while before Lyney, Lynette and Freminet try their best to build it back (but of course, it never becomes as warm as it used to be)

Whether or not you choose to give this one a happy ending is up to you, but on my end the only happy ending that I cooked up for them is that Arle wakes up in the next Samsara with all these memories of losing Reader and prevents the relationship from going South in the first place. (Bonus points if Reader also has the memories and compares it to how they were treated by Arle previously, makes a comparison, and goes "How I wish this were my Arle" without knowing that it actually IS their Arle, just acknowledging she fucked up BIG time and is now making heavy amends for it. and Arle Knows because of that look that Reader gives her, sorrow and joy in a complex blend.)

...I think by now you can tell that I'm an angst writer too HAHSHHSHA Nobody leaves my fics without getting a knife and I promise it's just for the plot (like we always say).

I've still been keeping up with your writings (Beauty and The Beast actually fits, holy-) (Someone send Siren!Arle a whole farmhouse of ham for her consumption please) and yes I agree that you've been pumping out bangers after bangers. (I mean. Given that, you probably can afford to be a little indulgent? If writing this much quality about your muse doesn't give you the OK to put your hands all over them, abs and all, what does?)

As always, prioritise your sanity and schedule first, stay well rested and hydrated!

Lost Warmth

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N -  Link to my momma's (@beiibeiii) piece right here. If I see you read this before reading the masterpiece I just linked, know that I am a very disappointed axolotl. 😔  Anyways, you might be able to tell just how long this has been sitting in my inbox… haha… my bad guys. T^T. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write more angst. :3 And thank you for the additional comments 🍅 anon. I do have quite a soft spot for siren! arle, seeing that she was my first request (and requested from my momma :3). Wanted this to be a little longer, but I do have to wake up earlier tomorrow, so this is what you get T^T. Hopefully it's still good. Content warnings / info - angst, character death (duh), reader is referred to as ‘Mother’ but is otherwise GN!, 1.4k words

Cold is a feeling you've long gotten used to. Cold is your husband's dismissal of your existence, with every interaction ending with her blunt words and back towards you, leaving you with a crumbling heart. Cold are the long nights as you anxiously wait for Arlecchino's appearance for a candlelit dinner you spent half the day preparing, only for her never to return until you fell to exhaustion on the couch, a flower bouquet that remains unreceived in your hands. Cold is the creeping loneliness in the late hours of the night, when you've finally grown tired of anticipating someone that will never come, and returned to bed alone. Cold is the way you shiver underneath the thickest of blankets, no one's body warmth to sink into, no one's softly whispered words into your ear to drift you to sleep. Cold is when instead of your husband, only dim stars, a bottle of liquor, and the tears that stream your face join you in bed.

When was the last time you had felt warmth? 

You recall when the Knave first started courting you, how gentlemanly she was for such a rumored cruel Harbinger. You were first just a caretaker of the House of the Hearth, this small orphanage which you quickly found to be home for you. You couldn't help but adore the endearing children, watching as you slowly became a staple in this family. Despite your best efforts of hiding it, Arlecchino noticed when you snuck in the occasional pastry or cake from the town's most lavious bakery for the children, out of your own paycheck as well. It was then, your husband admitted, when she first fell for you. It had taken her months of encouragement from her ‘pestering’ children before she asked you out, and it was impossible to not fall for her charm.

How could you not? Not when she held you like you were her world. Not when she viewed you higher than the Tsaritsa herself. Not when her touch was heavenly, her words silky and sweet. When she proposed to you, your heart leapt with levity, and you thought your life was perfect now. A warm house, fitted with warm parents, that was what you had had, you had never felt so content. 

Then came the long nights. Nights when she trudged home later than usual, where she fell asleep without a word but sunk into your arms still. Then she started forgetting, forgetting about the dates and birthdays, and anniversaries more and more. At first, you chalked it up to her demanding Harbinger duties, but as time grew and the excuses started to run out, the perfect life you knew was crumbling. 

You became aware of this two years after your marriage when you had been preparing dinner for the two of you once she arrived home, slow cooking a steak since the early hours of the morning. Just as you exited the kitchen, you heard some children surrounding your husband before she left for another Harbinger meeting, telling her that you had a surprise for her once she came home and how excited you were for her to enjoy a new recipe you created. Your heart swelled with hope and appreciation for your children, especially when Arlecchino promised she would return in time. 

You should have known better.

You ate your tear-ridden steak alone and went to bed, leaving the steak out for her for whenever she returned home. Just like how you fell asleep, you woke up without your husband's presence, and when you arrived at the kitchen, the meat and the note besides the plate were untouched. 

You tried to eat the cold steak for lunch as well. You threw it away at the first bite. That day, you gathered your children, pleading them not to ‘pester’ Father with more reminders, as she was very busy. All that you gained back from the children was pitied expressions, and the agony in your chest worsened. Your children could pity you, but your husband couldn't? Even with your husband's coldness, you still carried out your Mother role, if only for the children. You cannot deny that the children's antics helped you forget the ever-present void inside you, caused by Arlecchino. 

You never learned the reason for Arlecchino's behavior, why she had grown so cold towards you. Now, you suppose, you would never know.  

Red fills your hazy vision as you lay on the ground, your entire body aching and fatigued, desperate gasps for air while your heart pounds in your eardrums. Your side was sliced, and the crimson liquid quickly poured out of the wound while you tried to stop the bleeding, but to no avail. 

This is your end, you think to yourself as you weakly turn on your side, every nerve in your body protesting against the movement. Your bloodied hand comes into view, your engagement and wedding ring gleaming slightly underneath the blood. The rings bring your thoughts to Arlecchino–oh, how you imagine the common disappointment in her otherwise apathetic expression, disappointment at your mission's failure. Your eyes bubbled and blurred with tears, vivid memories of your wedding flashing through your mind. The wedding ring is beautiful, still polished with that bold scarlet, the same color of her eyes, the same eyes you could never stop drowning in.

Would she even know your absence? Would she ever acknowledge you, treat you properly like her partner even if you did return? You doubt it. Did you want to return a cold bed, to a husband that does not love you, to a house no longer warm? 

It's warm. 

Your body feels like fire courses through your veins as you feel inexplicably hot, yet it's a welcomed heat. It's the first time you've felt this, but it feels familiar, comforting, like a hearth, and you want nothing more than to surrender to it. It soothes your heartbeat and calms your breath, easing your body as if you were to sink into the most plush of beds, swallowed by the thickest of blankets. The warmth coils around you, wrapping you like a cozy embrace, evoking you to sleep. Your eyes flutter shutter, a faint smile plastered on your lips.

It feels just like Peruere's arms. 

— 

Arlecchino receives a letter addressed to her on the third day you've been sent on a mission. The contents make her drop the paper, and she rushes outside, without an additional word, leaving the House. 

The children do not see her until she returns late into the night, a body wrapped in cloth in her arms. Arlecchino raised her children to be smart, to be attentive, to be logical. Whose body it is, they realize with little difficulty. 

The children weep that night. Arlecchino does not. How can she, when her source of emotions is gone? 

The burial takes place soon afterwards. As your body is placed into the ground, Arlecchino can feel the weight of her children's stare on her back. The charged tension between her and the children is palpable without words. She cannot discern which of the two reactions cut deeper. The seething fury underneath the oppressive grief for the young ones, having to lose another parent, or the crushing dismay inhabited by the older ones, specifically the twins and Freminet. 

Their thoughts are clear, even when none of them speak out loud. 

How could you fail Mother?

The House of the Hearth no longer suits the orphanage's name, not with your missing presence. There is no warmth, no matter how much the trio tries to fuel a lost flame. Even with Arlecchin's pyro vision, it is futile.

Arlecchino stands before your gravestone, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in her hand, and she rests it beside the other bouquets by your grave. Six bouquets in total, for each day after your burial. 

“For all the flowers, I should have given you, my love,” she whispers as she addresses you, glancing up to the heavens. The last two words make her feel like a fraud, undeserving of calling you hers, when she had clearly never shown so. 

Arlecchino, the Knave, the Fatui Harbinger, does not plead, does not beg, does not kneel. However, her knees drop to her dirt, and she grovels. “Please… wait for me one more time, my dear. Once I meet you again, I promise I'll never leave you alone, I'll never let you out of my arms again.”

There is no reply. 

Arlecchino feels cold. 

[talaok]

hi!!! request for joel being readers first kiss. He won’t go any further than kissing but they have a LOT of fun kissing

thx

post outbreak jackson pls

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: very brief talk of some sexual themes at the end, but the rest is... you guessed it, kissing!

a/n: 1000/10 idea i literally blushed when you sent it. idk about the execution tho

You were so incredibly embarrassed when you told him, when you finally had to confess that you had no experience, and by that I mean really none, absolutely zero.

But then again what could he have expected?

perhaps he knew right from the moment he set eyes on you, and perhaps... perhaps he liked it.

It oozed from your every pore... your innocence, it was in the way you couldn't meet his gaze, in the way you shivered when his hand grazed against your arm, in the shyness in your voice... it was in everything... it was all of you.

But he nicked at it, piece by piece, brick by brick, he had gotten to know you... maybe a little too much.

He had realized at one point, too late he'd grow to admit, that he liked you, really liked you, in a way he hadn't experienced in ages, in a way that made him feel sixteen all over again.

And yes you were young... much too young for him, and yes you were complete opposites, him, a rough man with enough blood on his hands to make a serial killer's skin crawl, and you, you a pretty little thing who'd lived her whole life in Jackson, safe from the atrocities of the real word... but still, still he he couldn't stop his old heart from beating faster when he was with you.

And that's why one day, one cold, windy day, as snow fell to the ground and you held onto his arm as if it was a life jacket, while he walked you back home, he couldn't do anything but tell the truth.

"Joel" you had said right outside your front door.

"yes sweetheart?" he asked, watching your pretty face fill with dread

"Joel I... I like you"

You'd told him so casually, so simply, that for a moment he wondered if he had imagined it.

But you had misinterpreted his pause all wrong

"I-I'm sorry nevermind, pretend I didn'-"

"no, no I'm sorry" he shook his head, forcing himself out of his trance "You said you like me darlin'?" he asked, taking a step closer to you so he was right there before you, looking down at the gorgeous girl who'd just made all his wishes come true.

"mh-mh" you nodded shily

And at that, he smiled, placing a hand on your reddening cheek, as his thumb gently stroked it

"well then we're in luck" he'd murmured "cause I happen to like you too sweetheart" he promised "a lot"

"r-really?" Your eyes sparked with joy

"of course baby" he breathed, bending down to meet his lips with yours instinctively before your voice stopped him

"wait-" you said

"oh, I'm sorry, I'm going too fast"

"n-no you're not it's just that..."

it was getting harder to meet his gaze again

"if you wanna wait that's ok, sweetie"

"n-no I don't wanna wait, Joel, it's just that-"

"what is it?"

A loud sigh left your mouth before you could respond

"I've never... I've never kissed anybody"

His mouth fell open slightly at the confession, but he recovered quickly, now both his hands holding your pretty face.

"oh" he breathed "that's ok sweetheart, we can wait"

"no I want to kiss you Joel, I really really do... but- but I'm scared I won't be... good at it"

"oh baby" he couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle "You'll be great at it, don't you worry"

Your heart was racing and your breathing hitched as you looked up into his hazel eyes

"do you think- do you think you could... teach me?"

Now Joel Miller didn't deem himself a romantic, but the way you said that... the way you gazed dreamily and both anxiously into his eyes as you spoke those words... he had to stop a moment to thank whoever was up there for having allowed him to meet you.

"of course I can" he said

"yeah?"

"there's nothing I'd like more baby"

And that was it, you were smiling like a kid in a candy store

"s-so what do I do?"

His hands were still on your face, holding you in a way that made your knees weak

"just follow my lead, I'll go slow, don't worry"

You nodded at that, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours and you were- you were giving your first ever kiss.

You got up on your tiptoes and held onto his arms as you closed your eyes and got lost in the feeling- and wow- you had only read in books about it and seen it in a couple of the movies they showed in Jackson, but this... this was just amazing, it felt like you were dreaming, like you had ascended to another universe.

He had kept his promise, he did go slow, but it felt heavenly for him too nonetheless.

He leaned away after what was probably an eternity, to look back at you and confirm this was all real

"so?" he asked, "how was it?"

You couldn't help but giggle as you almost jumped out of your skin from the happiness.

"good" you grinned "very very good"

"mmmhh" he hummed, moving one of his hands to your waist to bring you closer to him "'s that right"

"yeah" you breathed so lowly he wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been an inch away from your face

"well I'm glad" he smirked, kissing you on the cheek this time "Hopefully we'll do that again then"

"yes please" 

He chuckled at that, not leaning away

"would you like a goodnight kiss?"

Not a split second passed that you had already answered

"yes" you nodded, leaning up already "yes please"

And that was how it all started.

That was the night you found your true calling... kissing, and not only that, but kissing Joel Miller.

God, there was nothing better than it,

feeling his beard stroke your cheek, the way his strong hands held you as he did, the way he tasted, the way his warmth spread all over your body, it was all just... perfect

And the coolest thing was that when he said he was gonna teach you, he meant it.

Who knew there were so many ways you could kiss someone?

There were the French kisses, the kisses on the neck, the "special kisses" aka hickeys you loved giving him and that he loved pretending not to like, then the kisses standing up, laying down, and your personal favorite: kissing him while sitting on his lap, and then of course as time went on you both found out (although him especially) how much fun it was to kiss in public, at the bar, on patrol, you name it, it didn't matter, what mattered was that his lips were on yours and his arms were around you (and even if he would have never admitted it, he loved it because he loved showing everyone you were his, and he was yours).

If it were up to you, you'd spend your whole life like that, diving your fingers into his hair as his hands explored every inch of your body, your face, your hips, your ass, your belly (above clothes of course), making you shiver and whimper with every movement.

But it was only just kissing, Joel made a promise to himself he was gonna wait, and it's not that he didn't want to go further, god only knew how many times his dick got hard just by giving you a chaste kiss on the lips as he felt your body pressed against his (and yes that did make him feel like a hormonal teenager again, but then again, everything about you did), so no it definitely wasn't that, and he didn't know if it was because he felt guilty or in some way, like he would be doing something wrong, but for now, all he knew was that he needed to wait, wait until he was sure you were sure about him, and about you.

And for now... for now, you were more than happy with it, counting down the seconds until you'd get a taste of him again.

[majinbangus]

Majin~ idk if my original ask sent so I'm gonna send it again just in case, Tumblr must find my asks delicious bc they get eaten like 85% of the time 🥲

Hello! Idk it you're taking requests now, or if you've already done this prompt/theme before, but I was wondering what it'd be like to be one of the many people Johnny flirts with on base, and you brush it off bc he's such a flirt. And yes, while Johnny will flirt with just about anyone bc thats his default setting, he's low-key going out of his mind bc he wants you to see that with you, it's different! It's genuine and sincere! What will it take for you to realize that the only person he's got a huge crush on is you?

Idk just wanted to see this from your perspective! No worries if you don't feel like writing anything for this, still love ya!! 😘

hey anon, sorry for the wait, getting my groove back slowly, but here it is. i might do another version of this some other time tho bc i had another vision for it but ended up with this

You don't know why he's been so affectionate with you lately. His playful flirting has gotten excessive, too. It's weird. He's being weird.

It's not like you dislike the attention, but you know he doesn't mean anything by it. That's just how he is. You know you're firmly designated as ‘friend’ in his eyes. A painful fact you've known ever since he made that comment to his ex about never seeing you in a different light because you ‘weren't his type.’ 

Yeah, that stung a bit, and you were a little offended, but that was more ego talking and less romantic feelings at the time. 

Unfortunately, things have changed. Feelings have changed. Yours, specifically.

You don't quite remember when exactly it happened, but you know it was sometime during the last few months of his last relationship. That was an agonizing time, and over a year since the end of that relationship plus several flings later, you're still pathetically pining over a man who will never see you as anything more than a friend because quote ‘he could never be attracted to someone who wasn’t his type’ unquote.

Now, you have to put on a smile and pretend it doesn't make your heart malfunction whenever he flashes that dimpled smile at you, or when he rests an arm over your shoulder while he walks next to you calling you all sorts of pet names he's never called you before. Not to mention all the times he feeds you a piece of his lunch, and when he grabs your wrist and makes you feed him. That barely scratches the surface of his newfound behavior around you.

Soap has never shown you more flirtation than the usual shallow amount he gives to anyone he's not dating. To be bathed in it out of nowhere is a shock to your system. An enigma you can't comprehend, nor are you eager to question it lest you lose his sudden affection. And despite the delusional part of you wishing he meant something by it, deep down you know it's simply false hope making you imagine the romantic adoration reflecting in those pretty ocean blues of his.

“–so what do you say?”

“I'm sorry, what?” You blink a few times, trying to force yourself to focus on Soap and not how bright his eyes are, or how warm his body feels pressed up against yours with his arm slung around your shoulder. He's so close, it's making your heart do fireworks.

“I asked if you wanna meet up next time we're on leave? We rarely hang out outside of work and drinks at the pub.”

“I can't.” It's not that you don't want to, but you don't really see the logic behind it, either. “One, we don’t live remotely close to each other, and two, I have family coming to visit.”

Soap laughs at your excuses, tightening his arm and pulling you impossibly closer. “That just means I can meet them, love! I've been meaning to sight see where you’re from anyway!”

It's your turn to bark out an incredulous laugh. “Sight see what? Soap, the city I live in is shit.”

“Och, can't be that bad if the locals are half as lovely as you, darlin’.”

“That was terrible!” You giggle, nearly doubling over at his cheesy flirtation, but despite yourself, you can't stop the fluttering in your heart, hoping he doesn't realize how much you actually like his attention and stupid charming words, or how you can barely share the same space with him without feeling like your chest is going to burst, or the obvious hearts in your eyes every time you look at him. “Please tell me you use better lines than that!”

Soap pays no mind to your laughter with that lopsided smile on his lips. He stares at you with those stupid, pretty blue eyes, strong arm still around you almost as if he's staking some kind of claim on you, like a leash or collar. You wish that was the case. You'd give anything to be marked as his.

“They seemed to work for me so far.” 

“Oh, really?”

“Aye.”

“Psh, then save the cheese for someone you want.”

“What if I want you?”

“What?” He sounds so earnest you have to stop a moment, shrugging off his arm, and turning to face him. Soap doesn’t flinch, staring back at you with such intensity you laugh uncomfortably to ease the growing tension in your chest. “Ha, ha. Very funny, Soap. You almost got me.”

“I’m being serious. I want you.”

“Since when?”

It’s a genuine question. You’re not playing dumb intentionally–well, maybe a little–but after so long of pining after him, this is something you need him to spell out for you. Even then, a part of you is ready to laugh off whatever he says next. 

Because what you have with Soap doesn’t go any deeper than a close friendship. It never has and never will be anything more than that. Even when you want it to be more, you know he’d never love someone like you. 

“Soap?” You tilt your head at him when he doesn’t answer. His smile has dropped and he’s looking at you with that cute frown of his you’ve always loved. The one when he’s deep in thought, doing all sorts of calculations or analysis on whatever has him stumped. 

“I don’t know how I can be any clearer, hen.” He talks slowly. Low and soft as if in disbelief. “Thought I’ve been obvious with my flirtin.”

“We ‘flirt’ all the time!” You laugh, trying to deflect the growing hope you feel. “We’re friends, Soap. Stop messing with me! Besides, I know I’m not your type.”

Surprisingly, he sounds offended when he asks, “Where’d you get that idea?” 

“What, that I’m not your type? You said it.”

“When?”

“When you were with what’s-her-face? The crazy possessive instagram model.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’, that always stuck with me, so thanks for that.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

You give a derisive laugh. “Then why’d you say it?”

“She was insecure.” Soap furrows his brows in regret, running a hand through his mohawk. “I thought I liked her at the time, so I said it to make her feel better. She didn't like you.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” You mutter bitterly. “I respected boundaries, and she always thought I was trying to ‘steal you from her.’”

Soap mumbles under his breath, “Don’t think I would have complained if you did.”

“What was that?”

“Nothin’, bon.” He sighs, the tension falling out of his shoulders before he squares them again, staring at you in a way that makes your breath catch. “Listen. I know it might be hard to believe, but I’m not takin’ the piss. If you give me the chance, let me prove how serious I am about you.”

“Soap…”

“Darlin’...”

Fuck. A flash of those blue eyes and you can feel yourself hope. Would it really hurt to give in? Just this once? Maybe, maybe not.

Sighing, you inwardly scold yourself knowing you’re jumping headfirst into the unknown, but…

 “Fine. One chance.”

Soap’s never broken that trust before, and from the grin on his face, it tells you he’ll always be there to catch you.

“One chance is all I need.”

[somewhereincairparavel]

If Jason's character had been written to its fullest potential, as you and many others have discussed several times, do you think that there would still be a large amount of favouritism towards Percy or do you think there would just be people arguing over who's better?

Personally I like to think that if we had gotten a few books documenting Jason's time at Camp Jupiter prior to the release of The Lost Hero, people would've had time to warm up to Jason a bit more and develop a fondness for his character and then the second option probably would've happened but what do you think?

my inbox was sort of jammed w asks so I'm sorry this took so long anon! i wanted this post to be more in-depth and not lazily written so I waited for a while to get my motivation recharged again, i hope this post reaches you somehow haha

my take on this, is that yes, jason would've gained more support than he did originally, and there wouldn't have been an agressive bandwagon of people jumping on the slander train, but he would still be somewhat disliked/suppressed imo.

from what I've observed the hate doesn't just stem fom him being uninteresting, it's combined with a lot of people's attachment towards percy, that they gatekeep him and are agressive to anyone who even alludes that other characters have a chance of being more interesting/powerful if rick hadn't played favourites. (like hazel, nico, thalia, etc)

i think you'll get a better perspective with this example I'll be giving you from one of my observations (i sound like a philosophy professor pfft)

I was on the r/camphalfblood reddit once, and a post came up on my feed, the person went on to rant about how jason shouldn't be 'trying so hard to suck up to nico by being so overbearing' and that they 'wished it wasn't jason with nico in that scene, it should've been someone else' and that rick shouldn't have made jason so nice and understanding about it. they were outright bashing him for being supportive?? idk it was clear they favoured percy over him and had some kind of prejudice against jason.

i didn't even understand what op was so pressed about. that jason wasn't being homophobic and was being a supportive ally? lol thankfully the comments went off and a few of them said 'you're saying this but you would be bashing jason if he wasn't comforting nico as well, jason can never win in the fandom' and that was VERY true.

I've seen people say that jason shouldn't have been written to be a very handsome heartthrob either and that they were very annoyed that rick kept emphasizing his good looks, making him 'too perfect' but that person failed to acknowledge that rick emphasized percy's attractiveness way more than he did jason lol but that was apparently completely alright (to me it just translated to 'how dare rick make jason as good looking as percy, only percy is allowed to be hot, jason deserved to look like an ugly rat' LOL)

so you can see how people pick on him about the most trivial things ever to 'defend' percy from imaginary arguments/rivalry lol

if jason was written well, they'd still find a way to hate on him, probably tossing the 'hes such a gary stu he has no flaws' in there aswell

funny thing is that they hated him for being too perfect and not making mistakes, but proceeded to SHRED him to pieces during MOA when he said he was suspicious of nico. didn't you just claim that he needed flaws? but the moment he displays it you are driven off of the handle??

I do have an interesting perspective that works in jason's favour tho, where I'm willing to bet that atleast 80% of the fandom would've been sympathetic to his struggle and he would've become a fan favourite, even going as far as to rival percy's fame, where, like you mentioned, there would've been equal percy and jason stans and it would've become a debate as to who is better. (hint: villian jason grace) send me an ask if you want me to elaborate on this ;)

[scribbling-dragon]

45 and flower husbands (or maybe emberfrost/snowbugs :eyes:) for the ask game!

breath from death

summary:

“Oh, love…” the sheer agony in Scott’s voice is enough to make Tango crack his eyes open, watery from his subsequent coughing fits, tears continuing to bead up as he tries to bring Scott’s shape into focus. When he does, he almost wishes he hadn’t, having to resist the urge to recoil from the way Scott is looking at him.

(ao3 link)

(2,473 words)

hdjsk this was meant to be more angsty than it actually was,, i just made tango into a bit of a loser tbh. but! hope you enjoy the snowbugs (i can't lie the only reason i wrote them is bc i loved the name hdsjhsjk). did i see scott gift tango a heart and go a little silly? yes. yes i did

also! if you liked this and want to send in another request the list of prompts is here! i've got a lotta free time at the moment, so i'll definitely be writing stuff a lot more than i have been recently

“Ooh, Skizz really wasn’t lying, hm?”

Tango glances up at the voice, not even bothering to lean away from the bush he’s made himself a comfy spot against. Or as comfy as he can be when every part of him is in burning pain and agony. But the slight slouch he’s found himself in puts the least amount of pressure on his various injuries and maladies, and so is the most comfortable he can be right now.

“Scott,” he croaks out, wincing a little at how terrible his voice really sounds. He’d been spitting smoke earlier, angry with how much energy it was taking to simply haul himself to his feet. It’s left him with the inside of his mouth covered in ash, and his throat feeling like it’s been rubbed raw. “Good to see you could make it.”

Skizz is somewhere nearby, but not close enough to interrupt if Scott decided he wanted to put him out of his misery right here and now. He’s somewhat caught between being thankful for such a thing, and angry that he couldn’t go on any further.

He’d just be another footnote at the end of a book, another mention; a small aside, make sure to mention the one that almost dies in the most silent and insignificant ways.

He is well aware of his previous contributions to these games. He goes out with barely a sound, and the world carries on without him, continues to spin round and round, maybe a few choosing to mourn him. Be sad over the misfortune of his death, how easily such a thing could have been prevented.

He doesn’t even realise he’s breathing smoke again until Scott coughs, waving a hand in front of his face to waft the smoke away. Tango snaps his jaw shut almost immediately, muttering a quiet “sorry” when Scott continues to cough.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Rough day?”

“You could say that,” he stretches his back out, wincing as it tugs at the edges of unhealed injuries. A stray branch from within the cherry blossom bush scraping a hot line of agony across his spine. He curls inwards on himself with a hiss of pain, tears beading in his eyes at the sudden sting of all his injuries making their protests known.

The small relief from earlier, afforded to him by other servermates, swayed by Skizz’s plea for a small gift of love, a small act of mercy. A better act of mercy would be to put him out of his misery entirely, he thinks humourlessly.

“Hey, c’mon, you're just making this worse for yourself,” a hand lays over the back of his own hand, slowly encircling it before pulling it away. The movements are done with such delicacy, such gentleness, it’s as though he’s made of an extremely fragile glass. Like he’d break if the hands moved him too fast, that he’d shatter into a thousand pieces.

Maybe he would. He feels about ready to fall apart right now, anyway.

“See,” the person – Scott, it’s still Scott, he’s still here, Tango realises belatedly – breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s much better. Now, where has your teammate gotten off to?”

“He, agh,” he coughs again, a small curl of smoke rolling off his tongue as he hacks, one or both his lungs threatening to make an appearance as he doubles over again, stomach cramping with the force of his coughs. “He went to get some resources, something to better survive the next few hours.”

“He didn’t stay with you?”

“The idiot would have,” he scoffs, laughing slightly. He then has to cough again, appreciating Scott’s gentle stroking over the top of his shoulders. He’s nowhere near as warm as Tango himself is, the fire stoked within his core happily blazing away, despite the disrepair of the rest of his body. “I made him leave. I’m dead either way. My death will be nothing to gasp and cry over, better he’s not around when it does happen.”

“Oh, love…” the sheer agony in Scott’s voice is enough to make Tango crack his eyes open, watery from his subsequent coughing fits, tears continuing to bead up as he tries to bring Scott’s shape into focus.

When he does, he almost wishes he hadn’t, having to resist the urge to recoil from the way Scott is looking at him. His hand is still lying over the top of Tango’s shoulders gently, though no longer stroking to soothe him through a coughing fit.

When Scott had turned up, looking down at him with those gleaming red eyes. Eyes that herald violence, promise it, Tango had willingly accepted his death. Would probably have stretched his arms out and taunted Scott for coming after someone when their guard is so far down that it’s ripped to shreds if even twitching his arms didn’t hurt so badly.

And then he’d just…stood there, crouched in front of him and comforted him as he coughed.

It’s his own fault that his lungs are in such a sorry state, anger over everything about these damn games making his flame burn too hot too quickly. He usually has better control over it, breathes fire for a party trick sometimes, not to clog his lungs with ash. Still, Scott had provided the comfort happily, despite them being on rival teams now, people that should be looking to kill each other. Not make sure that he can breathe and is comfortable and that his ally hasn’t abandoned him.

“Every death is worth shedding at least a tear over,” Scott tells him. His hands have migrated from his shoulders to cradling the back of his neck, now kneeling in front of him instead of crouching. Tango almost wants to tell him that he’ll stain his jeans with grass and mud; they may already be wrecked beyond repair, ripped in ways that aren’t purposeful and stained with old blood, but the thought still crosses his mind. “You’ve built good alliances here, love, there will be several tears shed over your death.”

“And a few oh, poor Tango, what a terrible way to go!’s following behind it,” he snorts without humour, only sparing a moment to be relieved when it doesn’t catapult him into another coughing fit. “The same way it goes every time,” he finishes, slightly bitter. It brings a sour taste to his mouth to think about his previous failures. His previous embarrassments.

He’s jolted from his self-pity party when Scott’s fingers twitch over the nape of his neck, making his efforts to ignore how Scott’s hands are currently resting against the back of his neck null and void. His efforts to ignore how the hands reach far enough round that Scott could easily strangle him. Could simply wrap tight and squeeze the last drops of life from him. Scott would definitely benefit from it, numerous superficial injuries littering his body that he’d probably be relieved to get rid of.

But Scott doesn’t grip to his neck tighter, doesn’t shove him to the ground and crush his windpipe. His hands remain a heavy, almost comforting, weight at the back of his neck. Their faces are close like this, he realises belatedly, the intimacy of such a thing settling over him suddenly and heavily. Like a weighted blanket’s just been chucked on his head. He feels a little unbalanced by such a realisation, even as close to death’s door as he currently is.

It makes an odd feeling wash over him, only increasing as Scott moves his hands, fingers tickling the short furs at the back of his neck. Can feel the way Scott’s thumb brushes over his pulse point – stupid, doesn’t he know that the thumb has a pulse? That you can’t measure someone else’s heartbeat with your thumb, as your own racing heart will interfere?

Scott’s pinky fingers ghost over his jaw as his hands retreat, and tango almost makes a pitiful sound in the back of his throat when he thinks Scott’s pulling away from him.

He’s glad he didn’t (really, really glad) when Scott’s hands still again, settling over his jaw, cradling his face gently between his palms.

He really is quite close now, close enough that Tango can take in the smudged state of his make-up, like Scott’s been rubbing his eyes and smearing it around the corners of his eyes. Or that he’s not reapplied it recently and he’s simply been wearing the same make-up for the past few days.

He’d given up on the stupid pink eyeliner and little hearts he’d draw on his own and the others’ faces ages ago, tired of reapplying it every morning, wasting precious time that could be spent doing other things. More important things.

Scott’s make-up still looks good, though, smudged the way it is.

“I’ve always noticed when you died,” Scott tells him. This close, he can see the pink flecks in Scott’s eyes. They almost match the shirt he chose to wear for this go-around, wanting to fit better with the whole vibe they had going on at the Heart Foundation prior to its burning. “Kinda hard not to, when you're checking your comm every few minutes and hoping it’s not one of your allies that’s just died.”

“Oh,” he says, maybe a little dumbly. So sue him! He’s not sure what to say to a man very close to his face, still looking pretty despite his smudged make-up, when he gets told that he always notices him.

Yeah, some snide part of his brain comments, always notices when you make a fool of yourself and die in the most humiliating way possible.

“Oh,” Scott repeats, snickering a little. It makes his shoulders shake, meaning Tango’s face is wobbling a little because Scott’s still holding his face, cradling him carefully like he’s some delicate thing to be treasured.

Man, he’s glad Skizz hasn’t made a reappearance yet. He’s not sure how he’d explain his current everything to him with a straight face. Skizz would probably laugh at him until he cries.

“What else do you want me to say to that!” he protests, a little embarrassed at his slightly lacklustre response. “Thanks, I notice every time you die too – I'm always dead at that point! I can’t notice.”

“No, no,” Scott shakes his head, brushing one of his thumbs over the paper-thin skin beneath his eye. The motion makes him shiver, something weird, but not unfamiliar or unwelcome, curl down and around his spine. He shudders again. “I’m just teasing you, love, promise.” His eyes twinkle with mirth, “Would you believe me if I told you I came here with kind intentions?”

“Not at all,” Tango says, half-joking. “You’ve only been mean to me so far.”

“Aw, I'm hurt!” Scott cries, eyes crinkling as he grins. “I saw Skizz’s, uh, plea for help on your behalf and thought I might as well pop over and give you a little boost.”

“Oh, really?” He perks up at that. A few people have been by already, each giving him a small boost. To think he was in an even worse state as the sun rose that morning is somewhat horrifying to think about. It’s a miracle he even managed to have a coherent conversation with Skizz as their day began. “Well, c’mon then! Don't leave poor ol’ me waiting.”

“Okay, okay,” Scott laughs again, a little quieter. “God, you tell someone you're about to give them something, and it’s all they can think about.”

“All I can think about is how much pain I'm currently in,” Tango jokes.

He realises that the joke didn’t quite land as he intended when Scott’s face doesn’t continue to crease with smile lines, instead dropping into something sadder. “Well,” he says confidently, “I can fix that real quick for you, love.”

And then Scott’s leaning and Tango’s floundering, because, sure, he’s kissed people before. For definite. Kissed people plenty of times, actually! But he never quite knows what to do with his hands, nevermind the fact that he can barely even lift his hands right now.

Scott seems comfortable taking the initiative, giving him a chaste peck on the lips, warm hands continuing to cradle his face gently, before pulling back just as quickly as he’d moved in.

“There,” he says, sounding satisfied. “All better?”

“I – yeah. Thanks,” he manages. He mentally fist pumps when his voice doesn’t wobble and he doesn’t immediately chase after Scott with significantly less achy limbs than a few moments before. “That’s really appreciated, thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Scott says, wiping a little around his bottom lip, clearing away some of the smudged make-up there. “Always glad to help!” He chirps, then stands. “Well, I’ll be seeing you around, hopefully not at the other end of my sword!”

“Hopefully not,” Tango agrees. Really hopefully not because he’ll probably just stand there like an idiot and think about how soft Scott’s lips are, and the way they’d slotted against his own, and-

The clearing of a throat above him has him blinking his eyes open, squinting a little at the figure silhouetted by the sun.

“See you had a little visitor,” Skizz tells him, sounding far too smug for someone that probably only saw Scott walk away. Tango’s sheltered where he sits, so even if Skizz was on his way back while…all that happened, there’s no way he actually saw anything.

“I- what? Oh, Scott, yeah. He gave me a heart.”

“See he gave you a little something else, too.”

What?

“What?” He asks, sitting up slightly, hissing under his breath as his cracked ribs forcefully remind him that they're still cracked. “What d’you mean?”

“You got a little something,” Skizz says, “around here.”

And gestures around his mouth.

Tango wipes at his lip with his thumb, cringing when it comes away stained with make-up. Make-up that everyone has seen Scott wearing recently.

“Oh, wow, haha,” he laughs, not at all amused. “How’d that get there.”

“How indeed,” Skizz says, obviously already knowing, the dick. “Maybe we should ask the whole server, see if they can help us solve this mystery.”

“No!” Tango throws himself upwards as Skizz goes to retrieve his comm, smacking his hands away frantically. “No, no, I'm sure we can figure this out ourselves.”

“Oh, yeah. I'm sure we can.” Skizz says, and walks off. Still grinning.

Tango collapses back down to the ground, indulging his moment of dramatism even as it aggravates a few minor wounds.

Whatever shitty higher being watches over me now, he pleads, please strike me down before he comes back.

The shitty higher being watching over him decidedly does not strike him down, and Skizz comes back to laugh him again, though he brings a make-up wipe with him…maybe Tango can find it in his heart to forgive him. Eventually.

[puckpocketed]

not to like. wholesale copy more articles but nbcsports pieces have broken for me in the past so uhhhh!!! archive text be upon ye!!!

Published 9th December 2024, Grier explains why Sharks couldn't refuse Avs' trade for Blackwood - by Sheng Peng (link)

FORT LAUDERDALE, Fla. — For Mike Grier, this was one of the toughest trades of his short tenure as Sharks general manager.

On Monday afternoon, the Sharks announced that they traded goalie Mackenzie Blackwood and winger Givani Smith, along with a 2027 fifth-round draft pick, to the Colorado Avalanche for young winger Nikolai Kovalenko, goalie Alexandar Georgiev, a 2025 conditional fifth-round draft pick (can go up to a fourth if specific conditions are met), and a 2026 second-round draft pick.

“This one's tough because Blacky and I go back to the New Jersey days together, been more than a hockey player. I love the kid,” Grier told San Jose Hockey Now in an exclusive interview.

Grier was a Devils assistant coach before landing the Sharks job in the summer of 2022. The next summer, he acquired Blackwood from New Jersey for a sixth-round draft pick.

Grier spoke at length with SJHN about the trade after informing Blackwood, who turned 28 on Monday. Blackwood participated in Sharks practice earlier in the day, before the team departed for Raleigh.

“When someone calls you with an offer you feel like you can't refuse, and it's going to help continue to build this and set you up for the future, you have to kind of take it,” Grier said.

Grier shared how much the Sharks like Kovalenko, how preliminary chats with Blackwood’s agent about an extension for the pending UFA goalie might have contributed to this trade, what he’s hoping for from Georgiev and more.

Mike Grier’s opening statement:

"I've had a couple of these [trades] that have been tough. The [Tomas] Hertl one was tough. This one's tough because Blacky and I go back to the New Jersey days together, been more than a hockey player. I love the kid. He's a great kid. I'm happy that he's kind of taken this opportunity and he's kind of ran with it.

"It'll be tough for our group. Our group really likes the kid and enjoys playing in front of him.

"It's kind of still in the stages of where we are. We look back historically on returns for goalies and in season. There's only two guys that have ever gotten a second-round pick, and both of them were coming off Vezina seasons, I believe, in Fleury and Robin Lehner. It was a return we thought we couldn't pass up.

"It's probably a little earlier than I would have envisioned doing it. But the return, it's a good return of two draft picks as we continue to build.

"We really like the Kovalenko kid. We had talks about him with Colorado last year. He's going to come in and play for us right away. Give us something a little bit different than what we have, he's a competitive, north-south player. He's someone we're hoping we can grow with.

"So it's a tough day for me. I'm sure it's a tough day for the group, coaches, everyone. Blacky has meant a lot to us.

"But as well as you've seen these last couple games, where as much as things are better and we're improving, I think you guys all see how far we really are away from what the championship standard is in this league, and that's what we're trying to get to. It's my job to look at the present but keep an eye on the future as well. We got to keep building it.

"I wish Blacky nothing but the best. It's a good team, good situation. You're going to have a chance to win, which I think will be important for his career going forward, not only in the NHL but for Team Canada and things like that. In my view, he's probably outplayed the goalies that made that 4 Nations [Faceoff] team. But one thing he's probably missing on his resume is playing important games and pressure situations. This is something for him, I think that will help him.

"If this was two years from now, would probably be a different story. He'd be not someone to be looking to move on from, but the fact that he's a UFA, and to his credit, he probably outplayed his way out of here too, for what he's gonna earn. Speaking with his agent and everything, what he's going to be looking for, and what he's rightfully earned as a UFA to make. I hope he gets what he's looking for.

"I think he kind of played his way out of probably the ballpark figure of what we were looking for, especially with Askarov coming up as well."

Grier, on preliminary chats with Blackwood’s representation about an extension:

"We had a conversation about, just in general, what he'd be looking for. And like I said, he probably played his way out of what we would be looking for, especially, he's going to want some term. He hasn't had some term, and he's going to want some money. It's his first chance to make money. And every player, if they get to that point where they can be unrestricted, that's up to them and it's more power to them. They should try and earn as much money as they can.

"He's earned this. He's played really well for us for two years. Hopefully goes there and plays really well. Does well when the summer comes."

Grier, on potentially keeping both top prospect Yaroslav Askarov and Blackwood:

"There was definitely a possibility here of having a competition with him and Asky and kind of a 1A-1B type of thing.

"But like I said, my job is to look down the road too, and how much money do you want in the net? If one guy happens to beat out the other.

"Owe him a lot. He's done a lot for our group, and not easy circumstances for a goalie.

Grier, on Nikolai Kovalenko:

"When you watch him, the competitiveness, the inside game he has, and it's come to the forefront these last couple games, right? They're "big boy" games, you got to play inside, you got to win pucks. Those teams [Florida Panthers and Tampa Bay Lightning] showed what it takes to do it. And we're not quite there yet. I think he has the ability to do that.

"When you see him, he's built like a refrigerator, so he gets to the net, gets around the net, and wins battles. We have to keep adding that to our group.

"He can play left or right [wing]. A lot of those guys grow up [in Russia] playing on their off-side. From talking to our scouts and the guys in Colorado, I think he's comfortable on either wing."

Grier, on acquiring Georgiev:

"It just gives us a little, maybe a little bit more time for Asky to play down there and keep building on what he's doing down there. For Georgie, I had him in New York. He's a playoff-tested guy. He's won a lot of games in this league.

"For him, it's an opportunity to maybe, he's playing better now, but maybe get his game back to where he wants it in a less pressure-filled environment. We'll kind of see what happens during the next couple months after that.

Grier, on how losing Blackwood affects the Sharks' locker room:

"It's gonna be difficult for them, and I understand it. It's the bad part of the business.

In an ideal world, it would have happened later in the season. But that's not the reality of sports, right? They're in a situation there where they're battling for the playoffs and they needed something and they were willing to kind of ante up for what we were looking for. By no means were we looking to move Blacky. But when someone calls you with an offer you feel like you can't refuse, and it's going to help continue to build this and set you up for the future, you have to kind of take it, even if maybe the timing is not ideal.

Grier, on seeing Kovalenko as a playoff-caliber middle-six winger soon:

"That's the hope. I think he can play with all different types of players. He can do some of the dirty work with our top guys or play more in a checking role. He's pretty versatile."

[starmocha]

HELLO I've read a few comments here and there implying current Sylus /wants/ to die? That resonating with MC will kill him and thats why hes so adamant that she do it? Is that interpretation even kind of accurate?

I hope its ok to ask this, I'm still new to lads and trying to piece together more Sylus lore before I personally dive into the angst of his new myth. ;w;

I'm always happy to answer questions if I can! This is absolutely OK 😊

OK, I can see how other people have interpreted it that way after reading the myth, and my answer may lean a little in that direction (however I disagree with the resonance part - MC's resonance Evol is meant to support others' Evol, not kill them), but I feel it is more nuanced than a simple yes or no answer.

This interpretation you see definitely stemmed from the myth, so I don't know how comfortable you are with spoilers (and I also don't want others to get spoiled while scrolling on their dash), so I will leave a more detailed response under the cut that will include caps as well, and you can decide to read it now or come back later after you finish the myth. 🙂 (I suggest the latter. This explanation will tie directly with the ending, and I don't want you to get spoiled. 😭)

(btw, prior to the myth release, I did search through most of Sylus' main story and memories for any references to his past, feel free to go through this tag if you're looking for Sylus lores!)

SPOILERS FOR SYLUS' MYTH - BEYOND CLOUDFALL & MAIN STORY

At the end of the myth, after Sylus had died from his injuries, MC, in her grief, cursed Sylus' soul to never fade away and always be tied to her. He can never die by any other means, and only she can grant him a true death.

In my Things That Fucked Me Up post, I did make an allusion to the main story about Sylus wanting MC to shoot him.

In the main story, MC threatens to kill him, and originally in the scene, it seemed like Sylus is calling her bluff by procuring a gun for her. Prior to the myth, there's been many allusions to Sylus not being able to die, and now we know why. With the revelation of his curse, this scene takes on a whole new light.

Prior to the myth, we had assumed that he knew he couldn't die so he called her bluff.

However, now that we know he can only die by her hands, this scene is a lot darker and seems to portray him as suicidal. We don't know how long this Sylus has been alive for. He could very well be hundreds or even thousands of years old, we can't verify for sure as of now. At the very least, we can assume he had lived for far too long. This could very well be the trope of immortals living for so long that they are now death seekers wishing for peace.

The only reason Sylus didn't die in this scene is 1) he forced her to pull the trigger and 2) MC does yell out "no" in the scene.

The condition for his death is that she must willingly want to grant him his death (note: this does not mean that she needs to be filled with hatred. Mercy killing is a possibility.)

As for the resonance part: In the myth, while Sylus and MC was resonating in one of the last scenes, Sylus had her hand over his chest and the claymore that was inside her was summoned against her will and pierced him in the chest. People are probably theorizing this based on this scene.

I disagree that resonating will kill him. In the storyline, MC's resonance Evol is meant to support/enhance others' Evols. Her Evol can also, on occasions, heal others (Zayne in his branch story, and I think Raf, too but I haven't gotten around to reading it yet shhhhh).

Don't forget that when we're battling in-game, our resonance Evol helps us take down wanderers, so I don't believe it is a means that will kill Sylus. As of now, we just don't know why he is adamant about needing to resonate with her.

I do agree that main story Sylus may be leaning a little on the suicidal part, but more in terms of being tired of living for so long. While he can't die, he does still feel pain if he is injured, but other than that, he is pretty much indestructible.

Sylus has also accumulated vast wealth, infamously known, powerful...I imagine he feels there is nothing worth living for (until now with MC 🤭), so death is what he desires now. This is my opinion, though, so don't take it as fact. We've only had two parts of the main story with Sylus, so there is plenty more to be discovered about his character in the future 🙂‍↕️

I hope this read offered some insight and perspective on this topic! Feel free to ask me to verify anything or ask anything else on your mind 🙂 (anyone else reading, also feel free to chime in with your thoughts or counter anything I said. 🙂‍↕️💖)

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

My thoughts regarding MC in LADS game

Note: Like I said in the title, these are purely my opinions and interpretations. Also, a warning for spoilers below the cut.

So I've just started playing Love and Deepspace for two months, I think, and I overall like the story. There's just one thing that doesn't sit well with me regarding the MC/the player/us, if you will, and that's her personality.

I know LADS is mainly a dating sim, so it's more cutesy and romantic, even if it's action sci-fi with more focus on combat (which I love). But the MC has a pretty traumatic past, and even throughout the main story, she has it quite rough.

During her childhood, MC went through a world-changing apocalyptic event. She was one of the few who survived, and through the flashbacks, we can see it was incredibly harrowing. On top of that, she was basically an unwilling lab rat in illegal and dangerous experiments and had some out-of-space substance jammed into her chest Tony Stark style. These events impact her so powerfully that later she joins an elite military organization for hunting monsters from out of space. (I haven't been in the military but I can imagine it's not a walk in the park.) Because she's the main character, her Evol is super rare of course, but it works only in combination with other people's Evols, rendering her Evol useless on itself. Does she ever feel insecure about her Evol? Does she have an inferiority complex because she can only feel useful with a partner and never by herself? As if that wouldn't be enough, throughout the story she watched the last members of her family being blown to pieces. And that's only how far I've gotten in the story.

Since it's a first-person immersive game, I obviously pondered how I would handle all the situations I've encountered. I would definitely suffer a severe PTSD and perhaps even depression. Even though we are told the Aether core is mostly stable, we still visit for regular checkups at the doctor. The Aether core probably causes chronic pain to us, and Protocore-enhanced heart arrhythmia. So mentally and physically straining job like Deepspace Hunter is probably the best choice, right? And yet we as MCs throw ourselves into every dangerous situation, perhaps because we're protagonists and the Lads need to save and have all these cutesy moments with us, but maybe also because our trauma gave us self-destructive tendencies, MC pulls all these dangerous stunts because, deep down, she wants to die. Let's not forget that she has one of the most dangerous and life-threatening professions in that universe. (I wish we could give our character scars and muscle in the Avatar designing part) If it were me, I'd probably be a substance abuser too. To numb me from the things I've experienced plus all the things I see on the job daily. (The game leaves this out, but think civilians getting killed daily, your colleagues dying, or being horrifically maimed by the Wanderers. Another reason not to get attached to anyone.)

And all that escalates when MC loses her only remaining family and her childhood best friend. This brings me to another point: MC and her relationships, and how this affects her stance on intimacy. The trauma could make her bad at bonding socially with others. It seems to me her only friends are Caleb and Yvonne if we leave out the Lads. After the incident with Caleb and her Grandma, I would push people away purposefully because I would assume that being associated with me would ultimately cause you to die a horrible death. Perhaps it's projection but all of these things would make MC deathly afraid of intimacy and letting someone close, even acting like a jerk on purpose to scare people off and generally keeping to herself.

(but Aldryyyyyyrth, that would make the romance hardeeeer! Yes, yes it would, but that's the fun of it no?)

[changingplumbob]

Willow Creek... the town itself wasn't too hidden, but Glenn supposed sometimes it was best to hide in plain sight. He didn't know where Phoebus had gotten the funds for this piece of land but he supposed a man a few centuries old had savings. He had no wish to talk to the coven leader just now though, he needed his grandfather. He'd had a few solid cries to let out his feelings but the sadness still lingered for now. Approaching the land, muttering the counterspells he would need to get past the barriers, Glenn ran into a somewhat familiar cat.

Glenn: Well hello there. I remember you, I think

Pockets: Meow Meow, Meow Meow Meow

Glenn: *chuckles* Hi there Gillian

Gillian: *as Pockets* Aww, how'd you know it was me

Glenn: Cats don't actually say the word meow, they just make the noise

Gillian: Oh... I'll try remember that. Pockets doesn't mind me using him to practice

Gillian: I didn't think you'd be back. Phoebus said you didn't want to join the coven

Glenn: I haven't committed, I just need to see grandfather and clear my head

Gillian: I'm sorry your boyfriend didn't work out

Glenn: He wasn't- we weren't- nevermind. What's with these clouds? Are the teens in one of their moods

Gillian: Miranda says they always are, but maybe it'll clear up now you're back. Harmony says Spring is moody

Glenn: Not back Gillian, I've never been here

Gillian: Do you like it? My powers couldn't do much of course but I watched everyone else work. They were amazing! Phoebus says if I keep practicing being different animals they'll be easier for me to turn in to and then I can really help out

Glenn: I mean you're still a kid

Gillian: Yes but I'm going to be a kid forever, I don't want to be a bad one

Glenn: You'll be fine

Gillian: I better get moving, Pockets says there's some mice nearby we could watch and Phoebus says I have to stay in for at least another hour

Glenn: *chuckles* Don't you think you'd be better watching mice in person

Gillian: Pockets can be plenty stealthy, and I'm sure the mice love him

Glenn had serious doubts about that but best to let her discover things on her own.

Gillian: Bye Glenn, say hi to Howard. Again I'm super sorry about your boyfriend

Glenn didn't bother correcting her again. Relationships were a weird enough concept for kids without introducing reality TV shows in to them. After bending down to give Pockets/Gillian a final pat he steadied himself to head inside. At least the weather had cleared up even if his mood hadn't.

Next

[jinnie-ret]

ep.5: the honeymoons

ratings: fluff, some angst

warnings: none

running time: 1.6k words

summary: we see the first batch of couples go on their honeymoons. is love still in the air?

SKZ MAFS EPISODE LIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

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chan and rori

location: budapest

"I've always wanted to travel," Rori grinned, feeling peaceful as she gazed across the city, night lights twinkling and night life buzzing.

"You've not been around Europe before? I thought most brits would end up going around Europe because it's so convenient," Chan hummed in thought, his head resting on her shoulder as he hugged her from behind, arms wrapped around Rori's waist.

The two of them had grown close very quickly, already having taken things to the next level. Rori trusted him, and him, her.

"Well, South Korea was a chance I took and I love it. But when I had Oliver, it kind of threw a spanner in the works, so I didn't get the chance to," Rori stroked Chan's hands that involuntarily hugged her tighter as he laughed.

"A good spanner though!" Chan giggled, making the silly comment as he remembered the cute kid that had definitely surprised him on his wedding day, but made him that more excited for their new adventure together.

The day had ended perfectly, after going around and seeing the sights, Hero's Square and Fisherman's Bastion, and now taking in the beautiful city. Of course, there were drunk people in their twenties stumbling down the street together, shouting the words to a song Rori was sure she would have recognised if it had been sung soberly. A piece of her wished maybe she could have had more time in those years, to be recklessx to have fun. She was worried she'd never have that feeling again. But Chan have that to her, he made her feel alive.

"I can't believe how lucky I've gotten, Chan is just so... he gives me butterflies. I can't remember the last time I felt that way," Rori tucked some of her ginger hair behind her ear.

jeongin and dallas

location: mt. fuji

Jeongin and Dallas had finally made it to Mountain Fuji, sharing stories to each other about things they had achieved in their lives and what they wanted to do in the future. Sweetly they had held each other's hands the whole journey there, that small sense of affection and comfort whilst getting to know each other bringing them closer together already. And even as they exited the car together, they never let go of each other, until Dallas was so excited at the gorgeous colours of the flower festival in the clearing of the mountain.

"Ahhh! It's gorgeous! Wow, I just wish we had this back home! This is stunning I can't cope!" Dallas squealed, leaning over the fence and trying to comprehend all the glorious hues of purple, lavender, lilac and magenta intertwining into something she thought she could only dream of.

"You're really excited aren't you?" Jeongin laughed fondly, his wife, yes, he couldn't believe it, his wife, making him happy, her excitement spreading so easily.

"Duh! This is likely my dream, my life," Dallas grinned in astonishment, dropping his hand to run forwards along other paths to take in the sights even more.

They had a great day, and of course got some cute photos with each other, marking the day an amazing one. It was certainly one of the best days of Dallas' life, and Jeongin enjoyed himself too, content in wandering around and taking in nature. Amongst the other things they had done during their honeymoon, this certainly topped it, so it was a shame the day came to a close with a slightly bitter feeling.

"You're so cute, Dallas," Jeongin chuckled from his spot in bed, stretched with his arm around her, cosily nestled in his arms.

"Me? Nah... I think you were the one who's head was in the clouds, wearing that grin all day. That smile will be the death of me, Yang Jeongin," Dallas exclaimed, hand lightly smacking his stomach to emphasise her point.

"If my head was in the clouds then yours was all over the place, haha, you were like an excited child, you remind of the kids I teach," Jeongin chuckled once more, hand going to stroke her hair out of her face but Dallas had already sat up.

"I'm going to make us some tea," Dallas kept a smile on her face and went into the kitchen, Jeongin being none the wiser about how his words had affected her.

"I don't get why he had to say that last bit... like I get it, I can be quite energetic, like I give a lot of energy into the things I love. But I've been told before that I remind people of a child and it feels sort of... patronising? I don't know... it just felt- it didn't feel nice. He's my husband, I shouldn't feel this way..." Dallas rambled as she explained to the camera away from Jeongin, reflecting on the day they had had.

Hopefully they'd be able to squash this in the future.

jisung and valentina

location: new york

"We had such a good day yesterday and now he's all closed off, he won't come out of bed. I thought we'd be doing more with our honeymoon, but, I guess not?" Valentina sighed as she spoke to the camera.

Jisung felt overwhelmed to say the least. He was tired from the flight to New York, but tried his best to keep his energy up during their first day going sightseeing. And everything seemed fine to Valentina. Oh, Valentina. Jisung really was trying his best, he suddenly felt this big responsibility. He had never been in a relationship before, and now he was someone's husband. He had a wife. He knew what he was getting into but he still likes having time to himself, and that was why he was relaxing in bed, scrolling through his phone, having down time like he normally would. But Valentina was there, trying to encourage him to go somewhere with her and do something.

"Ji, you wanna go out for dinner at least?" Valentina sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter in their hotel suite.

"I feel bad. I feel like I'm letting her down already. She's so amazing and, I feel worried that I'm not going to be the man she really needs," Jisung stammered, having his own moment to talk on his own.

But, he took a step and agreed in having dinner. They went to a luxurious restaurant, a top rated one that served mouthwatering gourmet burgers.

"Now this, I can get into this," Valentina let out a breath in delight. Not only was the burger looking delicious, but it gave a break from the sudden awkward small talk that her and Jisung had been contending with.

"I'm sorry," Jisung suddenly said, after swallowing down a mouthful of his burger. Miraculously, they had ordered the same thing, having similar tastes in their preferred cuisine and flavours.

"Hmm?" Valentina delicately wiped her mouth before speaking, "what for?" She had an inkling, but she wanted to hear from him first.

"I know you wanted more, I just, I'm quite a homebody? And I'm really trying to get used to this lifestyle, this..."

"Married life?"

"Not even that, just being able to spend time with someone constantly," Jisung glanced away, taking a sip of his cocktail.

"I'll be real with you, I was sort of upset at first, but I didn't know that about you yet. I didn't know you needed that space to yourself so, it's ok. We'll work through it together, ok?" Valentina reassured him once again, pushing away the thoughts she had before, and putting herself in his shoes.

She was a party animal at heart. She just had to bring out that more confident and energetic side to her husband, and she was willing to do that.

hyunjin and sienna

location: rome

"This all feels like a dream," Sienna marveled at the sights of Rome, swinging her arm with Hyunjin's as they wandered around the city.

"It's not a dream, baby, it's real," Hyunjin earnestly reminded her, pulling her in a different direction as they wandered around some markets, looking for a bite to eat.

"I never thought I'd get to live this," Sienna added on, still in denial.

"Well stop thinking that, ok? Seriously, I'm going to make sure you're happy every day," Hyunjin stopped in his tracks, gazing into her eyes before kissing her on the forehead.

Soon they found somewhere to eat, a quiet restaurant being decided when they couldn't pick from the market.

"Let's get spaghetti and meatballs," Hyunjin smirked, kicking Sienna's foot lightly underneath the table.

"Why so sly about food?" Sienna rose an eyebrow, her accent coming through stronger as she stared at her husband in confusion.

"No reason, just taking inspiration from a certain film..." Hyunjin nodded smugly to himself as he ordered them their food.

And once it arrived, it all clicked.

"Why only one plate... Hyunjin..." Sienna facepalmed, Hyunjin instantly bursting into giggles.

"Have you realised, baby?" Hyunjin cooed as he leant forward.

"We are not lady and the tramping this lunch," Sienna folded her arms, but she too started laughing as she couldn't resist his loving expression.

They exited the restaurant, a blush on Sienna's face after Hyunjin whispered something in her ear.

"He's so romantic. And I'm not used to that. I love it. Just maybe not the sharing food part. I need my own food," Sienna deadpanned into the camera, before huffing out a laugh.

<-- previous ep watch next ep -->

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[wishdeeznuts]

Blowing the dust off this blog again

Remember when I mentioned on my main account that I had something important being posted on this account soon? This is it.

And no.. it's not the prologue... Kinda.

With me now in a collegiate program (aka early college), even with my much shorter schedule it's been very time consuming. I haven't been able to work on alot of full art pieces like I used to, and my main artistic endeavors have shifted to my original series, Voidiant12.

THIS DOES NOT MEAN I AM CANCELLING WISHING STARS.

This only means that I'm not motivated on making it a comic anymore because having two comic ideas at the same time can be very stressful and even as time consuming as my college work.

In light of this dilemma, I've gotten an idea, and I want to know the community's opinion on such idea.

I could make Wishing Stars a story on AO3. This doesn't mean it won't have art attached to it, as I have also found a way to add images to AO3 fics. Having it as an AO3 fic will help me focus on my original series and still work on Wishing Stars as passionately as I've always wanted to, even if it isn't in the medium I originally wanted.

Now my only question is..

Your answer will not be judged, no matter the reason. I just wanna see what the community's opinion on this is and I hope y'all stick around if I go through with the plan. This blog will still be in use, so no worries there.

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

bonus - chapter eleven: he better lock it down*

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER TEN: I DON'T WANT YOU LIKE A BEST FRIEND

warnings: smut(18+ PLEASE: thigh riding, one orgasm, dry humping, softdom!Bucky, praise(good girl), just soft smut tbh), feelings

word count: 3.5k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10 @blackwidownat2814 @blackbirdwitch22 @laughterafter  @blackhawkfanatic @mcira @bxckybxrnes24 @rachellovesloki @toffeacademia @bean-bean2000 @lana525 @selella @lalalalokii

A/N: my first time publishing smut I wrote lol...hope it's not too bad?? idk I've never had an orgasm bc im sexually dysfunctional (yay hormones!) so im sorry if its wrong? my source is literally other smut fics! hope u enjoy the bonus chapter!! so excited for you guys to read

“Buck, I’m being serious, get closer.” You’re already shivering in bed, and Bucky just won’t budge the way you need him to. He’s helped you put on fuzzy socks, got out the extra thick duvet and has stuck to you like a second skin, and you’re still freezing.

“Doll, I can’t physically do that.” At this point, the sun’s begun to rise, the both of you still wide awake after catching approximately one hour of sleep, and you feel like you’re beginning to annoy Bucky. He kisses your hair lovingly, chuckling at how cold you are, even when you’re tightly pressed with your back to his chest. You just grumble, the past few days leaving you overly exhausted, and the subzero temperature truly isn’t helping. You’d think, having lived all your life in England you’d get used to it.

But you fear there’s no force on Earth that could’ve prepared you for the New York cold. 

“I have one idea. Do you trust me, doll? I promise, I won’t do anything you don’t want.” You grab his forearm with your free hand, the other encased in his metal one, your head resting against its bicep. The near silent whirs are extremely calming, and you find yourself wishing and praying that all of your responsibilities disappear, just so you can lay here with him. 

“Of course, Buck. Go ahead.” 

“Can I touch you?” His voice is a near whisper, a brand new edge to it that you had been teased with a few hours ago, when his thumb has pressed against your teeth as he commanded you to moan for him. 

“Yes.” After a moment’s pause, your voice comes out more breathy than expected, your heart already racing. He misinterprets it.

“Hey, don’t worry doll. It’s just me.” He rubs at your hip, kissing the shell of your ear. 

“I know. I…please, Buck. Touch me. Make me feel warm.” You feel your eyes close at he gently traces his hand down your thigh and grabbing the inside of it, almost missing the way he groans at the touch of your soft skin. You’re wearing nothing but his oversized T-shirt he all but begged you to wear, along with your panties, and dear God he’s been trying his best to act like it’s not driving him crazy for the past couple of hours. His fingers are so warm, your entire body shivers at the change in temperature. 

“Spread your legs for me, pretty baby. That’s it, good girl.” You can’t stop the whine that slips past your lips as you comply. You don’t know how you’ve gotten here, but in this state of mind you would do anything he asks, anything at all. 

He slips his thigh between the both of your legs, pressing it against right where they meet, and you suppose that’s the benefit of being a super soldier. Bucky’s body is like a warm furnace that is now attached to more of you than ever before, and you let out a sigh of relief and let your body fully relax against the mattress.

“That feel better, pretty girl?” God, his voice is so sexy, you could listen to it for hours and hours on end. 

“Uh huh. Much. Thanks, Buck. I’m so sorry I kept you up so late, I’m sure you must have so much work to do and I just wasted all of your precious sleeping time.” You pout, even though he can’t see you. 

He kisses the back of your neck again. “Not a single moment with you is wasted, doll. Plus I have the day off. I have this really sexy nurse taking care of me, right now. And she’s advised me to take a break today because of all of my injuries.”

“Mm, I think she also has a holiday. The last few shifts have been…rough, to say the least.”

It’s quiet for a while, and so you let your eyes close, finally ready to give in to the temptress of sleep, whispering so sweetly against your eyelids to just give in. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice is hard, unsteady. Heavy with the burden of guilt.

“Hey, what are you apologising for? It’s not your fault I was whisked away on a mission and then had to work a double shift the second I came back because Denise suddenly got food poisoning. Unless…you didn’t feed her that chicken did you?”

“Oh, God no. I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot barge pole with the way she’s treated you.” 

The both of you giggle at that, eyes still closed. You shuffle, ever so slightly to try and get more comfy against your personal radiator, and subconsciously grind your hips down. The friction is just right, and it makes you gasp. “S—Sorry, I’m just trying to—.”

“Do it again.” His voice is dark in a way that has your mouth parting, and your hips comply for you, before you can even think of a single word to move past your lips. You turn to bury your face in his arm, to stifle any noise you might make as you give in. Eager to please, eager to be pleased. 

He shudders, hand on your hip gripping tightly, almost making sure to leave a pretty bruise behind, a mark he was ever here, with you like this.

“Don’t hide your face baby. Let me hear you, let me hear all those pretty noises you make.” You’re already panting, eyes fluttering closed at his rough voice and sweet praise. 

“S—Sorry, I’m just a little shy, I think.” You don’t really know why you’re acting like this, so shy like you’ve never been touched. With a man who desires you as thoroughly as Bucky, it might as well be the case. You didn’t know that kissing him earlier tonight could feel like that, like the man is starved for your very soul. You didn’t know that even the slightest friction against where your legs meet could feel so delicious, leave you wide and aching for more. 

Even in such little touch and exploration, Bucky has made you feel a million times better that any previous partner ever could. At this point, you’re convinced he’s fucking magical, especially when he kisses the shell of your ear so sweetly, hand drifting to trace across your stomach. Fear temporarily seizes you, at the thought of what he might think as he touches you, and learns every nook and cranny of your body, the one that has been shunned and tolerated a million times over, so deeply ingrained that you almost can’t believe the next words to leave his lips.

“Don’t apologise for anything, beautiful. God, you feel so good under my hands, do you have any idea how long I’ve fucking waited to have you like this?” He ends the question with a rasp, the passion in his voice overtaking any rational thought he might want to have. His hands are practically shaking from holding back from you, knowing he wants to do nothing more than to turn you around and watch you as you make yourself cum all over his sweatpants, and finally find out which fantasies of his are true. 

“How long?” He guides your hips over his thigh yet again, and this time, your ass brushes up against something hard, and you can’t conceal the moan that tumbles out of your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut at the proof. That he wants this, that what he’s saying is true.

“Since the very first moment I saw you, balancing for dear life on that damn ladder.” He’s trying his best to control his own breath, but the sounds your making are just so beautiful, that he can barely contain himself. He’s heard these sounds before, through a paper thin wall and with heightened senses like a downright pervert, but to know that you trust him enough to lay with him, like this, and make those sounds right in front of him? He’s definitely losing his mind. Maybe he died on that last mission, maybe the Hydromanias had gotten to him and he’s dead. And somehow, somewhere, someone has granted him passage to heaven. His bed, with you.

He can’t bear it, he needs to look into your pretty eyes, to see your pupils dilate as you notice the lovestruck look on his face, to taste your moans and your lips just seconds after you’ve cum all over him. “Really?” Leaves you in a breath, as he turns the both of you around in a flash, so you’re facing him with his leg still pressed up against you.

“Yes. Why do you think I cooked you an entire meal to make sure you’d like me? If you were anyone else, I wouldn’t give a single shit.” Your hand reaches out, caressing his cheek as you stare into his eyes and wondering if another colour even exists aside from lust-hazed, love-tinged cobalt. There is no hesitation to his words, and you can’t help yourself. You shuffle in closer, your entire upper body pressed against his, and you kiss him. Softly, sweetly, like one would enjoy ice-cream on a scorching summer’s day. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve had a crush on you the second you didn’t let me fall off of it and break my arm.” You whisper against his lips and he closes his eyes, relishing in the feeling of you. 

“It does. You have no idea.” He kisses you again, this time it’s more passionate. You wind your fingers into his hair, softly scratching the nape of it as he moans shamelessly into your mouth, spurring you on. Maybe you don’t have to be shy.

“Take what you want from me. Please doll, I can’t take it any more. Fuck, please.” He moans against your lips and your lower body moves again, grinding against his thigh. How can you deny him when he begs so prettily? When he’s so clearly desperate for a taste, a touch of you? He pulls you in closer, cementing your chests together as he helps guide you.

It doesn’t take more than a minute for you to struggle to kiss him back, mouth hanging open as you let out a litany of sounds he wants nothing more than to absorb, for it to be the only song he ever hears for the rest of your life.

“Bucky…” When his name slips past your lips, he groans.

“Look at me, gorgeous.” He asks you to open your eyes, and you comply, grinding your hips faster and faster as the pressure builds so perfectly against your clit. 

Luckily, you and Bucky are the only two people to inhabit your floor, and so you forget to be quiet, using your voice so that he knows who it’s all for, who’s making you feel like this.

But it isn’t enough. As the hot pressure builds in your stomach and you feel yourself so close to the edge you want to cry, you just can’t do it. He mutters praises and kisses every part of you he can reach as you continue your salacious ministrations against his adored sweatpants. But still, you can’t cum, something keeps pulling you back the very second you find yourself on the precipice. 

“Bucky…please help. Please make me cum, I can’t do it by myself. Please…” Your moans get louder and louder as he smirks, abandoning the bruises he was planning to leave on your neck.

“Yeah, pretty girl? Does my pretty baby need help to make her cum?” His grin has your eyes rolling in the back of your head, being tipped back at his very words. You nod, trying your best to speed up. 

“My poor baby, so worked up…so needy…” He snakes a hand between the both of you, gently tracing your clit over your underwear. And you are so worked up in a frenzy, you’d do anything to feel his bare skin on yours, giving and taking whatever the fuck he needs. Whatever the fuck he wants. 

“Yes, yeah, all for you Buck—Only for you.” He takes you in for a brief moment, cheeks flushed and hair sticking to your forehead, yet eyes feral with a lust for only him, in a way that makes him feel like the most perfect man in the entire world. And he doesn’t even know that’s exactly what he is to you, because you can’t push it past your bruised throat from his hungry teeth or swollen lips from the way he desires you. 

And then he acts, pushing your panties to the side and finally giving you what you need, and you let out the loudest moan you’ve probably ever mustered in your entire life, as your back arches, pressing those perfect tits he’s dreamed about against his chest, his dog tags. His vibranium hand is so cold as he touches your frenzied heat, but you can’t ask him to switch, not when it feels so good. You begin to rut against his hand instead, coating it thoroughly with your arousal as he draws the most perfect circles on your clit. Your eyes gaze downward, eager to watch him as he gives you everything you’ve ever needed, eager to watch the way your thigh nudges against his erection. 

“You want me to keep going, baby?”

“Yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop, it feels so good, James, please.” You’re too focused on the glimmering gold and black dancing between your legs in the moonlight to register what you’ve just called him. 

“Fuck, say my name again, and look me in the eye this time, pretty girl.” You immediately obey, eyes flitting up to his as he rests his forehead against yours. “Your hand feels so fucking good, James. Much better than anything I’ve ever—oh.” He rubs even harder and faster, eliciting the most filthy sounds you’ve ever heard from your cunt, a wet squelching that brings heat to your cheeks. God, how does he do it? 

You watch his pupils dilate, his breath quicken as he never slows, watching you give in to your desires, ones you’ve denied yourself of for the longest time, as he too can’t hold himself back from grinding against your thigh in turn, content with just the look on your face as you’re mere seconds away from coming undone. “That’s it, pretty baby. You look so beautiful riding my hand like this.” And that’s all it takes to send your hurtling over the edge, clamping down on his wrist and still never looking away from him as your orgasm washes over you, bathing you in the most pleasure you’ve ever experienced and leaving your entire body trembling with the aftershocks.

 Maybe it’s the intimacy of having him care, of having him look into your eyes, entranced by the sight, by the person staring back at him. He swears he’s never seen anything prettier, never seen anyone look as beautiful as you do in this moment. When you come back to, he’ll tell you. For now, he’ll enjoy the way you seek more of his touch and squirm away from it at the same time as everything becomes too sensitive, but never breaking eye contact once.

That’s all it takes for him to cum as well, repeating your name over and over again like it’s his favourite prayer, his flesh hand coming up to caress your cheek gently, as it’s now your turn to watch him lose himself, staring at you like you’re the reason he can’t help but cum in his pants like a goddamn teenager. Your opal eyes are all he can think of, joining you to him in the most intimate way. He’s dreamed about this for so long, it almost doesn’t feel real. 

When a dopey grin overtakes his features and his head slumps back against the pillow, you kiss him. Gently, sweetly, like you have all the time in the world.

“I liked that.” You don’t know what else to say, burying your face in his neck. He chuckles, tugging at your hair ever so gently, an attempt to get you to look at him. 

Your eyes take him in, from his sweat-mussed hair to his parted and swollen lips. He looks ethereal. How is he not a figment of your imagination? You run your hand along the curve of his jaw, as he turns to press breathless kisses to your palm. 

You must be dreaming.

“I liked it too, pretty girl. More than you know.” You’re staring at his mouth, unable to stop the question from flying past your lips as you swipe your thumb over his.

“What are we, now?” His eyes widen, unsure how you’ve managed to miss that you’re his everything and that he’d die for you. He’d kill for you.

“Whatever you want us to be, doll.” Your eyes drift back up to their familiar resting place and you offer him a gentle smile. His heart stops at the look in them, cumdrunk and lovestruck. It’s all he wants to see for the rest of his days, until they lower him into the ground. 

Bucky suddenly finds himself wishing he were an artist, just so he could paint you exactly the way you look in the darkest before dawn, with hot cheeks and a beautiful smile, and the promise of light coming to illuminate your figure at any moment. He would paint you a million times over, from memory, in every single medium that exists as a way of wordlessly expressing his love for you. And then, he would scribble I LOVE YOU in large red letters on every blank inch of canvas, to really drive the point home. But alas, he can barely remember how to hold something that isn’t a weapon. But he knows how to hold you, soft and warm underneath his callous hands, and that’s a start.

“I must admit…I’m quite a traditional woman, James. I like being taken out on dates and being publicly acknowledged, and respected and desired. If I feel something for you, I want you to be my boyfriend. I want to be your girlfriend, even if it might sound silly to say at our big age. But I want exclusive and absolute. If…If you want something casual, it’s best that we nip this whole thing in the bud. I can’t deal with the emotional fallout of that again, you—.”

His mouth claims yours, and you relax into him, forgoing the muscles that temporarily tightened at the thought of him not feeling the same. Oh, how quickly he quells the torrid fears that wrench your soul apart.

“I want that too. Absolutes, exclusivity, you. I want you, above all else. I’d die to have you, I’d kill to have you. I want you either way, even if tomorrow you wake up and tell me you’d rather spit on my grave than spend another single second in my presence. I want you, doll. Only you. I want to be your boyfriend, I want to take you on the most cliche dates, and I want to kiss you in the rain. I want to make you laugh at all of my lame jokes all night, and most of all, I want you to know that through it all, I am absolutely enamoured by you. I wouldn’t have it, have you any other way.” 

You kiss him again. And again and again, and you just can’t stop because his lips are so soft and his words are so sweet and his desires are so tangible, laid before you raw and awaiting. You hands find his wondrous hair again, pulling him closer to you, pulling him on top. 

Not in a sexual way, but you need his weight on you. You need to feel him close, skin to skin, no barriers, in a way that transcends sex and spirituality and religion, praying to the ideation of his affections and worshipping at the altar of his lips. Finding the sacred temple in the small dips in his back, reciting the familiar hymns of love and lust and everything in between. The sun is rising, yes, but you are so entirely lost in the devotion of him, of his mouth and soul, that when the light hits, you don’t even break apart. 

And the best part? He is searching right back, for the Holy Water laced in your fingers, washing him over in colours of purity and affection. You don’t know it, but he swears you’re God when you wrap your legs around his waist, an angel when you touch him and all of his scars without hesitancy or remorse. You are pulling him apart and stitching him back together, moulding him on top of you like you are Prometheus. He swears that you are ordained, sent to save him, to fill all of his cracks with molten gold and kiss it all better if it should ever burn.

He is passion, you are devotion.

He is on fire and you are the flames.

Nobody gets him like you.

Nobody gets you like him.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

BONUS PART

[andreawritesit]

hi I wonder if you still take requests now? if no that's okay :) but if yes, can you write about zoro letting tashigi check out Shusui during their punk hazard afterparty? you know, just some sort of an extension of their bonding moments in punk hazard. i wish thosw two have more. i just couldn't t get enough ahshdidfjfgjgkgkgk😭😭😭. I've read fanfics about them but i haven't read one yet about Tashigi nerding more about Shusui 😭😂 oh and Thank you so much!!!♥️🤗🫰

I am so sorry it took me this long to respond to your request. My exams left no time for me to write. Sword nerd Tashigi is my favorite. I hope you'll like this.

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Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: Zoro x Tashigi

Synopsis: After the fiasco at Punk Hazard is over, everyone sits down to relax, marine and pirate alike. Tashigi manages to piss off Zoro and he falls more in love with her.

It was over. With the poisonous gas not threatening their life anymore, everyone cheered victoriously. Smoker had settled down on a rock, smoking his cigars as usual. Tashigi was escorting the children to safety. Her mind was swirling with emotions - some of relief and some of despair as she realized that the incompetence of the Marines had led the poor children to be in this situation. She made up her mind and asked Nami to leave the children in her care. Hesitant at first, Nami soon saw the honest intentions of the marine woman and agreed. Outside, the marines had drawn a line on the floor, dividing themselves and the pirates. Luffy of course didn't care and crossed it almost instantly to talk to Brownnbeard.

Inside the ship, Tashigi was trying to appease the kids who wanted to go with the pirates. It took some time but they finally stopped complaining. Soon, a delicious smell filled the cabin and all the kids ran out. It turns out Sanji had cooked for everyone. She didn't want to admit it but the food smelled heavenly. She quietly went outside and saw the marines and pirates eating together. It filled her with a strange warmth to see everyone enjoying themselves together, even if amongst them were lowly criminals. Her eyes wandered around until she saw a green head sticking out like a sore thumb. The eye roll that followed was completely involuntary. He was drinking sake, of course, he was. Drunken little shit. Even though they weren't all positive, her thoughts lingered on him. Roronoa Zoro. The bane of her existence. Seeing Wado Ichimonji in his possession was already excruciating enough but now the man had somehow laid his hands on Shusui, one of the 21 great-grade swords. It lay next to him with his other two swords. She wanted to see it closely and hold it in her hands. It wasn't every day a girl got to see a sword so special as Shusui.

Tashigi sneaked to where Zoro was sitting. She didn't know what she was hoping to achieve but one thing was clear, she was going to see Shusui closely. Zoro was partially drunk by that time so he didn't notice Tashigi sneaking up on him. She planned to pick up the sword and then put it back just as swiftly. However, drunk or not, he was still Roronoa Zoro. As soon as she gripped the handle, he caught her hand. Tashigi squealed and tried to pry her hand away but Zoro's grip was tight. He turned towards her and sighed audibly.

"What do you want?"

"For you to let go of my hand."

"I will once you tell me what you were trying to do. Were you trying to steal my sword?"

"Steal? No! Never. I'm not a criminal!" Like you, she wanted to add.

"What are you doing here then?"

Tashigi didn't reply. She had gotten herself caught in the worst situation ever. One where Roronoa Zoro had the upper hand. His eyebrow shot up at her silence. His eyes dropped to her hand still on the hilt of Shusui. His hand covered hers. He soon realized what she wanted. He recalled her surprise upon seeing Shusui on his belt back in the factory. A chuckle left his mouth and he let her hand go.

"Do you wanna see it?"

"Huh?" Tashigi wasn't listening to anything, she was too busy dying with embarrassment.

"Shusui. Do you wanna see it?"

She couldn't help the enthusiastic nod she gave. Zoro let out another deep chuckle at her reaction. He knew she was a big sword nerd but it always surprised him how much she loved and knew about swords. He had carried Wado Ichimonji for such a long time and yet he didn't know its name. It was Tashigi who had told him its name. He was sure the woman would marry a sword if she could. He stood up and picked up his swords.

"Follow me. It will be better if I don't unsheath my swords here", he pointed towards the kids eating food nearby. She nodded and followed him to a more secluded place.

Tashigi couldn't believe her luck. She was almost sure that Zoro would insult or rudely send her away but he had offered to show her the sword instead. Part of her believed this was a cruel prank but the other part was hopeful that he would come through with his words.

Once they were at a safe distance from the children, Zoro unsheathed Shusui and tossed it to her. She caught it quickly and almost exploded out of excitement. It was truly a magnificent sword. It was heavy, much heavier than her sword, and even more than Ichimonji when she had held it back in Loguetown. Zoro was observing her. The woman was lost in the sword. She was examining it closely, slicing the air with it carefully.

"So? How does it feel?"

"Amazing! It's much heavier, as it should be. Do you know it used to belong to the great Shimotsuki Ryuma? It's said that he could cut anything and everything using Shusui. It's even..." She stopped suddenly when she saw him. Zoro was standing quietly, listening to her with a soft genuine smile. She had never seen him look so...serene. It was almost unnatural. He also realized that she had stopped talking and they just stood silently, staring at each other. Tashigi was the one to break the eye contact as the sword slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground. The clanging sound broke Zoro from the trance too as he picked up the sword. Tashigi's cheeks were slightly flushed.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I dropped it..."

"It's alright," Zoro said shaking his head, "Shusui is very heavy and difficult to control, even for me. It's understandable why you dropped it."

Tashigi rested her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrow.

"What do you mean 'even for you'?"

"Isn't it obvious what I meant? If I face problems in handling it, why won't you?"

"Oh so you mean you can handle swords better than me?"

"Obviously."

She marched up to him and snatched Shusui from his hands. She pointed it towards him.

"Let's see then. If I drop it again, I'll do anything you say. And if I don't, you'll have to do anything I ask. Deal?"

Zoro smirked and put his hand forward which she shook immediately.

"Deal, Captain Glasses."

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[amethystina]

Hi there <3!

I hope you’re doing well! I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions from the fanfics ask game. Here:

13. How much planning do you do before writing?

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing?

27. Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why?

Happy New Year! May this year bring you success, happiness, and good health. Wishing you and your loved ones a prosperous and joyful 2024!

Hi there, darling! 💜

13. How much planning do you do before writing?

It varies. For shorter fics like oneshots I usually start when I have the concept and a sketchy grasp on what I want to accomplish with it. Maybe I have a couple of scenes in mind and the ending, but it's all pretty undefined still. Since the fic is meant to be short, I don't waste too much time on plotting and planning.

For longer fics, I try to be more careful with my planning. Though "planning" might not be the most accurate term. It sounds way more structured than what I'm actually doing, which is basically just thinking about the fic for a couple of days/weeks/months before finally deciding that I'm ready to start it. I rarely write anything down — like notes and such — but I do spend a little more time trying to figure out the structure and what events I want to occur, as well as the themes and plots to address. Since the story is meant to be longer, I need to make sure that the pacing and plot actually last long enough to make the story plausible. Or that it doesn't drag on forever, for that matter. Both would be undesirable.

But, just like with my endings, I like to keep things pretty open so while I always have a general idea of where I'm going, I try to leave gaps for changes and unexpected bursts of inspiration. This may seem like a bit of a risk but I seem to have an innate ability to gauge pacing and how to plot the actions and events to make the fics rewarding (except, perhaps, for Who Holds the Devil — which I have completely given up on at this point 🤣)

I'm lucky enough that I don't actually have to plan all that much and can still write engaging and well-plotted fics. It's very neat.

18. What’s one of your favourite lines you’ve written in a fic?

I've already gotten this question so I'm taking this as an opportunity to showcase another section of writing I'm very proud of. It's more than one line, I know, but cutting it off wouldn't do it justice. This is from Who Holds the Devil and is, quite possibly, one of the most poetic and pretentious pieces of writing I've ever written but, by god, do I love it:

Something within Ga On resonated with the darkness and secrets that hid at Yo Han's core. Like a constant pull, a taut thread of tension, tying them together. Drawing them closer, making them align. Like a steady hum of rightness that left ripples long after they parted, reverberating inside Ga On until his very essence seemed to change frequency.

Until the only thing that mattered was that resonance — to feel the faint, lingering echoes of Yo Han.

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

This one is honestly very tricky because I don't have much to show, I'm afraid. I have many WIPs, yes, but nothing written on the ones I think people are the most interested in. Or nothing finished at least.

But, uh, here's a snippet from that chapter of The Gentle Light that I'm slowly ambling my way through. Because some Yo Han is always nice, I guess?

___

It hadn't been like this before Ga On.

Back then, everything had been easy, Yo Han's goals crystal clear — the road ahead of him winding but carefully mapped. He'd known exactly where he was heading and how to get there. He'd maintained an iron grip on his emotions, never hesitating, never faltering. There had been no room for doubt, let alone gentleness or compassion. Everything had been under his control.

And now it wasn't.

Now, the sight of a couple of withering plants was enough to throw Yo Han off balance, his chest tight with concern. His emotions surged without his consent, the taste of guilt lingering on the back of his tongue, acrid and distracting.

Yo Han was no longer in control.

And he loathed that. Some part of him even loathed Ga On for having taken that control from him. For having such power over Yo Han — power Yo Han couldn't remember giving him. The thought of it made Yo Han's skin crawl, his instincts screaming at him to face the threat, to challenge it, to seize it, to destroy it.

But he couldn't, could he?

Because while Kim Ga On was a threat, he was also what Yo Han wanted most of all.

22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing?

Copy-pasted answer from a previous ask with the same question:

Nine times out of ten, yes. I don't always know the journey there or the exact details of the ending, but I always know what point I want to reach before I start. That said, I'm not against certain things changing as I go along and, more than once, I've tweaked the events of the ending because I ended up exploring something in the middle that I then had to tie into the ending.

So while I know the general idea of what I want, I keep it loose enough that I can change it as I go along. I would feel too hindered if I didn't. The one time I did try to plan it in detail to the very end was my first fanfic The Thunder Moon Chronicles because that's what I was told that I should do. But I found that around 60% of the last instalment had to be altered compared to my original plan, simply because the story had evolved in a way I couldn't predict when I first structured it.

That's not to say that I ever lost track or control of it — I am very much in control the entire time I write — but rather that new and better ideas kept popping up as I was writing it and I wasn't stupid enough to discard them just because they weren't in my original plan. Sometimes, the story just has to be allowed to evolve, otherwise it might feel stilted or stagnate (or at least that's the case for me).

27. Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why?

The first fic in a new fandom is always nerve-wracking to post. Because I don't know the fandom, don't know if I've gotten the characters or tone right, don't know how it will be received, and don't know if I'll regret sharing it. I never have, though, so, by now, I know that anxiety is just me being silly. Usually, it passes once the first chapter is posted 😆

Sometimes, I also worry if people will even bother to read the fics, especially when they're too niche. I was pretty nervous when I started posting Autonomy, for example. Not only because it was my first fanfic in the Winteriron fandom, but also because it was a super long space opera and I had no idea if anyone would even be interested in it. The fandom was really small at the time so it felt like the story might be too specific. But, as always, I needn't have worried.

Another fic I was kind of nervous to post was Until Death Do Us Unite simply for how utterly unhinged it is. Like, seriously. Hallucinations? Gaslighting? Necrophilia? What even? I'm pretty sure I'm on some sort of list now, after having written that. And I did consider posting it from my secret AO3 account instead but, in the end, I decided I was too proud of the fic to hide it.

And yes, I have a secret AO3 account that I intended to use for fics I didn't want to post under the Amethystina screen name for one reason or another. But, so far, I haven't actually posted anything (so don't worry — there are no hidden fics out there that you've missed 😛). Partly because the fics I planned to post there were never finished, but also because I just... ended up talking myself into posting those that were finished on my main account instead.

We'll see if I ever end up using it. I admit that I have a guilty-pleasure ship that I kind of want to write for right now and, if I did, I might feel inclined to put it on that account instead. But I'm holding back simply because I don't have the time to start new fanfics, let alone in a completely different fandom. Especially a fandom that has enough lore, history, and world-building to fill literal books. Ain't nobody got time for that.

Anyhow! Thank you so much for the ask! I wish you the best possible 2025 as well! Please take care 💜

Fanfic Writer Asks