#but it is not said otherwise in game so it is canon to me

[beannoss]

For the character ask game:

18, 20, for Yor Forger, please 🥰🥰

Thank you

hee! a bit delayed but hooray for more Yor! 💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

I answered this once already here with Melinda, so onto a new relationship 🤩! Okay, maybe this is a little... left of centre, but one of my absolute favourite things about Yor is that in some ways I admire her relationships with... everyone? Or her relationship with... relationships?

The more she inhabits herself, the more she engages the world, and with each engagement, she almost always shifts things towards the better. It's so lovely, so wonderful and I admire that quality very deeply. I find it very moving! I think with each relationship we see Yor form, whether in passing or in depth, she builds community, or at least plants the seeds for one. And I think that's a foundational part of who she is, but that she hadn't been able to live that part of herself until the Forgers.

I think she is in a unique position: I've been wondering lately whether Yor has a completely different metric for judging the behaviour of other people. I don’t have all my thoughts together on this so please bear with me, but. In part because she knows the depths of awfulness and depravity that people can enact. Taking her city hall colleagues for instance, she hasn't seemed to clock their behaviour as bullying, necessarily, with the exception of when they were threatening to report her: but that, too, was an existential threat so it makes sense to me that it would fit into her understanding of cruelty (Yor seems to me one who doesn’t see a difference between unnecessary cruelty and any other form of cruelty; that cruelty is cruelty, to her…). Otherwise some of that perspective stems from feeling like an outsider, because that's what she has been for most of her life. And some of it is obliviousness, related in large part to said outsiderness. But I do think that it is partly also informed by the idea that a snarky comment (should she clock it) is nothing contrasted to mass murderers or people/organisations who seek to destabilise the lives of an entire country, or torturers, and so on. And in coming from that place, it means (ironically?) that when normal people are asshats, or just awkward or a little bit strange, Yor simply continues building a bridge, not recognising the rain or the snow that's interfering with the build. (... to the engineers in the readership, listen. I can feel my engineer father's disapproval for this metaphor despite the fact he doesn't know it exists BUT SOMETIMES IT'S JUST ABOUT THE VIBES OK.)

There is an additional layer, I think, in that Yor is essentially an apex predator, or less a predator than having the strength and communal awareness of many megafauna. (BEAR WITH ME.) She's nearly unstoppable in the face of any physical threat, and she bears that awareness of herself. It's also something that is increasingly folding into how she carries herself in her civilian life. I think it informed her argument at the Veterans Charity event, for instance: that philosophy of the strong stepping in as needed to aid or support or protect.

All that being said, it's of course most especially satisfying when this energy is returned to her in earnest! From Twilight, from Melinda, from Anya in a child's version of it. Yor says to Twilight that she wants to "take care of him a little" and at the time we see him intending to lie in his verbal agreement… only then it becomes a lie no longer. Twilight lets her take care of him a little when she suggests he relaxes, lets go — and he tries. With Melinda, Yor encourages and supports Melinda and Melinda showers her with affection and affirmation as we see in her lovely, effusive, correct excitement whenever she sees Yor, with the way Melinda backs Yor up without hesitation or question in public when she's meant to be incognito. And with Anya, the simplicity and beauty of their shared bond, their mutual respect and love for one another shines.

It's actually something I'm intrigued about regarding Yuri... that relationship seems to have stalled somewhat. But this question is about relationships I admire not relationships I'm intrigued by 😂 so I'll keep this as an aside 😄

TL;DR: Yor just likes people, I think. And I love how that facet of her is unfolding in all her relationships and her relationality.

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

Eh-heh. Now I’m gunna indulge in the TwiYor, which I suspect you won't mind Tare 😆😁💕 So I ship Yor with Twilight, and part of the reason I ship them is because I think Twilight is, to use the language of the question (!), an ideal best friend for Yor (and vice versa).

At their base, there are few people who can understand Yor in the way Twilight can, post-reveal: her choices, her actions, her hurt, her history, aren't going to put him off. Far from it, if there's something he understands, it's sacrifice (which is well established in canon) and the type of work she does isn't going to faze him, especially understanding her aversion to causing suffering and the ethics underpinning the choice in targets, and so on. That is all going to make sense to him and be relatively easy for him to accept. Twilight also foundationally understands loss and desperation, and the decisions made under those circumstances.

Equally, he is prepared to challenge Yor, speaking towards a shift in perspective or behaviour if he thinks Yor should consider an alternative or a course correction. He's done this a few times already in gentle ways, and it will be interesting to see how (and if) this shifts as their friendship deepens. He also accepts her challenging him, taking into account what she says with consideration, and course corrects, too.

We already know he admires her fighting skills! Something I think Yor takes for granted but that in and of itself indicates its import, in some ways. And as above, is crucial to her sense of being a protector.

I've been fixated on the point of Yor & hobbies since the 2x-reference to them in recent chapters, and while I prefer the idea of Yor maybe exploring that with Melinda, there is something to be said about Twilight here. Who better to explore possible hobbies with than the person who's got the most random and eclectic collection of experiences...? Twilight would be great at coming up with potential activities for Yor to try if she wants to explore hobbies. That man would relish making a list of options — or better yet, a flow chart to help her make decisions on where to start 😂 (ofc we could insert gif: why not both? Twilight helping with the decisions, Melinda going along with Yor? best of both worlds!)

Then there's the reciprocal side of best friendships and any close or meaningful relationships which I touched on already, but: that of being able to give love and care and consideration and understanding to another person who is open to receiving and welcoming that same love and care and consideration and understanding. As I mentioned above, Twilight is already on that path to accepting Yor's care and consideration, already accepting and taking seriously her opinions and her recommendations, her course corrections; Yor is also accepting his care and his opinions. Yor will ultimately also understand Twilight when reveals happen. Because again: who is there better to understand his choices, his experiences, his reasons, his hurt, his fear? Love is blossoming there too; ymmv on what sort of love (or whether that identification is even important) and regardless, I think love may be the trickiest for them both to accept. Simpler to give than to receive. But then we circle back around to that sense of mutual understanding. They'll both struggle with receiving love and they'll do it together, I think. That's what both best friends and partners do: be safe places to be nervy and awkward and uncomfortable and hurting and sometimes, frankly, to be difficult. In essence, being a nurturing place for one another to grow.

Character ask meme

[flushwithdarlings]

yes astarion drinking from his love is sexy and all but also

they can quite literally bring his dead heart back to life so it can race in his chest from all his affection for the first time in 200 years

[bosspigeon]

something i think is very funny about veilguard is the black sclera FINALLY being an option now

i know i was pretty fuckin loud about qunari/vashoth NEEDING to have black sclera back in the day (it sets them apart a bit more as something more than just "taller humans with horns) , and i still stand by that, tbh, but upon playing da2 (the game with the first Solid Qunari "design"--even if it was like three models reused ad infinitum) for the first time in several years on a bigger screen and higher definition, i've come to a realization

i don't think the qunari actually ever had black sclera, i think their eyes were just so deep-set and shadowed by their brow (because THE HORNS FOLLOW THE BROWBONE, VEILGUARD!!!!) that it just looked like the da2 qunari's sclera were black!

so, we were wrong the entire time

but i WILL keep doing it regardless😤

[the-meme-monarch]

i do kinda have a little head canon for shrimpo in your verse

that I think shrimpo thinks everyone just hates him and maybe at garden view he tries to act nice to the kids but the kids don’t wanna talk or be near him because of how the show petrayed him and so becomes lonely he hates the other toons because they don’t get hated like he did or be ignored like him he also might not like deliliah because after watching her interaction with other toons he feels like she is just happy with them then with him

looking back this is not what you were saying i don’t think. but this was the idea this gave me NDJSJJD

but like yeah i kinda do think shrimpo has like. self image issues. ans legitimately has difficulty expressing anything other than his brand of anger. he can’t really help but act the way he does and he doesn’t really Like that he’s like that. like the character posters around his room COULD just be to cover holes in his walls or bc he’s full of himself but idk. why put up the same poster over and over with words implying nobody likes him. i think he’s got hardcore “why was i made like this” type feelings. iirc qwelver said he likes One Thing and like. if it were himself i think it would’ve just been said so bc that just feels like such an easy answer? (my idea for the one thing he likes is it’s something he can be bribed with. and that’s why in-game he’d be going on these runs at all. bc otherwise I don’t know why he’d participate HDHDJRJDJ)

so uh. maybe this is the eventual aftermath of my ‘shrimpo punching delilah in the face Immediately after being brought to life bc she scared him’ comic. shrimpo feels legitimately guilty about it bc He Didn’t Actually Mean To and thinks delilah really truly hates him over it. arthur Pried this information from him. and is trying to get delilah to reassure him. i think delilah doesn’t have much capacity for emotions Period so she got over getting punched to begin with pretty quickly. or she doesn’t even remember at this point bc of my ‘toon creation wears down your soul’ headcanon idk

last line is a reference to this post

[togament]

" 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. windbreaker boys edition. "

pt. 1. (sakura, ume, suo.)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : kinda suggestive (i mean it's me. ofc its gotta be suggestive somehow), some swearing, kinda ooc for suo. can you blame me though? we know so little about the man and we're already 140+ chapters deep.

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀.

- canonically doesn't own a pillow so he only sleeps on his side, curled up to conserve heat. like a cat. but after having you around? he's clinging onto you, man. he may deny it vehemently when you tease him about it in the morning, throwing pillows at you as he's blushing profusely, but he doesn't know you've taken a picture of him with his arm over your chest, tugging you close to him. - clenches and grinds his teeth when he sleeps. you buy him a mouth guard so his jaw isn't as tense when he wakes up. (TMJ sufferers rise up) - sleeps in his boxers when you're around but if not, he's going commando, baby. just... text him when you're planning on surprising him in the morning. give him prep time unless you're looking to eat sausage for breakfast. - gets bed hair but doesn't care. he'd have a huge cowlick on his head but he doesn't mind. best he could do is kind of wet his hair? anything more than that is too much effort. - very light sleeper. if he hears the smallest bump in the night, he's immediately up. - has only one duvet and it's kind of falling apart. you gifted him a new one and he almost cried in front of you (not without freaking out about it first.) - talks in his sleep sometimes. you record him whenever you catch him doing it just to play it back for him in the morning. he's always so confused as to how and why he does it.

𝐔𝐌𝐄.

- won't sleep unless you give him his goodnight kisses. you have to. how dare you deny him of the pleasure of kissing you before you sleep? - always lets you sleep before he does because he reads before he sleeps. - needs reading glasses and falls asleep with them on. CONSTANTLY. you have to remind him about them before you snooze or you peel them off when you wake up before he does. has broken one (close to a dozen) reading glasses before you came along because he kept sleeping on them. - has to read before he sleeps. it's a necessity. he reads stuff ranging from philosophy to manga. never fails to fall asleep with a book in his hand too. - checks on a spreadsheet he's got for his plants so he has a game plan ready in the morning. checks the weather and temperature and everything before he does his reading routine. worries endlessly if a heavy typhoon drops or god forbid hailstorms. - HUGE SLEEP HUGGER AND YOU CANNOT TELL ME OTHERWISE. his body just naturally gravitates towards you in his sleep. it's cute. it's endearing. until it's a hot summer night and you're damn near naked because just wearing a shirt's making you sweat. ume's just a happy sleeping puppy of a man, sweaty body clinging to your side. - a very light snorer. you rarely ever get to hear him snore. he only does after a particularly tiring day or after you've had rounds and rounds of se-- - gets a boner most nights. - wet dreams often. you have to help him out in the mornings. - that being said, he's very, very touchy in the mornings.

𝐒𝐔𝐎.

- sleeps like the dead. you may or may not have held your finger to his nose to check if he's still breathing. - never has bed hair. when he wakes up, he looks absolutely impeccable. it's crazy. - has a candle warmer set to a timer. likes sleeping when his surroundings smell good. also has a scent diffuser. - has like... a 30 minute long ritual before bed. candle warmer, check. proper pyjamas, check. pillows plumped, check. skincare routine, done. you always end up waiting for him on the bed while he's apologizing with that sweet voice of his while crawling into bed with you. - only ever sleeps facing up. if you want to cuddle, he could. but he can't engulf you in his frame or anything. just an arm around you or maybe with you pressed up against his side. - he runs cold so he's got thick duvets over thick duvets. they're really soft too. hotel quality. always gets them washed. - somehow you've never caught him in the process of waking up. he's always up before you, brewing tea or cooking breakfast. hell, he already has a set ready for you by the time you wake up. - who am I kidding suo never sleeps.

a/n: just a quick little thing before i hop into bed. doing part two soon bc i wanna clown on kaji so fucking BAAAAAD omg (affectionately) ok goodnight babycakes.

[relicsongmel]

Iris, Miles, and their mutual "secret"

The Ace Attorney fandom is no stranger to discussions of homoerotic subtext in the game's script—pretty much everyone who's spent more than five seconds here will be able to tell you that. Screenshots of lines that imply romantic tension between same-gender characters are all over the place, to the point that many fans are drawn to the series purely by its reputation as "the gay lawyer game." Some scenes are more well-known than others, but one I find brought up fairly regularly is this conversation between Miles and Iris:

This is optional dialogue that can be triggered by presenting incorrect evidence on Iris' Psyche-Lock during the Investigation portion of Bridge to the Turnabout. The argument here is that the "secret" Iris is referring to is the same as her own: that being, a romantic interest in Phoenix Wright. Which is definitely hilarious when you consider that Iris has known Miles for less than a day and she's already reading him for filth (granted, she could have been clued in by the similarly infamous "indispensable friend" line, and she's also exceptionally good at reading people despite Miles thinking otherwise). As a Narumitsu shipper myself I am not immune to enjoying that interpretation; however, I feel like there's a lot of nuance in this scene that isn't often addressed by the fandom at large. Which is unfortunate because watering it down to just Iris calling out Miles for being the gayass he is (to be fair. she's not wrong) does a MASSIVE disservice to both of their characters, and I'll explain why.

My bone to pick with the usual analysis of this scene is mostly centered around the larger conversation to be had regarding the treatment of female characters in fandom spaces. All too often they tend to play second fiddle to the male characters, and a similar principle holds true for ships with their canonical male love interests: mostly ignored in favor of the the more popular M/M ship(s). At best these women are sidelined, at worse they are flattened into wingmen for the boys (as is frequently the case with many AA girls and Narumitsu, Iris included), and at the absolute worst they are demonized for their perceived "competition" with whatever gay ship is most popular and therefore the Only Valid One for the male characters involved (as exemplified by some very "passionate" fans that I generally try to avoid interacting with). Whenever this scene gets brought up, the focus is almost always exclusively on Miles and what the interaction says about his relationship with Phoenix; Iris is only relevant insofar as she's the one initiating Miles' Homosexual Moment™—you could replace her with almost any other character and there'd be a similar level of neglect for their role in the interaction. Only very rarely will you see attention given to what Iris' question about Miles' secret means when she is the one asking it, and what it can tell us about her relationship with Miles/what she thinks of him, and vice versa (absolutely wild how even Miles himself is often flanderized despite being the fandom's golden child). It's all too characteristic of the systemic misogyny that has plagued fandom since its inception, which is deeply frustrating to me as someone who adores Iris as much as I do (if that wasn't obvious by now). So that said, let's dive deeper into what I think the missing link is here: namely, the Iris-Miles dynamic as it pertains to their relation to Phoenix.

Iris and Miles is one of my favorite relationships to explore in the whole series—but as I've described above, unfortunately a lot of people get it wrong in my opinion. Discussion about the two is frequently centered around Narumitsu Love Drama—which is a conversation worth having, don't get me wrong—but the elements at play there aren't always represented the way I envision them, which again, is frustrating. Take the idea of potential jealousy, for instance: it's pretty standard love triangle fare that can be (and often is) quickly turned into demonization when it's used in a shipping context, character assassination be damned (re: Narumitsu fanfic authors that project their personal dislike of Feenris onto Miles via his jealousy of Iris and/or how they tend to portray Iris unfavorably). However, it's not inherently a bad thing to explore: personally, I do believe that there is mutual jealousy between the two of them. Miles might not have the full context of Iris' history when this conversation takes place, but he's emotionally intelligent enough to pick up on what Iris means to Phoenix, and vice versa. And him being a jealous hoe about it isn't out of the question when you consider that he's a bit of a loner by nature and doesn't have many close friends or outlets for socialization outside of his job. The crucial element that's sometimes missed, though, is that Miles not only lacks the self-awareness to realize he's a jealous hoe...he's also a self-sabotaging jealous hoe.

And the same can be said for Iris, who is similarly introverted and doesn't often leave her home at Hazakura Temple.

The whole reason Miles is peering into Iris' heart in the first place can be found in this exchange, after he breaks her Psyche-Lock:

Miles uses the Magatama in order to gain the answers he needs to bring the truth to light and get Iris acquitted, and he does so for the express purpose of reuniting her with Phoenix so they can find closure—in fact, he reiterates this to her multiple times. He obviously recognizes how Phoenix is suffering from what happened between them (I'd argue he sympathizes with Iris' plight as well) and has resolved to do what he can to help him heal, but there's no reason for him to be so insistent that she rectify things with Phoenix when it does nothing but harm his own chances with him. Unless, of course...that's the whole point.

To convince Iris to reveal her secret so he doesn't have to face his own, because he thinks himself undeserving.

And Iris, noticing this because she empathizes with that feeling of unworthiness, calls him out on it in an almost uncharacteristically forward manner when she asks him what he's hiding.

Takes one to know one, indeed.

Iris highly respects Miles for taking on her defense despite the risk to his job as a prosecutor. She's willing to trust him after hearing he's a friend of Phoenix, hearing him out and letting him reason with her. She still keeps her cards close to her chest in some regards, but she's more honest with him than she's been with anyone else in her life apart from her sister. She sees his commitment to the truth and how it starkly contrasts with how she's lived her life to this point, and thinks that this is the type of partner Phoenix deserves—not someone like her, who only knows how to survive using lies and deception. She sees so much strength in him but still recognizes the insecurity lurking beneath his tenacity, which is why when he falters in his logic, she takes a leap of faith and gives him one last chance to examine his reasons for pushing the burden of his unspoken affections onto her, as if to say: "Look in the mirror. Is this really for me? Or is it for you? Do you really seek the truth for its own sake, or do you merely hope to find one truth so you might run from another?"

Her question to Miles is a gamble—a coin flip of self-sacrifice. If she loses and he presses on, she has to face the secret within her heart she's been suppressing for five years. But if she wins and he gives in to the truth in his, she has to live the rest of her life watching it unfold and knowing she threw away her chance to finally stop living in fear of her own love.

Either way, there's no escaping heartache for her anymore.

Miles and Iris both want what's best for Phoenix and prioritize their vision of his feelings over their own. However, they are also both deeply emotionally repressed people who find difficulty in being direct with their feelings, and are predisposed to self-sabotage due to childhood trauma. These tendencies may manifest in different ways for both of them, but the fact remains that such people would likely not compete for a person's affection in the traditional sense, which is exactly what we see with how Iris and Miles deflect their feelings for Phoenix. These selfless, lovestruck idiots toss that man around like a game of hot-potato because their mutual self-hatred for the ways they've harmed him has rendered them terrified of the reality of what he means to them, and desperate to find a way out of admitting to it. It's the most compelling explanation I can think of for why the usually unassuming Iris makes such a bold judgment about what Miles might be keeping locked away, and why Miles goes to such lengths to make sure she talks to Phoenix and tells him the truth—his agreement to defend her was conditional on that exact promise. They go through this whole song-and-dance of playing wingman to ignore their own feelings while still trying to bring Phoenix the happiness they think he deserves—and then they wonder why seeing Phoenix give the other one attention burns them up inside.

Because they’re dumb. And I love them.

TL;DR the Iris Psyche-Lock scene in BttT is so much more than just "haha Miles gay" and I wish people talked about it more. Also Iris and Miles are way more similar than they appear at first glance and if I think about it for too long it makes me physically ill thank you for coming to my TED talk

[blueberrybirdsworld]

The Cat Distribution System 2/5

Summary:

When a stray kitten adopts Lando Norris, the self-proclaimed cat hater accidentally starts a soft-launch spiral with his secret girlfriend the ballerina Ariana Riverria.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, SMAU

Warning : none, just yeah the kitten will be different in some pictures

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

CHAPTER TWO :

@landonorris "does bringing a cat on a boat dangerous ?"

@landozoned: sir that is a BABY what if he falls overboard 😭

@maxfewtrell: do you even OWN a cat carrier or is it just vibes now??

@pietra: not the yachting kitten era

@charles_leclerc: cat has better balance than me respect

@catdadconfirmed: peak chaotic cat dad energy I love this journey for you

Texts messages :

Ari 💃:

HAVE YOU COMPLETELY LOST IT????

Lando 🧡:

hello to you too 🧡

Ari 💃:

DID YOU ACTUALLY BRING CHARLIE ON A FREAKING BOAT??

Lando 🧡:

he likes the breeze. he’s a sea explorer now.

Ari 💃:

HE’S A CAT NOT A VIKING. WHAT IF HE FELL IN?? WHAT IF A SEAGULL TOOK HIM??

Lando 🧡:

he had a towel nest. and snacks. and I almost bought him cat-sized sunglasses.

Ari 💃:

you're out of control. i'm changing your name in my phone to "Captain Whiskers"

Lando 🧡:

you’re just mad he likes it. he purred for an hour and fell asleep like a sailor off-duty

Ari 💃:

oh he’s yours now. emotional support kitten. you two are inseparable.

Lando 🧡:

...help?

Ari 💃:

nah. enjoy your new title: maritime meowther 🐱⚓

@landonorris "long week. swipe for serotonin."

@landozoned: so we’re just pretending the kitten is normal now?? cool cool

@maxfewtrell: how is he not suffocating in your arms bruv

@catdadconfirmed: serotonin delivered, thanks lando

@alexandralovely: lando norris and his son. i’m crying.

@arianariverria "Sunday snuggles ✨"

@pliésballet: WHERE did the orange one come from again???

@kitteninfirst: they’re siblings now and I won’t hear otherwise

@balletnation: honestly the cats are soft-launching their humans at this point

@pietra: cute cats. suspicious caption.

But nothing broke the internet quite like Ariana's story one quiet Thursday night.

It was only up for three minutes. Just long enough.

A grainy photo, snapped from the side: Ariana curled up on a grey couch, head resting on someone’s shoulder, half of her face hidden in the crook of a hoodie. A ginger kitten sleeping across both their laps. The boy’s face wasn’t visible, but his profile was unmistakable to those who knew how to look.

The post was gone by the time most people refreshed their feeds.

But not before it was screenshotted.

Twitter Thread by @balletxf1 :

[1] OKAY WAIT.

[2] That Ariana story??? The one she deleted?? I’ve done the work. Let’s investigate.

[3] Zoom and enhance. That hoodie? The McLaren one Lando wore two days ago in his Twitch stream.

[4] The kitten? Lando's one.

[5] The arm? The watch? That is Lando Norris.

[6] Not to be dramatic but I think we just got a full soft-launch slip

@f1girlies: I KNEW IT. I SAID IT IN JANUARY.

@balletinthepit: we were fed. accidentally. but fed nonetheless

@landoffline: y'all analyzing shadows like CSI and winning

@catloverxoxo: obsessed with the fact the kitten is the one exposing them

@formulapirouette: Lando and Ariana are co-parented a cat it’s canon

Text messages :

Lando 🧡:

did you mean to soft-launch us or are we just on autopilot now?

Ari 💃:

I didn’t mean to post it omg my finger slipped

Lando 🧡:

sure sure sure

Ari 💃:

I DELETED IT IN 3 MINUTES

Lando 🧡:

that was enough. they CSI'd the hoodie AND my watch

Ari 💃:

ffs. it’s the cat. he’s the problem

Lando 🧡:

you mean our son? our fluffy, chaos-bringing, matchmaking menace?

Ari 💃:

oh so now you LIKE cats suddenly?? mister "i don't trust anything with claws" is now a cat dad who brings Charlie to boat trips, gaming streams, brunch dates ??? 😹

Lando 🧡:

i plead temporary insanity caused by toe beans and purring. this is not who i was. he changed me.

Ari 💃:

i’m blaming him forever. he soft-launched us. not me

Lando 🧡:

fair. he’s grounded

Ari 💃:

grounded and cuddled. he’s on my lap right now

Lando 🧡:

traitor

Part 3

[jinwoosbabyboo]

𝙶𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚄𝚜

How I headcanon the LADS Men gaming with us. All four of them just enjoy being around you. [Requested by: Anon]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

he'd be a watcher at the start ; being more of a physical sport kind of person (which is why he's so good at snowboarding)

you'd ask him to play one of your favorite games with you and he'd opt to sit with you while you play instead

gets curious overtime as he watches you progress

"your main quest is to head to the dungeon what are you doing here?" "I have to complete this side quest in order to level up my character before going to the dungeon otherwise I'll die"

"you said this can be multi-player?" he asks after a while

somehow ends up speed running all the missions surpassing you even though you'd been playing longer.

would buy his own controller or PC set up using the excuse of "not wanting to over-use your equipment”

when youre gaming for too long or he has a long day he lays on you with his face buried in your neck or your titties

wants you to sit on his lap or between his legs while you play

helps you calm down when you're about to rage

massages your hands when they get tired

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

immediately begging to have a turn or play together

incredibly skilled with his hands so handling a controller and multi-tasking on a keyboard is nothing to him

texts and calls you to come over for gaming nights or afternoons

sets up a game room for the two of you complete with multiple TVs so you each can have your own and if you're a PC player 2 full set-ups for you and him

A DIRTY DOG ... I know y'all seen him playing kitty cards that mf is about as slick as sandpaper ... that cheat combo? he's using it. that hacker mod? he's using it.

definitely whines and pouts when you beat him, but gloats and dances when he wins

would definitely try and talk you into becoming online gamers/streamers

when you play on a console he likes when you straddle him backwards and lay flat on your stomach so he can use your ass like a pillow to rest his hands on.

rages with you ... no questions asked

ends up knowing your games better than you

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

S Tier player ... but very humble

plays YOUR favorite game one time and beats it an hour later

that level you're stuck on? hand him the controller or let him take over the keys he'll have you past the level in no time

only started playing because you asked him to

you either play together or he sits with you when you're playing or he wants you to sit with him while he plays (as long as you're in the same room he's happy)

makes bets that if he wins he can use your kitchen (this is actually canon in a tender moments)

the type to play online under a pseudonym, but gain a huge following in the process

plays both PC and Console with you, but prefers console so he can sit between your legs while you two play

massages you & helps calm you when you're about to rage

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

will gladly play any game with you

S Tier player .... he's so good it seems like he's cheating when he's not

gets matching consoles and PC set ups with you

secretly plays ahead so he can help you beat levels

prefers PC over console, but will play both

"don't worry maybe you'll beat me next time" instigates every time he beats you in a game

once he finds out you enjoy gaming he's having an entire entertainment wing built for you

likes to have you sit in his lap while you play

gets you every game you want even gets you early access to buy it before the release date

eggs you on when you start gamer raging

the type to sit behind you and cage you in his arms when you ask him to beat a level for you

[lostpiewrites]

Bofurin Boys as Bfs (pt.2) 💫

Ft : Mitsuki Kiryu , Kaji Ren , Umemiya Hajime

a/n: this is the part 2. if you want to read , the part 1 is here. it has some slight manga spoilers of the latest chapters. But i hope you enjoyy... (art credit for : _sakuraharuka._ on insta).

Mitsuki Kiryu

This man is the perfect bestie bf. He knows what to wear. So you as his gf go to him more than you go to your girl besties. He dresses you like a runway model without even trying because he himself dresses like that too. Goes out for shopping with you , picks clothing to you according to your taste and body shape and gives you detailed opinions on what to combine together. Wears matching outfits with you but in a subtle way , like matching colors or designs etc. (Mans is bf goals confirmed)

He has long hair and a baby face so he KNOWS about bodycare. With him your skin is glowing and your hair is more voluminous , more beautiful and longer than it has ever been. He tries out face masks or beauty products and does skincare with you as a date. If you ever want to go into a spa or just a simple waxing/laser session , he comes with you without further questions.

He has lots of piercings. So if you ever were to get one, he knows where does it hurt , how to keep it clean without getting infected etc. Would pick your earrings and jewelry for you. Would even get you to a professional skin type test to find out if you are a gold girl or a silver girl.

He has an older sister so he knows about female body. Not only about periods but monthly phases too and helps you through them emotionally. But would tease you when you get touchy with him more than normal and say sth like "sbd is ovulating i see ? 😏"

Would have matching phonecases with you. 100% , without a single doubt.

Would start playing a videogame/ rp game to bond with you more. and get addicted to it later on

Defends you like a guardian angel if you have a shitty family. Whether its financially or emotionally , he tries to become your safe space so you can build your independence and cut contacts with them later on. (I believe its canon because in the manga we have seen the way he scolds his elder sister)

Kaji Ren

He is a fighter , a monstrous one at that. So if you are dating him , it means that you are already used to it. A coward girl is not meant for him and he respects your bravery. 100% fell in love with you when you saw him lose his temper and instead of running away in fear , you came to him to patch up his wounds and hug him to calm him down.

He always carries his headphones around his neck. If you were to forget yours or they run out of battery , he offers his. Says he can handle people's shit for a few hours. Spoiler : definitely can't , gets overwhelmed too easily but you are worth the try in his opinion.

He also always carries around at least 5 lollipops so if you get upset , crave sth sweet on the go or experience a low blood sugar in a sudden ; he carefully unwraps and gives one to you.

He is always there for you when it matters. He is quiet but his presence speaks volumes when you need him the most. You could yap , cry or complain about anything and he is over there listening to you with his full attention.

He doesn't talk much. He doesn't even hear much , let alone talking. He has music blasting in his ears 24/7 and ripping his eardrums. But when you are around him to ground him back to the Earth , he takes it off and hangs it over his neck. Also he takes it off because he worries if you were to say sth to him but he didn't hear it.

He once said "Things are quiet in my mind when you are around". And that brought tears into your eyes because coming from him , that is the BEST compliment you could ever get.

Makes playlists sent directly from HEAVEN. This man has an immaculate music taste and you can't convince me otherwise. Because come on , who could say that a man who listens music 24/7 to keep himself sane enough doesn't know the best songs out there ? Has a different playlist for every different activity. And gifts you a new one on your birthday.

Not only that but he also has an insane amount of musical background knowledge. Like you are listening to an edit where the music is a masterpiece but the poster decided to be a dck and didn't write it's name on anywhere of the post , he just hears it and goes "x song by y artist , posted by z person on Youtube and the slowed version for edits". Or you can ask him about sth that you deem to be totally unknown , sth like tibetan throat singing , but he recommends a few names right on top of his mind.

I also think it's canon that he listens to ASMR a lot because it calms his mind down and helps him sleep after a long day of fights.

Umemiya Hajime

This man is a respected and loved leader of a school of gang members. So you date him , you have about 300 boys under your command. Especially one that is named Sugishita (lol). They are always at your beck and call because you are like a mom in their eyes. Esp if you cook for them , bring them water/drinks and patch up their wounds. You get out of home alone at midnight safely and happily knowing that you don't have to worry about anything with these guys having your back.

We all know Umemiya LOVES gardening. So if you ever to show a slight interest in it ,he deadass kneels down and proposes right then and there. Also grows vegetables and fruits and proudly presents them to you with a content smile because he wants you to eat healthy. How can you reject him ? You can't.

He cuddles with you on the hammock that he has at the rooftop of his school. Also stargazes with you on cloudless nights at the same exact spot.

Dating with him also made you grow closer with Kotoha , his honored sister. She is a mature, funny and easy-going person , one that you are happy you are friends with. Also she gives you free omelette rices just because she likes seeing Umemiya happy even tho she acts like she doesn't care. That's her way of thanking.

Also after you started dating Umemiya, Hiragi started drinking less pills for his stomach , only because he doesn't have to deal with Umemiya anymore. You are a goddess , an angel in his eyes and he will forever be grateful for you. He comes over and reports everything to you instead of him. You laugh at him avoiding your bf and his shenanigans but happily go over to your bf and give him the deets about the latest fight first years had with KEEL.

[aevellewritessometimes]

Touchstarved NSFW Headcanons

Just some general NSFW HCs for the main cast (because Elyon and Sen are both enigmas to me)

I'm just going to preface this by saying that @/creepsterdreams just happened to hit the nail right on the head with what I was thinking. Unrealated note, y'all should check out their work if you ever get the chance :)

Content Warnings: Mildly unconventional kinks? (we don' kinkshame here though), blatant Vere favoritism, may or may not be OOC, this whole thing was written by an aspec person, most of this was written at 12 am while sleepy

Edit: I took the opportunity to try and fix some previously missed typos, and after I finished I found out that the Pope fucking died. Happy Easter!

Word Count: 2,010

MINORS DNI

KURAS

Alignment: Vers + Switch

Kinks: Body worship (giving), cockwarming, lingerie, soft sex, masochism

Due to his height, he's more used to domming and/or topping by default, but he doesn't really have anything against being the submissive one

That being said, I get masochist vibes from him. He's usually good at not showing that side of him, but it's also not all that hard to get him to show it

Not too apposed to being on the receiving end of body worship, but just feels weirdly guilty about it

^ Combining body worship with his masochistic tendencies could potentially get him to cry, which is otherwise difficult because I feel like he has really high endurance

Soft dom/service top vibes

Has a much larger lingerie collection than one would expect

^ It's not crazy large or anything, it's just that most people wouldn't expect him to have one to begin with

I don't know if he needs to sleep at all, but in a situation where both he and his partner are in the mood but his partner is too tired to actually have sex with him, he'd be very open to just cockwarming either until they fall asleep or they get riled up

Due to him disliking "difficult patients," I feel like an excessive amount of bratiness would be a bit of a turnoff for him

Would absolutely be the type to light candles to set the mood

(^ Don't ask me about what types/scents; I don't use candles often enough to give you a good answer)

Corruption kink is also a turnoff for him as of "present day." However, I do see a chance of this changing depending on how his endings alter his character by the end of the game

Knows how to make his own lube and protection/contraceptives and is a God at aftercare

LEANDER

Alignment: Switch + Vers

Kinks: Bondage (domming + subbing), praise (giving + receiving), degradation (mostly receiving), temperature play, semi-public sex, aphrodisiacs, corruption kink

Generally prefers subbing, but there are a few scenarios where he'd rather dom

^ Those scenarios can range from anywhere between specific kinks to who he's sleeping with

Would be the type to swap roles mid-sex if that's what he and his partner both want

Is very good at tying and untying knots

^ Has once tried to use his magic for bondage purposes, but it turned out to be much more flammable than anticipated. Kuras still gives him shit for that time he and his friend had to rush to the clinic at one in the morning due to third degree burns

Make him do some honor bondage if you really wanna torture him

Has tried cockwarming on multiple occasions; never has the patience to stay still for very long

Would generally be willing to degrade his partner if that's what they're into, but his overall comfort with doing so entirely depends on his relationship with them outside of sex

Would be the type to mix praise and degradation in the same sentence

Also gives me masochist vibes, but is much more willing to admit it than Kuras

^ Doesn't really outright say it, but also doesn't put too much effort into hiding it

Probably has a lower back tattoo

The pierced nipples are canon in my mind, fight me

If his partner is someone he's trying to keep close (*cough* MC *cough*) then he's definitely going to bring out the subtle corruption kink

^ Doesn't matter if he's the dom or sub, one way or another he's going to figure out how to corrupt them

Knows how to make his own aphrodisiacs. Shockingly enough, he doesn't do anything crazy with them, but nobody really trusts him enough to test that out (except for Ais that one time)

^ Also knows how to make his own contraceptives. They're effective but they taste weird. Has tried and frequently failed to make his own lube; it always turns out concerningly chunky

Has a very expensive toy collection

VERE

Alignment: Circumstantial

Kinks: Predator/prey roleplay (theoretically), corruption kink, hypnosis (domming), pet play (domming), degredation (mostly giving), praise (mostly recieving), vocalness, bloodplay, lingerie, orgasm control (domming + subbing), dacryphilia, sensory deprivation, biting, sadomasochism, breeding (occasional)

His alignment is fully dependent of his relationship with his partner outside of sex

^ Casual fling? Definitely a dom, most likely a top. Close friend/romantic partner? Vers switch who prefers to dom

Enjoys the idea of predator/prey roleplay, but Eridia is just too crowded with people and Soulless for him to indulge in it as much as he'd like

^ Sure, both situations would be easy for him to handle, but having to suddenly halt everything to disembowel something/someone just ruins the mood, especially if it ends up putting his partner in danger

Very prevalent corruption kink. Something something false idol stuff

^ He doesn't care much about the concept of virginity, but if his partner is 1) someone he actually gives a fuck about and 2) a virgin, then he's definitely going to make something out of it for the sake of said corruption kink

Hypnosis and pet play are the two scenarios that he is strictly the dom for when they come up; both kinks spawning from the fact that he, who was once revered as a god, has been brought down to be something lesser than what he probably once considered as pawns means that he takes great pleasure in seeing someone being so willing to allow themself to become something lesser just for the sake of worshiping him, even if it's only temporary

^ Also, I feel like Vere being able to hypnotize people is just canon. Not to start theory posting, but given that the eyes for his monster silhouette look almost like spirals if you squint, his voice was described as "so supple I could slip into it" (or something along those lines), and there's two scenes where he seems to mess with the shadows to keep MC from looking anywhere except directly into his eyes… yeah this guy has to at least know how to hypnotize people, if he doesn't have some kind of hypnosis-based powers

Not necessarily apposed to dishing out praise, he's just more of an "actions over words" type and generally prefers to be on the receiving end

^ If the praise feels condescending and/or overly sappy it will just end up being a turnoff

^^ Despises the phrase "good boy" being used on him

Is willing to be degraded, but saying the wrong thing on the wrong day is a very easy way to damage your relationship with him

^ It is also possible for him to say the wrong thing on the wrong day as well. Honestly, I think it could be a very likely scenario

Knows he looks good in blood, but also likes seeing his partner in blood when given the option

Is the one with the truly impressive lingerie collection, although he doesn't actually have many toys

^ Does own some absurdly expensive lube though

Two quick facts about foxes: they're very vocal when having sex and they're the most active during winter

I imagine that Vere, no matter his role or position, is vocal in some way, shape, or form; whether it be crying or moaning or talking or even screaming

The little winter tidbit makes me think that Vere becomes a bit more sadistic and significantly hornier during the winter months; sees it as a great way to keep warm blow off some steam while waiting for the horrid season to come to an end

^ Temporarily develops a breeding kink during this time, but it goes away as the snow starts melting

^^ If he's closer with his partner in this circumstance, he would absolutely steal some contraceptives from Kuras for his partner if they were to be needed. Yes, he knows they could just ask and get it for free, but why skip out on the opportunity to be a thorn in the doctor's side?

Loves making his partner scream

Always leaves at least one bite mark for his partners to remember him by

^ The amount left and the placement depends on his level of closeness outside of sex

Overall enjoys most forms of power play, but he needs to be in a specific mindset to willingly be the submissive one'

^ Doesn't see the appeal in age play, though. Like, at all. Hard no for him

AIS

Alignment: Vers + Switch

Kinks: Brat taming (domming + subbing), sadomasochism, voyeurism (?), intox kink, bloodplay, choking (domming), shibari (domming + subbing), biting (giving + receiving), dacryphilia, orgasm control (domming + subbing), size kink

First thing's first; the groupmind may or may not be a potential factor for his sex life, depending on how exactly it works

^ For instance, if Ocudeus or the other groupmind members are able to. Like. Perceive things from Ais's perspective, then voyeurism is going to be an aspect of his sex life and there's little he can do about it

Moving on: also generally doms by default; partially due to his size, but also because he's the type to test if whoever's trying to dom him is actually assertive enough to do so

^ Hence why he's such a (literally) massive brat

Judging by how he feels about MC's and Vere's shitty personalities, him being into brats is just a given

There's also some subtle corruption kink going on, but unlike in Vere and Leander's case, it's not intentional on his end

Slightly prefers being bitten over biting his partner

Strongly prefers drug intox over alcohol intox when it comes to intox play

Prefers shibari over regular bondage because he's a fan of the patterns

^ Oddly enough, he isn't that big of a lingerie fan; he doesn't have anything against it, he just prefers full nudity

Impact play is a strong turnoff for him, though most other forms of pain play are generally on the table for him

Choking isn't something he indulges in often, partially because he doesn't like being choked and partially because he is very aware of his own strength; won't even make an attempt if he's having angry sex

Better at aftercare than most people tend to expect

MHIN

Alignment: Circumstantial

Kinks: Size kink (domming), predator/prey play (domming; deeply internalized), knife play (domming), bondage (domming + subbing), honor bondage (subbing), hypnosis (subbing), brat taming (domming), overstim (subbing), soft sex

Wouldn't sub for a fling. They also wouldn't want to bottom for a fling, either; nor would they want to bring any strong kinks into bed for them

If their partner is someone they trust, then they would honestly much rather be the submissive one

They've stumbled across topics such as hypnosis or predator/prey kinks in books, but they've never actually tried them in real life, despite both topics peaking their interest

^ Due to recent circumstances, they actually feel quite guilty about having a predator/prey kink these days, rather than just feeling a bit embarrassed

Enjoys domming a partner who is shorter than them, really enjoys domming a partner who is taller than them

Finds the presence of ropes oddly comforting, but also enjoys testing their own patience with honor bondage

As much as they like control, allowing someone else to take the reins so that they can take a break is just as pleasurable for them

^ Sometimes a bitch just needs to shut down their brain for a bit

Isn't really a fan of knife play in the leaving marks/drawing blood way, but they do like just lightly dragging a knife across their partner's body

Another one who knows how to make protection/contraceptives, but doesn't know how to make effective lube

[jaderabbitt]

Incidents (2)

in which there are many incidents where people forget you are the wife of one Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Descriptions of Violence, Singular Usage of Y/N, Mentions of Racism/Segregation, Canon-Typical Violence, Mentions of Death, Reader flirts with a woman jokingly but is otherwise of unspecified sexuality, jaderabbitt's esoteric writing style, not beta-read so if you find spelling mistakes, i WILL game-end myself Tags: whipped for his wife!bucky, not a John Walker friendly fic, some angst, comedy, angst with fluff, not good at tagging xo Riga, Latvia

Approaching the “safe” house that Zemo had apparently owned did little to settle your nerves regarding the entire situation. Madripoor had gone to shit, and fast, and you could not believe that they had convinced Bucky that it was a good idea to become the Soldat again.

Whole lot that did.

The two men walking in front of you knew better than to try and rope you into their conversation, though it seemed that Zemo was doing a lot of the talking. Bucky simply walked alongside you, slowing his gait to match yours as you let the events of the past twenty-four hours stew in your head. He had even wrapped his warm blooded arm around your waist, but you refused to lean into his touch–instead, you crossed your arms as you walked. 

There wasn’t much that could’ve taken you out of your current state. 

Sensing vibrational pulses that were abnormal for the surrounding climate, would.

Your pace had slowed even further as you looked around for the source of where the waves were coming from. Bucky’s arm tensed around you, as if he had also sensed what you were searching for.

“–of course not, why would you? We are here.” Zemo announced, promptly stopping in front of a door.

“We’ll meet back here. I need to talk to her alone,” Bucky blurted out, pinning you with a look that said trust me. You nearly rolled your eyes instinctively at how this man was an assassin for so long, yet couldn’t even come up with a convincing enough lie in the moment. It was no wonder why Hydra had you as the espionage asset and kept him behind the scope of a sniper.

Sam’s brows furrowed as he watched the interaction. “Y’all good?” He asked, his eyes darting back and forth between your figures.

“Yeah. We’ll see you guys in a bit.”

Sam gave you both one last suspicious look before walking into the building. You stood watch as Bucky leant down to pick up what you instantly recognized as a Kimoyo Bead. Hissing between your teeth, you ran a hand down your face; you were in for it now…

Bucky stood back up and turned, seeing you with an open and outstretched hand. He winced as he dropped it into your palm, already sensing the headache building on the forefront of his wife’s head. You snatched the bead up, beginning to massage your temple.

“Sweetheart–”

“Save it, James.”

You had already begun walking towards where you felt the next bead’s pulse, following it like a breadcrumb trail. His jaw quickly snapped shut and he nodded, at least having the wherewithal to look a little guilty.

— — —

You found yourselves in between what seemed to be an alleyway. The walls of the buildings on either side were peeling–and an eyesore yellow color to boot. The street itself, however, was immaculately clean. 

Truly, the alleys of New York could never. You half expected a rat the size of Bucky’s forearm to skitter across any second. The edges of your lips quirked up as you remembered when you both found out just how big the rats had mutated to over the decades. Time and a place, you reminded yourself.

“You dropped something,” Bucky called out, clearly trying to rouse whichever Wakandan had led you here. Something told you that you both had an idea on exactly who. “I was wondering when you were going to show up.”

You quickly turned around, coming face to face with Ayo.

The grin that creeped along your face was inescapable.

“Ayo, you finally came to visit me?” You purred, sauntering up to the Dora Milaje warrior. While she had meant to be all intimidating and serious business, the minute her eyes went from Bucky to you, there was a noticeable glimmer that came over her. You had pressed your cheeks to hers on both sides, making faux kisses in greeting. While it wasn’t one that was customary in Wakandan culture, you felt it appropriate to greet your friend.

You took a glance back at Bucky, where his eye twitched and his jaw ticked–a sign you knew meant that he was grinding his teeth.

The Wakandan warrior curled a hand under your chin, which made you let out a pleased hum in response. Her eyes quickly darted back towards your husband, and narrowed back into the expression that anyone knew meant that she wasn’t going to ask twice.

“I am here for Zemo.” She said in Xhosa, her grip on you leaving as she approached your husband. “How could you free him?”

“We need his help,” he answered plainly, and you sighed. You knew that you did need the man, but that didn’t make him less of a stain upon the earth.

Ayo had begun to prowl around the ex-assassin, chastising him. “With time, will, and the resources, the Winter Soldier programming was removed from you like a rotten fur.”

“And I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful for everything you and Shuri have done–”

“Zemo murdered our King T’Chaka at the U.N. The man who chose us–” she paused, glancing down for a second before correcting herself, “who chose me to protect him.”

“I understand–”

“Very little, if anything, of our loss and our shame.”

You watched Bucky search for the words–any words, really–to respond to Ayo in a way that justified what he had done. You truthfully couldn’t find them either. It had not been you who had freed the psychopath, but…were you not one in your own right, after what you did?

You held your tongue, but it did not feel good. You swore a vow–in sickness, and in health. You trusted your husband’s decisions, even if you didn’t agree wholeheartedly with them. You would figure it out. Together.

“He’s a means to an end.”

Hearing him speak the language of the country you both had betrayed broke your glass heart into aching shards. It reminded you of your days together in the peaceful land. You had taken quickly to the people and your small community, even volunteering to assist in the childcare of the tribe. They had been weary to allow an outsider to do so, but the king’s trust in you was not taken lightly.

“Eight hours, White Wolf. Then, we come for him.”

She had held her palm open for Bucky to place the beads in, but you were quick to approach and place them in his stead. Her other hand gently enclosed over yours before you could pull away.

“Aneeka and I miss you terribly, Little Lamb.” Ayo smiled, her eyes softening as she gazed into your own. 

You couldn’t help but pout at that, sighing in defeat.

“You know I am a faithful woman, Ayo–”

“Please stop flirting with my wife.”

“I know, Little Lamb. But, if you ever change your mind…” She gave a chuckle and a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows as she began to walk away. You suddenly felt like the sun was sweltering as she winked back at you, and you bit your lower lip in return.

Bucky growled, grabbing you by your hips and pressing your backside to his front. You gasped as he bit down into the crook of your neck, effectively marking you in front of the other woman.

Hence, the name White Wolf.

– – –

“Something’s not right about Walker.”

You quirked an eyebrow at your husband as he shed his jacket on his way to the cabinets, giving his figure a once over. He caught your look as he glanced back to offer you a glass, but you shamelessly kept gazing. It was a shame you couldn’t see the angry red blush that was surely creeping along his chest as his head snapped back towards pouring a drink, almost hitting against the open cabinet door.

“You don’t say,” Sam snorted, looking back down at his phone.

“Well, I know crazy when I see one–”

“I’d be very careful with how you finish that sentence, dear.”

“–because I am crazy.”

“Nice save,” you smirked.

“Can’t argue with that.”

You plucked the decanter from Bucky’s hand, holding his right hand in your own, forcing him to pick up the glass with his metal one. He squeezed it gently as he took a sip of the whiskey, going on to argue about the shield once more with Sam.

His thumb rubbed circles into your skin, not even flinching as the door was slammed open by none other than John Walker himself. He simply sighed and made to grab the decanter again, and you knew he wished for nothing more than to regain the ability to get drunk in this moment. You shooed his hand away from the alcohol, taking a swig straight from the glass bottle when he turned his back towards you to look over at Walker.

Next thing you knew, a vibranium spear was embedded into the wall inches from Walker’s face.

You gave a low whistle, knowing that it had been a warning; the Dora Milaje don’t just miss. You smiled and gave a wave to the now weaponless warrior who had appeared. She gave an enthusiastic wave back upon recognizing you.

Bucky scowled and grabbed your hand, stopping you from distracting the ladies joining in on the fun.

He shamefully looked down as Ayo began to speak, knowing she was addressing him specifically.

“Even if he is a means to your end, time’s up.”

You tilted his chin up to look at you. The gray in his eyes always seemed to become more prominent when he was thinking negatively like this. He leaned into your touch near imperceptibly, very much aware of the situation in the room.

“Release him to us now.”

Your head snapped towards Ayo once Walker started addressing her. “Well, let’s put down the pointy sticks–”

Your husband was born during segregation and you don’t think even he would voice such a microaggression.

“...you might wanna fight Bucky and (y/n) before you tangle with the Dora Milaje,” you heard Sam say, only half paying attention to the conversation.

You watched in abject horror as John Walker went to touch Ayo. “Walker, don’t–”

The grimace that spread as you watched her lay Walker out on his ass was almost sympathetic. You were mostly just uninterested in being involved in the death of the newly appointed Captain America.

“We should do something.” Sam pointed out to you and Bucky.

The latter of which simply wrapped an arm around your shoulder to pull you against him, smirking like he was watching a cage match where his bet was winning.

“Lookin’ strong, John!” Bucky cheered sarcastically, making you snort.

“Bucky.” Sam hissed, looking to you as if he was asking you for help.

“You’ll land a hit eventually, Walker!” You added, looking Sam dead in the eyes.

You both begrudgingly conceded to stopping your affair-in-waiting-should-Bucky-fuck-up.

Watching your husband’s metal arm fall off his torso had startled you as much as it did him. You looked to Ayo, mouth agape, as she condemned him. The betrayal in his eyes as you locked gazes with him was nothing short of visceral. You quickly rushed over to pick up the fallen limb, helping him reattach it. His daze didn’t last very long; he never was one to allow himself to think instead of running on instinct alone.

“Buck, look at me.” His face locked back into an impassive expression, but his eyes couldn’t lie. Not to you. “I’m with you. ‘Till death do us part, remember?”

I’m with you ‘till the end of the line, pal. xo likes, reposts, comments appreciated <3 taglist: @seventeen-x @svtbpbts @mizz-kraziii @rafesgurl

[lyn31]

Hello there! I’ve read all of you Zayne fics and they are so cute. I was wondering if you could do one before pregnancy where Zayne proposes, to the wedding, and eventually honeymoon. Can you make it romantic and smut towards the honeymoon please. Thank you in advance.☺️

Hey, sooooo I did it, but uh it is bigger than I expected it to be (that's what she said) so I separate it into two part, it's one fics on Ao3 but anyway! Hopefully this is what you're thinking of!

Oh and hopefully you don't mind me writing my OC there as well🫶🏻🥰 Let me know what you think! And enjoy!

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How it all happen

Summary

Returning to the town of their first festival, you and Zayne relive old memories with quiet affection, playful competition, and a spark of nostalgia that gently reveals how much—and how deeply—things have changed between you. And in a quiet garden wrapped in sage green, gold and burgundy, you marry Zayne beneath soft November skies—where love, memory, and mischief all walk hand in hand.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Fluff, proposal, marriage/wedding, fluff, sweet, banter, silly, chaos. Technically still in the canon world!

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The moment Zayne suggests this particular town for the festival, you know exactly what he’s doing.

You don’t say anything right away. You just give him a long look as the memory clicks into place, your lips tugging into a slow, knowing smirk. “Really?”

Beside you, Zayne doesn’t even react. The glow from the hanging lanterns catches in his hazel eyes, casting flickers of soft amber across his otherwise unreadable face. He slips his hands into the pockets of his coat, utterly unbothered. “It’s a festival.”

You let out a small laugh, nudging his elbow lightly with yours. “You’re taking me back to our first festival. After all these years.”

“Hm.” He exhales through his nose, not quite a sigh, not quite a breath of amusement. “And?”

You watch him a second longer, the corner of your mouth tugging higher. “You’re so sentimental.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just tilts his head, gaze drifting to the lights ahead—like he’s already walking through the memory and the present at once.

he layout has changed. New stalls have replaced old ones, the colors are brighter now, and the speakers hum with updated music—but the bones are the same. The warm lanterns. The scent of grilled food hanging thick in the air. The laughter and footsteps over cobblestone.

And you’re not complaining. Not one bit. If anything, something warm and heavy settles in your chest. Familiar. Safe. You take a step forward, close enough for your fingers to brush against his. You grab his hand and lead him further into the festival.

“Alright then,” you say softly. “Let’s make some new memories.”

The ring toss stall is tucked in the same corner it always was, wedged between the candied fruit stand and a newer game with blinking lights. It looks smaller than you remember, but that might just be time playing tricks.

You pause in front of it, and nostalgia hits hard—sharper than you expect. Caleb’s dramatic groan when he missed every single shot, and the way Rose had snorted before casually landing all her rings in one smooth motion. You hadn’t been much better than Caleb back then, your aim clumsy, laugh breathless with how hard you’d been trying to prove yourself.

Zayne had made it look effortless, of course. Toss. Land. Toss. Land. Quietly competent, quietly smug. He hadn’t said a word, just raised an eyebrow when you’d glared at him in defeat.

But now—now you’re a hunter. You’ve trained for years. Your aim might not be Evol-level precise like your sister, but it has to count for something, right?

You step closer to the stall, eyeing the rings lined up on the counter. For a moment, the years fall away.

“Would you like to go first,” Zayne asks from behind, voice calm as ever, “or shall I?”

You scoff as you start rolling up your sleeves, already reaching for the rings. “Obviously me.”

Zayne steps back with that easy shrug of his, the kind that says go ahead, impress me, but he doesn’t voice it. He never has to.

You take a ring, trying not to overthink it. You expect the toss to be wobbly. Maybe it’ll graze the bottle neck and fall off, like old times.

But instead—somehow—it lands.

A perfect, clean loop.

You blink. The stall owner pauses mid-motion. Even Zayne’s brows lift the slightest fraction, which on him may as well be open-mouthed shock.

“Huh,” you say, master of words as always.

You toss the next one.

Another hit.

Your mouth parts in disbelief. The final ring spins from your fingers—this one’s a little off-center, but it catches the edge of the bottle and bounces just right, sliding down into place with a soft clink.

You stare. All three. Still stunned.

The stall owner lets out a low whistle. “Well, damn.”

You glance sideways at Zayne, whose expression toes the line between unimpressed and quietly impressed. “Was that skill or luck?”

You’re still processing, your heart thumping with the ridiculous thrill of it. “Let’s call it a miracle.”

The stall owner hands you a prize without asking—one that’s all too familiar. A stuffed rabbit plush, nearly identical to the one you won—or rather, that Zayne won for you—all those years ago.

You hold it out to him now, smug. “Something’s changed, huh?” you say, wiggling your eyebrows as you press the plush into his hands.

Zayne exhales slowly, giving you the flattest look imaginable as he accepts the rabbit. “Barely.”

But he keeps holding it anyway.

You grin.

Unfortunately, your miracle does not extend to the other games.

What starts with quiet confidence slowly devolves into a comedy of errors. You try the coin toss—your coin bounces off the rim and somehow ricochets out of the booth entirely. At the shooting gallery, at least you manage a win—because really, if you couldn’t, you might as well retire your guns on the spot. The rubber duck scoop? A complete disaster. You don’t even manage to snag one. The wire scoop breaks in half, leaving you standing there with a soggy paper handle and a wounded sense of pride.

Zayne, naturally, is irritatingly good at everything. You try not to watch as he knocks down every target at the dart booth with surgical precision, winning another small prize with such casual effort that the attendant doesn’t even bother to act surprised. He doesn’t gloat, doesn’t say a word—but you can feel the quiet amusement rolling off him.

By the time you’ve lost your third round at darts, you throw your hands up with a dramatic groan, dragging a hand down your face. “I think my luck ran away.”

Zayne, who now has the rabbit plush tucked securely under one arm and a small bag of festival snacks in the other, glances at your last pathetic dart still stuck in the outermost edge of the board. “It seems that way.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

He doesn’t even blink. “Watching you fail?” His tone is dry as bone. “Not particularly.”

“Liar.”

Zayne doesn’t bother to deny it. He just raises a brow and looks away, as if your misfortune is beneath his notice—though the faint pull of his lips betrays him.

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Sweets are your final stop before the night begins to wind down—your enthusiasm still bright, even if your aim didn’t survive the evening.

You make a beeline for the dessert stalls, immediately drawn to a delicate-looking pastry. The first bite is heavenly—rich, buttery, and soft—but halfway through, the richness starts to weigh heavy on your tongue.

You wrinkle your nose and wordlessly pass it to Zayne.

He accepts it without question, taking a bite like it’s routine.

Then comes a glossy red candy apple. You bite into it and immediately regret it. Too sticky. Too sweet. You stare at the half-bitten thing with betrayal in your eyes.

Zayne, ever wordless, takes it too.

Next is a sweet dumpling—soft, chewy, coated in syrup. It’s delicious, really, but two bites in, you're already shaking your head, lips puckered from the sugar.

Zayne sighs faintly, but pops the rest of it into his mouth anyway.

You watch him with growing amusement as he finishes everything you abandon, not once batting an eye. His movements are so precise, so efficient, it almost feels rehearsed—like he’s been assigned to finish your leftovers with military precision.

“You know,” you remark, licking sugar from your thumb, “people would think I was feeding you on purpose.”

Zayne exhales, reaching for a napkin to wipe his fingers. “I told you to stop getting things you wouldn’t finish.”

“I thought I’d finish them!” you say, indignant. “Besides, you’d just buy them anyway, so really, this is a win-win.”

Zayne gives you a look. Not annoyed—more like resigned. The kind of look that says, This is exactly who you’ve always been.

You grin and reach out, fingers catching the edge of his sleeve. “Thanks for saving me from my bad choices.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, small grin on his face. For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression unreadable under the soft festival glow. But the lights catch in his eyes, pale gold and endless, and you feel something in your chest settle.

Then, without warning, he exhales and says, “Come on.”

You blink. “Hm?”

Zayne nods toward the edge of the street, where the lanterns start to thin out and the crowds grow quieter. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see.”

Your curiosity stirs, but you don’t push. He’s already walking, the rabbit plush tucked neatly under his arm, his free hand brushing lightly against yours in a near invitation.

You smile to yourself and follow.

He leads you past the crowds, beyond the music, the booths, the hum of voices. The air cools slightly as the noise fades behind you, the lanterns becoming sparser, their glow soft and golden on the path ahead. Leaves rustle faintly in the trees above, and every now and then a firework crackles in the distance, a soft pop that lingers in the air like a memory.

Eventually, you come to a small clearing—a quiet, open space where the world seems to slow down. Just enough light filters in to catch the shimmer of something ahead.

A stall. Unassuming. Familiar.

Your eyes widen slightly. Festival sparklers.

The kind that lit up your childhood fingers, that fizzed and glowed like they were alive, tiny explosions of joy in your palms.

You glance at Zayne, brows raised. “Really committing to the nostalgia thing, huh?”

He says nothing. Just steps forward, pulls out a few coins, and exchanges them for a pack. You watch as he carefully separates two, his fingers steady and deliberate, then turns back to you.

“Here,” he says, offering you one.

You take it, your smile tugging higher. “So, what’s the plan? Slow burn romance or straight to the grand gesture?”

Zayne lights his first, the golden spark catching instantly, crackling to life in the dim. The shimmer reflects in his eyes, glowing soft against the sharp lines of his face.

“I thought you don’t like slow burn,” he says.

You huff a laugh, lighting yours next. The tip flares up, buzzing warmly in your hand. “I don’t. Unless it’s you.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The world narrows to the space between you, the quiet flicker of the sparklers in your hands. Light dances across Zayne’s face, softening the usual cool precision of his expression. He looks younger—not in age, but in the way memory softens the sharp lines of time.

You stand close, the kind of silence between you that says everything.

And for a few precious seconds, the past and present overlap—and everything is warm.

Then, his free hand—cool, steady—wraps gently around yours.

You blink, the touch soft but unmissable. It lingers, not seeking attention, not demanding anything. Just… there. Like it belongs.

You glance up at him. “Oh?”

Zayne doesn’t answer. Not right away. His grip isn’t tight. Just deliberate. Grounding.

There’s a pause—quiet enough for the sparkler’s soft crackle to fill the air. Its fading fizz mirrors your breath: slow, caught, waiting.

Then, finally—

“You were right,” he murmurs. His voice is low, caught somewhere between the sparks and shadow.

Your brows furrow. “About what?”

His thumb drags lightly across the side of your hand. Not absentminded—no, it’s too careful for that. Like he’s memorizing the shape of your skin.

“Something’s changed,” he says.

The words are simple. But the way he says them—with that quiet finality of someone who’s circled the answer too many times before finally landing on it—makes something warm stir in your chest.

Your sparkler fizzles down to a glowing nub, the light shrinking until it fades completely. Zayne’s does the same a breath later, leaving the air faintly smoky, the world a little dimmer.

But he doesn’t let go.

Instead, he turns toward you fully, expression soft in the gentle glimmer of distant fireworks. The light touches his face in waves—shadows slipping across the sharp lines of his jaw, the slope of his cheek, the delicate strain around his eyes.

“Things change,” he says. “We’ve changed. But what I feel for you?” He lifts your joined hands slightly. “It hasn’t faded.”

His voice dips lower. “It’s only grown.”

You almost laugh—almost. The kind of sound that would deflect, tease, ease the weight of what he’s saying. But when you look at him, you can’t. Because his eyes… they’re steady. Open. And it hits you that he’s not just saying this.

He’s letting you see it.

You try to speak, but nothing makes it past the knot in your throat. Zayne’s thumb brushes along the back of your hand with a gentleness that shouldn’t make your eyes sting—but it does.

“I used to think,” he says, slower now, “that the only way to keep you safe was to stay away.”

The words settle over you like a shadow.

You know exactly what day he’s thinking about. You feel the shape of it, even now. The hurt. The distance. The way he looked at you like he was made of glass, terrified you’d shatter if he touched you again.

He doesn’t look away. “That day… when I hurt you. I wanted to be better. Stronger. I thought if I trained hard enough, I could control it—my power, myself—and make sure it never happened again.”

His voice falters, just slightly, but he catches it.

“I was wrong.”

You blink, startled.

“I didn’t need to control my power. I needed to understand what anchored it.” His gaze sharpens a fraction. “What anchored me.”

He steps in—just enough to erase the last bit of space between you.

“It was always you.”

Something catches in your chest. Not pain. Not exactly. Just something raw—something that feels like healing and ache, tangled together.

Zayne lifts your hand to his chest, holding it there gently—over the soft beat of his heart. It’s steady beneath your palm, unhurried.

“This,” he murmurs, “has always been yours.”

Your breath stutters. You barely realize you’ve leaned into him slightly, until the warmth of his body eases the tremble in your fingers.

His eyes lower, like he’s searching for something inward. When they lift again, you see it—that quiet glint of resolve shining through.

“You always said I’d figure it out,” he says. His mouth tips into the smallest of smiles—faint, sure.

“And you meant it. Even when I didn’t believe in myself, you still did.”

He shifts—barely a movement—but then you feel it. The way his grip changes. The slight bend of his arm.

And then, before you can register the motion, he’s on one knee.

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t make a show of it. Doesn’t look around. Doesn’t speak yet.

He just reaches inside his coat, pulling out a small box—dark, simple, worn at the corners. Like it’s been carried with care for a long time.

Your pulse stutters as he opens it.

The ring shine under the scattered light—solitaire-cut, clear as morning frost. The band curls like leaves in winter, intricate without being loud. Elegant. Intentional.

But you barely see it.

Because his eyes are still on you.

“You’re here,” Zayne says quietly, “and I’m here too.”

A pause. The kind that feels full.

“And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The words are calm. No fanfare. No trembling.

But your entire body trembles anyway.

You stare. Not because you don’t know what to say—but because your heart is too loud, too full, too fast.

Zayne watches you carefully. As always. As if he’s still giving you a way out.

"You always have something to say," he murmurs. "But right now, you’re just staring."

A breath leaves you in a shaky, ungraceful rush.

You grip his hand tighter, as if anchoring yourself. Your other hand flies up to cover your mouth, as if that’ll stop the way your chest is shaking.

He waits.

You swallow hard. Try again.

“I—”

Your voice folds on itself. So you nod. Fast. Almost desperate.

Zayne’s mouth twitches again. Not quite a smile. But something close.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

A noise slips out of you. Awkward. Choked. Half-sob, half-laugh.

Then finally, breathlessly—“Yes.”

Zayne rises, slow and deliberate. He takes your hand again, sliding the ring onto your finger with gentle precision. It’s cool against your skin. It fits like it was always meant to be there.

As soon as it’s done—

You launch yourself into his arms.

He catches you easily, the force of your embrace rocking him a step back. His arms wind around you without hesitation—one across your back, the other curling under your shoulders.

You press yourself into him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You’re crying,” he says softly.

“You—You made me cry!” You sniff, words muffled against his chest.

A beat. Then, dryly— “You were the one who stayed.”

You laugh, the sound cracking down the middle. “I can’t believe you still remember all of that.”

Zayne holds you tighter. His breath shifts near your temple.

“I never forgot.”

And behind you, a firework blooms across the sky—brief, bright, beautiful. Like the past and the future, lighting up all at once.

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The next evening, you and Zayne are at Rose and Caleb’s place for dinner—one of those rare months when Caleb is actually home. The food’s good, the wine even better, and you? You’ve been casually flaunting your ring every chance you get, wrist angled just so when you reach for your glass, the light catching the gemstone like it’s part of the performance.

Rose catches on first, narrowing her eyes with suspicion as she tracks the movement of your hand. “Alright,” she says, setting down her fork. “Let me see it properly.”

You grin, already extending your hand toward her. She takes it delicately, tilting it under the light with an appraising look before her lips twitch upward.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs. “Congratulations.”

“Congrats,” Caleb adds from across the table, raising his glass toward you both before flashing Zayne a look full of good-natured disbelief. “Didn’t think you had it in you to pull off a grand gesture.”

“Oh, it was perfect,” you say, sitting up straighter, your excitement bubbling over. “Picture this—lanterns, sparklers, a quiet moment away from the festival, and then he—”

Zayne lets out a quiet sigh, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “You weren’t this talkative when it actually happened.”

You turn toward him, scandalized. “Shush.”

Caleb perks up, eyes wide. “Wait—were you quiet? You?”

Rose raises a brow, amused. “No way.”

Zayne remains calm, completely unfazed as he takes another sip. “She just stared at me.”

“I was emotional,” you say, half-defensive, half-laughing.

Caleb’s already shaking his head. “The chatterbox was silent? I can’t believe I missed that.”

You roll your eyes. “Like you’re one to talk. Rose was the one who proposed to you.”

“And?” Caleb shrugs without shame. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” you say, waving your hand airily, “except your eyes were so puffy the next day, you looked like you’d lost a fight.”

“Okay, alright,” Caleb cuts in, pointing his fork at you. “That’s enough out of you.” Then he flicks his hand toward a napkin, sending it flying toward your face—only for Zayne to catch it midair and set it down like nothing happened.

You glare at Caleb. “Using your Evol, bro? Really?” Your own Evol flickers in your hand—useless for offense but itching to respond anyway.

“What you’re above using your Evol now?”

“You know damn well that’s not how my Evol work!” You turn toward Zayne, your hand just land on his shoulder but he already shakes his head, “No.”

So you turn toward your sister and she lift her eyebrows toward you, “Are you suggesting I’d cut my own husband?”

“Your husband just attacked your little sister with a napkin!”

“He try, your fiance stop it.” She say smirking. And Caleb beside her just wiggling his eyebrows.

You groan. “Sis, please control your husband.”

Rose sighs, swirling her wine glass like she’s been through this routine a hundred times. “I’ve been trying for years. Remember?”

Without missing a beat, Caleb throws an arm around her, grinning like the smug menace he is. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

“She really doesn’t,” you say, narrowing your eyes.

He fires back without hesitation. “You’re worse than me.”

You scoff and turn toward Zayne. “Hey, at least Zayne can control me perfectly fine.”

Zayne exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s trying not to smile. “Both of you, stop.”

Rose leans forward, eyes glinting. “Oh no, please, don’t. Go ahead, sis, what else?”

Caleb grins, clearly egging it on. “Yeah, tell us more. This is great.”

Now it’s you against both of them, and Zayne—your supposed partner in all this—is sitting beside you, rubbing his temple like he’s quietly weighing every decision he’s ever made that led him to this exact moment.

Poor man never stood a chance.

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The garden has gone quiet.

Zayne stands beneath the floral arch, the scent of fresh blooms faint in the crisp November air. The breeze is light but steady, rustling the edges of his tailored deep charcoal suit—cut in clean, deliberate lines that sharpen his frame. The gold cufflinks at his wrists catch the soft afternoon light, and his burgundy tie shifts subtly when he breathes, the color rich and warm against his white shirt.

He’s been calm all morning. Steady. Focused in that familiar, meticulous way—adjusting place cards that don’t need fixing, double-checking timelines, confirming details already confirmed twice over. But now, with the music changing and the quiet settling deep around him, there’s something else unfurling in his chest. A low, quiet pull. Not nerves. Just something undeniable—something that belongs only to this moment.

Beside him, Greyson leans in, voice low and dry. “Still time to fake a medical emergency.”

Zayne doesn’t so much as glance at him. “If you want to explain to her why she got dressed for nothing, be my guest.”

Greyson huffs, a sound that passes for approval, and eases back into place, hands folded neatly in front of him. The silence returns—not heavy, but full. Tense with anticipation, charged with something quiet and electric. Zayne’s gaze remains locked on the end of the aisle.

And then—

The garden doors open.

For a second, there’s nothing but light.

Then comes the soft sweep of ivory—fabric gliding over the stone path, lace tracing down her arms like frost. Gold flickers beneath the layered skirt with every step—subtle, like sunlight breaking through water. The cape veil follows, its floral embroidery catching the breeze in soft, fluttering waves.

She’s radiant—but it isn’t the dress that steals his breath.

It’s her.

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Your grip tightens on Rose’s arm without even realizing it. Caleb is on your other side, straight-backed and composed, but his eyes flick toward Rose with a whisper of concern when he hears her sniff. She’s already tearing up.

“Oh no,” you murmur.

Rose lets out a watery laugh and immediately passes you the bouquet, fumbling for the tissue Caleb—predictably—produces from his pocket with practiced ease.

“Why is she the one crying?” you ask under your breath, amused but touched.

Caleb pats her back gently. “She’s been trying to marry you off for years.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest is undeniable—thick and glowing and everywhere at once.

Then the music shifts again, and you take a breath.

Everything stills.

One step forward, and the rest of the world falls away.

Zayne stands at the end of the aisle like a fixed point—everything else blurs around him. The burgundy at his collar, the glint of his cufflinks, the way the light brushes the line of his jaw. He looks composed, still, but there’s something in his eyes—some quiet knowing—that tells you this isn’t waiting anymore.

This is it.

Each step draws you closer. The distance between you narrows, and his figure sharpens through the haze. His focus never falters, locked entirely on you. You don’t think he’s blinked since the doors opened.

The soft trail of your cape veil sways behind you, catching the breeze like the petals in the surrounding hedges. Everything feels like it’s moving in rhythm with your steps, with your breath, with the quiet tremble of something too big to hold.

And then you’re there.

Breathless.

Still.

The garden hushes again as Zayne lifts his hand, and you place yours in his. His touch is cool, steadying. His fingers curl around yours with gentle precision. He doesn’t smile, not fully—but the corner of his mouth lifts just enough.

You squeeze back, leaning in the smallest bit. “You didn’t cry,” you whisper.

Zayne mirrors the gesture, his voice soft. “You didn’t either.”

From behind you, Rose lets out another sniffle.

And a second later—far more reluctant—Caleb.

“Still not us,” he mutters, clearing his throat like it might undo the emotion already creeping in.

But none of that matters.

Because all you can do is look at Zayne.

And in this moment, with nothing between you—no nerves, no space—this beginning already feels like everything.

Perfect, simply because it’s him.

He takes your hands, cool and steady in yours, and though his voice is quiet, every word carries.

“I thought I understood what it meant to protect someone…” Zayne’s gaze holds yours, unwavering. “But it wasn’t until you that I realized protection isn’t only shielding. It’s choosing—every day, in every way. It’s staying close, even when nothing makes sense.”

He pauses, not from nerves, but with purpose. A breath drawn like he wants every word to land gently, precisely.

“You’ve always had this way of turning silence into something warm. I never had to say much around you… because you already knew. But today, I want you to hear this.”

His thumbs brush over your knuckles—grounding, intentional.

“You are the one I want to come home to. The one I’ll reach for—through chaos, through quiet, through everything. And I promise… even when I don’t say it out loud, I will love you in all the ways I know how.”

Another small breath, and then, with the faintest tilt of his head—

“And I can’t wait to spend every special and ordinary day with you.”

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Your hands tighten around his, knuckles blanching just a little, and it takes a heartbeat before you can speak past the swell in your chest.

“I didn’t grow up thinking I’d be someone who gets this kind of love,” you begin softly, voice a touch unsteady. “But somehow, it found me. You found me.”

You glance up at him, warmth welling behind your ribs.

“And it didn’t feel like lightning or a fairytale. It felt… steady. Like I was already home.”

Zayne’s expression doesn’t shift much—but you feel the way his grip answers yours. Present. Solid. Yours.

“You’re the calm in my chaos. The one who never asks me to change, but still makes me want to be better. And every time I look at you, I still can't believe I get to be the one beside you.”

You let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh.

“I promise to keep choosing you—even when I’m tired, even when I’m being impossible. I promise to fight with you, not against you. To grow with you. To be the hand you can always reach for.”

You squeeze his fingers, just enough for him to feel it.

“And I promise not to tamper with the things you’ve so carefully set up… too often.”

A few soft chuckles rise from the guests, but your focus stays on him.

“Thank you for being my safe place,” you finish, voice lower now, threaded with emotion. “I can’t wait to keep walking through life with you—one step at a time.”

The moment your last words settle in the air, something unspoken draws you forward. Zayne leans in without a word, the breath between you shortening—lips just shy of meeting—

A pointed cough slices through the tension.

Both of you still.

The officiant lifts an eyebrow with polite amusement. “We’ll get to that soon enough.”

A wave of laughter ripples through the crowd, warm and affectionate. Zayne doesn’t smile, but you feel his soft exhale, the subtle shift in his shoulders. His fingers slide along yours as he straightens, the warmth of his touch lingering.

“The rings, please.”

Rose and Caleb step forward—your sister blotting at her eyes again as she carefully hands you Zayne’s ring. Caleb offers yours with a flourish so dramatic it earns a few quiet laughs, including a soft snort from Rose.

The bands are simple, elegant—etched with a fine snowflake design at the center. It had felt a little cliché at the time, but both of you had known instantly: they were right. A small gemstone catches the light in yours, subtle but luminous—just like the moment itself.

Zayne goes first. His hands are steady, deliberate as he slides the ring onto your finger. There’s no hesitation. Just quiet, practiced certainty—the same certainty he’s always had with you.

When it’s your turn, your fingers tremble slightly. You brush against his as you guide the band onto his hand, and he flexes just a little under your touch—grounding himself in you with that one, silent motion.

And then—

“You may now kiss.”

You don’t wait. Your hands find his face, thumbs along his jaw, and you pull him in without care for grace or timing. It’s messy and impulsive and yours. The cheers start early, but they fade behind the thrum in your chest.

Zayne exhales into the kiss, hands finding your waist as he draws you close. The rush softens almost immediately, settling into something deeper. Something still.

He kisses you like a vow. A quiet promise that doesn’t need to be spoken.

Applause rings around you, scattered and joyful, but neither of you move—not yet. Not until it settles. Not until the shape of this moment becomes something you’ll carry.

And when you finally ease back, just enough to breathe, to see him clearly—Zayne is exactly where he’s always been.

Right here. With you.

Your heart is pounding, breath catching, but everything in you feels settled. Whole.

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The applause fades into the soft buzz of celebration as the evening air cools around you. Lights twinkle through the trees, casting golden reflections over the hushed garden—but you barely register them. Your fingers are still laced with Zayne’s as someone gently nudges you both toward the center.

You don’t need prompting. You’d go anywhere with him.

The music begins—soft, unobtrusive, just the right amount of warmth in its rhythm. There’s no fanfare, no dramatic cue. Just a simple melody and the feel of his palm finding the small of your back.

You settle against him easily, like you’ve done this a hundred times. Like your body was made to remember him.

He doesn’t speak, but you feel everything in the way his thumb brushes your side, in the slow, deep exhale when your forehead finds his shoulder. You sway together, barely moving, like the whole world has narrowed to this single point of contact.

At one point, he murmurs your name—just your name—and when you tilt your head to look up at him, there’s a softness in his eyes that tugs something deep in your chest.

You don’t try to fill the moment—you don’t need to. His gaze, the hush between you, the unspoken laughter when you almost step on his foot… it all becomes the rhythm you move to.

His hand lifts, trailing along your arm like he’s memorizing you all over again, and when your eyes meet again, it’s with a kind of quiet disbelief.

This is real. This is you. This is him. This is home.

And as the music carries on, slow and weightless, you think—If every version of forever begins like this… I’ll say yes every time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Glasses clink gently as the music fades, guests returning to their seats still smiling from your first dance. Caleb rises with a flourish—predictably dramatic in his tailored burgundy suit, perfectly matching Rose’s dress—tapping a spoon against his glass until the room quiets.

“Well,” he starts, letting the silence linger just long enough to build anticipation, “I was told to keep this short. Which, as most of you know, is the cruelest request you can make of me. But as the best man and the best bro, I'll oblige.”

Laughter ripples through the tables. He flashes a grin at Zayne.

“I’ve known this woman—” he gestures to you, “—since we were kids sneaking cookies and stealing blankets in the middle of the night. And if I’m being honest, I never thought anyone would be able to keep up with her. I mean, she’s stubborn, chaotic, far too smart for her own good... and way too good at convincing people to go along with her.”

He raises his glass toward Zayne now, tone softening.

“But then this guy showed up. Quiet. Polite. Cold, even. At first, we thought she might break him. Or that he’d vanish like a ghost in a week.”

Another laugh, even from Zayne.

“But somehow, instead of disappearing... he stayed. And then, somehow, he matched her. Not by being louder, but by listening, being there. Not by chasing her chaos, but by letting her be exactly who she is. And in return, she does something I’ve never seen her do for anyone else—she softens.”

He pauses. “You ground each other. And that’s something rare. So from someone who’s been there since before the first chapter—congrats on finding your favorite person.”

He raises his glass higher.

“To love that balances. To a partnership that endures. To Zayne and our one and only hellraiser.”

The room erupts in cheers and clinks. Caleb sits back down with a satisfied smirk, already reaching for Rose’s hand.

Rose stands beside Caleb now, her champagne flute half-filled and catching the light. Her expression is softer than usual—less teasing, more thoughtful. She glances toward you with that familiar flicker of something unspoken, something only the two of you would understand. A quiet breath leaves her lips before she lifts the mic.

“There was a time I thought my sister and I would always be alone.”

The opening makes a few people shift in their seats, but you don’t flinch. Neither does Caleb. Because you know she doesn’t mean it dramatically—just honestly.

Rose smiles faintly. “Not in the sad, tragic way. Just… us, in our own little world. It always felt like we had to carry everything on our own. Even when we were surrounded by people, we only really leaned on each other. We didn’t trust easy. Not because we didn’t want to—just because… we couldn’t.”

She pauses. You feel the weight in her words, like the space between them is made of things left unsaid. But her gaze doesn’t waver.

“And then we met people who broke through all that. Caleb, who somehow managed to be both loud and safe at the same time.” That earns a small laugh from the room—and a grin from Caleb that she pointedly ignores.

“And Grandma Josephine… who gave us a home. Even when she didn’t have to. Even when she had every reason to turn away. She didn’t.”

Your voice wavers, just slightly, but you don’t look away.

Instead, your gaze lifts toward the sky—soft and pale above the garden, the clouds stretched thin like brushstrokes. The kind of sky she would’ve called “good for drying laundry” with a smirk and a sip of tea.

There’s no dramatic pause, no gust of wind or shining beam of sunlight. Just a quiet weight in your chest. Just the ache of missing her—and the peace of knowing she would’ve been here if she could.

You glance down again, catching sight of Zayne’s parents in the front row. His mother’s eyes are glossy, her fingers folded tight in her lap. His father clears his throat quietly, looking straight ahead with a softened expression.

They don’t need to say anything. You can feel it—their grief folded in with yours. The kind of silent understanding that only comes from having loved the same person deeply.

“And then there’s Zayne,” Rose continues, her voice gentling even more. “The quiet boy who lived next door. Who we used to see reading on the porch and thought, ‘he’s either going to save lives or accidentally end up in a sci-fi novel.’”

Laughter ripples again, light and fond.

She looks at him now. “You were always a little strange, in the best way. But you never looked at my sister like she was too much. Not even once. You never needed her to shrink herself to be loved.”

You blink. The sting behind your eyes catches you off guard.

“She doesn’t talk about it much, but I know that the way you look at her makes her feel safe. Like it’s okay to exist fully. Loudly. Softly. However she is.”

Rose’s gaze returns to you now, warmer than before, quieter. “You found someone who sees you—not just for who you are, but for who you’ve fought to become. And I couldn’t be prouder.”

She raises her glass, her voice low but steady.

“To the girl who held my hand through the darkest nights—and to the man who never lets her forget she’s more than what the past tried to make her.”

A pause, just long enough for your throat to tighten.

“May your future be even softer than your beginning.”

You barely manage to lift your glass in time, the world already blurred at the edges with warmth and tears. The applause comes a second later, muffled under the beating of your heart.

Rose doesn’t look at you again right away. But as she sets the mic down, her fingers brush yours in passing—just once. Just enough.

And that’s all you need.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zayne’s mother rises slowly, hands folded neatly in front of her. She doesn’t draw attention with her voice—it’s soft, almost soothing—but somehow the entire room goes quiet for her.

“I wasn’t planning on speaking tonight,” she begins gently, “but watching you both today… it’s hard not to say something.”

You smile, already misty-eyed. She’s not flashy like Caleb, or teasing like Rose. Her tone is simple, sincere—like a memory whispered between friends.

“I used to see you all together,” she continues, eyes flicking briefly to where Rose sits, and then to you. “Back when the world felt just a little too big for all of you. You’d show up at our door, sometimes muddy, sometimes loud, sometimes… carrying Josephine’s latest project in a jar.”

A quiet laugh bubbles around the room. You flutter your lashes, trying to blink it away, heart catching.

“And every time,” she says, her smile fond, “Jo would insist that Zayne come with you. Even if he was already reading. Even if he said no. She’d just wave him off and tell him, ‘You’ll thank me later.’”

She pauses, looking over at her son. Zayne’s expression is unreadable to most, but you see it—the tiny shift in his eyes. He’s listening.

“She always said you brought warmth into the house,” she says to you now, voice softening. “And I see it still. You steady him. And he steadies you.”

You exhale through a trembling breath, trying to keep your expression together.

She leans in slightly, tone almost conspiratorial. “I’ll tell you something else, just between us.” A few soft chuckles. “There are moments when you move your hands while you talk… or when you tilt your head like you’re about to say something clever… and I swear, for a second, it’s like seeing Josephine again.”

That’s it. Your eyes blur. You blink hard, but she gives you a kind smile as if to say it’s okay.

“She would’ve been proud of both of you,” she finishes simply. “Of what you’ve built together. Of the way you love.”

Then she quietly raises her glass. “To love that keeps growing. And to Jo—for introducing them properly, even if she pretended it was just another afternoon.”

Everyone echoes her toast, gentle and warm.

You lift your glass, hands trembling just enough to feel it.

You don’t even try to blink the tears away now.

As the clinking of glasses settles and Zayne’s mother takes her seat again, your fingers slip beneath your eye, swiping quickly—just a beat too fast to catch the tears before they smear your makeup. But Zayne beats you to it, reaching over with the edge of a neatly folded napkin, ever precise, ever composed. He dabs the corner of your eye with a gentleness that makes it worse somehow.

You lean closer, pretending you’re adjusting your hair just to whisper under your breath, “This was supposed to be roast central. Where’s the part where Caleb tells everyone about you falling off the slide because you tried to read while climbing it?”

Zayne murmurs back, quiet and dry, “I believe he’s saving that for the afterparty. When more alcohol is involved.”

You sniff, still blinking, and give him a mock glare. “They’re all supposed to be embarrassing us, not making me cry in public. This was not the emotional breakdown portion of the evening.”

“You’re doing well,” he says simply, brushing a final tear from your cheek with his thumb, like it’s nothing. “Dramatic. But well.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his knee with yours under the table. “I hate them a little bit. All this sentimentality. They’ll never let me live it down.”

Zayne doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just glances sideways at you, then leans in so only you can hear him.

“She was right, you know,” he says, so quietly it settles into your chest like a secret. “You do bring warmth.”

And just like that, you're almost crying again.

“Stop that,” you whisper fiercely, blinking fast. “We’re past the vows. This is supposed to be safe territory.”

Zayne leans in, quietly amused as he dabs beneath your eye with his thumb.

“You cried through all of Rose and Caleb’s wedding,” he murmurs. “And you thought ours would be safer?”

You sniff. “Then you should’ve warned me, you menace.”

Your swat doesn’t even land—Zayne catches your hand mid-swing and kisses your knuckles like a peace offering, and doesn’t even try to look sorry.

The next toast begins—but for a brief moment, it’s just the two of you in your own little corner of the world, warm and brimming.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re both standing in front of the cake, cameras pointed, guests gathered. The knife rests in Zayne’s hand like it’s a surgical instrument, his posture too perfect for something that’s supposed to be messy fun.

He glances at you. “We’re doing this properly, yes?”

You raise a brow, already reaching for a second fork like a weapon. “Define properly.”

Zayne’s hand hovers over the cake, hesitating like it’s a rare specimen under dissection. You? You stab right in, unbothered, scooping up a generous chunk with your fork before he’s even made the first cut.

A murmur of laughter ripples through the crowd.

Zayne sighs softly, adjusting his grip on the knife like he’s resigning himself to the inevitable. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You married this,” you shoot back, grinning like the chaos had always been part of the plan.

Then comes the feeding part.

You offer him a bite with a suspicious glint in your eyes.

He narrows his. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you say innocently. “Feed you? Celebrate our eternal union with frosting and devotion?”

He leans in, reluctantly opening his mouth—and of course, you smudge a bit of frosting on his nose right after.

Zayne closes his eyes, slow and resigned, and you hear Caleb holler from the crowd, “She’s already winning the marriage.”

Zayne wipes his nose with one hand, deadpan as ever. “This is why I had napkins prepared in my pocket.”

You cackle, and he just raises the fork and gently, perfectly, feeds you a clean bite of cake like he hasn’t been publicly humiliated.

You chew. “That’s not how you win.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he says smoothly. “I just wanted cake,” he says, as if that should’ve protected him from frosting warfare.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The chairs are pulled to the center of the floor for the shoe game. You and Zayne sit back-to-back, each holding one of your own shoes and one of his. Caleb stands nearby as the self-appointed game host, grinning like he’s waited his whole life for this moment.

“Alright, first question,” Caleb announces. “Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

Without hesitation, you both raise your shoes.

Laughter erupts, and Zayne says behind you, calmly, “It was a statistically safe environment to do so.”

“What does that even mean?!” Rose laughs from the front row, hands clamped over her mouth.

You’re already calling over your shoulder, “You ambushed me the next day in a lab and said it back like it was a diagnosis!”

“And you still cried,” Zayne replies simply. You don’t even need to see him to catch the teasing in his tone.

Next question.

“Who’s the better cook?”

You raise his shoe. Zayne raises yours.

You twist around sharply. “What? No. You’ve literally saved us from food poisoning.”

Zayne tilts his head. “Your baking is better.”

You blink. “I’m pretty sure that’s just your 'unhealthy obsession with sweet' talking.”

“You share some with others as well.”

You groan. “Barely. You eat all of them before they even leave the kitchen. So it’s not really a balanced review.”

A few more questions fly by—

Who’s more stubborn? (You both point at yourself.)

Who spends more time getting ready? (Zayne raises your shoe instantly—no hesitation, even though you don’t actually take that long.)

Who’s more likely to survive a zombie apocalypse? (Zayne raises his shoe. You raise his too, with a dramatic shrug.)

Then come the mock interviews. Caleb’s now holding a mic like a late-night host.

“Okay, now for the hard-hitting journalism. Tell me—what was your first impression of your spouse?”

Zayne answers without pause. “Disruptive.”

You gasp, scandalized. “Excuse you!”

“I saw her jumping through our fences.”

Caleb nods solemnly. “Ah I remember that.”

You fold your arms. “And my first impression of Zayne? Distant. Terrifying. Pretty.”

“Pretty?” Tara echoes from her seat, already giggling.

Zayne turns to you, calm as ever. “You said that out loud.”

You smirk. “I was honest from the start.”

Caleb paces toward the long table of guests, still holding the mic. “Alright, round two! Audience edition. Everyone, reach under your chairs.”

There’s a rustle of fabric and surprised laughter as people discover little red and green cards tucked underneath—red for you, green for Zayne.

“Here’s how it works,” Caleb explains. “We’re gonna throw out a scenario. You hold up the card of who you think is most likely to do it. Let’s see if you all really know this couple.”

First question. “Who’s more likely to sweet-talk their way out of a parking ticket?”

The sea of cards rises—mostly red.

Zayne raises your red card too.

You raise both.

A wave of amusement rolls through the crowd.

“Predictable bias,” Zayne says lightly. “How is this even a question?”

You nudge him. “It’s not my fault I’m adorable.”

Next question. “Who’s more likely to accidentally start a fight in a group chat?”

Cards go up—this time, an even split.

Zayne raises your card.

You look around at the divided room and sigh dramatically. “I said the outfit looked like a curtain. I didn’t tag her. That was an accident!”

Tara shouts from across the room, “You sent it to the wrong chat!”

“Which is not illegal,” you defend.

“It should be,” Lara mutters, shaking her head beside Tara.

Next one. “Who’s more likely to survive in the wild?”

Every card turns green. Every. Single. One.

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “Wow. No faith in the bride?”

You glance at Zayne. “To be fair, I did scream the last time we saw a raccoon.”

Zayne nods solemnly. “She dropped her sandwich.”

“And ran,” Caleb adds, snorting.

“And I stand by that choice! Did you see the claws? Far away I’m good. Up close with no gun? NOPE.”

More questions follow, getting sillier as the night goes on—

“Who would adopt ten cats if left unsupervised?” (You.)

“Who keeps weird snacks in their coat?” (Zayne. You can always find different sweets in his pockets.)

“Who pretends not to know how to do laundry to get out of it?” (Zayne raises your card. You throw a napkin at him.)

“Who’s more likely to completely forget where they parked?”

You raise your red card confidently.

Zayne raises both.

A murmur of agreement ripples through the guests.

Caleb gestures toward him. “Man speaks the truth.”

You scoff. “Okay, first of all, I found the car last time.”

Zayne hums. “After circling the block three times.”

“I was scanning.”

“You were praying.”

Laughter fills the air, and the game continues until it finally winds down with one last question:

“Who’s more likely to be the last one to say ‘I love you’ before falling asleep?”

There’s a pause. Then, as if rehearsed, you both raise each other’s color—Zayne holds up red, and you hold up green.

You glance at him, a slow smile forming. “Huh.”

His thumb taps the edge of the card, unreadable for a beat before he says, “I suppose we’re both persistent.”

Your heart stumbles.

Caleb claps his hands together, breaking the moment. “And there you have it, folks! Stubborn, competitive, and disgustingly in love. A perfect match.”

The crowd laughs and cheers, and you shake your head, setting your cards down before reaching for Zayne’s hand beside the table, giving it a squeeze. His fingers curl around yours, cool yet you feel warm and steady.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The music has softened, the bass no longer pounding but humming low beneath a lazy melody. Most of the guests have drifted off—some hugging you tight before they go, others sneaking out with quiet waves, their arms full of party favors and shoes dangling from their hands. The firepit flickers low in the corner of the garden, surrounded by the last few stragglers nursing drinks and finishing their cake.

Rose is on her third round of teary goodbyes, half drunk herself, sniffling into Lara’s shoulder as Caleb dramatically fans her with a napkin and Tara is shaking her head. Greyson’s somehow managed to corner yet another guest into a conversation about interstellar gut flora, and your in law is still dancing together like they doesn’t realize the reception ended thirty minutes ago. Which is very cute.

But you barely notice any of it.

Because Zayne’s hand is in yours. And he hasn’t let go since the dance.

Your heels are long gone, your dress a little wrinkled from hugs and spinning and sneaking bites of cake behind each other’s backs. The veil’s tucked into your arm now, the pins long abandoned somewhere on the sweetheart table. You don’t even remember when the string lights above started glowing softer—but they do, casting a gold haze over Zayne’s face as he watches you.

You lean into him with a quiet sigh, forehead brushing his collarbone. “Do we need to make a last lap before they drag us back in for another round of games?”

Zayne shakes his head lightly, the edge of a smile playing on his lips. “They’ve been sufficiently entertained.”

“Mhm,” you murmur. “We should slip away before Rose decides she wants a speech remix.”

“She’s already cried through two. I don’t think she’s legally allowed to make more at this point.”

You huff a laugh, tilting your head back just enough to catch his gaze. “Did we actually pull it off?”

His thumb brushes gently over your cheekbone, still a little damp from earlier tears. “You tell me.”

A soft laugh escapes you, and you nod. “Yeah. We did.”

He kisses your temple, slow and quiet, then threads his fingers between yours again. “Our bags are already packed.”

“Mhm. I made sure of it,” you say, already imagining the escape—bare feet on cool tile, collapsing into soft sheets, the realness of being married sinking in somewhere between jet lag and messy kisses. “We should go before someone notices we haven’t been kidnapped for another round of photos.”

Zayne glances back once, eyes scanning the soft sprawl of people still lingering in the haze of fairy lights. Then he looks down at you, like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.

“Ready, wife?”

You beam. “Lead the way, husband.”

And with that, fingers laced, shoes forgotten, you slip quietly away—just the two of you under the stars.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes

Hey :D if you read until this then congrats, you just read 10k words in one sitting ahahaha but joke aside, hopefully everyone enjoy this and if you're the one request this, hope it reach your expectation! This is so cute to write aaaaaaaaa The Honeymoon fic is over this way! Part 1 (Smut) and Part 2 (Fluff)

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU Masterlist ✨

[strangeracrossthestreet]

I swear Lenore's the biggest personification of Katy Perry's Hot N Cold song I've ever seen WHEEEZES

This isn't going to be very nice to Lenore, and in general the "remembering in pieces" mechanic, so just don't click read more if you don't want to see me tear into it thanks.

Like I know we all love to call Annabel a manipulator, and she is, but THIS MOMENT is kind of egregious as fuck to me.

The audacity to call her a monster (AND mad) to her face and then comfort her when she reacts badly over it

The audacity to look at her like this:

and then immediately after do this:

Why is she even saying "I don't know what I'd do with myself" if she's not supposed to remember that they were close?

But then why would she be acting like this if she DOES remember that they're close???

The worst thing is that it's so obvious how Lenore cares for the Misfits but when it comes to Annabel it feels cheap? Like it doesn't feel like there's any connection there other than "I remember I'm supposed to love you but do I actually?" rather than there being any genuine emotions involved. (Is that the point???)

WHERE is the delusion? The "Annabel must have surely had a reason—"

WHERE is the trust?

WHERE is the loyalty? <- truly my biggest gripe because Annabel is so fucking devoted I cannot let it go, I can't LMAO

WHERE is her not actually being as mad as she SHOULD be despite all of her misgivings and thus making Duke and Pluto suspicious as all hell?

Lenore has never ONCE given Annabel the benefit of the doubt and I understand that in the beginning when she knew nothing, but now? NOW? After THIS

Clear realization?

At some point I have to think that the flashbacks we're shown are not things they remember in canon unless we're explicitly shown them waking up to it because THIS

does not make sense otherwise.

Lenore WHY are you not losing your mind here? After saying that you're done with Annabel's whole game?

Go crazy go feral???

Annabel gave you the same reasoning, Lenore. Why are you tolerating this from him? You were manhandling Annabel and inches away from pulling a gun on her but now Duke has Annabel by the throat and halfway past a balcony railing and you're just TALKING?

Lenore tell me. Tell MEEEE!

Is it because Annabel treats it like a "game"? She's being playfully and giggly rather than being serious and "there's no other way" like Duke, even though she said THIS

before.

That's the worst part, really. Annabel has been VERY transparent the ENTIRE time and yet Lenore gets mad over her doing exactly what she said she'll do.

Conclusion to my rant:

What do they remember, what do they NOT remember? I don't know!

Annabel is devoted to the depths of hell even to her own detriment but is that because she remembers or because she's just Like That™?

Lenore is full of doubts and perpetual suspicions, and is willing to call her a monster to her face, but at the same time she sprouts "I don't know what I'll do without you." and jumps off balconies. Is that because she remembers or because she's just Like That™?

What is going ON

It's been a week, give or take, right? So they remember, what? 5 days worth of memories? Unless they remember much, much more than just a singular happening a night?

It feels inconsistent at best and utterly pointless at worst.

Just show us the flashbacks as an outside thing, it didn't have to be organically connected to their Nevermore storyline,,,,OR have them remember everything only when they first go Specre

[signanothername]

@meloveanimeforreal7604 your ask glitched so I’m answering with a screenshot chchch

I actually have my own thoughts on their stats and how they changed under Nightmare

Killer is actually canonically shown to have 99999 LV, but later, Rahaf stated people can choose whichever LV they wanted for him, so it’s basically up for interpretation

Murder is canonically mostly at 19 LV, in some timelines, he reaches 20 LV

Horror has never been given a canon LV as far as I know (correct me if I’m wrong)

That being said, in my lil version of Nightmare, he has a “no killing unless necessary” rule, but generally, Nightmare can be a bit lenient if MTT resort to killing as long as it does not affect the negativity in a bad way

As in, if killing someone results in the negativity decreasing, than Nightmare would be pissed, but say if a monster was part of a family and their death resulted in a negativity increase due to their family’s grief, then Nightmare lets it slide

Nightmare only orders MTT not to go overboard with killing, his orders are usually within “Kill as many as necessary to generate a sufficient amount of negativity, otherwise, torture or terrorize”

Murder never ever kills anyone, nor does he tortures anyone, he usually hopes Nightmare would simply assign him a supply run job (which doesn’t always happen) and so if he were to do anything to help with negativity, he resorts to terrorizing only, as in just scaring people by blasting his gaster blaster in random directions, etc, but he never kills or tortures, these people are not part of his own AU, he has no business here, it causes him a lot of problems with Nightmare, but Murder prefers to deal with Nightmare’s abuse than live with more blood on his hands than necessary (I think you can already guess that Murder would deal with forced killing at some point no? >:) )

His stats are very Undertale like, they still follow the same formula and are pretty much uncorrupted, whenever anyone checks him, they get the exact same stats as you’d see in game, his LV stays on 19

Horror would simply follow Nightmare’s orders usually, sometimes during a bad mood swing he might end up killing people, but still stays within the limits of Nightmare’s rules, Horror is generally more responsible for torturing than killing, he’s sadistic af and finds joy in the screams of mercy when people plead for their lives (he might or might not cope with the rage brewing inside him from having to deal with Nightmare and his abuse by turning that rage to sadistic joy when torturing innocents)

His stats are semi-corrupted, his HP doesn’t show up at all, that is because Horror is technically already dead, from his head injury, therefore, his HP can no longer reflect him, his stats simply finds difficulty to assign a number to him, I like to think his LV is somewhere in the middle, not as high as Murder’s but not low either, but it definitely increased a few points after he started working under Nightmare

Killer doesn’t kill unless ordered to, he just tortures and terrorizes, he’s generally apathetic to people’s screams for mercy, only doing his job like the good killing machine he is, at stage 2, he does find his job “fun” but in a way that’s more thrilling to his restless dissociative mind and body then any actual joy, he’s curious and fascinated, not happy, he can’t latch onto his emotions at stage 2 anyway, but I think it’s clear that he carries so much guilt for it that’s only apparent when at stage 1

Killer’s stats are extremely messed up, they no longer truly reflect him at all, his stats are like a corrupted file, it isn’t working as it should be, his HP, AT and DF keep glitching and changing constantly, unable to truly settle on one single number, his 99999 LV would be the closest thing to “consistent” in reflection to him, but even then, it’s corrupted, glitching like the rest but still stays at 99999 LV

His LV doesn’t truly reflect his level of violence, but rather, his soul’s unnatural state, his Determination is way too excessive and his code is way too messed up

An HP can show you that it’s at 1, but no matter how much he’s hit he doesn’t die, or it could show you that it’s at 99 and he dies from one hit

In short, his stats aren’t to be taken on face value as they no longer truly reflect him beyond showing how messed up his state is

Nightmare doesn’t kill unless necessary or when he deems it in his interest, or in some cases, when anger takes the better of him, he finds sadistic joy in the misery of others and a sense of power that he just loves feeling, it makes him feel untouchable, unreachable, undeniably invincible, and by extension, it eases the constant fear of everything and everyone around him (something he’s in denial of)

Nightmare simply put, has no stats, he can be checked, but his stats are never going to be shown, he’s too much of an outcode for his stats to truly show anymore, not to mention, his state of being a semi-god, but the further someone is disconnected from their home, the more likely their stats aren’t going to show or be corrupted when shown, Nightmare falls under the “not shown” category (Killer’s stats’ corruption is also enhanced by his disconnection from his world)

[scourgeofmyownbrain]

Megatron has been done already, now I, Starscream, get a Multi-Universal Height Chart done! I decided to bite the bullet and do another big one (tho none compare to the behemoths of megatron and optimus.)

Wanna hear something weird? Starscream is the ONLY (and I mean only) transformer I don't like. I have nothing against those who do like him, I can understand why you do. He's your pathetic little meow meow male wife twink man in stilettoes. I get it, I just.. don't like him... personally. Which is odd bc I have at least some level of affection for every other transformer, screamy is my only exception. Idk, anyway, here he is, and uh- enjoy.

Quick Disclaimer, if any of the images look weird, it's because I had to stitch a few separate images together to create a full body shot of the character.

Master Post

Listed Heights and Explanations below the cut.

Beast Wars 2 - ~8 feet (TFWiki, idk either, I'm never watching it)

Earthspark - ~12 feet (No Source, I got this height by first measuring Bumblebee to a barn door, then comparing Bumblebee to Optimus, then Optimus to Megatron, then Megatron to Starscream. This show does not have concrete numbers, so this is the best I can do.)

Unicron Trilogy V2&3/ENG&CYB - ~14 feet (TFWiki, for the uneducated, the Unicron Trilogy has given each of its 3 seasons separate names and 3 separate art styles. These are the designs used in Energon (S2) and Cybertron (S3). The Wiki had Cybertron's numbers but not Energon's, so for my own sanity, I decided the two were the same height.)

Gen 1 - ~16 feet (TFWiki, I love it when I don't have to put in effort)

Prime Wars - ~16 feet (No source, but it's identical to G1 so it's the same height)

Netflix Cybertron Trilogy - ~16 feet (Same thing as before, identical to G1)

Cyberverse - 18 feet (This comes from a screenshot of this video, which has the Cyberverse height chart everyone uses, though the quality of the screenshot is iffy.)

Knight/Capel-Verse - ~18 feet (We have like two scenes of this bitch and he doesn't stand normally next to anyone. I'm used my TFOne heights bc the scaling should be around the same, probably. If they ever give actual numbers I will be very happy.)

One - ~18 feet (Okay, so this movie doesn't have any actual numbers, aside for some bullshit ones from a Walmart Promotional. I've been using the Knightverse Optimus number as a baseline since these were at one point said to be vaguely canon to each other. And the Bumblebee-Optimus scaling is the same. This was so hard to get, we never get a clean level shot of Starscream next to anyone. I was able to guesstimate that he's around Soundwave's and Shockwave's height, but I can't be certain.)

Unicron Trilogy V1/Armada - 19 feet 7 inches (TFWiki, technically this is for the videogame, which is it's own branch of UT canon but I don't care. The designs are identical between the game and show.)

Aligned Cont. WF/FOC/TFP/RID15 - 24 feet 7 inches (Fandom, and even if they don't cite their source, I believe it. Look- every single one of these fuckers are massive when you pay attention to the show. It's a show full of freaks.)

Animated - 25 feet 6 inches (This number actually comes from @phoenix-inanis and the glorious calculations they have done on the TFA Characters. Go check it out, because animated has literally no actual numbers -> https://phoenix-inanis.notion.site/TFA-Height-Chart-f6ad2960ca8c4c5b859ee4958723aaa4?pvs=4)

Bayverse - 31 feet (TFWiki, everyone say thank you mr. bay for making my life easy.)

Not Pictured: Unicron Trilogy Second Pallet(s) - Armada: 19 Feet 7 inches, Energon: ~14 Feet (Only the colours changed, otherwise everything else was the same so it felt dumb to include them), Unicron Trilogy Giant Starscream - Unmeasurable (look you can't make me and it's not even a number in the first place)

Here are the layers separated.

[voylitscope]

This post about fic length came across my dash. It got me thinking about how many truly incredible Stucky fics under 5k I've read — specifically about the short fics that have broken and/or healed my heart.

So, I made this quick rec list of 10 under 5k Stucky fics that are deeply heart-affecting and emotionally devastating.

(There are so many beautiful, moving, and painful fics in this fandom that come in at under 5k. In the interest of keeping this list to 10 fics, these fics are all also canon/canon-divergent.)

💔 Cheat Days | chicklette | Mature | 2,033 words | Pre/Post TWS

Quote I'm unwell about:

Only on the very worst days – when he is tired and sore and hurts all over, hurts inside and out. Sometimes it’s the fight that does it, his need to be held, to be loved after throwing himself on the line. Other times it’s something else - something more cruel – a joke that he knows Bucky would find hilarious, a movie that Bucky would have loved, a book. Sometimes Steve is just so goddamned lonely that he feels like he’s going to come out of his skin. Then he has what he calls a cheat day. A day when he closes up his apartment and uses the coin, and sighs into Bucky’s embrace.

💔 029. Mirror | aimmyarrowshigh @aimmyarrowshigh | Mature | 2,400 words | Pre-War

Quote I'm unwell about:

“I wanna sit at his bedside when he’s sick,” Bucky says finally. “And buy him hot dogs at Dodgers games. And uh… I guess, I wanna…” He exhales and looks down, away from Mrs. Rogers’ eyes. They’re too much like Steve’s and Bucky’s never said this out loud, not even to him. “I wanna get an apartment for the two of us and curtains that close, and I want to teach him how to dance to Cole Porter records. I want to finish all his stupid fights. I want… I dunno. A lotta impossible things.” Sarah’s voice is so soft. “Like what?” “I want to see him grow old,” Bucky mutters. “Right beside me. I want it to be a hundred years from now and look to my right and see Stevie standin’ there.” He blinks away the heavy wetness in his eyes.

💔Not the Needle, Nor the Thread | steebadore | Explicit | 2,017 words | Post-TWS

Quote I'm unwell about:

"Okay, sweetheart, okay," Bucky whispers, running his thumbs over Steve's brow, his wet eyelids, down that bumpy, ungainly nose--the only physical evidence that Steve is a flawed human and not a figure cut from marble. If you asked Bucky what he loved most about Steve, he might say something like his goddamn earnest heart, or those too beautiful-for-spacious-skies eyes, but really it was this: the bump on Steve's nose, put there by Bucky himself, age eleven. Selfish, maybe, but Bucky never pretended to be otherwise these days. He doesn't know why the serum didn't fix that--Bucky likes to think it couldn't. Steve always said how it didn't change anything, just amplified what he already had, and what he had was Bucky's mark on him, down to the bone. This one's mine, it said. You cannot have him. Not the whole of him.

💔Through the notches in your spine | caughtinanocean | Explicit | 4,460 words | Post-TWS

Quote I'm unwell about:

Maybe Steve was right to worry, and maybe he's not ready and—he's breathing too fast, and Steve's going to notice any moment now, going to stop and leave. Steve lets go of Bucky's hand to stroke the side of his face, tender and soothing. He leans in to give Bucky a soft kiss on the lips, and Bucky doesn't feel so panicky anymore. He's with Steve. Steve is inside of him, as close as someone could be, and nothing bad could ever come of that. Bucky wills himself to focus on the moment, to watch Steve's face, soft with affection, to relax and enjoy this. “'s like it's my first time all over again. How many people get a shot at that twice?” Steve groans. He looks flushed and giddy and bright, and Bucky's inordinately proud that it's his words and his body making Steve glow like that. “I'm gonna make it way better for you this time.” “Our first time was bad?” Bucky asks, trying not to sound crushed, even though he feels it a little.

Steve traces Bucky's jaw and down the line of his neck to caress his chest. “No, our first time was perfect. We had no idea what we were doing, but it was perfect.”

💔A History of Birds | OddityBoddity | Not Rated | 2,580 words | Post TWS

Quote I'm unwell about:

“I don’t remember,” he says. Steve holds his breath. “I don’t remember telling anybody about that.” It’s like there’s something stuck between his lungs, like something’s pulling them apart in his chest. “You mean about the bird?” he whispers. Bucky looks at him. Not staring, not really, but looks at him like Steve’s looked at paintings before. Like he’s trying to work out how it’s done. “That little bird,” Steve says quietly. When he speaks, he speaks like the words are a spell or a prayer. Like the words are going to reach into Bucky the way his name once did. Like they’re going to catch his arms and pull him up to safety. This secret they both kept. Something so little, so inconsequential that no one has touched it.

💔You Will Meet a Stranger | spitandvinegar | Mature | 3,081 words | Post-TWS

Quote I'm unwell about:

"Steve," she says, unruffled. "He needs someone who'll look at him without pining for who he used to be."

Steve sets his coffee cup upright again. He mops up the mess with a napkin. "Honestly," he says, "All I ever pine for is for him to look back."

💔This is the place | dharmashark @dharmasharks| Explicit | 4,654 words | Canon divergence

Quote I'm unwell about:

With a metal hand there, under the small of his back, Steve might as well be weightless. It’s terrifying. For Steve to be so fragile in ways that Bucky isn’t, and might never understand. But Steve has never been afraid, has never shrank away. Not ever. Not even when Bucky could have—when he would have—when he almost hurt him—Steve had only balled his fists and locked fierce, red-rimmed eyes on his. Steve is fragile; he is unbreakable. Bucky’s memory is full of contradictions.

💔i've seen my share of trouble and i've held my weight in shame | inevitablemeow  | Teen | 4,166 words | Post-TWS

Quote I'm unwell about:

Bucky is a ghost, still, in the wind so far they haven’t been able to find him. It’s been six months since the helicarrier, and Steve hasn’t lost hope, not fully, but he’s slowed his search. Seeing this heart, knowing that all the others are his, has that hope roaring back to life. They’re his. They’re all for him.

💔sorrow sings a song in me | unicornpoe | Teen | 4,425 words | Post-TWS

Quote I'm unwell about:

Bucky’s note is on a thick piece of cardstock, and the words are a little more steady, this time. STEVE, IT HELPS ME TO READ THESE THINGS. I THOUGHT IT MIGHT HELP YOU TOO. I MISS YOU. I WANTED TO CRAWL UNDER THAT BLANKET WITH YOU, BUT I DIDN’T KNOW IF I SHOULD. I DON’T THINK I’M GENTLE ANYMORE, AND I WANT TO BE GENTLE WITH YOU.

💔more than anything | jehans | Explicit | 2,938 words | Pre-War

Quote I'm unwell about:

Steve is a reckless asshole who Bucky loves unconditionally and wholeheartedly, and when Steve is quietly undoing him in their bed, loving on him openly and indulgently the way Bucky doesn’t always let him, it becomes difficult to keep pretending that Bucky wouldn’t go to the ends of the earth for any of Steve’s whims. But mostly, what makes him so honeyed in these moments is the way Steve transforms. When he climbs on top of Bucky, all of Steve’s usual, too-close-to-the-surface anger drains out of his eyes, clearing away into pure blue skies of utter adoration. It’s an honesty that Bucky cracks under, breaking open the clay of mundanity and allowing him to shine brightly under Steve’s hands.

Fic rec series