#can’t believe people think America is a dream

[percival-p-pups]

People keep asking me again and again and again why I moved away from ✨America ✨ Like it’s some amazing place. Glad I am easily reminded every day. Capitalistic hell scape where guns have more rights than people.

Businesses firing employees for trying to organize a union is one of many pieces of evidence that capitalism is not about freedom, but about being as close to slavery as possible.

If capitalism were really about freedom, making sure employees have the means to negotiate wages would be encouraged, not suppressed.

This is also proof that "most people who work those jobs are teenagers" is a bullshit excuse for poverty wages. Teenagers deserve a living wage too.

[annwrites]

⸻ tell me i'm your national anthem. part four. ⸻

· pairing: homelander x collegestudent!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you begin to get a better idea of just how deeply damaged john truly is & he stakes a claim to you. · tags: lactation kink · tw: possessiveness · word count: 2,618

You sip on your iced coffee, typing away on your laptop, near to completing your essay for one of your classes, which is due in two days.

“God, he’s so hot. I don’t get why you don’t think so,” Emma says.

You glance up to her from over your laptop screen with a raised brow, watching as she stares down at her cellphone with a dreamy look in her eyes.

“Huh?”

She looks at you, then raises her phone, showing you a recent livestream of John. No, Homelander.

No, John. You hate his moniker.

He smiles charmingly at a reporter, who speaks into her microphone with an excited look on her face. “I’m here speaking to the one and only Homelander, who just—with the aid of his fellow supe, A-Train—saved a family of three from a near-fatal car accident.”

She holds the microphone toward him. “Can you tell us what happened here, Homelander?”

You refrain from rolling your eyes at the obnoxious name.

“Yeah, me and my buddy and fellow supe, A-Train,” he nods to the smiling man at his side who waves to the camera. “Were just doing some patrols of the area—just something we try to do every now and again across the state to keep our people safe,” he says with a shrug.

“When we saw the driver over there,” he continues, pointing to a man standing near a blue sedan. “Run a red light here at the intersection. Just—” He purses his lips, shaking his head. “Carelessness.”

He sighs, continuing on. “But, thankfully, A-Train and I were able to step in and rush the injured parties: a mom, dad, and their sweet little girl, to the nearest hospital. I mean, to wait for an ambulance…there’s no telling what might’ve happened. What precious lives might’ve been lost.”

The camera pans back to the reporter. “What would we ever do without you—either of you? We are all so lucky to have heros like the two of you—like the Seven—saving and protecting America every day.”

The camera returns to John who shakes his head, waving his hand. “No, it’s the people of this great nation who are the real heros. We’re just here to do our jobs and use the gifts God gave us to protect and save our fellow man.”

“And save them you did,” the reporter replies, continuing on before Emma locks her phone, looking at you, resting her chin atop both her fists.

“I want him so bad,” she mumbles with a smile.

You grin, shaking your head—sweating nervously.

She’s loved the man for as long as you can remember. Used to have a poster of him—ok, multiple posters—stuck to her bedrooms walls growing up. And she’s seen all of his movies probably an unhealthy amount of times.

If she had any idea that he’d had his head shoved between your thighs just a few nights ago—that you know his real name, his childhood story—the real one—that you’ve had him in your bed, crying in your arms, sitting at your dining table as the two of you eat together…that he’s called himself ‘your man’ more than once now… You’re pretty sure she’d pop a blood vessel, grill you relentlessly on everything, and then never forgive you.

You tell her everything, but this…you can’t.

Honestly, you wonder if she’d even believe you if you tried, anyway.

“What do you think he’s like in bed?”

Your head shoots up. “What?”

She grins. “Not like you want to know how many times I’ve thought about it, but…he’s like the American Dream, right? I mean, he’s definitely my American wet dream.”

You snort.

She continues. “So do you think he’s vanilla, then? Only missionary? Or…oh, I bet he loves creampies. He seems like he could be the type to have a breeding kink. Nuclear family and all.”

You lay your head down. “I don’t want to know.”

You know he’s incredibly good at oral, if nothing else. And he’s a boob man. He’d spent the entire night with his face resting between both of yours.

And he really loves to cuddle. He’d held you like a human-sized teddy bear all night. But, you suppose it makes sense: being desperate for affection. Every time you’d thought today about what he’d told you last night, your heart had broken all over again. You’d actually had to hide yourself away in a restroom today between classes just to cry.

Maybe your period is going to start soon…

God, who would’ve thought in a million years that you would feel sorry for Homelander? But you don’t see him as that now. Not when you’re alone together. Now he’s just…John.

Honestly, in a million years you would’ve never imagined letting him into your bed. Holding him. Calling him baby. Or sweetheart…

“Just guess,” she insists.

You groan in irritation, raising your head. “Maybe he’s a boob man.”

She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling, thinking for a moment before looking back to you while nodding. “Yeah, I can see that.”

You shake your head while smiling. “I have to get this paper done.”

You don’t bother keeping your balcony doors closed this evening. Not while you’re up and idly watching TV, at least.

Watch, you think, the one night you leave them open—as a reluctant invitation—will be the night he finally decides he’s grown bored of coming here and he never returns.

You’re entirely okay with that possibility.

You’d do anything to pass him off onto Emma. Then again…no, you wouldn’t. You most certainly don’t like the idea of him doing to her what he did just a couple nights ago to you on your kitchen counter.

But, she also wouldn’t have even thought about fighting back like you had. She would’ve been completely willing.

You wonder if that would’ve made him all the more angry. Maybe that’s the part that turns him on the most—resistance; a fight.

You jolt when you hear a soft thump to your left. You, begrudgingly, turn your head in that direction, met with the sight of the one and only Captain Asshole.

You feel guilty after thinking that, though. Especially after last night.

He’s just…emotionally stunted. And you’re not even sure at what specific age. Maybe there isn’t a particular one, because for his entire adolescent life…he’d been locked in that room with no one and nothing to interact with.

Tears sting your eyes.

He steps over the threshold, and you merely gaze up at him.

You’re not offering to willingly make him dinner like some trained pet. Not that you feel like it to begin with. You’ve already eaten. He can fly down to the local McDonald’s and pick up a Big Mac if he’s hungry.

Fly down.

He can fly.

What an insane thing to be able to do.

But also fantastical and amazing.

You wish you could do that.

He slips off his boots, setting them beside the door, before padding over, seating himself heavily beside you.

You flip the channel to some trivia game-show then.

“You ever seen any of my movies?” He asks.

You roll your head to the side, staring at him. “What do you think?”

He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms, looking at the TV. “So, you’ve never had a favorite supe?”

You face forward again as well. “Not really, no.”

“Never had so much as a poster of me?”

You shake your head.

He smirks. “Maybe I should gift you a Homelander pack of panties.”

You look at him with a raised brow.

“Of course they sell those,” you say with a shake of your head.

He leans over you, sliding a hand up your thigh. “I could be with you all day long that way. Right between your legs.”

You shake your head yet again, but in disapproval. Even if your lip twitches in mild amusement.

He leans back again. “I’d like a glass of milk.”

You huff quietly—the playful moment clearly over—and stand.

Once you’ve given him his requested drink, he takes a brief sip, then speaks before you seat yourself once again.

“Well, you’ve gotten to see me undressed. I think we should make things even.”

You still—the hairs raising on the back of your neck—while you simply stand and stare at him.

“C’mon,” he says, motioning with his hand, taking another drink. “Strip.”

“You’ve already seen me without…bottoms—”

“So now I get to see the other half.”

The part of you he’s most interested in, he thinks.

You cross your arms, frowning, heartrate slowly beginning to climb.

His eyes go red and you jump slightly, arms falling to your sides in surprise.

Shades of blue return to you then, and he smiles sweetly, which serves only to make your stomach turn.

“I’m waiting.”

With trembling hands and stinging eyes, you grip the hem of your shirt, slowly tugging it up and over your head. You bunch it up, then hold it shyly against your middle.

“All of it,” he states, taking a long drink, licking his lips as he looks you over.

Your chin wobbles. “I don’t want—”

He sighs, leaning forward. “It’s just us. So slip it off, then climb into my lap.”

You waver.

“I’m not going to rape you. If I wanted you on your back with your legs spread, you would be.”

Not that it’s an unappealing idea to him.

You reach behind you, undoing your bra one clasp at a time. You slip it from your shoulders, tossing it onto the coffee table, then clasp your hands over your naked breasts.

He makes a beckoning motion with his index finger, so you step forward. Hesitantly.

“Straddle my lap.”

You swallow thickly, then do so, settling bent legs on either side of him, resting back on your calves.

He glances to your hands, then into your eyes with a raised brow.

You’d been right in what you’d told Emma that morning—your assumption about him having an appreciation for breasts—apparently.

You lower your arms, resting your hands in your lap, and he abruptly wraps his own around you, leaning forward, taking a nipple into his mouth.

Your eyes widen in shock, your body growing warm all over as he begins to gently suck, his eyes fluttering closed while he moans quietly in the back of his throat.

You, meanwhile, remain still and silent, unsure what the hell to do with yourself.

He releases your breast for a moment, taking a drink of milk, then immediately dives back in.

The TV plays softly in the background, so you choose to instead focus on mentally participating in answering trivial questions instead of…this.

Until he leans back, sliding a hand up your back, gripping your neck.

Your eyes meet his.

“Touch my head.”

You slide trembling hands atop his shoulders, lacing your fingers into his blond strands, and he returns his attentions to your chest.

You gently rub your fingertips against his scalp and he hums in contentment, taking another sip of milk, then sucking on your other breast.

It’s then that the metaphorical wheels begin to turn.

Constantly switching between taking drinks of milk and sucking on your breasts… Oh good lord, he has a breast-feeding kink, doesn’t he?

He just grows more and more interesting the more time you spend with him.

And then your heart breaks all over again.

What if it’s not, entirely, a kink? You know it’s at least half one with the feeling of his erection pressing against your shorts.

He never had a mother. Never had any form of maternal comfort growing up.

Showing up and asking—rather, demanding—dinner, your attention and approval, nearly threatening you last night after a moment of extreme vulnerability… He’d held you to his chest the entire night. Like a child does with a toy for comfort when attempting to sleep.

And now…he’s pretending to breast-feed.

You decide on another small experiment—he liked it the other night when you gave him affectionate touches—and begin to quietly hum a nursery rhyme.

This feels like some fucked-up psychological experiment: you trying to read him and gauge his reactions to this and that to get an exaction on his true nature. But, in reality, he doesn’t seem terribly hard to get at.

He goes to switch breasts again and you grow silent. Until he looks up at you, and tells you, “Keep singing.”

The two of you are lying in bed again with John’s head resting between your breasts as he takes even, steady breaths.

You run your fingers slowly through his hair, lulling him to sleep.

You’re nearly on the edge of it yourself when he stirs before leaning over you, slowly sliding his hand up your chest, then along your neck until his large, heavy palm comes to rest atop the soft, delicate skin.

He stares down at you, and you cup his cheek, brushing your thumb along it.

He smiles gently, tightening his hold, and you swallow nervously, your brows furrowing.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “You belong to me now. Do you understand?”

Your eyes flit between his and your heart begins to hammer in fear.

“You understand me,” he continues. “Like no one else has ever bothered to. We’re together now. Got it?”

He can’t really mean it. Someone like him…he must be expected to carry on with who Vought and the press choose for him.

“We…we’ve known each other for four days, John. That’s not enough time to—to know how you feel—”

“It wasn’t a question. I wasn’t asking. You’re mine.”

He presses his lips to yours and a tear slips from the corner of your eye.

He lies back down then, snuggling close to you for comfort. “If I find out you’re seeing anyone else, you won’t like what happens to him. So, I suggest staying loyal. Not that anyone else could ever compare to me, anyway. I mean, you should be happy about this—that you’re the young woman I’ve chosen for myself. It makes you special. Being mine, that is. A rich superhero. The supe.”

He closes his eyes, softly smiling. “The greatest man in all of America—the world—and I’m all yours.”

He tightens his hold around you.

“Doesn’t that make you happy?” He asks with a flat, slightly-threatening tone.

Your fingers tremble against his scalp. “What about Maeve?”

He snorts. “She might be my equal—for the most part—but you have your own appeal. There’s nothing I can give her that she can’t already get on her own. Whereas you should be grateful I’ve spared you a second glance or thought. That I’ve let you get this close to me. I’m a gift, really. Come to add interest to your ordinary life.”

A narcissist is what you are, you think.

Does he think, by stressing how special and one-of-a-kind he is, that you’ll…what? Agree? See how blind you’ve been all these years to have shirked the prospect of idolizing him, and finally fall on your knees, beginning for his attention?

You already have it.

The roles are reversed here, in truth. He’s the one desperate to have yours.

You know you shouldn’t speak further, but you want to hear his response to you laying the truth plainly before him. “If I’m so ordinary and you’re so…extraordinary, why bother with me? What is my ‘appeal’, as you put it?”

He grows quiet, listening to your heart pounding in your chest.

Finally, he curls his fingertips inward against your back. “Go to sleep.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, terrified of him. Of what’s happening to you.

Dear God, why couldn’t you have skipped just one day of class? Or come halfway through the day instead?

Now… Now you would be paying for it until he chooses to call this sick game quits.

[hetafice]

Hi! Could I request the allies with an overworked s/o? Thanks!

hi! as usual reply is beneath the cut.

America:

It could go one of two ways with Alfred.

Alfred’s solution to the problem may just be to have you quit your job and find a new one.

As someone who gets paid to occasionally loaf off, he might not understand whatever incentivized you to stay at a job you weren’t completely in love with. In his eyes, if your job is too boring or too hard, just leave!

And should you try to explain that you do enjoy your job, just not the overbearing workload, he would be at even more of a loss. 

Another possibility is that you both end up being overworked together and forming a sort of late-night ritual where you work side by side. Sometimes talking, sometimes complaining, sometimes eating, sometimes sitting in comfortable silence as you both hustle to meet a deadline.

Although he is free by nature, Alfred is also keenly aware of just how constraining responsibility can be. To complete his duties to the fullest, he can also lose himself in pursuit of perfection. As someone who’s constantly moving the goalpost for himself, it’s sometimes difficult for him to slow down, to pace himself. As such instead of encouraging you to leave a situation that does not suit you, he might instead choose to remind you of your commitments and why you chose them in the first place.

He isn’t a complete robot, however. He understands the toll that hard work and sacrifice bring, so he’ll try and do something nice to take your mind off of things. It would likely involve one of his favourite coping mechanisms - food. Expect him to either drop food in front of you while you work at random increments or to be pushed into the car and accompany him to the closest fast food drive-in window.

Russia:

To Ivan, there is no such thing as success without a little bit of blood, sweat, and tears. While he may sympathize with you on some level, he believes that struggle is a necessary part of working hard and actualizing one’s dreams; and that to aid someone along the way is just to coddle them. 

On one level, you are someone he deeply cares for, and so he does not wish for you to suffer. However, he also knows from personal experience that without learning the lessons that come out of hard work, you are likely to take things for granted and make simple mistakes in the process of completing your goals. To help you at all would teach you that weakness can still beget success, which would not only then inspire weakness in your future endeavours and prime you for failure, but also place a massive target on your back.

In his eyes, weakness of any kind is ripe for exploitation and is to be avoided at all costs.

Besides, given his history, he knows that people can get pushed and pulled far beyond their limits before they break, so consider this a sort of litmus test. How far can you be pushed before you can’t take anymore? Where do your limits actually lie?

Canada:

Matthew has likely experienced the same things before and is naturally empathetic, so he is a great person to confide in in this scenario.

He would try his utmost best to ease your burdens in whatever capacity he could. If you were busy with work or school, he would compensate for that by doing most, if not all the work around the house. He would check up on you throughout the day to see if you need help with any tasks or even just a general morale boost.

He is more than happy to lend a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on. His advice is usually pretty sound, and he could help you think of ways to better organize your time and/or minimize your workload. If that isn’t an option he could offer various mindfulness and wellness tips to help you keep sane until your workload naturally tapers off.

China:

With his work ethic and general philosophy on life, Yao would push you to be stronger, go harder, and do more. 

In his eyes, hard work is a unanimously good thing. If you are feeling overworked it means you're just coming closer to another limitation that can be surpassed. You may be dealing with uncomfortable feelings, but this discomfort will teach you a lesson and lead to character growth. What bad has ever come of that?

To be completely honest, he may very well be the one overworking you. 

If you are enduring mistreatment in the workplace, or it looks like things may be too much for you, he may try to offer a few words of advice. He would propose that the knowledge this experience would give you was well worth all the struggle, that it would likely aid in cultivating your character, and that you shouldn’t let an opportunity like this slip through your fingers; or worse yet, quit right before the finish line.

Should your body start to take a toll from the overwork, he would offer reminders to take care of your health, but his general stance would not change. Yao is not the type to intervene when things like duty and honor are concerned.

France:

Francis would not understand why you would willingly put yourself through this.

If it’s getting to be too much, why not just leave your responsibilities behind? If your superiors are giving you too many assignments, why not raise hell about it? Meekly sitting in silence is doing nothing to help the problem, and only teaches others that they can walk all over you. Why not just take a few weeks of leave and lounge around with him?

If for some reason, the prospect of potentially missing out on opportunities in favour of spending uninterrupted time with this man is not your style (shocking, I know), he would support you in your endeavours and try his best to help you unwind at the end of every day. He would make sure you ate regularly and continued to sleep well, while also providing you with as much wine as you needed to get you through it.

England:

As he has matured, Arthur has gotten better at consoling people. With that being said, he’s still not the best at it.

Expect an awkward, albeit endearing pep talk coupled with a bit of well-intentioned advice.

He may not be the best with words, but he’s the most concerned when he sees signs of physical exhaustion in you. Despite finding it a bit awkward to voice his concern for you, he’s seemingly always nearby with a cup of tea for you and refuses to head to bed unless he knows you are right behind him.

He’s more than willing to accompany you on those restless nights. Sitting beside you, either reading a book or getting ahead on a few of his assignments. He still remembers his younger days when he frequently worked late into the night. At the time, he secretly wished for a companion, and so now he happily fulfills that same role for you. 

A part of him also feels less worried knowing that should things go on for too long, he can step in and stop you before you work yourself too hard.

[oacest]

one of the things about noel i noticed since i got deep into the oasis lore is that there are multiple instances where he goes through some kind of transformation or at least changes how he presents himself to the world.  here are the ones i’ve learned so far:

when his "love for oasis put him back into the closet" to be the leader of the laddish rnr band after years of being his queer self frequenting hacienda, listening to the smiths and being a roadie for inspirals

when he "wasn't suicidal or anything" going into hiding with a girl he’d just met and shaved his head after his dream of making it in america crushed (iirc there was a quote from someone that said something like noel seemed like a different person after that, but i can’t find it)

when he had a few panic attacks and quit drugs all together

according to liam he "has changed as a person" and is "part of the establishment" post breakup (or already in the band's later years?)

am i missing anything? also how do you think noel will act in front of audience/media post reunion? all we have rn is liam’s tweets, which are pretty much unreliable...

yeah, he's definitely been through it! imo there's no grand design to any of these instances, they're all pretty standard (in timing and scope, if not in general likelihood for the average person lol) stage-of-life things. being a shy moody teen/early 20s -> discovering the social/personal confidence-boost of drugs -> becoming famous (specifically for something he worked really hard at and was proud of) are pretty huge things to occur right at that already volatile time of life.

and then obviously yeah the massive disappointment of the whiskey incident (and his investment in ~*breaking america*~ being crushed) -> i think perhaps a sudden fundamental understanding (or belief) that it was more him-against-the-world than the-band-against-the-world (i THINK that quote you're thinking of re him being "a different person" is from tim abbot's book...). quitting drugs, in varying stages, and the panic attacks, big time. i'd say becoming a father even more transformative than any of these things, really. but all pretty normal stuff to occur in the process of one's life, more or less.

he's always had an incredibly strong and clear core of personality, intention, and belief system, even more than a lot of people. it's never particularly wavered beyond some details dependent on context. liam complains a lot about him "selling out" or whatever, but it's just that noel a) loves attention and socialising b) loves being recognised and lauded for his music c) knows how to play the game d) has, as aforementioned, an extremely strong internal locus of control/self and simply doesn't react the same way to critcism or other people's opinions as liam does, for better or worse. liam sees the things noel does as greedy self-betraying selling out, noel sees the things liam does as humourless self-absorbed inflexibility. neither of them are necessarily WRONG, they just love to consistently believe the most bad-faith interpretation of each other's actions. #siblings.

all this to say, i see no reason at all to think noel will be different during oasis reunion than he has been at any other point. he'll no doubt drop some degree of the estrangement charade he and liam have been engaging in for x-number of years, but in no way is he going to undergo any sort of personality transplant. he's going to be a sassy little hot bitch onstage just the way he has been for the past ~20 years. he and liam are just going to have to work out some kind of timeshare program for who gets to yap at the audience when, i guess. back to the good old days of squabbling overtop each other at their mics between songs!

[g1i77ers1ut]

Jujitsu Kaisen: Happy Ending

Intro

What if at the end of JJK, everything was just a dream. Yuji Itadori was in a real deep sleep and everything we have saw was just imaginary. However, everyone was still apart of Yuij’s life. Here’s a list of everything that would happen if everything was a dream.

Disclaimer, these are all my thoughts and opinions, and also not fully confirmed when making this. So, things might change during time when we get next chapters and other stuff. Another thing, I’ve barely even finished JJK, so don’t be mean and just help inform me on anything that I missed or did wrong.

The main group

Obviously, Nobara Kugisaki and Megumi Fushiguro would be Itadori main friends.

Since in the dream Nobara is seen using a hammer and nails as her like main weapon, she would have been a very like working hands person. She’s slightly tomboyish who, if this was taken in America, would work in workshop. But even working with her hands, Nobara still is girly. Shopping and being her girly pop self. But even without her weapons and cursed energy, she still has the same attitude.

Now Megumi, his main weapon are his cursed animals. Since he has a lot of them, he would probably have the same amount in the real world. Besides the elephant bc that can’t be really possible. He would have his demon dogs, snake, frogs, rabbits, and bird things. I don’t really know what it is, so I think he might just have a standard pet bird. Also, since this is supposed to be happy, Megumi would know that Toji is his dad. I believe the backstory would be that his mom and dad went through a break up, making Toji leave Megumi until he was a teen. the reason why it was long is bc Toji and Megumi don’t see each other till Megumi was like a teen. Also, Megumi’s mom is alive, bc happy family.

Second Years

There aren’t big changes, besides well Panda. Maki Zenin would be herself bc I don’t really know what to change of her cause she’s technically a normal person. She would just be her badass self.

Same with Toge Inumaki. He would be basically a quiet kid and have his friends speak for him. Instead of saying “Tuna with Mayo,” and being carful speaking, he would say one or two words out to people. If he wanted to have a full sentence he would tell it to his friends and they will speak it for him.

Now Panda, there are two ways to go at this. The first thing I thought was making him like a Tuxedo cat that would follow around the group. But my friend had a better idea. They thought of making Panda a mascot and now writing this it sounds so much better. Panda in the real world would be this big chubby dude that is cuddly like a bear, adding to the idea of bear. He volunteered to be the mascot which is, obviously, a Panda. He still is confident, loving self, but not with fur.

Sorcerers

Obviously, most of the sorcerers would be a worker at the high school. Do I know what position they would be yet? Not really, besides the principal being the principal. In the making of this, I don’t know what each sorcerer would teach or position they would be in, but I would like ideas. However, the only person I have a position for is Satoru Gojo. He would be like a Teacher’s assistant. He would still be an upper class student, but would mostly help not only teachers but lower class students. He’s also really good with time management and still has his piercing blue eyes, but doesn’t have that big power in them. They will however give you a headache if staring at them for too long.

Cursed Spirits

Since there are many cursed spirits we could talk about, I’m just gonna talk about the main four.

Let’s start off with the icon who created the group and is technically not a cursed spirit, Suguru Geto. He is basically, for my goofy obsession people out there right now, Bradly Uppercrust the Third. However, Geto isn’t that snooty and stuff. He’s still his chill controlling self, and taunts Itadori and his gang while in school. Just imagine Itadori, Megumi and Nobara passing by Geto, Mahito and Jogo in the hauls. While passing by in the hauls Itadori and Geto make anger eye contact. Mostly Itadori glaring while Geto is smirking and looking straight into Itadori’s eyes.

Now onto the crackhead Mahito. He’s basically just himself but just doesn’t reform others when touching them. He still touches them but the only reason why the thought of reforming others came to mind is bc when Mahito touches you, it is so uncomfortable that your whole organs move around weirdly. Also his hands are so cold that it makes your limbs twist and turn.

Lastly, the fireball himself, Jogo. So, he’s obviously a person, not a pimple looking volcano. Also before I continue, if it sounds like I’m insulting him, it’s bc I am. Jogo is definitely a big back gremlin. That’s really the only thing I think of if he was a human.

Jogo definitely, as a kid, set ants on fire with a magnifying glass. As a teen, he uses illegal fireworks and small strong fire sticks. He also sets trash cans on fire. Basically, Jogo is an arsonist.

Junpei Yoshino

So, there’s a reason why I have a hatred for Mahito. It’s not bc he touches people but it’s bc he killed the adorable Junpei. I could go the happy way and make Junpei live, however there’s another way.

The alive way is the scene from the first season intro, where we see Junpei hanging out with Itadori and his gang.

The other way is while walking to school, Itadori would pass by a cemetery, and see a grave stone with Junpei’s name on it. This is giving justice to the hurtful death of Junpei Yoshino 😭

Anyway, that’s it for now. Have any ideas, pls send suggestions. Anyway, bye 😘 ✌️

[ishanijasmin]

the 4 horsemen of adulthood

on monday, i consumed a sainsbury’s meal deal and two cream and jam scones and forgot to drink any water until 10pm. or i didn’t so much forget as think, ‘i’m thirsty’ and then just not do tanything about it—i literally don’t know why. i explained it to three separate people today and they were all like, ‘yep, makes sense.’ ??? does it???

it’s been a long time since my self-neglect hit critical mass like that; i went to bed queasy and woke up with a headache and a bunch of my clothes from yesterday heaped in a corner because i’m nearly 30 and i can’t just not drink water for an entire day anymore without feeling it. i have to identify as nearly 30 so that when i turn 30 in six months i’m not hit with whiplash.

i remember being 15 and staying up til 3am talking to my tumblr friends in america. i remember chugging four shots one after the other and then having the time of my life as fast as possible. i remember not stretching, not wearing spf, not being worried about needing a coat. no longer! ageing is just coming to terms with the fact that you do, in fact, have needs, one essential after the next. sleep, sunlight, movement, water: the four horsemen of being an adult, shortening telomeres and all.

someone reading this might think, ‘hmm, sounds like you’re depressed.’ maybe! this year i’ve been in and out of depressive phases, of varying lengths of time—a few days to a week, usually, but sometimes a bit longer. i think part of this is that i never seem to be able to come to terms with who i am. i’m permanently in a mix of white knuckling my own life and holding it together for fear that i might explode.

this year i bought an apartment. i quit a job that was my dream, because having autonomy and not being controlled and condescended to at work mattered more to me than being purpose-driven in the end. i founded a choir, recorded an album, became a trustee, was featured in an exhibition, and went on a bunch of trips. i pulled the rug out from under myself over and over again just to feel like i was alive.

i often feel i am watching myself as a marionette, and big me is poking and prodding little puppet me with a stick, chanting, ‘change! change! change!’ just to see what happens. because i don’t know what happens. now she moves house! now she quits her job! now she starts using different pronouns! now they’ve signed up for a year long pottery class! what will they do next?! who will they become? who are they becoming right now?

a lot of things are scary and i do them anyway because i believe in jumping out of my comfort zone (me, prodding the puppet self with a cattle prod: ‘change! change! change!’). things like showing up, putting myself out there, holding space, reaching out, sending an email, public speaking—they’re the choices i make to have control over my world and my selfhood, even if they do make it feel scarier. it’s not always so deliberate—usually it’s ending something that’s no good for you anymore, which is sad, and feels forced, but choice is change as a process, not as a one off.

and if that weren’t enough, everything is so fast and so slow at the same time! the days are long, the years are short. the days are long. i don’t have much in the way of routine, which theoretically means that i probably experience less time dilation than average. i would be lying if i said the presence of a nine to five actually made me feel better, because i remember being in it, and it didn’t, but it stopped me from feeling like i am metamorphosing at light speed.

that’s the journey, and embracing it (or if not, at least holding on). from the outside, it’s sitting on the couch, going to a museum, eating a pastry for breakfast not because i can but because i can’t think of an alternative, doing admin, catching a friend for a walk, going to the charity shop and leaving empty handed, picking up a prescription, watching 3 minutes of schitt’s creek at a time, bleaching every orifice in your home to stave off fruit flies. from the inside? it’s the wildest ride. let us take a step back, look at our puppet selves, and let them breathe for a hot minute, because change is gonna come, ready or not.

[nitrokiraru]

madatowa drama cd notes as someone who has very limited jp knowledge. i am simply using my 4 yrs of high school japanese, google translate, and a dream. just posting this for fun so it’s not like an official translation or anything it’s just basically me describing what’s happening to the best of my ability and also being insane about them

major events that happened that i could make out as like a tldr

-mada reunited with someone he knew when he was little

-towa learns abt mada’s past, mainly around a guy named “kurahashi”

-mayu eiji and kotarou appearance :D being sillies as always

-two yowie moments. first one in an alleyway second one presumably in their home. both are freak nasty as usual madatowa shenanigans

notes:

track 1

-LOTS of fighting noises in this

-towa and mada have a coffee and say it tastes like shinkoumi. some dudes come up to em and try to fight

track 2+3

-somebody notices them and gives them a job. presumably to fight people

-towa fights some people and it riles him up

-this part has already been translated but i just wanna scream abt it here bc!!!!!! towa brings him and mada into like an alleyway or something and he goes “hit me. it has to be you.” and mada says something like “you really are a lost cause/what am i going to do with you, huh?” hits him n his mouth fills with blood and towa kisses mada to make him taste it dnnsjdjd ❤️

-they have a quickie in the third track in said alleyway like the freaks they are

track 4

-a character (acquaintance of mada) called him “kei” which was kinda crazy to me since nobody called him that in the vn

-theyre in south america i believe? it’s funny in drama cds when they go to a country outside of japan and still speak japanese

-this character knew mada when he was little??? omg

-KAGA MENTION

-somebody came up to towa and madarame and said “forget everything you saw/heard today”?!

-there’s a VA in here that lowkey sounds like koujaku dmmd but idk how to check

track 5

-it’s funny how some tracks in here are like 2 minutes and the next one is 20

-dude i forgot how good nitroplus’ like sound effects are these mfs sound like they’re in my ROOM

-towa n mada having a convo abt the previous day. i think they may be arguing slightly? tone feels passive aggressive

-birds chirpin’ and towa’s breathing. he just woke up

-he just said madarame in the softest voice ever… 💔💔

-i think he woke up on their bed and mada left before he did

-towa: where did you go?😕 *track ends*

track 6

-footsteps. towa in a coffee shop once again

-MADA FIGHTING THAT DUDE HE KNEW

-cut back to towa. beep beep boop. towa calling somebody? ITS MAYU KOTAROU AND I THINK EIJI OMGGGGG T__T I MISSED EM

-i missed mayus silly voice

-they keep talking about somebody named “kurahashi” related to mada and kaga

-sasaki and toono mention?

-mayu: did something happen between you and madarame? did you two fight? (in the most teasing lil shit voice ever)

towa: *exhales smoke probably abt to hang up the phone* i’m done. -__-

eiji: HE WAs JUST KIDDIN-

-eiji: mata!! (see you!)

kotarou: mata na.

mayu: mata ne~ ^__^

the difference in tones was cute

-towa walks out of da shop. the dude from before comes up to him and asks if he wants to know what he and mada have been doing

-he like grabs him?? menacing music playing

-ok towa said let me go i think he pushed him up against a wall or something

-this dude is asking towa if he knows abt mada before he joined the takasatogumi. some massive lore bits goin on here (i understand about 20% of it)

-from what i got: madarame and kaga had a promise. lots of talk abt this promise. lots of talk abt madarame’s history with his siblings and takasatogumi. this entire bit is probably really interesting lore wise but i can’t understand most of it…💔 apologies

- enter madarame from the distance to save towa from this dude’s grasp

-he walks away.

-madarame: that guy…what happened?

towa: nothin. we just talked

madarame: really?

towa: yea. (he lyin)

track 7

-they go back home (i think) and enter.

towa sighssss. towa and mada talk time it seems ^__^

-madarame’s voice is so soft when he’s w him…cries

-towa: mentions something abt kurahashi

music: gets Suspenseful

-towa talks abt the stuff that dude told him

-towa ran away into a room?! (once again this would make me more sense if i even understood the weight of that dudes words and the lore of what happened)

track 8 (pretty sure this is the beginning of disc 2? however i’m listening from dlsite so it just shows up as track 8)

-this track is 20 minutes oh god pray for me as i try to even figure out what the hell is happening

-towa goes to see kurahashi and some dude tells him he needs an appt lawl… he lets him in tho

-“you came after all, towa” *suspense music starts*

-there’s a new takasatogumi?¿

-the dude who calls madarame “kei” is here telling him this. actually i think this is kurahashi i’ve just been calling him “the dude” this whole time but maybe it is kurahashi LMFAO i’ll just call him that

-wait the interrogation/euphoria music is playing? they’re still doing this segment in the drama cds omg

-towas voice still remaining the sexiest shit ever god

-IS HE TRYING TO SEDUCE INFORMATION OUT OF HIM or is it just his voice. maybe both

-more lore bits abt mada that i can only get bits n pieces from

-towa provoking da hell out of this mf.

-literally what the HELL is happening some other dude came in i hear clothes rustling and towa said Unhand Me

-HELLO GLASS JUST BROKE THAT SCARED ME WHY ARE NITROPLUS’ SOUND EFFECTS SO REALISTIC

-ITS MADA LMFAKOOK HE BROKE IN AND ASAID “towa. u in here?”

-the guy who sounds like koujaku is back apparently w him. they saved towa :D

-OK WHERE DID EIJI MAYU AND KOTAROU COME FROM I MISSED SOMETHING. i did.

track 9

-more kotarou eiji and mayuuuu. looks like they’re with towa and madarame now

-ok they left lawl

-everything’s all chill now i think that last track was the drama. i can’t wait until somebody translates the whole thing so i can actually understand what da hell happened

-once again their voices when they speak to each other alone are just 💔💔..

-it got a bit intimate at the end there i think i’m abt to hear a secks scene ngl

track 10

-YUP THE JAZZ MUSIC PLAYIN AND THERES KISSIN

-blood and knife(?) mention oh it’s abt to get real crazy in here

-mada: want me to cut you (non-verbatim ish)

towa: yes…..!!

-i’m punching the air.

-*cut sfx* mada: did that hurt?

towa:… feels good

-towa is such a fucking freak (affectionate) my god

-i think mada is licking the blood up oh my goodnes i’m abt to pass out and i’m only 2 min in

-oh he’s . towas whimpering . i’m normal (yes they’re fucking now)

-towa: cut me more. i want it to hurt

-mada keeps cutting him and towa keeps doing that little whimper FAWKKKK I CANR

-after they finished

towa: you’re covered in blood.

mada: whose fault is that?

towa: yours, isn’t it?

-ok that just changed me and i am very glad i bought this CD so i can now listen to it for the rest of time.

track 11 (last one!! ;_;)

-outside ambience. towa talking abt da sky

-at the coffee shop again talking w da waiter

-melancholy music playing.. why am i feeling emotional

-if i heard this correctly mada and kaga had coffee together that tasted like what they’re having rn?¿ madarame talking more abt his past but like. fondly i guess

-madarame said something that kind of gagged towa but IDK WHAT IT WASSSS HE SAID “who knows”

ARKTA song once again for the ending! AND IM DONEEE

ok so. i’m not gonna give a full review since i didn’t understand all of what they were saying but i saw on twt some people are going to start translating it? so perhaps i’ll relisten once a translation is out and give my full thoughts but as of now i loved it regardless. i missed towa and madarame a lot i love their dynamic 💔 just a bunch of freaks fighting mfs occasionally and going anywhere but still sticking beside one other. im rly glad i actually bought it because i get to listen to it whenever AND it’ll probably feel like the first time once i finally listen to it along with an eng translation so i actually know wtf is GOING ON

anyways hi and thank u if u read this whole thing. ’m gonna buy the rest of them soon and also make a review post but probably not as long. the reason is because god i MISSED TOWAS VOICE SO MUCH LOL i must hear it again. that is all

[holylulusworld]

The story

Summary: She's not going to let him down.

Pairing: TFATW!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, self-loathing, Bucky feels not worth being loved, written in Bucky’s PoV, fluff

A/N: Inspired by the song “The Story” by Brandi Carlile. Lyrics are taken from the song.

Sequel to: Ruined

No one wants to hear my story. I get it. I’m a relic from the past most people want to forget about.

Why think about dark times and the monsters I worked for? Or what I had to endure.

Even my best friend, the man I considered my brother, left me to go back to better times.

Steve wanted to live the dream he believed he wanted. He didn’t care that I had to hold his hand when he died. 

I’m stuck in this world, with my past hanging over me like a dark cloud. There is nothing I can do about it. 

The only light in my life is her. She makes the world brighter, and my life bearable.

Sometimes I believe I’m not attractive enough for her. I have lines across my face, and scars litter my body and mind. 

She’s perfect, looking like an angel. Every man turns their head when she enters a room. I always wonder why she chose me.

My girl left this perfect guy. He had it all. The looks, a shit-ton of money, and a good reputation. I can’t even hate him. It’s not his fault that my life got fucked up so bad that I can’t even sleep.

No wonder he fought tooth and nail and even played dirty to get her back. He spread rumors and lies about me, and Sam. Telling everyone we turned dark and tried to extort him. 

Y/N refused to go back to him. She even sent the huge diamond ring I’ll never be able to afford back to him. My girl told him to fuck off and grow up.

Still, I hate the man I see in the mirror. He’s not the cocky man going to war, or dancing with the ladies.

I feel like my body and soul are scared so badly that I’m not going to heal. And I don’t mean my missing arm, and the pain I feel most days.

“Baby,” her soft voice brings me out of my thoughts. She breaks the endless circle of self-loathing once again. “Stop it right now.”

Y/N wraps her arms around my waistline from behind. She dips her head to look at me in the mirror. “I love you the way you are,” Y/N says and kisses the scar tissue around my metal arm. “There is not a single thing I’d change about you, baby.”

“Y/N,” I stare at the man in the mirror as she steps next to me to take my hand. “I—”

“Look again, B,“ she says. “For me. I want you to see the man I see.”

I exhale sharply and drop my gaze. It’s so hard to look at myself and like what I see. 

“What do you see in me? I’m…no good.”

“Bucky, look again,” she squeezes my hand, holding it tightly. “Please…”

I lift my gaze, and oddly I see a different man. 

All of these lines across my face Tell you the story of who I am So many stories of where I've been And how I got to where I am

The longer I stare at myself, the more I see.

I see the young man, full of dreams, who tries to lift his small and weak friend up. 

I see the soldier, becoming a man during endless nights spent in fear of getting killed.

I see the prisoner, praying that the monsters capturing him end his life.

I see the man, freed of his shackles as his best friend became a hero.

I see the man fighting alongside Captain America. Brave and fierce.

I see the wounded man, torn apart and put back together by the enemy.

I see the Winter Soldier.

I see the man buying plums first thing after he escaped his handlers.

I see the man fighting alongside his best friend.

I see the man losing it all again.

I see the man finding love when he is about to give up.

“I’m nothing without you, doll. You helped me become this man too,” I dip my head to glance at my girl. “I want you to look at yourself too and see the woman I see.”

She smiles, and we look at the mirror again. Together.

But these stories don't mean anything When you've got no one to tell them to It's true, I was made for you

“You came a long way, Bucky,” she says. “I know that there are still things you don’t want to talk about. But if you are ready, I’ll be here to hold your hand. Always.”

“Always.”

Tags in reblog.

[banefolk]

Next in the christmas botanicals series is mistletoe, the famous white-berried tree parasite associated with druids, animal sacrifice, thunder god semen, the death of the Norse god Baldr, and the Trojan hero Aeneas using it to safely travel to the underworld. Many of us may think of mistletoe as belonging solely to the British Isles and Europe, but did you know there are 1500 different species of mistletoe worldwide? There are mistletoes in the United States, Mexico, South America, Asia, and Australia too.

Mistletoe is another poisonous plant used by our pagan ancestors for spiritual protection in winter. It was brought inside homes and placed in the rafters around the winter solstice to protect from ghosts, evil spirits, witches, illness, lightning, house fires, and bad luck in general. Unlike other winter greenery, it was left up all year and only replaced at the next winter solstice or christmas day. The practice is a living tradition of paganism. It wasn’t really adopted/stolen by the church, people simply never stopped the tradition. The church never banned it. Only a handful of later Protestant ministers got upset about the newer kissing tradition in the 1800s.

Kissing under mistletoe is believed to be Scandinavian in origin —that those who kissed under it were supposed to have a true and enduring love. This superstition ended up twisted by pervy Englishmen into a tradition of “a woman can’t refuse a kiss under the mistletoe or bad luck will befall her.” As the kissing superstition is fairly recent and largely invented —feel free to ignore it.

Mistletoe was once believed to be an antidote to all poisons and diseases. We know that’s not the case today but it does have historical traditional uses of treating arthritis, high blood pressure, respiratory issues, epilepsy, and infertility. While the plant itself has not been shown to help with cancer, some of its extracted and concentrated toxins have been found to be cytotoxic (destroys cancer cells).

Like the Native American snowberry (see previous post), mistletoe is also traditionally used to protect the cradles and beds of babies and small children. It can supposedly protect adults too when placed in the bedroom. Its presence is supposed to provide a good sleep with happy dreams.

If you have a bit of time, it’s quite a fun herb to research and maybe you’ll discover a native species growing in your region!

Resources: Wikipedia, Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs, Folklore & Symbolism of Flowers, Plants and Trees, and The Folklore of Plants (Thiselton Dyer, 1889).

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

Ship of Dreams

----

“You know - they say this ship can’t sink, it was all in the papers, impossible - they said.”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve heard,” Roman shrugged, shifting just a little closer. He wished he could wrap his arms around him, press kisses to his cheeks - pink with the cold - but they couldn’t, not in public. Roman hoped that was something that would change one day.

“If… if she did sink - what would we do?” Virgil asked, eyes still trained on the frothing wake the ship left in its path.

“Why, I’d swim us to America, of course, I promise,” Roman said, reaching over to brush his fingers over Virgil’s jaw, so he’d look over at him, “But she won’t sink, don’t worry so much my darling.”

----

| Ao3 |

Warnings: Major Character Death, Minor character deat Drowning, panic, hypothermia. Vampire bites. Implied/referenced homophobia. Technically self harm., Vomit

Pairings: Prinxiety

Word Count: 4646

Notes: puhleasseeee read the warnings on this one <3

Hi all this is NOT my usual kind of fic and this one's gonna need some context AND some warnings.

So this is a fic I wrote for a RP au I'm doing on discord, which is why it may seem like it's lacking context. To add some basic needed context: Roman is an immortal vampire, Virgil is his boyfriend/lover - at the point of the fic they've been together about five and a bit years. This fic details how Virgil dies, and is a major point in his backstory for the RP. Everything else should be obvious in the fic <3

----

Roman had hardly ever seen Virgil so excited as he ran into his arms, waving the pair of tickets he had just bought in his hand. Having fairly rich parents did come with perks, after all, and Virgil had finally managed to convince them to send over the money they’d need to go to America. Roman could have paid for them himself, but Virgil had wanted to do this one himself - and second class tickets were incredibly expensive, not even thinking about first. They were lucky Virgil’s parents had agreed to let him move further away - they already weren’t too happy about him living in England, let alone America. 

Still, he was pulled into a tight hug, Virgil’s warm hand pressed into the small of his back and the other resting on his hip. Never would he get used to the warmth of human touch. Virgil pressed his lips to the shell of Roman’s ear and then yelped indignantly as Roman picked him up to spin them around with a cheer of celebration.

“I can’t wait to show you America,” Roman said once he’d set Virgil back on his feet, a grin broke out on his face. 

“I still want to see these apparent secret tunnels of yours,” Virgil said, pinching his arm playfully, Roman yelped when he did, as if it hurt when he had barely felt it at all, “Need to see what you’re constantly raving about.”

“There are secret tunnels! I had them built myself!” Roman cried indignantly, Virgil had never believed him about his secret rooms and tunnels in his mansion back in America, Roman couldn’t wait to show him. 

“Well I’d like to see them,” He huffed, “I won’t believe you until I do.” 

“A week, my Stormcloud,” Roman said, meeting Virgil’s eyes with a bright smile, “A week, and I’ll be able to show you all you’ve ever wanted to see.”

Virgil punched him in the arm, “You’re such a sap.”

—-

“Isn’t she huge ?” Roman said, looking up at the ship they were to be sailing on. It was a warm day, sunny and midmorning. The ship itself was to sail at noon, but Virgil had always been nervous about timings, so they were here just a little bit early - almost ten am. Virgil yanked Roman’s hat over his face and huffed whilst he flailed and cried out indignantly.

“That’s why she’s called ‘Titanic’,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes, only making Roman laugh 

“I knew that, you fusspot, come on.”

“No you come on, slowpoke,” Virgil said, whacking Roman in the arm before running off towards the ship. Running after him, Roman cried out with a laugh, weaving between people whilst keeping a hand on his hat. He knew that the people around must think him insane, but he didn’t care much when he finally found Virgil waiting for him near the second class gangway - he was fairly certain that the only reason he’d stopped was the fact that Roman needed the ticket he carried to follow him onto the ship itself. The guard checked their tickets - Roman Prince and Virgil Garcia - and handed them back to Virgil, who stepped up onto the gangway and stopped, leaning back to offer Roman a hand, smiling brightly. 

For a moment, Roman was stopped dead in awe at how beautiful his partner looked, the cool wind whipping his dark hair around his face and his eyes lit up with a smile as he shook his hand, waiting for Roman to take it. Quickly he snapped out of it, reaching for Virgil’s hand and letting himself be led onto the Ship of Dreams. 

Their rooms were lovely. Far better than they had expected with carpeted floors and mahogany furniture. Roman had honestly expected worse - though everyone had been saying that this ship was ahead of her time. According to the newspapers the ship’s facilities were more lavish and comfortable than any other for all classes, but he still hadn’t expected this.

“You want top bunk?” Virgil asked, already putting his bags up there - he already knew what Roman’s answer would be before he asked the question.

“I want to cuddle with you,” He said with a pout, making Virgil laugh.

Gesturing to the bed, Virgil shrugged, “It’ll be tight.”

“I know you don’t care about that,” Roman rolled his eyes, “You’d be happy if I had to lie on top of you.”

Virgil shrugged, “You got me.”

Rolling his eyes, Roman put his own bag on the top bunk with Virgil’s, glancing around, “You know - since we’re here early…”

“That’s your plotting tone, you’re plotting something,” Virgil said, crossing his arms.

“Well… we arrived so early, and there aren’t many people here yet… why don’t we go explore instead of hiding in here?”

With a small frown on his face, Virgil looked Roman over, he was still wearing a cloak and his hat, but… “...Are you sure the sun won’t bother you?”

“Such a worrywort,” Roman shakes his head grimly, “I’ll be fine, dearest, come on - I want to see what they’re hiding from us in first class.”

“Princey!” Virgil hissed as Roman stood up, grabbing his hand and pulling him along, “We can’t go there!”

Roman turned back to him with a smile, “Hey, they’re not here yet! It’s barely even ten and the trains haven’t arrived, why don’t we have a bit of fun, right?”

Shaking his head, Virgil made his way after Roman to explore the first class areas whilst they could. 

—-

“This place is plain awful,” Virgil mumbled as they looked over the second class dining room. It was already nearly full of people gathering for dinner and crowded, neither of them were a fan of crowded spaces for their own reasons. Roman winced.

“What’s the chance they’d let you take a plate and go?” He asked, tilting his head, Virgil grumbled something unintelligible before grabbing Roman’s wrist and leading him to an emptier spot on one of the large, long tables and sitting down. Roman sighed and sat next to him, hooking his foot over Virgil’s for reassurance. When they were approached by a waiter, Roman declined anything and Virgil ordered and scoffed his food as fast as he could so they could get out of there. 

The walk back to their stateroom down on E deck (so many stairs, Roman had offered to carry Virgil down them, he’d refused) felt like an age. When they had finally gotten there, Virgil gently pushed him down onto the sofa in their room, taking his own seat sideways in his lap, and pulling his hair back. 

“Your turn,” He said, leaning back against him. Roman frowned. 

“Virgil, love-” Roman started, before Virgil cut him off. 

“You’re gonna protest because you do this every time but you haven’t drank anything in three days, Princey,” Virgil said, leaning over to pull him into a kiss, “And I don’t want you to be hungry whilst we’re tryna have fun, got it?”

Roman sighed, carefully brushing Virgil’s hair back and pulling his jacket down so it sat around his waist instead. Virgil immediately relaxed into him as his lips barely brushed over his neck. 

“I don’t like doing this,” Roman said softly, Virgil shivered at the cool brush of his lips. 

“I know,” Virgil said, reaching around him to start untying his hair, “I wish there was a better way for you to get what you need.”

Really, in Roman’s mind, he didn’t have much hope for something like that. He was scared he would have to keep doing this forever, and after Virgil…. Without Virgil he would have to go back to hunting.

Taking a deep breath, just the way Virgil had taught him, he nodded, “That would be nice, for now I’m… grateful that you let me have you.”

“Well I’m grateful that you can do it for me,” Virgil said, gently patting Roman’s chest, “You know I need the relaxation sometimes.”

“You’re going to get addicted to my venom at some point and then neither of us will be happy,” Roman pointed out, giving him a little nudge. Virgil huffed.

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Who knows?”

“Just shut up and bite me, Princey.”

—-

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Roman said, tone a little wistful as he leant on the railing, leaning over just a little to look at the ship’s wake. It still amazed him how such a heavy thing was able to stay afloat, let alone move so quickly. 

Leaning on the railing with him, just a little ways away, Virgil hummed. His hair blew back with a particularly strong gust of wind that had his jacket billowing around his legs and Roman laughed.

“A little cold though, hm?”

“Just a bit,” Virgil grumbled. Crossing his arms on the railing and looking down at the water, “You know - they say this ship can’t sink, it was all in the papers, impossible - they said.”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve heard,” Roman shrugged, shifting just a little closer. He wished he could wrap his arms around him, press kisses to his cheeks - pink with the cold - but they couldn’t, not in public. Roman hoped that was something that would change one day. 

“If… if she did sink - what would we do?” Virgil asked, eyes still trained on the frothing wake the ship left in its path.

 “Why, I’d swim us to America, of course, I promise I’d still get us there,” Roman said, reaching over to brush his fingers over Virgil’s jaw, so he’d look over at him, “But she won’t sink, don’t worry so much my darling.”

“Mm…” Virgil hummed, looking back at the water, “It’s a little scary, isn’t it? I mean - I know we’ve both done it before, but… leaving everything we know? Isn’t that terrifying?”

“A little,” Roman agreed, “I like to think of it more as an adventure - it helps with the nerves.”

He had been on so many adventures in his time, moving all over England, visiting Spain, going to America. Virgil had only ever travelled from his home in Spain to England, it was still a terrifying journey - especially for Virgil, who worried too much about such little things. 

“You look lovely in this light,” Roman says, glancing towards the sun where it slowly approached the horizon, “I’d love to paint you in it.”

He made a wide gesture and when his hand left the railing, his glove clung to the metal.

They slept soundly together that night, curled up in each other’s arms. That would be the last time they would ever do so. 

—

The third day of their trip had started normally - aside from an odd ‘off’ feeling that Roman had quickly brushed off, not wanting to worry Virgil. They had gone about the day just like any other - Roman had wanted to see what the library on board had to offer (not much he hadn’t already read) but they had stayed in there half the morning until lunch, where they’d made their way towards the dining hall early in order to secure seats at the ends on the tables instead of being stuck between a bunch of strangers. 

As the sun began to set, the pair returned to the stern of the ship to once more watch the sea, the night was clear and crisp that night - with not a cloud in sight. 

“It’s getting dark,” Virgil commented as the sun slowly sank below the horizon.

“Do you want to go back inside?” Roman asked, tilting his head, it was definitely starting to get colder out here. 

Virgil’s gaze travelled from the horizon up to Roman’s face, and then beyond him to where the first stars were starting to peek through the sunset, “Would you like to stargaze?” He asked, “Maybe after dinner? It looks like the night’ll be clear enough.”

“You think so?” Roman asked, joining him in looking upwards. 

“Do you see a cloud up there?”

“I suppose not,” Roman chuckles, placing his hand on top of Virgil's on the railing, “Well now I’m excited to gaze at the stars with you, come - let’s have dinner quickly.”

An hour later when they returned to the deck it was fully dark, dark enough for Roman and Virgil to sneak up to the first class promenade on A-Deck where they could get a much better view without the ship’s smokestacks in the way. Luckily for them they weren’t noticed and found a cosy bench to curl up on. Roman let down his hair for Virgil to run his hands through as they watched the stars. 

At some point Virgil fell asleep whilst Roman talked mindlessly about the constellations - most of which he had made up. He had always found it more relaxing when Roman talked, the sound of his voice soothing him. For the few hours that Virgil slept, Roman held him, his cheek rested atop Virgil’s head as he continued to watch the stars above them and the dark sea ahead. It was peaceful at night, with barely even a breeze, though it was cold. 

By the time Virgil woke again, Roman thought it must have been some time past midnight, he wasn’t too sure, though Virgil was groggy and mumbling something about not knowing where they were. Roman told him that he’d fallen asleep. 

“Oh you must be freezing,” Virgil said softly, sitting up a little more and looking at him, “We’ve been out here for hours-”

“I’m fine, really,” Roman waved him off. Sure, it was cold, but Roman didn’t mind all that much. Huffing - clearly not accepting that answer - Virgil shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around Roman’s shoulders. A triumphant smile on his face when Roman practically melted into it. He stuck his tongue out in retaliation.

“Oh put that away,” Virgil said, obviously trying not to laugh as he sticks his tongue out at Roman too. 

“You hypocrite!” Roman cried, a hand to his heart with an offended gasp. Virgil turned away as he burst out laughing, giving Roman the chance to put on the jacket properly. 

Looking back at him, Virgil crossed his arms, “I’m not getting that back now until we go inside, am I?”

“Absolutely not,” Roman says, shaking his head solemnly. 

“Ro… oh shit! Ro - look at that,” Virgil said, grabbing Roman’s arm and pointing somewhere ahead of them. Roman’s eyes widened a little, “Is that an iceberg?”

“...I think so,” Roman nodded, frowning, an iceberg that they looked to be heading straight for, no less, “They’ve seen it - I can hear them - they’re turning the ship, it’s alright.”

“Oh, good,” Virgil says, leaning back into Roman’s side where they sat on the bench. 

It wasn’t alright. 

Virgil let out a short lived sigh of relief as the bow of the ship passed the iceberg ahead of them, before yelping in alarm when the whole ship creaked and screeched in protest and started to shudder and shake - grabbing onto Roman’s arm and staring up at where chunks of ice were breaking off of the berg and landing with a crash on the deck. Neither of them seemed to have words for a moment as they watched it pass. 

“I didn’t realise icebergs were so big…” Roman said softly - it was the only thing he could think of at the moment. He didn’t know what he should have expected from an iceberg - but it wasn’t something so huge and monstrous as that. 

Keeping tight hold of Roman’s arm, Virgil stood, Roman going with him so they wouldn’t have to separate. They made their way over to the edge of the ship. Roman put a careful hand on Virgil’s back as they leant over, trying to see what damage had been done.

“We can’t see from here,” Roman said, worry lacing his voice as Virgil turned back to look at him.

“What do we do?” He asks, “Do they know?”

“I’m sure they know,” Roman nodded, glancing around. A few more people had come up onto the deck now, looking around in confusion. The iceberg itself was already far in the distance when Roman felt the ship shudder to a halt beneath his feet, “Yeah, they know.”

Frowning, Virgil leant into Roman’s side, “How bad do you think it was?”

Roman stayed quiet and listened, though it was hard to hear into the wheelhouse with the people now on the deck murmuring and chattering quietly. Virgil waited patiently for an answer, and the answer Roman ended up with was not a good one. 

“She’s sinking,” Roman said, voice small, Virgil looked up at him in horror as Roman started to panic, “It’s bad - really bad -the iceberg tore up the side of the ship -”

Quickly, Virgil squeezed Roman’s arm, putting a hand on his face, “It’s okay, shh, breath Princey.”

“Virgil -”

“Roman,” Virgil told him, “It’ll be okay-”

“Virgil there’s not enough lifeboats,” Roman interrupted him, still listening to what the officers were whispering about above them, “Not everyone is going to be able to make it - not even half-”

Putting both hands on Roman’s cheeks now, Virgil gave him a gentle kiss, “It’s okay, Ro, they’ll get help - there's other ships, precautions and stuff -”

“How are you not panicking?” Roman asked, looking over at him, Virgil looked back.

“I am - I’m just - you’re panicking,” Virgil said, “So I have to stay calm - one of us does.”

“That’s not - it doesn’t work like that,” Roman shook his head.

“Would you rather I be panicking right now?”

“...No,”

“Then shush - and lets just - lets just figure out what to do.”

 —-

It was chaos. With Virgil clinging to Roman’s arm for dear life, Roman led them through the crowd from lifeboat to lifeboat, trying like many others to find one that would let them on. Women and children only, they all said, getting the men to stand back whilst women of all ages and children were piled onto the boats. Roman noticed one boat launched half full and almost shed a tear right then. Virgil helped a set of twins with curly red hair into the nearest lifeboat - they seemed to have lost their parents in the half-panicked crowd - he wasn’t allowed to follow them in. A surge of panic had overtaken him when Virgil had left his side and it never faded despite getting him back moments later.

They kept trying, the crowds grew more and more frantic, the number of people on the deck only grew despite more lifeboats being launched. Roman thought he might strangle the next officer who wouldn’t let Virgil on. 

That surge of panic from before had never quite left him, only grown stronger and stronger as time passed and people got more and more panicked around them too. The yelling was deafening, Virgil had covered his ears some time ago, flinching every time someone screamed or shouted too close. People pushed and shoved their way to the front, someone elbowed Virgil and Roman hissed viciously at the man - he didn’t care who he was. The poor guy had backed off, terrified, just like everyone else. 

The band was still playing. Virgil remarked on it bitterly as they passed the trio for the second time. “Music to drown by? Now I know we’re in first class.”

Roman couldn’t help how the remark had made him wince. First class, that’s who was up here. A few of the lucky second and third class who’d come up to investigate in the first place. Where were the hundreds of people who weren’t first class? How many people had been abandoned to die in the bowels of this ship?

Tilting, the ship was tilting. Walking down the deck to the last boat felt like walking down a muddy hill. They could see the water now, so much closer, at the bow of the ship - where they’d been sitting just two hours ago - water was almost rising over the railings now. 

There were no lifeboats left. 

They had tried desperately, checked everywhere, none. No boats were left, Roman could see them in the distance, sailing away. He could hear the screaming of a thousand people, left, waiting, scared, clinging to a sinking ship, hundreds of people left alone and scared to die. Virgil looked at Roman, eyes wide as water spilled onto the promenade they had snuck onto to explore just three days ago, the promenade on which they had sat to watch the stars. 

“What do we do?” He whispered. Roman choked back a sob, he didn’t have an answer. 

Still he dragged Virgil up the ship as it tilted, they followed the screaming crowd as they ran for the stern, no matter the hopelessness that was quickly filling his heart and spilling over into his head. Roman still held Virgil tightly as the ship tore itself in half, he still screamed with Virgil and everyone else as she crashed back into the water. Virgil was trembling, with cold or fear or both Roman didn’t know. 

“It’s going to be cold,” Roman said, Virgil was momentarily stripped of his panic to stare at him.

“Pretty redundant statement, Princey,” he gritted out as they clung to a metal fence, 

“You’ll have to hold your breath,” Roman said anyway, “And don’t let go of me - I’ll get us to the surface.”

Virgil didn’t bite back this time, the ship had started to go down again, they could feel it, the flip of their stomachs, like this was just a demented, awful, fairground ride. 

Just as Roman had said to, Virgil clung to him when they were sucked down by the water into the void the ship had left. Kicking for the surface, Roman pulled Virgil out of the water, where he spluttered and spat out salt water. People all around them were screaming and yelling, splashing in the water, he held Virgil close as everyone looked for something to cling to, anything to keep them afloat.

“They’ll come back,” Roman said to a violently shivering Virgil, with a death grip on the jacket he was still wearing, later he would wonder whether giving the jacket back could have saved him, he hadn’t thought of it before, “They’ll save you, they’ll save you.”

Both of them, somehow, knew it wasn’t true.

It got quiet, it got quiet too quickly.

“They’re dying,” Virgil whispered, his voice cracking and small. His breath fogged in front of him, Roman could see his lips were turning blue and saltwater turned to frost on his eyelashes, “I’m- I’m going to die, Roman, you have to-”

“No,” Roman shook his head violently, he too had frost on his lashes, in his hair, though it was shaken off. He couldn’t succumb to hypothermia, after all, “No you won’t, I won’t, they’ll come back, they have to.”

“Roman please,” Virgil whispered, “Please turn me.”

“Virgil,” He whispered, “I-”

“Do it, Roman, please,” He begged, his words stuttering and forced through his quickly slowing shivers. He didn’t have time, the lifeboats weren’t coming back, they wouldn’t make it.

He supposed swimming to America wasn’t so far-fetched an idea after all. 

“Okay,” he said, pained, but there was no choice, he would die otherwise, “Okay - okay.”

His fangs sank into Virgil’s neck, his skin was freezing, his blood felt like ice pouring down Roman’s throat, tears slipped down his cheeks only to freeze halfway there as Virgil fell limp in his arms. 

A sob ripped its way from his throat as he pulled away, leaving blood to trickle from the bite despite Virgil’s heart no longer beating. 

Through his tears he tore open his wrist with his own fang, holding the bleeding wound over his loves parted lips even as his skin knitted itself together again. He knew it was useless, he had been too late. 

It was far too late when a boat did come back. 

The death all around him had made Roman sick, he’d vomited at least once by now, lungs hurting though he didn’t need to breathe, heart heavy though it didn’t beat. He clung to Virgil’s lifeless body even as they tried to pull him aboard. 

Weakly he fought them, but even he was weak and tired from the water, sobs still wracked his body with every moment. Roman hadn’t cried this much since he was human. 

The officer had to break Virgil’s frozen fingers to loosen his grip on the jacket Roman still wore. His jacket, Virgil’s jacket, which he refused to let them take off of him in favour of dry blankets when they boarded the Carpathia even when they promised him he’d get it back. He’d screamed when they pulled Virgil’s corpse away from him, pulled him back when he’d tried to reach for him again, held him down as he cried out in anguish as his love sank under the water. 

They called him mad in whispers aboard the Carpathia, crew and passengers alike, when she arrived to save them, hours too late though she was the only one who had come. An officer was assigned to watch him after he had tried to throw himself overboard within hours, he had to get back to him, find him, he’d promised that they’d see America, he’d told him that he’d swim if he had to and if they let him he would. Virgil didn’t deserve to rot at the bottom of the Atlantic.

But Roman had been too weak for that, he was too weak to save him, too weak to go back to him, too weak to make good on any of his promises. All he could do was cling to the jacket he wore and the blanket they had given him. He sat so still and unmoving that they worried he was in shock, they’d sent for a doctor and Roman had pushed him away when he’d tried to diagnose him with hysteria. Still he cried but he didn’t scream, he didn’t try and throw himself over the railings again, they had moved too far for that now and Roman knew he wouldn’t make it. He knew he wasn’t strong enough anymore. 

The moment the statue of liberty passed over him was supposed to be a happy one, one he could share with the person he loved as they embarked on such a wondrous adventure. But it was only Roman who passed under that statue as rain poured down over them, it was only Roman who got to see her in her glory - even in the rain she was beautiful, he thought Virgil would’ve loved to see it. 

“Your name, sir?” An officer asked as he reached the gate, expression blank and eyes absent, hands shaking as they clenched the jacket that still smelled of saltwater and death. He looked up, finding himself unable to make eye contact with the man, though he had a kind face, a sympathetic look in his eyes. Roman couldn’t stand it, he didn’t need sympathy, he needed something no-one could give him back. 

“Roman,” He said, tone flat.

“And your surname>?” he prompted. Someone behind him in the line huffed in annoyance. Roman’s hand worried a frayed seam in the jacket - he would have to fix it when he got home, he couldn’t lose this too. The last thing Virgil had given to him. 

Not the last.

“Roman Garcia,” He said, trying to sound confident. The man nodded with a smile and wrote down his name before waving him off. 

Roman Prince had left England hand in hand with the person he loved, waving to no-one aboard the Ship of Dreams, full of hope and excited for the future - they both had been. 

Roman Garcia stepped onto the grounds of America alone, hand and heart equally empty, from a ship that had been the only one to answer their call for aid. A ship that had not been fast enough to save him.

----

Tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti @scalesfeathersnfur @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat @littlerat2 (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

[anamelessfool]

I made a crackfic inspired by these GIFs

One Shot (AO3 Link)

Papa Emeritus IV & Reader

Mature for strong language, references

Stupid silly fic, destiny, concerts, the incredible cornette hat

This opportunity comes once in a lifetime....You only get one shot. You hope your calculations are correct this time.

1,819 Words If you like this fic please reblog!

One Shot

This was your last chance. After three rituals, there was nothing left. Fourth time’s a charm, you told yourself, arriving at the line by the venue at promptly 1AM. You were going to make rail no matter what. You run into your friend, Avery, who has doggedly followed you ever since witnessing your first attempt a few weeks ago. Since then you had kept running into them in the line, and at this point you had become fast friends. Today they look grim as you arrive and settle yourself into the long wait.

“Last chance, huh?” Avery blows a bubble with their gum. They have the weary voice of some kind of soldier getting ready for one last push over the top. You both hear the rattle of a raccoon scuttling around in a trash can nearby. The things you do for a dream.

You nod back. “Then they’re off to South America.”

“You are fucking nuts,” Avery says. “I don’t understand you but goddammit I respect you.”

“It’s been real, Avery.” You fistbump and wiggle your fingers, laughing.

It’s only a fifteen hour wait. You had waited longer in the past. As the line gets longer, more colorful characters appear, more people mingle. You chat, swapped social, and sing like delirious hungover partygoers at New Year’s. Thinking about the hours ticking makes you break out into a nervous sweat, but visualizing your mission steels you. Every so often, Avery locks eyes with you and calms your nerves with a friendly shoulder pat. “It’s gonna happen this time.”

You feel like some kind of action hero. Staring into the challenge ahead. “It had better fucking happen.”

The sun gets high overhead, roasting the asphalt, and still you remain. The shadows lengthen, the air cools. Finally, finally the venue staff come over to the line. Finally they pull out their scanners and open the gate.

Now or Never.

Arriving at the venue, you refresh yourself, then make a furious, single-minded march towards the front and center of the rail. Nothing will stop you this time. Not even the call of nature. You’ve picked out the ideal spot. After your three attempts you’ve figured out the perfect location. You’ve mapped the trajectory, the angles needed.

It’s a good thing Papa likes keeping to a script.

“I’m feeling really good about this,” Avery says from next to you. “You’re going to make it this time. I know it.”

“You’re psyching me out right now,” You mutter. “I can’t think. I got to get into the zone.” At last the blast of the music hits, that singular Yeaaaaaahhhhh! that makes your heart nearly explode. The curtain falls, and the pyrotechnics flare.

Every time you see him, you can’t believe he’s real. Papa Emeritus IV, resplendent in his beautiful costumes, reaching out to the audience, his thrusting hips powered by his voice. There’s screaming all around you. You have a weird inner peace as you wait for the opportune moment, a calm mindfulness reserved for samurai waiting to draw their weapon. Soon. Soon.

“BELIAL! BEHEMOTH! BEELZEBUB!” Ten thousand throats are shredded with screams. Avery gives you a friendly noogie. It’s time.

At last Papa IV appears on stage, framed by blasts of flames. His flowing garments take your breath away. His fierce winged hat lends an air of noble severity to his presence. The vision of that hat had consumed you since you saw it in Metal Hammer Magazine.  It has haunted you for months, and the plan you are seconds from attempting bubbled up from the core of your being. You had never felt so sure of the concept of destiny ever before.

Papa starts swanning all over the stage, coming into range. It’s fucking time.

From your pocket you pull out your ammo. You have a single shot, but something about having a single chance for victory steels your focus even more than having two or three. You unroll a pair of frilly strawberry-print panties, clutching them into your hand. You let all the breath out of your lungs. You have the focus of a stalking cat, a striking rattlesnake.

You hook the panties on your thumb, stretch the elastic waistband, and release.

“Archangelooooooo!” Papa IV croons.

There’s a moment where you don’t even feel your heart beating anymore. You see the panties suspended in the air, so slow in front of you you could count all the strawberries. For a brief second you scream in your mind It’s not going to make it! They hit the far wing of the hat, nearly slide off, then settle, hole in one.

A perfect shot. The panties land. Perfectly. Right in the bowl of that glorious hat.

“BROOOOOOOOHMYFUCKINGODBROOOO!” Avery screams in your ear. You barely register their voice, your whole soul ascending with the feeling of victory. It’s done. You’ve done it. And it’s glorious. Tears start to well in the corners of your eyes as you watch Papa IV scuttle across the stage carrying your prize.

And then you felt the arms on your shoulders.

“Hey! Get the fuck offa them!” Avery yells, but it is too late. Three security guards drag you over the rail, kicking and screaming. Finally you stop resisting, a serene deathly calm settling on you. You’ve done your duty and now it is time to go to the ashes from which you came. Your unfinished business complete, it is time to walk towards the light.

Your consciousness witnesses when they pull your arms behind your back, forcing you forward, whisking you away. To where, you have no idea. Nor do you care. What is done is done. You think they are going to kick you completely out of the venue but no, one of the guards opens a service door to the side of the stage. The florescent lights blind you, and the silence buzzes with the ghosts of the screaming crowd in your ears. The concrete and cinderblock hallway seems to go on forever and you watch your feet plod forward, your head down. The guards’ grip on your arms and shoulders tighten.

“Wait here!’ One of them shouts, whipping open a door. There’s nothing but darkness within. And within the darkness you remain, the door slamming behind you.

***

The light rakes across your eyes, and you wince like a cave animal. You have no idea how long you have sat in that dark closet, but judging by the silence around you the concert has long been over. Your eyes water and adjust to the light, witnessing the silhouette of a guard standing in the doorway. “Come with me. He would like to see you.”

He? Your heart starts to pound. At last your adrenaline bottoms out and you start shaking, but it is too late to fully react to your actions. Two guards reach in and grab you once more, ripping you back into the hallway. “Keep your head down!” One hisses under his breath. Your hands start to sweat.

You hear the creak of another heavy door opening, and a guard pushes you inside, closing the door behind him. This place is more softly lit. As you start to bring your awareness back to your body familiar colors, shapes and textures swim before your eyes. In a far corner, items are hung on a clothing rack. A sequined blue jacket. A torn leather vest. The magnificent hat greets you from a makeup table, and you catch your pale face in the lit mirror. At the bottom of the mirror you notice the back of his head.

Papa Emeritus IV is sitting before you.

You see him. You blink. You close your eyes. But he doesn’t disappear. He is right in front of you. And you are standing in his dressing room.

Alone.

His skull-like visage overwhelms you. You have no idea what his expression is, but his cursed eye glares through you. He is sitting on a couch in the center of the room, his arm on the armrest. He had since loosened his tie and you see the smallest sliver of skin peek out from the unbuttoned top of his shirt. His body is broad, his shoulders slack from the constant exertion of performing for a crowd.

You open your mouth, but it is as if a puff of dust comes out. He sits before you impossibly, but just like in your dreams. You feel that any noise, any movement would sweep the vision away. He lets out a heavy sigh, his chest swelling. You ache in the deepest parts of your body. He slowly sweeps his legs apart and locks eyes with you again.

“Come here,” he says in his reedy voice. You do nothing. You say nothing. A deer in the headlights would look on you with concern.

He blinks, then pats his leg. “Come here,” he says again. “Sit here.” There’s a quavering quality to his voice. You’re not sure if he is embarrassed or furious. A muscle tenses in his jaw, but the melting paint on his face obscures the smallest details of his expression.

He idly rakes his hand through his deliciously graying hair, and your knees nearly buckle out from beneath you. He is reacting to you. So he must be real. You will your legs forward, planting yourself in front of him, looking down at him. His brow furrows, and his eyes surprisingly shift from side to side.

Is he…nervous?

Papa pats his knee once again. “Per favore, siediti,” he growls.

You lower your body onto his strong, supple leg. He holds your weight perfectly. You feel like you’re going to fall off backwards in a faint, so you unconciously hold onto the side of his waist. His body shifts under you.

“Well, then…” he begins. You’re not sure if he is smiling or frowning. His face is so close you can see how the makeup has drifted under the sheen of sweat.

You have enough willpower in your brain to utter a faint “Um…sorry.”

Papa utters a casual grunt. Through your hand you feel the noise vibrate his whole body. He leans forward and by consequence his chest presses into yours. The heat and dampness of his tired body envelops you, the musky smell of his sweat overwhelming your senses.  Your whole soul is aflame in this single moment in which he reaches to pull something out from beside the couch.

“Here,” he says. His breath caresses your face. You look down.

In his hands is a small stuffed bear, like the kind found at carnivals. He holds it out to you. You do nothing. He makes a little frustrated “Myeh” in his throat and places it in your hands. His own gloved hands wrap around yours, patting them. He releases the prize into your possession, leaning back, satisfied.

“Here,” he repeats. You see the smallest of smiles drift across his face. “Complimenti.”

My Master Fic List

Taglist: @riptide-kid @kabukiaku @historian-crown@monkberryghouldelight @in-cardi-c-we-thrust @iichorot

[dickinson-devotee]

“I’ve grown up with it for 30 years. It’s always been there,” he says, growing emphatic. “I don’t remember not being in Iron Maiden. People go, ‘What a bizarre life you must lead’, but I put it all in a balloon. At the end of the tour it goes pop and I leave it all behind…” You’re saying you aren’t the man you are onstage. “No,” he says, the warmth leaving his visage, his stare suggesting the weight and pain of experience. “You can’t do that. You lose the plot. There were times earlier on when you’re sort of fantasising about ‘Wouldn’t it be great to be a rock star?’ You’re 16, you read about guys in magazines, but it’s a complete loss of all sense of reality that goes on. ‘Here’s the keys to the Ferrari, an unlimited supply of drink and shitloads of women.’ From a distance it looks like everybody’s dream, but as much as you believe all these people are consenting adults sleeping and drinking with you because you’re such a great guy, it’s difficult to find anybody that actually thinks about you as an individual. Suddenly you go from being the life and the soul of the party to being the loneliest guy in the most amazing orgy in the world. It’s like, where the fuck do I belong? Believe it or not I saw Barry Manilow being interviewed and he was talking about his asshole years, and I went ‘I’ve been there!’ I knew exactly what he was talking about.”

[awkward-walking-potato]

Little Dove Final part

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4  

My promo was Rockstar AU and Dangerous woman by Ariana grande

So I wrote this for @caplansteverogers writing challenge.

Thank you so much to @everythingiwritesucksoop for reading though and helping me edit things x 

Summary: You’re at the height of your career and you were becoming one of the best pop singer in America but what happens when your path crosses with a certain Rockstar.

Warnings - mentions drinking 

Y/N - your name, Y/L/N- your last names

Please leave feedback - 🥔💕

Loki’s car was a welcome sight as you burst through the front door of your building. He got out and opened the passenger door for you, his eyes full of concern.

“Y/N, what happened?” he asked as you slid into the seat, barely able to catch your breath.

“The Grandmaster is trying to control my life again,” you said, tears threatening to spill. “He’s announced my engagement to Jesse Page without my consent.”

Loki’s eyes darkened with anger. “That manipulative bastard. Let’s get out of here. We’ll figure out a plan.”

The drive was silent except for the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from you. Loki reached over and took your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “You’re safe with me, dove. We’ll get through this together.”

He drove to a secluded beach, the early morning sun casting a golden glow over the water. The tranquility of the scene helped to calm your racing heart. Loki parked the car, and you both got out, walking towards the shoreline.

“Loki, what am I going to do? He’s got so much control over my career, my life. I don’t know how to break free,” you said, your voice trembling.

Loki stopped and turned to face you, his hands gently cupping your cheeks. “Y/N, you are stronger than you think. You have a voice that can captivate the world, and a spirit that cannot be caged. We will find a way to get you out from under his thumb. You just have to trust me.”

You looked into his eyes, finding solace in their depths. “I do trust you, Loki. More than anyone.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Then let’s start planning your freedom. Together.”

For the next few hours, you and Loki walked along the beach, discussing your options. He suggested breaking your contract with the Grandmaster and starting fresh with new management. You talked about your dreams and aspirations, things you hadn’t dared to share with anyone else.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Loki pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you. “Y/N, you deserve to be happy. To be free. And I will do everything in my power to make sure you get that.”

Feeling emboldened by his words and his unwavering support, you nodded. “Let’s do it. Let’s take control of my life.”

Loki smiled, his eyes twinkling with determination. “That’s my girl.”

The drive back to the city was filled with a renewed sense of purpose. You felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. Loki had always been a source of strength for you, and now, with him by your side, you felt invincible.

Back at your apartment, you found the Grandmaster still there, looking furious. “Where have you been? We have a lot to discuss,” he snapped.

“No, we don’t,” you said firmly, standing your ground. “I’m done being controlled by you. I’m breaking our contract and finding new management.”

The Grandmaster’s eyes widened in shock. “You can’t do that! You’ll never make it without me!”

“Watch me,” you replied, your voice steady. “I have people who believe in me and my talent. People who actually care about my well-being.”

Loki stepped forward, his presence commanding. “You heard her. Get out.”

The Grandmaster sputtered, but he knew he was beaten. With a final glare, he stormed out of the apartment.

As the door closed behind him, you felt a rush of relief. Turning to Loki, you smiled through your tears. “Thank you, Loki. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “You did it yourself, dove. I just helped you see your own strength.”

Over the next few weeks, you worked tirelessly with Loki to build your career on your own terms. You found new management, released new music, and began to reclaim your life. Loki was there every step of the way, his support unwavering.

One evening, after a particularly successful performance, you and Loki returned to your apartment. As you sat on the couch, basking in the afterglow of your triumph, Loki turned to you, his eyes filled with affection.

“You were incredible tonight, Y/N. I’m so proud of you.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with gratitude. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Loki.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. “I love you, my little dove.”

“I love you too, Loki,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around him.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you had found your freedom and your happiness. And with Loki by your side, there was nothing you couldn’t conquer.

[sgtmickeyslaughter]

Thank you so much @callivich for taking the time and effort for coming up with these questions, and thank you @such-a-barbarian for tagging me also!

This got long lol

What’s a fic you’ve read more than once? 

one of my favorite generas of fic is shameless Mickey worship and for that I aways come back to from head to toe and the many things Mickey Milkovich has been called, Unforgiving Touches and the Feeling of Their Bruises. 

also, in no particular order You’re Tough To Love When You Don’t Love Yourself, the broad shouldered beasts series, sincerity is scary.

for something a little smutty go back to sleep has always been a favorite of mine

and as always, my favorite fic of all time Boy In The Box

What’s a gifset you always have to reblog? 

i love that gif set of Ian sniffin’ on his husband, also I think there’s one thats a compilation of Mickey’s best smiles through the series, gorgeous.

this beautifully edited (?) gifset I stg this is better quality than the actual show idk how they did that

this gorgeous art/gifset is awesome also!

this one is very important to me but man it hurts

another heartbreaker

everyone say thank you gif makers!!!!

What’s a fanart you love looking at?

I literally just saw this one for the first time, it immediately went to the top of my list!!

Its so beautifully done and captures the tone of the original piece so well while also transforming it into a unique moment and commentary on intimacy in their own relationship, ugh, gorgeous 

What’s a headcanon you can’t stop thinking about?

creative mickey! the best thing season 10 gave us was mickey and his notebook. i just know when Ian sees that thing come out post canon a part of him locks up in genuine fear

i don’t really think he gets into art persay, but just being a creative thinker, figuring out how to run their business, decorating their apartment, building ian a garden on their balcony when he gets put on the waitlist for the community garden

What’s an idea you’d love to create if you had the time/inspiration?

so I had this idea very vaguely floating around in my head for a while, but it wasn’t even remotely formed, let alone developed and then suddenly last weekend the plot just came to me in that beautiful and cruel way inspiration comes and goes, but it will take forever to write because I want the pace to feel very slow and syrupy and a little dream (or nightmare) like.

i dont want to give away the plot but its very southern gothic, slight true crime elements, cults, slight age difference (younger Mickey)… anyways if anyone from the rural south wants to be on call to explain geography and culture to me, hit me up 

i also have an idea for a dirty filthy, nasty smut fic but i would have to post it anonymously i wouldnt be able to look anyone in the (virtual) eyes

What’s something you’ve discovered since entering this fandom? A new trope you love? A different analysis of the show? Something else?

in all seriousness, analyzing Shameless as a show overall is so interesting, understanding each of the characters as case studies in different particular expressions of being raised in poverty, which is what makes it twice as upsetting when someone is like, ‘why would this character do this, thats so stupid’ and the answer is that statically speaking that character was actually very likely to do that because of the circumstances they were born into and the way they’ve been affected by that throughout their life, but okay. I also noticed that a lot of people on here are not from America and I always wonder what their take on the social/political reading of the show, if it feels familiar at all etc.. 

i also remember the first time someone commented under my fic to be like, ‘why are you giving Mickey a pass Ian did this’, and someone else commented underneath that ‘oh well Mickey did that so he’s a bad person etc.’ and it was just so upsetting to me, I dont see a lot of that on my dash but I just personally believe that if you are judging teenagers/young adults who are in the middle of their first major mental health crisis or who have suffered unimaginable abuse and neglect their entire life, you need to recalibrate your empathy levels 

What’s your favourite season? And has this changed after multiple rewatches of the show?

I love love early seasons (1-3) there is just something so nostalgic about it and as a show that’s when the writing was at its most creative and interestingly paced

also who doesn’t love baby gallavich?

What line/dialogue/description from something else (a poem, a book, a tv show, a movie, or something else) do you feel describes Ian and Mickey’s relationship? 

Ugh Im so sorry I am going to have to add all the lyrics to In Your Love by Tyler Childers, the inspiration for my first fic title because it is the most perfect song to encapsulate the passion between them and the work and sacrifices they put up for each other

What’s a plot hole you wish had been answered or resolved?

where is mandy? where the fuck is my girl?

also the fact that kevin had a son with v’s mom and just, has no interest in a relationship with him? like that made the story easier for sure but it doesn’t make sense with his character

What scene or moment do you feel isn’t discussed enough?

guys, there is not a scene in this show that we have not done to death already (affectionate)

and you know what? we’ll do it again!

but just for the sake of it, the “would you take care of me if i was paralyzed” scene, you can see that Mickey is almost idk, hesitant? but that’s because he’s really picturing it and that his yes is genuine and thought out, and ian’s face of wonder when he realizes that he has someone who loves him unconditionally and forever? earth shattering

What do you think is next for Ian and Mickey post-finale?

listen, i think the laws of television writers being assholes would dictate that they would give a break up (and maybe reconciliation) arc which is my least favorite television trope

but irl? (u know what i mean) i think they do have some hard, stressful times both out of their relationships and in it and realize pretty quickly that they have to work as a team and lean on each other and it only makes them closer

i also think that they simply refuse to sleep without each other, like one night when Ian gets stuck at the gallagher house taking care of sick franny mickey will drive over and sleep in the twin bed with him or if mickey gets wasted on a night out with sandy and debbie and his battery runs out he’ll stumble his ass home instead of going with one of them when they offer even if it takes forever

and ian grows his hair and stubble out to look like it does in the most recent photos (fluffy mullet) and mickey adores it he can’t keep his hands off his husbands head it’s a sensory dream

Thanks again for tagging me!

i’ll tag @stocious @mybrainismelted @sirrudo @solitarycreaturesthey @juliakayyy @jrooc @jezzibelle89 @i-think-you-mean-reduction @iansw0rld

[theboludaspring]

You Can't Fight Fate

For the Cardverse week, @aphcardverse-week Day 1: You Can't Fight Fate | oracle | prophecy | "I'm not supposed to be here." AO3 link Characters: America & France (platonic). Summary:

Destruction lies ahead for the kingdom of Spades. The young king is the only one who can see it. The King of Diamonds is his only chance.

“I’m not supposed to be here.”

The room is small, dark, and gloomy. The dim candlelight is barely enough to illuminate it, so most corners remain hidden by shadows. Dust stings his nose, and the smell of wet earth in the air makes it obvious how little used it is. Surely a perfect place for clandestine meetings, just as the other king assured him.

That, however, doesn't stop Alfred's eyes from scanning every nook and cranny. He's not foolish enough to believe he's safe, no matter how much Francis smiles and assures him that it's just the two of them there.

Anyone could be watching, judging him, waiting for the perfect opportunity to deal him a killing blow. He has to be careful, as Arthur has always told him, many will try to trick him and take advantage of his inexperience and naivety. He is not a child anymore, he–

“And yet… here you are.” Francis’s silky smooth voice interrupts his thoughts, diverting his attention from the room and trapping him like a spider’s web. There’s something about this elegant man that Alfred can’t help but admire, even as he does something as simple as pouring him a glass of wine—a wine glass with gold rims and an extravagant, expensive ornament on its base.

No one would think that just a few years ago, his kingdom was the most impoverished.

“I need your help,” he admits, his voice sounding dry, immature. Not even close to the tone his host used. He hates having to be so honest with another kingdom and exposing such a weakness, but he doesn’t have many options left. “My kingdom, my people, my advisors— they all keep telling me that I must follow the path forged by the ancient kings.”

“Ah, yes.” The monarch took a sip from his own glass, and even in doing so, he seemed more elegant than Alfred could ever dream of being. He appeared so indifferent to his words, to Alfred, and it was frustrating because, in contrast, Alfred was giving him his full attention. “Your advisors, the Queen and the Jack. They are wise; perhaps you should listen to them.”

His chair hit the floor with a thud, the sound echoing in the small space.

“But I don’t want to!” Even standing there with a rude and, some would say, threatening attitude, the other blond barely looked at him, why didn’t he look at him? “If I follow their stupid advice, if I let everything continue the same, how will we ever improve?” No, that wasn’t really his concern–, “How… how will I ever stop my kingdom from falling apart? If we continue like this, if I listen to them, our only destiny will be destruction.”

“You can’t fight destiny, little king.”

The taste of blood flooded his mouth from where he was furiously biting the inside of his cheek. He had not slept properly for nights. His gift kept showing him over and over again what would happen if he did not act; it tormented him. And no one listened to him! No matter how much he insisted, how much he tried to make them understand. Yao claimed it was just nerves about his new life, and Arthur thought he just wanted to get attention, to be the imaginary hero of a made-up story. He had come here because he thought that maybe, of all people, Francis Bonnefoy would understand what his people didn't. He was supposed to. But seeing him now, barely sparing him a glance as he swirled his stupid wine around like it was the only thing that really mattered…

He was tired.

“You did it.” And it’s an accusation born of disappointment, of pain even. He hears himself sounding like the kid he assures others he’s not, and he hates it and regrets everything. Coming here, believing this would serve any purpose, opening his mouth, trusting him even a little. Yet could anyone really blame him? He had seen how the Kingdom of Diamonds changed and prospered under that man's hand, how he forced fate to mold itself into his image and ambitions, and that once inspired him. The monarch was some kind of hero, an idol, the savior that the gods had sent to Diamonds. But maybe he was wrong, maybe it was as everyone said, just a bit of luck. The man in front of him was nothing more than a—

He pauses, blinking a couple of times, unsure of what he’s seeing. In front of him, it isn’t Francis, the extravagant, relaxed and indifferent man he got to know. No. In front of him is the King of Diamonds, the one who took a nation destroyed by past wars, infertile and poor; and he forged it in the Crown of the kingdoms, the envy of every land.

He is the king that made every other monarch bow their heads, only a few years ago, completely changing the game’s field.

He smiles, but not a friendly smile; it’s the smile of a predator. For the first time, Alfred notices that danger was never hidden in the shadows, but in front of his eyes.

Alfred has his full attention for the first time, and he wants to escape from it.

“I did something like that, right?” The man keeps smiling, still sitting on that luxurious chair (or is it a throne…?), and he’s every centimeter of a king and a little bit more. He’s not like Alfred, really not, who is still trying to understand the ins and outs of this lifestyle and could maybe never understand them. It’s… amazing, and a silly part of him wants to bow his head to someone who’s without a doubt more powerful than himself.

(For now).

He doesn’t do it, he will never do it, but that silly part still exists.

“Teach me how,” he demands, asks, and begs, because he’s tired of dreaming with the fall of his kingdom, because he has seen the numbers and the threats that nobody else seems to pay attention to. Because he has begged for someone to hear him out, to stop treating him like an inexperienced kid playing to be king. And this is his opportunity, his only opportunity. “Please.”

“I could, yes,” he says, and something close to hope blooms in his chest. Something is changing the destiny that has been drawn, and the paths are opening in front of him. “but what will I get in return?”

“An ally,” he responds immediately, the only right answer. Alfred’s eyes shine, a possible future, the future he yearns for, it’s showing itself in front of his young eyes, and he knows he has to grab it with both his hands and not let go. “the strongest that you will ever have.”

Francis smiles at him.

[q-talations]

How to Eat Life LN Chapter 1-2 Translation (1/2)

1-2 Imaginary Borderline (Part 1 of 2.)

Tobi was laying on his back on the bed in his room, staring at the pages of a pocket-size edition book. The title was “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?”*, a translation of a science fiction novel from America or some other place.

* ”Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep” is a science–fiction novel by Phillip K. Dick published in 1968.

In the facility, there were three steel racks filled with books donated by past inhabitants who had already moved out. The people living there now could read them to their heart’s content. All of the books that middle schoolers would be interested in were being read by someone else, so Tobi was using this barely-touched novel to kill some time.

He sort of just wanted to read something.  If there were words he didn’t know, he could just look them up in a dictionary. Thanks to this practice, he was able to memorize kanji well, but for some reason the contents of the books he’s read simply don’t want to stay in his head. Shortly after he’s done with them, he forgets almost everything.

Tobi glanced at his watch. 9:56 PM. The middle schoolers in the facility had to switch their lights off at 10 PM, so he had four minutes left.

For a good reason, like wanting to study, this time could be extended. Most of the others use this daily, but Tobi doesn’t.

“Shouldn’t you be going nighty-night, Tobi?” Baku laughed from the floor.

“What’s with the ‘nighty-night’? I’m not a little kid, you know.”  Tobi put the book on the edge of his bed. This room was originally intended for two people, so there are two beds, but Tobi lives here alone.

He never asked for his own room, and he used to share. His roommate at the time couldn’t stand him, though, so he filed a complaint against him to one of the workers that living with Otogiri Tobi was unbearable.

“How I see it, a middle schooler in his second year is right in the middle of being a kid.”

Tobi took his leg off the bed and pressed his foot lightly on Baku.

“Hey! That hurt, you BRAT!”

“You’re younger than me, aren’t you? That makes you even more of a child.”

“I’m an exception! You could say I’m a special case. Quite particular. Or rather extraordinary. Hey, stop it, Tobi! Don’t step on me or I’ll get all creased! I’m telling you!”

Tobi had enough of decorating Baku with his footprints after a short while, so he dropped it. He turned off the lights and went to bed.

The high schoolers’ lights-out time was at 11 PM, and some people would stay up late into the night saying they were doing their homework or studying. The nights at the facility were anything but calm.

Tobi wrapped himself in his blanket and rolled over to the side.

“You’re thinking about that woman, Tobi?”

“Not at all.” Tobi wanted to click his tongue. “If you didn’t mention her now, it wouldn’t have even crossed my mind.”

“Oh, really? I don’t believe you.”

“Really.” The words came out on their own. They were not prompted by that girl being on his mind. “……I’m serious.” Baku cracked up at Tobi trying to correct himself.

“She’s a real strange woman, huh.”

“Don’t say ‘woman.’”

“But she is.”

“Even so…”

“I know you were thinking about her. A big thing happened, after all. Can’t blame ya for getting curious.”

“I don’t really care.”

“Quit lying to yourself. Besides, even if you’re not interested, she on the other hand –“

“I’m going to sleep. Won’t you be quiet now?”

“Fine, I get it. Hope you don’t have a sleepless night.”

Tobi closed his eyes and pretended to snore, and Baku giggled again. That was none of his business. Tobi wasn’t the type to have problems falling asleep. He usually blacked out almost immediately. He was not thinking about that girl. He didn’t want to be, but she still ended up in his head.

“Speaking earnestly, there is something I wish to ask of you using this opportunity, Otogiri-kun.” After she had started talking to him that day, Shiratama Ryuuko raised her chin slightly, and spoke in an unusually formal manner, “Would you like to spend some time with me on friendly terms?”

“……Huh?”

The first thing Tobi did was try to understand what exactly he was being asked. Was it even a question in the first place? It didn’t feel like one. In any case, Shiratama was expecting an answer. That much was clear. But what was the right thing to say?

Unable to figure it out, Tobi just repeatedly voiced mindless “ehh—‘s”, “aaa—‘s” and “umm—‘s”.

“Oh,” Shiratama brought her right hand up to her mouth. “It is a sudden request, so I apologize if I have troubled you. You do not have to answer me immediately.” 

“Ah… is that… so.”

“Or soon, of course.”

“Well — I’m not sure…”

“Would you want more time to consider?”

“……Maybe?”

“Understood.” Shiratama closed her eyes and slowly let out a breath. “I am glad I said it. I was really nervous.”

Tobi’s heart was racing as well. Somehow, it didn’t feel like he was being teased.

“See you tomorrow then, Otogiri-kun.” As if feeling relieved after getting what she had to say off her chest, Shiratama bowed goodbye and left as quickly as a bird flying off a branch.

What’s with this girl? As soon as that thought came to Tobi, Baku murmured:

“What the hell was that about…?”

In the end, Tobi slept poorly that night.

Of course, it was all Shiratama Ryuuko’s fault.

She had approached him all of a sudden and started saying odd things before he even had time to register what was going on.

“Would you like to spend some time with me on friendly terms?”

Being surprised like that left Tobi perplexed. Otherwise, he would’ve given a proper answer right there and then. He thought so, at least. For example, if you were suddenly asked to dance by a complete stranger, the answer you would give them would most definitely be “no.” You would refuse to.

He should’ve refused. 

He should’ve said he didn’t want to.

Tobi hadn’t rejected her on the spot because he was confused.

Not only that, but there was also Shiratama’s unorthodox speaking pattern.

“On friendly terms.”  There’s nothing wrong with that part, it’s about the other one.

“Would you like to spend some time with me?”

Wasn’t there something weird about it? Or was Tobi the weird one for assuming so? He might just have been overthinking it. If he were to only look at the first part: “Would you like to spend some time with me?”, that time spent together would have taken on a special meaning. But he couldn’t simply ignore the second part. Shiratama clearly said, “on friendly terms.” Because of those words, he ought to interpret them as such.

Shiratama had just asked to be his friend, to keep it short.

But her selection of words was something else, being so formal with a classmate and all. There was no reason to dwell on it, though. Shiratama just wanted to be friends with Tobi. And that was the real problem.

Friendship with Otogiri Tobi?

What on Earth?

What’s more, there was a way bigger problem at hand. You could even call it crucial.

Shiratama Ryuuko could hear Baku’s voice.

The chapter continues in Part 2. Click me for part 2 redirect. Split due to Tumblr's 4096 Character limit posting.