#enchanted is where i lose my shit

[joels-shitty-puns]

The past two mornings on my way to work I've been listening to Taylor Swift, and like I'm a fan but I haven't been following the tour and everything. But I used to listen to her a lot. ANyway her songs are causing me to daydream in a fanfic manner and IVE BEEN IN MY FEELS THE PAST TWO DAYS AND IM SO IN LOVE HELP ME

[astonmartinii]

i don't wanna be funny anymore | daniel ricciardo social media au

pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem podcaster!reader

i don't wanna be funny anymore, i got a too short skirt, maybe i can be the cute one. is there room in the band? i don't need to be the front man, if not then i'll be the biggest fan

based on i don't wanna be funny anymore by lucy dacus (this song speaks to me, i love lucy (she's also AMAZING live))

MASTERLIST | TIPS

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 341,203 others

yourusername: hey girl hey, new ep coming at you fast this friday all about rotting. as the twilight weather rolls in and it becomes the season of all too well, we'll talk about rotting, how we can do it right and how not to lose your mind this october (a cautionary tale, i've already lost mine)

view all comments

user1: my queen hands down five stars already

user2: the bag is so real and the way i know it's a tote that does NOT stay on your shoulder

yourusername: it's the enchante tote, shameless plug for my man

danielricciardo: you singlehandedly sell out my totes every time baby

user3: not this actual fan erasure 🤨

user4: babe be real, she has a massive platform and there was a direct correlation between the first time she plugged a tote and the fact that they sold out that day you guys just love being mean

user5: i'm mean cause i don't want some leech taking credit for dan's hardwork and his fans?

user6: he fucking said it? you guys grasp at straws every time so try and justify your agenda against her

maxverstappen1: idk what rotting is but i'll still listen to every second

yourusername: thanks maxy, though i'd say going on the sim for up to 14 hours of the day is bordering on rotting

maxverstappen1: productive rotting !

yourusername: yes, i guess your sweet little treats are trophies?

maxverstappen1: that would make sense (don't tell my trainer but i do enjoy the little fruity drinks from starbucks)

user7: yall wanna say we're mean but she's literally invalidating max, saying he's rotting on the sim is so invalidating to everything he went through when he was younger

user8: how did we get there? this grasp on straws has to be studied... from a joke about the sim to invalidating abuse?

user9: i honestly thank the lord for dan and max because they're so supportive no matter the shitstorm that yall throw at y/n everyday

user10: literally max is even listening to podcasts... real friends, i hope one day she feels confident enough to come to races

danielricciardo

liked by maxverstappen, georgerussell63 and 1,034,239 others

tagged: yourusername, enchante

danielricciardo: buckle up, enchante is going to the rodeo 🐎

view all comments

user13: i shall be breaking the bank

user14: dan so smart, he looks like a good boyf for including y/n but didn't include her face

user15: yall ever listen to yourself talk, you need to be put in time out for real

yourusername: we all know the phrase, save a horse, ride a...

danielricciardo: daniel?

yourusername: YUP

user16: ugh there are children who are fans of daniel, she's so gross

user17: do you ever get tired of doing all of that mental gymnastics?

yourusername: can't wait for the tote drop for this collection, yall WON'T be disappointed

user18: yes, i will always trust mother's tote recommendations

user19: anyone who carries that much shit knows what makes a good tote

yourusername: this one has survived two dostoevsky book, an unreasonably large water bottle, a laptop and microphone

user19: thank you ma'am

maxverstappen1: real love is dressing as a cowgirl for your needy boyfriend

yourusername: the things we do for love (i actually had so much fun)

user20: here y/n goes doing all the publicity, but never going to races, clearest gold digger attention whore wag of all time

user21: surely a real attention whore would go to every race to get the screen time and papped and all that jazz?

excerpt of y/n y/ln's podcast where she addresses her absences in the paddock.

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 412,349 others

yourusername: life recently lol, the enchante tote is taking a beating

view all comments

user24: she's such a crybaby making dan use up an entire portion of his interview to coddle her

user25: she doesn't come to races cause of people like you invading her privacy and being rude and here you are ... proving her point

danielricciardo: pretty lady i can't wait to be back in your arms

yourusername: waiting outside the airport now

danielricciardo: we haven't even taken off yet babe

yourusername: i know i just miss you and can't wait to see your handsome face

user26: dan must be saying this shit at gun point cause there's no way he actually thinks she's pretty

user27: are you clinically blind? cause we must not be seeing the same girl

maxverstappen1: the aperol rawdogging the bag, you are SO brave

yourusername: living life on the edge, is this that thrill all you drivers talk about?

maxverstappen1: i may drive at over 200 kmh but i'd never risk my tote like that

yourusername: is it worse that i have a jar of olives in there as well, one drop and it's so over for me

maxverstappen1: OLIVES? remind me NOT to hug you when you pick us up

danielricciardo: if you want that hug you gonna have to get in line boy

user28: she picks them up from the airport? that's so cute

user29: someone tell her the gross girl aesthetic isn't cute

user30: babe don't worry no matter the aesthetic you have daniel will never want you x

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, christianhorner and 982,344 others

tagged: yourusername, danielricciardo

maxverstappen1: finally went on my bff's (no 1 in the world) podcast after i finally convinced her yall ain't shit - oh and dan was there for emotional support x

view all comments

user31: SO ICONIC

user32: ep on repeat forever, they're so funny

yourusername: for a man who hates podcasts, you were a star i think the memes hit you hard

maxverstappen1: i enjoy the PROFESSIONALS could you imagine doing a podcast with lando

landonorris: why am i catching strays

danielricciardo: i wouldn't say that too loud, i got about 20 texts as soon as you posted this demanding i ask y/n to be on the show

yourusername: oooooooooo the girls are fighting

landonorris: so can i come on?

yourusername: i'm sure we can schedule something

maxverstappen1: don't say i didn't warn you y/n

user33: ugh now she's going to whore around the rest of the grid

user34: for real wasn't dan enough? she's not even pretty enough to whore herself out

user35: you people have no reading comprehension cause you see how dan says yall are insane and yall keep proving him right

danielricciardo: i'm so proud of you pretty girl

yourusername: i love you cowboy

danielricciardo: forever obsessed with you

user36: i'm living for y/n basically telling all these insecure weirdos to fuck off

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, christianhorner and 603,451 others

tagged: danielricciardo

yourusername: who was gonna tell me these cars are loud as shit irl

view all comments

user39: someone tell sky to stop zooming in on her i don't pay to her her ugly ass

user40: cry your heart out bro everyone else is happy

danielricciardo: oops i think you're my lucky charm you now have to come to every race ever sorry not sorry

yourusername: gosh i think that might be true - i'll be there! (but for real you are so so talented and don't need a lucky charm)

danielricciardo: i'm just so happy to share this with you, i love you so much, i'm sorry people have been so cruel

yourusername: people are passionate about you and rightly so, but i appreciate you protecting me baby

user41: imagine being this irrelevant and demanding protection in the paddock ... the audacity

user42: you finally came to the paddock and this is what you wore?

user43: she's wearing danny merch? if she didn't yall would have a problem with that as well so please just be quiet

maxverstappen1: i need you to come every weekend cause you're the only one drunk danny will listen to

yourusername: we had practice with all the wine tasting we did for his wine line

danielricciardo: i am NOT that bad

maxverstappen1: tbf it's usually him just crying about how much he loves you

yourusername: AWWWWWW (i also cry about how much i love you)

user44: gosh this is my favourite f1 couple

user45: hopefully now she has her dose of fame she'll fuck off

user46: HAVE A DAY OFF

danielricciardo

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 1,451,677 others

tagged: yourusername

danielricciardo: as we're nearing our two year anniversary i wanted to say a couple things. one. i love you so much. when you came into my life i was in a bad place and you truly taught me to love myself again and how to love my sport again. you're the most amazing woman ever, the kindest soul and the most beautiful girl ever. two. i am so thankful for the support i have, i do not allow the disrespect some have given y/n. you guys have no real perception of relationships between athletes and fans. you do not have the right to comment on y/n in the way you are. you take extremely low blow and have the gall to confront her in public as well. do not call yourself a fan of mine when you treat the people i love like this. my team will now begin to monitor comment sections and will seek to block and report accounts doing this. thank you and i love you y/n.

comments on this post are turned off.

note: hope yall enjoyed!! i love danny and i saw the danny ric honky tonk this morning and had to write about him. i'd also had this idea for a while but didn't know who to write for lol. please listen to the song i love lucy so much and the song is so relatable xx

also anyone who has requested - i am working on them (but as per some questions in my asks, as for right now i do not write for footballers, if i become less disillusioned with the sport (thanks chelsea) this may change)

[papercorgiworld]

I don't want you to be my girlfriend

Blaise, Mattheo, Enzo, Tom, Theodore and Draco

There’s a big misunderstanding concerning your future together. 

Warning: no warning, just a very fluffy fluff thingy

This was brought to you thanks to this request, but I must apologize I changed some details, but I guess the essential plot is stil there. If you spot an error that hurts your brain, let me know and save another reader. And as per usual, my darling readers happy readings! I love you all, big time!

“When we graduate things are going to change. I have big plans.” You hear your boyfriend’s voice and feel yourself get all giddy, convinced that you are part of these big plans, but suddenly you stop in your tracks. “I mean (y/n) isn’t going to be my girlfriend forever.” Next, there's silence. “Are you sure?” You hear Pansy ask and with a pounding heart you listen to your boyfriend’s answer. “Yeah. Never been so sure of anything in my life. She won’t be my girlfriend for long anymore. Things change.” 

Without making a single sound you turn down the stairs of the astronomy tower. Tears streaming down your face. You were so in love with him. All the two of you did lately was talk about your future together. When did he stop loving me? Did he ever love me at all?

The next morning you looked like crap. You looked like someone who had been crying all night, which is exactly what had happened. So you skipped breakfast and just went to class where you spent your time staring in front of you and avoiding your boyfriend’s gaze at all costs. He watched you from a few seats away. When he grew inpatient waiting for you to look at him he enchanted a little note and sent it to you, but to his horror you just looked at the folded paper laying on your desk without opening it, before returning to look at the professor. 

He truly doesn’t know how you managed to, but after class you just disappeared. He had immediately gotten up and walked towards you and yet you had somehow snuck past him through the other students. He picked up the unopened note he had sent you and felt his heart ache. First you didn’t show up at the astronomy tower last night, then you skipped breakfast and now you were obviously avoiding him. What did I do? I hate it when I don’t know what I did? Bad joke? Forgot about a date? Salazar, what if I did something so bad that she’s breaking up with me? 

He had searched every nook and cranny of the castle to find you, which was quite a lot of work, but to no avail. I don’t even know where she’s hiding? Have we somehow grown apart without me even noticing? I’m such a shit boyfriend, I’m gonna lose the love of my life.

Defeated, he walked back to the slytherin common room when one last possible hiding spot came to mind. How did I not check there earlier?

Blaise

There you sat curled up doodling in your journal, back resting against the whomping willow. “Really not the safest spot to be. The tree gets mad from time to time.” He startles you and for a moment you stare at him with wide eyes, before relaxing. As soon as you process that it’s Blaise you roll your eyes. “Oh, really? After seven years at this school I really had no clue.” Your sarcasm is almost like venom and makes Blaise’s smile disappear. In silence he joins you, sitting too close to your liking so you move an inch away and he lets his head fall back in annoyance with your childish behavior. “I have no idea what I did, but I’m sorry, I always am when I hurt you.” His voice is soft and his hand reaches for yours, keeping you from scribbling in your notebook. 

You shake your head in disbelief. How could he be sorry, when he was planning on breaking up with you. You feel tears welling up and grit your teeth in an attempt to hold them back. “When we talked about our garden together, which plants and trees we would prefer and that there needed to be a little bench… I thought you meant it. I thought you really wanted that with me.” At your words he moves a bit away from the tree to face you properly. “I do. I do want all of those things. You know that. We were just talking about our future together yesterday morning. What makes you think I wouldn’t want that with you?”

Your eyes are angry. How dare he lie like this. “I heard you last night at the astronomy tower. You want to break up with me. You had big plans and I wasn’t going to be your girlfriend anymore.” Blaise stares for a moment, before chuckling and looking away. “Unbelievable, you seriously had me worried for a moment.” All your anger subsides and confusion takes over, eyebrows knitting together. “You won’t be my girlfriend forever, (y/n), because I have other plans for you.” Blaise explains, but you still don’t catch on to what he’s hinting at. “Darling, I bought a ring.” Your eyes widen and your heart feels like it’s going to explode. “That’s what I was talking about. I showed it to everyone last night.” With shaky hands you put your notebook aside and move a little closer to your boyfriend. “An engagement ring?” Blaise nods and smiles as he adores your utterly confused face. “After we graduate, on a random date, when you don’t see it coming I’m gonna pop the question.”

Even though you were sitting in front of him he’s still surprised when you suddenly wrap your arms around his neck. “Spoiler alert, I'm gonna say yes.” You whisper all giddy and he responds by hugging you tighter than ever. Gods, I hope so, because I really love you.

Mattheo

Mattheo sighs, relieved that he’s finally found you. Sitting against the whomping willow with your knees pressed against your chest and headphones on, probably listening to the same four sad songs on repeat. He watches you from afar for a moment as he worries about what’s gotten you so upset and worse why you haven’t come to find him for consolidation yet. Even when you were angry with him you came to him to figure it out. You rarely closed yourself off for so long as you had done today and it frightened Mattheo. 

Quietly he walks over to you and as soon as you spot him you turn to look away from him, making Mattheo almost reach for his chest. He decides to lean against the tree next to you, giving you some space as you’re still sitting curled up on the ground. The silence between you two is excruciating. Soundless tears run down your cheeks as you realize that this might be the last moment between you two. As painful as the silence is, Mattheo wants to give you time to start talking, it’s only when he hears you sob that he loses his patience and immediately gets down on his knees next to you. He takes off your headphones and looks at you with soft eyes. “I beg you, please, talk to me.” His fingers brush your cheeks and you savor the moment of his touch, before speaking up.

“It’s cruel Matt, making someone believe in a future together, while you’re planning a break up. I mean who does that. Yesterday morning we were arguing about marriage or kids first and in the evening you’re telling everyone that you don’t want me to be your girlfriend.” A pathetic sob escapes you and Mattheo opens his mouth, but you cut in before he can say anything. “I still love you, you know. I still want that future with you. Did I scare you away or something?” Mattheo’s heart squeezes at your painful sobs. Scare me away? How can you think of something like that? “No, no, you could never scare me away.” Mattheo wants to hold you, but you softly push his hand away. “Then tell me, what did I do wrong? Why are we breaking up?” Mattheo stares at you in disbelief, not following at all. “We aren’t. We’re never-” 

“I heard you, Matt, last night at the astronomy tower. I heard you say that I wasn’t going to be your girlfriend for long.” Something changes in the way Mattheo looks at you, but you can’t quite capture it, he looks almost disappointed. “Wow. Definitely not how I planned it, but okay.” Mattheo says dryly, but also amused. There’s this sweet mischievous glimmer in his eyes that calms you, but also has you frowning. He searches in his pocket, obviously being enchanted, it takes him a while to find what he’s looking for and you stare at him in confusion as he makes a funny face. “Matt-” He shushes you and you study him carefully as he moves from sitting on both knees to resting on one knee, before pulling out a tiny box. 

“If it’s up to me, (y/n), you will no longer be my girlfriend, because I want you to marry me.” You quickly shake your head and sit up a bit straighter to check if you’re really seeing what you’re seeing. Slowly, his free hand reaches to open the flannel ring box. “So (y/n) (y/l/n), will you marry me?” Your mouth opens as you stare at the ring, before looking at Mattheo whose smile is filled with love. You nod, ignoring the elegant and shiny ring, you lunge towards him and he wraps his arms around you. He quickly closes the box to keep the ring safe, before kissing you passionately. When you break apart, your foreheads rest against each other. “The answer’s yes by the way.” You whisper with flustered eyes. Mattheo licks his lip, smirking at the beautiful fiance in his arms. “I assumed that much.” He said, eyes shining with happiness. “But, dear future wife, don’t you ever assume silly things again, like maybe me dumping you. Never going to happen, understand?” Sheepishly you chew your lip, embarrassed with your own dramatics. When you nod, his smile grows brighter and leans in for another passionate kiss. 

Enzo

As soon as Lorenzo spotted you, he came running towards the whomping willow, though carefully watching the tree so as not to get attacked by it. You were just laying on the ground staring up at the sky and the tree, but you knew Enzo was coming your way. You had been together for so long you could hear it was him just by his footsteps. You took a deep breath, trying to get rid of the weight on your chest, knowing that your relationship would all be over soon. With a happy smile Enzo’s face comes into your view as he stands next to you looking down at you. “Found you.” He quips rather proud of himself and you snort. Joking before breaking up that’s just rude. Did our relationship really mean nothing?

When Lorenzo notices your displeasure with his presence he kneels down next to you. “Everything alright?” He asks with a soft, worried voice as he scans your face for any hints. You chew your lip for a moment before sitting up, eyes wandering around, avoiding Enzo. “I really looked forward to it.” Enzo frowns and sits down next to you, his arm brushing yours. Before he can ask for an explanation, you continue. “Cooking together every evening. Going to bed together. Waking up and arguing in the bathroom, but making up at the breakfast table. You were going to make that boring adult everyday routine fun, you would make everyday worth it.” Lorenzo drops his head, looking down. She’s breaking up with. He heard you struggle to keep yourself from sobbing and looked back up.

He wasn’t just gonna let you break up with him. He grabbed both of your hands and pulled you towards him, now your teary eyes were forced to meet his. “Darling, whatever dumb thing I did, I love you too much to have done it on purpose, so please just talk to me.” You narrow your eyes at him, confused by what he was saying. You sniffle and he wraps an arm around your head pulling towards him, forcing you to rest on his shoulder for a moment. “Please, don’t break up with me.” Your boyfriend whispers, before placing a soft kiss on your temple. You pull away and look at him. “I don’t want to break up with you, you’re the one that’s done with our relationship.” Enzo’s eyes widen and his mouth drops a bit. “Wha- why? Why would you say something so ridiculous!” He sounds almost angry with you for suggesting something so outrageous. 

You frown and bite back. “Don’t play dumb, Berkshire! I heard you last night at the astronomy tower talking to all your friends and Pansy, who’s my friend by the way, about how I wasn’t going to be your girlfriend for long anymore. Hah!” You point at him, thinking you’ve cornered him, figured out all his lies, but he doesn’t look impressed at all. “Oh right, right… but tell me, darling, if I’m planning on breaking up with you then… uhm, why did I spend a ridiculous amount of money on an engagement ring?” With one swift move he presents you a small velvet ring box and judges you, before quickly tucking it back into his pocket. Your mouth just hangs agape as you watch him put the ring box away. “Miss I-have-it-all-figured-out, do you have any other crazy assumptions? Maybe you think I bought that for one of my other girlfriends-” You give him a soft push and he smiles at your flustered face.

“Break up with you? Have you lost it? Gods, I’m marrying an idiot.” Lorenzo laughs and pulls you onto his lap. You’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Enzo bought an engagement ring. “Marrying an idiot? Enz, I haven’t said yes.” You say, attempting to sound composed and he grins at you. “That’s because you haven’t seen the ring, yet.” You snake an arm around his neck. “So show me.” You brush your nose against his and he smirks, happy that you're eager to see the ring and say yes. Enzo steals a tender kiss from you before moving his lips to your ear. “I don’t think so.” You look at him with curious eyes and he explains himself. “I have this whole thing planned and it’s already bad enough that you know I’m going to propose. I don’t need you knowing about anything else I have in store for you.” Merlin, I love him. Desperately your lips crash into his, passionately kissing your future husband as he holds you tight.

Tom

He studies you from afar as you focus on your journal. He adores your elegant figure, small against the great whomping willow. He approaches you with a featherlight step and you don’t notice him until he speaks up with a serious tone. “You had me worried. Disappearing for a whole day.” Your heart jumps as his sudden presence startles you and you quickly close your journal. When you look up he notices your exhausted eyes and crouches down to your level. His fingers brushing your jawline before grabbing a hold of your chin as you try to turn away from him. With a firm grip he forces you to meet his eyes. “Have you been crying, dear?” Your eyes go dead at his question. “Don’t pretend to care. I know you’re breaking up with me.”

Your voice is cold and your words catch him off guard, dropping his hand and studying your face. “When we talked about traveling the world, I thought it was going to be you and me. Searching for the boundaries of magic, you and me… always.” His face goes cold as tears visually well up in your eyes. “I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me. I don’t understand. I thought we were happy.” Now you can no longer hold your tears back, instantly your hands cover your face and Tom grits his teeth at the sound of your sobbing. “Enough.” He says sternly, grabbing your hands and making you look at him. “I don’t know what’s gotten into your silly little head, but I’m not breaking up with you, not now, not ever!” 

He can spot a glimmer of hope in your eyes at his words and he sighs. “Quite to the contrary, actually. I’m planning on spending the rest of my life with you and I want to make it official.” You swallow and shake your head a little as you remember last night's words. “But- but I heard you talk yesterday evening… you said I wasn’t going to be your girlfriend forever.” Tom’s lips form a line and he cups your face, thumbs brushing over the stains of your tears. “You should know better than to eavesdrop. You missed out on a bit of context.” Your eyebrows knit together. “You’re not breaking up with me?” With a soft smile he shakes no. “I missed out on the context?” Tom nods and you feel yourself relax. “Okay.” You whisper and you lean towards Tom so he can embrace you. With your head pressed against his chest you wonder. “I don’t get it, what context?” Tom smiles to himself. “You’ll find out soon enough.” He pulls away a little so he can place a tender kiss on your soft lips. I can’t believe she almost found out about the proposal. If she had seen the ring last night the surprise would’ve been ruined. 

Theodore

You were trying to focus on the book in your hands, but you had to reread every sentence twice, because your mind kept going to Theodore’s words. Frustrated with your incapacity to read, you sigh and look around taking in your surroundings, it’s then that you spot Theo slowly walking in your direction. “Here it goes.” You mutter to yourself as you mentally prepare yourself for a painful break up. “Where have you been all day?” Theo asks, noticing you looking at him. You shrug, not in the mood for small talk. “Here.” You say dryly and Theodore’s tongue darts around in his mouth as he tries to figure out what’s going on. “Why did you ignore my note?” You look away from him. Can’t he just cut to the chase. 

Again you shrug, eyes still staring into the distance. Theodore raises his eyebrows, a little annoyed by your attitude. “Okay, princess. I’ll play.” He goes to sit opposite of you, giving you all his attention, but you snap your head towards him at his words. “You are unbelievable, Theodore Nott!” Your loud voice makes Theo clench his jaw. “Right back at ya, sweetie.” He’s annoyed, but he tries to stay calm, seeing how upset you are. “Don’t ‘sweetie’ me, Nott.” You snare. “I know you’re here to break up with me. I heard you talking at the astronomy tower last night. I know about your big plans that don’t involve a girlfriend. So you can scurry off now. I’ll be fine.” Theo opens his mouth before closing it again and chuckling softly. You frown. “This isn’t funny.” You say, clearly hurt by his lack of emotion. You reach for your book to hit it against his arm, but your boyfriend ceases the opportunity to grab your wrist and pull you closer to him, much to your dislike. 

“It’s funny, trust me.” He whispers, chuckling as he closes the space between you two. “I’m not gonna scurry off, princess, and I’m not breaking up with your dumb ass.” You try to pull your wrist free. “I heard you say-” Theo snakes an arm around your waist to keep you close, before interrupting you. “You heard what exactly?” You fall silent and look up at him with watery eyes. “Because I’m not breaking up with you, I love you a little too much and I’ve invested a bit too much money in an engagement ring. So you and I, we’re not breaking up any time soon.” The sadness in your eyes is replaced by surprise. “Engagement ring?” You whisper barely audible and Theo nods softly, eyes focused on yours. “So did you maybe hear me say something like : she’s not going to be my girlfriend for long?” He leans closer to you, eyes moving between your lips and your eyes. “Because you’re not going to be my girlfriend for long, since you’ll be my fiance soon and then-” Your lips crash on his and his hand moves to your head as he kisses you back passionately. “I’m an idiot.” You whisper between kisses, only making him kiss you harder. “Yeah, you are. You’re lucky you’re cute.” You frown and he chuckles. “I love you.” 

Draco

With closed eyes you enjoy the sounds of nature around you. “Hey!” You recognize your boyfriend’s voice and turn to see him walk up to you with his usual flair, though carefully watching the whomping willow afraid of what it might do. You turn away from him, not ready to face him after hearing him talk about breaking up with you last night. “What’s got you hiding out here?” He watches you with crossed arms and you chew your lip, fingers playing with the grass by your side. You were rarely this distance and he gets more worried. He decides to sit down next to you. “If something’s wrong you can tell me.” You’re surprised by the softness of his voice and turn to him. His heart breaks a little when he notices your puffy eyes, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to tell him what’s going on.

“I feel stupid, Draco.” You confess and he frowns at you, before you continue. “I- I just thought that when we lay in bed discussing the interior of our mansion that- I guess I believed that you really wanted that. You really had me believing you wanted that future with me.” Your boyfriend’s face goes paler than it usually is, but you don’t notice the horror in his eyes. “I respect your choice and I won’t make any drama, but I want you to know that I really wanted that… a future for just the two of us.” With those words you get up, feeling tears well up. “What?” Draco almost yells as he instantly gets up after you. “You can’t break up with me.” He grabs your hand and you look at him, confused at his words. “I’m not breaking up with you, you are breaking up with me.” Your explanation almost hurts Draco’s brain as he tries to make sense of what you’re saying. “No. No. Why would I break up with you?”

You press your lips into a line as you now notice how utterly confused he is. Your eyes rest on his hand holding onto yours, he didn’t want you to go anywhere. You look up at him, frowning. “But I heard you… last night… you said that- that I wasn’t going to be your girlfriend forever. Pansy asked if you were sure and you said yes. I clearly heard you say that.” Draco seems to relax at your words and a soft smile creeps up his lips. “Oh, love.” He lets go of your hand, before taking a step closer so there’s only an inch between you two and slings his arms around you, hugging you as he softly chuckles. “I’m not breaking up with you.” The calmness in his voice convinces you of his sincerity and you feel all the pain and tension leave your heart, making you blink away soft tears of joy.

You enjoy his warmth and hug him back, but after a moment your mind goes back to last night. “But then, what were you talking about?” You move away from him as you feel a bit of doubt make its way back to your heart. Draco tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and adores you with the sweetest smile on his lips. “You won’t be my girlfriend for long because I intend on marrying you.” Your eyes widen and you feel the purest form of happiness rush through you. “Marry me?” You whisper in surprise, not really believing what you had just heard. “Yes and I’m sure of it.” An intense blush forms on your cheeks and your eyes get sparkly as a soft laugh of joy leaves your lips. “I love you, Draco Malfoy.” He kisses tenderly, before locking his eyes with your and wiggling his eyebrows. “I love you too, future Mrs Malfoy.” You laugh and bite your lip. “I like that.” Draco pulls you closer, happy to hear your approval. You break a passionate kiss when your mind starts wondering again. “When are you asking?” You ask with a cheeky smile and Draco scoffs at your question. “I’m not telling. It’s already bad enough you know that I’m gonna ask.” 

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

I think a lot of people forget that Darkstalker was legitimately considering killing Clearsight after he figured out she stole his scroll. He thought to himself that maybe he won't have a queen by his side and then we cut to Clearsight's pov when she is making the bracelet with Fathom and she actually sees futures where Darkstalker kills her if her plan doesn't work. What makes it even worse when Darkstalker is twisting her wrist and asking where his scroll is, when Clearsight is able to slip the bracket on him and he is able to read Clearsight's mind for the first time in a long time she still loves him while he is seriously considering murdering her. Like hello why don't more people talk about this.

I also think people forget how much of a bastard Darkstalker was even in the beginning of the book. Like shortly after he met Fathom and Indigo he thought that Indigo was a threat and that he could kill the insta kill tail band thing he was wearing. The only reason why he didn't do it was because he thought a sad animus dragon with nothing to lose wouldn't exactly be the best thing for him or anyone else. Like I guess you could argue that's because Indigo threatened to kill him first but my gripe is that he's so sadistic when thinking about it he enjoys the idea of killing her way too much while Indigo is just traumatized from the entire Albatross situation and Darkstalker should have known because he can read minds and see the future but I guess not.

Also the fact that he doesn't really like it when Clearsight is with Listener, he never hangs out with them because and only joins with Clear after Listener leaves. Pretty sure this is because he doesn't like Listener for being suspicious of him. He also tries to read Clearsight's mind after she says she doesn't want him to do that by diverting her attention, even though she didn't fall for the disrespect for her boundaries and her feelings are still present even in the beginning.

Like I am not saying it would have been impossible for Darkstalker to actually realize that he is in the wrong and change his ways early on (and I only early on in the book my cut off point was when he enchanted Clearsight because that shit was just disgusting and actually unforgivable), but it would be difficult. And after he enchants Clearsight to not see the bad futures it would just be impossible because he starts seeing dragons as objects and becomes more dismissive of everyone else, also because that's the point where I think his actions become unforgivable.

So yeah Darkstalker is a dick and if for whatever reason I ever met him I am throwing hands, animus magic be damned.

.

[bakugoushotwife]

𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖑 𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 // 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊: 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖘

a/n: here is the finale to part one!! thanks to everyone being patient with me to get this part out, i've been going thru it lately but we got her done. i haven't proofread everything but will as it goes live, just kinda wanted to put it up. this shit gets dark so proceed at your own risk. cw: gore, blood, murder, major character death, infanticide, smut, cowgirl, pregnancy journey, serious graphic descriptions, etc. dead dove do not eat. series masterlist jjk masterlist part two

he grips your forearms, pink lips parted in disbelief. his touch is gentle, eyes gleaming with emotions yet unnamed. “again. say it once more.” he whispers, seemingly searching for the physical signs already as his eyes dance around your stomach. 

“i’m pregnant, the healer confirmed it–our heir. he or she is coming!” you laugh in astonishment, a gentle warmth blushing across your cheeks. he pulls you against his broad chest within the next second, a myriad of thoughts occurring in his brain all at once. his wife–his queen, was with child. he was no longer the man he was cursed to be. he was loved by you, and would soon become a father to a loving baby of his own creation. a monster he may be, but solitude had lost its grasp on him, and he would never feel guilt for his monstrous ways now. not with a family to protect. a family. ryomen sukuna—head of a family. 

you nuzzle your face against his neck, and his heart physically aches with the emotion he stores in it for you. surely this is something much stronger than love. no one could ever feel as strongly as he does. he sighs softly. comfortably, and sets you back on your feet with a soft chuckle that rumbles inside both of your chests. 

“what wonderful news—outstanding news, my love…you have made me the happiest man...what a gift..” he says in a voice nearly foreign to you with its overwhelming gentleness. it conflicts with the look in his eyes. it’s hard to describe—the love and adoration he’s always held is there, with something else lying beneath. a certain icy cruelty that you know he’s capable of—a primal protectiveness. yes, gone were the days of leaving you in the throne room or bed chambers by yourself to be waited on by uraume and the rest of the staff. no, no. he would be attached to you like a second soul, as if you weren’t growing one already. 

he just couldn’t bear to risk it. especially as the building plans commenced and more strangers would be around his wife than ever before. his nerves were…heightened so to speak. you didn’t want to call it paranoia, as you can understand exactly where his concerns come from. he’s never cared for anyone. not even a fucking little bit, and now he has an entire universe of feelings stored inside of one person—seperate from himself. it’s terrifying. it’s vulnerable in ways he hates to admit, for any one of his enemies that knows of your existence knows exactly how to break him apart. all the sorcerers he’s wronged, all of the families of those he has personally extinguished—they all have a way to enact revenge. they all have a clear path to ripping his heart out of his chest, and it’s a fate worse than death. even the thought of you falling into enemy hands is enough for sukuna to erect gates with enchantments and veils, laying traps of his own mind’s invention all around the palace grounds to ensure your home remains a free territory for you and his baby. 

his baby. his son or daughter growing fruitfully within you. only three people know of the baby’s existence—you, him, and uraume. and this is how the list would stay until it is simply unavoidable. he will cater to your every need himself; and no one else should enter within ten feet of you unless they want to lose their heads. he makes this much clear, announcing the decree to his castle staff. of course they’re curious as to why they can no longer serve their queen–but any questions they have die on their tongues with the feral tone of commands from their king. 

you think it’s all a bit much, but you wouldn’t say anything against his wishes. this is what helps him rest peacefully at night, what makes him believe you are totally and wholly safe. besides it’s more relaxing this way. the only hustle and bustle is about the additions to your home, no servants nagging you about the certain tinctures and powders you should be taking to support your baby through the pregnancy; nor them cooing about how dominant and healthy king sukuna’s offspring would be. no. it’s just the two of you and the moment. the first few months were rocky—much more negative than positive with your symptoms and struggles. your husband was a rock amidst the nausea-inducing waters. he may not be inspirational or motivational in his words, and he may not know simply from instinct alone how to comfort you; but do not mistake that for neglect. he is ever curious, and attentive. he can tell when you need something…he just needs you to help him along as to what for the first few weeks into this beautiful journey. 

he’s quick to provide you a trash receptacle or to rush after you as you run into the bathroom to puke. he’s the one holding a cool rag to the back of your neck and keeping your hair out of the way, the sound of your seemingly endless retching tugging at his heart. he learns that the term “morning sickness” is really a lie—you’re sick at all hours of the day. he nearly feels guilty over your suffering, keeping you hydrated on water and coconut milk for extra nutrients. you aren’t keeping much food down, but he tries to make sure you’re offered plenty of it. going into the second month of your weak exhaustion and pathetic puking, he’s growing more than concerned. 

“i’m calling the doctors, my queen is suffering far too much.” he announces, using a rag to dab the sweat off your forehead as the toilet receives yet another round of your stomach’s contents. another hand fashions your hair into some sort of ponytail, and the other two stabilize your hips. you shake your head, leaning back to sit on your haunches as you wipe your mouth. 

“it’s perfectly normal. i’ll enter the second trimester soon, hopefully it will stop then.” you say, chipper. he finds it confusing how you can clearly feel so bad but pretend otherwise. your child isn’t even showing in you yet, you only look as if you’ve had a large dinner. and while you’re ridiculously adorable in this slightly swollen state, he’s left mystified by how such a small babe can disrupt everything about your body. your appetite increases and wanes depending on the day, you cry over a fallen bird's nest and then threaten to light him aflame. it’s a lot for him to wrap his head around, as someone who’s never really been well versed in emotions to begin with. but he is patient above all else—and that’s just fine with you. he’s there for every mood swing, he lets you beat on his chest and yell at him–he lets you crawl into his lap and hold yourself close, to giggle and kiss all over his face only to whisper how horny you are. 

at least that much is the same. if anything, it’s increased. and while sukuna has never been a delicate man, nor a submissive one—he is a somewhat changed man. his wife–only for his wife. he can tame the desire to absolutely fuck you apart for the sake of your growing child—he doesn’t know what exactly your body can handle at this time, despite what he may crave. but…you know what you can handle, don’t you? he…can allow you to use his body in this way too. it’s the least he can do, really. he knows he’s not the most caring man in the universe. frankly, he’s spent many a time thinking you deserve someone much more loving and doting than he. but you bask in the love that does flow from him, and your body is being used to grow his offspring. so yes, he clears the throne room of contractors and servants and architects making last minute adjustments, adding rooms fit for children to thrive in and his family to gather in; all because his precious wife made an appearance demanding his attention. yes, he lets you position yourself against his lap and rut against him at your own pace, grinding on his thigh while you beg for his hands to toy with your tits. 

“please–i need more, my king~” you pout, pawing at his wrists, dragging them up to your chest.he finds you enchantingly adorable, and this neediness is such a good look on you. not being able to throttle you nearly makes his bones ache, but he uses his lower set of hands to guide your hips over his defined thigh–his top set of hands giving into his sweet wife’s desires. 

and he always knows exactly how to touch you. he kneads at your breasts, the sore fat of your tits melting into his hands so perfectly you hiss and let your head fall back, rolling across your shoulders at just the simple enjoyment of his fingers tweak at your swollen nipples. he loves how sensitive you’ve become, how your brows pinch together and your cheeks darken the closer you get to soaking your panties. he knows you’ll plunge yourself on his cock over and over again–letting him coat your insides with the seed that’s already taken root in your gorgeous little womb. 

“of course. my naughty little queen can’t sleep without her husband’s cock pressing into her?” he coos, the words so taunting but so loving at the same time. you howl with excitement, ripping his pants down after several seconds of effort, your animalistic growls of need so pleasing to his ears and ego. you take as much of his cock inside as you can, thighs tightening at the effort. 

“mm–nuh uh, can’t help it–just need you all the time!! ‘s your fault–you did this to me!” you pout, bottom lip swollen from the amount of times your teeth have dug into it. your belly, just barely bloated with the sign of pregnancy, just glistens in the candlelight of his throne room, everything about you was calling out to him—as always. he doesn’t know why the sensation still surprises him every now and again. so he helps you, hands on your waist to help lift you up and down along the shaft of him, watching your face contort and ease with bone-deep pleasure. “oh, yessss~” 

your hands scramble to hold something, his wrists, his chest–anything with purchase as your orgasm shakes through your entire body. he only uses your tight walls for a few more lengthy strokes, erupting thick white ropes that paint your insides in the best way–the way that makes your legs tremble and buckle, so spent from your attempts at riding him that you’re leaning into his chest and closing your eyes to sleep. this has been your routine for about three weeks now, not that he minds. 

but the second trimester…oh how golden. this was the first time that sukuna really understood the beauty of pregnancy. with all of the nights of puking and bad sleep and weird cravings and mood swings and the list goes on—he was wondering what exactly was the big glow with babymaking aside from your sex drive and the overall concept that you get a baby out of it. but now, as your bump develops and grows everyday, as your energy evens out somewhat and all you want to do is nest and decorate for the baby—he gets it. uraume brings bigger robes so you may dress comfortably, and sukuna passes along your every demand to the builders. the baby’s nursery is being painted by hand, the crib by the finest carpenters that japan has to offer. sukuna wouldn’t be sukuna of course unless he threatened to kill every worker on the project if they spilled the news of what they were working on to a single soul. 

the fields outside the palace have become your favorite place to be. you enjoy laying in the sun, plucking the wildflowers that grow on the hillside and weaving them into a flower crown, and watching the animals sprint around in the treeline below. sukuna would watch from the castle some days, letting you bask in nature under his careful oversight. some days he joins you, listening to you prattle about the birds that like the sugar water you lay out. the peace that you bring to his life is something astounding. he never would have imagined himself enjoying listening to someone so bubbly and optimistic. you have always been a light he had never known existed, and he sees you as a literal angel. the way the summer skies cast a glow down on you—glowing up your hair and skin and highlighting that beautifully round bump. 

this day, he sits outside with you–watching you lean back, robes unbound to drink in some more sun. he’s proud that he’s able to make it such a safe place for you–your happy place. you can hear him approach, a joyful grin spreading across your face as you look over at him. 

“the baby knows you’re here~” you coo, supporting the underside of your rounded bump. the king lays beside you, a smirk on his face at the greeting. “say hello to your spawn.” you add, snickering. and dutifully so, he leans in and places his hand on your stomach. the broad paw spans most of the stretched skin, life and wonder sparkling in his ruby red eyes as he feels it, the repeated soft flutters against his palm make his heart skip a beat. his son or daughter is so active, and very strong. and they seemingly feel him, like you claimed. they like his voice and his touch, his gentle brush of his hand inspiring another tirade of kicks that send you giggling. 

it just makes things that much more real for him. his child is on the way, halfway grown already. he can’t wait to meet them, to see if they resemble you or himself more closely, to have a mini-him to take under his wing and entrust his philosophy to. he can’t wait to watch you be a mother either. just what his limited imagination can conjure up warms the coldness in his chest. the idea of you swirling around a sweet nursery with the baby smiling with gums and lips, cheeks rosy from being so loved. 

“hello, little baby of mine.” sukuna hums, leaning down to kiss below your navel. 

you smile sweetly, eyes crinkled in the corners. “we need to think of names!” you hum, running your fingers through his hair. it soothes you to have him so near, your protector and greatest advocate. he hums at the feeling, resting his chin on your breastplate, right before the swell of your stomach. those eyes melt you every time, especially when they look at you with such fondness. 

“their name will come to us when we look upon their face. no need to rush.” he hums softly, rubbing your stomach absentmindedly. he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. 

“i suppose so, but i would like to call them something aside from the baby.” you hum, twisting the pale pink strands around your fingers, wondering if your child would get this uniquely colored hair. 

“then let’s call them ayame, for now.” he decides, the corners of his lips twitching upwards in a smile. the word has so much significance in love and beauty, and he knows it’s the right one to bestow upon his unborn. 

“you’re so sweet, i love it. ayame–for now.” you hum once more–nodding your agreement, resting your hand atop his own. before long, the sun begins to set and the king ushers you inside for dinner—relieved your appetite returned. 

everyday after that was just as beautiful. you worked tirelessly daily to craft ayame’s clothes, knitting in neutrals to ensure the pieces would suit either gender of child. your excitement grows with your stomach, and so does sukuna’s protectiveness. you hardly use the bathroom by yourself. your pregnancy is now common knowledge amongst the castle staff–widespread across your kingdom. so naturally, sukuna is even more scrutinous of anyone coming in and out. the construction is nearly complete, but enemies could be lurking anywhere. and no one is more aware of that than your husband. 

he’s more than relieved whenever the construction reaches its final days as you’re about to pop. he still hovers, don’t misunderstand, but he can take a breath. any day now, you’d go into labor and the heian era’s new prince or princess would make their grand entrance. the nursery was fully prepared and the doctors and midwives had arrived as the construction workers were leaving, everything was in place. 

imagine his surprise when he’s thrown out of sleep in the middle of the night—one of his veils have been breached. moments later, uraume rushes into the room. 

“my king–the perimeter guards caught someone…they had weapons. ordered to kill the queen.” they pant, out of breath from hustling here so quickly. and with that one sentence, his every worst fear is confirmed. people are after you—they want to kill you. kill his baby and his wife in one fell swoop. 

he sees red. 

he looks over at you–sleeping deeply beside him. he can’t disrupt your rest, not when the baby will be coming so soon..so he leans over to kiss your lips softly before following uraume to the throne room to torture the infiltrator that thought they could get away with such a thing. 

he doesn’t think he’s ever been this bloodthirsty before, either. love like this makes you do crazy things–feel crazy things. the perpetrator is being held on his knees, head forced forward to look at the floor. 

“my servants tell me that we’ve caught a roach. let’s hear it.” he spits, intent on torturing this cretin slowly—send a message to everyone else that tries to come after his family. that if you attack—you will be dismembered and scattered across the continents with the breeze. 

“or maybe you just caught the fall guy, and you didn’t stop anything at all.” the man smirks boldly at the king, a shuffle upstairs catching his attention. 

you wake up when the last traces of your husband’s warmth has dissipated. you blink awake, feeling around in his spot to confirm his absence. huffing, you roll to your back, seeing his shadow shuffle around the room. “my love? are you having trouble sleeping tonight?” he’s been known to periodically wake up and patrol the place to make sure that nothing’s slipped past his other defenses. 

“notcha love—you can’t bring that demon to life, whore.” 

and those are the last words you ever hear. 

there’s a slash across your gut, deep. you can hear your blood splatter on the ground—similar to what you had always imagined your water breaking to sound like. you don’t even feel the pain, really. just the fear. just the realization—that you’re too late, that all sukuna had done was for nothing. you’re dying. you’re going to die today–here. alone, and scared, the slash that comes next nearly decapitates you, and you can’t use your technique. you never even got out of bed, only your legs had touched the floor. you hadn’t even been able to stand before they slaughtered you. 

the baby…the baby is gone just as grotesquely as you are–pulled from the gash in your midsection to fight these grown men on their own. ayame was a girl. and she was suffocated before her eyes ever opened, blood strewn about the room. 

the two murderers flee before sukuna makes it to the top floor, able to cascade a rope out of the window and sneak right out, now that all of the security is distracted.  

seconds later, he throws the door open. he nearly sprints forward to check on you–your form visible on the bed. but as he gets closer, he slips. his feet slide on something wet, warm—and he knows. he knows he’s lost the only person that ever mattered. his heart pounds faster as the staff rush in with the candles–revealing the gruesome scene. 

he sobs. it’s a foreign feeling, crying. he had only felt this once before—when he knew he was going to be a father. that was certainly more pleasant than…this. you’re gone. his light–his eternal sunshine…slaughtered like cattle on his bed. you’re gutted, the scent of iron finally hitting his senses. had he been in shock before? is that why he didn’t immediately notice? your head is barely attached to your neck—eyes wide open with horror, mouth hung open to scream. there’s so much blood. dripping out of your mouth, gushing over your chest and out of your abdomen–soaking your pretty lavender nightgown. he reaches for you, emotions heightened to levels left undocumented. that’s when he sees—his eyes focusing on the lifeless lump that was his baby daughter. he reaches for her too–little ayame. he cradles his girls to his body, absolutely wailing. his body spikes in temperature—cursed technique going haywire. he’s inconsolable. his cursed energy is spiking to heights unknown, body shifting—growing larger–rage flowing like a new source of energy all on it’s own. his soul is shattering, twisting and knotting up in his body–heart aching like never before. it was one mistake—he left for two seconds, to let you sleep and now you are gone forever. his baby is dead—his wife…he’ll never speak to you again. never feel your hands on his skin or the warmth of your kiss. he can’t go on like this—no. he has no desire to live. 

the love of his life, his first born child—ripped away from him in an instant. all the peace and happiness and joy you showed him existed has turned into the deepest and darkest personal hell he has ever known. he looks around him—even more blood than ever before. his technique—it killed everyone. he can’t find it in himself to consider it again, too focused on the mangled mess they made of his queen. he will avenge you—he will murder everyone in his path until someone can put him out of this misery. until then–he will take every other soul out of this world. if he can’t be happy–if he doesn’t get to live this life in peace–then no one else will either. 

the entire castle is consumed with the raw force of his cursed energy, shattered in an instant. as if he was a natural disaster in and of himself. perhaps maybe know he is…for he is no longer a man. ryomen sukuna never was quite just a man–the king of the heian era. but now, he is the king of something else. of all things bad and evil—of all the things that can help him enact revenge. the king of curses.

tags: @neon-crow @skypperlegacy @gis4greenandgreenisgre4t  @alastors-radio  @alltimenogoaway-blog  @tragedyofabrokensoul @gojosukuna2268  @hannas16  @alwaysfreakingout @thepurpleempath @pelicanpizza  @aenishas @satsuk-jjk @catobsessedlady @gucci-basura @eiaaasamantha @asukahiriko @t4naiis @thejujvtsupost @mymelx @maskedpacific @berranurates @enchantingartisanwitch @celena-alanze

[ever-eilish]

Hi could you do a Billie x reader where they’ve been arguing for a while now and y/n went to Billie’s studio and she seen Billie with some other girls at the studio

Spare keys

billie eilish x reader

fights between couples are normal, and when you decide to make up with Billie, your girlfriend, you discover something that would haunt you forever.

author's notes: hii!! sorry for disappearing!! I'm happy to say I'm back now ;) thank you so much for your request, I hope this was what you were expecting, I decided to make it a bit more angsty, so let me know what you think! once again, english is not my fist language so sorry for any mistakes, enjoy💕

warnings: cheating, some cursing and angst with no happy ending

You always knew that fights between couples were normal, that even when you love someone more than yourself, there will always be something that bothers you about the other person. And that's the difference between a good couple and a toxic couple: good couples can deal with their differences and go through it together; toxic couples hold on to these differences and make a big deal out of it.

At this point you don't know what kind of couple you and Billie were.

You loved her, obviously. Her smile enchanted you, her stupid jokes made you laugh and her blue eyes would make you decide that blue was your favorite color.

The only problem was that you didn't know if she loved you.

At first, it was all very subtle. First it was one of her bouts of jealousy that would be resolved in some kisses and making out on the sofa in her mansion. Then, an idiotic fight about who should wash the dishes, which was once again resolved with a few more kisses, hugs and promises of eternal love.

However, over the past few months, the fights were no longer so simple to resolve.

"Holy shit, Billie! I asked you not to go out with her, since she's clearly flirting with you all the time." You scream with your hands on your head "and what did you do? You went out with her, and on top of that you hugged her all day"

"Stop being dramatic!" Billie says. "She's just a friend"

"Marlena is a bitch! That's what she is" you say, grimacing as you mention the name of the slut who's been keeping you up at night.

"Don't talk about her like that!"

You freeze. Was Billie really defending the bitch who tried to kiss her a few days ago and then just said she was joking?

You shake your head at the bitter memory of your last - and perhaps worst - fight with Billie.

You and your girlfriend hadn't spoken since the day of the fight about Marlena, and you were feeling bad, really bad.

Maybe it was all a misunderstanding and maybe you just exaggerated, right? Right.

Billie is your light, and you can't lose her to a stupid fight. You have been through so much; this is just a troubled phase.

With this thought in mind, you get up from the bed - in which you had been lying since you stopped talking to your girlfriend - and get ready, deciding that you will surprise her. Putting on some worn jeans and a random shirt from your favorite rock band, you walk out the door of your apartment in downtown Los Angeles, and head towards Billie's studio.

You knew that your girlfriend would be recording today, since Finneas - her brother - had told you that they were both there, knowing how much you cared about his sister.

After passing a few meters, and laughing at some kind of bizarre Spider-Man that hung from the ceiling of the first subway station you took, you finally see the studio doors.

Out of breath, you just say your name to the angry-faced security guard, hand over your ID and he lets you in.

You run to the place where you knew Billie was and finally see the dark blue door, which had a transparent circle in the center that allowed you to look inside the cabin. With a sigh of relief for finally having found the correct location, you extend your right hand to open the door and enter the place, however, before you even enter, you decide to take a peek at the transparent circle, and that's when your world stops.

Wearing a pink mini skirt and a transparent black blouse, Marlena is sat on Billie's lap, apparently watching her do something on the computer.

Everything you ever believed in was shattered in a matter of moments. How could Billie have done this to you? While you were crying and brooding, was she with Marlena?

Tears well up in your eyes and you just can't move.

Suddenly, everything made sense. All the times she stood up for Marlena, all the times she canceled your date night to go out with Marlena, all the times she wouldn't let you take her cell phone. Everything makes sense now.

You wanted to scream, you wanted to go into the studio and break all the equipment. Pull Marlena by the hair and make her regret messing with your girl.

And Billie? You wanted to kill her. You wanted to kill her for deceiving you, you wanted to kill her for making you believe that you were the love of her life, you wanted to kill her for making you fall in love with her.

However, that's not what you do.

With a defeated sigh and stubborn tears that insist on falling from your eyes, you turn around and head towards your home.

On the way, you don't laugh at the bizarre Spider-Man on the subway, you just head towards your house.

When you arrive at your apartment, you realize that every corner of this place is haunted with pieces of Billie, and you decide that maybe it's time to move out.

Laying down on your bed, you snuggle into the comforters and cry for what seems like an eternity, until you hear a very familiar voice call you from the room.

"Hi, love, I'm sorry for everything, can we talk?"

Damn time you gave her the spare keys.

[joaniscruzing]

sailor song - part 1 - e.w.

I am so glad to be writing a series again you guys! Heads up though, I am in school now, so I do need to focus on my studies, which means I can't crank out chapters once a day like I used to!

Y'all. I love Jackson Ellie. I legit have a Halloween costume of this on standby.

Summary: Mostly exposition, reader meets Ellie after a lot of staring from afar.

Warnings: Talks of religion

A/N: I'm trying to set this on after the events of TLOU II. In my head, I always feel like Ellie went back to Jackson and tried to start over and forget everything. I feel like she'd try to better herself, especially after literally losing everything. Also, let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the next chapter.

⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰

In Jackson, you normally went on about your day. You would wake up, pray, have the occasional outing, go on patrol, and then go back to your abode, where you would sleep. You always noticed Ellie though. Her presence, full of light, darkening as time passed, always penetrated your carelessness towards any outside happenings–or people.

You liked how Ellie carried herself, confident, and taking no shit from nobody. However, you also knew of Ellie’s sexuality, which, in your books, was a sin. While you would typically disregard sinners, there was just something about Ellie that drew you in. You didn’t know if it was the two pools of green mystery that were her eyes, or her low, but enchanting voice. Sometimes you would look from afar, watching her laugh as she smoked her joint and coughed, wondering if you and her would ever cross paths in the future. You presumed that she was too cool for you, too rebellious. In fact, you thought that in a normal world, she’d be a celebrity, as famous as Anne Hathaway, an actress from a movie you had loved watching during the movie nights in Jackson as a little kid, The Princess Diaries.

You didn’t know why you were religious, you supposed that it was a way for you to make some sense of the situation around you. After all, you could sum up this apocalypse as just part of God’s plan; and you wouldn’t have to overthink about the issues that came from it and the harshness of the situation. That aside, you wore the cross necklace you found one day while exploring some abandoned building out of boredom proudly and constantly. You read your bible every night, in hopes that maybe it would help you understand your circumstances, and in hopes that there would be a heaven for you to go to in the future.

One day though, after a rather sleepless night, you found yourself heading into town for coffee, looking rather disheveled. You were so tired, in fact, that you didn’t realize that your coffee was sloshing all around in its cup, and getting all over you.

“Hey!” Ellie called, running behind you.

“Huh?” you replied wearily, snapping out of it immediately when you realized who it was. Crap. It’s Ellie Williams.

“Hey, uh, you seem like you shouldn’t be running back to your house with burning hot coffee. Why don’t you come over here for a bit and drink it?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize that the coffee had gotten all over me. Please excuse my appearance,” you reply embarrassedly, “I’m fine though, thank you for the offer.”

“Then I’ll go with you to your house then.”

“Okay, didn’t realize you’re into stalking.”

“I’m into a lot more than just stalking” 

Your cheeks burn like hot coals. “I suppose I can drink some coffee with you.”

“Alright then. Should we go back to your house?”

“No, no, we can drink some coffee at that table over there.”

“Are you hiding something?” You look her in the eyes. You sense a twinge of skeptical energy coming from her, which, per the rumors you heard, was never a good sign.

“No! My house just isn’t clean right now.”

With that, you and Ellie sit down and you drink your coffee.

“Do you want me to get you some?”

“Oh fuck no, I’ve always hated coffee.”

[lowkeyrobin]

Charlie Slimecicle x Reader

But its like streaming together for the first time and its just really sweet while he teaches you to play Minecraft:)

<3

yesyeysysysyyseyyseseysyes this is actually my first time writing for him other than that one sorry boys preference 😭🙏 ; I had no idea how to get from point a to point b so I'm so sorry lmao

SLIMECICLE ; minecraft tutorial

summary ; charlie teaches you how to play minecraft on stream

warnings ; language

genre ; fluff

word count ; 758

masterlist

You met Charlie in your freshman year of high school, and finally, by your senior year, you were dating. Now, at twenty-five, you were happy with your lives and peacefully living. He was a full-time content creator, and you were working at a department store, just a job to pay for classes to get the degree you were hoping to get.

You'd appeared in a stream or video here and there. You were relatively camera shy and didn't like disturbing your boyfriend while he was working, so you didn't show your face to his fans very much other than Instagram posts.

But, he'd gotten the genius idea to invite you on his stream and teach you how to play Minecraft. You knew stuff here and there about the game, but not a lot. All you really knew was blocks and the insane amount of friends he had, and eggs.

You sit down in a chair next to him, picking at your fingers as he begins the stream, giving you a warm welcome for chat. You give the camera a wave, looking to Charlie as he explains why you're here and what you'll be doing.

"Okay, so WASD is to move, mouse is to look around"

"Okay" You nod, using the mouse to look around, seeing you'd spawned in a dark oak biome. "Oooo, I like this place. Wait, this is one of those biomes you were playing in VR with Traves and Schlatt"

He nods and chuckles, "Yeah, yeah. Hold down the left mouse button to break blocks and get some wood."

You nod, doing as he says, gathering the dark oak wood. "I'm guessing walking, talking egg children are QSMP only" You joke, taking notice of the lack of eggs.

"Honestly, there is two types of eggs but they don't walk or talk, if that's any better?"

"Two?"

"Chicken eggs and the Ender Dragon's egg"

"Oh!"

You progress through the game a bit, getting better as you play.

You're now wielded with iron tools, golden boots from a nether portal ruin, and an iron helmet. Charlie speaks about the nether, which got you in a bit of a panic since, yes, you wanted to try and beat the game, but you didn't want to die and lose all your items, either. You definitely weren't loaded enough to go try and get a bunch of blaze rods and trade for ender pearls, so you decided to explore the massive caves to try and find diamonds and more iron, for now.

Charlie watches you, proudly. He shows you all the tips and tricks and teaches you what items do, how they work, and how to craft them.

"Oh, get out! Get out! That's a warden cave, out! Go! Go, go!" He exclaims, eyes widening.

"What?" You ask, quickly backing up as you look at the torch light illuminating the dark blue blocks. You hear a rustling sound in the headphones and quickly panic, running back where you came from.

"Wardens are so OP, dude, you'll get demolished. The abandoned cities have awesome gear and loot, though"

"Then let's go get it!"

"The wardens, Y/n"

You slowly look between him and the screen, and quickly type a little /gamemode peaceful in chat, switching the game mode.

"Y/n!" He giggles, "I thought you didn't wanna cheat"

"Well, I want rare shit. Thank your chat, dude." You shrug with a smile, heading back down towards the abandoned city.

You end up finding nearly a stack of diamonds down there, plus a bunch of enchanting books and music discs. Charlie was hyping you up the whole time and deflecting the fact you were in peaceful, using the responses of "they're scaring the wardens away" and "the wardens are there, they're just hiding" for the bit.

"Okay, I think I got everything"

"Oh, you don't leave"

"Huh?"

"You never leave.. you never leave once you enter" He begins to do the dark and scary voice while he quickly types in the /gamemode hard into chat, summoning a few wardens around you.

You yelp and quickly sprint away, taking a solid five hearts of damage from one hit. You're unable to turn the game back to peaceful as you try your best to run away. You attempt to build straight up but are hit again, killing you.

All your items burst out of your inventory as you stare at the 'You died!' screen, jaw hanging agape. You slowly turn your head towards the brunette next to you as chat explodes with comments.

"Charlie!"

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Be my escape

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge, January 2024 edition

Prompt: hole, 404 words

Rated: M

Tags: Fantasy AU, Magic AU, Guard!Steve, Thief!Eddie, Imprisonment, Claustrophobia, Eddie Munson whump, Referenced sex

Notes: Set in the same universe as this one.

People call it the Hole.

That's not its actual name, of course. Steve thinks it fits, though.

He still remembers his last visit. He was just a boy, but his father - newly appointed Captain of the Royal Guard - insisted he come.

The journey was long and tedious, giant waves battering at their boat. When they reached the steel platform far off the coast, he was freezing and nauseous. And then came the descent.

He recalls the warden's boasts as the cage slid into the depths. The magic crystals keeping the structure deep under the ocean from caving in on itself. The intricate enchantments sealing away the inmates’ magic.

What he recalls even better is the moisture and the despair hanging in the stale air. The mounting pressure inside his skull the further down they went.

Today, he's Captain of the Guard himself, but the dread crawling up his spine as he glides downwards is still the same.

The name fits perfectly. This place is a hole. A hole under the sea where families like the Harringtons and the Carvers throw their enemies to rot.

Enemies like Eddie Munson.

As he stalks down the corridors, he wonders what he's doing. He should be glad Eddie got caught. The man is a criminal. A thief. The insufferable bane of his existence.

Didn't find him so insufferable the other night, a voice at the back of his mind gloats. Nor the way his body fit against yours, or the way his mouth felt on your-

He tells it to shut up. He doesn’t have time for this.

The inside of the cell is dark. A figure stirs upright on the metal cot against the wall.

“Finally,” croaks a voice. “Are you the manager of this fine establishment? I have a complaint. The room service sucks and I think there's rats in-"

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Steve sets down his lantern and drops to his knees. “Shut up, will you?”

Silence.

Then …

“Stevie?”

A whisper, a plea.

“Told you not to call me that,” he huffs, already unlocking the shackles around too-skinny wrists. The second they fall away, there's hands in his hair, tracing the shape of his face.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes. “Why- Are you a dream?”

Steve snorts, pulls them both to their feet.

“Sure hope not. Imagine that'd make it difficult to bust you outta here. C'mon, we have no time to lose.”

⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️⚔️✨️

Part 3

So I texted @house-of-the-moving-image if I should write more Phantom Thief for this prompt, and they were like "funny you should ask, I just had this idea about a magic high-security prison called The Hole". 🤣

We've got the next bit all figured out already, but this was all I could fit into 404 words.

[weebsinstash]

Ok so I kept procrastinating but I finally finished Masquerade earlier today and just. Oh my fucking god, kicking my feet, twirling my hair around a finger, giggling ,rewinding, smiling like a GOON, I have THOUGHTS

--Val's red coat is his WINGS and they're glorious. And not to mention he wears that like, slutty open chested black v neck underneath where he's lowkey showing off his nipples too, the slut. The gold heart belt buckle and the matching gold accented accessories too. Ugh. You can't say he doesn't dress up, and I really liked getting to see the full reveal of his body so to speak, the way his violet arms become black fingers, also is he, is he wearing like gold manicured claw cap things sometimes, why is he such a diva, he's so extra

--the Addict music video WASN'T just being artistic, Valentino's smoke CAN become physical actual chains and bondage and oh my gooddddddd I'm using this knowledge for EVIL purposes.

Boom! Sudden third eye opening moment, but remember that post I made about "Val who starts dragging you around on a leash because he's too much taller than you to keep leading you by the hand" ? His lower set of arms could totally hold onto you BUT I can totally see him using these chains all the time now, to drag you around and just restrain you and shit. Ugh. Just. Him having you completely immobilized and helpless and shaking like a chihuahua as he can run his fingers along you and whatever else he wants, listening to you gadp and squirm

-- ok I know the whole point of the poison music video was showing the horrible shit Angel is made to do and how he's dehumanized but like.... obviously, from.. a fetish perspective... you know what I think 😩❤️

Like you can't just show me a shot of Valentino having Angel in his arms and he's got all four arms wrapped around him in like almost an embrace, kissing, KISSING while they fuck. maybe I'm so shy but that's so... intimate, like, ok fuck my ass i guess, that's like sex, whatever, but kissing me on the MOUTH, let alone with tongue? you might as well be looking into my soul or something dofnofjfjg, not to mention Val biting his neck while they do it like you CAN'T me all of that and expect me to be normal!!!

--platonic yandere Husker with an alcoholic Reader though. He forces you into these weird little therapy sessions when yeah he still serves you drinks but he cuts you off when you're fucking plastered, like he enables you until you're having TOO much, amd by that point you're yammering with your loose lips and answering ALL His questions. Siiiiigh I can see him seeing how you're down on your luck and burying your worries and sorrows at the bottom of a bottle , getting so drunk you can barely sit up straight, and he starts getting protective of you, secretly following you to bars when you won't just get drunk at the hotel, making sure your drink doesn't get spiked, having to kick some ass to protect you and drag you home more than once

--i was such a fool. If Valentino is such a, quite frankly, perverted fucking idiot that he LICKS CHARLIE, fucking CHARLIE MORNINGSTAR upon first meeting her, he ABSOLUTELY does creepy shit to his darling day ONE. He CLEARLY has ZERO impulse control: he drinks, he smokes, he forces himself onto other people, he throws things when he loses his temper. He uses his power to be a bully and seeking unrestrained self gratification

--this is completely unrelated to everything else here but Zestial is hot in that like, antiquated charming eldritch evil kind of way. He seems like the sort of creature you could encounter deep within an enchanted woods, you're freshly dead and wind up in a bad part of Pentagram City and this TOWERING gentleman says some shit like "turn back child, there is no safety for you here". He's. He's sexy in that Neflix Castlevania Dracula way where there's an appeal in his age and his wisdom and his composure and just his full-on aesthetic and such. Like bro it's so easy to miss it but he's the oldest of the Overlords and he bowed in respect to Carmilla for what she did. He's chivalrous and loyal and just 👀 got my eye on him...

--bro watching Val manipulate Angel to get Charlie to leave fucking HURT and I've thought about Reader being in that exact scenario SO many times! Valentino is manipulating Angel to control you, and he's manipulating YOU to control Angel. Sure, he'll have Angel make you cry and chase you off so you don't get emotional and interfere with a shoot, or so that you don't sabotage whatever manipulated state he has Angel under at the time, but when you're off on your own drinking and crying and sobbing and feeling oh so horrible and pitiful, then Val is sibling up to you, cooing about, oh how MEAN Angel was to you, he didn't have to be so harsh to someone so sweet--

Could you imagine the fucking. Tiered angst and manipulation of Angel hurting Reader because Val pressured him to, and then Reader going off and getting drunk and being self destructive, and then at your emotional weakest Val is popping in to strike some kind of deal with you or fuck you or whatever, and then Angel blames himself, and here's Valentino, "that wouldn't have happened if you just did what you were told :3c" and Angel is even further under his control because now he's terrified he might "fuck up" and get you really hurt

--siiiiiiiigh imagine like drinking with Angel and you've been down there for like two months and you're idly chit chatting and, something something, you offhandedly mention something like "god fuck Val had me so fucking wasted I could barely sign my employee contract" CUE ANGEL IMMEDIATELY DROPPING WHATEVERS IN HIS HAND AND SHAKING YOU, "what do you MEAN you signed something??? You're just waiting tables, what did you SIGN???" And it turns out Val whipped out like ONE OF THE B I G "types" of contracts for you. God I really want some elaboration on how those contracts work and how Val or any Overlord strikes deals and even gains powers because it's very clear not everyone had the same level of abilities, and also lowkey the power scaling in Hazbin is kinda busted like not to be a dweeb but you've got people running around basically having Quirks

--ALSO THIS IS SO DUMB BUT I HAVE A COMPLAINT SIR. Valentino straight up says "no one watches porn for the dialogue" EXTREMELY INCORRECT BUZZER NOISE. When you've watched enough porn or at the very least you're hunting for a specific fetish, dialogue can be Duper important. You can see 20 different actors do the same scene BUT have a specific pair who, maybe used a specific line that stood out to you and made it unique and made it worth watching. You know for a long while there I was writing smut and feeling like I was doing the same descriptions over and over again and it kind of burnt me out and turned me off and that's when I tried to shift towards more emotional and environmental and thematic sorts of stuff

Listen all I'm saying is I have been ENAMORED like straight up with the idea of Reader becoming the fourth V because you become close to all the Vs and you have your own talents and they all like you and shit. You're able to pitch product ideas to Vox, even help him if you're a programmer or a coder or something, Valentino.... maybe you have magic hammer space pockets and can run him errands or you cook drugs or you're like a sexy bodyguard for him or, he just likes getting drunk and doing drugs with you, and Velvette is that #Bitch who you gossip with who likes to design new shit for you and bounce ideas off of you from time to time. Like the gradual slide of "oh we're all hanging out and they think I'm actually kind of cool," to "oh they keep inviting me to hang out. I feel special. I'm one of the cool kids. Maybe I even have fun powers and they encourage me to be mean and evil and its fun" to then "oh you're straight up shoving new clothes in my face and you keep using this one specific V nickname for me instead of my real name and I stg I don't have personal space anymore and I'm always being crowded by at least one of you literally 24/7"

God just. God. Just. GOD I AM SO WELL FED. I saw what Viv was selling and I got in line and I've finally gotten my food and it is FILLING, my craving for controlling obsessive possessive douchebags is sooooo sated right now 😩❤️

[thisfrailheart]

prompt: soulmates | july 7 | wolfstar au | teen and up - swearing | word count: 926 | @wolfstarmicrofic

***

It's Wednesday and Remus is finally well enough to brave the short walk to the café down the road to get himself a treat. One can only live off of canned soup and cheese toasties for so long. He's almost made it to his destination when someone barrels into him, the stuff they had piled high in their arms tumbling to the ground.

Remus winces as he stumbles, cursing under his breath.

"Shit! I'm so sorry!," the other person cries and grabs Remus' arm to keep him from falling.

There's a scathing remark on the tip of his tongue but he immediately forgets when he looks over and sees the most beautiful man looking back. And he seems so frazzled that Remus can't help but shake his head and give him a small smile.

"It's fine."

The man lets go of him. "It's really not. I'm so sorry. I'm so out of it today. My brother just had a baby and I'm losing my mind a bit," he explains and bends down to pick up his stuff, which Remus now realizes is a massive amount of baby items.

"You get a pass, then. First time uncle?," he asks, a bit enchanted by how much this stranger seems to care about his family. Remus stoops to help him gather everything into his arms.

"Godfather, actually," the man replies with a blinding grin.

"Congratulations," Remus says and places a pack of muslin cloths on top of the pile.

"Thank you. And thanks for your help."

"No worries." Remus wrings his hands, not sure what to do now.

"Well. Goodbye?," the stranger says and smiles at Remus one more time.

"Bye." Remus gives a little awkward wave, then watches the man disappear down the road.

There's a weird sense of loss blooming in his chest. Once he's back in his flat he realizes he didn't even get a name.

It's Friday and Remus is on his way to Mary's house. The station is overflowing with people and he'd rather be home alone. He's waiting for the crowd of passengers to step off the train when someone passing him grabs his wrist, holding on. He looks up and into grey eyes.

"Oh," Remus breathes. It's him. The stranger with the baby stuff.

"Hi," he says. His thumb sweeps over Remus skin in a soft caress.

"Hi," Remus replies. Someone bumps into him from behind, telling him to move.

"I'm sorry, I have to—" Remus tries, gets cut off by people shoving and complaining.

The hand on his wrist slips away. Remus, propelled onto the tube by people around him, turns back right as the doors close. The beautiful stranger's eyes follow him as they pull out of the station. I still don't know his name, Remus thinks.

It's Tuesday and Sirius is about to lose his mind in freaking Lidl. He'd come in to pick up a few essentials but now he's stuck in a horribly slow-moving queue, behind two old ladies chatting about the most mind-numbing things. He lets his mind drift, conjuring images of handsome men with honey-colored eyes when a voice interrupts.

"Uhm, hi?"

And it's him. The handsome guy from his dreams, talking to him over the partition. Goosebumps break out along his arms. "Hi."

But right when the stranger opens his mouth, the queue starts moving at lightning speed and Sirius has no choice but to bend to its will.

"Wait outside?," the man asks. Sirius thinks that wild horses couldn't drag him away. The handsome stranger finds him a shockingly short amount of time later. Unfortunately that's also the exact moment his phone starts ringing incessantly.

"Answer it. Could be important," the guy tells him with the kindest expression and Sirius wants to kiss him. He answers his phone instead and is greeted by a newborn screaming bloody murder.

Sirius looks at his phone, then the stranger. Ends the call with a sigh. Pouts. Sighs again. "I'm so sorry, I think—"

"Someone needs you. Go." A laugh from handsome guy. Sirius pulls on his backpack and hurries off with a sad "bye".

A shout behind him. "The Swan!"

Sirius turns back to the stranger, confused. "Sorry?"

"The restaurant? Do you know where it is?," handsome man asks.

Sirius nods.

"Meet me there Saturday? At 7?"

Sirius nods again. His turn to grin. "It's a date."

It's only when the baby is screaming directly in his ear that he notices he has a date but still no name.

It's Saturday and Sirius is waiting by the bar. He's thinking about ordering the entire cocktail menu to get absolutely sloshed and forget about being stood up. Serves him right for tempting fate over and over again, he thinks. Too good to be true, in the end.

A breathless voice behind him. "I'm Remus. I'm sorry I'm late."

Sirius turns to him, a shiver running up his spine. Handsome stranger - Remus - looks like he ran the whole way and Sirius' stomach swoops. Finally finally finally. "Sirius, like—"

"The star. Nice to meet you, finally." Remus is grinning and Sirius wants to take him home. Never let him go. There's something about knowing his name, at last. It's warm, feels final.

"It was inevitable, I think," Sirius says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So much went wrong and yet here we are. It was meant to be." Sirius blushes at the implication.

Remus smiles. "I think you're right."

It's still Saturday when Remus kisses him goodnight.

It's Sunday.

It's Monday.

It's Tuesday.

It's Wednesday.

It's Thursday.

It's Friday.

It's Forever.

[damianwayne0]

Minecraft || (6)

(part 6) part 1| part 2| part 3| part 4| part 5

Tim : *sighs* why?

Jason: why what?

Tim: *sighs* nothing*sips coffee*

Dick : where did you get that coffee from!?

Tim , deeply stares into dicks eyes: You. Don't. Wanna. Know.

Dick: oki-e.

Damian : stop!!!!

Before they all could stop they all fall into the rivine :

Dick: Thank God there was water!!

Jason: ugh, I hit my head a little.

Tim : You sure not your ego?

Jason: 🖕

Damian: YOU ! stupid drake! Why did you pull me in !!!!

Tim: 🤷

Damian: imbecile- *gets hit* what the-

Jason : Run!. there is a lot of monsters!!

Dick , who already started running before they could even process:.Yeah what are you guys doing waiting there!!??

Damian, running: How is there so many zombies!?

Jason, running: IDK JUST RUN!!!

Tim , running: RUN WHERE !? YHE RIVINE IS ABOUT TO END!!

Dick, running: GUYS START BUILDING UP!

Tim, running and panting: OH SHIT OH SHIT MY HEALTH IS AT 3

After they reach up:

Jason , panting: was that a trap?

Damian, panting: y-es beloved made it with pressure plates. I just remembered that and before I could say anything you guys already stepped on it .

Dick, looking down at the rivine: Damn, I gotta give it to her .

Tim, agreeing: Yeah that almost killed me .

Jason : Well look it's going to be dark again. We need to get their fast.

Dick: And I don't think we have anymore resources to fight off the zombies.

Damian: why did u guys make your houses so far away?

Tim: Idk someone wanted to have a little adventure*side eying dick*

Dick : Heyy come on , wasn't my fault entirely*side eyeing Jason*

Jason : Seriously!?

After a while:

Jason, panting : no , I can't-

Dick , laying on the ground : yeah , me too

Damian, annoyed: seriously?.. Why did I even fucking come here with y'all !?

Tim: I don't know! We never asked you to come!

Dick : Umm Timmy I did.

Tim, rolling his eyes: Of course you did.

Jason, panting: I really can't walk anymore .

Jason: let's just go .

After two Minecraft day :

Tim : Finally.

Jason: gosh

Dick : I think I pooped a lil

Damian : ew seriously? You stopped five times for your bathroom break but still?

Jason, rolling his eyes: ew and yeah let's go.

Y/n : Hi guys, did you see Tim ? I logged off in his house. Oh Hi tim

Tim: Hi Y/n

Damian: beloved, I am here.

Y/n : who spoke?

Damian: :(

Dick : Hiii Y/n

Jason, looking around: Hello y/n

Y/n: oh hi guys . Y'all are here?

Jason: something came up

Y/n : oh I see .

Damian: beloved why do u have so many chests?

Y/n : oh these-

Tim , interrupting: Did u have them!???

Y/n : first of all rude , second I have what?

Damian, rolling his eyes : Drake lost his stacks of cobble stone.

Tim : I didn't lose them ! They got stolen!

Damian: Yeah Yeah keep telling yourself that.

Tim :YOU DEMON BRAT!

Damian: YOU IMBECILE! YOU WANNA FIGHT!?

Tim: NO WONDER YOUR MOTHER LEFT YOU!

Damian: AT LEAST I HAVE A MOTHER !

Y/n : STOP!!!

Y/n : *Sighs* Guys please stop , don't fight-

Jason: Oi Y/n why do you have this many cobble slabs? * Looking into one of the many chests*

Y/n : oh theseee. * Looking at Tim* You should really reduce your caffeine.

Tim, pouting: Not you too.

Dick : Bro you literally tried to kill me for some stacks of cobble stones.

Tim: Those are some stacks of cobble stones! Those are six stacks of my hard work!

Y/n , facepalming : No, like you should really reduce your caffeine.Because it somehow, made you forgot that you gave those six stacks of cobble stones I mean hard work to me to make slabs.

Suddenly there is a pin drop silence. But the moment you blink, you see your boyfriend and his two older brothers chasing Tim.

Y/n: *sighs*

Jason: *chasing Tim with his guns out* YOU MOTHER FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT

Damian: * with his Minecraft diamond enchanted sword* IF I WERE A BIRD NOW I KNOW WHO I WOULD SHIT ON!

Dick : * with a stick ( I don't know where he took that from 🤷) * YOU TRIED TO KILL ME FOR THIS!????????

Y/n : oh well *shrugs* Dami wanna go on a date ?

Damian: * still chasing Tim* sure beloved

I hope you guys liked it . And yeah it took a lil long to post it and I am sorry for that . This is the last chapter ^⁠_⁠^

[teaboot]

What are your favorite pieces of media?

hhhhng Uhhhh

growing up, probably The Pendragon Chronicles- from what I recall it's a series of books about a kid who has to correct cataclysmic events on a bunch of separate worlds caused by a being who intends to end life on all of them.

One world is Modern Earth, where he's the only one able to use the portal to travel to other worlds, one is 1920's Past Earth, one is Future Earth in a sort of cyberpunk setting, one is a desert planet in the midst of war, one is a jungle world in which the dominant species is a race of bipedal cats, one is a water world where all food is farmed on a series of island-sized boats.. and I think that's all of them, unless I'm forgetting?

And on each world there's one guardian, and they meet up and fight and shit, and they can't blow their cover on any world, and each world has a large, distinct world-ending event brewing- The water one may lose their source of food, for example, and in future-earth people are wasting away in a virtual reality game they become addicted to.

It's one of the rare long series of teen books that I feel had a pretty satisfying ending despite the huge buildup, and I'd really recommend it to anyone interested.

I also really like X-Men, and Trigun, and while I haven't seen the new Percy Jackson series it was UNCONTESTED my number one favourite- I still have it on my shelf, absolute A+.

Aaaaand.... I enjoy the Batman Fandom more than most of the comics themselves but I'm in there, too. Was a homestuck cosplayer back in the day, as well. Loved Gravity Falls, loved Steven Universe.

Six Underground ins my favourite "sick at home" comfort movie. Also the only two John Wick movies in existence, shame they never made more sequels. Lord of the Rings. The Princess Diaries. Stardust. Ella Enchanted.

Oh, and the Inkheart books were FABULOUS. Really, they read like nothing else, just such a fantastic and unique flavour in fantasy!

Uhhhhh. Hellboy, too. Hell's Paradise. Bleach. Darker Than Black I vaguely remember enjoying, but I have the DISTINCT MEMORY of despising season two, so fuck that shit, whatever it was.

And I remember... oh, maybe twelve years ago, now? Really liking the spy series Nikita, and the urban fantasy Lost Girl, though I don't think I finished either.

Oh, and Elementary is a must-watch!

Poirot, too, and Perry Mason, and Midsommer Murders.

Also Blown Away, glassmaking reality series, and Forged In Fire, a bladesmith reality series.

Kitchen Nightmares, Hotel Hell, Hell's Kitchen, all good.

Puppet History. Watcher. Game Changer.

And webcomics Dead End and Check Please.

................I may need to spend more time on this

[genichisojo]

Chihiro's Age and Being the Perfect 18 Year Old Protagonist

Today I will be breaking down Kagurabachi's Chihiro’s age and why he’s a great 18 yr old protagonist and acts his age. Please forgive if my current DC brain rot bleeds into this.

I think Chihiro’s core can attributed to growing up being loved and respected by his parents. One of the first conversations is Kunishige telling Chihiro that if he wants to be a blacksmith like him and carry the burden of the role’s consequences, “…If that’s how you feel, all that’s left, is for me to believe in you.”

I think when you grow up with a loving parent like that, that loving voice is always in your head. He reminds me of that joke that the reason Superman is so good is because both of his parents loved him unconditionally. But who do we get when you have loving parents who get killed in a traumatic way in front of you? Batman, hi! Hi, Batman! Hi! AKA “that nut from Gotham city” and Chihiro already has such a reputation. Not as a psycho, but he’s deemed dangerous and strong. He’s someone to keep an eye out for now. He’s been underestimated before this arc because of his age.

I personally think that had Kunishige never been murdered, Chihiro wouldn’t had ever chosen to wield a blade unless it came to a time of war. But he adapted to the idea easily because he’s been preparing himself his whole life to be responsible for deaths as a blacksmith. What’s the difference anyways when you’re the wielder? Probably a lot, but you’re a teenager and want one thing, and it’s the right thing in your mind so let’s just start moving.

He has assigned himself the responsibility to get the katanas back and get revenge, and he’s very set on it in a one track, 18 yr old way. When Char got taken, his mind was on getting her back. When Sojo was doing his shit, his mind was on taking him down. Then he immediately moves back into getting back the katanas, not really taking time to process literally losing a limb after already not fully healing from a hospital visit. He’s reckless with his physical health- typical for his age.

Older characters around him also treat him his age. Shiba doesn’t really leave him out of his sight if we’re real about it. He lets him fight on his own and trusts that Chihiro has a handle on things because he knows him and probably trained him. He would’ve gone in during the first fight with Sojo had Azami not stopped him. He is willing to hop in when things get bad, and he will always be there to catch him, but overall, he knows he’s old enough to handle physical strain. Still, there’s that famous moment in the train at the beginning where Shiba does warn Chihiro all the hatred he’s been carrying is “…gonna break you.”

Chihiro asks in return, “So you wanna stop me?” And neither of them says anything and continue to go about their mission. Shiba respects Chihiro and his choices, understands he’s an adult and this is what he wants, but he looks out for him because at the end of the day, he’s still eighteen. And his best friend’s baby.

We also have Azami who summoned the Kamunabi because although he he’s been told Chihiro can fight, he also knew that he had never fought another enchanted blade wielder before and knew the city damage could get crazy. In a way, I think it was also a way to keep an eye on him because he doesn’t want him to get hurt, either. Azami has been proven to be sentimental with his phone lockscreen. He kept Chihiro’s existence a secret because until KB’s starting point, he was a child. He’s barely an adult, and Azami who hadn’t seen him in a while, is still like I guess he can handle it, if Shiba says and then absolutely not.

My final point is that Chihiro treats children well. He talks to children in a way kids like to be talked to- like real people. Kids say crazy things, but he still took time to feed and talk to Char and take her seriously even before they were attacked. The same thing occurs with Mr. Inazuma. He gets down to their level, listens to them in the way his father listened to him, and he goes along with what they want while making sure they’re not going to die.

Chihiro was shown to have been a responsible child and he had to grow up quick to be able to accomplish his goals. In a way, an indirect goal of his is to protect the innocent- children. He knows what it’s like to be a defenseless child and to have nobody run to your aid, so he acts the most rational when other people’s lives are on the line. And when it all falls on his life, he lets himself get a little bit reckless because that’s just what allegedly blood thirsty 18 yr old boys do. I’ll come back to the allegedly later.

[forwhump]

Your Light Was On

a/n; will I always start every post by apologizing for posting ? probably, so here we go: sorry ! I’m kind of purging the folder in my google docs app for these two & they’ve lived on my shoulders for years so I have an absolutely insurmountable amount of content. I’m gonna be just unbearable w all my posting & I apologize in advance ! but will I apologize again anyway in the future ? probably yes !

this is kind of light on the whump & more of just a random oneshot, but if I’m gonna post these 2 little guys entire, traumatic lives (& I am) it’s important there’s some backstory okay ?! it can’t get worse if we didn’t know how less shit it used to be !

tw/cw mentions of being gutted, gore, wounds, mentions of medical torture, hints of complete loss of autonomy

human weapon whumpee, patching up wounds, stitches

There had always been something about Wren.

Even before Wren was his Wren, even before Wren had started to beat in the place where his heart used to be. Silas had always been drawn to him, an instinct entirely outside of his own control.

Wren was beautiful, Wren is beautiful, and Wren is beautiful in a completely unapproachable way. Wren is so beautiful it gives him an unsettling sort of quality and honestly, when Silas had first been dragged into this unit, Wren was so beautiful it had kind of creeped him out.

It had really creeped him out, actually, but he’d been drawn to him all the same. As creepy as he was, there was something Silas had always found really enchanting about him.

The way he speaks, maybe, always soft, gentle and sweet, but his accent is thick and Silas always thought it was weird. Every human bit of Silas had been wiped away, his memories along with it. He doesn’t remember a life outside this place. He doesn’t know anything outside these walls. He doesn’t know any accents but those around him, and that’s a total of three; two of the soldiers, London and English, have the the same accent; the rest of the unit shares an accent with Silas; Wren and his brother, Robin, have accents like nothing else Silas thinks he’s ever heard. Weird, but obviously beautiful and enchanting, like everything else about Wren. He’s from a place called Sugar Land, because of course he is. He looks exactly like somebody Silas would picture being from a place called Sugar Land.

Always so soft spoken, though, so patient, so kind. So gentle with Silas.

And maybe it was situational. Silas was their unit’s only weapon, but he wasn’t their only freak. They could be divided up into three categories; Weapons, Super Soldiers, and Wren. For a long time, Silas couldn’t even begin to guess what the hell Wren was doing there, but he was there, and he was human. His skin was still soft. He was warm.

Whatever it was, it pulled at Silas, it clawed at all the squishy human parts of him he didn’t realize he still had.

It was the pain that had woken him up. About a week prior, he’d been gutted during something the soldiers called a training exercise — Silas couldn’t die, so they made a game of making him bleed. Healing was shitty and Silas kept ripping his stitches. It was the pain that had woken him up, and he woke up with his sheets and his shirt both sticking to him, soaked through with blood. He was floating in it.

And Wren wasn’t his Wren yet. They weren’t even really close. Silas probably wouldn’t’ve bugged him at all, but when he dragged himself out of his room, fleeing a sticky trail of bloody footprints, Wren’s light was on, filtering into the corridor from beneath his door.

Silas tried to knock, but he was bleeding a lot and starting to lose dexterity in his fingers. He kind of banged his hand against Wren’s door, cruder than he meant to.

Wren’s voice was more tense than Silas had been expecting. It sounded weird. Not like usual. “What do you want?”

And then Silas realized that maybe he had just fallen asleep with his light on, and he felt weird for standing outside his bedroom, bleeding and waking him up. “Sorry,” he said.

A rustle, like Wren was moving in bed. It had made Silas blush, which he thought was kind of a waste of what little blood was left in his body. “What?” Wren had said. “Silas?”

“Yeah,” Silas said. He’d smudged blood on Wren’s door when he knocked. He tried to wipe it away with his sleeve, but there was blood on his sleeve and he made it much worse. “Sorry.”

The door was pulled away from his face as Wren eased it open. His hair was down, and it was the first time Silas had ever seen his hair down. It made him feel weird, like he was looking at something private, something really intimate, something he didn’t deserve to see, and it made him feel so weird it made him lightheaded. Or was that the blood loss?

“What are you doing?” Wren had asked, soft and concerned. “What happened to you?”

“I think I pulled my stitches,” Silas said.

It made Wren smile. Wren had always had one of Silas’ favourite smiles, even back then. It had made him blush again, which just made him feel stupid. Blushing and bashful, bleeding down the insides of his joggers so they were sticking to the insides of his thighs and his blood was starting to pool around Wren’s feet. Wren said, “I think you might be right.”

“I have a feeling,” Silas agreed. Wren breathed out a laugh, which had made him smile — crooked, now, because of a scar at the corner of his mouth, a lasting memory from a different training exercise.

“Do you need a hand?” He asked softly.

Silas nodded. “Yes, please.”

Wren smiled up at him as he stepped out of the way, and Silas almost slipped in his own blood on his way across the threshold. Wren set him up on the end of his bed and stood between his knees as he peeled off Silas’ t-shirt. It was the closest they had ever been to being the same height, and Silas had felt really weird about that. He thought it might’ve been a good weird, but he couldn’t be sure.

Wren was gentle and his hands were soft. Silas didn’t know why, yet, not at that time, but he knew already of Wren’s weird affinity for getting things; he was the only one of them that could ask a soldier for something, and get it. He could make requests. He got gifts. He was allowed to keep things in his room. He had things to keep.

Among his things were general medical supplies. He cleaned Silas’ leaking wounds. He taped him back together again. His stitches were all ugly, raised staples, barely holding shredded flesh together, but Wren didn’t flinch. He didn’t wretch. He cleaned and he taped and he was so gentle, so careful, as he layered bandages over the furious, red, raised Y of his wound.

Silas watched him closely. He didn’t mean to, not necessarily, but like in every other aspect, he was drawn to Wren, and he couldn’t help but watch him, his long, deft fingers, the part of his lips, the shadow his eyelashes cast on his face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said finally, and he didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t really help himself. Just thinking it didn’t seem like enough.

Wren’s eyes flickered up to him from beneath his eyelashes. “Thank you.”

“It’s kinda weird,” Silas admited.

It startled a laugh out of Wren, who looked up at Silas properly. “Excuse me?”

Silas cracked a smile, crooked. “I don’t know,” he said. “But it’s weird.”

“I think you’re weird,” Wren told him, lips curved into a smile that made Silas feel kind of sick but in a good way.

“Why?” He protested. “Just ‘cause I get gutted sometimes?”

Wren laughed again. He layered another bandage over the stapes down the centre of Silas’ chest, pressing it into place with warm, gentle fingers. It gave Silas goosebumps.

Wren noticed. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. He thumbed gently over Silas’ sternum, an apology. “Did I hurt you?”

Silas was bleeding less so he could feel his blush a little more properly in his face. “No,” he said. “You didn’t.”

He did that thing again, looked quickly up at Silas before he looked away.

Silas didn’t stop watching him. He didn’t think he could’ve if he wanted to. “Thank you,” he said.

“Of course,” Wren answered.

“Your light was on,” Silas said, curious, but it had come out kind of gruff. “Why?”

Wren smiled but he didn’t lift his head. “I don’t sleep very much,” he said.

“What do you do?” Silas asked.

He smiled again. “I draw, usually,” he said. He flattened a hand against Silas’ chest as he smoothed out a bandaid and Silas could only hope he couldn’t feel how much quicker his heart started to beat in return. “I used to be an artist.”

“What’s an artist?” Silas asked.

Wren looked up at him properly, and he didn’t smile. He turned away from Silas, in fact, and Silas very nearly panicked, thinking he offended him. It wasn’t his own fault he didn’t know what an artist was — he had no point of reference. “I’m sorry,” he said, an instinct.

“Why?” Wren asked. He was shuffling through a stack of books on his desk, his back to Silas. “Don’t be.”

He wasn’t looking at him and Silas didn’t find that very reassuring at all. “Okay.”

But when Wren turned back to him, a thick, bound book in one hand, he smiled again. He offered the book to Silas, who took it carefully, before Wren went back to carefully bandaging his split chest. “My art,” he explained.

Oh.

“There are a lot of mediums for art,” Wren told him. “Some people use words. Songs. Charcoal, clay. I’ve always preferred paint and pencil.”

Silas opened the book at random. The pages were thick and white and they were covered in the most unbelievable art Silas had ever seen.

Wren was so talented.

He’d drawn things Silas recognized from around prison, things from before that Silas didn’t remember or that he had never seen. He’d drawn people Silas had never met. He’d drawn the rest of their unit. He’d drawn Silas.

Silas didn’t recognize his portrait at first. There are no mirrors in the unit, nothing really reflective at all, and Silas couldn’t quite remember what he’d looked like before this place, anyway, before everything that had been done to him. But there was an angle to the portrait’s smile, crooked, because of a stenciled scar at the corner of its mouth. Its head was kind of tilted away, angular jaw and crooked smile. Its hair was Silas’ hair, but pulled only half up at the crown of his head, the rest loose around his back and his shoulders.

Silas didn’t wear his hair like that very often; only when June could be arsed to do it for him.

“Me?” He asks, holding the drawing up for Wren to see.

Wren looked up, and looked away just as quickly. Not so quickly that Silas couldn’t see him flush, pink, across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “Yes,” he said, and his smile was sheepish. “That’s you.”

Silas studied the drawing carefully. The more he looked, the stronger he could taste his own heartbeat. “Why?”

“Why did I draw you?” Wren asked. He nodded. Wren didn’t look at him when he said, “I thought you looked beautiful.”

Oh. Well.

Silas didn’t know what to do with that, but it made his chest hurt, well beneath where Wren was patching him up. He flipped through more pages, looked at more of Wren’s art, found more drawings of himself.

One of them was drawn from behind. Silas, his hair in that half knot, big and broad shouldered. He knew it was him because he’d been drawn in the deadly uniform they dress him in for field tests. He looked lethal; he looked like something from a nightmare.

He held the book up again for Wren to see. “Me?”

Wren looked up, looked away, exhaled a laugh. “Yes,” he said. “That’s you, too.”

Silas found that very interesting. He flipped another few pages until he found himself again, his profile, recognizable enough because of the scars. It was interesting to see them from the outside. It also made him dizzy. He held the book up again.

Wren breathed out another laugh. “Are you just looking for drawings of you?”

“Yes,” Silas said.

Wren laughed properly, which made Silas grin, but he wasn’t kidding, and he flipped a few more pages.

“I’ve never seen me,” he said.

Wren’s hand stilled on his chest. “What?”

“I’ve never seen me,” Silas repeated. “It’s weird.”

“You’ve never seen you,” Wren said, and his hand left Silas’ chest entirely. “I guess you haven’t, have you?”

Silas looked up, shaking his head.

Wren held his hand out, expectant, and Silas handed his book back, reluctant. Wren flipped through the pages deftly before he turned it back around, holding it out to Silas with a smile. “That’s you.”

Silas took the book from him carefully and studied the drawing closely. It was a head on portrait, and it had to be flattering, because it was kind of a handsome drawing, even with all the raised scars and patchwork disfigurement. He wasn’t smiling and he definitely looked scary, there was no doubt he was a nightmare, but he looked more like a man than he was expecting. Less like a monster.

He felt really weird about that, so he said, “you draw my hair like this a lot.” His hair was pulled into that half knot at the crown of his head.

He looked up at Wren, who looked a little like he’d been caught. He said, with a smile, “I like your hair like that.”

“Oh,” Silas said, and he looked down at the drawing again. He couldn’t look at it very much longer. He closed the book and handed it back to Wren, who placed it back on his desk. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Wren said softly. He layered a final bandage over Silas’ chest and they were done. He offered Silas a smile and his blood soaked t-shirt.

Silas took it as he stood. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Wren said, so earnest it had kind of taken him off guard. “If you need me, Silas, don’t be shy. Anytime. Even if my light isn’t on.”

Silas heaved his shoulders. And, as a matter of fact, immediately regretted it, pain rippling down the lines of his staples. “I won’t wake you up if you’re sleeping. Not if you don’t sleep very much.”

Wren laughed softly. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I do,” Silas said. “You’re very small.”

Wren laughed again. His small hand brushed his arm as Silas left his room. “Goodnight, Silas.”

Silas smiled, crooked. It felt weirder on his face now that he kind of knew what it looked like. “Goodnight, Wren.”

He closed the door behind him. All the blood had dried on the surface, and it looked like a crime scene.

A problem for the morning.

[solaneceae]

my battery is low, and it's getting dark.

a codebreakers fanfic about étoiles losing his sight. read on Ao3

It starts off with light blurriness — the kind you get when you forget to remove your contacts before bed, dryness and irritation welcoming you back to the waking world. Étoiles doesn’t wear contacts, although he does don a pair of sturdy, cheap rectangular glasses on occasion, whenever reports have to be read or written in thin leather-bound books for the Résistance’s upper echelon. 

(Upper echelon he’s never caught a whiff off, by the way. Étoiles understands the need for secrecy, for compartmentalization — but damn, it does get lonely here in headquarters, with nothing but his own voice and long-dried ink speaking of codes going rogue and islander alignments to entertain himself with.)

He blinks, once, twice, rubbing at his eyeballs through the skin of his lids. No amelioration. He shrugs it off, readjusts the straps of his slime armor. It’s a shit one, not even the good enchants on it. But he’s been restless lately, antsy. Not quite worried, but something else, something in the negative shape of a beloved, beret-wearing egg. Ants under his greenish skin, a fire only the cold bite of enemy blades and a close brush with Lady Death can fix.

He likes Kristin. She’s funny, with her large brimmed hat and gentle smile and gentler words still. Philza’s a lucky man.

“You are sad,” she would say, in the space-between-spaces he would drift to when downed, just before the ‘doom-doom’ of revival. The crimson bud of her smile would twist into a scowl, as she watched him give her a two-fingered salute. “Is that why I see you so often, starling?”

“I’m not sad,” he would answer without fail — the ache inside his chest wasn’t sadness. Étoiles didn’t do sad. He killed, he destroyed, his body grown in a weapon meant to hurt and maim and be hurt in return. Meant to be wielded by someone worthy. (He thinks of pitch-black feathers and a wheezy laugh, the tingle of wither-decay dancing on his skin, the smell of bone. Claws digging into his bony hips, a litany of trills speaking of ownership-claim, great shadows trapping him in so effectively. His knee guards stained by fresh soil where potatoes are endlessly grown in honor of a great warrior he once crossed blades with. Worship, devotion.)

“I’m not sad,” he mumbles, jumping down the well and into the darkness of the dungeon below. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a shit one, and he could scratch that itch in the back of his mind that demanded blood be spilled, be it his or otherwise. “Maybe I die for real today, let’s goooo.”

He never does. He’s too good at dungeoning, too good at placing blocks and throwing splash potions at his feet, golden apples now a rare last resort because he knows what happens when he eats too many. Aaaah, what a pity, he thinks, as he loses himself in the clash of metal on metal and the grunt of mobs falling at his feet. What a pity, I feel nothing. Bad day for me, bad day.

***

The blurriness stays. Days go by, sluggish and quiet, too quiet on this shit island, and no amount of sleep or healing potions make it any better. His arm stings with static-burn where the black and green binary tar has spread, higher, creeping up his neck. But it does nothing to hinder his movements, doesn’t dull the sharpness of his mind. So he ignores it. “Maybe you should get that checked out or something,” Foolish pokes at it once, as they sit and talk atop the Titan’s head using the blue and green plush chairs the TazerCraft have sneaked in. Pac e Mike, wow wow, sings a little voice in Étoiles’ mind whenever he sees splashes of blue and green, because those two live rent-free in everyone’s builds and brains.

“It’s okay,” he smiles at the shark-totem, easy and casual and Étoiles. “It doesn’t hurt.” It doesn’t. “It’s not changing me.” He is changing, that softness that Pomme had made bloom inside him eroding away with every day she’s gone. It’s harder to stay still, harder to stop and talk to the others, because half of them are depressed and the other half are going insane. But none of that is the code’s doing. “Look, I’ll prove it! 1v1 stick?” he jumps to his feet, throwing a wooden stick at his friend with a fiendish grin. “1v1, right now, let’s go.”

Foolish chuckles, even though his smile doesn’t reach his emerald-carved eyes. (His features are hazy, fuzziness getting worse every time Étoiles wakes. Doesn’t matter.) 

They fight, Étoiles takes it home with six hearts to spare. And he still feels empty.

***

Lilacs. Sunflowers. Cornflowers. Poppies.

Flower biomes were Pomme’s favorites. They’re hard to find, but Étoiles is one patient, stubborn cucumber. “T’aurais adoré ça, légende,” he hums, picking another poppy by the stem and stuffing it into his inventory, the frozen subspace keeping it suspended in time and fresh. He can almost hear the pitter-patter of her little cheeto legs in the grass, the rustle of the blades against her shell. The bomp of a red sign being placed, asking for more red, more blue, more of every color to make her siblings flower crowns and dye her trusty scythe like a rainbow.

He can barely make out their shape anymore, only differentiating roses from poppies by tracing their petals with gold-scarred fingers. He sees a blue blur somewhere at his right, oh, cornflower probably. Her secret code.

He lets out a deep, guttural groan and lets his body fall backwards, hitting the plush grass with a thump. A few butterflies flutter out of the way, one of them settling back on the bridge of the warrior’s nose. He glares at it, faded golden stars comically crossed. He only sees the yellow of its wings, stark against sky blue. “Hey, hey. Tu vas rien trouver ici, tu sais. J’ai pas fleuri depuis des plombes.”

The critter’s wings flap once, unbothered. Étoiles blows on it to make it go away, fails. (He’s a failure, at everything. Fails to keep his kid safe, fails to win a 1v1 against an insect.) Soon enough, there is enough butterflies on him to pin him to the ground under the would-be guilt of disturbing them. Étoiles whines, childish and unserious. “Vas-y, j’peux plus bouger. Pas juste. Même la nature me déteste, c’est bon.”

He’s missed this. The warmth of a sunbeam, the scent of fertile soil, the brush of grass blades, the call of the earth below pulling at him. Part of him wants to sink into it, curl up in Her embrace like a child would in their mother’s womb, forget about the world and the Federation and the Codes and all this shit. Maybe he could fall asleep right here. Let his body soak up the sun, let himself bloom again. Let that softness grow out of his skin for all to see, like he used to. Or, he thinks he used to. The memories of Before are static-fuzz between his ears, unreachable unless he looks at them at the corner of his eye, so to speak.

(The freezing cold, then heat as air exploded around him, an impact. Physicality, sudden and unexpected, the song of the stars loud in his ears as he opened his eyes for the first time in front of a bewildered human in a frayed straw hat. He was happy, wasn’t it? He thinks he used to be happy. What happened?)

But Étoiles is a warrior, a weapon, and weapons dull and rust and grow weak if left to rest. So he takes a deep breath, pushes himself up. “Désolé,” he hums to the butterflies as they scatter away. They are but bright, colorful blobs in his dulling eyes. “Désolé,” he says as he warps back home to forge yet another axe. 

His inventory is full of flowers that he’ll forget about, wrapping him in a constant mix of herbal scents that has Cellbit recoiling next time they cross paths. Étoiles doesn’t notice it, the Brazilian’s bothered expression lost on his rapidly-decaying vision.

***

By the time the Code challenges him to what Étoiles knows will be their last duel for the foreseeable future, his sight is all but gone, everyone and their dog has taken notice, and he has brushed off their concern. “I don’t need to see to click good,” he boasts, slamming down deepslate to launch himself fast and run circles around a disgruntled Pac. “See, see! I’m strafing, I’m doing it, playing the game.” Pac makes a strange sound, one he struggles to guess the emotion behind without body language. “It’s okay, Pac. It’s easy. There’s no problem, at all.”

Phil isn’t here yet, can’t see any names on his comlink but Tubbo told him he wasn’t. Shame, shame he won’t be there to see him die, Étoiles thinks as the rain soaks through his shirt, the boom of lightning bothering him more than he lets show. His ears are ringing as he jumps, ducks, tugs at the string of his bow and sends an arrow flying where he knows the Code is, he can feel it, the only spot that doesn’t smell like anything but void. But there’s no feedback, no satisfying sound of health being chipped at, nothing.

This Code is too strong, his sword winging an off-tune melody as it goes through the binary without ripping or tearing. No damage. Ah, he thinks, so they have finally stopped playing. I see now.

The back of his chestplate shatters into a blast of broken enchant magic and diamond shards, some of them lodging themselves into his flesh. Something cold sinks between his ribs, brushing against his spine in a white-hot flash of pain that irradiates through his whole body, and oh, yeah, it’s over. It’s joever, as Tubbo would say. “GGs,” he gasps through a mouthful of dark green blood. He coughs it up, lets it splash down his neck and paint his shirt. Tubbo’s screaming somewhere, too far away for Étoiles to discern the words. “You- eugh, you slash-kill’ed me, good job you cheater. Easy win.”

The entity growls, a hum-buzz that makes his brain (or whatever he has for brains, maybe lettuce?) rattle inside his skull. The blade slides out, cutting away at him further on its way out, and his body falls into a puddle of rainwater and mud with a wet thud. It hurts, blackered arm buzzing, pain creeping up his neck and the right side of his face, extinguishing the last of his remaining sight. 

He faintly realises that almost nobody knows about his respaw mechanic. Ah, et merde. He hopes they’ll have the presence of mind to ask Antoine, when they realise he wouldn’t just re-pop into existence seconds after his death… or when they noticed his body starting to wilt and decay, if they stuck around for long enough.

(Tallulah knows, he remembers. He told her. But had she told Philza, before she disappeared along with all the other eggs?)

Through his fading senses, his comm buzzes with what he knows is his first death message in a really long time. He can make out the sound of rapid footsteps, clickety hooves and heavy, leather work boots. Tubbo and Pierre. He closes his eyes, not that he needs to anymore for darkness to cradle him. He lets go.

He doesn’t see Kristin this time, only hears a faint sigh and a gentle breath sending him off into the void. He hopes they find his seed soon. He doesn’t wanna stay missing for too long, after all.

***

His personal death-void is not so bad of a place. Boring, obviously, but there’s a familiarity to it, to the way the darkness shrouds him like a heavy blanket, pushing against him from all sides. Not oppressive but comforting. Cradling, instead of crushing.

It reminds him of the dirt patch he was born in — he had been asleep and new, just ripe for the picking, dirt-stained hands pulling at his stem with the roughness of a long-repeated gesture. He had screamed, he thinks, not in pain, but to show the world he was here and alive, hello, hello sun, hello dirt, hello person! Had given poor old Théo a heart attack too.

Ah. He could remember, now. Théo, his leathered face and kind eyes with crow feet, wary at first before this walking, talking little legume with the night sky in his eyes, flower-covered vine-tail like some sort of umbilical cord trailing behind him as he follows the old farmer around, asking him endless questions in barely-legible French. But… yes, he’d been kind to him, Étoiles thinks. The first face his face saw. Makes sense it would be one of the first things that came back to him. Maybe remembering was easier in the void? Maybe he should die more often.

…Nah. Dying wasn’t his style. And having to regrow a whole new body over a week was annoying. He had things to do in the island! Like talking with people (eurgh), and giving them things (yes) and fighting with Philza (yes! yes! yes!) and have fun!

So he waits, oblivion pulling at him like gravity. The void is a quiet place, sometimes, but more often it’s not, with the song of supernovas and wailing stars far away keeping him aware, listening. He hums along to it with no mouth or vocal chords (not yet, still growing, still so small, unripe), and sometimes he swears he can hear another voice singing with him. Off-key, awful really, almost crow-like, but it sounds like someone he cares about, so he’s happy to listen to its drone.

Other times, he sleeps. And he dreams of tiny hands and quiet chirps and clicks, of the yesyes uncle Phil taught her, of the chrr-chrr-peep that means him, when she calls Étoiles’ name in her own little language. And he curls around the memory, softness, and lets it carry him up into the stars glittering behind still-forming eyelids.

***

“Étoiles.”

He hums — warmth, the slow beating heart of the earth. The choir of stars constantly burning far, far away. He could listen to it forever, because he had been listening to it since the birth of the first star, he knew.

“Mate. You with me? C’mon, s’been a week already. Come up here, you can do it.”

The voice scratches pleasantly at the back of his brain. But the earth is so warm, so comfy, a cocoon of peace and respite he’s not sure he wants to leave. He sighs with no lungs to breathe, no need for them, when all he could ever need is right there — perfect temp, perfect moisture, glucose, carbon dioxide, rich nutrients all around. Who needs gapples, really. Or thoughts. Or responsibilities. This is the best.

“...Mh. Alright then.”

The voice grates on his ears, ears that try to flick but are stopped by the soil packed around them. He groans in drowsy irritation, curls in on himself in an attempt to shield himself from it and from the world. It seems to work, the noises fading into nothing, and Étoiles feels his thoughts scatter as a faint scratching sound seeps through the earth and into his mind like white noise. Sleep pulls at him again, and he lets it.

He’s startled back into wakefulness by something pulling harshly, somewhere that feels a bit away but is still part of him. His eyes fly open in pained surprise because ow, ow, that’s my— “Come here, you lazy fuck!” That voice — high-pitched, that heavy accent he’s come to love, amusement and exasperation combined, Phil, his Phil, his GOAT, his brother in arms, his Death-touched angel.

Étoiles blinks, unseeing. Étoiles remembers. And with awareness comes something else, something that shimmers and calls his name in gentle whisper-echoes, as he feels himself being pulled up, and up, dirt parting to let him ascend back to the surface. Aah. Goodbye mama. Hello problems. “Get harvested, idiot!” Philza Minecraft grunts with effort somewhere above him, and the tug gets stronger, prompting a pained ow out of him as the ground crackles and breaks above him, and he feels air-sun-outside on his back as he’s forcefully pulled from the ground like the fresh crop he is. He flails a little bit, kicking off dirt and soil (it’s everywhere, in his hair and between his toes and a little in his mouth and nose, bleh!), then rolls onto his back with a groan, frowning up at the sky he knows is there, blue and clear, because it doesn’t smell like rain and the surface soil is dry and warm.

He’s back. And he sees nothing at all. Welp, better close his eyes again then. He feels a shadow fall on him, feels a sandaled foot nudge his side. “Helloooooo. Hello Phil,” he greets the other leaning hard on the deadpan because he knows it makes his friend laugh when he does that. It lands. “What, that’s it?” the elytrian caws, kneeling beside him and poking at his face, talons dulled to a gentle roundness. Étoiles wishes he didn’t trim them, but Phil is too nice, too careful, too eager to smooth himself down for others, for the eggs. Docile.

Étoiles despises it, but he keeps quiet because he knows Phil doesn’t like to talk about those things. “You get yourself killed by a fucking Code of all things,” Phil keeps going, “make everyone freak the fuck out because you won’t respawn like a normal fucking person, and that’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“Antoine knows. And I’m here now, so it’s okay.”

“Antoine barely logs on, you absolute dumbass. You’re lucky Lullah told me about the seed thing, because you would’ve been fucked six ways to Sunday.”

He opens his eyes, if only to shoot Phil a halfhearted glare. And then immediately forgets about it, blinks owlishly. Sits up to get closer to the other man. “Phil. Why are you stars?”

“What.”

He sees stars. (And not in the sex way, because he doesn't do that.) It’s not night, but there are stars in his vision, where pitch blackness used to be, and the constellation is Phil-shaped.

Philza is a cosmic cluster, a nebula shining bright in the darkness that has become his world. He can see nothing beyond him, not the plants surrounding him, not the long vine attached to his lower back Phil used to pull him out. He can tell it’s there, though, lightly thumping at the ground in agitation. “You, are stars. That’s how I see you now.”

“Wait. Can you, like, see again?” Phil asks, uncharacteristically soft. “I know it was getting… bad. And your eyes are like, all greyed out. Did the code stuff on your arm do that?” Étoiles sees a cluster of stars approaching his face — hand — and feels fingers brushing just under his right eye. He’s a bit startled by the contact, the area usually covered by his trust bandana (he needs it back, needs his stuff back, hopefully someone held onto it for him). Phil draws away, an apology ready from the way his constellation-body shifts, but Étoiles doesn’t let him. “I can’t,” he answers, tilting his head, ear flicking in focus — the stars that make up Phil sharpen, and he can almost make out the shape of the wings bound behind his back. “But I can See. I think.” He also wouldn’t mind Phil’s hand on his face again. It feels nice. Scratches at something long-buried, and denied.

Philza makes a confused sound. “Okay, I heard that capital S there. What’s that mean? Are you pulling a Daredevil?”

Étoiles grins, sharp-toothed and playful. “Oh, oh! He thinks I’m a superhero? He thinks I’m cool, Felipe Minecraft? Big win for me.” Phil rolls his eyes, which Étoiles can tell because the crow always makes that low warble when he does. “But no, it’s not like that. I still need my eyes to see like this, and I don’t hear or smell better than before.” Although his status as a hybrid means his baseline is still higher than the average person’s, but that’s irrelevant. “FF.”

“So no cool blindfold for you, ey?”

“No cool blindfold. I will just do a Pomme and drown myself later, to make up for how uncool I am.” (He cannot drown. No lungs. But he can pretend.)

He squints. There’s a little cluster, right there at the side of Phil’s head. He can connect the dots, identify the shape of the elytrian’s bucket hat, but there’s something else there too. “What’s that on your head, Phil? I can’t make it out well.”

“Oh— here,” the other takes his hand and guides it towards his hair, and Étoiles feels a familiar texture under his pads. He makes a noise of surprise. “That’s. Mine.”

“Do you want it back?” Phil hums, brushing at the large cucumber flower tucked in the band of his hat. “It bloomed this morning, on top of the plant you were growing under. Took it as a sign you were, uh, done cooking.” Étoiles snorts. Good guess. “But uh, I guess the plant was also you, cuz it’s at the end of your tail now. Dragging.” Ah. Yeah. He really ought to cut it. “Is it weird? That I’m wearing a piece of you? I don’t know what… fuckin’... cucumber etiquette is.”

“It’s not weird,” Étoiles says, because he doesn’t think it is. “You can keep it.” He kind of likes it. That Phil’s wearing a piece of him. It makes him, happy? “You know, that I am your weapon. Yes? So it makes sense, that you show it.”

“You’re my friend. Don’t call yourself a weapon, man.”

“Same thing for me.”

Phil’s response is wordless, a simple, noncommittal mmh. But Étoiles can hear the hidden fondness in it. He pushes a little further, crudely imitates that  one bird sound Philza makes when he’s happy. Whoops internally when Phil puffs out his feathers and trills out a yesyes in return. Héhé. “Yes yes, Philza? Fight me, right now?” he slips into his usual stance, just a bit offset by the lack of armor weighing him down. “1v1, no weapons, no armor? Fistfight, let’s go.”

Phil cackles, crow-like. “I am not fighting you right now, you little shit. You menace. What’s wrong with you?”

“Aww, Phil hates me,” the warrior whines. “He hates me. He won’t 1v1 me, he must hate me. Sad.”

“Oh my god, stop being a baby.”

“I was literally born five minutes ago. I am baby, and Felipe Minecraft hates me,” he sasses back, and Phil throws his arms towards the sky in exasperation. “Oh come on. I spent a week protecting your green ass! Making sure you got enough sun and water and shit, it was like doing egg tasks all over again. Antoine even talked me into fucking singing, pretty sure he was pranking me with that one by the way, and still you think I hate you?”

“Nice caulk, Phil.”

He can’t see it, but Étoiles knows Phil’s eyelid is twitching. “Mate. I got a faceful of ass pulling you out of here, you’re on thin fucking ice.”

The cucumber snorts. “Héhé, got mooned by the stars.” That was kinda funny. “You were pulling me by the tail, I do not know what you expected. You’re lucky I’m a plant, or there would have been full cock and balls there.���

“Bruh. I thought it would be connected to your… plant belly button, or whatever, like an umbilical cord.”

“It’s an ass button, GGs.”

“Jesus Christ, please don’t call it that. I didn’t even know you had a tail. You didn’t before.”

“That’s because I always cut it,” the warrior huffs, said tail lashing behind him from the restless energy that always accompanies a new body. Its leaves drag around the loose dirt in little swish-y sounds. “Give me a sword, Phil, it’s already annoying me.”

The crow peers down at the vine, then back at him. “I dunno, man. You look kinda fun with it.” Étoiles squints. He can’t quite make out Phil’s expression like this, all stars and nothing between them, but he can hear the hidden laughter in his voice. “...I will cut it with my teeth then.”

“Won’t that hurt more than with a blade?”

“It doesn’t hurt. Only the base. Like when you pulled on it.”

“Why not keep it? It’s a part of you.”

Because it speaks for me, he considers replying. Because it says and shows things that I don’t want people to see. Even now, it wags, because Phil is here and now brushing stray dirt out of his hair and it’s very nice. (Is he touch-starved? He might be. Pomme is gone, and he doesn’t trust people to touch him, other than with blunt force and sharp diamond blades.) But Étoiles hasn’t kept his tail since he was a child, still wide-eyed and showing his innermost self to the whole world without any shield. He feels weird. Exposed. And it’s okay with Phil, because Phil is Phil, but it’s not okay because they’re out in the open and anyone could come and see. He doesn’t like that. “Because people can grab it, and it gets stuck in things, and it’s annoying. I cut it, now.” He tugs at the appendage, bringing it up to his mouth. “Nope,” Phil snatches it away, and Étoiles hisses at him. “Calm down, dude. At least let’s do it cleanly.”

“Eeeeuugh. Okay.”

”Then we’re getting your stuff back from Antoine’s, good god. You’re still butt-naked and I won’t have you strut around like that.”

“He has my things? Comms, armor, my backpacks?”

“All of it, yeah,” the older man huffs, and Étoiles can hear the telltale sound of an item being summoned of an inventory. Enchanted axe, he parses, recognizing the ozone-y smell of the sharpness enchant and the sound of the air being sliced downward. He doesn’t feel anything when the vine is severed, frowns when he realises Phil left a good… fifty centimeters of it, still attached to his body. “Phil. You misclick? You aim like shit today?”

“You said it hurts near the base,” the elytrian huffs, finality lacing his every word. “Keep it or cut the rest later, your pick, but I’m not hurting you.”

Étoiles’ ear flicks in confusion, and so does his tail. It moves faster, easier now without the rest of the plant weighing it down. “...We fight each other all the time, that hurts more. I don’t care.”

Phil stays silent for a few seconds. Nebula-Phil shifts before him. “It’s. Different.”

Étoiles hums. Philza has the Tone™ again, the one that means he’s thinking of things that hurt. He thinks of clipped feathers, of matted down that he wishes he could run his fingers through and fix, fix, let me fix it, let me do this for you. But he says nothing. Maybe another time, when they’re both ready for that conversation. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Maybe I keep it this time. Maybe.”

He can hear Phil’s smile in the next word he speaks. “Attaboy.” And he tries to ignore the way his tail wags with renewed enthusiasm at that.