#god i know such great people i love them so much

[puckinghischier]

Hiiii happy new year! I absolutely adore your quinnxreader fics! I loved the one about his brothers asking her questions and calling her all the time because they love her so much! Would you consider writing more about that?

Maybe about their dynamic in person, meeting over Christmas or summer or something!??

Have a great day!

oh listen when the four of you are together for long periods of time? you’re convinced you and quinn will never have to have kids, because you’re gonna be parenting jack and luke for the rest of your lives.

like meeting at the lake house over the summer. even if ellen and jim are there with everyone, luke and jack still bug you with any and every question they have.

“y/n! what should i eat for lunch?”

“y/n! where’s the remote?”

“y/n! have you seen my swimming trunks?”

every time you take a breath, one of them is yelling for you for help, or advice, or nothing at all. jack is a regular at shouting your name from wherever he is in the house just to show you some video on his phone, or ask you how to spell a word for a text he’s sending.

quinn and ellen have both scolded them numerous times to leave you alone and quit treating you like a maid, but you don’t tell them you secretly love it. you hate that they’re acting like toddlers that can’t fend for themselves, but you love the comfort level they have with you to do it all.

and it’s not like they don’t return the favor.

you always manage to get a summer cold when you come to the lake house. you don’t know if it’s the water mixed with the chilly nights or the fact you’re always on the go and never resting, but you somehow always get a case of the sniffles for a few days each summer.

whenever it happens, jack and luke dote on you like you’re bedridden. constantly bringing you snacks and meds and juice. asking if you need anything, watching movies with you and quinn while all four of you cuddle on the couch.

ellen never fails to snap a picture of the occasion, all of her kids (you included) safe and sound under one roof, a rare occurrence in her world.

now, you have your own moments visiting the two youngest brothers, missing them just as badly as they miss you sometimes. when quinn is away on a particularly long road trip and jack and luke have a few home games, you’re booking a flight and off to see them.

you can always see how excited they are to have you at their games, making sure you have the best seats and even buying you a custom split hughes sweater, so you never have to choose one over the other.

they tell all of their teammates you’re coming and gesture to you throughout the whole game, making sure you saw that save, or watched them score a goal.

you go out with them after games and send quinn lots of pictures of his drunk, idiot brothers singing karaoke and displaying terrible dance moves.

quinn loves seeing you have the friendship with his brothers that you do, but he always reminds them to keep you safe, his protective side coming out, even though he knows they would never let anything happen.

still, it doesn’t keep them from finding sunglasses from god knows where, drunkenly waltzing you out of bar on either side of you, gesturing for people to move out of the way like they’re your bodyguards. every move you make, they’re sending (blurry) pictures of you safely outside the bar, getting into the uber, getting out of the uber, walking into their apartment building, in the elevator, unlocking their door, walking through their door, walking to the guest room, and one final shot of you in bed with the covers pulled up to your chin, to the groupchat you’re in with them and your boyfriend.

and once the apartment is quiet and their voices are reduced to light snores, you sneak into their rooms and take pictures of them, too, feeling just as much of a responsibility to keep them safe and cared for.

christmases? now those are an event, truly.

luke and jack are on you for months to help them pick out the perfect gift for quinn and ellen, claiming you know gifts way better than they do. you even fly out to jersey for a couple days in the middle of december, finding a stretch where they have a couple home games.

you take them out shopping, coaching and making sure they don’t pick out some random scarf for their mom or striped tie for quinn and jim. they take you to do all the touristy christmas things around the city (even if you’ve done it a million times before) and make fun of how you still can’t skate, even after all the years of being with quinn.

when you all finally make it back to michigan for the big family christmas, quinn steals you away for some one on one time, of course, but it’s never long lived. one of the two man-children, as quinn so affectionately calls them, comes barging in your room eventually, flopping down onto the bed right in-between you and quinn. and once one is in there, the other gets jealous and fights his way into the dog pile happening.

“can you two go annoy mom and dad or something? you just had her for four days, it’s my turn,” quinn huffs, your quiet bubble now burst.

“well, mom and dad told us to come annoy you guys, they have to wrap presents,” luke pouts to quinn, causing him to roll his eyes and accept his fate.

christmas morning with them is always your favorite, though.

jack and luke are always so high energy, wanting everyone to open their presents from them first so they can see the reactions.

they’re just like little kids, almost blurting out what it is as the person is opening it. they always tell ellen and quinn and jim you helped them, not wanting to take all the credit for themselves. but when it comes to their gifts to you? you start to think their claims that they’re terrible at gift giving is just a rouse to get you to visit them each year, because they never fail to give you the most heartfelt gifts.

like this christmas, they had gone in together on paying an artist to paint a collage of your favorite pictures of you and quinn together, the canvasses each in the shape of yours and quinn’s initials. you had noticed the canvas shaped like a plus sign in-between the two letters is blank, not knowing why they would leave such a large section bare.

when you look up to ask them, you notice they’re standing on either side of you, gesturing you to stand up. quinn is nowhere to be found, looking around for him as you stand and follow their lead to the back door of the large house.

when they open the door you’re met with the michigan snow, falling perfectly onto a beautifully decorated archway that you hadn’t noticed the night before. you noticed the poinsettias forming a walkway to the arch, finding quinn standing there under the perfectly hung mistletoe, waiting for you.

jack and luke walk push you on, staying behind in the warmth of the house.

you walk down the snow covered path, focusing on not falling the whole way.

once you reach the end of the path, quinn grabs your hand and plants you right in front of him.

he launches into a speech about how much he loves you, and how much he loves watching you with his family, how easily you’ve become a part of it, intertwined so deeply into his soul he couldn’t let you go, even if he wanted to, before dropping down on one knee, asking you to spend the rest of your life trusting him and loving him.

you immediately tell him yes, launching your body to his once he stands, tears streaming down your frozen face. right as you go to share a kiss to seal the intimate moment, you’re broken apart by the woops and hollers of none other than jack and luke, turning your head to see them barreling down the walkway towards you two.

“oh my god! we’re getting a sister! she’s actually gonna be ours now!” jack screams, crushing you two in a bear hug that would give quinn a run for his money.

“now quinn can’t use the excuse she’s his anymore, because now she’s ours. she’s gonna be a hughes! no more stingy quinn!” luke follows up, another weight added onto the already crushing hug.

“oh god, i didn’t think this through,” quinn groans, not enjoying his brothers’ newfound claim on you.

you giggle, encased in all the hughes love.

“also, we helped plan this, don’t let him hog all the credit, here. we planned our gift so it’d be the perfect segway into the proposal!” luke rushes out, too excited to keep it in any longer.

“the blank canvas is for engagement pictures!” jack confirms, beaming from ear to ear.

they finally release you and quinn from their clutches.

“okay, you guys have had your moment, now go back inside. she might getting ready to be your sister-in-law,” quinn emphasizes the last two words, “but she’s my fiancé, so we’ve earned some alone time.”

the two brothers huff and pout as they walk off, grumbling about how they can’t wait until you’re a hughes so he can’t claim you’re just his.

before you allow yourself the time with quinn, you run after your two best friends, tackling them in their own bear hug, despite how much larger they are than you.

“thank you guys. for this, for accepting me into your family, for sharing quinn with me,” you giggle at their scoff and luke’s mumble of ‘more like we share you with him’ before continuing. “i love you two. i’ll always be your big sister, yeah? as long as you’re always my two obnoxious little brothers.”

they squeeze you back so tightly you can’t breathe, telling you again how much they can’t wait for you to officially be part of their family.

quinn watches you with them, his own heart warmed despite the snow falling, wondering how in the world he got so lucky with such an amazing family, and now an even more amazing woman to bring into it.

[heylittleriotact]

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the majority of death care professionals I’ve worked with have some sort of fucked up mortician-origin-story and got into funerals in the first place to either try and demystify death or cope with their trauma by constantly exposing themselves to it, and that’s literally what Emmrich has done his entire life and it’s why I love him so much.

Under the cut for some pretty raw death talk, including infant death, because fuck it - there’s a reason this pixel man lives rent free in my head and I’m about to get personal.

My Mom very unexpectedly and traumatically lost a full term pregnancy when I was 7. The first corpse I ever saw or touched was my dead sister. The first baby I held in my arms was dead.

What the fuck do you mean she’s dead? Why is she dead? She’s a baby. Babies don’t die. Old people die. Bad guys in movies die. Babies don’t.

And then from there it was like… months of infuriating and condescending bullshit from well-meaning people just wanting to reconcile with something that can’t really be reconciled with: people said a lot of stuff to me like, “it was God’s plan” or, “it wasn’t meant to be” or, “at least she didn’t suffer” or “God needed her more” and loads of other trite bullshit in the same vein, and it really, really fucked with me as a child.

I watched it destroy my already unstable mother and cause her to take out her complicated grief on me - her abusive tendencies sharply escalated after the loss. I think she resented me. I think she resented seeing how much the loss hurt me and felt that I had no right to be as upset as I was. I think she didn’t know how to support a grieving child when she didn’t even have the tools to support herself.

I felt so isolated and confused. I became obsessed with death and heaven and angels and the idea of a soul, and as I got older, I couldn’t let go of the belief that no child - or person for that matter - should have to go through what I did.

So I became a funeral director. Because if I could help one child in a horrific situation feel seen and validated, then I’d made a difference. If I could help one despondent mother towards the right resources, or even just fucking make her feel seen and validated too, maybe she’d wind up in a better place than mine did.

I wanted to say fuck you to death. I wanted to prove my defiance by helping the living people left behind pick up the pieces. I wanted to learn to handle the unavoidable, permanent, unfeeling existence of death with the cautious reverence that one would employ when handling a venomous snake. And I did. I helped a lot of people and it fed my soul in insurmountable ways.

I became that weird death obsessed friend who couldn’t talk about anything EXCEPT funerals and death and souls and embalming and what happens to your body when you die. If you had a curious question about death or funerals? I would jump on the chance to answer it for you. Needed help with the loss of a loved one? I’ve gotchu. I became The Death Guy (I guess I still kind of am - I’m still happy to front questions and help friends and family navigate death and funerals because the knowledge is all still there.)

Eventually it became a great way for me to bury other traumas that happened to me (an abusive childhood, sexual assault and all sorts of abuse at the hands of a partner) and just not really deal with them because I couldn’t: I didn’t have time to deal with my own shit because other people needed help more than me. After all, they were dealing with a death. My own problems were small in comparison, right?

It all caught up with me after living and working through the nightmare that was COVID, and I burnt out super hard, had a small breakdown, hit the sauce super hard for awhile, and developed a lovely anxiety disorder and full blown insomnia. Counselling and a career change have helped immensely, but yeah…

I obsess over this old man as much as I do because I see a lot of my own shit and insecurities and fears and unhealthy coping mechanisms in him, and I just want everything to be okay for him, because it ended up being okay for me. It just took a lot of fucking work to get there.

To be gifted a character as complex and real as Emmrich is some once in a lifetime shit, and I’m so glad he exists. Get his ass to therapy.

I'm glad we agree that Emmrich has an absolutely unconscionable amount of rizz. However, I also have a great appreciation for his proficiency at the great honored pastime of Being A Fucking Weirdo. My man goes to work at the Death Factory every single day and copes with his deep deep fear of dying by?? Cosplaying a skeleton? Taash was NOT WRONG when they called him the corpse guy. Even amongst other necromancers, he is THEE corpse guy! His best friend is a skeleton and he hasn't left the Cemetary Where He Lives for years. He is 90% ookie spooks and 10% bisexual disaster man. The only reason he's so suave and smooth is because the ookie spooks are actually load-bearing and manage to utterly obscure what a nervous wreck he is at all times of day. It's hard to give into the existential dread when you're spending all of your time saying shit like, "The tapestry of the Fade holds many threads."

I just know that this man is holding back the mother of all existential crises. He all but has it after he yoinks Rook out of the Fade but he bottles it back up so quick you KNOW that wasn't the whole thing. You KNOW that Rook is going to wake up in the middle of the night six months after Elgar'nan bites it and there Emmrich will be, lich or not, staring blankly at the ceiling and saying, "Darling, what does it all mean?" Emmrich Volkarin is a sexy, sexy man who needs therapy and some sleep and maybe an extended sabbatical from Dead People University.

[rottenherbs]

Something Batty // F.W x hufflepuff! Reader

Summary: You had gotten to your wits end over the winter break. No more homework to get ahead on, no more hobbies that filled your satisfaction. It was you and the empty castle. Could you attempt to write down and locate all the hidden passageways and paintings on the walls? The castle was big, but your desire for an adventure was bigger. 

Word Count: 3.4k

Authors note: reader is Hufflepuff! Honestly you could 1000% fake any of the other houses but since they are a quidditch player it wouldn’t make much sense for them not to be familiar with Fred if they were gryffindor. ((Love u)) thank you for reading. 

[masterlist]

Much Love, Saige 

—————

It was hard to describe the beauty of Hogwarts to those who hadn't seen it before. A castle, right. Large and ornate, right. Dark accademia, of course. People talk about how large Hogwarts in a way that they talk about the weather. Just boring conversation to fill the air. We all know how large it is, but you can't really fathom the amount of moving paintings on the wall, the amount of locked doors, the amount of hidden passageways, until you count them. 

You honestly couldn’t think of a better way to spend your time. It was winter break, the new year had come and gone and you had still a few weeks until classes would start once more. You missed your friends, most of them off with their families or on trips to places much warmer than the Scottish Highlands. The mountains had a distinct way of making you feel even more trapped in by snow than during the summer months.

You were absolutely, ultimately, and utterly bored.

Laying face up on your bed, you spread your legs starfish style, looking up at the four poster in dread. Another day - nothing to do. 

“Get out of bed for dear god.” You moaned to yourself. Your dormitory was empty, all of your roommates off with their families and friends. You had actually begged to stay at Hogwarts over the winter break, wanting to do it at least once over your term here, but it was more dreadful than you imagined. 

“Maybe if I stare at the ceiling for long enough I could catch the atoms moving.” You mumbled, your inner thoughts falling out of your lips. It’s not like anyone was around, you might as well talk to yourself. 

Taking a few more minutes to lay in silence, you flopped your head to the side trying to read the clock on the wall.

7:45am

Flopping your head back, you bit your lip in frustration.

”Come on.’ You encouraged yourself, slouching yourself up and over the edge of the bed. Taking your first few steps, you looked around trying to find the comfy sweat set you had gotten for quidditch practice. Tucked neatly in your dresser, you pulled out the matching set, relieved that at least over the break you were not expected in your uniforms. 

Feeling accomplished purely by changing your clothing, you grabbed your field guide notebook and shoved it in your pant pocket, making your way through the common room. 

A few students had made their way out of the bedrooms, mostly the academic students with their nose in their books. Most of the students who had stayed over the break would be asleep past lunch time, catching up on as much rest as they could before the school year starts again. 

Like most days, you didn’t recognize most of the students, giving small smiles to those who met your eyes as you kept on towards the entrance. 

The sun had just created the mountains, cascading a warm glow across the wooden pillars wrapped thoroughly with vines and plants. Part of you was grateful that you got so much vitamin d and oxygen from purely the hufflepuff common room. 

Exiting into the hallway, your senses were overtaken by the kitchens just around the corner. The smell of bacon and warm maple syrup made your stomach rumble immediately. You fought yourself to just enter the kitchens now, knowing the house elf’s would feed you in a heartbeat, but you turned and made your way up the stairs to eat in the great hall as they intended. 

Climbing the stairs, you passed a few paintings, still fast asleep in their little worlds, the sounds of their snores only faintly audible to your ears. Stopping in your tracks you decided here was as good a place as any to begin counting. 

Pulling out your notebook, you flipped to the newest page making columns for the paintings, where they were, and if they were nice or not. You thought it might be valuable to you to know who would be willing to talk to you later in case you begin to lose your marbles over the next few weeks.  

To your right was a smaller wooden frame image of a young woman, her clothes slightly tattered but still full of color. Her head rested on her hands held up by a beautiful throne that she sat on. Her crown tipped slightly with her head but not enough to warrant it to fall. Writing on your notepad; Queen (?), Hufflepuff hallway, n/a

You made a mental note to see if she was awake later to find out if she was nice or not, but knew if you woke her up now your findings may be skewed. Walking to the next panting you did the same. 

Lord Barquete, Hufflepuff hallway, n/a 

Making your way down the hallway, your notebook filled up nicely, the information slowly growing in your head more and more now that you had given the paintings more than a glance. You were amazed at the many different painting styles and the way they revealed more about the people and characters inside. Magic was interesting, but art was fascinating. 

After a half hour of writing, you made your way to the great hall, now thoroughly starving. Slapping the notebook closed, you shoved it back in your pants pocket ready to devour whatever was made for breakfast. 

“Quite the notes you were taking back there.” A voice loomed behind you. Jumping out of your skin, you turned around quickly, now face to face — well not exactly face to face — with one of the gryffindor beaters, you honestly had no clue which one. 

“Sorry didn’t mean to give you that much of a fright.” He laughed, his hands up near his chest in defense. His smile was infectious, relieving your nerves immediately. You smiled and regained your balance. 

“Fred.” He outstretched his hand, taking yours mid air. “I wasn't like.. stalking you i just saw you on the way here. I don't think anyone’s given the paintings that much attention, unwilling filch cleans them.” He smiled, his hand still shaking yours. You chuckled at his continuous action, the feeling now warm and slightly foolish. 

“Y/n — Yeah, uh I decided to write down and attempt to count all of the patinings.” You shrugged your shoulders, your hand slipping from his fingertips back to your sides. Your eyes glance quickly from his eyes to his hands, hoping he didn’t notice.

”All of them?” He scoffed.”You might be seriously batty.” 

“All of them.” You repeated, nodding your head. “I don't think I could conceptualize how absolutely bored I am.” You chuckle, turning slightly to walk towards an empty seat at a table. Fred followed, his interest in your little adventure growing further. 

“What, you don't have quidditch practice every day?” He motions towards your outfit, his eyebrow raised. 

“Do you have quidditch practice everyday?” You ask, your eyes widening at his question. Sitting down at the wooden table, two plates appeared in front of both of you. 

“Uh yeah unfortunately. They asked if we could stay back this break. Especially since my brother had just started this year he really could use the help.” He chuffed, his hands working in tandem with his words, grabbing several sausages and links to pile onto his plate. 

“Ah, it seems like fun though. Got the whole family on the team now eh?” You tipped, your eyes looking at the banquet in front of you, not knowing where to start. You grabbed the pitcher of orange juice and began to pour. 

“I’m not sure, it can sorta feel like i can't escape my family.” He mumbled, his voice slightly lower as he spoke. The words hit you like bullets, relating deeply to his sentiment. 

“I know how you feel. I wanted to stay over break to kinda — escape from it all.” You said, settling the juice down and rethinking what you said. “That sounds dramatic. I’m just burnt out, I suppose , from my family.” You shrugged, the words only touching the surface of your home challenges. 

Fred nodded his head, his fork now poking at the food on his plate. 

”I get it. It’s not bad to want to get away sometimes.” He shrugged, wanting to know more but not wanting to pry too early. He was at least happy to have breakfast with someone not in his bloodline. 

Both of you ate in silence for a minute, enjoying the food and morning light through the great hall. After Fred finished half of his plate, he cleared his throat. 

“So.” He smiled, his attention fixated on his plate. His fork twitched slightly in his hand. 

“So.” You repeated, a smile growing on your face. You weren't sure what he was about, but something in you was festering about his every move. 

“Do you think i could tag along today?” He turned, his eyebrows furrowed as if to intimate you.

”Not ten minutes ago you called me batty!” You quipped, dropping your fork on top of your plate. 

“Oh right. Well okay.” He laughed, his finger now taping his chin in thought. “I’d be alright being a little batty today.” He looked into the distance, pondering the notion. You lightly hit his shoulder, his face breaking out into a large smile. 

“Okay seriously. Ill respect your craft.” He laughed, flinching away from your hands. “Or whatever you call this little thing” his hands waved around you, the action making your hands raise again in defense, his laughter louder as you pretend to hit him once more. 

You both laughed, turning back to your meals, attempting to catch your breath. 

“Yes you may join me.” You mumbled, taking a large bite of bacon. “But!” You pointed the strip of bacon at him, mock threateningly. “We have got to finish the list eh? No funny business.” 

“Oh please. Funny business is my middle name.” He poshed, his hand resting softly against his chest. You rolled your eyes, finishing the last of the bacon before clearing your plate. 

“I suppose anything is better than being alone.” You added, watching him finish off his breakfast. He held up his napkin, flicking it out from its folden position on the table, sloppily wiping his face. You shook your head in disbelief, turning and standing up. Fred followed, his hands dusting off the crumbs from his jumper, his eyes excited as he waited for you to make the first move. 

“Where first.” He asked plainly, his hands now tucked neatly into his jean pockets. His stature was much taller than you, his height accentuated by his long legs, mostly hidden beneath school robes. 

Clearing your throat, you realized how long you had been standing in silence, looking over his frame. You turned towards the entrance, hoping to hide your red cheeks. 

“Uh, this way - “ you began walking ahead, your face scrunched slightly from embarrassment, trying your best to regain composure once you both exited the great hall. Fred followed behind silently, only the sounds of his sneakers hitting the floor in tandem with you alerting you that he was still there. 

Once you walked out of the open doors, Fred met your side, his eyes up and around the hall at the many paintings. Turning down at you, he motioned towards the small notebook in your hands. 

“So what is it that you're writing?” He asked politely, his jaunting banter from before now neutralized as he leaned in to listen. 

“Oh! Uh so, Here ill write who’s in the painting, then where they are located, and if they are nice or not.” You pointed at each section, flipping through the pages that you had written this morning. 

“Nice or not is a good touch. It’s foul to talk to a painting that just insults you for saying good morning.” He scoffs, a tinge of truth coming from his concern. 

“Tell me about it. I passed Gifford Abbot once and he asked if I had any food, I told him now, and he then proceeded to tell the portrait next to him how much of a waste the new Hufflepuff students were.” You laughed, both of you approaching a new painting. 

“That’s insane.” Fred stifled. “I love going to the kitchens. Surprised you haven't caught me sneaking in over near your common room before.” He nudged, your eyes bouncing between his face and the painting in front of you. You couldn't help but feel distracted by his personality, the thought of catching him at night making your stomach churn, or was it butterflies….. 

“You seem like the type to get into trouble.” You stated, your pencil working on the notebook in your hands, trying to not take the chance and look at the boy. You couldn't tell if he was teasing, just being playful, or something else. 

“Yeah that's an accurate statement.” He leaned over, looking at what you were writing. ”Time to find out if they're nice or not — HELLO Sir….” He moved over, attempting to read the placard by the painting's frame, the sound of his voice boomed the painting awake. “Sir Goerge Von Rheticus.” His voice faltered off as he read, the painting sitting himself up in his chair, his eyes staring daggers into Fred's head. 

“What is it that you need, boy.” Sir Rheticus spat, his eyes visibly sleepy, blinking slowly. 

“Well. Me and my partner here were just doing a study on the paintings you see.” He nudged you, urging you to finish off where he started. 

“Yes um… Me and my partner —“ you coughed, flipping though your notebook anxiously, feeling quite put on the spot - “Were wondering about the paintings in the castle. Could you tell us a little about yourself?” You asked, your fingers holding the pencil tightly above the page, waiting for his response. 

“Hmmm.” He sat back, his body a little more relaxed as you spoke. You could feel a change in demeanor when he addressed you, feeling a sense of appreciation for who he was, rather than being awoken so rudely. 

“Well.. My name is George, but do call me Sir Rheticus, I am a mathematician and astronomer. My true surname was Von Lauchen, but my father was brutally executed and my remaining family was exiled. I had chosen Rheticus from the Roman province of Rhaetia.” Rheticus spoke, his words flowing out as if scripted to recite if someone asked who he was.

Your pencil scribbled viciously at his answer, hoping to catch what you could as he spoke. Fred's body standing still next to yours, looking between your notebook and the painting occasionally, fighting off a fit of laughter as you wrote. 

After Rheticus finished, he sat with his hands folded in his lap, waiting patiently for you to cease writing. You looked up after a minute, visibly satisfied with his answer.

”Thank you. Ahem Sir Rheticus. We shall see you around.” You flipped the notebook closed, bowing slighlty at the painting awkwardly and tugging Fred along the hallway, the whole interaction very strange. 

“Are we doing that every time or - “ he asked, your hand still around his wrist as you pulled him further away from the painting. You waited till you felt comfortable that you weren’t in earshot anymore. 

“Dear god, no.” You sighed, opening your book again. “Okay… Nice?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. Fred nodded, watching you write in the notebook. He found your actions cute. This whole idea of writing down the paintings was silly but he had to admit that he has never seen anyone do it before, and you seemed like an original character yourself.

Turning down to the right you looked around, many paintings at your disposal. 

“Okay you pick the next one.” You gestured vaguely, the numerous paintings surrounding you both.  He gestured his head towards a woman down on the right near the end of the hallway. Luckily for you both, she was already away, her hands twiddling with some yarn in front of her. Fred grabbed your wrist, pulling you quickly towards the painting, his fingertips holding your skin sending hot fire through your body. 

Arriving at the portrait, Freds fingers lingered on your skin, his body noticeably closer to yours as you stood. You pulled your notebook out, moving your hands from your sides, grazing his body as you moved. 

“Ahem excuse me.” You spoke quietly, the woman’s hair cascading in front of her face. IT was red and curly, it falling past her elbows and moving as she worked. She looked up from her hands, her pale skin much more noticeable now next to her warm hair. 

“Mmm?” She hummed, her attention only on you, not looking at Fred. She didn’t seem bothered by your interruption, but her gaze felt to push you to your point of distracting her. 

“I was just doing a study on the paintings and wanted to know a little about yourself.” You motioned towards your notebook — “if you had the time i mean,” You added, your voice faltering the more you spoke. 

“Well darling, I'm the Goddess of Fertility.” She spoke plainly, her head tilting lightly. “But i can see you two are doing just fine. I can tell.” She smiled, her eyes now bouncing between you and Fred. Both of your cheeks flamed red 

“oh no i-“

”We aren’t”

“I mean we have not-”

”Not that I wouldn’t-  

“But we wouldn't-“ 

Both of you stumbling over your words, the thought of the painting hinting at your fertility was one thing, but together was another. You both fought over your words, looking at each other every once in a while but feeling immense amounts of embarrassment when your eyes met. 

“I can see things the mortal eye cannot! Do you take me as a liar?” She boasted, your calamity to her prophecy seemed to have stuck a nerve, her hands now ceasing to move in her lap, her body forthright at ridged. 

“No ma’am, we just-“ You started.

”We're not together-“ Fred finished.

”Perhaps not at this moment.” She spoke matter of factly, her hair shaking with her head as she looked at you both. The silence that filled the hallway after that sent chills down your spine. 

“Thank you for your time.” Fred said abruptly, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the doors and walking through them quickly. Your face was red as beets from the conversation, too preoccupied at the interaction to feel the sensation of his hand enveloping yours. 

You both were hit with a freezing cold breeze as you walked outside, the feeling immediately alleviating the warmth on your skin. You took one look at Fred, both bursting out in laughter. 

“That was mad!” He chuffed, his hands on his knees, heaving in the air.

”Fertility?” You shouted, “I’m practically still a child!” 

“These paintings.” He shook his head, his body now upright, his shoulders relaxed. He laughed still lightly at you, not able to beat the thought of her implications. Was she out of her mind? Was there really something here to be built? His mind wracked as he watched you overcome your laughter, standing back up. The wind pushed your hair back, your ears and nose now visibly red from the cold breeze. 

“Alright lets go back in, you're shivering.” He motioned towards the door, his hand on the small of your back urging you forward. You nodded and sniffled as you got inside, the snow following you both as the door shut. 

“So.” He cleared his throat.

”So.” You smiled, looking up at him again. 

“Do we dare try another portrait?” He asked, his eyebrows raised, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Only if you're feeling batty .” 

[ar-ghilas-vir-banal]

I’m so far down this spiral oh my God.

You’re Solas. You’ve had an existence of tragedy and pain and just… awful. So much awful. You’ve been hurt and you’ve hurt. You’ve ended the world. You had to. You never wanted this. You never wanted a body or to leave the Fade or to exist in this way. You wanted to be Wisdom.

Your friend branded you as a slave. She said you aren’t but… Why would she do such a thing? You try not to think about it.

Your friend convinced you to extinguish the magic and spark of an entire race. And you do it. And you’re sick. You’re sick and you can’t get well. But… it was what your friend wanted. And you loved her and… isn’t this how you love people?

She dies. You warned her, you begged her and she still… and they killed her. Her own family killed her. You’re rage. Rage and grief and you have to do something. Vengeance. Her blood calls out for it. And yours does too. The lyrium in your very bones sings for it.

And then it’s all… dead. Gone. Imprisoned. You’re nearly dead yourself. And so you sleep. For so very long, you sleep.

But now you’re walking the in the millennium aftermath of it all. You know you’re becoming something rotten not too long into this fight. Felassan fails. You don’t care about why. You don’t listen to him. Your rage rises up and you strike him.

And you’re truly alone now.

Perhaps you should’ve always been.

So you bear down and while you lack much of your former power… you find you aren’t above acquiring a tool for the job.

This admittedly horrible plan messes all the way up trying to fix what you’ve done and an innocent Dalish woman gets caught in the crossfire, one of the people who whom you’re hoping to return themselves, and now she’s got a piece of the Veil stuck in her hand.

Great. Well. Time to try to fix this enormous mess and refuse to admit that if you go through with your ultimate goal, the whole world’s going to look like this.

And then you start to fall for this woman. Not only is she a firebrand of simple goodness and kindness, she’s quite kind to you. She reaches out to you for wisdom and advice and talks with you, not at you. When you reach back to her, she meets you in the middle and tries her very best to understand. And then she protects you with the flimsy, unstable shield that your own mistake s have branded her with. She protects you in this world that hates elves and mages and apostate elven mages even more.

Your friend is bound and corrupted and she runs off to the Exalted Plains to help them. She weeps at your side as you grieve. She gives you space and then when you come back, she welcomes you with gladness. She tells you if ever you must grieve again, she’d like to be there.

She kisses you.

And you clutch her into your arms, and then again, because you suddenly realize your entire being has been yearning to touch and be touched by her for so long. You’ve never experienced anything like this. It’s intoxicating and agony and fire and the very air you need to breathe.

You are tempted to run but… you’d be without her. And you ask her to just sit and talk and she obliges, happily. She enjoys you. This mortal creature who you’ve branded with doom; she enjoys you.

You then start to wonder: has she always been this way? Maybe the Mark’s done something to her? Maybe it’s done something to me too; maybe it’s why I can’t stay away from her. So you ask and she just “mm. No, I’m me.” And you’re so incandescent about this that you shock yourself.

You tell her you’ve not forgotten the kiss. And she smiles like the dawn rising over the mountains. And you try to leave. “It would be kinder in the long run.” But she bids you stay…

You can’t fit her inside your body. But you try. You keep your hands from clawing their way into her clothes and skin but your arms lock around her like they were made to do that, and only that. You want to protect her too. You want to leave it all. You want to be Solas and her to be a simple Dalish woman and to live in the quiet woods with her and dance under the stars.

You get to. At Halamshiral, you draw her into your arms and dance until you forget you have feet and until the music is long abandoned to the sounds of night.

She does something so incredibly stupid at the Well. You want to claw your face off because she’s agreeing to what you did. She’s signing away her freedom… but then she tells you “I’ll use this to help this world as best I can”. And you feel… so seen by a person who can’t possibly see…

You will tell her. You’ll tell her everything. But when you stand in Crestwood, in the ruins of everything you did to get here… you can’t. You panic and you lie in that true way you have so it isn’t a lie but it isn’t what you meant to say. She lets you remove her culture, erase herself from who the people have become. She’s like you now. And oh whatever gods there be, she’s so beautiful that you feel like you could stare into her eyes for eternity… but… what have you done?

You’ve taken from her something she didn’t truly want to give up. You’ve made her change because you wanted her to. You’ve enforced your will on someone you told, you loved them. You’re Solas… you’re not Mythal.

You will not do this to her.

So you do then what you can only conclude is right by her. You break her heart and you break your own and there is somehow a worse pain than anything you’ve suffered before. She’s right there. All you need do it extend a hand, whisper one word. And the awful part, you’re so in love with her. You can’t help but watch her steps and listen for her voice and…

You need to leave.

You do. And you get to work. Two years crawl by. And you have your ear out for her still. It’s all part of the plan you tell yourself but you just want to keep a tether there in some form and you know you do.

Seeing her again is like falling on a spear. Shes dying. You knew she would. You knew she’d come too, curious and determined as ever. But you didn’t expect to hear her scream in pain and collapse in front of you. You go to your knees with her. You… you have to kiss her. Just one more. And you save her… you take her arm.

She tells you your love will endure and you could howl in anguish. She still loves you?! After all this? After what you’ve done? You watch the Fade bleed from her body. You ache to gather her up and take her with you. She even asked to go with you. But you know what the Evanuris were in their determined goals… what you’ll be by the time you’re done. Let her remember you as Solas… the apostate mage with stories and paint under his nails, who loved her helplessly.

You will not allow her to become another Felassan.

Eight years pass and while you’re at work, deeply committed, restless in your plans… she isn’t gone from you. Your sleep betrays you and you find yourself watching her. You watch her call out and search for you. You watch yourself, a dream, meet her and touch her and your mind burns with the hunger for just the brush of her hand. You listen to her weep over choices she made that haunt her, and you’re unable to comfort her. You can feel her terror as nightmares assail her, and if you weren’t a wolf in this form, you’d scream. You feel mad when you wake, tortured and raw and you’d run to her… but then you redouble your abstinence. Like opening a vein, you let the urge to drop everything and go find your Dalish heart and put her in your ribs where she belongs and never let her out. The truest horror of it all is she knows you’re there in all this. She can see you. She can see you refusing her, over and over and over. Ignoring her nightmares of being Blighted, ripped apart by Terrors and Shades, staring while she mourns the fallen who she sent to their deaths.

You’re a monster.

But then it’s all going to happen. Finally. And you don’t even feel energized by it. You simply think of her. You write almost automatically, as if your hand has a mind of its own. You tell her everything you wanted to scream in her dreams. Everything you wanted to in Crestwood.

Varric dies. No. No. You kill Varric.

You use Rook’s blood to make them see him. They loved him. He loved them. It’s… so cruel.

You’re a monster.

You repeat that to yourself on the steps in Minrathous. You’re barely able to keep your feet, your ribs feel pulped from the dragon’s teeth. Your skin feels hot and wet under your armor. You’re bleeding, so much so that you can taste it in your breath. The Blight burns on your lips. Your eye is blurred over with blood salt and tears.

And out of the night a voice speaks up to you that steals every single ounce of focus from your exhausted mind. You stare at her. She’s coming closer. “I forgive you!” she cries, her face pleading that you listen. She’s unarmed. She knows you killed Varric and she knows you could kill her. She knows you might. You can see it in the way she moves, the way her hands open at her sides as she moves closer.

Felassan’s face swims in your mind.

Please don’t you want to sob. Don’t make me hurt you. I’m a monster; I told you I didn’t want you to see me like this. So you try to explain again. To find some purchase on your own logic as to why this is still something you should do. Something she should allow. You look away, and you almost sigh in relief. She’s too bright; your eyes aren’t worthy of the sight of her anyway. You’ve hurt that woman so many times. And she’s still speaking of forgiveness?! FOR YOU?!

Morrigan?

Mythal.

You almost fall to your knees in front of her spirit. You can’t tell what the feeling is. Despair? Fear? Worship? Maybe all of them. But she tells you your sins are hers too. She took you from your home, twisted you… broke you. And you feel something slide off of you that somehow doesn’t make you stand straighter. You’re sick again. You’re collapsing. You’re a ruined wall, the last piece of a derelict castle on a crumbling mountain, and you’re giving way.

“Banal nadas. Ar lath ma, Vhenan.”

Mythal said that she broke you. Your being admits it. You weep, bowed, humbled… but free. You didn’t know you were shackled. But now that the chains are off, you feel it now. The chafed wounds where they’ve been locked for centuries. The sudden lack of weight that leaves you trembling and weak in its absence. You don’t remember them not being there.

But you do remember when you were able to ignore them. You remember how the Dalish woman refused to allow bigotry and hatred stop her from saving the world. You remember how she ran herself ragged for people who didn’t even care if she lived. You remember how she called them innocent.

You decide, or you are finally able to decide, that you want and perhaps have always wanted, to be like her.

So you shed your blood, not that you aren’t bleeding enough already, to ensure you’re bound to the Veil. Your life is its life.

“I will go and seek atonement.” You look into her eyes, as long as you can stand it. You hope she’ll be proud of you for finally being the hero she believed you could be. She looks back… so very beautiful. But no. No you’re not allowed to even think about that marvelous, bright creature like that.

“But you do not have to go alone.”

The touch of her hands makes you want to collapse. One of metal and wood, one of flesh and bone. She gives them both to you. Dumbly, you look at them. You’re touching her. This divine, unearthly thing is smiling at you, speaking to you. Holding your bloody, murderous, betrayer’s hands in hers. Your’s tremble and bleed. Her’s do not.

But what did she say? You don’t have to- No. No, Vhenan. Into that place? Into that prison? To war with madness and agony for eternity? No. You can’t…

“Ar ghilas vir banal.” You feel your heart crack and shatter as you say it. You’ll have to walk away from her again. You’ll have to leave her again. You’ll have to be alone, sundered from even her dreams… it’s what you deserve. And she deserves to be free of you. Finally.

But she just… keeps smiling. Her grip on your hands tightens. With a little shake of her head and a fondness on her face that you can’t begin to even fathom, she sings to you.

“Tel banal ar ama. Vir shiral la ma sa. Bellanaris.”

She comes nearer. Nearer. You wonder what she’s doing and then you realize like a slap to the face that you’re being offered a kiss.

A kiss.

You don’t think. You don’t even try. Your body screams as you bend spine and ribs and shoulder down to her. You’re filthy and bloody. She’s pristine. Gorgeous. She’s everything you aren’t.

She pauses. It’s a breath’s pause, eyes searching yours. And somehow, you know what the question in her’s means. “Do you want this?”

It’s almost hilarious.

You don’t hesitate. For the first time, you don’t. You close your eyes and let the moment wash over you. Perhaps she’ll change her mind in a little while. But for this one slice of time… you’re going to let this one thing be entirely good.

Her lips are everything your longing has has been good enough to remind you. Soft. Gentle. But also this is… so unlike anything you’ve experienced, even with her. It’s not like even the first kiss in the Fade. It’s so terribly tender that your throat tightens and your eyes burn. She’s so very gentle with you.

So you’re gentle back. You turn the Blight on your lips as far from hers as you can. You don’t yank her against you and bury yourself in her as you’d like to. You rub your thumbs over her knuckles. You caress her cheek with your nose. And when she withdraws with an even more angelic smile on her face than before…

You have to smile too. It’s as if her lips have infected your own.

Rook and Morrigan smile at the two of you. You can almost feel it, like the glow of flame. Warmth. You’ve been so cold for so long. You thank Rook. They smile at you, eyes tender. And your heart smiles at them too as you step toward the Veil. Knowing. Grateful.

Standing alone for a moment feels like standing on the edge of a cliff. You almost lurch forward, considering the decision to leave her. To make her stay. But… no. You lack the strength to rip yourself away from her again. It would be cruel to reject her promise but… if it spared her…

Her hand weighs down on your shoulder. I’m here. Let’s go. Vhenan. You can feel the words, as if touch is enough for her to speak to you. Perhaps after sharing dreams for so long, it’s true. You dare not look at her. You might shove her away.

And then you’re passing into the Fade. And you’re not alone. And you feel her hope burst into a flame of unrepentant, inextinguishable joy. Joy because of you. Joy because you never have to be parted again. Joy that you finally, finally chose her after having chosen you so many times.

You could weep and you do, with how you know you’ve made her feel. But when your feet are upon solid ground again and she is surging toward you with a quiet cry of Vhenan… you catch her. You crush her to you and she laughs, sounding like the younger woman you abandoned, and she kisses you and you kiss her because you can’t bear to do anything else. And there’s no pulling away. Even as your knees give out and your body begins to betray the amount of damage you’ve suffered, you hold each other. Her tears mix with your own and your blood and she’s all you know and all you care about. She’s real and she’s here and she is with you.

Your mind stumbles over a cluster of words that reorganize into something coherent and you almost feel disgusted at them. But then… it’s true. You know it is. If it meant her, if it meant being cradled to her even in a prison made of regret and failure and pain… safe and loved and whole, in a terrible place unmade simply because of the person hiding you in the hollow of her body… It was all worth it.

[cjlouwho]

I Like the Taste of Vanilla

NOW COMPLETE! Start from the beginning on ao3, read today's post here or there.

Day 5: This Seems Dramatic

When Tommy stepped out of the bathroom and into the king suite he and Buck were staying at in Vegas, he did not expect to see Buck standing in front of the window with nothing but a pair of boxer briefs on.

“Now that's a view,” Tommy said with a smirk as he walked over to Buck.

Buck turned to him with a smile. “I was starting to get changed for dinner,” he said, his hands going to Tommy's shirt to play with the buttons, “then I had a different idea.”

Tommy's eyebrows perked up. “Mm. What's that?”

“Well, I was looking at the view of the strip and I- I, well, I wondered if you'd, um, you'd-”

“Evan?” Tommy could sense his nerves. “Questions are good, remember?”

Playfully, Buck rolled his eyes. “I was wondering if you'd like to fuck me... in front of the window.”

Tommy's eyes darkened at the thought. He pulled Buck in for a kiss. “I'd love that.”

It didn't take long for his clothes to be tossed across the room. Soon enough they were both standing in front of the giant window, looking over the city as Tommy worked three fingers in and out of Buck's hole.

“Did you have me fly us all the way to Vegas to fuck you in front of a window?” Tommy asked, kissing along Buck's neck. “Because no offense, but this seems dramatic.”

Buck laughed breathlessly. “That was, oh shit, actually not the plan at all,” he replied. “But, uh, i- it's a pretty good idea isn't it?”

Tommy slid his free arm around Buck's waist, wrapping his hand around Buck's cock and stroking him with a firm grip. “A great idea, Baby.”

Soon enough, Tommy was lining himself up with Buck, and slowly beginning to push inside. As Buck moaned, body pressed against the glass, Tommy noticed a woman on the street. So far down she didn't look much larger than a Barbie doll. She had a phone in her hand, pointing up toward the hotel.

Tommy froze.

“Wh- What's the matter?” Buck asked.

“What? Oh, nothing.” Tommy sunk in a little further, but he couldn't take his eyes off the woman, who was still there and still had her phone pointing at the hotel. Tommy stopped again.

“Tommy?” Buck pushed away from the wall slightly, enough to turn and look at Tommy. “Something's wrong.”

Tommy sighed. “I just... What if someone videos us and posts it online, and then someone we know sees it or it goes viral or something?”

He was surprised when, instead of looking confused, Buck just smiled back at him. “Actually, when I went downstairs to talk to the concierge earlier we got to talking about the building and he informed me that they had so many problems with people fucking against the windows that they tinted them all. It's actually impossible for anyone to see in.”

Tommy paused for a moment before resting his head against Buck's shoulder with a laugh. “Oh God. That's when you got the idea, isn't it?”

“Yup.”

“So no one can see us?”

“No one can see us.”

Tommy took a steadying breath, then straightened back up and took hold of Buck's hips. “Back to fucking, then?”

Buck nodded, sticking out his ass for effect. “Back to fucking.”

They started slow, but soon enough Tommy was pounding into Buck as Buck's body pressed hard against the glass.

Usually by this point, Buck was a whimpering, sobbing mess. But for some reason, he just got quieter and quieter the faster Tommy went.

So Tommy stopped. “What's wrong?” he asked, breathing heavily against Buck's neck.

“Nothing.”

“You sound like me now.” Tommy ran a hand through Buck's curls. “What's wrong?”

“Well, I- I know the window is double paned...”

“But?”

“But I just keep thinking wh- what if you fuck me so hard that the glass shatters and I fall out the window. I'd literally be fucked to death.”

Most people would laugh at the thought. But Tommy's been a firefighter for so long that there's quite literally no scenario he hasn't seen. Bringing a hand to Buck's stomach, he stepped them both away from the window. “I don't want to fuck you to death.”

“I don't want to be fucked to death.”

Tommy thought for a moment. “How about I grab the extra blankets from the closet, get some pillows? We can lay on the floor in front of the window and fuck like that?”

Slowly, Buck maneuvered himself so Tommy slipped out of him. He turned around. “Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“How about we have regular, missionary style sex in the king size bed that we're paying for?”

Regardless of the fact he was just deep inside his boyfriend, Tommy was positive he'd never been so turned on in his life. “Are you sure? That's what we do at home most of the time.”

Buck smiled. “If I remember correctly, we do it most of the time because it has us both coming so hard we nearly black out.” He moved closer to Tommy, wrapping his arms around his waist and whispering in his ear. “I'll even flip us over at the end and ride you until my thighs burn.”

Tommy was wrong before. This was the most turned on he'd ever been in his life. With a groan, he pressed a kiss against Buck's lips and began to lead him backwards toward the bed. “I'll rub Bengay on your thighs after so they don't bother you tonight,” Tommy said, giving Buck a gentle push onto the bed.

Buck moaned, his cock hard and spurting precum just below his navel. “Fuck, Tommy, that's so hot.”

Tommy climbed onto the bed over Buck, gently lowering his weight over the man. “And after that,” Tommy continued, kissing his way down Buck's body, “I'll order us room service, whatever you want, and we'll eat it in bed.”

“I- In the robes the- the hotel provided?” Buck asked, body shivering with arousal.

“Mhm. And we'll watch that documentary you've been talking to me about for weeks.”

“Shit,” Buck whined, planting his feet on the bed so he could spread his legs wider, “You've gotta fuck me now, Tommy. I'm already close.”

Nearly halfway to his own orgasm already, Tommy wasted no time lining up and pushing in to Buck. He fucked into him slowly, carefully, as he watched Buck's mouth drop open and listened to the little, uh, uh, uh's, that escaped with each thrust.

Tommy nudged his nose against Buck's cheek to get his attention. “Evan?”

“Mm.” Buck opened his eyes, hands moving down to Tommy's ass for a squeeze. “Yeah?”

“I love us.”

Buck brought a hand to Tommy's neck, pulling him down for a sloppy kiss filled with teeth, and tongue, and all the emotion his heart could hold. “I love us, too.”

[tonitheloftwing]

My logic:

#1: have a low social battery I would be burned out so fast from Aran. Not his fault but I would be exhausted

#2: Hippo is a good guy and friendly!!!! But plane seats are small and we’re both rlly big people. So I would be awkwardly squished against him, which would be perfect if I was @ohshy, but I am not, so I would just feel bad

#3: I don’t think he’d speak to me at all which. That’s great. Talking to new people is stressful

#4: best seat for socializing! Disco and Bear are such happy people, plus I think they’d understand social burnout pretty well. So I could chat them up for a while and then just scroll tumblr with no guilt after

#5: These two are my fav characters in the whole series but presuming they are REAL? God that would be awkward. I project so much onto Little Mac. I’ve written smut with Doc. If all the headcanons I’ve created for them don’t apply it would be even MORE awkward and I’d feel like a parasocial fan. I love these two but I would not sit here in a million years bc I would seem crazy to them

#6: These two would either be chatting politely for the whole flight or bickering about Joe’s love life so. No thanks

#7: similar to #5, I really like these two as characters and also ship them very hard. I also project onto Tiger a lot. So sitting there would be AWKWARD

#8: Sandman would be fine to sit next to but i don’t know if Macho & I sitting together would be good. I think I’d feel bad for not buying whatever he’s trying to sell to me

So my top seats would be next to the ref or next to Disco & Hugger depending on if I’m exhausted or not. My least preferred seats would be next to Mac & Doc or Macho & Sandman because I’d either feel hella awkward or end up buying shit I don’t need

where are yall sitting ⁉️

[coralaura]

Primadonna

Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Model! GN Reader

“All I ever wanted was the world”

Your mother always feared what you could become when you were in her womb, you had so much bad blood running through your veins, she wished from the depths of her being that you were like your father, Bruce Wayne.

A wish that no matter how much she longed for was not fully fulfilled, you obtained the features of a Wayne, so cold and defined that if people had at least two neurons they could connect the dots and know that you were a bastard of the philanthropist.

You may have looked like him but your personality was more that of your beloved mother, the woman who gave birth to you and despite noticing the same darkness of her in you, she wanted to love that little piece of light that she cultivated in her womb.

It was easy to know that her departure left you devastated, you were just a child from the slums, your mother was a high-risk victim, easy to kill and that no one cared about, found in an alley, dead, her last expression was fear and despair.

Heartless people took it from you, but you were as smart as your mother, you were the result of the union of a millionaire and a woman who provided certain services…

And your mom, I knew that your beauty and the personality that you cultivated during the last 7 years of your life would save you, because you are like a rose, a beauty on the outside but only thorns on the inside.

Your father was never interested in seeing you, he always had time for everything but you, mom told you to never beg for attention because it will make you look weak and needy and you learned that lesson well, the first time he ignored you was the first and the last because there would be no more rejections if you never tried again, if now you reject him first, right?

The same was with the others except for Alfred who believed in your sweet look full of innocence, your resemblance to Bruce, Thomas and even a brief hint of Martha Wayne.

He fell into the rose but didn't see its thorns, he took care of the flower so close without being hurt by its edge, because he was the only one you could trust, he won your trust and the title of father in your eyes.

As the years went by the beauty in your face was not hard to notice, people noticed it and one day they offered you to be a model, twenty dollars an hour they told you and it was easy for you, you didn't want to ask any Wayne for anything, you didn't want to owe them anything, so money was necessary for it and to no one's surprise, a pretty face triumphs in this business, you just had to smile and pose.

Show a little body and smile again, that was what mom did, only this time this job was acceptable and not physical, one felt just as desecrated, because people began to draw a detailed map of your body, analyzing in detail and calling you the closest thing to the chiseled body of a God.

The only thing that was yours was what kept the “decency” still on the plate, the only thing that had not been desecrated but had always been longed for, by men and women alike and it was so suffocating, it seemed to consume your will to continue.

And soon you knew that you were more than an object to be seen and never to be touched, because a simple touch melted anyone, enchanted by your beauty, that became your weapon, you took advantage of the gift of genetics and used it to manipulate.

People never realized why someone pretty can not be evil, right?

You used tricks, you ruined your rivals with words, with actions and you made them look bad, because after all you were too pretty to be that evil. It's all someone else's fault, but yours, isn't it my sweet diva?

What a mistake it is to think that a beautiful rose can't be rotten inside, because after all your mother's blood flows through your veins and if she is a poison of society then you are already rotten from the moment you were conceived.

All you wanted was to be adored, the world was yours to play with, your ego a great double-edged sword and people's adoration was surpassing your expectations, any psychologist would say that you only want people's attention because your family never gave it to you, however he wouldn't know that that was nonsense, what was the use of their attention if you had the world wrapped in a ring that revolved around you?

Where you were the protagonist of this story and you get everything the world had to offer. You get everything for being Y/N even though you don't really deserve it.

Although that attention that you wanted so much also includes a family full of people obsessed with the idea of you coming home but that is a story that is just being written.

“The primadonna life, the rise and fall”

My first language is not English, so much of it was done with the help of translators (google translate) So if you see something that could be improved I appreciate it, comments, ideas, criticism and advice are appreciated.

[gardenwalrus]

David Ash, ‘Our Kind of Girl - By The Beatles’, Daily Express (21 Nov. 1963)

After the show, after the applause, what kind of girl do the Beatles think about in the loneliness of hotel rooms locked against the fans? [...] So I went and asked them: What is your kind of girl? [...] Paul McCartney, 21, told me: “It would be great to have the sort of girl who would darn my socks and cook apple pies and things.” Now that may sound like Platitude 1 (a) from the pop-star's handbook of ready-made quotes. But this McCartney I think says what he means. He continued: “She'd be attractive, but not the big show-biz personality type of girl, or one who's affected, or a dizzy dumb blonde. “She'd be intelligent - but not fantastically brainy, because I'm not - and interested in all kinds of music. Including mine.  “And she'd have to have the right sense of humour. Because we do have what someone called a sense of self-irony. And we laugh at all sorts of off-beat things.”

And physically…?  “I like girls to have long hair (it rhymes with 'her'), interesting eyes, and rather high cheekbones. But not turned-up noses. I have one myself, and it's put me right off them.  “I don't like Elizabeth Taylor-type looks. And I don't like exaggerated hour-glass figures. The figure doesn't matter all that much.  “I like girls in with-it clothes. But some girls look fantastic in just a dirty old sack. Indian girls look great in saris.”

John Lennon was looking around for a scotch. And his face, in serious moments like this, has the fear-neither-God-nor-man quality of a Renaissance painter's aristocrat. At 23, he seems the group's elder statesman. For he is married, with one baby. He talked. Huskily, cryptically. “My kind of girl is, of course, Cynthia. My wife. “I like her looks (she's fair-haired), her cooking; everything about her. I'm an extrovert, and she's the opposite.  “We are both indoor types - that's why I don't mind this life, being locked away behind doors. We live at our mum's or our auntie's or hotels. But wherever I'm with her is home. “People have said that every time she comes down to London to see me she is just trying to patch up our marriage. They say, 'You know what they're like in show business.'  “But that's not true of us. I don't happen to be showbusiness. I married before I was in it. And I haven't changed my mind since."  He added: “Of course, I notice other girls.”

George Harrison - at 20 he's the youngest and (some say) the handsomest - thought he preferred blondes. Smallish ones. Then he decided: "I don't go looking for any special sort of girl. She could be any age from 17 to 40. “I wouldn't like one who was soft (unintelligent). Or one who was terribly intellectual - I wouldn't know what she was on about half the time.  “I wouldn't mind if she were arty, hated pop and loved classical music  “Oh, yes, and I don't like girls with too much make-up.”

Ringo Starr’s sad eyes gazed thoughtful down at his drumstick-balancing fingers and the four rings on them - none of them with any marital significance.  “My girl would be just an ordinary sort of girl, but with just that something different for me,” he said.  “I wouldn’t care if she couldn’t cook very well. She could learn. But I don’t like sitting at home, so I’d want a sociable girl who’d come out every time I wanted to go out.”

Not one Beatle mentioned old-fashioned considerations like social status and family connections.  In their kinds of girl they all looked for a sense of humour, interest in their work, reasonable dress sense, and a complete lack of pretentiousness. 

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Ok hear me out…Drunk Karaoke, with any girls *ahem M16 ahem*, where their s/o gets a little too tipsy and starts singing to them when s/o’s favourite song comes on

I’m sorry I’ve been playing payday2 so much and have unironically been singing this banger while doing chores -

I will give you my all, pretty baby, I'll come whenever you call for me, baby, yeah

I will give you the best of me

The best of me, The best of me

(H:SR) Fugue and Serval's S/O getting drunk and singing Karaoke

Alternative Titles: Like a Butterfly/TONIGHT

You know, I was actually listening to a song that made me think of Fugue, and this gives me the perfect excuse. Girl deserves to laugh anyway with what she's been through. Fugue gets the all star treatment with a short fic since this particular brainworm has taken hold of me for the last few days for her specifically. Meanwhile, I'll be twisting the ask a little and having Serval be the lead singer, but you'll see the reason for that. Content: Yakuza Karaoke Jumpscares, Funny for Fugue, Feels for Serval Word Count for Fugue's Part: 1.4k

Fugue and S/O took a while to reconnect, considering all that had happened. It was not a smooth transition, and to imply otherwise would be a bold-faced lie.

But through some perseverance from both parties, things had gotten to some sense of normalcy again. Quiet moments of getting to drink tea with S/O, watching the people stroll by got her to remember in flashes of what she loves.

And more importantly, who she loves as well. Though, tonight was a bit different. Instead of tea, S/O opted to drink something a bit more alcholic.

And for some odd reason, alarms began ringing in Fugue's head, but she couldn't quite place why. Instead of intervening, she decided to let S/O drink and find out for herself why this premonition came to her.

Only to realize that even in her current state, her past self was warning her: For the love of god, do NOT LET S/O DRINK.

A warning that came too late, she feared.

(S/O) HIC! "Ah! Now THAT hits the spot!"

Fugue ears slightly recoiled at their volume, a foreboding sense of deja vu washing over her.

(Fugue) "I-I see...How often did we go drinking together, out of curiousity?"

S/O turned to face their lover, slightly off balance and red in the face as they frowned, struggling to remember.

(S/O) "Hmmmmm....Iunno. We just drank some tea and stuff. You never let me drink, usually."

(Fugue) I think I'm beginning to remember why.

Fugue was only lost in her thoughts for a moment longer before S/O smiled at her, causing to become slightly flustered under their attention.

(Fugue) "S/O?"

(S/O) "You're so beautiful..."

The way they had said it sounded like it took every fiber of their being to say it correctly, a fact that made Fugue giggle, her own affection barely being contained by her smile.

(Fugue) "Always the charmer, I see.~"

Fugue finishes the rest of her tea before moving over to help S/O up, effortlessly dragging them to stand as one arm was looped around her neck.

...Strange. She can't help but feel like this used to be harder to do. Oh well, this is probably the one of the few things she can't complain that's different now.

Before she can even take a single step, she immediately gets startled by S/O who suddenly stands upright on their own.

(S/O) "I WANT TO SING WITH YOU!"

(Fugue) "...W-Wha-?"

They grab her shoulders gently, yet firm enough that causes her to freeze in place as her tail and ears shoot up in surprise.

(S/O) hic! "We should sing the night away with some music!"

(Fugue) "Karaoke? Well, I suppose there are a few bars here that host-"

(S/O) "GREAT, LET'S GO!"

(Fugue) "W-WAH?!"

Getting dragged along to one of the nearby bars in the Loufou, S/O rented a room to themselves, with S/O excitedly sitting down and taking a peek through the song list.

Fugue meanwhile felt like she was suddenly in over her head. She knew that she had a nice voice, but enough to sing?

Regardless of what kind of singing voice she possessed, S/O was not going to let her dwell on it.

(S/O) "Okay, you can take the lead and I'll be your backup vocals!"

(Fugue) "You want me to be the lead singer? I think you should-"

(S/O) "NAH!"

S/O flopped their head onto her lap, making her jump slightly.

(S/O) "I'm...a little gone right now...Besides, this song I wanna hear your voice, it's my favorite!"

Fugue took the song list from S/O and examined the title.

(Fugue) "Like a Butterfly?"

She tried scrounging whatever scrap of memory was in her head, and nothing came up, though the name didn't exactly stir anything either. As if sensing her thoughts, S/O grabbed the list back and put it on the Karaoke Machine.

(S/O) "I...didn't really tell you about this song. It's a bit of a guilty pleasure, to be honest!"

That at least made her feel a little better, fearing that she was forgetting yet another important memory, and instead just something-

...Wait, why was S/O embarrassed to show this to her?

(S/O) "I always sing the rap parts by myself, but now I have you to sing the lady's part!"

Drunk rapping? Oh boy.

(Fugue) "Well...I'll give it my best shot...!"

(S/O) "Great, we have all night!"

Well, at least this night would be something to remember, for better or worse.

[Song: Like a Butterfly]

Fugue swayed from side to side as the beat of the song kicked in, meanwhile S/O was bobbing their head violently, grabbing their microphone and shouting with their entire heart as their part came first.

(S/O) "BE REBORN! CLIMB OUT OF HELL, BORN AGAIN! LET'S FLY HIGH LIKE A BUTTERFLY!"

Fugue smiled and grabbed her own microphone, singing timidly in comparison to S/O's manic energy.

(Fugue) "It's drowning in its greed, the wicked trap was sprung, Tangled in the threads of its deeds!"

From the lyrics alone, Fugue could tell that she would like this song as well.

(S/O) "TANGLED IN ITS CRIMES!"

Fugue tapped her foot as the song got faster, being infected by S/O's energy, her eyes on them the entire time as both of them smiled, her voice growing louder as she sang her next part.

(Fugue) "Like fate scoops up a fish, struggling in a net Its brittle wings are torn by the tears as it trembles in cold sweat!" (S/O) "YOU TORE YOUR WINGS NOW CRY!"

S/O was clapping to the rhythm, getting Fugue more into the feel and just having fun at this point, neither of them particularly caring if they were great. While Fugue's voice was bewitching, S/O's voice came crashing like a fingernail to chalkboard.

(Fugue) "The spider comes, a thirst in its eyes-" (S/O) "A BUTTERFLY WITH NO WINGS IS A MOTH IN THE FLAME! JUST A RAT ON THE FLOOR WITH ANOTHER NAME!"

Subconsciously, Fugue could tell why S/O sang this alone as the rapping was ridiculous, but she could not deny that this was really fun to sing along to with another person, lover or otherwise.

(Fugue) "The venomous fangs sink into the soul-" (S/O) "THIS WORLD IS DEAD, NO LIGHT LEFT TO FIND! IT'S TOO LATE-"

Fugue joined S/O in standing up, both of them swaying to the beat, though S/O's was far more aggressive as they sang their parts like they were rapping on stage, something that made her almost break down laughing.

(Fugue) "Too late now, to mourn it's punctured wings, to take to the sky!" (S/O) "TAKE TO THE SKY!"

With any former hesitation gone, Fugue smiled as she just enjoyed the rest of the song with her lover enthusiastically cheering her on by remaining on backup vocals.

If only it could be, just one more time (TO THE BITTER END IN OVERDRIVE!) Engrave the beat, flap your wings 'til you feel you are complete (FLY, HIGH!) Oh you tragic butterfly Despairing, craving it, that singular last ray of light still shining down on bitter wings (BE REBORN, CLIMB OUT OF HELL BORN AGAIN! LET'S FLY HIGH LIKE A BUTTERFLY! YOU'VE DREAMED LONG OF THIS DAY, DREAM AGAIN!) So fly high again (AND FLY HIGH LIKE A BUTTERFLY!)

Like a butterfly (TO THE BITTER END OVERDRIVE,BURNING OUT IN AN ENDLESS DRIVE!) Soaring in the sky like a butterfly (TO THE BITTER END OVERDRIVE, BURNING OUT IN AN ENDLESS DRIVE- OH YEAAAAAAAAAH!)

Fugue couldn't hold back her laughter anymore, doubly so when S/O finished off the song.

(S/O) "FLY LIKE A BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY, FLY LIKE A BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY!"

Finally catching her breath, Fugue sat back down, still laughing as S/O cheered, flopping down next to her and struggling to catch theirs.

(S/O) "Like the song?"

(Fugue) "Hm, not my usual style admittedly but...I do resonate with the lyrics."

(S/O) "Hm...? Why's that?"

...Oh right, they were still drunk. As if their "singing" wasn't reminder enough. But, honestly just something as simple as singing a dumb song was enough to lighten her spirit, and though it didn't call any particular memory to mind, it was something like this that reminded why 'Tingyun' fell in love with S/O in the first place.

Though, she figured she'd better take the song's advice and start focusing on new memories, rather than any old one for now.

(Fugue) "Well, what other songs do you have for us?"

Seeing their eyes glimmer at that, S/O began rushing through the song list for another one, all the while Fugue's smile grew even bigger.

(S/O) "SERVAAAAAAL!"

Serval was nearly glomped by S/O, causing her to laugh and set her drink far away from the edge of the table.

(Serval) "Oof, hey! Think ya had enough?"

From their breath and flushed face, that answer was most definitely a-

(S/O) "Heh, nope!"

S/O rested their head on her shoulder, almost threatening to yank her off.

(S/O) "I want to sing a song with you!"

(Serval) "Hm, is that right?"

After a few hiccups and almost losing their balance, they nodded aggressively.

As funny as it would be to have their drunk ass sing some rock and roll...She had a different idea in mind.

(Serval) "I'll cut you a better deal, you get to hear a song I've been working on by myself! An exclusive sneak peek!"

S/O's eyes glowed and they stumbled onto a nearby chair.

(S/O) "Y-Yeah! I wanna hear it!"

Though Serval was smiling, there was a hint of sadness in it.

That hint being big enough for S/O to catch onto it, even when alcohol was scrambling their senses.

(S/O) "...Babe, something wrong?"

Serval laughed at the petname and shook her head, uncharacteristically becoming shy as her finger tapped the table.

(Serval) "Not really just...This song isn't my usual kinda style, ya know? Don't wanna bore you to death with it."

(S/O) "Nothing you could share to me could ever be boring! I...just might pass out from the alcohol is all."

Serval rolled her eyes.

(Serval) "Gee, that makes me feel better."

(S/O) "Just shut up and grab your guitar already!"

Serval took a deep breath and grabbed her guitar and hooked up her phone to play the other instrumental parts she had done herself, looking at S/O, and then to the ceiling and closing her eyes.

(Serval) "I've kept this one hidden for a while, thought it might be a bit too personal but...Eh, what the heck. This one goes out to...a friend now gone."

S/O's smile grew more somber at that, having an inkling of who she was talking about.

[Song: Tonight -restart from this night-]

Serval's pick began strumming along the strings of her guitar, as she began singing, her tone growing much more heartfelt.

(Serval) "Back in the day, I thought I was strong, that I was the one who could right every wrong, Years roll on by, time does what it does, so hard to hold on to the people we love."

Serval's foot was tapping in rhythm, her eyes catching a glance at S/O, their hand doing the same. Smiling softly at that, she continued her song.

(Serval) "I've lost count of the days, And though I never stop thinking of you, We have gone our separate ways-"

Serval's mind rushed back with memories, where S/O was sitting, Cocolia was there, hanging off every word she was singing with a bright smile.

And that made Serval forget entirely about her mini stage-fright, singing as if there was no audience at all and simply speaking from the heart now.

So, tonight, let's start again From this night, rewrite the way it ends You and I would laugh And sing all night like we'd always meant

Part of her wondered if the Cocolia she knew would poke fun at her, thinking this song was a bit too sappy for what Serval usually did.

Would this song have even moved the Supreme Guardian at all?

Maybe. Serval would never know.

So, tonight, you'll find me there The nights we shared in places drinks would flow And the sun never rose And life meant living the life we chose

If I could relive the moment we drifted apart I'd right every wrong for you Whatever life asks from me, I will do Just to see you smile and waste a night with you

Serval closed out the song with a final strum, letting the instrumentals finish it out.

After opening her eyes again, she saw S/O with tears welling in their eyes, rubbing them aggressively with their sleeves.

The sight got her to laugh a little, despite the fact a part of her felt like tearing up as well.

(S/O) "That...song is beautiful! Why don't you play that?!"

(Serval) "Hah...maybe someday, but like I said, I'm still working out some little tidbits here and there on it."

(S/O) "Then...Then I can sing it instead!"

That had Serval suddenly burst into laughter, nearly dropping her guitar.

(Serval) "Maybe when I can't smell the drink you had all the way from here, I'll consider it!"

Serval shook her head and sat next to S/O, wiping away the tear on their cheek with her thumb.

(Serval) "How 'bout a different song huh? I can play it for ya, and you can scream like an idiot!"

(S/O) "Hey!"

Smiling at their pout, S/O was doing a good job of lifting her spirits already. Thanks to them, and many others, she wouldn't stay in the past.

...But, she'd be lying if she said she wouldn't want her best friend back.

Maybe for S/O, and the Cocolia she knew, she'd play that song for a real audience someday.

...But not tonight.

[thenightshadowqueen]

Death for a Dollar watchthrough thoughts

Holy shit, this was unhinged. I loved it so much. (That’s too many italics, but I don’t care.) I’m kind of speechless; the number of times I actually covered my mouth in shock (usually because of Sam, but Tom was insane in this one, too) was staggering. I adore this play.

Anyway, I’m going to get into my actual thoughts instead of just rambling.

Just to start, ‘Death for a Dollar’ is a great title, so kudos to whoever came up with that

Oh my god, Hank and Gareth 2.0!!!!

“You don’t know what he did for this place.” “That—Tell me!” This is off to a strong start

“Where was your showmanship?” I love it when they work mini games of Change into the plays

Mr. Twilliger is an incredible name

“This is me being the bartender, getting the stories out of the customers, so they reveal things, and then they want to drink more because they’re reliving their trauma.” I mean, it’s a valid tactic to get more money; yay, capitalism! (sarcasm)

AJ forcing Tom to be musical… Caesar and Juliet, anyone?

I love that Luke knows off the top of his head how many keys a piano has (I’m honestly not surprised)

Is Sam’s hair a little longer than normal? Because it looks really good

“I got three keys, three teeth, three toes. I’ve been through a lot.” I love Tony the piano player (who was also referred to as Bill once)

“My mind can take an awful lot; there’s not a lot in there” I love him, actually

“You ain’t trying to seduce him!” “But I get bigger tips when I do!” Sam

Can I just thank whoever edited this for giving us that little shot of Tom laughing? Because I love it when we get to see him actually laugh.

I love Mrs. Prostitute (and I love Tom for including positive representation of sex work)

“This is what feminism looks like” West End Big Boys flashbacks

“My mum is crazy” SAM

Also I think my favourite thing about the microphones is that we can hear them laughing so much more clearly (brought to you by Luke, on this occasion)

I adore Sam’s weird little harmonica thing he does in western-genre pieces

Ooh, younger versions of characters being played by different actors; I don’t think we’ve seen that before

I love Sam being confused and Tom’s response being to start clapping

I love Sam being annoyed and retaliating at AJ with a bald joke

“I told my daddy that I was real fast with a pistol, and that maybe I could go and work in law enforcement, but he wouldn’t have it.” “No! No son is going to go work for the government!” AJ trying to paint his father as the villain and Sam trying his very best to make the audience like him… This is gorgeous

“Telling a man if he’s allowed to own people or not” okay, never mind, I take that back

I don’t know why Sam picked the Watson-clown voice, but I’m glad he did (also I love that the voice made Luke break)

“Many Fingers Pussy” Jesus Christ, Tom

“They thought I had the devil in me” god damn it, now I feel bad for Bill

Sam is so good at playing wide-eyed innocent characters

“God, I wish they had that law in America in the modern day” I wish I had enough faith in people’s judgement to wish that

“I didn’t know you could do magic” I love it when Sam causes trouble

I can never see a reference to a one-man band like that and not think of Mary Poppins

“I can’t wait to hear those four white boys do those accents” oh dear

Luke speaking Spanish!!!

You know what, that vaguely Mexican accent could have been a hell of a lot worse, so well done, Sam

“So you can work on a farm, or you can jerk people off” oh my god, Sam

“He offered me a job” and then AJ realising what it sounded like and walking it way back

Tom entering the scene and waiting for a moment to join in and then Sam just throwing him in without warning is amazing

“I work here jerking people off” Tom

“She said she helps people el secrete-o” SAM

“Hand stuff Jesus is okay with” Sam

I don’t know why the fact that Tom knows little bits of Spanish brings me so much joy, but it does

Holy shit, Luke speaking Spanish with an American accent might be my new favourite thing

I love Maria, the bank robber/prostitute

You know what, I get Bill; the little, slightly mosquitoy “yeah”s are alluring

Half-kiss!!!

“A beautiful flower turns to a crooked leaf” I fucking adore AJ’s weird little sayings

“It’s a well-known expression” and then the advert with the merch saying ‘more well-known expressions’

“Something went worse than wrong. It went really wrong.” Gorgeous.

Sam’s slip oh my god

I know I already said Sam’s hair looks good, but Sam’s hair looks really good

I already said it but I will never be over Luke’s Spanish-in-an-American-accent. Never.

“I’ll keep my hands moist for you” it seems like Tom like using the word moist (the moisturiser fairy comes to mind)

I love audience participation

I’m sorry, as someone who struggles with mental math, that quick multiplication from Luke was impressive

“Got a lot of spunk in you, have you?” I love Tom using his English degree to make dirty jokes (obviously this doesn’t require an English degree; I just mean that it’s a wordplay joke)

I love Sam making sure to bring the story full-circle, with Tony losing his teeth and toes

Jesus, Tom

“Have we invented the electric chair yet?” I looked it up, and it looks like it was invented in the 1880’s, so not quite, but it wasn’t nearly so far off as I thought it might be

“I’ma travelling electric chair salesman” … honestly, I’m not even surprised at this point

Tom is right; this is really dark

I don’t think Sam knows how electric chairs work (affectionate)

Okay who the fuck let Sam wink like that

“Well, I guess that’s the end of the Shoot from the Hip show” I love when they get meta

“What could go wrong with giving a southern American teenager a pair of guns? I’ve got school tomorrow!” Holy fucking shit; may I present Sam Russell, the king of risky jokes

“…when we faked my death…” I love Tom so much

“I think this is the first time we’ve used the principle of the unreliable narrator” I actually love this so much; this is such a cool concept, especially for an improv show

Tom is unhinged in this one and I love it

I love this so much

I already made as post saying this, but it bears repeating: this is BUS levels of insane

[majoryeager104]

Crush! Part 1 | Part 2

the x reader I mentioned at the end of this post!

I’m sorry this is so late Ik I said I’d write it same day and I DID but couldn’t finish it bc I was wracking my brain last second and my phone still has a screen time limit 💀💀💀 so then I was gonna finish and drop it last night, but then my dad went on a FOUR HOUR TANGENT ABOUT HISTORY. 😀😀😀 so once again I’m so sorry but

anywhoooo enjoy!

warnings:, pure fluff

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It was an average day of sulking around the league hideout. Shigaraki, Twice, and Dabi were the ones currently present, and you were off on a job with Toga. Dabi had watched as you left, and decided not to disappear too until you got back. Maybe he was worried, or maybe he was keeping tabs on everyone. Even Shigaraki wasn’t entirely sure.

Anyways, the lot of them were chatting, with Dabi remaining quiet most of the time, at least until you were brought up. “Y/n’s been a great help since joining us!” Twice chirped, and Shigaraki quietly agreed. This caused Dabi to scoff. “Y/n can barely work alone, let alone be useful.” And that was when Twice got to work defending you.

“hey!! Y/n is a very hard worker!- you’re just jealous aren’t you- You know, I bet y/n would have loved to work with you on this mission! She likes you- she despises you SHUT UP”

Twice continued to argue with himself, and the other two went quiet, at least until Shigaraki turned to look at Dabi with a mischievous grin. Dabi bristled, stepping back. “Yeah whatever.” He snapped, turning on his heels and quickly leaving the room.

Maybe he was overreacting, maybe he was merely confused, but unlike everything else this team had thrown at him, he hadn’t expected this. You? Liked him? He scoffed at the thought as he walked down the street. Why was this such a bother to him? Why was he blushing so much? This was stupid. So stupid. You were stupid. Stupid for liking him, stupid for telling twice of all people- at least if you’d come and admit it to him yourself, Dabi could have let you down gently, he’s not a complete monster- but now he felt like he had no options to do so, and he wasn’t sure why.

So as he was walking down the street away from the hideout, and spotted you and Toga walking happily together through the crowds, he felt like he had no other option than to turn on his heels once again and go down the alley to his left, taking a detour because how the hell was he supposed to face you knowing you had feelings? It was embarrassing, and illogical, and the very thought was like a big nuisance pent up in his brain, he couldn’t stand it.

So, he lay low for a while, walking along the streets as it got later and later in the evening. He’d received messages from the league, asking for updates on where he’d gone, hell, he got one from you. Usually he appreciated your check ins- you were always so kind to him even over text- but now, your kind words felt nothing but heavy.

But wait.

he could use this, couldn’t he?

I know I mentioned he ‘wasn’t a complete monster’ earlier, and he’s not….but he is a bit of a menace. he could leverage your feelings, use that affection to achieve a few goals of his. Maybe it was terrible, sure, but it was the only way he knew of to push away the weird feelings he got just thinking about the idea of you liking him. It was becoming nauseating.

So, he walked back to the hideout, opening the door to the usual loud chatter of the group. Now he was noticing the way your head spun around to see him first, the way your eyes lit up and you smiled. Oh god, this was gonna be harder than he thought. But he straightened his jacket, and smirked in return, because it was worth a try, right?

and so you approached him, hoping for some small talk, which is when he realized that Twice hadn’t mentioned his little slip. Of course. So, he figured the best way to go about this, was to flirt.

Over the next ten minutes, he tried it, and came to understand that this wasn’t the greatest idea either. Between him leaning in way too close, smirking like an idiot to the point he was so embarrassed he resorted to fidgeting, and him seeing your raised brow and utterly confused and unaffected expression, it was clear that he had no chance of winning. It got to a point where you’d ended the conversation and walked away with a puzzled expression while he watched, his playful smirk disappearing, as well as the good mood he’d put himself in. He stared at the floor for another five minutes (real bro) before walking to his room, inevitably giving up.

It wasn’t until later, when you two had a job together, that he realized his ‘ideas’ were just big dumb mistakes. He’d dropped the flirtations and basically pushed the thought of your feelings to the back of his mind, hoping at this point that Twice hadn’t been serious. You got the job done, and he burned the place down. The two of you watched the fire quietly, and as he glanced back at you- to check for injuries if anything, he thought- and found you’d already been looking at him. Your eyes darted away and back to the burning building, a blush creeping across your face. You looked…adorable.

His eyes widened at the thought, but instead of thinking anything of it, he just chuckled at your expression, stepping a bit closer. No flirtations, no confusion, it was just you, and Dabi.

”you know…twice told me something real interesting earlier”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

part 2 coming soon bc I wanted to drop this at a reasonable time and didn’t finish😗😗😗

[stupidnicknamehere]

This post is great and I'm glad that the man's melancholy doesn't go unnoticed. I think I can explain (partly) my thoughts on Senna's psyche (or at least try)

Luke 12:48 says: "But he who does not know it and does things worthy of a beating will be beaten with few stripes. For to whom much is given, much will be required; and to whom much is entrusted, even more will be asked."

This verse always made me think a lot. I can't help but think that for someone like Ayton Senna he interpreted it in a similar way. In the verse we are told about God's generocity and how he expects that same generocity in return. In the church, our catechist taught us that those privileged people, whether in money, talent or intelligence, had a greater responsibility, because God demanded more from them in proportion to what they had received. Now, we know that Ayrton was aware of his privileged situation, which is why he dedicated so much of his career to making his country visible in a positive way and to helping the marginalized population. And yes, we love him for that, but I can't help but think of the immense pressure that must have put him under. Admiration that turns into idolatry dehumanizes people. Understandably, and because of the education that men were given in this part of the world, I think that Ayrton dedicated himself to cultivating this image of a powerful and invincible man, who would never let the most vulnerable side of himself be seen. After all, he carried an entire people on his shoulders.

I don't think that many people (if any) understood what it was like to really be in his shoes. Maybe, for this reason he felt so alone. Maybe, just maybe, at some point he stopped racing just for himself, to win championships, trophies or more recognition, and raced for all the people who believed in him. To continue giving that Sunday hope to his country, and why not, to the rest of the people who were also not going through a good time, even if he was no longer finding motivation in that.

God had given him everything, so he had to give back in equal measure.

Or so I think, this is just an attempt to decipher this man.

I've begun to think that the person who came closest to understanding him was Alain Prost... Because many of his friends and people close to him claimed not to understand him well, Senna was a man with such high walls that he preferred isolation to showing his weaknesses, but when he began to look for Prost, he lowered them, at least a little. At least that's what I deduce from what Alain himself has said: talking about personal things, listening to his frustration, annoyances, etc.

Maybe one day I'll have the courage to analyze the Prost-Senna relationship in depth.

*whole, not home

*plenty, not little

...HE SAID IT HIMSELF.

And I knew it. We knew it. Something in him tend to be off but I couldn't tell what for so long. And I saw some people noticing that too. (Alain's quote below) How sad is that. In fact, there was no time. No 30 years more. What was stopping him from being happy back then? More wins? More titles? We all know that for these champions there is never 'enough'. So what was it? Prime example of why we can't wait for happiness and say that 'one day, if things will happen I will be happy'. I just wish he knew that too. :(

AND THIS SENTENCE IS SENDING ME TO HELL EVERYTIME I READ IT. Like Alain, elaborate what did you mean by that?? Explain how did you want to protect and help him???

[howsitduud]

SONIC THE HEDGEHOG 3 REVIEW

God, Shadow is so fucking cool.

It's honestly refreshing seeing the increase in quality with the Sonic movies. The first one I wasn't as big on as everyone else seemed to be. I thought it was a fine, generic kid's movie about a cartoony character getting sucked into the real world and trying and failing to blend in while being a nuisance to a human character, which has unfortunately become its own genre. Sonic 2, on the other hand, is exactly what I wanted the first Sonic movie to be, with much better action, writing, and story than the first one. It was nice seeing a video game movie that was so unafraid of being one and unafraid of including cheeky references to its source material and having the climax center around the Death Egg Robot and the Chaos Emeralds.

And now we come to Sonic 3, easily the best live-action Sonic movie we've gotten so far (I haven't seen the anime movie with Metal Sonic in it, for all I know, it's better than Citizen Kane). I'm not a big fan of Sonic in these movies, I just think he's too annoying, I did think his arc of not being too irrational and going at his missions alone was fine enough. What I liked about the character writing in this movie is just how Team Sonic plays off of each other. All 3 of them get plenty of great moments to just riff off of each other, and Tails and Knuckles are just as fun to watch as Sonic is. I did also feel something when Sonic and Knuckles started arguing at the end while Tails desperately tried to defuse the situation, and it ending with Knuckles saying that even though Sonic broke his trust, he still respects him as a friend is a nice way to end the scene.

But who cares about Sonic, Shadow is the guy on the cover, that's who this movie is about! I love everything to do with Shadow in this movie, he's just the coolest. From him fighting his way out of G.U.N. headquarters to his first fight with Sonic where he rides through Tokyo on a motorcycle with a gun to him going Super at the end is just incredible to watch. Having played Sonic Adventure 2 and generally knowing his entire story through cultural osmosis, I wasn't too shocked by any of the flashback scenes with him and Maria, but I did like how it mirrors Sonic's story of being an alien who was met with hostility, save for one human who genuinely cares about him. I wish that it was more subtly told and that they didn't beat you over the head with the message, but whatever, this movie is made for children. Funnily enough, there were only 4 people in the theatre with me watching it, all of them were adults. That's actually hilarious.

The only other thing worth noting about the movie is Jim Carrey as both Robotniks, and just like the last 2 movies, he does a great job. Most of the funniest jokes in the movie came from how he delivered his lines and how the movie is just so unsubtle with the fact that Stone and Eggman are gay for each other. Eggman's final line in the movie lays that point on thick as well. As a wise hedgehog once said, "My fucking god, these bitches gay! Good for them."

Overall, Sonic 3 is one of the best video game movies out there. It's no Mario Movie or Detective Pikachu, but it's still stellar nonetheless. If you're a Sonic fan or even interested in the Sonic series, this is well worth your time.

8/10, that scene where Tom did blackface sure was something, wasn't it.

[windstir]

idk if i've said this here but i really like how gilbert is portrayed as a victim despite everything ... he's TRULY not a perfect person, he's the kind of person that makes you say "okay he does do shitty things he needs to sit down what's wrong with him" and makes things worse for everyone around him MULTIPLE times, he hurts the people who care about him in some way (carl and serge being my main examples, there was genuinely no reason to be doing allat but also does he really know any better???? he's stunted to hell and back in various areas and advanced in areas that he can't even PROCESS properly because of the constant enabling and trauma. he's off the rails, he's awful, his intentions a lot of the time are to HURT -carl- and to push people away in the worst ways possible because he's either scared or angry -serge-)

anyway, abuse victims in media are portrayed as characters who do No Wrong a lot. characters that are gentle, and whose trauma made them softer, who are kind despite it all, who want to be better than the person who hurt them and stuff. you know the deal.

and it's not bad! trauma presents itself in a miriad of ways and that's just how things are, the environment and beliefs are what end up making the change (an abused child without a support net outside of their abuser won't have the same development as an abused child who does have SOMETHING or SOMEONE to hold on to)

gilbert, clearly, is out for blood. his own and someone else's.

because, technically, that's how he was raised. and auguste managed to make an environment that enabled those harmful behaviors (because they were enabling his own!)

when angry, gilbert explodes, he breaks whatever is in his path, and his intentions are to hurt, to break, to cause damage to anyone. auguste taught him that, auguste exploded towards him a lot, gilbert says it himself, he says that auguste would beat him up when he was angry, and those would be the only times he felt loved (it's also shown that auguste would sometimes be kind after he beat him up, but i don't think he mentions this)

(from the backstory chapters):

bonnard: are you sure you can talk like that about him? he's your guardian

gilbert: i just wanted to get his attention. i have to take drastic measures ... or he won't even touch me.

bonnard: what do you mean?

gilbert: when i make him angry (see how he's blaming himself? he's a child here, he's 9!) he treats me with so much violence that i feel like my head is going to be ripped off (because auguste shakes him around violently)

bonnard: i didn't know he was sadistic!

gilbert: and even then ... i prefer that more than when he comes up to me ... but then walks away without trying anything.

sex and assault have also been used against him when angry, too.

so that sort of explains (BUT IT DOESN'T JUSTIFY) why he thought "oh i can do this to carl because i'm mad at him and because i know he wants me so bad anyway. then if it goes badly i can probably apologize to him and it'd be whatever." because that shit has been happening to him FOREVER. and he's been taught to think it was okay.

reading the scene again, you see he's taunting carl, saying that CARL is who wants this, and that this is his opportunity to do whatever he wants and satisfy that need to "possess" him

it's hard to explain a lot of things, but one thing that's clear is that he's using the language auguste and his abusers have used with him before ("you want this, so do it") and he thought carl might've followed along ... then he laughs when carl hits him, saying (direct quote): "hah ... i guess there's still space in you for god. that's great, cling onto him, protect him ... make sure i don't possess you ... make sure the devil (gilbert) doesn't possess you! make sure to tell that to serge, too. he's your best agent, your chosen one. but he needs to know that it's dangerous to get close to me! because I'M the devil that threatens to devour his pure heart! and if he gets close, he'll end up hurt."

a part of me wants to think he's projecting some of his own feelings towards his own abuse, because later on he does admit he feels trapped in his situation, he admits he just let people hurt him because he didn't know any better, stuff like that.

anyway, oof. he's portrayed as the biggest and main victim in kazeki despite it all, unlike auguste, who is very clearly the antagonist in everyone's lives despite him ALSO being an abuse victim (CSA and abuse in general from his adoptive brother)

i think it's nice that he's still seen as a victim despite that, because in the end all of this happens when gilbert is a child, a 13 year old, very poorly socialized and extremely mistreated and dehumanized throughout his life and stuff ......

it's really hard to explain how i feel about gilbert (despite me LOVING his character and feeling a sense of connection) without making it sound like i'm defending his actions because he's genuinely awful sometimes lol what am i even saying atp

[queenlua]

i have this friend who’s a bird photographer, right

which means i live in fear & awe of him, because, like all bird photographers, he has this unfathomable well of patience where he’s willing to just camp out in front of a heron for 7hrs waiting for that one singular moment when it finally lunges & catches something & the other 6.99hrs are just Sitting Around Doing Literally Nothing

and he’s fine with that.  totally fine.  i’ve seen him in that Zen State before, for maybe 30min at a time, because after 30min i get impatient and i’m like ok this is cool dude but i have to move now, have fun meditating or whatever

but

unlike the other bird photographers i know, he also has zero sense of competitiveness.  he has no burning need to get The Latest Shot of The Newest Hot Thing, he’s just like... if i’m there i’ll hang out forever, sure.  but if i’m not like.  whatever

i just messaged him asking if he’d gotten a photo of [local natural phenomenon that literally all the other photographers in my area were freaking out over] and he was like “well my diablo game was going pretty well sooo....”

[meadowlarksabove]

How many walls and how many soldiers have crumbled before that gaze? The deepest shade of crimson he’d ever seen, like rich and seething blood. A blind rage made manifest in hulking muscles, the silhouette of a god scorched through mortal tapestry. What beauty and what horror! To know with certainty how their hands could reach and rip him apart. That just as Gabban had deftly peeled the skins from the fruits before them, they could also, and with as much ease, sleeve him of his own flesh. 

Yet he’d long stopped fearing pain and the call of the grave, the very shrouds that should befall them all in the end. Truth be told, Gabban had found an even greater evil in the short run of his life, a darker shade of midnight in the cradle of wicked hands. At the mercy of animals he dared not name, and who had left him in awe at the very depths of their wickedness, forever stricken by a malice he could scarcely believe had been committed by living and feeling creatures. In comparison, even the young Legate fell short of that terror. 

So he leveled their stare, not defiantly, but as a door which was held open with a smile. They may judge him, they may hurt him if they wanted, but he would never allow himself to cower again. He had to be better than that. He must. 

“Is no part of you selfish? Can you claim that for yourself?”

His expression sharpened as he searched the other’s face for an answer, but only slightly. There was little more he needed in order to grasp how the other was wild, stubborn, and fiercely loyal to the bull. That in their chest beat the heart of an honest warrior with a too-clear view of the battlefield, unclouded by the fog of war. That fact alone softened his features once more. It would only become even clearer for them… 

“Maybe you can. I could certainly believe it.” He truly would.

“I will speak for myself then. I can not claim to serve our Caesar selflessly. Because I know that serving our master is serving the Legion. That serving the Legion is both serving his people and the lands I love. It means fighting for my siblings for whom I would tear through any fortress and any person with my bare hands.” 

Again, he thought of his brothers, their confounding reports, and the words Dead Sea had used to describe their progress on the front. It was abnormal for them to be so unsure of their plans and of where they stood. If only he could go see them– help them directly!

“I think it’s right for men to fight for something they love, to devote themselves to a cause born of their flesh. Because we are mortal and we must labor as things that must someday die, we must work with the knowledge of our own impermanence. No one here, save for one who is presently not sitting at this table, can boast to be divine and as eternal as Mars. So we must fight, in the little time we have, to make our efforts worthwhile.” 

And who could stain their hands the way he had without a shred of care to drive it? Without the fervor of some pure and ardent desire fanning the flames? No one could be so sedate. 

“When it is over, when death comes for me, I would like to face it knowing I have done everything to protect all that I loved and believed in.” Perhaps then, he would have done something worthy, not of praise or of great note, but of being called a person. To have been someone who stood on their feet and not on their paws. “It’s surely a weakness to have your heart chained to something. Plenty have told me so– my princeps especially. But–” 

A small huff escaped his lips, a piece of a pretty yet stifled chuckle. “In that respect I am entirely hopeless. Once bound, I am bound forever. I do not abandon what is precious to me.” 

Again his eyes returned to the younger man. No less stern and no less piercing, a little more so even, perhaps. What could well be misunderstood as aggravation was all but that. No animosity despite the burning intensity that seethed in that hot red gaze still (accompanied by that tense muscle locking his jaw, by the way his herculean body sat comfortable but looked ready to spring up from his seat to crush and malm whoever next dared insulting, or belittling his views and ideals openly and plainly for everyone else to hear. The remnants of the bull coursing through blood-filled veins.

In truth, there was understanding. In truth it was a focus that had come with a revelation that he had not considered in a way and had come to the conclusion that he should have. It was the waking of a mind that caught its own sinking into depths that were unbefitting the occasion and sickening. An illness he had been fighting instead of allowing it to befall him, for many years now. Like a fresh breeze had kissed the soreness of skin. Like a balm gently applied to an infliction, a wound. Like precious water, spilled at the threatening of the imminent feast of an unstoppable wildfire. Like gentle hand that had cupped his face and had pulled from his eyes the veil of red, of murder. Cooing the softest syllables of a hum-sung hope, whisper-soft. That voice, so gentle, in the presence of mad dogs, or corrupted minds. No, those eyes looked not at something that was to their distaste or something displeasing. It was a sort of reverence, of awe.

Lupercus had to admit that he had forgotten (and perhaps had done so willingly and blindly, driven-mad by the ignorance of the man he could not even call his father. To allow for such differences to be bred into and amongst his very own men. That forces were separated through the mad-making promises of power, binded and sewn together through fals devotion to a cause that was not believed in but a title that was craved, and under which those that fought and bled mercilessly succumbed and were sacrificed under in baseless schemes and headless endeavors. He too had become bigoted and judgemental through the reflection he was shown by the men of the Fort at their arrival. They did not know and he did not either and still they were rabid enough to snarl and show teeth and aim for the throat.

The Frumentarius mentioned something else that had his brows shit and knit ever so slightly in a sign of light scrutiny. A confession he was not sure whether it was meant as such or if perhaps it had slipped him.

Unfortunately, one is often alone among comrades here.

The Legate observed the man before him, a figure marked by a precise mind and a sharp wit that cut. He found himself contemplating the depths of the Frumentarius’ character, pondering how much of his demeanor stemmed from an unwavering integrity and steadfast dedication to truth and how much of it (if there at all) was there, of a guarded honesty rooted in a fervent belief in justice. He understood yet again why the Frumentarii were talked about the way they were. Masters of intelligence, fighting the same war but in different ways There was an underlined admiration that he felt in that moment. A revelation he was in two minds about. He was not oblivious to the tales told and the deeds rumoured  to be done in more selfish and questionable endeavours. Bad-mouthed in uncertainty over a power that was found difficult to assess.

Were they truly so double-faced? Was all this man said and shared with him nothing but an act...?

He could not know. A truth that displeased him, turning his eyes into blood-slick daggers. Enough to let his gaze fall onto the massive table before them. To its contents, the lavish dinner, the wine. All there to be devoured in celebration. Never before had Lupercuss felt so strongly a sense of mourning. Never had it been sitting with him so closely - the reality of death.

            “What do you think. Have I found my flower? Do you suggest my loyalty being an act of selfishness rather than true and honest devotion to our Caesar?”