#i love this mug so much its actually insane

[home-and-having-tea]

My ass: I don't have an unhealthy and likely neurodivergent attachment to inanimate objects

The humble and sturdy bee flower mug:

[arijackz]

PICK A CARD: What Will Your FS Admire Most About You?

⚤ “I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.” - Pablo Neruda

Disclaimer: This is a general reading, take what resonates. This is a gender-neutral reading, disregard any pronouns that do not apply to you.

p1 → p2 ↙︎ p3 → p4

✠ Pile One ✠ (King of Cups,Page of Cups,The World,7)

✧ Cards went wiillldddd. You stir up so much emotion in this person, it’s crazy. Your heart chakra is front and center here. You are picture-perfect harmony and universal love to your spouse. Your love can’t be contained, you love them, your friends, your favorite mug, worms out in the rain, strangers, the moon, and all the stars in the sky.

✧ All I see is a wide-ass smile, the biggest, wateriest eyes, and full cheeks. Your spouse thinks you’re sunshine-incarnated.

✧ This will sound corny, but your heart and love for the world and all its diversity make you appear angelic; God’s gift to humanity. The emotional depth you have is nothing shy of divine. Your ability to understand and reconnect your person with their inner dreamer makes you irreplaceable in their eyes. 

✧ I feel like your future spouse had to navigate around a lot of emotionally stunted people who left scars that prevented them from forming healthy relationships. Your empathy and desire to make space for peace and unity in this world give them hope that true love is alive and they are the lucky son of a bitch who gets to call an angel, theirs.

✧ I smell salt and hear waves. (I bet you’re tired of the cheesy poetry but HEY, me and your boo are OBSESSED with your energy) You truly are as beautiful and powerful as the seven seas.

✧ You know the Ouroboros, and how it's sometimes depicted as a snake wrapped around the oceans, holding onto its tail to keep the world together? Yea, that. To your future partner, you hold the key to their world. You add so much color and vibrancy. You turn over their inner ocean and awaken so much repressed child-like wonder within them.

✧ Wow. Your spouse loves the depths of you.

✧ Check for water placements, signs, and houses, in your natal chart. Some of you have insane intuition and have clairsenses. Clairaudience to be specific.

✧ Some of you are active in charities or aspire to make a difference in society. Maybe you’re into esoteric practices or anything else metaphysical.

✧ I even have a few philosophers here. Okay, KANT! (somebody please get this joke)

She Excites the Seven Seas

✠ Pile Two ✠ (Ace of Pentacles,8oW,The Emperor rev., “I Want”)

I love the kind of woman that will actually just kill me

✧ Of course, you don’t have to be a woman but that TikTok sound SCREAMED at me. Your future spouse is lowkey intimidated by you and they love it.

✧ You have big dreams. Big plans. But most importantly, a million and one ways to get you where you need to be. Your ability to say “I want this,” and then actually go out and GET it?? Your spouse is like the meme that goes “I’m a little scared, but I’m turned on.”

✧ I also see that you’re unconventional. If people have been doing whatever you want to do a certain way for years, you'll find ways to do it differently, just cause. You’re a true trailblazer. Your self-conviction is so damn alluring. Even for the people who struggle with insecurity sometimes, once you get over that hump and decide that you desire something, you fucking get it. Your partner sees you like magic. They are impressed by just how quickly your desires are set in motion for you. They feel that you are powerful and bring a great deal of power to them from just being in your proximity.

✧ You are also the “I don’t take shit from nobody” type. Not from strangers, not from your friends, your family, not even from your partner. In their eyes, you know your worth and have a strong self-foundation that nobody can tear down. There is genuine admiration and respect here. I even get the “I want to be like you when I grow up” mentality.

✧ There is a speediness to you they find very attractive. Either the way you behave, speak, or just stress about time, your pacing holds a special place in their heart. (or maybe, despite all of your responsibilities, you manage to find stillness in the chaos and slow down when necessary)

✧ The way you speak drives this person wild. It's like your voice narrates their thoughts and is the source of all of their arousal. Do with that information what you will...(don't be cruel, you make this person so nervous).

✧ I shuffled through a playlist and E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY LIFE!! by Corpse came on and one of the lyrics goes,

She just look into my soul with them Shinigami eye Coke in my nose and a blade on her thigh. Man, I think this girl is really trying to plan my demise

✧ Yea, you put the fear of God into this person, but in a good way! Your presence can be chilling sometimes. Fire energy for sure. There are definitely people here from pile 2 of my first pac, “What are your most alluring qualities?”, check that out if you want to.

✧ Okay, this energy has me needing to take a LAP, bye.

"Man, I Think This Girl Tryna Plan My Demise"

✠ Pile Three ✠ (10oW, 9oW)(no other cards wanted to come out, real stubborn)

✧ Okay so, this feels specific?... and maybe even a lil off topic but I feel called to say this

✧ I sense that you and your person are psychically connected and share the mutual feeling that the two of you are meant to cross paths. The both of you have gotten your fair share of fuckery in this lifetime and this union feels like divine justice.

✧ This sounds a little fucked up, but you guys flourish amid trauma. Dark energy alchmaziers. You best wield your potential while you’re going THROUGH it.

✧ You had to “die” and bury yourself a dozen times to get where you are today.

✧ You are a very evolved individual. Throughout your life, traumatic events and relationships have forced you to bear a lot of weight on your back and it’s like the pressure has forged you into a diamond. With each curveball life threw at you, you stood tall and pushed to make something of yourself, proving your worth after a lifetime of strife and instability.

✧ Scorpio/Capricorn and 8th house/10th house placements. (check midpoints).

✧ A lot of you have tense shoulders, upper back, shoulder, and neck pain from the unease and anxiety your body carries. You have insomnia and may even struggle with nightmares.

✧ This person you’re coming into union with is so healing.

✧ This is something the both of you broke down and prayed for on your darkest days. This is a true partner, the soul that kept yours warm when the world was so cold. You had to put your dreamier side on the back burner to survive. This person will make you feel safe to dream again.

✧ I don’t have anything specific to say because you and your person feel so secretive  You two recognize each other’s pain and are the only people you guys trust. Like not even lil ol’ me can really get through to y'all. Y’all ride AND die for each other, in this life and the next.

✧ If you’re into astrology and already have a feel for who this person is, check your guys’ composite chart. Strong Scorpio energy here.

✧ Coming into union with this person will feel like a wish fulfillment.

✧ (short pile, it felt like a quick message for those of you who feel this connection telepathically. This is probably a secondary choice.)

"I Want To Caress The Piece of Me Within You"

✠ Pile Four ✠ (Queen of Wands, 9oP rev., 7oP, 4oP rev., the high priestess, queen of cups, “I will”)

✧ You’re a bad bitch, truly. Your fs isn’t calling you a bitch, buuuttttt she a baddie, she know she a ten! She a baddie with her baddie…. wait a minute…

✧ You may not have a lot of friends? You keep your circle tight-knit because you have been deeply hurt in the past and you guard your peace fiercely. For some of you, your home life was quite tumultuous and you struggle with financial security and inner happiness. It seemed like the world did not want you to feel good about yourself or succeed.

✧ Do you know that viral display of a deer’s ribcage with a spear through it, and how even though an attempt was made on the deer’s life, he managed to survive and lived for years after that event; all while still growing bone marrow with a giant fucking spear through its ribcage?

✧ “A close encounter with a hunter left the deer with several broken ribs and part of an arrow embedded in its body. Remarkably, the animal survived, and bone grew around the shaft and arrowhead lodged in the creature's side."

✧ "The deer lived with the arrow inside its body until years later, when another hunter killed the animal, cut the deer open, and discovered its amazing secret…As the tough tissue formed over the arrow, it acted as a splint for the damaged rib cage, strengthening the deer's injured body.”

✧ I highlighted some words that needed emphasizing. That’s how your partner sees you. They are in complete awe of the resilience and sheer tenacity you hold. They look at you and can’t believe the person before their eyes. The troubling history you usually try to hide from your romantic partners is exactly what allures this person. 

✧ You won’t ever lay on your belly and cry about life passing you by. You aren’t the type to victimize yourself and “woe is me” your way out of self-improvement.

✧ You are quite ambitious and aim to push forward, even if the odds are stacked against you.

✧ I get the message that some people in this pile have struggled with self-harm over the years. Your partner wants to kneel down and kiss your scars like a white knight, and vow to protect you emotionally and physically for as long as you’ll have them.

✧ The spear-deer imagery is so interesting. The deer represents virality. It is a symbol of piety, gentleness, devotion, and fertility. Especially with the queen of wands, the high priestess, AND the queen of cups, you provide profound love, passion, and insight to this person. However, even as a deer, you are quite badass???

✧ You are as gentle as a strand of hair but as strong as wool. Dainty but unbreakable.

✧ They have no desire to infantilize you because they know you are already your own greatest warrior. But they don’t want you to feel that you have to fight alone. Whatever burdens are on your plate, they take away as much as possible because they want to be a piece of the paradise you fight for.

✧ This is meant to be a short pac, a Tumblr post won’t do the unbelievable strength in your character much justice. Just know that your fs is so fucking in love with you and wants to spend their life by your side because of just how awe-struck they are by you.

✧ I mean c’mon… will YOU ever forget the story of the coolest fucking deer in existence??

"I Yearn To Be the Name You Call Out in Victory"

[stevebabey]

part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

-

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it’s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

[hellion-child]

building off mine and @usercelestial groomzilla tommy tags on this poll (go vote)

im not a writer but. ive been plagued w visions lmao it goes like this:

the engagement is announced. everyone is happy and celebrating. until someone says the words "wedding planning" and everyone but the happy couple freezes. chimney, hen, bobby, eddie, ravi, etc. their eyes widen as they make eye contact w each other bcos this can only mean one thing: the return of clipboard!buck 2: groomzilla edition. ravi audible gulps. hen casually slides a nearby clipboard into the bin idk. no one says anything but they are clearly v concerned. buck and tommy dont notice lmao

the looming threat of groomzilla buck haunts the rest of the shift. no one is saying anything to buck yet, but they are trying to plan a pre-emptive intervention in between calls and any free moment during calls (all hissing whispers across patients and dramatic expressions and gestures in the truck)

they have the next day off, chimney mentions checking in on tommy, the poor guy. a "hey tommy just checking in on how ur coping. hope bucks not driving u too crazy already" and he gets back an immediate "hes driving me insane" and a "we need everybody to be at our house 1400 sharp please. for the love of god DO NOT be late." and its all, Oh no its begun already. better go save tommy from his fiance lol

theyre entering the bucktommy house like its their execution only to be greeted by a buck whos all, "hey guys! 😄 hows it going 😄" and clearly on his way out, cool as a cucumber, happy as a clam, not a clipboard in sight. when asked (very suspiciously) whats going on, he just replies "😄 oh i gotta go get the right linen squares for the tablecloths 😄 i accidentally got the wrong ones for tommy! 🤪 brb!"

the sound of the door shutting behind buck is deafening. the silence is broken by tommys "ur all late." from the next room (its 1402) (no one points this out) together they make their way further into the house. there is so much dread and confusion. the tension breaks when tommy drops an over flowing folder labelled Wedding Planning on the table. "ur here now. we can get started" he says, "maybe one of u will be more helpful than evan"

"is what i think is happening, actually happening?" hen whispers. scattered around the room are folders brimming w tabs, and cut up magazines, and sticky notes, and— "what is that?" chimney asks. tommy turns towards the mostly full corkboard taking up an entire wall. "oh that? thats my vision board."

eddie: i had no idea that youd been planning this for so long, tommy

tommy, still in yesterdays clothes, surrounded by several empty coffee mugs: ?? i havent.

(cue horror sting)

[fatesundress]

⭑ made with love. draco malfoy x reader

summary. it's winter, you’re sick, and draco is extremely rational a terrible, doting mess about it.

tags. fluff! so much fluff! married couple, gn!reader, lots of banter, post-hogwarts with one fleeting mention of the war, draco's anxiety is whetted by a common cold, he basically treats the reader like they hung the moon in the sky and also have the power to yank it down at any given moment. he's very grumpy. but so so in love.

note. my sweet anons!! i tried on three separate occasions to write the requests in my inbox but sometimes i need to be in the depths of hell (ovulation week) to manage smut. i'm sorry. i've made some progress i swear! but the draco hyperfixation came out of NOWHERE and unfortunately i had to indulge in it. also thank you so much for 200! :’)

word count. 1.6k

You are deplorable.

With a fever temperature of 40° and explicit instructions to stay in bed, you’re discernibly not in bed when he makes it home from the apothecary, a jumbled mess of the blankets he’d swathed you in left in your place. Your slippers are absent. Your slippers — in two feet of snow. Your coat is gone too, at least; ridiculously thick and unnecessarily long, though now he’s thankful for it.

Draco paces. Then he sets the Pepperup Elixir over a flame at his desk to keep warm, pours two drops of Sleeping Draught into a mug for your tea, and paces again.

He should have insisted on binding rings for your wedding, he thinks. Something to trace you in emergencies. There’s little to do without them as you’ve evidently either taken the Floo or Apparated, and, in truth, he can’t remember the last time he’s been this nervous. In school, perhaps? During the war? You have him comparing his nerves over a bad cold to those he felt during war. The insanity of that is actually not lost on him, if that counts for anything.

But you are deplorable, and his. His almost as much as he is maddeningly, irremediably yours.

How he allowed an aliment like this to infect him goes against all evolutionary sense. It’s a fever of its own. Incurable despite knowing its cause, and probably festering worse than yours.

And then the fireplace hisses and out you stumble with soot on one cheek and frost on the other, the neck of your coat zipped up to swallow half of your face. In an arm shoved deep in your pocket, a bag swings from the puffy coat crease of your elbow, and Draco baulks. It’s a muggle grocery bag — translucent enough that he can see the square imprint of your favourite sleepy-time tea, a chocolate bar, cans of what he thinks are soup, and — a lemon? Yes. A big miserable lemon that you’ve deigned was worth almost killing yourself over.

Draco does not hear whatever excuses escape your chattering teeth as he plucks your hand from its pocket, puts the bag down, pulls off your coat while you slap at his hands and insist you can do it yourself, and only because he thinks you’d hex him to oblivion if he tried, leads you with a hand on your back to the bedroom rather than hauling you into his arms and carrying you.

“A lemon,” he says, and is aware by the severity of his tone he might as well be saying a gun, or a missile, or a milk crate of Living Death cartons. “You forayed into a snowstorm for a lemon. Do you think I’m incapable of reading a grocery list? I just Flooed —”

“I got more than a lemon,” you huff in a weak voice.

It is appalling that that’s what you take from his admonishment.

Your snow-soaked slippers are tossed aside as you tumble into bed. Draco bundles you in blankets and holds his wand out to take your vitals. You roll your eyes all the while, but once the cold wears off he’s sure you’ll be burning hotter than you were this morning.

He shakes his head. “Lemons are common stock in apothecaries, you know. The shavings are essential in Weedosoros antidotes.”

“Yes, but they’re always so dry.”

“And chocolate — they sell it at Téa’s across the street for the magizoologists. Did you know that?”

“Hmph. No Cadbury, though.”

“And I’ve already warmed the Pepperup and poured you Sleeping Draught, despite your urgency for this —” He pulls the box of tea from your grocery bag, impressed with an image of a little bear with a red nightcap, a steaming cuppa, and a plate of biscuits — “Inarguably superior muggle panacea —”

“I never claimed it was a panacea —”

“Of which we should have distributed to St. Mungo’s en masse. In fact, I should owl them now so they’re informed the Sleeping Draughts are ineffective by comparison —”

“You’re insufferable —”

“Imagine all the orphans without rest —”

“Actually ridiculous —”

“You’re ridiculous. And I hate this bear. Look at his hat. Bloody Gryffindor.”

“Do you know what the wizarding world is lacking? — If you’re concerned enough to make a donation, Mr Malfoy?”

You think it’s hilarious to call him that. He does well not to mention you are, by law, also a Malfoy, and his money is your money to donate as you please.

“What is that?”

“Soup,” you say. “Canned soup — canned with love.”

“We are lacking soup canned with love,” Draco repeats, just to be sure.

“Yes.”

“I’ll be sure to write the Minister.”

“Do.”

“Only if you stay in bed.”

“Hmmm… mmmm… well. Hm.”

“Incorrigible,” he mumbles, brushing the damp from your face before getting up to fix your tea. (He kisses your cheek for good measure, big sop that he is. You do well not to mention it.) “Don’t move or I’ll cast wards on the fireplace.”

“Oh! Cast wards on the doors, too. I might go for a walk.”

He glares at you from the archway. Your answering laugh is broken by a coughing fit, and you look reluctantly glum when he raises a told-you-so brow.

Draco mutters about how ridiculous you are through the kitchen and back, as he steeps your tea, heats your soup, unstoppers the Pepperup Elixir, pours it in an old shot glass from a trip to Italy (you have no graduated plastic cups lying around), squeezes the big stupid lemon in your tea, carries it all to your bed on a tray and realises, still muttering, that these are a lot of steps. But Draco balances the tray without an utterance of magic. It’s rather impressive. You should be sorely sorry.

You are, instead, asleep.

You’re splayed across the bed like something Baroque, limbs fascinatingly posed: half under the blankets and half stubbornly poking out despite his fervent tucking, head nuzzled into the pillow with a slight frown. If Draco were any better with a camera he’d take a picture. Instead he takes careful steps to your bedside, placing the tray on the nightstand and sitting as close as he can manage without disturbing the (once more, revolutionary) arrangement of your legs. It feels criminal to wake you. His fretful anger that you’d gone out in the cold is whittled to a humiliatingly thin and empty husk, and all that remains is mushy adoration. Damn you for that; you look ridiculous anyhow.

Draco kisses your cheek again. Your nose. Your forehead. He traces an invisible portrait of your face with his fingers, as if he’s ever drawn anything better than nasty stick figures on crumpled parchment in school. You, though, he thinks he knows well enough by memory to try.

You stir, not too far from consciousness that it’s a challenge to find it again, but far enough to be audibly vexed by his summons to the surface.

Draco means to berate you in that way he's so good at — chin pointed and scowl permanently etched — but you grumble with a sick, hoarse voice and he falters in a pathetic display. “You forgot your love-suffused muggle soup,” he whispers, one hand cupping your cheek.

“Ugh.”

“Heinous, I know. Sit up for me?”

“Magic word.”

There’s his scowl. “Alohomora.”

“Not that magic word.”

“Imperio.”

“Unforgivables, Draco Malfoy?”

“Hmm, Locomotor Wibbly?”

You sink further into the bed, pulling the uppermost blanket over your head inch by inch. 

“Please,” he says, with profound displeasure.

You sit up and smile.

Draco sighs and lays the legs of the tray out over your lap. You regard his service with sleepy content, one of your hands travelling to his face in what his heart surges to appreciate is an honest thanks after his several near-heart attacks, and then your gaze finds the medically expert Pepperup in an Italian shot glass and it falls.

You groan. “Draco…”

His name says, quite plainly, please don’t make me.

Draco has enough self-respect to at least deny you this. “Wards.”

That says, quite plainly, I was not joking about the fireplace.

You look as though you’re contemplating the severity of two horrors, but it passes fleetingly, with one curse under your breath and a sour expression as you down the shot of Pepperup like… a shot. Burning Ogden’s that scrunches your face up until you shake it away with a blagh noise. 

Come to think of it, Draco's choice of glass is much more appropriate than some medical cup.

“Better?”

You shudder. “I will be.”

“Good. Have your love soup and stupid lemons.”

And then, when he isn’t expecting it, your hot palm finds the place it left off; Draco’s healthily warm, sharp cheek, the soft fuzz of hair beside his ears before your fingers card through the longer strands and you hum like he’s your favourite thing to hold onto.

He melts, eyes fluttering shut. You’re sick, and wholeheartedly deplorable, but you’re safe, and it’ll be alright.

“Draco?”

“Mm.”

“The soup.”

He opens his eyes. “The soup?”

“You know it was canned with love.”

“I trust you wouldn’t have bought it otherwise.”

“And,” you say, thumb flush over his bottom lip as you smile a groggy, self-satisfied smile, “it was made with love, too, right?”

He rolls his eyes, and kisses you nonetheless. “You never cease to ask absurd questions.”

[spdrvyn]

better than snow: MIGUEL O’HARA

summary: have a merry christmas morning! you're groggy and experiencing a mild headache, but it's all worth it especially when you walk into the living room only to see your munch of a boyfriend.

fluff. suggestive. in typical vyn fashion, this is late YAHOO but merry christmas to everyone! i hope you all enjoyed your holidays because i very much did hehe, this fic is inspired by this fanart so go check it out! merrily we fall out of line out of line

You were a merry mess.

There was no such thing as partying too hard, but you thought that you'd never actually reach such a feat until last night. Hell, you didn't even remember falling asleep on the bed.

Don't get anything twisted, you had a lot of fun with Miguel and "coworkers" last night. That's what he liked to call them anyway, you know for sure he wouldn't invite regular subordinates to his home with you to have the craziest Christmas party known to man.

The tanginess of the copious amounts of whiskey you had was still on your tongue, your eyelids still weighed down by the very little sleep that you got. The sun wasn't entirely up yet, orangey hues barely visible through the blinds of the room.

You shivered as the cold hit your bare legs, these were definitely not the clothes you fell asleep in either. You looked down to see a t-shirt that very well reached up to just above your thigh, it was only safe to assume that you made a huge mess of yourself previously and even safer to assume that Miguel would save you by changing you into one of his shirts.

The choice of clothing isn't even necessary, you have clean shirts, but Miguel likes seeing you in his clothes so you weren't going to complain. Besides, it smells and somehow feels like him.

That didn't really help the fact that you were freezing, Nueva York and its deadly temperatures during winter season. You dug through the closet to find big enough blanket to carry, you weren't insane enough to drag the whole comforter of your bed around the flat.

When you entered the living room, the soft crackling noises of a fire the first thing you heard. Each piece of confetti, liquid, and dirty surface had then been wiped clean.

Though, that wasn't the only detail that had you baffled.

The moment your head turned, you could feel your heart stop beating in your chest, your breath slowing down, your blood run cold. Miguel was right there and he wasn't wearing anything else except for his briefs, you could see everything.

Smooth skin, a toned stomach, massive arms shielded by nothing, and the trail of hair that goes down to his even bigger—

"Merry Christmas," he uttered, you nearly choked. Right, right. He's in front of you. Shirtless. No! Act normal, act natural.

"Uh, Merry Christmas." the need for your little blanket lessened even more, this sight was enough to warm you up for the rest of the morning nay rest of the day. Your eyes moved to the mug in his hands that was still steaming hot, he reached it out to you in a silent question if you wanted any but you declined with a shake of your head.

With that, he gulped down the rest of his drink. As he set the mug down on the table, he gestured for you to follow him to which you immediately followed. He sat you down on one of the armchairs, his eyes raked over how you looked now. Bed hair, fingers clutched onto the blanket for dear life, flushed cheeks that you probably didn't know you had. Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.

He grabbed a present from the Christmas tree before it's presented to you, you tried to study the stern look on his face but if there's one thing you knew about Miguel, it would he how good he was at hiding how excited he was.

You unraveled the present to be met with a language book on how to speak Japanese, you noted the way two slips of paper bookmarked a specific page and when you opened it, you were delighted.

Two plane tickets to Tokyo, Japan and when you read the page that they were slotted into, it's how to say "I love you" in Japanese.

愛してます. Aishitemasu.

Your heart swelled, when you looked back to Miguel, he had the softest smile on his face.

"I'm going on leave for at least a week, we leave in two days."

"Oh, Miguel— this is—"

Unable to find the words for exactly how happy you were, you couldn't do anything more except grab him by his shoulders and kiss him breathless. Passionate was an understatement, you acted as if you were going to steal each breath from his lungs to which he'd let you if you truly desired it.

You've never received a gift this big before, never gone a trip with just you and another person. This is a first time experience for you and you're more than happy about the fact that you're going to be sharing those future memories with Miguel, you wouldn't choose anyone else over him.

When you separated, you both panted into each other's mouths. Miguel had you pushed you back into the armrest, the blanket too close to slipping off your ahoulders.

"I don't want to spend a moment away from you," he took one of your hands and pressed a chaste kiss to your wrist. His other hand slithered down to your lower back now to your bottom before giving it a firm squeeze. "What I want is to love, kiss, and cherish you in every possible. Will you let me? Corazón?"

There was only one answer.

There would only ever be one answer.

"Yes."

[toomuchracket]

dearly beloved (ross x reader fluff)

the final valentine's week fic! remember this shy gf one where they decided to get married in gretna? well. this is that. enjoy <3

taking a tentative sip of your tea, you turn as the door to the cottage opens. your friend hurries in, a burst of cold air following her before she slams it shut.  “what a beautiful morning it is,” she sighs, beaming at you as she takes her coat off. “perfect day for a wedding, i’d say.”

you beam over the edge of your mug, cheeks heating up at the thought of what you’re about to do. “yeah? how are the boys?”

“oh, yours is fine. he’s got a brew, he’s fully ready - he looks gorgeous, by the way, if you don’t mind me saying…”

“not at all,” you shake your head, smiling even wider. you wouldn’t expect anything less of ross, especially in a kilt.

“... and mine just cannot stop crying. keeps looking at ross and going ‘you’re getting married! i’m so happy’ and weeping,” she sighs. “like, tell that to your face, matthew, honestly.”

you giggle. “bless him. he’s a sweetie.”

“he is. my sweet little emo boy,” your friend grins. “i think ross is going to cry too when he sees you, though.”

“really?” you tug at your dress, slightly self-conscious.

she nods. “you’re radiant, babe. he’s going to love you even more than usual. and that’s saying something.”

smiling shyly, you turn to look in the mirror. you do look radiant, although you wonder how much that has to do with your gorgeous dress and pretty makeup than it does with the fact you’re marrying the man of your dreams within the hour.

within the hour. shit, you need to get a move on. you turn to your friend, currently shimmying her own dress on. “babe - oh, that’s pretty - when you get a second, would you help me put a bit of my hair up?”

“of course. that reminds me, actually,” she runs to her coat and digs through the pockets, pulling out a little box and placing it in your hand. “i was going to suggest we put that on the bouquet, but we could do something with it in your hair, if you’d like?”

you open the box, smiling at the pattern on the spool of ribbon inside. “macdonald tartan,” same as your husband-to-be’s kilt. “i love it. thank you so much, babe.”

“it was ross’s idea, actually,” she squeezes your shoulder. “needless to say, that set matty off again.”

“i know how he feels,” you smile, tears threatening to spill over your lashline at the tenderness of your man’s gesture. “only thing stopping me from crying is the fear of ruining my makeup, to be honest.”

she giggles. “sensible woman. alright,” she tugs her shoes on, and grabs a hairbrush. “have a seat, and i’ll do my best not to fuck up your hair on your wedding day.”

“my wedding day,” you laugh in slight disbelief, smoothing the skirt of your dress before sitting on one of the chairs by the window. the sun is bright on the scottish countryside, the cold ground glittering in its light; it’s stunning, and your heart soars at how lucky you are to have a setting and day like this for your most special one. “kind of insane that it’s… here. now. and it’s actually happening.”

“a bit, yeah,” your friend gently pulls some of your hair back. “you nervous?”

“nah.”

“really?”

“yeah,” you smile, eyes closing in contentment as your hair is manipulated. “always thought i’d be shitting bricks on the day i got married, if it ever happened, but i’m actually okay. dunno if it’s because i haven’t really had the time to stress about it, or if the gravitas of it all hasn’t just sunk in yet, but, to be honest, i don’t think that’ll actually happen,” you smile to yourself, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from fully cheesing. “it’s just me and ross, after all. i love him. he loves me. and we have you and matty with us, two of the people we love most and who love us most in the world. and there’s no aisle for me to trip on while i walk - how could i be nervous?”

your friend laughs; once she finishes tying an elastic in your hair, she leans down to hug you, and a tear drips from her eye onto your bare shoulder. “god, you’ve got me crying now, too,” she giggles. “thank you for letting us be a part of your day. means the world - i love you and ross, so much. can’t wait to celebrate your love today.”

“nobody else i’d rather have with me,” you kiss her teary cheek. “ribbon time?”

“ribbon time. well, take a look at your hair first,” she hands you a mirror. “i tried my best.”

“it looks amazing!” you exclaim, turning to see the face-framing strands she left out of the pretty half-up. “seriously. you’re good.”

“thanks,” she looks up at you bashfully, nail scissors poised over the spool of ribbon. “it’s cos i sit and do matty’s hair when i’m bored.”

you blink at her for a second, then the two of you collapse into a fit of giggles. “i don’t know why i’m laughing, i braid ross’s like every night to get him to fall asleep.”

she giggles even harder, awwing as the laughs fade. “that’s so fucking cute,” she waves the ribbon at you. “and now you can put this in it and be all matchy-matchy.”

“oh, i don’t know if we’re one of those couples,” you wince, sitting still so she can tie the ribbon around the elastic. “but marriage might change us. you never know.”

“well, not long now until you find out, babe,” your friend hugs you again. “have we ticked off the checklist?”

you nod. “vintage dress, old. ribbon, new. handbag is yours - thank you, by the way - so, borrowed, and there’s sapphires in my earrings for the blue component.”

“fab,” she smiles at you really tenderly. “you know, you really are the most beautiful bride i’ve ever seen. he’s a lucky man.”

“oh, no,” you shake your head, taking a sneaky glance at yourself in the mirror while you do and blushing when you see your glamorous reflection. “i think i'm the lucky one.”

she reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “shall we go and meet the boys and find out which statement is true?”

you squeeze her hand back. “let's do it.”

after a few minutes of teaching her how to work your film camera and another few of having your picture taken (always a weird experience for you, so used to being on the other side), you leave the cottage and step out into the crisp december air. across the road, outside the old blacksmith's shop you chose as your venue, you can see ross and matty waiting with the man conducting the ceremony; at the sight of your husband-to-be, resplendent in his kilt and black shirt and jacket, you speed up your walking, desperate to be with him.

matty clocks you first, walking over to greet you. his eyes - red-rimmed enough as is - well up when he sees you and your bouquet, and his fiancée winces when he wipes them with the sleeve of his suit. “hi, darling,” he pulls you into a hug. “you look amazing,” he pats your shoulder before kissing your friend. “and you look alright.”

she slaps him on the shoulder, which makes you laugh. “charming.”

“i'm kidding! you look lovely, my girl,” he kisses her head. “now,” he extends an arm out to you - you take it, and take your friend's in the other. “let's go and get you married, mate.”

the three of you walk towards ross and the officiant, both of whom smile as you approach. the latter steps forward to shake your hand and compliment you, and then it's ross's turn; he brings your hand to his lips, then keeps a tight grasp on it, eyes teary. “hi, love. you look… perfect.”

“hi,” you breathe, also on the verge of tears. “you're gorgeous.”

loud sniffling behind you indicates matty is, once again, crying. ross turns towards him and smiles, shaking his head, before turning to the officiant. “shall we?”

“indeed,” the man leads you into the old building - surprisingly warm inside, for it being a stone structure from the 1700s and it being december in the scottish borders - and directs you and ross to stand in front of the anvil, flanked by your friends. once he's made sure you're both alright, he begins. “dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

you don't really take in a word the man says, to be honest, bless him - you're too busy looking into ross's eyes, those pools of warmth you've happily drowned in time and time again. but you hear ross when he confirms that you're going with traditional vows for the ceremony, throwing a loving dig at your friends and saying “we'll leave the writing to those muppets behind us” (most likely to get them both to laugh instead of cry), as well as matty's heartfelt “love you, guys” when he presents the rings at the appropriate moment. in all honesty, you're not sure how long you stand there and wait in excited anticipation to officially become ross's wife - time seems to bend in on itself, simultaneously running fast and slow, so it's impossible to be sure of numbers and minutes and seconds. all you're sure of is the feeling of ross's hands in your own and the way he's looking at you adoringly, and that's enough for you. forever.

and then, of course, once you've both said “i do” and slid the complimentary silver rings onto each other's left hands, you're sure of the feeling of his lips on yours; soft, warm, familiar. he pulls back, smiling, and the world opens up to you again - your friends cheering through their tears, matty snapping pictures on your camera, and the officiant clapping and congratulating you both too. but ross is still at the centre of all of it, hugging you, murmuring “my beautiful wife” against your hair.

once the hubbub dies down a little, the officiant gestures to your friend to step forward. “the first act of marriage - the quaich ceremony,” he says, as she places a lovely wooden box on top of the anvil and lifts the lid. you and ross peer in, as the man continues to talk. “husband and wife share a drink, to symbolise the blending of their families, to seal their union, and to represent the sharing of love and happiness throughout their marriage.”

you knew this ceremony was happening, but you didn't know about the ornate silver two-handled cup engraved with your and ross's names and the wedding date, nor the vintage bottle of macallan whisky next to it. wide-eyed, you stare at your friend, who winks. “wedding present from me and matty. surprise!”

ross laughs. “you two are mental. thank you, though.”

“anytime,” she grins. the officiant directs her to pour some whisky into the quaich for you and ross, and she does so enthusiastically. “oh, that’s too much. sorry.”

your husband (!!) scoffs. “no such thing.”

“typical,” she rolls her eyes, while everyone else laughs. “anyway, let me toast.

“strike hands with me, the glasses brim,

the dew is on the heather.

for love is good and life is long,

and two are best together.

bless the union of these two,

eager for marriage, eager for love.

may they begin life together,

live that life together

and come to the end together.”

ross takes a handle of the cup. “ladies first, yeah?”

you grin, taking the other side; together, you carefully lift the quaich to your lips, and let the whisky pass through. the amber liquid is warm as it flows down your throat, and you can’t help exclaiming in satisfaction. “oh, that’s bloody good stuff,” you smile, moving the cup to ross’s lips. “you’ll like this, darling.”

“yeah?” ross takes his requisite drink, and his eyes widen. “oh, absolutely. worth getting married just for that, i reckon.”

the officiant laughs. “and with that… congratulations, mr and mrs macdonald. if you’d like to follow me to this table, we’ll sign the marriage certificate.”

“of course. but first,” ross necks the rest of the whisky and kisses you quickly - matty cackles and cheers in the background, while you blush. “sorry. couldn’t resist.”

you laugh, kissing his hand as you walk. “i love you.”

“i know. you just married me,” ross grins as you roll your eyes, pulling your chair out for you and kissing your head as he sits down beside you. “i love you too. d’you want to sign first, my love?”

“alright,” you sign as directed by the officiant, and pose as directed by matty and the camera, then it’s ross’s turn. “look at that - legally stuck together forever.”

“nowhere else i’d rather be, love.”

[sophiewith7es]

some of my six of crows modern headcanons xx

nina and inej are taylor swift and phoebe bridgers best friends

inej is vegan and i will not be explaining myself

matthias’ snapchat username is matthiashelvqr but jesper’s is animal_loverjes123 because he made it when he was nine

wylan is scared of planes but not helicopters

jesper is scared of helicopters but not planes

nina and inej listened to midnights together when it was first released

jesper got matthias into star wars

jesper loves the prequels and clone wars, matthias prefers the original trilogy and rogue one

both nina and jespers first bi panic was watching pirates of the caribbean

kaz has a secret fear of escalators so he always takes the stairs even though it actively causes him more pain

kaz and wylan watch criminal minds together in silence, but they both say the line about tracy lambert together

matthias falls asleep to animal documentaries narrated by david attenborough

inej jesper and nina are big greys anatomy fans

wylan’s first crush was teenage simba

matthias plays rugby

they have a book club (audiobook for wylan)

they read the acotar series and all had vastly different opinions

nina was an avid zoella watcher

kaz doesnt pay for any streaming services but has all of them anyway, jesper also doesn’t pay but uses everyone elses

matthias pays for the netflix account though

him and nina share one profile and everyone else has their own profile

nina cried when they took new girl off netflix

kaz says he prefers dc over marvel just to cause conflict

jesper read percy jackson growing up and still has the same battered copies he read as a kid in his room no matter where he lives

nina was a harry potter reading child and also still has her original copies of the books

HARRY POTTER REWATCH MOVIE NIGHTS!!!!

wylan is a secret marauders stan

nina jesper inej and wylan are all marauders era fans but wylan is soooo much worse

wesper = wolfstar

jesper’s favourite movie is the breakfast club

kaz says his favourite movie is fight club but it’s actually fantastic mr fox

kaz follows six people on instagram: inej and all the members of one direction

he does that to piss the others off

jesper went viral on tik tok one time

matthias loves oasis (both the band and the drink)

nina fought for eras tour tickets and managed to get them all tickets

kaz is going as reputation (his usual attire) jesper as lover, wylan as evermore, inej as speak now (she got the speak now dress), matthias as debut (they got him a cowboy hat) and nina as red.

matthias secretly cried over the how to train your dragon ending

matthias and inej read a lot of classics and share their collection, they both annotate the books as well and enjoy seeing what the other has written

kaz has a do not disturb sign on his bedroom door like in a hotel and puts it on the door handle even when he’s not in there

kaz is weirdly good with technology

jesper collects mugs

kaz and inej steal pint glasses from pubs

when inej and nina listened nothing new on red(tv) they lost their minds

kaz loves boygenius

matthias and wylan love modern family, wylan’s favourite character is gloria and matthias’ is jay

jesper loves formula 1 and its the only sport he’ll watch

nina and matthias play animal crossing together

kaz terrors jesper on terraria

when they play minecraft functionally, inej is the builder, jesper is the farmer, matthias and wylan mine, kaz has netherite armour in like half an hour and nina collects flowers and tames animals

when they play minecraft disfunctionally they just blow shit up

kaz plays the guitar

inej DEVOURED the cruel prince series

zoya and genya are nina’s foster/adoptive sisters

wylan is scared of clowns and is like that one episode of new girl when nick has to go into the haunted house

whenever jesper does something stupid or doesnt do something or whatever he says ‘#yolo’ and moves on and it drives kaz insane

jesper has muggies of everyone

inej takes 0.5 pictures of everyone when theyre sleeping without them knowing

matthias loves the hunger games series

kaz regularly predicts major global events

wylan loves breaking bad

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Hey, I'm back with another follower celebration request!!! Any chance you’d be willing to do 11 and 13 with again Ezra Bridger? Unsure if this is still open, but if so this would be cool to read! Thanks 😁

Hello gorgeous, @skyofnostars

Thank you for another brilliant request and a good curve ball. So I guess you could see this as a continuation of your previous request, if you want, or on its own.

Hope you love it,

Love oo

The Plan

Warnings: Trouble sleeping, flirting, kisses, forehead kisses, tenderness, discussions of thievery, I think that's it. If I miss any please let me know.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

You sat in the Phantom looking up to the stars, letting your mind drift back to the old days of when it was Ezra, Sabine, Kanan, Hera, Seb, Chopper and you against the world. Now it was just Hera, Ezra and yourself. Ahsoka and Sabine were still stuck on Peridea. Seb was off training recruits. Hera was busy with Jacen, not to mention dealing with the New Republic nonsense. 

So really, it was just you and Ezra. 

“Can’t sleep?”

You couldn’t fight the smile that appeared on your lips as soon as you heard his voice, you turned your head slightly to look at him, “Hey.”

Ezra simply smiled as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, while his hand played with your hair while his arm leaned against the headrest, “Hey, you okay?” His thumb gently rubbed your forehead back and forth. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay, I reached over for you and you were gone. I figured something was up, you love sleeping too much to let things keep you from it.”

You chuckled, leaning into his touch, “Yeah, I … I couldn’t stop thinking about Ahsoka and Sabine. I mean they’re stuck out there, just like you were.” Your smile slowly started to fall the more you thought about it, “I’m worried we won’t be able to get them back, or even how we can get them back.”

“Actually, I had a thought on that; but…” he held up his finger smiling at you, “you’ll have to follow me to the galley for some hot chocolate … sorry, hot white chocolate for you to learn about my plans.”

The smile on your lips simply brightened as you looked at him, “You haven’t forgotten.”

“You’re favourite drink? Never. Please.”

There wasn’t any further discussion, you simply stood taking his hand in yours and followed him to the galley, and ten minutes later as promised there was a very warm and very soothing hot white chocolate in your mug. You looked at Ezra with all the love and adoration you’ve been unable to shower him with for the past ten years in that one moment. How you were still able to love him after all this time, as though no time had passed at all was a miracle in itself. 

“So you have a grand plan?”

“Oh do I!” He chuckled as he took a sip of his own hot cocoa, he’d been craving it for ten years and now until he was completely sick of the taste, that would be his drink of choice. At least in the evenings, and mornings. Maybe sometimes at lunch. “It’s simple really.”

“Okay, I’m all ears, since it’s so simple.”

“We steal Thrawn’s ship.”

The statement was so matter of fact, so simple and so incredibly insane. Your eyes fluttered as you looked at Ezra, utter shock strewn across your face.

“We steal Thrawn’s ship?”

“We steal Thrawn’s ship.” He shrugged, the answer was just that simple.

You scratched your head as you repeated the sentence another five times in your head, each time with different inflections, different tonal variations, and no matter how it sounded in your head, no matter how melodious those words may have flown out of Ezra’s mouth, that was just pure insanity. 

A large sigh escaped your lips as you looked at your mug for a second before looking at Ezra, nodding. “Okay.  Okay. So … let’s say you go through with this absolutely fool hardy idea. That you steal Thrawn’s ship. Not that I’m doubting you, I’ve seen you do enough crazy things to know it’s possible for you to actually accomplish this. However, let’s go through this step by step.” You ran your hand down your face and let out a chuckle. “First, let’s start with the basics. How are you going to get onboard in the first place? I mean you can’t just knock on the front door and say hey I’m here.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not serious?”

“Why not?”

“Ezra! Stop with the questions and just answer me.”

He let out a smile as he took another sip, “Listen we have one of Thrawn’s shuttles. I have one of his stormtrooper uniforms. So … why can’t I just show up.”

“Because it’s Thrawn, that man has plans for his plans. He has backup plans for those plans. And then backups for his backups. I’m sure without a doubt that he knows you’re the one who stole the ship to begin with, and no doubt that stormtrooper had some questions when he woke up naked. So … yeah, I don’t think it would be that easy.”

“Maybe not if I just show up out of the blue, however, what if I snuck back on board during a fight.”

“During a fight?” Somehow this started to sound like a plan and that in itself was scary. 

“Yeah, we could have Hera’s fighters, and maybe some other New Republic soldiers start a battle, while they’re keeping Thrawn and his forces distracted, I sneak on the ship.”

“And then what?”

“Then while I’m onboard, I’ll get them to abandon ship.”

You nodded as you listened, “Knowing you, you’ll probably do some Jedi mind trick thingy” you waved your hand in front of him smirking, “telling the bridge officer or someone in engineering they need to make a ship wide announcement to abandon ship or something.”

Ezra nodded, smirking as he took your hand in his, “Exactly, piece of cake.”

“Yeah.” You smiled, squeezing your hand, “That is, until …” your smile dropped, “until Thrawn decides the easiest way to deal with you is to kill you.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Don’t sweetheart me, you know he’s on the verge of a complete and utter mental breakdown. He’s dangerous and he could easily kill you.”

“He’s dangerous but he’s not all powerful. My ally is the force, and it will never let me down.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, “You better not die, because the only one who gets to kill you, is me. So you tell the force, that it better have your back or else.”

Ezra pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours as one hand pressed your hand into his chest, while the other held the back of your head, keeping you close. “Sweetheart, I’m never leaving you again. Not when I just got you back. Plus we still need to figure out what Thrawn’s planning first, but once we have our opening, I’m going to take it, to get our family back.”

You nodded against his head, “Alright, but I’ll come with you. You’re not leaving my side ever again.”

He pressed his lips against yours, kissing you with determination and promise. “You won’t ever have to leave my side. I promise.”

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

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[alchexmy]

we love insane König here.

tw | obsession | stalker tendencies

The Beginning.

It surprised him. The lengths he would go to, to feel close to you, the way he would degrade himself to quench his desires.

It really surprised him.

Wired eyes with pinprick pupils staring into the harsh blue light of his computer screen in the office, looking through your file, figuring as much of you out as possible without even having to be near you. Not that he didn't want to be near you. Oh, he very much did. But he had no real reason to be, you were just the intelligence officer, a quiet girl, absorbed in paperwork, rubbing your temples when you worked too late. And you always worked late.

That's when it had started.

All it took was one night, him planted at his desk, you at yours. Everyone else had finished up hours prior. His gaze had been enamoured by your every movement. Captivated. You didn't even notice him staring, eyes narrowing, assessing you. For some reason that lack of attention really irked him, it got right under his skin.

Then you had looked up.

"Colonel, can I ask you something?"

Yes.

He had rolled himself back in his chair, wheels bumping on the uneven carpet, silently gesturing his acceptance of your question with hands open.

That slender figure of yours had rose from its stationary position, fingers selective over the sheets they picked up, neck flexing to stretch out the long hours of arduous work. It took seven strides for you to be right beside him, the scent of your skin filling his nostrils, the undone top button of your shirt just loose enough to provide the most fleeting distraction for his mind.

You had been speaking to him with a determined, stressed tone, arms brushing. He had listened to your every word, but he had also been admiring your details. The way your nails were in perfect manicured condition, yet the skin around them bitten and picked until they were red raw. The slightly oval shape of the mole which decorated the back of your hand as it flexed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, index finger pointing out that highlighted section and this highlighted section, there is a connection here right? Your handwriting in deep black ink small, neat, cursive even, at times. It made sense, it suited you.

The conversation was brief, hands tapping the sheets on his desk to straighten them into a bundle. Do you mind? You reached over him to borrow his stapler, binding them irreversibly, putting them back on your desk. The ladder in your tights as you walked away, what had you ripped that sheer black nylon on? 

When the door swung closed 43 minutes later, he raised that stapler to his mouth, breathing in the trace of you left behind. It's not like it even smelt of anything, he could barely understand the compulsion to do it.

And so the obsession had begun.

Your mug, swiped from the side of the sink one day.

That had been him.

The kettle boiling as eyes scrutinised where your lips had been, those faint marks from your lipgloss. His only desire to emulate you, copy your actions, pouring the water in, steeping the tea and drinking from exactly where you had.

But the simple thrill died off quickly, so he had to ramp it up, needing his fix. The more he fed it the more it grew like a malignance, uncontrolled, invading every single second of his thoughts. Thus, the more he needed you, his drug.

It surprised him, how a man of such stature could creep so unnoticed through the corridors at night. It actually took him a couple of tries to get the courage to follow through, his heart pounding, a sensation so intoxicating. The third night, his fist enveloped the door handle, carefully pressing down until it clicked and he could swing it open with ease. And there you lay. His heart hammering so loud he could actually hear it echoing gently within those four walls, your four walls.

In the end, you only noticed what he had done because all of your underwear was matching, the easiest way to pack for work. And suddenly, there was an odd number.

He found new excuses to be near you, to talk to you, to smell you, to watch you. Even if you didn't see him. The middle of the night, first just standing against the door, watching you from afar as you slept, your chest slowly rising and falling. Then he would sit on the floor, his face inches from yours, the exhilarating rush making him electric. You never stirred.

Everything was mesmerising, the way you sat, the way you chewed the inside of your cheek when concentrating, the tone of your voice, the flush of your cheeks, the way you walked, the way you ate. It consumed him. He needed you. But he would never touch you, not yet. The thought of requite was tempting, yet would kill off the private intense pleasure he got from knowing you didn't know.

It didn't take long for him to figure your whole routine out. Every night around 8 you would retire from the office and head to the shower block, you would take 20 minutes to wash the day off and then leave. And you always left your caddy of stuff there until the following morning.

So he would wait 10 minutes after you finished before going to the block and lathering his body in the same cubicle with your scent.

But you see, he needed his fix.

8.30 turned into 8.29, and he used your shampoo to wash his hair.

8.29 turned into 8.25 and he scrubbed his teeth clean with your toothbrush, still damp, faintly tasting of mint as he ran it over his enamel.

But he needed his fix.

So at 8.21 he went in, practically walking into you as you left, your small body colliding into his mass. It had shocked you. Sorry, Colonel.

You had simply no idea.

No idea as headed straight into the same cubicle as always, this time, fully clothed.

No idea as he knelt down, leaning his chest forwards, his nose millimetres from the acrylic base.

No idea as he stuck his tongue out and licked where your feet had been, lapping up a little of that stagnant water infused with you.

Now it was his turn to stay late in the office, turning all the lights out, basking in the darkness.

He leaned back taking in that f—king scent which lingered all over his skin, legs spread, staring at your file in the darkness. Large hands ran through his hair as he shifted forwards, clicking on your profile photo.

He could feel the twitching, begging for release, begging for the stroke of his palm to alleviate the tension. A single digit outlining your jaw on the screen. God he wanted to finally touch you, finally have you.

The door opened, that silhouette unmistakable, making his throbbing c-ck scream.

"Colonel, I need to ask you something."

[sardonic-the-writer]

You van now marry me because I am interested in your tf2 headcanons

Tell me more please

so happy someone asked for this. giving your forhead a big fat smooch. also, i would habe included tracker in these, but i feel like that would have been a bit self pretentious

scout

• good artist. has drawn tom jones fanart before

• knows a little bit of french; his mom made him learn. also knows a few french songs because of this

• bisexual but battles with it a lot

• really appreciates his teammates and conciders all of them—except for maybe spy—to be his best friends

• terrified of medical procedures and terrible at hiding it

soldier

• brightest blue eyes you've ever seen

• wears underwear with the pattern of the american flag on them

• doesn't know it's not normal to have gay thoughts. literally would kiss a man sloppy style and then not understand why everyones looking at him. probably straight, but makes exceptions

• has had his hands cut off at least five times before. it's getting concerning at this point

pryo

• uses asl with their team and teaches those who don't know. they'll still use muffled sounds to communicate though

• has no gender actually. not trans, not cis, but a secret third thing

• aroace! latches so strongly onto platonic relationships though its actually insane

• attends bonfires with enigneer sometimes

• has a pair of onsie pajamas that they wear over their suit to bed at night

heavy

• is definitely in love with medic, no doubts to be had

• has a PHD in russian literature! a very smart fella, he just has trouble speaking his mind in english

• gay. so so gay. mlm all day

• the only merc to regularly check out books from teuforts library sans soldier. although he doesn't really check out books, he just yells at the librarian for not carrying sun tzu's the art of war

• sings little songs to sasha in russian

demomam

• has scars all over his chest from an accident with a grenade he had as a kid

• sends lots of post cards and souvenirs to his mom when he's on the job. he really loves her

• actually used to style his hair in dreads when he was a little bit younger, but just doesn't have time to do much with his hair anymore

• so casually bisexual; especially considering it's the sixties and seventies. takes interest in both men and women

• best friends with both his and the other teams soldier!

sniper

• his camper is such a mess all of the time. only ever cleans if he knows someone's going to be visiting, and even then there's a few stray piss bottles laying around

• plays poker & other card games with scout all the time. when they can't bet money, they'll end up using other things to play, like bullets or stray snacks

• thinks he likes both men and women. tries not to dwell on it too much since he gets anxious about it, but at the end of the day can't deny that he finds men attractive as well

• has a mug that says world's number one best sniper that miss pauling got him

engineer

• shortest mercenary r.i.p

• parental figure to pyro

• one of the only good cooks at the base. often ends up making dinner for everyone even if it's someone else's turn to cook that night

• has a prosthetic arm that he built from scratch & spends a lot of his time adding to/upgrading

• probably straight, but the biggest ally you'd ever meet

spy

• genderfluid. has a few lady disguises he's had to use before, and is just as comfortable in them as any other one of his disguises. definitely had gay sex with scouts mom before

• reverts to straight french when he gets irritated or upset

• heavily bisexual and very open about it with any of his partners. a man/womanizer

• the only merc with a sense of fashion to be frank. have you seen everyone else. soldier thinks being naked and covered in honey is the epitome of fashion for fucks sake

medic

• probably knows more about the medical field than any other doctor at the time. is actively dropping some medical talk & procedures that won't even be invented until a few decades later. he's fun like that

• owns one pair of regular clothes. everything else is lab coats and black pants. maybe a turtleneck or two if you're lucky

• super mega über gay for heavy. see what i did there

• also, i'd like to headcanon that he needs glasses because he's nearsighted of all things. it makes performing surgery hard without them

[roomsofangel]

CHAPTER SEVEN

the act of holding on and letting go .ᐟ

wc 1.1k

if you’d like to be added to the taglist please either send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are also very appreciated!

chapter warnings metaphor of torture. hint/talk of depression and suicidal ideation without it fully being expressed outright. y/n learns their feelings were manipulated at one point.

other with the further we get into this — the more warnings that will be more prominent — the lore and y/n uncovering everything alongside the way they all handle / go about things aren’t exactly what a healthy person would immediately go towards. ( and maybe, that one line you read in a previous chapter that didn’t seem like much, was actually a key thing for a later time x )

other 2.0 bringing my forever first baby back! i tagged those who i can remember asking to be on the taglist but no hard feelings if you want to be removed! i just deeply missed this series and it’s nowhere near done so i want to bring it back to finish it! at the moment, the masterlist was taken down so i’m in the process of redoing it so its not linked! however, click here to be directed to my old blog and the intro for this work! it’s all my work, i just moved over when that blog got shadowbanned!

“you’re absolutely fucking insane if you think i’d just sit here after hearing the stunt he pulled—“

seonghwa’s pitch and tone could make any grown man cower into submission, tears swelled up in their eyes while asking if he wanted them to bleed on his shoes or in his hands, seonghwa stared ahead focusing on hongjoong who was only speechless — how could you run into the arms that put you in harms way?

well, if he looked at it through an outsider point of view, that’s what you did with seonghwa constantly.

something told hongjoong you didn’t go to san with seductive undertones, that just wasn’t you. in every life, you still held the same morals. it was something he knew would never change.

“why did they go?” seonghwa’s voice began to lower, softly raspy when his emotions began fully processing, allowing himself to sit on the armrest chair and put his head in his hands, pushing his hair out of his face that draped over his forehead, “was it my fault?”

hongjoong shook his head, “though, i really want to say it is,” he coughed, attempting to cover the laugh he wanted to let out because he knew it wasn’t a comedic matter. “has anyone seen them?” he changed the subject, his skin crawling with unease after noticing the suffocating silence with himself and seonghwa in his living room

“besides san?” seonghwa sneered, fixing his posture before standing, dusting off imaginary dirt from his clothes, “i have to pay a visit to cupid,” he scoffed

hongjoong followed alongside, “something tells me this isn’t a usual business call,” he amused while catching up with seonghwa’s pace who made his way to the door, swiftly grabbing his car keys that hung from the wall storage hooks, “san knows all about those.”

seonghwa stopped for a moment, glancing over his shoulder to shake his head, though, his small peeking smile showed he found the reference amusing — opening the door, he swallowed his nerves.

he wanted to trust you. but how could he when you were surrounded by people he didn’t?

‎

‎

‎

‎

the room was cold, goosebumps illuminating each part of your skin that was more exposed than the other — you curled up on the couch with a heavy weighted blanket and a mug of hot chocolate — wooyoung only seemed to have a sweet taste, everything he owned in the food department was a major hint at his severe sweet tooth

you learned wooyoung was the god of love — though, most humans knew him as cupid despite some not fully believing on his reliability and existence, he seemed warm and inviting. he made sure you changed clothes and let you keep the dagger you swiped, clutched next to you.

it didn’t make sense that wooyoung was considered an enemy.

recalling san saying he met wooyoung however, had alarms going off in your head — what was his involvement? san never elaborated on the so called help.

but it was enough for him to be punished. how did you die the first time?

“if you keep frowning like that you’ll have wrinkles,” wooyoung prompted, taking a seat across from you with a strawberry cupcake in his hand, “at least, that’s what humans say — i never had any.”

you scoffed, biting back your laugh, “how lucky you must be.”

he nodded, smiling, “i mean, yn, i’m stuck as twenty three forever,” he kept a light hearted tone and facade, but you saw through it.

his eyes screamed of something you could recall as despair — desperate for an ending, he was tired. anyone with two eyes that struggled with choosing if they should stay or go, could see he was holding on by a thread.

because right now, wooyoung may have had the brightest smile — but you saw he also had the most saddest eyes.

“how did you get involved in this?” you asked, tone soft — you hoped you didn’t overstep a boundary, but wooyoung looked back at you with understanding

clearing his throat, “san told you he came to me, didn’t he?” he amused

you nodded in response.

“it was inevitable really, if san didn’t drag me in, one of the others would’ve,” he sighed, cleaning his fingers with his lips and tongue from the frosting excess of the cupcake he finished, “i felt bad for him, he was desperate for love and specifically from you.”

frowning, heart swelling, you knew if you were going to get the full story, you had to get your hands dirty and go to those who were all involved

it wasn’t smart in a sense — but with everyone telling different sides and their point of views, it was your job to pin point the consistency and bring it altogether.

for your final life.

‎‎

‎

“seonghwa is looking for you,” wooyoung mentioned, helping you wash the dishes — his eyes glancing to the side you resided, wet rag in hand focusing on the mug you drank from, “i can feel he’ll be here soon,” he frowned

“with hongjoong.”

your eyes lifted, attention gained fully, “do you know how long it’ll be?”

wooyoung shook his head, “i just wanted to tell you, give a heads up,” he pressed his lips together

you could see he was holding back, the same expression of wanting to say more than he was — was evident — you understood it all too well, that was your constant default.

words left unsaid.

“tell me what you want to, wooyoung,” you turned to face him

defeated, he smiled, “you made me feel human today, y/n,” his cheeks flushed and he looked away from you, “domestic even,” he teased which earned a small laugh from you

“i don’t know if i like it yet, but it’s not a bad feeling,” he briefed, finishing the last dish, “i just… want this with someone in particular..”

now this.

this was something you didn’t expect to hear.

“is it okay if i ask who?”

wooyoung laughed, “just as nosy as me, huh?” teasing, he cleared his throat and the amusement he held faded, recognizing the one thing you noticed, wanting the one thing you could never have.

“it’ll never happen, he’s been chasing after the same person for centuries,” he shook his head, “i can be blamed though.”

“i always helped him.”

then it made sense.

if wooyoung helped someone else, you weren’t aware of such — but something told you, whoever you thought of — was that person.

“why stay?” you asked

wooyoung contemplated on admitting it, tears swelling in his eyes before he whispered, “anything is better than being alone again, y/n.”

‎

‎

‎

you sat outside the porch, the talk with wooyoung left the two of you with overwhelming emotions — they weren’t directed at each other, but towards the confession and why wooyoung even got involved.

giving him time to adjust himself, you let wooyoung shower while you stared up at the full moon that shined down on you, appearing to slowly fade— nostalgic, you smiled.

you don’t know how long you had been staying with wooyoung, assuming half a night — at least, until the sunrise.

swallowing your nerves, you attempted to gather the information you received.

san didn’t give you an exact timeline but something told you he knew — you’d gather that later.

hongjoong and you had already been best friends — every life.

seonghwa was never meant to be your lover but somehow always made it happen.

and wooyoung helped san with you.

your expressions showed your progress and you couldn’t help but audibly gasp, “that fucking asshole.”

my yn never let a man control them.

“what a hypocrite you are, choi san,” you bitterly whispered under your breath

before you could stand and let wooyoung know you should be heading out soon, your nose twitched and felt a hand wrap around your wrist to pull you back

“yn, you have explaining to do.”

PREVIOUS . . MASTERLIST . . NEXT

taglist (open)

@onedumbho3 @chngbnwf

[userarmand]

so since you watched Portofino and I'm currently going through season 2 (I'm on episode 3) (please don't ask why, the pull that man has on me is truly unfathomable, my dick has led me places etc etc ANYWAY) and I need to talk to someone about it bc I feel like I'm going a bit insane, so I thought I could ask your thoughts on this.

so like, season 1 wasn't like... good... right? like we're all aware of that and I'm fully aware the entire series is built on what I'm gonna call at best shoddily constructed narrative cohesion and probably can't be watched without a huge amount of suspension of disbelief, but I simply can't believe they let this insane mess of a storyline just go to production like that. WHY are these people letting a pacifist doctor join in on the assassination??? WHY is Gianluca suddenly so gungho about Nish either joining in his resistance fight OR straight up leaving him for Lucian??? WHAT IS HAPPENING in that goddamn group of resistance fighters??? IS it a group or are those just four guys who don't have anything better to do??? WHY IS THE WEAPON OF CHOICE A HAND GRENADE?? again WHY ARE WE LETTING THE PACIFIST BE PART OF THIS EXTREMELY DANGEROUS, VIOLENT SITUATION?? you don't bring someone to the shooting range unless you KNOW he can pull the trigger!! he's a DOCTOR, he's the guy that stays behind so that when you guys come back from trying to beat up fascist there is someone there who knows how to patch you up!!!

and worse than all of that!!! is that I can't believe they couldn't come up with something better to put Nish out of commission than this bullshit bit of conflict that they literally fabricated out of thin air!!!

also, there is one glaring continuity error during the first scene in Turin where Nish and Gian have their 'fight' about the letter, when Nish comes in from the balcony where he wears his glasses on the balcony and then three seconds later they're nowhere to be seen. which isn't the worst thing in the world, but MAN if that doesn't summarize how invested they were in this goddamn storyline, I don't know what does.

okay, sorry for that, I'm a bit tipsy, anyway: man this shit sucks, but the worst part of all of it is truly that there are like... TRACES of a reasonably interesting story scattered across the show, but every time I think they're getting close to actually properly engaging with one of them they do a hard left and someone commits a micro aggression.

jesus fuck, this show is awful. that said I AM writing a fix it fic, which is less fix-it and more 'let's try and make this less stupid'-fic

anyway sorry for this, I... am going back to watching...

gianluca definitely didn't know what he was doing but idk if that was intentional on the writer’s part or not. his little anarchist faction was very much in its infancy considering it was literally just him, his two mates, and his extremely reluctant boyfriend. gian knew that nish's heart wasn't it, knew he didn't like conflict, literally said that's why he loved him, but basically pouted about it until nish agreed to join, at no point acknowledging the added danger nish was in as an indian national. neat.

so here we are with gian and his merry band of mugs who instead of digesting any actual communist or socialist theory, decide that blowing up some rando fascist would make any sort of difference in mussolini’s italy. nish had to be directly involved in the grenade shit so he'd get injured which would put him back in lucian’s orbit and reconnect him to the 'main' plot in portofino. the show wasn't wiling to delve fully into what exactly gian and the resistance movement were trying to achieve outside of individual terrorism so that storyline didn't really result in anything beyond establishing that fascism = bad, which, yeah we know :/

also i don't disagree that they were half-assing things but regarding the continuity of nish's glasses: he takes them off when the camera's on gian lol u can see them in his hand

[shmowder]

No don’t worry!! I did find it cool to figure out Daniil actually has a canon height lol! I’m just autistic and get insanely embarrassed when I get things wrong about my special interests is all!! You didn’t come off as “erm actually at all” don’t worry!! It’s just me having a oh god I got this minor detail wrong i’m so cringe moment…i genuinely love learning new things!! Even if i feel a bit silly cause i got things wrong as a result!! And you’re absolutely right it’s always nice to see some content for strong and tall characters getting the damsel treatment that’s always fun!!

However that being said can I get some short Daniil and short reader content!! Because short Daniil just itches a part of the brain so it’s the short transmasc part of the brain that’s the part of the brain it itches.

Also your screenshot edits are so good!! “Never read Frankenstein” absolutely took me out because yeah I don’t wanna imagine what would happen if that man read the Frankenstein…..however I’d also love to see what would happen if he read Frankenstein, don’t know if he can due to time period reasons but….if it’s possible get that man a copy immediately!

-immune anon

Short Daniil with a short reader

[fluff, slight comedy, comfort]

[GN Reader]

-

The one thing Dankovsky abhorred the most about this town was the sheer quantity of tall people. Gaint freaks roaming the streets, causing his neck to crane just to hold eye contact with them, already developing a sore muscle.

Was it something in the water? Has their bottled milk been blessed by some deity to be 10 times as effective? Even the herb brides were taller than him. Daniil doesn't want to think about what he might look like to people while standing directly next to Dr. Rubin.

This is why he didn't feel the least bit ashamed of the great amount of relief that overcame him once he first set sight on you. Finally, he can meet someone eye to eye.

Well...someone near his age, to be more precise.

Straightening his posture, Slightly puffing his chest and thanking whatever powers that be for letting him remember to put on his good shoes thise morning–the ones with the subtle platforms integrated seamlessly into the design—Daniil was more than delighted by the discovery that he in fact did surpass your height...

...by 2.5 centimetres.

which were mostly his shoes–But, a victory nonetheless.

But at least, this was the start of something beautiful. You haven't said a word yet and already made a good impression on him.

Months go by, and the two of you only get closer and closer. Like two peas in the pod, height accuracy, and all. Struggling to reach things on the high shelf, bringing any new clothes you buy to the tailor for hem adjustments.

Going on strolls together, naturally keeping up with one another's pace. A mutual understanding between you two when Daniil found you climbing atop a table once just to reach the clock on the wall in order to change its batteries, or that time you saw him use the pistol barrel to hook through a mug's handle and bring it from the wall cupboards.

One day, Daniil managed to sprain his ankle—just another average day of almost being thirty—and you let him lean his weight against your body as you helped him back to the house.

A seed of suspicion was planted in your mind that day, one that questioned if you could, theoretically, carry him?

There is no better time than the present; you went to put your hypothesis to the test immediately. Much to Daniil's confusion as you march up to his sitting figure on the couch after he just finished checking over his ankle, bending down, putting one arm around his waist, another under his knees.

And without warning, lifting upwards.

You discovered that without his heavy snakeskin coat, leather shoes, and medical bag, Daniil was relatively easy to lift up. His body barely put any strain on your arms, or maybe it was you who was getting stronger? You knew munching on these rather expensive protein bars had to pay off one day.

Would it have been anyone else, the Bachelor might have put his gun to use, or maybe borrowed a page or two from the Haruspex's book and got creative with a scalpel.

Luckily for you, and your lifespan, since you weren't just anyone to Daniil, you only got away with an earful about immediately putting him down.

Despite his initial apprehension, as the days went by, your discovery was proven more and more useful. The amount of times you've moved a sleeping Daniil from his desk to the bed, slowly carrying him up the stairs, careful not to accidentally bump his head against the wall–who was the architect that thought a curved staircase was a good idea?

Dankovsky wasn't stupid. He knew he didn't magically teleport from downstairs to his bed after he woke up.

His pride prevented him from outwardly expressing gratitude, the idea of being picked up still leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but he attempted to show his thanks in other ways.

[emmalovesfitzloved]

Can you tell me about Fitzloved?

"OH MY GOSH, AM I ABOUT TO INTRODUCE YOU TAYLOR SWIFT?!"

that's what i first meme when i saw your lovely ask! hahahah

Introductions

So its a fandom based on the epic fantasy series that follows for the most part, 2 soulmates, from their childhood all the way to their older years as they grow from friendship, partners to lovers. And I have to admit, the way it's written is almost euphoric. It's utterly lyrical.

So introductions now put aside, 'Fitzloved' is the ship name for "Beloved" (one of his many names) name of the characters and "Fitz". They are the two ongoing protagonists in one of the most respect and wonderful high fantasy series ever created, Realm of the Elderlings by Robin Hobb. They are the main couple shall we say that span the 16 book series. I think a lot describe it as the "mona lisa of fantasy series" within the genre. It's aesthetic is very much evermore meets folklore meets Merlin. Its veryyyyy cozy fantasy and perfect for the season but also the Fall/winter.

The big 5 writers of fantasy rn i have been told are: Brandon's, Robin Hobb's, GRRM (Although he's lost a lot of respect in the community because of his insane hiatus!), Steven Erickson's (Malazan series) and Joe Abercrombie. While you will see with the Cosmere, Brandon is very much straight to the point, prioritises fights, magic system building and very cohesive ensamble casts. Unlike her peers, Robin Hobb on the other hand, is a delicacy. A slowly made dessert that has sweet and salty tastes if you will. And another defining feature is that her series does not involve a massive war at the epicentre of the fantasy plot, which ironically is rare in high fantasy now a days.

Of Cats and Closed Doors by @tragediegh

HOWEVER. The WAY in which i was introduced to this series is kind of dumb and silly, i.e. very me lol. i stumbled across a fiction on ao3 under 'in a the cabin era way' tag and stumbled across @tragediegh's soul-binding, amazing wonderful fiction called Of Cats and Closed Doors that is still ongoing and she updates mostly weekly! At first, not joking i thought it was an original work, but only well into crying, loving, reading, laughing, did i realise when i looked better at the tags it was actually based on ROTE lol. I was new to ao3 that's my only defence :P

And what @tragediegh and Hobb are doing probably tell from my handle, is make literally my roman empire. Like I reread chapters everyday before going to sleep. It's fr fr my safe space. and what i love is the maturity in which they both write, as they create stakes in different ways. She creates a very tangible atmosphere, a world you can touch, the foods cooked, how they smell, and what the character's rely on. From banquet halls, to the wood carvings the Fool leaves behind, the well lit fireplaces, mugs of ale and coffee on the table, through jewels adorned, to how the dragons gleaming like jewels in the sky… it's simply amazing. You get me. There is NEVER a moment where you feel like it's a slog or dull moment. Like I did sometimes while reading the Stormlight Archive or Outlander (those books in their defence, are longer individually).

And like I said, the thing I LOVE the most with how they make us and fall in love with Fool (one of the protagonists) through the eyes of naive and a socially sometimes challenged Fitz. Fitz himself, is the most passionate, handsome, humble hero i've ever read. He is a bastard prince who from day 0 was neglected, abused, unwanted, un-named, manipulated, gaslit just all around most traumatised character one could read. Which most people end up overlooking and resenting bc he is riddled with insecurities (despite him being a hotttie hot chiseled smokie pie that everyone wants to cuffff) and developed unhealthy copying mechanisms that can effect the readability of the main series. Which is entirely relatable. I strongly believe the hero of Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson that everybody loves, is heavily inspired by Fitz in ROTE. In fact I think Brandon said it was one of his fav series.

But really, the masterpiece of this world is obviously the Fool. When I look at the other characters, its a bit like watching a glorious puppet show - I can see how the strings are moving and what the puppets are made of…But not so with the Fool, he is an infinite mystery and creating a character like that is something I`ll never be able to get out of my head. he is other worldly. Put Tolkien fae and beautiful faeries to shame with his grace, elegance, mysticism. His story with Fitz (the other main character) with that @tragediegh and Hobb are doing imo is one of the greatest love stories of all time.

Gender Identity

And I think also, Fool (also known as Beloved to a special someone 😉) is a lgbtq+ individual, and their identity and how they chose to present and address themselves daily (and not address it!) plays a massive role in the ROTE/OCACD overall. It extremely realistic, how it's writen, where for the most part some characters are confused, don't know how to navigate the topic. Which isn't helped by how private and mysterious the Fool remains. But for the most part, is heart warming, as the gender fluidity of the Fool is openly accepted by his mate (YES MATE) with open arms as he accepts it, and it's got me CRYINGGGG as i type this fr....! These characters were created pre-2000's, which just goes to show how timeless these gender questions and acceptances really are i think!

Music

CANON FOR ME swiftie songs that are FOR fitzloved to get a feel r:

ur loosing me

my tears ricochet

invisible string

stay don't go

the lakes

mastermind (YASSS beloved go manipulate ur boy fitzieee ily)

dress (as of chapter 48 and beyond hopefully alkdfjalkdjfj)

and Fitz's song for me for ever will be:

i see fire live and in session by ed sherran (i just feel the literal passion that fitz has through this song not to mention the howl XD)

Conclusion

So yeah, I cannot recommend enough this ongoing story and series to you.

TLDR: Fitzloved is a ship i read myself to sleep every night and cry about how amazing they are XD

Feel free to ask any more questions about them or even my favourite artists that do ROTE work bc ngl this post was 2x as long as i included artistic work but it was getting too long so i decided to leave that for a more specific ask :)) As you can tell i can just dedicate entire evenings singing from the top of these crusty english rooftops how amazing and life changing these two silly beans are. I hope this was enough of a good overview of my love for them and why! :)) Hopefully one day you will give it a go, and i swear your life will be changed for ever ! <333

[ms0milk]

What i like about this chapter is that Bakugou is, in the grand scheme, not much a part of it, but is clearly down horrendous. Down stupid. Obsessed even. He is a crazy person who gravitates towards even crazier people so he seems normal in comparison, and reader is fucking nuts (as is our RIGHT).

I bet out of all of the feelings he felt when reader crashed the ball, the first and most important feeling was this giddy thrill that he's the reason for it. Reader can't behave themselves and it's because of him and they're both so fucking nuts. Its a Mutual Peacocking attraction ritual where both subconsciously compete for the most jaw dropping unhinged abnormal display of devotion instead of just holding hands. Right now Reader is winning because they keep almost dying in Bakugous arms (unfair advantage, as it is their job, but even still they manage to perform it with such gusto that you're thrown). no matter how much takoban royalty hates these alderan visitors, you KNOW this moment is going to become folklore. Oh the king apparent and his kight? Two beasts in love? In 20 years takoban bodice rippers are going to all be reskinned Bakugou x reader fanfic of some kind.

Anyway I think Takoba should be burned to the ground because this place is speed running giving people the most acute trauma. love and light to the Todoroki family they need to be overthrown and forced to become farmers because what the fuck do you mean "She wanted to flame to be blue :)" blue fire killed my grandma what the hell were you all thinking. This place sucks I wanna go home.

I do like to think that like... once reader is dancing peruro some of the takoban staff and royalty are like "oh wait they're not that crazy they're just stressed all the time." That's my headcannon. Fix it fic in the works where everybody who was mean to reader apologizes.

Kisses, brother. great work as always

their relationship is so important to me, i just think bkg’s type here is House Fire and reader is desperately trying to firefight without realizing she’s the arsonist . atp you understand these two better than i do, i love how wild reader has gotten (as is your right🙂‍↕️) and it’s insane how generous this message is thank you thank you!

bkg looking like the most normal person here and he is so cripplingly whipped for this exhausted little lady (feral) (/pos) LOVE your interpretation of his thought process at her entrance, LOVE the biblical-level meet cute these takobans are gonna be jerking it to for the next generation, LOVE your takoban bomb threat. blue fire actually mugged me at gunpoint and i was laughing so hard through half of this message i had to read it thrice with tears in my eyes

theres so much this horrible tense kingdom leaves unsaid abt their thoughts on these guests but i too like to speculate bc really, when you think about it, takoba is kinda just full of really normal people who dont get paid enough. “just fucking kiss about it” i’m sure every singed member of the castle is pleading. maybe it’ll make them leave faster