#i need new world of steam to be real

[archiewantsheetmetal]

(For Doodle request) Layton and Luke in their new outfits from the new game (New World of Steam) XD

theyre killing it babuy!!

[icewindandboringhorror]

I've referenced before how I have a big google document to keep track of every media I've ever seen in my entire life (just for reference because I like to track everything possible lol… I am the Data Collector), but recently as I was updating it, I thought of actually evaluating them to find out random percentages (like for example, out of Total Shows Watched, what percentage did I finish vs. stop watching, what percentage did I like or dislike, etc.)...

Evaluating these things is made easier by the fact that I already place everything on each subsection of the list into 6 broad ranking categories, so I don't have to go back and guess to figure out how I feel about them or anything. The categories are: Ranking 5 - overall best* (despite some criticisms of course because I'm too much of an Analyzer to ever find anything Perfect lol) Ranking 4 - more positive than neutral, but not good enough to be 5 Ranking 3 - either the good + bad negate each other, OR it's just not memorable/interesting in any way enough to be ranked higher or lower (this is the Default category ALL things are placed in if no other rank applies) Ranking 2 - maybe a few redeemable elements but largely more negatives than positives Ranking 1 - So bad that it circles around to being fascinating to observe in some way (not necessarily Funny, or Good, but just interesting somehow) Ranking 0 - Bad in a genuinely frustrating or obnoxious manner

*("best" primarily defined here as most interesting, rather than most good in a technical sense, or some other measure. I tend to value more highly whether there's something novel or thoughtful about the worldbuilding, tone, writing, base premise, etc - than about whether it's actually executed perfectly.)

And here's the amount of shows that have so far been placed into each category -

TV shows ~ Rank 5 (highest) - 20 shows ~ Rank 4 (mid-high) - 28 shows ~ Rank 3 (neutral/default/meh) - 114 shows ~ Rank 2 (mid low) -33 shows ~ Rank 1 (low low but intriguingly so) - 14 shows ~ Rank 0 (iredeemably low) - 2 shows

This would make for a total of 211 TV shows overall. However, there are 57 shows within these list marked as "didn't finish" (typically meaning I quit on the very first or second episode - but log them still to keep a record that I at least had a brief view of them).

So my total of genuinely fully watched shows would be more 154. 211 Total, but a More Accurate Total of 154.

Counting them all and using the Total Number Of The List (211) -- that means roughly 9.5% of all total shows I have ever watched (or at least attempted to watch) have been Mostly Good, 13% have been Moderately Okay, 54% have been either entirely Forgettable or some mix of good + bad that lands them right in the Neutral Middle, 15.6% have been Mostly Bad, 6.6% have been Bad (but in an interesting way), and 0.9% have been Terribly Bad.

Additionally, I didn't even get past the first two episodes of about 27% of the total.

Sooo, discounting ones I didn't finish, my total TV shows ever watched in my life would be about 154 (maybe give or take a few, assuming I might have forgotten some from very long ago).

But instead of entire life, let's just say this is the total for 'About 20 Years' (so, not counting very early childhood when I likely wouldn't remember things I saw/have no detailed recollection of them (like for example, I'm sure at some point when I was like 4yrs old I must have seen an episode of Spongebob or something, but I have zero distinct memories of it, can't quote anything of it, and barely recall the premise - so I don't count it on the list, etc.)).

In that case, 154 divided by 20 would be roughly 7.7 shows a year.

Which is actually surprisingly low considering that I often have stuff on in the background for hours whilst I make sculptures and do costumes and stuff (maybe I should have also marked some distinction between 'things I fully paid attention to' and 'things I kind of half listened to whilst sculpting', but that would further split the categories too much probably lol), but I guess a lot of that is youtube videos or random documentaries, so .. eh.. maybe I get it being lower.

Now, doing the same thing for movies-

Movies ~ Rank 5 (highest) - 4 movies (3.4% of total) ~ Rank 4 (mid-high) - 12 movies (10.3% of total) ~ Rank 3 (neutral/default/meh) - 91 movies (78.4% of total) ~ Rank 2 (mid low) - 8 movies (6.8% of total) ~ Rank 1 (low but interesting) - 1 movie (0.8% of total) ~ Rank 0 (irredeemably low) - none in this category (0%)

That makes 116 for a Total (Actually Remembered) Movies Watched In Lifetime (Or At Least In 20 Years).

116 divided by 20 is roughly 5 or 6 movies a year (I feel this has probably been skewed though by adding everything since like elementary school onwards, as I remember a lot more movies from child/teen years.. Whereas, the past 3 years I feel like I've barely seen maybe even 5 movies?? lol). I also have "Didn't Finish" marked on 18 of them. Which means I quit halfway through about 15% of the total movies.

So, a for broader summary stuff..

I seem to be less forgiving to movies than tv shows, by far. Which makes sense to me, I guess, because I love elaboration and details, so "short form" things that only last an hour or two are often lost on me a bit. My biggest complaint with movies is indeed usually walking away just wishing there had been more exposition, more scenes where characters are doing nothing, more "mindless bantering" conversations, more Quiet Downtime and Lore Elaboration and so on lol, so... of course most 1-2hr films end up feeling a bit Not Enough To Draw My Interest/Nothingy to me.

If you count 5 and 4 as "like" and rankings 2 to 0 as "dislike", then for TV shows I at least somewhat liked 48 of them, and at least somewhat disliked 47 of them.. So it's almost exactly the same lol. I'm just about equally as likely to find something bad as I am to find something redeeming about it. But overall, the largest chance is that I just won't really care much for it at all and it will be tossed into the 'neutral' pile, forgotten forever. Movies have a bit better of a balance, "liking" 16 of them, and "disliking" only 9 of them. So I'm slightly more likely to enjoy a movie than to find it annoying - though still VASTLY more likely to just not find it anything in particular, possibly not even finishing it.

ANYWAY.. this is vague and literally pointless, but like I said, I just really find information fun. Like my document where I've rated every apple flavor I've ever tried (like 40 of them now?), or reviewed every oreo flavor (32?), or ranking data from my entire 10 years of Trying To Make Friends process (out of 100 people, roughly 8% chance of a moderate compatibility, 3% chance of high), or etc. etc.. I love to have random pointless things to analyze I suppose lol.

I doubt anyone tracks things in their life in this same exact way, but I'd be interested in hearing any at least somewhat similar data !!! (like, how many TV shows you watch a year on average, and what percentage of those you like vs. dislike (if you keep track of that sort of thing), etc.)). I guess it might be easier with movies, since I think some people use those websites where you curate a list of movies you've seen and you can rate them or something, so maybe the numbers are already available on those places. :0

[quibbs126]

I’m thinking about the new Layton game, and while it would be fun to see old characters again like Flora, Emmy, or Descole, I feel like realistically the story’s going to be more standalone, with the only returning characters being Layton, Luke and maybe Inspector Chelmey and Barton

It’s been a long time since we’ve had a proper Layton game, and now with it coming to Switch, meaning it’ll reach a much larger audience than it likely ever did on the 3DS, meaning a lot of people who have never played the other games, so I feel like chances are they’ll want to play it safe, at least for this game, so that they can test the waters and see how receptive people are to a new Layton game. Also it’s likely meant to give us a return to formula

If they make more games afterwards, then bringing back old characters from the franchise might be more likely, but here I don’t think so

[florencemtrash]

Prim and Proper - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Some suggestiveness

Masterlist of Masterlists

Summary: Y/n and Azriel get dressed for a party at the Court of Nightmares in their own special way.

Author's note: This has been sitting unfinished in my drafts. Time to get it out into the world.

The taste of metal seeped onto your tongue, the bite of iron grating against your teeth as you held a pile of pins between your lips. You sat in front of your vanity, hair gathered up in your hands as you tried to create something of a shape. 

Shadows, cool, black fingers, gently slid up your back, whispering against the expanse of skin before gripping your chin. One by one you let the pins fall from your lips where they were caught by spectral hands. 

“Thank you, Azriel,” you said with a smile. You didn’t need to turn to know your mate, and husband, had appeared in the room. He was, always, silent as mist and moved like it too. Once there, and in another instant, gone. 

“Thank the shadows.” Hands, scarred and corporeal, brushed against your shoulders. “They needed no commands from me.” Azriel smiled, leaning against the vanity when he moved in front of you. 

The scent of his latest fight against Cassian still clung to his skin and leathers. His knuckles were bruised and split — an injury you knew would disappear before you even stepped foot outside of Velaris — and a faint red mark tinged his high cheekbones from where he’s been struck. 

“Do you need help with that?” He asked coyly. You spit out one last pin. It fell against the marble countertop with the plink of rain on a tin roof. Then you dropped your hair, shaking out your arms as your hair fell down your back. 

Azriel’s eyes traced you hungrily, and he couldn’t help the disappointment in his stomach when that wide expanse of bare skin disappeared behind the curtain of hair. But perhaps it was a good thing. He’d have a hell of a time keeping his fists to himself if any male eyed you in your strappy dress. 

You draped an arm over the back of your chair, eyelashes fluttering up at him in a way that made his heart stutter. Seventeen years of knowing you, and three years mated, and you still pulled at his heartstrings like a puppeteer. 

“That would be lovely. But!” You held up a hand before he could walk any closer, then pointed towards the bathroom door. “Shower first.” 

Azriel huffed, stealing one quick kiss before slipping into the bathroom. 

Steam billowed out from beneath the door, rolling over the floor like white caps over a beach. Azriel combed back his hair, towel sitting loosely on his hips as you busied yourself with makeup. The smile you’d adopted while brushing blush over your cheeks became real as Azriel rested his hands on your shoulders, stealing a kiss along the curve of your neck before you could say anything. 

He put up your hair and you helped him with the buttons of his dress shirt, especially the pesky ones that lined the slits below his wings. With that done and out of the way, the real work could begin. 

“Three inches or four?”

“Three. The four-inch one is too heavy.” You touched a strand of hair that Azriel had purposefully left out of its arrangement. For framing those beautiful eyes, was what your mate had said. “I want the hair to last if it comes to a brawl.” 

“Smart.” Azriel smiled and spun the thin, three-inch dagger in the air before sliding it into its sheath and then into your hair. The ends that showed looked decorative — beautiful — and discrete, but he’d seen you pluck out a male’s eye with a needle — you could do far more damage with this. He then added a few pearl pins — also using for stabbing people in the eyes. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Azriel murmured against the curve of your ear. 

You hummed in curiosity, then your brow shot up as he gently laid a new pendant necklace against your chest. 

“Raskel finished it in time?!” 

“He did indeed. You’ve got twelve shots.”

You fingered the teardrop shaped pendant, hearing the faintest clatter of hair thin darts within it. You raised the fuller, blunt end to your lips before aiming at the wall and blowing. A sharp, thin whistle followed by the faint plink of the dart hitting the wall made you laugh with glee. 

Azriel smiled adoringly. “Now you’ve got eleven.” 

“That’s eleven of Keir’s males if he decides to test us tonight.” You winked back, for the darts held a poison concentrated enough to kill a fae… if her aim was true… which it always was. 

They traded teasing remarks and began a heated discussion about Sellyn Drake’s newest novel — the author’s first foray into historical fiction — all the while trading daggers and hidden poisons and the odd cutting wire here and there. 

“I like Hellvin Thorv best,” Azriel said from his position on the floor. He slid the sheath up your thigh, tightening it until you nodded in confirmation and slipped a simple silver dagger into its rightful place and flung your skirt over top. 

You clicked your tongue half in disapproval. “You would like him best.” 

“What is that meant to mean?” He asked in shock. 

“Nothing.” 

You helped him put on his thin, leather gauntlets with the hidden blades tucked against his forearm, buttoned up his shirt, and helped lace together the corset he wore, each of the boning channels hiding a knife thin as a feather but stronger than steel. You’d designed it for him, much to Raskel’s chagrin as he was the one who made your creations come to life. Raskel loved to moan and groan about the injustice of it all, but he did love a challenge… and gold. 

As a final touch you made Azriel sit down in your vanity chair before climbing into his lap and holding his chin in a gentle grasp as you lined his eyes with kohl. 

“I would like to see us back in this position at the end of the night,” he sighed. 

“Then let’s hope no one tries anything tonight.” You pressed your lips against his neck leaving a berry red stain. 

“Leave it,” Azriel said when you went to wipe it off, then grinned at the expression on your face. “Let them remember which female I belong to.” You left two more marks on his jaw, just to reinforce the message. 

“Shall we go, Husband?” You asked, standing to your feet and holding out your hand. 

“We shall.” He squeezed once before sliding his arm around your back and squeezing your hip. 

Rhysand and Feyre were the center of attention at the Court of Nightmares with their glittering jewels and chins raised high. Cassian’s voice was loud and grating to unfamiliar ears, and Nesta’s eyes shone like two ice chips, flashing like spotlights as they raked over the crowd. But everyone knew it was the silent pair furthest back from the front of the dais that needed to be feared. The ones made of shadow and darkness that could disappear and reappear seemingly at will. 

Keir caught your gaze once and shivered much to Azriel’s delight. He tipped his head to the side ever so slightly, letting the room catch the smear of lipstick on his neck. The male gritted his teeth and fled out of view. No one would dare raise a hand in defiance so long as you and Azriel graced their presence.

[wolken-himmel]

In which (Y/n) finds a doll that bears a strange resemblance to Vil. The two enjoy some tea until Ace and Deuce show up to cause some ruckus.

The doll turns out to be the real Vil when (Y/n) accidentally kisses it.

Requested by @akemiozawa.

"(Y/n)? What are you doing?"

You turned your gaze to the door of the Ramshackle living door as if you had been caught red-handed at the crime scene. Your eyes fell on none other than Ace and Deuce, whose gazes were trained at the blond doll seated across from you. They continued to stare at the two cups of tea on the coffee table, a steaming pot in between them.

"Having afternoon tea with my friend," you said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Ignoring their presence, you took another sip from your cup.

Ace stared at the doll owlishly, then he broke out into laughter. "That's a doll, (Y/n)," he wheezed and almost doubled over.

"Shut up," you said with a roll of your eyes. "Don't hurt Vil's feelings like that."

Your words prompted the most confusion-laced gaze you had ever received from Deuce. "I hate to break it to you, (Y/n). But that's not Vil. That's a doll." The blue-haired boy hesitated for a moment as his eyes scanned the doll curiously. He quirked an eyebrow in realisation. "Although... that doll does look a lot like Vil. Did you make it yourself?"

The doll possessed the same brilliant blond hair with purplish tips that the Pomefiore dorm leader was known for. And its eyes were a soft lavender hue, too. But what was most unnerving was the way the doll carried itself: It possessed the same confidence and elegance that Vil himself exuded. Shoulders not slouched at all and with its chin raised high, the doll seemed to look down upon Ace and Deuce.

"I found the doll in one of the classrooms," you explained fondly. "And since Vil is too busy to spend time with me like always, I've decided to entertain myself with this mini-version of him. He has quite grown on me. So adorable and soft!"

"I've always found dolls creepy..." Deuce began to shudder, averting his gaze from the doll.

Slowly but surely, Ace's lips morphed into a smug grin. The red-head crossed his arms and began snickering. "You take better care of that doll than of Grim."

"That's not true!" An offended huff escaped your lips. "I just sometimes need a break from Grim," you murmured under your breath. Then you took another sip from your cup, planning to ignore the two troublemakers for now. You still had hopes to have a lovely time with the doll Vil.

Yet your plans were thrown out of the window when Ace suddenly let out a frightened shriek. "Ew! The doll just bit me!" he yelled in fear and, unable to stop his reflexes, threw the doll at the wall.

An unimpressed frown appeared on Deuce's face as he watched his scared friend. "Dolls can't bite, Ace..."

"No, really. It bit me," Ace insisted, trembling. "Are you sure it's just a regular doll, (Y/n)?"

"Now that you say it, Ace... The doll does emit a strange aura of magic," his blue-haired friend muttered after a while.

The doll lay motionlessly on the ground after having been thrown at the wall. Although it faced the ground, the doll seemed to be at least in one piece and without any other notable damage. You immediately rushed over to the doll and picked it up into your arms like a worried mother hen.

"Stop throwing around my little boy like that!" you yelled at the two Heartslabyul students. Meanwhile, you cradled the doll in your arms. "Come now, Vil. You're okay. I'll protect you."

"Stop coddling that cursed doll!" Ace sneered, trying to hide his fear.

A soft sigh escaped your lips while you ran your fingers through the doll's silky hair. Within a few seconds, the doll looked like new. But still, its expression seemed to have morphed into an angry scowl when before, it was a confident smile. "Did your face hit the wall when Ace threw you?" you asked as you noticed the doll's sour expression. "My poor baby, come on... I'll kiss it better..."

You carefully brought the doll to your eye-level. Your two friends were about to call you a freak for kissing a doll, but as your lips made contact with the porcelain of the doll, you felt its small body shift and twist into something else. Your lungs constricted when a puff of violet smoke filled the living room of the Ramshackle dorm. Violent coughs escaped your lips.

A round of gasps echoed around the room once the smoke had cleared up. You three first-years couldn't help but stare at the tall blond male standing there in all his glory. His hands rested on his hips as he stared down the two Heartslabyul students, blaming them for the red bruise on his forehead.

"Vil?!" you three cried out in unison.

Ace let out a cheer despite the precarious situation he was stuck in. "Hah! I knew the doll was cursed."

Embarrassment heated up your cheeks, and you couldn't help but avert your gaze to the ground. All the hours you had spent cuddling the doll and taking care of it, he seemed to remember. You gulped, unable to face Vil. "You... were that doll?"

"What were you thinking, throwing me around like a rag doll, potato?" Vil hissed out like a venomous snake that was about to devour Ace.

"I didn't know it was you! You were a rag doll literally!"

Deuce still couldn't even begin to understand the situation. His eyes kept darting between the three other inhabitants of the room. "How did this even happen?"

Vil let out a sigh, but his frown lessened when you brought him a pack of ice. His long fingers pressed the soothing coldness to his bruised forehead. "I don't know. Epel must have slipped something into my water to get away again. I never realised he was capable to something this potent though... I am quite proud of him," he explained and sat down in the chair the doll had previously occupied.

"Uhm... But I hope you still enjoyed the tea time, Vil..." A nervous smile graced your lips as you finally managed to summon the courage to look him in the eyes.

A little chuckle escaped the dorm leader's lips. "I did, dear. We shall repeat this again some time. It was quite nice to be forced to take a break from my hectic schedule." He took a sip from his previously untouched cup of tea. His tense muscles relaxed immediately. "Your presence is quite soothing, I must admit. Everything was okay until these two potatoes showed up."

"Hey! You bit me!" Ace huffed in dismay.

The room suddenly grew cold when Vil cleared his throat threateningly. "Perhaps I should turn you two into dolls and throw you around, too?" the Pomefiore dorm leader asked coldly.

"Vil, it's okay," you whispered and placed your hand on his arm. "Stress isn't good for your skin, remember?"

At your words, Vil's apprehension towards your friends seemed to die down. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he rolled his shoulders tiredly. "Fine, potato. But only because it's you. Now, I'd like more tea, please."

[courtingchaos]

Crosstalk

Undesired signal leakage from one sound channel or track to another.

Playlist (if you wanna play along at home.)

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

Prompt: Eddie - I really like the idea of making him a naughty tape full of audio recordings of you playing with yourself for when he's out of town and you can't be together for a few days. But it's a surprise so you pass it off as a regular old mixtape and he doesn't suspect a thing until the first two songs end and then the real stuff starts.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Masturbation, reader tattoo mention

A/N: I have a list in my notes of prompts and I don’t remember what ask this one came from originally so apologies for that.

18+ NSFW No Minors

Eddie digs through the bag he hastily packed that morning while the phone sits tucked between his cheek and his shoulder. “What kind of surprise is it? When did you even get it in here? Is it dirty?” He gasps into the receiver. He can feel you swatting his arm even from four hours away.

“It’s nothing wild, it’s just-“

His fingers close around something almost buried to the bottom and he fishes it out, slick plastic cassette case gleaming in the low motel light. “Did you make me a mixtape?”

“I told you it wasn’t anything wild.”

He knows you’re twirling your finger through the phone cord, your chin probably tucked into your collar in mild embarrassment.

“I love it.”

“Don’t uh, don’t go playing it for the guys though.”

“Oh so it is dirty.”

“No, I just don’t want them making fun of me for putting Linda Ronstadt on there three times.”

“Three? What are you, breaking up with me via music?” Eddie teases you while he reads the insert you lovingly wrote on, little hearts in the corners beside the 10 track listing.

“No! She’s just got a way with the language of love!” You whine into the phone and Eddie laughs.

“Okay, okay. I’ll keep it all to myself. Gives me something to listen to while I fall asleep.” Behind him the shower cuts off and he knows Gareth will be out to finish his tangent on getting bullied out of his terrible pizza toppings. “You gonna be okay if I let you go?”

“I won’t cry myself to sleep if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh shut up, I know you walk that widows peak night and day awaiting my return from…Detroit.”

“I don’t waste my time like that. I know you’re up to your armpits in groupies.”

Eddie looks around the old motel room and scoffs. “If you think four nerds are pulling groupies in the kind of room we have, I have a river to sell you.”

After saying goodnight five times and you finally hanging up on him being sappy he flings himself into the bathroom after Gareth and before Jeff and Frank get back with food. Four straight hours in a car with three other men makes him want to crawl out of skin so he watches the steam roll out from the behind the shower curtain with anticipation. Almost scalding water leaves red marks over his shoulders and down his chest, enough to make him feel clean again while he rinses his hair. He can hear muffled voices from the other side of the thin bathroom door and knows he’s been relegated to the small couch in their room.

“You know, it’d be nice to get the bed once in a while.” He says when he exits the bathroom and snatches two slices from the open box on the single king bed.

“If you didn’t try to spoon all of us we would.”

“Oh what, you bothered by a little cuddling?”

Gareth glares at Eddie hard and Jeff cracks up at the deep breath he takes in. “If it was just cuddling I wouldn’t think anything of it, but you turn into the world’s only land octopus! I’ve never been so sweaty in my life! I don’t know how your girl puts up with it, you’re a fucking radiator!”

“This is why I always take the cot.” Frank singsongs from said cot while watching the local news.

The bickering continues as Eddie makes his temporary bed on the too hard, too small couch and finally ends when Jeff just shuts off the lights. “I need everyone to shut the fuck up for the next five hours okay?”

Eddie only hums and fishes around for his headphones, cassette player tucked up under the blanket with him. With the tv flashing across the walls Eddie starts to drift off to the slow beat of “Blue Bayou”, a soft chuckle for your choice of intro, and by the end of it he’s almost out when he hears your voice.

“Okay, so uhm, this is actually your final warning to stop playing this for everyone because you never listen to me so I’m trying to save us both some face you ratfink.”

His eyes snap open in the dark and he pulls the player out from under the covers like it’ll tell him what’s going on.

“I’m pretty sure you’ll listen to me this time though if I put a warning on your mixtape.”

He slaps around beside him on the floor for the case and squints at it in the flashing tv lights to see if you wrote something he missed.

“Anyways though, I do miss you and I hope your show goes well. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there but there’s never much room in those motels, huh?”

He can tell you moved around while recording, the bumping of the tape deck clacking in his ears. He’s glad it’s dark so none of the guys give him shit for the blush he knows is dusting his cheeks.

“Hell, one day soon you’ll get your own room and then I can come out and I don’t have to do sappy shit like this.”

The recording cuts and jumps to Carly Simon’s “You Belong to Me” and Eddie can’t help but laugh and feel hollow at the same time. As small as this couch is it would be nice to feel your weight on top of him, your head smushed in next to his sharing headphones that might snap from overextension. The song cuts off a few notes early to shuffling sounds and then your strained voice.

“This is really hard to do one handed, I won’t lie, but I wasn’t just gonna whisper sweet nothings to you.”

One handed? He can barely make out your breathing but he can hear the gasp alongside your light laughter.

“I don’t know if you know this, and if you don’t I’m sure I’m just inflating your ego but-“

The long sigh that follows finally jogs his tired brain and keys him into what’s happening. He whips his head to the side to see the sleeping forms of the other three before he sits up and pays closer attention.

“You have amazing hands Eddie, and it isn’t just-ohhh-it isn’t just the guitar playing you know? You know just where that spot is. I think your fingers are longer, I don’t know.”

Suddenly Bonnie Raitt is in his ear and he’s fumbling for the buttons on the side of the player to fast forward because while he appreciates your mixtape skills, now is not the fucking time. You would make him wait through three more songs before he accidentally runs into the middle of your recording, a thin moan of his name that makes him stand and head for the bathroom.

“-and I just miss you a lot and you’ve only been gone f-for what, a day by the time you get this?”

His lighter clicks in the dark while juggles the tape player and his pack of cigarettes.

“You actually just left my place. We had dinner and I told you I wouldn’t fuck you because it’s like good luck or some shit. I heard boxers do it like that.”

You have a remarkable way of running your mouth while otherwise occupied, thoughts that zip between moans and even he has a hard time keeping up. In the bathroom he cracks the small window so he doesn’t set the smoke detector off and then locks the door behind him before turning the shower on full blast. When he finally sits on the edge of the tub he expects a little more from you before Bill Withers starts singing about missing sunshine and he has to fast forward again.

“You’d think I’d be a little embarrassed to do this but actually it’s-fuck-it’s kind of easier to rec-“

Eddie sucks on his cigarette until the cherry burns bright red and his lungs start screaming, the cut off voice in his ears lending to quiet sounds of your hand working fast to make your breath jump in your chest. He thinks about you probably laying on the floor of your tiny studio, right at the foot of your bed with that big boombox next to your head set to record. That pillow that’s too big for your tiny couch, the one that got relegated to a ‘floor pillow’, stuffed behind your head while your toes catch on the edge of your green rug as you try to brace yourself.

Eddie sits on the edge of the tub and breathes in his own exhaled smoke and chews on his lip till it goes almost numb. Sits there and listens to your gasps and whimpers, the far off wet slick of your fingers moving faster.

“You’d think…I was making you…a tape to send you off to war.” Your laugh is light, forced air before it chokes off on his name and he slides down to the cold tile floor. Cigarette tossed into the tub behind his head, he’ll fish the butt out of the drain when he’s done listening to your voice.

“Barely a long weekend and-and-ah shit!”

You’ve tranced him, hardly notices the dig of the tile against his bare skin, doesn’t give a shit that this floor is dirtier than he can imagine probably. He lets his vision fuzz with the steam filling the small bathroom so he can focus on your voice and try to picture you laid out in front of him. It’s just another lazy afternoon, weed haze ringing your apartment while he watches you from across the room.

“I miss you when you’re gone. It’s only four days but I miss you Eddie.”

Sitting on that tiny couch and mesmerized by the dance of your fingers over your own skin. Nails press lightly into lines of ink to trail up your thigh and over your hip, to press into the softness of your belly. You’d hold his gaze the whole time like a dare while your other hand kneaded at your chest. When those adventuring fingers finally dip between your thighs and you sigh so light, Eddie follows suit.

Through the headphones he can hear you closer now like your lips were pressed to his ear. Heavy pants and no more words, just breathing that stutters and climbs in pitch. He wastes no romance on himself, not here in this cramped bathroom, not when he can almost feel your breath hot and damp against his neck. With every hitch of your voice he speeds his hand up, didn’t even bother pulling his shorts down all the way. In his imagination you give him a chastising smile for it before your reddened eyes roll back into your skull on a moan and he uses both hands now, just like you would.

The next song started and ended maybe but his hair clings to him in the steam and his sweat. There’s a chord change he thinks that proceeds his stomach clenching and his thighs aching before it all cuts off with your loud moan. You must have slapped at the player too late, not catching all of your agonies for him. Not everything, sure, but the important part is there. Your voice chanting low as your pleasure ebbs, his name over and over until you giggle and gasp.

Soft hands, phantom and damp with arousal and sweat cup his face when he cums, the heel of his palm shoved into his mouth to stifle the high noises trying to escape his throat. The track clicks again back to music and it isn’t until Eddie hears Peter Frampton that he starts to crash back into reality.

“If I know you like I think I do, I’m sure you’re rolling your eyes at me.” You giggle again at the end of the cassette, satiated and melancholy. “I just wanted you to have a little something, though I am sorry I buried it all in some of the best love songs ever written.”

You leave him with an I love you and another I miss you and a little bit of a mess to clean up. In twenty minutes though, when he’s back on the couch having evaded being caught and sucking down another smoke, he falls asleep and dreams about that hazy afternoon he intends to give you when he gets home.

[hotluncheddie]

for @steddie-spooktober day 4 prompt : corn maze

rated: T | cw: hospitals | tags: post s4, getting together

🌽 🌽 🌽 🌽

Eddie wakes up blurry eyed and disorientated in his now very familiar hospital bed. He spend the end of spring dead to the world, in and out of induced comas while they reconstructed his skin, the multiple processes too painful for him to be awake for. Followed was a summer of twilight and half wakefulness. Barely sentient between medicines and sponge baths and too many doctors telling him too many things.

Sometimes he’s wake up with the phantom feeling of his hand being held. Often he'd wake up with Wayne dozing on the little plastic chair beside him.

And maybe a little more often than sometimes, Eddie would wake up with Steve Harrington by his bedside. First shepherding Dustin, then bracketing Eddie’s new favourite midwestern queer Robin Buckley. Then just, Steve. Reading car magazines and folding the corners of pages he thinks Eddie might like. Or filling endless water cups, and scavenging snack in from vending machines. Or, just, staring into space.

Steve always seemed to just be there.

And Eddie was afraid to admit, even to himself, how much he liked that.

Now autumn was finally here, just starting to turn the leaves outside his window. His time awake slowly overtaking his time asleep, finally. And Steve is still there. Most days. Many days.

And at some point Eddie had started reaching for that phantom hand holding his, but in real life. Confirmed secretly by Robin that Steve was in fact there doing so while Eddie was out of it. (Gripped with a needless sense of protection and guilt over getting Eddie to the hospital in the state he did. Carried out of hell in Steve’s strong hands. Though safe, heavily injured, and Steve seemed to take that upon his own shoulders.) But Eddie only wanted those hand to support him again, wanted to find a way to thank him with words he didn’t possess. Wanted anything Steve would give him as his feelings blossomed into something he was still too scared to really look at.

But he could hold Steve’s hand. Only just allowed to push himself on a walker to the bathroom. Only just able to sit up and eat without biting his lip in pain, stopping half way to lay prone again.

He can, could, does, and doesn’t want to stop, holding Steve’s hand. And Steve gives that willingly.

But still, Eddie wakes up in his bed disoriented. Not by the bed, or the room, or even by Steve who stands beside him.

No, Eddie’s disoriented by the two items Steve has just deposited on his little table.

Steve standing by, arms crossed and hip cocked like this is English class and he needs to be ready to detach or say something snarky if his idea gets called stupid. It tugs on Eddie’s heartstrings. Eddie blinks, clears his head.

‘Corn maze.’ Steve says. Thinly veiled in his dismissal. Achingly honest in his mask.

Eddie looks at his little hospital table. A bowl of hot corn, steaming and shining with the butter melting through it, plastic spoon standing straight up amongst the kernels. And a box of Candy Land, old, with the corners taped together, well used, well loved.

‘I love corn mazes.’ Eddie says, quietly because he just woke up from another damn nap. And it’s autumn. And Steve Harrington is everything and nothing like what Eddie ever could’ve hoped for.

Steve softens. Visibly. Eddie watches it happen. His shoulders untense and his face smooths out into the sweet glowing thing of a boy who cares too much, who loves so hard he leave claw marks on everything.

Eddie wants Steve’s claws. Eddie wants them attached to the bone. But Eddie’s doesn’t want to give Steve the space to scratch. Eddie wants him close. Eddie wants him always.

‘Next autumn we’ll go for real, deal?’ Steve says.

Eddie nods, heart in his throat, rib cage exposed, heart beating for Steve Harrington and Steve Harrington alone.

He eats a bite of corn.

They travel through a candy maze.

Eddie Munson holds Steve Harrington’s hand.

🌽 🌽 🌽 🌽

Tag list (message to be added/removed): @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @marvel-ous-m

@thecatkingsthrone @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor

[disasterofastory]

New things (Brahms Heelshire x Reader)

New things // Brahms Heelshire Masterlist Brahms Heelshire x Reader Kinktober 2023 - 7/14 Warnings: facesitting

Summary: Brahms finds interesting things on the internet.

The air is thick and heavy in the bathroom. Your reflection in the mirror is obscure because of the steam. Small water drops run down the surface, holding onto the bottom until they land on the edge of the sink. Your nostrils are filled with the scent of your shampoo and lotions. Honey and something else you picked out from the shelf without looking. Your hair is still wet, and the towel around you is soft and warm.

"I still don't understand why you didn't join me," you speak up when stepping into your room, you meet the view of Brahms sitting on the edge of your bed. Your laptop is on his lap. The bright screen illuminates his features, highlighting the rough marks on his face. When he doesn't look at you, you continue with a small frown. "If you continue like this, I have to set screen time for you." Still nothing. "Brahms? Are you okay?" Now you start to worry.

Ever since you have an internet connection, you try to teach Brahms about it as much as you can without overwhelming him. It's fun and sad at the same time. This is the closest he has gotten to the real world in many years. There are things he doesn't understand and things that fascinate him. He already made you order an ebook reader, and you added a few clothes, too you think would look good on him.

"Nothing," he replies after a while, putting away your laptop to focus his attention on you. His eyes rake over your body with appreciation. Yeah, you don't believe him. "What is it, Brahms?" "I saw something on the internet, and I want to try it with you." You are surprised. "Okay," you reply carefully. "What did you see?" "I want you to sit on my face." Now you are shocked. "And where did you see that?" Even the thought of you sitting on his face is enough to make you excited, but the blush appearing on his cheeks makes you even more impatient for what happens next. "Does it matter?" Brahms asks, scowling and pouting. "No," you reply with a sigh. You decide to leave the subject at least for now, so you can enjoy your night with Brahms without him getting upset. "So," you grin down at him when you step between his legs. Your fingers rake through his hair, grabbing a few curls to make him look at you. You can feel his warm hands on the back of your legs as he slips up and up under the white towel still covering your body. "Do you have a plan or…?" Without a word, he stands up, towering over you and placing his hand at the back of your neck to pull you into a quick kiss. Brahms nibbles on your bottom lip, biting the soft flesh before pushing his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like tea. "Take it off," you murmur against his lips, tugging on his shirt. The moment his chest is bare in front of you, your hands find their way to his abs and the soft hair that covers his body. You love touching and caressing him almost as much as he loves being under your hands. "Take it off," Brahms repeats your words, but even before his quiet command can register in your mind, the towel is already on the ground, leaving you gasping and bare in front of his hungry gaze. His attention falls onto your breasts for a second, seemingly fighting with himself before turning around and laying down in the middle of the bed. It's so robotic that you almost laugh. Okay, you need to talk with him about vibes and romantic settings before strutting into the middle of everything, but it can wait.

"Okay," you breathe out, climbing next to him and noticing his erection already tenting his pajama pants. "Sit on my face, Y/N," he says again, lifting his head to look at you. "Did you hear about patience before?" You ask him without wanting an answer. "Help me." Brahms reaches out for your hand, helping you balance until you kneel above his face. It's new for you, too. You are surprised that after everything you did with Brahms, there is still something that makes you almost shy.

Before you can adjust yourself better, he already lifts his head again. His tongue stretches into your warmth, sliding over your slit for a quick taste. The tip of his tongue swipes your clit repeatedly, flicking and teasing. "I said sit," he grunts angrily, grabbing your thighs harder to tug you onto his face entirely. A shriek escapes your lips and echoes off the walls at the sudden movement. He groans something into your pussy when you try to shift your weight off his mouth, and he doesn't let you. His fingers dig into your flesh.

Fuck.

He licks on your clit back and forth before sealing his lips around the sensitive bud to suck the soul out of you. Your body trembles and jerks at the sudden pleasure. Your hands reach out for the wooden headrest to hold onto something. "Brahms!" You cry out his name in shock when you feel his teeth nibble on you before soothing the slight sting with his tongue. "More, baby," you tell him desperately. "Give me more." Brahms feasts on your pussy, letting your juices soak his face and beard. He rubs your clit, opens your folds, and pokes your hole before swiping his tongue all over your slit. Meanwhile, your hips start to rock down on his mouth. You grind against his face, chasing your pleasure. His hands go back to your ass, gripping your cheeks to push you a bit forward until he can plunge his tongue into your dripping channel. You are warm and wet around him. His senses are full of your taste and scent. "Can you even breathe?" You gasp out, ready to move away, but he holds you down. A muffled grunt is your only answer, and the vibration of his deep voice strikes through your body. Your head falls back, and black dots dance and swirl in front of your eyes. His tongue works in and out of your pussy, gulping down everything you can give him. He pushes into you as deep as possible. In and out. In and out. "Brahms!" You scream his name again. One of your hands goes down between your legs to rub on your clit. The burning coil in your stomach flares through your veins and makes your limbs numb and heavy. "You're doing so good," you tell him, still grinding.

Brahms's cock still throbs in his pants, wanting your mouth or tits, but the man's attention is entirely elsewhere. He wants you to cum on his face, into his mouth. He wants to drown in your nectar until he knows nothing but you and only you.

You can feel your climax building inside of you with rapid speed. It trembles through your spine and roots in your belly.

"I will- I will-" You don't even have enough time to warn him. Your walls flutter around his tongue, and your clit throbs under your fingertips. You moan and whine above him. Your voice mixes with his grunts and groans under you. Your hips twitch and rock until every energy leaves your body.

Brahms laps on your pussy hurriedly, wanting your taste on his tongue before you move to the bed next to him.

And you look beautiful when you fall onto your bottom. A thin layer of sweat shines on your skin, and your bottom lip is swollen and red from biting it almost the whole time. Pride stretches in his chest as he watches you try to clear your mind. Your gaze is unfocused and glassy.

You need long minutes to calm down and notice the dark, wet spot on his pants. Your lips twitch into a taunting smirk even though you are still panting. "Oh," you coo. "My good boy cum in his pants?" He blushes again. His face and beard glint with your wetness smeared all over him. "Do you want me to clean you up?" You offer, already reaching down under the waistband of his pajama. "Please," he whispers, pushing his hips against your hand.

Maybe letting Brahms explore the internet some more is not a bad idea after all.

[wilwheaton]

I've been playing Baldur's Gate 3 on my PS5, which isn't the most portable thing in the world. I anticipate a lot of travel next year, so I bought it on Steam and got it running on my Steamdeck, so I can take it with me. Steam works so well with Linux, but I was having a hell of a time getting it to work with Proton, until a few days ago.

My character on PS5 was carefully built from the ground up. I think I spent 2 hours designing her and writing her story in my head. That was great, and not something I needed to do again, so I told it to just randomize everything. That would push me out of my comfort zone, and I'd get to experience a different story and experience than I do already.

The game generated a Tiefling Sorcerer for me, with a background in history and lore. Awesome. That's pretty different from my vengeance paladin with an outsider background.

Real quick: since I first posted about playing BG3, the number one FAQ is "do you roll as badly in this game as you do in real life?"

The answer to that is "I've had a shocking number of single digit rolls, but I turned on Karmic Dice because holy shit I have suffered ENOUGH, and I will take the option."

But with this new character (who I am calling Tav), I went ahead and turned it off, just to see.

Okay. I wake up. I see the parasite pool, and among my options is [INVESTIGATION] with a +1 bonus. That totally fits my character's story. She wants to get out of this place, but she is so compelled to understand things, to acquire knowledge and understanding, she goes straight to where the Mindflayer pulled out the tadpole, and rolls Investigation with +1. Let's find out WTF is going on! Let's do some HISTORY INVESTIGATION IN THIS MOTHER!

I rolled a 2.

So for everyone who has been asking, based on this admittedly small sample size, yes. Yes, the dice hate me, even when they are digital.

[alana-reid-2005]

spencer reid x reader ౨ৎ you’ve been reassigned indefinitely to the bau’s nyc office; spencer helps you pack for the move

p.s. did i write this to cope with the fact that i’m moving 30 minutes away from home for college? you know me too well.

Five hours isn’t that long of a drive. If you could somehow convince Erin Strauss to let you borrow the BAU’s plane, the journey would be cut to a mere hour and a half. You don’t know if this move will be permanent, but you try to forget about that for now and focus on packing. You stuff your winter coat into your already full suitcase. You’re about ready to sit on top of your suitcase to attempt to close it. October’s just around the corner, and New York gets chilly with a capital “C,” even more so than Quantico.

It’ll be your first Halloween away from Spencer in seven years, you think morosely. Spencer knows how to celebrate the spooky season. Halloween is his Christmas as evidenced by the multiple excursions to the local pumpkin patch and trips to various haunted houses he takes you on each year. And that’s not to mention how he invites you over on the thirty-first to witness him spooking the kids in his apartment building with his various monster or ghoul costumes before treating them to king size candy bars.

You’re gonna miss that more than you’d like to admit.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as Spencer stumbles in, carrying a box full of knick knacks he’s making you choose from after reasoning with you that, “Seasonal depression is very real, and making your house a home is one small way to remedy the feelings of loneliness.”

He bumps his hip hard into your closet doorknob on his way over to you but barely seems to register it.

“Careful hon-“

“Hey, did you know that the subway system is actually way better than people make it out to be?” He sets down the box with a little huff before continuing, his hands immediately going up to make gestures as he speaks. “According to a New York Times analysis I saw this morning, there’s only about one violent crime per one million rides. And that rate is only going down as ridership increases, so I think it’s your safest bet for getting around the city, all things considered.”

You smile up at him. Here’s another thing you’re gonna miss. You’d drop all your life’s responsibilities if it meant you could hear him explain the world to you all day long.

He kneels beside you where you’re bent over your suitcase. “Anyway, I brought you some holiday decor! Pick as many as you can fit in your luggage. I’ll mail you the rest.”

He’s not quite smiling, but you can sense the joy radiating from him like steam from a thermal geyser.

“It’s barely September, Spence.” You try not to let your voice break. You just can’t muster his level of enthusiasm when you know you’ll be leaving him soon. Too soon.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He must’ve noticed you were off earlier today. Mercifully, he hadn’t mentioned it sooner, or you would’ve been bawling like a baby at eight in the morning. More than often, you feel this is the curse of your chosen profession: to always know how you and those around you feel but never how to help them or yourself.

“Please don’t cry, angel.” His arms are around you in an instant, easing your chin to his shoulder. He slides his hands down to rub your back, applying just the right amount of pressure to coax your body to melt into his.

“It’s gonna be okay, I promise.” He tilts back, arms tightening around your mid back until you’re almost in his lap. Physical touch is by far not on the top of his list of love languages, but he needs you to know how much he’s gonna miss you.

“I’m sorry,” you sob.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he murmurs, stroking your hair gently. “I’m driving up to see you every weekend. And you’re flying in for Thanksgiving. I think Garcia said she’d host this year.”

“Aw, Penelope always does the best job,” you sniffle, unable to help the grin that breaks over your face.

Spencer pulls back, beaming just as bright. Once your expression softens, he pulls you in for a kiss, painfully saccharine in its tenderness.

You’re gonna miss his coffee breath most of all.

[flightfoot]

Top Ten Completed Miraculous Fics Of 2024

So here it is, my top ten list for the year. I'm gonna be adding this as a bookmark subcollection inside of the full collection. That way, people will still be able to see which fics I recommend most highly for the year, even if they can't find this particular tumblr post.

I've got a real range in popularity here. The most popular fic has over 2000 kudos, while the least popular hasn't even hit 20 yet, at the time of my writing this. Just goes to show that popularity doesn't necessarily track with quality, especially for fics that have more niche appeal to begin with.

All of these are over 40K this time. Longer fics just have more going on, so they dominate lists like this. Which is one reason I have the regular lists that are separated by wordcount, to let fics of every length have a chance to shine.

A lot of the lower entries here bounced around in placement. The top five remained pretty stable though, once entered.

Here's the subcollection I set up for them!

10.

Each Hum And Click by @echo-has-queries

Kagami thought her understandably high standards for a match in marriage would mean she could avoid being paired with a man by her mother. That she could keep perfecting her flying-machine skills and eventually take over her mother’s place in leading the Tsurugi steam engine manufacturing company without having to defer to a man. She would have thought that when her mother told her to test the Agreste boy as a marriage match she had been kidding - if her mother ever kid. But she was serious and there truly was no fault to be found with Gabriel Agreste's son - except for the small detail of course, that he was not human. So Kagami must turn to the only fine mechanic she knows in Paris to find a solution to this new dilemma. But perhaps the dilemma could turn out to be the solution itself. Written for the AU Roulette Challenge 2024 with the prompt: Steampunk AU

So this fic is entirely from Kagami's POV, and it is a treat! It's an Adrigaminette fic, which you slowly figure out from reading the fic, if you didn't check the tags - Kagami may have tried not to like Adrien, but he grew on her regardless, and then a few chapters in you find out about hers and Marinette's failed relationship. I loved slowly finding out why the two of them broke up, when there are clearly still strong feelings between them, and how it ties into Kagami's character arc and the overall themes of the story: standing up for yourself, breaking free from those who would control you, and forging your own path.

---

9.

Do You Read Me? by @19thsentry-blog

The problem with being a Couffaine was the hereditary bits. The stubbornness. The weird need to pick a fight with authority for no reason besides the principle of it. The way being a Couffaine meant falling in love, fast as a car crash, and just as deadly. It ruined you forever.

So basically, this takes place a few years after Season 5, in the post-Wish world. Luka takes over as the Ladybug Holder, battling Chrysalis in Marinette's place. It's causing him some strain, since it's hard to hold down a job when you need to vanish randomly for long periods of time while on the clock, and it doesn't help that Chrysalis is a lot sneakier than Monarch was.

That's not the core of the story though. No, the real story starts up at chapter 3, when Luka suddenly wakes up in 19th century London, supposedly having always been there, and talking to a 19th century version of Max. From there, he soon gets escorted to Felix, who is a detective around those parts and agrees to host him for awhile.

This is a Sherlock Holmes inspired story, with the setting ripped straight out of those old stories, and I think it does a great job of that! Felix feels natural as Sherlock, with his deductive abilities, and the mystery really does read a lot like a Sherlock story. Though of course, the ultimate cause is more magical in nature.

I love Luka's perspective in this story and his and Felix's dynamic, it just feels very natural and well done!

I was satisfied with how the mystery wrapped up, 19thsentry did a good job of making things make sense at the end, and it felt satisfying. If you want a story with some great characterization for Luka or Felix, or just feel like a mystery, this is the story for you!

8.

A Breach In The Brooch by @piromina

Ladybug and Chat Noir are the heroes of Paris. Hawkmoth is Chat Noir's father. Chat Noir is aware of this. Hawkmoth is not.

So this is an interesting spin on the classic "Gabriel recruits Adrien early on to help him" plotline. Mostly because Adrien is still Chat Noir in this AND still helping Ladybug as a superhero - Gabriel has no clue about his secret identity.

Plagg, unsurprisingly, isn't thrilled about Adrien refusing to tell Ladybug what he knows about Hawkmoth's identity, and that Adrien keeps following Gabriel's orders, even when he knows they're wrong. Though he figures out before Adrien does that Adrien's compulsion to follow his father's orders isn't just a psychological thing...

I really love Plagg in this especially, he's the MVP. He knows what it's like to be compelled to do or not to do certain things, so he's good at comforting Adrien over it and at finding loopholes for him.

---

7.

Phantom Pains (and other hints of you) by @buggachat

She couldn't remember anything. Not where she was going, where she'd been, why she was in this stairwell, or even her own name. But as she watched the blood pool at the base of the steps, she at least knew one thing for certain: the corpse was hers. Getting used to being dead was going to have its growing pains. — “Well, unlucky lady,” Chat Noir greeted with a bow, “Can I get your name?” “Didn’t we just talk about this? I told you, I don’t remember it.” “And I told you,” he reminded, “that you can just pick whatever fits you best.” — Ladybug and Chat Noir may not remember who they once were, but at least the two lost souls can find comfort in each other's company. But as Ladybug starts uncovering more and more memories of her life, letting the past go doesn't seem as easy as Chat Noir claims it to be.

So this is a beautiful, sweet, tragic love story of two lost souls wandering around with each other, yet with Ladybug still desperately wanting to be found, to remember who she was - and wanting to know why Chat so adamantly wanted to stay amnesiac. It's got some neat worldbuilding, and some fantastic prose. It's just a really nice little story!

---

6.

A Small but Stubborn Fire by @cardiac-agreste

What if you were the parent of a teenage superhero, but didn't know they were? All you know is the nightmares, the panic attacks, and the bruises. She's missing school, she's disappearing on you, and she's not telling you anything. So you assume the worst: Assault. Depression. A permanent rift in the family. And what do you do when you realize you weren't thinking dark enough? Because your fourteen-year old daughter is the hero who flirts with death on the nightly news. -- Come inside and read about one mother's struggles to raise her daughter in a dangerous world while avoiding the mistakes her own mother made with her.

This is a more serious take on the consequences of Hawk Moth's war on Paris, with actual bloody, painful deaths as a consequence of many akumas, and Parisians developing PTSD because of what they've gone through. Ladybug can fix all the physical scars, but not the mental ones, including her own.

I love the focus on Sabine here. She's not just presented as being a mom - though of course that IS an important role she has. But she's explored as a character in her own right, one with a lot of emotional baggage as a result of her abusive mother, and trying to not fall into her mistakes, but sometimes doing so anyway out of fear for Marinette's safety. She's a really fleshed out, humanly flawed character, sometimes admitting that she would do something selfish if it means protecting the people she cares most about, like her daughter, even if its at others expense. She grows and changes a lot throughout the course of the story, her perspective on many matters changing multiple times as a result of getting new information or seeing the consequences of her previous approaches, and adjusting as a result.

If you want a fic that more realistically explores the dark consequences of Miraculous's setting, that fleshes out Sabine, or just develops a character in a complex way, then I highly recommend you check "A Small but Stubborn Fire" out!

---

5.

Finding A Way by @uptoolateart

Collège is nearly over! And what better way to celebrate than a class trip to Costa Rica? But with only a month left to tell Adrien she loves him, Marinette is feeling the pressure. Then – an accident at sea leaves them stranded together on a tropical island…alone. Or are they? Because those footprints in the sand don’t resemble any bird they’ve seen before. And what’s that roaring sound coming from the jungle? ‘Adrien…where ARE we??’ ***** A Jurassic Park / Camp Cretaceous AU that’s been kicking around in my head for over a year

I love the sense of danger permeating this fic, it really feels like Adrien and Marinette are stranded on Jurassic Park (well it's called something else in order to integrate it better into the ML universe, but it operates like Jurassic Park). They're making the best of it though, doing their best to survive - and along the way, getting closer together.

I like that it's not JUST them though, Gabriel and Nathalie find out where they ended up pretty early on and go to rescue them, with Alya and Nino stowing away. It was cool to see that side of things as well.

Oh yeah, this fic is rated M for violence and gore. It's because dinosaurs eat people alive and leave their body parts everywhere. If you can handle the Jurassic Park movie (or presumably the book the movie was based on, but I haven't read that), then you should be just fine.

---

4.

Boulangerella by @aidanchaser

Once upon a time, magic was wild. The two princes of the kingdom have been tasked with choosing their brides by the end of their 21st birthday celebrations. Crown Prince Adrien Agreste will have to choose between a woman who can protect his kingdom, a woman offering the power to wake his sleeping mother, and the woman he has loved and admired for the past year. Then there's also the seamstress that he is suddenly falling for. By the time he realizes he doesn't have the power to choose at all, it may be too late.

I love a good fairy tale AU, and this is no exception. Aidanchaser started writing it before Season 5 came out, so it's wrong about some things. Most notably, Felix's posthumous father was a good and decent person here, and one of the twin rings is Felix's Amok while the other one is Adrien's Amok, instead of both of them being Adrien's Amok.

This was a well-crafted tale, with kwamis operating as Fae: they can give power, but only if the wielder gives something up to pay for it. For temporary usage of their power, it can be something small and innocuous, such as giving Plagg cheese in exchange for his help. More expansive uses of their power requires greater sacrifices however, even sacrificing more nebulous things such as memories or hope.

The kingdom's currently being terrorized by this unknown villain, Hawk Moth, as in the show. Ladybug and Chat Noir emerge to battle him, but for some reason (*cough, cough*), King Gabriel isn't fond of the superheroes and wants them captured.

Gabriel isn't the only threat out there, Lila's skulking around, hinting that she knows how to wake up Emilie from her mysterious illness, if only Adrien marries her. And she's not about to take no for an answer.

If you've been wanting a fairy tale/fantasy Miraculous AU, I recommend giving Boulangerella a shot!

---

3.

He Couldn't Remember (Falling For Her) by @purpleautumnvision

"If I was given a choice in who Chat Noir would be, I would've chosen you." "And there's nobody else in the whole world I'd rather have as my little bug." Without secret identities in the way, Marinette and Adrien get to live out their love story and put their heads together to discover the identity of Hawk Moth... but an unforeseen twist puts the Miraculouses in Gabriel's hands. When he makes his wish for a world where his wife never became sick from using the broken Peacock Miraculous, the universe requires someone else to become sick in order to maintain balance. Who better than his greatest enemy, Ladybug herself? Adrien, with his memories rewritten by the wish, wakes up in a world without superheroes, without Hawk Moth, without Marinette, without friends, and without a clue as to why everything feels so wrong. Something's missing, but he's gonna find out what. Then he'll put his world back into place.

So this was a fascinating scenario, with Adrien waking up in a world where Marinette was dead while his mother was alive, a world that as far as he knew had always been the case... but having weird feelings he can't explain. And not just him, I love how much focus Alya gets here as well! Turns out that the memories are kind of hidden, but still present, and since Adrien and Alya never got to meet Marinette in this universe (she died just before the new school year began, at the same time that Emilie did in the normal universe) AND Adrien and Alya were her closest friends in the previous universe, their feelings towards her are closest to the surface and least impacted by the memories from this universe.

The other people in this universe... well, the class isn't taking Marinette's death well. It's fascinating to see just how much her death effects them, to see how it haunts them, and I loved seeing their reactions to Adrien's weird behavior about their dead classmate who he never got a chance to meet, it shows how strange some of this can look to the outside, and it doesn't help that these are grieving kids.

Just... this is a great fic, I highly recommend checking it out!

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2.

Symbiotic Whiskers by B1ackout

Adrien Agreste aka Cat Noir was given the cat ring miraculous to help Ladybug in protecting Paris. But something had found him first, a silent companion that granted him strength and power he never knew existed. Bonded with a symbiote, Cat Noir faces Paris alongside Ladybug without even knowing that someone left a magical ring in his room. (Canon Divergence)

This is a phenomenal fic that deserves more attention. It's kind of funny how he just goes "hey I've got superpowers, she says that the thing we have that gives superpowers is called the Black Cat Miraculous and that the being that gives them is called a kwami, obviously that must be what I have!" though that gets stretched more and more as Adrien's experiences with the symbiote contradict what he's heard about how kwamis work, and Tikki gets increasingly worried about "Plagg's" weird behavior. It's a dark, somewhat brutal fic (people die permanently, and they're not always villains), and it's absolutely worth a read, this is an excellent crossover!

1.

Withered Wings by @11jj11

Nino wasn’t sure if anyone had ever willingly took the akuma butterfly before him, but with his mind completely open to this apparent son of Hawk Moth he knew that he couldn’t turn him away. Not someone that was so afraid, not someone who would be left at the mercy of Hawk Moth.

This fic is amazing! Just... some absolutely stellar Adrino, with some nice Alyanette on the side, AND it's one of the best Enemies AU (well, sort of. Adrien's on Hawkmoth's side, but Nino isn't, exactly), in the fandom! I love how much we get of Nino's perspective, his determination to save this boy who's been thrown into these battles, who clearly doesn't want to hurt people but is compelled to do so, while balancing it with trying to prevent damage to anyone else as well. He has to be the one to look after Adrien, because no one else will do so.

I also love the focus Alya gets here, as Marinette's partner. She does an amazing job in the role, with every Miraculous she gets, even though she isn't a perfect wielder.

That's something else, I like the bits of worldbuilding this adds in, with people who fully embody the aspect a kwami represents being able to transform more fully. That does not mean, however, that an imperfect match is a bad thing, the kwami and wielder can still be very strong together and get along well, even if they don't perfectly align.

I adore how Nino had to balance his roles in this, helping Adrien without hurting others, even fighting back against the heroes as needed, as much as he didn't want to. And how understanding people were when they found out the full story of what was going on. It's a truly fantastic story that anyone who likes Enemies AU, Adrino, or just want to read a good Miraculous fic should check out.

I do want to warn that Gabriel and Nathalie are significantly OOC in this. Gabriel's even more abusive and colder than he is in canon, and Nathalie is WAY worse. This fic started before season 5, so it wasn't known what Nathalie's red line would be. As a result, Adrien's more downtrodden than he is in canon, since the consequences of disobedience are worse than being cut off from friends, or even being made to sit in a blank white room indefinitely.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Century Demons

The steam engine blasted vapor into the air. Cacophonous chatter from the crowds all around us, pressing like a physical weight. I truely did hate traveling. Granted, there was nothing for it, we were needed. Being their Majesty's Special Task Force and all. But STILL! Awful. Just, awful!

It was the pushing, really. The constant shoving. Flashs of insight into lives I wanted nothing to do with. That individual? Marriage was collapsing. This one? Had debts. The girl who just stepped on my foot, thought she was in love, but honestly? Any adult could tell you how badly it was going to end. He was using her.

Frankly, I wish we could walk. At this point? I would honestly take a flipping DONKEY! But nooooo! What has my husband decided to do? "Let's take the TRAIN, darling! It'll be an ADVENTURE! Save so much TIME!"

He's lucky I married him AT ALL. Fuck. I HAD options! Could have been a Baron's wife. Well-to-do! But NO, I wanted to HELP people. Like a FOOL. Gods, my mother was RIGHT! Cute air-heads WOULD be the death of-!

I finally spot Arthur, the sweet idiot, looking lost by our baggage. Map in hand. Like a confused puppy told to do arithmetic or be scolded, his anxiety is palpable. I gather my skirts and shove. Fuck being polite. Everyone ELSE seems to be fine, being stampeding herd animals. Why not I? Move!

"O-Oh thank goodness! Darling!" Arthur gasps, nearly dropping the map as he reaches for me as I get close. His eye are wide and his expression frazzled. Tone as though someone has been compressing his chest. "There are-! There are so many PATHS! I didn't-! And I-! Oh dear. W-what do we do? Darling, I can't-! It's so-!"

Damn it! I KNEW this would happen! This was an awful idea! Reaching for my husband's face, I cup his cheeks, propriety be damned. Pull him close to press his forhead against mine. Match my breath, dear. Focus, darling, just... focus. Close your eyes. You do not See. Curse crowded places and what they do to us. We should have moved to the countryside years ago.

But no, no Arthur would never leave his Sister. And I'll not leave him behind. Damn it all, why? WHY?

Why did she have to pick the Nobility Route?

It was bad enough, remembering this world "wasn't real". That it had a "plot" for Gods sake. Bad ENOUGH to realize that the monster under the bed very much WERE a real and present threat, that I SHOULD be concerned about. But fool that I am? Did I HAVE to fall in love with the Protagonist's brother? Sweet and foolish? A simple, if air headed man? Apparently!

All I could do, now, was try to protect him. Try and protect myself.

Ignore the nasty, judging looks, being sent our way. Piss off! The lot of you! I took no vows to YOU. Stood in no church! There us exactly ONE person in the train station I care about, and it is NONE of you, so keep your snide opinions to yourself! Breathe, Arthur. There we go, dear.

Pulling back slightly, I check his eyes. They flick and track things unseen. He is still unusually pale. He... he will be rather disappointed. He was excited to try the trains. To him? They are a bold new technology.

Maybe once we get farther from the city. Here, at least, he is drowning.

Then, a change. Sudden and swiftly building. Whatever Paths my husband traced were disappearing, narrowing, even as terror sweeped across his face. Only twice I had ever seen this before. Once, was an earthquake. The largest seen in over 400 years. The other? A bombing just before the royal wedding, we had been still engaged then. But the way he had frozen? Mid-sentence?

It is BURNED into my mind. Just like the horror that followed.

Bellowing, I command everyone to get out. Evacuate.

NOW.

But already... it is too late. Down the line of the train, terrible symbols flash into being. Molten red metal, on the side of the train cars themselves, instants before the BLOW. Unspeakable shrapnel bombs. Made of people and metal and MAGIC. The train cars lifted from the tracks by the knock back, smashing into fleeing crowds, even as the next car goes off. And then the next. And the next.

A writhing chain of death.

Like the dying spasms if a great snake.

My husband is frozen. No. As I drag him down? I realize with horror, worse. Seizing. It has NEVER been this bad! What is HAPPENING?! What Path is he SEEING that could cause such OVERLOAD? Terrified, I watch as thin trails of blood, seep from his eyes, his nose. Oh Gods. Oh GODS! Arthur? ARTHUR!

Love! Stay with me! Please! D-Darling, Please! Focus on my voice! You have to let them GO! Close your EYES, Arthur! Don't look! Please, DON'T LOOK! It's KILLING YOU!

"That's rather the point."

I stop. From on the ground, where I crawl. Dragging my unresponsive husband to safety. My gaze finally whips around to ahead of us. Amongst the chaos... stands a conductor. Pressed uniform clean and hair entirely too long. His eyes... oh Gods, his EYES. I do not need to touch him to know. That? THAT is not a human.

Not anymore.

Shrapnel flies harmlessly over us, but comes no where near him. As though where he stands is Forbidden to touch. All around him, those fleeing? Suffering? Do not notice him. Do not SEE. Yet, on instinct alone... avoid him.

Because, of course they do. B-because that?

That Is A Demon.

We weren't even remotely prepared for this. And even if we WERE. Everything is packed away. Pressed to the floor, all I can do? Is drag my husband close. Feel tear begin to fill my eyes and choke my throat, as I curse the Gods. Damn it. D-Damn it! I drag Arthur under me. A-as though... as though we were just... just resting at home. Cuddling, as we so often do.

I-It will be okay, darling. Come back to me. Arthur... Please...

(We promised to go together...)

"He really is useless, isn't he? Can't protect you. Couldn't warn you. Can't even die, where he's supposed to be. Really, how hard is it? To just get on the damned train? Quite inconsiderate, your worthless lump of a first husband. It really won't be hard, no doubt, to surpass him in every way."

I drag Arthur closer. Cradling his head to me chest. You'll have to go through ME, you fucking monster! It's.. it's a laughable defense. I'm tissue paper. We both are. With out supplies and the proper anti-demonics? H-he's going to SHRED us. But... but! I took a VOW.

Married this man.

I... I love him.

Even if he's not awake. Even if he's trapped in his own gifts by this BASTARD of a Demon. That's.. That's okay. I'm still here. W-We're still together. And I love him. Silly, ridiculous, air-headed fool that he is. My quite scholar. M-My best friend. I glare at the damnable creature before us.

"You really do have such lovely eyes." It notes, tilting it's head. "Does he appreciate them? Somehow, I doubt it. He makes you live in squalor, after all. Dresses you in rags and works you like an animal. You were meant for so much... more. I can feel it."

With a boneless grace he squats, bringing him closer even as I try to drag us away, he reaches out. One hand both perfectly human yet tipped with claws. In the distance, I hear doors being forced open. Commanding voices. Prayers and the glimpses of shining light. The Paladins are here.

Too late... I... I fear it is too late.

Demon skin touchs my face and I scream, as I am cast beneath the waves. It is so dark. Oh Gods. OH GODS. IT IS SO DARK. HELP ME. HELP ME! IT HURTS! It HuRtS! HELP M-!

"Shhh, drink deep and sink down, Love. I will be there to catch you. Forget about him. Forget about everything. You are made for so much more. We were meant to be together. Just let go, sweet."

"Just let go..."

[baiwu-jinji]

TGCF author's notes translation

@/camilikha on twitter kindly provided links to TGCF author's notes and I translated the ones I find informative and interesting. See translations below:

chapter 58 notes: The second book is all about the overconfident Xie Lian with delusions of grandeur and the tender little flower (mxtx means kid Hua Cheng) and their diaries of the downfall of Xianle. Word count is undecided, I'm never accurate at estimating word counts anyway. It's just like the xianxia I write doesn't fit into your regular xianxia, the royalty I write doesn't fit into your regular fictional depictions of royalty - just the outlandish made-up worlds and social customs in the author's imagination...

chapter 60 notes: If we put Qi Rong in a modern context, we could say that he has bipolar disorder.

chapter 72 notes: about the chapter title "To Meet You in the Mortal Realm; to Find Flowers Beneath the Rain" - eventually I feel that "To Meet You" is more romantic than "To Meet Someone". Just think about it, "meeting you" is one of the most romantic things in the world.

chapte 80 notes: Of course (HC) won't give (XL) a handjob or help him [...], but Huahua's sexual awakening starts with this incident... (XL is seriously obssessed with martial arts combat!)

chapter 88 notes: Xie Lian never gets tanned, I envy him... I finally reached this place - in a dilapidated temple, a god about to be forgotten and a believer who's still young - this is the first mental image I have about this story, which drove me to wrote the story. I'm the kind of person who'd make up a whole book just to get to write a certain passage...

chapter 119 notes: Actually Huahua is just being naughty and wants to joke around playing dead, who'd have thought...

chapter 123 notes: So Black Water made his appearance long ago, he's been hanging around before your eyes all along. Wind Master never knew the real Mingyi, it's always been the same person before him - and before you readers. (Black Water) officially recognized as Best Actor of this story! I've been holding it a secret for so long and so has he, now I can finally let it out.

chapter 141 notes: If you heat up Huahua in the kiln, he'll grow bigger~

chapter 175 notes: "Hua Cheng! Your diary! We've read it all!!!"

chapter 229 notes: Huahua low-key sucking up to the elderly to make a good impression

chapter 242 notes: Why do you like to spook yourselves? - why on earth would there be such plots as (XL) waiting for another 800 years - too long, impossible! Happy ending is around the corner!

SVSSS is my first work so it has some exceptions that I won't discuss here, but MDZS and TGCF both only have one main couple. I said this repeatedly in the author's notes when MDZS was being serialized and in other places. As for Mo Xuanyu, he is a little gay dude but he died at the beginning of the story so he doesn't count as a serious character...It's fine to have headcanons you like as long as you don't seperate the main couple. But for me personally, my taste leans towards having only one gay couple in the story, and I have no plans to write about another secondary couple. I'm stating this to avoid some unnecessary disputes.

XL is good at making pickled vegetables. Because pickled vegetables are needed with steamed bun and rice porridge, so XL became quite experienced after practicing for hundreds of years. Also you can just leave the pickled vegetable by itself most of the time and let it undergo chemical reaction. XL mostly fail because he get inventive.

XL and Mu Qing chose the same path of cultivation and are both Daoists. But Feng Xin never studied under a master at the Holy Royal Pavillion so he's not a Daoist and simply a plebeian martial god, so he doesn't need to observe the celibacy rules like XL and Mu Qing.

My passion for inventing new dishes (or rather weapons) cooked by Xie Lian is only slightly less than my passion for making Huahua change into new clothes

Huahua often turn into human forms, in which he has two eyes, so you guys can stop counting the number of his eyes.

In the setting of this story, if you want to be a god,you need to be a human hero first, which means you need to be the best of the best among humans. Only heaven officials who ascended are real heaven officials and belong in the Upper Court. How do you ascend? Firstly it depends on your personal ability, you have to be outstanding in some aspect (such as martial arts or literary talents) to enter the path of ascension. Secondly it depends on luck, if you're extremely lucky and a favourite of fate, and just picked up some rare secret guides (to ascension) or immortal pills by the roadside, that works too. Officials in the Middle Court are appointed, which means someone in the Heavenly Realm could promote you to that position. But Middle Court officials have the opportunity to become a bona fide Upper Court official too if they're capable enough.

Black Water indeed owes Hua Cheng a huge sum of money and is a very impoverished Calamity, seriously lowering the income standard of the Calamities (although there're only three of them). But his debt isn't completely due to eating too much. As for the money Black Water owes, it's an ancient debt - 40% is the cost of buying gifts for heaven officials of Upper Court and planting agents there (bribery!), 30% is maintenance fee for his territory and expenses on pet food, the rest 30% is food (for himself).

Talismans are probably the equivalent of the business cards (of heaven officials)... "Hello this is my consecrated talisman" = "hello this is my business card"

You can't get rid of ghostly essence (which XL is tainted with because he spends too much time with HC) simply by brushing your teeth with plain water...you need to use consecrated spell water (which is super bitter and weird).

The weapon forged by a heaven official is called fabao (literally "dharma treasure"); if it's a weapon forged by mortal Daoists and monks, it's called faqi (literally "dharma tool") - only after their ascension can their weapons be called fabao.

In my imagination, Xianle ia the kind of small ancient kingdom that's overall culturally Han, but has peculiar customs...although I feel like what I wrote on Xianle is mostly just peculiar hahahaha [facepalm] [beat myself up]

Not only are the forms, customs, cultures, and politics of countries in this story made-up, the kind of arcane stuff like occult sciences and philosophical values are all made-up. Although I did research but the records I consulted are too difficult to understand, so I just made things up on my own. Please bear with me If you're knowledgable in this sort of thing hahaha.

Puqi refers to water chestnut.

Look up "Blood-Soaked Fire Social" (xue she huo) if you're interested, it exists in real life and is very thrilling. What I wrote is different from the traditional festival, there're some made-up elements to make it more exciting

[scariusaquarius]

chicken à la king.

Bucky Barnes x Empath! Fem! Reader

Summary: His blue eyes met yours, and his body responded almost instantly: a slight tremor up his spine, a feeling of breathlessness from the caring expression on your face, and he could feel his fingers tightening around the mug in his hand slightly from the boyish nervousness that suddenly aroused from deep within his mind.

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A/n: I swear to god this wasn't meant to be a huge fic. It was supposed to be a cute little oneshot that turned into this huge yearning. God, i missed writing for Bucky Barnes a;lkdfj;sdjf

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Genre: Romance, Friends to Lovers Rated: Everyone Warning: Slight Angst, Fluff, Bucky's a bit awkward, Mentions of PTSD/Anxiety symptoms, Dark/Crude Humor, Mentions of HYDRA, Mentions of Torture

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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The last time he had been on a real date was when he went home for a week-long furlough back in June of 1943. It was the last time he remembered Steve Rogers as the way he'd been before Project: Rebirth made him into the big soldier he was today; small, frail, and knuckles busted from getting into another fight.

James Buchanan Barnes could still remember a time when Steve had to stuff his shoes with newspapers because his feet were too small. Granted, that was during a time when you weren't allowed to be stingy with money, but Bucky digressed.

Three dollars then was a mere blink for today's world, and though Bucky was still getting adjusted to the way the new world was, he wasn't exactly thrilled to find out that a simple cup of black coffee costed a whole five dollars in comparison to a nickel in the 30's and 40's.

But that was the difference that stood out the most: Bucky just wasn't meant for this time.

Like Steve, he was also a man out of time; forced to wake up for tasks he didn't want to do and his mind scrambled over and over for the littlest mistake and sometimes just because. HYDRA, and the world, had been unforgiving to Bucky, but he couldn't complain.

He could only adapt. Like a soldier.

I am not the Winter Soldier. I am James Buchanan Barnes.

I am Bucky.

Bucky's blue eyes fell to his cup of steaming coffee; his reflection almost distorted completely as he raised the drink to take a sip. The bitter taste and burn distracted his nerves for a moment, but he was deftly reminded by the way the December sun glinted on his left hand and the metal shined right into his eyes.

Constant noise and stimulation made his body tense, but when your voice filtered through the chaos, it seemed to melt everything away until he was enveloped in a cocoon of quiet, comfortable distractions.

"You seem like you got a lot on your mind, Bucky."

His blue eyes met yours, and his body responded almost instantly: a slight tremor up his spine, a feeling of breathlessness from the caring expression on your face, and he could feel his fingers tightening around the mug in his hand slightly from the boyish nervousness that suddenly aroused from deep within his mind.

While these feelings were flooding his brain, there was the other part of him that was chastising him for letting his guard down.

A good soldier never feels anything but the need to complete the mission.

'You're my mission,' metal to flesh; the feeling of the wind searing against his face; the smell of smoke and gunfire invading his nostrils as the man beneath him allowed him to carry out his duty.

'then finish it-'

"I'm doing perfectly fine, thanks for asking."

Bucky curses internally at the way his tone comes off as sharp and defensive; apologies beginning to string along his tongue like a Chatty Cathy, but your voice cuts him off before he can say anything more; his head instinctively ducking.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it. Would you wanna go somewhere less crowded?"

The consideration within your voice makes Bucky want to second-guess your intentions, but he has to remind himself that he knows you.

He's looked into everything about you. You're not a threat to him.

But you could be. Bucky can't predict the future and he doesn't know what happens when you go home from visiting him.

The thoughts that race through his mind make him almost guilty from how untrusting he is of you, but you never made it a point to be upset with him about it. As someone who had also been a prisoner of war, you seemed to understand him better than most.

He met you through Dr. Raynor, his court-appointed therapist that he was required to see despite being pardoned for years and years of crimes while working under HYDRA (under no consent of his, mind you). His therapy hadn't really been going anywhere, and so Christina had suggested meeting with someone that was like him.

The words always left a bitter taste in his mouth, and the scribbling of her pen made the feeling even worse.

You weren't anything like him when it came down to it. While yes, you had been taken prisoner and experimented on and conditioned, you weren't as seasoned as he was; as broken and old and confused.

Bucky wasn't sure what to say. His chest was starting to tighten, his eyes darting for the door, and Bucky was becoming aware of the weight of the knife in his boot. He was starting to look for danger, but your hand on his made Bucky snap his attention straight to you; the feeling of wanting to recoil making the muscles in his forearm tense.

"Hey, it's okay."

It was simple, short, and sweet. Just two words that held more weight than you realized, and the man couldn't help but to hold his breath. Your touch was soft; a far-cry from what he was used to, but it was working.

You were bringing his heartrate to a slow; his body instantly relaxing, and there was a part of Bucky that wanted to hate the subtle golden glow that shined within your (color) irises.

This was why Raynor wanted you two to become friends: you were an empath. Not exactly like Wanda Maximoff, but you were close; a natural-borne mutant. You hadn't been able to use your abilities for good until him; HYDRA made sure to squash any thought of using your powers outside of missions before you even realized it was a thought.

When you were recovered from HYDRA, Dr. Raynor had been your therapist while you were learning how to use your ability at S.H.I.E.L.D when it was led by Phil Coulson. But then, Coulson was killed, and things became different.

Then, it was discovered that HYDRA had infiltrated the agency, and you went under the radar in fear of what HYDRA would do once they got your hands on you.

You were only found when you showed up unexpectedly in Raynor's home, apparently after a run-in with him.

The Winter Soldier.

He wasn't sure what had possessed Raynor to pair the two of you together for therapy sessions, but from what Bucky had gathered, it was because you had asked to be seated with him.

You asked.

Maybe it was due to the new-but-not-new 'exposure tactics' that most therapists used nowadays. He remembered it being huge back in the 20's when a developmental psychologist named Mary Cover Jones and other psychologists began to use desensitization tactics as a different form of therapy.

Bucky was a bit of a skeptic, but when Raynor suggested that it would be good for the both of you, Bucky had relented and now here you two were months later: having a cup of coffee together while you held his hand.

It wasn't exactly a date, but Bucky wondered if you had begun to think of it that way like he had.

Bucky liked your company. You didn't poke and prod at him; didn't expect him to answer when he didn't know what to say; didn't wait for him to come to the rescue when he was knee-deep in his own shit; didn't get angry at him for what he did when he was the Winter Soldier.

You just held his hand, sent nice feelings to him, and grounded him when his vision began to grow shadowed in the corners and unfocused. You helped him to feel normal, and it was a dangerous game that he played with you.

He was getting attached, that much Bucky knew. Anytime you two went out in public, Bucky kept an eye out for suspicious activity because you were there; not because of his conditioning. He'd search for exits that he could get you through, he'd walk slightly in-front so he could shield you from attacks if need be, he made sure you were completely in your apartment and then-some so he knew that you were safe, the list was endless.

Bucky tried to tell himself that he was just doing this because it was courtesy and amendment; that inner-gentleman that never was completely conditioned out of him, but even Sam could tell that it was deeper than that.

Though, Sam Wilson seemed to know everything about Bucky while knowing completely nothing.

Bucky couldn't keep his fingers from brushing against yours as he intertwined your hands together, and he murmured, shaking his head slightly.

"I hate it when you do that."

"Promise it's just output. No meddling into that big head of yours."

Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes, but the words brought him comfort.

He was deathly afraid of what you would see if you ever took a dive; drowning in the fucked up shit he'd gotten himself into. While befriending an empath with telepathic abilities wasn't exactly comforting, it helped that you allowed him the choice.

A choice he never had while he was with HYDRA.

"My head isn't that damn big."

"I don't know, the longer hair kind of hid that."

His blue eyes were unamused as he looked at you, and you couldn't help but to chuckle, and the golden hue of your eyes went away and he was no longer under the blanket of your powers. Bucky, however, felt rejuvenated; like he'd just gotten 10 hours of peaceful sleep, and his back straightened just the slightest as he asked you.

"Is that offer to get out of here still open?"

Your eyes twinkled, nodding, and Bucky made sure to [begrudgingly] lay a ten dollar bill on the table before the two of you left. Brooklyn was hustling as the new year began to close in; the air still crisp and freezing, and he held the door open for you on the way out.

He was walking close to you; shoulders brushing with every step, and instinctively, Bucky's eyes began to scan the area; looking for danger, and your quiet chuckle snapped him out his focus. Bucky glanced down at you with a raised eyebrow, and your voice held a tone of teasing to it; your expression soft.

"There's nobody out here to get us right now, Bucky."

"Can't be too sure."

And that was that. You didn't fight him on it; didn't question his thinking. You just let him be, and Bucky didn't know whether to thank you or to feel bad because even he could tell that your shoulders were tense.

War never left.

While the physical remnants would fade; leaving off-colored skin and metal parts and ribbons and awards and dog tags that dangled too loudly despite the fact that there was no heart to remove them...it was still active mentally.

Streets were zones, people were potentially dangerous, and there was always a question of 'what if' that lingered in the air like a foreboding warning sign that never shut off no matter how badly the neon flickered.

The conditioning never left, but when you had someone to sit with in the trenches, it wasn't so bad. A deep breath left his body, and you hummed as you took a sip of your coffee, your eyes looking up at the lights that were strung along the street lamps; lit up despite the dim light of morning.

"Are you excited for the new year? You're gonna be what, 107-past-ancient?"

"You kids have no sense of respect for your elders these days."

You giggled while Bucky's eyes lit up with amusement, his lips curling up slightly despite his best effort to keep a poker face.

"So, you do admit that you're old?"

The words slipped from his mouth before he could help it, wincing to himself slightly from the embarrassment.

"Only in mind, sugar."

You didn't say anything, but Bucky could tell that you had heard him loud and clear by the way you had broken your own poker face; biting your lip to keep a laugh from slipping out. Shaking his head slightly, Bucky glanced over his shoulder at the sound of something approaching fast before he turned back to front and placed a hand against your waist and tugged you to him when a skateboarder came from around you; startling you.

You melted into his side, the warmth of your body heat mixing with his, and you both paused as you breathed a sigh of a relief. Before Bucky could ask if you were alright, you were already smiling up at him, eyes crinkling in the corners as you exclaimed.

"You saved me again! This time from an oblivious skateboarder. Wasn't it a raccoon in a trashcan last time?"

Bucky's cheeks burned, and he pinched your ear, making you yelp and giggle as he quickly let go the second your hand swatted at his.

"Listen, punk, I really thought someone was there."

"The look on your face was priceless, but it's the thought that counts."

Bucky rolled his eyes, and he couldn't help but to wonder if you were more trouble than anything else. Trouble that he liked. Trouble that he was starting to indulge a little too much in.

Trouble that he wanted to get more of.

Shaking his head slightly, Bucky let out a breath again as you continued to chuckle quietly to yourself, and when he made it to your apartment with you, Bucky respectively stood on the outside mat that read 'welcome!' in big black rubber letters.

You turned to him, the key to your door lodged into the lock while your hand was still on the doorknob, and Bucky was giving you his undivided attention.

"Do you have any plans for tonight at all?"

Bucky shook his head, shrugging his shoulders.

"Not that I know of, but I can let you know if it changes."

You were suddenly nervous, Bucky's eyes zeroing in on the way that you swallowed slightly; throat undulating, and he became alert. If he listened closely, he could hear the way that your heart was starting to race; your hands trembling just the slightest as you looked lost-in-thought and unsure of what to say exactly.

"Um, would you...like to come inside? I was...thinking of trying a new recipe and it'd be nice to have someone to test it out with me."

Bucky hadn't been expecting it, if he was honest. In his mind, you'd become nervous because you had sensed some sort of presence or danger and it was going to be a fight.

Not because you wanted to invite him inside.

It was actually cute.

Bucky's shoulders relaxed inconspicuously, and he replied with a tilt of his head.

"You want me to be your test subject? Not the worst torture I've been subjected to."

The joke was in poor taste, and Bucky felt awful for saying it; his mouth running faster than his mind could think, but you were laughing at him; your head thrown back as if the words didn't apply to you either.

"I didn't realize my cooking was that bad."

"I wouldn't know-"

Bucky thought for a moment, and when you opened your mouth to reply, Bucky responded confidently despite the sweat running down the side of his neck from the nervousness.

"-but I'd like to...if you'd have me."

Suddenly, he was back on Sarah Rogers doorstep, a much-younger Steve looking at him with surprise as his mother stood at the stove with a kind smile, inviting him in but making sure to let him know that 'he can't just run away from his folks every time they get onto him' or something like that, Bucky couldn't quite remember what Sarah had said to him that day.

He just remembered how damn good her Hoover stew was despite the Great Depression taking a huge toll. Bucky was brought back to the present by you chuckling and unlocking the door, gesturing with your head to come in.

"You'll always have a place at my table, Bucky."

There was a part of him that expected you to say the same thing that Sarah had, but you didn't say anything else. You just walked inside, hung your coat on the rack, and left the door open for him, and Bucky was washed with the lovely scent of your apartment from the candles he had gifted you for Christmas.

Raynor's idea, but Bucky was happy that you liked the gift.

While Bucky's apartment was bare, yours was furnished down to the last bit of space. Antiques were hung on walls or sat on shelves, some of them things that he'd seen and used back in the day, and Bucky shut the door and locked it tightly, kicking his shoes off at the door and walking into the kitchen where you had a familiar cookbook open.

"I was thinking of making Chicken à la King."

You looked embarrassed and nervous, but Bucky was given such huge whiplash that the poor man didn't even notice.

"You know about Chicken à la King?"

Your heart was racing, sounding like a drum within your ears, and you averted your gaze; looking nervous and embarrassed while you fidgeted from foot to foot. Your throat was tight, the words getting caught in your throat, and Bucky was surprised by how small you seemed to look.

Had he not been a super soldier, he probably would have missed the words that you whispered softly.

"I...wanted to make it for you."

Bucky's heart began to race, drowning out the sound of your own as blood rushed through his ears, and his face began to get hot. Bucky could feel his toes and fingers tingling, and it was almost a fight to stay rooted in place.

You wanted to make him dinner...a dinner that he hadn't tasted since his childhood, no less...damn near forgotten about it until the words had slipped past your lips in a nervous little whisper that he wanted to swallow.

"You...wanted to make me dinner?"

"Specifically this, yes."

You picked up the book, and Bucky's eyes damn-near bulged from his head when he finally got a good look at the familiar cover.. In your hands was an antique cookbook by Fannie Farmer, almost seeming brand-new judging by the leather cover despite the yellowed paging giving away the age. Bucky stepped forward, and he asked you as he looked at the cookbook.

"Where did you get this?"

"Believe it or not: the internet."

Bucky damn-near rolled his eyes, but he relented, shaking his head.

"I'm surprised you even know about this thing."

"I did some research...looked up what was popular back then, and I just settled on this. It seemed easy...nothing too complicated. I just...thought...maybe that you would like it."

You were curling in on yourself; second-guessing your reasoning, and Bucky would have melted if he didn't notice the tell-tale signs of anxiety. Gently placing his hand on your shoulder, he was taken back by the speed your head turned to look at him; eyes wide as you relaxed beneath his touch.

"If you want the truth: I haven't had this for...a very long time...so I'm not even sure if I remember what it tastes like. I remember how to make it though. I can help...if you'd let me."

A bridge was beginning to solidify between you; a trust between you two becoming reinforced and growing and Bucky wasn't afraid of it this time. In fact, he was beginning to cross that very bridge; searching for your hand and your presence and the calming comfort that came with (Y/n) (L/n).

"You don't think it's weird? I mean, I thought it was a bit weird when Raynor suggested it...I asked for her advice on what you might like cause I wanted to do something nice for you, but then I started to think about it and what better way to the heart than through the stomach? I mean, I'm not exactly the best cook, but I wasn't sure what else to do for you-"

Your nervous rambles were cut off by the feeling of his finger against your lips, a soft look on Bucky's face as he smiled with amusement. Your ears were burning, and you almost fainted when he asked you softly.

"You know what you could do?"

Your eyes were wide; doe-like and staring up at him as if he was the only thing in the world, and Bucky's voice became shaky as he asked you.

"Kiss me?"

The cookbook dropped from your hands, your heart skipping a beat, and you rose onto the tips of your toes to grasp at his cheeks, and Bucky cupped your own so he finger was out of the way. Lips crashing into his own, Bucky was finally in heaven. Whether you had meant to or not, your power was going haywire, your emotions flooding into his and vice versa; almost as if the bridge was finally complete.

You never needed to tell him that you loved him. Bucky knew it with the way you handled him even in the beginning when your friendship was just a suggestion made by a court-appointed therapist that somehow turned into more because you both were ripped from the same cloth despite the differences in timeline because you understood each other.

Despite the fact that there was a time where he was supposed to hunt you down and eliminate you due to the fact that you knew too much, you never faulted him for that as if you knew what was hiding beneath that mask at the time.

Bucky wouldn't know that it was because you did.

You had been able to access those locked parts of his mind because of your telepathic abilities at the time, but to be fair, he had never asked. Whether it was because he was uncertain or didn't think it was the right time, you didn't think anything more of it.

Just like now: there were no thoughts except for Bucky. Just him. And he could feel it; hear it even within his mind. Whether you meant for your control to become null in that moment, Bucky felt damn near accomplished for being able to make you falter.

If there was one thing you prided yourself on, it was your control.

Fingers danced at the nape of his neck, and a shiver ran down his spine, and though Bucky was damn-near thoughtless, he refrained from swiping the shit on your counter onto the floor so he could seat you atop of it. Instead, Bucky slowly pulled away from the feverish kiss, and you were vibrating within his grasp. Your voice was quiet, shaky and breathless.

"Bucky, would you...want to start dinner and stay the night?"

"Nice to know I'm not so out-of-practice after so many years."

The moment was broken, but you were giggling; looking shy as you took a tempered step back, and Bucky winced slightly. Probably in poor-taste, but you were still smiling, so he wondered if he should keep going or stop before he got too-ahead of himself.

"Would you...like to help me make dinner?"

Bucky nodded almost enthusiastically.

"I would be honored."

If Bucky thought hard enough, he could hear Steve's smug chuckling as you tied a frilly apron around his waist despite Bucky's protests; grumbling to himself as he began to dress the chicken while you put on a record that Bucky knew all-too-well.

"Shut up, punk,"

No, I don't think I will.

[END]

[jmdbjk]

January

It's been every which way over here, not gonna lie, I'm ready for a month of nothing happening.

That being said, Hobi is about to unleash some music to get us lathered up prior to embarking on his world tour.

But that's a kind of chaos I welcome. More, please. (see what I did there?) Orchestra Mic Drop needs to be on the set list. Manifesting.

Anyway... Jimin. I can't wait to have fun conversations with you about your military service. I'm positive the stories will keep us enraptured for ages. I can't wait to have you back with us. I see the snow falling in Korea and I am thinking of you and your crew shoveling away, then knocking the snow off your boots and heading inside to the mess hall where Jungkook and his crew have cooked up some steaming bowls of hearty stew or soup to warm you all up.

Soon, the spring days will be here and then before we know it, it'll be June 11 and you and Jungkook will be back. As of today, 130 days left. We will already be on a high from welcoming Namjoon and Tae back.

What will that first day be like? Will you and Jungkook sit on that couch in the Hybe building in your military uniforms with balloons and flowers next to you, and turn on a Weverse live just like Jin and Hobi did?

No pressure, lol. BUT WE REALLY NEED TO SEE IF YOUR ASS IS OUT OF THIS WORLD. YOU PROMISED.

You mentioned that you and Jungkook talk about a lot of things before going to sleep. The things you talk about in those deep conversations are probably becoming more and more real to the both of you every day. Don't be scared. Don't be worried. We only want you to be safe, happy and out of there. Really LUYO 💜 too.

The day is coming when we can all say YOU DID IT! WE DID IT! WE ALL MADE IT! NOW ON WITH THE REAL SHOW!!

And last but definitely not least, the first group live with Yoongi... cue the tears. Will he get out early? Saved vacation days? Would he even show himself if he did? Or will he go by the book all the way to the end? We wait™️.

I heard Kim Jones is leaving Dior. I was not a fan of the last few seasons of his creations. I could not imagine Jimin wearing any of that mess. The new mens creative is supposedly JW Anderson. Not sure when we'll see first glimpses of his Dior menswear. He better be prepared to fit Jimin's sculpted butt perfectly.

And Pharrell has designed a new Tiffany line called Titan that has little spikey things and such...

I have finally realized I have entered a phase where all I'm concerned with is what is happening in real time to all the members. What are their thoughts, their state of mind now while fulfilling their duties? What are their concerns, what are the things that bring them joy and satisfaction? What are the forces and events that are impacting them?

We can glean these things from their brief moments they post on Instagram or Weverse, or when their fellow soldiers or colleagues post things that help us see more.

We know Namjoon is about to die from boredom. He knows what is planned and he knows its going to be big.

We know Tae is very proud that he's met his target goal to join the Bangtan buff-line. But we'll have to be the judge of that because Jimin says they're working out and he has "good things to show us" (see: out of this world butt above).

Jungkook needs a little confidence boosting but is ready to belt out karaoke at a moment's notice. Hand that man a mic please.

And Jimin is nervous because he's immersed himself in his soldier role for the past 1 year and 2 months and now must pivot and make the shift back to his real life.

Jin has worked 3 weeks straight and we don't know what that means.

Hobi is busy melding the LA hiphop scene into his DNA and prepping for a concert tour to blow us away. Can't wait.

And Yoongi... an autograph left somewhere but when? Recent? Not recent? Someone saying they MIGHT have spotted him. He's been a ghost. He said he would be. And that's what will make his re-emergence that much more emotional for all of us, to finally see him and his smile.

Ok, that was a good ramble. Until next time, everyone dress warmly if you live on the top half, dress for summer if you live on the bottom half but all of you stay safe and always look for the positive.

[crsssie]

pov ur therapy is doom shopping - tim drake x reader (pretty bird countdown #1)

The world stops for no one.

You drum your fingers against the marble of your kitchen island, browsing through online shops while you're supposed to be working on your paper, humming to yourself as the rain outside your window drums erratically against the glass. It's far too late for you to be awake, but you're also waiting for someone to get home. You wonder why he had picked such an early patrol time for once. It wasn't common for him to be back before two.

"The rain is terrible." Tim sighs, window opening as he slides in, unclasping his boots and cape, locking the window as he turns on the tint. "You alright?"

You hum at him, continuing with your shopping. 

"Whatcha looking at?" He peels off his suit, dropping it down the chute as it lands with a thud, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he stares at your screen.

"Doom shopping?"

"The day's been slow."

"I figured." He hums. "It's why I took an early shift."

"You seem to know me a little too well." You mumble, no real malice behind your words, clicking add to cart. 

"Isn't it nice?"

"I suppose." You scroll through your cart, blinking twice before closing your laptop. "How was patrol?"

"You don't need to fill in the silence, you know?" He squeezes you, carrying you in his arms as he tells you about patrol anyway. You need time off from your mind, and he's more than willing to help you out. You'd have a higher chance of being better in the morning than anything else. "So? What did you do while I was out?"

"I put the dishes in the dishwasher." You hum. "Not to dry. To wash. I think we officially have enough dishes to use the dishwasher instead of handwashing."

"Mhm?"

"And I also made some steamed egg." You shift slightly in his arms as he reaches to open the bedroom door. 

"Did you save me some?"

"Yeah." You yawn. "Middle section of the upper fridge. If you want anything else, there's quite a couple of things in the freezer. I think we need to eat the costco mac n cheese soon."

Tim laughs. "Yeah?"

"Mhm. Also, I was looking through my photos that I got before my gramps passed..."

"Were you thinking about him?"

"I was." You close your eyes as he sets you down on the bed. "I think that's why I'm so down right now."

"Yeah. I feel that." He mumbles. "I'll shower and then we can get to bed, alright? Feel free to keep browsing. The tablet is charged."

"Alright." 

Tim finds that taking care of you is no big deal no matter how tired he is. It's as easy to take care of you as it is to breathe, and even with the ring on your ear and the band on your finger, he finds that it has only gotten easier to be your other half. He's sure you would say the same, your ring never leaving your finger even while resting — never gone even when he's bloody from the worse days of patrol. The dirt and grime slide down his body as he washes, bathroom door opening as you move to sit in the tub to be by him.

"You alright?"

The lack of response and comfortable silence tells Tim all he needs to know.

"Did you see the new video from Bernard?"

"The one detailing Nightwing as a vampire?"

"Yeah."

"I did." You hum.

"Thoughts?"

"Found it funny. He used one of my photosets from April Fools years back as evidence and I thought I was going to lose my mind." You hum. "Do you think the study could fit a couple more blind boxes?"

"I'm sure it can... somehow. We can always layer the figures." Tim reaches for face wash. "Oh, right. I saw your serum was low. Do you need more?"

"I went over my spending limit for the month, so next month." You mumble. "What do you think about a custom figure?"

"You'd have to be filthy rich for that, no?" He pauses. "Wait. Pretty bird. Why do you have a limit if my credit card never maxes out—"

"Well, aren't you filthy rich?" You raise a brow. "What if you divorce me one day?"

"I am." Tim agrees, closing his mouth to wash his face. "That's not happening. Shoo. You'll put me in my grave before I let you get away from me."

"Then, we can afford it." You hum. "Well, might as well spend the money. Considering that we don't want kids and all." You choose to ignore his words.

"I can't believe your mom is still pestering me to change your mind." Tim sighs. "What gene do they want to continue down the bloodline? Your brain?"

"Your brain, birdie." You chuckle. "You're rich, smart, and other than..."

"Hey, don't bring my height into this!" Tim gasps. "Rude." 

"Hey, I didn't say shit." You grumble. "You know damn well your family has a tall gene."

"I might kill you." 

"That'd align perfectly with my interests." You blow a raspberry at him through the glass.

"Regardless, I told her she's getting no grandchildren. Told her I'm sterile."

You cough, laugh stuck in your chest as you gasp for air, wheezing in the process.

"You alright, pretty bird?"

"I just lost it, sorry." You cough, trying to get the words out. "You are NOT sterile."

"That vasectomy says otherwise."

"That makes you infertile!"

"Yeah, but if I tell her I'm infertile, she might tell me that we could always do IVF."

"Evil..." You mumble.

"I know." Tim grumbles. "Well, regardless," he turns the water off, "might as well spend money on the things that matter?"

"Which is?"

"My wife's retail therapy." Tim grins, robe wrapped around his body as he opens his arms for you. "Hm?"

"I don't know, birdie." You pretend to think. "Sounds like a lot of money you're spending there."

"Well, it's all worth it. Happy wife, happy life. happy spouse, happy house." He hums. "As long as you're smiling, then it made all of that nonsensical pining I went through when I first met you in person worth it."

"Yeah?"

"Positive." He grins.

"You've become real sappy, you know?"

"And you don't like it?"

"Mm..." You pinch his cheek as he reaches over you to shut the lights. "No. I do."

"I know you do." He pinches your cheek back. "It's why you married me."

"Maybe I married you for your bank account."

Tim pretends to gasp in offense, jaw dropped. "You couldn't have."

You go quiet, Tim reaching over to pinch your cheek again as you bite his fingers.

"Hey!"

You stick your tongue out at him with a 'blegh' and he huffs. 

"Nighty night, pretty bird."

"Love you too, birdie."