#i will make him op in every fic and you cannot stop me

[grimmweepers]

ok shit after i sent this to my drafts i didn't realise it cut off some of my tags bc it didn't tell me that i had reached my tag limit LMAO. pls read under the cut after the tags <3

OH AND THE SMUT SCENE WAS FANTASTICCCCCCCC KJSUTGIWITGEWUGYUGWUYGWUGU BUT I WILL FOREVER WAIL AND THROW MYSELF ON WALLS AT THE MENTION OF HIS GRANDMOTHER AND PARENTS.

this fic pulled on my heartstrings. but it also made my heart race and jump. i laughed but some parts also left me clutching my chest. i cried but i also smiled. this just tells me that reading your work is always an experience <3 AND WHAT A WONDERFUL GIFT YOU HAVE <3 THANK U FOR SHARING IT WITH US

like a lotus in spring, you are mine to bloom — ft. alhaitham

synopsis: at twenty one, you’re just a girl he meets as he trains for the role of scribe. at twenty four, you’ve become everything he loves in this world. after three years of knowing you and nearly two and a half decades of life, alhaitham finally realizes why his father left letters for his mother instead of just saying the words outloud

❤︎ word count: 7.7k words — we find ourselves here in the same old situation again, i see LOL pls give it a chance though!! plssss

❤︎ before you read: female reader ; 18+ content — not suitable for minors ; not proof read ; strangers to friends to lovers ; mutual pining but not at the same time for a bit (he falls first <3) ; jealous alhaitham ; hinted drunk sex ; getting together + love confessions ; alhaitham character story spoilers + references to his grandmother and parents ; semi-clothed unprotected sex ; no prep ; some nipple play ; creampie ; the cringiest love letter at the end LOL

❤︎ comments: guys every time i write alhaitham it’s so corny and cheesy but . he is my fav genshin guy of all time i deserve to be allowed this okay

TWENTY ONE. 

You’re still a student when you first meet Alhaitham. (Not a student for much longer, but a student all the same. With a little luck on your side and good graces from your darshan’s sage on your thesis, you’re expected to graduate in just a few short months.)

You don’t have the best first meet. In fact, your impression of Alhaitham starts off entirely on the wrong foot. 

He’s newly graduated, just freshly rewarded a degree for his (impressive) efforts, and is now well on his way to training for the role of scribe—you heard he was offered far more prestigious roles, but for some reason, a genius like him settled for a role like that. You try not to judge. People have their passions, after all, and if that’s what he wants to do, well…who are you to make comments? (But amongst a school that only houses the brilliant, Alhaitham is, very undoubtedly, a standout. It’s hard to stand out in a school filled with only the best minds, but he manages to do so with ease. Sometimes, you’re almost jealous. You can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t aim a little higher than he does.)

He trains in the house of Daena. His first order of training is to fact-check ordinance drafts using books so he can better get the hang of drafting them himself in the future. You’re also in the House of Daena to find the last book for your thesis—after weeks of begging, you’re finally granted access to the restricted section to find it. 

And you do. Except your palm meets warm skin instead of the cold leather cover of a book. You pause, glancing up as sharp, teal eyes meet your gaze, staring at you expectantly as if you should be the one letting go. But you need this book. It’s the final research element to finish your thesis, and you’d like to be done with it. End of story. No matter how devastatingly handsome the man (because he is handsome, you’ll admit at least that much), you will not be handing over the last, final key to your academic freedom.

“Um, excuse me,” you say politely, “I was kind of reaching for that.”

“As was I,” he says, staring at you with a bored, almost uncaring expression. Your eyes narrow. “Now, if you’d please kindly take your hand off of mine.”

“I believe it should be you taking your hand off of mine,” you correct, huffing as you add stubbornly, “I reached for it first.”

He blinks at you, bland and a little irritated, as he points out, “Your hand is on top of mine, which means I reached the book first.”

Well.

Maybe if you were feeling particularly patient, you’d be inclined to admit that, yes, he does have a point. But stubbornness, combined with pure exhaustion, has you at your wit's end, and if you have to play the role of a difficult student, then so be it. You’re pretty sure you need it more, and you’re probably a much speedier reader anyway. You’ll have it done and returned in no time.

This guy, on the other hand…he doesn’t look too bright. You’re not willing to take your chances and let him walk off with a book that you might never see again.

“I started reaching for it first,” you scowl, “you just sped up your hand once you saw me. I should get it.”

“Unlikely,” he scoffs, “I didn’t even see you. Although,” he gives you a once over with his eyes, making you feel uncomfortably seen under his judging gaze, “I suppose you were a bit easy to miss.”

You gape at him. “Just what does that mean?”

“It means,” he smirks, taking the opportunity to grab the book as you stand in shock, “that I got here first.”

“Hey!” You glare at him, seeing red for a moment. What a perfectly good waste of a perfectly handsome face—and such an awful attitude coupled with his ridiculously smug grin couldn’t make for a worse combination. But, before you can even say anything, the book is being pressed back into your hands.

“You seem like you want it more than I do, though,” he hums, “I suppose I can let you have it. It’s a bit outdated for this ordinance, anyway.” With that, he saunters off. You push down the soft flutter in your heart for a moment and force yourself to hope you’ll never see him again. (Faintly, you hope your wishes don’t come true—but you refuse to admit it to yourself.)

Unfortunately (and fortunately at the same time) for you, you do see him again. Many, many times, in fact. When he works in the House of Daena as often as he does, and you like to spend all your free time there to study if you can, you’re both bound to run into each other often. Very often. 

And sometimes, it’s quite literally running into him. 

“Oof,” you hiss, staggering backward and hitting your head against the bookshelf behind you as you bump into a sturdy figure. You drop the books in your hand, blinking before reaching to rub your read as you start to apologize. “Sorry, I didn’t see you—oh. It’s you.”

“It’s me,” he says, looking mildly entertained. Alhaitham is everywhere. Everywhere. You can’t escape him if you try, and now, you can’t even avoid him in your own personal space. “Although, I think I should be the one apologizing this time. I was too busy reading to pay attention. This section is usually empty at this time.”

“How often are you in here to know what section is empty at what time?” You raise a brow. 

“Too often to be considered good for my well-being,” he says dryly, sighing in misery. You crack a smile at that. Oddly enough, so does he—you don’t think you’ve ever heard someone say they’ve seen Alhaitham smile. It must be a rare sight that only you, and perhaps a very few others, can say they’ve witnessed. “I was just about to take a break to buy a coffee—I’ll bring one back for you, too, to make up for the cranial damage I’ve supplied.”

“A most wonderful idea,” you perk up instantly, “I love when I get to drain the wallet of a man.”

He gives you an amused look at that. And somehow, bringing you a coffee along with his own during his breaks is a habit that seems to stick for a long, long while after that. 

────────────────────────

TWENTY TWO.

Alhaitham’s feelings are hurt. Not a lot of words tend to do that—he’s been blessed with thick skin and an unbothered attitude to a fault, sometimes. But something about today, for some odd reason, hurts his feelings. 

Your words to the waiter who took your order keep ringing in his head. 

Oh goodness, no, we are definitely not dating!

Most people mistake you and Alhaitham for a pair of lovers rather than a pair of friends. It’s just the way things go when a man and a woman are seen together for extended periods of time over and over. It doesn’t help that Alhaitham doesn’t really have any friends. He had one before you, but…well, things are complicated now. Far too complicated to think about it more than necessary. He has you, and that’s enough. But the matter still stands that most people tend to assume that something blossoms between the two of you that isn’t just friendly. 

He was starting to think it was true himself, too. He knows it’s true from his end, at least. But you say those words with such a sure, definitive tone that it almost sounds like you’re offended by the notion of being seen as his girlfriend. And sure, he would be disappointed—he’s no liar—if you didn’t feel romantically for him, but he’d understand. It’s not something you can help. But you brush off the idea like it’s an anomaly of sorts in the universe for someone like you and someone like Alhaitham to be a couple. It hurts his feelings. More than it should. 

(He knows deep down, in the depths of his heart, that you don’t mean it that way. You never would. But irrationality is but one of many feelings that bloom when it comes to romance.)

Alhaitham knows from a young age he’s different than most kids his age. This fact doesn’t change as he gets older. He’s brighter than most of his peers—which is certainly saying something because Sumeru is a nation filled with enough sharp minds, it’s as though brilliance were the average trait. People don’t typically like Alhaitham (which is fine by him, he doesn’t like most of them, either. They mostly don’t meet his standards). The kids don’t play with him in the parks that Grandmother would leave him at while she shopped around at the market, and they don’t sit with him on his one and only day at the Akademiya when he is but an elementary scholar. It never bothered him. He preferred reading under the trees and self-learning at home, anyway. When he’s older and enrolled in the Akademiya full-time, they don’t prefer to partner with him for projects for any other reason than simply being guaranteed a good grade, and they don’t spare him a glance when they all converse in groups outside of class. He never cared for freeloaders, anyway—he only trusts himself for projects, and he is at the Akademiya to learn, not make friends. 

It’s not until he meets Kaveh does he consider the idea that friendships are meaningful enough to spare some effort into. But the end result of that only solidifies that he is best when in solitude. 

But then he meets you. Some part of Alhaitham knows very early on that you would never be just a friend to him. If it was friendship that he craved, he would have looked for it elsewhere before running into you. Something about you from the very beginning makes him yearn for things much deeper than that. Things that remind him of his parents. 

Friendship is fleeting. People at the Akademiya go their separate ways and meet new people. They fall out and have arguments. They grow up and grow apart and become different. But love blooms like the Kalpalata lotuses on a vine, timeless as time itself. It starts and never ends, one root stemming into more and more vines until they never stop growing.

Alhaitham has fallen in love with you. Logic tells him it’s only a recent development, but his heart has known this outcome would be brought about for a long, long time. And, in all truthfulness, your words have hurt his feelings. 

And yet, he still loves you through it. He thinks that even if you crushed his feelings with a cold, indifferent smile, he would still love you through it. 

A hand waves in front of his face, pulling him from his thoughts as you take a sip from your coffee. Puspa Cafe is not as busy at this hour, most people are in the middle of a work day, but Alhaitham is allowed to pick his lunch hour, and yours happens to be earlier than most.

“Sorry, I just have to ask—are…are you upset?” you ask gently, making him pause. 

Yes.

“No,” he says simply, “why would I be?”

“You seem upset.”

“I’m not.”

“You were fine up until…I don’t know, a few minutes ago. Is something on your mind?”

You know him so well, he thinks. How could you not see how perfect the two of you are together?

“I’m simply concerned about your sugar intake is all,” he eyes the cold, iced drink in your hands with more syrups than he deems necessary. You always have a penchant for choosing the sweetest drink off the menu, and Alhaitham will never understand how your teeth don’t rot.

“Well, that’s very funny,” you roll your eyes, “because I was just thinking about how low on vitamin D you must be—do you ever leave your study to see the sun?”

He spares you a soft chuckle at that, shaking his head before taking a sip of his own coffee—hot and black and with two spoons of sugar. Simple, like how he prefers. You make a face at his drink as he sets it down. 

“Have you ever thought about what you look for in a partner?” he asks suddenly, making you blink in shock for a moment. He flinches at his own forwardness just a tad. 

“Umm, I suppose a little here and there…why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he shrugs, “just curious what your type was, that’s all. You’re painfully single, so I figured your taste was rather distinct.”

“Rude,” you scoff, rolling your eyes enough that he thinks it’s safe to assume you’re not suspicious. “Are you here just to poke fun at my choices today?”

Alhaitham should not be asking you this. Not when the answer so clearly is going to hurt his already very bruised feelings. Of course, your type won’t be him. And, of course, he is going to mourn your answer the second you give it, which is his own fault considering he’s the one who asked. (He has to wonder, for a moment, if this constitutes as an undiscovered hidden kink of his and whether or not he really just gets off on some unnecessary pain. Why else would he willingly subject himself to this?)

But, he’s caught off guard when you shrug and simply say, “I suppose someone who’s intelligent. I’d appreciate some good discussions. And…and maybe someone who’s kind, y’know? I would be rather sad if they were mean,” you pretend to sniffle dramatically.

“That’s…that’s it?” He tilts his head in equal parts shock and equal parts confusion. 

“What did you expect me to look for in a partner?” You snort, “A three-story mansion? A rock-solid, chiseled chest to lay on?” 

“Well, no,” he rolls his eyes, “Maybe something a bit less generic to narrow down your pool, I suppose, but if that’s your bar, so be it. There are far too many men who are intelligent and kind, you know.”

“Yes, but none of them show me any signs of interest,” you pout, “I must be undesirable or something.”

I desire you, he wants to say. He can’t quite find the courage to get the words out, though—and as if the universe has it completely out for him, the same waiter from earlier who is responsible for asking you the question that kills Alhaitham’s mood for the day comes back with the bill. And something else, too. 

Something that kills his mood for the week. 

His jaw clenches a tad when you flush at the note scribbled on a napkin for you, eyeing your flustered reaction while you read over the words: I get off at eight if you’d like to find me. You stare for a moment before you murmur, “Well, look at that. A sign of interest—it must be the Dendro Archon’s divine power.”

“The Divine have no say over who you fall for,” he insists.

“You don’t know that,” you hum thoughtfully, “The God of Wisdom knows her people better than anyone else, you know. I’d like to think she knows when love is bound for two people.”

You fold the napkin carefully and keep it in your pocket, and Alhaitham fishes out his mora pouch with stiff fingers. He leaves a very shoddy tip on the table before he exits after you. 

────────────────────────

TWENTY THREE.

You wake up in his bed. 

It’s a foggy memory, but you know you fucked Alhaitham after more sips of wine than you can count and one flirty comment too many. It happened in a blur last night, and you can’t say you’re surprised that it finally happened at all. Alhaitham is a man just like any other, and mingling pleasure with friendship is a normal thing to do. Falling under him on his mattress is not something you never had daydreams of—but the truth of the matter is that your daydreams don’t just stop with the bed.

They end with a toothbrush beside his in the bathroom. A mug next to his in the kitchen. Your shoes kicked off along with his at the entrance of a home. Your laughter and his bouncing off of the walls. A ring, maybe. One on your hand and one on his. 

In your imagination, it starts with pleasure, but it ends with love.

Falling in love with Alhaitham is a peaceful ordeal. He’s dependable and inherently kind. Strong and impressively capable. Intelligent and objectively handsome. You’d bring him home to your mother and father, and they’d thank Lord Kusanali for smiling down upon their humble little family and their darling little daughter by sending such a divine man your way. 

You don’t think you can pinpoint when exactly it is you started to love this boy, but you know loving him became as simple as breathing. You never thought about it. Never learned to do it. Never questioned it, even. You inhale the scent of his spicy, woody cologne and exhale the warm breath of your affections stored in your lungs. He lives somewhere nestled so deep in your ribcage that you think you’d have to crack each of them one after the other before you could pry him out.

You love Alhaitham. You think you know everything there is to know about loving him. You think you’d do it right—better than anyone else. 

He only drinks his coffee when it’s piping hot, and his wine can never be one degree less than iced. He has dry hands, but he hates the feeling of lotion. He doesn’t like raw onions but he doesn’t mind them cooked. When the sun is in his eyes, he’s in a foul mood, but he enjoys napping under the warm rays, much like a cat. He laughs surprisingly boyishly from his belly if you manage to deliver a dry yet clever enough joke, and he clears his throat and gets a bit shy once he’s realized he’s let it out. He twirls his pen in his hand when he’s bored, and he only uses the kind with gel ink because they write smoother. 

You love Alhaitham. For you, it’s always been him. 

When you wake up to his bare, warm body next to yours, breathing peacefully with an arm thrown over your waist, you can’t help but selfishly wish he’d stay asleep all day. Just for a day. Just for the amount of time you get in between the sun’s departure and the moon’s arrival. Just so you can watch him exist in this moment where it’s you, him, and the liminal space between friends and lovers. Just so you can admire how beautiful he is without worrying about his eyes opening and the inevitable conversation of what you’re both doing is brought up. 

People (like Kaveh, or Dehya, or Tighnari, or…anyone) tend to insist that Alhaitham loves you. It’s obvious, they say, just as obvious as your love for him. You never believe it. It’s not because he’s bad at love or because you’re bad for him. You think he’d make a good lover—contrary to popular belief, you don’t think Alhaitham is uninterested in intimacy or affection. And you think you’d make a good girlfriend—unlike other people, you understand him and like what you see. 

But he doesn’t love you. That much is a fact you’ve long accepted. It’s not because you’re bad for him or because he’s incapable of feeling—but rather, it’s just that bitter, soul-crushing reality that you can’t help who you love and who you don’t. Alhaitham doesn’t love you—it’s not something either of you can really change. Because if he did, he’d waste no time. He’d get to the heart of the matter and quit dancing around the issue. 

It’s just the kind of guy that he is. 

So, because this is your first and likely last time seeing him this way, you slowly reach over and brush a few strands of messy, unruly bedhead from his forehead before cupping his cheek in your hand. His skin is soft and warm under your palm, much more delicate to the touch than you anticipated from how chiseled his features are. Your thumb gently brushes along the slant of his cheekbone, eyes softening at how he lets out a puff of air as he sleeps. 

“Morning,” he says hoarsely, eyes still closed and making you jolt in surprise. He lets out a quiet, sleepy chuckle that would make you melt if not for the way your heart still pounds from the shock. 

“You’re awake?”

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding before finally cracking an eye open. “For a while now.”

“Why pretend to sleep then, you creep?” You scoff, glaring at him as he sits up slightly and glances at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. No part of him seems to be shocked about you being nude in his bed. Or the fact that you’re even in his bed at all, nude or not. 

“You’re the creep if we’re being technical here. It’s undoubtedly a little on the creepy side to study someone with such careful touches while they sleep.”

“That’s your main concern…?” You stare at him—and for lack of better words, you’re dumbfounded. You and Alhaitham have been friends for two years and counting. You’ve never once crossed the line or even toed at it to step beyond the border of anything more. And, yet, here you are. In his bed. Completely nude. He was lying there and felt your delicate touch along his skin, felt you act like a lover and not a friend on a quiet, intimate morning when in fact, you both should be shamefully avoiding each other’s eyes in a moment that’s anything but intimate as you leave. 

He makes no move to ask you to leave or even question why you’re still here. You make no move to really leave—it’s not like you want to. 

“What should my main concern be, then?” he looks at you expectantly, like he really doesn’t know.

“Oh, I don’t know, Alhaitham—shouldn’t you be a little more panicked by the idea that I’ve trespassed into your bed and seen you…bare?”

“Well, to be fair, you didn’t trespass. I let you in—and also, to be fair, I saw the same for you, too, so we’re even.”

“You’re oddly calm about this,” you hiss. “This doesn’t bother you even a little? That things might change?”

He looks at you funny—like you’ve just told him a joke that hardly makes sense but makes him want to laugh anyway. “You’re too brilliant to be this dense,” he murmurs. “Maybe I’m quite open to the idea of change.”

You take offense to the first part enough to completely miss the second part of his statement. 

“I am not dense,” you huff, “I’m incredibly bright. I’ll have to send you my thesis sometime.”

“No need,” he responds through a low hum. He pulls you closer, flush against his chest. Bare skin on skin. Intimate skin, at that. You shiver for a moment as his warm, large hand wanders lower and lower before stopping just at the small of your back, rubbing slow circles at the dimple where your spine ends. “I’ve read it plenty of times. It was very insightful.”

“Well, in that case, you should know not to insult my intelligence—”

“If you don’t notice my affection for you, I’m afraid you might not be as observant as I initially thought.”

You pause. Your heart flutters. Then it feels like it decays. Your eyes widen a fraction. Then they feel like they need to be squeezed shut for fear of tears. You feel your fingers twitch to reach for him. And yet they stiffen in distrust. 

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you whisper. Because you don’t.

You really fucking don’t. You thought you knew. His feelings and how to read them. His thoughts and how his mind works. Every little quirk of his and how he approaches every damn thing in this world. You thought you knew.

Now you feel like you don’t know much of anything, especially not what he means right in this moment. 

“You don’t?” He whispers, hand moving to grab your wrist and bring it to his cheek so his lips can brush along the delicate lines of your palm prints. (If he was brave, he’d tell you that his destiny and yours are written in those very lines. Maybe someday he’ll build the courage.)

“No,” you say through a shaky whisper. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love you. Just like you love me.” He says it so plainly, that you almost feel like it's a dry, cruel joke. (You know him a little better than that, though, to know he’d never.)

“How do you know I love you?” you challenge just because it’s all you have left to cling to—easy, instant denial. 

He laughs. Soft. Quiet. Melodic. So fucking sweet. “I’m too smart to act dense,” Alhaitham teases. And then, for a moment, his eyes soften enough that they almost look vulnerable. “And only someone who loves me could deal with my… peculiarities. Though, I will admit, it took me quite a while to reach this conclusion. You made me work for it.”

“If you’ve known all along—” 

“Not all along,” he corrects, “like I said, it took me a while to come to this conclusion. But once I did, it was rather obvious.”

You scowl with a finger prodding into his chest, eyes misty with relief and the faintest traces of agitation, “Well, regardless, why haven’t you said something all this time? Obviously, I wasn’t as aware as you seem to be, so the least you could have done is spared me the pining and heartbreak of wondering if you’d ever look at me—”

“I wanted to make sure I could offer you a peaceful life first,” he says gently. You blink. He smiles, eyeing something in the distance—you don’t quite catch it, but you think it might be the old, worn-out stack of envelopes sitting on his desk. 

“What?”

“When you’re with me,” he whispers, leaning in so that his lips brush over yours, “I can lead a peaceful life. I wanted to make sure I could give you the same.”

“And what does that consist of?” you raise a brow. 

“Well,” he murmurs, pecking the corner of your mouth, “A stable job with a generous income, which I now have. A fixed schedule, which I have also negotiated. A proper home to house the both of us, which you are comfortably laying in. And…” he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest where his heart is beating erratically, “A rock-solid, chiseled chest to lay on, which I have dedicatedly worked to add to my physique for you.”

“Haitham!” you squeal, shoving him away with a horrified shriek as he laughs with a wide grin. You don’t even know why he still remembers that comment to poke fun at it, but you suppose that is the tragedy of falling for a prodigious scholar. His mind is sharp. And so is his memory. “Enough!”

“Okay, okay,” he grins smugly. “I want us to lead a peaceful life.”

“There’s not a lot of peace I am counting on with you.”

“I will elect to ignore that statement,” he says dryly, “But that’s why I waited this long,” he buries his face into your neck, nose pressing into the skin as he inhales, “I’m afraid I can’t wait any longer, though. Won’t you accept my frugal attempt at a serene life with you?”

“Perhaps I can make do,” you fight back a stupid grin.

He smiles into your neck. You can feel it. You can practically see it. You hope you’ll grow old with it, too. 

“Then I suppose I’m forever indebted to your graciousness, my love.”

────────────────────────

TWENTY FOUR.

When Alhaitham was eight, Grandmother told him the story of how his parents had fallen in love. It was a typical love story, he thought at the time—nothing overly special or unique. A simple, sweet bond between two people who became friends and something more along the way.

What stood out were the letters. Not very much at first, but with time, he’d realized how special they were. 

Grandmother handed him the letters with a soft, melancholy look in her eyes that made him realize he hadn’t just lost his father and mother. She had lost her son and daughter-in-law. Alhaitham felt the absence of his parents often. It was hard not to at that age—he didn’t have a father to throw a ball to or tag along with to the market. He didn’t have a mother to hum him a melody or make his favorite dish for dinner. But Grandmother filled the gaps in those places well enough that even if his heart bled, not too much blood spilled between the cracks.

But he was no son. Not a proper one for her at her age, anyway. She raised him like he was her own, but she grew older every day, and he didn’t grow fast enough to keep up. He couldn’t take care of her in her old age the way his father would have. He couldn’t do much besides bring the vegetables for her to cut or set the table while she cooked. He couldn’t offer her the mora when she went to the market or carry too many of the heavy bags while they walked home. He couldn’t let her rest in her old age too much because, regardless of how mature and bright he was for his age, Alhaitham was just a child. Her child, nonetheless—Grandmother didn’t let him forget that fact. But a child.

When she died, he arranged the funeral alone. He didn’t cry throughout the whole ordeal. Her old colleagues from way back in her Akademiya days came, as did some of his parents’ old acquaintances. No one he knew too familiarly, though—no one who really mattered when they clasped his shoulder and told him to hang in there.

She was a good woman. He knew that already.

She was very intelligent. A very obvious fact.

She was exceptionally kind. A rather unsurprising observation.

She loved very deeply. Well. That one stung—as true as it might have been.

He remembers it so vividly still. How he had walked home alone after it all. How he had taken off his tie (a very poorly tied tie, at that—Grandmother had always helped him before) and silently entered his room.

It wasn’t until he had eyed his desk that finally, it all sank in. The notes—the ones his father had so carefully written his mother while they were still just starting to fall in love, sat there as if waiting for him. He read them one by one, just like he had so many times before. He didn’t realize he’d started crying until a rivulet of his sorrow landed from his cheek to the page, staining the paper a darker shade of heartache. 

Alone. 

That’s all Alhaitham had ever been since the tender age of four. At least, that’s what people had always thought—but he’d never felt the sorrow people tended to feel for him. Not having a father and mother was okay. Hard at times, but okay. Grandmother had been everything he needed. More than what he needed, in fact. 

Grandmother was everything. And she had left him just the same way his parents had. He’d cried that night—alone in a house that was nothing more than just a house. Not a home, not a place where he could return to and look forward to it. Not a place where love was waiting for him to shelter him as soon as he came back from the cruel, outside world.

Grandmother was gone. Mother and father had left so long ago. But they all had each other—in whatever world they’d crossed to, they’d had each other. 

He remembers it all so vividly still. How he’d read his father’s words, and for the first time in all his life, he’d craved it. What his parents had. 

To my love, my soul, my heart. I am yours, always. 

He wondered that night, through teary and blurry eyes, if love like that would ever find him. If he’d one day be able to call someone his love, soul, and heart.

He thinks now, as you laugh with your head tilted forward and a tweezer in hand while sitting on his lap, that he can. 

“Hold still, you,” comes your teasing remark, “you said this would be nothing. Now look at you.”

“You’re being too harsh,” he grumbles, pouting slightly. With a smile, you bend your neck down and press a soft kiss to his jutted lips, humming before pressing an extra one to the corner of his mouth for good measure. (And yes, the grand sage—acting, you can almost hear him correct in your own head—can pout. He is rather frequent at curling those lips of his in your presence when he wants something, in fact. Or when he is teased too much. Something about you brings about a side of him that is much less stoic and far more dramatized.)

“You can just admit it hurts, you know,” you say through an amused snort.

“It won’t hurt if you just do it right.”

“I’m an expert at tweezing eyebrows,” you huff, “I do mine all the time. And I would know that it hurts.”

“It can’t be that painful,” he clicks his teeth, “just be gentle.”

“I cannot gently pull out a hair from your follicle, Haitham—I don’t know what you want me to—hey!”

He grabs the tweezers from your hand and pulls you close, hugging you tight enough that his nose digs into your skin a bit as he buries it into your neck. It’s Saturday. His first out of two days off for the week—standard scribe work weeks are nine to five on weekdays, and he very much appreciates his weekends away from the bustling, lively Akademiya nonsense. 

Saturday happens to be your day off, too. 

“Where is Kaveh?” you ask quietly, playing with the hem of his shirt. He raises a brow, eyeing the suspicious movement of your fingers.

“Working with a client in Aaru Village. He won’t be back until tomorrow evening. Why am I not enough company for you?”

“Oh, be quiet,” you roll your eyes, and this time, your hands wander under his shirt, palms slowly dragging along his chiseled, planed abdomen while he shivers slightly under your touch. “I was just asking if…”

“If…?” he urges you to continue.

You know he knows. But, for the sake of indulging his smug, teasing little game, you huff and push his shirt up to expose his chest before murmuring, “If we would be interrupted or not. I don’t fancy such awkward run-ins with your roommate.”

“Our roommate,” he corrects, “this is your home, too.”

“Yes,” you smile, brushing your palms over his pectorals, watching as he stiffens when you graze along his nipples, “I suppose it is.”

“Well, he’s not here. And he won’t be, so kiss me,” he demands through a breathy whisper. You do. You kiss him instantly—because kissing Alhaitham is what you do best. When he’s happy, sad, angry, distressed, or just plain tired, kissing him is how you know him the most. When your breaths exchange and your life force and his mingle to become one, singular unit. 

You sigh into his mouth, letting his hands cradle your jaw and tilt your head to better meet his mouth, all while your hands still explore his upper half. He moans under your touch, cock springing to life slowly below you through his pants. You angle your hips forward, inching higher up his lap to drag your crotch along his and help the erection grow against the friction. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, hard and heavy between his legs in no time. 

“Haitham,” you breathe, feeling that familiar ache build between your own thighs. 

You kiss him like that for a bit. Messy, deep, sloppy, and so, so slow. With all the time in the world. Languid strokes of your tongue against his as he rolls his hips up from underneath you, dragging his clothed, bulging cock against your dripping cunt. The fabric separates you, rudely so, and it’s not long until you both grow tired of it. 

“Off,” you whine, tugging at his pants, “off, off, off!”

“So demanding,” he chuckles, pecking your nose sweetly before he lifts his hips, letting you slide off his sweatpants. “Satisfied?” 

“Yes,” you beam, “You always give me what I want. It’s my favorite thing about you.”

His gaze darkens at that—not for any other reason than it makes him so incredibly filled with lust when you speak to him like that. So spoiled and happy about it because it’s him. Him. You’re happy that it’s him. And he’s happy that it’s you. 

You don’t even bother undressing yourselves fully—he pulls down your own pants just enough to expose your pretty, leaking folds, and his hands wander under your shirt, where he almost short-circuits for a moment. Braless. Because you just love to drive him mad, he thinks. This much easy access to your soft, delicate breasts and the pert nipples that decorate them is enough to make him curse under his breath as his thumbs tease over them. 

“You’re a tease.”

“For simply existing?” you gasp, making him crack a small grin. 

“Yes,” he hums, “Your existence on its own teases me at all times. I’m afraid it drives me mad.”

You hum, reaching forward to gently take his hard, leaking cock into your hand and give a light, teasing squeeze. “Maybe my goal is to turn you completely into a lost cause.”

“Then,” he groans, throwing his head back against the couch cushions while he breathes harshly, “then you’re definitely succeeding. Is that what you wished to hear?”

“Yes,” you whisper, kissing his jaw, “It is, actually.”

It doesn’t take long at all before Alhaitham has tossed you back against the couch, laughing as you shriek at the sudden change of position. You glare at him, fighting back your own chorus of giggles as he moves to hover over you, kissing and biting playfully along your cheeks. 

“I love you,” he mumbles.

“Aw, so sweet,” you coo, “say that again.”

He rolls his eyes. His lips curl into the brightest grin at the same time. My love, my soul, my heart—the words are ingrained in his memory always. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” you whisper.

He leans in for a soft, slow kiss as the tip of his leaking cock slides against your folds, tapping against your clit before rubbing along your entrance. You gasp, shuddering against him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. 

“You know,” he murmurs, “I could get used to this.”

“Sex on the couch? We can do that any time—”

“A weekend with just the two of us,” he groans, dropping his head to your neck as you laugh loudly. Bright. Airy. A sound the wind carries to him in his subconscious. He hears you even when you’re not there—even when you aren’t around, he searches for you. 

“Oh,” you say playfully, “Yeah, I guess that’s nice too, isn’t it?”

“I’ll show you just how nice it’s about to be,” he hums. The tip of his thick, blunt head is pressed against your folds—you’re leaking just as much as he is. You slick, and his pre cum mix for a messy collision of arousal as he presses into you slowly, so carefully, you feel like you could break at any second with how he handles you. 

He’s patient. When Alhaitham fucks you, he’s patient enough that you feel like his other half and not his means of pleasure. Like he fucks you for you and not for himself. 

“More,” you insist, impatient as you add, “I can take it.”

“Patience is a virtue,” he clicks his teeth, “I want to take my time feeling you.”

And he does. He rolls his hips slowly. So slowly, you feel delirious. It’s a painful, gradual build-up of pleasure that has you trying to roll your hips into him to meet him halfway, a pathetic attempt when he’s on top of you to press his weight down on you to keep you in place. 

“Please, Haitham,” you whine, sweat shining across your sweet, pleasure-hazed face as he stares down at you, “Please more. I need it—need you. Need all of you.”

“You have all of me,” he groans, feeling the tight walls of your cunt squeeze around him, the squelching noise of his thick girth bullying into your folds in and out, in and out, in and out, driving him to the brink of insanity. “You’ve always had every piece of me.”

“I want more,” you hiss. 

He lets out a breathy laugh that turns into a soft moan. “If that’s what you want.”

The next thing you know, two strong, muscled arms are grabbing your thighs and bringing them around his torso to wrap around him, and his large hands grab your hips and pull, practically manhandling you deeper onto his cock. You shudder, letting out a shrill, high-pitched gasp as he intrudes further into your cunt, nudging the head of his cock against your sweetest of spots and making your body tremble. 

“Haitham,” you gasp, “Haitham, fuck—fuck, you feel so good. So deep—love when you fuck me like this.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, kissing in between your pretty little scrunched-up eyebrows, “I love fucking you like this, too. When you take me so well, squeeze so tight, and let me feel you like the good girl you are.”

His words make your folds squeeze around him, and fuck—he’s close. So fucking close, the pad of his rough, callused thumb meets your clit as he rubs circles, trying to bring you to the edge before he goes plummeting himself. 

“‘M close—almost…almost there,” you pant.

“Me too, baby,” he groans. He slams into you, skin slapping against skin and the glistening sheen of it mixing your sweat together. His mouth parts with pretty, low sounds of his pleasure, and your face twists with the devastating rush of yours. 

Once. Twice. A third time, and you fall apart as he thrusts into you and presses the tip of his thick length against the spongey spot in the back of your walls. 

“Haitham,” you gasp, legs tightening around him as your nails press crescent shapes into his back. “Fuck, I’m c-cumming…oh, Gods.”

“Good,” he gasps, and with one last roll of his desperate hips, he spills into you, too. A thick, sticky, familiar rush of heat fills your cunt, ropes of cum painting you white within with every twitch of his aching cock. “Fuck—you feel so good. So perfect—you were made for me. Me.”

“You,” you whisper, breathless. 

You let him shudder over you, fingers running through his hair as he finishes releasing his load into you before he slumps his weight over your body. It’s a small couch—decorative more than functional. (All thanks to Kaveh, of course.) But you don’t particularly care when you’re under him. It feels right all the same. 

“We have the house to ourselves this weekend,” he reminds you after some time of catching your breaths. “So…so we can do this all you want.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes as you poke his forehead. “You’re obscene.”

“I’m romantic,” he corrects, “I just want to be with you and nothing else. Can’t blame a man when he’s been gifted such a beautiful sight before him.”

“And cheesy, too,” you huff. 

He smiles. My love, my soul, my heart. 

——————————

You wake up Monday morning to Alhaitham already gone—it’s rare that he’s ever up before you. He leaves the house just in time to make it to work exactly on the dot and not a moment sooner or a moment later. But, as is with any Akademiya position, there are quarterly meetings that even the scribe can’t avoid. You giggle at the image in your head of a grumpy Alhaitham carefully tiptoeing around the room as he miserably gets ready for an early morning of extra work, all while making sure he doesn’t wake you. 

You yawn, sitting up to start your morning for your own day of work ahead—but it catches your eye before you can fully rise from bed, making you pause. 

A note? No, you realize almost instantly. Not just a note—a letter:

To my love, my soul, my heart: Kalpalata lotuses will bloom soon. I forget how beautiful the world is sometimes, and I suppose it’s because I am always distracted by your beauty alone. Will you laugh as you read this? I suppose you might because even I must admit, it is a rather cliche thing to say. I can just picture your smile now, and I am certain I will have it memorized until my last breath. It’s easy to remember it so well when it’s all I see in my dreams. Have I told you how often I see you in them? It’s difficult to think that there was once a time in Sumeru when we did not dream. It seems like sleeping beside your body is no longer enough—your presence is required even in my slumber for me to truly be at peace.  Perhaps when the lotuses bloom, we can take a trip to the deeper parts of the rainforest to catch a glimpse of a few. They say the vines are blessed by The Lord herself. I was never one to seek out the divine, but perhaps with a gift as sacred as you, I should take the time to thank Lady Kusanali for granting such brilliance to take bloom in my presence. Only, the difference is that here with you, there are no cliffs to climb or seasons to await. You are mine to bloom, always—my precious, beautiful lotus.  Forever yours,  Haitham ♡

ITS DONE. HAPPY LATE BDAY TO MY FIRST AND LONGEST LOVE. YOU MEAN EVERYTHING AND MORE TO MEEEEE

[crocodilenjoyer]

op fic recs...2!

g

feed your plants a little sunlight by swordsmans | ambiguous setting, post-timeskip | zolu | 4.2k | complete

Instead of napping, Zoro helps. It is his job, after all.

Trochilus by stealth-black-leg | ambiguous setting, post-wano | gen, robin & crocodile-centric | 2.5k | complete

The trochilus, sometimes called the crocodile bird, is a legendary bird which was supposed to have enjoyed a symbiotic relationship with the Nile crocodile.

how to talk without speaking by swordsmans | post-shells town through pre-baratie | gen straw hats, luffy-centric | 6.9k | complete

In the beginning, Luffy does not know how to read. In the grand scheme of things, this does not matter.

Little Monsters by blue_wonderer | post-wano | gen, straw hats-centric | 7.7k | complete

Vinsmoke breathes out, a smirk on his swollen, bloody face.

“Our captain is here.”

Or

Post-Wano, some lucky (or not-so-lucky) Marines capture the still-injured Sanji and Usopp. Naturally, the rest of the crew casually rips the world apart to get them back. One lone warship never stood a chance.

The Many Marriages of the Straw Hat Pirates by LadyCrimsonAndBlack | across canon, pre- and post-timeskip | gen, straw hats-centric | 2.9k | complete

There are a lot of strange traditions to be found on the Grand Line. Sometimes, the Straw Hats get caught up in them.

(Or: The Straw Hats get married to each other. Repeatedly.)

so much like stars by blue_wonderer | post-dressrosa, pre-zou | zolu, pre-zolawlu | 12.1k | complete

“Why are you the way you are?” Law asks, gesturing to Zoro and Luffy in their entirety. “You look pathetic.”

“Luffy fell in,” Zoro shrugs. Law thinks he may be the only person in the world who can convey both “Luffy fell in, he’s such a fucking idiot” and “Luffy fell in, what else was I supposed to do but follow?” in one line.

“I’m very sorry.” Luffy reaches up and pats Zoro on the chest.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Luffy wheezes a short laugh. “I like swimming with Zoro.”

“Shut up, you little shit.”

“How about you both shut up and let me work,” Law grouses.

OR

Stargazing and snow, festivals and dreams, and the quiet change in the dynamic between Law, Luffy, and Zoro during a few cold nights on the way to Zou.

t

Seabound by AnkhPosts | au; canon timeline n/a | deuceace | 8k | complete

Ace is a selkie, making one of his periodic stops on land to catch a breather and get some ridiculously tasty human food, maybe see some sights if there are any. His pelt is safely hidden, he'll stay a day or two at most and be on his way.

Deuce is a mer, alone on the sea and traveling as he pleases for the first time in his life, and while he might not be terribly interested in actually interacting with humans it's hard not to see them as fascinating.

Ace meets Deuce. Deuce meets Ace. Neither knows the other isn't human.

The Jester whose nickname is Fate by stealth-black-leg | pre-canon | dragodile | 2.5k | complete

Crocodile believes in luck, gambling, coincidence, but not fate. He believes in free will, and that every person can choose any future they’d like for themselves, if they’re strong enough to build it.

He didn’t choose this for himself though, and if there indeed is a fate, then Fate, pardon his French, is a fucking little bitch.

By Any Other Name by ginger_snappin | au with information from wci | sanlu | 10k | complete

Sanji should stop doing this.

He recalls Lucy’s earnest smiles, the insatiable physicality of him. The tugging Sanji can feel in his gut toward his friend, an urge to follow him blindly that Sanji cannot resist.

He thinks of Lucy’s full fat stomach after a meal, sated, the murmured, “thanks for the food,” and the mismatched HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY that Lucy’s soul exclaims whenever those warm brown eyes meet his own blue ones.

Sanji cannot stop.

-

A young king comes to power, and his hungry suitors follow… even the reluctant ones.

You've Got A Friend In Me by Hazel_Athena | post-timeskip, pre-egghead | zosan, perona & zoro | 19.1k | complete

Zoro grunts, likely because she hits him with more force than either of them are expecting, and then returns her surprise with one of his own by wrapping his arms around her and hugging her back.

“They hurt you?” He murmurs, and she shakes her head.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” She insists, although which of them she’s trying to reassure, she isn’t certain.

Interim Arrangements by Hazel_Athena | au, post-wano | zosan | 43k | complete

It’s so quiet in the war room that you could hear a pin drop. Not a single person dares to say a word - not even the favored princes - and all eyes remain fixed on the head of the table, where a large figure sits hunched over in its chair, clutching the latest newsreel between two massive fists.

Having been forewarned of some of the contents of said newsreel, Sanji does his best to keep anything from showing on his face, to maintain his expression in an implacable facade. He thinks he largely succeeds in controlling himself outwardly, but inwardly his gut is churning with emotion.

The newsreel twitches, and the five people not holding the paper sit up a little straighter in their seats, each of them bracing for impact without actually meaning to as slowly, oh so slowly, the paper is lowered down until it’s resting flat on the table.

“Well,” Judge says, his mouth working like he wants to spit. “This is certainly an … unexpected development.”

Stakes by CaptainJojo | post-wano | gen, luffy & zoro | 4.2k | complete

Zoro has a good grasp of what fights are- and are not- worth his time.

Or: Zoro gets lost and gets in one (1) fight about it.

(The real fight begins in chapter 2 but I'm leaving 1 in because I wrote it so it gets posted and that's the rule)

lion-skinned by kurgaya | ambiguous setting, post-timeskip | zolu | 10.6k | complete

If there was ever a reason to eat a Devil Fruit, Zoro supposes it would be in the process of saving his idiotic buffoon of a captain from a certain and most horrible death.

Familiar by NothingSoDivine | pre-canon | smoker/benn beckman | 1k | complete

"You look familiar."

The stranger chuckles. The sound warms Smoker down to his boots. "I get that a lot."

Years before being stationed in Roguetown, Smoker runs into a familiar face in a bar on the Grand Line. Unfortunately, Smoker can't quite place where he's seen the guy before...

A Little Assurance by nocturneequuis | ambiguous setting, post-timeskip | frobin | 1.1k | complete

Robin wonders how much further Franky will take himself. When does the man end and the machine begin?

e

Arctic Birds by LibbyLune | pre-canon with information from water 7 | mihawk/iceburg | 15k | complete

“Oh yeah, you want Water 7,” Shanks declares, kicking the hull of Mihawk’s small sailboat with a careless boot. “Sailing around in this piece of crap doesn’t suit the World’s Greatest Swordsman, Hawksy.”

Mihawk is a man of high standards, but the expert shipbuilding is not the only feature of Water 7 that he ends up impressed by.

The Onigiri Story by leghair | post-alabasta through the end of wano | zosan | 40.1k | complete

It had been bad enough trapped on a boat with Zoro, body and face and voice sending Sanji's imagination racing, bitter-knowing he was straight as his swords and half as sharp. So Sanji had ignored the attraction - maybe allowed himself a greedy little peek now and then, but he’d never let it become a problem. He’d never let it become anything. He'd known that's how things were going to stay and he was fine with it, he had been dealing with it, this wasn't his fault. It's not like he'd ever wanted Zoro to know.

A canonverse getting-together fic with lots of porn, some plot, and plenty of feelings, following the progression of their relationship and the canon events that impact it. A couple of common zosan tropes get flipped, there's a smidge of angst for good measure, but with a very happy ending.

Finally updated post-Wano and WCI!

nr

Chasing Flowers by taizi | probably g or t | ambiguous setting, post-timeskip | gen straw hats | 4.7k | complete

"It's an old tradition in our town; on the second week of the second month of the year, you leave flowers for the one you love, for them to follow back to you. By their house, where they work, nooks and corners that are special secrets between just the two of you."

(Luffy's crew leaves him flowers, and an old innkeeper gets drawn into the chase.)

Clinical Practice by taizi | probably t | ambiguous setting, post time-skip | chopper-centric | 2.4k | complete

"I'm his doctor!" Chopper all but shrieked, closer to hysterical than he'd ever been- because in four days time those people could really have hurt Luffy, and he was so tired of being treated like a kid. "I'm his doctor, and I'm going to find him right now!"

Inanition by taizi | probably g | ambiguous setting, post-timeskip | gen straw hats | 1.9k | complete

in·a·ni·tion, noun; lack of mental or spiritual vigor and enthusiasm; exhaustion caused by lack of nourishment.

(In which Luffy's metabolism is faster than his doctor understands.)

[liesmyth]

@takiki16 tags on my post are too good not to be shared! The context is wild shit that legit happened in IRL football ⚽ that I need the Ted Lasso fandom to be aware of, because it'd make for excellent fic material:

the MANAGERS #the PERSONAL DRAMA#I KNOW that ted lasso is not designed to be an actual realistic show #I KNOW that this whole thing did in fact begin as a way to soft trap Americans into watching the Prem #to the point that JOSE FUCKING MOURINHO ACTUALLY HAD A PART IN THE ORIGINAL NBC AD #I do NOT want to change the vibe of the show at all #(but like…a dramedy about the EPL that REALLY wanted to roast some fuckers would perhaps…NOT look like ted lasso #if they wanted to start with the managers it would just be two middle aged idiots with BOILING beef #who had to be physically restrained from throwing hands every other game and have personally destroyed each others’ marriages

Okay WHO would Roy have managerial beef with. I vote Arteta. Actually as @elizabear suggests, it's funnier if it's one sided

He would also instinctively dislike Rob Edwards of Luton because Jamie once said he's the hottest manager in the EPL. Roy's annoyed and he doesn't know why. (Rob Edwards is very hot)

For an example of managers throwing hands... the Tuchel/Conte handshake

In fact here's a whole compilation of managers throwing hands.

Thank you for bringing up Mourinho! This is his ad, btw. "What do you WANT Ted?" lives in my mind rent-free

After much soul-searching I've decided Roy likes Mou a lot among all the managers he's played for. YES, he is a total cunt BUT

he's really fucking funny about it. Like, really.

he's never met a referee he didn't have beef with but most of all Anthony Taylor (as a Roma fan I have to agree with him on that)

the entire 2005 Chelsea team would've died for him. I've said this before, but there can't be a Frank Lampard in TL if Roy plays the box-to-box midfielder role, so this quote about Mourinho walking into Lampard naked in the shower to give him a pep talk? That's Roy. To me.

I can't even pick a quote among all the shit he's said about all the managers he's played against, but I especially enjoy when he used to be a bitch about Pep and Pep was like "I don't know her." It was like a one-sided crush dating back from their Barca days

#if they wanted it to be about the players the literal sky is the limit. WHATEVER the writers room can come up with#it cannot come CLOSE to the batshit drama that real Sockckckckcer Playahs have amongst each other#also intricate rituals. NOT ENOUGH INTRICATE RITUALS#when Jamie scored that free kick after getting permission to be a prick Dani should have kissed him with tongue

Here's some homoeroticism:

#but TO COME BACK TO OP’S POINT ABOUT ACTUAL GAMEPLAY#I want to see Coach Roy get red carded and have to sit in the stands for the next game cursing and swearing

He'd get, like, 3 red cards a season MINIMUM. Mourinho who. Here's Klopp losing it a bit. Here's Pep being passive aggressive as fuck. Pochettino from 2 days ago. Also from last weekend: De Zerbi's "I don't like 80% of referees in England" he's so right for this.

Manager Roy would get himself red carded the week before Richmond play Chelsea away. Totally accidental. So he doesn't have to have a lil cry about it.

#I want to see what it would take to get Zoreaux sent off#and then they have to stick Bumbercatch in goal and it turns out he has some Hyper Specific Phobia about the situation#he manages to save the team but his coping mechanisms for dealing with Forcible Keeper Phobia make up the comedy B-plot of the episode#

I want CLUB RIVALRY. dunno where Richmond actually physically is but imagine if they had derbies#Ted has to be made to understand that no coach - for THIS game we will not stop till we see BLOOD#Richmond wins but bc they are playing away the home fans actively are tossing crap at them as they celebrate on the pitch#also the sprinklers come on and it’s a bus full of soaked greyhounds on the ride home

They're in West London! Maybe they just fucking hate Fulham. Or Brentford.

Actually, I've thought long and hard about Richmond's derby rivalries. Semi-canon sources say they have a bit of a West London rivalry with Brentford BUT to me it doesn't make much sense because Richmond are supposed to have been mid-table in the Prem for years, top-flight but mediocre. Brentford only made it to the Prem in 2021.

Actually, I've decided that Richmond kind of take the place of QPR for most of their history, except they didn't get relegated when QPR did. This is because 1) it'd be too many London-based clubs otherwise but, more importantly, 2) when Man City won their first title in 2012 with Agueeeeeero!!! that was against Richmond. It's funny, To Me.

Also you know Roy still fucking hates Newcastle from his Sunderland academy days. If his pundit career had lasted longer he'd be having top tier shithousery with Alan Shearer every week about it.

Anyway here's a whole youtube playlist about WILD derbies.

#ALSO BC SUAREZ IS COMING TO MIAMI - BITING INCIDENTS CAN THEY DO THAT

As an Italian I am legally obliged to SAY that if Suarez hadn't bitten Chiellini at the World Cup we would have gone past the group stage because Uruguay scored off a corner they won while Italy were all busy telling the ref that there was a fucking cannibal on the pitch. I don't forgive and I don't forget.

Anyway for context: cannibal Luis Suarez. He's a repeat offender. Someone at Richmond would think it was very funny

[justsomeoneunordinary]

yo, im making 2k25 the year of sending asks to my fav blogs, soooo:

how about 🍿, 🌶, & 🍾 for this ask game?

Awww, thank you!! 😘😘😘

I definitely need to start sending more aks too. I just talk so much in the tags that I forget people are also happy when they receive asks...

🍿 - Your top three favorite Fics atm

Not one in a fandom you're interested in, I'm afraid but:

1. Always Means Always by Salmon_I - an Untamed fic, Jiang Cheng centric with absolutely amazing characterization of each character. It's so hard to find a JC fic where he isn't either written by an anti who makes him at fault for everything or by a stan who woobiefy's the shit out of him and makes everyone else at fault. A fic written by a JC fan who doesn't shy away from pointing out JC's flaws. Or the other characters' flaws - without being an anti. Only person in this fandom I have seen pointing out that Wen Ning isn't a good person per se or that Lan Wangji's blind loyalty to Wei Wuxian is in fact a huge character flaw and not a good thing.

Also the only other person I've seen finding LWJ boring without being a total hater. Like yeah, I do find him uninteresting and wish he wasn't so in my face all the time, but I don't hate him! Everyone else is either a fan or an extreme anti. Not this author, this author has the same opinion on every Untamed character as me, which is extremely refreshing to see.

This fic, the characterizations and the character analysis in the end notes of almost every chapter has done more to clear my skin than any of the face products I tried out. 100/10, I highly recommend!

2. gravity of tempered grace by SilverStudios5140 - a Naruto founders fic. I came for the Senju bros feels and the Mito characterization but I'm staying for everything else too. The TobiIzu is just a bonus, honestly. I have a bunch of chapters to catch up with first but once I sit down to read them, it'll be impossible to stop. Despite using some fandom-specific tropes I dislike (or even hate), the fic still has me in a strong chokehold, just like this author's other Naruto time travels fic. The world-building and the characterizations are just so gripping!

3. Lonely, Dark, and Deep by nirejseki - also a Naruto founders fic. Less of a favorite fic at the moment and more of an all-time favorite fic ever since I entered the founders fandom. The Senju bro feels just hit so damn good that the MadaTobi is just second to me. The original eldritch being Hashi fic - the ending gets me every fucking time. It doesn't matter that this fic will never be finished bc with how the last chapter ends, I can just look at it as an open ending and the fact that I'll forever be left wondering makes it so much more interesting than if it had a definite ending tbh. Every time I re-read this fic, I am immediately captured in its grip.

🌶️ - A trope you’re loving right now

Rule 63. Make an M/M or M/F ship I like into F/F and I come running so fucking fast. Go and turn those guys into gals fr. Make them all gals even with just a few token guys - if the shounen writers can make their stories a dick fest with just the occasional pussy in between, then fandom can do the opposite 💖

🍾 - A character the fandom has helped you appreciate more

Depends on which fandom lol. Considering I'm in the Naruto fandom rn, the answer would be Madara. Technically, all of the founders bc I didn't care for any of them before I clicked on a MadaTobi fic out of curiosity and suddenly found interest in them. But Madara the most because I actually disliked him in the beginning lol. I didn't hate him, but I wasn't a fan. I always found his fight during the 4th war boring - nothing less interesting to me than when an op character is introduced who defeats our strongest characters without a single drop of sweat.

(This is an opinion that I still have. I just cannot be arsed to care about Madara defeating the shinobi alliance and the Gokage so easily, even tho I do like him now. That shit is fucking boring to me!)

But the MadaTobi fandom made me see that Madara is quite an intriguing character before he became ridiculously overpowered - his personality pre-Konoha, his dreams and everything that happened to drive him mad are so interesting to explore! I definitely wouldn't have gotten here without the MdTb fics.

Also, to mention a fandom you know about - Bucky. Never mind that I hate him so much these days that I can't even stand to see his face anymore, I did use to be a fan. And that's only thanks to the WinterIron fandom. I did not care about him or even think about him at all before I stumbled onto BuckyTony and realized that he's quite an interesting character to explore.

-

Thanks again for the asks ♥️ And sorry for ramling so much abt fandoms you know nothing of... but there's just nothing abt the MCU that's keeping me in the fandom anymore 😅

Send asks!

[finnritter]

Okay let me go off about them Nolofinwean siblings because it took me a while to learn how to love them (as opposed to the Feanorians whose raging dumpster fire of insanely codependent sibling dynamics set me ablaze on basically day 1) but it's so worth the effort to think a bit about them.

This is laced through with headcanons/personal interpretations that you can feel free to ignore, this is meant to be inspiring, not informative.

A/N from after I finished… whatever this is and noticed how long this got: Sorry op! Honestly, I meant to give you like three headcanons in a trenchcoat to light the spark for a little Nolofinwean love, but instead I wrote this, couldn’t stop and somehow created a weird clusterfuck of character-study-ish, essay-ish ranting about a bunch of dead elves. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

Ok here we go:

The Nolofinweans are united by stubbornness, contradiction, and a slumbering potential to defy God and/or themselves.

The first point is basically their family trademark trait, because as we all know, every one of the Big Three Noldorin families needs one (think the Feanorian Intensity™, and the Arafinwean “Way of making you feel just slightly unsettled for some reason”).

Fights between Fingon and Turgon are a prime example of “unstoppable force vs. immovable object”. Fingon cannot be swayed, Turgon cannot be convinced. They need to agree to disagree because otherwise, they will not reach a conclusion, ever. They are very good at agreeing to disagree, mainly since Fingon has better things to do than fight and Turgon is very much in need of harmony because he is actually pretty easily upset. This does not make any of them back up from their point, ever, though.

Aredhel, unlike her brothers, has no problem with pointless arguments, but the more people tell her what to do, the more she does the opposite, less out of spite and more to prove her independence. Usually when someone tells her No she just asks her favourite cousin who is very good at enabling her. Not that she isn’t perfectly capable of enabling herself, mind you.

Argon makes stubbornness look cool and charming, mainly by having a cute, disarming smile and being the baby of the family. His supreme discipline is being stubbornly nice to the point where it really throws people off balance. He gets it from his dad who has been doing this to Feanor since he was the elven equivalent of a brooding teenager.

This makes it no surprise that lucky harp boy gets his heart broken by his best friend, right after breaking the hearts of his other best friends solely for him (Fingon and his relationship to Angrod and Aegnor after Alqualonde is honestly so juicy. More people need to write about it, but I recommend @actual-bill-potts stunning short fic to exactly this topic)

Anyway, Fingon proceeds to cross the Frozen Ice Hell burning so brightly with rage and disappointment that he probably barely feels the cold. He manages to transform all that anger into devotion to his father, though, who has been betrayed in a very similar way. Fingon understands him so well, maybe better than everyone else, and he really grows into his fathers right hand man, here. It’s also a good way of escaping his guilty conscience about his cousins’ quiet grief, and later his own brother’s devastation that he can’t allow to stir himself from his path.

Then they arrive with gritted teeth and even more reasons for anger than before, and neither Feanor nor Maedhros are even there to punch in the face. Fingolfin reverts to his carefully crafted shell of diplomacy (which will much later shatter in the most epic way possible, rip Morgoth’s ego that remains forever wrecked after that). But Fingon can’t just stand still, and so he sets out to retrieve his dimwit of a former best friend who managed to doom the two of them. And who now couldn’t even wait with being captured by the Enemy for after Fingon had very intently told him where to stick all the years he spent reassuring him that their friendship would hold despite their Finwean-exclusive family drama. When he finally finds out that Maedhros didn’t burn the ships, at least, he is actually a little deflated. Where to go with all that spite, now?

But it works out for him because Fingon might be an adrenaline junky and valiant-tm and tough as nails, but he also needs someone to have his back, if he is being honest. His father has him to do this, and he gladly does, but with his baby brother slaughtered and his other brother and sister gone, and his other former best friends, who have at least somewhat forgiven him, roaming the lands because they don’t need to run a crumbling kingdom, he has no one to stand in the wind for him. Until Maedhros, with all the white fire burning within him and his new-found gallows-humoured grit, does it for him.

So hell yeah, Fingon can kill dragons and plan battles and squeeze some time in to race his horse over the plains of Beleriand fast enough that the lashing wind in his face can make him forget how much he would like his sister to be next to him. Forget how left alone he feels, with his father being more his king than his father and his siblings gone, and he knows he can’t blame them because they’re not the Feanorians, they don’t work like that, they don’t need to constantly keep meddling with each others’ affairs to prove they still care for each other. Right? So, no hard feelings, he can do this on his own.

But Maedhros, who he liked to fluster in their youth because it was so easy while nowadays even coaxing one genuine emotion out of him is a skill he had to learn how to master first, Maedhros has his back. And it makes him brave enough to go on and laugh in the face of danger. It even makes him brave enough to take his father’s crown and clench his jaw and be a King, even though he doesn’t know what to do most of the time. He’s a good leader, but he does not enjoy being king and he honestly just wants his dad, both his parents, actually, but hey, he’s a hardened war criminal and there are still enough people around him to be strong for, so he is. Oh and he also plans a battle of the ages because he’s Fingon and Maedhros has his back and he thinks they can do this. They have braved everything life has thrown at them, so far, despite being doomed from the start, and Fingon has no time for apathy, so let’s do it. After all, what could go wrong?

While his older brother proceeds to flirt with danger, Turgon finds out the hard way that being a single dad in a wild country full of orcs and political turmoil is Not Easy and hey, he knows himself, he never really got the “home is not a place, it’s where the people you love are”-crap. Home is very much a place and it is one they will never see again so guess what, let’s build a new one. Are you sure, Aredhel, that you want to come? I know you need a front yard the size of two countries to keep you happy and I really can’t afford that much real estate. Still want to come? Okay then, I know better than to tell you No.

Here’s the thing, Turgon has definitely always been the sensitive child of this family. The one who had to leave the room when he saw his mother cry, once, as a child, the one that always valued peace and harmony more than freedom and adventure. Most people didn’t know this, though, because he was also stubborn to a fault, as mentioned above, and therefore very skilled at bottling up his emotions.

He definitely still is this child, only that swallowing his hurt over being called a killjoy by the big brother he always admired or hiding his fear over learning to ride a horse because what if he falls down and breaks his neck and through a cruel trick of fate never manages to come back from the halls? sure it’s unlikely, but WHAT IF?? (yes, he was an anxious child.)- Well, bottling up those childhood hurts is nothing against bottling up the loss of one of the two people who are known for actually being able to make him open up more, for once (the other one is Finrod - and I’m not going to spend another three pages screaming about how Turgon and Finrod are the perfect best friends because this is long enough as is - but shout at me if you want me to because it’s apparently very easy to egg me on.) Anyway, Elenwe is dead, and Argon is dead and he lives in constant fear of the rest of his family sharing this fate. But his father is the king and Fingon is unstoppable and he is under no illusion that he will ever be able to successfully protect Aredhel from herself, so leaving at least shuts the fear out, a little, because if the inevitable happens, we at least won’t be so close.

So he builds stone walls in a hidden valley, and hey, there is a very obvious metaphor here (one that I keep overusing, actually), about the walls he builds within himself as well, and so he leaves and works hard on not letting more fear in, and not letting any of the ever-present fear out.

It finds him anyway. Aredhel dies in front of him and he can’t even tell her I told you so, because a) she’s dead and b) he could never have foretold how she would sacrifice not only her life but her freedom and her independence, the two things she treasured the most, for one person like this. He could never have predicted Maeglin, and hey, he can’t predict him in the end, either. Fun parallels. Maybe. (Again, I’m not talking about Turgon and Maeglin at length here, and neither about Turgon and Idril because once I start, I will not stop. Just know that there are a lot of complex, loving and oh so painful family relations here.)

Then his father gets dumped dead onto his doorstep and while Fingon curses the audacity that the body hasn’t even been brought back to him after he was forced to take on his legacy, Turgon feels almost like he’s being made fun of. “Hey, look what you’re missing in the Outside World you so arrogantly turned your back on. Mind to come back someday? You know you still have a daredevil big brother out there. Or do you want to wait for his duty-free delivery as well?”

And yet, the moment the host of Gondolin leaves its protective walls is the moment that Turgon decides he will not let his fear rule him any longer. He has tried to crack and break his own walls down for once. Maybe it was after two mortals entered his city, and his heart, unexpectedly and those years between them leaving and the Nirnaeth have been used quite effectively to hype himself up. “You can do it. It's only a step out of your comfort zone. You haven’t learned to ride a horse by never getting into the saddle.”

So he finally does, and, well, it famously does not go well for him. His cries for help to the Valar also don’t go well. Oh, also his best friend has been brutally murdered and he feels guilty mourning more than strictly necessary about it because. He wasn’t there. It’s not like he has a right to play the dead best friend-card, here.

And then there’s the fun time at the end of his life where he has mostly given up, but he also somehow adopted another human. He ignores his warnings, sure, but not out of hard feelings towards him, only out of hard feelings about everything else. The adopted human also becomes a beloved son-in-law, which are great news and he’s ignoring that this will eventually break his daughter's heart. He also gets to meet his grandson, which are equally great news and he’s ignoring how that tiny little infant with the weirdly small ears is destined to carry the whole fate of elfdom on his shoulders.

I would love to give you more Turgon feels that aren’t so sad, op, because there are some, but they are very neatly burrowed under despair and fear and pride, and you need to ram through an iron will and claw through so much deep-rooted grief first to get to it, and I don’t have the time today.

So let’s proceed with mean girlboss instead. Aredhel is brave and she is reckless, but not in the effortlessly heroic way Figon is. She knows very well how to only endanger herself, and so she does, constantly. It’s been joyful and bold in her youth, and now, on this new continent that finally seems to be able to stand up to her defiance, it’s gritty and a bit ugly, honestly. But she can’t help feeling like the ground will break open under her feet if she stands still on it for too long. She can’t help feeling betrayed because she didn’t leave home and her mother for a world that seems to make everyone so miserable all the time. 

And yes, honestly, she went with Turgon mostly because everyone around her thought it was a bad idea. But she knows it wasn’t. Not for the first 200 years at least. And then she convinces him that letting her leave isn’t a bad idea, either. And it isn’t. At first.

When she is bewitched, in one way or another, by the dark elf looming in the creepy forest - the first person, by the way, who seems to care Not At All for all the drama going on in the rest of the world, which, if anything, is a bonus point in her book - she feels the same way she does when climbing a steep cliff edge without safeguarding. It’s still fun and games, she thinks, if I am allowing myself to be lured in by him. He has no power over me, at least not more than I let him have. Oh, and Turgon would be so furious if he saw my playing with fire like this, because he still doesn’t trust me.

She loves Eöl the same way she loves every reckless action she makes to sunder herself from the prospect of seeing herself out of other people’s eyes. She does love him. At first.

When his love grows from the captivating possessiveness she liked to play with originally, to a stifling force that tries to constrain her, she laughs in his face. This has never worked before, not even people that had her well-being in mind have managed to hold her back. But Eöl is a master of his craft and there is one little thing that tips the scale in his favour. Aredhel would never have anticipated how all-encompassing the love for her own child would be.

Oh, she thinks as the father of said child begins to tie them tighter to his realm every day, I might have miscalculated. 

Because while her claims to be with him out of her free will might not have been as true as she had tried to tell herself all this time, she could have run as soon as she noticed the trap shutting close. She might have made it out by screaming and biting and kicking as usual, and put this twisted marriage in her scrapbook of “whoops that was a close call”-scenarios. But she can’t do that, for Lómion’s sake.

So she’s patient. She can be patient. You have to be patient if you want to be a good hunter, and she is a great one. She takes him and runs when there is an opportunity. She doesn’t stop to fight as she would have if Lómion wasn’t there, and wasn’t terrified, and wouldn’t, in a forced, painful way, still love the man who had begotten him and who proves a threat to them now.

She brings Lómion back to Gondolin because all the “I told you so”-s won’t embarrass her more than she wants her child to be safe. She would love to just take him and live with him in the wilderness, she has survived the Grinding Ice, she would make it as a nomad in Beleriand. Lómion would make it, too, because he is clever and resilient and stubborn in a way only a Nolofinwean could be. 

But she notices, and this is strange to her at first, that she won’t risk it. Not his life, not his future. Not without any kind of safety net. Because her love for him is unconditional and yet tied to a responsibility she has never known before.

Is this, she asks herself, how her parents feel about her? How Turgon, who always thinks thrice about everything he does, felt when he didn’t even hesitate before jumping after his daughter into the icy water all those years ago? How did they learn to let go? Did they ever?

She will never know because she dies before ever seeing her son fully grow up. It’s worth it, in the end, her life is just one more thing she gladly gives up for Lómion, along with her freedom. It’s worth it also for the knowledge that Eöl has to live with the fact that he killed what he - sickly and possessively - loved most. Even though she hopes that he won’t stay alive very long afterwards. She would have liked to do it herself, if Lómion wasn’t there to see, but in this case she just hopes for fate, or her brother, to do her one last favour. No one, after all, can force her to do anything without regretting it.

And lastly, Argon’s part in his family’s tale is short but no less important. His older siblings have a story, a character arc to conclude, which they handle more or less gracefully. Argon is a means to an end.

Argon is, kind of, what makes his family pursue the Ice without losing their sense of what it means to be a family.

Argon is the one who goes to find Fingon after Alqualonde, and makes sure he sees a healer because while he understands that guilt and angst and existential dread easily drown out something minor like this, he also finds it advisable for his brother to have the bleeding gash in his shoulder treated.

He is the one who always makes sure to greet Aredhel with dry new gloves or a strip of meat jerky or at least some carefree chatting whenever she comes back from a scouting trip.

He is the one who takes care to slip through to the front of their trek once in a while to see how Fingon and his father are doing and brings them news from the others.

He is the only one who occasionally brings up their mother, usually out of the blue and in a sad but lighthearted way. “oh man mum would definitely hate how i just wiped the blood from that stringy half-cooked piece of meat from my mouth with my sleeve. sorry mum! we miss you.” (he maybe misses her most, out of his siblings. but his siblings don’t cry, so he doesn’t either, not when anyone sees.)

He is the one who carries little Idril on his shoulders or pulls her on a sleigh when she gets tired, always with a bright smile and a joke, because, as her youngest, fun-est uncle he has a task to fulfil that he takes seriously.

He is also the one who holds Turgon back when he tries to jump back in after Elenwe once again, even though they all know she must be lost by now. He holds his brother, who was already an adult when he was just born, and strokes his back and kisses his hair until the rest of his family is there.

Argon is the one who jumps into that first battle because he is euphoric to have made it so far, and because he is young and stupid and owns a sword that he hasn’t used for something else than splitting wood before. And he fights like only someone not yet weary of war can, and then he dies before that sentiment can ever change. Is this a blessing or a curse? His siblings are never quite sure, but they miss him like hell. And while his presence was what had held them together until now, his death breaks them apart with nothing to putty the cracks.

So yeah, Argon’s death is the first and it’s quick and brutal and the only one out of his siblings (very character-defining) deaths that feels horrendously, horrifyingly unfair. “Look at this”, their Doom seems to say. “You braved the Ice, and for what? This is what will happen to all of you. In case you had forgotten.”

But while his death was a nudge from the narrative to let go of all hopes that this might not turn out to be a tragedy, his siblings' ends are, while comparably tragic, the perfect ways for each to end their character arcs.

Fingon dies in the first battle he knows he has lost, and he looks death in the eye and probably grins. They can’t wipe this last spiteful grin off his face even as they stomp him into the ground. 

Turgon dies after screaming about a victory he long stopped believing in. He gets buried in the rubble of the place he built to ground himself, and honestly, there could not be a better grave for him.

Aredhel dies by the hands of her biggest miscalculation. She would have preferred it to be a feral boar or a rapid stream, but honestly, looking into the eyes of the first person she truly loved unconditionally and knowing that she has saved him is not a bad way to go either.

…

Tl;dr: The Nolofinweans are cool and sad and tragic and I hope that you have some more feelings for them now, op. But if you don’t, don’t sweat it, they’ll sneak up on you some day and start growing on you like a festering parasite until you, seemingly out of nowhere, adore them. Or well, at least that’s what it was like for me.

Heyyyy in the most genuine way possible what’s so great about the nolofinweans? Like clearly they are great, lots of y’all love them but I look at lucky harp man, mean girlboss, turgon and the other one and I get no feelings. Where are the feelings, y’all are having fun with the feelings and I want some

[wintersoldierland]

not too broken to fix

part 3 of witch bucky au, which can be found here

also on ao3

|

For a long while, he doesn’t remember his name.

Not just because of the HYDRA but because of the many many memories, tangled together. Thousands of years all bound by his memory, different names, genders, religions, races. He remembers them all yet none of them.

He remembers being Veles, the Slavic god; Tezcatlipoca, an Aztec deity; Anulap, a god of magic in Truk Island mythology; Hecate of the Greeks; Baba Yaga of Russian folklore; a witch in eastern Europe, over and over again; a witch in Salem, burning bright with the flames of stakes.

He remembers it all.

Most of all, he remembers Tony. Not always named that, not always looking like he does now, but he remembers his soul, bright with creation. His wife, companion, husband, lover, forever love.

He remembers it all and none of it.

It’s confusing, so he runs. He gets on a plane, then a train, then a bus, and ends up in rural Azerbaijan, surrounded by mountains and old, abandoned villages. Something is tugging him there, so he sets a base in one building and goes off to explore.

It feels strangely familiar as if he walked those streets before, and when he stands on top of the mountain, with the sun slowly setting around him, he knows where did the memory come from. He looks down, takes a deep breath and throws himself off the ledge.

For a second, there’s only wind and quietness, but then his memories surge up and James takes a deep breath of the cold, mountain air, before calling his magic to him and changing shape.

A raven soars over the hills and James’s mind heals.

He lets out a happy sound and lets the wind take him, over the familiar mountains and long-abandoned villages. Over paths lit with magic and old stories, forgotten for generations. James soars and feels free.

It’s something he forgot about, but now it sings in his blood. A witch cannot be tamed, cannot be bound. A witch of Old Magic is always wild.

James relishes in his newfound freedom and his mind drifts to Tony. His Tony, who exists in this world, who is as brilliant as always, a creator to the bone.

There’s a reason why he was the deity of creation so many times, even without direct magic in his soul. They’re tied together and James knows he’ll come back to him. Sooner or later he’ll come back when he puts himself back together enough to protect his heart. His little genius.

He flies for miles, never tiring, magic surging in his small body, thousands of years of memories slowly starting to set in their place.

James remembers their last meeting, how small but fierce Tony was, how curious. How his soul recognized James’s, even amidst the magic and darkness of the All Soul’s Day. If he could smile, he would.

There’s something soothing in seeing the lands below him pass, in the cold air of the wind, of the Old Magic of the Earth. James can feel it calling to him, the skies rejoicing that he’s back. It feels like coming to the childhood home, not quite where his heart lies now but filled with good memories. He flies and flies and his magic trails behind him, a bright blue hoe on a black sky.

He thinks of Tony and his heart sings, anticipating their meeting, even as he lands and gets lost in the small, people-filled cities near the rivers. James soaks up the atmosphere, builds himself back, brick by brick, learns to smile again. There’s a lot that can’t be fixed so soon, even if his months of travels, but it’s a start. He’s not scared of himself anymore.

James starts to practice his magic again. Helps the villagers, makes flowers for the girls, makes butterflies from his hands, heals a pregnant woman. He heals others and by that, he heals himself.

It feels good to be useful again. He’s always been a helper, even as a god. Put on the Earth to aid humans, mortals, in their short lives. Make it a bit easier. He feels more like himself, more like Bucky Barnes, more like Veles and Anulap, like Evelyn of the Rhear village, helping her neighbours with her gentle magic; like a witch.

It’s good.

He comes back to Irland, where he traces back the steps of druids he once belonged to, visits Newgrange and spends the winter solstice there, laughing when the rays of Saturn and the Sun warm up his core. He revisits his many roots, takes from the Earth and gives back. 

Eventually, James visits Peggy Carter who’s old and weak but her spirit is strong. She remembers him as the witch, not as Bucky Banes, but James just smiles and presses something into her shaking hands.

“You remembered,” she says softly, watching the small stone statue with gleaming emeralds emerge. James smiles bitterly.

“It’s a work in process.”

She just laughs. “You’re a good man. A good witch. It is my time, isn’t it?”

He sighs and squeezes her hand with his metal one, so reminiscent of the black one he always has. The price of his magic. “It’s close,” James admits.

Peggy just nods, content. “I had a good life,” she tells him. “I love my husband very much, and maybe I’ll meet him this time.”

James looks at the energy around her and chuckles when he notices the fierce pink hue around her heart. “He loves you too, very much. I don’t know the future, but you’re strong. Sometimes it takes a bit of waiting.”

“You know something about it,” Peggy snickers. For a second, his magic works and James sees her as young and beautiful as she was during the war, dressed in her uniform. It makes him warm.

“It’s worth it,” he replies. 

“I know.”

They sit in silence some more before she stirs again. “It’s time for you to go,” she says. “Thank you for visiting.”

James laughs and kisses her forehead. “I had something to return to you.”

They don’t say goodbyes, they’ll meet again. Sometime.

He leaves, feeling lighter than he has in years, and then promptly escapes New York before Steve can find him. James remembers him, he really does, but he’s not ready to come back yet. There are things waiting for him still.

This time, he doesn’t take the plane, he just changes into a raven and flies, for miles and miles, watching as land turns to water and then back to land again before the Andes start towering over him. There, James finds his old path and lands on a ledge.

The old kingdom stretches below him, bright green and pulsing with life. James can feel the pollution of humans who have no idea just how old and powerful those lands are, so he sits down and breathes slowly.

His magic stretches over the jungle and the earth welcomes him, recognizing him even with centuries that have passed. James smiles and lets himself get lost in slowly healing what’s broken. Countless souls come to kneel before him, and then go home, where they belong.

It’s exhausting, but also rewarding, healing something so old and powerful, fixing the damage of years of abuse. 

He gets a piece of himself there, a bloody and important one.

The piece of a fierce witch, drawing with blood on people’s faces, standing in the flames and laughing in the faces of gods. Someone bold and cruel, someone capable of anything. It’s not pretty, but James feels stronger, with his dark parts and bad memories.

There’s a weight on his shoulders when he leaves but he stands straighter.

It takes James a few months, and it feels simultaneously like seconds and forever. After all, what are months next to eternity? And what are months while waiting to be reunited with your heart?

He doesn’t hurry though, because he knows Tony will understand. It doesn’t matter if the man remembers because even if he does, he’ll understand. His love is incredibly forgiving and kind. It only makes James love him more.

James keeps tabs on the Avengers, smiles and huffs at Steve, stares at the image of Tony Stark on a shitty TV deep in Bulgarian mountains, smirks when he sees another HYDRA base destroyed. He does his fair share of destroying and dismantling, but it’s not a priority now.

All he wants to do is gather his pieces, glue himself back together and get back to his love.

It’s only right that the day he deems himself right enough is All Soul’s Day. Now called Halloween, he knows, it’s cliche and tacky and the power cracks in the air. Nature doesn’t forget, and neither does James.

He gets on a plane and lands in New York well into the night, and it’s only there that he realizes that something is wrong. Someone is using magic, Old Magic, and using it wrong. James growls when the Avengers appear on the screen fighting and old woman. A wannabe druid at that.

James rolls his eyes and then gets to work.

At the end of the day, he has Tony Stark in his arms, smiling into his neck and his heart feels whole. James doesn’t kiss him yet, because it’s not necessary. Their souls know each other, this meeting a mirror of their last one, and James just closes his eyes, rejoicing in the moment.

There will be time for explanations yet.

[heresathreebee]

Silver Ghosts

[A Rick Flag fic]

On the first of each month, each member of GFS will write a drabble of 1k words or less based on a selected prompt and using a character played by Joel Kinnaman. 

March 2022's prompt: The world was collapsing, and the only thing that mattered to him was that she was alive.

Masterlist other GFS projects

Tag(s) 16+ | mature language, descriptions of sex, first person Rick Flag POV, noire overtones, vague religious references, implied necromancy. 

The world was collapsing, and the only thing that mattered to me was that she was alive. 

Dubois was right, maybe I am whipped. 

The year is 2015, just before I met June. Everyone in the world is obsessed with Capes– all excitement and not enough fear. And I was supposed to be running black ops missions to hunt felony committing metahumans for capture. 

I was never meant to be here. 

Here. Champagne and an indoor hot tub, our shoes littered on the clean, carpeted floor. She tugs on the ends of my loose bow tie to pull me into another kiss, not caring that her $2,000 dress was soaked through. She'd steal another one, a better one. 

My hand caresses the back of her head to pull her deeper into me. She always wants to be close and I always need her closer. I had pulled her into the jacuzzi knowing come daylight, she'd be gone without a trace again just like always. 

Damn that woman...

Breaking the kiss, I can feel her smile against my lips as she whispers, "can you use those handcuffs on me tonight, Colonel?" 

She knows I love it when she calls me that. My pants are tight and it's not just the water making them so. When we fuck, it's slow and sensual. Every sigh that falls from her lips is soft, sometimes it's my name or a curse, and she doesn't mention that the fingers of my right hand are tangled in her bound ones. When I spill my seed inside her welcoming warmth, I cannot hold back those three little words that terrified me the most. 

"I love you," I breathe into her neck. I roll my hips harder as I come down from my high and say, "I love you darlin'", over and over again. 

She doesn't say it back, but I was sick with love and thought she meant it when she wrapped her legs around my hips after. I was such a hopeless fool back then.

I didn't see her again after that. 

For years after my failure to capture, Waller never stopped wanting her. "She could be the single greatest asset this country has ever seen." 

Magic users were our greatest allies in the purely hypothetical dogfight that Waller expected from Superman, who most considered a god amongst men. But my part in her life? That was over. I searched and I searched under the pretense of imprisonment at Belle Reve, but I never got close to her again.

Always one step behind. 

We both learned about each other during our time together. If she didn't want to be caught… then she simply would not be. It was a fool's errand we were after. She was powerful beyond limitation and could not sit still long enough to trap physically or emotionally. 

I tell myself I wish I had just another chance, but even while I was with Dr. Moon, I knew my idiot heart would have told her I still loved her all over again. 

It is 2021 when I realize just how stupid I've been. Waller's back up plan stabs me in the heart with a piece of ceramic tile and looks like he's going to cry doing it. I'm on my back bleeding out. I can feel every desperate and frantic pump of my heart like a feral animal trying to claw its way out of my ribcage and it hurts. 

The last thoughts on my mind are not of giant alien starfishes and corpsified Corto Maltesian children. They are of her and what could have been if she had just let down her walls and admit she loved me back. Did I ever truly think she would? I realize I never knew fantasy from reality when it came to her. 

I have no idea how much time has passed. All I know is the taste of copper and ash like dirt in my cottonmouth and a sharp ache over my heart. My lungs burn as they gasp for air and the world is dark grey around me. I cannot move my arms nor feel my legs except for a cold chill that creeps in on me. I have never in all my ears been so afraid. I am buried alive in what I can only surmise as rubble. 

When I try to scream, nothing but a troubling, quiet wheeze escapes. I try again, this time something like a pained grunt escapes. But who would hear me from my grave? 

There's ringing in my ears that decrescendos into the sound of shifting rock and something else. It sounds like voices from so far away and it stupidly gives me hope. I try to scream again but I can't– despite my desire to live, I have not the strength to beg for it, so I pray instead. It is the first time since my childhood I remember believing someone could hear me. 

I feel a weight lifted off of me. For a moment I believe I have died again as bright light spills over sensitive eyes, but the pain of breathing and seeing and being is too great and too familiar to be of heaven or hell. I can hear shouting but it's muffled like an ocean lives between myself and them, all I can make out is my name. 

Rick. Rick. Rick. 

I do not realize how cold my skin is until I feel warm hands on my face, each like a caress from the summer sun that makes your skin tingle. Something bumps my nose, something brushes my cheeks, something blocks the blinding light all around me. I open my eyes just a bit and see her. 

The world was collapsing, and the only thing that mattered to me was that she was alive. I croak her name hoarsely. 

"I love you," I say, "I'm sorry…" 

I have so much to tell her that I'm not even sure what exactly I'm trying to apologize for.

In return, she shakes her head, tears pouring down her beautiful face as she replies and her voice is sweeter than any church choir and stronger than any hurricane, earthquake, or tsunami combined.

"You're not allowed to die, Colonel." 

And where she wills, the grass bends and the wind whips and the mountains bow. If she commands it, the universe obeys. So I will not die, at least, not today. 

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

I feel bad sending this because it's such a broad question, but it's also a little bit your fault because you wrote "Wearing the Faces of Men" and now I'm reading it (love it, but stop making me feel Emotions about Caterpie): Twilight and Pokemon -- how would you go about blending them? I know Harry Potter magic and Meyer vampires don't mesh so well, but maybe pokemon and vampires could coexist. Or would that depend on whether the average pokemon poses any kind of physical threat to a vampire? I'm going to keep thinking about this, but very curious to know your thoughts, even if that thought is, "Don't."

OP is referring to Wearing the Faces of Men, one of those fics that was clearly written by me. All you need to know is there's Pokémon involved. It's a thing.

Anyway, onto your question.

Well, for one, we're in that world where if there were Pokémon in the Twilight world (or vampires in the Pokémon world) then this would always be the case, both worlds would be very different than what they are in canon. However, unlike Harry Potter, this isn't a shot in the head.

This is because Pokémon don't have a secret, superior, society that would have been demolished by vampires (or else wizards would be the vanguard against vampires). Pokémon are simply Pokémon, they exist in the world and have varying relations with human society that are both good and not so good.

Now, would human Pokémon trainers become a thing in this world? Would the obsession with Pokémon make society turn the way it does in the Pokémon world? Would the Volturi even exist? Hard to say.

Off the top of my head...

I imagine most Pokémon are not threats to vampires. Powerful Pokémon are very rare, generally Pokémon trained by humans will be more powerful than your standard wild Pokémon. Your average Pikachu is not going to have any effect on a vampire.

You would need an absurdly powerful Pokémon to pack enough firepower to make it through vampire skin. And even then vampires regenerate very quickly. Though I imagine powerful Psychic, Ghost, Fairy, etc. type Pokémon could do significant damage. Then there are the Pokémon that are pretty much gods, who can turn back time, create false realities, etc.

However, I'm going to go on the assumption that a) Pokémon cannot become "vampires" b) Pokémon are not a natural source of food for vampires (still human blood or bust).

What I'm getting at here is that I don't think Pokémon and vampires come into conflict. I imagine what we get is a hybrid world that is mostly Pokémon like but has the Volturi.

Oh, the Pokémon are well aware that vampires exist and they prey on humans, but humans don't listen to them and for the most part it doesn't concern them (unless they become very attached to their trainer/owner in which case they will defend their human to the death).

I imagine the Volturi live in the Pokémon world's answer to Italy (in an as of yet unreleased game, no doubt), and pose as a kind of Elite 3, where they have their own absurdly powerful Pokémon recruited in part to do battle against the Pokémon of the Romanians/Egyptians/Newborn Armies/etc. who are treated as equal members of the Volturi. (Aro likely has a habit of collecting not only gifted, psychic, humans to turn into vampires but also very powerful Pokémon, he too, has his eye on Pikachu just like Team Rocket).

Plucky humans come by every once in a while after collecting all the Italian badges to do battle with them. Aro thinks it's great.

Bella starts her Pokémon journey when she's nine because Renee wants her out of the house in the tiny, barely on the map, town of Forks. Her starter Pokémon which adores her is likely deathly afraid of Edward when they inevitably run into him. Edward probably eats it behind her back, which devastates Bella and makes her even more emotionally dependent on him. This somehow leads to either Bella dying or becoming a vampire.

Carlisle is an avid supporter of Pokémon rights and petitions to eliminate Pokémon battling: no one listens to him and no one cares. He has mixed feelings when he hears about N, a continent over, who had the right idea but also had to go and mix it with domestic terrorism. Now people take Carlisle even less seriously than before.

Esme is now a Chansey that Carlisle picked up in a hospital after she suffered the devastating loss of her egg. It dotingly goes to work with him and cleans the house. Chansey Esme is living her best life, Edward thinks Chansey Esme and Carlisle are married, Carlisle can't dispute it because it's not... wrong...

[herglowinggirl]

Hello, familiar anon here, I didn't ask the question about an SOK ending where Yun lives and gains redemption. I also wouldn't mind having my own tag. I haven't found any other evidence of Yun shipping Kyoshi and Rangi outside of "The Boy From Makapu". How does Kyoshi view Yun later in her life( up to the first year after "The Meeting", creating Kyoshi Island nearly 25 years later, the last years of her life)? Would Kyoshi ever mention or talk about Yun after the events of The Shadow of Kyoshi?

hello! and yes I have some thoughts on this and how it would impact the advice Kyoshi gave to Roku and Aang. this got long but I’d love to break down parts of it to write fic, which I think I will do and perhaps post before Kyoshi Fortnight. But I digress, it’s long enough that I have decided to use subtitles. If anything skip to the end about the advice she gave Roku and Aang I think it’s most relevant to what I want to say and also my favorite part.

what I talk about under the cut: the ways I believe yun’s death would impact kyoshi’s actions after tsok and what the advice she gave aang and roku actually means (my thoughts on “only justice will bring peace” means)

would kyoshi talk about yun during her lifetime?

Yes. First off, it would be impossible to avoid him in the political landscape, because it is mentioned that he passed lots of judgements and signed treaties, ect. Although Kyoshi has grown in her leadership style and it’s turned a little (a lot) anti-establishment, she would still need to deal with the fallout of Yun not being the Avatar, because there would be a need to re-sign treaties and settle disputes with people seeking to take advantage of others now that the Avatar has “changed” would have to be dealt with and in tandem, Yun’s legacy.

But also, in a duology that features grief, I find it a natural continuation of the narrative that Yun would be mourned. You don’t stop knowing or loving someone after they pass, and I feel like mourning all of Yun—the boy he was, where he came from, his legacy, the decisions he made, the impact he had on the people around him, even how he hurt people—is only natural and is slightly unavoidable. I think Kyoshi mourns all of her deceased loved ones. 

Just, like the concept of this: she’s always hated pai sho but now when she faces a board in her gut and in her throat things feel wrong because it reminds her of what Yun had to do to survive. A breeze smells like the flour and air Kelsang sent into her face the moments before everything changed. She collects pebbles that Lek would’ve liked. Rangi brings her fire lilies for an anniversary and she starts crying. She sings songs with Wong that were her parent’s favorites that coincidentally, Kelsang knew too.

community in grief and kyoshi’s relationships

He was Rangi’s friend, too. Auntie Mui and Hei-Ran are sure to mourn him in their own ways. In tSoK Kyoshi calls her team Avatar a group of contradictions and misfits and in his way, Yun was too. The false Avatar. What a title! 

A continuation of the concept: Rangi and Kyoshi remind each other of him every day for a while, swapping stories about him when it gets to be too much, making eye contact when they can hear his voice making light of something stupid an official has said. Hei-Ran makes her do drills she made Yun do. Auntie Mui makes his favorite dish on his birthday that they do not pass in silence, because then what would they be, that group of misfits, to forget another outcast? If they don’t mourn the boy from Yokoya who will mourn them, or who would’ve mourned them if they hadn’t been so lucky? Who will care for the beggars and orphans of the world if not the Avatar who was once one of them and her companions? In a way, the retribution and pain of it all is justice for the life that Kyoshi took. Like, there’s just so much to unpack in the way she says “Was I right about anything at all? What will they say about me? Avatar Kyoshi, who killed her friend because she couldn’t save him?” But I don’t think her guilt would silence her. 

That being said, Yun was fundamentally a victim of a system that failed him. The same one that failed Kyoshi. In another way, her actions are justice on a world that failed her and her best friend and the similarities they shared, and she’s able to take those actions because of the way that Yun impacted her, for better or for worse. So yes, I think during her lifetime, she would speak of Yun and who he was, not letting people forget the ways they (and she) failed him and how easily everyone wants to forget their failure. It brings me to the way she was so angry with the Earth Kingdom establishment for discarding him and trying to hide history away. I don’t think she’d ever do that, even if she did...uh, dispatch him.

kyoshi, immortality, and her role as an avatar

I’d like to turn to two passages:

Kyoshi: “The way you describe it, you’d have to decide what version of yourself you’d be stuck as, forever.”

Lao Ge: “Exactly! Those who grow, live and die. The stagnant pool is immortal, while the clear flowing river dies an uncountable number of deaths.”

and

In the future, perhaps, she’d become finalized like carved stone. It would be easier to deal with the world then. She could only hope.

[...]

She still had to be careful not to lose her balance and fall. Kyoshi kept her eyes focused on her difficult path, sometimes stumbling but making sure to catch herself, taking one step at a time.

This isn’t directly related to what I think she would say, but more about how she lets her experiences, and therefore, her experiences and relationship with Yun, affect who she is. Here, F.C. Yee is detailing the person we see in her cameo in A:tLA. It’s a testament to her growth, yes, but also to how she lived so long. She’s allowed to grow now, while she’s young and still learning. But eventually Kyoshi’s growth will wane, leaving us with the iron woman we saw in A:tLA. 

Remember when I said I would call F.C. Yee a sap for the very last Kyoshi POV line? It’s the last sentence in my second excerpt, is that Kyoshi is allowing herself make mistakes. It’s pretty obviously a little deeper than the concept of walking down a slope: She became one of the most revered Avatars, we know how her story ends, if not lots of the in-betweens, but F.C. Yee tells us right here in that sentence. She changed and she learned. 

I think, however, that eventually she had to pick a place to stop in order to stop aging. If I had to pick a point where she became “immortal” I’d pick Rangi’s peaceful and timely death surrounded by her loved ones on Yokoya (not Kyoshi Island since I’m going to maintain that her A;tLA cameo was “immortal” Kyoshi) and I think Lao Ge killed her—or at least convinced her to let go.

further thoughts on her longevity: rangi’s role and future

Ok before anybody comes into my inbox like “um zey herglowinggirl I need you to know that actually Rangi also lived to 230 😌″ because I understand the sentiment it’s more like here’s what I’d like to discuss: Kyoshi can’t be immortal around Rangi because Rangi is in so many ways her catalyst for growth. First off, it would be completely out of character for Rangi to be immortal, because she’s constantly moving and being and feeling and judging and that changes her. Positive jing. And Lao Ge says it: “those who grow, live and die.” Rangi believes in the best and strives for the best, for perfection. For Kyoshi to freeze herself and become immortal, that would require picking an imperfect state. And as we know, Sei’naka women do not accept imperfection 😤. 

Although Rangi promises to always be by Kyoshi’s side, I think in the latter years of Kyoshi’s live it’s more like the impact that Rangi has had on her in that frozen state. That voice of Rangi’s is part of Kyoshi in those years. However, without Rangi, it is unlikely that Kyoshi will always or commonly choose to act on it. It’s stated multiple times throughout the novels that Rangi is Kyoshi’s center and that she doesn’t know who she’d be without Rangi, but I think the logical conclusion is immortal. With Rangi’s death she becomes her own center by stopping her growth; with Rangi’s death she just becomes...that stone she was talking about, where it does get easier to make decisions because you’re not striving to constantly change and grow. It’s almost a coping mechanism, if you will. Because Kyoshi is more than Rangi, can function without Rangi, it’s just not necessarily pretty.

lao ge’s role and future

Which brings me to my “in my personal version of canon Lao Ge kinda maybe killed Kyoshi” point. Rangi is in no way Kyoshi’s morality, but she is very much the idealistic ‘better’ half. With this catalyst of hope and change gone, I think back to the creation of the Dai Li—it very much sounds to me like something Jianzhu would do. Kyoshi, who had previously been the breakdown of negotiations, created a secret op police force? 

I think the moment Kyoshi started being the establishment, the moment she was the band-aid instead of the solution (much like Yun was, hint hint) Lao Ge would’ve paid her a visit. Either this or the creation of the Dai Li created a catalyst for perhaps an existential crisis, perhaps just being tired, perhaps simply knowing what is best...Kyoshi is, and always will be, a sworn criminal who cannot uphold the law, only her own judgements. She is both the law and the breaking and bending of it, and when she loses this balance when Rangi falls from her side and she becomes her own rock I think it would swing her away from her center, and this is where she becomes immortal. Eventually, it would become enough of an issue for people to intervene and tell her that her time as an Avatar is coming to an end. 

advice to future avatars

This is my favorite point and I’ll tie it back to Yun in just a second. I have posted about thinking about the impact of Yun’s death on Kyoshi and how that would’ve impacted her legacy and the advice she gave Roku and Aang before. Honestly what strikes me is how proud Kyoshi would be of Aang. The way that each Avatar must learn to forge their own way and become their own person and what their era needs, balancing themselves, is something so lovely. I think Kyoshi would’ve absolutely loved how Aang took the advice of his predecessors and said “no, I know what would be better for me,” and I think post-tSoK Kyoshi, who has learned she has to forge her own way and style as a leader, would love and be so proud of him for that. 

However, that doesn’t mean that her advice doesn’t have weight. I think mainly her “immortal” phase would perhaps have an impact on the way Yun impacts her advice. I think “only justice will bring peace” also speaks to the finality of death. Just like immortality, death keeps growth from happening. “only justice will bring peace” is also a nod to the way you must learn to cope with your actions and the way you feel about them. It’s also about Aang’s inner peace, which is something I don’t think I’ve ever seen mentioned. Everyone always wants to talk about what he should’ve done and how Kyoshi was right because she told Aang about her choice to let Chin die, but I think she actually guided him to the idea that you should be ok with yourself. To be confident in what you do and take up responsibility for your actions. Kyoshi wasn’t telling him murder was good. She was telling him she owned up to her actions and chose to make those decisions as an Avatar. To me, this finality speaks of growth after Yun’s death and the end of tSoK. She has grown and then frozen, but that means she has changed.

And although I don’t have an answer for what advice she might’ve given Roku, I think it’s a good way to interpret this. The only thing keeping Kyoshi from being honest about Yun’s death is the fact that Zoryu has “Yun” locked up. I think this is likely one of her biggest regrets, that she cannot be honest and responsible for something that weighs so heavily on her soul. This, I think, guides her advice. Only justice will bring peace. Now that I’ve thought it out, perhaps it wasn’t Lao Ge, and perhaps it was the idea that Yun had never been done justice and perhaps that turmoil never changed, which made her long-lived but not quite immortal. She cannot quite know the peace of death nor of life.

I think she must’ve told Roku that no matter what, he must accept the consequences of what he does. He’s not willing to loose that friendship and I think Kyoshi would’ve understood that, and the questions Roku would’ve had to pose himself as an Avatar. That is Kyoshi’s advice. Only justice, true justice in the form of accountability and self-actualization as a leader, will allow you to make good decisions. The acceptance of this: that whatever he does, he must be willing to accept it’s legacy, learn from it, and teach the next Avatar just as she let Yun’s death affect her leadership and what she taught. And I think that’s probably incredibly poetic, even if I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. 

[oakleaf--bearer]

I posted 3,328 times in 2021

974 posts created (29%)

2354 posts reblogged (71%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 2.4 posts.

I added 1,021 tags in 2021

#the magnus archives - 223 posts

#tma - 221 posts

#tma spoilers - 152 posts

#ceaseless watcher turn your gaze upon this incredible fanart - 94 posts

#anon - 80 posts

#ask game - 78 posts

#rqg - 62 posts

#rusty quill gaming - 56 posts

#jonmartin - 28 posts

#my fics - 27 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#the grades don't count! i did my first year of uni in a pandemic while suffering from many mental illnesses that were all being untreated!!

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

annabelle texting martin: hey, jon's here! you gonna come say hi? ::::)

martin, still putting together his 'we had an argument and i need to remind him how hot i am' outfit: stall him

annabelle, grabbing the mr spider tape: on it

2115 notes • Posted 2021-02-18 17:11:37 GMT

#4

what if martin is grumpy when he is sleepy and when he was staying in the archives in s1, jon was in ridiculously early and got in just as martin was getting ready for the morning and he was awkwardly like 'ah, good morning martin, getting ready for the work day?' bc he panicked and was forced into socialisation without expecting it

and then martin just sleepily went 'oh fuck off its 7am youre not my boss for another 2 hours'

cut to half an hour later when they've both had a minute to think and jon just goes 'waIT WHY WAS THAT ATTRACTIVE' while martin goes 'OH NO I TOLD MY BOSS TO FUCK OFF IM SO FIRED' and they spend the rest of the day in awkward silence, driving tim and sasha crazy bc 'jon hasn't come to shout at martin all day something has happened oh no'

2128 notes • Posted 2021-01-13 21:46:28 GMT

#3

yeah this is exactly what the title says it is 

2254 notes • Posted 2021-03-25 17:02:47 GMT

#2

i cannot believe that this didn't occur to me earlier, but i'm on a hike rn through the countryside so it's on my mind i guess

i've talked about jmart going hiking before, and how public footpaths through fields are common in the uk

but there is a particular type of gate that separates fields to allow people through but not livestock

it looks like this

it's called a kissing gate

they got this nickname bc they can only be used one at a time, so someone would go through the gate, shut it behind them, and then demand a kiss as payment to open the gate for the other person

so now i'm thinking about jmart finding a kissing gate and jon explaining the origins of the nickname to martin and martin using this to his advantage

2717 notes • Posted 2021-04-25 12:07:01 GMT

#1

i cannot stop thinking about the post-post-apocalypse tumblr discourse, can you even imagine what this place would be like??

'i think the buried avatars are homophobic, they literally buried the gays and if you support the buried then unfollow me'

'op is end aligned and refuses to acknowledge that the end actually killed gay people, thus doing the actual definition of bury your gays'

'make your own post'

and then you scroll down and they did actually make their own post and it says 'end kinnies are so desperate to act like they weren't the only ones literally killing people after the change anyway stan the vast'

3467 notes • Posted 2021-03-26 10:14:14 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[choicest]

Family

Summary: The father and son conversation we didn't have. Happens between chapter 15 & 16.

A/N: To be honest I really consider this as my first OP fic (even though it's technically my second). The OP characters are just too beautiful and I've been afraid I won't get them properly so I always ignore the urge to write about them. But now, I’m finally doing it so, thank you so much for reading. It really means a lot. Let me know if you like it!

//

Ethan rolls and adjusts his eyes in the threatening daylight that peers through his windows. It has been three days since the hearing but he still can't quite find a reason to celebrate, even though a certain person pointed out every reason to. It's just, to see his mentor who's become a father to him finish the road in such a bitter way is definitely something that didn't cross his mind. Naveen has been his inspiration to enter the medicine field, and as his mentee, the whole idea overly pains him. Deciding that three days is enough, he gets up, took a shower, and texts him.

Ethan: Hi. Are you working today?

Ethan curses himself the minute he read the word 'sent'. Way to comfort an old man who's forced to quit his job, Ethan.

Naveen: Ethan, what a delight! Not much. And you know what?

Ethan: What?

Naveen: I happen to know someone who's also not working much.

Naveen: Lunch?

Ethan is just typing to offer to cook for him but a text quickly comes in.

Naveen: Let's enjoy and go out, Ethan.

~

The first thing Ethan notice when he sees his mentor's face is peace. For someone who is about to lose his job and the only thing that sparks his life, Naveen is undeniably calm.

They order and begin eating in comfortable silence. Naveen occasionally teasing him, and him gladly taking all the jokes the man can mutter.

Deciding to go for it, Ethan blurts out. "You're okay." It is no longer a question. It is now a realization. Truth be told, these past days, Ethan has been terrified. For himself, yes, but mostly for the man in front of him.

Naveen just smiles at him. "What is it, Ethan?"

"But how? You're retiring. You have no family to come home to because you literally spent all your life dedicating your life to other people. How can you be okay with all of this?" Ethan blabbers.

"I've had that peace for a long time now, Ethan. It's not something I was able to magically obtain in a span of four hours." He pauses.

"Remember the time I asked you to let me go home after we cannot figure out what's wrong with me? I... I still get the chills whenever I think I almost lost it. But that incident certainly helped me prepare for it. Not to mention I delivered a goodbye speech then so it won't be as hard when I do it again next week." He chuckles softly.

"Naveen, you're..."

"I'm saying I was ready to say goodbye. I'm thankful I had another chance but I already prepared myself. And yes, it's not going to be how we pictured it but that's on me, Ethan. And I won't let you take the fall for my mistake."

Ethan reaches out to clasps Naveen's hand. He holds it tightly letting the action convey all the words he can't utter.

"Let someone else cook for you, Ethan." Naveen smiles as he taps Ethan's hand.

He gives him a puzzled look.

"She met with me that morning. Told me that while she respects your decision, she's not stupid to agree and go with it."

Ethan heartily laughs at that.

"Let other people help you, Ethan. Let them support you, and be there for you. Ask for help if you need to. You don't always have to do it on your own. That's what she did that morning."

~

They spend the whole afternoon reminiscing. From the most notable cases they have handled, to PITA patients, to how Ethan scolded his mentor when he learned about his mistake that day, finally being able to laugh about it.

"Remember how you diagnose a patient during your internship interview? I was sitting there asking about your medical vision and you go solve the thing on the board."

"You mean how the other doctor told me how much of an arrogant jerk I am after you made me told him about the more efficient treatment plan I've come up with?"

"Ha, that one's golden! I knew you've got thick skin."

Everything was fun, still somehow unpleasant but also very honest, and unique.

After an extensive argument, Naveen finally lets Ethan drive him home even though it's just a 15 minutes walk, 5 minutes for Ethan who has long legs and who walks like a cheetah.

“Thank you, Ethan. Drive safe.” Naveen says as he pats his back.

“Thank you, Naveen.” Ethan responds, hoping his mentor can understand what he’s really trying to say.

The man gave him lifetime opportunities, supported him, pushed him, trusted him, hell, he literally trusted him with his life and as much as Ethan wanted to give him the whole long emotional speech, he just can’t. So, he just hopes those words make up for it.

Ethan watched as the man he considered his hero walks slowly away from him. He’s about to get back into his car when Naveen’s voice stops him.

“Don’t worry too much, Ethan. I won’t be alone. I have a family. I have you, son.”

With that, Ethan takes a few strides and wraps Naveen in a hug.

//

If you’ve come this far, thank you so so much. I really appreciate it. I think I’d like to write a continuation but we shall see. Thank you again and always stay safe! -pilar

Tags: @mrs-ramsey @emmasumbrella @dickgraysonhasanicebutt

[coaxionunlimited]

Moderately Rare Untamed/MDZS Fic Recs

For when you find fic from sorting by kudos, but you’ve got tag fatigue and you want to read something new. Or, hey, maybe you just want some MDZS fic recs. I’m not here to judge. * means it’s incomplete, for those of you that care.

Obligatory WangXian Category:

crack in the mirror by the_pretzel*: The premise of this one is that Wei Wuxian gets transported from the modern world into a mystery novel series, set in ancient China. But he’s in the body of a character that’s about to get married, and then murdered by his husband. So he breaks the engagement by starting a new one with Lan Wangji and then the first chapter ends. This one is a rollercoaster. WWX soon discovers that his character’s been keeping secrets, and he’s got to figure them out if he wants to get out of this alive. If there was a best drama award for fics, this one would get it. Every chapter has me on the edge of my seat in a different way, as WWX gets out of one mess only to find himself in a bigger one. And that doesn’t even touch on the romance - this is one of the ones where you can just about feel all the pining LWJ is doing, even though it’s WWX pov and he’s oblivious to all of it. Honestly, this fic is the reason this rec list exists.

set your old heart free series by words-writ-in-starlight: Do you like crying? I like crying. That’s why I’m recommending this series to you, so you can cry too! I’m putting this under WangXian, because it’s a story about Lan Wangji and you can’t really have LWJ without the pining, but the real core of the story is the family LWJ has built in Cloud Recesses. Lan Shizui and Lan Xichen, and eventually (because this series starts just after WWX dies - what, I did say I liked crying) Wei Wuxian joins in. There’s even a little Wen Ning! If you like having feelings and also any of the characters I’ve mentioned, like, at all, this series is worth checking out.

The Terminus of Gravity by sealdog: Every fandom needs a space opera au, and sealdog delivers. This is pretty much a strait transportation of the plot of canon to the future and also space, with a side of epistolary and Wen remnants family time, and I’ll stop there because I don’t really want to spoil it. I’m a huge sucker for melancholy and pining and also well written space operas, because even if the premise isn’t your game, it is well written, and it’s worth a read.

Tales from Bunny Mountain by telarna: Lan sect turns into bunnies because of an excess of yin ener- look, we get Lan Zhan as a bunny with bonus Lan Shizui as a bunny. Do you really care why? This is another one of those fics that’s in the WangXian section because if LWJ and WWX are in a fic together, some things just come naturally, but the real draw for me is- well, I’m not going to lie, most of the draw was LWJ as a bunny, but I stayed with the fic for Jin Ling. Good Jin Ling characterization and a lovely, mischievous WWX, who also happens to be a very good uncle. And we have Lan sect as bunnies. Terrible, troublesome bunnies. 11/10, a must read.

through a window softly by impossibletruths: Okay, finally, we finish off the WangXian section with a fic that is actually about WangXian, not just featuring it prominently. through a window softly is a college au where LWJ and WWX are two different types of music major and also neighbors. WWX plays flute and LWJ plays violin and sometimes they stand outside their apartments and play together and pine for the mystery person that’s playing music with them. Look, they fall in love through playing music together, I’ve been looking for a fic like this since WWX first pulled out his flute in canon. There’s misunderstandings and identity porn, if you need some excellent bonus reasons to click this one, and I enjoyed both of those immensely. But what I really, truly loved was WangXian and love and music, and the intersection of all three.

Nie Huaisang: gen edition. Because I have a favorite character and that’s your problem now.

Mistakes We Made by Rachel3*: Nie Huaisang travels back in time and decides to prevent his brother’s death. This is the Nie Huaisang fic for me. I love love love his characterization here. Rachel3 strikes the delicate balance between the sweet kid he once was and the mastermind he grows up to be, making him competent but not an OP genius and sympathetic but not, like, a very good person. The plot is complex and realistic, tackling the sort of complex struggles (both interpersonal and large scale) that time travel fics very rarely bother with. If you've ever been curious about NHS, if you’ve ever even wanted to know him slightly better, this is the fic for you.

The Lost Cause by KouriArashi: AU in which Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao work together to take down Jin Guangshan from the beginning. I recommended the last fic for good characterization. I can’t in good conscience say the same for this fic, but that’s kind of the point. If you’re tired of moderation and realism and just want someone to take the hammer and fix canon already, this is the story for you. It’s hilarious and cathartic, and manages to be totally lighthearted even though it’s 100% about murder and manipulation. 

say those words (it’s not forgotten) by paranoid_fridge: This is edging on too well known for this list, but hey! My recs, my rules. And this is an absolute must read for everyone ever. If you haven’t read it, you should, and if you have read it, you can probably stand to do it again. This is a story about Nie Huaisang’s birthday. It’s a slice of life story, and a character study, and a little bit of a feel good hurt comfort fic, and it does all of those things magnificently. The author tags every relationship in this fic except the one braincell trio, which is a shame because it really is a NHS & WWX & JC fic, and if you weren’t craving one of those then why are you in this fandom? Why are you on my reclist? 

SangCheng is my OTP and that is also your problem: 

best behavior by inberin: I might as well take this space to recommend the whole sangcheng revenge au (dancing ashes under the sun (will cast their shadow when the winds rise) by paranoid_fridge really is the fic for it, but it’s too well known to make this list). The premise is simple, Jiang Cheng lost his golden core, the Wens won, and Nie Huaisang is taking them down from the inside with JC as his right hand man. best behavior makes the list for JC and NHS trolling each other (my favorite part of any sangcheng fic), and the lovely angst of two teenagers who grew up much too fast. The writing style of this one is lovely and poetic, the imagery is on point, and the sangcheng chemistry is the best.

Of Trespassing and Table Slams by LiteralistSin: I’ve put a fluffy fic in every category so far, and it’s SangCheng’s turn. There’s not much plot to this one, just SangCheng trying to outmaneuver each other and NHS being a little shit, and JC getting to win for once. Oh, yeah, and NHS gets kissed on a table. Everything my SangCheng loving heart needs.

everything rynleaf has ever written:  I’m putting this one under sangcheng because rynleaf has three sangcheng fics, and I couldn’t pick just one. Really though, you should at least check out What Remains of Meng Yao too, if you like crying. The sangcheng fics all strike the lovely balance between sangcheng tension and trolling each other and really truly sincerely caring about each other beneath all of it. Rynleaf writes some of the sweetest Jiang Cheng you ever did see, even when you’re looking through NHS’ jaded eyes. NHS is great here too, in all his secrets and his magnificent bastardry, you can just feel the smug smile he’s got on in every scene.

our footsteps sing a reckless serenade by ThirtySixSaveFiles: Because I cannot believe this one has so few kudos. Seriously, it’s a 46,000 word long modern with magic au where Jiang Cheng and NHS have an arranged marriage and fall in love. And that’s not even getting into the intrigue and the secrets NHS is keeping, and the murder mystery- There’s a lot of reasons to love this fic, and you definitely want to read it and discover all of them.

[samthemarvelfan]

Bloom for Me: One Shot

Summary: Bucky Barnes is number one on the list of people who piss you off. Good ole Cap doesn’t seem to care, and you’re sent on a mission at the behest of Dr. Banner. The tension is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. ...but what kind of tension is it, exactly?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: SMUT...with plot! Angst, and a lil dash of fluff. 18+ ONLY

A/N: SEX POLLEN FIC. I DID IT YALL. I finished a story I’ve held hostage for 3 months lol In honor of Seb’s bday...enjoy! <3

“I cannot express to you how much I’m not going to do this.” You gripe, arms crossed as you glare across the conference room at Steve.

“Ella, please—it’s less than a day. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” He scolded.

You scoffed, “I’m actually making it quite easy. Send someone else, Steve. I’m not doing it.” You stand from you seat, with all intents being to walk out the door, when you hear a chuckle.

“Told ya, Pal. That’s a $20, fair and square.” He said.

He being James Buchanan Barnes; also known as Bucky.

Also known as a pain in the fucking ass.

You stop abruptly, spinning on your heel to face them. “What was that, Barnes?” You seethe.

“It’s nothing, Ella.” Steve said to you, before turning a glare to his friend. “Drop it, Buck...” He warned.

Bucky walked over to where Steve was standing, putting both hands on his shoulders as he passed by.

“Oh, come on now, Steve. I told you she’d whine about it—that was less than 40 seconds right? I’ll take my $20.” He joked with his friend.

You stomped toward Bucky. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He laughed again. That smug, sarcastic, arrogant laugh. “Me and my pal over here like to place bets on just how much whining we’ll have to hear from you; I do anyway. This time it was ‘Let’s see how long it takes Ella to start acting like a fucking toddler.’”

Your heart hurt a bit at his words. You expect this kinda shit from him, but Steve? Does he feel that way about you, too?

“Ella he doesn’t—“

Steve tried to speak, but Bucky cut him off. “I mean anytime—anytime you’re paired of with me for a mission, you’re always tryna get out of it. You’re like a kid bargaining to not eat their vegetables.”

He stood in front of you now, towering your small frame. “Being friends isn’t a fucking job requirement. Stop acting like a spoiled brat, do the work and get out. Ain’t that right, Steve?”

You and Bucky—believe it or not, were kinda friends at one point.

He’d been one of the only people to properly welcome you to the team, and for a few weeks you were starting to get to know each other well.

Until you had your first solo mission with him. Bucky hadn’t communicated his location, despite your attempt to find him for more than 20 minutes. You needed to blow the building before the targets escaped.

Unfortunately, you forgot to clear your surroundings and you ended up held hostage by a HYDRA agent. Until Bucky burst through the room like a maniac, saving you and the mission.

Since then, he’d been distant, even cold toward you. When you did see him, the two of you couldn’t get along. Passive aggressive comments, name calling, even down right fighting during training sessions were the norm now with Bucky.

You watched the two men. Steve, who’s head was hung low with embarrassment, and Bucky, who’s smug grin you wanted to wipe against the concrete.

“Fuck this. Fuck you both.” You strained. You wanted to cry, but you wouldn’t. Not yet. Not in front of him.

As you make your way out the door, you hear Bucky call out sarcastically, “What? Was it something I said?”

“Why do you do that to her?” Steve asked him.

Bucky felt the shit-eating grin dissolving from his face. “Do what.” It was a statement, and definitely not a question.

Steve scoffed, “You know damn well what I mean, Buck. She didn’t do anything to provoke that.”

Bucky swallowed hard, avoiding his friends gaze. “She’s a fucking brat, Steve.”

Steve shook his head in disbelief, “Do you hear yourself? Would you wanna work with you?” He asked.

Bucky pushed himself from the table, “Look it’s not my fault she almost got herself killed the first time she was put in the field. So she’s got a complex about it, big whoop.”

Bucky didn’t stay to hear Steve’s lecture. Truth be told, he couldn’t stomach it.

He knows how he treats you is disgusting. The bravado he has to put on around the team makes him sick to his stomach, but it’s necessary.

When he saw your life was in danger that day, he fucking panicked. Why did he panic?

He doesn’t know. But the thought of you getting hurt...or worse, made his skin crawl. Bucky wasn’t use to feeling so attached to someone so quickly, and he hated it.

Your safety was always in the front of his mind. Wondering if you were being followed or watched or tortured or—

Stop it, Buck. Stop it. She isn’t yours to worry about. He scolded himself.

Pushing you away was the easiest part. Making you hate him was second nature, but hurting you? Making you think he hated you?

It fucking sucked.

He walked back to his room. Every intention of showering and sulking until he fell asleep, when he heard your voice through the walls.

He stood a few feet from your door, hearing everything. Stupid super soldier perks.

You were crying.

You were crying because of him.

“Fuck.” Bucky seethed through his teeth.

He doesn’t know how or when it happened, but soon he was knocking on your door.

A moment later, it swung open. You stood there, eyes red and puffy. Cheeks wet with tears, and lips swollen.

Probably from biting them like she does when she’s trying not to cry. He thought to himself.

“Come to abuse me some more?” You ask with a pain in your voice he’s never heard before.

It snatched the wind from his lungs. How long had he been making you feel this way?

“Ella, I’m—“

“Save it. I don’t want your fake apologies. Get this straight, I’m not weak.” You growl.

Bucky wonders if your trying to convince him, or yourself.

“I’ll do this mission with you. I’m not going to let you turn this team against me, but after this? We’re done. I don’t wanna hear from you ever again. I’m going to request a transfer to work at the Tower instead.”

The Tower. Manhattan. 3 hours away.

Not with me. Bucky thought.

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. He didn’t want you to go, not like this. Not because of him.

“Nothing to say?” You quipped. “Thought so. Goodbye, James.” You said, and slammed the door in his face.

Bucky stepped forward, leaning his forehead against the door.

How did this get so out of hand? How did it get to the point where you’d be so desperate to be rid of his ridicule that you’d leave your home?

Bucky wasn’t sure, but he was going to fix it.

Whatever it takes.

“Make sure to keep the rebreathers on at all times.” Bruce said, closing the hologram of the building.

You nod, “So what exactly is it that makes it so toxic?”

Bruce laughed, “Toxic is a strong word—potent...that’s more fitting.”

You peering at the case file; Votum Floreant.

“Got it, anything else we should know?” You ask, eager to get the mission over with.

Bruce shook his head at you and Bucky. “Don’t thinks so. Just seal it in the case the moment you get it, and keep those rebreathers on while you’re in the jet with it. I’ll take care of it when you guys get back. It doesn’t affect me the way it would you two.”

Bucky looked confused, “If that’s the case, why the hell are we going?”

He chucked, “Its a stealth op. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but being subtle isn’t exactly my forte.”

You smiled, nudging him.

“I’ll keep coms open.” You say, exiting and heading to the flight deck on the roof.

Bucky hadn’t said two words to you since the briefing.

Good. You think.

But also, out of character.

Maybe he’d finally taken the hint that you were done being treated the way he treats you. Maybe he’d been relieved to hear you were requesting your transfer.

Maybe he really did hate you.

The thought tore at your heart in more ways than one. Before the whole mess of your first mission happened, you thought the both of you were on the same page.

The flirty looks during briefings, the waiting until it was just the two of you to have dinner or walk the grounds. The movie nights where he’d pick ones he knew only the two of you would like.

It must have just been one sided. No one feels the way you feel—felt, about him and just turns it off.

As the jet whirred into flight, you took a seat next to Bucky at the controls.

“Are you going to say anything? Or are we going to mime this whole mission.” You ask without looking at him.

He doesn’t say anything, or even look at you for that matter.

You scoff subtly, “I don’t know why I bother. I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment.”

Kicking up one leg, you keep it crooked up-right next to you, using it as a block between you and Bucky.

You’d finally landed after a painfully quiet 2 hour flight. You were securing your clips to your holster when you felt him behind you.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Bucky said suddenly.

It was almost impossible to look at him without sarcasm. “Really? What exactly did you think was going to happen? A person can only take so much, James.”

You move to walk away, but he grips you shoulder gently, turning you to face him.

“I...I didn’t like seeing you like that.” He practically whispered.

You paused before hitting the button to let the ramp down. You wanted to say something snide, but you didn’t dare give him your energy.

“Let’s go. I wanna get this over with.” You mumble, finally hitting the button.

“Payload secured. Extracting now.” Bucky spoke into the coms.

With your gloves on, and rebreather secured to your face, you open the case Bruce had given you.

“Here, put it in.” You instructed.

This...plant? No. Flower, definitely a flower, was gorgeous. Bright red and purple ombré petals with a speckled green and yellow stem. The green leaves reaching off the stem faded to a black tip. It was stunning.

Bucky reached for the pot, that’s when you noticed the plant changing.

“Whoa, whoa. Did you see that?” You ask him.

The stem looked like it was pulsing. Golden buds began blooming within the petals.

“I don’t like this. I’m calling Bruce.” You said.

You tap your ear piece. “Dr. Banner, we’ve got some strange activity. The plant is...growing? It’s morphing and producing—“

“Get it in that case now!” He shouts, “It’s sensitive you temperature. The closer you get, the more it detects your body heat. If you’re not careful, it’ll pollinate.”

“Els...” Bucky called.

The flower was almost glowing. It’s was hypnotic, drawing you to it...the both of you.

“It’s...it’s beautiful.” You say mindlessly.

“Sergeant Barnes? Do you copy?” You hear Bruce say through the coms.

He doesn’t respond and neither do you.

“It smells like you. Like...summer rain, and strawberry shortcake.” Bucky says, walking closer to the flower.

The buds are growing. They look as though they’re about to burst.

He shakes his head, breaking the trance. “Shit.” Bucky grumbles putting the pot in the case, and slamming it shut.

You’re both breathing heavily. When did you get this close to each other? You’re close enough to see the beads of sweat on Bucky’s hairline.

“S-Sorry.” You whisper, looking down.

He tilts you chin up to look at him, “Don’t be.” He whispers in reply.

The realization of your closeness to him set in again, cause you to jump back suddenly.

“I’m gonna go...watch the controls.” You mumble.

When you sit in the seat, you finally feel it. Your elevated heart rate, the slick in your skin, and the undeniable ache between your thighs.

“What the hell?” You mutter to yourself.

“I’m glad you made it home in one piece.” Dr. Banner says as you approach the door to the compound.

Behind you, Bucky wheeled the cart with the case on top of it.

“It was definitely something. What does that thing do exactly? The packet on it was pretty vague.” You ask.

Bruce hesitated, “It’s just...it’s a...it’s hard to explain.”

You quickly whip off your rebreather, enjoying the fresh air. “Try me.”

“Look out!” Bucky shouts from behind you.

In a flash you see Bruce’s face go into pure panic. No one was quick enough. The case tumbles to the ground, smashing open and exposing the plant.

Both you and Bucky rush for it. In an instants the plant glows again, pulsing quicker then before.

“Ella, no!” Bruce shouts.

You hadn’t noticed, but Bucky’s mask was off too. Neither of you looked at anything but the flower. “It’s beautiful.” You said mindlessly.

Suddenly there was a burst from the middle of it. Golden flecks of pollen floated through the air like glitter.

“Whoa.” Bucky said breathlessly.

Looking to him, he was bathed in an ethereal haze. A visible aura and smell drawing you to him, you couldn’t have looked away if you tried.

And you didn’t care.

Bucky’s eyes suddenly locked with yours, and you knew he felt it too.

You moved towards each other, before you felt yourself getting yanked back.

“Tony, get him into quarantine now!” Bruce shouted as he tugged you with him.

“No! Stop it! Bucky!” You shouted. A conscious part of your mind was being dulled; why did you need to be near Bucky so badly?

“Stark, I’m warning you! Ella! Ella!” Bucky shouted as he was picked up by Tony, wearing his Iron Man suit for safety.

You were pulled in separate directions, and brought into the compound.

2 hours. 37 minutes. 46 seconds.

That’s how long it’d been since you’d seen Bucky.

You were currently on you bed, aching with a cold sweat. Your body was screaming at you, telling you to get out and go find him.

“What’s happening to me...” you groan into the space above you.

Between your thighs was throbbing, the heat emerging from your core was unrelenting. Your nipples were so hard, they felt like they could cut glass, and a glisten of lust on your skin couldn’t be ignored anymore.

Your own fingers did nothing to alleviate the ache. Attempting to pleasure yourself was in vain, because it wasn’t just any touch you needed. You felt like you would die—surely, you would die without his touch.

You needed Bucky, and you needed him now.

Stood from your bed, and practically running to the door, you relish in the friction it caused between your legs.

Pulling and twisting the knob in every direction does nothing. Of course it doesn’t...of course they’d locked you in here.

“FRIDAY?” You practically begged.

“Yes, Miss Monroe?” The AI replied instantly.

You cleared your throat, and pressed your sweat stained forehead agains the cool wood. “Please open my door.”

“I’ve been instructed not to let you out unless it was an emergency.”

“It is,” You say quickly. “it’s an emergency.”

She didn’t respond, the door simply clicked open. You yanked it back and revealed a sweat soaked Bucky on the other side; with bloodshot eyes, and his pupils blown out.

You’re sure your breathing mirrored his. Heavy and lengthy breathes passed your lips, chests heaving in time with one another.

Neither of you spoke as he took daunting steps forward, pushing you back into your bedroom.

In a flash, the door is slammed shut, and his hands find your hips. “Need you. Have to have you.” He groaned into the crook of your neck. “Had to smell you, touch you.”

Bucky hoists you up against the wall, and you’re seated perfectly on his thigh. “Please tell you want this—need this as badly as I do.”

The friction of his sweatpants clad thigh against your core makes you moan. “Yes, yes. Bucky...James, please.”

His lips are on yours before you can think.

Tongues take purchase of one another—it’s sloppy and rushed, and you don’t care.

You grind your heat onto his thigh, surely leaving wet patches—you’re dripping after all.

“That’s is sugar, get yourself off.” He practically growled.

“Bucky.” You moan. “More. Give me more.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Your back hits you’re bed with a muted thud, and he in you again, stripping you of your bottoms. You help him, and tear your shirt from your body.

Bucky grips your ankle, and makes eye contact as he starts peppering kissed up your leg. Soft, wet kissed that felt like fire against your skin.

He suddenly hooks your legs with his arms and waits, looking at you for permission. “Can I taste you?”

You nod, swallowing thickly. Soon, Bucky’s tongue is lapping at your clit, sucking and soothing the swollen bud, eating you like it was the man’s last meal.

“James, oh my...don’t stop.” You moan, raking your fingers through his hair.

Bucky hold your hips down, and your orgasm hits you like a truck. Cumming all over his face, but he doesn’t stop, he works you through it until your shaking.

“You taste like heaven, but now I need to be inside you.” He kissed you again, and you taste your juices on his stubble.

With new confidence, you push him back on the bed, and climb on top, lining him up with your entrance. In a smooth stroke, his entire length is in you. You gasp at the stretch, not expecting it.

“Look at you, sugar. Taking my cock so well, that’s it baby,” he croons as you start to ride him. “Take every inch, all for you, doll.”

You grind onto his cock, finding the perfect angle to meet your most sensitive spot.

“Oh, James.” You moan, throwing your head back.

“So tight, perfect. Mine, all mine.” He grunts, sitting up to kiss your chest. He swirls his tongue around each nipple, driving you mad.

You feel that rubber band stretching in your core, and Bucky feels it too.

He picks up his pace, thrusting up into you harder and faster until your seeing stars. Bucky repeats your name like a prayer on his lips until he stills, spilling his warmth inside of you, biting down on your chest as he came.

With the last scrap of energy you had, you roll off of him. Neither of you speak for a few minutes, you simply let your breathing return to normal.

“So that’s what that plant does.” Bucky says jokingly.

You throw your hands over your eyes, “I can’t believe we just did that.”

The mattress dips as you feel Bucky turn to face you. “Don’t get all shy on me now, Els.”

You move your hands, but refuse to look at him. Vulnerable is the last thing you want to be in front of Bucky Barnes.

Bucky’s hand finds your cheek, “Hey, I’m serious, talk to me.”

The sigh that you release is one of nerve and exhaustion. “What’s there to talk about? How I was just fucked into oblivion by a guy that hates my guts? That the only reason we’re in this bed together is because of some toxic plant that messed with our brains? There you go, there’s your talk.”

“I don’t hate you.” He says on the heels of your speech.

You laugh, full on chuckle. “Okay, Barnes. I get it, hates a strong word and all that, but you definitely don’t like me.”

Bucky swung his legs over the side of the bed, “You’re right, I don’t like you. I’m pretty sure I fucking love you.”

He says it as causally and easily as anything. In fact, it comes out with such ease, you’re almost inclined to believe him.

“Right, that’s why you ignore me while we’re at the compound, or make pick on me for fun, and follow me around like a rookie in every mission we’re forced to do together.”

He stands and pulls up his shorts. “I follow you because the thought of you getting killed makes me sick to my fucking stomach. I call out mistakes because I want you to be aware of everything so that I don’t have to kill people for hurting you.”

You prop yourself up on the bed, and shield your exposed body with a sheet. Buckys hands wash over his face before landing on his hips.

“I avoid you while we’re here because if I didn’t, I’d want to spend ever second of every day with you. You’re all I fucking think about, and frankly, it’s driving me crazy.”

You smirk at his humor, he always could make you laugh.

“So what do we do now?” You ask, sitting up on your knees, and allowing the sheet to fall.

Bucky’s eyes roam your figure, and he swallows hard. “I’d like to erase all the hateful things I’ve ever said to you, but I can’t. I can only ask to get a new start, sugar. A chance—give me one chance.”

His hand find your hips, and you feel the goosebumps prickle your skin. “After all, I am the guy that just fucked you into oblivion, right?

You smirk, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on his lips. His hand cups your cheek as you pull away.

“Can we watch those old movies like we used to? Just you and me?” You mumble, looking down.

Bucky laughs, and pulls you into his warm chest, kissing the crown of your head. “You got it, honey. Just you and me.”

taglist:  @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 @warmvanillafeels @star-spangled-beard-burn @ravenesque @pinknerdpanda @wintersoldierissucharide @snapcapquartet @ellen-reincarnated1967 @unlistedpond @my-drowning-in-time @supernaturalwintersoldier @kimvmarvel @roseboho @winterboobear11 @choicesloversstuff @disaffectedbarnes @igothroughphasesalot @supernaturalwintersoldier​ @miss-assembled (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)

[jimmyironwood]

james!

jimmy, jimmy, jimmy, my favourite man

Top Three Ships:

Hard to choose just three when he deserves everyone ever but IronQrow Irondeath Ironclock

Least Favourite Ships:

IronLion (james x lionheart) cannot imagine him doing anything but throttling the traitor in a non-sexy way, War Crimes because Tyrian scares me and I refuse to put one thought to him in a romantic setting, Silver Shamrock because clover gives me "im irish because my nan's best friend's painter was irish" vibes.

Biggest Criticism:

Whatever the fuck happened in volume 8 with the mantle bombing but at the same time that version of him does not exist in my mind I cannot criticise what isnt there. Also James darling just accept you never unlocked your semblance and have stubborn man disease instead of whatever the fuck Mettle is.

Favourite Thing:

Words do not go deep enough to describe the joy I feel when I think about him. He is my favourite thing.

But if I had to pick it would be his temperament. Even when being yelled at or receiving literally the worst news ever he took a moment to stop or lean against the wall or redirect his anger at an object rather than a person.

Headcanon:

I have so many.

He has a massive sweet tooth and his favourite sweet is mint imperials. He keeps some in his jacket pocket for on the go. Giant sweet tooth make soft thicc half metal man and that is ok

He is Fria's son.

He's actually a good headmaster and keeps tabs on all of his students.

Before he got his prosthetics, he had axe as his weapon, but afterwards he found he simply didn't have the mobility for a large weapon anymore and changed to Due Process

What I would change if I was making a rewrite:

I have a love-hate relationship with Mettle. On one hand it's dumb and it's a personality trait and it didn't even show up in the show and on the other hand it has so much potential and it is in every single fic I write. I'd like to make it more obvious. His eyes were a lot darker in vols 2-3 so let's say Mettle makes his eyes bluer when it has more of a hold over him.

I'd also like to see or hear a change when its in effect. Maybe his voice is more monotonous and cold, he stands straighter and moves stiffer. I'd make its effects stronger too, his altered mental state means he hyperfocuses until his task or goal is achieved, even if that means missing sleep or meals to do so (have the Ace Ops mention this. A simple line of "he hasn't left his office in... days" would suffice). Have it get to the point where he couldn't answer simple questions that aren't about his goal because every effort of his mind is dedicated to it. As his goal gets further away it makes him more desperate and his decisions seem more rash, but in his affected head they are the next logical choice to regain the ground he has lost even if he cannot see how irrational they are. The semblance is literally self-inflicted mind control! Go crazy! But have him voice it so we the audience can understand his thinking. Give him a lil character quirk of thinking out loud so that we're not left behind in an otherwise very mental and self affecting semblance.

Finally, I would like to see other characters acknowledge it. I feel it was hinted that Ozcar was going to go and talk to him in volume 8, I'd like to have seen that. He obviously has respect for Ozpin and Ozpin is one of the few characters who managed to change his mind before (see volume 2 scouts/flagbearers convo). If Oscar can convince two villains to finally make the switch to his side, he, with the help of Ozpin, can get through to James. Maybe RWBYJNR discuss it as part of their plan, ie, "if we can break his aura we have a chance of getting past his semblance, since that's when he's at his weakest" - this also affords insight into how aura affects passive semblances since it's otherwise unclear. Qrow can talk about it in the prison cell with Robyn, ie "I'm going to beat the semblance out and the sense back in". It would go great as part of their conversation about how semblances can negatively affect people.

Let. Ren. See. His. Petals. Or lack of petals. Imagine if Ren had used his shinigami eyes during the fight and seen no petals at all until his aura was broken, at which point he became so swamped in petals that Ren could barely see him.

Also I am getting rid of the Mantle bomb plot. And the part where he fights Winter twice within like an hour. She already anime moment beat him up, we didn't need to see it again. However I think Watts hacking the bomb once he's out of jail is a fun plot point to bring people together in the event that the bomb wasn't used to blow up Monstra. Also goodbye green fart cannon. Yucky. If you want him to have a big weapon give him an axe.

Also I'd give him a backstory. You don't make a character half metal and then not tell your audience why.

Sorry that became a whole essay about Mettle

What I think of his allusion:

I like the tin man allusion! It was easy to spot early on but the way it was used wasn't clear later on. Did he lose it? Did he use it too much? Did he begin to wish he didn't have one? I believe in the latter two but there is plenty of room for interpretation for the former.

I think there was room for the secondary allusion of Atlas the titan who holds up the world and I know a few people did indeed see that but I think it could've been reinforced in the show a little more.

[belladonna-behold]

An Idea #2

"I am Izuku Midoriya, and I killed All for One."

Or

Me making Izuku OP

-------

He has green hair, Yagi notes, — wild, with unkempt locks sticking up every-which way. They seem iridescent where the moonlight hits, and golden where it fades. He has green eyes, too — not the piercing shade of an emerald, but a forest in the summertime. They are freshly pink in the edges, poofy in the skin, like he was crying just a few moments before. As Yagi knows he was.

"H-hello sir,"

He fidgets a lot, with his sleeves, with his hair, with the silver ring on his thumb, and he mutters incoherent sentences that Yagi cannot decipher. He is an anxious one, a strange one, he might reckon even brave. Awfully brave, or foolish, for a child to show up before Might Tower's doorsteps in the dead of night, demanding in hysterics to meet with the number one hero like it was a matter of life and death.

"I-I am Izuku Midoriya," Izuku, what a nice name. Sir had warned him of the child before they let him in, claiming that he was screaming alarming terms like 'All for One' and 'The League of Villains' as he pounded on the gates, and Yagi only laughed heartily, for what can a seven-year-old know about the underground?

He was warned, but nothing could have prepared him for what he says next:

"I am Izuku Midoriya, and I killed All for One."

The world stops.

-------

-The world needs more OP Deku fics, can you blame me?

-It also needs more Dad for One fics.

-So Izuku killing All for One when he was like, 7.

-And then getting adopted by All Might (or another hero, not sure. It's really hard to swallow anything Dadmight when Dadzawa's been on my mind for like, months now.)

-A fix-it fic. That's it. (Inko's probably gonna be dead, but hey. That's the price to pay for killing All for One)

-I do have a quirk in mind for Izuku, one that's extremely OP. Probably not the most realistic thing, but I honestly wanna know what would happen if 7-year-old Izuku had a God-tier quirk to bring the world to its knees.

-I call it Deus and that's probably very telling.

[mariekavanagh]

How can you preach about ‘not taking the books seriously’ but you have a bunch of in depth fics about Orion, Walburga and other members of the Black family who were barely even mentioned in the books? Sounds like you’re taking the books seriously.

What I do is write stories set in a fictional universe which I have enjoyed since childhood and which still brings me a sense of enjoyment and escapism from the stresses of the real world. This is, I would say, quite the opposite of taking the books too seriously. My “in-depth” fics are me using my imagination to further enjoy magical fantasy world that the story is set in.

What I don’t do is spend my time over-analysing every moral situation in this fictional universe, especially since the books were not written to be interpreted so deeply in the first place. Harry Potter may be enjoyed by people of all ages, but it is classified as children’s literature and was written for a young audience. Had the books been written for adults, then perhaps it may make more sense to question the rights and wrongs of every little aspect of the characters, plots and world-building, but the fact is that they were never designed to be read by adults or seriously critiqued by adult readers. If JKR had been writing for an adult audience then perhaps the world would have been written differently in many ways, since she’d have known that it would be judged far more critically. 

Take, for example, Walburga’s portrait. There are huge numbers in the HP fandom who swear blind that the shrieking, mad portrait of an old woman is proof that Sirius was definitely abused at home. The portrait was only ever meant to be a comedic was of demonstrating the Black family’s pureblood beliefs. But people insist on over-analysing (and seem very determined to find more tragedy in this story that already has many sad canon features already) and in some cases, misinterpreting the text. This widespread interpretation of the Blacks has resulted in an area of the fandom which can be downright rude to anyone who disagrees with their interpretation or questions their evidence of “canon abuse”. I’ve stopped communicating with the fandom on basically all platforms except Tumblr and the reviews of my fics because I’m tired of being spoken to rudely or being accused of being an “abuse apologist” or being told I “condone child abuse” for disagreeing with their decision that a painting of a woman who was supposed to be something children would find funny is proof of both physical and emotional abuse.

Neville’s boggart. Neville’s “worst fear” being Severus Snape is supposed to be a token of solidarity for the countless schoolchildren over the generations who have experienced that one school teacher who they find a bit scary or teaches a subject they don’t like/aren’t the best at and therefore are a bit afraid of. It is not meant to be canon proof that Snape is unforgivably evil because Neville fears him more than the woman who tortured his parents into insanity. The whole concept of boggarts is something that can really only be written for a children’s book in which a worst fear is spiders or clowns rather than death and disaster. Had the story been written for adults, the concept would be seen as too unconvincing. 

Now take the issue raised with love potions in the post I shared earlier today, in which the OP said they couldn’t believe love potions weren’t illegal because of potential misuse. Had the Harry Potter books been written for adults, then absolutely, the concept of a potion which can manipulate someone’s feelings and has the potential to lead to many wrong-doings of this nature would certainly be expected to be illegal or controlled. But this is, and I cannot emphasise this enough, a CHILDREN’S BOOK. Are you really going to go into detail with a primary school child reading Harry Potter for the first time that love potions should be illegal because they can lead to sexual assault/manipulation? No, of course not. Because it’s not age-appropriate and would definitely ruin their enjoyment of this magical fantasy world which they’ve escaped to as part of a fun reading session. 

I could list further examples all day, but I won’t. My point with this accidental essay is to explain my point of view that the details of this magical, fictional world are taken far more seriously than they were ever designed to be. And I simply cannot fathom why people choose to spend their time judging the morality of every little tiny detail of this children’s book series, something which I cannot imagine truly brings them enjoyment, rather than putting that energy either into simply enjoying the stories or channelling it into something more productive. Lord knows there’s plenty of better real-world reasons to criticise JKR than for her decision not to make love potions illegal. If people spent as much time and effort calling out the injustices of the real world as they do fictional ones, the world would surely be a far better place.

Ending on the main focus of your ask, my writing in-depth fics about very minor characters in Harry Potter is my way of finding further enjoyment out of a book series and fictional world that I have loved since I was eight years old and which is my main source of enjoyment (yes I am that sad) and stress-relief now at the age of twenty-five. That is not something I would define as my “taking the books too seriously”