#like i thought that's what it was until i realised he was trying to mimic wilder.........

[peterpandiedtoday]

seen the wonka movie twice now, once dubbed, would have gone again today but am sick aff (coincidence.. sign from the lord to not harm myself.. who knows) and am still fuuuming literally tf is this movie. obvs trying to be a 71 prequel but by trying to be that they shoehorned so many references in to the point it doesn't make sense as a prequel anymore???? and why is the oompa more wonkaesque than wonka? down to quotes (eyeroll through the galaxy) and mannerism? the second time around i managed to separate it more from wonka and see it as its own wintery movie which i suspected before going might work better anyway and it does but hooo boyy this is a mess

also mad neither cinema had a wonka popcorn bucket or cup.. i would've sold outttt

[yeyinde]

OK but i need to know if price allows his wife to trim his beard …can you please write a drabble on it to feed my price addiction

Oh, absolutely!! I bet it’s easier for him to have someone he trusts cut his hair for him. His beard, though—I imagine he grooms it himself (too many oh, sir, you should cut it this way—), and he prefers a straight razor over a blade. If he really, really trusts you, he'll let you do it for him, but he's been grooming his beard since he was 28, and so. No one does it better than he does. 

His hair, however? He considers it a free cut.

》 WARNINGS: Um. Just some domestic bliss, really. Bantering. Allusions to sexual content, PTSD, and trust issues (not as serious as it sounds; just briefly mentioned). This is basically just gratuitous fluff. This was written with absolutely no discernible characteristics for the Reader—gender-neutral reader 》 WORD COUNT: 1,9k

"Hold still."

"Holdin' as still as I can, love."

His words are thick—little more than a grumble rasped into the collar of his shirt, distorted from the tilt of his head, chin resting on his sternum. 

To someone else, his tone might be misconstrued as waspish; a scathing snap sawed between his clenched teeth, and coloured in a thick paint of impatience. 

But you know him more than most, and the huffiness of his tone only serves to amuse you. 

(Your irascible man.)

Still. 

Your fingers snake through the overgrown locks on the top of his hand until you have a fistful trapped tight between each of your digits, and then you tug just so. A warning. Not enough to hurt him, of course, but enough that it makes him tense—makes him groan. 

His voice loses the surly pinch, and sounds decidedly breathless—a fact that makes you stifle a grin. 

"Gonna start somethin' you can't finish, you bloody minx."

"Gonna cut your skin if you don't stop wriggling around," you volley back. 

He huffs, shoulders slumping down with his sharp exhale. "Just get on with it. Getting stiff sittin' like this."

You ease off the clutch of his hair, but keep the locks between your fingers, eyeing the length, before nodding to yourself, and bringing the scissors close to the tuffs spilling out. 

The snipping sound of the shears cutting through his hair fills your small washroom. His shoulders seem to relax, if only slightly, as you work. 

You cut the locks between your pinky and ring finger shorter than the rest, and wince. 

"You know," you murmur, brows furrowing as you try to gauge whether or not it's passable enough to be overlooked, or if you'll need to cut all of it shorter to match. "You could go to a barber. A professional."

He grunts. You know what he's going to say before he says it, and you wordlessly mimic the words that leave his lips:

"Cheaper this way, ain't it?" He drops his chin when you nudge his head. 

Cutting his hair has become a small tradition between you, one that started a few months into your relationship when he showed up at your door, three hours late to a planned date with a bucket hat on his head, and a package of forget-me-nots in his hand (seeds, he said, because flowers will wilt and die in a day but if you plant them in your garden, they'll regrow forever). His hair was longer than usual, curling just under his chin, and the sight of him—so frazzled and unkempt compared to how put together he normally was—made something inside of you ache.

He'd rushed here as soon as he could, complaining that his flight was delayed, and his barber quit on him, and all the while, your fingers itched with the urge to run them through his overgrown locks, to feel the silken hair against your palm. 

(To grip tight and not let go.)

The words slipped out with very little conscious thought: I can cut it for you. 

He seemed almost caught off-guard, but the obvious discomfort of having his hair tickle the nape of his neck made his acquiescence much easier. 

You discovered that night just how much you liked having his hair in your hands, and he seemed to realise that fucking you against the wall, while you tugged on his freshly cut hair, in lieu of payment was much more preferable than dealing with a barber. 

"No," he grouses. "They're always goin' on 'bout undercuts, and tryin'a get me to shave my chops, and I ain't dealin' with that when I 'ave you." 

"Free labour?" 

"Hardly." He scoffs. "Gonna break my damned back one of these days, you bloody—"

"—hold still, love," the stolen endearment makes him shudder, but he quiets when you rest the flat of the blade over the crest of his ear, cutting the overgrown hair around his sideburns. "That's it. Good boy."

"Keep playing with me, love, and I'll show you who's a good—" 

Another tug. His scorching words taper off into a growl. 

"You don't seem to complain much when you pull me in for another round—ah, ah—" You tug his hair again when he moves, fighting a wide grin. The plastic handles of the scissors slide back until it arches off the back of your hand, thumb brushing the loose hair from behind his ear. "God, you're so stubborn. You want to get cut, don't you?"

"Trust you not to leave me a bloody mess by the end of this." 

With his chin dipped so far down into his collar, his words are honey-thick and robust, and the deep cadence alone makes your toes curl in your slippers. 

"Trust me that much, hmm?" 

Despite the transparent barb, the tease in your slightly breathless tone, he doesn't hesitate. "With my life." 

"Aren't you a charmer?" 

"Almost done? I'll show you how charming I can be—"

"Nearly. Would've finished an hour ago if you'd keep still."

He grumbles again, but the words are swallowed by the snip of the scissors. An impasse blooms in the scant space between your front, and his broad back. Comfortable, like all silences with him have become. Despite your griping, cutting his hair is soothing—intimate in a way you'd never come to expect it to be. 

It might be the explicit trust he places in your hands when you direct him to tilt his chin for you at a mere tap against his jaw, or the crown of his head. Wordlessly following your commands as soon as they're conveyed. 

To anyone else, such a display is commonplace, but you've been through the thick of everything to know that exposing his neck in such a vulnerable way to you, and so soon after a mission, is more meaningful than any declaration of trust could ever be. The innate drive to protect his fragile pieces from harm often leads to him flinching away from the sharp end of the shears, but it diminishes just as quickly as it rears, and he sits, docile and accommodating, for you. Allowing you this minuscule power over him. 

Maybe that's why he refuses to see a barber, opting to let you chop his hair in whichever style you deem attractive instead. Explaining to someone else why he's so tense, why he sometimes can't stifle the small jerk when cold metal kisses the nape of his neck, seems tiresome. The unneeded opening of a barely healed scab. 

It was a battle getting him to open up to you, to let you invade his space, and squeeze through the splinters in his resolve when it became clear that you weren't going anywhere that wasn't with him. 

The thought of it alone warms you. The ache in your joints from holding your hands still, cutting through the thick tufts of hair, feels like a small burden in comparison to what he's shown you with this. 

It's been barely five hours since he touched down at Heathrow. His duffle bag is still packed. His fatigues are still on. He hadn't even showered off the stench of the mission, or scoured the blood and dirt from between his nails, and yet—

You tap his cheek. His head lifts, and then lists to the side. The smooth curve of his neck is exposed. His exterior vein throbs through his sun-kissed skin. 

Affection blossoms in your chest. 

"Missed you." 

The words are barely a whisper, but his eyes peel open, icy blue finding yours as you lean over him, getting the last patch of hair near his temple. 

John says nothing in response, but he doesn't have to. You see it all—feel it. The vein in his neck throbs more intensely as his heart rate picks up, and that alone is more than an echoed sentiment in return. It's enough. 

But still:

His hand lifts with a deliberate slowness until the pads of his fingers kiss your wrist. He burns red-hot—skin just as fiery as his temper—and the warmth of his rough skin bleeds into you when he wraps his full palm over your arm, thumb brushing your flesh in a distinct pattern. 

When you recognise it, you falter. 

It isn't quite Morse code, but it's something he taught you on the eighth date when you asked if the wordless hand signals were accurate in the movie you'd just seen. His hand found yours as he led you out of the theatre, and down the cold, wet streets of Liverpool. 

"No," he snorted, derisively. And then spent the three blocks back to your flat showing you the different commands they used in the SAS, and the ones he taught his men. "If you can, skin on skin is better. Less likely to be seen. We save it for hostage situations. Like this—"

Blisteringly intense cerulean never wavers from yours as he lets you feel the words he rasps over your skin. 

You try not to tremble with the shears pressed too close to his skin, and quietly pull them away. He watches as you place them on the ledge of the vanity, hand never releasing yours. 

You brush the loose hair from his shoulders, trying to hide a smile.

"All done." 

John hums, the noise a crackling ember that fills the hush in the room, and notches between your ribs where it sticks against your thudding heart. 

"What's the verdict?"

"Why don't you see for yourself?"

Loose hair falls from his shoulders when he stands until it dusts across the tile below his feet. He leans over the sink, shaking his head above the basin, before settling, angling his chin as he takes in your shoddy handiwork. 

"Looks good."

You snort. "Sure. I'll have to go over it once you finish showering because someone wouldn't sit still long enough for me to clip around your crown, and—"

He turns to face you, and the playful diatribe is cut off when his warm palms fit against your hips. It's his turn to tug, and he does so with a sharp jerk of his wrists, pulling you taut to his chest. 

His eyes bore down into yours, mirthful blue. "Yes, yes," his eyes roll briefly toward the ceiling, lips curling into a soft smirk. "But someone kept tryin'a clip my ears, and pullin' on my hair."

"Someone, eh?" You volley coyly, reaching up, and curling your fingers into the bristles of hair spilling from his cheeks. 

At your gentle touch, his expression shifts to contemplative. His chin tilts when your nails graze his skin. 

"You like my beard, don't you?" 

Your brow lifts in question. "Yes, you know I do. Why? The boys making fun of you for it?"

"Gaz said I looked like an Edwardian lord—" you snort at the comparison. He pinches your side. "Watch it."

"Is that all?"

"Soap said they're grabable."

"Yeah, they are," you purr, taking in as much as you can in your fists. "Very steerable, too. But why is Soap concerned about that?"

"Said someone could grab 'em. Drag me by 'em, and—"

"Like his mohawk?"

He concedes your point with a flash of teeth. "You don't think I need to trim 'em?"

"And lose my handlebars? No way—"

His darken. "Dirty little thing, aren't you?" 

"For you? Always." 

"Mmm," he tilts his chin down, and presses his mouth to yours, teeth nipping your bottom lip. "Insatiable little minx."

"You love it." 

"You know I do." His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. When you peer up at him, his pelagic gaze turns turbid with desire. "Now, about your payment…"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

murder daddy vs. lawyer daddy. Knives out (2019) vs. Defending Jacob (2020)//

My weaknesses. Not to mention the hands on their hips like daddies about to scolding you 😩 I mean where do I sign up.

Just a thot...

Back to Black

Warnings: allusions to abuse and coercion, along with other untagged dark elements.

Summary: You get a lecture after you try to make a break for it.

Note: as usual, your thoughts are welcome. I'm kinda piddling around with these today but I hope you enjoy. Reblog and comment if you so kindly like.

You can still smell the smoke. You taste it too. The jarring impact replays in your head as the loud crush of metal echoes over and over. Your car spinning out, crashing into the barrier, flipping over the other side. All you saw were headlights, round and white. The Beemer. 

Your eyes snap open again. Your skull throbs as the familiar scent of bergamot and citrus stains your nostrils. The aroma brings thoughts of wool and brick. It is the smell of the Thrombey stronghold. Of your prison. 

Your eyes slit as ribs ache. You cough as you take a deep breath. There’s a scuff and a groan. The creak of wood, old furniture, inherited. Footsteps and a door, voices in a low rumble from down the hall. 

You let your lashes droop and remain as you are. A downy pillow under your head and a heavy quilt draped over laundered linen over your body. You have no energy or strength. 

“She’s awake,” Ransom snarls as he stomps into the room. “Hey,” he kicks the footboard, “none of the play shit, you little bitch. That’s not going to work on me again.” 

“Woah,” Andy calmly girds the other’s temper. “Honey.” 

You know he’s talking to you. That’s what he always calls you. That pet name. That false beacon of kindness. How could you fall for it. 

“Honey,” he drags out the word the second time. A warning. 

You open your eyes. His hands are on his hips. That stance holds so much; frustration, disappointment, anger... danger. 

“How are you feeling? That was quite the joyride you had.” 

You could laugh if your ribs didn’t feel like knives. Your head lolls. Arguing is useless. You realised that long ago. It’s why you tried to run. 

“Reckless. Stupid,” Andy continues on. 

Your eyes drift over to Ransom as he shifts to mimic Andy’s posture. It isn’t quite as effective. He pushes back his grey sweater to grip his hips, looking more petulant than intimidating. 

“Where were you off to, anyway?” Andy tilts his head. 

He’s playing with you. That’s what he does. He’s a prosecutor. He’s a cat with a mouse. He’ll bat you around until you squeak like he wants. 

“Packed a whole damn bag and everything? You going to visit family? An impromptu vacation?” He continues. 

“Stop,” you croak. 

“Stop,” he scoffs, “I don’t like liars, honey, and I know you’re not a liar. So why the fuck did you take my car?” 

His tone is iron. You flinch. He knows. He just wants you to say it. 

“You know--” you begin. 

“Fucking brat,” Ransom mutters. Andy taps his chest, holding up a finger, then points at you. 

You heave in exasperation and it makes you whine and hug your torso. Something’s broken. Several something’s at least. 

“Because... I was leaving you,” you sneer as you close your eyes. “But you win. The both of you.” You wheeze and cough. “You always fucking win.” 

Andy clucks, “now, honey, you know I don’t like when you swear.” There’s a subtle crack, you can see it without looking. Him tilting his head until his neck cracks. Then he bends his knuckles until they do the same; criiiick. “Ransom, go get the soap. Looks like we need to go back to basics.” 

[thenightshadowqueen]

Okay I said I had more to say about Victor and Eli and I’m rereading Vicious again so here we go. (This is going to be a long one.)

Okay. I’m going to try and get my thoughts to be coherent but I’m struggling because oh my fucking god I just want to scream about them. That being said, I’m going to try to make sense, but this is mostly just going to be a rambling rant of all my thoughts of them.

The thing is. The thing is. Victor is obsessive by nature. He picks one thing, and he lives for it. For the majority of Vicious, what he lives for is revenge. He never thought about the after. In Vengeful, his obsession is finding a cure. But back at Lockland, his obsession was Eli. He saw this monstrous thing, hidden under this near-perfect façade, and he was fascinated. Eli “stole” Angie (his previous obsession, from the way he talks about her in the few mentions she gets), and Victor couldn’t even find it in himself to be angry, because he was too interested in Eli.

From what we know of Victor, he almost never finds someone he can tolerate, let alone someone he likes. And that must be desperately lonely, living like that, but he wouldn’t have realised that. Not until Eli. So no wonder he can’t let him go, even after everything. And Victor doesn’t keep grudges. He kills people out of necessity, yes, and practicality, but not out of vengeance. He doesn’t hold on to things. Except for Eli. Because when you have that much love for someone, and you base so much of your life around them, and then they betray you (how Victor sees it), you can’t just let that go. You can’t just move on. Victor didn’t just feel betrayed; he lost his best friend (and the man he was in love with). And that’s not something you can forget.

Now, look at it from Eli’s perspective. He’s spent his whole life trying to mimic human emotions, trying to be like everyone else, trying to bury this thing inside him that doesn’t fit in. And then he meets Victor, and he sees himself. And, slowly, he starts to realise that he can open up. He can be himself. I don’t think most of this was conscious for Eli—he’d spent so long masking that I don’t think he even knew he was doing it anymore—but I think it’s a big part of why he was in love with drawn to Victor. Imagine spending your whole life repressing yourself, and then finally finding someone who not only accepts your sharp edges but craves them. That would be so fucking addicting.

And then Victor kills Angie, and it’s like confirmation of everything Eli was afraid of: that this dark thing in you really is evil. After all, its mirror, your best friend, just murdered your girlfriend. (Again, I don’t think this was conscious for Eli, but I do think it played a role in the path he went down.)

But no one has ever understood either of them like the other did, and no one ever will. And because of that, they’re both so deeply, wholeheartedly obsessed with each other. They spend so much of their time planning to murder each other, trying to impress each other, playing these dark games with each other. Victor could have just sent a message to meet up with Eli, but instead, he set up an elaborate riddle game via the police EO database. Entirely unnecessary, but crucial to them and their deepseated obsession with each other. And Eli played along. And in Vengeful, Eli could have told Stell that they were hunting Victor. But he didn’t. He couldn’t, because he needed to be the one to kill Victor. Victor was his, in whatever way you want to interpret that phrase.

And I guess that’s what it boils down to. Victor is Eli’s, and Eli is Victor’s. His to love, and his to hate, and his to kill. And that is the great tragedy of Evervale.

[borzoilover69]

I have a headcanon on how these guys style themselves postgame and you WILL hear me out.

Kanaya, Roxy, and Jade are self explanatory. They know how they want to present themselves. They know how to go forward with that. They’ve got colour combos and layering and fashion choices suited to their particular style IN THE BAG. Loud, prominent, they know whats up.

Jake, Calliope, and Jane get nudged into giving a fuck about fashion by anyone named above, or rather their own desire to dress up…Jake moreso because as a celebrity he gives too much of a fuck about his image to be anything less. Callie of course is affectionate enough with jade and roxy that they teach her how to style and i think she would like lolita and more daintier feminine stuff than roxy, but she does tend to sometimes switch over to suits. Jane is pure butch energy she dresses like a guy but as a girl with fashion sense. Like strict lesbian style. I dont know how else to fucking put it she would dress like how a butch lesbian would.

Jane and Jake stylewise would be similiar to some retro callback summer movie where everyones on a roadtrip in a yellow van or something except jake is more prone to extravagancy because he gives more of a fuck. Also one of them is wearing dresses and its NOT Jane.

Dirk and Rose.. fashion disasters. Dirk doesnt know fashion weight for a while and tries too hard id even suspect that he would try and mimic daves fashion style for a while until john or someone else blatantly calls him out in an offhand comment and jake and the rest of his friends start getting on his fucking case about being so bland with his fashion takes (all primaries, little to no patterns, basic, no layering.) that he caves and starts taking it like a personal challenge to style well.

At some point he has a revelation and realises he can get piercings and starts leaning into that and punk / gothish fashion. Black with complimentary colours recommended by friends.

Rose is sort of a fashion trainwreck like for all of kanayas nudging she doesnt really give a fuck and kanaya starts dictating her outfits and then of course she also gets the "someone makes an offhand comment that makes them mald really hard about it and go into a snooty onesided competition to prove they GET IT actually and that you were TOTALLY wrong about them not GETTING IT." Its the only way Dirk and Rose start caring.

Terezi and John get nudged around by their respective compadres about fashion sense and style, but they generally dont give a damn and have their own thing going for them. Theyve got their own vibe and style that feels well on them and especially terezi wise i think she would lean into the fashion disaster for fun. As long as the colours taste well together, who gives a damn about layering etc etc. throw in some crocs with a suit. An oversized shirt with a tapered skirt. Who cares. John is more tried and true but he styles out ENOUGH so he doesnt end up in the last (deorgatory) category.

Dave and Karkat are the real stubborn contendors of the friendgroup fashionwise. Baggy on baggy outfitwear. WILL get on your case if you point out had it not been for their respective colour choices they basically dress the exact same. Same mix of cargo pants, sweatpants, tracksuit pants, hoodies, and tshirts to keep them going for the lifetime. There js nothing else. Whats layering. Accessories? Well except for a watch hard pass. Patterned clothing? No way. Basic colours ONLY. Maybe Dave would dig long shorts ive always seen him as a longshorts kind of guy but its never anything noteworthy. Type of guys to choose what theyre wearing with their eyes closed thats how basic their closet is.

Anyways thats my style and fashion thoughts. Let me know what you think. Discuss and all that. Also tag yourself on which one youre closest to stylewise. Im jake. Obviously.

[daydreaming-in-letters]

Apricity

07/12/2023

Pairing: Andrew (Hozier) x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,733

Warnings: rpf, language, alcohol, heartbreak, pining, fluff

Summary: After a painful breakup, Andrew needs the comfort of his best friend.

A/N: I'm going to church tonight, and I brought an offering for the god(s). Hope you like it.

Picture by Daniel Goodman via Business Insider

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. No permission is given to copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

“Last orders.”

The booming voice rolled through the thick, hot air like thunder. It was a wonder they could hear it at all above the music and buzz of voices, she thought, but the bearded man behind the counter looked like the type who knew exactly how to make himself heard. Andrew on the other hand was not a man who raised his voice in conversation regularly, still she shivered when instead she suddenly felt his hot breath waft through her hair.

“Shall we take another?”

But he was gone before she could even turn to face him, let alone process his words and form a coherent answer.

“Oh, so no to that,” he misconstrued the confusion on her face as their eyes finally met. “You could have just said so, you know. No need to pull a face like that.”

“What face?”

“You know, the one where your eyebrows knit together just a tiny bit and the corners of your mouth fall a little.”

He tried to mimic her expression and whether he had intended to or not, he made her laugh. And as if that wasn’t enough already, he smiled along, that crooked half-smile of his, almost as if he was surprised anything he did could genuinely amuse her. 

“Andrew, that’s just my usual face. It doesn’t mean anything. Although…”

“Ah, see. Not just your usual face after all then. You can’t fool me, you should have realised that by now. I don’t know why you still keep trying though.”

The slight curl of his lips reappeared for a moment, making him look so very proud of himself. And, for the first time this evening, almost a little happy. Now who was she to take that away from him by telling the truth: that she had been fooling him about her true feelings for months, maybe even years, and very successfully so, it seemed. 

“You’re a grown-up, Andrew. Have a drink if you want another. But—”

The last word had earned her a very dramatic roll of his eyes.

“I knew there was a ‘but’.”

“Yes, Freud, we know, you can look through me like glass, anticipating my every move.”

He chuckled. “Finally you see reason, woman.”

“But seriously,” she could see another remark form behind his mischievous eyes, so she was quick to make her point, “is that wise? Another drink will only make you sadder than you already are.”

“Sad? I’m not sad. I’m angry. Fucking furious to be precise.” 

Mostly with himself, she assumed. In all this time she had known him, he had never held a grudge against anyone for long, if at all. But it wasn’t as easy for him to forgive himself at times. Still, anger was progress.

“Good.” Softly she squeezed his hand and waited until the tension of his sudden outburst slowly subsided. “That’s good. You’re moving into the next phase then.”

He mumbled something under his breath, the sentence impossible to understand against the bustle of the pub. The only word she could identify was “Freud”, enough to help her understand that it had just been another of his sassy retorts. His next words came clearer though.

“If that really is a good thing, why can I hear concern in your voice?”

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think you would recover from her so soon.”

Andrew had not told her what exactly had passed between them and she didn’t want to pry. She only knew that they had argued, and that his girlfr—ex-girlfriend—had given him an ultimatum of some sort. Whatever it had been about, he obviously hadn’t decided in the woman’s favour.

“Why shouldn’t I?” 

Before she was able to stop herself, she could feel her brow rise, reminding him that they both knew he wasn’t the type that skipped through relationships. The final decision had been made a mere five days ago, a rather short time in her opinion to move into the phase of anger. But Andrew wasn’t her and for all she knew whatever it was that had led to the sudden end of this relationship might have given him reason in abundance to be infuriated. 

“Come on, I only knew her for what? About half a year? It’s not as if she was…” For a brief moment he paused, his eyes resting on her while he tried to swallow the words that had already been forming on his tongue. But it was too late and when he finally continued, his voice was softer than it had been all evening, almost fragile. “…the love of my life.”

Eagerly he gulped down the remains of his drink as if to clean his mouth from its last statement before the glass hit the counter with an audible clink.

“You’re right though. I probably shouldn’t have another one of these. Better call it a night.”

He didn’t even wait for her response, long fingers already busy stuffing his lush bun underneath a grey beanie. She had just slipped into her jacket when he already turned to lead the way. It would be easy to get to the entrance with him in the lead, his tall form parting the crowd effortlessly for them. But he didn’t seem quite as confident in the impact of his height as he hesitated for a moment. She had no idea why, not until she could suddenly feel the warmth of his hand closing around her own. His action startled her, only for a brief second, while her brain was trying to recall a thousand memories at once just to make sure she wasn’t mistaken in thinking that he had never done this before. He hadn’t. Still it felt normal. Easy. Everything was always easy with him. Conversations, silence, laughing, crying — it was all easy. Effortless and comfortable. Natural.

It wasn’t long though before they were met with the cold night air. It hit her hard, almost making her take a step back as, with the first inhale of fresh air, it invaded her lungs. Still it was nothing, an irrelevant fact, drowned out against the much harsher sensation of his hand gliding out of hers. 

He didn’t even need to fully raise the hand that had been hers for a blink of time to make the taxi hold in front of them. But it was enough for the icy air to crawl underneath her clothes and wrap around her in a tight grip. Not even his sweet gesture of holding the door for her combined with the warmth that streamed towards her from inside the cabin could keep her from shaking violently.

And it didn’t stop. Not when the door closed, not when his body pressed against hers in the limited space of the back seat. She was almost convinced that nothing would ever stop this chill, when suddenly his voice filled the silence to state the obvious.

“You’re shivering. Come here.”

And then his arm was there, invading the unclaimed territory of her neck and shoulders to pull her close. It may have been the spirits inside her system, making her needy and weak to his touch. Whatever it was, she didn’t care as she sank deeper and deeper into the unmatched heat that seeped freely from him, directly underneath her skin. She could feel his chest rising and falling so evenly, as if her closeness meant nothing, as if this was the normal way to be. It was infectious, hypnotising her into a state of untainted drowsiness, one last thought remaining on her mind. This was it, not just the normal way to be, the only way to be. Even more so as his lips pressed to her hair, a gesture so tender it made her heart flutter, and she knew that she would never recover from this moment, however insignificant it was to him.

“I don’t think I told you, but I’m so glad you’re here.”

His words were mumbled against the crown of her head, almost inaudible above the noise of the car and the blaring music from the radio, but she had heard them and would cherish them forever, sealed inside her heart until her last breath.

For most, they would be the bare minimum after crossing an ocean in a hurry simply because she had known something was off. She always knew, from the fatigued tone of his voice to the slight change of colour in his eyes, from the way he had to force his smile, never quite reaching the full infectious gleam it usually held, his mind anywhere but with her while his fingers kneaded the palm of his hand in discomfort. 

She also knew that it had probably been an overreaction, but she would do a lot more for him than spend her last savings on a transatlantic flight and an overpriced Airbnb, for him, she would walk all the way through the eternal fires of hell and back if that was what it took to make him whole again. He probably wouldn’t do the same for her, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t expect him to, that was not the way love worked.

“Well, first and foremost I came here to whup that woman’s ass for treating you like...well, the way she did. Comforting you was just second on my list.”

Stirred by a deep chuckle, his hot breath wafted through her hair for the second time this night. It was addictive, and dangerous, because it made her want to cuddle in deeper until it was too late to let go. And right now, just for a second, she allowed herself to hope that he might actually let her. Later this night, she promised herself, she would forget all about it. Forget about the soothing warmth he gave her and the light his presence brought to her life, always. It would be hard to erase the memory of a love that had never been and never would, even more so in the cold of an unfamiliar bed, reminding her mercilessly that she was just another foreigner in a city of millions of strangers. In a world where no one truly knew her but one. And even he didn’t know the one thing she so desperately wanted him to know, yet feared to tell him the most.

“We both know that’s not true.” For a second she held her breath, stupidly fearing he had been listening in on her thoughts. “You couldn’t even hurt a fly.”

Technically, he was right, she silently agreed with him while she relaxed in his arms again. But this was about him. And seeing him like this, this gentle, loving, warm soul, defeated by the betrayal of someone he had given his whole heart to—even if he denied that now… To her, that was reason enough for far more than just a firm ass-whupping.

Maybe she should finally listen to the nagging voice inside her head and tell him just that. It seemed simple enough, a few words spoken from the heart and it would at last be out of her system. After month and month of silence it would be out in the open, released from her heart and yet vague enough for him to take it one way or the other. Like a spectator from the outside she felt herself move to leave his embrace, but before she even had the chance to open her mouth, he beat her to it. A strained groan fell from his lips, eyes rolling heavily in their sockets and she thought she might have missed the moment in which she had already made her confession without even noticing, when she realised his agitation had nothing to do with her at all. 

“Oh, come on. Of all the songs…”

Instant relief washed over her, causing a rush to the head that made her feel a little lightheaded. Enough for a cheeky grin to curl her lips.

“No, don’t you dare. Don’t even think about—” he warned, but too late.

“Go on now, go, walk out the door, just turn around now ‘cause you’re not welcome anymore…”

Her voice sounded all croaky and flat and she gave it her all to make it sound even worse. Knowing her absolute lack of talent, she usually avoided singing in public, and it had only ever happened on a handful of occasions, when the alcohol had made her indifferent to the physical pain she caused her poor audience. Andrew had always teased her relentlessly afterwards, but she knew all too well that he found it endearing and very amusing. He couldn’t deny that now, although his furrowed brows might give a different impression, but it didn’t take long until he accepted his defeat and the sweetest of smiles spread on his lips. And after leaving her hanging for another few lines, he joined in.

“I used to cry, but now I hold my head up high and you see me, somebody new, I'm not that chained-up little person still in love with you. And so you felt like dropping in and just expect me to be free. Well, now I'm saving all my lovin' for someone who's loving me…”

They were both belting at the top of their lungs, all the way through the song, and when it finally ended, they fell back into their seats, giggling and panting violently as if they had just finished running a marathon. She was still holding her belly, completely wrapped up in their little cocoon of pure joy when she realised that something was off. She hadn’t noticed at first, but the taxi had come to a stop. It was hard to tell how long it had been standing in front of the red brick row house already, but if the driver’s face was anything to go by, it might have been quite a moment since their arrival. 

He cleared his throat while he held her gaze in the mirror and Andrew’s laughter died away as well. She hated the cabby a little for taking this moment away from her friend and threw him a dirty look. Andy deserved being happy, so much, if only for the length of one single song. Careful to soften her gaze, she turned to look at him.

“Well, I guess this is me then.”

His answer was nothing but a tight lipped smile that left her with a thousand different options of interpretation. She was still trying to work out its meaning when for the second time this night, he took her completely by surprise.

It wasn’t the fact that he reached out for her to pull her in for a hug that startled her, he always did that before they said goodbye, but the way his embrace felt just a little tighter, his familiar scent more intoxicating than usual and the wool of his coat that suited him so exceptionally well unbelievably soft underneath her fingertips. In a mere moment he invaded her whole being, flowing through her freely until she could hear her soul hum in the silence that surrounded them. 

It felt unholy to pull away, the sacrilege petrifying her in her seat, leaving her with no option but to stare at him. She had almost forgotten how beautiful his eyes were. That lush, mossy green, flecked with warm, earthy shades, she wanted to dive into them, and never return. 

And there it was again, that one feeling she only ever had when she was with him. It was hard to pin down, it was not as if she was not complete without him. She was. But she had spent her whole life trying to fit in and with him, she didn’t have to. It just came naturally.

For a tiny moment, it seemed as if he was moving closer again. She noticed his eyes fall to her lips, or maybe she had imagined it. Either way, she couldn’t help herself from doing the same, watching the pink pillows open the slightest bit, a sigh waiting to fall, or a word, but it never came. Instead, a dog barked somewhere nearby and the moment was gone. 

When she looked up, it was unmistakeable that the sadness had returned to his eyes as well. She hated it, hated every second they didn’t shine as brightly as they usually did. She missed the excitement they used to hold, the warmth and kindness they radiated from beneath his long lashes. And her heart broke for him all over again.

A soothing smile on her lips, the palm of her hand cupped his bearded cheek. She wanted to tell him that even if everyone were to abandon him, she would always be there. The words were forming in her mind so clearly, all she had to do was open her mouth and deliver them, but instead she heard herself say, “There is someone out there for you, Andrew. I’m sure of it.”

He returned her smile, faintly, but it was definitely there and it didn’t leave even as he turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand. 

“Good night.”

“Night, love. I’ll call you in the morning.”

She nodded, and then she was gone. Andrew moved over to the spot where she had been sitting to watch her walking up the stairs. One hand pressed against the leather of the seat, he felt her warmth that still remained, felt his skin soaking it up to let it warm him from the inside. 

She had always possessed this power, to warm him up and thaw his heart, even though he had thought that this time it had frozen for good. But the second he had taken her hand in that pub—whatever had driven him to do so—he had known that all would be well eventually. It had been so right, so natural, to feel her like that, if only he would be brave enough to tell her. But he could never, not as long as there was even the slightest possibility she didn’t feel the same. Because more than loving her in secret, it would hurt to lose her forever. He would rather have her as a friend than not at all because for him, there was no life without her. 

There was no way he would ever tell her, but it was this exact truth that had ended his last relationship. Faced with the choice between her and anyone else in this world, it would always be her. No matter what. There had never been the tiniest chance he could have decided otherwise. 

And now he was surer than ever that he had made the right choice. Maybe this night had made him delirious, he still couldn’t tell. She had been so close, filling first his senses and then his mind with nothing but her until he had let himself believe that this could really be it. His life as it was supposed to be. For a second he had even imagined that she was leaning in, that she wanted to kiss him just as badly as he wanted to seal her lips with his. 

But even if she had, it was probably only pity speaking. Or worse, she might have thought that he needed a cheap substitute to drown his pain. And nothing could be further from the truth. He had almost been thankful for the bark that had interrupted them, without it he would never have found the strength to pull away and return her abrupt goodbye. Still, it was better this way. By morning he would have forced himself to forget about everything that could have been tonight, he would call her as he had promised and pretend that she didn’t hold his heart. It had always been like that. And it always would be. 

She had almost made it to the door by now. Her steps already slowing while she was fumbling for the keys in her bag. He didn’t know how hard it was for her to hurdle the remaining distance between herself and the door. Especially with all the tears clouding her gaze. She had felt them coming even before the taxi door had closed behind her. And so she hadn’t looked back, afraid he might see. And now that she had almost made it, she couldn’t even find those bloody keys in her stupid bag. 

It seemed like a miracle when she finally closed her hand around the cold metal to bring it to the dim light of the streetlamps. But her triumph had been too hasty, the keys gliding out of her slippery fingers and shattering onto the ground with an ugly clattering noise. 

The frustration set loose more tears, forcing her to fish around blindly for them and when she had finally managed to find them, she fumbled around equally clumsily to find the keyhole. Her only solace was that she had heard the taxi pull away while she had been hunching on the ground, so at least nobody had seen. He hadn’t seen.

“You know, I was wondering,” she jolted upon the unexpected voice, her keys hitting the ground once more as she turned around in a hurry to find him right in front of herself. “When you said someone— Are you crying?”

“No,” she promptly replied, but it was useless to deny the obvious, she realised, as her croaky voice sounded through the silence, fresh tears still burning hot on her cheeks. And Andrew being Andrew, he didn’t hesitate. In the blink of an eye he was there, gentle hands cupping her face and wiping away the salty streams. 

“Why are you crying, love?”

She didn’t answer, her throat sealed by a lump of fear. If she answered truthfully now, she would lose him. And she couldn’t, she mustn’t.

But he knew anyway. It was obvious from the way his forehead wrinkled and his eyes softened upon the realisation. She hadn’t expected the crooked smile though that slowly began to grace his lips. 

“I see.”

His lips were even softer than she could have ever imagined, moving so tenderly with hers. And even though this was happening so fast that she didn’t know if she was awake or dreaming, she felt herself relax in his arms. Letting go of all her worries was suddenly so easy. Everything was easy with him. 

[starryylies]

Tf-141 and Roblox.

<This is a kinda satire post cuz I’m stupid and I can’t think. Im so sorry if its really out of character and stupid but hope you enjoy>

Reader is younger (19-20), cussing, mention of bullying kids (satire), ooc, live love Roblox and yes

~ Me on Roblox ~

Price-

-he didn’t know what Roblox was until you explained the whole thing to him.

-he first thought it was a blocks game for kids

-he calls it roadblox 💀

-you made him start off playing speed run with you since you both could play together and race :D

-but long story short he could not finish through the first level.

-he always strayed away from the path and ended up dying more than 7 times in 5 minutes.

-easy to say he got frustrated and stopped playing the game :(((

-you convinced him to try another game which is easier Better for beginners

- he agreed and you made him play tower of hell

- he hates it.

-played speed draw once and got annoyed that his masterpiece of a drawing lost to a scrambled egg.

-doesn’t play Roblox again. Buys you robux though.

Simon-

-‘’what the fuck is robust love!?!?’’

-‘siiii it’s robux’

-‘I ain’t playing that

-‘you don’t have to play just pay 🥺’

-‘I ain’t paying for that unless I know what this shit is’

- he regrets saying that.

-you made him play aimblox.

-he fails miserably.

-calls it a stupid game for kids (HOW DARE HE!?!)

-you get pissed at him. (Pissed as in you don’t talk to him for a day)

-he makes it up to you by buying robux.

-(love is in the air again 😍)

-won’t ever call it a stupid kids game again. (Learnt his lesson)

-you find him trying to play Roblox again when he’s alone, trying to get better.

-he will deny that he enjoys the game till the end of time.

-he reaches lvl70 in a week.

-blames you for making him addicted to the game.

-loves you though. (Loves the game too won’t admit it though)

Johnny‘’Soap’’MacTavish-

-likes shooting games a lot.

-plays lots of themmmm.

-has a family with three kids in Brookhaven with two pet chickens which he sometimes eats.

-(I’m vegetarian)

-you’re his family on Brookhaven and he named the kids with your name and his name mixed.

-will fight kids in speed draw. Literally.

-jk he doesn’t bully kids he just starts writing in hashtags when he’s pissed. Or Scottish.

-loves breaking into other peoples (gaz’s) home in Brookhaven.

-loves going to those restaurant games with you.

Kyle ‘gaz’ Garrick-

-pro gamer.

-loves zombie uprising and many shooting games.

-loves those short horror story games.

-loves going on them with you to scare the shit outta you. (He’s the one who gets scared)

-pretty rich in Brookhaven.

-has lots of robux on him.

-has finished all the stages in speed run with all the dimensions.

-pro in tower of hell, like actual pro.

-tried playing mimic, he never tried again.

-plays the special forces stimulator just to make fun of it.

-his house in Brookhaven always gets broken into.

-realises it’s soap breaking into his house.

＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊

[bts-hyperfixation]

Tour Surprise

A yoongi x reader fanfiction

Summer madness 8/31 You surprise your best friend, Yoongi, while he has a few days break on tour. The only issue is you didn't think to check if there was space for you at the hotel... looks like you're sharing a bed.

Yes I'm aware it's no longer summer

“Surprise!” You shout jumping out from behind a pillar in the hotel lobby.

Yoongi stands with his mouth agape as he takes in your sudden appearance while his security guard looks slightly concerned that you were able to just appear. You reach out and close Yoongi’s mouth for him and his brain finally seems to catch up with his eyes.

“Y/N! You’re here.” He grins, enveloping you in a hug. “I didn’t think I would get to see you until we were back in Seoul.”

“I got some time off work, thought I would fly out to see my best friend. Namjoon said you would have a couple days spare this week.”

The older rapper glared across the lobby at the band’s leader, who was doing a terrible job of pretending not to be watching the two of you. Yoongi took your bag from you and lead you through the hotel. You spent the time in the elevator telling him about your awful seatmate on the plane and complaining about how uncomfortable economy could be. He agreed with you, although you suspect he no longer knows what economy feels like.

His room is right at the end of the hall, in between those of the other members. It’s smaller than the suites they’ve had in the past. A single kingbed stands proudly in the middle of the floor, a large TV on the wall across from it, and there is a hot tub right in the far window overlooking a stunning view. Suddenly you regret not bringing a swimsuit.

There is, unfortunately, a evident lack of a sofa. The hotel seems to have opted for overstuffed armchairs around a coffee table instead. In the past when you had visited Yoongi on tour he had always been aware and had ensured a sofa bed or extra room for you, perhaps you should’ve thought ahead to ask Namjoon to book you an extra room, but he is terrible with secrets and adding an extra task would’ve basically been begging for Yoongi to find out you were coming.

He must notice you looking at all of the chairs, judging which would be most comfortable because he laughs at you and nudges his head towards the bed.

“I think this should be big enough for the two of us.”

“I didn’t want to assume you would be okay sharing a bed.” You shrug.

“I’m not sure we would even notice another person in that bed with the size of it.”

He flops on to the side of the bed he prefers, proving his point as the other side remains unperturbed. He stretches his arms across the pillows, his fingertips barely reaching past the middles. You quash the disappointment that appears unwanted in the pit of your stomach. A left over reflex of a years old crush.

You kick off your shoes and mimic his actions, your fingertips brushing against his wrist as you land. His arm recoils back to his own side and you try not to think too much about it. You wriggle, messing up the sheets around you.

“I can’t believe how comfy this thing is.” You say, bouncing a little.

“I should hope so with the cost of this hotel.” Yoongi grumbles.

“Do I even want to know?” You turn on your side to face him.

“Probably not.” He says, facing you too.

You study his features. He looks tired, this is the end of the tours second leg, he probably hasn’t had a moment to himself in two months. It make syou feel a little guilty when you realise you are taking up his only alone time.

“I’m so happy you’re here.” He sighs, stifling a yawn.

He has always had a way of sensing where your thoughts were headed

“Did you have a look at anything you wanted to do while you are here? We could go to a museum? Or get food?” He says excitedly, although it is followed by another yawn.

“How about we take a nap first? I had a long flight and I’m sure you had a long day.”

He opens his mouth like he wants to fight to stay awake but he ultimately abandons his plan and shrugs, rolling onto his back and closing his eyes.

You shake your head as he appears to immediately fall asleep.

Dragging yourself away from comfort, you pull some pyjamas from the top of your bag and go into the bathroom to get changed. When you return Yoongi has shirked off his shirt and wiggled under the duvet. He is snoring softly as you pull the covers around yourself.

The first thing you notice as you awake is the weight on one side of your body. The second thing is the very hard appendge pressed up against your thigh.

It takes a moment for your sleep addled brain to put two and two together to work out that it is a very asleep Yoongi that is attached to you. And that it is his very awake dick that is digging into your leg.

Just as you are about to roll him away, he grinds down, whimpering in his sleep at the pressure. The noise short circuits your brain for a moment causing your thigh to move on its own to make the noise again.

It’s as your name tumbles from his lips it occurs to you what you are doing. One look at his face makes it evident that he is still fast asleep. He must be dreaming... about you.

His hips stutter against you once more and you are spurred into action, rolling him away from you a little too harshly, almost falling out of bed yourself. You cling to him to keep yourself from tipping over the edge, waking him in the process.

He blinks the sleep away from his eyes and assesses the immediate situation. He grips your arms and pulls you back into the bed chuckling to himself.

“Guess the bed wasn’t big enough after all.”

He doesn’t seem to know what woke him up, paying more attention to making sure you are safely back in bed . That is until he pulls you close and you brush up against his crotch once more. He immediately freezes, eyes glancing down between the two of you and back to your blushing face.

“Ah shit... sorry, it’s been a long, lonely couple of weeks...” He scoots back on the bed leaving plenty of room for you both. "I was going to take care of that need this afternoon... but well... you know you’re here. It’ll go away on it’s own soon.”

“I’m really sorry.” You blush...

But then an idea crosses your mind. A potentially very bad idea.

“If it’s my fault you’re stuck like this... maybe I should help you to fix it.” You suggest before you loose your nerve.

His eyebrow goes up, intrigued, before he shakes his head and gets ready to dismiss you.

“It’s not actually your fault, I was joking.”

You take note of how he doesn’t explicitly say no. Overconfidence spurs you forward before you think better of it.

“But you were dreaming about me, so it most be my fault.”

His ears turn a deep shade of red that you didn’t think was an option on the human spectrum.

“How did y...”

“You talk in your sleep. You scoot closer to him. “What was I doing in your dream? Maybe we could continue it in real life? I so rudely cut it short after all”.

In one last daring move you put your leg back between his thighs and press. Time pauses as he thinks about your offer, your brain briefly wanders to whether or not one of the others boys has a sofa available for you to use when this goes terribly south. But that moment never comes. Yoongi is suddenly back to rubbing his clothed cock against your bare leg, pushing your shorts upwards to give himself more space.

“Why do you want to help me?” He asks.

His lips are right by your ear now. He nibbles at your earlobe as he waits for your answer.

“You’re my best friend... and I love you.” You confess.

He whines and his hips move faster along your thigh.

“Let me help you properly.” You say, moving your hand down to his crotch but he pushes you away.

“You are helping.” He groans through gritted teeth.

His mouth falls away from your ear as his head nestles into the crook of your neck. He mouths blindly along you shoulder as his thrusts against your leg become more erratic. As he bites down at the base of your neck he cums hard in his pants.

You can feel the dampness seeping through the fabric of his sweats onto you. Something that would’ve embarrassed you if it was any other man, was so unbelievably sexy when it was Yoongi. You waited until his breathing evened out and he pulled away from you to speak.

“Is that what we were doing in your dream?”

“Almost exactly yeah.” He confirms/

"What was different?"

"I don’t usually cum so quickly in dreams.” He buries his face in his pillow, ashamed.

“Usually? So you dream about me a lot?”

He just nods into the pillow, too embarrassed to keep answering you.

“Always that same dream?”

This time he shakes his head no in to the pillow.

“So there are other things we could try next then.”

That gets him to lift his head up.

“You want to help me masturbate again? Even after you just saw me loose it like an 18 year old virgin?”

“Given the choice? I would prefer it to be more mutual pleasure. Although watching you like that was hot as fuck.”

“Mutual pleasure... right... Pleasing you... because you want me... like that.” He looks over at you to confirm that is what you meant.

“Yeah, I do. Provided you want me... like that.”

“I feel like I’ve proven that I do.” he says.

He pushes the duvet away and gestures to the wet patch on his pants. You take his hand a pull it towards your heat, letting him feel how wet you are yourself. He pulls his hand away and admires the moisture on his fingers.

“Just one question though.”

“shoot.”

“When you said you love me, did you mean as a friend? Or do you really love me?”

“I really love you.”

“Oh thank god.” He smiles.

Then before you get a chance to ask if he feels the same he removes the already limited space between you and covers your lips with his own.

Check out my masterlist for the other summer madness works!

[jettingtothemoon]

Daughter of the Spirits; chapter 14

➳ pairing: zuko x f!reader ➳ genre: a retelling of the show from season 2 onwards with a heavy focus and expansion on zuko’s story (canon divergent) ➳ warnings: violence, swearing, smut (underaged if your age of consent is above 16), spoilers for anyone who hasn’t seen the show ➳ word count: 2840 ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ summary: In which y/n comes across the fire nation prince during her stay in Ba Sing Se. ➳ tags: @harmlessoffering @lammello @hannahdinse8 @ok-boke @stranger-chan @nekee-lilac02 @inutheangel @kalea-gooch @meiraloves2dmen @cozy-fantasy-corner @urmomlikeslinotoo @brain-has-left @iluvme547 @nadlx33333 @savannah0111 @browneyedgirl22 @swoon-for-joon @vyliie (i’m sorry if i’m forgetting anyone, lmk if i am or if you want to be added)

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14,

Inner Conflict

The very next day Zuko set out to teach Aang. He asked you to take part, nervous to teach the Avatar on his own, but you reminded him that this was something he and Aang needed to do alone. At least, until they had some time to bond. You weren’t sure if or when that would happen but you wanted more than anything for the pair to truly reconcile and put old grudges behind them.

So while he taught the Avatar, you decided to spend your time getting to know the others in the group better. You wandered through the camp and found Toph sitting on a rock, casually bending small rocks into intricate shapes to pass the time. You admired her skill and approached her with a friendly smile.

"Hey, Toph. Mind if I join you?" you asked.

The young girl shrugged. "Sure, if you can keep up."

You sat down next to her and tried to mimic her movements, but your rocks crumbled to dust. Toph laughed, and you joined in, enjoying the moment of camaraderie.

“It’s your Waterbender energy, you need to stop following the flow and stiffen up. Throwing boulders and making walls is one thing but something smaller,” she rock in front of her began to take shape, morphing into a small figurine of the Avatar’s flying bison, “requires more thought and precision.”

For someone so young, she was insanely skilled. A more than worthy companion of the avatar. You could learn a lot from her, just as you knew you could learn a lot from everyone, if they just gave you and Zuko a chance.

You both chatted for a while, talking about your journeys and experiences. You spoke of your home back in Omashu and of your parents, whom you missed so dearly, and she told you a little of her upbringing and how she left her parents behind to join the avatar on his journey. Toph was tough but honest, and you found her perspective refreshing.

After some time, you noticed Sokka nearby, practising with his boomerang. Toph nudged you, urging you to go and speak to the boy, and you realised she was helping you. You needed to prove that you were on their side, that you were more than Zuko’s girlfriend. That you wanted to be a part of this team. "Looks like Sokka could use some company. Go on, give him a hand."

You walked over to Sokka, who was deeply focused on his drills. "Hey, Sokka, need a sparring partner?"

Sokka paused and looked at you, a bit surprised but then grinned. "Why not? Just don't go easy on me."

The two of you moved to a more open space and readied your stances, preparing for hand-to-hand combat. Sokka grinned as he twirled his boomerang before tossing it aside. "Alright y/n, let's see what you've got."

You both started slowly, testing each other's reflexes. Sokka was the first to throw a punch, which you blocked with ease and responded with a blow of your own that he quickly dodged. The match was intense as you each gave as good as you got but trying to fight without your bending felt almost foreign now, even after so many years of hiding what you could really do. Sokka, despite his appearance and light-hearted demeanour, was a skilled fighter. His strategic mind shined through in his every move, always a step ahead as he predicted your actions and countered them with precision.

"You've got to be faster," Sokka teased, ducking under your strike and tapping your shoulder lightly as he rolled away. "Imagine you're facing a Fire Nation soldier, not a friend."

You grinned back, trying to keep up with his quick movements. "I think I can handle a few soldiers, Sokka."

The fight escalated, your strikes becoming more powerful and focused. You threw a series of punches, each aimed with intent, but Sokka blocked them with surprising ease. Before you knew what was happening, he swept your legs out from under you, and you hit the ground with a thud. Your chest rose and fell in haste as you regained your breath and soon, Sokka was there to offer you a hand in getting back up.

"You're relying too much on your bending," he said, helping you to your feet. "You need to learn how to fight without it. Our enemies have a chi-blocker, and if you can't bend, you'll be vulnerable."

You dusted yourself off, nodding thoughtfully. "I know Ty Lee. We were friends before we left. I hope we don't find ourselves against each other on the battlefield."

Sokka's expression softened for a moment. "I hope so too. But just in case, you need to be prepared. Chi-blockers are no joke."

You sighed, the weight of the situation settling over you. "You're right. I can't rely solely on my bending. I'll train harder."

Sokka clapped you on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. And don't worry, we've got each other's backs out there."

You chatted together as you headed back to the camp, laughing and joking as you walked along. You felt closer now, which was a relief. But opening up to you was one thing, putting their faith in Zuko was another entirely.

Just as you made your way back into camp, Katara came wandering over with a look in her eye that told you she had something she wanted to say. "Can I talk to you?" she asked, her tone leaving little room for refusal.

You nodded, sensing that this conversation had been a long time coming. You and Katara walked a little away from the others, finding a quiet spot near the river, and you couldn’t quell your nerves.

"I need to understand something," Katara began, her voice tense. "Why are you still with Zuko? After everything he's done, how can you still stand by his side?"

You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. "I know Zuko has made mistakes, Katara. But I've seen the light inside him. He's trying to change, really. I've seen him struggle with this for so long, always questioning his choices, wondering if he’s doing the right thing. He’s trying to be better, to be good. That's why he’s here, to finally make the right choice."

Katara's eyes flashed with anger. "But he's hurt so many people! He betrayed us, tried to capture Aang so many times. How can you trust him after all that?"

"I understand your anger, Katara," you replied softly. "I really do. But people can change. I know you've seen it too. Zuko's not the same person he was. He finally wants to do some good and sees the damage the Fire Nation has done. Do you know how hard it was for him to leave everything he’s ever known behind? To turn his back on his own nation? His friends? His family? He needs our support, Katara, not our hatred. Everyone deserves a second chance."

Katara crossed her arms, her expression softening slightly but still guarded. "It's not as simple as that. Even if I wanted to believe in him, it's hard to forget everything he's done."

"Please, just give him a chance to prove himself," you urged. "I believe in him, and I think, deep down, you do too. So please, help me help him become the person he wants to be."

Katara looked down, her resolve wavering. "Maybe you're right, but I can’t so easily trust him. I’ve been betrayed by him enough times, we all have. He can’t keep changing his mind, what’s to say he won’t do so again? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust, not after everything he’s done."

"That's fair," you agreed. "I know right now you can only see what he has done and not what he wants to do going forward. If you can’t trust him, then trust in me. He won’t turn his back on any of us again. Please, give him a chance."

Katara nodded slowly. "I'll try. For Aang's sake, and for yours. But he better not mess this up."

You smiled, feeling a sense of relief. "Thank you, Katara. It means a lot."

As you returned to the camp, you felt hopeful. The path to reconciliation was never easy, but with patience and understanding, you believed that Zuko could truly become a valued member of the team.

When the sun began its descent from the sky, Zuko came to pull you aside. Without a word you followed him, allowing him to quietly lead you along with in hand wrapped snugly around your own.

“I can’t teach him,” he said when you finally reached your room, a place away from prying eyes and ears.

You frowned. “You can’t teach Aang? Why?”

Zuko sighed and slumped down onto the bed. “It’s my bending… It’s gone. How am I supposed to teach the avatar, or even fight, when I can only muster a small flame?”

Moving to sit beside him, you took his hand again. For the first time since you’d known him, he felt cold. The tips of his fingers chilled you to touch, even as you encased them with your own warmth.

“Maybe I can help with that…”

He raised an eyebrow as you turned towards him, resting a gentle hand to his cheek as your lips met. He followed your lead as you climbed over him, deepening your kiss, and only pulled away when your hands started to tug at his clothes.

“Look,” he spoke softly, “it’s not that I’m not enjoying this, but how will it help bring my bending back?”

You kissed his cheek softly, letting your lips linger for a moment before trailing them down to his jawline, each kiss deliberate and tender. As your lips brushed against the curve of his neck, you felt his pulse quicken beneath the surface. Smiling against his skin, you murmured, "Maybe a little bit of passion will reignite your fire."

Zuko chuckled and hummed, signalling that there would be no protest from him. His arms moved to hold you, one of his hands slipping into your hair as he kissed you again. It was a silly idea and you both knew it but, if anything, a distraction might be exactly what he needed.

You shifted slightly, pressing your body closer to his as your lips met once more. This kiss was slower, deeper, and filled with all the reassurance and affection you could muster. Zuko's initial hesitancy melted away as he responded, his lips moving in sync with yours. His hand slid down to your waist, pulling you even closer.

You could feel the tension in his body slowly easing away and hoped more than anything to soothe him in this moment of uncertainty. He let out a contented sigh, the warmth between you gradually spreading.

Zuko's fingers threaded through your hair, his touch both gentle and urgent. He tilted his head back slightly, giving you better access as you continued to kiss along his neck and collarbone. Your hands slid beneath his robes, sliding it free of his shoulders and your lips followed the path of untouched skin. The feeling of your lips against him seemed to bring a faint, reassuring warmth back into him.

He rolled over, guiding you beneath him, his lips finding yours again in a series of passionate, lingering kisses. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close to savour the closeness and comfort it brought.

“I love you,” you spoke as you began to slip free of your own clothes, feeling your skin bare against his own. “I love you so much.”

He grinned into your kiss, his hands too working to rid you of the fabric that kept you from him. He seemed more confident than he had before, as though your words made him feel like he could take on the world so long as you were at his side.

“I…” he muttered, “I don’t know what to do.”

You could feel the flush of his cheeks in your hands as you kissed him again, offering a gentle smile against his lips. "It's alright," you whispered, your voice a soothing balm. "We don't need to rush this."

His uncertainty melted away bit by bit as your hands traced the contours of his face, guiding him with patient tenderness. He followed your lead, his touches growing more assured as he explored the warmth and comfort you offered.

His hands roamed over your skin, each caress imbued with a newfound confidence. He marvelled at the way your bodies fit together, the way your breath mingled as your kisses deepened. The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you enveloped in a cocoon of shared heat and intimacy.

“I want to…” his breath was hot against your lips, his forehead gently learning against your own. “I really want to… but this,” your kisses grew languid and his brows furrowed, frustration seeping back in, and before you knew what was happening he was pulling away, “...this isn’t working.”

Although you understood his annoyance with himself, you couldn’t help but feel the ache in your heart as Zuko pulled away, his words hanging heavily in the air. The warmth that had been building between you dissipated, leaving a cold chill in its wake. His kiss he pressed to your cheek felt more like a farewell as he swiftly pulled his robes back on.

Silence settled in the room, broken only by the rustle of fabric and the sound of Zuko pacing restlessly while he thought, now possibly more frustrated than he was before. Slowly, you sat up and wrapped your arms around yourself, all of a sudden feeling exposed and vulnerable. The intimacy shared between you moments ago already felt like a distant memory, replaced by the reality of Zuko's frustration and the conflict within himself.

"I... I'm sorry," you whispered, the words catching in your throat. You wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him and hold him and make all his worries go away, but you knew he needed space.

Zuko ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, his back turned to you. "It's not your fault," he said quietly, his voice soft and fatigued. "I appreciate what you were trying to do. But... I can't... I need my bending, y/n. What use am I to the avatar without it?"

You pulled the blankets around you, disappointed that things hadn’t gone further and acutely aware of the ache that was left behind in the remnants of his touch. “It’ll be alright, I promise.”

With a deep breath, Zuko turned to look at you. His eyes were soft, conveying all the love and gratitude he had for you, but within them lingered a persistent trace of doubt. Not in you, but in himself. "I need time to figure things out," he admitted, his voice vulnerably raw. "Alone."

You nodded again, knowing there was nothing else you could say to comfort him now. You had done your part and it hadn’t helped. It was up to him now to figure this out. You wanted to be strong for him, to show him that you could support him even in moments like this, but you didn’t know what to do. How could you sit by and watch him suffer through something knowing there was nothing you could do to help?

Zuko approached you cautiously, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. His touch was tender but fleeting, both a silent apology and farewell. "I... I'll be back," he promised softly, though the uncertainty in his eyes mirrored the ache in your heart.

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the quiet room. Your arms tightened around yourself, trying to hold onto the warmth that had left with him, and you smiled. Not because you were happy but because he was trying. He wanted to do the right thing and maybe his issues with his bending had something to do with that. Whatever it was, you were certain he would figure it out.

The room felt emptier now, colder despite the lingering heat of your shared intimacy. You buried your face in your hands, letting the weight of the moment wash over you. All you could do now was wait and hope that Zuko would find solace in the stars if he could not find it in you.

It was then that you realised just how deeply your love for him had carved into your beating heart because when he was suffering, nothing else mattered. Not the war, not the constant void of being so far from your home and family. None of it mattered because he was in pain. What a dangerous love that is, to love someone so completely that they become all that matters to you in the world. You’d bring down the very sky for him if it would make him smile and you hoped that someday he would do the same for you.

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14,

[quitealotofsodapop]

I was thinking of that old post I sent you awhile back with Pokémon teams for the Pilgrims and thought "You know what, it'd be even better if, when Wukong first joined the journey with Tripitaka, he only had a couple of really small pokemon. Specifically, the chimchar that helped him before Tripitaka found him and the mankey that would eventually evolve into an Anihilape after his fight with Macaque cuz that would be thematically appropriate since Anihilape's pokedex is literally about it coming back to life as a spirit out of sheer rage and i can't imagine anything that would piss a protective primate off more than seeing theirtrainer bwing forced to kill the one they love" And I also added a damaged ear to the mankey to show it had a rough life before Wukong came along and adopted him

This one!

But yesss! Wukong just has the babies on him at first.

The little Chimchar accidentally found "a big monkey pokemon" inside a cave and thought he was stuck. He tried for a small bit to get him out, but the chains wouldn't budge. :( So instead he came back every day with pieces of fruit until Big Monkey can get strong enough to escape :)

Wukong cries the first time the little monkey rerurns to him, offering him a tiny peach/pecha berry.

Chimchar is there to greet him when Tripitaka realises him, and is hooting excitedly for his release! Though he does bite the human at first think he's trying to capture Wukong.

Tripitaka def refuses to partake in Pokemon battles, but you try telling that to two baby monkeys who wanna fight to protect their new guardian's honor (ง •̀_•́)ง

Interesting idea where Inferapes didn't actually have the gold armor/plating before Sun Wukong gained renown, and they started wearing gold to honor/mimic him.

The little Mankey having a rough life is so sad but sweet that Wukong just saw him and went "My baby monkey now".

And OHHHH the Mankey evolving into Anihilape after Wukong and Macaque's fight!! He's so furious that his protector/adoptive parent was forced to hurt his own mate that literally part of him died (symbolically so did part of Wukong).

The pokemon themselves have likely passed on since the days of the Journey, or they gained internal life in their own ways. Anihilape is a ghost type after all, and I could see a certain Wukong-looking pokemon stealing "giant pechas" to see what the big fuss is about XD

[thatdeadaquarius]

*casually slides into asks*

The Creator having to be taught the language of Teyvat, except they don't realise that each country has their own seperate language and so they are just mixing and matching phrases from each of the languages and no one has any idea what they are saying

*slides back out of asks*

Hello hello my regular customer 💃

Before u slide out, have a cookie for the road! 🤲🍪

Ok but this would actually happen to me

Im partial to the headcanon that theres a trade language in Teyvat, but each country has their own native language, w/sub-dialects too (i think thats the word?)

Just like what u said basically, bc like what if they dont have the trade one 💀 it rlly is just diff languages and im just over here like 😃🗨👋

(Gif is u in the center trying to talk to other people on the sides lol)

Srry if uncreative or kinda a flop i am not a fountain of ideas as much as i wish to be😔🙏

This may be only funny to me...

But i did my bestest for you beloved regular <3

Also u didnt ask for this but u got it anyway LMAO <3

(sorry if i accidentally start callin u xiao pfp i couldnt find a name to call u by)

Ok but like?? Was anybody gonna tell you???

Or like r u so incomprehensible now bc youve mashed all their lingos together that they dont even recognize any of their languages anymore 😭😭???

Yall ever heard that meme sound that has like music playing in the background and its just a loop of a guy saying "..HuH?..HuH?...HuH?"

^^^Everyone else trying to understand you

..

...

.....?

WAIT A MINUTE ?!%

OH GOD OH NO PLEASEEDA@!?

I HAD THE WORST THOUGHTTT!!!!

DO U JUST SOUND LIKE A SIM TO THEM??!!!

😰😰😰😰🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲💀💀💀

CRYINGSOBBING

I CANNOT ESCAPE THIS INTRUSIVE THOUGHT PLEASE NOOOOO JDIOOALLFJSLAFQ

IM ACTUALLY LAUGHING ANDBCRINGING PLEASE -> GOD WALKS AROUND SOUNDING LIKE A SIM TO THE REST OF TEYVAT STOP

♧

Ok but so many people r trying so hard to teach u their language more fully so u can commit to one at least

(Off the top of head, Thoma, Tighnari but if u keep mixing them more and more even on accident he gets too frustrated and accepts it lmao, Amber, Ningguang she wants ur first teyvat lang. to be Liyuean so bad, Kazuha just wants to genuinely understand u and you understand them aw what a sweetheart, Ei once again a person who wants u to learn Inazuman first lol, Zhongli, Jean, Ganyu, Alhaitham but he'd be a terrible teacher i can see it now, Ayato, Ayaka, Gorou, Yae Miko just so u can actually read her novels abt you + have bragging right lol)

..

...Its not really working

Which makes sense tbh, at least to me, bc i sure as fuck couldnt initially hear a big difference between Portugese v. Spanish, Korean v. Japanese etc.

Until i like, kept hearing it over and over and finally got it

(it was easier to differentiate between them on paper than auditorily?? auditorally?!? aUDITORIALLY??!! GODAMMIT IS THAT EVEN A WORD)

.

But I could totally see their languages just all sounding really similar to you, or like, theres some bits and pieces from each lang. that mimic others (pantalones Spanish = pants English for example, and its like all u catch are the "pant" sound so ur like?? Ok so same language right? Hence the mix and match)

♤

So this happens on the daily these days,

U r still going and seeing people,

But nobody has managed to communicate to you that its all different languages lol 🤭

Like this below, happens all the time ⬇️

.

Ur having dinner w/ Kamisato clan bc ofc they wanna welcome u!! :D

And Thoma's there, and yall r at the Teahouse, Thoma just got out the hotpot (oh god🤢 ...wait is that you now, r u just like Venti saying oh Barbatos...?)

And they just started dinner but its already a problem w/ur ass LMAO

.

Thoma: "What do you want to drink Our God?"

You: "Ahfs kal aldsplease give me ahdhai?"

Thomas face just like "...😶🙁 oh no" HAHA

Ayaka trying to help him,

"Please repeat that Your Grace?" 😅

You, again lol: "I would dhkaied that aifjwe please :)"

U sound like a SIMMM TO THEMM 😭😭

.

Utter fail poor Ayaka is at a loss for once,

they're trying so hard to be polite and you havent even gotten a drink yet let alone the meal lmao,

Poor Thoma is struggling, hes just like,

"Um, uh, this one??" All worried bc now hes gotta point to the pitchers one by one until u either point or nod

AND THE REST OF THE DINNER IS JUST THAT SITUATION OVER AND OVER

U give up and just start nodding or pointing for food or napkins or drinks all like, "Oh wow my accent must be heavy today 😀🤷‍♂️"

Absolutely clueless, and they cant even figure out how to tell u lol

...

Oh god i dont wanna think about the chaos if ur also only understanding the basics of every language so not only do they not get all ur words, u dont get theirs 💀

Reminder :D = I have a ✨️poll for 100 follower celebration!✨️Yall get to choose what u wanna see me write about,✨️ Check it out!! :) ♡✨️

Cheers,

🌒🌧🌊Aquarius♒️🌌🌘

♡the beloveds:

@karmawonders

(Feel free to tell me if u ever dont wanna be tagged anymore i wont be mad/offended :] !! )

[livelaughlovesubs]

— HELLO NINI AS I PROMISED ! Some asks regarding Zaki's lore ^^

Ok, so— How does he act before and after God's disappearance? + how does he cope w it?

Anyway have a great day/night :]

Hey hey! Thanks for asking ^^ I’m happy you are interested

1. He thought he was made to step into god’s footsteps, and he wanted to be closer to god (like everyone else) which is why he took a ton of notes about god and lucifer, like a crazy stalker. About their every move, habit, likes and dislikes. Not because it necessarily interests him a lot, but because then he can mimic them better.

In contrary to the other angels, who didn’t like Solomon, zaki found it rather intriguing. Because up until then god didn’t show any interests in anyone, at least not like how he does with Solomon. Even the first creation of god, lucifer, didn’t get the same attention as Solomon did. So, naturally, he had an entire notebook full of details about that man.

Solomon was god’s favourite, it was a well known fact. He accepted it, and did something different than the other angels. He started copying solomons cheerful, charming attitude. The gentle smile he wears whenever he talks with someone and the never ending patience he shows everyone. Zaki is only an angel after all, trying to appeal to god.

2. After god disappeared he had his first identity crisis. First he tried to kind of ‘take his place’ or be the ‘acting god’. He thought god created him to prepare for his disappearance. Since that was his believe, he has now fully submerged his true self and became a mix between all the notes he has taken. The cheerful attitude of Solomon, the serious way of dealing with things from lucifer, and the readiness to love and help everyone from his dear lord. It was exhausting, acting all the time, but he didn’t notice that it was exhausting.

Everything crashed down when he had a conversation with another angel, and they asked him what his favourite dish was. All he could think about was, ‘what is god’s favourite dish?’. He didn’t have an opinion of his own, and the realisation suddenly hit him. Because he didn’t know what god’s favourite food was, he couldn’t answer the question.

From then on he worked on his persona, and it became more and more difficult to distinguish which part of it was him, which part was someone else. But whenever he gets anxious or overwhelmed, his true self slips out, and his first thought is to run away so that no one sees him like that.

3. How he copes with it, well, he tries his best to replicate everything god loved and what makes god ‘god’. That’s why he is very confusing sometimes, smiling with the more cheerful smile ever, as if he was made from the rays of sun hitting the ocean while torturing devils. He knew that whether god, luci nor Solomon ever killed anyone for fun, which is why he tries to refrain from hurting anyone too. He likes to call killing them ‘showing mercy’, and that he doesn’t do it for fun, but because it’s his job (delulu)

Have a nice day too my dear <3

[cherry-flavoured-thot]

Hiya! Congratulations on 3k! 🥳 🎉 Can you do the letters p and c for Asmo-chan?

c - courtship, what do they do to hint at wanting to get together? is it obvious they’re courting you or subtle? 

When Asmodeus asked you for photos of what you were wearing to the party later this week, you were expecting that he was going to give you some form of feedback. Which you did get via compliments in text form: ‘you’ll look amazing! I love the colours.’ Not that you expected anything less, lately it doesn’t matter what you wear, Asmo’s always found something to shower you in compliments about. 

But after that small exchange you didn’t hear much more about it, not until now, as you’re finishing up your hair before heading out. “Knock, knock!” The demon in question waltzing past your door after announcing his presence. You glance briefly at him, glimpsing at what he’s wearing only to spot familiar looking colours. You completely turn to look at him, noticing that your outfits are complimentary enough to be matching. 

“Is us matching outfits a coincidence or?” Your sentence trails off, looking to him for some form of response. When he immediately grins at the question, doing a small spin on his feet so you can get a good look at his whole outfit, you realise you’ve received your answer. 

“It’s on purpose of course!” He gestures for you to follow him, resulting in you both standing in front of a mirror together. He looks all too pleased with himself, going on a slight tangent about how gorgeous you both look, only to pause when you crack a joke. 

“We look like a couple,” his attention snaps away from the mirror at your comment, a careful smile now on his features. 

“Would that be such a bad thing?” His gaze sticks firmly to your form, not daring to miss any aspect of your reply. His heart rate spiking dangerously high when your response is that it wouldn’t be a bad thing at all. 

p - pining, what is it like when they pine? is it obvious when they do it? do they keep it well hidden? how much will they pine before finally confessing? 

Asmodeus doesn’t understand why it’s so hard. It’s not as though he’s never spoken the words ‘I love you’ before, and in a handful of those circumstances he’s certain that at the time he meant it. It makes him dizzy trying to figure out the possible reasons as to why he can’t say them to you. Who, he without a doubt, loves so much. He’s had many chances to speak the words, but they never come out the way he wants, or at times never at all. 

It’s easy to tell you how adorable he finds you when you get flustered after he’s decided to flop down and place his head into your lap to whine about a hard day. Or how funny he thinks you are when you mimic Lucifer’s lecturing after you’ve managed to get yourself into trouble. Or how cute you look when you’re clearly not paying attention during class. All comes out of his mouth without a second thought, but those three words specifically just seem to get stuck in his throat. 

He loves you. He really does. And he’d be happy to tell you over and over until the words lost meaning. But only if he’s sure your reply to such a confession won’t be rejection, the thought alone of you not feeling the same is suffocating to the point of his breath pausing momentarily. Maybe if he’s lucky, you’ll take the hint and tell him how you feel first. 

If not he’s just going to have to make sure he’s managed to secure himself a place in your heart large enough that you rejecting him won’t even be a possibility. 

[neverenoughmarauders]

Baby Jily <3

'Whoops, sorry,' James said as he knocked over Snivellus' ink bottle as they made to leave the library after a productive, if not a bit boring, evening. 

Evans and Snivellus had already been in the library when they arrived, and James, Sirius and Peter had made sure to grab a table as far away from them as they could, but they had to pass them as they were leaving. Good thing James was always on the look out for a bit of fun.

Snivellus jumped up furiously: 'You did that on purpose, Potter.'

'So what if he did?' Sirius asked, not quite understanding the point Snivellus was trying to make.

James cried out in surprise, and Sirius saw James drop the parchment he'd been carrying, as it had caught fire.

'Whoops, sorry,' Lily said, mimicing James' tone.    

'That was unnecessary, Evans,' Sirius said, trying to sound unaffected. He wasn't sure if he was most annoyed with Evans for burning the notes James had made for Remus, or with James for having not packed them into his bag, where they would have been harder to get at.

'And what you did wasn't unnecessary?' sneered Snivellus.

'Oh Snivellus,' James said, tutting. He grabbed the parchment that Snivellus had been working on, now mostly covered in a sea of blackness, and tapping it once, the paper was clear again, except from the tiny scribbles from earlier.

'As long as you do it soon enough, no harm is done,' James said, knowingly, 'I might have erased a sentence or two, but there was no need to destroy all my notes like that.' 

If Snivellus had been furious before, it was nothing to being outperformed and - worse still - helped, by James.

James and Sirius could barely contain their laughter until they got clear of the library. 

'How did you do that?' Peter asked, curiously, once Sirius and James had collected themselves.

'It's a spell I learned after Remus spilled his ink bottle back in April. It removes any ink that hasn't dried yet. Handy little spell, though I hadn't imagined the first time I'd use it was to help Snivellus.'

'Shame about Remus' notes,' Sirius said, sobering slightly.

James grimaced: 'I'll just make a new set this evening. Who needs sleep anyways?'

Sirius offered to help immediately, not sure what else he was supposed to do with his evening, and Peter, who said he had a slight headache, went to bed not long after James and Sirius had gotten started on re-writing James' notes.

'Well, there's no chance of me forgetting that forgetfulness potion now,' James yawned as he rolled up his and Sirius' work much later that night. 

Sirius glanced over at Evans, who had arrived just before curfew, but unusually for her hadn't rushed upstairs. She sat bent over a copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi looking stressed. Suddenly her emerald eyes looked up, and met his. Eyes widening slightly, she quickly looked down again.

'You should get some rest, Evans, that book is there tomorrow too,' Sirius said as he and James made to go up to the boys dormitories.

'I know that,' she said, sounding exhausted. Then it seemed she realised who she was speaking to: 'Anyways, it's none of your business.'

'If you keep setting our notes on fire because you're too tired to function, it's very much our business,' James said.

'What do you care? I thought you didn't need notes with your oh-so-exceptional memory.'

James opened his mouth to explain why he had needed those notes, but Sirius could see a lost cause when he met one: 'He just likes his own handwriting. You can't deny a boy his pleasures.'

Evans looked like she wasn't sure whether he was joking or not: 'anything else?' she asked coolly.

'Nope, that's all,' Sirius said.

'Night, Evans,' James said and the two left her. 

---

Extract from Chapter 52

[baddingtonbitch]

watching the new zac efron movie and i don't think i'll ever get used to the new face. i always thought that the "socks on a slippery floor made him fall and break his jaw" story was very hard to buy since his chin, cheeks and lips all looked suddenly augmented too. i just googled it again and i never realised that he claimed the injury happened in 2013(?!) and that him getting an entirely new face a couple of years ago was because he stopped doing certain jaw exercises. jaw exercises that supposedly kept this whole new face at bay for many years until he got lax about them on vacation. so i'm like ten times more flabbergasted that anyone agreed to accept that story. i know that admitting to getting bad work done is like a mortal sin to celebrities but from the way he spoke about the literal eating disorder he was programmed into for certain roles and the resulting mental health struggles, i think it's totally plausible that he tried to get something "subtle" done out of mounting insecurity and whoever operated on him didn't understand what that even meant and just gave him the stock looksmaxxing package.

and yeah i'm sure that feels horrible and lying about feels like a necessary evil and the whole thing is a mental and emotional prison and that's very hard, but there are so many actresses that went through the exact same thing and didn't get even one percent of the grace he did and were not given the benefit of any doubt when they tried to deny their surgeries. it's just sad that countless women get called liars and "plastic surgery disasters" when they get pressured into risky procedures trying to become some unattainable feminine ideal and treated like vain monsters when it doesn't go as planned, but efron can debut a new face that looks like a meme drawn by an incel, give an extremely implausible excuse and people suddenly think anything is possible and multiple outlets will repeat and legitimise that story as if it adequately explains everything. case closed, no further questions, he just looks like this now and any raised eyebrows are attacks against a FALL SURVIVOR

like one of the most famous prettyboys secretly had this massive life threatening facial injury that required emergency hospitalisation, reconstructive surgery, and a decade of physical therapy somewhere in the narrow gaps between some of the biggest movies of his career and not a single soul knew about it until now and it had absolutely zero outward effects on his appearance until the better part of a decade later when it just happened to manifest as a constellation of simultaneous physical changes that coincidentally mimic the most common masculinising cosmetic surgeries men get when they feel insecure. all at once. permanently. but he says that's what happened so it has to be true, and famous men never ever get plastic surgery and he can't possibly have EVER been vain, insecure, or dishonest.

imagine meg ryan trying to get the public to swallow a story like that and tell me she wouldn't have been crucified for it.

meanwhile it literally gets written into his movies as a cheeky little joke.

[llaberration]

Coyne's Chronicles: Shadow Over Yfiria - Chapter 7

Coyne walked swiftly, chewing his lip in concern as he went, only now realising the repercussions of Fez's demands. The dragon had lapsed into sleep after his sudden and expensive use of magic, leaving the mimic alone to figure out what exactly the heck he was supposed to do having kidnapped someone. What did the dragon want with the little man? Was he going to eat him like he did with the thieves and hooligans? He would feel a little bad about that now having done such a thorough job terrifying the tiny being in his pouch. Normally it was just chase-chomp-done and that was it... this seemed more drawn out than he was comfortable with.

Not to mention, someone as unusual as this had to belong to someone right? What if they looked for him? What if they followed? Travelling on foot was simply not going to work if that was the case.

Coyne slowed a little as this thought occurred to him... they had to be faster.

He looked around himself, hurrying along the streets until he found what he was looking for towards the slightly more rural side of the town... a horse rental.

“Good afternoon to you my dear sir...” said a voice as Coyne approached, seeing a stooped little man in front of the stable, eyeing him.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted, thickening his voice to a richer, posher accent than his own. “I wish to rent a horse.”

“Ah then you have come to the right place!” exclaimed the man, as though this were a revelation, gesturing to the stable doors behind him. “For we... rent horses.”

“I need to take a message out of town,” said Coyne, making eye contact, and generally doing everything possible to seem honest. “Do you have anything fast?”

“All of our horses are fast,” replied the man with an overly sweetened customer-service smile.

“I'm sure... but... which one would you say is fastest?”

“Ah you will want Bubbles.”

“Bubbles?”

“Bubbles,” the man went along to the end stable door, which looked oddly battered from the inside, and it was with some trepidation that Coyne peered over it.

Inside, in the dim light, was a looming shape. He took a step back cautiously as the hairy whatever-it-was came closer. Heavy steps vibrating through the stones at his feet.

After a moment, the light from the door revealed something that was probably a horse under about a mile of mane. Not just any horse though. This thing was one of the largest plough horses he had ever laid eyes on. “Oh. Bubbles...” he said, “Isn't he a bit... unconventional for a riding horse?”

“First of all. She. Secondly, think about it. If they can pull a plough at speed, they can carry a rider at speed... and go a lot longer than those pokey skinny lord horses. They have a better sprint but she'll go on forever.”

Coyne tilted his head left and right. The man's logic was sound, and the single, gentle brown eye peering at him from under the mane clearly said. 'Please let me out of here I am so bored.' In his experience, bored horses were better because they were just glad to be involved. “How much?” he asked.

“One silver per day, one gold for two weeks. Naturally all of our horses are fitted with magical trackers, so we'll just keep counting the days up if you don't come back in time, and the price doubles per day we don't hear from you... if an additional month goes by without contact... we send the lads after you.” He pointed down the side of the stable, where two younger men were shovelling unspeakable substances. 'Men' was an exaggeration. They were more muscle than human, one of them barely had a face, and what there was of it was concealed by the most out of proportion moustache Coyne had ever seen. “Of course,” he said, trying to stay cool and calm, sticking to his old days of being around humans a lot. “Can I contact you by courier if time runs on?”

“As long as the message contains additional payment for any days missed, yes,” said the man, whipping a contract from nowhere. “Sign here here here and on the line here,”

Coyne skim-read the contract, but it was mostly what he was used to seeing, and he couldn't smell any obvious deceit on the paperwork, so he signed, and flipped the man a gold coin. The man put away the scroll, presented Coyne a receipt, (complete with address to send additional payment to) snapped his fingers, and one of 'the boys' thudded off to get 'Bubbles' kitted out for the road.

It was strange for Coyne to be even thinking of renting a horse. He had done it before, back before the war but... since those days he had gone to low-profile, nowhere to be except surviving, which had been more favoured towards scraping around on the sides of roads and walking everywhere on foot. But right now with Fez hidden and therefore out of wing-related activities, it made sense to take another mode of transportation.

A few minutes later, a hulking figure pulled open the stable door, and was still dwarfed by Bubbles, who looked down at the man leading her with mild disinterest.

To Coyne's estimation, she was in good condition health wise. But in desperate need of having her fur and mane taken care of. She was more hair than horse, and almost looked like a cyclops with one eye peering out of the mass. “Th... thank you?” he stammered, as the huge man held out the reins to him.

The muscle mass grunted, gave him a look with one beady eye that said, in no unclear terms that he should keep up his payments.

Coyne gave what he hoped was a winning smile, and began to make his way off down the road, leading the horse.

Once he was a decent way from the place, he looked up at Bubbles, and asked, “You wanna go for a run?”

The horse observed him with unbothered calm, and he smiled, seeking out her nose under all the mane to give it a stroke, “Sure you do.” He went to the side of the horse, and with some difficulty got a foot into the stirrup, which was far too high up for someone his height. Still, the saddle was sturdy so he was able to yank himself up, flopping over it at first, until he was able to turn around, and face forwards.

He felt hugely out of place on the massive animal, and awkwardly reached forwards to part the horse's mane and pull it back behind her ears. If he was going to ride around on this walking behemoth, he wanted her to see where she was going. She shot him a grateful look, and he checked the reins wouldn't tangle before sitting back, “alright...” he said, pretty sure the rough act of getting on the horse had woken Fez and upset the man they had kidnapped, “been a while since I've done this, but here we go...” he gently gave a little kick with his heels, and Bubbles didn't need to be told twice. The road was still pretty full of life, people travelling this way and that, and all kinds of businesses still populated it. This was more rural than the area right beside the wall, but was by no means out of town. The horse did not care. Her enormous frame thundering along the cobbles, even at a mild trot, was plenty of advanced warning for people to get out of the way, and each stride was many of Coyne's. This was much better. If anyone was following, and he had to face it, they probably were... he could get a decent head start on them this way.

He knew well enough how to remove magical tagging from horses, it was an old, relatively simple trick, and one of the few magical procedures the college sanctioned as long as it was performed by one of their mages. He planned to remove it once they were out of town, just in case anyone tried to use it to follow. He doubted it, because horse renters valued the privacy of their clients in a way that made them pretty reliable at not giving out information... but... it was wise to play it safe. He would still send payments to the stable, and return Bubbles once they were done on their quest... probably... but for now, he would just take advantage of her legs.

“Coyne?” Fez's voice, still sleepy, spoke up.

“Hm?”

“Are you... on a horse? I hear a horse,”

“Got us some swifter legs than mine... just in case your little acquisition is being followed...”

“Good thinking. I can't fly us anywhere in a place this populated so having a good horse will pay off. How is our new friend?”

“Uh... still shouting,” said Coyne, touching the concealed pouch. “What are you going to do with him?”

“I'm not certain yet. Hopefully make a contract with him like I did with you...”

“Oh...” said Coyne, relieved, “I thought you were going to eat him...”

“What? Eat someone with the eyes of an ancient?”

“In all fairness... I have no idea what that means.”

“Well. Allow me to educate you with at least what I am aware of. Ancients were an ancient sect of 'mages.' I use the term mage as loosely as it can be used here. They were not naturally infused with magic, but each one was brought about by a human overdosing themselves with massive amounts of stolen magic energy. Most people are completely unable to survive such a procedure but on rare occasions it would sort of... take hold. It changed them... gave them their own source of magic, and one of the known side effects of that was developing the ability to see energy with their eyes. I assume that to be why he was staring at you like a lost puppy.”

“See energy? You can't see energy... it's intangible...”

“True, but the side effects of it are. Like heat is a by-product of movement, magic energy creates a by-product of its own... almost like steam from hot water... that they can see. You must look quite interesting.”

“So what happened to these 'ancients'?”

“Well as they had a one in about two hundred survival rate, there were so few of them they kind of... died out. But they say they were the first humans to posses magic, and their bloodlines trace back all of the magic still inside humanity to this day.”

“Oh... so they kind of... forced the transition of magic into humans?”

“In a sense, yes. Somehow... you stumbled into one. He must be some kind of modern experiment to re-create an ancient... though I doubt the college would be so foolish...” the dragon paused awkwardly. “I retract that statement. The college would absolutely be that foolish. I plan to ask him.”

Coyne nodded, “Well... at the moment, we are still in town. Once we get out of town, we can worry about him... for the time being I can't do a lot without drawing attention.”

“You could send him down here so I can talk to him.”

“I can't eat a man in plain view Fez.”

“He's quite small... I'm sure nobody would notice...”

“What if he's armed! He could do me serious harm before he even gets to you...”

“I doubt he's dangerous...”

“Did you see the man? He looks like a complete lunatic!”

There was a pause as the dragon considered this, then relaxed with some kind of movement Coyne assumed was a shrug. “Fine, but do not let him escape. I have disabled any magic he might be able to use for now, but if he has any actual weapons, you'll have to deal with that in due time.”

Alan was, in fact, trying to use magic at that precise moment. Stuck awkwardly in a small, leathery space with a few gold coins, he had found himself unable to cast even basic spells. They just kind of flickered and died when he tried to summon them. He kicked himself for always scoffing at Trevor's advice to carry at least a small knife whilst they were at the wall. He had always thought his magic could defend him... but now he was finding that was not the case...

He wasn't sure what had happened to him even... one moment he had been reaching for the amazing orange person... then someone had put hands on him, his head had exploded with tingling pain, and then he had... been here. He couldn't see a lot, as he was within an orange haze and it was dark, but from that, and the enormous gold coins he had discovered, he had deduced by now that he must have been magically shrunk, his powers somehow locked from him. Sadly they had not been thorough enough to lock his adjusted eyes, and therefore his vision was still dominated by the orange energy of his captor. He had done a fair bit of shouting to try and draw attention but it seemed whoever had done this was far more interested in the outside world than in him. Probably trying to make an escape of some kind.

He sighed, hugging his knees against himself nervously. Why had he been taken? Was it simply for pursuing the orange person? Had he just been following someone who didn't want to be followed? He knew he should really have just yelled for the guards to arrest the figure but... he had been too stunned by the colour and nature of it... he had just wanted to find out what it was... and in so-doing, he had foolishly gotten himself captured. He looked at his college ring, which was now emitting a pale green glow from the stone. He knew from that that Trevor was tracking him through it. He just had to try and hide that he had it so his captor didn't realise. No doubt an angry bear would quickly convince them to hand him over, if Trevor didn't just maim them outright... he wasn't sure what the druid would do. It would be somewhere along the lines of either 'track him but not bother to follow unless the College sent him explicit strict instructions to do so,' or 'follow just for the change of scenery and calmly ask for him back' or 'show up and start eating people as a bear' and honestly... on a sliding scale that extreme... Alan didn't know quite what to expect.

He had already tried to open his prison, but it seemed to be closed securely, and without magic, and his vision clouded by perpetual orange... he was finding it pretty hard to come up with any alternatives. The fact he had not simply been immediately killed was somewhat encouraging, but in no way made him feel as though it wasn't still potentially on the cards for later. He just had to hope that Trevor would get there first.

“Can we go now?” asked Trevor, bouncing impatiently on his feet as Belfus stuffed a last package into his overly large backpack.

“But we have to be prepared,” replied Belfus urgently, “You said yourself that you don't know what is out there waiting for us.”

“Well, that doesn't mean you need to pack an entire camp!”

“You can never. Be. Too. Prepared,” replied the soldier firmly, as he shoved a wrapped loaf of bread into the top of his pack.

Trevor scowled, his eyes flicking to the window. He was so close to actually getting to do something that was exciting. Something other than study or practice or stand and stare at people coming through the gate. He felt like he had new purpose. Alan was in trouble, taken by some sinister 'orange' force, and he had the chance to go and hunt it down. The only thing currently standing in the way was Belfus and his inexplicable desire to bring half the kingdom's worth of gear with him.

“Alright... there we go,” said the soldier at last, hefting the pack onto his shoulder, staggering slightly, causing a noisy clatter.

Trevor rolled his eyes. That was going to be nice and stealthy then. “Alright good come on.” He was not going to encourage the soldier to stop and further economise his gear. They had already allowed more than enough time to pass. He rushed out of the soldier's shared living quarters where he had been waiting, and Belfus followed with a clatter.

Once they reached the ground, they both began to run in different directions. Trevor heading in the direction that the seal was indicating, and Belfus the opposite way. Trevor stopped. “What are you doing?”

“Horses?” said the man, pointing down the road where the military kept their steeds.

“We don't need horses, I'm the horse,” said Trevor.

“What?”

Trevor scoffed impatiently, marched to the soldier and put the seal in his hand. “Hold this, and navigate,” he said, before taking a step back.

Belfus watched the druid, puzzled as he took a slow breath, cracked his neck, and began to change.

Just as before, when the mage had changed into a dog, his shape seemed to twist and reform, green, smoky magic swirling around it as though re-working a lump of clay into a new shape. When it faded, what stood before the soldier was no longer a man, but an extremely impatient looking horse.

He was a pale tan-brown, with a darker face and legs, and a long, unkept black-brown mane. He was of what Belfus would considered 'no specific breed' but medium build would have made a pretty typical riding horse, not particularly slender or powerful. The eyes, though they had reshaped to be those of a horse, absolutely still contained every ounce of contempt that Trevor's normally did.

The horse stamped impatiently, gave Belfus a pointed look, then turned to stare at its back before looking at him again.

“Uh... goodness... I don't know... I wasn't aware I was going to be riding you...” the soldier stammered, awkwardly. “Could we not at least get a saddle?”

Trevor shot the man a look that said, in no uncertain terms, exactly what he would do to the soldier if he so much as came near him with a saddle.

“But... what do I...” Belfus began to ask another question, but Trevor let out an impatient sound and came to stand with his side facing the soldier, making it clear he was to get on.

“But I...”

Trevor let out a loud snort and bared his teeth at the man, who recoiled slightly, and then complied, awkwardly leaning on the druid's back to haul himself up, making an undignified 'oof' as he had to do so without the normal help of stirrups.

Trevor let out a sound that was a little like a laugh at his struggle, but turned his head to help shove the heavy soldier up into place.

Almost before Belfus had managed to get himself properly positioned, Trevor was starting to walk, apparently unbothered by the weight of the large man and even larger pack of assorted camping equipment. The soldier had to admit he was somewhat impressed, he knew Trevor was what the college classed as a 'druid' and that meant, among other things, he could turn into animals, but he had never seen him do it before today. It had been unsettling to watch him turn into a dog but... now the soldier was not only seeing the horse, but feeling how real it was... he was pretty awed about the whole thing.

Getting his head together a bit, he lifted the seal and examined it. “We need to head more west,”

Trevor made a sound of acknowledgement, and turned along the next west bound street, forcing Belfus to grab his neck to hold on. “Couldn't we at least get some reigns or...” he went silent when Trevor shot him another look and sat quietly. Taken captive by a magical horse to chase after some unknown magical kidnapper... he was certain he had read fictional books with slightly less preposterous plots than this.

Coyne continued to ride as swiftly as he felt was fair on Bubbles. The huge horse was well into her stride, and showing absolutely no intention of slowing. The mimic seemed to be in agreement with the mare that a gallop was unwise, and they had somehow agreed on a swift canter. A 'canter' felt insufficient as a term to describe the thundering of the creature, but speed-wise it was ideal, and if the stable had been right about her stamina, they would make good time.

As the world passed by around them, Coyne had to admit he found himself shocked by how built up this side of the wall was. The towns he was used to could be passed through in about ten minutes from end to end, but they had been cantering for over an hour and there were still no shortage of houses lining the road. They had gotten smaller, and slightly less maintained, but they were still plentiful and he was starting to wonder if he would ever have the privacy to address the situation of the tiny, angry little man still hidden in his money pouch.

At least Fez seemed content, snuggled warmly in place, either sleeping off his magic use, or just taking the time to relax. Periodically, Coyne would lightly run a hand over his stomach, checking that the dragon was still responsive to pressure, and Fez would always wake up enough to respond with a light little kick or headbutt. Wordlessly confirming all was still well. Coyne had to admit, it felt nice to be communicating like this with his new friend. He was still adjusting to the sensation of something heavy and alive settled inside him, but it really wasn't all that bad. He had more concerns for their other passenger, but he certainly wasn't about to tackle that issue while they were still travelling through populated space. He was actually starting to get kind of anxious to be back out in the wilds.

There was a time when he had thrived being around humans, but he had truly seen the worst of people since then. He knew how truly bad they could be.

Then again, when he thought back to what Fez had shown him out there in the wilds... how the plague was building itself, spreading, he began to wonder how long his home would have been safe for.

Those afflicted had never really made any effort to come after him, or even the small towns, too drawn towards the wall and the huge concentration of life and people it presented. But how long would it have been before it wanted to gather more strength from the land around it. Then the border towns would have started to fall, and eventually, even those like him would have been in danger.

He shook himself back to reality and focused himself on the task currently at hand. They still had a tiny, angry man to deal with.

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And so we meet Bubbles. My personal favourite character. Because I never have to write any dialogue for her. She says everything she needs to with nary a word.

And yes if you're wondering I am uploading these quickly to try and catch up with the main upload schedule that's running everywhere else. Not my fault it took me eight months to work up the courage to start posting here.