#oh so much so much anyway i quite like how this turned out like my art boy (gn) 🥺

[kaiwewi]

Their First Villain

Secret Santa gift for @the-modern-typewriter Prompt: "Scary villain x hero in a Christmas setting of your [the writer's] choice. Could go spicy, could go whumpy, could go unexpectedly sweet!" Hope you like this! Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁

“You recognised me,” the villain observes, his tone unnaturally flat. His face betrays no emotion.

“Kinda hard not to, with your…” – the hero tilts their head at where the villain’s magic continues to spread, coiling around their limbs and securely fixing them in place – “…snake thingies?”

The individual tendrils really do vaguely resemble snakes, although the magic in its entirety reminds them more of some writhing alien monster plant from an old Sci-fi B-movie whose title they cannot remember. It’s not a good comparison anyway. The movie hadn’t been scary at all.

They experimentally try to wrestle one of their arms free, but despite the magic’s apparent fluidity, the moment they push or pull in any direction, whatever give appeared to be there all but disappears and they can’t move a millimetre.

“Oh.” The villain’s eyes widen. “You can see it.”

“See it. Feel it. Didn’t expect it to be this hot.”

An awkward pause follows.

They are decidedly not blushing. It’s just warm. All of them is so warm now that the villain’s powers have moulded themselves around the hero like something liquid but alive. Wherever the tendrils touch bare skin – their ungloved hands and that area just above their ankles where their pants don’t quite meet the rims of their boots – the raw energy buzzes, prickles just short of stinging.

They’d been shivering just minutes ago in their much too thin poncho and the not seasonally appropriate Agency office uniform. Well, they still are shivering, just no longer from the cold.

Where the villain’s magic is fever-hot, his scrutiny runs icy.

“You can see it, but not fight it,” he muses. “How curious. The Agency must be understaffed to send their defenceless little office drones out into the field.”

The hero would be glaring if the villain weren’t underscoring the point by pulling his magic tighter with the mere flick of a finger. That small, anxious sound that escapes them in response brings a self-satisfied grin to the villain’s lips.

“It’s Christmas,” the hero says, once the magic has settled again.

The villain raises a brow.

“Most of the regulars are on holiday, Christmas being a time best spent with family … or so I’m told.”

“Yet you are working.”

“Don’t have anyone.” They aren’t technically without family just … Sometimes, family isn’t a place of refuge and welcome. Not a home to turn to for holiday celebrations or company. Some families fashion themselves exclusive clubs with strict rules that refuse or revoke memberships as they please. The hero forces some levity into their tone. “I have nowhere else to be today, so, I’m helping out here.”

The villain chuckles. “Helping is perhaps not what I would call that.”

“Hey, I did recognise you,” they say, defensively.

“And look where that got you.” His smile is sharper than before, meaner. “Am I your first villain? My heartfelt condolences.”

They don’t dignify that with an answer. But the answer is yes. The villains they watched being interrogated through one-way mirrors at HQ don't count.

“Pity,” the villain says with zero warmth, “that you couldn’t just look the other way. What is it with you people that you're always so eager to cause unnecessary conflict.”

“Reporting suspicious behaviour is kind of my job.” It comes out barely above a whisper and carries the distinct cadence of an apology.

“Ah yes, and my mere existence struck you as suspicious behaviour because …”

Admittedly, once they’d recognised the villain, they hadn’t taken the time to consider his appearance beyond the magic he’d been wearing around his shoulders like a particularly weaponizable scarf. The lack of a combat suit in favour of a sleek, dark coat over a woollen jumper and cargo joggers – either an outfit designed to blend in or just what the villain happens to like to wear when he isn’t working – hadn’t registered any more than the total absence of weaponry other than his powers. And while he could have hidden those better, it’s not like he could have simply left them at home.

There hadn’t been time to ponder. It had all happened so fast. Their eyes had met, and a moment later the hero had already been scrambling away from the crowd, past a stall selling mulled wine and into the nearest alley, where they’d scrolled through their contacts with stiff, unfeeling fingers. The villain had caught up with them before they’d managed to call for backup.

Their gaze darts to the remnants of their smashed phone, sprinkled across the muddy snow, mere metres away but entirely useless even if they could reach it.

What if the villain hadn’t had anything nefarious planned? What if the hero’s brain had naturally jumped to the most prejudiced conclusion all on its own?

Of course, it is unfair to treat his mere presence as if it is a crime. But the things he could do ...

They think about the parents with their cameras, filming their ice-skating children, the squealing toddlers on the merry-go-round, the nice old ladies selling tea out of the back of a car.

“You could be a danger to all those innocent people,” they defend their judgement.

“And you could be a danger to me,” the villain replies coolly. “Would be unwise, letting someone roam free who can pick me out of a crowd with a glance. Perhaps I should thank you for revealing yourself. Very ill-advised. But quite convenient. You were so obvious about it, too.”

He has crossed the distance between them while speaking. Close enough now to reach out and tuck an unruly strand of hair behind their ear with his cold, slender fingers. His other hand settles almost gently on their throat, atop the magic that has slivered around their neck at some point during the conversation.

The tip of a new tendril is in the process of worming its way lower, nestling into the collar of their shirt. It laps against the crook of their neck and they cringe away from the touch as much as the magic allows. It doesn’t hurt. It would be so much easier if it did. The touch is light; it kind of tickles and, given the overall direness of the situation, the hero really isn’t in the mood for that. Or, they shouldn’t be.

Unhelpfully, their traitorous mind supplies them with a thoroughly inappropriate image of what else someone who isn’t the enemy could be doing to them with magic such as this.

“Tell me,” the villain says as the power shifts upwards, tilting their chin back with the movement, so his nails can bite into the newly exposed skin below their jaw, “is there anything else troublesome about you, or is it just the eyes?”

He looks most pleased when their breath hitches despite their best efforts to remain stoic. His grip tightens. He’s studying them intently, staring at their eyes like those are priced gems he considers adding to his collection.

Maybe, underneath the mockery, he actually does consider them somewhat of a threat. If he didn’t, why would he be looking at them like that.

It’s stupid, truly and utterly stupid, to feel flattered. This is not respect, they know, just sharp, calculating consideration. His attention promises imminent danger, might turn lethal at any second. It’s not something they should revel in. Still, it feels good, too – being seen.

Has anyone ever really seen them before?

Or perhaps that is the lack of oxygen speaking.

They struggle to focus their vision but all the twinkling Christmas lights in the trees are starting to smudge into dull, red and golden blurs. Vertigo is clawing at them.

There is absolutely nothing they can do against the villain's grip. They're so pitifully out of their depth.

They think about their bland, only half-furnished two-room apartment; their first day at the Agency HQ; their nth day – no more eventful than the first – sitting at the exact same desk in the exact same office and working on the exact same old computer; their colleagues’ looks of pity when their 14th application for a transfer to field work is being denied and their boss tells them, in stern admonishment, that their skill sets just aren’t suited to solo missions. They think about her condescending smile when she finally does assign them the Christmas market job, clearly convinced the worst thing that could possibly happen here is people getting drunk enough on punch to start throwing punches.

They think of their first split-second impression of the villain as just another guy standing by the ice rink with a cup of something steaming in his hands and a mellow, unguarded smile curving his lips.

They hope this montage doesn’t count as their life flashing before their eyes. It’s way too sad a summary of their depressing lack of accomplishments.

They think, with equal parts age-old bitterness and new-found sarcastic vindication, about their colleagues’ infantile, unofficial, end-of-the-year office rankings where flashier heroes with more impressive abilities always receive titles such as most likely to hook up with a hot reporter or most epic battle or best one-liners.

Meanwhile, all the hero has to show for are three consecutive wins of least likely to die on the job.

Which might have been a reassuring sentiment if it weren’t so clearly code for “you’ll never be a real hero”. Real heroes risk their lives on the job all the time.

Well, look at them now!

Will their colleagues manage to come up with a new title for them in time, they wonder, if the villain kills them now, just a week before this year’s poll results will be released?

Most unexpected death has a nice ring to it.

They should be trembling in terror. Might have, if the villain’s magic weren’t encasing them so – tight but soft and deceptively warm, lulling them in. The sticky heat of it leaves them squirming, stuck in a confusing limbo between gooey not-quite-discomfort and hot-bath sluggishness.

They’re drifting. Until they’re not.

It’s impossible to discern how much time has passed or when exactly the villain has released them; but their thoughts are beginning to clear and their brain catches up to the fact that there is air in their lungs again, and that the breathless, hiccuping gasps uncontrollably tumbling out of their mouth aren’t sobs. It’s laughter.

“Are you enjoying this?” The villain sounds incredulous.

They shake their head. “I don’t know,” they manage, between hysterical giggles. “Maybe. Yes?”

“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”

“I didn’t.”

That startles a short laugh out of him.

“I’ve never” – they pant, still struggling for air – “felt this alive before.”

“That sounds ... unhealthy.”

There is a long pause in which the villain silently stares at them while they are more or less regaining control over their breathing.

“You wouldn’t get it,” they say then, perfectly aware they must seem most unhinged. “Bet you don't even know what boredom is. Because your life is fun. Mine is not. I practically live at my stupid job, and my stupid job doesn't even pay well. No one there gives a fuck about me. And nothing exciting ever happens. So can I please just have this one damn moment without being judged?”

The villain hums, low. “And here I thought we were ruining each other’s days.” He presses a hand to their forehead. “Did the heat fry your synapses?” he asks, sounding more amused than concerned. His other hand comes up to cup the nape of their neck, as if he can’t help but reach out. Just as they can’t help but lean into the cooling touch. His gaze drops, as if drawn, to their lips. “Or, are you just naturally this unusual?”

They can smell gingerbread and mulled wine on his breath.

“Are you going to kiss me?” they ask, because yes their synapses are definitely fried and they do not care about consequences, awkwardness, or sanity anymore.

“Would you like me to kiss you?”

“I’d certainly much rather be kissed than killed. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats, smirking. “But we've established I’m not about to kill you. And that wasn’t a yes.”

“It’s not a no either.”

“Not how consent works, darling.”

They scoff. “You didn’t ask for consent first when you strangled me five minutes ago.”

The villain laughs again, in genuine delight judging by how his magic ripples and purrs.

“Okay, fair enough,” he whispers, shifting so his lips almost brush theirs.

The kiss that follows is sweet, surprisingly chaste, and initiated by the hero.

“So, since you mentioned earlier you have nowhere else to be today,” the villain says, afterwards, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Have you ever had the pleasure of being kidnapped?”

Pleasure, as it turns out over the course of the next few hours, is an understatement.

If anyone at the office were to find out what the hero has been up to during their first (and best) and possibly only solo field mission, not only are they guaranteed to get fired, their colleagues will also surely create an entirely new office ranking category in their honour:

First to be seduced by a supervillain.

[oddyseye]

Let’s talk about translations of the Odyssey for a second, because, honestly, I’m over here sobbing over how ridiculous some of these choices are.

Every time I pick up a new translation, I hope it’ll finally capture the true grit and messiness of Odysseus, but nope, every one of them polishes him up too much, turning him into either a tragic hero or a charming rogue. Where’s the Odysseus who lies as easily as he breathes, who manipulates his way through every encounter, and who leaves a trail of ruin wherever he goes? I want the man whose brilliance is as sharp as his selfishness, whose cleverness cuts both ways — not just a hero, but a survivor who’s as flawed as he is formidable.

Anyway, I’m gonna break down the biggest mistranslations that really make me want to pull my hair out and remind everyone how different the original Greek actually is. Prepare yourselves.

Let’s start with the absolute disaster that is Telemachus and Peisistratus’ bond. Homer used the word ὁμοφροσύνη to describe their relationship, a term that’s about fucking soulmates, alright? But what do these translators do? They water it down to “just good friends” or “nice companions.” It’s about a relationship where minds and hearts are aligned — telepathic level shit, not just a handshake between two dudes. Yet these translators just gloss over the whole thing, so you get this milquetoast version of their relationship when it’s actually so much more.

Homer says: "ὁμοφροσύνησιν ἐνὶ καρδίᾳ ἐνθα καὶ ἄλλων οὐδὲν ἐπέλθομεν" ("In like-mindedness of heart, where no other man could compare.") So, Telemachus sees Peisistratus as someone he’s totally aligned with, in a way that’s almost romantic in its depth. ὁμοφροσύνη is usually used for romantic couples most often.

Then, we’ve got Odysseus and Calypso, which — oh my god, don’t even get me started on this absolute trainwreck of a translation. The term ἀνάγκῃ is used when Homer talks about Odysseus’ “relationship” with Calypso, but translators somehow miss the force behind the word. It doesn’t just mean “necessity” like they’d have you think. It means force, violence, and distress. When Odysseus is on Calypso’s island, stuck there with her, it’s not this peaceful love story where Odysseus is some willing lover. It’s a prison. There’s no choice, and no one’s riding off into the sunset together. But translations just gloss over this desperation and make it sound so much more peaceful and comfortable than it ever was. It’s forced captivity, and the use of ἀνάγκῃ screams that: “ἔνθα μὲν ἀμφ᾽ ἀνάγκῃ, τῇ δὲ θεὰ ἐρῶσά μιν ἔσχε.” (“There he stayed out of necessity, for the goddess, in her love, held him there.”).

Homer uses the same word when Odysseus describes his time with Circe: “ἀλλ᾽ ἔμεν᾽ ἐν σπέσσι λαῶν ἀνάγκῃ.” (“But I stayed in her halls by necessity.”). Again, ἀνάγκῃ shows that Odysseus's relationship with Circe is dictated by forces beyond his control. His connection to her isn’t out of love or desire, but out of a divine obligation, a situation where choice is completely stripped away. It’s not love; it’s divine manipulation. So much for romantic freedom!

And let’s not forget how Homer actually portrays the suitors and their reaction to Antinous’ violence. After Antinous, in his full rage, decides to throw a chair at disguised Odysseus, other suitors chime in, disapproving of his actions. They say things like “ἀργὸς εἶναι,” which roughly translates to “you’re acting cowardly,” and “ἀτασθαλία,” meaning “reckless.” They’re still on the same side, sure, but they can’t quite get behind the utter savagery of his actions, and it’s maddening how this detail is often glossed over in some translations. They make it sound like they were all in on the violence, but in the original text, these suitors are not all cut from the same brutal cloth, no matter how much some translators want to make them seem like one big mob.

Homer uses the word οἰκέτες to refer to the people in Odysseus' house. "οἰκέτες" means slaves, people who are literally owned by the household. But oh, what happens in the translations? We get “maids” and “servants,” as if these slaves were just there because they wanted to be, doing chores like it was a normal job. But no, they’re not “maids,” and they sure as hell aren't "servants" in the modern sense. These people have no freedom — they belong to Odysseus. The translation of οἰκέτες as "maids" completely erases the brutality of the system that Homer is talking about.

Interestingly, Telemachus, who is often portrayed as rude or immature, calls these individuals “servants” or "maids" in a more respectful manner. This is the same guy who can barely get his act together most of the time, but here he is, calling the οἰκέτες — slaves, remember — not just slaves but “ἄνδρες ἰκέτες,” which translates to "men-servants" or “butlers.” Like, hello, Telemachus! For once, he’s actually treating them like people instead of just the property that they are in Homer’s original telling. Respectful? Who knew?

And lastly, let’s talk about Penelope. Odysseus, when he finally speaks to her, he says: "ἀλλὰ μὴ ἐπεὶ καὶ σὺ μὲν ἔμπεδος ἐν οἴκῳ, ἔτλησαν δ’ ἐμαὶ ἄλγεα." ("But you, steadfast in your home, endured my sorrows."). Odysseus sees Penelope as the rock, the one who has suffered patiently in his absence. Unlike the goddesses, she’s his equal in suffering, not a forced relationship due to divine will. He longs for her, and her presence stands in stark contrast to the chaotic, imposed relationships he’s had with Circe and Calypso. Penelope is the constant, the one Odysseus has chosen — no divine manipulation, just pure, enduring love.

Anyway, all of this goes to show that translations can twist what Homer was actually trying to say — especially when it comes to the relationships in the story. It’s frustrating to see these critical, subtle moments get flattened into bland, palatable phrases. Maybe if they spent less time trying to make everything sound "noble" and more time actually getting at the grit of what Homer wrote, we wouldn’t have to deal with these watered-down, emotionless versions of The Odyssey that everyone is so obsessed with.

[daryltwdixon]

hey! i have a request :) could you do daryl x fem reader who sings? she has never been too open about her singing but when she’s alone she’s singing all the time/humming to herself around others. she’s had a crush on him for a while but hasn’t been able to do anything about it because she’s not sure if he feels the same. but he hears her singing when she didn’t notice he was there and it sparks something <3

Daryl x Reader fluff

thank you so much for the request! I'm sorry I literally blanked on every cute folk song I've ever heard so I settled for this one that I hold dear to my heart from a trip I took to England. Hope this is kind of what you were hoping for!

here is the song

The sun dips low over the tree line surrounding the Greene farm, painting the sky in hues of deep orange and purple. For the first time since the world turned upside down, you feel something like ease. The farm is undeniably beautiful, a serene homestead somehow tucked away from the horrors beyond its borders.

You’re perched on the porch railing, a pair of knitting needles clicking softly in your hands as you work on a pair of woolen socks. Knitting had started as a hobby but quickly became a necessity when you realized just how unforgiving winter would be without the simple comforts of central heating and the yearly down coat you used to take for granted. Now, it’s your quiet mission to make sure everyone has warm socks before the temperature drops.

Knitting is a simple, repetitive task—one that keeps your hands busy but leaves your mind free to wander. Without even thinking, a soft melody escapes your lips. It’s a tune that’s always been stowed in the back of your mind, rising to the surface when the world around you feels still, or when you’re caught in the rhythm of something as peaceful as this.

mmm I want to linger,

mmm, a little longer

mmm, a little longer here with you

Between the steadiness of your needles and the soft melody humming from your lips, you don’t notice the figure standing on the steps until his boots creak against the top of the porch.

You nearly drop the fabric in your lap when you glance up and see Daryl Dixon, his blue eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place beneath his usual surly expression.

“S-sorry,” you stammer, gripping the knitting needles tighter. “Didn’t hear you comin’.”

He shrugs, a small, nonchalant motion, but his hand lifts to his mouth, the skin of his thumb settling between his teeth. It’s a gesture you’ve seen before, one you’ve come to recognize as his ‘thinking’ face. You hesitate, unsure whether to keep knitting or set it aside.

Daryl’s presence always leaves you off balance. There’s something about the quiet way he moves through the world—intimidating, yes, but also magnetic. You’re never sure how to act around him, but that hasn’t stopped you from wanting to be near him. Despite the brooding air and glowering gaze, you’ve caught glimpses of something softer beneath the surface.

“Don’t gotta stop ‘cause a’me,” he grumbles, his voice low, half-muffled behind his hand.

Your face grows warm under the weight of his gaze, and you quickly avert your eyes, focusing on the fabric in your lap, fumbling with it. “Oh, uh… it’s fine. I was gonna turn in soon anyway,” you mumble.

“You’re always singin’,” he says after a beat, his tone quiet. You can’t tell if it’s meant as a criticism or just an observation, but it catches you off guard all the same.

Your fingers pause over the fabric, smoothing the soft wool as you bite your lip. “I… I didn’t think anyone noticed,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

Daryl exhales sharply through his nose, a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a huff. He shifts on his feet, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him turn and make his way toward the rocking chair by the door.

You glance up, watching as he sets his crossbow down against the wall. Without a word, he settles into the chair with a kind of casual ease that only Daryl Dixon could make look both restless and deliberate. He leans forward, pulling one of his arrows free from the quiver, and begins sharpening the tip with his knife. The rhythmic scrape of metal on wood fills the silence.

“Well,” he grunts after a moment when he sees you still staring, looking up from his work, “go on then.”

Your brows knit together, caught off guard by his words. “Go on with… what?”

He spares you a brief glance, his knife stilling for a second before he returns to his task. “Singin’. Ain’t botherin’ me none.”

The heat in your face deepens, and you laugh softly, more out of nervousness than anything else. “I don’t really sing. Not, like, for people.”

“Ain’t askin’ for a concert,” he mutters, his voice gruff but not unkind. His attention fixes on the arrow in his hands then, but there’s something in the way he said it—something almost… expectant.

You hesitate, your fingers still fidgeting with the wool in your lap. The thought of singing with him sitting so close makes your chest feel tight, but the idea that he noticed, that he cared enough to listen, sparks something warm inside you.

After a long pause, you swallow your nerves and begin to hum a few soft notes, your voice barely audible over the sound of his knife scraping against the arrow. It’s tentative at first, shaky, but when he doesn’t react—just keeps sharpening his arrow with that same quiet intensity—you feel brave enough to let the melody take shape once again.

mmm, it's such a perfect night

mmm, it doesn't seem quite right

mmm, that it should be my last with you

The porch settles into an odd kind of harmony: the soft cadence of your voice mingling with the steady rhythm of his knife, your knitting needles back to work with a deliberate cadence. You steal a glance at him every so often, and for the first time, you notice the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. The world beyond the farm seems to fall away, leaving only the two of you under the fading light of the evening.

You let the melody flow, one note slipping into another, your voice growing steadier. There’s something about having Daryl nearby—his quiet presence—that makes you feel… safe. Like you don’t need to worry about being too loud, or drawing too much attention, because he’s there.

mmm, and as the years go by

mmm, I'll think of you and sigh

mmm, this is goodnight and not goodbye

Eventually, you glance over again, expecting to find him still sharpening his arrow, but instead, you freeze. His knife and arrow rest forgotten in his lap, and he’s sitting back in the chair, his arms crossed loosely in front of him as he chews his lip. His gaze is fixed on you, steady and warm, with a softness you’ve never seen from him before.

Your breath catches in your throat. “What?” you ask, your voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch or fumble for words like he sometimes does when he’s caught off guard. “Nothin’,” he says, his tone low and even. But the way he says it, the way his gaze lingers, it feels like more.

Your fingers tighten around the knitting needles still in your lap as you hold his stare, your heart beating louder than it should.

“You’re starin’,” you manage, a small, nervous laugh escaping you.

“Maybe,” he admits, the corner of his mouth tugging into the faintest hint of a smirk.

The continued warmth in his gaze sparks something in your chest, and for a moment, you feel like the air around you has shifted. You’ve seen Daryl angry, guarded, even awkward—but this? This is different. He’s not looking away, not retreating behind the usual walls you’ve come to expect. He’s just… watching you, like he’s really seeing you for the first time.

Neither of you say anything right away, but the silence doesn’t feel uncomfortable. It’s heavy in a way that makes you hyper-aware of the space between you, of the way his eyes stay on yours, steady and unflinching.

Finally, your lips tug into a small smile, letting out a sigh. He shifts forward, brushing his hand against the arrow he’d set aside. “You’re good at it,” he mutters, his voice low, like he’s not used to saying the words.

“Knitting?” you tease, trying to cut the tension with a little humor.

He lets out a quiet huff, shaking his head. “Singin’,” he says. “Ain’t just hummin’. You sound...nice.”

The sincerity in his tone makes your stomach flip, and your cheeks flush with heat. “Thanks,” you say softly, your voice more even than you expect.

The cool breeze nips at your skin, but you hardly notice, warmth spreading in your chest. There’s a look in his eyes—soft, almost contemplative—that makes your breath catch.

“Guess we should head in ‘fore it gets colder.” he says gruffly, as if remembering himself.

You nod, gathering your half finished socks and needles as you follow him toward the door. As you step inside, you can’t help but feel like something shifted tonight, something small but important. And for the first time, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he feels it too.

[menofprogress]

I saw someone say that Viktor constantly reaching out to Jayce and trying to get him on his side after he initially left him and after Jayce fought, rejected and shot at him makes no sense but i disagree.

Imho jayce and viktor are incredibly, INSANELY codependent, they were each others closest contact for nearly a decade, saw each other every day, single mindedly worked towards the same goal, etc. Their lives immediately take a nosedive once theyre even slightly separated from each other (viktor nearly dies, jayce kills a kid, viktor atomises sky and then nearly kills himself, jayce lands in apocalypse land and viktor starts a cult). They instinctively always act like theyre still partners, even when theyre clearly supposed to be enemies because not being together feels unnatural to them.

Jayce doesnt act consciously when reviving viktor using the hexcore and YES viktor is hurt and distressed bc he was essentially turned into rio and he feels like he needs to leave, but then what? He probably finds out about jayces disappearance a few days later and is like "oh no, oh fuck, i know I left HIM, but i didnt want this" i mean he probably thought jayce was dead.

So for a few months he builds his commune and deliberately integrates sentimental things about his and jayces partnership (his 'home' looks like the hexgates, hes still wearing the blanket, for some reason theres a forge in the commune) which, imho, shows hes mourning and missing jayce in his own way. (A special personal hc of mine is that he grew out his hair out of grief). And in the pit we have jayce sobbing and crying bc he misses both mel and viktor so much.

So jayce reappears and viktors like "heeeyyyy bestie, oh my god, i missed u come visit me!!!" And jayce is rightfully confused like "didnt YOU break up with ME?" and viktor is like "nooo, hahaha, i was crazy back then, just forget about it, pls visit me?" And is only mildly concerned by jayce killing one of his followers (and then hes also mostly concerned about jayce, not salo lol)

Then jayce arrives and shoots him and its very painful bc viktor fully didnt expect jayce to hurt him! Hes so shocked 😭

Anyways after that Viktor "attacks" (more like "does a mating dance for") jayce in the council room and AGAIN asks him to join his emo band and is AGAIN shocked and hurt when jayce genuinely fights back and rejects him. Viktor is temporarily hurt and gives singed the ok to start the process.

And then as the fully transformed herald he STILL talks about how happy he is to see jayce and doesnt really put any effort into neutralising him. Like he could have just shot him hbxhnxgkhfj

All the while we have jayce talking big talk about stopping viktor, but when it comes down to it?? He doesnt manage to take him out and still talks to him. And then he sees Viktor in the astral realm and once there is a SLIVER of hope hes immediately like "oh thank god i can stop trying to kill him, this was never going to work"

All of this isnt contradictory to me. It means that both of them actually know that they should be on opposing sides now, they start acting according to the idea that the other one is now an enemy, they make plans accordingly, but when it comes down to it theyre reluctant to actually follow through bc that would mean a life without the other and thats worse than staying enemies forever.

Viktor kept reaching out, hoping to be partners again after MULTIPLE rejections and jayce couldnt bear to kill viktor or to let him die alone. Being apart from each other is quite literally the worst thing for either of them, so the instinct to reach out to each other will always take over.

[ryleektv]

Can you write something for Lorenzo Berkshire and have it be where he love it when you wear pink? Like it’s his favorite color on you! Like one day when y’all are in his or your room and y’all are making out and then he sees you wearing a pink bra and then he checks to see if it’s a set and it is! So then it just leads to smut! If you don’t want to write this I’d understand.

AHHHHH omg the fact that i got this the SAME day i dressed up in all pink to go watch wicked is INSANE (wicked is absolutely amazing btw) like full glinda coded eyeshadow and pink eyeliner and everything. also i am sick (AGAIN, ive quite literally been sick constantly for the past 3 months bc my immune system might as well not exist)

anyways i hope this is good enough pooks

Favorite Color

(on his favorite girl)

bf!lorenzo berkshire x f!reader

WARNINGS: smut, unprotected p in v, fingering, ummm biting?, whipped Lorenzo, not proofread, lowkey not Toxic!Lorenzo??? SUMMARY: Lorenzo's favorite color was famously red. But on you? Pink all the way.

WC: 1.4k

"Hey, princess- okay then." Lorenzo stopped in the doorway, his hands up as he dodged the shoe you threw in his direction. "Why're you so pissed off, hm?"

You groaned out incoherent swears at him before flopping over onto your back, leaving you bed sheets warm where you had been. "What do you want?"

"To spend time with my beautiful sweet girlfriend and find out who pissed in her tea?" He questioned as he took a careful step forward. "What can I do, honey?"

"I don't know." You mumbled with a heavy sigh. "Don't hate me, but I don't think I wanna do date night out tonight."

Lorenzo took another few steps before sitting down at the edge of the bed, his thumb delicately brushing your cheek.

"I'd never hate you. You sure you don't want to go out? I know you love getting all dressed up to show off."

You watched him carefully as his fingers traced over your t-shirt. You'd gotten half way ready, your hair and makeup done perfectly, before you realized that not only was your dress in need to be washed, but it was pouring out, and your picnic date was a complete waste.

Lorenzo, of course, was quick to call and ask if you wanted to just go get dinner at a restaurant instead, to which you agreed. But, none of your other clothes seemed good enough, and to make matters even worse, you found out last minute that you flunked on an important Potion's exam.

"I don't even have anything to wear," You complained quietly, resting your head on his thigh and tugging the blankets back up so you'd stay warm.

He looked over at the piles of clothes thrown everywhere, but like a smart man, didn't say anything.

"Can we just stay in tonight?"

"Of course,"

"That is not realistic, I mean, who the hell stabs someone like that? And- and blood doesn't just spurt our like that unless you hit an artery." Lorenzo tutted, still tracing circles on your shoulder with the tip of his index finger. "That's just not how it works."

You looked up at him with furrowed brows, your head rested on his chest as you watched the horror movie on the screen with your boyfriend. "Why the hell do you suddenly know so much about the logics of stabbing? Should I be concerned, Enzo?"

"No, I'm just saying. There's science behind this stuff, and if the were really that interested in spending what I assume to be millions on making this movie, you'd think they would at least put a little research into it."

"You're psychotic."

"It turns you on, though." He looked down at you as he wiggled his eyebrows jokingly.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and turned back to the television and watched as the killer proceeded to drag the protagonists dead body towards the woods.

"Deny it, maybe?"

You burst out laughing and looked up at Enzo who was watching you with a mixture of concern and amusement. "Oh, baby, I'm not denying shit."

Lorenzo's brown eyes stared down at you with a sparkle you could recognize from a mile away, his lips brushing up into a smirk.

"Enzo," You whispered, fully intending to spur him on.

His lips immediately crashed to yours, his hands tugging you closer as yours went to his hair.

You let out a soft sigh, eliciting a quiet groan from Lorenzo as he seemed to try to pull you impossibly closer to him. You could feel him already touching all over you, exploring every inch of your body as if it was his first time near a woman.

Still continuing your quickly escalating make-out session, he maneuvered the two of you so he was propped up over your body, his teeth nipping at you bottom lip before his tongue met yours in a familiar dance.

His hands came back to your hair, stroking over it as you pulled at him, both of you already breathing heavily into each other's mouths, gasping in each other's air as it got hotter.

And because Lorenzo would rather die than do it himself, you gently pushed him up so the two of you could breathe properly for a moment, his wild eyes staring down into yours as he gasped for breath, his lips swollen and wet as he grinned.

"Go lock the door," You murmured, four words that drove him mad, quickly scrambling off of you and practically running to the door as he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

If only he'd put as much effort into his school work as he did locking the door when you'd ask.

You sat up slightly, pulling the oversized t-shirt over your head to reveal the pink lace bra you'd planned to wear for your restaurant date.

Lorenzo shuddered out a breath as his eyes dropped to the bra, lips parted slightly as his eyes softened. "Fucking hell,"

His gaze hovered over your breasts before looking up at you with a questioning whisper, "Is it?"

"Why don't you come see for yourself?" You grabbed his belt loop with your middle finger, pulling him over to you before rejoining your lips with his as he climbed back over you, smiling into the kiss as you lifted your hips to help as he slowly pulled down your shorts.

You watched as his eyes darkened at the sight of your matching pink panties, Enzo's fingers rubbing slow circles on your clit over the fabric as you let out a soft sigh of relief.

"I don't think I tell you enough how beautiful you are." He mumbled against your lips as he slowly pushed the fabric of your panties to the side and easily pushed two fingers into you.

You let out a gasping moan, pulling on his hair as he curled his fingers hard inside of you, picking up the pace as flashes of heat grew all over your body in pulses.

"Enzo- shit- fuck me, please just-" You cut off with a whimper. "Just fuck me already." You practically pleaded as your eyes welled up with tears at the pleasure of his fingers curling perfectly inside you, his thumb starting up rough circles on your clit.

Lorenzo must have been like a dog in heat tonight, because he was clearly too desperate to make you beg, instead just undoing his belt and pulling off his pants and boxers faster than you'd ever seen him before.

His tip pressed against your entrance as he rested his forehead against yours, letting out a groan as he slipped in, your back arching at the perfect fit.

"Oh, fuck, Enzo," You breathed, arms wrapping over your shoulders as he started slowly thrusting in and out of you.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, gently biting at your flesh as he sped up. "You feel so good, princess."

Your head tipped back as you felt his fingers speeding up as they circled your clit again, making the knot in your stomach form far faster than usual.

You pressed your hips back against his, meeting it time with his thrusts and pushing him deeper inside of you as you listened to his moans pressed into your skin, your own mouth agape as you whined at the sharp tug of your skin between his teeth.

"Oh, Gods, Enzo- Enzo, I'm so fucking close." You moaned into his hair, nails digging into his tensed back as you closed your eyes, legs shaking slightly.

"C'mon, I've got you." He pulled away from your neck, kissing the corner of your mouth. "I am too."

With one more thrust you tipped over the edge, vision going blank as you gave way to the waves of please, heat coursing through your body as if your blood was replaced with lava, chest heaving as tears slipped past your waterline, rolling down your cheeks before Lorenzo gently kissed them away.

You wrapped your legs tighter around Lorenzo as he was about to pull out, interrupting his panicked glance, "I'll get a vial." You breathed, with less than a second difference before he was finishing inside of you, the both of you moaning at the feeling.

Lorenzo flopped down on top of you, wrapping his arms around your waist as his face buried in your chest. "I love you,"

You brushed back his hair with the tips of your fingers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I love you, too, Enzo."

i kinda hate this too but thats okay bc i wrote it was 3am and thats excuse enough

requests are open as always and i promise i am in fact still working on a slytherin boys christmas im just severely behind

[izsheum]

Hello!!!

Can i listen to you yap about rodimus and swerve for hours please 🥺🥺🥺🥺

WHEN I TOLD YOU I JUMPED FOR JOY!!!

ugh these guys have been in my brain for a bit now…i swear

“it’d be cool if i took my favs and made them kiss haha that’d be so silly” and then Boom. I kept thinking.

have some art of them i am in the trenches methinks

when i tell you they are PEAK yapper + louder yapper…

like i genuinely believe that’s how it can start. two losers who love to hear themselves talk? it should be a recipe for disaster.

However.

it’s not like swerve doesn’t know when it’s not his turn to talk. he’s got a big mouth, and criminal levels of audacity, but he has manners. and that means that whenever rodimus goes on and on about whatever bullshit he had to deal with during the day, he listens.

and, good lord, rodimus can definitely talk.

he does so with swerve probably after having a few because i mean…that’s how this starts, surely. a bottle of top-shelf and a purely functional arrangement.

(hundreds of words of sleep-deprivation-induced writing under the cut. i am so sorry. completely sfw btw just barely on the edge of suggestive.)

predictably, swerve’s constant chatter is bearable after rodimus gets in a few drinks. and in the beginning of Whatever The Hell They Got Going On starts with the two of them building a routine.

swerve supplies the shots of liquid stress relief and a listening ear (audio processor? cybertronian anatomy is lost on me), and rodimus provides what can only be described as a semi-coherent stream of complaints and whines about his day. and he has a lot to gripe about—he’s suffering from an acute case of ‘doomed by the narrative’, primus help him.

and swerve, for the most part, is quite a good active listener. not that rodimus would ever admit that out loud (for now) because swerve wouldn’t be able to keep that kinda praise to himself. i mean, the guy raved for months after getting his own rodimus star…yeah, no, not happening. rodimus’ appreciation will remain unspoken, thank you very much.

he gets his sentiment of ‘thank you for listening to my bullshit, you’re such a good friend’ out there by continuing to show up. same time, every day, like clockwork. he’s there in the bar, long laundry list of things he’s going to cry like a baby about, and swerve is at the ready with the fainting couch. their little ‘whine and cheese hour’ (as swerve calls it. rodimus will adamantly deny that he likes the name. it’s not clever. it’s not! it’s apparently a human thing, anyways. little thief.) is probably the only thing he’s ever on-time for at this rate.

having someone listen politely to your woes is. nice! having someone gently try and guide you into solutions to said problems is…manageable, i suppose.

having someone who gasps dramatically and exclaims “i can’t believe you had to deal with that—you’re so much stronger than me for putting up with such scrap” is euphoric.

because since getting the weight of the universe thrust on his shoulders again and again. since he had it ground into him every single day that he needs to be this mature, wise, thoughtful leader who doesn’t react to problems with complaints, but rather calm understanding followed by benevolent resolution…rodimus has completely, truly missed just being able to talk shit.

and, oh, does swerve just love that song and dance.

this isn’t therapy, and neither of them are going to pretend it is, though the constant flow of drinks does manage to feel like something akin to self-medication after a while. their lives are messy, god damn it, and they’re going to cope with it messily!

and cope they do. and they talk. a lot. and—for some reason—it helps. turns out, when you get to vent all your frustrations towards someone who knows how to match your energy exactly, you feel seen. not as this esteemed figure who needs to watch what he says and make sure he keeps up the display of picture-perfect-motivational-cat-poster-leader twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five…but as just. a guy. a guy with a lot on his shoulders and a lot more on his mind. turns out, talking with swerve ends up helping rodimus feel normal.

go figure.

and somewhere between the start of their little unofficial gossip sessions and the end of another bottle of the good engex, something bubbles up that wasn’t there before. and it isn’t the carbonation in the cocktail.

feelings. affectionate ones. rodimus goes to recharge afterwards all giddy, like some newly forged spark still buzzing with boundless energy, and honestly? he feels like he might be going crazy. might need some actual fucking therapy, because ho-ly shit he is not about to entertain this. not at all.

because, let’s be real here, it’s swerve we’re talking about. swerve. s-w-e-r-v-e. the ‘shut your damn mouth’ guy? he used to annoy the living hell out of rodimus when he first came aboard, and nowadays rodimus finds himself excited at the thought of going to talk to him again.

war changes people…and, okay, the war is. over, technically. but still. maybe he hit his head a little too hard during a mission. yeah! yeah, that’s it. little concussion knocked a couple things loose in his processor. that’s why he’s suddenly wanting to share more than just his woes with the little ‘bot. that’s why he starts asking swerve about himself, why he starts listening back. chimes in every so often with “huh, i never knew that” or “you should show that to me some time” when swerve goes on his little tirades about foreign media.

why rodimus can’t help but wonder how that big mouth would feel against—

phew! yeah, definitely brain damage. because the alternative is that rodimus has started feeling terrible, awful, affectionate things for swerve. and that just won’t do. nope!

but ohhhhhh god, does that do nothing to stop his imagination. because really. how would swerve fare if he used that mouth for something else—

thankfully for rodimus, swerve is an avid fan of imagining things that he can never have. dreaming like the hopeless mech he is about a future that only someone as deeply delusional and para-social as himself could think up.

in his swerve-y fantasy, the talks start to mean something. rodimus goes from coworker to situational friend to…something. something that he can’t place his finger on. but it’s something that he doesn’t believe he can have. because while rodimus laughs at his jokes…he’s also laughing drunk. and swerve is desperate to let people close, sure. he likes people, he wants friends, he loves connection. but he’s not stupid. a bit air-headed? sure. but not dumb. not by a long shot. he has a mental list of things that he can try to have (friendship, a successful business, endless adventures with said friends that he plans to get more of, he swears), and things that are off-limits.

you can guess which box rodimus starts to fall into.

doesn’t mean he can’t…y’know. think about him. a lot. find excuses to comm him about this or that, subtly hint that he misses him…uh, he meant their talks! offer him free drinks just to see the way his face lights up. deny the suspicion of special treatment by reminding rodimus that he’s the captain! c’mon! of course he deserves a little leeway!

and ignore the fact that the reassurance is more for himself.

swerve is so good at believing that this something he imagines with rodimus is so, so far out of reach that he thinks it’s a joke when rodimus propositions him for the first time.

and, c’mon, he’s gotta be having auditory hallucinations. because there’s no fucking way in the world—in the galaxy, or in the whole universes that he’s visited, for that matter—that (co-) captain fucking rodimus prime-not-prime-status-still-pending-thanks-a-lot-matrix-of-lameship asked to borrow him for the evening. he nearly drops the glass in his hand.

because that’s the only way rodimus can bring himself to phrase it when he finally fucking gets through all five-billion stages of grief over this stupid crush. god. he was so pathetic. the worst part was that he didn’t even care anymore.

“yo! are you working tonight? can i borrow you for the rest of it? we can watch that movie you were talking about earlier this week, or whatever.”

or whatever. rodimus would’ve just tossed himself out the nearest airlock if he wasn’t glued to his recharged slab (not literally, this time) rocking back and forth like an asylum patient. he could hear the cries now—nurse! nurse! he’s out again!

successful attempts at being casual: zero. days since last urge to ram his head into the wall: also zero.

swerve’s response comes in quickly just before rodimus contemplates jumping ship and taking a page outta megatron’s book and starting a new life in another universe. and if rodimus wasn’t busy having a fucking panic attack, he’d’ve noticed the undercurrent of excitement in swerve’s voice when he strains out those six little words.

“sure thing! your place or mine?”

it ends up being at rodimus’. more space meant more wall for the projection of ‘Alien’.

not that they ended up paying much attention to the movie by the time the fledgling xenomorph got loose.

and liiiisten. listen. they didn’t plan on it going that way, alright? major props to ridley scott—the two of them were intensely invested in the film for a good long while. but, as per usual, swerve brought drinks to help ease the tension that threatened to smother them as soon as he entered rodimus’ quarters.

he would’ve pat himself on the back, too, if he wasn’t so consumed by the way the light of the projection reflected off of rodimus’ frame. and rodimus would’ve thanked him (and i mean, like, actually thank him, no reluctance left in him whatsoever) if he wasn’t so focused on the warmth of swerve next to him.

the elephant in the room was slaughtered and left for dead in the same way as the crew of the nostromo as soon as they locked eyes.

and rodimus ended up being right.

swerve’s mouth could do a lot more than just talk.

[ender-cloud]

HYDE IS IN THIS UPDATE HOLY SHIT!!!

Tgs spoilers under cut

Haha, you guys remember that one off comment i made last week

Ha ha ha……. Oh god, I’ll get to that when I get to it. Lets start with more of Jaspers good points and leadership skills first

Jasper makes a great point here.

The Lodgers are the society! They make the magic, the energy, the environment, Jekyll is just the ring leader of it all making sure things don’t get to out of hand, but in the end he had started to have a hard time being able to find that control and keep them in check.

This is why a type of “revolution” like this will do more good then harm in this situation because it will allow Jasper to take Jekylls place of keeping everyone together as the times turn and they need to protect themselves.

But uh… maybe the lodgers might not see this as I do

Ok ok, I get the Lodgers hesitants, Fritz brought to my attention that because Jasper is the newest lodger, despite everything they probably dont have enough trust in him.

Which I definitely get, they are in hard times right now and its hard to trust Jasper, even if they’ve known him for a while they were just betrayed by someone they’ve known for years, how can they trust someone they’ve known for a little over a month (I think)

Also theres a reason why I said that one off comment, not only because it was a trope I see a lot, but because I truly felt like it was a possibility

BUTTTT!! With this it doesn’t necessarily mean that they wont 100% not follow through with what Jasper is saying.

It is clear that they are unsure, yes, but they may need to think it over, and theres got to be a few lodgers who agree with his points.

Some who agree with Jasper that may help the other Lodgers get on board to. If they are truly Reluctant to Jasper leading them because they haven’t known him for long, if some people who they have been living with for years joining up may give them the boost to join.

Jasper made many great points in his speech, and with so many people not everyone could have disagreed with what he said.

I believe this moment of doubt will be just that, a moment, but once other people start agreeing and maybe adding their own points, then it will grow into what Jasper wanted before, the lodgers believing him and letting him lead them in this hard time

It will be the next part of this turning point into someone more confident for Jasper, because while motivating the lodgers with words might be easy, actually forming a plan and leading them through it will be harder, it will also teach him to not give up quickly when things look bad.

Hyde’s just casually acting like he didn’t just have a mental breakdown and immediately just teases Lanyon (I love them so much chat it’s unreal)

ALSO THIS CONFIRMS THAT HYDES MENTAL BREAKDOWN WAS HAPPENING THE SAME TIME AS JASPERS SPEACH!!!

Anyway, back to the actual pannel.

I find it interesting how in Hydes head, he also has a reputation to keep up, its not just Jekyll. The only difference is that hyde has his tough guy, bad boy rep (I hate myself for saying that) He cant let anyone see his weakness, not even Jekyll.

He clearly has mentally trained himself to be able to just change his mood on a switch, but even if he can change how he acts his face has to show some evidence of what happened, i mean we’ve seen him be a little bloody from the glass and Lanyon must have seen that too.

He might be talking about what Hyde looks like when he said he made quite a mess out of himself, not only the glass, which might make Hyde nervous, i feel like he wont be able to keep his facade up for long with how he was acting before.

It’s a little hard delve into the few words they exchanged but im excited for the next update, which may include some blaming of what happened to Jekyll.

(Also more Lanyon and Hyde which I’ll take anyday 🙏🙏)

Happy Holidays Btw!! I hope you have a great Christmas or anything you may celebrate!!

[zevlovor]

Can I ask for your thoughts about how Zevlor would react to Tav accidentally saying you want to kiss him out loud while staring at his lips please?

Pairing: Zevlor x gn Reader Tav

Setting: The morning after you and Zevlor were shamelessly flirting the night away and he kissed your cheek goodnight.

_

Zevlor was going on and on about everything you needed to prepare for battle. Formations, weapons, equipment, medicine, spells, strategies, etc. You were *not* paying attention.

To what he was saying anyway.

His perched, supple lips had a way of moving that entranced you like an exotic dance. You admired the subtle wrinkle that dented the middle of his pouty bottom lip. What you wouldn't give to feel those lips against yours.

"I hope that covers everything, Tav. Actually, I don't think we went over everyone's prepared spells. Maybe if we-" He tilted his head at you. He noticed the vacant look in your gaze, as if in a trance. "My dear, are you alright?" His eyes swell with concern for you. You are sitting there, objectifying him, and all he can do is be *concerned* for you.

You come to your senses for a moment, "Me? Oh.. yes. Yes of course. Mostly thanks to you. I may have never gone to sleep if you didn't make me."

Zevlor raises a brow with a bit of a cheeky grin playing at those delicious lips, "Is that so? I am quite honored considering you don't strike me as someone who does what they are told." He lets out a hearty chuckle. You watch as his velvet rose-colored lips stretch into a charming grin. His mouth has complete control over you right now. You can't control what you say next.

"I would do anything you say for a kiss on the lips, honestly" you blurt. Your face heats up with embarassment, but you don't really regret it.

Zevlor is taken aback. He has turned down the advances of many suitors in favor of his duties. But you didn't seem to mind how dutiful he was. He couldn't deny the fact that he had been dreaming of kissing your lips for days. He has no idea how to respond, he tries not to lose his cool.

"I suppose I did tease you a bit with that kiss on the cheek last night," he admits. Although, from his perspective, he wasn't trying to tease you. He thought you were a worthy but young ally, and he only wanted to be a gentleman. You would prefer he stop being a gentleman right now.

"Zevlor, we didn't really discuss morale for battle strategy. I think I will fight much better if you..." your voice trails off as does your confidence. Zevlor can see how he's torturing you. He can't leave you hanging any longer.

"Tav..." his deep, soothing, husky voice caresses your ears. He takes your cheek in his large calloused hand and tilts his head, lowering his lips to meet yours.

He kisses you deeply, pressing his lips into you like you are water and he hasn't had a drink for weeks. You have no idea how long he's been wanting to do this.

You whimper as the kiss takes your breath away, closing your eyes and sinking into the sensation. He tastes like cinders mixed with honey, reminiscent of his hypnotic eyes. You can feel the heat of his skin and the pressure of his embrace as he pulls you closer to him with his other hand. He has a strong, firm, presence, but is alarmingly gentle for such a rugged man.

You couldn't help but slip your tongue into his mouth as he pulls away, just to signal that you will definitely be back for more. He goes silent and looks at you with eyes of a nervous puppy, awkwardly stammering, "Th-that was.. truly wonderful, Tav."

You smile at him confidently. He is so cute when he's flustered. "Now that was a kiss for good luck. Should we both survive, we can pick up where we left off tonight..." you flash him a playful grin. Zevlors eyes widen at your invitation. He quickly comes up with a smooth response.

"We'll have to wait and see if you can still do what you're told then, darling." Zevlor winks, your clear attraction for him growing his confidence. It isn't long before the others join the two of you, forcing you both to remain professional once again. It's almost time to face the music and save the Grove.

Zevlor fights only for his people or his values. Today, he will be fighting for you.

END

-

Thank you for this ask, anon!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰

I wanted to post a little something for you guys today. For those of you who celebrate any holidays this season, I wish you a happy one. Having all of you as followers and friends in this lovely little community was the best gift I could have hoped for 🫶

And soon, very soon I hope, I will be posting something other than straight fluff 🤭 it is just too fun to write 😘

Love you all 🫶

⚔️❤️‍🔥Krys❤️‍🔥⚔️

[misspelledwordswizard]

Hello there!✨️ First of all, I wanted to say that your writing is amazing! Keep up the good work ;3.

Anyway, I wanted to make a request (if you have too many, please ignore this. Don't overwork yourself). This might be a little cliche, but here is what I had in mind. "The Chain x Mulan!Reader." Mostly their reaction when they find out that the reader is a female.

Like the boys, the reader has the spirit of the hero, but in her time, women aren't allowed to fight or do anything that the men do at all. So, just like Mulan, the reader runs away from home, pretends to be a boy, and fights against Ganon's armies. Even after meeting the Chain, her identity remains hidden. One day, she gets badly hurt, and when they tend to her wounds that's when they notice that he is a she.

You can ignore this if you want ^^, but yeah, that is basically my request. Have a great day, evening, or night.

Again, your work is amazing! ✨️✨️✨️👏✨️✨️✨️

Oh, you are so sweet, thank you so much!!! I really loved doing this, did I mention I love mixing fandoms? cuz I love it so much! Anyway, I hope you like it, dear <3333

The fight against the group of Bokoblins was going smoothly, that is until a Moblin appeared, right behind me, while I was dealing with one of them, a particularly strong one. I must admit that I’ve had better days, this wasn’t a day when I was lucky, I dare say I was very unlucky today, but that was certainly the worst part. 

I barely had time to turn around to see the monster before being hit hard by its attack, and suddenly, Boom, I blacked out. Darkness, I can’t feel my body, and I don’t even know what was happening to my companions. My mind guided me to the day I met them, my fellow heroes, who bore a similar fate to mine, with one small big difference, of course. 

It was a strange day a few months ago, I passed through a suspicious portal thinking it might be some kind of enemy attack, and suddenly I fall in front of nine heroes of Hyrule from different eras.  They welcomed me as one of their own, even though I wasn’t so sure about it myself, and since then we’ve been working together on this mission to stop the shadow and its abnormally strong monsters. Simple, right? 

Wrong, not simple at all. Of course, I already have some experience in hiding my true gender, after all, I had to do it throughout my adventure to save Hyrule in the past, the problem is that now I was constantly surrounded by men! This ended up becoming a huge nightmare. As much as I like the boys, as much as I now see them as my own family, I don’t know if I can tell them the truth. No one knows about this secret of mine, and I fear how they might react, so I’ve been avoiding the subject. 

It was hard, really hard.  Like the times they decided to all go into the river together to cool off, it was hard enough to deal with all those shirtless men without freaking out, and it was even worse because they expected me to do the same, and when I didn’t, they were all over me, worried, thinking there was something wrong, that maybe I was sick or insecure about scars, which they made a point of giving me a lecture about how normal it was, and that I should be proud of mine, because they showed that I was a survivor. Very welcoming, but I still didn’t go in. 

Even with these difficulties, so far, I have managed to hide my secret well, for my own safety. Until now. 

When I finally woke up from my blackout, I felt lost, it took me a while to notice the new environment and my traveling companions who had gathered around me. I was lying on the bed of an inn, everyone was looking at me with curiosity and concern as I tried to sit up in bed, the blanket slipped, revealing that I was without my tunic.  I wore a girdle around my torso that helped to reduce the volume of my bust and keep it mostly hidden, but without the layers of clothing to disguise it, there was no way they could help but notice my visibly feminine silhouette, and it was quite obvious that they had already noticed it. 

It didn’t take long for panic to start to hit me, all the nervousness, the anguish that I kept along with my secrets, ready to overflow. I could feel my own body reacting to this, heating up uncomfortably, and apparently the others noticed it too. Time approached me and rubbed my back gently, in an attempt to calm me down. 

— Calm down, breathe, it’s okay, you don’t need to be nervous. 

— I... – Tears overcame me before I could formulate a complete sentence, which made the task even more difficult. – I’m sorry! I had to do this, no one would ever accept that the hero of the kingdom was a woman, it was the only way. I didn’t have the courage to tell you because I didn’t want you to see me as incapable or treat me differently, please, please don’t hate me! 

The tears, the occasional sobs and my crying voice only made everything harder to understand, and I didn’t have the courage to look them in the eyes, I didn’t want to see their faces of disappointment. The wound on my back hurt as I curled up trying to hide my humiliation. 

— Hate you? What the hell are you talking about, why would we hate you, girl?! – The Veteran’s somewhat aggressive voice left me confused about how I should feel, but his sentence left me confused. 

— Yeah, there’s no reason for that, my dear, it’s understandable that you were afraid to reveal your secret when you were raised with such prejudiced thoughts, but that just shows us how strong you were. – The calmness in Sky’s speech was comforting, but I was still confused. Didn’t they care, really? 

— Your gender doesn’t change who you are, nor does it make you weaker or more incapable, it just shows how amazing you are for being able to deal with all of this! – The Champion’s excitement and support helped me gather courage and look at them again. 

— But... aren’t you mad that I hid this from you? – Even calmer, my crying voice still remained as I sniffled trying to control myself. Twilight just shook her head, as if this was an absurd idea.   

— Of course not, you were just protecting yourself, darlin’.  

— Actually, now that makes a lot of sense, it explains a few things... – The Traveler says thoughtfully, before turning his attention back to me. – And most importantly, are you feeling any pain? – I just shake my head negatively, it was nothing serious, it seems like my injury was practically healed.  

— Look, no matter what they say, you’re one of us, okay? Never forget that. – Warriors speaks in a soft and comforting voice, and I tried hard not to burst into tears again, wiping the tears before they could fall and giving a smile that was a mix of relief and happiness.  

Wind approached me and hugged me tightly, I couldn’t hold it this time and shed a few tears seeing my boy being so affectionate and understanding, partly also because this hug was very close to where I had been hit, but he didn’t need to know that.  I hug him back until he finally pulls away to look at me, wiping away his own tears. 

— Look how cool, now besides being able to say that I have eight super cool older brothers, I can also say that I have an even cooler older sister! – His excitement at this fact made me laugh, and I ruffled his hair affectionately.  

— To tell you the truth, I already knew. – Four’s speech made everyone’s attention turn to him. – I mean, there were some small details that made me suspicious, but I kept quiet, especially since the secret wasn’t mine. I figured you’d say something when you felt ready, and I didn’t see any problem with that. – He just shrugged naturally. His cunning and intelligence sometimes scares me, usually those with the hero’s spirit don’t use their brains much, we usually leave that job to the princesses.  

— By the way... – My attention went back to the Sailor, who seemed thoughtful. – Is your name really Link?  

— No! – I said and laughed at the suspicious expression the youngest gave me.  – I just used it as a codename, if I used my real name, it would be pretty obvious that I’m a woman. And also, that’s the Hero’s name, right? – Everyone seemed to agree with the logic, but it didn’t diminish their curiosity about my real name, which I had no problem revealing. 

— Well, at least now you’ll be lucky enough to be called by your name, unlike the rest of us who have to deal with this bunch of nicknames to try to differentiate ourselves! – Legend pointed out, making me laugh. 

I can get used to being called by my real name again. 

[absolutely-not-my-main-blog]

Holes. Keys. What Have You.

I have full analyses I've been wanting to actually do and gather images for over the entire past year, but in the meantime, have this <3.

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Points at you. 10 and/or 11 for starstruck?

Two starstruck asks,,,,,,joy of joys,,

Part of an ask game linked here.

#10. What's an au you have for them?

Since them meeting at all is technically an AU i have 3 different ways that they do meet up. There's the one where Juniper ends up with the agency/adjacent to and ends up working with Reggie (have written a fic with this). The next one is Juniper surviving but basically going stealth and living as normal of a life as he can and ending up meeting Reggie through chance (most recent fic I've written). And then there's my personal favourite where Reginald "You're lucky my tracking skills are still up to snuff" Crane keeping himself busy after Phoenix was MIA and finding Juniper still alive (fic I want to write but haven't started mainly because it may end up multi chapter).

In terms of more AU canon bending taking them and putting them in a completely unrelated situation...I have a guilty pleasure Warrior Cats AU for IEYTD in general. Both JJ and Reggie have perfect warrior cats suffixes in their names already (Juniper and Crane) so they're called Junipersong (charcoal bengal) and Craneflight (tabby Norwegian forest cat). It's very silly but the amount of scenes I have in my mind for it...good lord...

#11. How was their first kiss like?

Augh my friend Imp wrote an absolutely excellent fic about it (tragically in the realm of unfinished Google docs) and I'm shaking their hand about it so hard. Basically Juniper kissing Reggie but he like wasn't ready/fully expecting it and Juniper absolutely panicking because he thinks he's misread every interaction between them both since they got closer. The second one is much sweeter though,,

[stevethehairington]

first book of 2024 = finished woooohoooo!!!!

[apathyfairy]

someone who is good at reading too much into nothing pls analyze my dream

[arolesbianism]

Why would I draw or further flesh out the other members of Chou's party when I can instead think abt how all of them play in game and spiral out into making up a shit ton of other game mechanics that do not matter to the actual story

[gonzodangerfeels]

I usually just squeeze the carotid a little bit letting you continue to breath

If I am in a mood I might restrict breathing too though.