#perhaps im being too dramatic but oh well!!!

[sinclarify]

i haven't even finished tsh yet but the fact that there's people out there who genuinely like these characters so much, not within the context of how they're written but in an 'im in love with them way' is really absurd to me because every single one of these characters have filled me at times with the sort of terror and unease that i can only describe as a half-empty convenience store where the lights buzz and drone and are such a pallid shade of yellow that you feel quite sick and it feels like you've entered a realm so disconnected from your own reality that anything could happen and even just the sluggish, weary half-stand of the cashier is an act of hostility and you just want to get out of there as quickly as possible. does that make sense.

[vatelixx]

The visionary, the willing executor,

Spencer Reid x afab!UNSUB!reader (written with mid!seasons Spencer Reid in mind)

SMUT!! copious amounts of angst (there’s traces of fluff in there as well if u get out ur magnifying glass)

BASED ON THIS SONG (it got so stuck in my head that I had to write something that correlated):

──── autistic spencer (it’s not explored that much, but it’s always gonna be present in my oneshots), evil evil reader (im not being dramatic this time. she’s literally a serial killer. like her ‘body count’ is copious. but idk, she’s kinda sweet. if u squint and ignore the bodies). They were in love ur honour !!! they’re still in love ur honour !!!! She pays him a visit two years after he found out about her homicidal tendencies (they miss each other, Spencer might also hate her a little but it’s okay, don’t worry about that).

Warnings: sub spencer (aaaaaaalways), maybe perhaps some vague, very faint mentions of switch!spencer but idk i blacked out writing this, choking, mentions of death and general behaviour that would get you a life sentence, praise more than degradation surprisingly, coming untouched, crying (you’d think that was a kink or something?), she fucks the good out of him, hopeful ending (eh, kinda), mentions of dante’s inferno, copious amounts of religious imagery, greek mythology references, this isn’t dead dove at all i promise.

w.c: 5k

a/n: everything i write has been so angsty recently. i’m working on something softer for my next upload i swear (alongside the requests, I promise, they’re being written im just a die-hard perfectionist). aaaaanyway, happy (belated) halloween!! It’s Spencer’s favourite season so i thought i’d write him getting destroyed by a serial killer (god when is it my turn????)

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Spencer would consider himself a good person, by default. It’s reasonable: a renowned member of the BAU, with intellect he’s weaponized for morality. The blood etched onto his hands is justified. Necessary evil for greater cause. He’s willing to blemish his skin for the virtue, for the lives of others.

He remembers naivety. He remembers being so fragile he could easily crack into fragmented pieces of wasted innocence. Maybe that’s been stolen from him now, maybe the ruins of his sacrifices are too sharp to touch upon still, but he’s good. He knows he will always be good.

And yet, there’s a bruise. Something ugly and distorted that stains his skin. Something that has the ability to crawl deep into his bones and leave behind a mess of pain. Something bad. Festering and tainted, it haunts him with every breath.

You.

You, who came into his life as an abundance of sunlight. Helios personified. Pretty and warm, and everything he needed. He wanted to kiss you: the moment he stumbled into the coffee shop, tousled hair, overworked and raw from a burdening case. When you took his order, marking constellations onto the styrofoam cup. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia. Later, much later, then when you became an indomitable presence to his apartment.

But for all the good he’s preserved, Spencer knows he’s not allowed to receive it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” is the first thing he says when he finds you waiting for him. He always knew you would come back; you’re bound to follow him indefinitely. Like his shadow, his guilty consciousness, his cracked past of addiction and pre-pubescent torment.

He let you go. When the act was over, the curtain drawn, when he saw you. Homicidal, the perpetrator of the case he was working on, malevolence packed into the frame of perfection, oh even still, he let you go. Free to continue the cycle of death, he was left to scramble in the mess of his own misguided heart.

There’s risk in reward, and reward in risk. You’re meticulous, hedonistic to the last detail. But Spencer? Well, he will always be the one loose end you could never quite force yourself to clean up. The thread that kept untangling, even as time passed. Cut it off, you should be rational, wash every bleeding trace of him from your skin.

But there’s irrationality in love.

Blood adorns your features; there’s no need to touch up your appearance, to return to the domesticated facade you once used on him. No, he’s been exposed to the ugly now. There can be no do overs, no back-tracking, game over try again doesn’t exist in real time.

“What are you going to do about it?” you ask, and god, hes just as beautiful as the day you left him. So perfectly real, with dragging exhaustion and pretty brown eyes to ease the sting of his tight-faced, troubled expression.

You didn’t cut the phone lines, nor move the gun he keeps stashed in his cabinet drawer. Down the hall, to the left. You know he won’t make any abrupt actions. Know, in an intuitive way, telepathic communication between past lovers.

“It was a gamble coming here, aren’t you pleased to see me pretty boy?”

Spencer has to fight every urge he has, every moral he believes in to not lunge at you; to not strangle your slender neck, crack you in half, destroy you the way you’ve destroyed his sanity.

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since you cataclysmically uprooted his routined life. He fell in love with softness, not the jagged edge of a blade.

“I let you go. Wasn’t that enough?” it feels too natural, fighting in his apartment, some sort of twisted lovers quarrel. There’s a definite list of everything he should do in this moment, and despite all logic, he just blanks at the sight of you.

“You had to come back. Rub salt in the wound. Do you get off on this?” a sigh falls from his pretty lips, “Actually, don’t— don’t answer that. We both know the answer.”

“I get off on you,” you correct.

It’s true. If he was to analyse you, profile your warped brain like his other unsubs, he’d find nothing but unyielding loyalty to him. For all the damage you’ve done, there’s always been one anomaly to your detachment.

He stands right before you.

And, sure, maybe you’ve got a leg up in this situation. Perhaps the distorted memory of you holds him back: lazy nights and tangled sheets, his body pressed up against yours. The way he’d talk, quantum physics, philosophy, rambles that dissolved into open admissions of feelings. There’s a lot that was fake, but to be a good liar, you have to add subsidiary details of truth.

God, he wishes the world would be cruel—a cosmic alignment of karmic righteousness that would grant him relief: some kind of justification for what he must do. But the universe is indifferent, nothing but a distant star, a fleeting speck of dust in the grand scheme of life. There’s no such thing as good or bad, only consequences.

Consequences. Consequences for his actions. Butterfly effect. He can comprehend it. But, there were many things he adored about you, while the illusion of love was tangible. The way your hair would curl just above your shoulders, your skin in the morning light. The way you’d laugh at one of his obscure Star Trek references, better yet his criticism on modern, inaccurate horror. He could stare at you for eons, as though he was trying to make out the secrets of the universe in the constellation lines of your scars.

The illusion of love, as it was. He sees you now with the clarity of reality, the same way a mirage fades away as you approach; a distortion of perception.

“And you get off on me. Even now. Don’t you?” you say, shifting forward to close gravitational space.

There’s no way to disregard this morbid connection. No psychological justification he can exploit to demean your feelings. You’re not a psychopath, nor anything that relates to a lack of empathy. You feel— you feel empathy for all of your victims, the line of bodies that mark your path. But it goes deeper than that. There was reasoning for your actions, just as there was for his.

“Say it,” you goad. And there’s satisfaction here, sure. Something mean and condescending. But there’s also hurt, because he was supposed to be a means to an end, and now, he might very well be your end.

“Say you miss me. C’mon boy genius, a few little words and i’ll have enough content to satisfy me for years. Don’t be mean— you know I hate being edged.”

He does miss you, every day that he wakes up, his bones too hollow and cold to leave his bed. The ache in his chest where his heart was supposed to be, too empty to function. No amount of caffeine can fill the void in his skull where thoughts of you used to reside. The longing, the desire for the past to rewrite itself.

“You’re sick,” he tries. But he’s not good at this. Not when the love remained after the inevitable fall out, not when the darkest parts of him still clung to want, even after he realised the truth.

“You’re sick, and..” he tries again, “and I hate how much I miss you. There? Is that enough? Are you happy? Got what you wanted?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “No. If I ‘got what I wanted’, I would still have you.”

Spencer dies. Metaphorically, literally, what does it even matter? He dies, respawns, and then kisses the admittance from your lips.

Instinctively, just like the past, your hands tangle through his hair, and perhaps there’s a sense of ownership to the gesture. The knowledge that he will always be yours. Scarred from your touch, returning to your lips like a dog with a bird. There’s a mindless attempt at anger on his part, biting lips and rough teeth, but just like always, he quickly melts.

He melts, and you catch him. Because for all it’s worth, lies and deceit aside, you’ve always loved him.

There’s something powerful to the gesture; knowing you have someone wrapped around your finger. Even after you’ve bared the worst of you, the ugliness of man-kind. There’s someone out there that will wipe the blood from your cheek, and kiss you through it.

“Oh, even better,” you mutter against his lips, “Much, much better. C’mon Spence, show me just how much you’ve missed me.”

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since he felt like he could breathe.

It hurts, it hurts so much, because there’s a sense of coming home to the kiss, and he just wants you to stay. To ruin him forever. To leave behind a deformed version of him, something unrecognisable and equally scarring.

You’re too loyal and he’s too susceptible to any form of attention. Because you want him, and it’s easy to fall into a cyclical cycle of self-destruction when you’re the catalyst.

“I did miss you.” he admits again. “You— crazy, homicidal excuse of a person.”

Spencer’s hand comes up to touch your cheek, the rough texture of skin meeting something soft. His thumb traces down the curvature of your jawline, a silent hello that doesn’t linger long, too soon to be replaced with his lips.

You push him back against the wall, a painful groan escaping your lips when you feel his hips canting forward, searching aimlessly for a friction you’ve both been denied. Two years. His body still aches for you. It’s primal, something perverted and tainted and so very good.

You knew this would happen. There was not a doubt in your clouded mind that he would deny you. What you do to me, I do to you.

“There’s my boy.” you mutter when you grip said hips, fingers finding their natural, fated position against divine bone. When he begins to find a stable pace, bucking up to meet you with every kiss that you press to his lips.

He whimpers when you touch him, soft sounds of need slipping past his parted lips into the confines of his empty apartment. He’s trying so hard to maintain composure, but he can’t find it in him to fight the inevitable. The ache of separation between himself and you. So he lets it happen, like he always does.

My boy, the possession goes straight to his head. One simple phrase and he’s untangling, breaking to pieces because yes, he is yours. And yes, he will forever want to be reminded.

“Mhm, mhm. Oh— oh, fuck.” he’s so hard, clothed cock pushing up against you with every movement. He could get off on less of you. He has. Every night.

And yes, it certainly feels like home. It’s only the thing your body has been aimlessly yearning for, day in and day out. It’s not fair, not fair to you, that you’ve allowed your resolve to crumble, your strategic, one-track mind, for the fleeting body of a past lover.

But then again, demeaning him to a past lover doesn’t even begin to articulate this.

You’re fairly certain he was put on this earth, just to torment you.

And you’re fairly certain you’ll always let him.

“God, you’re such a slut for me.” you say, drawing back from the friction just to prove your point. The disintegrating whimpers that bleed out of his mouth in response are enough alone to confirm.

His head falls back against the wall, baring that lovely length of his neck and its pretty bruises. He wants you to kiss him there, to leave one last mark before he says ‘I won’t see you again�� and means it this time.

“Don’t— don’t stop—” even as he speaks, a mess of jumbled words and breathless sentences, you’re still teasing him. He hates how much it works, how much he’d rather fall into the pleasure of your hands.

“Fine. Whatever. Yes. What do you want to hear? That it’s whorish the way I want you. That you’re able to just… corrupt me with all these dirty words, even though I have an extensive vocabulary. Even though i’m supposed to be—“

He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to be anymore.

“You know the extent of my devotion.” he concedes.

There will always be sadistic pleasure in reducing him to such an ignominious version of himself. You’ve seen it before, back when you were trapped in an artificial, yet domesticated, haze of bliss. But to hear it now? Even after everything has been said and done?

That’s a new type of pleasure.

You know he still holds onto the facade of you, aimlessly reaching for something intangible, something that never truly existed. “You want me to be good for you, huh? Just pack up my shit, leave it all behind, get better? Think about it. White picket fence. Coffee every morning. God— it would be insufferable. Coming home to feed the dogs, talking every night over the phone, begging you to be safe on a case, or or—“

Spencer breaks. Silencing your words with a pained whimper.

Usually, he doesn’t allow himself to think about that fantastical hypothetic. He can’t afford to. Months after he let you go, when the truth had been exposed to his naive eyes, he’d spend hours in a mess of aching limbs, dreaming up alternative realities where your hands weren’t stained from blood, and the most despicable thing you could do was make his coffee bitter.

So when you force him to open old wounds, to rehash past hopes, he falls apart. A whine escapes his lips, hips bucking, once, twice and then he’s coming untouched. Making a mess out of himself— and it’s sick, so very sick to get off on the thought of you permanent, the epitome of good.

Something he could hold onto without slicing open skin.

It’s not a good orgasm, it never is without your direct help, but at least it’s some form of release. In the aftermath, he blinks away tears, vaguely aware of the cum staining his boxers, creating damp spots through fabric.

There’s something painful, cutting to your gaze when you look at him. At the debauched sight, corrupted from just a few words.

Give it all up? For what? Him?

All things considered, it’s tempting.

“Spencer,” you mutter in the serrated moments between. When he’s still nebulous, caught in the aftershocks of abrupt pleasure. When he’s just gotten off, untouched, on the notion of a domesticated life with you.

He’s struggling to breathe. He’s spent nights gasping for you, reduced to the most debasing version of himself. So out of touch, you drove a blade through his back, catching his heart on the way.

“Why are you— doing this?” he asks, but before you can even answer, provide him with an explanation that will devastate, he’s lunging forward, kissing the lies that cling to your lips. Kissing you because his mouth hurts when it’s not attached to yours.

“One last time.” he says; he’s too intelligent, too intellectually adept, to allow this swallowing cycle of humiliation to continue.

But, underneath it all, he’s also inherently selfish for you. He’s fairly certain you were engrained into his skin, long before he fell into your barbed trap, teeth and penetrative ruin.

“Then you leave. You actually leave, never contact me again. No showing up at my apartment unprovoked. I have a good life without you. Understood?”

You scoff. He presses forward, “Understood?”

You don’t protest when he elucidates his life as good. Even if it’s quite the contrary. Even if he has to bare witness to depravity every single day, scrutinise his way through the minds of the most perverse. Perhaps this is a social experiment to him, perhaps you are the guinea pig, Laika sentenced to space. You know he loved you once, but it’s hard to comprehend the feelings remained unscarred, it’s hard to imagine you’re anything but a test subject now.

You look at him. Look at that pretty face. Your undoing. He could be your achilles heel, hamartia in its rawest form, or maybe you willingly chose to do this. Maybe fate, and divine intervention played no part in your attachment to him. Maybe it’s just chemicals. The logics explanation. Imbalanced, skewed chemicals.

“Don’t worry, boy genius.” you respond, “You won’t get anything, not even a postcard, from me. It’ll be like I never even existed.” no trace. D.C has always been a monotone cesspit of nothing anyway.

It’s cruel. Because if you leave, truly leave. And he never hears from you again, never catches you in his kitchen, drinking coffee with an unadulterated smile, then he will begin to forget.

The curve of your spine, the scars beneath your chest, the way your fingers fit into his own. The way he was able to memorise your body until he could draw it in the dark, when your body was pressed to his, when there was nothing but a false establishment of safety.

He knows he can’t forget. Not technically. But it’ll grow distant, it’ll be replaced with new normals and routines. That, that, he can’t compute.

“Good,” he says, kissing you again, kissing you because this is it.

Spencer wants you. In every sense of the word, he wants you so badly it’s killing him.

His bedroom still holds traces of you. That, itself, is a crime. But he just falls into you. The way lovers do. Your hands against his skin— his hair threaded through your fingers, your lips at the base of his neck. He lets you leave another bruise, a mark, a confirmation of possession, because even if this is the last time, he is, and always will be yours.

“Still the prettiest person i’ve ever seen,” you admit when he’s flushed naked beneath you.

There’s something in those doe-eyes, brown irises blown out of proportion, that hooked you. Even at the worst, it was still soft with him.

Slender frame, slightly arched, you want to bite into his hips, mark every inch of him as yours. It’s greedy, gluttonous, his messy hair, fanning out like a halo, the tangled curls he never bothers to properly care for.

“God, fucking look at you,” you grip his jaw, tilt his head back to bare that blemished neck of his. To have and to own. He’s so inexplicably different to you, so good it runs down to the bone. And maybe you’ve always been insatiable for what you’ve lacked.

He can’t take this. He can’t, not again. The past, the future will have to dissolve with this moment, because there will never be another again.

You will never get this close to him. It’s a terrifying thought, that this’ll be the standard of intimacy, of love - because he knows it isn’t. But he can’t risk the reality he’s faced with, the reality of living without this. Of living without you.

Your words only make it worse. He wants to beg you to stop. To cease the torture.

“Shut up.” He kisses you, as if to remind you that your mouth is made for kissing, for his lips, for a litany of dirty words that he can’t bear to hear. Those words are for someone else. For someone similar. Not him. Never him.

Defying fate. He gets off on being something bad beneath the surface. No one would ever expect it; boyish maladroit Spencer, the youngest of the team, willingly allowing, condoning, a killer to sink into his skin.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” you respond, muffled against his lips. “If this is the last time, i’m going to enjoy it. Going to enjoy the sight of you, all desperate for me alone.”

“You assume i’ve ever been desperate for anyone else—“ he counters.

“Oh, that’s it. Keep talking dirty to me.”

“It’s not dirty. It’s a factual statement.”

You pull away, a trail of saliva bridging the space between your mouths. If there is higher power at play here, you want to curse, to spite your creator. Because if ‘things’ had been different, if you had been born from the same rib, this could’ve ended differently.

Or for that matter, never ended at all.

“Sit there and watch me.” you say, and Spencer hates the way he obliges. Pushing himself up against the headboard, he stares at you, at the way you position yourself, standing by the foot of the bed.

“Do you even know what you do to me? Do you even understand the gravity your existence has on me?” you continue, unfastening the lace corset that clings to your frame. When it drops to the floor, breasts exposed, you run your hands across them, catching pierced nipples for a vindictive moment of pleasure.

“I— uh,” Spencer is admittedly a little distracted. Sex had always been something ruinous between you two. Something that conflicted his lack of experience, forced him to adapt.

He always wondered how someone so soft, the epitome of light, could be this obscene. Now he understands.

“Lost your words? Come on, pretty boy. I thought you had an ‘extensive vocabulary?’ Hm?”

He wants to touch himself, to ease the pulsing throb that centres in his cock. But he doesn’t, because despite the time that has passed, he still knows your rules. “Don’t use my words against me. I’m being tortured.”

“Tortured, huh?” your hands fumble over buttons until you’re reduced to a pair of panties, soaked throughly, leaving scarce to the imagination.

“So so tortured. Oh my god, who are you? Can I please have my soul back?” he’s joking, but not really.

“Well maybe if you beg for it,” your words fade into a mess of moans, fingers slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. Spencer’s head spills back against the wall; he looks more affected by the movements than you.

It’s easy to fall back into old habits. Relapse.

“Come here, come here, i’m having an existential crisis.” he says, watching as you slip one finger, then two inside you, struggling to stand now. It’s strange how pleasure can reduce the most antagonising minds to vulnerability.

“Please— oh fuck, please. Please. Don’t make me watch, I can’t. Need you. Need you so bad.”

He thought he found the core of torture in you touching yourself, but he was wrong. Because when you crawl closer, when you slot yourself between his thighs, lips finding skin that only you have ever touched, he sees the root of evil in his brain. The ninth circle of hell.

It’s justified, he supposes. For all the good he’s done, he has betrayed. Himself, his friends, family, existence itself. There is not one thing he wouldn’t ruin, just to feel you. It’s incriminating, so yes, he deserves to freeze in Cocytus. He’ll willingly plead guilty, accept his entrapment in the ring of Caina.

“Poor baby, look at you.” you say, kissing his tip, catching the pre-cum on your tongue. Spencer responds: fisting bedsheets, fighting the restraint to buck forward, to find misplaced solace in the warmth of your mouth. He’s sprawled out across sheets now, lying back in a tangled heap of want. “Shh, it’s okay,” you continue, “I like my men desperate.”

“Desperate? Ah—,” he fights the urge to shut his eyes, too aware that this is the last memory he will ever retain of you.

You, painted into his mind. The final evidence left in the fire: mouth sinking down his length, taking him to the hilt, watery eyes and leaking mascara.

“This isn’t even desperation. You’re killing me. Just, oh oh— please, don’t. ‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum—“

Is it sick that he doesn’t want to? If only to prolong this transitory moment of destruction? Like the lotus eaters, he will always be mindless in the pursuit of more, more, more of you.

You draw back from his cock, only to press a soft kiss against the tip. The gesture alone has him reeling, has him begging to be saved, to atone for every sin he found in the comfort of your divinely crafted lips.

“Gonna let me sit on that pretty cock of yours, hm? Let me use you one last time? Promise i’ll be good,” a lie, “So so good.”

“God, yes. Yes, please. That would—“ You take him deep, deep enough that everything aches. He only feels alive when you’re wrapped around him, when there’s not an ounce of distance between your bodies, when he can touch the insides of you. Pry open the raw, unfiltered version of you.

He only feels alive when he’s sunk inside the harbinger of death. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt.

You’ve got one hand tangled in your hair, the other pressed flat against his waist, supporting you through each bump of movement. Eyes like marbles, Spencer looks up, and wonders why this will never be enough for you.

You look back, meet his gaze, as if you’re Orpheus, predestined to turn around, to always return. Even if it’s just for one last second. Even if the fall-out is so much worse than pushing forward blindly.

Oh, hes certain you’re carving a hole inside him, something that will only grow and expand, imploring to be filled by it’s inventor. It’ll hurt, for the rest of time, he supposes.

When he finds your hand around his neck, he isn’t startled. Neither, when your thumb presses against his throat, applying pressure until the world cracks and fades, distorting his refined mind to the here and now. He floats, feeling transient in the curse of your touch.

“That’s it. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He is a sacrificial lamb. The priests favourite. He will take the knife every time, and thank you for it after.

You release the tension, hand taking his instead. For all the cruelty you possess, you’d never think to harm him. Not physically at least. The emotional damage, however, finds you both. There can be no happiness in either of your worlds, not when the memory of each other festers. “Good boy— taking it so well. God, no one is ever gonna compare.”

He cries at the words. Pretty tears streaming down his face, because the reciprocation to his undying piety will forever trigger the warped chemicals in his brain. Will forever reduce him to something saccharine.

“Love you. Love you so much. Don’t go. Please,” he fractures, “please don’t go.” he begs, besmirched words he’ll regret in the wake of his pleasure. They don’t count, and yet, he knows, in the most depraved sections of his mind, they’re true.

You ride him harder. Back curved, finding god in the washed-out body of someone fatally destroyed. “Not going anywhere— fuck, fuckfuckfuck. That feels so good. You’re so good,” maybe it’s a kink to ruin something so perfectly spotless.

Maybe it’s a kink that he wants it.

“Say it. God, just say it. This once.” for old times sake, he almost adds. But that wouldn’t be objectively correct. For all the intimacy you shared, you never once articulated those three words. Perhaps it was to save your dignity, to hold pieces of yourself in the lies you beautifully crafted.

His thumb runs over your clit, and in the tangle of your orgasm, he almost thinks you forget about his demand. But after, when you’re still taking him, when you’re still clenching, unclenching, clenching around his cock, when you know you own every part of him, you answer.

“I love you.”

He falls apart. Hips canting, body squirming, whimper after whimper escaping his bruised lips as he releases inside of you. Pushed deep, defiled to the limit. For a moment, everything is okay, everything will be alright, because there’s pleasure, and it’s you. It’s always you.

How can he justify falling in love with you again? How can he, when he still clings onto the artificial love of the past? He’s not sure his heart can handle one set of feelings, nevermind two.

He takes you again, well… mostly you take him again. In ways that have him polluted with the remnants of your teeth. Canine marks, etched deep enough to bleed. He hopes the swelling leaves behind perennial scars, anything to remind him. Anything to hold onto when you’re gone and it’s cold.

After, when you lie together, he presses his forehead against yours and wishes he was in any other universe. One where you’re happy. Where everything is pure and simple, clean from sin.

There was always truth in what we shared before, you admit. Lazy nights spent draped over the couch, kissing him to silence convoluted rambles. Your presence in the morning, bathed in holy glow, sunlight bleeding over the pretty sight of you. The first night he touched you and saw god. And then the following night, when he ascended all over again.

He wakes to find no body. He wakes to find nothing. It feels like self-sabotage, the promise that you would leave, even if it’s quite the contrary.

In the absence, abstinence of your presence, he discovers traces of you in everything he sees, all of it, everything consumed, returning to the simple thought of you you you.

When the first postcard comes, Portland, dreary weather— beaches and ports, there’s no anger. No exasperation that you broke your word.

You love him, it’s morbid, but for someone like him, it overrules everything. Sanity, dignity, his own stable existence.

You overrule everything.

[halfwayhearted]

Marc Bernal blurb where he perhaps likes to tease reader about their height difference since he’s quite literally like 6’3! + kisses the top of her head or whatever just to egg her on iykwim. Thank you. Have a blessed day.

Teenage Blue — Marc Bernal.

Pairing: Marc Bernal x Fem!Reader

Summary: He can’t help but make fun of your guys’ height difference every chance he gets.

Word Count: 440+

Disclaimer/s — Literally just fluff. Oh, and no use of Y/N!

A/N: GGGGRRRRAAAAHHHHHHH, IM SICK.

“Let me know when you’re done,” you sighed dramatically, crossing your arms over your chest in a show of mock irritation. All you wanted was a simple plate, which just so happened to be perched on the top shelf, out of reach. It seemed someone had neglected their dishwashing duties. Just one plate. That was all you needed.

One plate. Just one. Please.

But! Instead of being the boyfriend who loved you and did everything you asked (leveraging his height to effortlessly retrieve whatever you had needed), he just smiled at you in a ‘really?’ way, but you felt as if he had pointed a finger at your face and burst into laughter.

After letting him have his moment, you narrow your eyes at him and say, “Do you want these cookies or not? Because I might just give them to the person next door. I doubt they’d point and laugh like I just publicly humiliated myself.”

“I didn’t point and laugh,” he replied with a playful chuckle, his fingers ruffling your hair. You let out an exasperated groan, swatting at his hands in a futile attempt to fend off his affectionate teasing.

“You might as well of! Plate, please.”

A hum leaves his lips as he slides a hand over your waist, pulling you in slightly and running a hand over your hair as if to fix what he had messed up. Then, he leans down and places a small kiss on the top of your head before reaching for a plate and handing it to you. “There’s your plate.”

“My savior,” you grumbled, trying (and failing) to hide the smile that threatened to appear on your face, “How many cookies do you want?”

He looks down at you and shrugs, “How many cookies are you getting?”

“Three, perchance!”

“I’ll get three too.” The taller boy retorts.

You quirked a brow, “Oh, so you’re a copycat.”

Once that sarcastic comment escapes your lips, he swiftly takes the plate holding your cookies and hoists it high above your head. Again, out of reach. He snatches one of your three cookies and takes a deliberate bite, savoring the moment.

Opening and closing your mouth as you struggled to respond, you couldn’t help but stammer slightly, “Marc—you can’t be serious!”

“What’d you say?” Marc questioned, mouth full of, well, your cookie. “Can’t really hear you.”

All you do is stand there, mouth agape. However, you can’t actually stay mad at him for more than five minutes. With a soft chuckle, you gently elbow him, your laughter bubbling up. Next, with a mischievous gleam in your eye, you reach over to take one of his own cookies, taking a bite.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedrilcvr ! ౨ৎ

[minhosimthings]

Preview: Sweet as Cherry Wine

In which the cold librarian's heart gets melted by his best friend's sister

Synopsis: Kim Seungmin was the assistant librarian at your uni's library and the love of your life. Oh and also your brother's best friend.

Pairings: Seungmin × fem!reader, includes rest of skz, Winter (aespa)

Warnings: brother's best friend trope, a play on Hades and Persephone, secret relationship, flufff, seungmin is a menace, SMUT MINORS DNI, p in v sex, oral (m receiving), verryyy little choking, slightly sub minnie?, just a lot of me simping after his fingies, semi public sex (in the library)

A/N: whadup mona fam. Surprised im alive? yeah me too honestly lol. anyway im very sick rn BUT i wanted to complete this because this shit has been stuck in my wips since september 2023 and anyway it's my Minnie phase. Please look forward to the full fic!!!

STATUS: POSTED

FULL FIC

“And how she let the pomegranate juice,

Drip from her smiling lips,

Even Hades trembled under sweet Persephone’s gaze.”

The tantalising smell of old leather and paper hugged your nostrils as soon as you crossed the threshold of the outdoors into the library. The entire room had the faint smell of sandalwood wafting through it as well, which your lungs appreciated as you breathed the air in.

Having spent only six months in your university as a freshman, you had never dared to step foot into the university’s famed collection of books more than five times. You were far too intimidated by it. That, and also the fact that you had a tremendous amount of work hanging over your head. And you certainly did not want to disappoint your parents, who worked day and night in ensuring that you had a proper education.

“Y/Nnie come on!” Your friend, Jeongin, grabbed your hand and dragged you further into the grand building. Jeongin was the first friend you had made in college, having argued furiously with him in your sociology class on the modern feminist forms of thought. Deciding that he was smart enough to never keep you bored, you promptly shook hands with him. He must have thought so too, because the very next day, he introduced you to his band of friends, with whom he had grown up since childhood.

And now, you could see one of those friends waving to the both of you from a very large table. It was Lee Minho–dance prodigy, archeology student in his third year, frequent arson enthusiast and a cat dad. That was what you had gotten from him, six months into your friendship

“Hyung!” Jeongin practically leapt on the stunningly beautiful man as soon as he came near him, “I’ve missed you so much!”

Minho made a face of disgust, but you could see the faint smile threatening to spill out as he hugged Jeongin back.

“Let go of me before I suffocate you, brat.” Minho said, giving you a smile as Jeongin reluctantly pulled back, “Alright, Y/N?”

“Good as always.” You responded with a grin. “Oh, congratulations on your win at the Dance Masters by the way!” Minho tilted his head at you as a ‘thank you’, with his ears turning furiously red, and his smile widening.

“And what about me?” A smooth voice made you jump as the ever-present smile of Hwang Hyunjin appeared before your eyes.

“Give me a warning before you pop out of nowhere!” You laughed, being engulfed into a tight hug by Hyunjin, “And congratulations to you, as well.”

“Why thank you.” Hyunjin did a dramatic sort of curtsy after unleashing you from his arms, “Hyung, have you seen Lix anywhere? He forgot his keychain with me.”

“He’s still stuck in class.” Minho muttered, raising his arms up abruptly and stretching with a very loud sigh, “My bones are so stiff, I swear to God.”

“Could you keep it down, old man?”

Perhaps the most annoying voice in the entire campus rang in your ears as you spun on your heel to see the bane of your existence. The world’s most insidious bastard faced you, in the form of a 5 '10, history-majoring, glasses-wearing, probably drinks pomegranate juice in the morning sophomore.

Kim Seungmin.

The universe couldn't have made a more negative person.

And a more perfect secret boyfriend too.

Taglist: @vixensss @miyeonna @15092000volcano @berntbang @cookiesandcreammy @babrieeee

[arlestial]

Hiii your pink theme is very cute i just wanted to ask could you mabye write boyfriend hcs for luna from bllk?

❝i regret you all the time❞

synopsis : He was a player, a womanizer. You were his top-prized desire : completely unreachable. But hell, he’d chase after you halfway around the world if he had to.

pairing : Leonardo Luna x genderneutral!reader •— Blue Lock

tw : angst and comfort at the end, a tad suggestive (nothing too extreme), a sort of ennemies to lovers ? (Uses of "womanizer" but the rest can be read as genderneutral)

word count : 2350~ words

author-note : Hi !! It’s been a long time since I’ve wrote for Luna, so I hope it’s good. Im actually extremely proud of this one. It’s not really hcs, I got carried away LMAOO. I was busy finishing One Piece, (btw don’t be shy and drop some requests in my ask box :)) Thank you for your request (and your kind words 💗), and take care of yourself ♡

LEONARDO LUNA never had to "search" for someone. Truly, he was a dick. Sleeping with women every nights, leaving without a note nor a call, the sheets still tangled from the activities the day prior. Simply, enjoying small pleasures where his job as a professional player leaded him to. And then he saw you, at a random bar while he was drinking with his teammates. Dancing with your friends, oh so gracefully, smiling and laughing with all your teeth, all prettily dressed. He swore he’d never seen someone as angelic as you. So, he smiled to himself, and with all his ego and his pride, an overly confidence, he walked to you.

Everything went extremely quickly. He was too stunned to speak, to let any sound escape from his lips as you walked away from him, rolling your eyes. His teammates never laughed so hard : Leonardo Luna, the og womanizer, just got humbled by being rejected ? He was mad. It was so embarrassing. His cheeks were flushed in a deep red, and he cursed under his breath. How ? Were you blind, perhaps ? It was the first time ever he got rejected by a woman, and he hated it. But for some reason, a reason he didn’t understand, he wanted to try again. He didn’t want to let you go, not just yet. So he hurried to follow you towards the exit of the bar, his teammates still laughing their asses off, much to Luna’s dismay. He wanted to grab your wrist, but he stopped himself.

"Hey, don’t you know me ? Like.. you live in a cavern or something ?"

You turned to face him, and let out a sigh.

"Actually, I just don’t care. I’m not interested."

Luna frowned. Okay, so you knew he was a famous soccer player. But you weren’t interested by any means ? He smirked. You were playing hard to get.

"Come on. Just give me one chance ?"

"Listen. You’re a player. Everybody knows it. I’m not interested when it comes to assholes who play with people’s feelings like you."

He scoffed, a cocky laugh escaping from his throat. Okay, maybe you were right. He liked your attitude. He leaned on the doorframe, a teasing grin dancing on his lips.

"You don’t find me attractive ?"

"I’ve seen much better."

And with these words, a mocking smile on your face, you left the bar, walking in the empty, dark streets without any worry. Luna gasped dramatically, and hurried to follow you in your tracks.

"So you’re gonna follow me now ? What a creep."

"Nah. Just walking you home."

"I’ve never asked you to do that."

"’M just being a gentleman."

You chuckled. His cocky attitude was pitiful.

"Didn’t know you were a chaser, after all. Disappointed because I haven’t fallen for you the first time you talked to me ?"

"I’m definitely not.", he smirked, "But for you, I’d be one, doll."

"Quit the petname, dude. We’re not together."

"Yet.", he corrected. You sighed, amused by his determination.

LEONARDO LUNA wasn’t capable of letting you go. Well, you piqued his interest, after all. He wasn’t used to be rejected, but you made this rejection so sweet, so intoxicating. He couldn’t get enough. He walked you home, and with a little persuasion (aka, promising you he wasn’t going to spam you all the time) he got your Instagram (he giggled like a teenager when he saw that you accepted his request on your private account.) Since that day, you were always there in his thoughts, day and night, more than he had excepted. It was a game of cat and mouse : him, constantly flirting with you, and you, ignoring or rejecting him again and again. His teammates were confused; he wasn’t the type to run after someone, it was quite the opposite. Luna was used to be a living fantasy for most women and men, he didn’t even had to try to please. But it was different this time. Always refusing to go on dates with him, refusing his gifts or his advances. You were completely unreachable, a hopeless and absurd desire of his. What Luna wanted, Luna got; and right now, he felt like a frustrated little child who had just been denied the toy he wanted his mother to buy him at the mall. And gosh, the more inaccessible you were, the more he craved- no, needed you. So, he took his phone in his hands, and once again, searched for your account in his Instagram conversations (actually, he didn’t have to search. You were on top of his contacts, probably because he decided that he won’t talk to anyone until you accept a date from him.) and texted you. You were peacefully reading a book on your couch when you heard a ding from your phone, followed by a buzzing sound. You closed your book and reached for your phone, watching Luna’s text on your wallpaper. (In all honesty, you were - each time - surprised to see a certified account sending you a message, before realizing that it was Luna. Again.)

4:47p.m. | leonardoluna : Hey, doll

just wondering if you were free tonight ?

- read at 4:48p.m.

4:51p.m. | yn.ln : hi, yeah i am. why ?

- read at 4:51p.m.

Luna smiled at the screen. He lied down on his bed, back pressed against the mattress as he waited for your answer impatiently.

4:51p.m. | leonardoluna : care to join me for dinner ? my treat, obviously

- read at 4:51p.m.

He rolled on his bed, his elbows now resting on the sheets. He sighed in defeat. You weren’t answering. You were probably gonna reject him again - with or without a proper excuse once more. He turned off his phone, throwing it behind him on the bed, frustrated and disappointed - wait. Did he just heard his phone ringing ?? He hurried to grab his phone, unlocking it messily, his eyes almost glued to the screen.

5:00p.m. | yn.ln : why not

- read at 5:01p.m.

You agreed ? A huge grin displayed on his face as he celebrated his victory with a disconcerting enthusiasm.

5:00p.m. | leonardoluna : coming to pick you up at 8, then ?

- read at 5:00p.m.

5:01p.m. | yn.ln : sure. sounds good to me

see ya then :)

- read at 5:01p.m.

5:01p.m. | leonardoluna : see you, pretty

promise you’re gonna like it. picking a good place rn

- read & liked by yn.ln at 5:03p.m.

He jumped off his bed, immediately calling a fancy restaurant to book a table. He knew the owner, so he arranged a table for you two. Luna thanked him. He wanted to kick himself : this stupid, huge grin painted on his face, that he couldn’t erase. This feeling was astonishing; maybe, it was his chance to pull you ! Finally, after all these efforts.

LEONARDO LUNA’s smile dropped, his joy fever slowly fading to a terrible dread. At first, he just wanted you in his bed. A one-night-stand without any worries, without fuss. But here he was, giggling like a teenager in love for a random person that wasn’t interested a single bit ? What the fuck was he doing ? He frowned. Was it a mistake ? He didn’t want to be in a relationship. It was too much to handle for him, the distance, the attention to give, the responsibilities that came in the package. What was he supposed to do, now ? He was anxious. He never felt anxious. He sat down on his bed, his face in his hands, exhaling deeply. He looked at your text, over and over and over and over again. You wanted to see him. He felt nauseous, probably for the first time in his entire life. And right now, the thrill of it all disappeared, giving way to a terrible, overwhelming, sensation of pressure.

You were standing outside of your house, rubbing your arms in an attempt to ease the goosebumps on your skin, arisen by the night cold breeze.

8:15p.m.

Maybe you should’ve stayed by the fireplace, at least for some minutes.

8:25p.m.

Okay, he was just late. A latecomer, huh. You should’ve wore something else, at least, not these short clothes.

8:35p.m.

It’s probably his job. Being a professional soccer player has its flaws, for sure. You should’ve called him, at least, to tell him you were waiting him to pick you up outside, like it was planned.

8:40p.m.

You decided to text him again - now, a bit worried. You should’ve asked him to meet at the restaurant directly, at least, to know where you were supposed to go. Perhaps he had a car accident ? You frowned, seeing his "online" status on Instagram. You looked at the conversation another time.

8:05 | yn.ln : sorry, I just got out, took a bit too much time to prepare lmao

you’re probably driving, so be safe

anyway, i’m waiting outside for you to pick me up :)

- read at 8:42p.m.

8:15p.m. | yn.ln : is everything okay ?

- read at 8:42p.m.

8:22p.m. | yn.ln : Luna ? It’s not funny yk

I can walk to the restaurant if you have an issue, just give me the address

- read at 8:42p.m.

8:40p.m. | yn.ln : for fuck’s sake, im worried, can’t you just answer the damn phone ?

where are you ??

luna ?

- read at 8:42p.m.

8:42p.m. | yn.ln : gosh, you’re here, I was scared something happened to you

i’m outside, is everything okay ?

- read at 8:50p.m.

8:50p.m. | yn.ln : you’re not gonna answer, are you ?

- read at 8:52p.m.

Tears in the corner of your eyes, you bit your inside cheek in a faint attempt to keep them from falling angrily on your cheeks. Your hands were trembling - from the cold, or from the frustration ? Honestly, you didn’t know. Obviously, he played with you. It was his goal since the very first night. How could you be this fucking dumb ? Naive ? He just wanted you in his bed, and he was tired already of his new toy, aka, you. So he threw you away, like he did with everyone else. You were too silly, artless, to think that someone like him could like someone like you. Incisive insecurities, bittersweet thoughts, appalling regrets, permeated your mind as you turned off your phone, deciding to take a walk outside to soothe your nerves.

8:54p.m. | yn.ln : you’re a fucking asshole. i should’ve listened the rumors about your mf face.

how could I believed you ??

srs, go fuck yourself.

you are the biggest regret I’ve ever had

- read at 8:58p.m.

8:59p.m. | yn.ln : go on, spend your whole life fucking people like they actually want you, ig.

- read at 9:00p.m.

Maybe it was childish, but you needed to get those feelings out of your chest. You were disappointed, felled even. Your friends warned you, but you haven’t listened. How could you ? He was so nice to you all the time, always asking about your day and all. You always refused to go on dates with him, thinking he was just playing for a night with you. But after one month, you sincerely thought he wanted a deeper connexion with you than just sex. And you were wrong, of course.

LEONARDO LUNA never drove this quick. He was probably like - at 110 k.p.h on a 50 k.p.h road. His hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gear lever, pulling the car out of the intersection. He haven’t even cared about the others that were honking several times because of his awful (and dangerous) driving, his thoughts were busy, because of you, and only you. He was so stupid. So fucking stupid. To think that it was a bad idea to talk to you, to get accustomed to your texts, to your honey-like voice when you were calling him. He liked you. Maybe even more, he didn’t know. He parked his car messily on the sidewalk, getting weird stares and side-eyes from passers-by. He spotted your walking figure and immediately ran after you, his breath short and unsteady. Good thing he knew where you lived since the night he walked you home, one month ago. He bit his lip when he grabbed your wrist, and you turned to face him, tears rolling down your cheeks. He hated himself, right now.

9:11p.m.

"You ? Fucking bastard, leave me alone." You sharply said, trying to get away from his grasp. He immediately took you in his arms, one of his hands resting on the back of your head, stroking your soft hair. He shoved your face on his chest, trying to reassure you.

"I’m- I’m so sorry. I got nervous. I’m just not used to feel this kind of things towards someone. It’s the first time; actually. I was scared. Scared of being rejected with true, heavy, feelings, this time. I beg you,", he inhaled, his voice wobbly, "please, forgive me."

"I can’t trust you.", you mumbled, your voice muffled by his clothed chest, trying to push him away as harshly as you could.

"You can. I didn’t think- fuck. It’s hard to say that. That I could fall for someone so quickly, so easily. It’s so simple to talk to you, I’ve never felt so comfortable around someone in my overall, miserable existence. I want to give you my whole heart, my whole soul, okay ? I fucked up, I know. And I truly don’t deserve you. But I can’t help, but being selfish again, one last time, please, just wanting you, your smile, your laughs, your soft touches, wanting you by my side permanently. That’s all I’m asking for. A second chance, because I don’t want anybody else to have you. I want to be the one you come home to, the one you think of when life is all troubles and worries."

"Look at me. Tell me you hate me, reject me over, I’m not worth your attention. But I won’t stop thinking about you, I’m just not able to do it. Don’t let me down. Please."

You tilted your head up, seeing his green eyes wet already. His trembling hands wandered to your cheeks, gently stroking them, as if you were made of porcelain that his sins could shatter into tiny million of pieces, in a instant.

He leaned and pressed a tender kiss on your lips, his free hand searching so naturally for yours, intertwining your fingers together. When he pulled away, he gave you a small, weak smile, as if he’s seen his whole world being destroyed by a zephyr. You returned the smile, as he wiped away your tears.

"Promise not to let me go, then.", you answered in a whisper, your heart beating at an unsteady, loving pace.

"I won’t."

You both laughed slightly at the cheesy scene, his enamoured gaze drowning into yours.

"Now come on, honey, we have a date to attend to."

LEONARDO LUNA thought that, at first, you were a challenge. A cocky challenge, egos swinging, wondering if he could pull you like he always did with everyone. What Leonardo Luna wants, Leonardo Luna gets. However, now, he was just a puppy running after you, completely smitten. He liked to say that he was in charge, in control : but everybody knew that you had him wrapped around your finger.

[callsign-relic]

cityspeaker Ultra Magnus/Minimus.... yesssssss!!!!!! that'd be so so good in a post-IDW au... my heartttttt

or!! OR... ppppost? war? au?? maybe even no war au. anyway an AU where Megatron and Minimus have never met before. Megatron has had several cityspeakers in the past before but none interact with him like Minimus does. None have bothered to speak with him more than necessary, if at all. wardens very rarely need to speak to their prisoners.

Minimus comes along and just... quietly greets him the first day. for such a simple act, it sure draws Megatron's attention.

i think this would be particularly fun in a version of the AU where Megatron IS inhabited (be it in root mode or city mode. TF please give us more cityformer continuing to have ppl living on them in root mode. please please pleasr) because what better way to pay your dues than being of Literal Service to the people? Ultra Magnus gets hired on as cityspeaker/enforcer (what better way to enforce the law than having optics and audials everywhere as part of the living city...) because they are hoping that with him being a stickler for the rules, it will help keep Megatron in line. except instead of doing his job as intended, Minimus ends up befriending Megatron and making the city better for those living there.

wait silly thought for a second- Minimus walking around and taking notes of all the unsafe places around the city/Megatron. there needs to be a guard rail here. this lighting isnt up to code. those overhead pipes are a safety hazard. these stairs are too steep, regulations state that each step must be so tall, and so on. Megatron fixes them by the next day.

anyway cue dramatic chase scene where Megs gets to shift around Minimus as he's getting chased down by the other enforcers. if you want to be particularly poetic about it, he might even use the safety regulations against the oncoming pursuers (whoops there went that guard rail. totally forgot about it. those stairs? Minimus or Ultra Magnus sized now. he can get up them easily.)

hhrhghgrh them. they. augh. i need to write another ask. <- (trying desperately* to convince myself that no i don't need to write a fic or draw something based on the titan au!!! i don't!!!!!!)

*trying desperately and failing. adds it to my list. someone write smth for this so i dont have to hhrhhghgdh my list of projects is too long

- initiate

IM GOING CRAZY IM GOING CRAZYYYYYYYYY (positively)

It’s official. Titan au is my newest brainrot 👍 I encourage any and all asks pls I’m going insane the voices the brainworms the auahgauahaha

All of these ideas are genuinely so good I love them so much holy shit. Oh my god the part about different structures not being up to code in particular… what came to mind for me is Megatron having been carrying out his penance for so long and being so wrought with the guilt he failed to take care of himself as well, his internals a dilapidated city. Meanwhile Minimus is just very matter-of-factly going around assigning OSHA violations to everything he sees and…

…Megatron finds he doesn’t feel apathetic towards it.

Perhaps Minimus was right… it would be nice if his citizens had guard rails. Oh, those stairs were in poor shape, and it would only take him a second to clean them up…

Just. Minimus helping Megatron both literally and metaphorically pick up the pieces of himself after showing he cares for him

Also oh my god the shifting the environment around to help Minimus escape? Insane. I’m in love with it. Even better if Megatron never really let Minimus close to any of his more sensitive spaces before, only to lead him right to his spark chamber and seal off any exit to ensure Minimus’ safety. Right there, in the place Megatron never allowed anyone near, he knew Minimus would be safe.

Also PLEASEEEE PLEASSEEE send more asks or make art or write fic!!!!!!!!!!! It would genuinely make me so happy 😭😭😭 ough speaking of art I’m already imagining titan!Megs’ design… imagine him having big cuffs on his wrists and ankles or anywhere else they might fit really to symbolize his imprisonment in his punishment. And his imprisonment in his own guilt. Perhaps chains as well idk

I am just brainrotting severely so PLEASE keep talking about this to me 🙏🙏🙏

[naomijoestar]

⋆.ೃ JJBA SCENARIOS ࿔*:･

Masterlist here <3

genre: comedy, op bored out of their mind :p

warnings: cringeworthy

characters: giorno, bucciarati, abbacchio, mista, narancia, fugo, trish

notes: GN!s/o reader // guys. i have been working for uni all day long and i decided to rewatch dbz cause i love it so much and i got this idea😭 if you couldn’t tell im tired and need a nap but oh well. please enjoy because i was giggling while writing this :p (also if this isn’t a dead giveaway im genuinely running out of ideas so please if you have any requests go ahead and request them <33)

How each passione member would react to walking in on their partner trying to become a super saiyan

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno would stare at you with his usual calm, composed look as you scream and power up, completely unfazed. “I see,” he’d say in his serene voice, nodding like it all makes perfect sense. After watching you struggle for a while, he’d gently place his hand on your shoulder and, in complete seriousness, whisper, “Perhaps… you need more sunlight. The energy of the sun enhances all living beings.” He’d leave you standing there, making you wonder if he’s genuinely trying to help or just messing with you in his weird, Giorno way.

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno would walk in on you mid-scream, furrow his brow, and pause. “Are you… trying to ascend to another level of power?” he’d ask, a bit confused but respectful. After you explain that you’re trying to become a Super Saiyan, Bruno would respond with the utmost sincerity: “I admire your dedication. Let’s talk strategy.” He’d actually help you devise a plan, suggesting you train your mind and body further. “I’ll unzip you to another location, where no one will disturb your transformation.” Bruno’s all in, even if he has no clue what’s happening.

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio would give you the coldest stare possible. “What in the actual hell are you doing?” he’d say, arms crossed, already annoyed. As you explain, he’d roll his eyes dramatically. “Great. My partner’s an idiot.” But as you keep powering up, Abbacchio would mutter sarcastically, “Oh sure, scream louder, maybe then you’ll magically grow blond hair and start flying. That’s totally how it works.” Despite his grumpiness, he might secretly be watching out of the corner of his eye, half expecting something bizarre to happen (get it? jojos bizarre adventure? its only jojo logic).

Guido Mista

Mista would be all about this. “Yo, you’re going Super Saiyan? I’ve always wanted to try that!” He’d immediately start powering up alongside you, screaming at the top of his lungs with a huge grin. “C’mon, louder! We can do this together!” The Pistols would join in too, floating around you and shouting “GO! GO! GO!” at the top of their tiny voices. Eventually, both you and Mista would collapse on the floor, laughing hysterically, neither of you anywhere close to transforming but still having the time of your lives.

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia would be your biggest hype man. “YES! YOU GOT THIS! YOU’RE ALMOST THERE!” He’d absolutely believe you could become a Super Saiyan and would be jumping around excitedly. “Do the thing! Do the thing with the hands!” He’d start doing Kamehameha poses, thinking that might help you, completely immersed in the idea that this could work. After a while, when nothing happens, he’d be confused: “Wait, why isn’t it working? Shouldn’t you be glowing by now?” He’d start blaming himself, like, “Was I not cheering loud enough?!”

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo would just stare at you, deadpan, like, “Are you seriously doing this right now?” He’d probably start lecturing you about how this isn’t how physics works and how it’s scientifically impossible to become a Super Saiyan. “This is not anime, this is real life!” he’d yell, facepalming. But when you keep going, he’d lose his patience and just scream, “FINE! Keep screaming until you pass out! I don’t care!” He’d storm off, but not before mumbling something about how he’d be there to catch you if you faint.

Trish Una

Trish would watch you for about five seconds before sighing and pulling out her phone. “Okay, I’ll record this for… scientific purposes,” she’d say, clearly mocking you but also finding it weirdly entertaining. As you scream, she’d say, “Wow, you’re really giving this your all, huh? Should I start calling you Goku now?” By the end of it, she’d post the video with a caption like, My partner is trying to go Super Saiyan… someone help. But she’d also make sure you didn’t actually hurt yourself and offer you water because she’s low-key concerned about you overheating.

please give me requests im losing my mind over here

[chongoblog]

FUCK IT IM GOING TO TALK ABOUT THE PRESTIGE (2006) WHICH IS MY FAVORITE MOVIE EVER

Okay this was originally just gonna be a silly addition to a shitpost but I'm dedicating a whole ass post so I can gush about The Prestige (2006), which is my favorite movie of all time.

Before I go into it, here's what it's about. Some of you may be familiar with the plot of The Prestige, but for those of you who aren't, do not be alarmed, the summary that you're about to read is considered safe. And any spoilers are after the read more.

The Prestige is a movie directed by Christopher Nolan, who also did Memento, Inception, and Dark Knight, which are all also incredible, but I'll save rambles on those for a later day or for a white guy who makes film-based video essays on Youtube. The story revolves around two rival magicians played by Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale, leading to it being called "Batman vs. Wolverine: Magic Edition ft. David Bowie". Oh yeah also David Bowie is in this as Nikola Tesla. The movie opens with a magic show that ends with the death of Wolverine, with Batman being the primary suspect. The story is framed as Batman reading through Wolverine's diary in jail as they attempt to learn one another's tricks.

Just like any magic show, learning the secret to the tricks reframes parts of the movie, so I'm putting the actual analysis behind this spoiler cut. If you haven't seen The Prestige yourself, PLEASE find a way to watch it. I can't recommend it enough.

Okay, now that the noobs are gone, I'm gonna refer to them by Angier and Borden instead of Wolverine and Batman. And now that you know the twist because you TOTALLY didn't open the read more without watching it, we'll call the surviving Borden twin "Fallon", since the difference between the two twins is a very big part of the movie.

Before I go into anything I'm gonna say this miscellaneous thing because I literally just realized it after loving this movie for YEARS. This story contains the feud of two visionaries who constantly sabotaged and stole from one another while they tried to do amazing things in their field, and such a feud led to some significant violence. But anyway, enough talking about Tesla and Edison, let's get onto the actual story of Angier and Borden. (As snarky as that comparison was, it really adds to the speeches Tesla gives Angier, along with the parallel between cats and birds but thats a whole other rant)

One thing I adore about the movie is that it addresses a theme of sacrifice in exchange for spectacle. Sacrifices had to be made in order to put on a show. Borden obviously knew this perfectly well, since he was actively playing out that sacrifice. But Angier was obsessed with discovering a way to bypass that sacrifice. You can see this with how Borden's far less bothered by killing birds while Angier has Cutter create contraptions to save the birds. Angier begins to understand the sacrifice while using a double, but even the sacrifice of being under the stage while the audience applauds is too much for him. In the end, Angier DOES sacrifice, but also doesn't. His sacrifice isn't half of his life in the way Borden/Fallon's is (with each one living half of a life), but living half of the life by way of Russian Roulette (with entering the machine either killing him or letting him live his full life). Ironically the "die or live a full life" thing comes back for the Borden/Fallon combo in the end.

And you could be forgiven for thinking that perhaps since Angier is attempting to find a way to create spectacle without harm, he's in the right here. After all, in the end, the only thing he's truly sacrificing is himself. While Borden/Fallon's lifelong sacrifice had a dramatic impact on Sally and Olivia (the two main characters who truly did nothing wrong and did not deserve this), if Angier just did this trick and called it a day, it wouldn't hurt anyone except his own clones, which seemed to accept the coin flip. But the other aspect of Angier (and to a somewhat lesser extent Borden, and to an WAY LESSER extent Fallon) is obsession with being the best. And in terms of that particular theme, I think that the film says all it needs to about that.

I'm sure I could go on, but I've spent the last few days adding more and more to this draft so I figure I should just let it go into the world. I love this movie so so much you guys.....

[unadulterated-syd]

sirus black x reader

this is my first sirius fic pls be kind !

leave advice if you'd like :)

warnings -> underaged drinking mentioned, doesnt happen within fic, unedited.

synopsis -> sirius shows you his collection of odd sentimental items :)

the dimly lit common room felt more peaceful tonight than most other nights, most of the other gryffindors were already delicately tucked in for the night.

typically the marauders, mainly james and sirius, wouldve kept the whole house up. however, tomorrow called for james— early quidditch practice, whilst sirius found himself boredly keeping you company.

he would let out an exaggerated sigh every couple of minutes, trying to get your attention, which had failed till just about now.

"sirius, youre driving me bloody insane. what do you want?"

your eyes barely left the fire to glare at him, only to see him stand up and wander off. though odd, sirius was always odd. therefore you did not bother to call after him, nor even look fully his way.

your eyes returned to the fire, until the cushion beside you weighed down once more. finally your head turned his way.

"darling, look through these with me will you?"

his petnames had always pissed you off when you were younger, you'd always had a large crush on him. that was until the two of you had drunkenly shared an evening together, and things changed.

youd never officially started dating, you were both too frightened to truly commit to anything.

you sighed, finally shuffling to sit facing him on the couch. in his lap rested a box of random junk, some records, some photos, even an old beer bottle.

"whats all this, pads?" you hummed delicately sliding your fingers over the rim of the box.

"you'll see."

he dug his hand into the box pulling out the old beer bottle, dawning a look of faux wonder as his eyes met yours.

"you remember this ol' thing?"

your eyes traced the bottle, shrugging, "sirius thats an old beer bottle, you expect me to remember all the beer we've drunk?"

"well tred carefully, love, you surely dont remember the first time we drank, together?"

"the.. uhm.. you kept that?" you raised your hand, taking the bottle from his hand and scanning it.

"duh, youre holding it." he had already moved on by now, "or the first queen album i convinced reg to listen to."

youd remembered that, hed been so excited to share the group with regulus, even though regulus hadnt expressed much excitement.

he went on with the items, swiftly describing every item as he did. the cutest of all was the idea that he held onto things from all his friends.

a guitar pic from marlene, something mary had 'thrifted him'— even though he had no recollection of what that meant— photos of them all.

he wasn't necessarily sentimental, however he felt it was rude to throw away things that could mean something to someone else.

he'd never ever thought the bottle you'd both shared was important, but a fraction of him believed you would have kept it had you had any less to drink.

you listened through it all, though your eyes stayed loosily trained on the bottle, you'd thought he'd forgotten. however, he was rather quick to catch on.

"d'you think i forgot?"

"honestly, yes."

he gave you a smile, his brow raising dramatically, "you take me as a fool then?"

"a fool? i dont think i said all that."

"oh you've totally ruined me, a fool!" he faked yet another pout, throwing himself back on the common room couch.

you groaned at him, quickly jumping to your own defense, "listen, im not calling you a fool, i just—"

"i know what you meant, dear." his look went back to you once again, not bothering to sit up. "only a dimwitted fool would've forgotten. im just the fool who was too scared to make it more."

"you the fool!" you laughed, it only caused a wince as he misinterpreted your demenor, "we're both the fools, sirius. we've been out here passed bed and not one of us has even begun to entertain the idea of being together."

"perhaps were both fools." he gave you a michevious grin, "fools in love."

"dont even try, black, that was awful."

"dreadful even?"

"definetly dreadful."

he grinned, leaning closer to you, as if to plead for a midnight kiss. but in turn, you stood up grinning at him, "goodnight, love, i'll see you in the morning."

"y/n!", he whined at you, but you simply continued. midnight talks turned out to be rather nice, especially when they washed away the fear you'd once had.

harry potter tags -> @goodoldfashionedluvergirl

marauders tags -> none

sirius tags -> none

leave an ask to be added to any tags.

requested by @goodoldfashionedluvergirl

tysm for the req eva !! hope you enjoy <3

[pastanest]

if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to @iamburdened - thanks so much!! ♡

Daryl Dixon x gender neutral!reader

spoilers: set in season 6

Welcome Home

“Okay, so, fun fact! For as long as I can remember, I’ve never been able to sleep without a blanket of some kind over me. I dont know whether it’s a comfort thing, or a safety thing, but I cannot get comfortable without a blanket.” You told Daryl as you skipped along the train tracks beside him.

The two of you were on a run together, Rick had asked you to go with Daryl because he’s been itching to get out of Alexandria since the moment the group arrived there, he just needed to be outside for a while. Being the most optimistic person in the group and the easiest to talk to made you the most likely candidate for not only going with Daryl, but wanting to. You considered yourself friends with everyone in the group, but by no means were you and Daryl close, at all. He didnt like to talk about himself, so you figured you’d start a conversation with him about yourself to make it easier on him. You were good at that.

“You get cold or sum’?” Daryl questioned your reason for needing a blanket. He wasnt looking at you, choosing to keep his eyes on the trees at either side of the tracks. When he nodded towards a clearing in the trees, the two of you headed into the forest.

“It definitely isnt that, more often than not Im too hot with a blanket on me, but I still cant sleep without one. Guess that childhood belief that the cover would keep me safe from the shadows never left me!” You laughed at yourself, and Daryl scoffed.

You knew he wasnt exactly enthralled by the conversation topic, but lighthearted things were one way of getting a degree of response out of him. As long as you werent prying for information about him, he was open to a little talking.

“Oh! And another thing! Ever since I was a kid, I have dreamed of having a cape!” You blurted out another random fact about yourself, and Daryl let out another scoff-laugh. That time, he couldnt resist looking over his shoulder at you quizzically.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why’d ya want a cape?” He asked.

You beamed at him. “Well, a hooded cape is essential for any wizard in disguise!” And with expert timing, you winked at him and bolted into the first empty shack you’d found since leaving Alexandria.

“Ay! Wait up!” Daryl called, running after you, while you laughed ahead of him.

Roughly six months have passed since that pivotal interaction between you and the sweetheart redneck, and the two of you have been close friends ever since. He finally realised that you being able to make conversation with anyone, didnt exclude him. You were his preferred run partner, and you chose to spend a lot of time with him, because you found him very interesting. He’d never initiate hanging out with you, obviously, so it was up to you to find him and start a conversation about whatever crossed your mind. Daryl never felt more relaxed than when you started talking about the most random shit.

“Hey, you down for another run?” Daryl asks as he jogs up to where you are sitting, counting bees on the flowers by your front porch steps.

You jump to your feet and dramatically swoon. “Oh, Daryl Dixon, I thought you’d never ask!” He rolls his eyes at you, and you laugh. “Gimme a minute to pack, I’ll meet you at the gate!”

Even if the run doesnt ask for it, the two of you always prefer to find a place to hang your hats for the night. It’s a nice break from everything and everyone. Despite loving the people around you, you have a high appreciation for the comfort of your own company, and Daryl’s.

“Ah, home sweet home!” You breathe as the two of you step into an abandoned house that you’ve never been in before. It was a tradition of yours to refer to every place you found as home, because the building doesnt matter, the feeling of home can be felt almost anywhere to you.

The two of you set the house up, blocking exits and barricading yourself in a second floor bedroom, right by a window. It was unlikely that you were going to be seen, and you had taught Daryl something very valuable: by barricading yourself into a room, you will definitely hear if someone tries to get in, as a result of the noise caused by trying to break through whatever you use to barricade the door. By having a barricade, the two of you can sleep at the same time, nobody has to keep watch. It took Daryl several runs to believe it, but now when he’s out with you he doesnt even think twice about it.

The two of you flop down on the floor, either side of the window, and Daryl starts digging in his bag. He pulls a blanket out and passes it to you, something he‘s made an effort to bring for you every time you go out on a run together. You smile at him and reach into your own bag, pulling out your own blanket, and the two of you swap, laughing at each other and the inside joke. You bring your own blanket, and Daryl brings one for you, so you always end up swapping them to accept Daryl’s gift, and even though you know he always brings one, you still always bring yours, to give to him.

Staring out at the night sky, you sigh. “I really dont know how I’d feel if the world went back to how it was. Everything would be so...loud.” You meet his eyes. “Is it wrong to prefer the world the way it is now, at least a little?”

Daryl shakes his head. “Naw, ‘s not wrong. Yer makin’ the best of what ya’ve got, and right now we’ve got it pretty damn good.”

You smile at him. “If the world went back to how it was, we wouldnt be able to hang out like this, we’d have to get jobs!”

Daryl scoffs, shaking his head and looking out of the window. “Naw, I’d still be out there.”

You giggle. “Running from taxes, stickin’ it to the man!”

Daryl chuckles at you. “Damn right.”

You rest your head against the window frame. “I mean, we’ve got a weird mix of the before in our lives now. We’ve got houses, a neighbourhood. It’s kinda the best of both worlds.”

Daryl nods, and you know exactly what he’s thinking.

“You dont like it, you arent used to it, and I get that. Houses have never felt like home to you, and that isnt your fault. You arent the odd man out, Daryl.” You take ahold of his hand, and his eyes lock onto yours as you continue. “But home isnt about the houses, you know that, and soon you’ll figure out what home means to you. You’ve just gotta open your heart to the world a little, and let yourself see what you dont want to believe is there.”

Daryl shakes his head. “Naw, I know what ma home is.” He squeezes your hand, but lets go so quickly and starts digging through his bag again, you wonder if he even meant to squeeze your hand. Before you can ask him what home is to him, Daryl is holding out a folded blanket-type thing to you.

You frown at him. “What’s this?”

Daryl gestures to you to take it. “Fer you.”

You smile at him, still frowning in confusion as you take the gift from him in the dark. Unfolding it, you gasp. Immediately springing to your feet, you wrap it around yourself and squeal excitedly, before turning back to Daryl, who’s still sitting on the floor, staring up at you.

“Oh, Daryl, it’s wonderful!” Your eyes are misty with tears as you pull the hood of the cape over your head, collapsing into Daryl to give him the weirdest standing-to-sitting hug imaginable, but it’s easily the best hug he’s ever had.

Last week, Daryl went on a run without you, he gave you strict orders not to go with him, he was very stern about it. You sulked when he got back and he had to put on a stupid accent to make you laugh so you’d talk to him again. He refused to tell you why he’d gone on a run without you, and eventually you stopped prying because he’s just too good at keeping things to himself. Now, you know why.

“Thank you, so much!” You sniffle into his neck, and Daryl rubs your back.

“No need t’ thank me, ‘s essential fer a wizard in disguise, y’know.” He replies, and you both laugh. You cant believe he remembered your exact words, your childhood dream.

You fall back onto the floor beside him, but this time the window isnt between you, you’re shoulder to shoulder. Except your hooded head is now resting on his shoulder.

“I hope you realise that I am never going to take this off. Im going to sleep in it, eat in it, shower in it. Oh yeah, you can bet your sweet ass I will wear nothing but this cape in the shower.” You tell him, and Daryl chuckles, but you can tell that your mention of you wearing nothing has flustered him.

“What did you mean earlier, when you said you know what your home is?” You ask him, having your hopes up for what the answer is, but still wanting to hear him say it.

“You know what I meant.” Daryl replies, his voice quiet, by serious.

You nod against his shoulder, staying quiet for a moment before you speak up again. “You never asked.”

Daryl sits up straighter, thinking he’s done something wrong. “Asked what?”

You lift your head from his shoulder and look at him. “Why I call every place home.”

Daryl’s eyes are burning into yours, searching for an answer that he hasnt even asked for, he cant find the words.

You smile at him. “It’s because wherever I go, I’ve got the human embodiment of home right by my side. Sometimes he isnt next to me, but he’s always nearby. And as long as he’s there, I’ve never felt safer; I’ve never felt more protective of anyone, because if anything threatened the safety of my home...I dont know what I’d do. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me, and there isnt a damn thing I wouldnt do to make him smile.” Pouring your heart out to him ignites feelings in him like no other, every word you say sinks into Daryl so slowly, he knows he’ll never forget a single one.

“Wha’s his name?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper now, the two of you already leaning in.

You bite your lip, your eyes darting from his to his lips. “Oh, I think you know.”

One of Daryl’s hands reaches inside your hood, around the side of your neck, his fingers sliding through your hair and pulling your lips to his impatiently, but not roughly. When your lips meet his, Daryl feels his chest erupt, his mind finally understanding the ‘fireworks’ feeling he’d heard so much about in the movies. Your own hand wraps around his wrist, and you lean back until you’re fully lying on the floor, Daryl’s lips never daring to leave yours as he effortlessly falls over you, holding himself up with his other arm. He parts from you briefly, and you’re instantly leaning up to place kisses all over his face.

“Welcome home.” Daryl’s voice rumbles before the gravitational pull of your lips pulls him back to exactly where he needs to be, where he belongs. Home, too.

[bellsxwriting]

Kind of a crack request, but also kind of of fluffy You know the 3.5 scene where Kaeya is in Sumeru? What would happen if the traveller was Kaeya's lover? Partly the letters were tailored because he misses them greatly (despite him being on their team). Lots of kisses and soft talk when they reunite.

Meanwhile Dain just hurled in the bush from the sappiness, this is so much worse then collusion.

Kaeya x Reader .- Reunited at last...

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆

A/N - Ahhh thank you so much for the request! I hope this is ok, it's not too long but I had some fun writing it and I can always do another part! - Also this is from the perspective of the traveller that isn't lumine/aether!

You held the letter in your hand as you approached the spot in which Kaeya had requested you- It was 5 pm now, and the tavern was alive with customers; many sitting around, drinking, laughing and enjoying each other's company. You surveyed the area, your eyes landing on a table in the corner, seating one distinct customer, “I'll have something I haven't tried yet, boss…” You heard your lover say as you approached the table,

“Um…sorry sir, I'm afraid you've already tried every type of liquor we sell” 

“Oh? Well then just the bill please” 

“Drinking on the job…? How unprofessional” You stood at the end of the table, smiling lightly at the man in front of you,

“Traveler, my love. Im so glad you could make it” Kaeya stood, a warm smile on his face as he moved to stand next to you, wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you closer,

“Kaeya, you're really here!” You heard your companion Paimon gasp from next to you, “Paimon half thought you were playing some form of prank on us” 

“Come now” He chuckled, “I would never kest about seeing my dear partner now. I was simply in the area and hoped you'd spare the time to see me” He kissed you lightly on the cheek and your smile only grew, “Come now, sit, I'm sure we have much to talk about. How about I get you a drink Y/N” You took the spot next to Kaeya, Paimon infront, you laced your hands together and rested them on the top of the table, waiting for the server to come back so you could order, 

“What brings you all the way to Sumeru my love, surely not just to see me” You glance his way, a smirk lifting on your face, 

“Oh, I wish that was the case,” He lifted your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss there, “No, I'm actually here to learn more about the alcohol industry here” The conversation continued, you talked about his reason for arriving, your victories in sumeru and your plans to visit Fontaine now the crisis is quelled. The night grew darker and you rested your head on Kaeyas shoulder, as he softly spoke about Mondstadt to you and your companion, occasionally looking over to place a chase kiss on top of your head. By now, one of his arms was wrapped around your shoulder as he drew you closer to his chest. 

“What are your plans for tonight, love, are you staying in the hotel or are you setting off back to Mondstadt?” You looked up at him as you spoke, he chuckled.

“No, I still have a few more places I would like to look into before I depart, perhaps you could keep me company tonight Y/N?” He smirked down at you before leaning down, 

“Nope, Na nah, Paimon cannot deal with you two being lovey dovey!” She pointed at you dramatically as you both grinned. Meanwhile, behind the wall concealing your table. A familiar figure stood, eavesdropping on the whole interaction, 

“So, that's what has become of the descendent of the Alberich clan…” He shook his head, observing further, “The traveller and an Alberich eh…I really cannot deal with…couples…” He held his breath. Deading to have to go over and sit in front of you two, but he knows he must. He was here for answers after all…

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A/N.- I hope you enjoyed! My requests are still open if anyone wants anything written!

[rapidhighway]

Dying to hear your thoughts about knuckles being possessed by the chaos emerald

Everyone else can close their eyes this is for Nahla lmaooo

You mean master emerald? Cause the master emerald oh boyyy WELL

Okay cmere (pats my bed foryou to sit next to me) this will make no sense probably but I've had many specific thoughts about this idk if it's any good

umm i won't lie I have a whole ass au in the making rn skcnkdkdkd but im very unsure about many things so I'm not going to go into this stuff much. However I've been thinking about this for quite some time and what I think is that a scenario like that would require a new villain (or one that already exists but I'm not versed enough in sonic lore and idk them). LISTEN IDK anything about enerjack I WILL I prommy I will and I will scream about ittt But. A villain that is interested in Echidnas, Angel Island and stuff, someone knowledgeable and with big big ambitious. I don't see it being Eggman cause I feel like the most Eggman would do with the Master Emerald is powering some big ass robot or a giant laser or something. And this should be personal. This should be about Angel Island and the Echidnas and about Knuckles' life and his mission. Knuckles doesn't go super, he doesn't use the emeralds, he doesn't use the Master Emerald, he just guards it. So to get him to actually use it, get corrupted by it, it would have to be something powerful and something that plays on all bad parts of his life. I don't really see Knuckles as someone who angsts a lot about his situation, he's unsatisfied by it but I don't think he's going to cry about it. He's proud of being the guardian of the Master Emerald even though it has big big downsides. The things that would actually be painful would be failure as guardian (not just of the ME but his friends too)loss of Angel Island, loss of something big, very important to the echidna culture, stuff like that, idk I'd have to think it through haha. I don't think Knuckles being corrupted by the Master Emerald should be anyone's end goal. It could be something of a side effect, perhaps Knuckles trying to protect it from destruction or corruption or something would get corrupted himself and entangled with the Emerald's power. All very cool he needs a very cool form. Personally I think the tactic for his defeat could be more than one person using the chaos emeralds to become super, this way let's say Sonic takes all the punches (gets punched out of his super form like the master can do) and for example Tails and Amy (I need them to go super pls pls pls) could blast Knux to smithereens lmao. You know what I mean. I think? But basically, this is a very cool concept but I NEED it to be so good and big and dramatic. This is NOT a one shot idea for me okay, I need a 50k story at least.

[antlerx-art]

GOOD OMENS 2 EPISODE 5 REACTION - CONTAINS SPOILERS‼️

predicting the wait and see in this one

“can i watch” hehe crowley just wants to be with aziraphale

HE MENTIONED DOCTOR WHO and “the doctor” is right behind him ahhhh british people youre so british

lol the demons just went from 10000 to 70

AZIRAPHALE STOP GIVING BOOKS AWAY

oh i love how he’s not assuming the spouse’s gender

eric you’re about to die i’m afraid

crackling at aziraphale being so stubborn about knowing french 💀

NO WAYY crowley asking the same questions as the fandom about aziraphale’s french he’s so us this season

NINA ASSUMING THEYRE TOGETHER YES YES FINALLY

“he’s not my bit on the side he’s far too pure of heart to be anybody’s bit on the side” CROWLEY YOURE. STOP. IM FINE IM FINE THIS IS FINE (this is, in fact, not fine)

uhhh crowley what are you trying to do with that rose and that wineeeee hmmm

“smitten 🥰” aziraphale please teach me irregular verbs with that smile

yes i also had this theory of gabriel faking the amnesia but that’s not likely

“you’re being silly😊”

protective crowley MORE PROTECTIVE CROWLEY YES GIVE IT TO MEEEE

WHAT ARE YOU DOING WHY ARE YOU REVEALING THE TRICK IN S1

oh shit i’ve been dreaming about this moment “when you told my only friend to shut his stupid mouth and die” YES YES YESNYES CROWLEY SAY IT TELL HIM LETS GOOOOOOOOOO he took off his glasses shit shit shit

naur gabe is sad

“jimmy boyeeh”

JUMP OUT OF WHAT

he’s gonna stop him right

yep

RIGHTTTT THE MATCHBOX I FORGOT

HAND ON THE BACKKKKK

THIS MUSICCC so romantic i can’t wait to see the dance AND CROWLEY IS LOOKING AT HIM THROUGH THE WINDOW

mrs sandwich !! did she just change clothes

ohh what a pity Lindsay is your former partner🙄

so i wasnt hallucinating they actually change clothes as they get into the shop

gabriel’s fancy suit HELP

NOOOO MAGGIE YOURE IN TROUBLE

yes crowley put those demons in their place SHOUT AT THEM

ITS ABOUT TO HAPPEN THEYRE ABOUT TO DANCE

aziraphale also made a miracle to make everyone speak like they’re in the 19th century?

MAGGIE AND NINA MOMENTTTT it’s the scene ITS THE SCENE FROM PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

okay now give me aziracrow dancing

crowley stop worrying and think about the ball challenge

AZIRAPHALE PLEASE GRAB HIS ARM AND MAKE CROWLEY DANCE WITH YOU thanks bye

ohhh andrew o’neil is mutt’s (?) spouse that’s why azi used they/them before I LOVE THIS CHARACTERRR I LOVE THIS SHOW

WHY DOES JIM HAVE TO BE SO FUNNYYY

OH

MY

GOD

“well perhaps you could tell me while we dance” IM GOING TO DISCORPORATE

OH SHITTTTTT

HE DID IT HE GRABBED HIS HAND THEYRE ACTUALLY GOING TO DANCE

hi shax can you please come back later this is too important

I CAN SEE THEM IN THE BACKGROUND

“i don’t mind hard work” MAGGIEE you’re so sweet

THEYRE DOING IT THEYRE DANCING AZIRACROW DANCING THIS IS REAL THIS IS HAPPENING IN FRONT OF ME IT’S REAL REALITY IM SEEING WITH MY EYEBALLS IVE ALMOST FALLEN OFF MY CHAIR

THEIR HANDS ARE TOUCHING AHHHH I DONT KNOW HOW TO EXPRESS COHERENT THOUGHTS

I MADE A FANART OF THIS WITH THESE EXACT COLOURS OHHH I HAVE TO PAUSE FOR A MOMENT

shax interrupted the ball HOW DARE YOU????

surrender the angle 📐

no stop don’t harm humans

GABE WHAT ARE YOU DOING!

THE FLUFFY COAT WHY SO DRAMATIC 💀💀

NOOOOOO THEY CANT RECOGNIZE HIM

YESS CROWLEY HAS STUDIED LAW!

i cant believe he’s democratically telling them that they can’t attack

OH I SHOULD HAVE REALIZED HE JUST MADE IT UP LOL

“happy anniversary love” AWH

“you’re a good lad” / “not actually, either” GENDERFLUID CROWLEY MY BELOVED

“why don’t you stand up for yourself? make your own plans” / “i am, but rescuing me makes HIM SO HAPPY” SHUT UPPPPPP AZIRAPHALE I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE I KNOW YOU LIKE BEING RESCUED SHUT UP this show is so not real it can’t be

HELLO AGAIN MURIEL! police officer moment

“ARREST ME”? GIRL WHAT

THIS DIALOGUE IS SO CUTE I LOVE ALL THIS CROWLEY CONTENT

angel crowley on his waaaaay

FINISHED EP 5 OOHHHHH WHAT A ROLLER COASTER I CANT BELIEVE I ONLY HAVE ONE EPISODE LEFT THIS CANT BE ALMOST OVERRRR

(I had to rewrite some of this since tumblr decided not to save my post, but i could remember the best bits of the deleted part so it is authentic)

[rosencrantzsguildenstern]

Character: Kujo Takamasa

First impression

since i first saw him in rikus fucking. 1st beat flashback. i knew that man was sus as hell amen! i was super curious since we got that bit of knowledge that tenn left with a random guy and basically had this prediction that he was AWFUL and the cause of all of tenns problems. in the first actual scene with him i was mostly like 'what a cool scene!' but as soon as we learn he's tenn AND AYA'S dad i was like. oh i bet he's why tenn works himself into the ground and has all these weird complexes and won't talk to riku i bet kujo’s this horrible abusive guy. i even wrote this little tenn&aya angst fic back in october when i was watching 2nd beat that holds up decently well (it was basically a sickfic where tenn was like ik im sick but I Have To Go To Work bc otherwise kujo’ll be pissed and aya was like My Mom Died Of Illness) but definitely has some inaccuracies and missed how interesting tenn and aya's characters and complexes are. anyway i hated that man!

Impression now

I LOVE THIS MAN!! he has every disease <3 <3 <3 i love his hair. i love his vibes. i love when he fails at life. he's still an awful parent who did/does definitely traumatize tenn but it's in a fun funky way. i love a man who goes insane with longing. i also just really like the little snippets we get of him existing. being himself. his personality entertains me. i like his dramatic monologues and i like that he’s goth

Favorite moment

oh my god. when the high school trio corner him in a hallway and he’s like “when did i start running a children’s counseling hotline” my friend. perhaps when you started using them as raw material for idols??? its so funny hes like. whats up with these kids ❓

Idea for a story

THIS IS SURPRISINGLY HARD bc i give him a lot of screentime in my stuff that ISNT centered around him but then with just him all im thinking of is easy little character studies where i wax poetic about zero. OH!! actually i’m always dreaming up dumb kujo family crackfic. they go to the grocery store. (i actually have snippets of this one thought up.) they go to a diner. they go on an overly long drive and hate it. haruka is always there causing drama. its a beautiful world

Unpopular opinion

ONE TIME I SAW A FIC MAKING HIM HOMOPHOBIC nah. hes gay. hes homophobic against haruki specifically. but in general taking an antagonist and making them do allllll the bad stuff is never my jam. also w that the idea/theory that he fucked over zero, like pressured him too much as a producer? i could see him being the reason zero disappeared, but i don’t think he could or did Manage zero— if he overwhelmed zero, it was probably with excessive love and devotion— like i bring up in the favorite relationship section he’s the guy who says “this song is the most amazing thing in the world” and gets so excited about it he breaks your stuff!

Favorite relationship

i thought about this for a little but i think i gotta say him and haruki! apart from them being the choice with the most history, their dynamic is just fun— harukis a jokester. a free spirit. a silly guy if you will. and generally laid-back/unattached- while kujous very serious and singleminded. add in Beef and that they used to be really close and it’s so fun; i also think a lot about the flashback scene where haruki’s having kujo listen to his new song and kujo’s like THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER MADE!!!!!! what a hypeman :> and harukis like don’t break More of my glasses so that’s another fun touch of contrast in their dynamic

(and god. i’ll make this last forever kujou vs here for a good time not a long time haruki. what a pair to trap in endless grief)

i also actually really like his and gaku’s dynamic? all their scenes together are really strong, it’s really satisfying seeing gaku tell it like it is— with all this care for tenn and knowledge of tenn’s issues embedded— and having gaku play kujo in the zero musical also brings out ALLLL the similarities in the two characters (that are really quite different) and makes every kujo-gaku scene during that period extremely fun bc gakus doing CHARACTER ANALYSIS

Favorite headcanon

ough… ive talked about this before but i think aya buys him best dad merch, haruka buys him stuff that says “worst dad” and he ignores what all of it says and just like. wears/uses it.

also i like the idea of him being consciously goth/alt but in different styles since before zero disappeared

[little-nugget-writes-stufff]

I wish we couldve spend more time together, our beloved creator

You stare at your own statue in awe. I mean who would not? All was good until you heard a voice. The voice of a person that you knew too well. "Well hello scaramouche~ I didn't expect to see you here at the statue of our creator" he said with a smirk. Until he noticed you. "Oh? Whats up with the hood and mask huh?" He said in a teasing way.

Scara was quick to try and change the subject. "What do you want" Childe faked a shocked expression. "Well purple idiot, the tsaritsa asked me to look around here for the imposter" he said with a proud smile on his face. To him this seemed like an achievement. Eh didnt matter.

They kept talking about the tsaritsa and the divine creator. If you were honest you were suprised that they were not trying to end eachother. Everything seemed to be going good. Until childe's eyes fell on you again. "Who's this" he asked in a playfull tone. "None of your business Tartaglia" you could swear you felt electro spark in the air. "Oh so you wouldnt mind me doing this- he took off your mask.

He couldnt breathe. The divine one was infront of him, or was it the imposter? "Y-you" he managed to Mutter. Would it help if you would speak? "Hi Tartaglia" you said trying to be as quiet as possible. "Hey i know this may be confusing but how about you call me Y/n, and how about i explain it a bit huh?" The man was too stunned to speak. He could only bring out a small nod.

Scara looked at you like you were crazy. "Oh dont look at me like that. Would you rather be exposed?" Ah yes your Sass seems to have returned. "Anyways yes Hello nice to meet you, im Y/n" you said with a smile. He had always been one of your comfort characters. Four months ago you would've laughed at the thought of being a god and the people of tevyat worshipping you.

"Dont get idea's in your head child" scaramouche spat out. "Its 'childe' not child" he bit back. "Okay both of you cut it out" they turned to you within an instant.

"Dont tell me you want this idiot bothering us now do you!" Scara asked. "Ey im not an idiot and i think the creator would not mind having this 'idiot' joining them" he answered with a wide grin. Wtf were you meant to answer. Well you didn't know if Tartaglia had the intention of helping. So you decided to do the most logical option in ur little brain. "Childe i-. Before you could even FINISH ur sentence an all too familiar voice got spoke up.

Haha cliffhanger :)

Idk if you guys still like the story tho

So perhaps its gonna be dramatic :)

Perhaps.

[r04ch]

Okaayyy posting my writing heres one I did today to help dialogue.. i usually dont write in this script format but i wanted to try something diff ! Also the descriptions around it dont sound very smooth cuz like IDK but just dont think im a sharty writer cuz of this lol

COD, Otter x Alex, 820 Words

Summary: Its hot af and pool time bonding yahoo also like 2 second trauma dump (gasp!)

It's a hot, humid day on the 141 base. The quarters are empty, the inhabitants instead resorting to the swimming pool outside.

Farah and Kate are chatting in the shallow end, sharing cocktails. Soap, Gaz and Ghost are cannon balling and wrestling in the deeper end, while Price naps in a chair. Alex has just arrived, towel slung over his shoulder and sunglasses protecting his eyes. He spots Otter, who is writing in a journal on a lounge chair, and approaches the man.

Otter is wearing a loose tank top and comfortable board shorts, a pair of sunglasses adorning his face. His hair is put up in a short ponytail, his braid hangs loosely. His knees are slightly pulled up to stay under the safety of the umbrella providing him shade. He sips at a virgin pina colada that Kate made him.

Alex: Thought you were a swimmer?

His tone is playful and light, standing above Otter to block the sun from the latter. Otter looks up at him from under his sunglasses.

Otter: Oh, I am. Im busy right now though. 

Alex: Busy? Its 90 degrees out, what could be making you so busy?

Alex has a appalled expression which pulls a chuckle from Otter.

Otter: You know, stuff and.. things. 

He waves his hand vaguely.

Alex: I don't think I do know, care to explain? 

Otter pushes his sunglasses to sit atop his head, squinting softly at him. Then, he shrugs and pats the end of the chair, pulling his legs up into a criss-crossed sit to make room. Alex complies, taking a seat and leaning over to gaze at Otters journal.

Its a portrait sketch of Farah. Its gorgeous.

Alex: I didn't know you could draw. 

Otter: I have a feeling you don’t know a lot about me, Keller. 

Alex scowls which earns him a hearty laugh. 

Alex: Okay, well why don't you tell me some things?

Otter: Like what?

Alex: How’d you learn to draw like that?

Alex’s index finger lightly taps the page, tilting his head like a curious puppy dog.

Otter: I picked it up when I was younger, it helps me focus. My mother was an artist.

Alex: What did she draw?

Otter: Portraits, too. She had the eye for it, her paintings were phenomenal. I wish I took some.

Alex looked away from the drawing, choosing to instead drink up Otter's features. His round nose, pudgy cheeks, the sharp split in his left eyebrow. The golden brown hue that haloed his iris had him drowning in it. Otter was oblivious to Alex’s current predicament, continuing to shade Farah’s cheek bones.

Alex: Why don't you?

Otter stopped his pencil and bit the inside of his cheek, finally glancing over at Alex. 

Otter: Well, that’d be difficult. They’re all piles of ash now, probably sunken into the earth. 

Alex faltered and gawked for a moment, Otter smiled softly.

Otter: That house burned down a long time ago. I should’ve clarified, sorry. 

His cheeks radiate a pink glow of blush. 

Alex: I didn't know that.

Otter: I know. 

A blanket of tense silence fell between the two, before Otter reached for his drink and took a long sip. Alex memorized the way his lips moved.

Otter: Want to try?

He mistook Alex’s fascination with him for perhaps being thirsty. Alex was grateful for it though.

Alex: Sure

He took the straw and downed the last bit of drink, earning a gasp from Otter as he playfully pushed Alex away from him.

Otter: I know you did NOT just drink it all!

Alex: What? I was thirsty!

Alex laughed while Otter feigned an offended and dramatic expression of shock.

Otter: That is so rude! I cannot believe you!

Alex: Just get another one! 

Otter huffed and rose from the seat, placing his sunglasses back into place over his eyes and giving Alex a half hearted glare while waltzing over to the bar. The former smiled softly. Averting his eyes back down to the page and, nosily, poking through the rest of the journal.

It was full of mostly birds or insects that had messy scribblings besides them like “saw this little guy in Urzikstan” and so forth. He also passed a few rough sketches of Kate, and the resident dog Riley. 

Then he landed on two pages of just him. While most were very rough, hardly even outlined, others were complete with shading. He especially liked the small doodle of him with a mustache 2x the size of his head and a small LOL written beside it. Alex couldn’t help the pride and joy swelling in his chest. Now curious as to when Otter was able to get such accurate references. 

As Otter walked back over, now with two drinks in his hands, Alex quickly flipped the journal back to Farah. Pretending as though he never saw the other pages and instead graciously accepting the mocktail.