#probably why the length of it feels so odd and off in a game

[lacedwithsuguru]

❦ pt. one — lost in translation

your olderbrothersbestfriend!sukuna’s warm breath fanned across your cheek, before his head dipped and fell into the crook of your neck.

both of your chests heaved up and down, minds racing to come to terms with what just happened.

it was 3 am. you couldn’t sleep and desperately needed a refreshing drink when you ran into him. shirtless, black sweats, and one too many snacks in hand.

it was a common occurrence for him to be here at the odd hours of the night, playing whatever game him and your brother fixated on this month. in passing, you’d heard it was call of duty. or was it valorant?

didn’t matter right now. not when your stifling small talk and inappropriate glances turned into him pushing you against the cold refrigerator, sliding his veiny and calloused hand up your oversized graphic tee to grip your waist and crash his lips against yours.

you didn’t last a second as a rival against his tongue, the pink muscle shoving yours down and claiming its dominance. you damn near gagged on it, tilting your head back and releasing a small whine, a futile effort of pleading mercy.

he was a rough kisser, that was for sure. your fingers gripped those tatted biceps of his to ground yourself in reality rather than drift off, carried away by his assertiveness.

with an echoing pop! he pulled away, head dropping as he uttered curses to himself.

“w-what’s wrong?” you breathed into his unruly pink hair.

“fuck. this is wrong,” he groaned, lifting up and his height looming over you as his head turned on a swivel.

you weren’t sure how to feel about it. yeah, sukuna and your brother go way back and you couldn’t help but ogle at the older, hell of a lot more mature guy. he was ripped and insanely hot. issue was, he never spared a glance in your direction.

you were probably just his friends younger sister, a face in the background.

something about his unattainablility in your eyes only made him so much more desirable.

but for him to call a kiss shared between the two of you wrong, made your heart pang in hurt.

“we don’t have to tell him,” you whispered coaxingly, hand squeezing his bicep.

his hardened gaze flickered down to you, cocking an eyebrow. “didn’t know you had a thing for being a dirty little secret.”

your pleading doe orbs sent blood straight to his cock, cursing himself out before cupping your cheeks and smashing his lips against yours again.

a rough hand of his gripped the underside of your thigh, pulling it tight against his waist. his other hand greedily gripped the flesh of your ass, kneading it in his hand while he rutted against you.

his clothed crotch rubbed up and into your clothed sex, the only fabric between the two of you was your cotton panties and his cotton sweats. you mentally thanked yourself for not throwing on pants before heading to the kitchen.

that damp spot was sure as hell leaving a wet mark against his groin, but that didn't matter. not when he was groping you so right.

"god, you're such a fucking slut," he groaned, and you had to ignore the wrenching of your heart. was this really how you wanted your first real interaction after all these years with him to go? and why was part of you, a degenerate part, turned on?

you'd heard the rumors of sukuna, specifically what he was like in bed. gossip of his massive length and sexual talents were practically legends on your campus, the same length pressing up into you.

sukuna had slept with countless girls, all over your university. but what hurt the most, after years of quiet longing on your end, was that he managed to sleep with girls of your grade but only shared brief glances with you.

it fed into your self-esteem at some point, resigned to the fact that he was impossibly out of your league.

but now, feeling his hands gripping every inch of your body as if you could disappear in seconds, had a disgusting hope blossoming in your chest.

it was stupid, you knew it was. he was quite literally a known manwhore. what right did you have to believe that this meant anything other than flat-out lust, and you were just in the right place at the right time? he was just a man after all.

the simple stimulation of humping his hard erection had your lashes fluttering as your jaw fell slack, allowing yourself to submit completely to sukuna's dirty ways.

tugging your thigh closer, you could hear the shudder's in his growls in your mouth before he pulled away and rested his forehead against yours.

"been holdin' out on me, brat," he groaned, before the two of you reached that hot, white flash, his lips slotting against yours to muffle the pornographic moan trickling from your kiss-bitten lips.

his ruts slowed down, before he set your thigh down and pulled away, a lazy grin on his face.

you gripped the handle of the fridge to stabilize your jelly-like limbs, wondering what the fuck just happened.

"sukuna..."

"you're a nasty girl," he commented, grabbing his water bottle and tossing his head back for a gulp. "but not a word to your brother. don't need my head on a spit."

there it was. that nasty rejection you'd thought wasn't coming your way for some foolish reason.

"...is it so bad-"

"yes. not worth it to have him on my ass for preying on his lil' sister," he bit, rolling his eyes before grabbing his bearings and adjusting his crotch, strolling casually out of the kitchen as if he didn't just defile you.

❦ m.list > pt two.

[directdogman]

Dialtown is the most USA-core game I've ever played. It's so fucking American that it's scary, and I've lived there my entire life! Like, this feels fundamentally tied with the game's themes and narrative, that's how extreme it is. And it's not even alienating OR nationalist?? It makes such genuine commentary? And then there's so much other shit to think about too; Dialtown has a very real identity outside this that anyone could love?

One: I am VERY impressed that you have done the USA and its people this well. I am actually astounded, bewildered, and chuffed. I've never felt so seen by a video game, culturally-speaking. I didn't even know there was a culture to see.

Two: WHY did you do that. Dialtown is like USA Culture Absurdified: The Visual Novel. What drove you to make a game this rich with American culture and ideas???

Hello!

It would've been odd for an outsider (non American) who enjoys reading up on history to make my setting nationalist or alienating. America is a country with a lot of serious issues. You can't really study how America is (and has been) internally run without facing glaring and obvious systematic issues. DT's setting is one of scarcity and most of the main characters you follow in DT are kinda just scraping by without much hope for true mobility/advancement. A lot of Americans (especially younger generations) would agree this sorta encapsulates the national mood of the country right now.

Of course, the systems that run a country don't define its citizens - many of the finest people I've ever known are American and are victims of the whims of those with power, not willing participants in this system. I could be wrong, but that's why I think the setting connected with a lot of people. We all know Randys, Olivers + Karens, people who've fallen through the cracks in some way. To them, America's spirit of self-determination isn't about individual identity - it's more "you're on your own."

Why I chose to set DT in America would be a novel length answer in of itself, but it mainly came down to history + narrative opportunity. I wanted to set the game in the epicenter of where the phone-revolution came from and Crown likely couldn't have pulled his plan off anywhere else and probably not during any other time. It had to be 1960's America.

Of course, some parts of DT are sorta universal and were inspired by the the Great Recession and what followed. I remember there was an area not that far from my house that was full of green fields when I was born and when I was a kid (and when real estate boomed), stuff started being built there. Parts of it looked really nice, not quite like anything nearby. Like the future was coming. Then the economy crashed and stuff was left sitting there, half-built for like a decade. Skeletal, unfinished buildings. DT is much the same.

There's a feeling that the city could've been something better and while things could be more equal, it does feel like there are no easy solutions to fix everything - unless someone very smart and determined somehow bypassed every safeguard that was set up to halt radical change and enacted a genius plan to somehow eliminate scarcity. It happened once and might never again.

I don't think most people understand the intricacies of stuff like global commerce all that well (myself included), but when you're sitting looking at a half built neighbourhood mere hours after speaking to a friend who just kicked out of rented accommodation and doesn't have a stable family unit to fall back on, you'd have to be a real dolt not to understand that things aren't great right now. Most people are scraping by and feel if they could just get affordable housing locked down, if they had maybe one good opportunity - maybe there's hope that things could change for the better.

The end of DT isn't really utopian, things don't massively change for the better and indeed, the town has a lot of rebuilding to do. But, a collection of lonely people are now looking out for each other and through the relationships they have, now feel like they have a place in this world. That no matter how bad things really get - they aren't truly by themselves anymore. Most individuals don't have the means to significantly advance change on their own - but you can live your life, love those around you and support others and plan for when the opportunity to affect change comes about.

I guess that's what life is, in America or anywhere else. Sorry I rambled for so long. Hope this answered the question!

[ckret2]

If your Bill could have facial hair, what style would it be? What I mean is, what style of facial hair Bill thinks look best?

My guese is mustache like Salvador Dalí's (must be at least in his top 10).

now that's a question that could get three answers so I'm giving you all three.

What facial hair would my Bill specifically choose? None. Because I headcanon that a Euclidean body that's rotting/gored/grievous injured looks like an unraveling brick of ramen noodles, typically spilling out through their mouth; so Bill reacts to hair on his head like "oh god i'm dying and my organs are spilling out." He's just barely learned to cope with scalp hair. Having hair all around his mouth at all times would be a constant trigger, he'd feel constantly ill, it'd be like smelling the breath of an invisible zombie making out with you all day.

What facial hair does he think looks best, on other people? Human hair amuses him greatly, they've got tiny tufts on their scalps and pits and groin and about half get tufts on their chin (which fascinatingly correlates with higher odds of losing their scalp tufts) and then sparse useless fuzz on their limbs and sometimes some more patchy areas, BUT NOWHERE ELSE, why is human hair like that, it's so adorably useless. He thinks humans should honor the bizarreness of their patchy hair by taking it to the extreme.

And by "extreme" hair I mean Soos cutting a duck playing paddle ball into his hair is more extreme than Pacifica's knee-length hair; Trembley's whatever-he's-got-going-on is a more "extreme" beard than McGucket's, which is long but consistent in length. If you shave a labyrinth into your beard, or grow it out and then only shave off the left half of your face, or hairspray & sculpt it into a staircase, or tie it into eight braids with teeth used like beads at the bottom of the braids, he'll be delighted. Get weird with it! No, weirder!! Weirder!!!

What facial hair would he think looks best on himself if he didn't have a visceral disgust reaction to hair around his mouth and also was motivated to actually maintain it? Something simple, sleek, and triangular. Probably a soul patch or goatee. I scribbled some on top of the art I'm working on for this Friday's chapter, here

probably #3 or #1.

The first version of this human Bill I designed (in The Sims 4) actually had a small soul patch + goatee combo, although I was limited by the options available in the game so I couldn't get something properly triangular like I wanted. (His body shape's about the same now—inasmuch as I could make that body shape in TS4—but his face changed a lot.)

[selfindulgentpixies]

Learn to play the game for me

Aventurine x GN!reader Hunger games!AU

Wrote this for @decaydaddy's event! The idea of Aventurine being a previous victor and mentor for the hunger games hit me like a truck. It just fits him really well I feel like. I can't say i'll write more for this just because I can't say i'm fully back on the writing horse yet. I was just really taken by this idea because i really enjoyed the hunger games back when i read it. Even if i only read the first two books. It'll be clear that certain scenes really stuck in my head.

header is official promo art and divider credit goes to @kaeyaphile

A sharp rip echo’s through the room before a string of curses fall from your lips. “Fuckin mother fucki’- the hell did you you warn me first?! Why do I need this done exactly?!”

“Ah ah, language, if you’re going to get sponsors we need to play up that pretty and polite image, no one’s going to want to sponsor you if you don’t.” Your mentor chides as the stylist disposes of the first paper and wax strip now coated in hair, hair that you really didn’t think there was a point in getting rid of.

You glare at your mentor, pretty as a picture as he always is. He’d even been pretty when you were young children, even if he’d lacked the flamboyantcy and refinement he now carries himself with back then. You try to ignore it as more warm wax is painted onto your leg and keep your focus on Aventurine. “And you think a few sponsors will be enough for me to survive this thing? I’ll probably end up dead, and then i’ll just leave behind a ‘pretty’ and hairless corpse.” 

Something shifts in Aventurine's eyes and he leans close to you. “You can survive this, you just need to learn how to play their game. Just like I did. Are you really ready to just give up and let yourself be chewed up and spit out?” 

Something stutters in your chest both at the intensity of his gaze and at his close proximity. Rrrriiiip- the wax strip being pulled from your skin cuts off anything you could have said, though to your credit you don’t swear this time and just let out a surprised choked sound. 

Aventurine steps back from you, the expensive heels of his shoes clicking on the hard floor as he turns away. “I’ll leave you to get finished being cleaned up.” He gives a little wave of his hand and walks away. 

___

You stand before the full length mirror, staring at yourself draped in expensive fabric you would never have  been able to imagine yourself in before. Soon you’d be sitting on a stage, selling yourself, selling the idea of you, to the sponsors who could tip the balance for you once the games begin. No. The games have already begun. Aventurine stressed that point to you, that the game began the second you were chosen as a tribute. Everything you did leading up to the fighting was just as important if not more so. You swallow thickly, your thoughts race, you weren’t cut out for this but who was? Maybe those brats in the more well to do districts. Not you though. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep your breathing in check.

Suddenly there are hands on your arms, squeezing lightly. Your eyes snap open, only to be met with your mentor’s in the mirror. Finally alone with him you can see concern there. “That’s right, come back to me, just breathe.” 

His words make your heart stutter but you do as he says, he breathes deeply and you mimic the action. Time stretches on forever with you mimicking his breathing until he seems satisfied. “There you are,” there’s a hint of a smile on his lips now. His hands smooth over the fabric he’d wrinkled while gripping your arms. “I know none of this is fair, but I’ll do everything I can to give you every advantage I can in order to even the odds.” His voice is serious, quiet, you might not even be able to hear him if not for how his lips are pressed to your ear.

“Aven…” before you can fully say his name he continues. 

“All I ask is that you fight like hell. Both on stage and in the arena. Don’t throw the game because you’re scared.” His eyes are intense, so much so that you try to glance away from his reflection in the mirror only for him to turn you toward him. 

He holds your gaze until you give him a firm nod. “Good.” He rests his forehead against yours for a moment and you feel your cheeks heat, your heart racing for an entirely new reason by the time he pulls away and steps back from you. Suddenly your hands shoot out to grab at his arms startling you both. 

“I-i..” A deep breath. “How… Did you manage it? You were a lot younger than I am now when you won.” Despite being your mentor Aventurine has actually spoken very little about his own games. He’s dodged most direct questions both by you and the other tribute.

“I got lucky.” He lets out a dry chuckle when your face contorts. 

“That’s a terrible answer and doesn’t help me.” 

“Ah ah but is it not in line with what they say about these games? ‘May the odds be ever in your favor.’?”  there’s a hint of something pained in his voice. 

“Aventurine, please, is that really all you’re going to tell me…?” 

He removes your hands from his arms before reaching up to cup your face. You feel the warmth of his hands seep through his gloves to your skin contrasted harshly against the cool metal of his rings. “Tell you what, you win and then i’ll tell you everything.”

“But-”

“That doesn’t help you win? Consider it a little extra motivation.” 

Before you can protest he steps away from you and turns to head toward the door with a little wave. “It’s almost time for your interview~” With his back to you can’t see that sadness in his expression. He’s not ready to talk about her with you yet, his older sister who’d given her all and made it possible for him to be standing here now. He can’t share that pain with someone who could be dead tomorrow. 

—

Very few could ever claim to know what’s going on in Aventurine’s head, and you certainly don’t count yourself among them. So when your interview concludes and you’re just barely off stage and he takes your hand, mouthing the words ‘trust me’ then without a moment for you to process he pulls you to him, his lips crashing with yours. Your sound of surprise is swallowed up by him as he deepens the kiss, your hands flying up to grip the fabric of his expensive jacket. You almost don’t register the gasps and murmurs of the crowd. You may not see it but this moment with your mentor is broadcasted on the large screens as he walks you back a step further into view. The way he kisses you and his tender embrace plain for everyone to see. 

Everything feels like whirlwind from there, granted everything since being chosen as tribute has felt that way, but this? The news of you apparently having a love affair with your mentor is everywhere. Headlines of how a pair of lovers are being forced apart and how one must watch the person he loves endure the same trials he once had to survive are abuzz. “Was that seriously necessary?!” Your face is heated and you can’t decide if you feel more embarrassed or angry as you stare at Aventurine perched on the love seat in your temporary accommodations. Shameless with legs spread and a knowing smirk on his lips. 

“It makes for a good story. Everyone loves a tragic love story.” He gives a small shrug. 

“Why didn’t you ask me first!?”

He raises one elegant brow. “Would you have agreed?”

“No!?” 

“And that’s why i didn’t ask. This is another way i can help you and make you more appealing to the audience. Besides… You didn’t seem to mind while I was kissing you.”

“That’s-!” Your stomach twists and you feel your face heat further if possible. 

He puts his hands on his knees before standing and walking toward you, when he’s about to pass you he speaks again, looking at you from the corner of his eye. “If it helps, I meant it. The kiss, I mean.” 

Your world slows. “You- you don’t get to just say things like that and walk away!” You follow hot on his heels as he begins to head for the door. You grab at his expensive jacket once again, the poor fabric seemingly doomed to your abuse, and turn Aventurine to face you. His expression surprises you, all traces of smugness gone. You swallow thickly. “You can’t play games with my feelings at a time like this…” Your fire seems to fizzle out further with each moment you look at him. 

“I’m not… I wouldn’t be putting so much work into giving you the best chance possible if I was.” 

“But… why now? After all this time.. After you were in the games when we were little I never heard from you again and suddenly now that you’re my mentor you’re telling me what? That you lo-” a deep breath. 

“And if I am?” 

“I don’t know… But i have missed you.” 

“That’s why you wanted me as your mentor isn’t it? I know you asked for me specifically.” 

“Is it why you accepted?” 

You meet eachother eyes and suddenly share a small moment of quiet laughter. 

“You’re impossible, you know that right? And don’t think I’m not still mad at you.”

“Win the games and I’ll make it up to you.” And he sounds so sure when he says it that a small part of you believes you could win, if not for yourself perhaps for him. Perhaps for the two of you.

The next day, standing on the platform waiting for it to rise to the arena you feel your resolve solidify. He stands in front of you and rests his forehead against yours. “May the odds be ever in your favor.” spoken for you only before he steps back, allowing the platform to rise to take you to the surface, away from him and he hopes it’s not for the last time. By the resolve in your eyes as you get further and further from him he can believe you have a chance, and that’s all you need to win a game like this.

I hope you guys liked it! Aventurine has taken over my brain lately. I've actually written a couple other things but I just haven't polished them. This idea forced me to sit down and write it.

Tag list: @scarabrat-archived @pastelle-rabbit @fushigurro @zorosdimples @bad-as-the-boys @likelilacwine @kweenkatsuki-fics

[mybiasisexo]

41 and baekhyun pls and thank you!! 💙

Cute 👓

Genre: fluff Pairing: Baekhyun x f.Reader Length: 1.2k Warnings: Sexual Implications

a/n: ngl this is just me writing down a fantasy. it is what it is lol

DRABBLE GAME | MASTERLIST

It’s the end of a long day, and you’re ready to relax and spend some quality time with your boyfriend, Baekhyun. He’s already sitting on the couch when you enter the living room. Watching whatever show he put on for you to mindlessly watch. The first thing you notice as you approach is his hair. He finished his nighttime routine before you, so it’s still damp from his early shower. He didn’t bother messing with it, so it is now drying at odd angles. His body is fitted with a silky blue pajama set, and on his face is a pair of chunky glasses.

He looks like a child, and you have to physically hold your lips together to stop the cooing threatening to come out from his presence.

He spots you and smiles. He always smiles like that when you join his side, no matter where you are, and it makes your heart melt. “Hey, Baby.”

His voice is gentle, comforting. The tone deeper because of it. It drives you crazy, and he’s probably aware of that, but his intentions aren’t to arouse.

That being said, he draws his arms back, a wordless invitation you’re too eager to oblige.

You crawl into his lap, sitting sideways so that your back leans against the armrest and your legs drape over his thighs. He closes his arms around you, one going around your back, the other resting on one of your exposed knees.

He presses a chaste kiss to your cheek before giving his attention back to the show playing. You find his profile more entertaining. He can definitely feel your wandering stare, but ignores it, getting back into the show.

Your gaze is hard to ignore completely though, and the skin on his face tints pink under your stare.

You lift a hand to the back of his head, untangling his light-colored locks, fixing the mess he has going on back there. When he’s presentable again, you start combing your fingernails over his scalp. The action has him purring like a cat, his head leaning more into your touch.

You can’t help but smile at him, continuing the movement for a bit longer. You pull your hand away eventually and he groans in disappointment.

“Those glasses make you look so cute,” you finally say, your voice lilting like you’re talking to a baby. The compliment makes him drop his head to try to hide the pleased smile on his little lips.

“You think so?” he asks softly.

You hum in agreeance. “You should wear them more often.”

He lifts his head back up to look at you, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Maybe I will.”

“So that I can gush about how cute my boyfriend is?” You question.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, turning back to the television, playing off the affect your words have on him. You can tell he can’t get back into the show, that you’ve completely distracted him, by the way he’s blinking. His cheeks and neck bloom a lovely red, and you think you’re going to explode with how endearing he is.

You can’t help but poke his cheek. “I think it’s adorable how easily you blush.”

“Yah,” he whines, pulling away from your touch.

You chuckle and lean in more. “What’s wrong?” You feign concern.

He cuts his eyes to you. “Stop calling me cute.”

You gasp dramatically. “But how can I not? With your cute little glasses? And your cute little pout?”

“I’m not pouting,” he denies, bottom lip gutting further out. “But if I was, it wouldn’t be cute.”

“Oh?” You reposition yourself, sliding your legs over his so that you’re straddling him. He falls back onto the couch, hands instantly going to your hips, squeezing them gently.

You cup his face, holding it so that he can’t avoid your gaze.

“That’s too bad,” you purr. “Because you’re my cute baby. My pretty boy.”

A grunt leaves those red lips of his and you feel him twitch underneath you. “Why did I kind of like that?” He mutters to himself.

A sly grin grows on your face that he notices with slight fear in those shiny eyes of his.

“I know you did,” you whisper. Slowly, you close the distance between you both, brushing your nose and lips against his. “I felt you.”

He gulps. Rarely do you take a dominate role in your relationship. Actually, this is the first time. Baekhyun’s a bit overwhelmed by the role reversal. His eyebrows are raised in surprise, his breathing becoming more ragged with anticipation.

You tease him a bit more, rubbing his lips with your own, the tip of your tongue curling over the sweet flesh. You finally kiss him when you feel his body shaking with need. It’s sultry and slightly vulgar. All teeth and tongue, languidly twirling together. There is no rush, no pressure for anything more even though you both know that’s where this is leading to, especially with him growing more turned on with every swipe of your wet muscle.

He pulls away suddenly, holding you back as he falls into the couch again. His features have grown mischievous as he takes in the way your pupils have blown out.

“You should reward me,” he says with his now husky voice. “For being so cute.”

“A reward?” You repeat and he nods. You play along, tilting your head curiously. “And how exactly should I do that?”

“I can think of a few things,” he pushes, pulling your hips forward to grind against the hard bulge in his pajama bottoms.

The action draws a moan from him, and you bite your lip. “I do need to hear more of those pretty moans leave your mouth.”

“Yeah?” He lets out in a breath. You’ve started trailing kisses down his jaw, his neck, his chest. Unbuttoning his shirt to continue your journey south, consuming every inch revealed to you. You slide down to your knees, and lean up at him between his legs. He takes you in hungrily, loving this view more than you’ll ever know. Little does he know, you do too. You lean against his knee as you lose yourself in the art he is. That pouty mouth of his has fallen open as he struggles to breath, his exposed chest slightly heaving, those glasses that are the reason you’re here in the first place askew on his nose.

Your man is cute, indeed.

“What?” He asks, grinning self-consciously as you continue to stare at him.

You shake your head, both as an answer for him as well as clearing your head. “I love you is all.”

A new layer of blush coats his face, but he doesn’t avert his gaze like had been doing before. Instead, he bends down so that your faces are level, and lifts up your chin with his finger. “I love you too.”

He gives you a quick kiss and leans against the couch again, expectantly. There is nothing ‘cute’ about him any longer, even with the crooked glasses. No. Now he only exudes manliness. His shoulders suddenly broader, the features of his blushless face sharper with lust, the silent demand in his glittery eyes causing saliva to flood your mouth. You fight the urge to swallow, knowing you’ll be making good use of it.

Not wasting any more time, you go for the band of his pajamas.

His quiet groans fill the room as his head falls against the couch, his back arching as you give him the reward he deserves.

And, god, is it cute.

[loveanalyst]

LaDS Rant:

Trigger Warning: I'm about to rant and rave. Definition: "to shout and complain angrily and at length."

TL:DR I need to get off tiktok. Seriously, that app has the tendency to kill the joy in any fandom you're a part of. Like, I ACTIVELY try to stay positive when I'm online. I don't interact with negative posts/posts I don't like and I NEVER comment unless what I have to say is positive. Still, tiktok pushes pissy content my way endlessly! It might be time to take a break.

Now For Specifics: There's 2 things that have been bugging me.

FIRST

The last several videos I've seen about the game have been criticisms about people "projecting their real world insecurities" on the game, and by that I mean someone asked which love interest would care about your looks or something along those lines.

Obviously quite a few people...but why is that so triggering? People are going to interact with the game differently. Yes, it's a fantasy, but people will always converse, imaging, deduce, and otherwise talk about the world in various ways.

What bothered me about these videos is the way they were talking about person who posted it and the people who interacted. It had a very judgmental tone to it and started to get into the territory of just being mean. To say that people who do this are "not normal" or that the action is "rooted in misogyny" is a lot...If you want to stay in the fantasy, that's fine, but policing other people and then diagnosing their actions because you don't like the conversation isn't fair or right.

Hell, even I've made a post about how I wouldn't date any of the guys IRL. That doesn't mean I don't like the game/characters, it's just silliness. Applying real world logic to fantasy isn't new or odd. Literally take any movie/game/tv show/comic etc and you'll see people conversing about how real would logic could/would apply. It's fun and (usually) not that deep. It's no different than any of the other head-cannon convos.

Again, it's FINE if you don't like those conversations. I can understand not wanting to hear/see people speak on characters you have feelings for in (what you perceive to be) a negative way. My issue is suggesting there is something wrong with them, or suggesting they not play the game because of it.

Second:

I know that some Slyus girls have been complaining for a bit (with reason) and it can get frustrating seeing that regularly, but It's starting to feel a little yuckie how people are generalizing them. If fandoms are known for anything, it's bitching about something. I've seen players with each Li main whining about the game in one form or another but recently, especially when something "bad" happens, I immediately see "It's probably the Sylus girlies", no one want's to be stigmatized or blamed for everything within their fandom for liking a character.

I remember when the Rafael birthday card drama happed, although it was people with various mains (other than Rafayel of course) that were guilty, the focus fell so hard on Sylus mains that I saw multiple people post and start spreading that it was only them that did it.

I've also started seeing people say that while they like Sylus they refuse to main him (either openly or at all) because of the stigma. To quote one comment

"I like sylus the best but I promise I'm not toxic!"

It's ridiculous that people are starting to feel that way. With all the talk of "what hurts the game", damning players is good way to do it.

I understand where some of the frustration wards Sylus girls comes from. A LOT of people started playing because of Sylus, yours truly included. With new players/fans comes growing pains. Trust me, I know what it's like to be OG to a fandom and get frustrated with 'newbies", it's not an excuse to be an ass or alienate people because they like him.

That's all, this was very cathartic and I feel better. Also, I do see the irony of ranting about negativity. LMAO!

[dreams-and-honor]

OKAY, Hircine ship lore info dump for @brutally-loving

under cut for length (and it is A LONG ONE)

It all started with this guy

Ayyy, Syndus, my terrible horrible mentor and qpp, Syndus. (It's v important to note that his voice claim is James Patrick Stewart. Why is it important? I dunno.)

He's technically a serial killer? But not like, a MURDERER. He likes to stick around various places for a while, find a person he thinks would be fun, gets to know them, and then hunts them for sport in the woods. He never skews the odds, hunting isn't just KILLING. He'd never choose someone who wouldn't be on equal footing with him (that would just piss Hircine off, and he's one of Hircine's special little guys, but he never talks about that. Just a wink and a shush. What does THAT mean?)

He does it so meticulously that nobody cares to wonder about the charming bosmer who drifts from place to place. Bosmer are just weird like that, right?

In comes this guy

My insert, Seriel.

Down on his luck bosmer that's fed up with everything and everyone, no one's ever chewed Syndus out like this guy has. Syndus thinks to himself 'how do I want to play with this one?' and makes it his mission to find out what Seriel's fucking problem is. And then Syndus, being Syndus, manages to pry out Seriel's deepest grievances.

Oh this kid is so fucking angry, rightfully and unrightfully so. That sort of rage makes him wonder what he'd do with it. So he gives Seriel a proposition; "Would you trade that rage in for guidance and purpose? It's not doing you any good as is, you're just kind of chasing your tail right now, you know?"

He proposes his favorite game, being vague but not deceptive. "If you lose, you die. But if you win, you won't be who you were before. Ever again. Probably. Or no, definitely. So how about it?"

Which means, it's Seriel vs Syndus in the woods, Seriel thinks he's bested Syndus by finding him, it's a clear victory, and then Syndus turns into a hulking slavering monster. He never pulls the werewolf card out when he's playing the game with anyone else. This is a REWARD for Seriel. Of course, Seriel has no way of beating THAT, and is promptly infected with lycanthropy.

With Syndus's mysterious ties to Hircine himself, Seriel IS given guidance almost directly through Hircine. There's a significantly more intimate connection than other werebeasts tend to have with him. He dreams about him, he feels his presence whenever a transformation takes, he's just kinda... always there.

He doesn't actually MEET Hircine until a few weeks later, thanks to Syndus ("How are you just on regular casual speaking terms with a daedric prince?" "-xigbar voice- Wouldn't you like to know?") and is so fucking awestruck by him that everything suddenly just feels right. He knows there's no place else he'd rather be anymore. All the anger and frustration is gone.

Syndus becomes his mentor, by Hircine's decree, and now Seriel is one of Hircine's specialest little guys.

He builds a VERY reverent relationship with Hircine as time goes on, and Hircine loves ALL of his werebeasts, but I reiterate; one of his specialest little guys. Even Syndus doesn't have the type of connection with Hircine that Seriel does. In fact, one would argue that Seriel is now THE specialest little guy. If a Prince ever could look at a mortal with any amount of soul-searing love and adoration, it'd be what Hircine has with Seriel.

Seriel still has to adhere to Hircines tenets, and obviously though Hircine favors him, he won't get any particularly special treatment that isn't romantically inclined.

Yada yada, that farquad meme like "The God has fallen in love with his worshipper!"

AND THAT'S THE HIRCINE SHIP LORE YAAAAAAY

Also shoutout to Syndus, my TES OC of all time. He's a bastard but he's SO fucking funny, I feel like one of you would like him a lot.

[darsynia]

I Know No Other Way Than This | Ch 6

(Bruce Banner/OFC, Tony Stark & Bruce Banner Friendship, post-Avengers 1 Soulmate AU multichapter)

MCU Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist | Prev | Next

Summary: Bruce tried to forget he had soulmate words entirely, but on the day of the Chitauri attack, he returned from his stint as the Hulk to find that his black words had turned silver. His soulmate must have watched him shift from the Other Guy into himself and said them while he was unconscious… Length: 3.1k

No pressure tags: @themaradwrites @ronearoundblindly @stellar-solar-flare

Excerpt:

The sound of snapping fingers brought his eyes back to Tony. “Out with it. I can recognize a percolating idea when I see one, Brawn Valdez.”

“What?” Bruce couldn’t place the name.

“I forgot you’re a tea man. Juan Valdez. Colombian Coffee mascot. Stop trying to distract me from the idea you don’t want to tell me about. I’m dying on the vine, here.”

Chapter Six: A Sixth Sense

Bruce’s conscience bothered him more than he’d expected when he woke the next morning. Everything inside him told him that he had no right to get ahold of the surveillance footage of Cicely’s meeting with Natasha that morning, even if he was doing it for what he firmly believed was her benefit. He told JARVIS he didn’t want to watch, left Tony’s messages on read, and almost pretended he wasn’t home when Nat dropped by after lunch. That would be rude, though, so he split the difference and answered the door without moving aside to let her in.

“I don’t want to know,” he said, before she got a chance to say anything.

“Is that any way to greet a teammate?” she teased, leaning her body against the doorway. Her open, easy body language was a direct contrast to his (arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed, shoulders tense, legs close together). “You gonna ask me to come in, or are you planning to have this standoff in the hallway?”

“There’s… there’s no standoff. Thank you for doing what I think you did, maybe, this morning,” Bruce stammered. Being at odds with a woman as beautiful and deadly as Natasha did not make it easy to remain coherent. He wasn’t afraid of her, he just knew she had skills in manipulation he could only dream of. Unfortunately, she was also ridiculously perceptive.

“Wow, okay,” she said, grinning. “I see my choice to change out of the leather didn’t help much.”

“Could you cut me a break?” Bruce begged. “I’m trying to do the right thing. I can’t have anything to do with her--”

“--which is why you’re arguing about it in a residential hallway.”

Bruce couldn’t help smiling sheepishly at that. “Give me, I don’t know, a day?” he suggested, feeling like all his intelligence was null and void if he couldn’t apply it to deflect her mind games.

“Can I at least tell you what color her hair probably is by now?” Natasha asks with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said, hoping his tone carried the right kind of polite finality. It wasn’t possible to tell from her reaction, because as Bruce shut the door, she actually waved her fingers at him in the gap.

He walked over to the wall beside the refrigerator and rested a hand on it, dipping his head down to settle his mind. Two sets of instincts warred in him-- one to learn everything possible about Cicely’s situation to better protect her, the other to disengage entirely from Cicely… to better protect her. The hidden third option was to disengage from the dilemma for a little while, and Bruce reached for that one.

He pushed off from the wall, then turned to smile at it. Bruce had lived so much of his life frugally, if not in dire financial straits, and it was nice to live in a space where every single possible square inch of the walls didn’t need to be in use.

If only Tony Stark’s generosity extended towards giving Bruce a break from all of the soulmate pressure.

“JARVIS?” Bruce said, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

“I am here at your service, Doctor Banner.”

“Is it possible for you to do some more intensive monitoring of Miss Besnard and only inform me if there’s something of concern? I’m trying to strike a balance here, and having access to all of the information is clearly not working,” Bruce confessed.

It was a good thing that Stark’s AI couldn’t access his dreams. Ironically, Bruce’s fixation on Cicely translated to guilt even in his own dreams, which often meant he woke up in the middle of them-- thus guaranteeing he’d remember their content. It was a frustrating, entrancing Catch-22.

“Yes, that is possible. Would you prefer to choose the parameters, or would you like me to calculate those myself and offer you several options to choose from?”

“Tony has you running the tower, his home back in Malibu, and his Iron Man suit, doesn’t he?” Bruce asked, chuckling a little. “I’m okay with trusting you. Just let me know if she’s in danger. From someone other than me, I mean.”

“To be clear, Doctor: are you asking me to avoid telling you when I believe that Miss Besnard is in danger from your own behavior?”

“Maybe that depends on whether your model for danger is Tony or not,” Bruce said, more to himself than the AI. “No,” he decided. “You’d better tell me then, too.”

“Very good, sir.”

That sounded a lot like a pat on the back for good behavior. Bruce wondered how long he’d have to stay here before the benefits of the extra space and amenities outweighed the drawbacks.

Now that he had set aside the sense of responsibility he had to watch out for her himself, Bruce could focus on the threat itself.

“JARVIS?” he said, heading for the computer. “Can you access any employment and enrollment records for jobs I’ve held and conferences I’ve attended or spoken at since the accident? I’m hoping we can cross-reference that with New York City residency as a starting point, and go from there. I want to find out who’s using Cicely as a pawn in their beef with me.”

“I will place the names in a new file on your desktop. The search should take a few hours, perhaps you should take a walk? I would suggest a visit to Mr. Stark’s lab, but as it happens, he’s just completed a conversation about soulmates with Ms. Potts. I expect you’d like to avoid being notified about the conditions you’ve just asked me to monitor so early in your day.”

It sounded an awful lot like JARVIS was deploying calming suggestions on the off chance he might be getting upset. Bruce didn’t know how to feel about that. “You are a mixed blessing, that’s for sure, JARVIS.”

“Thank you, Doctor Banner.”

It was almost ten at night when Tony walked into the lab wearing a fancy suit. Bruce was just finishing up a scan of an alien weapon. Technically, this was Tony’s space, but that was because Bruce had moved over after Tony got lazy about walking back and forth to discuss things with him. Tony had put aside the component he was working on to design an apparatus he said would serve as a high-res holographic video phone. When the eccentric billionaire started measuring him for something he called ‘the carapace,’ Bruce had just packed up and moved.

Now, it looked like Tony was shedding his own carapace. Every ten seconds, he took something else off, draping each piece (silk tie, belt, suit jacket, and so forth) on whatever surface was nearby. Bruce half expected that he’d see Pepper come by looking for him and start following the trail of discarded garments. Finally, down to a white wife beater and black, unbelted dress pants, Tony threw himself onto a chair and glared at his socks.

“Successful fundraiser, then?” Bruce asked, laying on the sarcasm.

“I should have paid Clint to wear the suit and pretend to have Laryngitis,” Tony groaned. “You don’t know how lucky you are. I am the last person you’d call tactful, and Pepper won’t let me drink at those things. Worst part? I don’t even think it’s working.”

‘Lucky’ was a stretch, but Bruce knew he had a certain anonymity in his current form. “You can’t wrangle a suit for Rogers and bring him next time?” The city was only willing to fund so much clean-up. Tony and Pepper had been holding dinner party meet and greets to ask some of the more prominent residents to help, above and beyond what he and the company had donated already.

Tony looked up, aghast.

“No, not an Iron Man suit, I meant a cloth one. You know, for schmoozing.”

“Are you kidding? He works ten hours a day out there. I’d have to pour him into it, and then he’d just make me look bad with the aw shucksing.” Tony threw his head back, letting his arms go limp beside him, hands dangling against the arms of the chair. “I can’t believe I used to be jazzed up after this kind of shit.”

Bruce thought his real luck was that almost everything he’d been involved with outside the tower, even regarding Cicely, had occurred in parts of the city that weren’t as damaged. It wasn’t like he could show up at a party as the Hulk and make nice, though, and they weren’t learning as much as he’d hoped from the Chitauri remnants left behind in the devastation. 

He ran a hand through his hair, pausing halfway through at a stinging thought: his life had been materially made better by the attack.

He had actual friends and a support system, now. A place to live. A place to retreat to if he hulked out. Numerous labs. Work that felt worthwhile (despite their lack of breakthroughs in understanding the alien technology), and a state-of-the-art place to do it in. He’d also found his soulmate, so that lingering uncertainty had also been removed, despite being replaced by a few others. Bruce was grateful-- but he also felt guilty.

Surely there was something he could do? Something that didn’t require him to solidify the public’s understanding that he was both scientist and monster? Sure, a simple Google search would reveal his ‘secret identity,’ he’d even watched Cicely perform one. But that was a far cry from stepping in front of a cadre of reporters and admitting it, like Tony had.

“You’re thinking so hard it’s making my head hurt,” Tony complained.

“I’m just trying to come up with something I can do to help besides hole up here and enjoy myself. Feels like cheating,” Bruce admitted.

“People give Cap shit for his excruciating morality, but you’re the dark horse, I think. What, were you raised Catholic? Pretty sure we’re supposed to enjoy life.”

Bruce laughed. “No way are you qualified to judge.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. There was a ghost of an idea he was mentally circling, but it was risky.

The sound of snapping fingers brought his eyes back to Tony. “Out with it. I can recognize a percolating idea when I see one, Brawn Valdez.”

“What?” Bruce couldn’t place the name.

“I forgot you’re a tea man. Juan Valdez. Colombian Coffee mascot. Stop trying to distract me from the idea you don’t want to tell me about. I’m dying on the vine, here.”

“Fine, fine,” Bruce said, grabbing his glasses from the desk to put them on. He always thought better while wearing them, a kind of Pavlovian reaction. “It’s not fully fledged, and it depends on what’s left to do, debris-wise.” He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. There was a glimmer of something useful that was dangling just out of his mental reach, caught on a previous train of thought as it chugged away. He’d been remembering how Cicely had looked him up-- there. “So, there’s a ton of footage of us fighting that day. Heroic fighting, maybe, but we destroyed a lot in the process.”

“Destruction I am now tasked with paying to fix, yes.”

“What if there was a way to do some Search Engine Optimization and grass-roots fundraising at the same time? Some of the large pieces of debris are still in place because it’s too dangerous to move them. They’ve got to get all of the smaller stuff first, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’re probably going to have to rent a crane. Maybe two. Maybe two dozen.” Tony sighed.

“What if instead, we make a flashy webpage promising that for every funding goal reached, Iron Man and Hulk will show up at a clean-up site and do some of that work? It’ll save the cost of the machines, and who cares if it’s a little dangerous? What could happen to me? Nothing permanent.” Bruce said, actually getting excited.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Tony asked, his head practically sideways. There was an overlay of happiness on his face that hadn’t been there before, though. “I mean, can Hulk do PR junkets?”

“I don’t think you’d want him to. That’s why it should be both of us. You’re the bait for the techies, I’m bait for the Mythbusters crowd. You’re the voice, I’m the smash,” Bruce said. The more he thought about the idea, the more he thought it just might work. It was a shame it was already dark outside; he was full of energy, all of a sudden. He wanted to go look at some of the sites, pick out what chunks he could move with his alter ego. There was almost no chance he could get Hulk to drop chunks of building neatly enough into a heavy-duty vehicle, but there were a few options that might work.

For once, Tony was quiet. Bruce looked over, pulling his mind from the idea of running simulations that tested how much force some of the more sturdy transport trucks could withstand. “What?”

“I thought you hated being Hulk.”

“I do. But what I hate more is feeling responsible for some of that stuff without a way to make it right,” Bruce said quietly. “You and Fury, you’ve given me a new framing device. Hulk as a tool.”

Tony burst out laughing.

He really was a child, sometimes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Tony stretched and launched himself out of the chair as if that was the only way to get himself moving. “The SEO thing, that’s smart,” he said. “I’m all for filling the web with footage of us fixing shit instead of breaking it.” His gaze turned coy as he looked over at Bruce. “Think your girl might get curious and show up?”

Bruce pushed down the little surge of possessiveness that reared up on hearing his phrasing. “She’s not mine, Tony. I don’t even know what her words are.”

“Legally, there’s a claim there, Cold Feet. Generally doesn’t mean anything until it’s acknowledged, but take it from someone who knows: when my words turned silver, that went into my medical file. Pepper’s too. And once we knew whose they were, that became a fact of record.”

Bruce stared at him. “I… I didn���t know that,” he whispered, stunned.

“Yeah, be glad the ballot measure to make it illegal to lie about whose they are didn’t pass about ten years back,” Tony told him, draping various articles of clothing over an arm and toeing into his shoes. “It’s been national law for about twelve years that your soulmate has certain automatic rights, unless legally severed, including hospital and jail visitation.” He narrowed his eyes in confusion at Bruce, and Bruce felt his ears start to heat up in embarrassment. “You’re really surprised by this! You, the man who seems to have some inexplicable, arcane ruleset about even coming into contact with your soulmate? You never even looked into this? What, did you just stick your fingers in your ears and hum?”

“Basically,” Bruce admitted. He reached out for his rolling desk chair and sat down, hard. The chair rolled back a bit from the force of it.

“You really need to--”

“Yeah, getting that now,” he interrupted Tony. “Soulmates don’t get medical power of attorney, do they?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“No, but it’s fast-tracked for them.”

“Well, you’ve done it,” Bruce said. His heart was beating so quickly that he wondered if he should make his way down to the bunker, and his mind was similarly racing. The guilt he’d felt in regards to Cicely Besnard had doubled, something he hadn’t even expected to be possible.

She was absolutely in danger because of him. Because of his willful ignorance.

And you call yourself a scholar?

“What did I do? Perform the first verbal lobotomy? You look like you’re about to sneeze your brains all over my lab floor, Banner.”

“Changed my mind. We can’t let her stay at her apartment. If she’s being watched because someone wants to use her to force through some kind of medical power of attorney--” He broke off at the sound of Tony’s gasp.

“Shit. You’re right. JARVIS, is Clint Barton in position to watch Ms. Besnard?”

“He is indeed, sir.”

Tony’s hand was on the door to leave the lab. “She’s safe for now. I’ll set up a few options for housing, here and at a hotel I have pull at. Tomorrow we’ll figure out how to persuade her to accept a temporary move, and I’ll get on the fundraising idea you had. Try to get some sleep?”

For a second, Bruce didn’t even know what fundraising thing Tony was talking about. He was too worried about the amount of research into soulmates he needed to do ASAP. There was a little spark of excitement deep down inside him that threatened to spread. Tony’s meaning finally sank in as Bruce watched Tony trying to get his foot to slide properly into his shoe while balancing on one foot, half of his outfit precariously draped on his free arm.

“Tony, there’s no way I could possibly--”

“Are you still missing the cues, here?” Tony interrupted, his voice abrupt and combative but somehow still affectionate. He held out both hands like a scale, his still-draped silk tie swaying with the movement. “You dislike your alter ego, but Hulk helping out is one of the best ways to make up for the damage we caused. You stayed away from people for years to keep them safe, but you’re the happiest and most secure you’ve been for a long time in the middle of New York City. You run from your soulmate, but she’s safer here, where we can all protect her from whoever means her harm.” Tony let his hands drop, and the tie fluttered to the ground. “Did you ever consider that maybe your instincts are actually terrible?"

Bruce laughed helplessly. “That is one of the least encouraging things anyone’s ever told me, but somehow you come out looking like a great friend for saying it.”

“Sweet talker,” Tony said, blowing him an air kiss and heading out the door.

When he was alone, Bruce leaned over and rested his arms on his legs, letting out a long breath. His instincts were telling him that they shouldn’t wait, that someone should go right now and persuade Cicely to pack up a few days’ worth of clothes and get out of there. Then again, Tony’s words were pretty illustrative. He spun the chair around to the computer and logged out. On his way out the door, he picked up Tony’s red tie and wrapped it around his hand absently as he waited in the elevator. 'She’ll be fine,' he told himself.

Next chapter, Bruce is forced into the very situation he's always tried to avoid--speaking his Words to his soulmate.

to be continued...

[cruyffista]

for the prompt ask: 6 or 28 with marco van basten?

Thanks for the prompt <3 I did No.6. Reverse Amnesia. I had a lot of fun writing this one and might expand it into a full-length fic.

The alarm clock wakes Marco up like a hot knife cutting through something soft, and the thumping noise echoes through his eardrums and into his pounding head before he slams the alarm mute with a satisfying thud.

Still enveloped in his warm blankets, Marco stretches out his arms with a yawn, shrugging out all the kinks and aches in his joints that often plagued him in the early mornings when he woke up.

Besides him, soft light escaped through the curtains, creating strange, swirling patterns on his body.  When Marco opens the window next to his bed, he’s hit with a pleasant breeze, and when he peers outside, he sees that the autumnal trees have shed their brown leaves, so that they make oddly elegant twirls in the grey sky.

Marco flicks his gaze to his watch. Practice at the De Meer stadium is only an hour away, and he had promised Johan that he would go over some specific drills before the next game.

He briskly changes into his sweatpants and training shirt. Since the training grounds are only a few kilometers away from his apartment, Marco prefers to jog rather than take a car or cycle to De Meer stadium; he has also discovered that an early jog relieves some of the pain that still throbbed in his knee.

While on his way, however, Marco notices something curious: for the entire duration of his run, he has not been asked for a picture, an autograph or even been wished good luck for the next game. In fact, Marco hasn’t been recognized at all.

Reaching the wrought-iron gate of De Meer, Marco shakes his head and tries to dismiss his erratic, tangled thoughts. After all, he should be relieved—not perplexed—that he hasn’t been recognized.

But still that odd, disquieting feeling remains. The distinct sensation that something is off.

“Can you please buzz me in,” Marco politely asks the security guard outside the centre.

The security guard looks at him in puzzlement. “ID, please?”

Marco rolls his eyes. He has, after all, been here probably hundreds of times, but nevertheless hands the ID to the security guard.

The guard checks through a long list of names that Marco sees are scrawled on his notepad, before looking at Marco apologetically. “Sorry sir, but you’re not on the entry list.”

Now Marco is getting even more bewildered. Not only that, he's also getting a bit angry. “What do you mean? I’m Marco van Basten.”

The security guard shakes his head. “Look, I don’t care if you’re the king himself, you’re not getting in if you’re not authorized to.”

“Well, just ask Johan Cruyff, he knows who I am.”

The security guard furrows his brows. “Why would I ask the coach of Feyenoord to let you, a complete stranger, into De Meer stadium?”

Jesus, what type of bizarro timeline had he been dropped into? “Okay, what about Frank? Frank Rijkaard. He knows me.” Marco pleads to the guard.

The security guard pauses for a moment. “Frank Rijkaard? He’s a great lad, but he’s in Milan now. Didn’t you hear?"

For a second, all Marco could do was slump to the ground in disbelief. He doesn't know whether he wants to scream, cry, or somehow wake up from the terrible nightmare that he has been having.

What the hell is going on?

In this universe, I like to imagine that Cruyff would've stayed with his previous club, Feyenoord, and mentored Ruud Gullit instead of Marco.

As a sort of butterfly effect, this universe's Frank Rijkaard goes to Milan earlier than 1988.

[tiredassmage]

dav thoughts misc. edition

(if you will)

there's a few other assorted things that fuck me up about having played my canon/first run of veilguard through as tyr that i don't think i have the full ability to word properly atm and i'm not sure when or if i will, so i'll suffice with a shorter(? we'll see how bad i ramble) list.

for one, the recurrent themes of grief and change and regret are just. delicious. and exactly the kind of shit tyr's baked out of or into or however you wanna say it in his ~original media presence (swtor), so it's absolutely incredible to watch it come up so often in veilguard. i figured he'd fit really well and naturally into rook's role and i wasn't disappointed. one day i could probably make a screenshot dialogue collection of it all, but i also know my own motivation for that kinda thing, so that's. a fairly big project i just don't think i'll ever actually complete but it lives in my mind.

the second is that it is massively fucked up after the twist in the end that his dragon age verse tag is a line of varric's from inquisition and i am still crying and sniffling about it intermittently because there's no way i could've known about that. and god it works painfully well. there better be a damn good punchline, varric says. hold my beer and watch this, said veilguard.

neve and him still drive me up a wall (positive). i want to chew on electric cables or something about it. she's incredible and i love her. and it's incredible the kind of... parallels if you will that are in her and tyr's relationship and to some of the relationships he's had elsewhere (shara jenn, anyone? yeah. i'm still not over my watcher two feelies and neither is tyr). the only explanation i can think of for why i didn't predict how down bad i'd (and... tyr, tbh) be for her is because i didn't dig a whole lot into the material immediately before release bc i just wanted to have fun when i got my hands on the game. they have similarities to each other, and neve's own struggle draws out a really interesting Thing tyr does about... where his love and beliefs sorta come together. honestly, part of why he falls so fucking hard for her is because she's on the edge of letting him jump off the i love you cliff, uncertain if she should let either of them take the risk of actually saying it. i think a lot of it is exactly that neve gallus knows the kind of loyalty that's in that man. she wants to believe him when he says they'll figure it out, but they're up against impossible odds, and he is trouble, for her, because she knows the kind of lengths someone like him is willing to go to. he'll see this through to the end, whatever it takes, because that was a promise. and he'll apply that same level of dedication to whatever it is he feels for her. [inhales] god they're so fucking good, brent.

i'm probably forgetting other things but. again. short rambly list just to kind of get it out of my skull and remember to share it because i want to even if all the words won't word completely how i kinda know they are in my head, lol.

i also have developing feelings about rook #2 (welcome back theo, the man the myth the legend most of you probably haven't met but i love him) and it's doing really interesting things about family and performance pressure and fitting in with him that, again, brain refuses to fully articulate atm. but they're in there. gnawing on what it's doing to the crow background for me w/him.

bites the keyboard etc etc.

[exalted-dawn-drabbles]

Hey Hey Ed So y'know how we were getting a little unhinged the other night? Well GOOD NEWS it's friday and I have an oc x oc prompt for you!!

For some Tal & Hamin, "The dark collects our empties, empties our ashtrays. ([The dark collects…], Ben Lerner)" from the poetry prompts list.

OKAY SO I DID MY BEST WITH THIS ONE. I am new to Hamin so please if I made any character errors, lemme know and I would be happy to fix. But also I love them and think they would make great friends so long as Tal isnt trying to kill her LOL uwu Anyway, enjoy!

for @dadrunkwriting

Rated G: Tension and mild violence, ~1.5k words

Stained by Ash and Darkness | By Exalted_Dawn

“There is someone watching you.” 

The warning floated in the dark corners of Hamin’s mind, a low roll like thunder on the horizon. Hamin stilled, her hands going to rest upon the hilt of one dagger. She had specifically picked this route to avoid enemies. The lower valleys were flooded with dueling mages and templars– too much of a death trap to be worth the convenience of the roads. And besides, the sound of all the fighting had scared most of the game away regardless. 

“An enemy?” she murmured, praying instead that it was simply a lost kid in the woods. 

There was a pause. 

“I am unsure. They hide amongst the trees, but they are alone, and… they do not seem to be like the rest.”

A rogue bandit perhaps? Fuck, but she really hoped it wasn’t a templar. The last thing she needed was for some deserter to try their hand at easier pickings for food and coin and get close enough to find out she was a mage. 

Hamin kneeled, playing pretend at having found some fungi for harvest. If they were a threat, it would be better if they still thought themselves unnoticed. At least for a little while– long enough until she could get away “How far back?” 

“About thirty… maybe forty feet back. They are hard to follow.” 

That close? Hamin’s brow furrowed.

Even with the din of the forest and the far away battles, she should have been able to hear the crunching of leaves of the drag of a lazy step. Especially if they were wearing armor. But as she stood and began walking again– listening– she heard nothing at all. Ten feet. Fifty. And still not a sound. Without the ghost, she doubted she would have picked up on the presence of her tail at all. And thatshe hadn’t been told otherwise likely meant they were probably still following her.

She ground her teeth. 

Fuck her poor luck harder than a bear in heat. Why did this have to happen to her now, when she was so far out from the scouting camps?

Thinking quickly, Hamin chanced a few more measures of length before ducking behind a small bend of trees and skirting her way down a sharp drop off in the rocks. It was a steep hill, and she could feel loose gravel giving way beneath her feet, threatening to either shred them or trip her. But she was willing to take either of those odds against possibly going back to the Circle. She was free now, and free she would stay. 

Coming to a stumbling stop at the base of the hill, she took off in a full on sprint. They may not have been her woods, but she would still wager she knew them better than any human at least. 

The world was a blur of verdant waves as she ran, launching over twisted roots and around thistle bushes. She was swallowed up by swaying shadows, a veil of the forest’s weaving. But still, she heard nothing. Not a clank or a clamor or a shout. Certainly no curse words thrown at her. Huffing hard, she did not dare look back.

“Are they still following me?” she cried out loud, ducking beneath a low branch.

“Yes, but-”

Suddenly, there was a dagger stuck into the wood of the tree in front of her, right where her head had been. It thrummed still with the power of the throw, but that is not what caught her attention most. The design– she recognized it. Ironbark, carved with a rune for- 

“Ah tits-!”

She dodged backwards, just in time for the tree to explode into a shower of wood and lightning. But even if she had evaded that attack, she realized too late she had made an error in backpedaling. Before she could turn to right her balance, there was a knife held tight against her throat, another pressed into her gut. Whoever stood at her back was roughly her height– their mouth perfectly level against her ear to hear the hissed insult.

“Thief.” 

She turned her face to see stark gold eyes. A sweep of dark hair. Gaunt features. Ash smudged cheeks. And Mythal’s vallaslin beneath. A Dalish elf. But what had she meant by-?

There was a slicing noise as the kill she had collected a few hours was cut free from her belt, the lack of weight causing her to stumble a little and cut her skin against the sharpened knife blade. 

Hamin winced, straightening her neck away from the dagger, stumbling over her words. “H-Hold, lethallan. Aneth’ara. I am of clan Virnehn. A hunter, not a thief.” They were spat in quick succession, hoping to sway the elf before she decided to cut her throat for having wandered too close. 

Just to prove her harmlessness, she lifted her hands away from her belt, where her own knives still sat sheathed. She wanted no confrontation today, especially not with someone who had her weapons to Hamin’s throat. 

“If I stole from you, then it was unintentional. I was sent to empty Inquisition traps,” she explained. “I must have made a mistake.” Even though she was nearly certain she hadn’t. If it had been a Dalish trap, she would have recognized the make of it, she was pretty sure. 

She chanced another glance over her shoulder when she did not receive an answer. The elf was studying her suspiciously, eyes flicking between her face and her weapons belt. Now that Hamin had a bit of a clearer look, she could tell that the woman was more than just a bit gaunt. The darkness clung to the ridges of her protruding bones, and her clothes, which hung loose on her frame, were almost entirely smothered in scorch marks and ash. 

…The victim of one of the mage skirmishes then. And a very malnourished one at that. 

“The shems are reckless to throw their magic around as they have been,” she tried, forcing herself to meet the woman’s sharp gaze. “They’ve been setting the forests on fire, and scaring off all the game. Scorching and starving out the woods. If you like, I can build a fire and we can share that. I can also heal you if you need…” 

The voice in her head piped up, wary. “Hamin. It is not wise-”

She did it anyway, letting a bit of mana flicker to her fingers. What else was there left to lose, if she could not convince the woman to let her go?

“I’m a friend. I promise. So, sathan, if you could let me go?” Green eyes met gold, reflected in the canopy above them both. A bit of sun poked through, shining dappled light on the woman’s cheeks. A light, plum colored purple, and not the black of the forests’ shadows she had assumed them to be. 

There was a single, tense motionless second where she thought she might have blown it. That perhaps, out of safety, the other elf might assume she was simply an elven apostate, among the number who have been causing so much chaos and destruction in the lands below, and choose to kill her anyway. It is what most Dalish might have done, to protect their clans, but as she breathed in, and then out in one, strained exhale, the hold on her neck loosened, and then retreated all together. 

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Serannas,” she said, turning as she touched the nick at her throat and sealed it with a spell. “May I have your name?” 

There was still mistrust in the woman’s gaze as she watched. A flickering in her eyes.

“Where is your vallaslin?” the stranger asked, speaking with the all-too-familiar lilt of the People. 

Well that was a fair question, she supposed. “A long story– and one better told around a fire, if you wouldn’t mind it.” 

Slowly, the woman lowered her guard, and sheathed her daggers at her belt. Barely, she tilted her head in a nod. 

Hamin walked up to the tree that had been partially blown to bits and tugged the dagger free from its center. It was undented– a beautiful work of woodcarving and smithing. She flipped the small dagger in her hand and then held it out to the woman. Tentatively, she tried again. “Andaran Atishan. I am Meldiriel of clan Virnehn, but I go by Hamin.” 

Equally as hesitant, the woman extended her hand and took the knife. “Talenna, formerly of clan Ethera. Now, though, I am clanless.” 

Clanless? Then they were alike. 

She nodded. “Well, Talenna, if you would allow me, I would like to offer you my help.”

Another second passed, and then surprisingly, Talenna scoffed. “I would prefer your food, but… I will not deny help when it is offered.” 

A small smile twitched to her lips. “I will prepare the rabbit if you build the fire?”

Talenna nodded. “It is a deal.”

[aro-simp]

Heyyy, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 & 13 >:3 (these are again so many sksjskk, sorry)

AHHHH THANJ YOU AGAIN!!! That's like almost the entire ask game 😭 But I do love an excuse to ramble endlessly!

Thought it would be fun to answer some of these "in-character", those are green :)

3. What is your sense of style? Do you have any specific aesthetics when it comes to your wardrobe?

I don't have much of an own style I guess? I mostly just wear the overalls I have to wear when I'm working... preferably only halfway since it's always so damn hot around here.

You know now that I'm more comfortable with... myself I do like showing off my arms (and again: It's So Fucking Hot. Always.) so I'm a loyal tank top/undershirt/wife beater (whatever the fuck you wanna call it) wearer. I like to think it gives me something of a charmingly rugged appearance. Don't tell anyone I said that tho that sounds like bull.

And outside of work just whatever clean pair of jeans and any jacket. I like those kitschy neon windbreakers actually :)

I think that whole big pants little shirt thing looks great on me

4. What does your voice sound like? Is it low and gravelly? Is it high pitched and quiet? What does your laugh sound like?

I honestly always have such a hard time coming up with voices 😭

Luckily (or... sadly, tragically) I've been near obsessively watching old Top Gear/Grand Tour clips recently so Psy just ended up sounding like Richard Hammond in my head, accent included. ...Do with that information what you will.

5. What are your hobbies and interests? Do you have any that others find odd?

I fancy myself a bit of an artist, and I'm trying to play the piano!

I (obviously) really like jets but generally I just like mechanical vehicles! Cars, planes, ships, etc. I don't think it's in itself an odd interest but not a lot of people share quite the same ...type of enthusiasm with me.

I like video games and movies a lot... especially the action genre, and I really like dragons!

8. Do fans like or dislike you? Why?

Generally Psy is more on the length of fandom wide liked character. There's not really any huge fans but he also gets no big hate. He does kinda fall into the "fandom's most defended baby" section, he's queer and disability rep and don't you dare get too angry at him!

The dislike towards him is less about him as a character and more about him as a narrative device. There's some talk about forced representation, as always. But otherwise people are pretty chill about him.

The circle of people who are enthusiastic fans about him also won't shut up about what a cool detail it was to get the kid from the first movie back.

9. How do other characters feel about you? Why?

I think I'm generally met with like a sense of annoyance? Nothing too big but it's not getting past me that not everyone is too pleased with the space I take up. I'm loud, I'm obnoxious, I need more help and attention than others.

I like to think that despite the annoyance a lot of people find me somewhat charming, a bit of a renegade. I love to bicker and joke.

I understand that most folks I know are on a strictly professional level with me and well... I'm not an outstanding worker? I have some very specific aspects I focus too much on, I am too lenient with others. I did perhaps stir some trouble with one or two meltdowns... People know me! That's all I need. And most don't viscerally hate me...

I like to think I am more or less accepted within their circles as a silly little side guy

10. What is your "role" in the story? Main character? Villain? Side character?

just a measly little side character 😔 ...I'd argue not an unimportant side character, beautiful love interest to the protagonists after all! And I am a reoccurring role! But... side character nonetheless

11. What are popular ships involving you? Do any of them involve characters that aren't your f/os?

Most popular is of course RoosPsy!! We are boyfriends!!

I'd say second most popular would probably be... Hangman and I... Not a huge fan, personally. Not at all. Subsequently that also means Hangman x Rooster x I. Also. Not a fan. Maybe even worse, I don't want to see my man with a guy I can't stand >:/ (no hate to anyone who ships Hangman and Rooster it's just a ship I really don't like, my bad T^T)

PsyMav of course, lovely ship, lovely f/o :)

I think Goose and I as a familial ship are doing quite well!

12. Are there any mischaracterizations of you?

Fiction and reality do love to imitate each other and sadly that means that I am frequently caught in between constant infantilization and demonization :,) I promise it won't kill you to view me as an autonomous person and not just a walking talking charity cause. It also won't kill you to consider me just another member of society and not something so repulsive it has to be evicted from the community.

13. What songs do you associate with yourself?

I'm Gonna Win by Rob Cantor, I like the attitude of the song, I think it fits me :) I'm not necessarily a star of managing my life but it's quite a challenge to try and keep me down. The sort of sinister tone to it is also really nice, I'm gonna take what's mine and make that everybody else's problem.

2Econd 2Ight 2Eer by Will Wood, it's just such a fun song! And the line "I'm just a psycho, babe, come and go out my mind" is one I never can get out of my head.

Little Lion Man by Mumford & Sons, this song makes me cry a lot :( Maybe it's the comfort of the idea that my shortcomings aren't my fault

Old Friend by Mitski, I just really like Mitski! And this song is great! All of her songs are great tbh...

[sacredglitch]

i have eeped, woken up and cried

I have some thoughts. MW3 spoilers below.

Major thing out of the way; everyone is gonna experience the campaign at different lengths depending on skill and difficulty they choose. I started around 9/10pm and finished at 5am, so it took me quite some time, predominantly with issues in the Weapons Free missions and the Ally AI just never backing me up? Felt a lil like Rudy in the Ghost Team mission yknow?

But it was a fun experience in gameplay standpoint. There was elements of both MW and MWII alongside some new things that I still gotta get used to once MP drops. But story wise?

Something felt weird. Like it wasn't as consise as MWII with its storytelling. All that took, what? A few days? Maybe even weeks to come to completion. With this game, bar the flashback mission, I never knew how closely related each mission was unless it was explicitly clear, like Passenger and the mission with Farah inspecting the debris. You know that was only hours apart from one another.

Characters also felt a little odd. Like there was moments where it felt like yeah, these are the crew I know and others where it's like....who am I listening to right now? There was just an air of tension with it all, and yes with who they were dealing with ofc there's tension...but idk again the flow wasn't there like the other two games.

Okay elephant in the room; Soap and Makarov. The amount of times Soap was on the verge of whipping out his pistol or knife and just ending it and no one letting him? If Makarov was such a major threat; sometimes the information he may or may not have had just isn't worth it. Thousands would be alive if Johnny was just let loose and take out the trash. But because he wasn't he's now dead.

And Makarov lives. What the fuck, Activision? Infinity Ward? Fucking Sledgehammer?! What was the point of killing off someone who they know damn well is beloved in the fandom (yes, he died in the OG but hear me out) as is his actor, let the baddie get away, and then just....end it with the 141 spreading his ashes. No revenge for Soap, no honouring what he wanted from the beGINNING, no nothing. Just somewhat dull words from the team, his ashes spread and roll credits.

It's giving rushed story for no fucking reason. I wouldn't be so mad if they just did something after that. Sure, one could say this is them building up to MWIV but it also could have been dealt with one more mission. It truly feels like a slap to the face for the fans, cause we know OG Soap's death was agonising but it had its resolution with Price honouring his men.

If this was the second game then it would also make more sense, build up to the conclusion. But no, this was what most of us expected to be the big finale of Makarov and this current story of Modern Warfare, and it wasn't. Just more prolonged waiting that they're probably going to rush to get out next year. It's truly a shame on the big trio working on this game, but also towards the new fans and in my eyes, Neil too. This was his big break in sorts and it's clear by fan interaction he loves being Soap. I'm glad he seems to be the main protagonist of Zombies which makes me hope he'll be in more things or some pre campaign things but damn. Imagine getting the role of a beloved character, giving them an incredible performance just to be shot point blank and given a dull ending. That would make me feel betrayed but ofc I won't speak for Neil, I have 0 clue how he feels on all this. Hell he could be all for it. Just...truly sucks from a fans perspective.

One final thing is the questions and confusion that ig are open ended because whoop de doo another game, more cash for Activision. For starters; who was the 'Shadow' giving Makarov intel? Was it supposed to be Shepard? Considering he was kidnapped and all that would make sense, but Makarov specifically said Shadow. In my eyes if he had meant Shepard, he would have said US Official or something.

Speaking of Shadows; why did Graves sell him out? What's he gonna gain from that? A redemption arc? Fuck that shit I didn't spend almost two hours fighting the tank for him to come back and be all "am sowwy"

Was Urzikstan truly cleared of any wrong doing or is it one of those things where it's like "Welp it's one General's word against our opinions". Also not to get into irl things but seeing some of the stuff during the Passenger mission had me thinking of how the world is currently with certain ongoing fights. Sometimes COD gets the realism down.

Maybe it was because of the situation they were in and how big the threat was, but there wasn't much of a dynamic going on with the teams. At most, there was some Soap and Ghost banter, and then Graves with his Shadows but that was kinda it. No idle chatter just head in the game type of deal. Does make sense ofc but maybe that's why the characters really felt off at times.

One that's just a personal thing; since it's confirmed that at least in 2019, Price, Soap and Ghost knew one another, makes sense cause the trio were SAS, but it's got me thinking why is Ghost the only one allowed to call him Johnny? It was teased in MWII with the interaction in Prison Break but...it's not been elaborated on. Even Price, when Soap was losing his shit over Makarov in the Heli, called him John.

What did Ghost do or say that Soap decided he could allow him to call him Johnny? This isn't anyway me asking "OooOO, are they fruity???" no I'm curious. If it was a thing he allowed his superiors that he was friendly with to say, then Price would be included that. Alejandro and Rudy would be included. What makes Ghost so special?

The last thing that my grief riddled mind can think of is where is Soap's family? I don't think I can truly believe he doesn't have one. It's canon he joined because of his cousin so...why was the 141 the ones to spread his ashes? Again it could have been his wish and all...shit just also adds to the rushed story feeling. I ain't asking for the MacTavishs to make an appearance or be canon or whatever but as someone who has a loved ones ashes, the small urn you get would have made more sense. That they decided with the ashes his family gave them to throw them off the cliffside in what I assume is Scotland.

If he didn't have family then holy shit it makes his death even more hurtful but no way impactful.

I'm just rambling angrly now so I'll stop my thoughts. Overall the game was fun, interesting concept with the Weapons Free missions but the story was lackluster compared to the previous games, as well as a slap to the face for Soap's character. It was just there for the sake of sadness.

I wasn't expecting a happy ending, I was just hoping for a honourable conclusion.

[thelikesoffinn]

So...I finally played Bustafellows.

And this game is…I’m sorry, it really is a mess and a half.

Generally speaking, the art is really nice and pleasant to look at. The sprites are nicely done for the most part – not counting Shu’s hand. Wtf is wrong with his hand. – and the backgrounds, albeit generally uninteresting, do suit the entire game well.

The voice acting is also really nicely done. It’s one of the few truly enjoyable things about this game. The voices are well chosen and suit their respective characters. Characters who, for the most part, are good. They’re pretty cliché and we’ve seen this combination of archetypes about a million types by now, but that’s probably why it work so.

Everything outside of these few points? Woof.

On the mechanics side, the game flunks out on its controls. The button choices are far from intuitive and its gets frustrating really fast when you keep quick saving while actually trying to open the menu. Manoeuvring through the game is a fiddly hassle, made difficult by the extremely odd menu layout and button assignments. Choice wise, the game is an absolute farce. A game of this length should have a lot more choices, but that’s simply not the case. In fact, there’s episodes that don’t have any choices at all.

Not that it matters, seeing as the choices never actually seem to do anything. So far, it seems that only professor sauli’s test matters in the long run. This is the thing that decides which male lead you’ll end up with and that is pretty much the only thing of interest in the entire main part. And even then, apart from your choice of swimwear and the name of your feline companion, this doesn’t change much until you get to your male leads A-Side. (The a-sides also seem to have little choices of consequence. Mostly one or two, depending on the male lead you’re romancing.)

This means that replaying value borders zero, since nothing ever changes. And, seeing as skipping and jumping are either slow or annoying to do, it’s actually more of a -10 than a 0. This is made more annoying by the fact that you have to play all the routes to unlock the actual ending.

A thing that really bothered me personally because I literally just don’t understand why they went through the trouble is the female leads name. Not that it is Teuta, but that we can change it for some reason. Why? Why allow me to change the first name and only the first name? For what reason would anyone want to change only the first name and nothing else? Especially since all it does is add weird gaps to the voice over?

Either give me a character I can make myself entirely or stick with Teuta as a heroine for this one. This entire name thing is just dumb.

Another thing: Typo’s and weird phrasings. There’s quite a few of those, which is just…it’s just sloppy for a game that costs this much. I mean, what is this? Is he called Zora or Zola? Choose one, game, but don’t give me both! And I thought Sauli did criminal psychology? Why does his test say ‘Phycology’? Phycology! What, does he study algae on the side? Jesus.

And then there’s that mess of a plot.

Now, the initial premise of the story was nice. Girl can time travel, but won’t know which body she inhabits and where she’ll be. She meets a couple of dudes that play the system to punish those that would usually swim through legal grey areas and they partner up. There’s a mysterious ploy going on and girl wants to find out what’s up.

Great. It’s a pretty common set up, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. The time travel thing puts a nice twist on things as well.

Darn shame the initial set up already set’s the course for this entire thing.

The Prologue is done very sloppily, almost haphazardly. There’s absolutely no reason to repeat the entire conversation we’ve had with Limbo two times but they do. They straight up copy pasted it and added a few more sentences as deviation to throw players off their scent. It feels so incredibly redundant because barely anything changes.

The first few episodes – until we get to the a-sides – feel somewhat connected. They each have their own plot, but we can sort of see where it is supposed to go and what it wants from us. Now, does that mean it’s well done?

Absolutely not. Big questions will be ignored as soon as they’ve been uttered aloud and no one mentions them again. The characters, set up as smart and suspicious by nature, never question certain things that every normal human usually would. They just shrug and bumble off because – oh look! Amusement Park!

Teuta’s grandly introduced time travel power is absolutely useless and she rarely does more than use her phone to call someone and warn them. So, at some point it just becomes annoying whenever she decides to use it.

And then the ending ending.

The a-sides don’t fare much better. They vary in quality and the story seems nearly entirely random in quite a few of them. Shu’s story, for example, was generally fine.

Limbo’s felt like a bad fever dream that skips from one scene to another without proper explanation as to why this is important. (Like Evan. Why? Why this scene? Why introduce this character one minute only to kill him off and forget him the next? And the game does things like that all the time. It’s just random and messy.)

All in all, it’s fair to say that this game is not worth the money. If, and only if, you can get your hands on it for really cheap, fine. Go for it. But as long as that’s not the case, just walk away. Walk as far as you can.

Gods below, we don’t talk about the ending ending. It was horrendously bad.

The ending ruined a lot of decent characters for no reason other than ‘I can.’ Other characters were suspicious the entire time, so the element of surprise was also not really a thing. But I don’t want to spoil anyone, so I’ll leave it at that.

[slytherbun]

wildflower

pairing: cedric diggory x hufflepuff!reader

summary: you weren't too sure what to think when a new eye candy transfers to hogwarts and becomes the new seeker of the hufflepuff's quidditch team but you realize in time that he is all of what you hoped for.

word count: 3.7k

tags: @specialagentsoftie

note: so this is all just a bunch fluff. i'm not sure how i feel about it in terms of cringey and hope y'all like it! figured i'd post this anyways either way though lol. i made up the way reader and cedric met at hogwarts so, it's non-canon from the movie.

another note: italics are flashbacks! :)

it was cold.

you could see everybody’s breath in the air outside and knew it was a crime to be out and about now with freezing and chilly weather.

the snow outside coated the ground by inches and the black coats zippered up and wrapped around you only helped so much. you were the type to freeze easily and the climate at hogwarts didn't help your situation at all.

minutes ago before you walked outside, you knocked on the door to his dorm after surveying the hufflepuff’s common room and noticed there weren't very many people around. and when cedric opened the door after you rapped on it a few times—he took in the view of your body wrapped around your blanket before pulling you into his room.

pathetically enough, you were shivering in the halls even with your mitten covered hands stuffed in the pockets of your coat. you weren't about to admit the doubled up socks on each of your feet either underneath the knee-length boots you wore today.

"are you cold?" cedric successfully taunted you when you reached your arm out of the pocket of your jacket and then under the blanket to slap his arm. he hissed and glared your way playfully while rubbing his arm dramatically.

you shrugged with a smirk on your lips and he plopped down onto his soft bed. “don’t get too comfortable.” he suggested when noticing you trying to sneakily get underneath his covers. 

“what i’d do for one of those thermal blankets the muggles use.” you sighed dreamingly while watching him walk towards his closet.

“imagine having a postal company deliver the package to hogwarts? dumbledore would have an aneurysm.” cedric replied and you couldn’t help yourself when imagining the scenario playing out in your mind. 

he turned to the side to admire your smile while you were a little distracted while pulling out a coat. then he closed the closet up and walked back over, holding it in your direction to offer an extra to put over your body. you gladly took it with a smile. "thanks ced."

cedric backed up a few steps and brushed a hand through his brunette hair. not being able to help himself he joked, “can’t have you walking around with your blanket wrapped around you. your height already makes you look so adorable.”

you got off from the bed when he exaggerated with your blanket in hand and scoffed. cedric bit his lip nervously while continuing to back up before he felt the wall pressed against him.

he rubbed the back of his nervously while you held the blanket up to his height and above your own head. “i’m just kidding.” he gulped before you took it and put it over his face.

when he tugged it down from his face he spotted you innocently standing by the door with his jacket around you. “i was going to leave it here anyway. just put it on the bed and i’ll come get it later after we get back.”

while you zippered it up you noticed this particular jacket was the one that you often saw him wearing before he ended up buying a new one for the upcoming winter that you were suffering in now.

and it was longer than the one you had previously put on about twenty minutes ago so, you couldn't argue with him on that steal.

"alright.” he laughed and added with a more serious tone. “oh and by the way—you don't need to thank me. you're my best friend, wildflower."

today was the first quidditch match of the season and you were sitting at the edge of your seat in anticipation. the hufflepuffs didn't score well last season and you were hoping they wouldn't come out with last place again for the year.

y/g/b/f (your girl best friend) sat down on the stands next to you with an umbrella in her hands. you turned and looked at it with a confused face. but she just smiled at your contemplating thoughts and looked up at the sky once before supplying you with an answer.

“well it looks bright now but i have a feeling it’ll rain later.” she always had a suspicion for when it was going to rain or snow and you never second guessed her because every single time she was right.

“did you know we’re having a new seeker play on the team today? i believe he’s going to be captain too if he plays his cards right this game.” she asked. you didn’t know that.

“wait is he the new guy everybody is talking about? i heard the rumors but you know how they are. i didn’t want to take it seriously until i saw it with my own eyes.” you stated and she nodded. 

“yeah he’s a transfer i think but i’m not too sure. his name is cedric diggory though.” after her reply, you glanced around the stands to see if anybody had diggory signs for the game but with no avail you sighed. before you could respond you felt a few droplets on your shoulder. 

your friend gave you a smart-ass grin and popped out the umbrella to hold it over the both of you. “guess we’ll see how good he is.” you mumbled before seeing the players come up to the playing area with their brooms.

butterbeer was pretty popular during the winter season. many students from school usually went and got some to help regulate their body temperature and keep warm.

everybody else must have gotten the same memo because you were inside the three broomsticks now for some butterbeer and it was crowded.

almost every table was filled with peers and that’s probably why you didn’t see many people in the school. with just one glance around the area, you could already tell the divided area’s of where each school was seated right away. 

your tables were to the left area, the slytherins must have come earlier because they grabbed the back ones, some of the ravenclaw’s were off to the right, while harry and the other gryffindor’s had the middle area.

cedric nudged your side to grab your attention and nodded towards the hufflepuff area. “want to grab us some seats and i’ll get the drinks?” he asked and you nodded. “sure, could you get me a snack too if you don’t mind?” 

he smiled and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “i suppose i could.” cedric walked away with a wink and you shook your head knowing he was just humoring you.

little did you know he already had planned to get you something else even before the two of you left the dorms. it had gotten to the point where asking him for little things hadn’t bothered you because you reciprocated all of the time.

but sometimes cedric would give you little excuses when it was your turn to pay, just so he could end up paying for whatever you guys were having or getting. he always spoiled you.

"ah the golden girl is here." hermione scoffed and watched you walk towards the hufflepuff area. your other best friend was seated already and started talking to you when you sat.

the brunette from the red colored house didn't particularly dislike you since you were always nice. sometimes you chatted with her while working on a project that you were paired for. then other times you gave her a soft smile when catching her eye while walking in the halls towards your next class.

she definitely couldn’t help but respect and admire you.

but the reason she didn’t put herself out there and try to befriend you was because you were one of the girls known in school for your smartness, quick reflexes, and witty attitude. 

when people from school talked about you and referred to you as the golden girl instead of your name most of the time—it wasn’t that you were golden per-say but the fact that it matched up perfectly with the school’s color that you sorted it.

hufflepuff was known for its represented yellow color.

and there’s no doubt about it that hermione was also known around the school. but, she felt it was for all of the wrong reasons. despite not having it any other way as one of harry's best friends, she wondered if not for him that in an alternate lifetime that she would be you. 

“why is she wearing cedrics jacket?” ron asked after following hermione’s stare. harry thumped him on the back of his head and then shook his own. “why does it matter?” the one with a thunderbolt on his forehead replied.

“well it is interesting, isn’t it?” the brunette said in defense of ron’s question. the one who didn’t seem curious at all took a sip of the butterbeer in front of him.

he licked his lips, thinking then replied to them with a response. “i mean it’s not our business but it is an odd find now that you pointed it out. maybe he’s just being friendly?”

“as if! cedric has had a crush on y/n since he met her. she’s just oblivious to it all,” she paused and tapped her chin. “—or is she?” ron gasped at her accusation but took a sip of his own drink before she could hear his outburst.

harry noticed her getting riled up once again and sighed. “well i don’t know what else to say. maybe you should just introduce yourself already and ask her instead of me.” he shrugged and hoped to end the conversation there.

you knew exactly who cedric diggory was when he swiftly passed by the hufflepuff area during the game. of course, he was wearing yellow. 

the game has been going on for a decent amount of time now and he was stacking up the scores on the quidditch board—easily passing by the score of the gryffindor’s team.

cedric was undoubtedly the new eye candy for the whole school with the gasps and ‘awes’ from the other girls sitting in the stand. your friend was so busy watching harry that she didn’t catch the commotion.

you didn’t really pay attention to him to get a good glance at his face so, you thought he was just another arrogant rich boy and rolled your eyes.

what you didn’t notice was the way it was like a slow-motion love at first sight situation for him when he went by. since it stopped raining through the middle of the game he was able to catch a quick view of you. 

the week wasn’t done yet so it was possible he’d be seeing more of you in another class he hadn’t had yet. and cedric hoped you were because he couldn’t help but look over in your direction throughout the game to catch another glimpse of your face.

it was still humid outside and you tried wiping your makeup a few minutes ago since it was under your eyes now, but you only smudged it further. your robe was drenched with your wavy and half-dried hair now lying down the back of it. 

but he didn’t care what you thought about yourself because he knew without a doubt that you were the prettiest girl there.

“cedric’s looking pretty good today.” y/g/b/f voiced for the first time today. you played with the napkin in your hand while trying to get a glimpse of cedric. 

“i don’t think you would know even if he was—since you spend all your time looking at harry.” cedric was up to the counter now waiting for your butterbeer and food.

“uh huh. don’t think i haven’t admired cedric before from afar though.” after a moment of not answering her, y/g/b/f noticed that you weren’t paying attention. you knew exactly what she was hinting towards.

cedric did look good.

his hair had that ‘just woken up’ style to it and he always managed to look even more attractive then he should have. the yellow scarf wrapped around his neck was the one that came with every hufflepuff’s supplied uniform clothing.

he usually wore it when you sat with him in potions on a chilly morning and you caught yourself wanting to take it off of him and wear it sometimes.

he always smelled good and it comforted you in ways a best friend shouldn’t have the ability to.

you seemed to have let your guard down and stared longer then you should have which confirmed what y/g/b/f already knew. “i knew it!” she chuckled and stated more loudly than the last comment to snap you out of the zoned out state you were in. 

“know what?” you asked while placing the napkin back down on your table.

cedric was reaching the table and you wanted the conversation to end quickly. you usually dragged out conversation topics like this so you had time to think of another one to distract her with. but, she always found a way to circle it back around again. 

you had to shut it down before he could hear, already knowing exactly what she wanted to talk about again.

“i’ll tell you later before our curfew.” y/g/b/f smirked and you sighed knowing she would in fact take the time out of her night to find you before bed. lucky you.

“hey y/g/b/f. how has your day been?” he asked your other friend while sitting down and placing your refreshments in front of you and then doing the same with his. 

she grinned at you then glanced over at him, “pretty good i guess if it wasn’t for this weather i would say great. how about you? and how’d you manage to get this one out?” she gestured towards you, causing you to roll your eyes. 

here we go again.

you were walking down the path back to the hogwarts dorms with y/g/b/f and some others. there was going to be a small celebration in the hufflepuff’s common room and other students were trying to hurry back without raising suspicions with any professors nearby.

“hey, i’ll be right back y/n/n. i see luna and i’m going to go ask her if she has a hair tie.” she said and pointed to the curly knots that she had on her shoulders.

you nodded and continued along the path while she walked over to the other side. it was quiet for a moment and you surveyed the peaceful area, a few feet over in the grass was a small patch of flowers.

you were about to take a quick look at them before feeling someone tap your shoulder. it was sudden and you couldn’t help but quickly move to the side and form a fist. you were about to throw it but stopped when you stared wide-eyed at the person who scared you.

cedric felt awful and only after he startled you did he realize that you were looking off in the distance of the area. the way you jumped though seemed that you were quick on your feet and he couldn’t help but smirk at the new name he had for you. 

“hey i’m sorry for startling you wildflower but i just wanted to introduce myself. i’m cedric diggory.” he introduced with a panty-dropping smile.

you weren’t sure if it was some kind of joke so you treaded carefully. “uh it’s okay, it’s my fault really for not paying attention but i’m y/n y/l/n. nice to meet you ced.”

cedric held out his hand for you to shake and you took it, giving him a firm shake. after you let go he smirked and questioned. “ced, huh?”

he crouched down to pick up a flower that you were looking at earlier and it reminded you to ask, “wildflower, huh?” you met his statement equally and folded your arms together so they were across your chest to look more tough.

his cheeks tinted a minor shade of pink and tried to hide his embarrassment by ducking down and ignoring your question. instead he glanced back up to tuck a hair behind your ear and then placed the flower there.

“yes, wildflower.” 

and how could you argue with him when he was being so sweet?

the two of you made it back to the common room after an hour of eating, then chatting with cedric and your other best friend. he was sitting on the bed with you sitting next to him.

you’ve been sitting for only about a minute or so—only enough time to shrug off your jackets and place them on the desk chair between that time after walking back to his dorm.

“would you like to lay down for a few minutes?” cedric asked when he noticed the tiredness shown clear as day on your face.

“sure” you agreed and you laid down while he shook your blanket out for the two of you to use. his eyebrows scrunched together when he realized it wouldn’t make much of a difference in comfort with how small it was.

you chuckled watching him trying to maneuver it around and he glanced your way with a smirk of defeat. “hmm, seems this blanket is a little small. would you like to go under the covers?”

cedric was giving into what you wanted earlier before the two of you left and he knew that too. the three broomsticks' food was delicious as always and you just wanted to relax for a few minutes after getting teased by your friend.

he grinned watching you get comfortable after the both of you were situated under the sheets and yellow comforter. there was a hufflepuff patch ironed onto it and you rubbed your thumb over it while laying down.

it wasn’t that awkward since you’ve fallen asleep in his arms a couple of times before already. class exams were frustrating and took a lot out of the students so he took comfort in you and vice versa when there was some down time during the weekends throughout the school year.

with an arm around you—he pulled you close to the point where you could feel his warm breath along your neck. “i don’t think you realize how much i treasure these moments y/n/n.”

he spoke breathlessly and you gulped slowly. you were dumbfounded with how seriously he said that. as if it had some kind of hidden meaning behind it. “me too.” you agreed and wondered if he would leave it at that.

but you knew better and cedric never left well alone when he wanted to get a point across. he turned your body slowly with the arm he had around your middle and you faced him with confusion.

he glanced down once before looking back up and continued on with his confession while staring into your doe eyes—a color he deemed his favorite the day that he met you.

“i’ve been fighting myself for a while on whether or not i should tell you this because i didn’t want my feelings to ruin our friendship. i’d rather be your friend than not be a part of your life at all. and i always look forward to seeing you e-everyday.” he paused when his voice cracked.

after cedric cleared his throat he continued, “and i totally understand if you don’t share the same feelings with me but i just couldn’t go on another day without telling you how i—” you cut him off by leaning in and brushing your lips against his.

he moved closer on the bed, so his skin was touching yours. cedric wanted to get as close to you as he possibly could. your hand swept through his brunette curls and you surprised him by tugging it.

he never knew what you were going to do and his friends teased him that you were a wildcard, to which he’d correct them and say you were his wildflower.

cedric smirked into the kiss and you groaned knowing he was being a smart-ass. but in return, he shocked you when he placed a hand delicately on your cheek to cup it rather softly.

he rubbed your cheek while your hand massaged his curls and then moved them downwards to the nape of his neck.

cedric pushed the hair back from your neck with his hand and then placed it back so his thumb splayed across on your cheek in a loving gesture. and you only wanted him closer after feeling sensitive about the whole astonishment that still had you stunned to the core.

you tugged the collar of his shirt and he pulled away with puffy, red lips and a smile. “what’s wrong?”

“i don’t know, i’m just emotional.” you voiced squeakily and full of embarrassment about it. cedric shook his head and before patting his chest, he held up the comforter over the both of you and let the minimal cold air in.

“oh, baby it’s okay. come here and let's cuddle a little before curfew.”

you bit the bottom of your lip and nodded, giving him a smile in return to the one he gave you and then crawled onto him. “i think i like baby better.” you voiced and laid on his chest with your head over his heartbeat.

he let go of the comforter when he noticed you were settled and tugged it firmly around both of your bodies. “better then what?” he asked.

“wildflower.” you admitted and hummed nervously while awaiting his response. you felt cedric shake his head and he put his arms around your body so you were pressed firmly against him before he kissed your forehead.

“you’ll always be my wildflower.” you closed your eyes after giving him a quick kiss on the cheek in response.

after a moment of laying back down you could feel his chest rising up and down in an odd pattern so, you put your head up to see him laughing again at you.

“what now?” you questioned trying to keep a serious facial expression but failing when he grinned.

“guess you got what you wanted, hmm?” cedric said—referring to the fact that you were finally under the comforters and you smirked.

“of course i always do. including finally getting you, ced.”

[judeswhore]

there’s the christmas spirit - john stones

in which john is the absolute last person you’d want to be found under mistletoe with but after a slightly heated encounter including a sticky zip how much longer can you deny the tension

prompt: “shut up and look up”

“Why are you here?” You glared at John’s reflection in the mirror, hands behind your back as you tried to tug the zipper of your dress up, the awkward angle making you groan and curse. John flicked his eyebrows up, gaze wandering down and as much as you hated it, you felt the heat of his stare along the length of your spine like a caress.

“I work here, Y/N.” His voice was a lazy drawl as he leant against the doorframe of your hotel room, and you narrowed your eyes at the fact he’d simply just let himself in. He hadn’t even knocked for God sake.

“I meant in my room, dickhead.”

“Not feeling very friendly today?” John’s eyes met yours again and you noticed the odd look in them, their usual teasing gleam seemed more heated, darker then normal somehow and the weight of them settled weirdly in your tummy. He watched you closely as you huffed and dropped your hands, the top half of your black dress still unzipped.

“I’m not in the mood for your games, Stones. What do you want?” You turned your body and shifted your hair over your shoulder so you could see your back in the reflection and tried again to zip yourself up.

“Came to watch this incredible show, you’re seconds away from tying yourself in a knot.” He pulled his hands from the pockets of his black slacks and strode towards you, eyes settled on your back.

“I am not, I just need to-“ Your head was turned so you hadn’t even seen him come up behind you and you let out a half gasp when his hands lightly batted yours aside. “What are you doing? Get off.” John clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth when you jolted away from him, glare harsh enough to throw daggers and he rolled his eyes.

“Stop flapping about like a fish, would you? I’m trying to help.” He slid one hand across your hip, palm and fingers hot through the material of the dress and pulled you backwards again.

“I don’t need your help, I was fine.”

“You were about to snap your arm, it’s just a bloody zip, Y/N, relax.”

But you couldn’t relax because he was pressed so close to you that you could feel his breath against the back of your neck, the minty scent from whatever he was chewing most definitely going to your head. You could smell his cologne and that woody scent that seemed to follow him around everywhere he went and you couldn’t deny that he smelt incredible. And as much as you hated him for making you think it, he looked amazing in his slacks and white shirt, hair styled into messy perfection, scruff decorating his jaw. He was effortlessly beautiful and it made you want to punch him.

Since you started working on England’s photography team things had been slightly complicated with John, you’d gotten off to an incredibly bad start and even 10 months down the line you still hated each other. Everyone knew to avoid rooms if you happened to be in there together and everyone definitely knew not to mention the other during a conversation. Granted it was all petty and ridiculous for two grown adults but that was the way it was and ever since the first awful meeting your disliking for him just grew with each new encounter. Everything he did infuriated you to no end but it certainly didn’t help when you couldn’t stop finding him attractive.

Yes, you hated him and everything about him but you also couldn’t deny the fact that if given the chance you’d probably tear his clothes off in a heartbeat. Not that that meant anything, the little flutter in your tummy you got when he looked at you had absolutely nothing to do with liking John as person and had everything to do with liking his body. And that was okay. You figured anyway, it wasn’t like anything would ever come from it, you couldn’t spend three minutes alone with him so actually getting with him was an absolute impossibility.

“I can do it myself.” You mumbled but John’s fingers tightened on your waist and held your firmly in place while his other hand reached for the zipper.

“Be quiet.” His voice was just as low as yours, words vibrating from his chest and you swallowed thickly when he gripped the zip between his fingers and flicked it slightly before he started pulling it up.

John’s movements were slow, torturously slow, and he deliberately held the zipper so the backs of his knuckles brushed along your spine. You couldn’t hold back the shiver it pulled from you or stop the goosebumps rising along your arms, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end just from the simplest of touches from him. He was barely grazing your back, just the very tips of his knuckles were making contact but it sent a blaze outward over every inch of your skin, your nerve endings feeling like live wires.

He’d never touched you before. In any capacity save for hand shakes that were necessary when others were around but those had never felt like this. Your mouth felt dry and you knew your cheeks had gone red and you couldn’t deny the obvious tightening in your lower stomach when his fingers slid over an extra sensitive part of your back. His grip on your hip shifted, fingers splaying further apart and with the hot puffs of his breath on one shoulder it felt like he was everywhere. John finally tugged the zip right to the top but he didn’t step back or remove his hand from your waist, just lifted his gaze so his eyes met yours in the mirror. The tips of his fingers grazed over the back of your neck and one shoulder, slipping over the curve.

“You have a birth mark right in the middle of your spine.” He muttered, eyes darting away from yours so he could watch the trail of his fingers as he dragged them down along the back of your arm. You didn’t answer, you couldn’t seem to move or breathe with the way he kept touching you, his hands rising so he could pull your hair from one shoulder and settle it in curls down your back. His pointer finger ran along your collarbone in the process and your knees went a little weak, head swimming with his touch and his smell and his voice.

“Y/N-“

“Everyone’s probably wondering where we are.” You knocked his hands off you, cold spreading through you once you lost that little bit of contact and you mentally kicked yourself for being so affected by him as you grabbed your purse off the dresser. You wanted to keep on hating him, you didn’t want him to keep looking at you with those fucking eyes that made you forget why you ever disliked him in the first place.

“They won’t even-“

“Lock the door on your way out.”

The party was shit. Whoever had control of the music had been playing Mariah Carey on repeat for the past 15 minutes and watching the boys all knock back shot after shot while you stood against the door jamb with your one glass of vodka was humiliating. But you couldn’t drink more than that because you felt nauseous about potentially running into John again. You’d lost him as soon as you’d left your hotel room and had managed to avoid him successfully for over an hour but you knew you were bound to bump into him again at some point and you needed to gear yourself up for that.

Even now your body thrummed with the memory of his touch and the way his fingers felt against you, even with the lightest of touches seeming to have left scorching marks branded into your skin. Every time you blinked you saw that look in his eyes, that look he’s never given you before but you knew exactly what it meant and it sent a dangerous thrill through you. You’d made a pact with yourself that very first day you met him, John Stones was trouble and you would not fall for his shit.

You blew out a breath, telling yourself fresh air was a good idea and placed your half empty glass on a little table before slipping out of the one of the side doors and down the empty corridor. You could hide outside or in your office for the night and hopefully no one would even realise you were missing. John would get drunk (if he wasn’t already because really that was the only explanation for why he was touching you like that) and by the next time you saw him he’d have forgotten all about it and you wouldn’t have to face the embarrassment of him knowing how he made your body feel.

“Where are you going?” Luck definitely wasn’t on your side because John was walking towards you down the corridor, brows drawn together in a frown. He’d unbuttoned the top of his shirt, collar open slightly and the little glance at the top of his chest made your mind spin a little.

“Are you stalking me or something?” You came to a stop in front of him, a safe distance between you and narrowed your eyes when John’s gaze slipped to your boobs and then darted away.

“Where are you going?”

“For fresh air, is that a crime?”

“Why do you need fresh air? All the windows are open.” You raised your eyebrows at him, arms folding over your chest.

“Are you being serious?” His lips quirked and he shrugged a shoulder.

“Need company?”

“Your company? No I think I’m okay.” You flashed him a smile and brushed past him, shoulder bumping into his before you made your way down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps following you making your groan. “This is seriously weird, Stones, stop following me. Whatever it is you think you’re gonna achieve, you aren’t. I’m not in the mood to argue with you and I haven’t had enough alcohol to deal with your pathetic excuse at flirting.”

You spun on your heel, almost slamming into him when he didn’t stop and you whacked his hand away from you when he tried to steady you with a hand against your elbow. “I’m serious, John, whatever new game this is, I’m not playing,” You tugged back from him, glare forming when you noticed the little grin that was starting to curl his lips. “What’s so funny? God, you’re being so fucking weird, whatever you’ve been drinking-“

“Shut up.” Your head reeled back at his words and the amusement laced into them but before you could insult him he spoke again and took a step towards you. “Just shut up and look up, Y/N.” His warm fingers settled under your chin and he tilted your head back for you, your gaze sweeping the ceiling and you immediately shook your head when you saw what he was looking at. Of course you’d end up standing under mistletoe with him.

“No, absolutely not. Move, I’m not kissing you, Stones. No fucking way.” You tried to step back but John’s fingers slipped around around your waist and pulled you back against him, that humorous smirk still settled on his features.

“It’s Christmas tradition.”

“Who cares about Christmas tradition, I don’t like you.”

“I don’t particularly like you either but rules are rules, darling.” You frowned at his words but stopped your attempts at pulling you both out from under the mistletoe.

“Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“Touchy feely and shit, that’s not you.” He gave a little shrug, finger grazing the curve of your jaw and you shivered against him, lashes fluttering slightly.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking.” Is all he says, voice low, nose brushing yours and you could feel the fan of his breath over your lips as his eyes flashed. “It’d just be one kiss, Y/N.”

“Why do you want that?” Your words were breathless and sounded pathetic even to you but he was everywhere and you could hardly focus on anything that wasn’t his fingers slipping over the back of your neck.

“I look at you the same way when you aren’t looking. I wanna see what it would be like.”

“To kiss me?”

“I’ve never kissed someone I’ve hated before. What’s the harm in trying?” John leant in a brushed his lips over the shell of your ear and you reached out to clutch his arm, acrylics digging into his skin. “It’s Christmas rules, not kissing under the mistletoe would be blasphemous.” His mouth grazed along your jaw as he slowly brought his face level with yours again and he met your eyes, pupils blown wide and raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner. “Kiss me and then tell me if you still hate me.”

You swallowed harshly, gaze flickering across his face, taking in how annoyingly pretty he was so close up. You’d never been this close to him before and you could make out the swirls of colours in his eyes and you briefly wondered what his beard would feel like against your lips. Your composure was slowly slipping away and you muttered a curse beneath your breath.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Fine by me.” And then you were kissing him, hands sliding around the back of his neck and into his hair so you could tug him down to your height, your mouth sliding roughly over his. John’s hands gripped your waist, fingers splayed over your dress and he pulled your hips against his, ignoring the clash of your purse as it hit the floor, contents rolling along the carpet.

His kiss was demanding, lips harsh against yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip whenever he got the chance. You couldn’t breathe and your mind went fuzzy when he brushed his tongue over yours, his fingers tightening. It felt like you were remembering every single time you’d insulted each other and the kiss just kept getting deeper and rougher, the slide of his mouth of yours losing rhythm and becoming messy as he lost his breath.

Hands against your hips he spun you and pushed you backwards, your shoulder blades hitting the cold wall and he sucked on your bottom lip when you broke away on a gasp. Everything felt like it was spinning, your entire body on fire with the way he pressed you up against the wall. There was a slight thrill in the idea that anyone could come down the corridor right now and it made your whimper against his jaw as he tangled one hand into your hair and pulled your head back, lips pressing over every inch of your neck and throat that they could.

You tugged on the front of his shirt, embarrassingly eager to have his mouth back on yours and John let out a throaty chuckle, eyes flashing when he looked at you. “There’s the Christmas spirit.” And then he captured your lips in another breathtaking kiss and you almost buckled against him.