#rewatching now whilst I work

[smol-tired-binch-blog]

I really need to stop watching YouTube videos about horror games when I'm home alone because every time I leave my room to go get food my brain goes "What If There Were Something Behind You"

[kermitheefrog]

this day was a roller costa....

[lottiies]

LIKE A LITTLE PIECE OF HEAVEN

→ Sneaking around with your grandparents’ ranch hand during the summer!

CW: x Fem!reader with she/her pronouns, starts with fluff and turns into smut, switch!Leon, dry humping, cowgirl, butterfly (i think that’s the position name?), fingering, short hold the moan snippet, reader wears a sundress at one point, mention of a palm injury via a cut

WC: 1.8k

NOTE: written just for fun to entertain myself during an excruciatingly long car ride, sorry that it’s fast paced </3 title lyric is from ‘tulsa jesus freak’ also i tried my best at a southern accent for him okay

MASTERLINK

You always complained whenever your parents sent you on your annual trip to your grandparents’ place. Mosquitoes ran rampant and a prayer whilst holding hands was mandatory before every meal. Summer was supposed to be a break so you could be lazy in bed all day, but now you had to go help tend to the animals.

Sure, farm animals are cute and all…but gushing over how adorable they are is much different from actually taking care of them. So much for that ‘Charlotte’s Web’ childhood dream of yours, none of the pigs are like Wilbur!

But you had a change of attitude when you went the summer after your freshman year of college. Upon your arrival, your suitcase was hauled by strong skin-kissed hands, like if your packed belongings weighed a mere pound.

Looking up, your eyes met irises that rivaled the beauty of the ocean.

Oh.

You almost had to physically lift your jaw back up to introduce yourself. Then you ran upstairs to bury your face into your pillow.

Leon Kennedy. Would his last name suit your first name? Or vice versa? Jesus.

That first summer was full of fleeting glances and flirtatious conversation. There was something romantic about being in a space far away from civilization. Like you were in your own little universe with him whenever the two of you snuck around. During dinners, you always nudged at his leg with your boot to mess with him, liking the way he cleared his throat to ward off a smile.

And maybe you relied on silly methods to see if your feelings for him were reciprocated.

Pluck.

He likes me.

Pluck.

He likes me not.

Pluck.

He likes me.

Pluck.

He likes me not.

Pluck. Last one.

He likes me!!!

Childish excitement coursed through you, an instantaneous smile on your face. You thanked Mother Nature for giving you the answer you wanted.

You also thanked the Sun every day for gifting freckles to Leon. One day, you held onto his face and tried to count them all. Squinting your eyes, you counted aloud, missing the way he looked at you with nothing but sweetness in his gaze.

The world around you was muted, as if the cows standing behind the fence had stopped mooing just for the sake of your concentration.

“Sure this is gonna work? Listen, I’ve always been an optimistic fella but—“

“Shh, you’re distracting me.” After a beat, you groaned. “Fuck I lost count. Okay, hold still for real this time.”

“Sure, doll.” She’s real cute, he thought to himself.

Or that one time when the Sun’s beams were too hot and made Leon take his hat off so he could pour a fresh bucket of water on his head. You felt so betrayed at the sight.

“You’re shitting me!”

“What?”

“Your roots…” Not very polite, but you pointed at his hair. “I thought you were blonde. Like, born blonde.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” He hid his amusement with a shrug, lowering his head to give you a better look. “Haven’t had time to dye it.”

And of course, you owed the Moon some gratitude for being an audience member to a memory you cherished. If said memory could be physically stored, you’d keep it on a frame so you could rewatch the moment your relationship blossomed.

The confession came when two heartbeats aligned, two bodies snuggled against each other on top of the roof. Leon gazed at you as if you hung up the stars and moon that were beautifully assorted in the sky, the same ones he had admired all alone prior to you coming here. He never thought he’d have a pretty woman wanting to get to know him.

“This is crazy…I can actually see the constellations out here.” Your words were a murmur, the glimmering dots above reflecting in your pupils.

“And ya couldn’t back at home?”

“Pfft. With all the pollution in the city? Not a chance.”

“Yeah? Mus’ be a special night for ya, then.”

It was. But not because of the view, rather, because of the handsome guy holding you close like you were his girlfriend.

“Yeah, it is.”

A hat was placed onto your head. His hat.

You broke your admiration of the stars, turning to look at him instead. The tip of his nose brushed against yours, suddenly his hand was cupping the side of your face. His skin was scarred and calloused against yours, a physical manifestation of how different his lifestyle was from yours.

Books always made it seem like butterflies would be swarming in your stomach at moments like these. But you felt calm. This was fate, it was supposed to happen. And who were you to deny the universe’s pull and Cupid’s arrow?

Leon was a gentleman first and foremost. “Can I…?”

“Mhm.”

Your first kiss was witnessed by the moon.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

You kept in touch through letters. Leon was old fashioned, and very rarely did he pick up his cheap flip phone when you tried giving him a call. Something about his phone always being stored away, he hardly used the thing anyway. He already had the task of picking up the mail, so it wasn’t like your grandpa or grandma would get it.

You didn’t mind much. There was something endearing about sending letters, running to the mail like you were a dog fetching the weekly newspaper. It was hard to imagine his voice sometimes when reading his letters because he wrote all properly, it didn’t match his accent.

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to send another letter. I accidentally cut my hand when fixing up a fence and it took a while to heal, it left a scar. I’m okay though, promise. Just don’t want you to think I forgot about you or anything like that. Your grandpa was real nice about it, he gave me some time off, he’s got a kind heart. And your grandma kept cooking up some soup…said it would help me heal quicker. Not sure if it’s true, but it left my stomach happy and that counts for something.

The entire time I was resting, I found myself thinking of you. Would you have patched my hand up if you were here? Kissed my pain away?

Every time I look at the moon, I wonder if you are too.”

You always traced over his handwriting with an unclicked pen before proceeding to leave a kiss mark on the corner of the page and putting it in your stored pile.

Summer became the highlight of your years. You actually packed cute clothes now, flowy sundresses and some matching undergarments you wouldn’t mind Leon seeing. Of course, you also bought some riding gear, wanting to partake in his hobbies too.

The instant you were back at the farm and the two of you were alone, Leon grabbed you by the hips and pressed you up against the outdoor wall of the house, smiling at you all coyly.

“Missed ya. Shoulda jus’ stayed here with me.”

“Thought you liked me for pursuing a higher education?” Your grin matched his. Maybe after you got your degree you’d join him more often.

“Mhm.” God, that intellect of yours was sexy. He could listen to you ramble about your ambitions for ages. “Wish that college of yers was nearby, though.”

“That makes two of us…I missed you too, by the way.” Your lips inched closer to his. “A lot.”

His cheeks turned roseate, his heart thumping as fast as the hooves of a bronco at a rodeo. “…Yeah?”

“Don’t sound so unsure! Need me to show you?”

“I’d appreciate that, y’know how I am.” Leon wasn’t the most self assured, having been worried you’d find some college guy to get with.

All it took was some more sweet talking and daring touches on your end before he hoisted one of your legs up with your permission, the fabric of your dress lifting and bunching around your hips, the plush of your ass pressed against the weathered down paint of the walls.

He let you set the pace, keeping you steady as you bucked your hips against him, your panties soaking from the friction of his rough denim jeans. Your mouths clashed messily out of pent up desperation.

It didn’t go farther than dry humping, though.

Leon made sure your first time with him was more planned out, not wanting it to be in some confined space or rushed. You rode him until dawn, your knees meeting the soft blanket he laid down against the grass with each roll of your hips.

“Ah ah ah. Slow, sweetheart, slow.” He pleaded in a throaty voice, you were killing him, milking him over and over.

“Fuck…okay.” You slowed your pace, your breaths mingling when you rested your forehead against his.

“That’s it. Like that.”

And after that, there were more spontaneous times.

You wanted to get dicked down on your mattress so that’s what Leon gave you, if only your bed wasn’t so fucking squeaky. He had to put pillows behind your headboard.

“Shh…gotta be quiet f’me.” His hand covered your mouth, muting the moans that almost spilled from your mouth.

Leon wouldn’t live to see another day if his boss found his sweet granddaughter’s ankles hugging his neck and her toes all curled.

You ran your nails against his scalp, turning his hair into a mess, taking advantage of the fact he didn’t have a hat indoors. He bit down on his lip harshly to prevent himself from groaning aloud. Yeah, he had to climb out your window after that.

You almost got caught once inside one of the rundown abandoned stalls that was in need of some fixing. You were sitting betweens Leon’s spread legs, his hand down your pants. His palm gently smacked your clit with every push of his fingers inside your cunt. Open-mouthed kisses grazed your neck, making you loll your head to the side.

If only your granddaddy hadn’t interrupted.

“Son, ya in here?” Some incoherent grumbles before he got to the point, thankfully giving you some time to smack Leon’s hand away, snickering at the expression on his face — like he was about to be put six feet under. “Need yer help with the pipe I was tellin’ ya about earlier.”

“‘m on it.” Leon called out after pecking your lips, but there was a crack in his voice that left you silently giggling as he got up and wiped his fingers on his pants. He seemed so embarrassed, sparing you an apologetic glance and then tipping his hat down to hide his flustered expression from his boss.

But who knows, your grandparents adored Leon. One day he’d muster up the courage to tell them he was sweet on you, or maybe they’d catch the two of you holding hands under the dinner table.

Either way, you were no mere summer fling, and he let that be known by adorning your finger with a shiny promise ring.

[princessbrunette]

frat!gooner!rafe is weird and icky.

occasionally he’ll follow you into the bathroom at his place, crowding you from behind with his hands on your hips so you don’t shut the door in his face as he eases you into the room to do your business. you’re used to him, unbothered as ever as you innocently pull your panties down and pee in the toilet, the watchful boy stood before you with a wide stance in grey sweats and parted lips, staring at the little pudge of pubic meat that peeks from between your legs.

the sound of your tinkle fills the room as you swing your legs, looking up at him curiously. “cute… can hear how tight you are just from the sound…” he has no shame in the way he says it, looking down right at you as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. for something said in such a flirtatious way he sure was off putting at times. “you ever like… pee’d… pee’d on a dick while its fuckin’ you?” his voice is rasped, drawled, like he’s already horny at just the mere thought. you shake your head.

“only ever had sex with you, remember?” you blink dolly eyelashes up at him and he nods, fixing the backwards hat on his head.

“oh shit, yeah. aha…”

only later on he’s following you back into the bathroom to see what else you’ll get up to. it’s later in the evening, and you’ve headed to brush your teeth. when you’re minding your business, the tall fratboy looms over you and takes the toothbrush from your mouth, taking over for you.

he grasps your chin with his fingers, seemingly concentrated as he works the bristles over your teeth. it’s seemingly innocent at first and you even giggle, in which he responds with a distracted ‘hm’ with a smile. but rafe being rafe, he gets carried away fast— making sure to really scrub at your tongue until you’re grasping at his wrist with wide slightly panicked doe eyes and a furrowed brow, toothpaste frothing and drooling out your mouth at the corners as you gag on the plastic device.

“yeah… fuckin’ sexy even like that.” he mutters to himself, before he’s had enough of it and lets go, leaving you coughing and wiping your mouth, departing with a slap on your ass. “hurry up n’ come to bed already.”

he’s also the type to randomly start jerking off whilst the two of you are watching tv. it’s nothing special, you’re rewatching gossip girl and when rafe gets disinterested — he puts his hands down his basketball shorts, thumbing at his cock until it’s hard. he leans his head back, staring at the ceiling in a daze as he does so, and you only notice he’s doing it when he pulls it out, jerking it at its full stiffness.

“rafe!” you widen your eyes, startled. he licks his lips, completely unfazed by your reaction.

“what?” he has the audacity to sound mildly irritated by your surprise. “s’a very normal thing, alright?”

“you just caught me off guard.” you pout, head tilting in curiosity as you watch the way he works his fist over himself, unable to help yourself from mentally taking notes. he looks at you, chest rising and falling with slow deep breaths as he touches himself, and after a few seconds he speaks.

“well are you going to keep staring or do you wanna help me out here? this dick won’t suck itself, fucking unfortunately.”

you shuffle closer, huffing out your nose with a frown. “you know i’ll always help.” you argue at the insinuation and he presses his lips together in a smile, both arms now resting along the back of the couch as you lower yourself between his legs.

“thats why i like you sweetheart. me n’you are just the same, isn’t that right?”

[gracefulserpent1207]

OK so I just wanna take a moment to look back at this scene from Sonic Prime cuz I've realised something for the first time whilst rewatching it the other day.

If you look closely at Shadow's mouth as he starts to reach out to Sonic, you can see the slightest hint of a smile, which is emphasised by his eyes softening and his ears perking up.

I always looked at this scene thinking that Shadow immediately knew that something was wrong with Sonic (and that's why he reaches out), but now, looking back on it, I realise that that's not actually the case.

The way his ears perk up, the way his eyes soften and the way he smiles slightly – this guy wasn't worried, he was hopeful/happy. Because for a split second, he thought it had worked without anyone getting hurt. Which is why he reaches out to Sonic. Their plan has worked and it's all because Sonic made a sacrifice – he's grateful for that and so he's happy Sonic is okay, and he wants to let him know (despite the fact that that isn't in his nature).

Until he realises that Sonic ISN'T okay.

You can physically see the moment he realises this – the way his smile disappears, the way his eyes shrink, the way his ears droop. For a second, he was happy and grateful that Sonic made a sacrifice without getting hurt, but he IS hurt, so suddenly that happiness is gone.

This is such an interesting scene to me because whilst it's not necessarily out of nature for Shadow to show so much concern for Sonic, he has still come out of his comfort zone. It shows just how much their relationship has grown through this series (I don't necessarily mean this romantically btw) and especially how much Shadow as a character has grown.

Also going back to something someone else said about how the stand Sonic is stood on looks like the chamber Shadow was contained in when Maria died and how the look on his face reflects how he's reminded of Maria's death and is worried that the same thing has happened again but with Sonic–

Say what you will about Sonic Prime but the attention and detail that went into the animation is phenomenal!

[claymoresword]

Fatal Attraction

Lagertha Lothbrok x Farmer Fem!Reader

Summary: After a long day of working on your farm, you have an accidental encounter with a gorgeous shield-maiden.

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: smut, g!p reader, y/n could be transmasc, lust at first sight or whatever, y/n and lagertha are soulmates infact, porn no plot

Note: fairly certain no one's going to even read this silly thing but i've been rewatching vikings and something shifted.. that's all i have to say. (whenever there's a blonde milf trust claymoresword will be there)

gif cred: winnickdaily

You are forced to call it a day as you notice the sky dimming. Sundown is rapidly approaching and ypu recognize that it would not be productive to continue working through the night again.

Days at the farm have been long and tiring enough as it is while you prepare for winter.

You finally exit the stables after checking on the horses one last time. Slipping the hilt of your axe through your sword belt, you decide to head out into the forest to answer nature’s call once more before turning in for the night.

-

You relieve yourself upon a tree, subsequently clearing your throat whilst making a considerable amount of noise without much thought.

Once finished, you lace up your breeches in haste, anxious to return to the comfort and warmth of your farmhouse.

Then, a noise captures your attention, it is the crunching of leaves, a jarring snap of a twig just beside you.

Footsteps.

You reach for your axe, but before you can even attempt to retrieve it, the sensation of a pointed, cold object against the back of your neck causes you to freeze in place.

“Wait– don't harm me. I'm not here to cause trouble.” You declare in resignation, lifting your hands up as a gesture of surrender.

Today cannot be the day that you die.

“Who are you?” A woman's voice, edged and perilous, much like the blade that's being pressed up against your neck.

“I- I'm a farmer, I live just across the river.” You explain, and then, blessedly, you no longer feel the edged metal against your flesh.

You allow yourself a sigh of relief. However, just as suddenly, your breath hitches in your throat once more when you turn around to face the mystery woman– the most beautiful woman you have ever laid eyes on.

Clad in armour, she bears a sword like she was born to it. Evidently, she is a shield-maiden, the most captivating one you have ever seen.

“State your name.” The blonde haired goddess demands. Her expression is taut and fierce and she has yet to lower her sword, strangely enough, it only makes you want to smile, but you possess enough wit to fight the urge.

“Y/n. My name is y/n.” You state, breathless, incapable of concealing the look on your face.

She is captivating. Now that your eyes have met, you can hardly find the strength to look away.

The shield-maiden remains silent as she continues to observe you. Once satisfied, she finally sheaths her steel.

“What's a farmer like you doing in the middle of a forest? This place is dangerous, full of bandits looking for an easy target.” The goddess asks, eyeing you once more.

Her seemingly impenetrable demeanor only intrigues you further. You find yourself actively fighting the desire to step closer to the shield-maiden.

"It- the truth, it's humiliating." You mutter, chuckling slightly, finally averting your gaze.

"I came out here to take a piss, I don't like to do it infront of the animals.” You admit, and your heart sings as you catch a smile threatening to form upon the shield-maiden's lips.

Lagertha's eyebrows raise slightly with your confession but she forces an impartial stare.

"So.. you have chosen the most dangerous place in all of Hedeby to answer nature's call?" The shield-maiden asks, her tone sharp with judgment.

Her words don't graze you, in fact your grin only widens as you are filled with a stroke of confidence.

She is even more beautiful when she is trying not to smile at you.

“Are you going to kill me?” You ask boldly, and finally, it is the shield-maiden's turn to flush a light shade of pink. She bites her lip, focusing her attention on the ground for a moment.

“Tell me your name again.” She orders, and you catch her eyes, the colour of the ocean– you wonder what it would be like to get lost in them, to lose yourself in the depths of her.

You aim to find out.

“Y/n.” You repeat, finally inching closer, hypnotized.

The other woman fails to move, but she allows the proximity. A tantalizing smirk that pulls your gaze toward her lips once more.

"You know, y/n–" She begins, tilting her head gently to the side.

"You could have gone to take a piss in a bush near your farm. But you chose to go in the woods, alone, in danger, I wonder why..” The shield-maiden taunts.

You only shrug.

“Perhaps I enjoy the risk.” You claim in jest, taking another step. “What are you doing here all alone?” You redirect the question, and the other woman looks off into the distance for a beat.

“Hmm..” She hums, purposely taking ample time to conjure a response. Your bodies are now only an inch away from touching.

She enjoys this, leaving you wanting– like a pathetic, eager pup.

Finally, the other woman advances forward, you are close enough to smell the sweat on her skin.

A thrilling scent.

"I come out here to think, to clear my head, and–" She pauses to lean forward. "I also enjoy the risk.” The shield-maiden claims in a whisper, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

She is mocking you, and Gods do you enjoy it.

Your smile remains, as well as your stare upon her lips. “You never told me your name.”

“My name is Lagertha.” The shield-maiden answers, her hand leaves the hilt of her sword to carefully graze your chest, she traces the details on your tunic.

An action that takes you both by surprise, yet she fails to pull away, and you pray to Freya that she never does.

“Can I kiss you, Lagertha?” You ask. If this gorgeous woman before you aims to plunge her sword into you now, then so be it.

To your delight, Lagertha does nothing of the sort, instead, her hand clenched into a grip on your collar, she nods. “Kiss me.”

You regard her permission, leaning in to capture her lips for a passionate kiss. Subsequently pinning her up against the tree as she wraps her arms around the back of your neck.

Lagertha immediately parts her mouth wider, wanting your tongue. Once again you do not hesitate to do as she asks, your tongue meets her own, and she thanks you with a whimper and a slightly louder moan.

Your hand shifts further downwards to her rear, deliberately pulling her close until she is flush against your groin. You can already feel yourself growing painfully hard; kissing this woman you had just met mere moments ago.

“You are so beautiful..” You utter, earning another gasp of pleasure as your mouth finds Lagertha's neck.

“You are not so bad yourself.” She pants in return, pushing herself further against you. Her hand slips in between both your bodies, boldly palming your hardened cock over your breeches.

You poorly mask a moan with a strained chuckle, pulling away for a moment to look upon her flushed expression. Lagertha's mouth remains parted as she chases your lips. You grant her another deep kiss before separating once more to speak.

"Do you have a husband, Lagertha? Will he care that you are kissing strange women in the middle of the forest?" You remark with a certain playfulness, although secretly hoping she will admit that she is indeed unmarried.

Eventhough you knew that the chances of it are highly unlikely.

"I have no husband," Lagertha replies, her voice laced with desire as she pushes herself against your groin once more, well aware of how hard you had gotten for her.

Her answer is the sweetest there is– it is exactly what you want to hear. Yet, you don't believe her.

"A gorgeous woman such as yourself.. unwed?" You mutter skeptically before placing another open mouthed kiss against her throat. You swiftly begin sucking on the flesh, relishing in the desperate whimper you manage to pull from the shield-maiden.

Soon Lagertha finds strength enough to grip a fistful of your hair, tugging your head back so you are forced to look her in the eyes.

She appears delighted to watch you wince.

“My heart has not yet found its place.” The shield-maiden admits, and you accept it to be an earnest statement. Though the glimmer of doubt beneath her poised expression does not go unnoticed.

“Oh– then, perhaps..” You say, pausing to kiss her again.

“Your heart will find its place with me.” You declare brazenly, and it is met with a faint smile before Lagertha reacts with a feeble attempt to shove you away.

“You are incredibly arrogant..” She claims, and you kiss her neck again before leaving another deep bruise upon her milky white skin.

The shield maiden chokes out a moan as you repeated the action on another part of her neck.

“Presumptuous–” She tries to continue, but is ultimately overcome with pleasure as you move your mouth over a particularly tender spot.

“–ah, fuck.” Lagertha groans as you proceed to slip your hand underneath her bodice, soon your mouth finds the swell of her breasts.

“You are perfect.” You praise in retaliation to her insults.

Lagertha doesn't try to wound you with her words anymore, only guiding your face closer so she may kiss you again, hungry and anguished.

Now she is utterly lost within you– and you in turn are reduced to the simplest most vulnerable part of yourself.

There is nothing else; all you care to see, touch, and taste is her.

Lagertha eventually results in pulling you down onto the ground with her. Leaves rustling violently as you both fumbled to undress yourselves. You removed your sword belts, tossing your weapons aside. There is no time, you needed to have her now, and the shield-maiden wanted the same.

She hastily pulls down her breeches and smallclothes. Once they are off her body, she discards them heedlessly and without thought, while you do the exact same.

A grunt leaves you as Lagertha grasps the base of your shaft, she pumps the length of your cock, diligently guiding you closer.

In half a heartbeat you are sheathed inside of the other woman to the hilt. Lagertha moans aloud at the sensation of your large member impaling her. Her gasps of pleasure, bold enough to echo throughout the vast, open forest.

You begin a quick but steady pace with your thrusts, feeling every delicious inch of her cunt. With every movement of your hips, Lagertha squeezes desperately around your girth.

The feeling was utterly intoxicating, fucking her is what you intend to do; inside of her is where you intend to be for the rest of your life, if it was possible.

Your groans are continuously muffled in the crook of shield-maiden's neck as Lagertha's fingers dig into the flesh of your back. Her grip would no doubt have broken skin if it wasn't for the barrier provided by the fabric of your tunic.

Lagertha's noises of pleasure, in contrast, are unapologetic. She is whimpering and moaning with every thrust of your hips, her breathing shallow but loud.

If a bandit was indeed scouring the forest this evening, they are bound to stumble upon this display, and the thought excited you more than anything else.

“Oh, fuck, y/n– you are so good at that..” Lagertha manages just as you lean in to kiss her once again, you swallow her moans, tasting her.

“Gods– yes..” She says after your lips part.

Her hot breath against your ear, accompanied with the feeling of her warm and wet cunt clenching around your cock was overwhelming. You were nearing your peak already, far sooner than you had anticipated.

With a groan, you begin to pick up the pace. Although as it happens, Lagertha was much farther gone, it takes only one thrust, and then another for her to come completely undone. She comes hard around your cock like a wanton maiden, she screams out in ecstasy like a whore.

The sight of the shield-maiden writhing with pleasure underneath you was enough to coax you over the edge. You only manage a guttural noise as your entire body tenses, releasing thick spurts of warm seed inside of the other woman.

–

You have since climbed off the shield-maiden, Lagertha now laying beside you on a bed of dirt and dried leaves. A similar look of contentment highlights her delicate features as you both attempt to catch your breath.

Eventually, you turn to look at her properly. With an effort to make sure that you were definitely not dreaming, you reach out to gently brush a strand of her golden hair out of her face.

Lagertha glances at you with her bottom lip set in between her teeth, she is trying her hardest to conceal her grin.

“Come home with me.” You find yourself uttering, and the shield-maiden gazes at you in a similar manner.

It is not shock, she is only trying to decipher you in return.

“I would like that.” Lagertha simply replies, she lets herself smile then, her calloused yet tender hand upon your cheek.

[whereslynx]

Stepping in for Oscar “Spooky” Diaz.

pov: mothering a child who isn’t yours isn’t easy, especially if it’s the leader of the santos’ younger brother; you’d know, you’ve been doing it since the end of your high school years. but for oscar — god, for that man, you’d do anything.

PART 2 (LINK)

a/n: holy crap i was gonna make this a oneshot but i got carried away, so part 2 will be posted soon 😭🙏 this is basically context for part 2 skajjadhsjsh. anyway i hope yall are liking these idk, i got sad when i noticed that nobody was really writing omb anymore cause i rewatched it recently lmaoooo. req some stuff if you guys want, i don’t mind!!

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☽✶•┈┈┈•◦❥◦•┈┈┈•✶☾

To the world, he was Spooky. But to you, when those doors were closed and the night was young, he was Oscar. Your Oscar. The Oscar that you met in High School before he dropped out to aid not only the Santo legacy, but his younger brother, Cesar. And you knew how much he loved Cesar. If anything would’ve happened to him, Oscar would’ve burnt the world down with the fire of his own wrath. You knew this by the countless nights you two spent together whilst youse were still young. There wasn’t a hangout where he’d not mention Cesar once or twice, who at the time, was only a child. He’d tell you of the struggles that came with raising his younger brother with absent parents and having to lead the Santos at the same time, and how he feared that Cesar would recognise how broken his home truly was at such a young age. All you could do was plant sweet kisses along his neck and whispers of assurance that he was doing his best, in hopes of easing him of the burdens he was forced to carry.

So when he got caught up, restrained by those metal cuffs that took him away from the life he had tried so hard to keep together, he trusted you to look out for Cesar.

But you were just as lost as the child he left you with. You had just graduated high school one to two years ago, hardly making it by with the struggles of working as many shifts as you could at the local joint— and now you have a little boy to take care of. The weight of being freshly new to adulthood was dragging you down. You were anxious and frustrated that Oscar threw away everything and made you handle the aftermath. But putting your own feelings aside, you knew that Cesar felt exactly the same, maybe even worse.

He was fine during the day. The Santos would come by to ensure you and Cesar were well equipped, following Oscar’s strict orders to check up on you two now and then. You noticed that Cesar would search for Oscar in the crowds of the Santo men who sat on their porch and in their front yard, getting a bit agitated when he couldn’t spot him. It was only thanks to Sad Eyes who would often keep Cesar distracted from Oscar’s absence, occasionally bringing him a treat from the dairy around the corner or chatting to him about school, earning a silent but appreciative nod from you to which he’d smile in return.

But Cesar at night was a different story. It’d drive you silently insane when he’d cry for Oscar before his bed time, knowing that he missed his older brother as much as you did. His cries would echo across the hall, waking you from your sleep in Oscar’s room. Peeking your head into Cesar’s room, he’d be sobbing for the man who raised him. It broke your heart knowing that Oscar’s sentence was far from finished, which meant there were only so many more nights that young Cesar would spend crying for his older brother. Nights like those would end with you sleeping in Cesar’s room, holding him in your arms and cooing him to sleep with promises that Oscar would come home to youse one day until fatigue took you both to sleep.

You were blessed to say that it got easier as the years went by. You had a stable position at your job, and Cesar was already a teenager who followed the values you taught him. At this point, you were the boy’s mother, taking care of him not just because of the love you have for Oscar, but because of the love you have for him as well. For once, life felt lighter.

Cesar sat at the kitchen table, his gaze snapping to you as you pulled him out of his thoughts. “What’s wrong, mijo?” You asked, placing a plate of breakfast down for him with a curious look on your face. “Ah, nothing, I just—“ He mumbled, staring at his plate, “Oscars getting out soon.” he thought aloud.

With a raised brow, you sat down next to him, “Mhm, I thought you’d be excited that your brother is coming home. I remember how you wouldn’t stop crying for him when you were little.” you laughed, concern lurking in your eyes as you noticed how he clenched his jaw, he was tense at the thought.

“Hey,” you mumbled, putting your hand over his as he hesitantly turned to you, “I know you haven’t seen Oscar in such a long time. But everything will be fine. I promise.” you offered a reassuring smile, trying to read his expression for any chance of understanding. A short silence followed before he nodded, returning a half-smile and giving your hand a soft squeeze as a silent thanks. “You’re right, sorry. Reality’s just setting in, I guess.” He nervously chuckled, finally picking up his fork and eating his food.

Your soft smile never faltered, “It’s fine, eat your food and don’t be late to school. Tell Ruby and Jamal I said hi.” you reminded him, getting up from the table and walking to Oscar’s room— which at this point, was yours until he came home.

Sitting on the bed, you sighed, biting your lip in thought. You knew Cesar didn’t know what to expect with Oscar coming home, he never really did well with change. His overthinking remaining testament to it all. But although you were reassuring him, not even you knew what to expect. ‘Surely everything would be okay. Right? Cesar will be fine, safer even.’ You thought.

Right?

[effloradox]

picture me in the trees

Behold a quick Paul Atreides fic written whilst I rewatched Dune. This is potentially bridging the gap of me not writing for Timothée and me writing for his Wonka 😔✊️

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Betrothed!Reader

Word Count: 1k

There's a soft knock at your door. It had been silent in your room aside from your soft breathing and the occasional page turning from the book in your lap so the intrusion to your peace had caught your attention immediately. You waited for the door handle to turn, for one of the many servants to announce their presence before entering, and you're puzzled as to why whoever knocked has not announced their presence. It's peaked your curiosity though, and you rise off your bed, careful to place your bookmark back in its place.

"Hello?" It's almost eerily silent as you make your way towards the door. It's only when you're a few steps away from the door that you hear a voice from the corridor.

"It's Paul." Relief instantly floods your body. You hadn't expected to see him today, his father had encouraged him to attend some of the meetings he had arranged and the Lady Jessica had told you not to expect to see much of Paul for the first few weeks of your transition to Arrakis.

"You could have come in, you didn't have to wait." You know Paul will never heed your words. He's far too polite to walk into your room without asking your permission first, but you feel the need to tell him everything you find him at your chamber doors.

"I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" A quick scan of Paul doesn't show any sign of it being a physical surprise. His hands are clasped together in front of him and they seem to be empty. You look to his face to try and spot any sort of clue but his only response is to smile softly at you.

"Do you trust me?"

"You know I trust you." Paul's hands move from his front as one falls to his side. The other rises in front of you as he opens his hand to you.

"Allow me to put this on?" In his outstretched hand is a piece of silk. You know he means to use it as a blindfold on you and, whilst it sends a flicker of fear down your spine, you trust him so implicitly that it's all you can do to nod gently. He makes quick work of putting it on, being particularly careful when he ties it.

"It's not too tight is it?" You can't help but smile fondly at the concern in his tone. Even after years of friendship and a year of being publicly betrothed, Paul still treats you as though you are made of something fragile. It's sweet of him.

"Paul it's fine." You listen as he steps around you, one hand rising to rest on your waist. He's careful when he encourages you to move forwards, stopping you after a few steps to close the door behind you before continuing to guide you through the palace. If he had done so in your old home you would've known where he was taking you but as it was you were completely clueless as to where he might be guiding you to.

It's only after what feels like the hundredth left turn that you decide to speak. "How much further?"

"Not long now." You can hear the amusement in his voice when he replies to you. True to his word though, after another few turns he stops moving to open a door in front of you. Another few steps and you're inside a room with him closing the door behind you.

"Can I take the blindfold off?"

"You can." You're almost nervous to do so but your fingers find the knot on the back of your head and your quick to untie it. You're not sure what you expected to find when you took the blindfold off but a room full of plants was definitely not in the realm of possibility.

You'd accepted that your position in life as the betrothed of the son of a Duke meant that you would be relocated alongside Paul and the rest of House Atreides as the Emperor saw fit but you had taken the news of leaving Caladan hard.

Caladan was your home. It had been difficult moving from a planet with such a rich ecosystem to a desert planet like Arrakis. You had done so without complaint as was expected of you but it had lowered your spirits in recent weeks. You thought you'd managed to hide your discomfort well, but you should've known how observant Paul was when it came to your wellbeing.

You find tears welling up in your eyes as you take in the room in front of you. The room is full of lush greenery, with a variety of plants you both recognise and have never seen before. None of them could be native to the planet, it's a much too harsh environment to support any of the ferns and shrubs surrounding you. The only conclusion you can draw is that Paul had all these plants imported for you. The notion sends a wave of affection through you as you finally turn to face him.

"I know this transition has not been easy on you. I wanted to do something to ease your homesickness."

"You did all this for me?" Paul turns bashful for a moment as though it hadn't occurred to him how well this gesture would be taken.

"I care deeply for you. I know it was not my choice to bring us to this planet but I hold some responsibility for the impact it has had on you. I wanted to help in any way I could." You turn away from him for a moment and run your hand over the closest fern to you. The feeling of it makes you close your eyes as it takes you back to the days you spent in the forests on Caladan.

"How is it you always know what I need?"

"You are my betrothed. It is my duty to know what you need and provide it." You feel him approach you from behind as he takes one of your hands in his.

"Thank you, Paul." You squeeze his hand gently, smiling as he returns the gesture.

"You're welcome."

[x-gabrielle-x]

Withered Cards | III

Pairings: Jason Todd x Reader.

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, murder, swearing, major and minor injuries, death.

Summary: Despite the many different problems you overcome with Jason Todd, you always eventually make it back to each other. Even after his death, how could you still love a man who changed so much? Even when you made a turn for the worst.

Series Masterlist

"Mistakes are not something you can afford to make, Jason," Bruce commented, though his gaze was trained on the screen before him. "I told you this was an intel mission. You should have waited for my queue."

Jason adjusted his position on the chair he was currently sat on, his gaze burning into Bruce's back the longer he continued to stare at the projective computer before him. The tape that he had collected from the mission played on repeat, and truthfully, it was becoming painful for Jason having to rewatch it over and over.

Yes, he had been given strict orders to merely stay hidden within the shadows and report back to Batman with the intel he was instructed to gather, but Jason wanted to do more than be a sidekick to gather information.

“How was that a mistake?” He retorted, pointing to the screen. “If I hadn’t gone, you would have never known what was happening down there.”

Finally, Bruce turned in his chair, his voice just as deep as always. Like a parent scolding his child - which was true to an extent.

"You're telling me that you found out what that whole ordeal was about?" He questioned, gesturing a hand to the screen. "Because it sure doesn't look like you do."

It angered Jason more than he would have liked to admit that Bruce was mostly right. The most Jason knew was that the Joker was up to something, but when was he not? The best possible answer he got was that he has an alliance of some sort. You seemed to be around his age, possibly younger, and yet you were one of the most skilled fighters he's fought. You were experienced, and no doubt deadly.

His nose ached from the harsh punch that you had thrown, the wet rag that was now soaked with crimson blood was discarded beside him.

When Bruce noticed his silence, he continued to ignore him from then on. His fingers dancing along the computer and leaving an uncomfortable silence that Jason wished to break.

Alfred walked in with a tray of coffee; something Bruce had waved him off to go and grab whilst he worked. Whilst the silence lingered, Alfred's gaze flickered up to the screen of the masked girl.

"I do not recognize this criminal," Alfred spoke as he settled the tray down. "Have we seen this girl before?"

Bruce shook his head, a frown etched on his features. "No, but there have been witnesses. Apparently, she's only shown up around Gotham the past two months."

Alfred hummed. “And what does this criminal do, exactly?”

Bruce pushed his body away from the desk with a long sigh, his brows still pinched into a deep frown as his hand dragged down his face. “Jason’s body cam just managed to pick up a little of their conversation before she ran off. The Joker is in on this, too. She knows him, and well.”

Jason's curiosity was piqued. What was the Joker's intentions, now? Surely it was another scheme to lure Batman into a trap.

“Perhaps another laughing gas?” Alfred suggested as he glanced over at Jason, gesturing toward the tea as he offered to pour some, but Jason shook his head.

"Not a laughing gas," Jason concluded, digging into the suit that he still wore. He pulled out the familiar vial that he had managed to snatch from the masked girl, holding it up for everybody's view. "I'm thinking maybe a drug, or maybe some sort of crazy mutation serum!" He looked between the two, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Bruce remained silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving the vial in his son's hand. Jason was expecting praise, a congratulations, maybe even a pat on the back and allowed more freedom whilst on patrol. But Bruce's face remained stoic.

"Jason," he started, tone very far from what he had expected. Was it anger? Disappointment? Shock?

He was quick to saunter over and take the vial from his hand, analyzing it carefully as he twisted it in his grasp.

With a shake of his head, his frown deepened. If that were even possible. He placed the vial carefully onto the desk beside the computer.

"You're too reckless," he began. "Not only did you go against my orders, but now you are involved with a crime much deeper than what you can handle. You've put yourself in danger. And not only yourself," he pointed to the screen again. "But you got her in danger, too."

Jason felt his anger boil, ready to spill over any second. Could Bruce not see his success for once? Could he not give him the approval he desperately wished for? It was risky, but he had got the job done.

"I did what I had to," he defended, the anger evident in his voice as he took a step closer.

Bruce quickly snapped back. "And what you did was wrong."

A pause.

"Next time something like this happens, you follow my order... otherwise the title of Robin goes to somebody else."

In the heat of his rage, Jason stormed past both Bruce and Alfred and made his way out of the Batcave, cape flowing behind him with every long stride. Before the door had slammed shut, he just managed to hear a little of Alfred's voice.

"They're both just children, Master Wayne," he tried. "Much like you once were."

"I can't have him making more mistakes."

A harsh slap landed against your cheek, your head snapping to the side from the force. The burning sensation left behind caused for your eyes to sting with tears, your vision blurred.

His maniacal laughter was all you could hear despite the ringing in your ears, and you didn't fail to notice the very evident annoyance behind each deep inhale of laughter.

"I can't believe it!" Joker paced. "You really let that little rodent slip past your fingers, just like that? My, my, I might have placed just a little too much faith in you."

He crouched down before you, masking a frown as his thumb came up to swipe the blood from your lip. Your tongue darted out to swipe at the cut he had left, the metallic taste lingering in your mouth.

"I must say I am very disappointed," Joker hummed, but oddly enough his hand came to rest on your shoulder, like an odd way of comforting. "But that's why there's always room to learn from mistakes!"

The vial that you were sent to retrieve merely a few hours ago was no longer tucked away safely in your pocket.

You had only realized once you were in front of Joker's latest warehouse that he used as a current hideout, your hands searching every pocket, each shoe, in search for the vial. Robin had managed to slip it out without you noticing, and it enraged you.

He was fast, skilled, and very obviously sly. Although it was a tough fight, it brought some adrenaline and excitement into your night. Something you had craved for a while.

Joker clicked his tongue in thought, now sat on a torn couch across from you with his leg propped up on his knee.

"You'll make it up to me, right, my little clown?" his tone was almost mocking. "Perhaps next time you might run into the little birdy again, oh, that would spice things up!"

You inhaled a shaky breath. "I'll get it back," you said, but he waved you off.

"Nah, I'll just get the doc to make me a new one. Although, we can't afford any more mistakes now, can we, Y/N?"

He looked at you expectingly, dread washing over you the longer his gaze pierced your own.

"No, we can't."

"That's my girl!" He clapped his hands. "Harley! Come get the poor girl cleaned up, will ya? She looks like she's been through hell!" He let out a loud cackle at what he considered a joke, slapping his knee.

Harley's head popped from around the corner of the cracked wall, pigtails swinging with every movement she made. With one look at you, she was rushing over.

"Puddin, what happened?" She practically squealed, ushering you to stand up, though the small smile never left her lips. "Oh dear, let's get you all nice and cleaned up!"

The bathroom that she had practically dragged you into smelt of urine and had broken tiles scattered across the floor. Mold was growing along the ceiling and puddles of water crowded at the base of the sink. You had to hold back the look of disgust when Harley took a small rag and wet it under some water.

It wasn't long until Harley was finally finished with dabbing your split lip with the cold water and tending to the few cuts you had littered over your flesh. It was a poorly done job, but the moment you had got to step into your own small room - a storage space that barely managed to fit the worn mattress you used to sleep on, you were instantly flopping down.

It was quiet and dark, but nothing that you weren't already used to. You enjoyed having some time away from the two clowns, after all.

Looking over, you reached for the same small bear that you've kept over the years, only now it wasn't as soft as it used to be, and the familiar smell of your old home was gone from the fur. Instead, it was now covered in dirt and grime. A button had been sewn on poorly as an eye after the last had fallen off, and its right arm was barely hanging on by a thread. Still, you carefully held it against your body as you laid on your side, alone and tense.

Your mind refused to settle, thoughts swarming with the Robin boy who had managed to make your night go from alright to horrific in only a few hours.

He had outplayed you - tricked you - and still somehow, he had managed to get your mind swimming. Your fight was oddly thrilling, and it confused you with his cocky comments. Batman was nowhere to be seen, meaning that Robin had let you go. Why?

Your knuckles had tightened their hold on the bear, a reminder of your life before any of this had happened. You didn't dwell on it, knowing that there was no way back. But the sadness lingered once you buried your face into the soft fur, allowing for the sleep to catch up to you. As usual it was never a peaceful one, but instead filled with nightmares and an all too familiar wide grin.

@annabellelee @stormz369

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.

[0daylighthours0]

A Deep Dive into Milkvan and Byler's Development: If Milkvan Was Endgame All Along, Why Was it Written Like This???

SO. I've been rewatching st with my mother, who's never seen it before. And she was a fan of milkvan throughout seasons 1 and 2. Viewing those seasons again I could see why, they're cute. However, come season 3 and INSTANT distaste. And, listen, my mother is not the consciously shipping gal. She simply routes for main character pairings as writers intend, doesn't read between the lines, doesn't nothing. And she does NOT know my own opinions on the pairing. In other words, completely unbiased, uninternet drama influenced eyes. We've now reached season 3 and, after getting through a chunk of it, I asked her,

"so what do you think of Mike and El?"

and she expressed to me that they seem to be, quote:

"not very good together."

She said El's character doesn't suit the way she's acting now (in the first few episodes, concerning Mike), that Mike is more likeable and interesting when he's away from her. She doesn't like the way they ditched the party, and when it comes to their 'making out' the scenes are seen by her from Hopper's perspective (in other words, distasteful). She claimed that they'd be much better characters as friends.

And ya know what, she's right. And I mean like - duh, that's what we've been saying all this time, I'm not stating anything new here. But guys, wouldn't it be strange if the central couple of the show, pivotal that it is liked by audiences and is rooted for by them as they are THE pair, would be so dislikable like this? So uninteresting, so cliche.

I mean, okay, let's do a little mental experiment I like to do to test if I'm not just acting delulu. Let's play a game. In this game, milkvan ARE meant to be endgame. They are in love, they were all along, and they're here to draw in viewers and appease all El stans. Now, seasons 1 and 2 their relationship is honestly fine. Surface level, yeah, people will watch and appreciate them. They perfectly blend in with all the other neat pairings of the seasons, and have their own unique character traits to stand out as a main couple.

Just pretending our mate Will doesn't exist, we now get into season 3. Now, writers have nothing to lose here. If you've finished season 2, you probably like milkvan already. The issue is that they're already together now, so what's the conflict going to be? The arc? And every central couple needs that conflict to stay juicy.

Just take a look:

Jancy: quarrels, struggle to understand one another

Jopper: not yet together, one sided? will they won't they

Lumax: ...

Lumax? Lumax. Huh, guess they were simply together. Some loveable bickering, maintained a friendly dynamic while clearly in closer proximity. Well then, writers can do the same for milkvan right? Well, yes easily. But one might argue that since they are supposed to be THE pairing they need more going on between them than that. So what'll it be? Well, it seems that writers thought,

"hey, why not break them up?"

ok so.. that's a bit risky. I mean you want people to like this ship, if you break them up then that threats: 1. there being a disliking to one or both characters, 2. coming off generic if done incorrectly, 3. the break up might make no sense considering how in love they came off as just a season ago. But hey.. it could work, if done right. Some kind of misunderstanding, similar to Jancy. Maybe an argument leading to a sudden parting. I mean, yeah, Yeah! I can see that. Perhaps Mike is being too overprotective whilst El's trying to sacrifice herself for something, so she NEEDS to separate herself from him attempting to hurt him less. Or, I dunno, something akin. What's crucial is that us, AS THE AUDIENCE, still know them to be deeply in love. I mean, we have to still want them to be together. And we've seen couple trouble before. Just take a look at Lumax season 4 - did you or did you not want the best for both of them as a pair? You most likely did. See, it's doable. So did people like milkvan season 3 the same way, even after a separation plot? No.

Okay well, there are obviously those who'll always love milkvan no matter but, see, season 3 tainted it. "We need to write them like this cause it's more realistic to teenager behavior" my ars. You can make it messy without making it icky. Not only did it sour their unique dynamic, it flabbergastingly stomped on Mike as a character.

Honestly, I feel Mike has always been a mild struggle to write. Season 1 his motivations were 'find Will' (who still doesn't exist in our mind game yet shh) and 'protect El'. This worked well for him. Afterwards though, El and Will became more separate plots to him. But as a main character it remained integral that he be closely linked to them somehow. This sets him apart from Lucas and Dustin, who can easily be given any arc any season as their plots have the flexibility of a side quest nature. Since what Mike does is meant to matter more - with there probably being a better way of phrasing that but you know what I mean - it's harder knowing what he'll do when El and Will (who we'll GET to sh.) are their own separate people. And Mike is just a boy, he doesn't have super powers and he isn't a cop, which leaves there even less for him to do which is of significance. Season 2 writers decided upon having him support Will's arc, making himself of enough relevance by being able to take credit for some Will development in the story, and the plots that surrounded that, and then Mike was thrown a little bone by being the one to come up with the idea of burning those vines in the finale.

Truthfully, you don't really remember Mike's deeds much when reminiscing the series. It isn't like Dustin who's bond with Dart sticks to everyone, or Nancy and Jonathan responsible for kicking out Hawkins Lab. This is due to them, again, being able to traverse all sorts of adventures without limits. But my guy Mike can't do dat. Sadly, this kind of leads to him coming of as a little.. well... insignificant. And I know I know, the Mike truthers are gonna come at my throat. And hey! I love him too. I only want the best for my boy.

This makes season 3 a unique case cause it seems that, for the plot they decided they wanted, writers actually had to almost entirely change his character. I mean mate s2 Mike and s3 Mike are two different peoples, don't even. And I don't believe that the Duffers had their story and character turnouts completely drawn out from the very start at all. If I was to guess, I'd assume they have vague ideas of little plots they plan to include in future, but there is definitely a lot that has come unpredicted or changed throughout st's runtime. And one of those phenomenons are Michael Wheeler. So they decided to make this guy a di-

So they decided to make him more douchy, more movie typical teenage guy. It's not as if he wholly sucked, he didn't, but he didn't really do much. Whined about his girlfriend, separated the party. I mean what even was his arc? (UnLESS–)

You see, if milkvan is written to be loved, then season 3 was strike one. All of its charm was stripped away. It seems they had some cute scenes after their reconciliation, but it's not enough. It's just sort of

"oh, ok, so they're happy with eachother now. yayy."

and Stranger Things should want to be anything but boring. Sure they often enjoy indulging in tropes, but they always do something different with them. Something standoutish. And from this point on milkvan just got dull. Either writers ran out of ideas or lost interest, honestly (still with our mind game of telling ourselves they're meant to be).

But it's okay. Look, so season 3 was a bit rocky, maybe lost a couple of fans for the guys, but it is salvageable. Easily, easily. Looks like we want a plot of Mike struggling to tell El he loves her. Great! Much to work with.

So let's get into it. Season 4! Choices were... made. And, okay, now we can't go any further without bringing in our boy Will.

Mike is intrinsically tied to Will and El and has been from the start. Maybe Will was more of an accident. Maybe s1 Will was just a plot device for Mike, then s2 Will was a plot device again and Mike needed to be there as the main boy character. Come season 3 and it seems their relationship still matters. Will was sidelined - hard - so most of Mike's moments revolved around El. But as his bond with Mike is the only that's been properly built up, that's the only friend we'll get him interacting with in a way that matters. So the Mike and Will tie continues!

But that does not have to be the case for season 4. Now the writers have a chance.

They made Will gay.

Ok so.. ok so yeah that's fine. Yeah! I mean they didn't have to do that, might put them in hot water with the bylers since milkvan is their golden beauty but.. you know what no no that's okay. He's been hinted at being queer since episode 1, why not make it canon! Cool that works. Explore that, especially since we now have Vecna who can easily target Will for this. Give him a boyfriend! Or a guy crush. He's at a new school now? That's cool. Maybe we can explore some new male character Will's taken interest in. Hey maybe he meets someone who interests him which rises to surface his whole sexuality plot and-

he's in love with Mike.

Ok. No. No. What are you doing? What do you mean?? You didn't have to do that. Strike- strike EFING TWO mates! Strike. 👏 efing. 👏 2!

This was part 1. I am tired and gots to get my ars in bed. But ohohoh, do not worry. I am just getting started.

[whalesforhands]

So I rewatched hidden inventory again and saw that gojo can like- gravitate people around 🧍‍♀️

Would def pull mc to him if they argued or something and saw mc try walking away

“um, we’re not done yet 🤓☝️”

-🗣️anon

tw: yandere

this drabble is connected to this btw

“You,” You’re tugged back by a force unknown, practically dragged against your will as your hand slips off the doorknob, air working against you as your adrenaline pumps— All for your back to meet with the hardness of a chest, infinity long turned off and his face scrunched into one of squinted grumpiness.

You can feel hands on your waist, fingers trailing your midsection and the very evident pout on his face as you feel him push his chin into your hair, his arms squeezing against your sides and effectively chaining you to him.

“I don’t like it when ya don’t talk to me.”

(Hmph. What makes him think you like being trapped in his arms against your will?)

“I know that look.” A lithe finger pokes at your cheek, slow and playful and purposely taking his time since he’s aware that you won’t move, won’t retaliate. Not when you’ve refused to acknowledge him at all.

“Don’t be mad at me.”

It makes him all the more worried, honestly.

“Please?”

Be mad, be angry. Flick his forehead, bite his arm— Hell, slap him across the face. He’ll take it all without Infinity if it was you. Call him a bastard, call him a selfish, possessive monster, yell at him; tell him he’s the worst.

Tell him you hate him.

He’ll take anything over your disappointed silence, will lap at anything you’re willing to bestow upon this cursed soul of his.

Just don’t ignore him.

“I love you, ya know?” His whisper is in your ear, slow and soft and teetering upon a low murmur. You feel his nose tap against your cheek, his breath on your skin as his coos make your blood run cold.

“You understand, right?”

You have to, have to know that he does it all for you. So many curses out there, so many things that could possibly harm you, hurt you. It’s dangerous out there, you know? Plus, there’s no reason for him to let you go on missions when he can easily take care of them, no?

“The higher-ups have just been piling lots of work onto me instead of other sorcerers.” He stuffs another bite of the vanilla crepe into your mouth, cutting off any of your rebuttals as his smile grows all the more smug at your obedience, patting your head as you chew with resignation.

“Plus, it’s better for ya to stay in school and train anyway. S’ not like missions are gonna take themselves on if your Grade’s still so low.” He ends with shoving the remainder of his sweet treat into his mouth, licking at his lips and his wandering eyes meeting your unfocused, deep in thought ones.

“Ooh! Ya got cream on your lip, don’t worry and let me get that for you~”

Not even the way that you had Gojo Satoru playfully kissing the corner of your mouth was enough to distract you. Gentle was the peck, his tongue playfully poking out to tease at your heated skin that he took pride in being able to feel. Not even the way his hands had trailed down to your waist, his cheek now pressed against your own as he kept whining your name over and over—

You don’t hear it. You don’t hear much of what he had to say, really. All you know was that he said again. You know he’s Gojo Satoru, know that someone of his caliber has standards, but being called weak so directly to your face makes you uneasy.

You know it, have to come to terms with it after all this time spent in the school after that incident, had a lot of time to think about your next step— All whilst surrounded by your exceedingly talented classmates.

It’s quite the reality check, honestly.

And maybe, just maybe; a part of you had finally accepted your plain mediocrity that he just makes so abundantly clear.

“Satoru,” Your voice feels cracked and sore, a testament to how you’ve refused to talk to him all day— And a contrast to the arms that held you so gently, with such fragility— As if they were afraid that you would break had he just used an ounce of too much strength.

It makes you feel all the worse.

“… you promised me that you’d be back within the week…”

Isn’t it embarrassing? Aren’t you ashamed? To be so clingy of your precious friend for being late, to be vying so much for someone that the entirety of the Jujutsu society looked up to. So your gaze can only stay pinned to the floor, your grievances aired out into a quiet murmur as you finally give up on this farce.

You never liked being this alone, after all.

“I know, I know! Suguru and Shoko are out on their own personal missions too right? I tried really, really hard to get back as soon as possible, I swear!” His tone is still chipper, his arm holding you closer as you’re lead back towards the dorms, only his voice that filled your ears and the ringing of your quiet haplessness.

“Wouldn’t want ya to be too lonely in school, ya know?” He adds a hum as he stops before a dorm—So familiar you were with these halls, so much time spent wandering aimlessly when there wasn’t another student besides the small Panda following you around.

Was it embarrassing that you could tell it was Satoru’s dorm just by the specific pattern etched onto the wood of his door?

“I feel really, realllllly tired after that mission.” He smiles into your hair as he rocks back and forth with you in his hold, fingers skillfully undoing the button of your Jujutsu tech blazer and even daringly undoing the top few buttons of the long-sleeved blouse underneath.

Your undershirt peeks out, the beginnings of skin that the average eye could never get a peek at revealed to his gaze as he hums, turning his back to you momentarily as he looks around for one of the sleep shirts he was sure he had laying around.

And it makes you wonder, when he finally leaves you alone, finally gets his hands off of you and let you breathe— Even if he was only an arm’s length of a distance away from you… That you truly wonder how pathetic you’ve become.

You didn’t notice it until you felt the flare of his touch on your skin, the way his body was so warm, so close. You didn’t notice it until you were left completely alone in this big, big school, until you were drained of interaction from the outside world, from anyone else that wasn’t a sorcerer.

Did the sky always look so bleak? Was staying here everyday in this school, aimlessly wandering, studying and training taking a toll on you? You’re improving, right? You’ve got to be. You’ve been at it for days, weeks and months.

(Were you always like this?)

So why can’t he, your dearest Satoru, the strongest who could take on any mission, who was too busy to be able to take on curses that were considered ‘small fry’ tell you anything about your next mission? Why does Yaga always claim that there weren’t any available? Why do you feel so strange? Are you doubting them? Them, your closest friends, your only teacher, the people that you trust with your entire life—

A rustle breaks you out of your thoughts, Satoru with a towel thrown over his shoulder and his shirt unbuttoned to reveal the milky, taut skin underneath signalling that he was going to shower.

(Maybe you’re thinking too much.)

“Ehh— I’m pretty sure Suguru washed the pajamas ya left here not long ago, so just wear one of mine or his, ‘kay?” He pauses when he watches you swallow— Before your eyes so adorably avert away from him to nod your head.

So cute. It makes him just want to tease you all the more, really.

“Mannn… I feel way too tired to even think about washing my hair…!” He fakes his dramatics, his hand ruffling through his own white locks as he watches you through one eye, eagerly watching the way you nervously swallowed as you hug yourself tighter out of bashfulness.

Maybe it isn’t so bad to keep you holed up in this place, afterall.

[littlemissaddict]

Okay so I'm back on my Bucky bullshit and after a rewatch of tfatws I was inspired by the scene of Bucky waking up on the Wilsons' couch to Sam's nephews pretend fighting with the shield.

"No, no, no shit" the hushed whispered curse was what woke Bucky, how he'd never heard the crash of the pan that had caused said cursing he'd never know but upon opening his eyes, he was met with the sight of her in the small kitchen of their apartment. A smile worked its way onto his face at the sight of her pottering about as, he guessed, she was quietly trying to make breakfast.

The smile never left his face as he watched her, something so domestic about it all. Something that, after all his years fighting, be it alongside Steve in the war or as the Winter Soldier, he never thought it would be something he would get in his life. And don't get him wrong it took him a lot of healing and making amends to get over the things that he did, before he even felt like deserved this kinda life but now that he had it, it was definitely worth the wait.

"You know it must have been a late night for you to crash on the couch instead of coming to bed" her voice almost startled him from his staring, it seems he wasn't as inconspicuous as he thought he was.

"The mission didn't wrap up until the early hours of this morning and I didn’t want to wake you" he answered truthfully. They hadn't landed back at the compound until 2am and then by the time he'd made it back home it was closer to 3 than it was two so he figured that rather than disturbing her by getting into bed he'd just crash on the couch, "besides I've slept in worst places so it wasn't that bad" he shrugged, well as best he could as he was still laid down.

"Aw look at you, caring more about your girlfriend than your own comfort" she teased, placing a steaming mug of coffee down on the coffee table in front of the couch where he was laid before bending down and greeting him with a quick peck of a kiss.

"Fiancée" he mumbled against her lips, and when she pulled back she noticed there was a deep frown on his face.

Giggling at his correction, she simply smiled innocently down at him. "I know I just like hearing you say it" she admitted before turning with a flourish and heading back into the kitchen whilst Bucky watched with coffee in hand, answering her questions about his latest mission.

[humbledragon669]

S2E1 - The Arrival Write Up P8 - the Present Day from the "I Was Wrong" dance

I don’t see any point in beating about the bush, let’s dive straight in – plenty still to cover in this final five minutes (sans credits) of the first episode of season two. The first item in my notes for this section is something we see for just a few frames before Crowley even gets through the door of the bookshop:

This is not a happy angel. In fact he looks almost tormented, doesn’t he? Sitting there, just staring into space. Goodness knows what’s going through his head at this point, but I don’t think he’s thinking about whatever it was he had intended to do when he sat down behind his desk. And whatever it is, it looks like he’s pretty deep in thought given his jump-scare reaction when the door opens. Speaking of which, the door has either been left unlocked or Crowley has miracled it open, because there is no sound of a door rattling or key turning in the lock before he comes striding into the shop. Either of those possibilities has some lovely subtext – the former would suggest Aziraphale has deliberately left it open knowing that Crowley is going to come back (don’t forget, it’s now full dark outside, so it’s likely way past closing time), the latter suggests that Crowley knows he would have locked up and wants his entrance into the shop to be dramatic. I lean towards the former, but that’s largely due to the lack of evidence to support the latter.

I’m going to state the obvious at this point. I absolutely love the scene that follows. I think it’s probably a fandom favourite. The chemistry between this pair is bang on, the comedy timing is perfect, and we get a couple of new Aziracrow history facts. Not to mention we get to see Crowley do a little dance (which was unspeakably surprising in the first watch – I think I actually squealed). And I was in love with this scene before the chemistry, before the dance, before Crowley takes off his glasses, even before Aziraphale puts on his glasses and pretends to be busy. Here’s the moment I fell in love with this scene:

I’m sure you won’t be surprised to read that it was the soundtrack that initially swept me off my feet here. That moaning guitar noise gets me weak at the knees every single time. But it doesn’t really stop there for the genius score writing – check out the beginning of the next phrase with the plucked strings. Classic music-writing device to convey comedy, and I think the two are perfectly placed – the guitar slides in as Crowley slithers his way back into the shop, the strings make their star entrance as we see Aziraphale trying to make the impression that he’s busy, not at all thinking about the argument he’s had with Crowley and wondering when he’s going to come back, thank-you-very-much.

I seriously adore this movement he makes for two reasons. Firstly because he has to readjust his entire posture and position to settle into the place that would be necessary to actually work at his desk. Look how far he has to shift his butt forward to lean over the desk properly! The second reason I love this is because Crowley is already stood right in front of him, looking at him. He would have seen the entire thing. It’s so blatantly obvious that this is an act, not just for us as an audience but for Crowley too.

Personal side note: I am actually sitting here giggling at everything as I rewatch tiny bits of this scene whilst I write this. I just can’t help it. Did I mention I love this scene? Right, back to it…

Let’s make it very clear what this dramatic gesture (complete with comedic string glissando to really highlight the movement) is shall we? We know that Crowley has been in Aziraphale’s presence without his sunglasses on countless occasions. We also know that he only really removes his sunglasses when he’s comfortable in his surroundings and his company (at least in the AD years). I can’t imagine he is comfortable with either of those things at this present moment at time, considering that he knows he’s in trouble. I don’t think I’d be alone in thinking that he does this at this particular moment in time to show Aziraphale that he’s making himself vulnerable for the angel. He has nowhere to hide without those glasses – he’s completely exposed. Which is also why I think he makes a big show of it: it’s actually a grand (somewhat melodramatic) gesture – “look at what I’m doing for you, so you’ll know how earnest I’m being”. This complicated subtext really demonstrates the reason I love this scene so much – there are just so many layers in it.

Whatever I think of Crowley’s “grand gesture”, Aziraphale ain’t buying it. I’m sure that stubborn angel saw what Crowley has done, but it’s just met with a clearing of the throat and a fake “that’s interesting” noise as he reads his little index cards. But that little noise really says something else to me – it’s a sort of “is that all you got?”. The message is pretty clear to everyone – this angel is still pretty pissed.

The set of Crowley’s jaw in this little shot is quite something, isn’t it?! I love the way he’s gone from a cautious-yet-dramatic entrance to try and establish the lay of the land to simply throwing his sunglasses on the table and ringing a bell to announce his arrival. It’s almost like he thinks he really has to emphasise that he’s taken off his glasses, you know, just in case Aziraphale hadn’t noticed. And the “I’m back” line? On the surface it’s stating the obvious, but let’s not forget why the angel had asked him to come to the bookshop in the first place – to take his place as the rescuer. This is him announcing he’s taking up the mantle again, and don’t you just love that he thinks that will be enough to let him get away without having to apologise? Gotta love him for trying I suppose.

There is a shot of Aziraphale in the Bentley that we’ll see in episode 3 that I have seen described as being the best demonstration of the angel in full bitch mode. I disagree – I think this moment takes it. This is pure bitchy rage and sarcasm at its absolute best. And underneath the snark and the stubborn refusal to look at Crowley to acknowledge that he has laid himself bare, there’s a clear message: “it’s not enough”. Crowley’s groan is evidence that for once he hasn’t missed his cue – as much as he might be hoping to get away without making an apology, he knows that’s probably not going to happen. I say probably because he tries to get out of it again:

CROWLEY: You want a big “I think I said the wrong thing” sort of apology, or can we take that as said?

I find the choice of words here interesting. Notice he doesn’t say “I did the wrong thing” or even “I was wrong”. It feels to me like there’s an element of “I’m sorry you feel that way” about, like he’s not really sorry for saying those things, but bitter about their consequences. And let’s not forget that he not only said a lot of things that Aziraphale got upset with, but reneging on the arrangement of him being the rescuer, leaving the angel to deal with the situation alone, likely causes more anger than the words that were said. He also says “I think” before the rest of the phrase (suggesting he really doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong), not to mention that this whole sentence is actually just a last-ditch attempt to get out of the apology. It’s not really any surprise that Aziraphale isn’t satisfied with this lame excuse for an olive branch.

Did I say that little sarcastic line from earlier was Aziraphale’s bitchiest moment? My bad. This. This is it here. Man, if words could kill, these would do it. And note that Crowley still doesn’t actually take responsibility for his actions, choosing instead to try and placate his angel by telling him he was right instead.

I think we’re about to find out what it is that Aziraphale was thinking about whilst he was staring into space at the beginning of the scene.

There it is – he was never going to take anything less, was he? There is so much to unpack here too.

AZIRAPHALE: I want a proper apology- CROWLEY: No.

That’s interesting – Crowley knew exactly what was coming before Aziraphale actually asked for it. Which makes it clear that this “proper apology” is something that has been referred to before. Next up:

AZIRAPHALE: -with the little dance. CROWLEY: I don’t do the dance.

Curiouser and curiouser… So Crowley has never done this dance before. Hold your horses though, because here comes a piece of Aziracrow lore that everyone is dying to know more about. According to Aziraphale, he’s performed this dance at least three times before. I say at least because it actually sounds like he’s going to keep going with that list (if I was a betting person, I’d say the last of those dates might have been after Crowley delivered the Antichrist to the nunnery). He’s also furious about it.

And whatever those dances were for, the reason(s) was significant enough for the dates to be carved into Aziraphale’s memory (granted two of the three tie up with known meetings between the two of them, and I know we’re all pretty sure that 1941 is going to turn out to have been meaningful for other reasons). I have my own theory about the reason behind the dances, which I have written a fanfic about. Feel free to read it here if you like, just know that it’s a WIP at the moment (still!) until I get to the 1941 minisode in this season (which, at this rate, is going to be a little while).

It’s at this point I want to pick up on how we as a fandom refer to what’s about to happen. I think I’ve seen it mostly called the “Apology Dance” - I have in fact referred to it by that name almost every time I’ve talked about it. However, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale actually call it that. Crowley simply refers to it as “the dance”, whilst Aziraphale calls it by three names - “a proper apology”, the “little dance”, or the “I-was-wrong dance”. I don’t think it’s hugely important, and I think that, unfortunately, the adopted name may have come about due to a reference made to by the creator. I think there might be something interesting in the fact that it isn’t actually called an “apology dance”, by either of its benefactors, on a linguistic level, but that’s not for here. There are some details about the linguistics used for the words that go along with the dance that I’d like to take a brief look at in just a moment. For now let’s just soak up in the silent sass we see Aziraphale gives Crowley to signal that he’s ready for the performance:

I mean, could this angel be more ready to revel in Crowley’s humiliation? The head tilt. The eyebrow raise. Such perfect bitch-delivery. Something that the 3-second long pause we see before the performance actually begins would suggest that the demon is well aware of, and that he’s still silently begging not to have to go through with the whole thing. Let’s get back to those “lyrics”.

CROWLEY: You were right, you were right, I was wrong, you were right.

There are a couple of things I find interesting about this set of words, the first being the fact that there isn’t actually an apology anywhere in them. The other requires remembering that this dance has only been previously been performed by Aziraphale for Crowley, which means that these words were devised to appease the demon. What we don’t know at this point is who devised them in the first place. I do hope that we’ll get some closure about this whole thing in season’t 3, but I just don’t know if there will be enough time in 90 minutes to cover the topic.

I am not ignoring the fact that the final pose of the dance looks distinctly like Crowley has extended his wings, I just feel like it’s probably so obvious I might be insulting people by pointing it out. What I do want to give credit to is the depth David has gotten out of that ice skater/one-legged squat pose. Honestly, I do yoga and a squats work out on a regular basis, and that sort of depth (without falling over) is not even close to being within my reach.

Last thing to say about the dance itself, or rather the music that goes along with it. This little tune took me a long time to identify, and it nearly drive me nuts, but I did get there in the end. I think it’s “Girls and Boys Come Out to Play”. Or it could just be a sequence of descending minor thirds, because I can’t see how the lyrics or history of that song links to anything about GO. Answers on a postcard.

Jeez, Aziraphale, could you thirst any harder? (Yes, it’s coming up in the next episode…) It doesn’t look like Crowley really notices, though he does understand that consent has now been given for him to resume his role as rescuer, closing the distance (very quickly) between them. He also returns to using collective pronouns instantly:

CROWLEY: We need to keep him here and hide him.

Aziraphale doesn’t notice until the demon uses the word “together”, and even then it comes as a bit of a surprise. (Side note: there appears to be a fire alarm going off somewhere in the background at this point. Not as obvious as the helicopter I could hear earlier on in the scene I suppose…) And despite the fact that Crowley is trying to do his thing (rescuing), he’s still clearly very, VERY worried about the plan - we’ve gone into full hand-wringing, freak-out-face mode:

It only really occurred to me what this look of intense worry might have been whilst I was doing this write up. I’m going to try and be as succinct as I can here, but I don’t know if I can word it very precisely. So. It’s only at this point that the suggestion of the pair of them doing half a miracle is raised, by Aziraphale. Which means that, despite Crowley using collective pronouns and saying that they were going to do it together, what he actually meant was that Aziraphale could do a miracle. And what Aziraphale meant when he said that he couldn’t do it because Heaven would notice even the smallest miracle was that he a) interpreted Crowley’s plan in that same way in the first place and b) was subtextually saying that actually the demon should do the miracle himself. Crowley’s defence that he doesn’t want Hell’s attention would suggest that he in turn understood what was being asked. Furthermore, Crowley’s reaction to Aziraphale’s suggestion now would also back up that idea that he wasn’t actually suggesting that they do a joint miracle in the first place, because it’s clear that this is a new idea for him. Phew, that was a lot of words to say that their exactlys weren’t exactly the same exactlys, but I felt like I had to get it out of my head. And of course it would be remiss of me to point out how thrilled Aziraphale is at getting Crowley’s approval, but I do feel like that’s been discussed at length by many other people already, so instead I’ll just leave this here:

It seems like such a long time since I talked about anybody other than Crowley or Aziraphale, and it feels even longer since I talked about Gabriel/Jim, and about how he does seem to understand some social cues. Well, here he is, clearly interpreting Crowley’s dislike of him with indignation:

He even manages a little sass of his own when he has to repeat his adopted name to Crowley. He softens quickly enough though, letting himself be led into the chair, which brings me to my next observation. The chair appears to have been placed directly over the (inactive) seal that marks the portal to Heaven.

Obviously there’s a rug over it now, but I’m pretty sure that’s the right spot. Why there? There are any number of places that Crowley could have put that chair. He could even just have left it where it was. Does he even know what he’s done? I don’t think we’ve ever seen him in the bookshop with it uncovered or activated, so perhaps not, but it feels like a pretty big coincidence if that’s the case. I know we all love the idea that the reason the miracle that’s about to be performed is so strong because it was done by both of them, but I do also wonder if the placing of the chair has anything to do with it.

I find it interesting that Crowley is only really worried about attracting Heaven’s attention at this point. He doesn’t mention Hell in this little speech at all, and Aziraphale doesn’t offer his own counter-speech to Crowley. The demon does in fact seem to be doing his absolute best to reign the angel in as much as possible, something which Aziraphale doesn’t dispute or bicker over. There’s something else - and it’s to do with the miracle noise used here:

Oh, wait. That’s not the miracle noise from this scene, is it? It’s the miracle noise from Aziraphale vanishing the soldier in the last episode of season 1. This is actually the miracle noise from the season 2 scene:

Yeah… they’re the same (if you're not convinced, try listening through headphones - I'm not sure the first component comes through in the first clip properly on speakers). There are a number of possibilities for this. Firstly, and this is something I have been toying with more and more as the season has gone one, that the noise isn’t actually related to the caster of the miracle, but the caster’s intentions (good vs. bad). This would work for this scenario, as the intentions in both scenes aren’t driven by morality but by need. The second possibility is that the sound contents aren’t actually relevant to anything other than to signify that a miracle has happened. I don’t buy this - this show is far too heavy on the hidden details for that to be a thing as far as I’m concerned, but even if that is the case, that will also become important in time. Thirdly, is it possible that Crowley didn’t actually didn’t do anything except move his hand down here? That would explain why he was so focussed on telling Aziraphale not to overdo it, whilst simultaneously avoiding making assurances that he would do the same. We never see Hell tracing anything back to Crowley either, which sort of makes sense because Gabriel is one of theirs, but also doesn’t make sense because Beelzebub has made it very clear that she’s also looking for the lost archangel, and that she believes Crowley has knowledge about it. There’s also something else to consider, which you can see here:

Now obviously we don’t really have anything to compare this to - this is the first time we’ve seen some sort of barrier formed by ethereal/occult intervention (their words, not mine). That said, it looks to me like all those little highlights that run through the barrier are gold, which is very definitely part of the Heavenly colour scheme (see the outfit Crowley chooses to manifest for his visit to Heaven). There are no other colours here at all. One last thing to think about:

CROWLEY: That was a Class A surreptitious half-a-miracle.

Huh. Not two half-a-miracles. Just one. Singular. Which would imply that only one of them did what they had agreed to do, and only Crowley would know that, because in this theory, he’s the only one of them that hasn’t carried out his part of the deal. I have no idea why this would be, or the motivations behind it, but I definitely think it’s something to chew on. Speaking of things to chew on, I can’t stop wondering why Aziraphale looks like he’s about to give Crowley a talking-to after he says that he’s not the archangel’s friend.

No idea what that bothers me so much. Partly because of how cheerfully he’s just spoken to Jim I think, that it’s such a turn-around, but I can’t really pin it down.

There’s one tiny thing I want to pick up before I (finally) sign off on this episode. It’s the way that Michael refers to Aziraphale.

MICHAEL: There’s a former angel in this up to his bookshop-owning neck.

Interesting. As far as I was concerned, Aziraphale was very much still an angel. He might not officially work for Heaven anymore but that doesn’t negate the nature of his being. That’s a little like saying that a retired racehorse isn’t a horse any longer. Maybe it’s supposed to reflect how Heaven thinks of him now, but I find it an interesting choice of words nonetheless. More to chew on.

Well I don’t know about you, but that last couple of minutes gave me a lot of things to think about! This episode has felt somewhat like a marathon compared to those in season 1, but I think the likelihood is that the rest of the season (Final 15 excluded) should be an easier affair. If nothing else, the next couple of episodes should break down a little easier given the minisode format that was employed. Congratulations if you made it this far with me - this one has been a long one! As always, questions, comments, discussion: always welcome. See you for the next one! 😊

[falling-star-cygnus]

❗4GGRAVATE NATION❗ come get y'all's food, i have another headcanon :D [semi-supported by canon, once again]

anyway, i was rewatching Alhaitham's trailer bc of a fanfic i read, and i realized that he's probably the most flexible out of all of them. -> think about it:

Tighnari and Kaveh both use weapons that require a lot of arm strength [even if Kaveh levitates his with Mehrak, he's still got those creaky old man artist joints] which somewhat limits the range of motion in the shoulder area that doesn't nix Tighnari from being quick on his feet, just for the record, i am aware of his acrobatic abilities. But a lot of his gameplay is focused on footwork and jumping

Cyno, on the other hand, despite having a weapon that allows for more of a lithe build- fights like a claymore user. He's a very heavy hitter, and his attacks focus more on relentless force rather than the precision of other polearm characters which is kinda cool if you look back at Kaveh, who DOES fight with precision despite having a claymore

and then you have Alhaitham, who in his original gameplay would arc almost completely into the splits to kick his sword down [i'm still so distraught that they lowered his leg, BRING IT BACK-] it is impressive that he can kick his sword whilst in a mid-air flip though, and still maintains a very aerial style of combat -> also, he can teleport- why don't more people talk about that?

Kaveh comes home to find Alhaitham sitting on their divan, reading one of his books like usual His hands are full of blueprints, with his charcoal balanced precariously on top, but he manages to close the door and start towards his room to set his stuff down. The charcoal hits the ground Alhaitham, glancing down at it: ...hm? Kaveh, pausing; ah- shit, Alhaitham can you grab that for me? My hands are full. Alhaitham, looking back down at his book: Yes, I can see that. Regardless of his 'disinterest', he shifts as if to stand up. And then doesn't. Alhaitham arches over the backrest of the divan to pat at the floor until his fingers brush the charcoal. He places it back onto Kaveh's stack and settles back into his book Kaveh: ....you could have just stood up- Alhaitham: I could've not grabbed it at all.

Cyno and Alhaitham get caught up in a fight with some Eremites on their way back from a ruin exploration or smth [idk i have a headache] It's a pretty evenly matched battle for most of it, but one of them manages to pin Alhaitham with his blade. Cyno makes to help him, but is quickly blocked by another enemy Cyno, scowling: Alhaitham-! The scribe dismisses his blade in a flurry of golden sparks, only to wrap his thighs around his foe's neck and twist to have the advantage- now having the Eremite pinned, he resummons his weapon Both Cyno and his opponent freeze mid-clash Cyno's Enemy: ...you wish that was you, huh- The general mahamatra attacks twice as viciously

Alhaitham had gone to Tighnari for some minor medical assistance, having been closer to him than the Birmastan [and also just generally not trust it more than his friend] Tighnari had suggested that he rest a little bit before heading back home, to which the scribe easily agreed and settled down on his friend's couch for small nap When the fox goes to wake him before it gets too late to safely travel back, Alhaitham blearily stretches backwards over the armrest until he's nearly in half- sighing a little as it works out a few kinks in the small of his back Tighnari blatantly stares Alhaitham, pausing as he works his boots back on: ...Everything ok? The fox covers the lower part of his face and offers no more than a thumbs up

[theregencywriter]

Lost in Silence 1 - Theo Sharpe x Reader

A/n - Okay so I'm obviously rewatching Bridgerton (are we surprised???) and I realised there's really no fics of Theo???? I mean of course there are but not many and I feel like he's underrated so I needed to put this out there! Still not completely sure which direction to take this in so pls message or comment if you have literally any ideas but uh, yeah! Hope you enjoy <3

The air was thick with tension. Y/n’s mother paced back and forth whilst her daughter Y/n, only ten, sat watching. The cobbled streets of London were cold and unforgiving but with no more room available in the room they were forced to wait outside. Hours passed before the doctor came out, his already stained robes marred with a fresh tint of crimson blood. He romoved a glove and placed his hand onto her Mothers arm as he spoke. “The bleeding was too much. There was nothing we could do and yet we still exhausted all options. I’m sorry.”

And then began a shriek from her mouth that young Y/n could swear rattled the nearby windows, as she shrank to the floor. It was odd, Y/n would recall years later, she never believed her mother to be truly extraordinary, and yet seeing her reduced to a blubbering mess on the floor was an unbearable sight. Y/n took off, her feet taking her as if by their own volition, running down twisted streets until she was pounding on a door.

“Y/n?” Theo asked, puzzled and tired as he opened his front door. He looked at his friend, and before she replied he was holding her in a deep embrace. Though he was only two years older than her he was naturally protective of her like no one ever had been. “He’s, he’s, oh my god!” It was as if by saying out loud for the first time it would become real, concrete and solid. “He’s what? Who’s what? Y/n please” Theo begged, his already panicked face deepening with worry. “Father!Oh Father, he was stabbed by a highwayman on his way back from the countryside! He’s gone!” Theo pulled her in closer. He had known that Y/n’s father, a coworker of his own at the butchers, was going out of London to look for work elsewhere. He also knew how worried Y/n was, and heard from his father that she was seen pleading with her own for him not to go, out of fear of a robbery.

Theo held her for a while until her mother came looking, and when he looked at her though mere hours had passed the once vibrant face of Y/n’s mother was sunken and worn. Before Y/n left with her, Theo gave her a vibrant blue notebook. “For company, when I myself am not there.” He smiled, only faintly as she left.

—

Y/n fidgeted with her bow. “Is it not too garish? I thought so all night” She asked. “Nonsense Miss Y/n, it is beautiful” Her maid replied as she helped fix it into her updo. In the years that passed since her fathers death her mother had remarried to a Lord Reginald Harrington, his wealth only matched by his cruelty. They had one child together other than Y/n, an Arrabella Harrington, now nearing twelve. Her birth was scandalously close to their wedding, yet she seemed to finally snap her mother out of the haze she had been in. To say having Arrabella had saved her would be a stretch, Y/n often lay awake at night worrying what could’ve happened had her mother not fallen pregnant and found a new purpose in life.

It was no surprise to anyone then that Y/n would be treated lesser than her sister by both parents. Y/n’s mother, now Lady Isadora Harrington, saw Arrabella as a second chance, whilst Lord Harrington naturally leaned towards the child that was his through blood. Despite this, Y/n was still sent through the marriage mart each season, attending balls and accepting callers. It wasn’t that she tired of it, per se, as she did find comfort standing on the sidelines with her two friends. It was moreso the matter of feeling like an imposter, knowing if it werent for a terrible accident that she wouldnt be here. That was something Penelope and Eloise simply couldnt grasp seeing as they were born into the lavish life they lead.

Whilst Y/n wasn’t closed off to the idea of marriage and preparing for life as a dutiful spinster, any man who attempted to court her never made it past the first two weeks. There were too many differences, she supposed, in their upbringing. After the first five men came calling it was clear they wanted a wife, not a companion. Seeing how regular people saw love most definitely shaped how Y/n saw the marriage mart. In the lower classes marrying for love was more common, as there were no titles to be exchanged. The marriage mart seemed to be just that in comparison- a business exchange. 

It was after one of these balls where Y/n found herself, being undressed by her lady’s maid. It was a remarkably unremarkable one, where she was once again stood by the edge like a wallflower. “I just don’t understand miss,” Her maid, Rosalind spoke. “Is it not a great honour to attend?” “I suppose,” Y/n replied as wrangled out of the embellished dress “Yet at the same time it feels so futile. There is no use in pretending, it is simple. I am an imposter.” Rosalind looked up, puzzled as Y/n continued. “I do not feel love, or anything. It feels like business there. No emotions to be had.”

Rosalind stopped pulling down Y/n’s stockings and paused. “Miss, I have been attending to you almost since you first day at this house. You have always been so closed off to everyone, were you like that before the?” She quit her sentence but they both knew she meant the accident. “No, not really” Y/n confessed. “I used to be open and vibrant before it all. It wasn’t even the accident in truth it was the whole combined affair. Not only losing my father but just mere weeks after losing all of the people I had ever known by moving to Mayfair. Even now I feel as though I am playing a role, that one day I might return back to the old house.” Y/n was smiling as she reminisced, unaware Rosalind was done.

“Miss, excuse me for speaking out of term if I do, but you cannot return. You have no reason to. Goodnight” Rosalind shut the door behind her as she left. Y/n sat on the edge of her bed and looked up at the vast array of books on the wall to her right. Tucked away, hidden in the very top corner, was a notebook. A vibrant blue with gold embossing on the spine it seemed to shine in the candlelight. Rolling her bookshelf ladder across to retrieve it she ran her fingers across it, taking in the delicate imprints where the gold pigment lay. After Theo had given her the book, she had never written in it. She had never even seen him after he had given it, seeing as they took no callers for their mourning period and soon moved to Mayfair to be with her new Stepfather. Y/n clinched the book in her hand and contemplated.

—

As she snuck out of her family home’s side door and caressed the dim streets of London it dawned on her the severity of what she was doing. She was unsure what would be worse, to encounter a madman alone of fall victim to the quill of Whistledown writing about an unchaperoned outing. She found her way towards Bloomsbury after several wrong turns, and while some landmarks were vaugley familiar, the majority were not. As she entered the only place on a street that had its lights on, a pub, she asked one of the patrons where to find Corral Street. The patron in return said a couple of slurred words, before turning to the stage and cheering some half hearted gibberish as a woman took to the stage. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, If I may steal you from your drinks for just a moment, I find myself compelled to speak on a matter of great importance - the rights of women.” Y/n drew closer, as if entranced, and sat on the second row of benches. “In this new age of enlightenment, where minds are expanding and horizons are broadening, it is imperative that we do not neglect the rights and freedoms of one half of humanity simply based on their gender. For too long, women have been relegated to the sidelines, their voices silenced, their aspirations thwarted by societal norms and expectations. Let us not forget the brave women who have come before us, who fought tirelessly for the rights that we now take for granted. Let us honour their legacy by continuing their struggle, by raising our voices in solidarity until every woman, regardless of class or station, is granted the respect and dignity that is her due!”

The place erupted into cheers, and Y/n joined them, though restrained due to her latter years of education. As she rose up and looked around, confused on where to or how to find directions, her eyes fixed onto a man. Though taller and more rugged than the sensitive boy she once knew, it was undeniable. 

It was Theo.

[stealerofthe2ndbraincell]

Had a rough morning, so I ended up rewatching Zanzibar at like 5AM.

And oh Henry you beautiful, beautiful dumbass....

(This is just me rambling btw lol)

I see people give Viktor in Once Removed a lot of (light hearted) flack for the utter shit show that was his assassination attempt. Whilst I do agree, the circumstances in that episode (through May's meddling with the door and everything else about where he ended up lol) were accidentally set up against him throughout.

How he handled it was definitely debatable (although without that we wouldn't have gotten the beautiful silk, pink dressing gown<3), but he certainly did have a disadvantage.

HENRY, HOWEVER, HAS NO EXCUSE.

Whilst a mystery twin brother being in the exact same hotel as Rico and swapping rooms with him was out of Henry's control, it really shouldn't have gotten to that point.

Henry is introduced as Rico's diligent literal security advisor and seemingly main line of defence most of the time. Ergo, Henry should be the main and only person that knows where Rico is at all times, especially if he has plans to MURDER HIM.

Not only that, but he also straight up just did not have a plan. 💀

In fairness, Henry does start to work out a plan. E.g. He wonders if he should create a story involving trying to "save" Rico before backing out of it, considers even thinking of an alibi at all and then questions if he has left his microphone on before committing the act. The problem is this is literal moments before he was "planning" to kill Rico. And none of them are thought through.

"No longer in the shadows can I lurk"

Henry leaves his room to attack at that point with no plan (that line may be implying that he is acting earlier than he should), completely forgetting if he left his microphone on (which would reveal EVERYTHING), and also having not even made a start on considering an alibi.

Henry's regicide "plan" feels mostly based on impulse and a severe lack of restraint.

He also straight up does not know how alibis work.

If Rico died whilst Henry was at the hypnotist's show, then he would have a fairly good alibi, but Henry plans is to kill him now AFTER - which destroys it entirely.

And he completely switches gears the moment Tracey ("Red") becomes an option.... and chooses to pay her to drug Rico so he can kill him later... Giving him a loose end that could definitely be traced back to him and kind losing an easy person to frame.

Whilst he couldn't fully plan around the mystery twin (although, being the security advisor of a literal Prince, Henry may have had access to potential "threats" of Rico's there. He even mentions said "enemies" to warn the guy at the start), Henry had all the resources at his fingertips to pull off the murder cleanly (unlike Viktor who had everyone else and a wrong victim in the way) and seems to not be aware of it or actively squanders it.

And then he completely screws any chance of getting away with a murder by needlessly threatening Rico's biological Dad to get to him with multiple witnesses in a public hotel hallway!!!

I'm almost convinced this Regicide bit was just an excuse for Henry to get some stabbing done with his tiny, bloody baby knife.

I do love it all though ofc.

I like to picture Zanzibar taking place just after various silly, failed murder attempts where Rico survives out of pure obliviousness à la Debbie and Fester's honeymoon in Addams Family Values (with a sprinkly of utter incompetence on Henry's side).

Also bonus bit that I find kinda cute nice:

I love a dumbass. <3