#shows such perfect imperfection in all of the character's

[heycoyotegirl]

the writers should've just committed to the one-sided pining daxton, but they're cowards who refused to accept that it's fundamentally impossible to write a version of paxton who is not in love with devi

[rhaenyra-first-of-her-name]

Is HotD allergic to making all of the women in the show anything but a 'perfect' victim or what?

[reikunrei]

there’s people that have and still absolutely scrutinize jonathan to this extent, while never scrutinizing s1 steve on the same level—from the moment he looked through nancy’s window without her knowing to his active participating in her slutshaming. every single time, without fail, each regurgitation of s1 jonathan vs s1 steve discourse by stans based on the pics/slutshaming comes off so hypocritical and stale

like either both are unforgivable or both are recognized as capable of change, and maybe we can finally move on, but this petty ass fandom probably won’t ahhhh

you're right and you should say it!! tbh i hadn't even thought of the comparison to steve, but yeah, like if steve is allowed to actively slutshame nancy and then spit the word queer at jonathan like a slur and be an absolute dick about his family, and still be viewed as capable of change? then jonathan is also allowed some grace lol

i feel like a lot of modern day fandom arguments could be avoided if people stopped looking at characters as people and started looking at them as pieces of the narrative. sure, they're there for us, the viewer, to relate to and whatnot, and it's fine to humanize fictional characters, but they fundamentally cannot be held to the same standards as a real person. at least not entirely, imo

like, jonathan taking those pictures is integral to his character and to the plot. they're a way to show us that he's a loner, that nobody hangs out with him bc he's a bit of a weirdo, and they display that he has this intense yearning to belong, to have friends. it's also important to the plot bc he takes those pictures of barb, which ends up bringing him and nancy together to solve the mystery of her disappearance. like, he HAD to take those pictures. it was important for many, many reasons

and sure, you can still say it was a bad thing to do, but you cannot claim that it shouldn't have happened at all when it is so deeply integral to the story. besides, as i said in my earlier post, he was punished for it in canon! you don't have to keep punishing him for it! he knew it was bad from the start, and then he was reprimanded, and he apologized for it! idk what else you need!

[acid-ixx]

You mention in the first story that the Batfam finally realizes where we are because jon showed Damian our picture while calling us his parent- so I was wondering about how Damian reacted to that? Like did he realize we’d left at that point or did he just get hit in the face with that info?

— related post !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated

a/n: y'all i have clogged nose and i hate it LMAO. anyways, i'm gonna write smth about this soon but damian's character for both the series again & again and this series is genuinely one of the more complicated to write because of how he's raised but it really goes like this—

"jon... what do you mean? that's my—"

he cuts himself off before he could continue running his mouth off. damian ignores the slight raise of jon's eyebrow, his thoughts running a mile every second.

his parent? no, never once in his life has damian considered you his parent, pushing you away whenever you try to bond with him. whatever gifts you gave him, no matter how small, or big, expensive, or inexpensive they are, he always makes a show of ripping them away right in front of you.

he told you himself. you are not his parent, never will be his parent, you'll never replace talia's standing, and there will never be a time where damian will see you as one. dick, jason, tim, literally anyone can consider you as theirs, but damian is a product of two genetically perfect individuals— you are imperfect, and it's not your business to coddle him just because you are merely married to his father in paper.

no matter how much you softly gaze at him with loving eyes, invite him with welcoming arms, praise his passion for drawing; all you'll do is weaken him and damian hates feeling weak, hates how you tempt him into melting into a puddle. that automatically makes you a burden in his book.

he hates you, and he should've been glad you disappeared off of the face of the manor.

yet the record stands still: why are you with jon? why do you hold him like he is the world in the picture? what does he mean by "sorry, damian, but me and my parents are gonna go to the carnival later!"? you, as in, bruce's spouse? why are you with them, of all people?

... why does jon get to have fun, with you? and he doesn't...?

and yet he couldn't reply to him, not when his friend babbles on for longer about his... parent. about how you, make him feel so complete. that you'll be the one helping him with his science fare project, how you two spent the night yesterday building a volcano, how you treat him with ice cream every time he achieves a good enough grade for a subject, how you, you, you always spoil jon, always comfort him, read him bedtime stories, matched bracelets, sung karaoke together, played board games with each other, picked him up from school, help him with assignments—

the more jon goes on, the more damian wants to rip his hair out. he doesn't know, doesn't know why he's suddenly pissed. is it because jon can never shut up, or because he couldn't shut up about you? about how perfect you are apparently? how you're the ideal parent he never once bat an eye on? the domestic life jon seems to brag about, it's something damian secretly wanted, and it's all ripped away from him.

it makes damian wonder, would you have done the same for him?

he knows it in himself, that if he hadn't pushed you away, he might've been in jon's place.

[4giorno]

this song and mv IS mika yeah but i just love how everything, even shus own event, has been ultimately about mika and thats why ive been saying why i think shu is such an amazingly written character and easily one of my favorite redemptions ever

[dark-and-kawaii]

bg3 men of your choosing and kinks?

Notes: Yummy!!! I got you dear anon xoxo

⟡ Characters: Halsin - Gale - Zevlor - Haarlep - Raphael - Wyll - Rolan

⟡ Content: NSFW - Kinks - Lots Of Kinks

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Zevlor loves a good creampie. Like, please let this old man cum deep within you!!! It will literally make him go insane, his tail thrashing around behind him as he fills you so full of his seed. Especially if you let me do it after only just meeting. It’s been so long since he’s felt such warmth envelop his cock. Gods, and when he sees the way his white milky substance leaks out of you afterwards… it’s enough to keep him hard and wanting to go at it again. Maybe it’s part of the breeding kink he has, the dire need- of wanting a family to call his own. And you just look so pretty like this- with your legs spread and his cum spilling out.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Haarlep is an incubus, a demon- a chaotic being so of course dacryphilia. Whether you’re crying from his cock stretching you or crying from the way this creature overstimulates you- he relishes in it. Haarlep adores taunting you, always adding a hint of mockery to his coos, “Awh my little Dove, does it hurt?” Before leaning down to lick away the tears running down that pretty face of yours he loves so much. “Or is it simply too much for your mortal body to endure?” As he lets out a wicked laugh, flashing you his infamous smirk.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Rolan not only enjoys overstimulating you, but also craves being overstimulated himself. This grumpy tiefling wizard has more depth than meets the eye. He’s so pent up from studying and perfecting new spells that when he finally gets his hands on you he’s using your body as a means of release. He unleashes all his frustrations on your tight little fuck hole, pounding you relentlessly with his cock. Bullying that body of yours until you’re nothing more than a babbling mess with your tongue lolled out, until his body gives up on him, collapsing on top of you, gasping for breath. The slightest touch sending his body into shock.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Raphael is a cocky bastard, and everyone knows this. Gets off on denying you your orgasm. Loves being in control of your body, mind, and soul- the devil will wait until you’re begging for him to give you your release- begging for his cock acknowledging that only he can bring you such intense pleasure. Telling him that no one- nor anything matters, only him. Once you’ve pleaded enough, he’ll express how satisfied he is with your obedience and will hint at granting you that long awaited release.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Wyll adores praising you, worshipping you in your intimate moments. He genuinely worshiped every aspect of you, even finding all your imperfections incredibly beautiful. Especially if you have a scar, no matter how small or large, he’ll lovingly kiss along it. And he takes such delight in receiving the same level of adoration from you, as you worship his cock, the very cock that causes your toes to curl and your body to writhe beneath him.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Listen, Halsin sometimes involuntarily shifts into a bear, and he always apologizes for it. But if you accept him for who he truly is, Gods he’ll be utterly smitten with you. As things start to get a bit more steamy his body begins to glow as he transforms into his bear shape. But, if you playfully giggle at him and start to run, enticing him to chase you by wiggling your finger, oh yes, it will not only arouse him further to chase you, but also show him you’re open to some unconventional foreplay. Being a bear he’ll eventually catch up to you and pounce on you as gently as he can. It’s so endearing to him how you softly plead, “oh no~ plllleeeease~ someone help~” as your fingers run through his fur.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Gale is so cute, he just absolutely craves the sensation of your fingers tugging at his hair while you ride his face. He always smiles while probing you with his tongue when he feels your nails digging into his scalp as his stubble tickles between your thighs. And when it comes to your hair, well you best believe this man takes joy in giving a gentle tug here and there. Not too rough, but enough to crane your neck back so that he can lock eyes with you before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

[novelconcepts]

A thing I find really important about the way Kevin Can Fuck Himself goes about its job: Allison is kind of a mess. She’s self-centered, she doesn’t put other people’s needs first, she makes reckless choices that endanger herself and others. And the show says: yes. Right. She’s flawed as fuck. And she still does not deserve any of what’s happening to her. It could be argued that she is, in fact, this flawed as a direct product of her trauma. Her self-absorption, unlike Kevin’s, is actually self-preservation. It puts Patty in danger. It tunes out Diane’s pain. It capitalizes on Sam’s relationship problems. And still, the show says: yes. Right. She’s going about this in fumbling, worrying ways. And she still does not deserve any of what’s happening to her.

Know how we know this? How we really know this, outside of our own objectivity, our own awareness of the abuse she’s enduring even to the soundtrack of laughter?

Because Tammy is the one to find her. Because Tammy is the one holding the cards at the end of the game. Tammy, who does not like Allison. Who sees so clearly the complicated, messy, dangerous person Allison can be. The mistakes she is prone to making in the name of desperation. How imperfect she is at every level. And Tammy, who is the character most explicitly set to call Allison on all of her shit, to drag her before a court of law, to lean on that hot-button of whether or not she’s a “good person” until it breaks—lets her go. Folds the cards up, puts them in her pocket, and leaves.

Because Tammy, like the show, like the thesis statement of abuse is never earned, never deserved, never warranted, understands. This is a world that so often sanitizes women after it’s too late to save them. A world that insists she should have done more to get out. A world that insists you should be kind and moral and perfect, or maybe you got what was coming to you. This is a world that sees fighting back as an equally heinous crime. As punishable, if not more so, than the actions of the instigator.

But this show doesn’t want to play that game. This show doesn’t want to fuck with it at all. Allison doesn’t have to be perfect and moral and above reproach. Allison has blood on her hands, and a DUI neatly ignored, and knowingly has an affair with her married boss. Allison hurts her friends sometimes, and she makes awful decisions out of desperation, and she doesn’t always pay attention to other people’s plotlines. And the show says: yes. Right. She’s making choices you probably should not agree with.

And she still does not deserve any of what is happening to her.

[anika-ann]

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events - S.R.

Part 1 of 2

Type: two-shot, idiots-in-love, feel-good fic

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 7,3k

Summary:  It's just a bunch of Avengers and SHIELD agents who often cooperate on missions - hanging out and getting to know each other better on a camping trip. What could possibly go wrong?

A few things. A few things could and they all seem to have you at the centre. Luckily, you have a hero in shining armour to help you in the time of need.

Warnings: allusions to NSFW, minor injuries, mention of misogyny, brief reference to PTSD, language, attempt at humour, FLUFF , Steve being a menace

A/N: written for the Essie’s Summer Lovin’ 300 Follower Celebration. Congrats @bigtreefest and thank you for hosting 💕 I have chosen multiple prompts - in this one, you shall find “why’s it…sticky?” and modified “here, you can share with me”. I hope to finish the second part in time 😁

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰 Several Agent of SHIELD characters are involved - I don't think you need any knowledge of the show to read this

The afternoon North Carolina sun warmed your skin pleasantly, even as you found yourself panting after the having climbed up the hill you. The backpack with an attached sleeping bag and a tent pack was growing heavier and heavier on your shoulders with every step, but the view and the company – most of it anyway – were certainly worth it.

Everyone seemed affected by the fresh air and exercise the Great Smokey Mountains provided, the atmosphere light and content as this was, for most, the first trip in a long time that had nothing to do with a mission.

Sure, one could argue there were some strings attached, as the ‘mission’ was to solidify relationships within the group – several Avengers and several SHIELD agents who were often outsourced for Avengers-level missions – but still: no one was shooting at you. And you wouldn’t have to write a report. That counted for something. For a lot, in fact.

Plus, the path was the goal. The destination, while set precisely according to Steve’s plan, might as well be just about anywhere.

You glanced at him as he walked by your side, smiling absently. The corners of his lips only twitched higher as he noticed you watching him, his gaze flickering to you as well.

He looked as if he was born to do this. A halo of dark blond hair around his head ruffled by the wind, sunlight painting them almost golden. The heaviest backpack of all sitting on his wide shoulders, straps around his broad chest and thin waist. Legs clad in light track pants that hugged his thighs and ass in the best way possible, a downright magnetic sight--- no.

Uh-huh, no.

No thoughts of that sort. You had forbidden yourself from that, at least for the duration of this trip, because you had known Steve would be a literal walking thirst-trap, the sheer happiness surrounding him making his glow ten times brighter. You had forbidden yourself from thinking like this, because this was not an appropriate observation to make about a colleague, a superior no less, even as everybody else probably thought along the same lines.

It didn’t matter that you wanted to throw hands at the mere idea of someone else making that observation as well. You didn’t exactly have the right to do that and it was a lost fight before it even started. Steve Rogers was simply too beautiful and essentially perfect in all his imperfections, and god knew that those imperfection had nothing to with his body. Ass included-

Gaze quickly snapping up back to his face, you found him smiling at you warmly, a soft dusting of freckles adorning his cheeks from the prolonged exposure to sun. The same phenomenon could be observed on his bare arms; a constellation of freckles, where angels had kissed their kindest, prettiest and most loyal creation; a constellation of places where you’d love to press your lips and linger, breathe in the scent of his skin and taste it.

God, he was breathtaking and all kinds of alluring. The nature around you was too, sure, the smell of pines and sandy rocks whispering of vacations and good times, but the way he-

“Whoa!” you yelped as you suddenly found yourself tumbling towards the ground, foot having slipped on a rock, you supposed.

Hands outstretched, you had no chance to break the fall, only to slow it, the burden on your back completely changing your momentum.

The second your palms as much as brushed the rocky floor, you were being held by your waist so firmly that none of your actual weight landed on the ground. You would recognize the arms holding you anywhere – just like the scent of sandal wood, musk, man and comfort, suddenly wrapping around you.

The safest place on Earth.

Steve’s arms.

Your stomach made a little flip-flop as his hands squeezed you gently and helped you up, only releasing you when his eyes found yours, silently asking if you were okay.

You responded with an embarrassed smile.

“Whoa, you okay?” Daisy rushed to your side, bless her, breaking the brief moment you had allowed yourself to bask in the sweet worry in Steve’s gaze and in the heat his body was radiating, despite the fact you could feel everyone staring at the newly nominated klutz of the group of superspies. You.

Heat of embarrassment flooded your skin under everyone’s scrutiny – and more so under the judgement in Agent Hopkinson’s glare, the jerk. Then again, you could hardly blame him for looking down on you right now.

Allegedly one of the deadliest agents known to the world; bested by a few rocks on a hiking trail and Steve Rogers’s smile.

You chuckled self-deprecatingly, quietly thanking Steve and turning to Daisy to assure her that besides your pride, nothing had been seriously wounded.

“I’m fine,” you said, scratching your forehead with a poor attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Must have missed a step, I don’t even know how…”

You did know how. You knew it precisely. You hadn’t been watching your step, too mesmerized by the beauty of your favourite Captain – and favourite person in the world. The man with the most honest, goodest, fiercest and most beautiful soul you had ever met, your closest friend.

“I do,” Agent Melinda May commented dryly, a pointed look aimed at your feet, revealing the culprit – and making you wish the Earth could swallow you, especiallysince it was her, the second in command at SHIELD – and one of the most admirable women in history of anything. And she had just seen you, an agent for both Avengers and SHIELD, a master of martial arts, to trip on nothing like a five-year-old. For the same reason too. “Your shoelaces are undone.”

“…thanks. And sorry. Go ahead. I think I can tie my shoelaces on my own,” you chuckled again, swallowing the shame even as you were among friends. Albeit some of them more reluctant than others.

“Clearly not,” Agent Hopkinson remarked, not missing the opportunity to belittle you, making you sigh as you crouched down, taking extreme care not to as much as wobble despite the heavy backpack.

Case on point, you supposed.

Having worked for SHIELD for years now, acting as the main liaison for situations where Avengers needed help, be it due to too many hostiles or the nature of the job leaning more towards spy-work that alien-invasion-work, your general experience was that tolerance and cooperation were the way. Some people were less pleasant than others, that much was true, but one should handle disagreements, various personality traits and different views on life. You certainly could; your approach to conflict, your supposedly calming presence and search for harmony in a team and the calm composure you maintained under pressure to quickly weigh your options, had even earned you your codename, Libra.

You genuinely believed tuning down an attitude for the sake of the mission was the custom, the golden rule.

And then you encountered Agent Martin Hopkinson. He was the exception. And a pain in your ass.

He got along alright with most people despite his arrogance; but you and him were a trainwreck happening in slow motion. He did not like you. Whether it was jealousy of your position, misogyny, or both, or something completely else, you wouldn’t know. But he was bitter and biting, always looking for a flaw, always making snidey comments.

You could handle that – an insult here, a mean comment there. After all, you could take a punch, a stab, a gunshot wound. You could take down men twice your size with your bare hands and just a little wit, if you tried hard enough. You had faced soldiers, rapists, murderers; Agent Hopkinson was but a small hindrance, annoyance on legs. But by god, your fists itched whenever he opened his mouth. And the feeling was mutual.

However, as a professional, you worked hard not to reciprocate his aggression, even as it only ever remained verbal; the same could not be said about him. And he didn’t care zilch about who heard him be ‘smart’ with you either, which, in turn, led to several reprimands; and on one delightful occasion, to Steve almost breaking his jaw when he heard him utter a comment about Coulson pimping out the pet agent again, clearly meaning you. The wrath Steve had showed was nothing hort of holy, and holy was the miracle that Hopkinson was still alive; the fact he barely toned down his attitude was just idiocy.

But had you mention Steve was an angel? A fiercely loyal protective friend, a gentleman, who might swear on occasion and be a little shit par excellence, but god should help anyone whose behaviour towards others offended him. He might be an angel, but was an avenging one.

A caring one too.

As soon as you stood up again, Steve was carefully cradling the backs of your hands, examining the teeny scrapes over your palms with about five droplets of blood in total, frowny gaze flickering to your knee which you hadn’t even realized you had grazed too.

“We should disinfect that.”

“Steve, I’m fine,” you laughed, even as you let him examine the barely-there bleeding, knowing there was no use trying to resist. “Thank you for caring, but it’s literally just a scratch… I’ve had worse.”

He shook his head, his expression darkening a bit. “That’s not comforting and you know it. And any wound, if infected, can be dangerous – I know I don’t have to tell you that.”

You knew instantly what instance he was referring too, a small shudder running up your spine. Yet, the rational part of you argued that there was no comparison, even if the cut on your arm over a month back had not been all that deeper and wider than this.

“That was literally a poisoned blade, Steve-“

“We were about to take one more break before reaching the destination anyway,” he interrupted you, unrelenting. “Let’s head up to that clearing and we’ll rest for a bit. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

“Steve-“

“I’ve got the first aid kit,” Bobbi uttered nonchalantly as she passed you, joining the others who had gone ahead already.

You sighed. Bobbi Morse – an agent with a clever sense of humour, sharp tongue and no-nonsense attitude, a good friend – and she was using all of her powers against you. Wicked.

“It’s just a-“

“Captain’s orders,” she almost sing-sang, earning a grin from Daisy who only shrugged, as if to confirm her words.

You sighed, rolling your eyes; acutely not aware that Steve was still holding your hands in his and your body was heating up from inside at the prolonged contact – particularly your chest and something deep within your belly.

You looked up at him, mildly annoyed and rather amused at his insistence and protectiveness. And even though you wouldn't admit that out loud, touched.

“You’re overbearing. You’re lucky I like you,” you scolded him in a whisper.

He only grinned, his worried gaze clearing and lightning up at your feigned outrage, and squeezed your hands before letting go.

“I love you too. Let’s go.”

You bit your cheek as you nodded, reminding yourself for at least the tenth time since you had set off hiking: friends. The keyword of this trip was ‘friends’.

It was just really hard to actually remember that when Steve looked at you like that, talked like that, and you could still feel the warm imprint of his hands on yours.

Steve Rogers was a man impossible not to fall for; from almost absurd handsomeness to even more absurd goodness he lived by, from his sharp wits to effective moves, from the crinkles in his eyes when he smiled to the tenderness in his touch. His sense of humour equalled to the one of duty, his drive and determination in leading interlacing with a soul of an artist and a simple man who appreciated the most ordinary things.

You had clicked instantly; your friendship bloomed almost effortlessly, working alongside him making for many opportunities to spend time together. Despite barely having met about three months ago, the times you owed him your life for were numerous; and the few times he owed you his, even as there was no such thing as keeping score, only strengthened your bond. Moments where you thought you wouldn’t make it out. Long nights at motels or in a stake-out cars, filled with mindless chatter, profound talks and comfortable silences. His goddamn smiles alone, always feeling a little warmer, fonder, when directed at you.

The fact he had quickly slipped into a habit of calling you Lee, a nickname derived from your codename with a wordless implication of you being his refuge, with that damn smile on his plush lips, was making something in your ribcage tremble with affection.

You had fallen hard. But who wouldn’t? You were only human.

And his proximity, his friendship, his affection, they were most precious to you; no matter which form they’d have, you’d take it.

Even if it meant inappropriate thoughts and your heart racing fast enough to collapse from exhaustion when he cleaned your scraped knee and palms with such care and focus one might believe they were fatal wounds.

Your heart would tremble less if he hadn’t kneeled in front of you as he did so, but you supposed Steve Rogers was just that kind of deadly. He cradled your hands in his huge ones as if they were as fragile as butterfly wings, smiling when he was done; and grinning when you said Thank you, nurse Rogers, the words carrying both humour and respect for his late mother.

His smile resembled the sun so much you almost missed how the actual sunrays grew less and less warm. It was only a few minutes later – every one of them making you aware of the either knowing or incredulous looks following yours or Steve’s every move, almost enough to make you self-conscious when snacking – when you realized you were getting cold.

The solution was easy; and despite how effective it would have been in chasing away the cold and lifting your spirits, it did not involve hugging Steve. Instead, you dived your hand down your backpack through the layer of snacks and other small necessities towards your clothes for the occasion.

And your hand reached something it most definitely shouldn’t have.

“What the-“ you murmured, still acutely aware of all the gazes on you, now joined by Steve’s. “Why is it… sticky?”

Puzzled and horrified – and suspicious, because Hopkinson might have never played a prank on you, but lines always had to be crossed for the first time someday – you threw out the things from the top, pulling out what was normally one of your favourite sweatshirts.

Fairly soaked in a rusty-red oily substance that now resided in your luggage.

Not that it hadn’t been there before – but before, it was safely stored in a Tupperware container along with the thin marinated steaks you had been tasked to carry for the team’s first dinner above fire, Hunter carrying the grate.  

“What is it?” Bobbi asked, frowning at the poor article of clothing you had intended to wear.

You didn’t have to sniff it to answer; mostly because the scent of spices was strong enough to answer for you.

“It’s the… marinade from our dinner,” you informed her with a grimace, a small whine escaping you as you went to inspect the rest of your clothes with dread and irritation rising. Because you already knew that the sweatshirt would not be the only thing having been hit. There had been enough to marinade to drown Steve and Bucky in – that was why you had triple-checked it was secured when you had pulled the straw for carrying it in your backpack. “How is that even possible?! I swear I checked it at least five times! I used rubber bands and a plastic bag and- ugh.”

“It probably gave out with all the moving around,” Natasha said, compassion evident in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you sighed.

And it was. You were only just beginning to feel the mountains part of your destination. You weren’t even shivering – and god knew you had been exposed to much worse conditions with fewer clothing. It wasn’t even raining. You had been through much worse – this was but an inconvenience.

Kinda like Hopkinson himself.

Your gaze flickered to him as he himself put on a thin hoodie, your gaze narrowing in subtle suspicion; but there was no way. He almost looked as if he was pitying you. Genuinely. Though not enough to share his clothes; not that you’d accept if he had offered. But that was beside the point. The point was he probably wasn’t to be blamed for your current misery. Not where marinating your clothes was concerned anyway.

It was probably all on you. It seemed your Tupperware skills still needed some work. Goddamnit.

“It is fine,” you spoke to yourself more than anyone else. “I’ll walk the cold off and then stay close to the fire-“

Your heart skipped a beat as you felt a presence by your side, a large navy-blue hoodie entering your sight; it was as if talking about your potential inconvenience summoned him.

An angel by your shoulder.

With a soft frown and a welcoming smile, he set the hoodie next to you as your hands still held onto your tainted clothes.

“Hey… here, you can have mine.”

You opened your mouth to protest, the words dying in your throat when you met Steve’s gaze. The golden hour had arrived, highlighting the freckles and the god-like warm glow of his smile. Your fingers reflexively twitched in the fabric of the t-shirt in your hands as the urge to run them through Steve’s hair instead hit you like a sledgehammer.

Friends, you reminded yourself again. FRIENDS.

He was offering a friendly gesture. It was no different than borrowing boxing wraps from Hunter for training if yours had torn, borrowing a dress from Natasha because none of yours fit the theme of a party, or borrowing heels from Daisy because they matched better than anything you owned. There was nothing special about this and no one would think twice.

Yet, it was a gesture you had to turn down, no matter how gentlemanly it was – no matter how at home you knew you’d feel in that hoodie. The idea alone was tickling along the most sensitive parts of your body and for that alone you should refuse.

“Thank you, Steve… but that wouldn’t be fair,” you said. “You shouldn’t be cold because of me.”

Plus, I know this one is your favourite, you wanted to say, but bit your tongue, aware that the scene was already out-of-chart intimate as it was. It certainly felt like it.

“I won’t. You know I run pretty hot…”

You are hot, you wanted to say – but a little choked noise from Hopkinson and Bucky had you quickly set your mind straight.

Until Steve pulled out the big guns – rather literally. Long fingers wrapped around your bare forearm, goosebumps erupting on your skin despite the nearly burning sensation, breath catching. It did not help the situation that something you didn’t dare to identify for the sake of your sanity flashed in Steve’s eyes when he touched you.

Friends. Friends, friends, FRIENDS-

“See. All warm. And it will stay that way even without a hoodie. Take it. Please,” he added. And soon, a content smile appeared on his face, because he recognized the signs of you yielding.

A girl had to pick her battles. Arguing with Steve was not one of those which you had no chance at winning – it would be like trying to move a ton-worth block of concrete with bare hands. You had enough experience with that – fighting with Steve on the matter of your comfort, not moving concrete – and there was no winning. He respected your choices, yes, but he’d fastened straps of a parachute on you himself if it came to it, even if it meant he wouldn’t have one himself; he was a sweet hypocrite like that.

“Fine,” you sighed, smiling just a bit. “If you insist… thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

You would swear you heard at least three people mutter under their breath: I bet.

Thoroughly warm and comfortable despite the numerous miles in your feet and tens of pounds on your back, you trailed behind Hunter and Bobbi, who were fighting animatedly – and most lovingly – about which European brand beer was the finest. For a couple who had been married and divorced, once talking about each other in not so nice terms including Bobbi being called ‘a demonic hell-beast’, they sure appeared very much in love – but every bit professional when it counted. They were lucky to find each other again, that was for sure. It made one long for a love like that; explosive as they were, you wouldn’t shy away from calling them soulmates. They belonged with each other; they were lucky to have find one another.

As you tugged at the sleeves of the hoodie you were wearing, long to easily hide your palms, you wondered if you were being lucky or cursed on this trip so far. Tripping. Spilling sauce onto your clothes. Withstanding Hopkinson’s moody glares of which exactly one resembled a shred of compassion and only lasted until you put on the hoodie of the Captain America himself. And yet, surrounded by colleagues, friends and Steve, on a trip with a sun that had slowly begun its descent at your back, you had to count your blessings.

Lucky. You were luckier than most.

Daisy had joined you for a bit, walking side by side with you when the path allowed it, meaningless chatter altering with meaningful; a natural course of conversation between close friends who were together for a few hours with nothing else to do but take it step by step, literally, admire the nature and talk.

Steve had promised it would only take less than an hour and you’d make it to where you were supposed to set camp. He had fallen behind, walking with Natasha and Bucky, who, judging by his tone and Steve’s groans, roasted the team captain about something with Natasha’s occasional but effective help.

Now, about what you assumed was twenty to thirty minutes later, the last challenge of today’s journey awaited you; fording a river.

A rather cold river.

The weather was nice, sure, and you were having a good time; but the idea of warding through water reaching your thighs was not all that alluring.

But of course, Steve Rogers was the man with a plan.

Walking down the river and finding a relatively shallow section of the river with several large rocks, all you had to do was to step from one slightly slippery stone to another without face-planting or letting your heavy backpacks break your balance. Easy – or it should be for a group of athletic agents.

Yet, Bucky and Steve were discarding their shoes in a blink, rolling up their pant legs, ready to dip in and get wet so other wouldn’t.

Your heart skipped a startled beat, a lump growing in your throat, as you watched Steve regard his friend, already knee-deep in water, with the tinniest bit of hesitance.    

Cold water. Cold water.

In the early June, the water couldn’t be colder than fifty, fifty-five degrees; but if the supersoldiers planned to stand there until all of you crossed the not-so-unsignificant distance while they’d assist, they would certainly feel it. And while history taught you both Steve and Bucky could clearly take the cold better than anyone, the idea of being the person knee-deep in the water was anything but pleasant.

Especially to someone who had already laid his life by diving a plane into icy waters of the North Atlantic.

Without a second thought, you left the line forming at the best crossing point, walking down the bank to crouch at Steve’s side.

He noticed your presence in an instant, snapping his head to you, an all-easy smile forming on his lips. As if you couldn’t see the brief flash of anxiety before he hid it. As if you couldn’t see his carotid pulsing wildly. As if he, the supposedly fearless man to all, could hide the one flicker of apprehension he allowed himself to feel from you.

“Are you sure about this, Steve?” you asked, voice as low as possible as not to attract attention.

As you met his gaze, understanding flashed in his eye. A silent conversation; he knew why you came to him, where your concern came from.

And in a very Steve Rogers fashion, he ignored it. He just gulped and squared his shoulders and rose to his feet, suddenly towering over you again.

“Of course I am.” Of course he was. “It will be much easier than all of us fording through.”

You sighed, looking at him pointedly as you swallowed your irritation – and worry. That was not what you were questioning and he knew it. And you weren’t questioning his dedication or his ability to help either; just the decision to put himself through discomfort anyone else could have taken upon themselves, when it meant more hardship for him than others.

“I know. It just… it can be literally anyone else-- hell, I can do it.”

You could. You’d warm up after soon enough, judging by the terrain awaiting you. It was a better option that him going in there to freeze his toes off at and bring him back to--

To prove your point, you reached for the backpack buckles on your belly to take it off.

Steve’s hand was on your forearm stopping you before you could undo a single one, squeezing.

As your head snapped back to his face, there was a little crack through the mask he had put on, showing just the slightest hint of anxiety now. But there was a fresh wave of warmth in his expression too; gratitude lit up the blue of his irises the way the sun lit up the summer skies, dreamy and sweet.

His thumb pressed into your forearm gently, stroking, reassuring. You felt the tension melt from your shoulders faster than a butter on the stove, something stirring deep inside your bones as you took a shaky inhale.

“Thank you, Lee, but I’ll be fine,” he said, one of his eyebrows arching, a little quirk to his lips. “And we don’t want to undo the work the hoodie has done on you.”

Right. The hoodie. His hoodie.  Yes, you were very much aware you were still wearing it, while he remained in a t-shirt that was at least one size too small for him and did all things delightful for his already insanely impressive physique.

Not the point.

You opened you mouth to argue, only to be interrupted by a shout from behind you.

“Oi, punk! You gonna help or just stand there enjoying the view?”

As you both turned to Bucky, you could see him helping Agent May cross the river, already halfway through.

Steve let go of your forearm, smiling at you once more.

“At least take the hoodie,” you insisted. He shook his head, your mouth opening on empty, deeming your effort fruitless.

“I have a jacket if I want… don’t need the hoodie,” he assured you, his grin earning a glint of danger that made your stomach flip-flop funnily, the heat in your abdomen burning hotter. “Plus, it looks much better on you.”

With that, he set off, jogging towards the water, and leaving you stand there with cheeks exploding with heat.

Damn you, Steven Grant.

Shaking your head, you returned to the line, anxiously watching Steve climb down into water, a shudder running down his spine.

“Come on. I saved you a spot,” Daisy said, gesturing for you to stand in front of her, earning an eyeroll from Hopkinson who stood behind her. “Everything okay with you and Steve?”

The phrasing had your head snap up with a startle, heart speeding up.

“What?”

What did she mean by that?! You and Steve?

No. There was you. There was Steve. Two separate entities. Friends.

Checking up on each other. Wearing each other’s clothes. Typical friends.

You relaxed when all you found in Daisy’s gaze was genuine care and curiosity, no trace of implying anything. Right.

You smiled back. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Hunter and Bobbi followed after May; then it was your turn. The sight of the river, while beautiful, got a little less pleasant as you stepped on the first stone, testing just how slippery the surface was. It wasn’t awful – you could handle that, even as you felt the extra load on your back disturbing your balance.

But hey – the worst that could happen was you taking a cold bath. Just another inconvenience, right?

Yet, you didn’t have to worry. You didn’t even make it to the second large stone when a familiar pair of warm hands wrapped around yours, offering a gentle but firm support.

You met Steve’s reassuring gaze, a message without words: I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.

You send one back, squeezing his hands: I know. You makeme feel safe. You okay?

A tiny nod on his part and then you were on your way, careful taking step after step, always testing the surface first, making sure your every move was secure before shifting your weight. From one to another, you made it halfway to the deepest part of the crossing without any issue, actually enjoying the little adventure – which had obviously nothing to do with Steve’s touch, because you were not at all disappointed to see Bucky heading back from the other side of the river where he had left Bobbi to take you off of Steve’s hands. Not at all.

You were just stepping on the next stone when you felt a sudden drop in weight on your shoulders and back, an embarrassing yelp erupting from your throat as you scrambled for balance.

A fleeing thought of this trip being cursed for you indeed flashed through your mind as you braced yourself for the impact into cold water despite still trying not to have it come to that.

And it didn’t.

A splash sounded next to you, a few drops cooling your ankle, but that was it; you stood tall and firm on the irregularly-shaped stone, a hot vice of a grip on your hips, your hands having found purchase on just as hot and solid surface nearby.

Steve’s hands securely holding your hips.

Your hands on his shoulders.

Attentive blue eyes looking up at yours to assure both you and himself that you were okay.

Your face heated up, but the rest of your body was set on fire; indecent images of a wholly different situation with Steve’s hands having a steel-like grip on your hips and his eyes boring into yours flooded your mind, a wildfire of visceral need spreading through every single cell of your body and lightning it up. Steve was all about touch. Steve was all about eye-contact. You knew with absolute certainty that he’d never once let his gaze wander from your face when he’d sheathed himself inside you, feasting his eyes, because he lived for capturing images of beauty and he was a giver, the pleasure of people he loved being his own--- and you wouldn’t dare to look away. Your eyes might flutter shut at the sensation of utter-

Forcing yourself to snap back into present – into reality –, looking everywhere but at Steve as your whole body burned, a floating object caught your eye behind Steve’s back. A dark prolonged object, neatly packed, carried away by the stream.

Your tent. The thing that had fallen into water and nearly knocked you off balance was your tent, slowly sinking lower and lower as it slowed down its path down the river.

Great. Really great.

You were fucked.

How did it even-

“I got it!” Bucky hollered, changing course, heading to retrieve what was supposed to be the roof over your head for the next three days.

He’d get it; you weren’t worried. It was fine.

And the tent would be fine too. It was in the waterproof case. It would--- it would be absolutely soaked, because it was sinking. The entirety of the tent had gone under water, including the protective layer that was meant to save you from rain should it come to it.

There was no cloud on the sky but you had a feeling there’d be water dripping on you all night anyway.

How could it have fallen off? You had secured it with the buckled straps to the bottom of your fairly new backpack, checking repeatedly – every time before you put the backpack on again – that it held.

Then again, maybe you hadn’t done that after the fiasco – and the lovely result of it – with your marinated clothes. So you might be cursed, but by your own fault, really-

A squeeze to your hips brought your attention back to Steve, making you realize you were still standing in the middle of the river, stalling.

“I’m sorry, moving on, moving on,” you babbled, only to have him still your movements, eyes scrutinizing your face.

“You okay?”

Funny you should ask.

“Are you?”

You reciprocated the scrutiny; eyes roaming his handsome features, you searched for any signs of discomfort – not from having to hold you, but from still soaking his legs in the cold water. All you found was a reassuring smile; and yet, you couldn’t but brush your thumb inconspicuously over Steve’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort, incidentally along the hem of his t-shirt. An emotion flashed in his irises, eyes darkening a fraction, the grip on your flesh turning almost bruising before he began to release it, taking one of your hands again and then the other. You licked your lips – and you’d swear Steve’s gaze flickered to your mouth at that – standing up straighter.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky dropping your tent on the bank of the river.

“Thank you, Bucky!”

“No problem, dollface. Get moving though, my old knees aren’t built for this cold anymore,” he said, causing you to glare at Steve accusingly.

He had lied.

Of course he had fucking lied.

And he had the audacity to grin when you looked at him with accusatory and genuinely worried eyes.

“Let’s get you to the other side, shall we?”

“I packed your favourite snack, but I just decided I’m gonna eat it alone,” you threatened your vengeance for him for not being honest.

Steve feigned hurt so well you might as well believe it; but the hold on your hands remained gentle and secure as he helped you continue the path. “That’s cold, Lee.”

The corners of your lips quirked up.

“I know it’s cold. Now was it so hard to admit it?” you questioned as you beckoned to the water – causing Bucky to chuckle and Steve to deadpan when he instantly realized your trickery.

“You should be around more often, dollface,” Bucky said, approaching you and taking up on Steve’s task.

Steve just grunted and made his way to help Daisy. You felt your face heat up further at Bucky’s remark, grateful no one else could hear the exchange.

…were you though?

“I’ll take your words for it… and Steve?” He glanced at you over his shoulder, clearly not really offended. “Thank you for catching me.”

His smile, no matter how small, said it all and felt like the softest blanket to wrap around you on a cold winter morning; I’ll always catch you.

Always.

Just as you had expected, once you all made it through the river, you reached the camp spot in no time; and just as you had expected, your tent was a lost cause. You could build it, hoping it would dry out overnight at least bit, but actually sleeping in it was out of question unless you wanted to wake up soaked up and sneezing.

In a brief moment of self-pity you granted yourself, you planted your butt on the ground, laying the drenched parts of your tent next to you, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it as you stared at the traitorous pieces of equipment, including the buckles that had been meant to hold the package to the backpack but had given out.  

While everyone busied themselves with unpacking their temporary shelters as well – Natasha with Bucky, Bobbi with Hunter, May, Daisy and Hopkinson each on their own in the lightest and therefore smallest tents possible, Bobbi took note of your state, smiling compassionately.

“Are you okay? The water really did a number on that thing, huh?”

You reciprocated her smile wryly, no less grateful for her care.

“Yeah… But you know what? I win. Sleeping outside? I can stargaze. I’ll be fine,” you said, shrugging and rising to your feet to get to work. You could build the tent to have it dry out at least and wash your clothes in the lake you had settled at. “I’m just… gonna sleep by the fire under the open skies, in… borrowed, non-marinated clothes and with no sleeping bag, because with my luck, it’s probably full of bugs or itching powder or something. It’s fine. God knows I slept in conditions a lot worse than that.”

And wasn’t that the truth. You had slept in much better conditions too, but that was beside the point. You tried to summon the memories of horrible nights spent in damp clothes, freezing, teeth clattering so hard the sound made it impossible to fall asleep; unbearable heat, loud noises, even just annoying persistent chatter. Sleeping under the open skies was practically a blessing in comparison. A dream.

And you did not want to remember nights that had been very different, because that would only make you miserable at your predicament.

“Yeah, not on my watch,” Steve called out lowly, placing another hook in the ground, using his foot to step on it and dig it deeper. “Not when the solution is obvious.”

Your heart skipping a beat at the obvious solution, you barely had time to breathe in to respond when someone else did – in an extremely irritated manner.

“Seriously?! What, you gonna lend her your tent too?” Hopkinson spat, rising from where he had been crouching by his tent. “Maybe even keep her warm through the-“

Steve lunged his direction so fast you didn’t even have time to be offended by the implication.

But Bucky, the supersoldier he was, was much faster; his metal arm stopped Steve in his tracks, palm pressing against Steve’s chest before he could make the almost-breaking-Hopkinson’s-arm a pleasant memory for the man.

Still, Hopkinson had enough wit to shut up and step back hastily, raising his hands defensively. His face turned white as a sheet of paper; good. He had some brain left then, it seemed. How he had survived for so long you had no idea.

Gulping – and shamelessly satisfied at the fear in Hopkinson’s eyes, because Jesus he did not just say that, even as you had thought about exactly the same – you turned your gaze back to Steve and Bucky.

And something in your core exploded hot, a tug so violent and visceral it was almost painful.

If Steve had looked at Hopkinson like he could break his arm all those weeks back when he had made his stupid comment, now he looked like he could break every single bone in his body, snap the guy in half and enjoy it. And he’d enjoy doing it for you. To defend you.

Steve’s smile was always a beautiful sight and so was the softness he could look at you with at times; but the rage in his face now, the fire in his eyes, on your behalf, were nothing short of breathtaking.

Avenging angel indeed.

He might not be carrying a flaming sword, nor had his shield on his arm, but that made him no less menacing, no less divine; and no less beautiful.

“Do we have a problem, Agent Hopkinson?” Bucky asked calmly, despite the clear effort with which he was holding Steve back still, even as Steve visibly didn’t move a muscle.

You were barely moving at all too; your chest was heaving, the rest of your body strung tight with effort not to let show just how affected you were by Steve’s near literal white-knighting.  

“No, sir,” Hopkinson saluted, nodding stiffly, before he scrambled to finish building his tent.

“Good.”

Few seconds of deafening silence was only interrupted by the scrape of shoes against ground as the camp slowly came back to life again. Bucky shot Steve a look before he let his metal arm down, watching Steve avert his still flaming gaze from Hopkinson with shoulders remaining squared; and so alluringly wide you just wanted to run your hands over them, just as breathless at the sensation as you were now-

“I mean, makes sense you’d share,” Daisy broke the silence, everyone visibly relaxing. “It looks like your tent is pretty big, eh?”

Your eyes went wide.

Loud cough erupted from Hunter’s direction as he spitted the water he had been drinking; Bobbi patted his shoulders, amusement clear on her face. Bucky’s face twisted in a questionable grimace; Natasha pursed her lips, seemingly one second from making a comment. May bit back a smirk; Hopkinson was only showing his back, but he clearly froze in his movements.

Steve just looked shocked – shocked enough to snap from the anger that had overtook him on your behalf.

You would think it would take Daisy a few seconds to realize how she had worded her statement, accidentally referring to a figurative ‘tent’ men grew in certain situations – but judging by her seemingly innocent smile and the sparkle in her eye, she knew exactly what she had implied. And she had done so on purpose and with delight.

She was right, however. Steve’s temporary dwelling was probably the biggest one at your site and it even included a vestibule, where all the equipment which was meant for everyone was to be stored. His tent had the most space for the reason he could put his backpack to the vestibule alone.

Steve cleared his throat, taking a few steps to you, a relaxed smile having found way back to his face.

“…are you comfortable with sharing a tent with me?”

You reciprocated his smile, shrugging, even as you had to work hard to swallow your amusement at Daisy’s comment. One that was very much on point.

Yes. You were very comfortable sharing a tent with him indeed. More than, actually, but not everyone needed to know that; and you could feel several knowing gazes on you as you answered as levelled as possibly.

“I mean… we have shared a room before for a mission. I’m fine… are you? Comfortable with that, that is?” you asked, perfectly polite, considerate and friendly, even as your heart was racing in your ribcage.

There was no reason for the racing heart though. Because this was okay for friends to do. Absolutely. If you having shared the room sometimes included sharing a bed, which had naturally resulted in cuddling, body heat searching body heat, no one needed to know – especially not Agent Asshole Hopkinson. What happened in a motel room stayed in a motel room. Always.

A cute crinkle appeared in Steve’s eye as he gave the answer you already knew.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. Of course, it’s fine.”

More than, whispered his gaze, so you averted it and busied yourself with gathering the wet parts of your tent, clearing your throat.

“Good… that’s good. Thanks. I really appreciate it, Steve.”

“Any time, Lee.”

You could feel his gaze on you, the warmth of his smile like a soft blanket on your back. It was going to be a long, long night.

Part 2

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Steve Rogers masterlist

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I hope July has been kind to you!

[thewanderingkaya]

when gentle meets calloused  .

pairing: wriothesley x reader

summary: in which wriothesley wonders what’s so hypnotic about his hands (fluff + teensy bit of angst)

wordcount: 800

a/n: i love wriothesley and i love hands , why not combine the two? but seriously calloused and ruggedised arms and hands have me on the floor, especially if wrio is a boxer and has a backstory. g/n reader , a teeeeeeeny bit of wrio’s backstory , 2nd person (kinda omniscient) , lowercase on purpose , dividers : rookthornsartistry

“did it hurt?” your hands trail over wriothesley's arms, fingers coming to trace the imperfections that littered his forearms. his bandages discarded which allowed you to have a clear view of his arms. strong biceps, he did nothing to stop you, only turning his head sheepishly.

as you lay idly on a small blanket splayed onto the grass, a breeze drifts, tousling yours and wrio’s hair. his eyes met yours as you looked up at him, awaiting his answer.

“well.. of course it did,” his gaze drifted to his hands then back to you, he tagged on, “you get used to it after a while.”

you hummed, your head rested on his shoulder. running you whole palm against his fore arm. you could feel wriothesley heat up, even without looking, you knew he was flushing. dry, his arm felt — not dry like sandpaper, but in a way more.. hardened — a contrast to your soft touch. 

wriothesley shivers as you trace a deep scar that hugged along the underside of his forearm, running down from his wrist all the way to the inside of his elbow. your smooth hands were so different compared to his rough and hardened hold, something that, even to this day, wriothesley always seems to be amazed at. you studied the mark, discovering that inside the scars, there seems to always be even more cuts and scrapes near the main body. who knew, something so brute could be so intricate at the same time.

these moments.. where you could study others, every blemish had a story. and with wriothesley, you knew that each scar would have a story, each scar contributed to the man you have come to love today. you treasured it.. 

 while you cherished his imperfections, wriothesley only saw them as such flaws. though he didn’t care if outsiders saw and judged them, he cared dearly about what you think. he tries to pull away every time they catch your attention, afraid something might spark and your feelings may suddenly change about him, or worse, you’d be afraid of him. wriothesley wasn’t prepared to take that risk.

“it’s not something i’m proud of either..” he breathes, just barely — though you caught his utterance. looking away as his hand relaxes in your touch.

“i think all your scars perfect.”  you sighed, your palm slid into his, “after all~ they are what made the most handsome and strong man i love today” you smiled cheekily up at him.

your comment made wriothesley crack a smile, along with a deep chuckle. you heaved yourself on top of him, his arms coming up to your waist to stabilise you. despite his cryo vision, he always had warmth emulating from him. like your own personal heater. 

“is that so?” he ran his hand through his hair in a mock flourish. “maybe i should show it off in public more often—“

“now hold on, mister,” you pressed a finger to his lips, wriothesley glanced down at you, “i don’t want anyone stealing my husband now.”

“I—“

“but alas—“ you cut him off, straightening your posture but still perched on his stomach. placing a hand on your chest, as if preaching your own monologue in mock rejection “I guess i can’t have everything to myself.. even the duke of meropide himself.” 

you got up to make a dramatic exit, still playfully in character. a hand grabbed yours, yanking you back down before you could get any further. planting a kiss sweet on your lips; your facade dissolving as you melted into his hold. 

there was no doubt you were a fan of wriothesley’s kisses, they were gentle but firm. your hand flew up to his hair, the only thing separating you two was the need for air. leaving you flushed a bright crimson and him a satisfied smirk, you tried to turn away, but being straddled in wriothesley’s lap didn’t really do any good to hide from him.

a warm hand brought you back face to face, he chuckled. “woah now, no need to be so jealous. i’m not going anywhere.”

“what? i not jealous!” you sputtered out — though it came out mixed with a nervous laugh — shrugging your shoulders.

“no, no it’s okay,” wriothesley let out a sigh mixed with a snort, you caught a scent of earl grey tea, bringing you back to that cup you had shared before he suggested you both leave for a short while to enjoy one moment of sunlight. of course it was only meant to be a brief outing to relax, only at a shore just beside the fortress of meropide. 

wriothesley seemed to be in no rush, so were you. even if duty calls — even in that dark and cold fortress with little to no fresh air — you still treasured even the briefest of breaks you had with wrio, and delayed getting back anytime soon. 

a nonchalant voice brought you back from your thoughts. 

“you should know,” he flashed you a corny smirk, rough fingers intertwined with yours, “this duke is all yours.”

[vexwerewolf]

why is it that we only have like two licenses from any mech producer that’s a good guy? For a game where like there are clear good and bad guys (even if who you play isn’t necessarily linked to that) it seems strange to me that the only loot and XP you get is… more benefits from the bad guys

I can tell you the answer, but to do so, we're gonna have to talk about a completely different TTRPG.

If you've read @makapatag's truly excellent Filipino martial arts TTRPG Gubat Banwa (and if you haven't, here it is), you may notice that every single character class description (with one notable exception) ends with one of these babies:

I am not Makapatag, and I cannot write with quite as much grace and eloquence as he can, but I will try:

If you choose to become a Lancer, ask yourself why you mock the name of peace with these weapons of war. You call yourself a saviour, but your steed was forged from the murder of a world. You stride across the sky in a colossus built in your own image, so why are you too cowardly to give it your face? Why do you believe these machines of death can preserve life?

It is important to note that the admonitions in Gubat Banwa are not just there to make you feel bad; they are there as legitimate questions. The Sword Isles have seen so much blood, death and tragedy. Wars are not glorious and killing is not a game. So, knowing all of that, why have you taken up this discipline - no matter how noble and virtuous it might claim to be - to shed more blood, to bring more death, to write more tragedy? What could possibly drive you to this? What need is so great that you must kill?

The thing with Gubat Banwa is that there are legitimate answers to these questions! There are bad people doing bad things, and some of them will not be stopped with words or kindness. Sometimes, as sorrowful as it is, killing is the correct choice to prevent greater suffering and deeper tragedy - but adding less misery and death to the world is still adding some amount of it. Even the most necessary wars will drench the ground in the blood of the innocent.

A sword is a tool meant to kill humans; while it can be used for other things, it is not well-suited to anything other than this. A mech is, in its most basic essence, just a very complicated sword: it's usually used on things larger than a person, but it's still a tool built to kill.

So why have you taken up this path? Humanity was saved from the brink of extinction and has created wondrous technologies like printers, cold fusion and mind-machine interface, and yet you use them to play soldier in a giant metal man. Why do you choose to take up this machine of death, built by the greedy and pitiless? Why do you think these machines can ever make things right?

Because sometimes, despite everything, they can.

Warhammer 40K shows an awful world full of monsters and monstrosity, and in the darkest moments of its history, Lancer's world looked just as bleak, but Lancer's world differs in one crucial way. Warhammer's world has long given up trying to be better, but Lancer's world never did. Lancer's world kept insisting a better world is possible, and it used what tools it had to make it so.

Sometimes the correct choice, no matter how bitter it may seem, is to kill someone. When you need to do this, a sword is a perfectly good choice for the job.

If you find yourself discomforted by the fact that all the people you can buy mechs from are corrupt and immoral - good! You have correctly engaged with the text. You have understood that the sort of people who would make giant walking death machines and sell them for profit are not good people. But you still have a job to do, and you need the correct tools, and those people have them.

Lancer is not a game about a perfect world - it is a game about a deeply flawed and imperfect one that does not let its imperfection stop it from trying. You have to try to make a better world, even with imperfect tools made by unpleasant people.

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 14

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Darling, I appreciate your faith in me," Bucky said, his voice low as he stepped closer, eyes searching yours. "But…I still want to live."

You didn’t flinch. "I’m serious."

He paused, letting the weight of your words settle. "Just because I told you about Steve doesn’t mean I’m going to stab him in the back."

His gaze dropped for a moment, conflicted. Steve was more than just a mentor—he was the older brother Bucky had always wanted, someone he had looked up to for years. Shawn was never that. Steve had been there when he needed guidance, someone to show him the ropes. But now… now everything felt twisted.

"I didn’t know before this election," Bucky continued, his jaw clenched. "I’ve learned things that should’ve been obvious to me. And now, you probably see me as a coward for turning a blind eye all this time."

He swallowed hard. "But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stay silent forever."

Your brow furrowed as the room fell into silence. Bucky reached out, his hand settling firmly on your shoulder, his touch both grounding and electrifying. "There’s a time for everything. Please, believe in me."

His voice held a plea you hadn’t heard before, and suddenly, you remembered what the priest once said: Timing. It all felt too coincidental. You could see the puzzle coming together in your mind, but the picture was far from complete.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, realization hitting you like a wave. “He picked you because he knew you wouldn’t say no to him. You’d follow his lead without question.”

Bucky’s face hardened, but there was something unreadable in his eyes, a mix of frustration and guilt. He opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure of how to respond.

“And our divorce?” you added, the words sharper than intended. “It was all part of the plan. To tarnish your image, while he hides his own cracks."

Bucky took a step closer, the tension between you two thick enough to cut. His voice was steady but soft. "For now, please stay quiet about what you’ve found. This could ruin both of us. Or do you want Edgar and Brock to win instead?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. "This is so fucked up. There’s only two candidates."

Bucky's lips quirked into a wry smile. "Hey… we’re not that bad."

"Don’t campaign in front of me," you said, narrowing your eyes, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. The tension between you was undeniable, the heat rising in the small space as you tried to keep things civil.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing, but he didn’t push any further. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, as if he was fighting some inner battle to keep his distance. Then, with a heavy sigh, he turned away, letting the moment pass.

That night, sleep was impossible. Nate slept peacefully beside you, his small body curled into yours for warmth. But your mind raced, replaying every conversation, every hidden piece of the puzzle that had yet to be uncovered. You needed help, someone with answers. But who?

Then, it hit you. The perfect person. Someone who could get you the information you needed, though asking them for help would open old wounds.

He’s going to hate me for this, you thought, your chest tightening at the idea.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Ian stood near the check-in counter at the airport, casually scrolling through his phone as he waited in line. Just as he was about to move forward, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen—Greg.

"Follow me," Greg's voice said on the other end, no further explanation given.

Ian's brow furrowed slightly, but he complied, stepping out of the line and trailing Greg down a series of quiet corridors. They finally reached a private room, and Ian’s eyes immediately found you sitting there, alone.

He glanced around the room as if expecting someone else. "I’m by myself," you assured him, noticing his brief scan of the area.

Ian folded his arms, his tone cool as he tilted his head slightly. "What honor do I get to have this meeting?"

You met his gaze, trying to keep steady, though the weight of the situation made your heart race. "I know you hate me," you said softly, not beating around the bush.

"More like at your soon-to-be husband," Ian shot back, his gaze flickering with barely concealed disdain.

You straightened in your seat, squaring your shoulders. "Whatever the Barnes family has done, I won’t defend them," you said, a quiet resolve in your voice.

Ian narrowed his eyes, reading the tension in your body. "You must be desperate to come to me."

A small, nervous laugh escaped your lips as you looked down at your hands, fingers fidgeting slightly. "I am."

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, the lines of old memories creeping in. This felt too much like the past when you both used to dig into dangerous territory. "Just tell me what this is about. I’ve got a flight to catch."

You took a steadying breath, locking eyes with him. "Do you remember the article I wrote? Deals in the Dark: Inside the Global Conspiracy Threatening Economic Stability?"

He nodded, curiosity flickering behind his otherwise guarded expression.

"I think I’ve found someone involved in that conspiracy." Your voice was low, every word heavy with the truth you'd been holding back.

Ian’s face hardened, eyes searching yours. "Who?" he asked, his tone more serious now.

You hesitated for just a second. "It’s Steve."

Ian's eyes widened, and for a moment, the tension between you both disappeared. "Whoa…"

You nodded grimly. "We need to watch out for him. I’m starting to see how deep his connections run. There are scandals tied to him—things you wouldn't expect."

Ian crossed his arms, his expression growing more serious. "Is this about his sons?"

You flinched slightly, your heart skipping a beat. He couldn’t know about Nate. You prayed he didn’t. "What do you mean?" you asked, keeping your voice steady.

"My friend was writing a piece on Steve’s twin sons. They’re apparently bullies at their school, leaders of a gang. But before the article could go to print, the entire office lost power. Threats were made, just like when we published Deals in the Dark."

Your stomach tightened. It made sense now why you always felt uneasy around Steve's sons. You wanted to feel shocked, but it only confirmed what you’d been sensing all along.

Ian smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "This is getting interesting. I’ll dig deeper, see what I can find."

He turned to leave, but you stood, calling after him, "Ian."

He paused, looking over his shoulder.

"Be careful," you said, your voice soft, almost pleading.

Ian gave a small, crooked smile and nodded. He took a last look at you, he felt that, this might be the last time he'd see you.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Back at Bucky’s apartment, Nate sat on the couch, holding his phone up for a FaceTime call. Hazel's face appeared on the screen, still in Paris, her voice warm and comforting despite the distance.

“I miss you, Mommy,” Nate said softly, his eyes wide with longing.

“I miss you too, baby,” Hazel replied with a tender smile, her expression softening as she spoke to her son.

After a moment, Hazel’s tone shifted. “Baby, can you give the phone to your uncle for a sec?”

Nate nodded, handing the phone to Bucky. “Here.”

Bucky took the phone, glancing briefly at Nate before turning his focus to Hazel. “When are you coming back?” he asked, a bit more urgency in his voice than he intended.

“Not until the election is over,” Hazel replied matter-of-factly.

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Seriously?”

“It’s for the best,” Hazel added with a sigh, her gaze flickering briefly before she continued, “Please watch over him while I’m gone.”

Before Bucky could respond, the FaceTime call ended, the screen going dark. He stared at the blank phone for a moment, lost in thought.

He knew Hazel had her reasons for staying away, but it still didn’t sit right with him. Nate needed his mom, and even though he was doing his best, Bucky couldn't shake the feeling that things were spiraling beyond his control. Watching over Nate wasn’t the issue—it was everything else that came with it.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Across town, Steve Rogers stood in a dimly lit room, facing a massive window that stretched from floor to ceiling. The city lights glowed faintly outside, reflecting off the glass as he stared into the distance, his hands resting in his pockets. His phone buzzed on the nearby table. He glanced at it, seeing the text message he’d ignored for hours: When are you coming back?

Unread. No reply.

Steve’s jaw clenched as he turned back to the window, his mind running over the countless decisions he had made in the last few months. The weight of the campaign, his connections, and now…this.

Knock, knock.

A sharp sound broke through the silence. His eyes flickered towards the door. “Come in,” he said, his voice low.

The door opened, and Natasha stepped inside, her expression as serious as always. “We’ve got another notification,” she said, her eyes locking with his as she handed him a folder.

Steve sighed, feeling the tension crawl up his spine. “What is it this time?”

“It’s about the twins,” Natasha explained, her tone clipped and efficient. “We tracked the IP address involved.” She handed him the information.

Steve took the folder, scanning the contents briefly before a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I should’ve known,” he muttered with a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

Without another word, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. As he waited for the line to connect, he leaned against the window, the cold glass pressing against his back. When the call picked up, his voice was calm but determined.

“Can we meet?”

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky arrived at the golf course as soon as he received Steve’s call. The air was crisp, and the sun was barely cutting through the clouds, casting a muted light over the manicured greens. As Bucky approached, Steve was already mid-swing, the soft thwack of the golf club meeting the ball echoed in the quiet morning.

Steve didn’t turn around, eyes following the ball as it soared across the field. “Bucky, you know why I want to be President, right?” His tone was calm, but there was an underlying sharpness to it.

“Yes,” Bucky replied, his expression unreadable as he stood a few feet away, watching Steve with his hands in his pockets.

“We’re this close to winning,” Steve said, setting up for another swing, his movements precise, controlled. He took the shot, the ball cutting clean through the air. “One mistake could ruin us. Our rivals will use any kind of ammo to tear down our image.” His voice lowered with emphasis, a hint of menace lingering in his words.

Bucky stayed silent, but his mind was working. He knew Steve had meticulously planned every step, had considered every angle. Steve’s obsession with maintaining a perfect image wasn’t new. He had a way of knowing when someone so much as whispered behind his back.

Even the online comments rarely escaped his notice. Bucky suspected Stark Technology had something to do with that. Howard Stark, Steve’s long-time friend and the campaign’s biggest sponsor, had deep resources. It wasn’t hard to believe that some of those resources were being used to monitor any potential threats.

Just as Bucky was deep in thought, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Natasha. He opened it, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the contents. His hand clenched around the paper as he saw the name: Ian.

Steve took another swing, his voice calm but laced with tension. “This lackey of Edgar and Brock is persistent.”

Bucky folded the paper and stuffed it into his jacket pocket, his jaw tightening. “I’ve made sure to shut him down.”

Steve sighed, shaking his head as he lowered his club. “But you’re still too soft.” He walked towards Bucky, each step deliberate, his gaze unflinching. Reaching him, Steve lifted the golf club he’d been holding, pointing it at Bucky with a steady hand.

“I’ve cheated death a couple of times to get here,” Steve said quietly, the weight of his words settling between them. His eyes were cold, calculating. “I’ve sacrificed so much. I won’t let anything stop me.”

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[popponn]

in perfection and in imperfection.

summary: he is loving, so much so, despite everything and because of 'everything' he calls as you. (a short headcanons of them as boyfriend, again.)

notes: january feels like it will be a busy month for me. in a good way, it's a good feeling. maybe this is also a sign i will meet rl isagi. those things aside, happy new year everyone. good luck for this year too. have this very fit of madness hcs. warnings: none, just fluff of downbad & lovesick boys, reader's gender unspecified.

characters: isagi, chigiri, rin

isagi yoichi—

is so understanding and sharp that you will never feel uncared for. most probably also got a list of your favorite things & important dates in his notes & calendar. even noel noa doesn't get that privilege. he is so downbad that everyone just accepts everything is second to you (and soccer).

is the type that gets so into you once you get his heart. do you worry that you might be #2 soccer? stay still babe, at some point you kind of mix in with 'the soccer' too honestly. every first goal? dedicated in your name. first person to call after a match? you—no matter how short or long it will be, it has to be you. he is away for a match overseas? you better be the one who gets a sleep call schedule ready because when yoichi wants something yoichi will somehow do it. and if you try to praise him—despite all the years of growing confidence—he still gets flustered like a boy with his first crush when it's you. it's as endearing as it is embarrassing to him. if someone points it out he will state it with pride though—after all, his feelings for you are one of his pride.

however, is also the type of guy who would rather shoulder as much as possible. he does it out of love, sure, but having him trying to swallow some problem under the guise of "forcing you to change something is a big no" is just asking for a bigger problem in the long run. so, you do have to be the one who gets the serious talks starting—and he sometimes could get really stubborn even though he is one of the most communicative ones so get ready for that. the thing with yoichi is that he really has to get it to accept it.

chigiri hyoma—

is a beautiful ikemen who walks with the charm of a shoujo manga lead maxed out. as in if this guy falls for you he just naturally acts like a shoujo lead who came to life. and he is also one of the most fashionable guys who puts attention and care on his and your appearance. try to aim for the cutest couple award and high chance you will win.

is also a very dedicated man. he will make sure you know how much he treasures you and it shows. he is not the tidiest person, he is also a pretty demanding guy, but with you? "fine, okay. i'm doing this just for you, you know," he says and hyoma doesn't lie. he will do anything for you. the amount of trust he puts on you is really evident too and he is not one to shy away from saying it. also, trust that this guy will gladly run across tokyo on a lazy monday morning during his rare break just to deliver you anything if you ask. he will demand kisses, yes, but that's also a benefit in its own way.

but, he is also very moody and, admittedly, impatient. so when he gets into this sort of mood you have to keep your head clear and deal with him until his head cools down. he won't hurt you—he will never—but without a doubt his attitude and wording could definitely drag your anger out. he also tends to focus on one thing and one thing only when he gets like this, while it has its benefits, during these times you have to be really patient when trying to talk to him.

itoshi rin—

is the type of guy who truly embodies "it's the small things". also, he is so attentive and combining this with the fact he is more into action than words—you honestly get yourself a gold mine of top-tier 'act of service' bf.

is actually very affectionate once you can translate his silent languages. he is always close to you at every chance he gets. it's not even funny. some people could translate this as some guard dog behavior, some braver souls translate this like a kid following the elder around, but honestly rin just likes being close to you. it calms him down in a way that also somehow manages to keep him awake—which is a nicer way to put 'this guy sometimes barely blinks when he is staring at you'. your happiness is one of his top priorities and he will bite someone literally if he has to just for that. this is how bad it is. but all in all, all of this is a way for him to keep an eye for you and be ready to assist you in anything—you need to take something? you need him to carry something? you want to buy something? just leave it to him, it will make him happy too. if you get overwhelmed? tell him, this guy is actually really quick to adjust things the moment he gets it. and for you? he will somehow do it even faster.

with all that being said though, this guy could get confusing at times. when he gets into a particularly negative thought, his first response would be to bark out his emotions and afterward distance himself. clearly, communication with him is hard. but despite all the silent treatment you get, he still wants to have you close—while being the one who keeps his distance from you. dealing with rin when he is being like this truly requires maturity and delicacy that probably rivals an esper skills.

[starboyshoyo]

Unspoken Words

Characters: All NRC students x reader (seperately)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Genre: hurt/comfort

Unspoken reasons why the NRC boys love you!

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle Rosehearts seems like perfection; like the very image of what one should strive for. Anyone who knows him can admire his hard work and diligence, because that is the extent to what they can see. But you see his delight at the simplest of things; things that he never got to experience in childhood. Riddle holds you dear to him because you encourage his rare moments of whimsy, and love them wholly- just as he loves you.

Trey Clover is always being told that he should aim higher, because the talent he holds would be squandered should he go down the path of the simple village baker. He smiles and politely tells them that he’ll consider it- but really, he’s tired of the input he never wanted in the first place. It’s all the more reason to appreciate the way you trust in his dreams. Trey knows what he wants, and you won’t push him for anything more. 

Cater Diamond has two different sides, like the faces on a card. Sometimes he’s the party-loving Cay-kun, and other times he wants nothing more than to collapse in his bed and sleep the day away. Being Cay-kun is exhausting. It’s not entirely him but he can’t seem to bring himself to show the real Cater to anyone but you, because you understand that the mask is necessary sometimes. It’s okay if he’s not ready to show the world his face yet. You’ll be waiting for him when he is.  

Bluntly honest is the best way to describe Ace Trappola. If someone asked, he’d call himself a realist. He’s not here to mess around or play the hero. And sometimes that can hurt people’s feelings and push them away. But being truthful and being mean are two different things, and he knows he can always trust you to tell him when he oversteps. Ace may fumble from time to time, so he’s glad you’re always there to help him back up.

Deuce Spade was reluctant to begin dating you at first. He wasn’t proud of who  he was in middle school, nor is he proud of who he is at the moment. He thought that he was unworthy of you, that he needed more time to grow. When he first figured out that you weren’t the most perfect person either, it didn’t turn him away. In fact, it relieved him. Deuce loves that you can be imperfect together- and that you’re willing to grow alongside him even more. 

SAVANACLAW

Leona Kingscholar is used to being the spare; the disposable one. Even though he’s the second prince of the Sunset Savannah, even though he was born into a life of privilege, he knows what it’s like to have to fight for yourself and your place in the world. When he met you, he could hardly believe that for once, a fight wasn’t necessary. It took a while for him to trust, but now Leona knows that he will always be your first choice, as you will be his.

From the outside, Ruggie Bucchi’s obsession over food is a bit excessive. Does one really need to defend every scrap with his life? He’s tired of others laughing at the way he packs snacks in his bag and sneaks crumbs off the tabletop. It’s telling that you hand him extras when you don’t have to, that you make sure he always has more than he needs. It shows that you value the things he values, so that he can do the same in return to you. 

Jack Howl is a lone wolf, just like his name. He’s always relied on his own strength to get by. Owing a debt is like putting his life in someone else’s hands, so accepting favors is something that he’ll never do. When he first realizes he loves you, it’s hard to accept that another person now holds a part of his heart. But give him some time and he’ll begin to appreciate having someone to share the burden with. It’s refreshing to have company without debt or guilt. 

OCTAVINELLE

They say those who have suffered the most have the most empathy. Azul Ashengrotto thinks there must be something wrong with him, then. After all the ridicule he’s endured, all he wants is to watch his tormentors cry as well. So why does his heart beat so fast then, when he sees how kind you are to others? There’s so little logic to it- but the heart wants what it wants. 

Jade Leech gives only as much as he takes. In his mismatched eyes, it’s only reasonable that a transaction is balanced on both sides. So it’s a surprise to him when you don’t demand everything to be split, fifty-fifty. It’s with you that he learns the connection between trust and equals. Not having to count out every exchange leaves Jade more time to love you with all his heart. 

Floyd Leech is notorious for his mercurial behavior. It’s a laughing matter for some students, and the target of frustration for many others when he fails to show the same enthusiasm he had before. If he’s already in a bad mood, then why are they making it worse by nagging him? You’re his retreat in times like that, because you take his emotions seriously, no matter how ridiculous they seem in the moment. 

SCARABIA

Kalim Al-Asim knows he can be dense. As the heir to a merchant empire, he’s got some level of self-awareness in him, even if he doesn’t always know how to use it. He can tell when he’s said the wrong thing to you. The wringing of hands, the twisting of brows make him so nervous, but he can’t do anything but laugh it off lest he say something to make it worse. So he appreciates it when you patiently explain to him how you feel, even when you’re not in the mood to. Sometimes he just needs help to understand. 

There’s no doubt that Jamil Viper has… questionable methods of obtaining his means to an end. With the precision and patience of a snake, he can use any means necessary to strike. But when you’re around he finds himself thinking more of what’s right than just what he wants. You are his conscience, in the best  and worst of times; and he can’t help but love you for it. 

POMEFIORE

Vil Schoenheit’s entire life has been publicized since the day he stepped into the spotlight. While he takes pride in his looks and envies anyone who can shine brighter than him, he finds that when he is with you, he can be whatever he wants to be with no eyes on him. No cameras, no rehearsals, no pressure, just two hearts beating side by side. 

Rook Hunt has a lot to say, and so little time to say it. He is always on the move, always examining something else to find the beauty in it. And though it’s hard to be patient, he loves you for always listening when he talks, even when he rambles for hours about the smallest things. To sit still for that long is a feat in itself.

The frustrations of Epel Felmier are evident when others treat him as lesser simply because of the way he looks. He’s still learning how to use his charm in other ways, but it’s hard to unlearn so many old habits. Punishments from Vil don’t help either. So when the work gets too harsh, you make him forget about being weak or strong- and when you’re in front of him, all he wants to be is yours. 

IGNIHYDE

Idia Shroud is used to watching the world go by without him. Sometimes he feels like an outside observer, or even a roadblock for others to climb over on their way to greatness. But with you, he never feels like an inconvenience. He feels wanted and needed- something he hasn’t felt for a long, long time. 

DIASOMNIA

Malleus Draconia is lonely. It’s plain and simple as that. He wants the company of others, outside of those assigned to guard him and bow to his every whim. So Malleus covets the fact that you are simply here, by his side of your own volition. For the first time in his life, Malleus thinks that he might be content.

Lilia Vanrouge has lived through centuries. As a human, you cannot even begin to fathom bridging the gap in time. There is just so much that he has seen that he can’t share with you. So please, just let him hold you while he has the chance. Let him cherish the way you live in the moment. Together, you can forget the coming of the future. 

Sebek Zigvolt is constantly under pressure. Not from others, but from himself- but either way, the stress gets to him. He would never admit it, but the stolen moments you spend together make him happier than he’s ever been. His shoulders ease, and his scowl disappears for a time. Just don’t point it out, or they’ll be back again full force- accompanied by a blush.

It’s not that Silver doesn’t care about what people are saying- he really, really does. But when he falls asleep so easily, some people come to think that he’s bored out of his mind. He was anxious that you’d think the same, but to his surprise, you understand his struggles. He’s trying his best to be more attentive to you, and you welcome his efforts with open arms.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[crystalizedcryolite]

HCs of AvM Characters' Typing Styles

(Alan not included despite the misleading photo used lmao)

Red:

Oh, MOST DEFINITELY uses emoticons the most. He's the type to use the most insane ones like╭( ๐_๐)╮and is not above using OwO unironically. Uses all-caps the most, overall VERY expressive in text.

Definitely the one to have the most typos and uses shorthand a lot, but WILL correct when someone else makes a typing error.

Example - "HEYY GUYS hru?? :D" and "NOOO rEuebn in MCSM DIEDDD (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞"

Orange/TSC:

They're a ghoster in chat/J

Types pretty normally, but also uses shorthand a lot. Only uses punctuation and caps when it REALLY counts. Rarely uses emoticons, and uses tone indicators more. Lazy at typing, lmao

Example - "hey what's up?" and "oh dang, rlly? that sucks/gen"

Yellow:

Everything he types is in perfect grammar, punctuation, and spelling. This, of course, leads to him being a bit of a slow typer.

He almost-never uses shorthand, same goes for emoticons. He uses tone indicators, though! And not above using multiple letters like "Helloooo!"

When he makes a single typo, everyone goes crazy and is quick to joke about it. Always quick to correct any typing mistakes.

Example - "I think you mean *Reuben, @/Red, and wasn't there an option to save him? /genq"

Green:

Green, Mr. Everything-must-be-perfect Green? He tries to NEVER make a typo, and is quite fast at typing. Manages to maintain perfect typing even in a fast pace.

(The same outcome from Yellow happens to him if he makes a typing mistake, but gets clowned on a lot less since he'd definitely make more typos than Yellow ever would)

Similar to Yellow, he tries to maintain perfect everything for typing, but he DOES use emoticons and shorthands! Also drags on some words with extra letters, of course.

Example - "Yeaah, I think so?? But the scene where he turns into a porkchop is hilarious lmaooo" and "Oh heyy @/Blue and @/Purple are both online! Hey, guys <3"

Blue:

Has a typing style similar to Orange’s, but uses caps and emoticons a lot more! Doesn't quite care about typing errors unless it's something important. Nothing much to add to this, to be honest.

Example - "Heyyy! ^^" and "The cutsecene was actually pretty funny ngl, it made teh sad moment less sad tho :P"

Purple:

Their typing style used to be extremely perfect, but as time went on, they stopped caring too much. Of course, they use proper spelling and doesn't use shorthand too often, but they do allow themselves to be imperfect!

They use tone indicators more than shorthand, but they do use stuff like "lmaoo" and "wtf" sometimes!

Example - "Wait tf who's Reuben? /genq" and "@/Red I am so sorry for your loss.."

King Orange/King Mango:

Perfect typing, doesn't even try. Doesn't use emoticons, doesn't use shorthand, doesn't use tone indicators. Uses emojis.

Doesn't understand what "lol" means. His typing style reflects his speaking style.

Example - "@/Purple, I do believe that @/Red is referring to the show he's been watching." and "You all must go to sleep, it's late! You kids need more time to grow."

Purple: "Dad we're all young adults-"

KM: "Oh, that's right 🫢. Indeed, you are.."

Red: "o l d XD"

KM: "What does 'XD' mean?"

[stawbeemilk]

⤷ insecurities they think are beautiful; part 2 – hq

✩ characters: various

✩ warnings: none

✩ a/n: i've been super busy with work but i'm finally back! i decided to write a part 2 to this bc i've been feeling pretty down lately. but yeah these are once again all things i personally struggle with or have struggled with in the past ◡̈

⭑ bare face

every time he gets the opportunity to see you without makeup, he swears he feels his heart beat twice as fast. of course he appreciates all the time and effort it takes for you to do your makeup, but he just thinks there's something so intimate about seeing you fresh out of the shower, your hair still damp and your face entirely bare. he doesn't miss the way you tend to avoid eye contact, how you shy away from him and subconsciously try to hide your face, and it makes his heart sink because how do you not realise how cute you are? his favourite part of the day is waking up next to you and getting to see your pretty face, imperfections and all— it never fails to make his heart flutter.

⤷ hinata, fukunaga, iwaizumi, tendou, suna, osamu, ennoshita

⭑ messy hair

he thinks your unruly hair is adorable. he knows that it can sometimes make you feel a little self-conscious, worrying that you don't look presentable with your hair a mess and finding yourself becoming frustrated with it because of how long you spend trying to style it in the morning, but he loves the way it sets you apart from everyone else. he might occasionally tease you about it, but it's always intended to be lighthearted and he never means anything by it. likes to ruffle your hair for his own amusement, making it even messier than it is already and enjoying the way you pout at him and try to smooth it down.

⤷ kuroo, tsukishima, matsukawa, yaku, akaashi, daishou, hoshiumi

⭑ beauty marks

he finds himself drawn to the pretty marks on your face, unable to take his eyes off you because you're so beautiful. whenever he goes to kiss you he always starts off by letting his lips trail over the points of your face where your marks reside, before softly pressing them against your own. he loves how unique they make you look, and he thinks they compliment your features perfectly. it makes him so sad when he sees you trying to cover them up with makeup, and the fact that you don't see them the way he does genuinely hurts him. he loves the idea that your beauty marks are where your lover kissed you the most during your past life, and he likes to kiss them in hopes that he'll be leaving those marks on you in your next life too.

⤷ sugawara, kai, oikawa, tanaka, konoha, kita, hirugami, asahi

⭑ cellulite

he loves to randomly grab your thighs at any chance he gets, enjoying the way the supple flesh feels under his palms. he thinks you look amazing in thigh high socks and cute little skirts, and whenever he sees the small amount of pudge at the top of your socks he'll definitely have a hard time keeping his hands to himself. to be honest he probably didn't even realise you had cellulite until you pointed it out to him, too preoccupied with how absolutely gorgeous you look to notice such a small detail. reminds you that it's completely normal and natural, and will reassure you that he thinks it's beautiful as many times as it takes until you start to believe him.

⤷ daichi, bokuto, yamamoto, kyotani, atsumu, nishinoya, meian

⭑ being thin

he honestly can't understand why you don't like your body, because in his eyes you're literally perfect. he knows that you tend to wear baggier clothing most of the time, the loose fabric swallowing up your figure and concealing the parts you dislike the most about yourself, but he would be lying if he said he didn't love those days when it's really hot outside and you opt for something that's a little more revealing than usual. he adores the way tighter clothes look on you, and the way they show off and accentuate your beautiful figure. he thinks you look so pretty and delicate, and the fact you're smaller than him makes him swoon.

⤷ kageyama, kenma, hanamaki, sakusa, yamaguchi, goshiki, kunimi

⤷ please do not repost my works on any other sites!

[crheativity]

Hello! I saw your writing about track club members, spell drive members, basketball members getting kissed on the cheek after playing a game, so could I request the same, but after a show for the pop music club people?

SUMMARY: After a successful club meet, you give them a kiss on the cheek! How do they react?

WARNINGS: Might be slightly out of character (particularly Kalim and Cater) but I have Opinions about those two. Also, Sebek yells at you.

COMMENTS: Hey! Sorry this took me a while to get to hehe. I love this idea! I don’t write for these characters enough hehe. Also, hope you don’t mind but I added the Equestrian club too because I felt like it :) If you'd like to read part 1 with the track club, spell drive club and basketball club members, click here.

This could go a couple different ways, depending on the setting. On the one hand, he’s ecstatic that you kissed him! That means you like him, right? On the other hand, you just kissed him. His heart is pounding and he wants to hide in his room, especially if others saw it. He likes you a lot, but a kiss implies a whole lot of things he isn’t fully certain he’s ready for. If you look for him afterwards - after the kiss, the people have all gone, hiding in his room - he might just show you a new side to himself. A new reflection of the diamond - one that’s imperfect, but dedicated to you.

Ohhh wow, you just kissed him, huh? He’s been kissed by his family and stuff before but this feels… different. In a good way! He’s never kissed a homie before, he wonders if it’s a cultural thing where you’re from. Definitely unrelated but this adrenaline from the show is lasting much longer than anticipated. It was fading after the show, but now it’s back, haha. He wonders why? Maybe he’ll go talk to Jamil about it. Although, maybe - if it’s not insensitive or something - you could give him another kiss first?

Awwh, aren’t you a cutie! Fufufu, he might just have to sneak you into more of his shows from now on! Lilia is thoroughly delighted and amused. It’s so adorably sweet that you thought to kiss him - exactly why he likes you! He’s another one that would demand your presence for every concert he performs in from now on. Often before you find him after the show, he’ll tap you on the shoulder and kiss you on the cheek before you can kiss him. He vanishes into the crowd again afterwards though - a little game of hide and seek never hurt anyone, right~?

WHAT. What did you just do-?! That was a rhetorical question, he knows what you just did, but- but wHY. His mind is racing, trying to figure out why you’d do such a thing, if it was against the rules, if there was a way he was “supposed” to react. But that’s very hard to do when his stupid brain keeps replaying the- the action in his head repeatedly. Congratulations, you’ve broken him. All he knows now is that he really wants you to come to the next meet, and the next, until you both graduate. Good luck getting him to admit that or tell you when they are, though!

He is now wide awake. Externally, he looks relatively composed, but internally he’s going ??? Did he dream that??? Was that real or fake? Gosh, he hopes it was real. He’s extra kind to you for the rest of the day, but as soon as he’s back at Diasomnia he’s asking Lilia if that really happened. Lilia is in astonishment that his son can’t remember if you actually kissed him, but the idea that Silver likes you so much that he can’t tell if a kiss from you is a perfect dream or a shocking reality is adorable to him! He’s setting you two up now. Be prepared for more Lilia (and Silver) in your life.

He is CAUSING a SCENE. That has to be against some kind of rule! He’s certain you’re trying to distract him from his training, or— or from protecting Malleus! Yes! That must be it! You are a HAZARD to the cause— why are you grinning. THIS ISN’T FUNNY. HE IS NOT BLUSHING. HE IS ANGRY. (you can absolutely tell the difference, he’s bright pink). Sebek is convinced you’re causing a scene - but he’s the one who stopped in the middle of the celebration just to yell at you. Everyone there thinks it’s really funny (barring Riddle who’s just about done with this whole scenario and Silver who fell asleep).

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥