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antiiqueness · 2 days ago

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DANCE WITH ME

character: bakugou katsuki warnings: none i can think of, just kinda sad to sweet and very sentimental >.< words: 1.2k

synopsis:

”Years and years of Masaru begging his beloved son to listen and take interest in the things he did, before he eventually gave up. Katsuki didn’t even notice when exactly his father stopped asking him, wishing now more than ever he had listened. He wanted that outlet. He wanted to be able to find joy in tranquil activities. You made him want that.”

notes: i luv him so much i wanna die. i'm in the works for a spooky little AU for him as well as one for tomura so stay tuned for those im vv excited hehe

Growing up Katsuki's parents wanted him to be the best. To do everything. His mother wanted him to find art in more aggressive sports and hobbies. His father however, pushed for actual art. Masaru had a genuine joy for the peaceful and quiet, something of which he couldn’t enjoy as much as he’d wished for with the home he lived in. Nevertheless, in the seldom moments he had of quiet, he danced, and painted, and sat in the garden of their home, enjoying the moments he had to himself and his thoughts.

As a kid, Katsuki hated how his father would get in specific “moods” where he just wanted to be to himself and his thoughts. He never truly understood it growing up, until he met you. You were so alike to his father; wanting to sit and enjoy the peace you had in random little moments and increments. It was such a foreign concept to Katsuki.

He looked at you as if you were an anomaly. When the two of you had first begun dating, he just didn’t get it, who would want to be in areas of time where no one could sit and appreciate what you do. At least with volleyball, and boxing, and debate classes you earn respect for doing it and winning.

He would sit and watch you in seemingly your own world, planting flowers, or annotating classic literature and be brought back in time to when he was 12 years old seeing his dad sit in the garden reading the same exact book with a pencil in hand. Certain foods you would make, and specific songs you would play would remind him of his father and how much Katsuki truly missed him.

It was raining out the day he saw you swinging on the porch with a cup of tea and a book in hand, when he had called his dad. He wanted to understand it; he wanted that same peace the two of you seemed to hold so dearly. He wanted to bond over it.

As a kid his father wanted him to take ballroom dance classes, was adamant it would be a healthy outlet to learn to express himself and to get lost in. Mitsuki and Katsuki were not big on the idea though, brushing it off and pursing their interests that more often than not landed them or others in hospital beds.

Years and years of Masaru begging his beloved son to listen and take interest in the things he did, before he eventually gave up. Katsuki didn’t even notice when exactly his father stopped asking him, wishing now more than ever he had listened. He wanted that outlet. He wanted to be able to find joy in tranquil activities. You made him want that.

“I'm going to my parents for a bit, want me to grab anything on the way home?” Katsuki stood by the door of the backyard, looking out at the back of your head, you sitting silently in a chair, rocking back and forth. “No, I'm okay baby. Thank you.” quietly muttered as if it were a secret, you don’t turn around. He doesn't want you to. He just stands for a moment more before muttering a quick goodbye and closing the door.

The drive itself is weird. He doesn’t know if it’s age or if he was having an odd midlife crisis, but he doesn’t speak a word the entire drive, just quietly excelling forward.

When he arrives at the house he had grown up in, spent every memory of birthdays and holidays, where he learned to ride a bike, where he had his first tooth fall out, every memory lingering in the air around the house, he just stands at the door for a moment.

He doesn’t know what was different this time, but something was. Maybe himself. Maybe he had finally grown up. He was changed, and content with it.

His attention is only brought back to the present tense when the door opens, and he sees his father's brown eyes staring back at him. Katsuki doesn’t know what comes over him, but without saying a single word, he gently pushes his way into the house and grabs ahold of his father. He felt like a little kid all over again. He just wanted to hug and talk to his dad. He wanted to take those ballroom dance classes. He wanted to bond with him.

So that's what they did. Masaru was a man of few words most his life, keeping relatively quiet and to himself, but coming completely out of his shell with his son now. He had taught Katsuki everything he wanted to learn with a small smile and a joy Katsuki had never seen in his father.

By the end of the night Masaru had grabbed an old record and put it on the player, having classical music whirl throughout the house, before turning to Katsuki and teaching him how to dance. Mitsuki watched quietly, quieter than Katsuki had ever seen her, with a smile and tears gleaming her eyes, happy she could see her two favorite people bonding in ways she knew her husband had always wanted to with him.

Katsuki felt closer to them, he felt as though he had truly understood family finally. He drove home with a smile, a calm, content smile that had rarely graced his handsome face, cheerful all the way up the steps to the home he shared with you.

Opening the door, he knew his perspective had changed, knew that life was different, a good different, and that he was fortunate enough to share it with you. You had this lopsided smile on your face when you had seen him walk through the door, raising an eyebrow and walking closer to him, covered in little raindrops.

“I assume you had a good night at your parents’ place?” Helping him out of his jacket, you move to hang it on the rack before he stops you and interlaces his fingers with yours. “Let's dance.” he says simply, looking down at you with a look in his beautifully light eyes that gleamed and shone in enamor and affection.

“What?” you laughed, taken aback and smiling even bigger, “Yeah, I wanna dance with you.” Tossing his phone onto the counter, the same song his father played for him started to drift throughout his new home, the home he shared with you, the home in which he held dearest of all, simply because you existed in it. you were his home.

Grabbing ahold of you like his dad had shown him how to, he started to sway slowly, leaning his head against yours, and tightening his grip on your hips ever so lightly. He looked so odd, there was no anger, no irritation, no malice in his features whatsoever, just pure contentment. You wanted to live in this moment for the rest of the days you two had together, falling in love with him all over again.

Katsuki Bakugou was great at many things, but as he grew and matured, he became great at understanding life, and how much peace was truly worth, especially if it meant this is how he could spend the rest of his life with you.

#katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #katsuki x reader #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou smau #bakugou smut #katsuki bakugou smau #bnha x reader #mha #my hero #my hero academia #mha x reader

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rockingbytheseaside · 3 days ago

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Hey 👋 there just wanted to say I really like your art and how you flesh out the characters of the fatui.

Especially pierro

I was wondering if you’re taking requests, if you could make one about how reader is deeply injured to the near point of death and the fatui (separate)

Have different reactions to seeing their beloved almost dying and find the culprit or culprits involved and have them tortured or whatever their reaction is. And they later on stay by their side making sure they return to full health not knowing what they did for them.

(but in way I like seeing their cruelty for their reader getting hurt come to light and how they would feel.)

You don’t have to acknowledge this ask but it’s just something I think about

This request was asked by several anons and @ghost3029 ages ago. Apologies if I can’t tag all the lovelies here

✦ Someone hurt you, and how they take care of the matter

(Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone, Tartaglia)

(Slight tw: mention of injuries, blood, violence.)

To be the enigmatic beloved of a Harbinger means to have eyes on you - some in awe, while others with ill intent. Luckily for you and your dear Harbinger, privacy is paramount no matter what his job entails. However, what happens when you venture too close to harm’s grasp, whether by accident or by someone’s design?

✧ When Pierro saw the dangerous glint in your eyes, he knew two things were happening: you had just been embroiled in a lethal fight, and you would faint in any second due to immense fatigue. He doesn’t call out your name or contort his expression into shock or trepidation. Because in split seconds, he sprints towards you, catching your collapsed form right into his arms.

Limp and marred with wounds, even your unconscious state looks worn out as The Jester swiftly lifts you in his arms. He was undeterred by the sight of your blood slowly seeping out onto his immaculate white suit. No, the Fatui Director is a calm but unfazed man.

“You always took matters into your own hands, my divine. Ever so willful, always overexerting yourself.” - Pierro murmured to himself, before turning to face the monstrous culprit who dared to harm you, a remnant of Abyssal Corruption. “However, for someone to raise their hand at you is a sin. My beloved might be merciful when granting death, but I – don't.”

You didn't hear or register anything; the last thing you remember is Pierro's hand shaking as he held you tightly. When you woke up groggy, wrapped in the ache of healing wounds, you weren't shocked to see yourself clad in clean clothes, resting by a spacious, comfortable bed. Beside you was Pierro; unmoving, sitting. He never once left your room.

“For… How long was I out?”

“For a whole day, dear. Do not fret, the best doctors and healers in Snezhnaya worked swiftly to patch you up.” – his palm gently rested on your forehead, brushing your hair aside as he ensured your temperature was stable. Even his gaze, so often sharp with command, had softened, devotion etched into every touch or glance.

“A-and the Abyssal monster I fought? Is everyone safe…?”

“Hm? You still concern yourself with that? This dread is not yours to bear, my divine. How many times must I remind you that it is not your duty to dirty your hands? Rest easy instead. No filth will tarnish the peace I have built for us.”

✧ Il Capitano is aware you can defend yourself. He respects your might; he doesn't doubt your cunning strength. However, can he stand idle when the clash of steel begins and the threat of violence dares to draw near you? Can his heart bear witness as you endure blow after blow, even in triumph?

No, he cannot, and this is his weakness. His body cries out to quickly shield you whenever an enemy gets too close. Even when you're amidst the roaring chaos of a battle, he intercepts those who venture too close with relentless force. You were expecting that, but you groan in frustration either way:

“Capitano, this is not your battle. I can manage myself!”

“I will not let you barge into danger recklessly,” – he retorted. The Antumbra held steadily in his hands. “You're moving too fast.”

He refused to move between you and the onslaught of corrupted abyssal monsters. For a man who often reprimanded you about being reckless, your beloved hypocritically used his body as a shield whenever you were in danger.

“Thrain-!”

He rarely hears your stern voice. But the call of his true name rendered him motionless for a minute, a tense silence riveting between you. Before either of you could add another word, an abyssal mimic wielding the form of a Ruin Guard aimed straight at Capitano’s back. However, you were quicker in blocking the massive creature, taking the blow instead.

After the waves of monsters dissipated, the battlefield was left in ashes. A few of the Harbinger's soldiers scavenged the aftermath in search of any injured. You, however, clutched your disheveled wounds. Turning to face Capitano, you were met with his eerily silent and pitch-black expression.

“Listen, Capi,” - you began quietly, voice laced with guilt. “I'm sorry for… raising my voice like that. I only meant t-”

Before you could finish your mumbles, Capitano hoisted you up onto his broad shoulders and started moving away.

“Hey, hey! Put me back! I was in the middle of an apology,” - you thrashed, wiggling against his back while he kept a very resolute grip on you. Being slung like a sack of potatoes after a harsh battle only doubled your shame. Especially when he gave you a tap on your hip to keep you still.

“Shush. I've heard enough. I am dragging you to the infirmary myself,” – he added sternly, one hand holding you while the other carrying his sword. “And if it means throwing you over my shoulders and reminding you how to be inert, then so be it. Either your recklessness will kill you, or my heartache will end me instead.”

✧ For a man like Il Dottore, dissecting near-lifeless forms beneath sterile light was a ritual long devoid of novelty. But when fate laid his beloved upon that same table, the clinical detachment in his gaze curdled into something far more lethal.

Your cuts were sutured and your bleeding staunched by the deft encirclement of his bandages. As your shallow breathing mellowed down, teetering on and off your consciousness, you scarcely perceived the taut silence in the lab, or the meek voice of the Fatui soldiers that brought you back:

“We have delivered them safely, Lord Harbinger. As per orders.”

“Brought them you did, indeed. But safely…?” – his gloved grip retracted from your bandaged limbs, like a coiled snake slithering back. “Spare me your excuses, this is nothing but a horrendous job done. One command, and you botched it: return them to me unharmed.”

The Fatui soldier stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back, though his head hung low. The Harbinger's eyes remained hidden behind the gleam of his mask, but the venom in his voice alone was enough to conjure the hell that would follow should any wretch dare to utter defiance.

“Tell me, if I shattered one of your bones for every drop of their blood spilled, would that seem just? Or maybe,” – he drawled, each syllable an iron weight, “For every stitch I had to use on their skin, and every roll of bandage used, you compensate by skinning your own limbs-”

The murderous tension was interrupted when your coughing echoed in the room – “... D-dottore?”

A single word, a call of his name, yet one that made The 2nd drop all his threats in an instant, kneeling on the cold stone floor beside your medical cot. “Yes, my dear, yes. Shh, I am here now. You're safe.”

Your eyes fluttered toward him, the weight of exhaustion rendering your limbs motionless. Yet even then, you smiled faintly, reassuring him to keep his anger at bay, your fingers meekly reaching for his hand. You didn't say much, too drained to squander air that your body so dearly needed for healing. And Dottore didn't mind. Holding your single palm in both hands, he clasped it close and brought it to his lips.

Like a heretic clutching an unworldly relic, he stayed there and held your wrist close to himself in a reverent prayer. As long as he could feel the quiet thrum of your pulse beneath his fingers, he would call down ruin upon Teyvat itself for every wound carved into you.

✧ Pantalone leaned closer in his seat, hand deftly reaching for the vial of saline as he pressed a dampened cloth to your wounds with deliberate tenderness. The Harbinger, ever composed in his peculiar cheer, wore his usual merry smile, opting to dismiss the servants and tend to your injuries with his own hands.

“Walk me through it again, darling, how ever did you end up with such dreadful scrapes?”

“Well, I'm telling you!” – you began with animated exasperation. “I was on my daily expeditions, doing my usual exploration around Jueyun Karst. A nice farmer on the way pointed me to where to harvest fresh Qingxin flowers. So I went on, but a group of Treasure Hoarder bandits ambushed me.”

As Pantalone listened patiently, he continued to clean your wounds, ensuring even the smallest cuts were secured underneath a band-aid, his thumbs softly gliding over the bandages to ensure they seal onto your skin tenderly.

“And- And then…! I went Pow! And then slash! I defended myself because they tried to steal all of my Mora. Thankfully, some local heard the ruckus and came to my aid. So, all in all, I got out of it with barely a scratch, in my humble opinion.”

The Harbinger shook his head, tidying up the bandage wraps before reaching to pat your hair – “Tsk, tsk, tsk. This won't do, you silly. You must be more careful when adventuring in the wild like that. No matter how minor the danger may seem.”

You could only exhale a sigh of reluctant surrender. You knew he had a point, and you did feel the fatigue catching up on you now that you were back home safely. Thus, with a loving embrace and a goodnight kiss, you decided to retire for the night. Pantalone waved a cheerful goodbye, watching your personal servants following dutifully in tow as you left his study room.

You’d sit and sulk, like a child reminded for the tenth time to be careful when playing outside. Even when you reminded Pantalone of the time you'd bested a Stonehide Lawachurl single-handedly, he'd merely sigh wistfully and kiss your cheek.

“Oh, I know, I know, my love. But still, take it slow for a couple of days, will you?” - he kept his thumb gently running down your cheek, his smile imbued with quiet reassurance. “I’ve no desire to see you crossing paths with bandits again. Rest easy, darling.”

And the moment you departed? His charming smile immediately vanished.

Without turning to face the bowing servant, he ordered courtly, his voice lacking the usual innocent warmth he used with you – “Report. Now.”

“The intel came in from the operatives we stationed on route. The treasure hoarders they spoke of are being tracked as we speak, Lord Harbinger.”

Pantalone drew in a measured breath, quelling the fire rising in his veins. Before you even made it back home to his arms, he had already received news of the attack. How was he informed so quickly? Simply because he stationed the best spies to blend into the backgrounds and keep track of your safety, so-called invincible bodyguards all bound by oath and coin to the Regrator himself.

The nice farmer you met in Jueyun Karst? The kind local who noticed the commotion when Treasure Hoarders dared to attack you? All Fatui Agents, steeped in stealth, honed in combat, disguised perfectly to serve as his eyes while you kept living the best of your life. Even the personal maids who help you with your usual nightly routines – the best of Fatui Operatives from the House of the Hearth, ordered personally to function as your closest bodyguards by the 9th.

Pantalone was no fool. He would never let his suffocating devotion eclipse your freedom, especially when you sought nothing from the Fatui. You deserved joy, unshackled and luminous, filled with wild adventures and quiet victories of your own making. He would never command the course of your life, instead, he would love you as you are, unperturbed by his status as a Harbinger.

But you don't deserve this worry. He would shoulder this dirty burden on his own.

“The Agents acted sufficiently,” – he noted dully, his ringed fingers intertwined elegantly. “Instruct them to continue tracking the Hoarders. It's clear they tried to use my beloved as leverage to get to me. Ensure each and every single one of them disappears. Make it quick and make it clean.”

✧ Smash. Tartaglia raised his arms up, the club-like piece of wood was but a crude piece of a fence he grabbed on the go. Smash. He didn't even register when he picked it up instead of his Hydro Riptide swords. No, his set of weaponry would've been much more precise. Too clean for this job. Smash. This club is slow and would deliver a much messier message. Smash.

When did blood get on his face?

The Harbinger had already forgotten the face of the person he had just clubbed to the ground, their limbs broken; crimson blooming in grotesque contrast against the pristine white of snow. The cries and pleas went unheard, like a static buzz behind his temples, drowning out everything but the pounding pulse of rage. All he could think about was how warm the vivid red looked against white.

That is until your voice pulled him out of his haze – “Childe… Childe!”

He turned to face you, disoriented as to why you're looking at him in exasperated horror, your eyes widened, and your voice breathless. Ah, he remembered now. Someone called you the 11th’s lapdog, had dared to treat you like a gutter-born wretch, and seized your wrist with rough, presumptuous fingers. That's why he chose a random piece of a wooden log. And that's why he delivered a slow, painful message to this person over a merciful end.

“... Oh.” – Harbinger stated simply, leaving the club to sink into the snow with a dull thud. “I'm sorry, sweetie. Did I take too long?”

Walking away, as if the whimpers of a bleeding man on the snow did not reach him, Tartaglia smiled at you. The luster in his eyes is still absent.

“I apologize, sweetheart, you shouldn't have seen most of that. I got too distracted.”

You remained speechless. Your silence clung to you like frost, your body still trembling not only from what happened, but from the visceral sight of it. Even when your beloved noticed that, trying to soothe you by wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he failed to realize you were probably shaken from the blood around his hands.

“Come here, let's go home for now. I'm sorry, dearie, I'm sorry.”

Red, he thought again, warm like you against his cool skin.

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lgvalenzuela · 1 day ago

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Now that this is making the rounds again I'm gonna spill something on the Veilguard companions because it's the only game in the series where I've been here since the begining and I've played this game so much I might as well be an expert

-Davrin is incredibly smart, he might say he wasn't a smart kid. But writing a book on your expertise because you have beef with a dead author? Straight up nerd behaviour, I haven't seen someone so mad about books since Dorian threw my library books out the balcony

I love his narrative, I love that he didn't become a Warden because he had to but because he wanted to (which like...I'm pretty sure is a first as far as Warden companions?) He wanted a propuse. But becoming a Warden was so ingrained in his brain when you meet him that he's so convinced he's gonna die young he's preparing for his death actively, he's preparing Assan to be able to take care of himself (also if anyone thinks his whole narrative is about Assan I'm gonna start throwing hands)

His narrative can be taken multiple places due to player choice. But personally I'm really into this self sacrificing hero that just... Finds a reason to live.

-Harding's narrative is literally about toxic positivity, Lucanis literally spells it out on the scene where they have coffee together. She's refusing herself very righteus feelings of anger for what's been done to her people, and to her specifically. She's grieving through the whole game and for multiple reasons and she's on the verge of breaking down the whole time. Both her endings need her to accept this part of herself, the part that's mourning and the part that's angry.

Also the dressing down she gives Solas at the end? Mwa! Poetry. Queen shit.

-I don't know how to explain Bellara without going into personal life? But like a grieving neurodivergent asexual woman, kinda feels like they were just writing me at some points.

Her narrative with Cyrian was the first (and not last) time I cried. I love how her and Davrin represent the past and the future of their people. How you sometimes have to look into the past to see a clearer future, how the sins of the past don't define you but it DOES feel too easy to just say: Oh but it wasn't me, and this is not Who my people are now.

Also in general I love their dynamic, I love when I can actually see relationships grow and chance in game. And I can see Davrin and Bellara forming a strong bond and Davrin being that anchor that Bellara needs. Not like Cyrian! But he cares for her! And she needs someone to care for her, to remind her that its okay, and that not everything is her fault.

-Neve is not an ice queen, she just uses ice magic. But take her with you anywhere and she's full of jokes. Damn she even approves of most of Rook's purple dialogues. She loves It when you're a silly goose.

Her entire character revolves around caring. She's there because she cares, because nobody seemed to care so she had to step up, she's willing to sacrifice so much just because she knows people need her. She's righfuly mad if Minrathous is ravaged by the dragon but it's...honestly not that hard to get on her good side again? She seems a little more mad than Lucanis, Lucanis seems more sad. But she honestly doesn't seem to personally blame Rook. None of them do. Because they're smart enough to know it was an imposible choice from the start. And she can see Rook put in the work (well I mean if you as the player care enough)

-Taash is not fucking immature or stupid. Taash has trouble communicating, I think we would all benefict from knowing the difference oh my God. Did we not learn this lesson with Sera? (Stupid question I know)

Honestly it's a thing I've always loved about this franchise and these characters. They all communicate differently, they do depending on their upbringing and just...some people have trouble communicating! It's fine! Just give them a second! Maybe let them write some things down!

-Emmrich🧡 (that's all, send post. I'm gonna have something else to say when I've already post this I can see it)

-My biggest surprise is Lucanis for sure. Fun fact? Wasn't on my radar when the first or second trailer or whatever else material dropped. But my Rook was born as a joke, he wasn't suppoused to even be Rook on the first place, he was meant as a secondary character and shipping him with Lucanis was also a joke.

I love him dude. I have such a thing for characters that have a kind heart, the more surprising that they have it the more I love it. I'm so glad he wasn't a Zevran type (and I LOVE Zevran, but for that we already have him!) He was just a weird little ace that had no fucking idea what was happening most of the time.

This is only when It comes to romantic love because he's really observant. He so quickly realizes what's wrong with every companion, he only really has THAT type of relationship with Davrin because he's matching his energy and honestly I think both of them think it's kind of funny at some point. He's good with people but in such a weird way where he doesnt know he is? He's just... Happy. I think he's truly happy for the first time because he has people that can rely on him and he can fully take care of. And in turn you can show him that he's worth those things too.

Things I never would have guessed from fandom osmosis before actually playing the Dragon Age games:

-Alistair is actually pretty smart, and has a lot of knoweledge to share about the topics he's interested about.

He's also not that shy, and flirts with a warden pretty smoothly, if a bit innocently for his lack of experience and general humorous persona.

And his primary motivator is revenge which is an interesting way to take a character like him.

-Zevran is the only character who actively searches for consent even in simple flirting like calling someone beautiful. If you tell him to stop he never makes a mention again.

He's also one of the most loyal and sentimental companions you can have. He cares a lot, want to admit it or not.

-Merrill is one of the most educated and smart characters on the series, she takes calculated risks based on her own studies and research, and the only reasons she fails is because nobody trusts her and refuses to treat her like an adult.

Part of it is also the game refusing to frame her as anything but a naive child when she's anything but.

-Isabela has the most emotional intelligence out of all the characters in DA2, she knows exactly what they're feeling and what they need to hear at all times. It's clear that she's wise and worldly, and just needs time to build confidence between her and the others because she's been hurt a lot and her respect is gained.

-Fenris has an amazing sense of humor and you can find him consistently laughing at both Hawke's and companions he likes silly jokes. He's just really deadpan when delivering his own jokes.

He's also considerably patient and doesn't lose his temper unless confronted with people who have actively abused him.

-Anders spent SEVEN YEARS protesting peacfully, and it took the risk of genocide on his people to reach the desperation of act 3.

-Dorian is incredibly reserved. He tries to avoid talking about his life with a veil of humor and sarcasm, but he's specially guarded around his sexuality and love life. He only comes out to the Inquisitor in a moment of fury to piss of his father and he may have not done so if not pressed.

If in a romance with Bull the only reason the others find out is because Bull exposes it in front of everyone (I wish they would have find out a better way to let the player find out than Bull ignoring Dorian's wishes of privacy)

If romanced by the Inquisitor he's in his first real relationship and it shows, he's lost most of the time but tries to hide it by acting cocky. It's really funny.

He's also a huge nerd, I wasn't expecting that but I was pleasantly surprised.

-The Iron Bull it's not just smart, he's so caring, he shows you around so you can meet the people, the ones nobody cares about, he introduces you to them.

-Sera also goes to the pile of characters who are really smart and nobody gives them credit for it. She says it herself, she's just really bad with words, but as long as you try to understand her she makes a lot of sense.

The game just gives you no other option than to treat her horribly, which I sense a pattern of framing the neurodivergent coded characters in a certain light with Merrill and Anders.

-Vivienne is the only one (with Dorian) that asks the Inquisitor if they're okay after Haven, and gives beautiful words of afirmation.

She's really affable if you bother to befriend her.

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #lucanis dellamorte #neve gallus #lace harding #emmrich volkarin #bellara lutare #taash #davrin

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revelboo · 8 hours ago

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I wanted to say that I love your work, and reading your work every day helps me get out of bed. Keep being awesome sauce Now, on the topic of work..I have an idea

G1 Starscream who grows an attachment to reader. Whether they're sweet to him, or doesn't immediately look at him with disgust, whatever your heart desires will win over that silly little mech.

And if we're making it smut, you should totally make it apart of some 'odd' seeker mating ritual.

I don't know if you write for Cybertronian readers, so if not, human works <3

Have an astonishing day, darling!

thank you and sure! I thought of birds like Kingfishers that offer gifts to potential mates

Dear, random person that started dancing with me for no apparent reason- you’re awesome 💕

Scenario-courting

Starscream x Reader

• Venting as he lets himself into his habsuite and it’s become a habit to find you. Wings lifting slightly when you turn and smile for him. Always smiling and happy to see him when no one else is. Spark aching, he shuts the door behind himself and approaches his berth. Resting a knee on the surface and mass shifting to join you, you stumble back a step, surprised. “You’re smaller,” you say, the words almost a question. And he is smaller. Vulnerable and taking a risk for you.

• “I have something for you,” he says, rasping voice gruff. Pulling something from his subspace and holding out his closed hand, he looks so uncertain. Curious, you move closer and he’s still so much bigger than you are and you’re too aware of him standing so close. Flushing, your attention drops to his hand. Reaching out, you hesitantly touch his servos and his hand opens. And there’s a pendant of red and silver metal in his palm on a thin chain.

• Do you know what you’re looking at? Damaged bits of his plating, heated and reshaped slowly. Carefully shaped into an ornament and a delicate chain to adorn you so any mech looking at you will know you’re his. And his wings tremble faintly as you reach to take it, his spark warming. Accepting it and him. Watches you run your thumb over the rippled surface. “It’s beautiful.”

• You slip it over your head, the pendant hanging low on you. And he reaches out, warm hand cupping your cheek. That awkward heat and need between you like an unspoken word. Face flushing as one of his servos runs down your throat, follows the line of the chain down as your breath catches. Leaning closer, it stirs your hair when he vents, those red optics hungry. “I want to see you in nothing but this,” he growls, servos lingering on the pendant and your breath catch. You’d assumed the attraction was completely one sided, but he wants you, too? “Will you do that for me?”

• Cupping your cheek to tip your face up, his mouth finds yours and you’re so soft. So willing. How long has he wanted this? Imagined this? Hands sliding to your hips to drag you into his frame. Wants to claim you so thoroughly you’ll know you’re his. Won’t need anyone but him. Wants to run his hands and mouth over your soft skin and hear the sounds you make for him. Find out where to touch you to make you beg.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #starscream

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no1blacksapphirefan · 1 day ago

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Hope things get better for you!! If it’s not too much to ask I was wondering how you’d imagine the cookies would react to reader obviously being sick but still logging into the game, like “idc that I’m sick and need rest I need to do these quests IMMEDIATELY”

Me when I got hit in the back of the head with a frisbee tho. I couldn't leave my fav cookies alone <33 Pure Vanilla probably so disappointed though.

Thought it would be funny/entertaining to have this w/ cookies who have the healing element hehe

Pure Vanilla He shakes his head disappointed, you're sneezing so much!! You must get some rest, and no you playing the game to make yourself feel better does not count. Sleep will you? Take some medicine and then, after a long nap. If you're feeling better, THEN you can play.

He wants to tell you this, perhaps you'd be too sick to realise he's talking to you directly. How he wishes his powers could go through the screen and make you feel better, alas he'll have to settle on scolding you while hoping you don't realise in your sick state

Mystic Flour She knows it'll be hard to convince you to rest, she sees it in your eyes. You're dead set on finishing quests and other various tasks. So, she'll just make sure the work you want to do, how do I put this. Isn't doable till you get better.

Your main quest aren't working? Why not put the phone down and it'll be better when you wake up! The timers you want to use? Looks like they're buggy, worry not. It'll be done in a few hours. Rest.up. The longer you stay online, the more likely you'll catch her glaring at you through the screen...oh that? It's just a...glitch...come now, log out and rest, that's what you need.

Herb Cookie As your friend...he begs for you to rest. He's willing to "break the 4th wall" if it means managing to convince you to take a nap, sleep for 8 hours. Anything, as much as he enjoys having you around, he much prefers you to be happy and healthy. He doesn't want to see his friend just, lay around sneezing and coughing but still continuing to play because "there's work to do"

You may not care but he does!! A lot, he's worried about you. If talking to you through the screen is what he has to do to be able to convince you to go to bed, then so be it. Maybe he can mask it off as him talking to his plants? He'll just name it after you and put jr in front of it, he prays it works.

Sparkling Cookie Tut tut, you really shouldn't bother with your quests when you're clearly not well enough for it, he's seen things like it before in his own bars and he had to stop some drunken cookies from doing something they were unfit to do like drive/walk home. So while the reason for you being unfit to do something is different, he isn't exactly a stranger to this kind of thing.

Similar to herb, he isn't scared to talk to you through the screen, gently advise you to go to bed. Even if this ends up freaking you out to the point you exit the game, he hopes you're taking the time to rest, perhaps chalking it up to simply being to sick and hearing things.

Rockstar Cookie He didn't quite catch it at first but when he does he sighs. Do you really love the game that much you're willing to place it in front of your own health? He shakes his head, while he finds the reason to be...endearing in a way, especially if one of the things you "had" to do was say hi to him, maybe update his build and then tap him thousands of times, he still wants you to rest.

He'll play a song, a lullaby even if you had to name it. Something to make you sleepy, something gentle. He knows it's working as your eyes seem to flutter close, you yawn (and cough/sneeze...) and your grip on your phone slowly looses it's strength until you are fast asleep. If it doesn't work he'll only sigh and see if he can get other cookies to help, if it does he smiles and wishes you a good night...let's hope your game doesn't drain your battery though

#✦ Zeros Self-Aware AU #cookie run kingdom #crk #crk x reader #crk x you #cookie run kingdom x reader #Pure Vanilla x Reader #Pure Vanilla x You #Mystic Flour x Reader #Mystic Flour x You #Herb Cookie x Reader #Herb Cookie x You #Herb x Reader #Sparkling Cookie x Reader #Sparkling x Reader #Sparkling x You #Rockstar x Reader #Rockstar x You #Rockstar Cookie x Reader

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nabi-unveiled · 1 day ago

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Hiii!

Several times lately you've said my personal weatherman is a comfort show.

You do realize it's an abusive relationship don't you?

I'm not sure why you would find comfort in abuse, but it may be something to reflect on or talk about with someone.

I say that with the upmost kindness.

Hello Anon!

I do love My Personal Weatherman. I take GREAT comfort in that show. It's not flawless by any means, but it makes my synapses buzz in the best possible way.

That doesn't mean it's a comfort show for everyone.

I am fully aware that many find Segasaki/Yoh's dynamic to be problematic or consider it an abusive relationship. If you see it that way, I can certainly understand why you wouldn't find it a comfort show. It's a valid response to that interpretation.

Before I go further, please know that I do not want to negate anyone's personal experiences or opinions in this post. You are more than welcome to disagree!

But on MY blog - I will defend these characters with everything in my being.

In short - I do NOT see it as an abusive relationship. I see it as two people figuring out how their life together is going to work. Which is HARD and ONGOING. Especially for two introverts who keep a lot of their thoughts in their heads. I feel that struggle in the core of my being.

Thanks to some of the subtitle/scripting issues, many people misinterpret how long they've "lived together". (That post has a pretty great timeline if you're interested.) They didn't start living together until Yoh graduated, and they've only been living together a few months. They are still learning a lot about each other and their relationship. Even if they'd been living together a long time, figuring life out together is a process. It's not an easy one.

Do I think either character is a green flag? ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Are they very flawed people? Yes.

Are they crap communicators? Yes.

Is there a power imbalance? Yes, but only when Yoh allows it. Yoh enjoys the power play. Yoh IS allowing it. No question in my mind on that score.

It's VERY important to realize that Yoh is the epitome of an unreliable narrator and partial viewpoints/perspectives are in play. For anyone not familiar with it, that means Yoh's perspective is misleading us to a degree in the early episodes. His words in particular cannot be trusted. Before someone comes at me about dismissing a character's words or belittling their feelings, this is an actual literary and narrative tool.

I love Yoh. He's processing best he can. He doesn't know the best words to use. He struggles to figure out what his emotions mean and how to read other people. Like most of us in life, he's figuring crap out.

And Segasaki is figuring his crap out too. But they're TRYING.

Now do I think their relationship is a role model for "BDSM" as it sometimes gets labeled? Please. Dear God. No. Just no. That requires GOOD communication and clear negotiation. See earlier point. They're crap at that...so very human.

However, I do think this is a lifestyle dominant/submissive relationship. By that I mean they have naturally fallen into these roles based on their personalities and preferences. It's more common than you might think, but that's probably an entirely different post.

Actually, if you're interested in the dominant/submissive aspect, LutaWolf had a whole series of posts about this show.

There is also a fabulous amount of language analysis for this show that dives into what the language usage says/depicts about their relationship.

And yes, I've read every one of those posts. Most of them multiple times. I read them when they were WROTE. I have an entire folder of posts about this show BOOKMARKED on my computer, because I didn't even have a Tumblr account at the time.

Where was I? Oh right - why I find comfort in it. Like many things I like or love, I don't really know. Why do I find pangolins adorable? Why do I love sweaters? Why do I enjoy asymmetrical earrings? I don't stress over it. I just accept that I love them.

Is it because I think the sexuality embedded and a rain soaked Yoh are BEAUTIFUL? I'm sure that is 100% part of it. It's a valid reason to indulge.

Is it possibly a result of me growing up in a hierarchical community with a heavy amount of toxic masculinity that I enjoy seeing dominant/submissive interactions? Maybe. That would not make my enjoyment of the show less valid.

Is it possibly a manifestation of untreated trauma or personal struggles of some kind? Maybe. That would not make my enjoyment of the show less valid.

Is it possible that I see either myself or my own relationship in their relationship at times? Yes, that is absolutely true. Still a valid reason to enjoy it.

Regardless, here's what I know without a doubt.

🍛

Segasaki eats the curry. Every. damn. time. And Yoh makes it. Every. damn. time.

There's an entire essay in why that's so very very important for both of them.

🔆

Yoh wants this relationship. Badly.

There's an entire essay in why I think that too.

🌀

Segasaki NEEDS Yoh. Yoh is his safe space. The one place he can relax and be himself.

There's an entire essay in that one too.

I haven't thought about this show just a little. I've lived and breathed in this show. I could write books on this show.

But frankly, feel free to worry about me if you want. If that's what you want to spend your energy on, have at it. I won't be stressing though. Because as much as I enjoy this show, Segasaki is not who I want.

I know the real dream when I see it.

It's Manju's husband. If only. Manju is the one living my dream here. Fully accepted for her nerdy, kinky, fangirl self.

#nabi responds #you asked i answered #my personal weatherman #taikan yoho #japanese bl

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milkkytxars · 3 days ago

Text

(This is not going to be like my other posts but I think it's nice, bear with me for a bit)

Something I said got a bunch of likes on twt a few days ago, but I can't stop thinking about it so I wanted to expand on it a bit! (And I like rambling on about these things, nothing you can do on twt I assure you, this gets a bit lengthy)

Here's the interaction for reference:

OK SO! First things first: PV's awakened form, one way or another, IS a direct representation of the Fount of Knowledge. Or well, at the very least it's what we've been shown to be the most idealistic form of him.

We can't know for sure how the Fount of Knowledge actually was like or acted, because Shadow Milk will never get vulnerable enough on screen to let the audience know such things, but if the statue of him is anything to go by (and not a fabricated lie) then we have something to work with.

The Fount of Knowledge has a key opening in the middle of his chest, and coincidentally, he's also carrying his soul jam on his staff which has the form of a key. This could be interpreted as him having the answers that others' (cookies) can unlock.

However, if we pay closer attention to the pictures, we'll see that the Fount's key is a bit "weird"

As you can see, not only are there two teeths in the key, but there's also a large space from the end of the staff to the point where the first teeth appears.

If someone were to literally try to insert this key into Fount's keyhole to try and get it open, it would pierce through Fount! The key is simply too large, and it doesn't seem like complicated teeth would actually fit inside the hole either.

Now, let's see Pure Vanilla's staff!

As you can see, he only has one teeth right at the bottom of the key. This is how most functional keys look!

One interpretation could be that Fount never actually held the key towards true knowledge, which is a fault that made him fundamentally imperfect towards his greater purpose. Another reason why he fell into deceit in the first place.

Pure Vanilla, however, as holder of the light of truth, also holds a functional key as his staff. He carries that truth with him and plans to open up a path to himself and keep finding out new truths of the world.

His key isn't going to open all keyholes, just as the path he leads isn't going to let him find everything there is to know, but if he holds the truth close to his heart (therefore, the soul jam at his chest) he will continue to follow the light.

But let's circle back to Shadow Milk.

He is the beast of deceit, and he hides so much of himself that you could even call his whole current identity a lie, as if he was trying to be deceit incarnate just like he once was the representation of knowledge.

Let's remember now, that we can interpret the key hole on his chest when he was Fount as an opening to himself, and therefore, to knowledge.

Basically the truth of himself, if I'm making any sense with this.

When he turns into Shadow Milk though, where does he hold his soul jam of deceit? Right where the keyhole was! Essentially, he's obscuring the truth of the world and of himself with lies.

Now, what does Pure Vanilla say at the end of BY8?

He says that he is the one who can understand him best, that he's the only one who can understand Shadow Milk.

And while it's mentioned that it's because of their shared soul jam, this is not the only reason why.

Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla are very important to each other, in whatever way you want to see it. They're essential to each other's story and development.

In the end, the reason why they can understand each other so well is because they're pretty similar. At least in the way they feel, or have felt, about the world.

There's a reason why Pure Vanilla turned into Truthless Recluse after all. Even if it was for a short amount of time, those were still his real feelings, and they mirrored Shadow Milk's own.

The fact that Awakened Pure Vanilla holds a key is to find his own truth, and this fact cannot be diminished. However, I think it would be a disservice to his character and their relationship if it's not also acknowledged that Pure Vanilla's truth fundamentally involves Shadow Milk's true self too.

Fount of Knowledge, as much as that's a discarded persona, it's also a part of Shadow Milk he cannot erase. And Pure Vanilla understands this the same way he understands that Truthless Recluse was a part of himself too.

Pure Vanilla's staff as a key, exists to unlock the hidden lock Shadow Milk has buried deep into his past. Because Shadow Milk's truth is also Pure Vanilla's truth.

That's why he embraces deceit, because Shadow Milk is deceit. And Pure Vanilla tries to make Shadow Milk embrace the truth too, that's why he asks him to be his friend.

Pure Vanilla is truth, so by asking Shadow Milk to be friends with him, he's asking him to embrace truth.

This entails Shadow Milk accepting his past, which Pure Vanilla has the key to unlock now with his awakening and the arduous journey he underwent in the spire to find himself. A key that has long been tossed away by Shadow Milk when he stopped being the Fount of knowledge.

Therefore, while Pure Vanilla's key can't crack open every lock in his way, it is designed by default for its priority to be opening Shadow Milk's heart/soul.

(One last thing would also be that Pure Vanilla's staff, from having a light, technically is also traversing through the darkness in Shadow Milk. I don't want to go into too much detail because this is better explained by this post, go check their stuff out on both of their accounts, it's really good!)

♪♪♪

Anyways, that's it, thank you for coming to my Ted talk. Maybe I'll post another analysis in the future if this is well received lol (I have this idea of PV's awakened form being Fount's but reverse if that makes sense???)

Bye now ❤

#their relationship and parallels drive me insane #cookie run kingdom #crk #pure vanilla cookie #shadow milk cookie #shadowvanilla #pureshadow #puremilk #analysis #rant #idk how to tag lol #crk analysis

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one-green-frog · 2 days ago

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NO BBECAUSE I WAS WRITING A REQUEST AND MY PHONE WENT OFF SO I DIDN'T KNOW IF IT ARRIVED TO YOU, (it it arrived then I'll change the plot) anyways, I'll try and send it again, Jason todd x Male reader who's (you choose) best friend's , jason doesn't like the reader much, so he decides to know him better by coming like red hood in his apartment early in the morning, he pretty much interrogates the boy who's not taking it all seriously. They get closer, the family notices Jason being more friendly, maybe because of someon, and tease him to take over for dinner the special person. THANKS FOR EVERYTHING 😼

Here At Midnight

The first time Jason saw you, he was angry. And not the kind of annoyed angry either, no, he was angry angry. There was something about you that just didn't sit right with him. To him, you weren't the friendly, charming person everyone else was so eager to want to believe you were. Dick had brought you in as his friend, new instructor at the gymnastics center where he worked. "Great with kids," he'd said. "Same sense of humor, really easy to get along with. Just a really nice person."

But Jason wasn't convinced.

There was something… off. Something in your smile that made his stomach turn. It wasn't jealousy, per se. Jason knew that something was off, he had this feeling in his chest He just knew there was more to you than you let on.

So he did what any good brother would do: he started to stalk you.

It wasn't a great plan, Jason never really had great plans, to be truthful, but it was good enough. A bit over-the-top in hindsight, maybe, but reasonable by his measures. He figured he'd just drop by, check to see if you'd made an error, find something out. And so Red Hood paid you a visit one night. Your apartment complex was in the bad side of town, which, to Jason, was reason #48 to be suspicious. Breaking in was a cakewalk, the window was not even locked. Sloppy.

And this is how you caught him, fully dressed up, armed, and fuming, in your living room/kitchen combination like he owned this place.

You were startled, sure. But not scared. Just confused. In all honesty, you genuinely had no idea what you could have done to make Red Hood appear in your apartment. You didn't sell drug, hadn't recently murdered anyone, weren't embezzling from crime families (as far as you knew), and generally kept your head down. Maybe you were losing your mind, maybe it was a dream, or maybe Gotham was just Gotham-ing that day.

You'd woken up in the dead of night craving a snack, cereal, hot chocolate, you hadn't decided yet, only to walk into your kitchen and find one of Gotham's most feared vigilantes standing next to the kitchen table

You didn't scream. You didn't lose it. You just stared at him, grabbed a bowl, and started filling it with your cereal. Because what the heck else were you going to do?

Jason didn't know what to do with that. Really, to say that he was surprised that you did not cower in fear would be the understatement of the year. You stared him down, then just kept on going about your business as if this were a normal Tuesday. He figured maybe you were pretending trying to keep calm.

But still, it really infuriated him.

He tried to rattle you. He was standing there with the gun, delivered a monologue of how he would be watching you, how you better sleep with your eye open, how you were on his radar. Your response? Slow blink and chewing your soggy cereal.

"'It's just suspicious how someone living around here just becomes best buds one day with one of Gotham's richest guys," he'd said, as if reasoning his home invasion would make it any better.

Your stone expression "Type shit." put the nails in the coffin.

He left. Irritated. Confused. Angry. He reminded himself that you were playing games, pretending, lying to your real self. So he did what he said he would do: he watched you. Day and night. He watched your movements, your habits, your friends. He kept an eye on your flat from a distance, followed you when you came home from work, even broke into your flat a few more times when you were out.

He was looking for filth. Something illegal. Anything.

But you? You were boring. The most illegal thing he ever caught you doing was stealing a $20 bill on the street. And even he had had to admit he'd do the same.

Still, the drop-ins persisted. Midnight visits became standard. At first, they were filled with threats and and warnings. But over time, they changed. Jason spoke more, about his day, the idiots he had to deal with, the criminals he beat up, the whole circus Gotham still was. Somewhere between the late-night complaints and the bubbly hanging out on your kitchen countertop while you toasted bread, something shifted.

You didn't even have to try hard. You just… treated him like a human being. Not like a time bomb, not like Gotham's boogeyman, not even like Dick's angry brother. Just a guy. A guy who was often irritated, sometimes lonely, and always tired. You made him feel safe.

And soon enough, his family also noticed his behavior.

The change was subtle, but real. Jason, typically described as feral or angry, trigger-happy was calm Maybe not sunshine-and-rainbows, but less angry. Smiling. Speaking more. Hanging around at the Manor. Almost having a genuine conversation with Bruce. The others were stunned. This wasn't the Jason they knew. This Jason seemed as if he could breathe again.

So naturally, they just couldn't wait to taunt him the absolute shit out of it.

"You have a boyfriend? That's kinda gay, bro."

It was non-stop. No peace. Tim, Steph, and even Damian loved it. But there was real support behind the teasing though. They could tell the difference you made, and they wanted to meet the guy who made it. So they invited you over for dinner.

Jason was mortified at first. But he agreed for you.

You were a bit nervous, understandably. You were meeting your friend's brother, a infamous crime lord, the family was made up of detectives and vigilantes who could sniff out lies at a mile radius. Even if Jason said that he didn't particularly care for them, you saw it in his eyes that he still wanted their acknowledgement. He cared, even if he didn't admit it, and that made you want to try it. To be liked. To be accepted, even a little bit.

Dinner was... insane.

The shovel talk was really a just a death threat to your life by Damian (naturally). Bruce tried to talk to you but was repeatedly interrupted by his own children. Everyone talked over everyone. There were way too many in-jokes and arguments about the Batmobile. Chaos, plain and simple. But you stood your ground. And better yet, Jason looked at you like you hung the stars.

That night, on the way home, he vowed next time would be better. You didn't even care, because to you, it was perfect in its own imperfect way.

And when he came back to the Manor, saw his siblings' teasing smiles and Bruce's nodding, knowing approval, he knew he'd made the right choice.

He chose you. And for the first time in years, he felt like maybe, possibly, he might have something good.

I am so sorry this took so long😭😭😭 i hope you still enjoy it and thank you for requesting

#male reader #x male reader #dc x male reader #dc x reader #jason todd x male reader #jason todd x reader #fluff #gay #jason todd

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 2 days ago

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Hey its me, The Swayze Dean request anon. In the wise words of SpongeBob..."Mr.Kraaaabssss, I have an ideeaaaa"

Sam who's with someone who doesn't moan/make noise easily. Like he'd get desperate and wear himself out just to hear a whine- ya dig?

Helloooo again Swayze Anon (can I call you Swayze Anon?), thank you for coming back with another delicious ask after your lovely request that turned into The Swayze Method ! ❤️ I appreciate you thinking of both brothers, though. Bless. 🙏

Little spontaneous Sam fic below the cut!

The Highest Note - a mini Sam Winchester fic

CWs: 986 words. Sam's bruised ego. Just a touch of smut. Communication.

Sam Winchester likes to think he doesn't have much of an ego.

He's wrong, of course, but that's beside the point. He keeps it in check, somewhat. Doesn't flinch at low-brow insults. He's long gotten past wanting to be liked and is fine with being tolerated. He's not afraid to ask for help, at least not with some things, such as: "sorry, where do you keep the frozen burritos?" or, "you're right, officer, we were speeding, yes, he'll be careful from now on, have a great day."

But getting you to make certain noises when it's just the two of you? Well, it seems he met his match.

It gnaws at him, and that's what surprises him most. He knows sex is a duet, it's about forging a connection. And if you just happen to be quiet, that should be totally fine. But he's... well, Sam has a few tricks. Probably not the amount his brother has, but stuff that's tried and true. And he knows everyone's different, he knows that, he really does. But what does he have to do to get you to make that sound?

That high, voice-cracking moan. An involuntary whimper. Sam loves these noises in his partners. The knowledge that he's made them check out of their body, has given someone that floating feeling, that factory reset. It's sometimes better than the actual coming, though he's not about to verbalize that to anyone.

And he loves sex with you. The chemistry between you two is unreal. Your kisses are the sweetest he's ever felt. Your touches, God, they undo him. There's just something between you that's right. It's only this thing. He wishes he could just not care. But he does. He just does.

Like now. He's been between your legs for a good long while. He loves it there. The softness of your thighs, the way your adorable toes rub along his side, because you're eager to stay in touch. Your smell, your taste. And he knows what he's doing is working, because the way you twitch and tense he's pretty sure is real.

He looks up at you, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip pressed between teeth. Chest rising and falling as you suck in breath. But not a sound to be heard.

"Just let it out, baby," he says, softly stroking you through the aftershocks. But then your body goes slack, your lip released from its toothy prison, your head rolling to the side. You look beautiful like this, exhausted, elated, and Sam did that. Still, he finds himself suppressing a sigh. Then he crawls up your body, plops down next to you.

You roll towards him, arm going around him as you press your cheek against his chest, hum a little. Sam swallows, then wraps his arm around you too. Gently strokes your hair with his fingers.

"Did you," he asks, feeling insanely self-conscious immediately, embarrassed that he'd ask like this. "Did you like that?"

You turn your head a little, kiss his skin where you can reach it.

"I loved it," you say, voice low. "That was amazing, Sam." Sam chews on the corner of his lip. He shouldn't bring it up, right? The last thing in the world he wants is that you think you're doing something wrong. Just cause he needs his damn ego stroked.

"It's just," he says, taking a strand of your hair, running it between his fingers. "You don't really make, you know, a lot of, I mean, noises, I guess, so I'm just wondering."

Oh, that sounds so much worse than it did in his head. Why couldn't he just say it outright, simply ask, instead has to make it this little game where he pretends he's just casually inquiring.

He's sure he's fucked up, but then you raise your head, look at him and Sam needs to swallow, forces a smile on his face, which probably makes it all worse. You study him, in that unreadable way you have.

"Do you think," you say, voice neutral, but your hand is slowly running along his back, so maybe you're not mad? "Do you think that I don't like what you're doing because I don't scream and moan and, I don't know, holler?"

Sam can't help but huff at that last word.

"No, not at all, just..." he says, then stops. "It, it might have crossed my mind."

You blink up at him, then untangle your arm from him, making Sam's heart drop for a second, but it's only to bring up your hand and brush some of his hair away from his face.

"Sam," you say in that super reasonable tone Sam has come to love so much. "Have you ever considered that you make me feel so good that I just completely lose the function to make any noise?"

Sam opens his mouth, then closes it. Looks at you, trying to read your expression.

"Is that," he says, feeling a tickle of pride inside himself, "is that what it is?" You shrug.

"That," you reply, "and also I just don't make a lot of noises. Always been that way. It has nothing to do with you."

You don't say it unkindly, but Sam still feels dumb. He made this entirely about himself. But of course it's not. He clears his throat.

"I'm sorry," he says, feeling awkward. "I didn't want to make it a thing." To his surprise, you smile softly.

"You didn't," you say. "I mean, I can try being louder. I just can't guarantee, you know." Sam nods quickly.

"Of course," he says. He looks down at you. "Thank you."

You chuckle, and then you're pressing closer to him, your hand wandering from his face down his chest and lower.

"Now," you say as your fingers find him, begin drawing soft circles on him and Sam needs to close his eyes. "Let's see what noises you can make."

Thank you again for the lovely ask, this was so fun! ❤️

#sorry's asks #sorry's headcanons #sam winchester #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #headcanons #spn #supernatural

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astraljedi · 3 days ago

Text

I can't find a pulse My heart won't start anymore (Frank Castle Imagine)

Request: Did you watch DDBA season finale? I need a scene where reader arrives in the car with Karen after Matt and Frank jump from the apartment. Maybe since Matt calls shotgun, reader sits in the back with Frank and the last time they saw each other they hooked up

Pairing: Frank Castle x Female Reader

Warnings: Mention of blood, open wounds, cursing, smutty flashback scenes, this does not have a happy ending (sorry)

Word Count: 4.3K

Song: You're Losing Me by Taylor Swift

a/n: I started writing this and suddenly my direction for it change completely, oops. This is loosely based on DDBA Episode 9, but I ended up changing the ending (because this is fanfiction and I can).

- I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy And all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier Fighting in only your army Frontlines, don't you ignore me

Courtesy of the city-wide blackout, darkness swallows up my quiet apartment. I fumble through my storage closet, the weak flashlight from my phone barely illuminating anything as I try to find the battery-powered candles I know I stashed somewhere.

“Fuck this,” I groan, dropping to the cold floor with a thud, my back hitting the hallway wall. Just as I start contemplating whether I could survive the night in complete darkness, my phone vibrates. “Karen” flashes across the screen.

I bring the phone up to my ear. “Hi, gorgeous,” I answer.

“Are you home? I’m on my way to pick you up,” Karen says quickly. I hear her curse, followed by a sharp blast of her car horn. I wince and pull the phone away from my ear.

“Yea—”

“It’s urgent. I’m four minutes away,” she cuts in. “It’s Matt. He needs us.”

The second she says his name, I’m on my feet. I grab my things and dash out of the apartment, I place the call on speaker and use my flashlight to guide myself down the flight of stairs

“Two minutes,” Karen says through the call, keeping me posted.

“I’m outside,” Out of breath I step onto the chaotic street. Helicopters roar over the city, car horns blare from every direction. I hear people screaming, smashing car windows and I beg for Karen to pull up soon before the chaos reaches me.

Karen pulls up fast and hard, tires screeching seconds later and I sprint to the passenger side, barely managing to close the door before she slams her foot on the gas.

“Where is he?” I ask, panic clear in my voice.

“His apartment.”

“What? I thought he was in the hospital.” I glance at her, my gut twisting. The blackout’s only made the streets worse, but we’re not far.

“I’ll explain later.” Karen’s eyes are fixed on the road, but I can tell she’s hiding something. She’s fighting her hardest to keep her lips sealed, her brows furrowing together.

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t look at me like that,” she adds.

“Just spit it out, Karen.” I demand.

“It’s also Frank,” she sighs, not able to keep it in for long.

My stomach drops. I stare at her, not saying a word.

Frank.

I haven’t seen him since the night we were tangled in my bed sheets. Our never ending cycle fueling the tiny spark that was left.

I thought I’d finally tamed the spark, but Frank Castle doesn’t let you put out the flames. He is the fire. The oxygen. The thing that keeps it alive, even when he doesn't even try.

He will alway try to push me away but the flame always remains.

Frank is the man who picks up the broken pieces of my heart. He builds it up, structures the pieces perfectly for him to smash it back to pieces like a sandcastle he worked so hard on building. He always leaves, and I’m always the one left behind, stupidly clutching to his empty words and promises.

“What?” I whisper, leaning my head against the headrest, my chest already pounding. Just hearing his name sets everything inside me on fire.

Karen parts her lips like she wants to say more, but an explosion goes off—loud and nearby. I grab her free hand, our minds in sync.

Please let them be okay, I beg—whether to God or the universe, I don’t know.

We turn the corner and spot Matt and Frank in the street. Karen and I both sigh, out of relief at the sight of them. I exhale shakily as Karen and I step out of the car. I crunch down on shattered glass, our eyes rising to Matt’s apartment in flames.

“Get in,” Karen orders, her voice calm but I know the adrenaline is rushing through her body. Just like mine.

“Shotgun,” Matt mutters, wincing as he holds his side.

I walk up to Matt, letting him lean on me. I don’t acknowledge Frank at first, my eyes stay fixed on the floor while walking to the car. I guide Matt into the passenger seat, the blood from his injuries smudging my fingers. When I turn around, Frank’s already holding the back door open, waiting for me.

He doesn’t say anything, his lips tightly shut. I glance up at him and I regret instantly. His dark unreadable eyes tracking every move.

I slide in without a word, pressing myself against the opposite side of the car. He gets in after me, knees spread, taking up space like he always does. His knee brushes mine, and I pretend not to notice—even when Karen hits a pothole and the jolt makes our skin connect again. That same electricity sparks and settles beneath my skin.

The silence is loud. The chaos of the city seeps in through the windows—sirens, shouting, the distant rumble of helicopters.

I keep my gaze on the window, but I can feel his eyes still on me. I sit stiffly, forcing slow breaths through my nose, trying to calm the tremble in my hands. I place them gently on my thighs, hoping that they stop before I make a fool out of myself.

But my heart resists to calm down, each beat slamming relentlessly against my chest like it's about to jump out.

Frank’s safehouse is a mess—guns on the table, loose bullets in trays, knives stacked beside open boxes, and God knows how many other weapons scattered everywhere. The scent of him hits me the moment I step in—smoke and leather. A scent I’ve spent time scrubbing off me and my apartment.

Matt and Karen sit on the other side of the room, sitting on some foldable chairs while she focuses on cleaning the wound on Matt’s chest gently.

Across from them, Frank rips a suture kit open with his teeth and pulls the neck of his shirt to study the open wound.

“Let me help,” I say quietly, my voice softer than before—calmer, somehow. Maybe because I’m too exhausted to keep up with our game.

Or maybe because looking at him bloody and bruised—pulls all the fight out of me.

He doesn’t hesitate, he leans back on the chair and hands me the already-threaded needle. At this point in our relationship—if we can even call it that—he trusts me enough to stitch him up.

This is something I’ve done for years now, always looking after him. Countless late nights of him limping into my apartment bleeding. Only for me to panic and lecture him while guiding him to the couch.

“That’s it,” he says, watching me patch the torn-up skin on his hip. My eyes are wide, focused, like I’m trying to memorize how to breathe through it. “You’re a natural, sweetheart.”

His praise settles something wild in my chest. I try to breathe steady, but my hands are trembling.

When I finish the last stitch, I finally let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding. His hand moves to my face, fingers warm against my skin as he cups my cheek. His thumb brushes over my jaw, softly.

“Next time, you’re gonna be a pro,” he murmurs, then leans in and presses a kiss—gentle, lingering—on the corner of my mouth.

I chuckle, shaking my head like I’m not spiraling on the inside. “Don’t make it a habit.”

A sharp groan from Frank snaps me back. I press the cloth against his injury—harder than I need to but I don’t apologize.

Frank Castle can feel pain after all.

My eyes stay glued to the wound, watching the thread slip through the torn skin.

But I don’t look at him, I remind myself that this is still the man who left before dawn. No explanation with no goodbye. Too cowardly to call it off for once and for all for both our sakes.

From across the room, I hear Karen’s voice, low and comforting as she murmurs to Matt. The sound of the needle moving through Frank’s skin mixes with the buzz of a police radio filling the silence.

Then Matt’s voice cuts in. “You called Frank, huh?”

Karen hesitates. “I heard Poindexter escaped. Called Frank and hopped on a plane.”

“What about her?” Matt adds.

My hand stills for a second, eyes flicking toward them. They don’t notice, but Frank shifts beside me. He’s listening, too.

Karen mumbles something I can’t make out—but Frank hears it, his body stiffening from her answer.

I tie the final knot with more force than necessary and pull the last stitch tight. Frank winces, his hand shooting out to grab my arm on reflex. I hold the cloth to his skin one last time and then set the needle and thread down on the table. It’s his mess to clean up.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Frank says, voice low and rough.

Karen looks over. “Everything okay over there?”

Frank sighs. “Never been better.” He gets up, brushing past me—his knuckles graze my thigh longing for something he won’t let himself indulge in.

I bite the inside of my cheek hard, chewing my words down.

He moves to the small kitchen, grabs a pill bottle and crunches a few of them in his mouth. “Who wants a cup of coffee?”

“Got any oat milk?” Matt stands up, already half-dressed in his suit.

Frank chuckles and hands us a cup of black coffee—no milk, no sugar. Bitter and hot.

I take a sip and move to stand next to Karen.

“So… he went after Matt Murdock. Not Daredevil,” she says finally. “That’s bold. Even for Fisk.”

Matt hesitates. “Listen to me. Turns out it was a hit…” He swallows hard. “On Foggy.”

“Holy shit,” Karen and I say at the same time.

“Vanessa Fisk hired Poindexter to take him out.”

Karen’s already fighting tears. “Why?”

“I think there’s something in the motion he was about to file,” Matt explains, jaw clenched. “He was moving to dismiss the case,and Vanessa made sure he never got to it. I think maybe I missed something back then.”

I drain the rest of my coffee and set the empty cup on a cluttered spot on the counter. “Aren’t the files in storage?”

“That’s right,” Matt says. “Can you guys be my eyes?”

“Always,” Karen answers without hesitation.

They start gathering their things, barely saying another word. I do the same—sling my bag over my shoulder, but my feet won’t move.

I look at Frank at his little workstation, gathering his gear and loading bullets quietly.

“You coming, Frank?” Karen asks.

“Got shit to do,” he mutters, not looking up.

Matt tries to warn him—Fisk is coming, and it’s only a matter of time. But Frank doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t respond. Just keeps loading his gun.

Eventually, they give up. Karen grabs what’s left and heads for the door and Matt follows her.

But I stay, feet glued to the ground.

“Don’t do it, Frank,” I say. My voice is raspier than I expect.

He doesn’t look at me. “It’s not up for debate.”

The lump in my throat that I’ve been choking down all night finally rises.

“Just like how you left me that night?” I snap. “You fuck me, then disappear without a word—like I was just a little plaything for you to use and throw away.”

His dark and emotionless eyes finally lift to mine, studying me while the words weighed heavy on his tongue.

“Sweetheart,” he says, “I’m not the guy you created in your pretty little head.”

My lips part, in disbelief. His words tear through me—and suddenly I’m the one who needs stitching.

His words echo in my head and I laugh bitterly in disbelief while I walk towards the door. I throw it open and slam it behind me, the metal frame rattling loud and harsh.

I don’t even hear it.

“…Stay safe,” Frank mutters behind the door, shaking his head.

He had to do it, he had to break me.

My fist clench on my side and I see Matt and Karen standing at the end of the hallway. But neither of them dare say a word. Karen won’t meet my eyes, and Matt’s trying his hardest not to say something I’m not ready to hear.

And I try not to think about how Matt could probably hear my heart shatter the moment Frank said those words. I walk past them without looking back. Because if I look at them—if I let Karen’s pitying eyes find mine—I’ll break.

The storage unit is dark, only the light from the moon through the window and our flashlights hellp us look over the unit. I should be focused on combing through the files, looking for Foggy’s motion that has to be somewhere in these dusty boxes. But my mind keeps wandering—lingering somewhere else. To someone else.

His fingers slip downwards, getting coated by my juices instantly. “My poor thing, no one knows how to please you like I do.” “Frank,” I whimper, as his fingers circle my clit.

“You okay?”

Matt’s voice is low, careful—just barely louder than the rustling of paper and thuds of boxes being shifted around. Karen keeps her eyes fixed on a file, but I can tell she’s listening now too, her ears perk up. “Your heart is drumming hard again.”

I blink, and glance up at Matt. His head’s tilted slightly, something he does when he’s focusing on the sounds around him.

“Again?” I give up on the file in my hand and shove it back into the box. Some old tax thing. Not what we need.

“It spiked when you were fighting,” he says softly. “And also now.”

Karen looks over from her corner and raises an eyebrow. “God, that is really not fair,” she mutters under her breath.

I try to act normal, like he didn’t just read me to filth—but my hands betray me. A box slips through my grasp and slams on the floor.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“You heard his too?” Karen asks, pointing her flashlight to another box.

“Oh yeah,” Matt says calmly. I swallow hard and crouch down to gather the scattered files off the floor.

“I’m sure it was the adrenaline,” I offer, trying to sound collected. But my voice comes out higher and a little too defensive.

Matt backs down and doesn’t argue back. He just goes back to his box.

“Hey, this is it.” Karen strains a bit as she pulls out a heavy box from one of the shelves. “A year and a half ago.” The box thuds when she sets it down.

“Here, let me help,” I offer, grabbing the flashlight from her and holding it steady so she can see.

“Yes! Okay, here’s the motion Foggy filed,” she says, pulling out a thick manila file.

“Good work, Karen Page,” Matt praises, stepping closer.

Karen flips it open. “Foggy was going to argue that…” She trails off, eyes skimming the page. “Whoa.”

She keeps reading. “Due to the unique nature of the Red Hook Port Location, no crime was committed in New York state or even the United States of America. Therefore, the court has no jurisdiction to prosecute.”

“What?” Matt’s brows pinch.

“There’s a photocopy,” I say, reaching over to pull out the paper that’s halfway slipping from underneath. “Red Hook Charter, 1855. Holy crap. It’s a free port.”

“Exempt from the jurisdiction of the city,” Matt mutters. “and the country for that matter.”

“What would that have to do with the Fisks?” Karen asks, looking at Matt.

Matt exhales, slow and heavy. “Vanessa has used the port to store art for years now. I mean, if it’s a free port, she’s doing it without customs, without taxation, without fear of seizure.”

“She could launder money legally,” Karen says, stunned.

“Wow. That sneaky motherfucker,” I mutter under my breath.

Matt nods, voice low. “This is about the Fisks building their own city-state.”

Karen starts closing the files carefully. I reach for my bag, tossing it over my shoulder as I grab my flashlight.

“Let’s go see what they’re hiding,” Matt says, already halfway to the door.

When Karen drops me off, the street is calmer than last night from the havoc that broke out from the blackout. My neighbors and the local store owners are out sweeping debris, the air thick with tension from the mayor’s call for martial law.

I unlock my apartment, and the pale pink glow of sunrise pours through the windows like none of last night even happened. Like we didn’t just unravel the reason Foggy was targeted twelve hours ago.

I peel off my jacket, kick off my shoes, and head straight for the kitchen. I’m too tired to think, too wired to crash. I just need something in my stomach before my head crashes on my pillow for the rest of the day. Sleep feels like the only escape I’ve got, the only way to try and push Frank’s voice out of my head.

I reach up to grab a cereal box and a bowl, the perfect lazy breakfast. I open the fridge and grab the milk carton, but the second I shut the door, a voice startles me.

“Got some coffee, sweetheart?”

I spin around so fast the room tilts and the carton slips from my hand, crashing to the floor. The cold liquid flooding the tiles around my feet.

Frank is on the floor, bloody and horribly beaten.

He’s slumped against the wall, one hand pressed over his ribs, clearly in pain—but still somehow smirking through the mess of his split lip and bruised face like nothing.

“Frank,” I breathe, the mess forgotten as I drop to my knees beside him. My hands hover, desperate to help but terrified of hurting him more. “Why are you on the floor?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your couch,” he mutters.

A strangled laugh escapes me. “Now I have to get rid of this rug.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay. I got it for cheap at a thrift shop.” I shrug, I need a new rug anyways.

“No.” He shakes his head, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter. I start to stand, to look for the first aid kit, but he catches my wrist before I can move away.

“You’re not a plaything,” he says. “You’re more to me than what I can express.”

I freeze, but I don’t pull away from his grasp. “Can we not do this right now?” I swallow back a sob, looking away from him.

“I didn’t mean it. You know me.”

“Do I?” I say, raising my voice. “Because sometimes, for a second, I think maybe this is it. Maybe he’s finally giving me his all. And then you’re gone before I even realize what’s happening.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Come on,” I say, wrapping his arm over my shoulder, bracing myself under his weight. “Let’s get you up.”

He stumbles, groaning with every movement, but I manage to carry him to the bathroom. I push the door open with my shoulder and ease him down onto the wooden stool by the tub. My hands are trembling as I twist the faucet, waiting for the water to heat up—warm enough to soothe his muscles.

The silence in the room hangs heavy between us, but his eyes stay on me, tracking every step I take.

I kneel in front of him and grab the scissors. There’s no way I’m asking him to lift his arms, not with the state he’s in. I cut through his shirt carefully, revealing a mess of bruises and cuts that make my stomach twist.

“Jesus, Frank,” I murmur.

I reach for the first aid kit, my hands moving on quickly. I start with the dried blood on his chest, cleaning each wound slowly. He winces under my touch, but I try my best to be gentle and not cause him any more pain.

When I finish, I rise and step between his legs. I lift his chin, tilting his face toward the light. My fingers graze his swollen lip, his scraped cheekbones. His hands settle on my hips, holding on as I clean him up.

Once I’m done, I help him to his feet, bracing him again as I unbuckle his belt. My eyes flick up to his. “This okay?” I ask, and he nods.

I undress him carefully, and help him into the tub. He sinks into the water with a grunt, letting it pull the weight from his bones. His eyes fall closed as his back hits the cold wall, and I sit at the edge of the tub, dipping the sponge into the warm water before running it slowly over his shoulders.

The water clouds pink with leftover blood, and my hand moves to his chest—his heartbeat steady beneath my touch. The same place I used to lay my head. The same place that used to make me feel safe, but I don't know if that place is meant for me anymore.

I let my fingers linger, the sponge discarded to the side and forgotten. My hands move slower, softer, over the places I used to kiss him and never get tired of.

And just for a moment, I let myself feel it all. The weight of everything I’ve been carrying. The ache that never really goes away. The sharp sting of anger and heartbreak. And the love I try so hard for him to accept, to let me in all the way.

Tears slip down my cheeks. I try to hide it, keep my sniffles quiet, but he notices.

His eyes open, and his hand comes up to wipe my tears away. I lean into his touch, even though part of me wants to push it away.

“Talk to me,” he says.

“I didn’t think we would find ourselves like this again,” I admit.

“I thought you wouldn’t let me in,” he replies, his voice rough.

“That’s never been the problem. That’s why we keep ending up here, stuck in this cycle.” I pull away from his touch, but he grabs my hand before I can go far, squeezing it tightly. “I’m just tired of this, Frank.”

He doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.

“I don’t care about flowers or fancy dinners or anniversary gifts. That’s not what I want. I want mornings and nights with you. I want the little things—the moments when I’m trying to pick a fight with you because I’m being a brat and stubborn, and you diffuse the bomb with a kiss or a joke or by just… being the version you only let me see.”

His mouth tugs up in the corner, a soft and familiar smile.

“You love flowers,” he says, and it makes me laugh through the tears. “Don’t try to act like you don’t,” he adds with a low chuckle, wincing as it pulls on his ribs.

“I do,” I admit, then pause. “But I love—” The words catch in my throat, and I look away again. “I need to know you won’t leave. That you won’t shut me out. I need you to fight for me the way I keep fighting for you.”

I don’t wait for his reply. I stand up from the tub, my fingers slipping from his hand. I grab a towel and help him stand slowly, carefully, easing him out of the tub. I hand him the towel and step out of the bathroom, needing a little space—just a few seconds to breathe before the weight of everything drags me under again.

In my room, I pull the bedsheets down and place a change of clothes at the end of the bed. One of his old t-shirts, the soft one that somehow still smells like him, and the sweatpants I stole from him and refuse to give back.

When he walks in, towel slung low on his hips, my storm-filled eyes meet his. His gaze locked on me as he grabs the sweatpants and carefully slides them on. I step closer, press my hands gently to his chest, and push him to sit on the edge of the bed. I grab the t-shirt and help him pull it over his head, mindful of the fresh stitches on his shoulder.

Do something, babe. Say something. Lose something, babe, risk something. Choose something, babe, I got nothing

“Get some rest,” I murmur, helping him ease down into the mattress.

“Baby—” His hand catches my wrist before I can walk away. His grip is loose, but it stops me in my tracks. “I can try. But you have to be patient with me.”

I swallow hard, blinking up at the ceiling before I meet his eyes again. “I’ve been patient all this time, Frank,” I say quietly. “For years I’ve been the one picking up after us. Looking after you when you’re hurt—even when you hurt me first. I need you to do more than try”

“There’s things I have to work out and fix first,” he mutters.

“This is what I’m saying,” I breathe. “You always have something first. There’s always something before me.” I force the lump in my throat down, even though it burns.

He hesitates, but he lets my hand go.

“I’m never going to be your first choice, Frank. This was meant to fail and break from the beginning.”

My voice betrays me while I try to fight back the tears. I hate it—how it makes me sound like I’m begging. When I’m already done with trying and fighting for something that keeps bruising me.

Still, I pull the blanket over his chest, and I lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, maybe for the last time.

Then I turn and walk toward the door. “Good night, Frank.”

I can't find a pulseMy heart won't start anymore

#frank castle x reader #frank castle imagines #frank castle fanfic #frank castle x female #frank castle imagine #frank castle smut #frank castle fic #the punisher x reader #frank castle fanfiction #daredevil born again #ddba

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xruiiii-blog · 1 day ago

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Xruiiii! Hi! Does that Dewther sketch you posted earlier belong to one of your AU's? Tell us more about them (even if it doesn't I'd love to hear some Dewther thoughts from you) 👀

Gah I’m so embarrassed hehe ☺️💕 that wasn’t something serious I was drawing swissalps going to Coachella (???) and then I wanted to see dewther there as well lmao. They are always there to bring the drama and keep swissalps on their toes..

BUT but, all of my AUs have dewther! If I have time I actually want to draw out they designs in each and every one of them…They are my absolute favorites😖

Like I thought about in fantasy au Dew is a fire elf blacksmith. Aether is a human merchant who somehow knows everything and everyone…and surprisingly long lived to a point that ppl began to think that he’s eternal…they have a small business and travel around a lot. I didn’t find time to draw them yet!!!! I’m getting there 😖

The mafia au(I haven’t talked about this ever), Dew is a veteran and Aether used to be a war correspondent/reporter. They met way before the clergy. Them and Mountain used to work for Terzo however the old clergy is slowly dying. They were recruited by copia later to help him become papa. (Yes it’s a double-cross)

On the right is the doodle I made when me and @piepie-li were talking about how copia’s rats kidnapped papa Terzo and “asked” him to put the clergy under copia’s name.

And the office au is just pure comic relief (I LOVE). They are about the drama. Them and swissalps were basically a family so it’s also every soap opera vibes. With Dew who disagrees on swissalps’ marriage since day one and Aether thinks he’s basically their couple therapist like it’s his calling.. it’s a hot mess.

I still have so much thoughts about them I could go on and onnnn but I wish I can also present them to you visually!!! I’m very invested bc they are so different in personalities but similar dynamics as swissalps??? so I always pair them as comparison lol. Swiss is yet to learn the secret to a successful marriage…Aether is born ready for these kind of conversations…(you are a fool to trust a quintessence ghoul but i don’t think Swiss will ever catch that. )

#questions!#dewther

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v6quewrlds · 2 days ago

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what's joe's favorite way to aggravate his wifey?

it really doesn't take much to aggravate her. but here's a few things that he does intentionally just to irritate her:

inviting himself into her broody, me-time. when she's had a long day at work or had a rough time traveling, she tends to shut down and curl in on herself. not on joe's watch. he can and will sneak into the bathroom and just sit there on his phone and not say a word to her. irritates her because why is he in here???

asking her a question and not acknowledging the answer, especially over text. for example, if she deviates from her schedule and stops to grab a few things from the grocery store after work, and forgets to let him know. he'll text an "everything okay?" because he's too lazy to check her location.

she'll respond "yeah. at the grocery store, do you want me to pick up something?" and he just won't respond.

she forced him to turn on his read receipts so she knows he saw it. since all he wanted was confirmation she was okay, he doesn't feel the need to respond. lowkey looks forward to her creative ways of chewing him out when he does this.

the dad jokes. he never does them with anyone but her. he finds joy in seeing her roll her eyes and attempt to ignore him. on a similar note, inspired by brooklyn nine-nine, joe would constantly interject "title of your sex tape" when she's trying to have a serious conversation with him.

like: "ugh, i swear it was right here and now i can't find it." and joe immediately mumbles "title of your sex tape." from the other side of the room.

smacks her ass hard as fuck for zero reason. it gives him an excuse to rub it, but she hates it when he does this while she's minding her business and not even speaking to him. maybe even grabs it when he's zoning out in a conversation and she needs him to focus.

the fuck ass fanny pack.

#&. joe x doctor!reader: asks.#missed talking about them

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antianakin · 3 days ago

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I'm not sure Obi-Wan actually... knows? He's not in the room when Anakin gives them to her and she ignites them, so while I imagine Obi-Wan's aware that Anakin kept them and has been maintaining them and such, there's nothing to me that indicates that he knows what color they are now, and every interaction he has with Ahsoka afterwards is over a holo call and she doesn't have her lightsabers ignited during those.

The creepiness of it I think is mostly subtextual and comes from the audience's understanding of Anakin and the way he tends to view love as a possessive thing. His gestures can often SEEM very sincere and sweet at first glance, but with another look or two or three, you start noticing some weird undertones. TCW has quite a few scenes like this, mostly with Padme, and what's interesting is that they ARE different than the way they're done in the films. In the films, the creepiness factor is WAY higher in a lot of ways, and the balance is honestly kind-of off there, too, just in the opposite direction, and it's nearly impossible to understand why Padme would even LIKE him when he just comes off entirely as an overdramatic selfish creep. TCW keeps those scenes a LOT subtler and so the sweetness takes center stage and the creepiness only comes in if you go back a few times, maybe as an older person with the added perspective of age and experience, and pick up on the subtext and the ways in which the things Anakin says can SEEM sweet but really are disrespectful or possessive or both. He's using all the right words in the right tone of voice but it's the motive that's flawed.

The lightsaber color change is clearly intended to have Ahsoka's sabers match his own. If we go with the idea that the color itself doesn't really have any meaning to the Jedi and the word of God explanation that they are still her sabers and all Anakin did was like... shift it three degrees to the left to change the color, then there's nothing SUPER invasive or offensive about it. It's a little weird, one of those things you roll your eyes at a little because it's kinda like Anakin handed her matching PJs or matching Jedi robes or something because why NOT match? It's kinda stupid, it's a little cringe, but whatever, they're still her crystals and the lightsabers still work and the fact that Anakin's kept her lightsabers with him as well as continued to maintain them shows how much she meant to him and the hope he kept around that she would one day return. Even the color change is, in some ways, part of that gesture of hope that she'd one day want to come back.

The creepiness comes in when you realize it's more about him and how he feels than about Ahsoka at all. The creepiness comes from Anakin seeing Ahsoka as HIS. He wants a visible symbol that she is HIS Padawan, he wants to BIND her to him in a way everyone can see. She left him once, and he views that as a disappointment, a failure. And not even necessarily HIS failure, but Ahsoka's failure. That deleted scene where he talks to Obi-Wan makes it pretty apparent that, on some level, he's disappointed in what he perceives as Ahsoka's failure. Taking her lightsabers with him and changing the color to match his own is just another sign of how Anakin is upset that Ahsoka left HIM and how bad he is at letting anyone go and how possessive he is towards the people he claims to care about.

It actually makes sense to me that Ahsoka doesn't react to this as something creepy. She's never had to experience Anakin's possessive behavior before, she has no concept of just how much Anakin struggles with letting go and attachment and how fucked up he is by her choice to leave. She doesn't have the context through which to find the creepiness in this gesture. As far as Ahsoka is concerned, with what she knows of Anakin, this is just a big brother doing something a little cringey as a prank at worst. It's a little embarrassing perhaps, but it shows that he missed her. The creepiness SHOULD only really be visible to the audience at this point. YOU'RE the one who is supposed to be bringing the context of what you know of Anakin to this scene and recognizing all of the ways in which Anakin means this gesture, even the ones Ahsoka is incapable of seeing.

And in the same vein, that sweetness is equally as important to the scene to get across. The whole point behind Anakin is that he isn't some monster with no redeemable qualities to him. The whole point is that there was a lot of good in him and a lot of good intentions and real genuine care for people, and that all of it got twisted up by his fear and his pain and it consumed him step by step until he took that last leap over the cliff into the darkness completely. Before that, it's mostly meant to be simmering underneath the surface. But if there isn't a good person in there that you can see and recognize, then his choice to come BACK in ROTJ has a lot less impact.

Obviously the issue here is that the scene leading into this one is Jedi critical as all get out, we know Filoni has a massive boner for Anakin as the "greatest Jedi of all time" and the ways that impacts Ahsoka's own greatness, and that the balance between Anakin's goodness and his darkness is probably the narrative that is the weakest across the films and TCW. TCW does it a little better but only because they turned Anakin into Obi-Wan with slightly more anger issues and so he feels a little more likable most of the time, but he's also not... Anakin anymore in some ways, which is a whole different conversation. But it can be hard to view this moment without some of those other pieces of context, and so it can feel like the creepiness that Filoni claims is intended to be there is intentionally being overshadowed by the sweetness because of Filoni's personal bias.

We are also seeing this particular moment THROUGH AHSOKA'S EYES, she is very much the point of view character in this scene, and so it makes sense that SHE sees it as an embarrassing but sweet gesture, even if WE know that there's some darker shit behind it. Because that's the whole emotional core of the rest of this arc. WE know that Anakin is four days away from committing a genocide. WE know that as Ahsoka is taking out Maul, Anakin is falling more and more into darkness. WE know exactly what Ahsoka hears in her vision even when she doesn't. WE know exactly how Anakin abandoned her to die as we watch her fight her way through her own men. Ahsoka barely understands what's happening and has no idea of Anakin's involvement in it and the betrayal that just happened, BUT WE DO, and that's literally the entire driving force behind WHY it's emotional in many ways. It's why that last image of Darth Vader going to that planet and finding her lightsaber is meaningful at all. He knows he betrayed her, he knows he abandoned her to die, he knows that whatever happened here is his fault, and he has to live with that knowledge. Ahsoka gets to wander off in ignorance, but Anakin never does.

Ahsoka's ignorance is the tragedy, and that tragedy begins right here, with these damn lightsabers and their new color.

So there's ways I think this scene works, I do think that having it land both sweet and creepy is pretty par for the course for how a lot of Anakin's scenes go (especially with the big three: Padme, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka) and that the creepiness IS meant to come more from your own knowledge while the sweetness comes from Ahsoka's limited knowledge, but Filoni's personal biases that we all know about and are bringing to this scene as well make it feel like that sweetness is perhaps getting overemphasized and so the creepiness factor isn't coming across the way he thought it would.

Anakin changing the color of Ahsoka's lightsabers is such a weird writing choice to make because it honestly makes zero sense with everything we've been shown or told up until then about how lightsabers work.

In the Gathering arc, we see all of the kids pick up what appear to be pretty similarly colored white crystals, but they don't all end up with the same color lightsaber. We hear them discuss the importance of choosing the design of the hilt to suit them, but never once hear them discuss any importance to choosing the COLOR of the saber. There's never any indication that the Jedi can choose the color of their saber, it's effectively chosen for them when they're led to a crystal to begin with.

The only other times we know someone can change the color of a crystal is bleeding and purifying which requires a lot of effort and appears to result only in red or white blades.

So for Anakin to have changed the color of Ahsoka's sabers from green/yellow to blue, either we need to completely discount that worldbuilding and assume that the hilt provides the color somehow and can be engineered differently, or Anakin somehow found two new crystals that he was able to confirm were blue and replaced her crystals with the new ones.

The option was there to just have Anakin have adjusted the design of hilt if they wanted to have Anakin do something to her lightsabers that was invasively sweet in a typically Anakin sort of way, to make them match his and Obi-Wan's more or something. Or if they wanted it to be genuinely sweet, he could've just given her back the sabers normally. And instead, they just... threw out everything we ever knew about the lightsabers just to give Ahsoka sabers that they were going to have her throw away in 3 episodes anyway and never get back. I don't really see the point of it when the lightsabers have no emotional impact upon anything.

#anakin #ahsoka #filoni critical #dave filoni critical #tcw

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phantom-of-the-501st · 3 days ago

Text

What happened to Echo between the Citadel and his rescue from Skako?

I started randomly thinking about this and it got stuck in my brain so now we're yapping about it.

The thing is, the initial assumption when watching the Bad Batch arc is that Echo has been kept in a stasis chamber with cables stuck in his head for a year(ish). But that doesn't actually make much sense when you think about it and because of that I don't think that that was the initial plan. So here's a vague outline of what I think was going on with Echo between S3 and S7.

Echo would have been found by the Separatists, and the fact that he was alive would have been of great interest to them because it means they could have a clone in their possession that they could try and use. Now the first few days/months (depending on the quality of healthcare) would have been spent waiting for Echo to recover enough. Following that, the Separatists would have likely tortured Echo in an attempt to get information out of him because, lets be honest, spending a load of money to extract information from his brain by hooking him up to a machine would not be the logical first step. That's the "oh fuck nothing is working" stage of planning.

And the thing is, whatever torture methods they likely put Echo through didn't do a whole lot because otherwise they would have been using the information they got from him a hell of a lot sooner. Echo probably spent who knows how long being tortured (and we've seen Andor. We know the shit the Empire does) and gave them nothing. Give that man some credit because wtf.

And then what? They have a clone (more specifically and ARC trooper) in their possession and they aren't going to let that opportunity go to waste so easily, so they devise a new plan. If they can't get anything out of him, then how else can they use him?

It's this bit that I think explains why Echo has so many prosthetics for a man being held in a container for months on end. If you have a prisoner you don't want escaping, why give him legs? That seems counterintuitive. And why give him a scomp? Honestly, I don't think the Separatists initially handed him over to the Techno Union for information extraction. I think they wanted to brainwash Echo into something that they could control, to turn him into a droid.

Look at the CX troopers. The Empire has taken clones to convert them into brainwashed agents and I wouldn't be surprised if Echo ended up being a test run for that. The fact that he has prosthetic limbs suggests that gave him to the TU with the promise of payment if they could turn him into something they could use. Who better to help fight against the GAR than someone who was trained by them and knows their fighting style?

However, that plan clearly didn't pan out either because when Rex and the Batch find him, he's hooked up to machines in a stasis chamber. What I think happened is that after weeks/months of Plan B not working out, the Separatists threatened to withhold payment from the TU unless they actually gave them something useful. And with nothing else working, I think the TU went to the only option they could really think of: to wire Echo into a machine and forcibly remove the information.

It explains the prosthetic limbs and it explains why it took so long for anyone to notice that the Separatists had Echo's strategies. I think they tried other things with him, and when that failed, went for the only option they had that actually worked.

Now that does raise the question of why Echo thinks he's still at the Citadel when they initially remove him. If he's spent several months conscious and being tortured/experimented on before being plugged in, then why does he not know that time has passed?

I think the answer is simply that he's disoriented. It probably took a second for his brain to catch up with where he was following the data extraction. And honestly, that would explain why Echo doesn't seem to be confused at any point following that when it comes to what period of time it is. There's no "wtf do you mean it's been a year?" moment, he just kind of falls back into things. I think it just took a couple of minutes for him to reorient himself before he was aware of where he was and what was happening. And to be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if there're periods of time that have been blocked from his memory as a trauma response. That would also explain why he only ever talks about Skako specifically and nothing else.

So yeah, that's my ramble on what I think happened to Echo. I truly don't think that the stasis chamber was the initial plan. It seems like a last resort following failed attempts at other things. Either way, I just wanna give Echo a hug because he's been through a lot. :')

Tagging soon Echo-loving moots in case they want to read this :D

@saturn-sends-hugs @the-bi-space-ace @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius

#if you haven't noticed #I may be falling back into the tbb rabbit hole again #it hasn't quite happened yet #but I'm getting the urge to rewatch it #and if I do you can almost guarantee that it's going to be echo rambles for days :D #the bad batch #echo #tbb echo #arc trooper echo #ct 1409 #star wars

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