#so maybe straight people do this too sometimes

[jherbogf]

2 you

summary y/n has been in a complicated relationship with joe burrow for months. as he grows more distant and conflicted, she’s forced to confront her feelings and the uncertainty of their connection.

pairing joe burrow x fem!reader

words around 6.7k

inspired by 2 you, mariah the scientist

you had always been a woman of focus. your days were a blur of work. late nights and early mornings. it wasn’t glamorous, but you loved it. having your own money, your own freedom.

you could say one of your favorite things to do was going out with your girlfriends. sometimes, in the highest cincinnati spots. spots those who obviously were packed with players from the city’s most famous team: the cincinnati bengals.

in one of those night outs, your eyes crossed icy blue ones, which naturally, made your world turn differently.

joe burrow had that effect on people—his eyes, calm yet intense, always made her second guess her emotions. he wasn’t the kind of guy who wore his feelings on his sleeve. his smile, reserved for those who really knew him, often made her feel like she was still trying to figure him out. and for a while, you didn’t mind.

but over time, something shifted.

you first saw it after the bengals’ rough stretch of games. they were struggling—0-4 at the start of the season. and it weighed heavily on joe. at first, you made excuses for him. “he’s under a lot of pressure” you told yourself. “he’s focused on the game”. but as the weeks went on, it wasn’t just the stress of the game; it was something else. he started becoming more distant, not in the physical sense, but emotionally.

you noticed it during one of your quiet dinners. you had tried to start a conversation, something that used to come so naturally. but now, his answers were short, distracted, as if his mind was somewhere else. “maybe he’s tired”, so you thought.

you noticed the tension grew in small moments, too. the texts that went unanswered for hours. the way he avoided eye contact when you asked about his day. you didn’t push him for answers, but you also couldn’t ignore it. and still, you told yourself: “it’s just the season, he’s got a lot on his plate. he’ll come around”.

but it wasn’t just the season. and you knew it, deep down.

one evening, after another loss, you waited for joe at his place, like you constantly did.

the door opened, and he didn’t even look at you. he simply passed by, heading straight to the couch, still in his post-game conference clothes. you stood there for a moment, feeling the weight of the distance between you, the invisible wall that had been built over the past few weeks.

“how are you?” you asked. trying to be as careful as possible.

he didn’t answer at first, eyes glued to the TV as highlights from the game played. so you tried again, desperate for some closure. “joe?”

he looked up at you then. gaze distant, as though he wasn’t really seeing you. like you weren’t even there. “i’m fine,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “i just want to forget about it.”

you couldn’t stop herself. you desperate for closure, for something. “this season’s been pretty tough. i’m sorry”.

“yeah,” he replied, tone flat. he glanced at you, for a split second. barely acknowledging you. barely acknowledging your countless tries to get him to just talk to you.

you understood him. how could you not? but it was like he didn’t see you. didn’t see you trying to just help.

it stung, more than you cared to admit. you had been there for him through the losses, his recovery, the endless scrutiny. but now, you felt like you were being shut out.

you wondered if this what it always felt like, doubting your own self. you had to ask yourself whether you were being too much. if you were clinging to him, forcing something when he just wanted to be alone. but, were you? it for sure didn’t feel like you were. you couldn’t help but feel like you were always the one trying to break through, but he never let you in.

so, later that night, after the game was over and the house was silent, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. the uncertainty was eating away at you. “what is happening? you thought. joe had pulled back in a way that made you feel like you were chasing after something you could never quite reach.

and a few days later, as if on cue, it happened again.

you were sitting close to the sidelines at the bengals’ practice, waiting for joe to finish up. the tension in the air was thick—joe wasn’t just focused on the game, but on something else. as the team broke up, you waited for him in the same place, alongside mike gesicki’s and trey hendrickson’s wives, trying to catch his attention. he glanced at you, going back into the facility, probably to get washed up.

but you weren’t focusing on what he’d go after he went back there. you were focusing on how he he didn’t smile. didn’t forge any reaction at you. just one glance. and you could feel your heart slowly cracking, day by day.

you let it go, trying to enjoy the girls’ company until the players were out again. it worked, for about the 45 minutes time in between being happy, talking to them, and then feeling ashamed and like you didn’t belong in joe’s side, approaching his car in the parking lot.

“how’s the wrist?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but still with an edge of concern in your voice.

he shrugged, serious, emotionless. “it’s fine. just sore. nothing I can’t handle.”

“three empty phrases.” you thought. it was the same answer he’d given you every time, and every time it hurt more. he was shutting you out—shutting you out, just like he had done with everything else in his life. so you sighed, helpless and tired.

“i don’t know what’s going on with you,” you said, voice a little sharper than you had intended, moved by her feelings. “but i’ve been trying to be here for you, joe. don’t you get that?”— his eyes snapped to yours, hard and unyielding. it was the most emotion he had given you in months.

“i don’t need you to ‘be here for me,’ y/n,” he replied, his tone cutting. “i’m not your charity case. you’ve got your life. i’ve got mine. that’s it. don’t mix it up.”

you froze. the words stung like a slap. you felt the air leave your lungs. you didn’t know what was worse—the fact that he was pushing you away, or that he didn’t see how much you cared. you took a step back, heart pounding.

“maybe I’ve been too much,” you said, more to yourself than him. your voice trembled, but you didn’t let him see the hurt. you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. “maybe I’ve asked for too much. but don’t you dare act like I’m not trying.” you told him, firmer.

joe didn’t respond. his face softened for a moment, but the distance between you only grew.

you knew that you were at a breaking point.

you had tried for so long to make things work, to be there for him, but it wasn’t enough. not when he couldn’t open up, not when he kept you at arm’s length. and you knew.

it didn’t surprise you that a few days later, after another devastating loss, joe was quiet. you sat beside him on the couch, your heart heavy with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid.

you needed to talk. you couldn’t just keep pretending.

“joe, we need to talk,” you said, voice gentle but firm. you were rightly putting yourself first this time. listening to yourself.

he didn’t even look at you. “i don’t feel like talking right now,” he muttered.

and your heart sank. “it’s always like this”, you thought. you had always been the one to initiate, the one to ask the hard questions. But he never answered. he never listened. he never gave you the time. he never even asked.

“you can’t just keep shutting me out,” you said, either way. “i’m not asking for much. but I need more than this. I need more than your silence. I need more than pretending everything’s fine.”

you knew. you knew you deserved more. you knew.

joe’s eyes finally met yours then, and there was something… cold in them. “you’re too much, y/n. always asking questions, always demanding more. I don’t have time for this. I don’t need someone breathing down my neck all the time.”

you couldn’t react. you were looking at the ground, blinking, eyes wide, mouth shut. it hit you like a tidal wave. you could hear your heart clinking. but it didn’t break like you thought you would. it was like someone had hit their nail on it, just to hear if it would make a sound.

you sat there for a moment, stunned. thinking, remembering all the times he shut you out. all the times he told you he didn’t need her concern. all the times he didn’t give even an ounce of the love you gave him back to you.

so you stood up. and you walked away. you weren’t sure what you were doing anymore, but you knew one thing for certain—you couldn’t keep being the one who tried to fix what was broken. you couldn’t be the one covered in dirt, couldn’t be the one whose heart clenched when a kid cudi song played.

you weren’t sure where things had gone wrong, but you knew you couldn’t keep pouring yourself into a relationship that drained you. the grief she felt, after her shock passed, wasn’t for joe and “what could’ve been”, but for herself. who almost lost her spark. who almost lost her own self, trying to fix him.

he was lost. he was unfocused. you were sure he hoped you wouldn’t notice, but you did. after all those times, you did. so you layed it in a grave. and you left.

left his apartment, physically, but his mess, emotionally. you didn’t know if he had called you, cause you weren’t really listening.

and as you drove away, you didn’t look back. focusing only on what was in front of you, reserved for you. not him.

[inkedinshadows]

Helloooo hope you’re doing well 💝💗

I was wondering if you can write for azriel ( from the prompt list) 2 and 4? I think it would be such a cute idea, and you would write it so well (love u)

thanks for ur time!! 💝💝

Life's Bright Side

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

A/N: I love u too anon, I'm doing well and I hope you are too 🫶🏻 I had so much fun writing this one and it didn't even take me that long bc one thing about me is that I'm a sucker for slice of life 🤭

Prompts: "Baby, I love you, but please go to bed."* + "You're always so cheerful... it's kind of adorable."

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word count: 1.1k

*had to change it to "go to sleep", hope you don't mind <3

Azriel had never understood how you did it.

Your day had been a long one. He hated the Court of Nightmares, but more than that, he loathed seeing you in such a place. His bubbly, chirpy mate didn't belong among those cruel, scheming people.

Yet you never let the occasional visits bother you. While he returned from the Hewn City brooding and in a foul mood, you were the opposite.

He watched as you danced through the room, the dim light catching on the sparkly black dress you were still wearing. You were softly humming a melody to yourself, a simple tune you had picked up yesterday while strolling along the Sidra with him.

A small smile tugged at Azriel’s lips. Even without trying, you always managed to lift his spirits. His shadows were already swaying in time with your song.

He remained silent as he undressed, listening as your humming turned into quiet singing—whispered words he couldn't quite make out, but he was fairly sure you were making them up as you went.

When he looked back up after pulling on his sleeping clothes, your dress had been exchanged for a nightgown and you were perched at the vanity table to remove your makeup. One leg crossed over the other, your foot bounced in time with your tune.

“How do you do that?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

Your eyes met his in the mirror, a small smile forming as you wiped the cotton pad over one eye. “Do what?”

Azriel shrugged, stepping up behind you just as you stood. He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on the top of your head.

“You’re always so cheerful,” he murmured, meeting your gaze in the mirror again. His lips quirked. “It’s kind of adorable.”

You chuckled before turning in his arms. “Life's too short to be grumpy and pessimistic.” Pressing a kiss to his lips, you added, “You should try it sometimes, my love.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He leaned down to stop your teasing with another kiss, but you slipped out of his grasp and padded toward the bathroom.

“Baby, you're immortal,” he pointed out, following you to lean against the doorframe while you washed your face. “How is life too short?”

“Well, it's not,” you conceded, turning off the faucet. Azriel waited patiently as you dried your face before you continued. “But maybe tomorrow a vase will fall from a balcony while I'm walking underneath it, hit me in the head, and kill me instantly.”

Azriel raised a brow.

“What?” you said with a smile. “You never know. Just because it's unlikely doesn't mean it's impossible.”

He shook his head, but he couldn't stop the slow smile forming on his face. “I'm beginning to think you're crazy. Not cheerful, just straight-up crazy.”

“And it took you this long to figure that out?” You grinned, patting his arm as you tried to slip past him.

Tried, because Azriel caught you before you could, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against him. A sound that was both a laugh and a yelp escaped you as he lifted you without warning.

“Listen,” you tried to defend yourself, though it was hard to speak between fits of laughter. “All I'm saying is that everything has a bright side. We just have to look for it.”

Azriel carried you to the bed, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. Gently, he lowered you onto the mattress and leaned over you.

“Oh yeah?” he mused. “So what's the bright side of a vase falling on your head?”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “It made you laugh,” you said simply. “You picked me up and carried me to bed. And now you're on top of me. It’s my favorite position, I'll remind you.”

Azriel’s low chuckle skittered along your skin. “This is not your favorite position, my love.”

You grinned. “You know me so well.”

With a shake of his head, he shifted off you and lay beside you, pulling the blankets over you both as you reached to turn off the lights.

In the dark, you nestled close to him. Your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped snugly around you, and you reached down to intertwine your fingers with his. Your thumb traced slow, idle circles over the back of his hand.

“Did it work though?” you whispered into the quiet. “Did I get your mind off the Hewn City?”

Azriel breathed in the delicate scent of your shampoo as he brushed a kiss to your shoulder. “You did. Thank you, my love.”

“I could always give you something else to think about if you need it,” you suggested.

He didn't, actually. But something in your tone—the slight note of amusement, perhaps—made him question what you were up to.

“Is it going to be another one of your ridiculous questions?”

He could picture your smile as you replied, “Maybe. Do you want to hear it?”

Azriel took a deep breath, knowing he would regret it but still curious to find out what you'd come up with this time. “Let's hear it.”

You didn't answer right away. He felt you squirm slightly in his arms and realized you were trying to stifle your giggles. When you finally settled enough to speak, your voice was so pensive that Azriel braced himself.

“If you wake up tomorrow,” you began, “and find out I've been turned into a giant spider, what would you do?”

Azriel sighed. This was his fault, after all. He had encouraged you.

“That's even worse than the last one,” he muttered.

“You said I would make a lovely worm.” You hummed. “But what about a huge spider? Or wait, even better, a Middengard Wyrm?”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer. “Baby, I love you, but please go to sleep,” he murmured, though his lips betrayed him with a faint smile.

Your soft laugh echoed in the silence. “Alright, alright,” you conceded. Azriel thought that was it, until you added, “The question is trickier and you need to think about it. I get it. You can tell me the answer in the morning.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, but his smile was now impossible to hide. You felt it against your skin as he kissed the nape of your neck.

If entertaining your nonsense questions before falling asleep was the price he had to pay to be with you, then he'd gladly endure them again and again just to spend another night by your side.

It was just like you'd said. Everything had a bright side if only he looked for it.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 5

Chapters 5 and 6 are done! Yippy! Chapter 7 is going to be a slice-of-life type of thing because I don't want to time skip straight to the bats finding out quite yet. Also, did y'all know that Gothamite also means an inhabitant of NYC? Whenever you see me use that just know I mean an inhabitant of Gotham City.

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 5 >>next

NYC was hell on earth and that’s coming from a Gothamite.

Sure- did a rogue attack 3 times a week, maybe more, in Gotham? Yes. But NYC felt lawless and without rhyme or reason. Every day something was happening, every day a building went down if it wasn’t a whole street, every day a hero would almost run you over while you were just trying to chill in the air.

At least on the third Tuesday of every month, there would be no robberies in Gotham, at least if something happened to the city and Batman wasn’t around the rogues would keep the people safe. Here it seemed to be everyone for themselves, and the rent was heinous for the type of bullshit that went down, in Gotham it was pennies compared to NYC. The constant feeling of being watched didn’t help either it irked at the back of your head every time, only stopping in the safety of your home.

The shadows stopped talking to you as well, you could barely hear them anymore, your theory being that NYC was simply too bright compared to G. City. Visiting Midnight City helped keep you connected to them, it felt somewhat like Gotham. But Darkwing felt too much like Batman, making you paranoid, so you never truly lingered for long. You missed them. Missed the rogues, the garden, the kids, the manor. The house really grew on you.

But you liked it. You liked the chaos, the myriads of heroes, the aliens that kept trying to conquer the world, and you enjoyed how the heroes knew that sometimes the best course of action was to kill the threat.

You were still bitter about how Joker took Jason from you, about how Mr. Wayne hid that from you, so seeing Omni-Man, War Woman, Immortal and so many more deal with clearly deadly threats as they should be dealt with felt nice. They would never let Joker live, the clown wouldn’t have millions of kills, and he wouldn’t have gotten Barbara and Jason.

Of course, you’ve heard rumors that while Batman doesn’t go out of his way to kill, he lets others do the dirty work, everyone in Gotham has. You’ve seen Lois Lane cover some of the bigger, worldwide alien attacks that the Justice League helped with. Batman didn’t seem to have a problem with killing or seriously injuring them. He was either a hypocrite or afraid to lose it once he did kill a human, either way, both were bad options.

So, you put up with it, found yourself a studio apartment owned by an old woman, overlooking the fact that the whole building may have been owned by a gang, and kept on doing your online schooling. Kept on making art, donating to charities and shelters, found yourself a nice job pet sitting, and even did some volunteering at local shelters when they needed an extra hand.

You got better at flying, getting so fast you could go around the globe in 5 minutes. It was fun visiting the places you heard Bruce talk about to the others, Algeria, Argentina, Australia, Austria, Bangladesh, Belgium, Brazil, and China. You were planning on visiting every city in every country with this newfound freedom. It was fun, and Bruce didn’t even notice as you used more and more of your allowance.

Sadly, your moments of peace and happiness always seemed to last for a short while. You were happy with just flying, it opened opportunities you didn’t even think were possible, but you’ve never seen a meta whose ability was only flying, not if they didn’t have wings, and maybe paranoia settled in.

Were you just dreaming? Was this just a really long dream? Were you dead? Would you go off the rocket when or if other powers showed up? What will you do when they do show up? You wanted to be an artist, to paint until your heart gave away. But if people needed help you wouldn’t be able to stay on the sidelines knowing you’re more than capable of lending a hand.

You knew you already had some strength power active- you wouldn’t be able to fly that fast without your skin peeling right off. Maybe it just made your skin stronger? Well, that’s how you ended up in a forest, or deep in a park- you weren’t sure, you flew without thinking, your thoughts and theories eating at you until you had to act.

The tree in front of you had an average-sized trunk, maybe on the smaller side compared to the others around you. You’ve been staring at it for a bit, debating if this really was something you wanted to see if you could do. “Ignorance is bliss” flew through your mind, but the full sayings of these quotes always rang at the back of your head. “Where ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to be wise”.

Your fist met the trunk with a small thud, you didn’t feel any pain, nothing was happening, so you bit your lip, closed your eyes tight, and punched the trunk harder. You heard the wood splinter before you saw it, your eyes flying wide open at the sound. The trunk had a dent in the shape of your fist, not quite all the way through. You still felt nothing.

Maybe you shouldn’t have tested out your strength this much, Ivy would have been quite mad at you for destroying so many trees, each one thicker than the last, but you were simply curious and made sure to clean up after yourself. It was weird. If you hit fast enough your arm could go right through quite cleanly, but there was no pain, none at all… Is this how Superman felt?

In your excitement, you didn’t even notice the figure above you, watching your every move or the flying orb camera doing the same. And while the figure kept watching you grow in your powers for a year, watched you help around in small ways, mostly clean up and small muggings, the orb stopped after a few months.

It took a while for you to be able to lift as much as you could now, for the first half of your newfound power you had to break stuff like big rubble down before you could lift them, you still found it amusing how Red Flash stayed quiet about you, but how could he not when you shushed him the first time he tried to tell the others. The man wasn’t about to fuck with Cecil’s worker, even though he might have said a word or two to the old man’s face about child labor.

Despite all that you truly felt happy, fulfilled even. You were doing art, helping people, and despite still working on having friends during the day part, you were glad you left. You were on cloud nine, well, literally more than figuratively. You were flying above the clouds, basking in the sun. Nothing could cloud your life anymore.

…Where did the sun go? Your eyes opened, blissful expression turning into a frown as your eyes caught a dark figure flying just a few paces over you, its eyes glowing, a wide grin showing a full set of teeth, cape billowing behind it.

What. The. Fuck.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion

hope I didn't forget anyone 😬

[lvnleah]

Would love a AWFC!Teen reader fic where she's Leah's younger sister who has always had to deal with being with Leah's sister, so many expectations on her and people being her friends because of Leah (Leah is still very much an amazing sister, loves her baby sister to bits!)

So when she's around ten ish, she makes the choice to not let anyone know Leah is her sister, goes to games but doesn't sit in the family section and sits with friends who she's never told about her family, maybe even uses her mum's maiden name rather than Williamson etc.

Leah is undoubtedly a bit upset about it because she doesn't want to make her little ones passion dampen just by being her (I hc that Leah would very much see R as her baby because that's what she called her when she was born or something) but her and their family all accept it and do what R wants and needs

Cut to R being brought into the senior time, smashing it in the big leagues and getting along well with all of the senior players who are looking at her like 'she seems familiar and I don't know why...' only to find out she's Leah's little sister when she's injured on the pitch or Leah gets injured and she gets all panicked and doesn't want to leave her side

Cue Beth, Katie, Kim etc. Who have all been there for years like 'Holy shit, you've grown up!!!!' Because they probably would've known her when she was younger since they've known Leah that long

Long winded but hopefully you'll like the idea 😂😂

the other williamson | leah williamson.

thank you for this request! :)

this is one of my favourite fics I’ve written!

You had always been proud to be Leah’s sister, how could you not be? She was England’s captain after all and an Arsenal star but sometimes being nine years younger than Leah came with its struggles. 

You were only seven when Leah first broke into the senior team and you were so proud of your sisters that for a while it’s all you talked about. Everyone at school knew about your cool big sister Leah and how she was playing for Arsenal. 

At that time, women’s football wasn’t massive so of course you got a bit of stick from a few boys in your class but it wasn’t anything you could handle. 

“Arsenal women?” One of them scoffed one day in the playground, “that isn’t a proper team!”

You looked the boy straight in the eye. “They are a proper team! My sister’s going to be the best player in the world, just you watch!”

The boy had rolled his eyes and laughed, but you didn’t care. You’d march off, determined to prove him wrong. Well, Leah would prove him wrong, and you’d be there cheering her on every step of the way.

For a while, being Leah’s sister was the coolest thing in the world. You loved going to games, sitting with your family, wearing a little Arsenal jersey with Williamson on the back. 

Leah always made time for you, even when her schedule got busy. She’d let you run around on the pitch after matches, ruffle your hair, and call you “my little bubba,” no matter how much you protested.

But as you got older, things changed.

By the time you were fifteen, Leah was a household name. Women’s football had grown massively, and she was basically the face of it after winning the euros. People started treating you differently, not because of who you were, but because of who your sister was.

At school, kids who’d never spoken to you before suddenly wanted to be your friend. “Can you get me an autograph from Leah?” they’d ask, or, “Do you think she’d come to my party?” Teachers started expecting more from you, too, as if being Leah Williamson’s sister meant you had to be perfect at everything.

At the academy, it was worse. You had been lucky enough to sign for the Arsenal academy when you were twelve but after the euros things changed. Every time you stepped onto the pitch, you could feel the weight of their eyes on you.

Coaches would compare you to Leah, even though you were nothing like her as a player. You didn’t even play in the same position, you were a striker not a defender. Teammates would make comments, sometimes kind, sometimes not.

“She’s only on the team because her sister’s Leah Williamson,” someone whispered once after you scored. “She’s not even good enough for the academy.”

It stung more than you cared to admit.

That was when you made your decision. You didn’t want to be known as Leah’s sister anymore. You wanted to be you. That night after training, you came home and broke down in tears to your mum. 

“Bubba, what’s wrong?” Amanda asked you as you stormed into the house, flinging your bag down onto the ground. 

You sat down with a huff as more tears started to escape, Jacob gave Amanda a look, “Been like this since I picked her, won’t say what’s wrong though.” Your brother sighed.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, wiping at your face angrily, though the tears kept falling.

Amanda crouched down in front of you, her voice soft. “You’re clearly not fine, Bubba. Come on, tell me what’s going on.”

You glanced up at her, hesitating. Part of you didn’t want to say it. You didn’t want to sound ungrateful for the opportunities you had or for Leah being your sister but the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“I’m sick of it, Mum,” you said, your voice cracking. “Sick of being just Leah’s sister. Everyone at the academy thinks I’m only there because of Leah. They don’t even see me as my own person, just as ‘Leah’s little sister.’ I can’t do it anymore.”

Amanda’s face softened, and she sat beside you before pulling you into a hug. “Oh, Bubba. I’m so sorry you’re feeling this way.”

Jacob sat down next to you on the couch on the other side, frowning. “That’s not fair. You’re talented in your own right. Anyone who says otherwise is just jealous.”

“But I'm always being compared to Leah, J,” you said, though your voice wavered. “No one believes that I'm good enough. They just think I’m riding on Leah’s name.”

Amanda kissed your temple, “You are good enough. And I understand why this is so hard for you. But what do you want to do about it? How can we help?”

You hesitated, chewing your bottom lip. “I don’t want to be ‘Williamson’ anymore,” you finally said. “I want to use your maiden name, Mum. I want to be a Baker, not Leah’s sister.”

Amanda blinked, taken aback for a moment, but then she nodded slowly. “If that’s what you want, then we’ll support you. Right, Jacob?”

“Of course,” Jacob said, ruffling your hair. “You’re still you, no matter what name’s on the back of your shirt.”

A lump formed in your throat, but you nodded, feeling a small wave of relief.

“What about Leah?” Amanda asked gently. “Have you talked to her about this?”

You froze. You hadn’t thought about how Leah would feel. “I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her feelings. She’s always been so proud of me, but…”

“But you need to do this for yourself,” Amanda finished for you. “You know she’ll understand.”

You nodded.

Later that evening, when Leah got home from training, you sat down and told her everything. You expected her to be upset or worse, disappointed but instead, she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Bubba,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I had no idea you were feeling like this. I’m so sorry, I’ve made things harder for you.”

“You didn’t,” you said quickly. “It’s not your fault, Le. I’m so proud of you, but I just need to figure out who I am without being ‘your sister.’”

Leah nodded, her hands on your shoulders. “I get it. And I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. Whatever name you use, you’ll always be my little Bubba, okay?”

You laughed through your tears, hugging her tightly.

That night, you went to bed feeling lighter than you had in months. You were ready to step out of Leah’s shadow and into your own light.

Fast forward a few years, you were now eighteen and transitioning into the senior team. Leah was now twenty-seven and somehow everyone had managed to keep it a secret that you were Leah’s sister. 

Majority of the girls that you played with had either left the academy or completely stopped playing football. Your shirt name was now Baker and had been for two years now, your coaches were different too and everyone just thought that Leah was your family friend. 

“Excited for your first senior training, bubba?” Leah asked you one December morning as she drove you both to the training ground. 

You shrugged, a mixture of emotions, “Bit nervous…” you muttered, “Excited but nervous.”

Arsenal’s senior team had a new coach, Renee Slegers, and she had been to watch the u18s a few times. For some reason, she had seen something in you and wanted you to come train with the senior team and potentially play a few games. 

“You’ve got this, Bubba. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t good enough. Renee knows what she’s doing, and so do you.” Leah told you. 

You nodded, trying to let her words sink in. You knew Leah believed in you, she always had, but the pressure of stepping into the senior team felt overwhelming. It wasn’t just about proving yourself, it was about proving you belonged and you were separate from Leah.

When you arrived at the training ground, Leah walked in beside you, her confidence making her look so at ease. Meanwhile, your stomach churned as the nerves threatened to take over. You adjusted your backpack, trying to focus on your breathing.

“Relax, Bakes,” Leah said with a smirk, using the nickname some of your academy teammates had given you after you changed your last name. “They’re going to love you.”

As you entered the changing room, you were immediately greeted by familiar faces, some you hadn’t seen in years. Beth grinned as soon as she spotted you.

“No way! Little Bubba? Is that you?” Beth’s voice was teasing, her eyes wide in mock disbelief.

You groaned internally. So much for keeping the “Bubba” nickname under wraps. “It’s Baker now,” you corrected with a sheepish smile, but your voice was warm. You couldn’t help but laugh a little as Beth pulled you into a quick hug.

“Leah didn’t tell us you’d grown up so much!” Beth teased. “Last time I saw you, you were, what, fifteen?”

“Beth,” Leah interrupted, shooting her a warning look, though she was clearly trying not to laugh.

More players filtered in, all of them reacting with surprise when they realized who you were. Some of them hadn’t seen you since you were a kid, tagging along to games and family events. For others, it was the first time they’d met you. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Katie said, holding up her hands. “So you’re telling me Leah’s been hiding this one from us? You’re playing with us now?”

You felt your cheeks burn as all eyes turned to you, but Leah stepped in, her tone light and teasing. “She wanted to make it on her own. Didn’t want to ride my coattails.”

“Fair play,” Kim said with an approving nod. “Gotta respect that.”

Leah turned to you, her smile soft. “Alright, Bubba, I mean Baker, time to show them why you’re here.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile before heading out to the pitch. As you jogged onto the field with the team, the nervous energy in your chest began to settle. You reminded yourself why you were there. Not as Leah’s sister, but as you.

And as the session began, you could feel yourself falling into the rhythm of the game you loved, the sound of the ball connecting with your boot grounding you. The team was fast, skilled, and ruthless, but you held your own. A well-timed run, a sharp finish past the keeper and it wasn’t long before you felt like you belonged.

At the end of training, Renee pulled you aside, her expression calm but firm. “You did well today. Keep this up, and we’ll see about getting you some minutes in the next match.”

Your heart soared at her words, but you kept your face neutral, nodding. “Thank you, Coach.”

Leah was waiting for you by the car when you finally made it out of the locker room. She raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to gauge how you were feeling.

“Well?” she asked as you climbed in.

You smiled, the weight on your shoulders feeling just a little lighter. “I think I did okay.”

Leah grinned, her pride shining through. “I told you, Bubba. You’ve got this.”

The night of your debut arrived quicker than you expected. Arsenal was playing a league game at Meadow Park against Crystal Palace, and the squad list had you on the bench. You tried to focus during the pre-match warm-ups, but your nerves were all over the place. Leah, as always, noticed.

“Stop overthinking,” she whispered as the two of you jogged back to the dugout after the warm-up. “Just play your game. If you get on, don’t try to do too much. Be you.”

You nodded, though the butterflies in your stomach didn’t ease. The match started, and you watched intently from the bench, studying the pace of the game and trying to picture where you’d fit in.

By halftime, Arsenal was up 1–0, the goal coming from Leah. Renee made a couple of changes early in the second half, but your name wasn’t called. You were beginning to think your debut would have to wait until another day when, in the 70th minute Renee called you. 

“Baker, you’re on,” Renee said, her voice firm but encouraging. “Stay calm, yeah? Leah’s out there with you. We’re doing okay, 3-0, so just stay calm, yeah? Try your hardest.”

You nodded, barely able to believe this was actually happening. Leah was standing by the touchline, waiting for you, her hand resting casually on her hip. When you reached her, she nudged you with her elbow, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Ready for this, Bubba?”

“Don’t call me that,” you hissed, but you couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped.

The referee blew the whistle, and you stepped onto the pitch, replacing Beth up top. Leah gave you a quick pat on the back as you ran to your position. “You’ve got this.”

The first few minutes were a blur. The pace of the game was faster than anything you’d experienced before, but you adjusted, remembering Leah’s advice: play your game.

Then, in the 80th minute, the ball came to you. Leah had intercepted a pass in and played a perfect through ball into your path. You took a touch, your heart pounding as you found yourself one-on-one with the keeper.

You steadied yourself, then slotted the ball into the bottom corner with your left foot. For a moment, everything went silent, and then the roar of the fans hit you all at once.

You’d scored on your debut.

Leah was the first to reach you, lifting you off your feet in a tight hug. “That’s my sister!” she shouted, her voice full of pride.

The rest of the team swarmed you, congratulating you with slaps on the back and ruffling your hair. The chant of your name began to ripple through the crowd, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged, not as Leah’s sister, but as you.

When the final whistle blew, Arsenal had secured a 5–0 victory. Leah pulled you into another hug as you both walked off the pitch.

“Told you you’d smash it,” she said, her grin wide.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “Thanks, Le.”

That night, as you sat with Leah in the kitchen at home, replaying the match in your head, she looked at you and said softly, “You’re going to have a great career, Bubba. I’m proud of you, you know that?”

For the first time, you didn’t mind the nickname. “Thanks, Le. Means a lot.”

[puckinghischier]

Jealous Nico

i struggle with this one bc can he get jealous? yes, extremely so. does he often? i wanna say no.

i feel like he’s just so trusting and obsessed with you that the thought doesn’t even cross his mind half the time, because you never pay people any mind. he knows he holds your attention, so why would he ever get jealous?

but sometimes…just sometimes, when you’ve had one too many drinks and your attention starts flitting around the room, looking for anyone who will entertain you to have a conversation with? he wants to scream “i’m right here!!!” at you. but he doesn’t want to be that guy, so he just lets you wander and mingle. never too far, though.

and as much as we wants to, the feeling that settles in his stomach when he sees you laughing with some finance bro over at the bar when you’re getting a refill is something he can’t really ignore.

maybe it’s the way you’re giving him so much excitement, clearly passionate about whatever topic is pouring from your lips. or maybe it’s the way this douche is looking at you, like you’re the brightest light in the room and he’s a moth that can’t escape your glow. whatever it is, it has him walking away from his conversation mid sentence, warm eyes turned dark in dislike of what he was witnessing.

as he makes his way through the crowd towards you, he realizes he can’t even be mad at you, because you’re just being the social butterfly he knows you are. all you want to do is converse and enjoy all the liveliness in the building, you’re not purposefully ignoring him. you were actually trying to talk to him a few minutes ago, but he was trying to listen to what jesper was saying before he got lost in whatever topic you deemed so important. so really, he thinks to himself, this is his fault, and he shouldn’t even be jealous in the first place.

but when you start jumping up and down slightly, clearly excited with whatever response you were just given, and douchebag’s eyes go straight to your chest instead of your ear to ear grin and bright eyes, he realizes yeah…maybe he can be jealous and a little bit of an asshole right now.

“müsli? did you ever get your drink, sweet girl?” he tries the sweet approach, not wanting to be overly gruff in front of you.

his chest puffs out at the way all of your attention is focused on him the second you hear his voice, forgetting all about the stranger in front of you.

“nico! hi! i feel like i haven’t seen you in….in….like…thirty minutes ago!” your words make no sense, a small hiccup making you giggle out an “excuse me” as you turn towards him.

he smiles down at you, your glossy eyes focused on his own, just how it should be.

“oh! frank, this is nico!” you turn back around to the stranger, his gaze raking down your figure, making nico see red all over again. you lean in closer to the man, cupping your hands around your mouth to try and whisper, but failing miserably. “he’s my boyfriend!” you giggle out, acting like a school girl talking about her crush.

turning back to nico, you miss the hard gaze he was throwing your new friend. “nico, frank and i were just talking about how fun it would be if there was a slip’n’slide in here!”

nico’s demeanor involuntarily softens a bit at your enthusiasm over the random topic, amused at how excited you are over the thought of a slip’n’slide in the middle of winter in new jersey.

but when he looks back up at your new friend frank, he can practically see the thoughts running through his head, and why he’s also be enthusiastic about the idea. if it wasn’t him ogling your tits earlier, it was the way he was checking your ass out while nico is standing right there.

“oh yeah?” nico speaks to you but keeps his attention on the man too lost looking at your ass to realize he’s being summoned into the conversation.

“yeah! tell him, frank! tell him what you said about making sure i’d be able to take as many turns as i wanted! that no one else would be allowed on it, because it would be my own special slip’n’slide!”

it’s endearing, really, the ideas you get in that smart head of yours when you’ve been slamming vodka crans all night. nico always loves to find out what theories and plans you come up with everytime you two have nights out. he’s thought about writing them down a time or two, because you never believe him when he tells you about the the next day, always claiming you “would literally never say that,” because you’re “a college educated woman, thank you very much.”

but this one? the one that has frank all but salivating at the thought of seeing you repeatedly have a wet t-shirt contest of one on a theoretical slip’n’slide? this one is just pissing him off.

“hmm?” frank’s attention is finally snapped away from your body and back to the conversation at hand.

“she was just saying how you told her how wonderful her own, special slip’n’slide would be, considering you wouldn’t let anyone else on it,” nico answers, letting his voice lower.

“oh yeah, dude. wouldn’t that be the hottest thing ever?” frank, so stupidly, decided to respond.

nico’s dry chuckle is the only response frank got. and either frank was smarter than nico gave him credit for, or he looks a lot more menacing than he thought, because the sound wiped the smug, disgusting smile right off of his face.

“frank…buddy….just walk away, yeah?” nico suggests, not used to being the scary boyfriend type but hoping it does the trick.

and much to his surprise, it works, frank nodding and walking the other direction, but not before you call out a sweet “bye, frank! it was nice to meet you!”

grabbing your hand, nico leans down to suggest it’s time for the two of you to leave, because he’s “tired of sharing you with everyone tonight, schatz. need my daily dose of hiding you away so i can get all of your attention,” while nipping playfully at your ear.

and, get all of your attention he does, considering you don’t stop talking to him from the time he gets you in the car to drive you home to the time he gets you settled in bed, behind closed doors, soaking up every second of not having to share your sweet voice. he drank it in like you were his own personal oasis in a dry and vast desert, just how he liked it.

[cherry-romper]

Flirting Headcannons

+ Lui kang, Kung Lao, Raiden, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Tomas Vrbada, Johnny Cage, Kenshi Takahashi, Syzoth, Shang Tsung

Warnings; none

Contains; GN!Reader, fluff

Re-upload for anon <3

Liu Kang; 

Keeps it tame. Much prefers intimate moments over flirting. For example, he’ll say things to you in privacy so only the two of you hear it.

He’s most prone to calling you beautiful or just watching you, he is completely enamoured by you and can’t believe you exist, he didn’t really plan it so he just enjoys being in your company. 

Loves watching the sun rise or fall with you, he thinks you look etherial on the pinkish glow and will always remind you of that. 

Once you’re more official he’ll be more open to flirting in public, but he still prefers to keep things between the two of you. 

Kung Lao;

Back and forth banter is his way of flirting. 

He loves the little games of wit the two of you have. However, he also loves sparing with you, its a reason to be around you for longer and you get to through cocky insults at each other the whole time. 

When the two of you are alone, he’s still gonna be saying stuff to get you fired up, but on occasion he’s been known to go out his way to do things for you, its absolutely his way of flirting without words. 

Speaking of, will show off big time when he feels he needs to. He’s literally THE Kung Lao, he doesn’t often feel the need to impress people, he’s already pretty impressive, but when you’re around, he can’t help but go the extra mile.

Raiden; 

Tries his best, but his friends are normally the ones to help him along. 

Mostly because doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, he’s worried he’ll come off too strong if he starts to outright call you beautiful or say he likes your company. 

He will often bring you things that make him think of you, like a flower or a souvenir from Outworld. If he doesn’t bring you something, he’ll sit with you and tell you tales of how he saw something so extraordinary he couldn’t help but think of you.

Sometimes he can get a little corny, but it’s so sweet you don’t mind.  

Bi-han; 

His flirting is praise.

If you do good, or do something without him having asked, he’ll tell you how good you did and how much he appreciates it.

He’ll probably give you a promotion or something. Maybe he’ll upgrade your weapons or give you a squadron to command. 

Other than praise, power is his other love language. He’ll give you whatever you need to defeat whoever you need too, your enemies are his, and vice versa. 

Kuai Liang; 

He never really hid it. He knows what he wants and known that life is too short, especially in his line of work, to beat around the bush. 

He won’t go straight in with being overbearing, but will absolutely tell you how he feels. 

Has no issues flirting with you in private, but in public he’ll keep it tame. 

Prefers just being in your company than physical touch or even words of affirmation. He get’s kinda tired and after all the emotional trauma he’s been through he just needs someone he can exist with. No expectations, just being together. 

Tomas Vrbada; 

He’s super respectful. Almost to a fault. 

Johnny got him on romance movies so he toke notes from there, but they didn’t feel authentic, so he changed his approach to just getting to know you as best he could.

Offers you help with anything. Training, studies, even offers to go on hikes with you. 

He’s comfortable in the silence between the two of you, but he’s great at small talk, he loves talking to you and hearing how you see the world.

Johnny Cage; 

He thinks his presence is flirting. Why would he need to say a thing when the Johnny Cage is in the building?

However, he can be sweet, when he wants to be. Gives you gifts and makes sure you never have to lift a finger. 

Shows off all the time, with everything. Needs you to know how amazing he is at everything. BUT, he also likes making you feel like you’re also amazing. HE has taken an interest in you, so you’re the awesome by default. 

Secretly loves banter. As much as he loves praise, playing hard to get or insulting him in a playful manner will make him happy. 

Kenshi Takahashi;

He builds his relationship with you in private. When it’s just the two of you is when he’ll flirt, but its not super romantic, sweep-you-off-your-feet flirting, he’s subtle in the way he compliments you.

Can be sarcastic with his humour and likes it when you are sarcastic back.

Even though he can’t see, he uses his other senses more attentively, he almost always knows when something is wrong by the changes in your breathing patterns or the way you shuffle if you’re uncomfortable. He’ll always make sure you’re okay. 

Loves sparing with you. Is happy to see how you’ve improved and what’s to see you better yourself. However, is more than happy and willing to protect you if he needed to.

Syzoth; 

Can be kind of shy when it comes to flirting but he’s worried about the rejection. He’s lost enough and he’s really intrigued by you, so he takes things slow; he puts a lot of thought into what he says to you.

He’s incredibly observant. He picks up on everything. Sometimes it can be a bit jarring when you just want to keep something to yourself, but he already knows about it. If you’re not feeling well or something is bothering you he’ll always know.

He can be a tease at times. He can be sarcastic and might even laugh when you say something cocky but he’ll never overstep. It’s just the right amount to make you smile. 

He’s a fan of physical touch. Not too much to be overbearing but just enough that he can feel your warmth. Is different that what he’s used to, its such a strange sensation but a welcome one. 

Shang Tsung; 

Flatters you any change he gets. Is really good at seduction and knows the right thing to say all the time.

Part of the way he flirts is with keeping himself mysterious enough to leave you wanting to know more about him. It puts him in a position of control. 

Often will hold prolonged eye contact. It’s intense and he uses it to create a connection between you. Even though he’s sharp with his tongue, sometimes the eyes say more. 

Can be a tease, but never in a way that leave it open for you to tease him back. He always has the upper hand. Always.

[static-radio-ao3]

quick wash — 21 minutes

i asked si to give me a location, a keyword and a color, she gave me a swing seat on a porch, soft, forest green and it somehow turned into a jegulus laundromat meet cute (sorry) - 1.5k

a birthday gift for @poetskings <3

Regulus, unlike most people, likes the fact that his building doesn’t have a laundry room. He’s somewhat less fond of the lack of heating, but he quite likes the romance of going to a laundromat. Of sitting on those plastic chairs and staring at the dizzying spin of clothes in the machine, the way they tumble in the dryer.

So every Wednesday, which has been laundry day for about as long as he can remember, he packs up his laundry and walks down seven flights of stairs, because of course the elevator doesn’t work in his building either. He brings his headphones and lets the weight of loose change in his pocket ground him.

He greets the laundromat clerk, someone his age who looks like he’s never even heard of ironing his clothes. His hair always looks disheveled, like he rolls out of bed and goes straight to work, but he never tries to talk, which Regulus appreciates.

Regulus remembers hours spent sitting in front of the washing machine as a kid, watching it spin and spin and spin. It was equal parts dizzying and meditative.

He wondered, sometimes, if he could crawl in there. He was small enough (too small, his father's voice corrects). Maybe he could crawl in and spin and spin and spin and come out clean.

If he could not be new, he could at least be clean.

Because there's no washing off the person you are. No matter how hot your showers, no matter the fact that you scrub at your skin until it's raw and pink, no matter no matter no matter.

But sometimes, if you're lucky, you can wash off the person you are. Don a shiny new identity. Make everyone forget the person you were, make sure they only see the person you've become.

Sirius did it, once. Left and never came back and became someone new. Good. Worthy.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, probably, because Regulus had been sitting there, watching the machine spin and spin and spin. He heard Sirius' footsteps, despite his light tread. He heard the front door open. Heard it close again. He didn't realize, at the time, what it meant.

The tiny overhead doorbell jingles, and Regulus looks up almost instinctively. He knows the regulars on Wednesdays. The college student who exclusively wears Thrasher hoodies. The grandma and her dog who she dresses in human clothes.

But this time, it’s none of them. Regulus can’t help the way his heart stutters, a harsh thud, when he lays eyes on the man walking in.

He looks handsome even in the glaring lights of the laundromat. The tiled walls and floors don’t cut him into flat planes. Instead, they soften his edges, cast him in a dreamy glow.

Regulus faintly thinks the man looks like a detergent advertisement.

The man tugs his gloves off and unwinds his scarf from around his neck, the protection against the winter cold excessive in the heat of the laundromat. He’s wearing a dark green sweater, made darker still by the stain that covers most of the front.

Regulus forces his eyes back to the washing machine, watching it spin and spin and spin, until a heavy coat drops down on the seat next to him. The man peels off the sweater revealing a white t-shirt. Regulus sees a thin golden chain disappear under the collar of the shirt.

When the man catches Regulus staring, he lifts his shoulders in a shrug, a bashful smile on his face.

“There was an incident involving a child and hot chocolate and favorite sweater was the unfortunate casualty.” He shakes the sweater a little as if to offer proof. “Didn’t want the stain to set, so here we are.”

“Need a hand?” Regulus asks, but he’s already pushing himself out of his chair before the man has a chance to reply.

The man blinks, surprised. Fair enough, Regulus has never been accused of being polite or helpful. Something to do with the permanent frown of his face, the rigid line of his shoulders.

“Yeah, that’d be— Thanks.”

“You can just put it in,” Regulus says, inclining his head toward the machine. “I’ll grab some detergent.”

Because, sure, he wants to be helpful, but he’s not quite willing to offer up his own detergent, the vanilla cotton one that costs more than any detergent reasonably should. Thankfully this particular laundromat sells detergent by the dose for a few cents.

“Who’s your friend?” The clerk asks, leaning on the counter and glancing over Regulus’ shoulder.

“Not a friend, just helping him out,” Regulus says mildly, rifling through the different bottles of detergent until he finds the right one.

The clerk fixes him with a flat stare. “You’ve been coming here for months and never once have your tried to help someone.”

“Maybe because that’s literally your job,” Regulus quips. “Also ever heard of New Year’s resolutions?”

“It’s February. Little late for those, isn’t it?”

“Okay,” Regulus squints at the name tag, “Evan. Thank you so much for your input.”

“Oh, shit, wrong shirt again,” Evan (?) grumbles, fiddling with the tag on his shirt. “Boss is gonna kill me.”

Regulus opens his mouth to say— something, probably, but he decides he’s better off leaving it alone, so he fills a tiny cup with detergent, drops a few cents in the clerk’s hand and heads back to the machines.

He makes quick work of setting up the machine, selecting the shortest program, quick wash — 21 minutes.

“I’m James, by the way.”

Regulus settles back into his chair, offering his own name in return.

“Oh, like the star! That’s such a coincidence, one of my friends is also named after a star.”

Regulus’ mind flashes to another boy named after a star, but he pushes the thought away. “Yeah, well, you know what they say,” he mumbles awkwardly, unsure how to proceed and the floor unsteady under his feet even though he’s sitting.

“No?” James says, voice climbing and head tilted. He shoves his coat to the side, making space for himself next to Regulus. “What do they say?”

Great question. “Nothing, it’s— nothing.”

Spin and spin and spin, washing away sin and sin and sin.

“So,” James asks after a while, shifting in his seat to face Regulus. “You come here often? Wait, shit, that sounded like a bad pick-up line. I just meant that you seem to know your way around these things.”

“Yeah, my building doesn’t have a laundry room and this place is just down the street, so I’m here pretty much every week.”

“Cool,” James says, and the worst part is that he genuinely seems to find that cool. James pulls out his phone, and Regulus knows he should look away — privacy and all that, but Regulus isn’t looking at the screen at all. His eyes catch on James’ hands, big and veiny.

When James moves again, Regulus catches a whiff of his cologne. And Regulus tries to be normal about it, tries not to inhale too deeply and trap the scent into his lungs, but James smells woodsy and soft. Sunny pines, like forest green personified.

Regulus can picture him a swing seat on a porch on a cool summer evening, a breeze tousling his dark curls. Regulus blinks, suddenly back under the harsh glare of the laundromat lights.

“What about you?” James asks, expecting Regulus to know what he’s been talking about, which is a reasonable expectation, but there is unfortunately static in Regulus’ brain.

When Regulus is silent for too long, James laughs. It’s not a mean laugh, or a cruel one, like his mother’s laughter. It’s not at Regulus’ expense, like his father’s laughter. He feels warmed by the sound, and can’t help the bashful smile that appears on his face.

“I was just asking what you do for a living,” James repeats.

“Oh! I work at a bookstore. I’m the buyer for our children’s section, actually. And I have Tuesdays and Wednesdays off, hence the laundromat.”

“Do you have a favorite book?” James asks. Then he adds, “Personally, I’m a huge fan of Green Eggs and Ham.”

It’s a bad joke, really, but Regulus can’t help the amused huff that escapes him. James’ eyes brighten, leaning a little closer to Regulus as if desperate to hear it again. Like Regulus is the sun and James is a flower.

They talk while James’ sweater spins and spins and spins. Talk about books and movies and TV shows. They talk while Regulus unloads the dryer and folds his shirts, the fabric warm under his fingertips. He’s meticulous about it, moving slow despite the practice, desperate to prolong the interaction. Desperate to coax another laugh out of James, warm and low and rumbling.

Eventually though, he’s got all of his clothes sorted away in his bag, James’ sweater almost done washing and then needing a little while to dry, too.

But before Regulus can be too disappointed about it, James asks, “Same time next week?” His eyes are bright and soft behind his glasses, a tiny smudge right on the edge.

“Sure,” Regulus says. He tucks his smile away for safekeeping. When he gets back home, he drops it in the jar of pennies on his desk.

[scuttlingcrab]

The Wrong Kind of Spice

Summary: Manfred helps Emmrich prepare a romantic dinner for Rook at the Lighthouse. Things are going pretty good at first, until Manfred accidentally uses one of Lucanis’ very special spices. The kind of spices that are hidden away at the bottom of chests, meant for no one else but a skilled assassin to find and use.

Notes: Hide your knives, hide your spices, no one is safe when Manfred is around.

You can find it on AO3 too.

“Ah! No, no, Manfred. That’s not how you hold a knife. Must we go over this again?”  

Knives were pretty tricky for Manfred. He didn’t like how they slipped out of his hands whenever he picked them up from the non-pointy part, which apparently was very, very dangerous for anyone with skin on their bones.

Once he cut four of his fingers clean off while trying to chop an apple with a butcher's knife. Manfred chose that knife because it was big and blocky and he could see his reflection in it. Emmrich had searched for his longest finger all afternoon, which had somehow rolled underneath the stove in the Lighthouse.

Manfred was upset at first because he thought he’d need to get a new one. He really, really liked that middle finger. It had been a painter's finger, and Manfred knew almost everything about painting. It’s pretty colours, and how Emmrich’s face brightened like one of his fancy spells whenever Manfred showed him a new picture. But the day he cut off his fingers, Emmrich huffed and puffed the entire time until he found it, his nose doing the funny thing that made him look like a dragon.

Emmrich asked Lucanis to hide all the big knives after that. Sometimes, the assassin still lets Manfred see them if he asks politely, and especially if he’s absolutely sure Emmrich has gone to bed. It's their own little secret. 

Emmrich carefully took the knife away from Manfred, positioning it the correct way around. He stared at the pile of Manfred’s squashed tomatoes for a long time, rubbing the middle of his nose. 

“Again?” Manfred asked, reaching for another tomato. He could almost see the bottom of the basket now. When they had started, the different vegetables were stacked higher than Manfred and he had to stand on his tippy toes just to reach one.

“Perhaps, Manfred, it's best if I cut the rest of these? They may still be salvageable but I will have to rethink the salad. I’d hate for them to go to waste… especially after Neve’s valiant efforts to acquire them.”

Manfred rested his elbows on the table, leaning in as Emmrich sliced the tomatoes. Emmrich cut them so fast and so perfectly that the tomatoes soon turned into small, tiny squares. Manfred needed to get a good look, needed to get every detail so he could copy his master the next time he picked up a knife.

He got so close to the chopping board he could barely see the knife move at all anymore. That’s when Emmrich froze, looking down at him. His mouth was in a straight line, and he tilted his head back. This told Manfred two things: that he might be in trouble, or maybe he was about to get another lesson, so he better pay attention. 

”Manfred?” 

“Yes!”

”What's the most important rule when dealing with sharp objects?”

Manfred brought a hand to his chin, placing the other on his hip, pretending like he was Emmrich thinking long and hard when someone asked him a question about the Fade, or necromancy, or even about Rook.

“Sharp? Knife.” 

”That’s correct.”

”No running… No throwing. No… putting in mouth.”

Emmrich let out a long sigh, like he was releasing all the air from his chest. And Manfred suddenly found himself thinking about breathing, wondering why people needed to breathe in the first place. If they were surrounded by air all the time, then why did they have to keep putting it ‘in and out?’

Manfred tried to make the same sound he heard from Emmrich, of what he thought everyone at the Lighthouse sounded like when they breathed. His ribs started rubbing together in a weird way that made him tingle all over. 

“Manfred. Whatever are you doing?” 

Manfred’s sounds got crunchier, louder, his jaw rattling. 

“Practicing. Breathing.” 

“That’s quite enough. If I ever had the misfortune of hearing someone breathe like that, well, I’d send them straight to the infirmary. And administer their last rites while I was at it. Now, back to our aforementioned topic…”

“Knives!”

”Yes . It‘s imperative we keep our distance, Manfred.”

“Oh! Distance… Stay. Away.” 

“Precisely. It’s hazardous.” 

“Hazard. Danger. Emmrich hates.” 

“Indeed, to a certain degree, but it’s entirely for your own good. I shudder at the thought of any more damage happening to your form, Manfred, seeing as I’ve only just gotten you back.”

Emmrich moved his nicer chopped tomatoes to a separate bowl, then scooped up Manfred’s dripping ones. He carried them over to a small pot on top of the stove, dumping them inside. 

“And it’s ‘ I hate danger’ , never ‘danger I hate.’ We are not speaking in riddles, Manfred. I will have to increase the number of our elocution lessons, it seems we’re not making as much progress as I hoped.”

“Class now?” 

Emmrich shook his head, instead giving Manfred a big wooden spoon. 

“We must make haste and finish cooking before Rook arrives. Now, could you kindly do me a favour and start mixing the soup?”

This was an easy task, it was just moving the spoon in circles, like the paint brushes he used before. Manfred tilted his head one way, and then the other, trying to decide where he would put the spoon first. 

“Let it simmer, just like I showed you. Vigorous stirring will only ruin the consistency. We don’t want to make another mess either...” Emmrich said this a bit quieter, but Manfred could still hear him, “And I can’t afford to change my garments a second time.”

“Slowly. Stir. Stir!” 

Manfred stared at the liquid, at the chunks of food that floated in the pot, until he saw bubbles forming, and then more and more appeared. 

“Simmer!” Manfred shouted, pointing the spoon towards it. 

Emmrich grinned from ear to ear as he looked at Manfred, nodding. He liked when his master smiled at him, at his books, and at Rook too. That’s how Manfred knew he was doing a great job, and that Emmrich was happy. And when Emmrich was happy, so was Manfred, even though he didn’t really understand what that meant either; just like breathing, people's emotions were confusing, but he knew it meant nice. It meant safe.

Manfred finally found the perfect spot to place the spoon, right in the middle of the soup and started stiring. 

“Brilliant work, Manfred. Now can I trust you with this as I finish assembling the other dishes?”

Manfred stopped and pointed his arm towards Emmrich, turning his hand into a big fist. He then stuck his thumb up really tall, like a gravestone. Rook had taught him that one, and some other fun hand gestures, but she told him those were ‘inappropriate’ to do around Emmrich. 

“What kind of…? Agh, I’m almost afraid to ask.” Emmrich shook his head and left him alone at the stove. 

Manfred focused long and hard, counting to 10 and then stirring. And then counting again, and stirring some more. He wanted to stick his finger in the liquid and put it in his mouth, like he’d seen Emmrich do once or twice before. But that would only get his fingers dirty, and it wouldn’t taste like anything. Plus, the food would fall right out of his chest and onto the floor. And Manfred did not want to spill even one more drop of this soup today. 

While Emmrich was busy preparing the other food dishes he made a new, buzzing noise, like he was singing, but without words. His master did this a lot lately, especially when he started spending all his free time with Rook; almost as much time as they spent together with their lessons and tasks. The buzzing reminded Manfred of those small toys he’d find around Emmrich’s study. Those box-shaped things that played all sorts of songs, but only if you twisted the handles round and round. Sometimes Emmrich would even play a song for Manfred before the day was over. 

“How is the stirring coming along, Manfred?” 

Emmrich came back to the stove, looking into the pot. 

“Yes, it looks nearly done. May I?” Manfred handed the spoon to Emmrich. He scooped up some of the soup, blowing on the liquid before he gave it a taste. 

“I wonder… maybe it could use a little… oh! Yes, Manfred! I’d like to try some of that new spice from Lucanis. Would you be able to fetch it for me?”

Manfred approached where the spices were normally kept in the dining hall, right by the fireplace, but he stopped. He needed Lucanis’ spices, not the normal spices. And Manfred had seen where Lucanis kept his very special spices, because it was also the same place he kept the knives. 

Manfred peeked over his shoulder, triple double checking Emmrich did not see him walking away. His master was too busy looking into the oven now, poking at some more food, to bother noticing him. 

He opened the door to Lucanis’ room like he was sneaking around the Lighthouse at night, or walking around the Memorial Gardens while Emmrich was talking to wisps or messing around with roses. Quietly and slowly. Very slowly.  

Lucanis was snoring, talking to himself in his sleep again. He slept way more than usual since becoming closer with Spite. Manfred didn’t have time to stop and listen though, so he walked right up to the wooden shelves. He went straight for the big chest that was hidden underneath all the other boxes and sacks. It was so big Manfred could fit inside it. He tried it once, and Lucanis said it could hold at least two more bodies if he ever needed it to. 

Manfred found the spices at the bottom of the chest, after moving through the knives he loved so much, and the other interesting shaped objects and papers that were hidden in there. Lucanis had a lot of spices, and Manfred was unsure which one Emmrich wanted, so he picked the jar that looked the most interesting. 

He returned to Emmrich as fast as he could and gave him the spice. 

“Ah, thank you, Manfred.”

Emmrich looked at the jar and turned it around in his hands, lifting one of his eyebrows in confusion.

“Turmeric? Is this what Lucanis was raving on about?”

“Orange! Like soup.” 

“Yes, nice observation, Manfred.” 

Emmrich opened the jar and measured a large amount of the spice he called turmeric, putting it into the pot. He stirred it a couple times, then gave it another taste. 

“Hmm, perhaps they do turmeric differently in Treviso? A slight variation… but I suppose this’ll do.”

Emmrich placed a lid on top of the pot and moved it off to the side. He then bent down, removing a pile of dishes from a crate. 

“Manfred, the dinner plates, please.”

Emmrich gave Manfred two big plates and he placed them towards the end of the dining table, where Rook and Emmrich usually ate together. When he was done, Emmrich gave him another set of plates, these ones were smaller and a different colour.

“And where do the salad plates go, Manfred?”

Manfred glanced at Emmrich for a moment, instantly remembering all the old lessons they had about properly setting the table. 

“On top! On top of big plates.”

Emmrich nodded and Manfred stacked the plates on top of each other. His master gave him more plates and bowls and glasses that he set down around the others in a circle. When Manfred was finished, Emmrich handed him all the forks and spoons and boring looking knives. He laid those out as he had been taught, bigger to smaller. The last step was laying down the napkins, which Emmrich had folded into something that looked like a bird.

“Hey Manfred!” A familiar voice called out to him, “I see you’ve been hard at work. Don’t tell me Emmrich is giving you a hard time again?” 

He turned around and found Rook standing at the entrance to the dining hall, waving at him. She was almost as tall as Emmrich, with pointy ears that sprouted from her cropped purple hair. For some reason, Manfred didn’t hear the doors open. Maybe it was because he was too focused on making sure everything was perfect, and that no fork or spoon or glass was crooked. Or else he would’ve greeted Rook with a big bow, maybe even another ‘high five.’

“Oh come now, Rook. You make it sound as if I’ve forced some sort of arduous labour upon Manfred. He is simply assisting. He does love being involved, even if he can’t partake in any of the fare.” 

“Rook! Table is ready!”

“Oh wow, super impressive, Manfred. Thank you!”

Emmrich stood beside Rook, with his hand on her lower back. He slanted towards her and they pressed their faces together in what Manfred had recently learned was a ‘kiss.’ His master then led Rook to the table, pulling out a chair for her. 

“Emmrich, I told you this didn’t need to be another fancy meal.”

“It’s no bother, really, dearest. Besides, it gave me an excellent excuse to dig out this old crockery from my residence in the Necropolis. It would’ve continued collecting dust otherwise.”

“The skull designs are a nice touch though, I’ll give you that.”

“I’m delighted you think so.”

Emmrich poured some wine into their glasses and took his seat at the table. His master never stopped looking at Rook, his eyes twinkling like stars and his lips growing bigger every minute Manfred stood there watching him. They held hands as they talked, playing with each other's fingers and laughing at jokes Manfred didn’t really think were funny at all.

Manfred wasn’t sure how much time passed before Emmrich turned to him and nodded. He knew what that meant, what he had to do next: it was go time, he would serve them food and refill their glasses whenever they got too close to being empty. Never keeping them waiting . Manfred brought over the bread first, the appetisers, and then the salad. After that he brought over the soup and the main dish. He was about to serve them the dessert, a fluffy cake Emmrich had spent all morning baking, when he heard Lucanis scream from his room.

“Who’s been – no! Where is it?” 

Lucanis burst into the kitchen, nearly tripping over his own feet. When his eyes found Manfred he rushed towards him, putting both hands on his shoulders. 

“Manfred! Did you take the po–”

Emmrich opened his mouth as if he was about to ask Lucanis a question, just as Rook unexpectedly fell out of her chair and onto the floor with a loud THONK.  

“Rook! Are you alright?”

Emmrich jumped from his chair, but before he could even reach her he stumbled backwards, holding onto the table to balance himself. His face was scrunched up, like he had just dropped a book on his big toe. 

“Spice!” Manfred pointed to the jar near the stove. “Borrowed!”

Lucanis’ head slowly moved to where Manfred pointed, his eyes getting wider as they stared at the jar. He practically flew towards the stove, picking it up

“My word… my head. What’s… what’s the meaning…?” 

“Please don’t tell me you used this ?”

Emmrich looked up at Lucanis, his face covered in sweat. 

“The turmeric? Of-of course, I only put a s-smidge into the soup.”

There was a long pause. So long, Manfred was about to ask Emmrich and Lucanis if they wanted some of the cake he was still holding or if he should maybe put it away.

“Mierda.”

“Why do you look…”

Emmrich’s face turned white, whiter than Manfred’s own body or any skeleton he had ever seen walking around in the Necropolis. His mouth fell open and his eyebrows crawled to the top of his forehead. 

“Ah. Th-That’s not turmeric, is it?”

Lucanis shook his head.

“No! Special spice!” Manfred shouted, just in case they were still confused. 

“Curiosity. Killed!” 

“Spite. No.” Lucanis immediately cut in.  

Emmrich fell to his knees, reaching for Rook. “Darling… C-can you hear me?” He put his hand on her neck, searching for something and sighed with relief when he found it. “She’s still breathing.”

Manfred wasn’t sure why Emmrich was getting so upset. He had seen Rook fall a few times when she drank too much of the wine, and they had gone through almost two bottles of it already tonight. Manfred knew why the assassin was mad though, because he took something from him without asking permission. 

“Lucanis, may I-I suggest you mark your spices accordingly?”

“How could I call myself an assassin if I left my poisons so obviously labeled?”

“You didn’t think for a second one of us might've accidentally used it?”

“Of course not! None of you know how to cook.”

“What impudence! I’d like you to kn-know I am a perfectly f-fine cook.”

“Spices. Too hot?” Manfred cut in, putting down the cake. He poured some water into a glass, handing it to Emmrich. 

“Manfred… oh my dear, Manfred. T-thank you. Pl-please put it on the table there. This is not… you could never have known...I mu-!”

Emmrich squeezed his eyes shut, still on his knees as he swayed back and forth. He placed one trembling hand on his head, his chest moving faster and faster. His breathing was starting to sound a lot like Manfred’s. 

“I’ve doomed us all.” Emmrich whispered. 

“Curiosity has hands. Hands that kill. Kill!”

Lucanis sprinted back to his room and returned in a matter of seconds, holding a small vial. 

“Here, I have an antidote, but I must warn you… it’s quite potent.”

“Rook… first, I insist.” Emmrich gasped. 

Lucanis knelt by Rook, tilting her head slightly and pouring a few drops of the antidote into her mouth. She still didn’t move, but both Emmrich and Lucanis seemed to relax when she swallowed it; Lucanis loosening his shoulders and Emmrich falling onto his backside.

“There. She’ll have quite the headache in the morning. And it's possible she might not remember a thing. Maybe we keep this between us?”

“F-for the best.” 

“Now you, drink.”

Lucanis quickly handed the vial to Emmrich. He grabbed it with both hands and finished it in one big gulp. He instantly started coughing, shivering even, throwing the vial away from him. 

“Positively ghastly.”  

“I’ve never actually tried it myself. I don’t usually hand out antidotes to poisoned victims. I’ll make sure the next one is more to your liking, when you inevitably get yourself poisoned again.”

“How a-amusing, Lucanis.”

Emmrich held onto the table as he tried to pull himself up. He staggered dramatically as Lucanis caught him. Emmrich leaned on him for support, struggling to balance on his two feet as Lucanis walked him towards the doors.

“How about we take you back to your room, yes?”

Emmrich’s movements were a little stiff now, almost like that one time when Manfred skipped a ‘joint rotation day’ on purpose. He wanted to see what would happen and could barely bend his knees or move his arms. It was like he turned into a statue, which was fun, but he wasn’t going to do that again any time soon. Especially since Emmrich lectured him for hours on the importance of ‘routine and structure.’

“Yes, a-an excellent idea… but wait! What about Rook? She-I cannot leave h-her…I must… if anything were to happen, I wo…”

Emmrich pushed against Lucanis, trying to turn around but Lucanis held him in place.

“Manfred will watch over Rook until I’m back. Isn’t that right, Manfred?”

“Yes! Watch. Rook safe.” 

“Thank you, Manfred.” Lucanis and Emmrich seemed to say together as they promptly walked through the doors, leaving Manfred alone with Rook.

Manfred sat on the floor next to Rook and rested his head against her chest. He could hear her heartbeat thumping slowly and his head rose and fell along with each of her small breaths. He’d watch over Rook just like Emmrich did, that way his master didn’t have to worry. And he’d make sure no one woke her. As Emmrich said, it was ‘ imperative to get a good night’s rest if one was to face the next day with success.’

As Manfred listened to Rook’s heartbeat, he wondered about the spices. When Lucanis got back he’d ask him about the others in his chest, and if that’s what usually happened when people put them in their soup.

[alsfcrds]

Oh. Well, he could appreciate the honesty, even if it didn't do much to assuage his own fears. Emmett felt like he was scared of everything, though, scared of things he had never even faced. He'd never been on an airplane, but he knew he'd hate it. Never was much of a fan of public speaking. Forget about anything even borderline dangerous, his anxieties would birth new anxieties at the thought of having to skydive, or spelunk, or anything like that. Somehow, against all odds, he had been here as long as he had, but there was a sinking feeling that was permanent in his belly that made him believe fear was the main driver.

He didn't want to be like that forever.

"That's true," he mumbled, his focus not on the ground below, but across the street. The buildings that were unoccupied, crumbling down from neglect. Maybe one day, he could do something about that. He was so focused on what its story could have been, what it was like in its heyday, that he didn't notice Charlie get up until she was next to him. "Well," he began, with a sigh. "It's not very big. Very green, the sun comes out more than people think it does in Ireland." Judging by hers - and most people's - voices, he'd assume he was a long way from home. "Buildings are old, but people take care of them, sort of like here. A big church we used to go to. The main street had a jeweler, and a movie theater there to I used to go to all the time. Sometimes once a day for a week straight." Not for nothing, he knew he had an excellent memory, which may have contributed to his melancholy. "That's why I live here, now." If he lived in a real home, somewhere alone, he'd think of his mother too much, more than he did already. "I think I miss going out and seeing the stars at night. You could see so many from where we were."

"Terrified," Charlie said without even thinking. "But I'm terrified here too, and, as we've established, I'm terrified on this roof. In fact I'm afraid all the time." She brought a knee up and rested her head on it while she looked at Emmett, trying to recall at four month how she had managed not to lose her fucking mind. Fear was as second nature of an emotion now as joy was, or anger, or sadness. Making peace with that had preserved whatever sense of sanity could be preserved in a place that tried to strangle it with two hands. "If I didn't do anything because I was afraid then I wouldn't be doing much," she admitted, grabbed onto that reality like it would keep her above the crumbling ground underneath them both.

Charlie waited a moment and then stood up, crossed the distance between her and Emmett and then took a seat next to him so that their knees were touching. "Tell me about where you're from." A taboo topic around here, but one Charlie could stoke the flames of if it meant alleviating some of Emmett's sadness. "I promise I'll tell you about mine, what I can remember at least."

[rulesforthedance]

Winning at gay breakups when you are good enough (and normal enough) friends with your first girlfriend that she makes the (short!) guest list for your wedding

[ruporas]

asking and receiving (bonus below readmore)

[ID: A black and white, digital Trigun comic of Vash and Wolfwood. In the first panel is a close up of Wolfwood's mouth as he says, "Vash". Accompanying it is a close up shot of Vash's eye, widen and cheeks flushed. Wolfwood presses a knee against the open space between Vash's legs and says, "Tell me everything you want from me." Wolfwood's face is equally as flushed. He continues to say, "I'll give it to you. Everything." As he talks, a wide shot shows the both of them in white space. Vash is sitting, leaning a little back with both hands pressed against the surface he's sitting on. Wolfwood is in his white dress shirt, stripped of the blazer. He's still leaning in with one knee in between Vash's spread legs, his right hand touching Vash's lips and his left hand behind his back.

The shot closes in on Vash's mouth and Wolfwood's hand against it, pressing down on the lower lip as he says, "You have to ask though. Go on." His hand moves down to Vash's chin, gently holding it. With a shy and uncertain expression, Vash hesitantly asks, "Um... K... Kiss... Please?" Wolfwood, without wasting a second, leans in and kisses him and indulges by pressing deeper, eliciting a small noise of surprise from Vash.

Wolfwood moves away from Vash first and with a smile, asks, "What else?" Vash tugs on Wolfwood's left sleeve, wordlessly budging Wolfwood to give him his hand that was still behind his back. In the next panel, Vash utters, "Hold me..?" He's holding Wolfwood's left hand with his own while his right hand is reaching for his waist. Wolfwood complies, moving his left hand to Vash's shoulder and his right hand continues to touch Vash's cheek. Wolfwood asks again, "What else?"

More comfortable now, Vash leans in to kiss Wolfwood. Wolfwood catches him immediately, pressing his thumb against Vash's lips to stop him before demanding, "Hey. Ask." Vash looks back in surprise and Wolfwood meets his eye with a quiet, insistent look. They're quiet for a moment before Vash leans in again and curtly requests, "Kiss. Me." Wolfwood says "Good", smiling as he lifts his hand away, and meets Vash's lips. In the next shot, Wolfwood had adjusted his position, sitting on Vash's thigh. The hand that was once on Vash's cheek has moved its way to Vash's nape, pushing away the collar of his jacket with his pinky. His other hand continues to grip on Vash's shoulder. Still kissing, Wolfwood asks again, "What else?"

In the next shot, Vash is starting to turn, moving Wolfwood with him. Vash asks, "Let me on top of you?" Wolfwood says, "Mhm" before asking again, "What else?" The next panel shows a close look of Vash's face. He's looking down, flushed and shy just as he had been at the beginning, but now, more decisive. Vash asks, "Wolfwood... Let me have you..?" A panel of Wolfwood taking Vash's hand into his, pulling it towards his chest. The next panel shows Wolfwood lying down where Vash had laid him. Vash's hand is on Wolfwood's chest, covering the cross of his rosary while Wolfwood's hand lingers against his, loosely pressing Vash's hand in place. He looks up at Vash with a shy smile of his own, flushed cheeks. He says, "All yours."

A panel shows a close up of Vash's tender gaze before he leans down to be closer to Wolfwood. The final shot is a front view of their positions, Vash's face turned away from the viewer; Vash is leaning over Wolfwood who's lying down with his right leg draped over Vash's legs. Wolfwood's left hand holds onto Vash's left arm. With finality, Vash says, "...Mine." End ID]

[ID: A follow up bonus comic in a looser, sketchier style. They're laying comfortably in bed when Vash asks, "What was that earlier?" referecing to the start of the previous comic. Wolfwood glances away and says, "To get you used to it. Asking. And getting what you ask for. Since you're alwasy hesitant about it." Vash's eyes widen, tight lipped. Wolfwood continues, "Knowing you, it'll be a tough habit to break..." When he says this, Vash can't help but laugh, unable to deny it. Wolfwood slowly brings a hand to Vash's cheek and continues to say, "So I'll keep trying -- whatever ways I can... to get it through your thick skull." Vash takes Wolfwood's hand with his, kissing the the palm gently. Wolfwood's eyes soften and holding onto Vash's cheek, he leans in to try for a kiss. Vash says, "Hey..." before stopping Wolfwood's lips with the back of his hand, a smug look on his face, "Ask." Wolfwood's embarrassed and with little irritation, asks, "Really?" Vash smiles, saying, "You're in need of practice too." They pause for a moment, Wolfwood looking contemplatively, before he's leaning in again, asking, "May I please kiss you?" Vash looks him in the eyes and says, "Yes." The comic ends with a "chu", indicating an off-panel kiss. End ID]

[cecoeur]

How do you sleep at night? No one to hide behind Betrayed every alibi you had You had every chance to make amends instead you got drunk on bitterness And you still claim that you're innocent, it's sad

[thewardenisonthecase]

btw tw for talking about abuse

I've seen a lot online about how the game never mentions Caterina's abuse of Lucanis while he was growing up (being beaten and starved, which is mentioned in the Wigmaker Job) and I think there's a small mention to it if you're a crow (when asked, he says it was torture training under the first talon and that he resented her for a long time)

And while I do think part of the reason why this isn't brought up is just due to how sanitized this game is when it comes to the crows, I think I do understand why in world wise it's not possible to just be like hey lucanis, fuck your grandma.

It's really hard, loving someone who hurts you. Because you know they're hurting you and yet, you still love them. It's even harder when they're family.

Because its not like Lucanis doesn't know that she hurt him. He says so himself - he hated her, he resented her, and althought I do think him 'justifying' it by saying that at least it prepared him for the life of a crow, at least he still admits that it happened.

But the thing is that despite all this shit, she's still his grandmother. And like, yes, blood shouldn't excuse justifing this behaviour, I feel like it's cultural. Idk how spain or italy works when it comes to family, but here in brazil, you'll hear so many stories of physical abuse happening in families, and its still a situation like Lucanis - i hate them, i resent them, i love them, they're my family.

It's a...complicated situation and I think Lucanis's situation is made worst by the fact that he only has two family members alive and that he cannot let go of.

She beat him, she starved him, he hated and resented her, and he was afraid of dissapointing her, even if in her eyes, i don't think he could. I mean, he comes back an abomination and she still tenderly says 'my poor boy' when you rescue her in the Villa.

All in all...it's tought and I think that it would not be Rook's place to suddenly make Lucanis want to kill his grandma bc he wouldn't. Sorting out those feelings is something he has to do himself, and i'l almost glad the game doesn't make rook do a therapy session with him to talk about it.

[icewindandboringhorror]

recent things and such~

[call-me-pup2]

"Your hair is amazing how do you do it?"

Emm I wash it 😅

It's cut with a lot of short layers for volume but literally all I do is wash with shampoo, no conditioner, put salt spray in it when it's wet and let it air dry, it just looks like this naturally 😅

(Bet this is thrilling information if you're only here to see my tits 😝😂)

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

trying to finish reading dungeon meshi now that it's done and just seeing everyone in the comments talking about ships. gun to my head