#tbh this one was the most fun to write

[shivunin]

16. Something written to your OC by an older member of the family and 3. Writing found in your OC’s trash can (Elowen Lavellan) from this prompt list:

A letter delivered along with three near-identical versions, each dated one day apart and signed with the same signature. Appended to this letter is a plea from an Inquisition agent stationed in Wycome requesting a swift response.

Ara da’ean,

I am certain you must know exactly why I am writing to you, but I will make my reasons quite clear before I continue:

When I heard you had taken up with a human, I accepted it. You have done what you can for the clan from the other side of the sea, and I understand your role is unusual. You must make whichever choices will help you survive amongst the shems. I understood that. We all understood. 

But ‘ma’asha'lan, a Templar? How could you?

We have heard so little from you directly. After the fighting was over and your army arrived to fortify Wycome, I had assumed you were simply too busy to send your mother a letter. News reaches us here as well as it reaches the rest of the shem lands, so I know they have dragged you from one end of the continent to the other. I was not upset. 

Only now do I see that it was cowardice, not official business that stayed your hand. 

Respond at once and explain yourself. I intend to speak with this fool scout every day until I receive your reply. 

—Fen’ghi’lan, Halla’amelan of Clan Lavellan

Mother to the Inquisitor, not that she seems to recall

A series of notes emptied from the Inquisitor’s desk-side rubbish bin:

Mother,

Mamae,

Fen’ghi’lan, 

As I am sure you are aware, I am fully grown and perfectly capable of choosing

Fenedhis, she’ll kill me. 

Mamae, 

I am well, thank you for asking. As you can imagine, my time remains quite short. 

You are right. I should have written earlier. I can only say that there is too much to say and I have no idea where to begin. This life is so different from the one we lived together with the clan that I scarce know what I can tell you without leaving out too much information entirely. I had hoped against hope that I might find a way to visit should the Inquisition have need of me in the Marches, but such things have not come to pass. So: there. I am sorry, and I mean it. 

Now, with regards to Commander Cullen: 

Yes. The rumors are true. This, like most things that have happened to me over the past year, is something that I believe will require more explanation than can fit in a letter. He is a kind and good man, Mamae. Trust that I know when something is wrong and when something is right, and this is right. He has nothing to do with what happened to Papae all those years ago and I wish you would just—

Fenedhis fenedhis fenedhis this is impossible

This line is followed by a series of scribbles that loosely depict a woman being trampled by halla. There is an Inquisition symbol on her breastplate and she is holding a staff.

Elvhen:

Ara da’ean: my little bird

‘ma’asha'lan: my daughter

Halla’amelan: Halla-keeper

[kevindavidday]

need u to share your kandrew agenda 🫶 tell me all about them

ALL about them? dangerous territory my friend...but i will try my best

kandrew are my favorite pair of worsties like i'm not even kidding i love writing them as friends to lovers because they could be having r-rated pg 18++ thoughts about each other at any given moment but they will die before they confess. im talking off the charts sexual tension okay the air is fucking charged. i do have a few fics on them but they're building up to kandreil...sadly no solos yet...

my brain says (🤓☝️) they have an understanding that goes deeper than a lot of the other relationships kevin has. i think one of andrew's best qualities is to listen to someone talk about the worst thing that has happened to them and not overreacting or coddling them afterwards (which is something im personally fond of and love to see) so he may as well have been a tether for kevin when he left the nest. (not to mention how similar jean and andrew are and going from one 3 to another would fit kevin well) to me, if someone sees them together at times they'll feel like andrew and kevin DETEST each other. they're ultimate bickering couple, constantly roasting each other, arguing as a build up to sex, they drink like their life depends on it, they hate each other, they're in love and i am watching all this with popcorn. they get each other tbh like they get it. they may not fully understand but they do get it.

also something about a dog collar but that thoughts not fully developed yet.

have some memes that might help:

[acequeenking]

Fandom: Tekken

Relationship: Kazama Jun/Mishima Kazuya

Rating: Explicit (this one has sexy times so not for kiddos)

THIS IS POST TEKKEN 8. BIG TEKKEN 8 SPOILERS. DON'T READ IT WITHOUT FINISHING THE GAME UNLESS YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT SPOILERS.

Additional Tags: Reunion, Reunion sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Awkward Conversations About Not-So-Accidentally Trying to Murder Your Son and Actually Murdering Your Dad and Kind of Accidentally Abandoning Your Unknown Baby-Mama, Forgiveness, Getting Back Together, Dealing with the mental fallout of Tekken 2 to Tekken 8, which for both of them is...a lot, but they're getting there

"I am not the man you want me to be," Kazuya admits. "But that does not mean the man I am does not love you."

"...Still?" Jun asks, the word the only thing that can quite get out of her throat.

[gingermintpepper]

hey I hope you’re doing ok!! For the ask game, 🌈? Also perhaps ☔️?💧, even?

Hello hello, thank you for participating ☆ Once again, I can't comment on whether or not this extract is particularly fluffy but I do think it's rather sweet and it's definitely romantic so I think it's good for filling out both 🌈 and 💧!! It's an extract from what I've tentatively dubbed my 'Women and Apollo' doc which is essentially just a big running document I have dedicated to exploring themes and dynamics between Apollo and the women he's been entangled with! This extract in particular is from my Melia section 🥰

The night is a cold sheet spread across her shoulders. She wakes in pieces; first, her flesh, bracketed between the raw heat of Phoebus' bare chest and the sharp sting of the night air's fangs, then her mind, pleasure's fleeting haze quickly swept aside by panic then worry then guilt. What would Kaanthos say if he could see her now, bare breasted and stained in a male-god's desire? What would Father? No doubt she would have to cede the seat of the temple to Kaanthos. How could a carnal woman serve the people after all? And her river - oh, her sweet river! Would his waters even deign to soothe her scales when she was so completely drenched in the scent of a sky-god?

How foolish she's been, throwing everything away just because of some sweet words and a pretty face. Maybe Kaanthos truly did deserve the temple after all. Maybe Melia didn't deserve such a treasure if she was so easily seduced.

She sniffles softly, slipping gently from Phoebus' loose grip. His heat wafts off his skin like the warmth of a well-tended hearth, it lingers in her bones as she kneels in the grass of this unfamiliar field. It makes the sear of shame dig that much deeper into her heart. Phoebus had listened well to her warnings. He'd carried her someplace far away from flowing water, somewhere distant where her brother's scrying eyes could not reach. The tears welling in her eyes finally fall as she turns this way and that, utterly and completely lost without a source of water to follow. How could she return now? Even she was not bold enough to have the man she planned to reject take her back to her father's house.

Stupid girl. Foolish. How could she have been so short sighted?

"Melia?"

His voice is laden with sleep's husk, his arm makes little grabs at the grass searching for her shape. She swallows her tears and bids her voice to not betray her, "Here I am, my lord. You may go back to sleep."

The mildest furrow of his brow. When he turns his head, his hair flows like rich golden oil over the dark grass, "Come here," his hand keeps searching for hers, patting the ground, dragging long fingers over the dirt and frowning when he does not find her. "It is not yet morning, why have you fled so far from my side?"

Melia cannot help but laugh at his visage, clumsy and squinty-eyed, less the graceful gentleman who promised her a taste of change and more a bumbling kitten desperate for its mother's teat. She wipes her tears as quickly as she can muster, "If you but open your eyes, I'm certain you would find me."

He makes a grumbling noise, some cross between a boar's grunt and the crow's deep bellow, "Is this another of your games? I'm much too tired for games Melia." Finally, his finger grazes the edge of her ankle and like a child, he lights up, eyes still stubbornly closed but smile positively radiant, "Ah, there you are!" Diligently, he traces the shape of her leg with his open palm, measuring the smoothness of her calf, the swell of her knee, the broadness of her thigh, then he lays his head upon her, cheek pressed close to her stomach, heated back like warm coals against her skin. "So cool," he murmurs and kisses her stomach, throws his arm around her waist and nuzzles further into her skin, "Tell me when you've need of the water -" a dreadfully wide yawn interrupts him. "- I'll fetch it for you."

Melia finds herself laughing again, just a tiny thing as she runs her fingers through the thick waves of his hair. What is she to do now?

As for a fic idea I'd like to talk about since I don't know if I'll ever write it: Among the many, many, many things I'd like to write but probably never will, I really wish I could just sit down and write a story about Tenes and Hemithea. There's a lot of reasons why I have no plans to ever properly tackle anything regarding the Iliad - chief of which being that there's just too much information and the amount of research would be insane - but a lot of what I would potentially focus on have to deal with people and places Apollo loves and his inability to protect those things throughout the conflict starting with Tenes. I absolutely adore exploring Apollo's paternity in my writing and considering how fiersome Tenes was and how both he and Troilus would die protecting their sisters, I've just always wanted to dig into an exploration of their lives and connection with their father and how Tenes' death specifically would've affected Apollo. Like yeah, I know Troilus is usually the point of focus for such works especially because of the manner in which he was killed, but Tenes was also beloved! Also considering he was originally punished for being falsely accused of sexually assaulting his stepmother, I can't help but want to write his wrath when he realises what it is Achilles intends to do to Hemithea. Alas though, I don't think I'l ever get to do more than think longingly about it, at least right now lmao.

[solar-halos]

odesta week. day #1: modern au monday

summary: annie and finnick engage in some crazy funky shenanigans after a concert

3k, odesta fluff, modern au. also some johannie in the beginning (as a treat) but obv this is odesta endgame. concert they attended isn’t explicitly mentioned but know in ur heart it’s chappell roan

“Wanna do something fun?”

Annie was not expecting Johanna to say anything, so her next opened mouth kiss lands directly on her chin. Oops. The club lights bathe them in swathes of purples and pinks, which complements the lipstick stains on Johanna’s neck. 

“Huh?” Annie asks. It’s a fair question—she thought all this making out they were doing was the fun part. 

In Annie’s opinion, it couldn’t get better than this. It’s not everyday you get to see your favorite artist’s favorite artist live and in concert, and it’s also not everyday that hot people choose to strike up a conversation with her.

Johanna and Finnick are hot. And, even better, they were the ones who turned around and started asking her questions right after they caught her eye in line. Maybe they just really liked her vibes. Peeta and Katniss were accompanying Annie, too, but anyone with a sixth sense could tell that they weren’t really down with throuples.

Annie would be so down for a throuple. Need she remind you that Johanna and Finnick are fucking hot.

Annie had no idea what the fuck a man was doing at this concert, but she already knew she was a goner as soon as Johanna offered Annie a vape she procured from her tits. Annie was ready to dive in. 

And she did—kinda. Eventually. The concert venue was crackling with sick beats and (courtesy of Johanna) simmering sexual tension. Hands on hips, bustier against bustier—it was like they’d known each other for a thousand lifetimes (Annie didn’t even know Johanna’s last name). Then the concert ended, and they were walking out together, and that was all the flirting time Johanna needed to convince Annie that they should start locking lips. 

Speaking of locking lips, how come they’re not doing that right now?

Right. Johanna wanted to do something fun. Annie pulls away and gives Johanna her undivided attention. Well—as undivided as it can be with all the pulsing lights and upbeat music and enthusiastic dancing going around all around them. 

“You’re so cuddly,” Johanna says. Annie is suddenly hyper aware of the fact that she’s not even sitting in her bar stool anymore. Oops. She had no idea that she was trying to drape herself over Johanna, so she pulls away. “I think my friend Finnick would really like that.”

My friend Finnick. As if he needed an introduction. That was the guy who was standing by Johanna’s side in line the entire time they were waiting for the concert to start. In an ideal world, Annie would have been sandwiched between their locked lips, but she had to play it cool. Chances are he’s just one of the girls. 

Or maybe not. They looked like they were having a pretty intense argument the moment the concert ended, making pointed gestures at Annie, but Annie’s own friends were pretty good at distracting her from their (hopefully) platonic lovers quarrel. 

Katniss and Peeta tapped out after the first club. Annie kept going, especially when Johanna’s hands kept wandering lower and lower and lower until Finnick stopped shooting her weird-looking glances altogether. 

“Does Finnick like me?” Annie demands, excitement blooming in her chest. That’s so hot. “Like, does he wanna be with me?”

“Probably,” Johanna replies. She fixes Annie with a glare that looks almost wistful, then gives her a hard kiss on the mouth as a parting gift. “I need post-coital cigarettes. Not cuddles.”

“Oh.” She starts nudging Johanna away now, too, because she doesn’t even smoke. “Good thing you figured that out about us. I would’ve never guessed.”

Johanna raises her pierced eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Annie leans back and studies her. She has pink hair that’s molded into spiky tendrils and a glittering constellation of nose piercings. Annie’s eyes flick down to her bustier and leather pants.

“I don’t like making assumptions about people,” Annie says, as if she hadn’t been thinking with her dick the entire time. 

“Get the fuck out of here,” Johanna replies good naturedly, her own lipstick smeared all across the dimples on her cheek. 

Annie stumbles out of her seat. She’s not even drunk. Not since the first club, at least, but they’ve cycled through so many that she finally registers that her feet ache in her stilettos. Why doesn’t anyone ever talk about the psychological repercussions of serving so much cunt all the time?

She starts her search for Finnick. It was harder to pick him out in the first couple clubs—and not just ‘cause Annie was preoccupied with Johanna—but they’ve officially transitioned out of Las Vegas’ queer scene and landed in dudebro territory. Finnick’s dark eyeliner and chipped red nail polish is really starting to stick out in the-only-club-that’s-still-open Nevada. 

Nevada. Road tripping from California with Peeta and Katniss hadn’t been ideal—Peeta’s car was probably never gonna fully recover from this—but desperate times called for desperate measures. Annie would have attended that concert if it was hosted in the middle of the goddamn ocean, wetsuit and chunky goggles and all.

“Finnick!” She finally finds him, and when she does, she does not hesitate to sit down next to him at the booth he’s at. She’s never been very good at figuring out what the fuck a social cue is, but he seems pretty happy to see her, so she takes that as her sign to keep going. “Hi!”

“Hi,” he says, so softly that the music nearly eats his reply whole. His cheeks flush.

He’s pretty. The dark liner dragging across his under eye would look harsh on anyone else, but she’s suddenly obsessed with all this eye contact he’s making with her. His coppery hair drapes over his shoulders, the soft waves curling right over the knot of his Adam’s apple.

Hot. 

Annie already knows so much about him. They spent a lot of time in line together, so she knows when he graduated high school (he’s only one year older, so the age gap won’t be very hard to defend at all) and where he’s from (California, too—good, ‘cause Annie didn’t wanna do long distance) and how he found out about the concert in the first place (Johanna was obsessed with the music first, then he followed in her footsteps, which Annie doesn’t really mind. She’s already compiling a playlist in her head that she thinks he’ll really like).

“Have you heard of this song?” Oh. It’s like he read her mind. He pulls out his phone, shuffling closer to her. Annie knows that he’s getting so close as an excuse to drown out the blaring music. She cuddles even closer, but she doesn’t have an excuse. She just likes cuddling—Johanna clocked that from a mile away.

Finnick does, too. He slides an arm around her waist and she sets her head on his shoulder the entire time they carefully curate playlists for each other. Annie can’t wait to listen to all the stuff he picked out for her on the way home.

“Favorite color?” Finnick asks, after they got all the soul-binding stuff out of the way, but he keeps giggling because Annie finally found the perfect angle to dot kisses to the underside of his chin. “Wait, let me guess,” he adds, and Annie thinks the only reason he even tacked that on in the first place is because he doesn’t want her lips off his skin. 

“Okay. Guess,” she says, punctuating the demand with another kiss.

He takes his time. Annie progresses to the corner of his mouth, but she doesn’t know if they’re ready for that yet, so she focuses her efforts on his cheek. He ducks his head to the side so that they’re looking each other in the face. No one’s ever looked more kissable.

“Blue,” he says. “Your favorite color is blue.”

“Kinda.” Now it’s his turn to start kissing her. He has a lot of skin to choose from—her bustier is teeny—but he keeps it nice and respectful at her jaw. Annie drags him down to her neck, butterflies erupting in her tummy. “Cerulean.”

“That counts. It’s blue.” He’s getting bolder. He crosses over to sternum territory, green eyes flicking up to hers, which would be sexy if it didn’t look like he was being charged with a crime. 

“Kiss me, please.” Maybe he was waiting for a verbal cue. Hot.

That’s apparently all it takes for him to get cocky. He smiles into her skin, lips dragging over her pulse in another hypnotizing kiss. “Don’t you wanna know my favorite color?”

She knows he doesn’t really mean it. She answers him anyway—she was in the mood to be played with.

“Red.” Like the color of his nails. Like the sky before a storm. His grin broadens, so she knows she’s right, but he obviously intends on teasing her. Two can play at this game. “Am I wrong? Maybe Johanna can give me a hint.”

His eyes get as stormy as his nails. He darts up from her chest, so Annie’s hands fly up to his cheeks to meet him in the middle. Their lips tangle together in a messy blur of spit and tongue, trying their best to map each other out. But, when Annie gets acclimated to the touch and heat and feel of him, she gets acclimated. 

So does he. They’re climbing into each other’s bones in no time.

Annie’s on top—on his lap, raking her acrylics through his waves—but she savors the pressure of his ringed fingers on her hips. Hard enough to bruise.

She angles her neck to the side. He gets the hint. She surveys the area while he gets to work, his chapped lips leaving goosebumps on her skin. She feels restless sitting still like this, even with all the friction his patchwork jeans have to offer. 

“Wanna dance?”

Once again, he takes the words straight out of her mouth. Annie leads the way, with Finnick trailing behind her so he can press more kisses to her neck. The intensity and intimacy of it all has her leaning back into him. Her skin tingles where his hands linger—her bustier, her hips, the whale tail peeking out of her skirt, then all the way back to her bustier again, his fingertips whispering all sorts of promises over her skin.

Annie’s never felt so respected. She feels secure, all tucked up between his arms and his lips. They move as one, united in heart and soul.

“Okay, everyone! Get the fuck out!”

The disco lights disappear, replaced by blinding fluorescents. The security guard up front is already ushering people toward the door. Is it seriously 2am already?

Finnick and Annie glance at each other. Lipstick stains on his neck, ring-shaped indents on hers. There’s no questioning who she’s going home with tonight, so she slips her hand into his and fishes her phone out of her purse with the other. Katniss was okay with leaving Annie with Johanna and Finnick under one condition: Annie had to send her frequent updates about her night.

you can’t fuck some rando you just met, Katniss replies, but it’s so much more than that. They weren’t just gonna fuck—they were gonna exchange souls. 

They pass by Johanna on the way out. She’s walking with someone else, a new layer of lipstick slathered over her face. She salutes them both as she and some girl climb into an Uber. 

Finnick and Annie look at each other again. And then they burst out laughing.

Anyway, Finnick isn’t a rando. He’s someone she knows on a personal and metaphorical level. He’s the sugarcubes in her coffee (he likes sweet drinks) and the training wheels on her bike (he never learned how to ride). She knows him more than she knows anyone on earth—including herself.

Annie doesn’t make it very far in her stilettos. They collapse on the curb so she can take a moment to rest. She takes this time to stare at him some more, absolutely in love with the slope of his nose and the curve of his jaw.

She has her feet in his lap in no time, his fingers rubbing the tension out of her muscles. She has no idea how it happened, or who initiated the contact—it was as natural as the progression of their relationship. Taking care of each other is second nature by now. 

“I think I have some band aids in here,” he says, scrounging around his pockets. “Johanna’s platforms give her nasty blisters, even if she never says anything about it.”

He carefully smooths out a couple bandaids over the curve of her ankle. She sighs, snuggling into the warmth of his chest. He drapes an arm around her bare shoulders. 

“I left my extra shoes with Peeta. I knew I should have changed into them before he left.”

Finnick has her covered. He carries her around on his back, her strappy shoes dangling from her fingertips. She grins into his neck the entire way to the gas station.

The guy at the cash register throws them a weary look as they buy a bottle of tequila. They also throw in some chips and nacho cheese. All that dancing made Annie hungry. 

There’s a glob of cheese stuck to the corner of Finnick’s mouth. Annie knows her falsies must be horribly crooked by now, so she peels them off. Usually, she thinks littering sucks, but there’s something in the air tonight that’s making her feel silly. 

“Wanna make a wish?” she asks. 

He takes her seriously. He stares at the clump of falsies in her hand for a long moment. He kisses her knuckles, informing her that he made his wish, so she lets the lashes go.

“What’d you wish for?”

“You,” he says. “Can’t get more specific, or else it won’t come true.”

It’s just the right blend of sappy and secretive that makes her heart melt. Loving and being loved has always been an intense, cosmic ordeal for Annie. She’ll never look at the color red the same way, will never pick up black eyeliner without thinking of him first. 

Finnick keeps rubbing over the ring on his finger—the one with the blue, glowing center—and Annie bets it’s because she mentioned it’s her favorite. His cheeks are perpetually rosy pink, even without the tequila. He even stares at her like she’s responsible for the stars aligning. 

“I love you,” he says, as softly as the fingers he has in her hair.

Her breath catches in her throat. He loves her.

“I love you,” she replies. She can’t imagine a time where she didn’t. “You’re not on anything, are you? ‘Cause I’m not.”

He holds up the barely tapped into tequila. Annie shrugs. “That doesn’t count,” she tells him. “I’m on that, too. And I loved you way before.”

He smiles at her. Annie’s never felt prettier. “Okay. If I do something weird, promise you’ll hear me out?”

Annie nods. She’s not even worried.

He nods back, extracting his hands from her hair. His knee suddenly bounces up and down and up and down. “Okay,” he repeats, then unstacks all of his rings so he can slide the blue one off his finger. Annie’s favorite. 

He holds it out to her, the bejeweled part facing her.

“Think of it as a promise,” he says. Annie brushes a stray piece of hair out of his face. “I mean—I can’t stop thinking about how perfectly this fell into place. Even when we go back home, you’re less than an hour away.”

“It’s like we were destined to meet,” Annie agrees. She accepts the ring, slipping it onto her finger. There’s a bit of wiggle room, but that’s perfect for her. She doesn’t like feeling trapped. “I want to get married.”

“So do I,” he replies, almost cautiously. Oh—Annie thinks she finally managed to freak him out. “Should we?”

Or maybe not. Annie smiles at him, suddenly feeling shy. “You don’t mean it.”

He shows her how much he means it. He stands up, offers her his hand, and scoops her right into his arms. She’s in charge of navigation, leading them straight to the nearest chapel. 

“You don’t mean it,” she repeats into his neck, because he can’t. It would be too good to be true. “I’m not dressed for it.”

“Neither am I,” he replies, trying to coax her back out, but she doesn’t budge. He kisses the crown of her head. “We’ll have another one. In California. And we’ll do it exactly the way we want.”

That’s exciting enough that Annie practically leaps out of his arms. They have to sign a whole bunch of papers stating that they’re completely, honestly sober, so Annie flings the tequila into the trash to get rid of any incriminating evidence.

It doesn’t matter how high their blood alcohol content is. Haven’t you heard that drunk actions are just sober thoughts?

A lady waiting behind them clips a veil onto Annie’s head when it’s finally their turn. Annie wasn’t gonna pretend that she wasn’t excited on her wedding day, so she allows herself to stumble a bit as they rush to the altar.

“You’re not gonna,” Annie whispers to him.

He leans over and catches her lips in another kiss. She doesn’t hesitate to drape herself over him. “Watch me,” he whispers back.

Annie does. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop. She watches him the entire time they’re pronounced husband and wife, she watches him when the guy officiating their wedding tells them to get the fuck outta there (he did not appreciate Finnick launching into some impromptu vows), and she watches him the entire Uber drive over to her hotel.

Peeta and Katniss booked their own separate room, which worked out very well for Annie. They strip all the way down to their rings as soon as they get inside, but not for the reason you might think. Annie always wanted a wedding by the beach, but this landlocked middle-of-fucking nowhere state couldn’t provide that for her. The hotel pool was the next best thing.

Annie throws on her bathing suit. Finnick has to go in his underwear, but they make it work. They splash around and dive under the water again and again and again until Annie feels like she’s being reborn with the fiery intensity of a thousand suns. 

They’re so exhausted when they go back to the room that they only have enough energy to collapse into bed, wet clothes and all. Finnick might be the best cuddler she’s ever seen. 

“I love you,” Annie tells him, because it was hard to stop saying it once she started. She’s consumed by it. 

She doesn’t even feel like she’s married—doesn’t even feel tied down to him, doesn’t feel trapped, doesn’t feel like anyone but herself—which is how she knows that they did it right. Katniss is going to be so happy that Annie exercised enough self control to not fuck him on the spot. 

“I love you,” he replies, already half asleep. Annie wonders if he’ll dream of her.

[fire-eyed-raven]

Usually I'm all for not treating two characters as a one inseparable unit. I'm all for exploring them separately from each other or considering some interesting rare pair options for them.

But not with Madara. I love Madara very much but I'm sorry his canon obsession with Hashirama can't be ignored by me. I can't separate it from him. Their bond with Hashirama is completely something else. It's a very integral part of who Madara is.

He wants his attention even if it will be in a fight he wants everything Hashirama can give him. He'll recognize him in any situation. He'll be happy to see him even if the last time they have seen each other Hashirama killed him. He talked about uniting Ying and Yang and clearly meant Hashirama as Yang to his Ying. He ended up merging a part of Hashirama into himself in a most literal sense. He can't shut up about Hashirama when we see him as himself and not an impersonator (obito) or through other's memories.

[tangents-within-tangents]

Would that there was a faithful, accurate adaptation of Dracula so that Jonathan Decker and Alan Seawright could discuss the nontoxic masculinity, healthy friendships, and the BEST MARRIAGE RELATIONSHIP IN FICTIONAL HISTORY but nooo!

[kratosnaturals]

WIP Saturday Thursday #5

Because I am positively on a roll right now. Nick lovers rise up.

“That ash is going to burn your shirt, Nicky,” Hancock mentioned casually with a hint of upturned lips, putting out his own cigarette on the bar’s ashtray. Nick snapped out of his thoughts with a questioning hum. He removed the rolled tobacco from between his lips with the intend of flicking off the burned excess, but when the orange embers landed on his chest he mumbled out an annoyed ‘shit!’ and quickly tried to brush it off of the white fabric. His friend simply gave him an amused ‘told you so.’

“You’re acting odd tonight. Even more than usual,” Hancock breached carefully, following the other man's gaze, “penny for your thoughts?”

Nick stalled. Was he really acting strange? He always thought he’s good at hiding his feelings… or perhaps Hancock was simply teasing him. The mayor did so love riling people up.

“Simply a little worn out after the past few months,” Nick brushed off, focusing his eyes on all the strung up lights around the area now. An understanding hum slipped Hancock’s lips, and the synth assumed their conversation would end there, but his companion had other plans. A toothy grin slowly spread across Hancock’s lips, and those metaphorical cogs in his head started moving. He poured himself another finger or two of whiskey, and slipped just a little closer to Nick.

“So. Are you really going to let mister ‘lasts-a-minute’ and the former tin woman upstage you?” Hancock asked innocently, bumping his hip into Nick’s. The latter looked bewildered now, as much as his synthetic flesh allowed him to grimace his displeasure. A grumble, low and a tinge threatening, “John.”

Jackpot, John thought, that hit a nerve. It was absolutely no surprise, to anyone, really, that the smooth-talking sleuth held a torch for his new co-detective. Those two could be fucking out in the open and it would be less obnoxious than whatever weird game of ‘will-they-won’t they’ those idiots were playing for ages now.

“I’m just sayin’. It’s really obvious,” John tutted, no longer feigning that poor display of innocence. Nick stirred uncomfortably besides him.

“John-”

“Are you going to keep doing this ‘I’m an old synth’ spiel or are you actually going to…” Hancock paused, looking the other man up and down, “steel up and tell the ‘dame’ she gets your coolant pumps workin’ overtime?”

Nick opened his mouth, but Hancock cut him off again with a raised finger as he took a quick sip, “don’t ‘John’ me, sleuth. Now get your rusty ass and loose screws over there and ask her for a dance.”

Another song played on the radio. Rock and roll. The synth nearly crushed the glass he was still holding with his metal hand. His claws scratched the material with a squeak that made him cringe, “I- no. I think you’re misunderstanding something.”

Hancock huffed, “Do I? Because to me it seems like you’re both just dancing around each other. Are you going to keep stalling and watch her get swept up by someone else? Well, she doesn’t seem all too shy, so maybe you could wait. I’m sure she’d come around. No promises, though.”

With a sombre expression Nick went back to watching his frolicking friend among the crowd, still held by Curie. The two swung and tip-toed around to the upbeat music with glee, ignoring the world around them. She danced, and danced, and danced. Much like she did with Preston, and Nate, and Piper, and even Codsworth-

“You know, for the best detective the Commonwealth has to offer, you’re really dense. Even denser than the metal you’re made out of, brother,” said Hancock before finishing his drink in one big gulp, “well, if you’re not planning to go for it, I might as well shoot my shot. Sir ‘short, pale and handsome’ has been touchy with not just you, Nicky.”

She liked being called sir?

That train of thought quickly spiralled off of its rails at the thought of John getting handsy with Eliza; wooing her, seducing her, getting with her-

It made his mechanical insides churn. It made him sick.

[paimonial-rage]

My favorite works in no particular order:

Tipsy Tales (Anemo Boys)

Symbiosis (Ayato)

What Destiny Has Brought (Fischl)

Hello How Are You (Gorou)

Follow the Wind II (Kazuha)

Of the Same Coin (Mika)

Songs of the Wind (Venti)

Nothing Lasts Forever (Yae Miko)

Sharing a Drink They Call Loneliness (Zhongli)

Of Hopes and Prayers (Zhongli)

[fragmentedblade]

Boothill's presentation being entirely on the twitter post makes me think he will be irrelevant in the story in the long(ish) run, and that the game itself won't dwell on him almost at all

[bitegore]

i really have to look moer into fanfictions these days. i know in ye ancient days of 2016 it did not feel like anyone was writing the onesided obikin obiwan->anakin nonsense that I wanted to read, but now everyone's talking about found divorce and shit so maybe there are finer things in the fandom now.

[hells-fvry]

.

[i-cast-zone-of-truth]

While endgame Cloud is not outwardly as radically changed as he feels, I do think I can tell that he isn’t much represented in fan works, because they are often omitting his readily-identifiable new trait: he’s EMBARRASSING. Too vulnerable! Too odd! Almost ABJECTLY sincere! He might get less raw as things settle down, but he ain’t going back!!! And that’s so important to me!!!!!

[sentientcave]

Playlist Shuffle Poll!

Thank you @3amfanfiction for tagging me!

rules: shuffle your On Repeat playlist and list the first five songs in a poll, then have your followers choose their favorite.

Tagging: @dragonnarrative-writes , @callsign-mimic , @charliemwrites (And Anyone else who wants to do this!)

[ridiculously-over-obsessed]

I swear, this is the last ever New Year that I ring in with people who don't value me or my time and efforts. This is the last year that I spend the holidays etc feeling utterly despondant and miserable. This is the last time I spend the 2 weeks that encompass Christmas, New Years, and my birthday with my cunt of a mother and sister. They have had almost 25 of them in some way or another, and this is their last. I'm done.

[waywardsalt]

lord if i had the art skills required for it ya’ll would see so much bitchin space au concept art