#that countdown makes it easier somehow

[offbrand-deltatraveler]

Tbh I get that all the episodes of this arc being extremely rushed and episodic and awkwardly cutting off instead of having proper endings is just part of the YouTube Shorts aesthetic, but it really doesn’t work for an episode as important as today’s that was a video and not a Short. And arguably never worked for any more serious story-important episodes tbh

(Spoilers for pretty much everything and just a lotta general negativity ahead)

Like things like the explanation of the lore and the countdown could be done in Shorts because they were clearly made with the fact that they were going to be Shorts in mind, but when things finally started to pick up it felt less like Shorts and more that they were only showing us little bits and pieces of a much bigger story that we’ll never get to see and that really messes with the immersion

“But the world doesn’t exist outside of when Chikn wants it to. The Shorts are all there is to see. That’s the point” the point is stupid

And that doesn’t even work because if the world can only exist when Chikn wants it to then everyone should be dead. How did any episode or even any moment without Chikn in it ever exist if that’s the case? How are the characters shown to have done things off-screen multiple times?

Also furthermore like. Everything was just so rushed???

Like one minute Chee is getting upset and ends up punching Chikn so hard it knocks him out (Not to mention she didn’t even punch him in the face and just kinda awkwardly pushed him. Would’ve been cool if she scratched him being a cat and all but the devs didn’t wanna go for that for some reason), but in the next scene she’s smiling like nothing was ever wrong to begin with, and somehow manages to trigger a flashback without even saying anything?

Also the devs teased a lotta puppet imagery with Chikn that they can’t decide whether or not they actually want because there was that whole thing about how while the chaos is caused by Chikn, he still feels like a part of it rather than the cause of it (“Sometimes I feel like I’m just… A puppet on a stage”), which is presumably because of his chaotic powers running wild and trying to take control of him, but in this episode that apparently was completely retconned in favor of Chikn himself feeling like he has to destroy the world. Which I can also see as well with how Bezel keeps egging him on but 1. They didn’t have to replace one with the other. It’d arguably be more interesting if both were true at once (Chikn feeling like he has to fulfill his destiny and destroy everything made it easier for his powers to get the better of him), and 2. Bezel never said anything to him that would actually make this work. He didn’t even know about his destiny until his powers started doing their thing because Bezel explicitly refused to tell him. Where did these feelings of having to fulfill his destiny even come from? How does he even know there’s a prophecy instead of thinking that he just happens to have weird powers?

Or maybe he did. Maybe all that stuff did happen and does have an explanation and we just won’t see it because they don’t show us the full story

And also speaking of Bezel what happened to “Everything must be cute. Everything must be nice”? If Chikn is so convinced that he must follow his destiny of destroying the world what was up with that part where he explicitly stated that he doesn’t want the world destroyed?

(Also also speaking of Bezel, the reveal of him being the doomsday clock was cool and really clever but like. If he’s not the embodiment of time why didn’t Iscream & Fwench Fwy literally just kill him?)

“Well maybe his powers did what power usually does and began to corrupt him” They should’ve said that. As the viewers, AKA the people who are not writing the story, it is not our job to fill up plotholes

And also that still goes for the “Puppet on a stage being controlled by the chaos inside him” angle while today’s episode goes for the “Bezel gaslit Chikn into thinking his destiny is inescapable” angle

And also furthermore if he’s convinced he has to destroy everything why didn’t he eat her? Why didn’t he ever try to hurt Chee or show that he was going to (And yes, I do mean show. Chikn tells her over and over again that his destiny makes him dangerous for Chee to be around, but she is never shown to be in any real danger)? Maybe instead he could’ve started trying to do that thing he did in one of the earliest episodes where he pulled out her pin and she just died. Maybe seeing her like that could remind him of that time and that could’ve been the thing that triggered the flashback

Not to mention the whole reason this happened in the first place was because Chee stopped hanging out with him and that made him feel lonely and the emptiness and boredom he felt allowed him to become aware of his powers and how they affect people. Why was that never brought up throughout like any part of this whole thing? “We’re all here for you” He doesn’t want a “We’re All” he wants you specifically. That’s why he’s doing all this. That was the whole significance of Chee going to talk to him

And speaking of how his powers did that thing to Chee, quick sidenote to mention how we never see the result of that. We never see what exactly happened with Chee that stressed him out so much or how Cofi and Slushi reacted to it and that wouldn’t been such an interesting thing to show. And no this is not because of an episode limit they literally have 300 of them

And speaking of Slushi, why do we never see her reaction to the fact that all of this was Chikn’s fault? Between Chee randomly walking out on their hangout and Chikn’s powers rubbing off on Sodi she has to have noticed

And the line delivery in this episode was shit because we know Chikn Nuggit characters can sound genuinely emotional when they need to

tl;dr: The “Silly little relatable Shorts made by a small group of people who just wanna have fun” aesthetic doesn’t work well when applied to Shorts that aren’t silly or fun. Trying to uphold this vibe has done infinitely more to hurt the story than to help it

[withacapitalp]

Countdown Pt 3

Part One Part Two

Tw: Slight suicidal ideation and general grieving

--------------------------------------

They only carry a couple things with them on the run. 

Surviving the apocalypse isn’t pretty, and it’s easier to make a quick escape if they’re always traveling light. Essentials only, with a few sentimental items so they don’t completely lose their minds. 

Nancy had her journals, Max had her skateboard (even if she couldn’t use it right now), Will brought a pack of colored pencils, and Steve was pretty sure Hopper had somehow saved a half a pack of smokes. 

And Steve….Steve has a shoebox. 

It’s an old thing, held together with duct tape and decorated with sharpie doodles. Wayne had given it to him right before he left town, along with the necklace that Steve kept around his neck every moment of every day. 

He’s never let any of them look in it. They think he’s insane, but they’re not the ones with zeroed out timers.

This shoebox is all he has left of his soulmate. 

What’s inside would seem like junk to most people. A handful of rocks of varying size, shapes, and colors. A leather cuff with spikes that Steve had immediately put around his timer wrist to hide it from view. A matchbook from a gay bar in Indianapolis, a Spalding bouncy ball. Some hand-sewn patches with logos he didn’t recognize, three different mini figures, a dozen faded beautiful photographs, and a single mixtape. 

Only Robin knew about the mixtape. He had only told her in case they needed a song for him. That mixtape was the only thing in the world that had the song that could save his life. 

But the most important thing in that box was the letters. 

He read one every night. He had promised himself he wouldn’t read more than one. It was routine. When it was his turn to be on watch and the rest of their family was sound asleep, Steve would open his shoebox, pull out a letter, and read it. 

The first one is probably his favorite. It was written in dark red marker on yellow construction paper, the edges ripped and torn with age. The marker bled through the back of the paper where the child who wrote the letter had pressed down too hard, and Steve could imagine the way his fingers must have stained from the ink. Blood red. The same way his fingers were stained when he died. 

7/4/1971 

TWO SULMAYT,

HI.

I AM EDDIE MUNSON. I AM FIVE YEARS OLD. I LIKE TRUKS. YU SHUD LIKE THEM TO. WE CAN WATCH THE BIG TRUKS! 

WHAT IS YUR NAMY? 

BIE

LUV EDDIE

P. S. I HAD A NANA FOR BRIKFEST. YUM. 

There was a picture of two giant monster trucks under the words, and a tiny thing Steve assumed was a banana under the postscript. Steve keeps that one tucked in his jacket pocket, just in case he ever loses his bag or his precious shoebox. 

He keeps the first in his side pocket, and keeps the last one in the breast pocket right above his heart

6/13/1986

Hi Love,

The first one says ‘Two Sulmayt’ but every one after that starts with ‘Hi Love’. 

Steve can’t help wondering if Eddie would have eventually called him ‘Love’ if they had gotten more time. 

Well, if you’re reading this, then I guess my plan to be the one that lived really didn’t work out. Damn, that sucks. Probably a little bit more for you than for me. 

I don't know how you dealt with knowing we only had five days, but I thought it was kinda fucked. Like damn, really? Five? The universe sure has a funny sense of humor, doesn’t it, Love? Or maybe it just hates me. That is also a very real possibility. 

Maybe. But if the universe hated Eddie, then it must hate Steve more for making him continue to live. For giving him other people to love, people to care about, people to force him to not give up. 

Anyways this is how I dealt with it. If you only get five days to have me, I’m going to make sure you know me. Or know who I was at least. One letter a month for the last 12 years, and a bunch of random one off ones from when I was little. Before I lived with Wayne it was kind of catch as catch can with paper and stuff, and I was also like seven, so how many letters do you really want from a seven year old who still can’t spell ‘Difficulty’?

I know how to now, by the way. Mrs. D, Mrs. I, yada yada. Do you ever wonder why all those women are married? I think that’s stupid. Forced conformity, even in our nursery rhymes. 

That joke always made Steve laugh. He’s read this letter so many times it’s starting to come apart at the creases, but it still made him pause and chuckle. 

Anyways. This is yours. Eleven letters a year for twelve years is one hundred and thirty two. Adding in the ones from before, it’s probably around a hundred and fifty. It’s not the same as having me around, but if you spread them out, you might get thirteen years or so before you have to start rereading them. 

Or read them all in one sitting. Do whatever you want. 

Steve had counted. It was one hundred and forty one. He read one new one a night, because every single day they survived seemed like a miracle right now. 

He only had seventy three more left. 

Not like I can stop you, haha. 

That’s probably not as funny to you as I want it to be. Sorry, Love. 

It wasn’t funny. Not in the slightest. Steve wanted Eddie here, wanted him to tell him to wait. He wanted Eddie to write him more letters. 

Oh, I also included a bunch of stuff I thought was too cool to lose, and a mixtape with songs that I wrote for my band. I thought you might want to get to hear my voice. It’s probably stupid, but you don’t have to listen to them if you don’t want to. 

Steve listened to it. They had been forced to scrounge up new batteries for his walkman three times because it kept dying. 

Everything in this box is yours, Wayne has strict instructions to give it to you. And, anything of mine Wayne doesn’t want is for you too.

Wow. A whole trust fund of trailer park trash. Some people leave their soulmates huge inheritances. I left you rocks and pictures and a shit ton of letters. Aren’t you lucky, Love? 

He was lucky. He had seventy three more letters. Seventy three more reasons to survive another day. 

After that…Steve wasn’t sure if he would be lucky anymore. 

Now if you’re good at math- which I hope you are, because I’m terrible at it- then you might be saying to yourself ‘Is my soulmate an idiot? Does he not know there’s twelve months in a year?’ 

No. I’m actually incredibly smart, even though my grades don’t really show it. I rewrite this top of the box letter every year on my birthday, and then I burn the last one. It’s a fun, extremely morbid, tradition. 

I’m 20 today, Love. I wonder how old you are a lot. I hope you’re close to my age at least. Maybe you’re like fifty years older than me, and I meet you when you’re on your deathbed, and that’s why we only have five days. 

They had only gotten five days because Steve hadn’t just taken Eddie and run. He should have just told Eddie to go as far from Hawkins as possible the second he realized. Fuck the rest of the world, fuck stopping the apocalypse. The best part of Steve was already dead. 

Two whole decades, but somehow I’m still in high school. I failed. Again. I wrote a lot about it in my letter last month, so I’m not going to talk about it again. Suffice to say I’m pretty bummed. I mean, c’mon, even Steve Harrington managed to graduate last year, and that guy barely even went to class during senior year. 

That part of the letter always made his stomach turn. He hated the reminder of all the wasted time, the little nudge that always told him it was his fault they barely had any time. 

If he had only looked up. 

Oh, well. This one is it. ‘86 baby! I’d say I want this to be the year I meet you, but I really want to graduate, so maybe hold off for just one more year? Stay wherever you are for just twelve more months, Love, just to be safe. Then I can put a picture of me flipping off my principal in this box for you. I’ll add my diploma in too, just to prove to you I did it. 

Eddie wasn’t going to get a diploma. 

If you wait a year, I’ll give you twelve more letters. So just wait one more year. By then, I think I’ll know what to say to make this better. I’ll know what to do to fill the gap I know you’re going to have. I’ll have something to say that will fix all this. I say that every year, and I never do, but hey, ‘86. 

Nothing anyone said would fix this. Nothing Eddie could write would fill the hole left in Steve’s soul. Nothing. 

I’m sorry. 

I say that every year too. 

Steve didn’t want apologies. He didn’t want letters. He didn’t want a hard to hear voice on a single mixtape. 

He wanted Eddie. 

Well. Happy birthday to me. One more year without meeting you. Eleven more letters. You better be doing something just as nice for me in case it's you that bites it, or I’m bringing your ass back just to kill you again. 

Steve didn’t care if Eddie killed him. Eddie could reappear right now and immediately shoot Steve and he would die happy. He just wanted one more minute. Just a little more time. 

…Wait just a little bit longer. I’ll have better words next year. 

Can you do that for me, Love?

P.S. You should read the first letter I wrote to you, just to appreciate how eloquent and charming I am in this one. 

Eddie called him ‘Love’. Eddie asked him to wait. Eddie wanted to have the right words. He wanted to live long enough to save Steve from his own broken heart.

Steve wishes he had waited.  

[blood-feathers]

It seems your entire team is an alternate version of their more well known (at least in this dimension) counterparts

I'll give a slight rundown, referring to each class as their class names. All names given are the ones that are released to the public, some characters may have inaccurate, incomplete, or missing names, you may refer to this as a list when someone asks you about these classes, just for a reference, to prevent confusion. I know it's quite a lot. So you might want to sit down. There are 9 of these people after all

Scout (jeremy) is a loud mouthed, boisterous, immature new Yorker with an addiction to a radioactive soda called 'bonk' fun fact, he's the biological son of his team's spy, juicy gossip, ooh.

Demoman (tavish degroot) is a drunken one eyed Scott who usually is seen stumbling around constantly drunk (still good at his job while entirely plastered, somehow?)

Heavy (mikhail) is a stoic Russian man with an obsession over a spesific gun he named 'natasha' he is the biggest class, a truly massive man.

Medic (ive told you about him so I'll skip him)

Sniper a quiet and reserved man, he rarely goes out of his sniper nest if at all, and keeps to himself. He lives in a van. His name is "mundee mundee" and he throws jars of piss at people. Yes full mason jars. His kidneys are fucked up.

Spy (no name given or revealed) he is a Frenchman, and a snooty one at that, he is slick and quick like an eel. Often complains about people getting his suit dirty, even getting blood on it

Engineer (Dell conagher) don't let his accent fool you, this Texan has 11 degrees. He likes to solve simple problems, usually problems that would be much easier to solve if you had a gun with you. He's all for making life easier, and if that involves making deadly machinery, he'll do it. That being said, even if he is quite murderous, he is the most put together person on the team (which is kind of like being the tallest dwarf) he is the person you would want to hold your drink at the bar, all around good guy, unless he's payed to or wants to kill you. Guess which character is my favorite, you get one guess, haha.

Pyro (no name given) this person is obsessed with unicorns. Bubbles, and rainbows, his goggles force him to see a world of cotton candy, pink, and pastels, it's unclear if he knows the absolute horror he's causing with his flamethrower as it appears to be harmless through his goggles. We know nothing about him, his mask muffles his voice, hides his face, and protects him from smoke inhalation. We don't know his name, gender, age (sorta), nationality or even what his face looks like. All we know is he has a flamethrower and will use it.

Soldier (Jane doe) to put it simply. He's fucking insane. A self proclaimed soldier of some war, he was regarded as too mentally unstable to be qualified for actual war combat. So his employer s, mannco, did the most rational thing and gave him a rocket launcher and told him to blow people up. While less aggressive than the soldier you know, he is very prone to screaming war crys as he beats people to death with a shovel if not exploding them with the preciously mentioned rocket launcher

That should be all, ciao.

Now we're talking! This, fellas, is exactly what I was asking for. Gold star to you, anonymous guy. Alright, you're all officially out of yapping debt. Ask as you please.

(australian possum countdown -- 2 asks remain)

[27dragons]

New Year Countdown: Dec 6

CRAP, I forgot to post this yesterday!!! And I was particularly excited about this one because it's a Sandbridge callback! (I randomly rolled "Restaurant AU" and couldn't not do it!)

If you haven't read the Sandbridge AU before, first of all, I'm not sure why you even follow me. And second of all, you probably do need to know before clicking through that Tony and Bucky have 2 daughters in that series, Billie and Livvy.

Dec 6 - Winteriron - Restaurant AU - Sleigh

Bucky was whistling “Jingle Bells” under his breath as he turned his truck into Dockside’s parking lot. Christmas was just around the corner, Billie was home from school on holiday break, Dockside was enjoying a brief surge of business as local families decided it was easier to eat out than cook for their holiday visitors, and he’d actually managed to finish all his holiday shopping before the mad rush of Christmas Eve, for a change.

He looked around to make sure neither his husband nor his daughters were immediately present, then unlocked the toolbox on the side of his truck and pulled out his last few packages, bustling them into the garage before anyone could appear. Even Livvy knew that he hid everything in there, under the old stack of inflatable pools that probably didn’t fully inflate anymore, but none of them would peek.

“Papa!” Speaking of the devil... Bucky ducked out of the garage before Livvy made her way around the corner of the building.

“Hi there, Briar Rose,” he said, reaching out to ruffle the preteen’s hair. “What’s cookin’?”

“Uncle Steve is,” she said, grinning, but grabbed his arm and pulled. “Come on, down to the beach!”

Bucky followed along gamely, though he’d need to get into the kitchen to help with prep soon. “Why? What’s going on?”

Livvy giggled and let go, running ahead of him.

As soon as Bucky cleared the corner, he saw what Livvy was so wound up about. Tied up at the dock that gave the restaurant its name was a smallish motorboat. That by itself was not too unusual, though this particular dock wasn’t really the ideal location for it, being more of a pier for fishing than a true dock.

But someone -- and Bucky was laying money on his husband -- had somehow decked the boat out to look like Santa’s sleigh, the side panels situated so the “runners” of the sleigh skimmed just about at water level. It was an elaborate illusion, including dozens if not hundreds of lights and a platform above the motor that was piled high with what Bucky fervently hoped were fake presents, lest any of them topple overboard. A couple of the presents featured Dockside’s logo prominently; Bucky suspected that Steve had helped with that paint job. Billie and Nat were in the boat with Tony, helping with something, while Livvy danced excitedly at the end of the dock.

Laughing, Bucky ambled down the beach and out onto the dock, arriving at the end just as Tony clambered up the rope ladder that was hung there. Bucky reached down to help Tony up and pulled him into a kiss that they might have prolonged somewhat just because Livvy was clearly so impatient for them to stop.

“So this is your top-secret project,” Bucky said when he finally had to take a breath. “Santa’s going by water this year?”

“Not a lot of chimneys in Sandbridge,” Tony pointed out, his eyes sparkling. “But lots of boat slips.”

“There’s a parade!” Livvy announced. “On the 23rd! We’re definitely going to win!”

Bucky raised his eyebrows as he helped Nat and then Billie up onto the dock. “A parade?”

“Yes,” Nat said firmly. “We may not win, but I think we will make a good showing.”

“It’s a nice sleigh,” Bucky agreed, eyeing the boat. “But I reckon I might miss the reindeer.”

Nat traded grins with Billie.

“A water sleigh doesn’t need flying reindeer, Uncle Bucky,” Billie said. “It needs flying fish.”

“That’s what all the presents on the back are for,” Tony put in. “After we get our fish attached to the front, we’ll add ballast to the presents to counterbalance them. Thank god the parade won’t go at more than five knots the whole way, or our whole boat would probably sink.”

“Send me the details on this parade,” Bucky told them as they headed back up the dock toward the beach. “I’ll get Victoria to sub for me so I can come watch and cheer you on.”

“Great!” Billie enthused. “That means I can ride with the boat instead of staying on shore with the bug.”

Livvy pushed her way between Bucky and Tony, “And then we can all go out for ice cream after!”

“This is required,” Nat announced before Bucky could respond. “If we win, we must have ice cream to celebrate. And if we do not win, then ice cream shall console us.”

Bucky laughed and put his arms around Billie and Livvy, tucking one hand into Tony’s back pocket for good measure. “It’s a date.”

[unsettlingcreature]

RIGHT OK SO thoughts. i have them.

MINRATHOUS. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. MINRATHOUS!!!!

It's beautiful. I want to see more of Minrathous and Tevinter in general, I am SO excited for the environments and buildings and- (muffled screaming).

Also Minrathous? Do you know who else might be in Minrathous? 🥺🥺🥺 i'm sorry i just want to see dorian again. But also, I hope we'll see Maevaris too! So badly!

edit: actually, I realised what the started segment where you run through the city with demons Fucking Shit up reminds me of! The scene in Origins where you are running across the bridge to get to the beacon at the battle of Ostagar! Having to ignore the carnage around you as you push forwards because the end goal is ultimately more important...

I love that we get a background for our Rook that seems to actually come up outside of the rare dialogue option. And speaking of dialogue, I like that we're keeping the dialogue wheel with contextual icons! I'm not a massive fan of the UI but it's by no means bad.

As they walked through the streets of Minrathous, I was for some reason reminded of Assassin's Creed. But once combat began, I was reminded of Shadow of Mordor...? I think it was the switching between blade and bow.

I can already tell that the combat is not really my thing. I'll cope. I'll suffer through it. I will say that it looks very fluid and makes me hope that we'll get a similar flow of combat (for rogues at least) similar to DA2 (which I think has the best dual-wielding combat of the three games imo). I'll probably still pick a mage for my first playthrough but rogues are tempting me.

The warning lines for ranged attacks is... interesting! I've seen something similar in a few games and it'll definitely make dodging a lot easier to figure out timings, even if I personally hate dodge-heavy combat. Again, I'll cope.

The music... oh my god, it's beautiful. As they approached the ritual site, you could hear the same motifs that were present in the Tresspasser's soundtrack (specifically Dark Solas Theme) (I go feral whenever I hear those strings btw). Very excited by the music, even the song that was present for the countdown before it started was beautiful!

Some of the dialogue was a bit... quippy. It was way better than the character reveal though. For the most part, it felt fine but then now and then I'd pull a face at a cheesy line or the odd sentence that felt stilted to me.

I didn't realise Neve was an amputee! I love the stylised prosthetic. I definitely need to get around to reading the comics.

The new direction with demons is interesting. They seem to be going more wraith-like, with even the pride demon no longer have legs and just kind of floating. The fiery dog-like are what I assume are meant to be rage demons? I actually love them, far more than the weird blobby things we've seen in past games.

The facial expressions are very good. Definitely not having the same issue as ME:A. Honestly, the animation in general is brilliant. I enjoyed watching Rook dart about during combat and his movement was very fun.

Whenever the pride demon teleported away just as Rook went to strike, I kept thinking "nah that would piss me off so much".

Seeing Varric approach Solas, I was like haha wow, imagine if they killed off Varric really early on in the game. I don't think Bioware would but it did genuinely put me on edge for a moment. Destroying Bianca though... Nah, somehow that's worse. Where's he going to get another one? :(

Also, hi Venatori! You're still around after ten years? Fucking hell, you'd think they'd have given up considering Corypheus was dunked on over a decade ago. Learn to take the L.

Finally, that shout from Solas as the ritual was disrupted... I think it's the angriest I've heard him, at least put against how he was in Inquisition. Also are we going to talk about the purple eyes? I think I'd like to talk about the purple eyes. Solas could get it. WHAAAAAT WHO SAID THATTTTT, THAT'S WILDDDDDDD...

[wangmiao]

LOOK AT MY THREE-BODY MERCH!!!

i finally got some time and energy to properly take photos of my three-body merch. i'm not really a merch guy. while i know it's not much, but trust me, i've never bought so many stuff just for one piece of media before.

photo 1 and 2 are two of the few official merch for the tv show. obviously, i bought them for shiwang (aka turkey bodyguard and turkey scientist). i love that even in cartoon turkey form, you can still see miaomiao being tired and fed up while dashi has that smug smile on his face. my major complaint is that the countdown on dashi is completely wrong because he doesn't even start it until 1018 hours in the show, but it's at 1186 hours on the mug.

photo 3 is a sweatshirt of the droplets that will appear later in the trilogy. this is just a super cool looking pattern to put on there.

photo 4 is ye wenjie and redcoast base stuff. there's a "do not answer" coffee tumbler (the urge to just type tumblr lol), and ye wenjie's work journal from 1969 in the form of evidence collected by shi qiang. i haven't opened the plastic wrap of it because it gotta travel with me later and it's easier to pack it in this way.

photo 5: besides the pdc and eto pins, i wanted to get some more merch for stuff that appear later in the trilogy. the asian fleet dog tag is zhang beihai's and his name is engraved on the other side of the tag. those 2 neck straps are actually usb-c cables for phones. i got them because i could never find my cables whenever i need them lol. the cables are in the themes of the dark forest, and luo ji + wallfacer project. that tiny roll of tape has a lot of characters on them, but it's much smaller than i expected lol.

photo 6: photo 1 - 5 are all official merch, but the stuff in this photo are not. it's just a boxset of printed stuff i bought from a store on douyin. the selection of everything is random, so i'm super glad that i got plenty of miaomiao here, especially the pins. besides photos and posters, there are 3 types of cards, the slightly curved ones on top right are the best ones with almost plastic like texture and perfect color/printing. there are also 3 very nice shiqiang scenes there. the rest of the cards are mediocre and there're some repeating photos, but i'm glad that i got a lot of ye wenjie and shi qiang there. the photobook is excellent because the print is perfect. there are 6 photos in the book for the 4 leads (you know who). general chang and shen yufei got 4 photos, and the other recurring character got 2. then there are a few pages dedicated to shiwang, and lastly, the second half of the photobook are posters. honestly, all those photos are already in my phone/computer in electronic form, but i just had the urge to get them in physical form somehow. i'm going to buy some passholders with hard plastic cover, and put some of the cards in there to make them into keychains. trust me, i've never done this for any other piece of media. i've never even got the courage to publicly display my love of some tv show, but i just gotta do it for this show.

[niadevbutreal]

[ULTRAKILL ACT 3 SPOILERS]

Goddamn talk about a difficulty spike. Almost P ranked the 7-1 but did a dumb dumb vs Minotaur. Wow I forgot how hard P ranking a level for the first time was. This act has that P-1 and P-2 energy of "can you parry? Well, it's time to learn". Mannequins are kind of annoying atm but godamn are they common in this act so far. Guess it's time to learn the whole punch them mid fall trick the terminals recommend.

Gutterman and Guttertanks are probably my new least favourite enemy (Mindflayers are old news, tbh they're just more time consuming than hard at this point), at least until I learn how to deal with them properly. Atm I'm Knuckleblastering the shield then Nailgunning them while going between cover and defaulting to ProBoosting + Rocket spam like this shit is a Cerberus. The Guttertanks are probably easier with the Freezeframe trick, but only 8 seconds to fuck up multiple Guttertanks which are not frail, is not fun.

7-1 is probably my favourite level, and it comes equipped with Big John from Erebus Reactor in Dusk (and probably other New Blood games) as the secret encounter and the tram battle is just plain cool. Minotaur gives me massive Phantom from Devil May Cry 1 vibes since it seems to die only to come back with less armour and enraged for a final, and even runs through narrow corridors earlier in the level, but I guess a Phantom reference in Ultrakill was inevitable since there are already more DMC references in the game than I can count (Agony and Tundra = Agni and Rudra from DMC 3 in case you somehow missed it, V1 and V2 being twin rivals, etc.) and it's probably DMC's most iconic boss after Vergil, besides maybe Nightmare and Nelo Angelo. ... Oh god we're going to get a Nightmare reference aren't we. Would be pretty cool if the final boss was God and it's one giant Mundus fight reference (still one of the cinematically coolest fights in all video game history btw).

Fuuuuck 7-2 last room. Not as much as 7-3's last room, though. That's a whole special breed of 'Hakita what the fuck'. About the first quarter of the time spent in the room is spent dealing with the machines and hell troops and that the last three are solely dealing with the blood tree's mannequin spawns.

7-4 is pretty cool too, even if the brain thing is kind of infuriating (skill issue I know). Pro tip - use the ledge on the side, and use it to more easily adjust your height for the next laser. Lasers you can't iframe immune via dash is something else though man, and a countdown before the whole thing explodes is sick as shit (Mallet Island reference :O)

I think it's pretty neat that the Hell and Heaven forces spawn near the end of level door in a room primarily flooded with machines who are canonically trying to go down, indicating that Hell really underestimated humanity and are trying to stop the machines from going apeshit on Fraud an Treachery like they have the previous layers, especially since Gabriel confirmed in 6-2 the first three levels are already depleted and destroyed. Oh yeah, and the tree of life might just be the endgame, since getting that might wind up making the machines immortal or even living again, and would explain why V1 is going straight to the bottom of hell as fast as possible instead of farming each layer individually. Violence being the Last War continued is pretty cool though.

My only complaint is that sometimes the Mannequins got stuck and couldn't do anything for some reason on one of the staircases in 7-1 and I got stuck looking for it for an entire minute because they have almost the exact same colour scheme as the stairs.

Worst level so far is probably 7-2, though, if solely because it is entirely possible to blow up the nuke by accident while respawning and winding up unable to progress and mandating restarting the entire mission (unless I missed the nuke refresh somewhere).

The grappling puzzles are surprisingly fun besides that though.

Good god I am not looking forward to P ranking the other three. I will probably want to die by the end of 7-3. I don't even want to think about P-3. No hints as to who the P-3 is beyond maybe the blanked out creator of Minotaur, but Minos got referenced again, so maybe it's Lucifer since bro is probably pissed as shit for being sent to hell just for asking questions and having the willpower to challenge heaven is a reoccurring theme for primes. Revealing that Hell itself has become Lucifer's Flesh Prison would be cool af though. That said it's probably some Greek king.

... oh god the new machines are going to be in the Cybergrind aren't they. Probably along with the Minotaur.

[invisiblegarters]

Eternal Yesterday Episode 8

No lie, I've sat down to do this thing several times already, but instead of managing it I just get all up in my feelings and have to quit to calm myself down. I thought it'd be better today but nah, I'm just as much of a mess now as I was when I watched the last ep the first time. There was so much I loved about episode, but everything I loved also hurt my heart and made me a wreck.

So I've decided to just kind of push myself through it. I make no promises for coherency or brevity, however. I'm good at neither at the best of times, and this is not that.

The intimacy of this episode is just…of course, the heart of the drama is Mitsuru and Koichi and their love for each other, but if I'm fully honest I never expected them to sell it as well as they did. So often the chemistry is uneven that I just sort of expected it again, but these two got me. I fully, one hundred percent believe that they're in love, and what's more, they sold that they actually want each other, too. Somehow, for me, they nailed it so thoroughly that I kind of resent Japan for giving me a couple this perfect when there's no hope of a happy ending.

So yes, I liked that. I love all the forehead touching and the being comfortable right up in each other's space breathing the same air, the sense that these two people would be content to just be with each other all the time.

I liked Koichi's breakdown, and I loved Mitsuru comforting him through it. It hurts so much that Koichi has been putting this cheerful face on for Mitsuru, because he's clearly been having a rough time, until he just can't anymore. Until the countdown that they both know is there (and maybe for Koichi far more than Mitsuru - as he keeps saying, it's his body) is almost at zero and there's no more time, and he doesn’t want to go but there’s no choice. No amount of love in the world is gonna keep him there. 

One thing I kept noticing throughout the show is that they are just there for each other in a very real way. When Koichi has his moments in episode four and here, Mitsuru puts aside his own worry and grief to comfort him, and well. We've all seen Koichi doing it time and time again.

What really set me off though was the talk with dad. I don't know what logic made Mitsuru's mom think that being cold to her son would make it easier for him to lose her. It doesn't work that way, and it hurts that the only memory of her being kind Mitsuru has is when it was too late and she was on borrowed time herself. I thought it was interesting that she came back for a while as well. 

I keep wondering what tipped dad off that Koichi was the same. Perhaps he caught Mitsuru looking at Koichi in the kitchen, then saw him at the hospital later and put two and two together? Or maybe he clocked how pale he looked the first time he saw him, all the way back in episode two, and then put things together from there. I don't know. I do like that we see that it is possible to move on, though - he clearly does - but that's well over a decade later. Telling Mitsuru that he doesn't have to force himself to heal is maybe the best thing he could have said, and the truest. There's no making yourself get better from a loss like that. And even after you no longer live in the sadness of it, the scar remains.

Sneaky and awful, too, the credits being Mitsuru's (and probably Koichi's) dream of what might have been. When I saw those two cup noodles…I do think that Mitsuru finally understands what Koichi was trying to tell him during that time, in the bio lab. But I don't know that I believe that he'll ever quite manage to do it. I think in some ways that loss stopped him in time as much as it did Koichi, and he'll get older but there will always be a part of him that is back there, unable to move on. I think a part of him will always be looking for Koichi.

I liked Koichi's epilogue. I laughed a little at him calling meeting Mitsuru a miracle, mostly because of Mitsuru rejecting the same idea in the first episode. Of course Koichi would think that, and of course Mitsuru would resist it. It showcases their similar thought process and their differences all in one line, and I loved it.

I'll admit, I was briefly annoyed at the whole "if Micchan were a girl, I'd still love him" thing, because I'm not a fan of the "I'm not gay (or bi!), I just like you" trope, but I was glad that it was immediately walked back. Would have preferred it not be there at all, however. 

Finding out about his family made some things make so much sense. I don’t doubt that his family adores him as much as if he were truly theirs - and I don’t think that he does either - but I get the sense of loneliness he must have felt to have been abandoned by both bio parents so young. Both he and Mitsuru were searching for someone to belong to, and to love wholeheartedly, and I do think that the fact that they found that in each other is a bit of a miracle. 

So of course the end where he thanks Mitsuru for being his miracle sent me ugly crying straight into the credits.

I don’t think I’ve been this screwed up by a show since...well, it's been a while.  

It’s not just the sadness. If this show had just been sad for sad’s sake, or felt too over the top about it, I would have been able to write it off and move on easily. It's easy enough for me to cry at sad movies and shows, but in all honesty they don't tend to stick with me. They're sad, I cry, I decide if they were good and then I tend to keep on, already looking for the next thing. But instead Japan had to go and hit all the buttons to trigger a sort of grief process in me along with Mitsuru, and so I’ll find myself thinking about this drama at random moments and tearing up (or crying because one of the songs from the OST pops up on my playlist - both those songs are great but man are they hard to listen to now), or getting a little angry because it’s just not fair, or feeling a quiet melancholy that seems like it’s settled into my bones. I'm not used to that.

It hurts, and ultimately I find myself wondering: was it worth it? I put myself through eight weeks of this slow, creeping inevitability, this knowledge that there was no way for this to end but with everyone in tears, me included. I’ve cried so much this weekend already that I probably can’t go anywhere because of my swollen, red eyes and my head feeling about seven sizes too small for my plugged-up sinuses. 

I really thought I knew what I was getting into with this, but the truth is I didn’t expect to get to me so hard. I couldn’t have foreseen the way everything - the acting, the music, the direction and the story - would all converge to make the perfect drama to wreck me. I honestly don’t know if I would have watched had I had an idea that it would do so. 

But I’m so glad I did. The answer to the question is that yes, yes it was worth every bit of tears. I love this damn show. It’s hands down my number one, best show of the year, will definitely watch it again and yes, buy the blu-ray when it comes out in May. And while I completely understand that it’s not for everyone, I would recommend it to anyone who isn’t put off by a heartfelt meditation of grief and loss and losing someone you adore by increments. There’s a lot of loveliness to be found here, even in spite of the pain, and maybe in some ways because of it.

For eight weeks, this show hasn’t been very far from my mind, and I don’t see an immediate change in that state of affairs. But i guess I really am a bit of a masochist, because I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Final rating: 10/10

[deathfavor]

@ofsavior said: “Don’t tell me you’re happy. I can see you’re not.” (Chifuyu to Kazutora; Bonten)

confrontational starters

Kazutora's eyes narrow instinctively when he watches Chifuyu block his path in a clear effort to pin the tiger down for a talk. Chifuyu has that look in his eyes, the one he always gets when he wants to have a serious discussion. His jaw clenches at the words, fingers tightening around the keys in his hand. Not this bullshit. But Chifuyu fucking opens his mouth and the words grate on every single nerve in Kazutora's body. Chifuyu sounds disappointed, like he's scolding a bad child he expected better from. Except it feels more like a kid trying to talk down on him for failing. And maybe that's not how Chifuyu means it, but that's how it comes across to Kazutora.

He's done with those sneaky glances that check on him, done with pity or whatever it might be ever since that day Chifuyu asked if he was living for himself. Or maybe he's just tired from a long day on an already low mood, and Chifuyu's unfortunately timed discussion has simply become the last straw.

" You want a fucking prize? " Kazutora snaps, staring at Chifuyu with a glare. " Fine! You want me to say it? Fine! I'm not fucking happy. There? Are you happy I finally said it? " He can't stop the words now even if he wants to. His anger has always been like raging beast, violent and unable to silenced whenever it manifests. Maybe he IS like a child in that sense.

" I'm angry that I'm not happy. I'm grateful, but I'm not happy. I hate that. " He seethes, breathes coming in ragged and sharp like thorns in his lungs. " I hate that I feel like something trying to be forced into a picture it doesn't fit. Because I don't. Not with the people, not with all this ordinary life. I've only been given a chance because of Keisuke, he's still saving my damn ass. I'm not stupid. And then later because of you too, from you taking that chance on me. " He laughs but it sounds like something breaking. " I hate that I feel like i make things worse for you just being around. Can't even reminisce for you because Toman's not a good point in my memory. I hate that I can't just be angry because then everyone gets scared or an I told you so attitude. Because I'm the murderer and that's not something that people can just dismiss. I hate that I'm so fucked up just like everyone's said and I feel like its just a countdown till I do it again. I hate that sometimes I miss the violence and pain because that feels easier than this. I - FUCK ! "

Kazutora chokes, slamming his fist against the nearest wall and then crouching down. Breathe. Breathe. Come on Kazutora, breathe. It feels like he's gasping for air, like he can't get enough air into his lungs. He flexes his hand to make sure he didn't break anything, but he can't hear anything over the pounding in his ears. He weakly tosses his keys away - somewhere his muddled brain knows that it would be a bad idea to drive right now. Chifuyu just wanted to talk and here he was, fucking it up like everything else. " Fuck. Fuck I'm sorry. " And somehow that only makes him feel worse. It's always that. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. " I shouldn't be here. " His croaks, and his head hurts. It's only when he tries to move his hands that he realizes he's dug them into his own hair as he crouches, hunched over and small. He tentatively pries them away, his hair falling away from the broken ponytail.

" I feel like I'm going insane, I'm so angry and I don't know what to do with it. " He whispers, shivering or shaking, he's not sure which it is. " I'm going- I'm going- " Where? He had no idea. Anywhere but here.

[glassmarcus]

The Handheld Klonoa Games

*Played and Written in July 2022

Allow me to recount the great era of GBA platformers. I'm talking about the age when Rayman 3, Crash Bandicoot 2, Spyro 2 all came out...on the Game Boy Advance. Franchises wanted to take advantage of the portable market so they paired down their gameplay to make a few GBA games. They all have this certain flavor to them. Having pre-rendered "cut scenes", being somewhat of a soft remake of its corresponding console game, being questionably canon. As someone who spent that era without a Playstation, these games were my only window into some of these franchises. Crash Bandicoot is a 2D sidescroller first and a 3D platformer second to me. Spyro was a mid isometric collectethon to me for the longest time. Rayman was also a sidescroller...which isn’t weird at all given the history of that brand. I loved these games dearly growing up, but I had the misfortune of not even knowing Klonoa existed, so I never got to play the portable takes on the series framework.

After playing all 3 Portable Klonoa platformers, I can declare that they have the same vibes as the games I discussed before. While the portable Klonoa games can't interact with the foreground and background, they are more or less the same gameplay wise as the console games. The rest of its peers try to be similar to the games they are based off of, but are noticeably reeled back. Here, not much is lost in the translation, so not much is lost quality wise. Because the same philosophies of Klonoa 1 and 2 can be taken full advantage of, the three portable Klonoa Platformers end up being at the top of this sub genre.

Klonoa: Moonlight Museum is surprisingly great. I think dig it more than the first Klonoa game. It's less of a straight forward platformer you try to master and more of a puzzle platformer that uses Klonoa gameplay. The actual platforming aspect isn't that impressive, but these puzzles get pretty big brained eventually. The stages take advantage of the Wonder Swan’s screen and uses it to give levels verticality which allows for more space for the puzzles to stretch out. The levels start to feel like Zelda dungeons after a while, where you are required to have an intimate understanding of the stage’s structure. None of them are as complex as some of the better dungeons per say, but they are, at their worst, Breath of the Wild tier. There are no bosses and the story is told in a rather bland way so it is not as impactful or complete of an experience as the first game. But it's a more stimulating product moment to moment. You really have to get the hang the elements introduced in each world and how they interact with Klonoa’s abilities. It’s more thought out. It’s also somehow more considerate. I love how enemies don't just respawn without warning and how bomb enemies have a countdown. These are good quality of life additions that I didn't expect from a Wonder Swan game. All it really needs is a map and it's basically perfect in terms of delivering its content painlessly.

Klonoa: Empire of Dreams is incredibly consistent. I think the puzzles are a bit harder in the other two, but Empire of Dreams makes up for it by introducing more mechanics to interact with, having color to make out objects and enemies easier, and breaking up the puzzles with action stages. Moonlight Museum was 100% just levels with puzzles you can solve at your own pace. Empire changes the composition to allow auto scrolling levels to test your platforming abilities, Snowboard levels to test your reflexes, and Boss fights to cap off each distinct world. The levels are also designed in a way where it's not as easy to get lost. It's mostly a semi linear puzzle gauntlet aside from a psuedo Zelda dungeon where things are all over the place. It loops you around way better and cuts down on back tracking significantly. There’s not much else to say about this game other that. It’s good the whole way through with no baggage attached.

Klonoa 2: Dream Champ Tournament sure has...ideas. The look around feature is welcome for sure. The edgy rival is pretty cool. Tournament arc story and level structure is novel. These are all good ideas, but only a fraction of the ideas present in Dream Champ Tournament. Having a ranking system that requires perfection is an idea. Having the surfing mini game be more similar to a Crash Bandicoot Boulder Level is an idea. Having the boss fights be timed levels is an idea. These aren't good ideas, but they are there. I don't think the good additions outweigh the bad ones, but I appreciate how much they tried for a game that, honestly, would be objectively better if the did the same thing the previous GBA title did. Also these puzzles are nightmares. They are true specters of the night. This might be the hardest puzzle game I've played in a while, sans the later levels in Mario’s Super Picross. But these puzzles aren’t hard because they are poorly crafted, I’m just stupid. And that’s why this game has my undying respect. While it may be my least favorite Klonoa Platformer, I will always feel mentally inadequate to it. And I value that a lot for some reason.

Overall, Empire of Dreams is the best one, but all three of these games are great and have cemented my identity as a Klonoa Shill.

[crystalelemental]

The last 10k Master Mode.  I'm getting all emotional. We had to say goodbye so soon...

Vs. Shauntal Naomi, you are the only Ground-type damage dealer worth a damn on an F2P budget, and I'm so glad you exist.  Lodge Morty, I know MU Torchic just popped into existence and can kinda do your job better, but Torchic doesn't have evasion so thank you too.  Acerola, your ability to flinch and supply Sandstorm is wildly underrated.  Good showing from the team all around.  We took like one hit on Morty.  That said, Naomi almost didn't win, so like...that was dire.

Vs. Grimsley Blaine's a lot better than I sometimes give credit for.  Like sure, Silver's sync explodes stages, we all know this.  Grimsley in particular, however, has a butt-billion HP, and doesn't go down in one, so you need to survive.  And Blaine's ability to hit confuse in addition to Trap on Fire Spin actually caused him to stagger enough for us to win no casualties.  So that's fun.

Vs. Caitlin Much smoother this time.  The solution is pretty easy, since BP Karen can 2HKO the right side with Double Edge.  The real fun is that, when Nanu only hit for 16k on center, Karen cleaned up with 10k on Double Edge.  She didn't even KO herself with it.  So that's pretty sick.

Vs. Marshal I hate half sync countdown parameter.  Even Giovanni, one of the hardest EX Strike nukers you can get on the F2P budget, couldn't take this stage down easily.  It's really annoying.  We eventually pulled it off, but man that's annoying.  This was a rare moment where we won because the enemy was slow.  Marshal led with Hammer Arm, then the side used Facade, and he didn't have enough gauge for his next 3-bar move right away so Giovanni got sync and a follow-up Psychic, putting us in a better position.  That said.  He queued trainer move.  So maybe Marshal took pity on me.

Vs. Iris Okay.  After last time, I had a thought.  Maybe the problem is me.  Maybe I just messed up Zinniquaza somehow.  There's no way she's that bad, right?  Friends.  She's that bad.  6k on sync.  6k!  That's it?!  I had weather and max offenses and everything, girl!  I thought that maybe again she just missed the crit, but if that's the case she missed an 80% on all three of them simultaneously.  So my point still stands.  This is exactly what I get, trying to perform a denial.  She couldn't even beat the sides down.  I need a better Dragon.  Now that MU Torchic is up and moving, maybe I'll bring Clair instead.

Anticipation for 12.5k After this F2P run, I think 2.5k per match is a bit scary, depending how much parameters shift.  To point, let's take Grimsley.  Grimsley wasn't too bad, entirely because of Silver's nuke being enough that he could finish the job with Sacred Fire.  If parameters don't make it easier to keep defenses and HP low, Grimsley's suddenly in a position to survive.  And that's a problem.  The same is true with Naomi trying to clear her stage.  Caitlin likely would have enough bulk to survive the combo of Nanu sync and BP Karen Double Edge, and then what?  I feel like there's a serious problem for them all right now.  If I had to pick from currently available parameters, they couldn't do it.  I'm convinced of that.  The only one who maybe could is Giovanni, but that's only true when the half sync countdown parameter isn't in effect.  If it is...well, good luck, pupper.

Really counting on some new parameters to make this not a nightmare!

[selamat-linting]

okay, update on my sims legacy challenge

-shirley's childhood : the dad is dead, but things are pretty okay. simone still visit them as a ghost since i put his urn in a special graveyard at the house. she also, kinda has another dad later on. yeah, alondra's remarried, not the ghost of l. faba or even morgyn. but her new neighbor, tanaka

-it happened during a power conservation day. shirley was busy doing her homework while alondra made potions and dranked the good luck one. she had a visit by one of her neighbors called tanaka and he gave her a death flower. i was busy with shirley for ONE second, and when i get back they were already all over each other. gotta say it was pretty hardcore how he pulls over my admittedly hardcore witch founder by the grim reaper plant. i approve, sir.

-and then, since alondra was begging for one, i gave her a vacation with shirley in tow. unfortunately it was also new years', and shirley's birthday. ohh that was awful. and the worst thing is that, since things are going well, i havent felt the need to use the needs potion. my sim passed out on a bench several times just to make that holiday happen. alondra doesnt even know shirley's friends, she just put the party in a park and invited santa claus in hopes that shirley's too excited on meeting new kids and making a wish to santa to even notice that none of her friends are there. it worked.

-after the bday party, there was also the countdown. since shirley's a teen now, they both spent it at a bar. and alondra becomes a wreck. i got the notif that she was going to die soon. and she has been having sad moods in the background since her friends have been dying. but now she's mostly uncomfortable since as an elder she cant keep up with three events at once without potions. meanwhile she only needs to get more xp so she could have the virtuoso wizard rank to finish her magic aspiration. i literally dont know what else to do. she'd done dueling, experiment, everything! so, i realized, alondra never really unleashed a spell to strangers. its always items or other wizards and occasionally her daughter so she's not filled with grime and dirt. so in that entire night, while shirley talked with the locals, alondra let go all of her restraints and reputation as the good witch and cast infernio on everyone and everything. she almost hit her girl.

-after the holiday, her mood doesnt improve. Im now focused at shirley since she's the only heir so maybe thats why. she'd gotten everything she wanted but alondra is just, sad. she stopped cleaning the house, she's crying all the time and she's not even using potions. sometimes if the ghost of her lovers came she'd kiss them and feel a little better. but alondra is just a barely functioning sim now.

-anyway, about the love interest situation. its more amicable than i thought. somehow all of them still wanted to woohoo and accept flirting dialogues even if alondra had personally dumped and toyed with all three. tanaka, faba, and simeon practicallty take turns seducing alondra

-different than the mom, shirley's fate in romance is... difficult. she had a crush with a girl who likes to use the gym as well, and she has a friend who is oh so sad all the time. her crush is fucking mean. of all people, whyd she has a crush to the only person in school with a red relationship bar with her? my goodness! that girl was a huge asshole. she literally fight someone in the halls. babygirl you have the worst taste in women. your friend danielle is there!

-but danielle is like, sad all the time. every single day i use the "console about death" or "try to cheer up" on her and it doesnt seem to do anything. the fact that their teacher died on second day (IN FRONT OF THE CLASS) doesnt make it any easier. you cant have whirlwind teenage romcom if everyone is highly aware of their loved ones' mortality! (hello covid era graduates)

-so, her options for prom is limited. everyone rejects her advances, and while danielle agreed theyre both gonna go out with the other kids as friends, danielle still create her promposal signs. fearing that shirley's gonna be ditched, she made her own and do the lame and desperate option.

-but in the end. no one gets any bitches so they all attend prom as a good party between friends. shirley sweetheart danced with danielle at first but end up sweetheart dancing with this guy who is the cheer team captain. she doesnt hang out with her crush. she has her mom's tendency of intense partying. before this prom, she went to a college party, and with a miniscule amount of sleep she go through with pre-party, party, and afterparty. and then later in the day she had to do her birthday as well. she didnt even use plentiful needs potion

-so after thats done, lets go back to alondra. her heir is ready now. and even if she's gone, she can visit her in ghost form and her new fiancee is kinda like shirley's second dad. im planning her to do a hiking trail with him btw. and she's so miserably sad all the time. maybe its time to let go. so, thats what she did. at first, she prepped the house, cleaning it and fixing some ignored objects, doing the laundry and everything. and she went to the magic realm to buy wands and look for appropriate tomes for shirley to read later. then she cooks. food for shirley and potions for her AND shirley.

-this is where it gets fun. alondra, being the player that she is, wants to die in the bliss off woohoo, to finally die happy after months of sadness. so she dranked all of her good potions, get married, then invite her new husband in. no, i didnt bring her spouse into the household. It was meant to be a casual wedding where alondra just say her vows and spend the time joyfully eating and drinking, but the most miserable wedding ever. the only one who came other than her family is l faba's ghost. they dont even have cake. they end up cutting the event early after the essentials are done. and then when theyre home, tanaka doesnt even want to woohoo with her. simeon is too sad to woohoo even though he still has high romance bar with alondra. you are the most patient man ever.

-luckily, there's faba! and l. faba is the only one of her love interests who is willing to assist on her suicide by woohoo mission. they fucked. on the showers, on the bed, everywhere possible. and then right in the middle of woohooing, shirley got caught on fire. i really thought she was going to die right there on her mother's suicidal bender. she survived, luckily. and then alondra and l. faba get back on woohooing while shirley took a shower and replaced the burned furnitures. after a few consecutive successful woohoo (god this girl is fit!) alondra finally dies. god bless, my dearest founder. you were loved.

-on a side note, alondra's relationship with l. faba is wildly interesting. the first wizard she knows and the last she'll ever meet. alondra's married twice to other men but it was this woman who attend her wedding twice that spend the most time with her and finally carried alondra to her final resting place. but of course, she will be buried on the grave besides her first husband. not faba's.

[immortal-enemies]

Everyone waiting for @days-until-cot to start posting

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @velinxi​

Hello! I’m Xiao Tong Kong, better known as “Velinxi.” I’m the creator of the webcomic Countdown to Countdown and have been doing freelance artwork since I was a teenager. I love telling stories with my illustrations! Tumblr was where I first got my start as an artist, specifically a small fandom artist as a hobby… and now I’m somehow here! When I’m not trying my best to stay awake in front of my tablets, I’m usually cooking, gaming, or sleeping. Sometimes all three, in my dreams.

Check out our interview with Velinxi below!

Did you originally have a background in art? If not, how did you start?

Yeah! I’ve basically been on track to become an artist since I was a child. I went to a middle school with an emphasis on arts and a high school specializing in it. I went to SVA briefly for computer arts but dropped out to pursue freelance and webcomics after my first year.

Over the years as an artist, what or who were your biggest inspirations behind your creativity?

My biggest inspirations growing up were Yuumei and Shilin Huang, two titans on DeviantArt back in the day. They still inspire me today, but the list of inspirations has grown exponentially over the years, including artists, movies, entire art movements, etc.

What was your thought process behind the creation of your webcomic, Countdown to Countdown?

Well, Countdown to Countdown started as a passion project back when I was 15, in high school, and pretty depressed. I just wanted to draw whatever story I thought was cool, inspired by my favorite media at the time. There was a very loose beginning and outline, but I was truly just writing as I drew the story. That’s why I had to stop the comic in 2018 and restart from scratch the year after. Now, the story has a set story and a clear outline. It still has similar roots, characters, and themes of neglect, abuse, and escape—but I think the story is a lot easier to follow now. It’s got an artstyle I can actually keep up with in the long run. The origin of why CTC exists also remains the same: I simply wanted to make a story I wanted to read for myself. Which happens to be about two dumb boys with superpowers navigating a hostile world that wants them dead or caged—together.

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

Oh, all the time. It’s part of the process. Personally, though—I just have to draw through it. Every month on my Patreon, I have my patrons vote on a theme I have to draw by the end of the month, and I try my best to make it as interesting as possible. I draw quite a few—tens even, of doodles or compositions for each of these themes to try to make something that tells a story while still being aesthetically pleasing and clear. I think pushing myself like this helps with art block, really. I also do remember to take breaks and simply consume other media I like! It gets the inspiration juices flowing.

Advice you would give to an aspiring creator?

If you do one—your first webcomic should be a short, fun, messy thing. It’s not often you can get it right the first time, but you’ll certainly learn a lot through sheer experience. This goes for a lot of things in art, to be honest.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

3D Animation. I briefly learned it at SVA, and I think that’s enough of that tech for me. I accept that there are some things that are truly beautiful if done right, and I am too simple and lazy for it.

What is your goal for the rest of this year?

Get Countdown to Countdown book 2 finished! And live HAHA

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

@yuumei-art on Tumblr, still! They’ve been a huge inspiration for digital artists and storytellers online for years. I have no doubt that many digital artists of my generation have been influenced by them, and they’re still here, making beautiful art and stories. It’s a thing to behold.

Thanks for stopping by, Velinxi! If you haven’t seen her Meet the Artist piece, be sure to check it out here. You can also follow her for more amazing art over at her Tumblr, @velinxi!

[peterthepark]

twisted in bedsheets

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: slow burn leading to 18+ graphic smut, angst, fluff ensures, mentions of break-ups and dating apps

summary: the second part to august slipped away in which closure is sought after and second chances are given. you and peter find one another again, but things have turned bittersweet.

notes: highly requested sequel to august slipped away which you can read in the link! can be standalone as well, but i recommend the first part for everyone!!! enjoy! (not my gif btw)

missing out? ➤ [my masterlist]

The only purpose of autumn is to make you forget the beauty of what was summer. At least, that’s what Peter says to feel better about himself. The sun moves out of the way to make room for falling red leaves and time is supposed to be slower, which meant Peter’s days would eventually feel longer than usual.

If only August could have done the same.

It’s the peak of November now, and for the second time in his life, Peter is in heartbreak.

He hates the emptiness of New York — the same old weather, the layers of jackets upon sweatshirts and sleepless nights in a bed that feels too big, too quiet, too cold. The streets are always bustling with noise, and Spider-Man is needed more than ever. Without a doubt, he misses the salty air of California, the excessive sunscreen and crowded beaches with soaked shores full of sandcastles. He misses the flavorful taste of boardwalk ice cream, the harmonies of chirping birds and the lullabies of ocean waves during low tides.

Most of all, he misses you.

Your voice. The scent of your hair. The curve of your hips. The weight of your fingertips.

Bedsheets that smelled like lavender. Swimsuits hanging on top of your balcony railing. Sunsets where you would stay up drinking gross beer or taking tequila shots by the local bar. Lazy mornings where he’d wake up to the warmth of your enticing thighs and the taste of your swollen lips, clothes thrown about and onto the wine-stained carpet.

He really fucking misses you. Letters and phone calls just don’t suffice. The pixelated images of you in small bikinis with that cheeky look just can’t bring his lustful thoughts any justice. Not when Peter can’t touch you, can’t run his hands down your body and smile at the thrumming of your laughter or the satisfied moans in his ear.

He knows he was the one who left, but part of him feels it would be easier for him if it was you who ended up leaving.

Selfish, but honest.

He can’t visit. With barely enough money to pay rent in Queens, how could he afford a ticket to see you? And with you going back to university, how could you fix your schedule to accommodate him?

He left half of his heart on the other side of the world and somehow he can’t get it back.

January is supposed to be a month of new beginnings. He’s supposed to be celebrating, to pop a bottle of champagne and claim that this year is going to be his year like he’s done every other year before this one. The only thing he receives from you is a text message and a candid picture. You look happy. It makes his heart feel fragile, because he wants nothing to wish you a happy New Years and kiss you tenderly once the countdown reaches zero.

But he can’t. Because he’s here and you’re there.

He sends you an ‘I love u.’

You can only reply with a laconic ‘U too.’

Overnight video calls on the laptop suddenly turn into short two hour catch-ups on the phone. Paragraphs of texts become meaningless conversations — his daily question of ‘how are you?’ and your simple reply of a half-assed ‘good’ after forty minutes of nothing.

The lack of elaboration is enough for him to understand that he was right all along: your relationship was never built for long distance.

It was either New York or California, nothing in between and no compromise.

Peter thinks that it would be better to move on, even though he still loves you. Seasons change, people only remember to forget, life continues forward, and it’s supposed to be alright.

He’s supposed to be alright. He will be. He has to be.

But deep down, he misses you more than he remembers you.

The handwritten love letters stop coming. His phone is the quietest it has ever been, and yet he can’t bring himself to delete your number. However, he removes the pictures: the ones of you at the beach, in bed, in his arms, him with your friends and him kissing your cheek as you smile back at the camera with eyes glimmering of sunshine. It hurts, but he tells himself it’s just a photo. He just can’t look at you for too long or else it would be a reminder of what could have been.

He can’t look at you and not think about August — how he chose to slip away and how he’s been dealt with the card of immense regret.

Another year passes by.

It’s finally summer.

Peter doesn’t think of you as often anymore. As pathetic as it sounds, he’s turned to dating apps for pointless meetings with girls he doesn’t even like and hook-ups that never go past foreplay. He’s not actually looking for a relationship — godforbid he gets into one in the first place — but it helps him, sort of. The hole in his heart is still aching, but he’s found (healthy and unhealthy) methods to keep it at bay.

To keep the thoughts of you at bay.

He refuses to give into the virtuous construct that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

He’s not one to dwell on what he can’t have, therefore he avoids thinking of you. He’s proud of himself, because not once has he drunkenly texted you nor called you like those clichés in movies. You’re nothing to him but a memory. And memories have no place in the present. What’s past should stay past, and Peter knows better than to cross the fine line of dead relationships.

He doesn’t hate you. In fact, he hates that he can’t hate you. Every ounce of him perks up whenever he hears your name. It’s hope, but for what exactly? A romantic affair that lasted the entirety of summer, just to crumble at the arrival of autumn? If the fire in your heart was so passionate, then why did it burn out?

Was growing apart supposed to hurt that bad?

He’s staring out the window of an old diner, one of those historical NYC restaurants too iconic to tear down. The red leather of the booth that he’s sat in has begun to chip, flaking onto the colorful tiled flooring as the neon sign by the bar buzzes in his eardrums loudly. The clanking of the dishwasher in the back kitchen and the bubbling of a coffee maker fills the intimate silence. Peter’s basically the only one here except for the group of laughing teenagers in the corner.

He’s envious. They have so much time on their hands.

The waitress approaches his table with his plate of onion rings and a hamburger, accompanied by a strawberry milkshake and a small glass of water. He shoots her a polite smile, ignoring the way she lingers more than she needs to.

It’s late afternoon outside and his date is twenty minutes late when he checks his clock for the tenth time. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted that new dating app and that girl he accidentally swiped right on (Anita Millis PhD, MIT alumni with a sun in Sagittarius according to Bumble) – most likely a catfish, but the calculus pun in her profile made him crack up.

He’s starting to think she won’t show up. Asshole.

Not that he wasn’t entitled to a date, but he traveled all the way from Queens to Greenwich Village for this. So, yeah, maybe he is a little let down. But it’s fine. He could go exploring, check out some new patrol routes, the possibilities were — sort of — endless.

He’s halfway finished with his burger when the bell by the door chimes and a woman comes walking in.

Not Anita Millis, that’s for sure. But he can’t really see her face with how briskly she walks to the front of the diner. She takes a seat on one of the barstools, leaning over the C-shaped counter as she warmly greets the older cook in the kitchen.

“Hi, Carl!” She throws a hand up, wiggling her fingers in a friendly wave.

“Hey, sweetheart. Back already? It’s only July.”

She shrugs casually at his comment. “Gonna be August soon. School starts in a week and I wanted to make sure I was all adjusted. Plus, you know I’m loving the east coast.”

No, can’t be.

“Well, good to see you’re enjoying it. I’ll go ahead and get your usual.” Peter continues to observe the stranger. It’s too familiar — the way she fiddles with the strap of her tank top, the summer-like sunkissed highlights on her head and the timbre of her kind voice. “One strawberry milkshake.”

Strawberry.

“Thank you, Carl.”

He hands her a straw, “Pleasure’s all mine, Y/N.”

Impossible. Fucking impossible.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you take a sip of your shake.

A breathy laugh leaves you when Carl mentions something about his time in university during the seventies, then Peter thinks he’s having an acid trip. Maybe he’s been drugged. Maybe this is a dream. Weakly, he slaps at his cheek.

God, this is real.

It’s even more real when you glance at the table of teenagers in the corner and the slope of your nose is on full display. Then, your head turns over your shoulder in Peter’s direction.

You’re looking right at each other.

He hasn’t seen you in almost two years. Time stops and it feels like August all over again.

The unforgettable shade of honey in his eyes, the curious pout on your soft lips, the shared shock that falls upon both of your features as you instantly recognize each other. Memories of tall palm trees and windy road trips come barreling in, and Peter is taken back to a different universe — a different time when everything was picture perfect. Almost. He stares at you and thinks of sunny postcards, of the tan lines on his body that never quite went away. It feels like sand is blinding him again, pebbles and cracked shells digging into the soles of his burning feet atop of concrete.

“Y/N?” He breathes out, eyebrows knitting into pure confusion as his exasperated voice echoes over the quiet music.

“Peter? H-Hi, hi, wow.” His name rolls off your tongue like a crashing wave. It’s like second nature when the two of you stand up, approaching one another slowly with hands that want nothing but to reach out for the other.

But neither of you dare to make that decision.

You bury your fingers into your pockets, and Peter does the same. It’s an awkward distance as you stand in front of him, eyes traveling over the freckles that your lips had once traversed and marked their own. Somehow, it’s only been a year and Peter thinks you look older — a good older, because you look even more beautiful than he remembers.

“What are you — what are you doing here?” He chuckles nervously, fidgeting on either foot as he pinches the reddened bridge of his nose.

You notice he still hasn’t broken that habit.

“I, uh…” You touch your cheek. “I go to school here.”

“What?” The disbelief in his tone is evident. You can’t tell if he’s confused or upset. “Wow, since — since when? That’s… all the way over here? Really, Y/N?”

“Yeah, NYU.” You shyly look away when Peter huffs in amazement. “They had a program for out-of-state students.” He nods, gesturing for you to continue despite the reluctance in your stance. “I just got back from California, actually. So, you’ve caught me at a really weird time.”

“California.”

The word shares sentimental value. It’s rich with nostalgia, a fleeting romance and the hazy memory of skin against skin. It’s like finding a letter that got lost months ago in the mail.

Even worse, a letter full of things that he meant to say, but never meant to send.

It stings and soothes him at the same time.

“And you? How have you been?”

“Fine. You know, just… just trying to get by.”

“Ah, I see. That’s nice. How’s Aunt May?”

He’s already sick of pretending to enjoy this small talk, pathetically acting as if you never shared a bed together or spilled your darkest secrets to one another.

He reminisces about all the times he practiced what he’d say to you if he saw you again by chance.

“Y/N, why didn’t you reach out?”

He recognizes the flicker of pain in your avoidant gaze.

Peter can tell he’s hit a real nerve when nothing but silence comes out of your mouth. “Can we talk outside?” You weakly gesture towards the door, curling up under his unwavering stare as he fishes out a fifty from his wallet and leaves it on his table.

The bell chimes on your way out, where the two of you stand beneath the shaded awning of the diner. Peter watches you pull your hair back into a ponytail, strands sticking to your neck from the New York heat. You catch him staring, and an awkward smile is exchanged between you when he glances away a second too late.

Never did Peter imagine he’d feel awkward around someone he used to feel safe around. Unsure. Uncertain. A maybe.

Perhaps that was the keyword — maybe.

‘Maybe’ had countless connotations.

Maybe if he stayed. Maybe if he fought for it. Maybe if you fought for it. Maybe if you begged him even more, he would have given in. Maybe if you didn’t understand the extent of his responsibilities. Maybe if your relationship was strong enough — wrong, it was, perhaps the two of you weren’t the strong ones.

Maybe if it wasn’t August.

Maybe if you were given more time.

“Peter…” You sigh, hand pressing to your temple as his question rings through your head.

“And don’t bullshit me on this, Y/N.”

A wounded scoff mistakenly leaves you. “You act like it was all one-sided.”

Peter gapes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because it was? You are the one who stopped replying… stopped trying.”

“You don’t think I tried?” You scrunch your nose at him in frustration. He didn’t understand how it felt. “I thought about you every day. Every waking moment, you were the only thing on my mind. I missed you so much, it consumed me. I didn’t want anyone else, Pete. I didn’t look for anyone.”

“Is that supposed to excuse everything?” He looks down at the ground with anguish.

“You — you left me.”

“You told me you were okay with that, Y/N. You told me that we would be alright. You didn’t fight for it.”

“What was there to fight for?” He tenses when you finally lock eyes, tears glistening on your lashes when you rub the spot over your heavy heart. “You were decided. That was always the case, right? That you were gonna leave? And I was always gonna stay behind?” Your voice hitches when you take a painful gasp of air. “And yeah, of course I was going to be okay with it. Because it was for you. Letting you go back, letting you come here… I had to be okay with it. So, yes, maybe — maybe I didn’t fight for it, but at the end of the day, you needed to get home. That was all that mattered. Why are we having this conversation right now?”

Peter exhales through gritted teeth.

“You were my home. That was what mattered to me.”

The comment knocks the wind out of you, fists unclenching at your sides as deafeaning silence washes over.

You nod at him. This was no argument. There was no right person here, and at the very same time, neither of you were wrong. “I’m sorry that I drifted away.”

“And I’m sorry that I left.”

“That’s nothing to be sorry for.” Peter gazes at you longingly as you continue, eyes following the movement of your mouth. “You know, I stopped replying because I thought that was the right thing to do.”

“Did you think if you distanced yourself from me, it would’ve helped?”

He knows you too well.

“Helped the pain? Yeah.” You smile sadly at him. “One thousand percent.”

The phrase comes out of your mouth at the same time.

“It never helps.”

“It never helps.”

Surprised chuckles echo onto the sidewalk as you and Peter look at each other. It’s yearning. It’s melancholic. It’s the kind of laugh that fades out into sadness, then reality suddenly isn’t a reflection of what could’ve been. And as Peter liked to say, it is what it is. Only this time, he doesn’t want to believe that. There must be more to this, more to what your relationship was and could be.

“I hope you’re doing okay.” Your fingers twitch outwardly in his direction. It’s an instinctive reaction, but your skin doesn’t meet his. He wishes you’d touch him.

“I am… I guess I am now.” All the progress Peter made of trying to forget you has dwindled down to a barren autumn tree. He doesn’t want to admit that he wants more than another ephemeral August with you. He’s scared. Not because you’re here. But because he knows what this means for himself. “So, I overheard that you’re enjoying it here, miss NYU.” Peter pipes up humorously, muscles straining around his shirt sleeves when he crosses his arms over his chest. The course of the conversation feels more natural now. The tension isn’t so unbearable when the dimples on his face deepen. “Better than LA? I won’t be offended if you sugarcoat it.”

The corner of your lips tug into a lopsided grin as you squeak out a noise of uncertainty. “Eh, honestly, I haven’t gotten a proper tour around.” Subconsciously, your bodies have moved closer to one another. There’s still a few feet between the two of you, but the slight shift in the way you carry yourselves is unmistakable. “Never really found the right guide, so I don’t— I don’t really have a fair opinion.”

Peter amusedly hums at that, training his stare towards the setting sun. The playful tone in his voice is nothing but charming. “I know a guy.”

Your smile widens on its own account, teeth on full display as you teasingly run your tongue across your molars. “Oh, really now? A guy?”

“Yeah, totally. Lived here all his life, a local from Queens, knows a lot about subways if ever you get lost but he told me that he prefers walking because it really gives off that…”

“Oh, sure. Sure.” You tilt your head with a lighthearted giggle, eyelashes fluttering at Peter while he admires the shadows on your face.

“…That, you know, genuine feeling of being a real New Yorker. Really brings the whole vibe together, Y/N.”

You point your chin up at him, feigning a look of deep interest. “How does one get a hold of this guy of yours? Would he be able to give me a tour?”

Peter doesn’t break eye contact. He notices how you ever so subtly glance at his parted lips, throat flexing as a bead of sweat trickles down your neck. He wonders if you know the effect you have on him even after being unable to see you for so long. But fuck, he isn’t sure if he deserves that place in your life again. He doesn’t even know if you’re the same person you once were. A year can change a person. A breakup can change a person. If he crossed that line with you again, would you be able to walk with him till he reached the other side?

Could every month be your August? Could every year be an entire summer?

“What are you doing tonight?” Peter squints at you, gnawing on the inside of his cheek nervously when your features widen at the soft-spoken question. “I don’t really have plans. And well, I don’t mind clearing up my patrol schedule to show you around. There’s this taco truck that I’ve always wanted to try, but I just never really wanted to go alone.”

“Oh, Peter. You don’t have to do all that.”

You’re beautiful when you’re shy.

A determined sigh escapes him. “I know, but I’d like to.”

“Peter, I… I’m sorry, I wouldn’t want to bother.”

“It’ll be like old times.” He clears his throat. “No pressure though. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you — seeing you around, I mean! Not like… not like seeing you in that kind of way, Y/N, not that it’s bad or anything but….“

Your chuckle breaks his rambling. “Stop talking, you dork.”

Peter laughs, words trailing off into an incoherent, childish apology until he finds your eyes through the spaces between his falling curls. “I missed you.” He purses his lips together solemnly and kicks at a loose rock with the toe of his scuffed Chucks. “And I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have — I shouldn’t…”

“Hey.” You lightly tap his arm with your hand, gaining his attention. “I missed you, too.” He grasps it before you can pull away, thumb running wistfully across your knuckles until his pinky finger nudges against yours. “So much.” Peter stifles the choked sob that wants to leave him, happiness threatening to spill over his eyes. “I am free tonight, by the way.”

He squeezes your arm, then gingerly lets go of it. He nods his head slowly, sucking on his bottom lip hard enough to make an audible sound. “Okay. We can… I can meet you at your place? Just send the address and I’ll come swinging by.”

“Mhm, sounds great.” You’re about to turn away from him until the thought crosses your mind. You quickly spin on the balls of your feet, arms hugging over your front. “Do you still have my number?”

Peter studies your expression with certain intent.

“Of course, I do. Do you still have mine?”

The crinkles by your eyes stretch as a wave of embarrassment comes over you. “Well, I have a multitude of Peters in my phone, but I’m just gonna assume yours is the one with the heart.”

He clicks his tongue playfully. “Interesting. A heart, huh?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, spidey.” You glance at Peter over your shoulder, carefully putting one foot in front of the other as you start to walk away from him.

He stays put, raising his eyebrows at what he wants to believe is a term of endearment. “I’ll pick you up. Eight o’clock.”

Another lingering stare. Another jitter in your hands as butterflies flutter around in your stomach.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

-

It’s eleven minutes before eight when a soft knock vibrates against your front door. You mumble a foul string of curses under your breath as you slip on your left shoe, smoothing down the front of your dress until you’re retouching your makeup in the mirror for the millionth time of the night. Winded and stressed, you inhale deeply, pinching the pads of your fingers together in an effort to calm the adrenaline coursing through you.

And with one swift turn towards the door and a twist of the knob, you’re met with Peter Parker standing on your welcome mat and a bouquet of sunflowers in hand. His lips pull into a perky smile as you lock eyes, arm outstretched to give you the yellow arrangement.

“Hey.”

The simple greeting makes him blush, especially when he notices you’re wearing that particular green dress that drove him crazy.

He thinks he could kiss you right now.

“Hey.” He quickly composes himself, putting on another grin when you gesture for him to come inside.

“These are really gorgeous. You didn’t have to, Peter. I’ll just set these in a vase, then we can head out.” Your voice echoes from the kitchen, drowned out by the sound of a running faucet.

He takes the liberty of glancing around your apartment. Part of him was hoping he’d see pictures of himself, pictures of you both at the beach, any semblance of California — somewhere, some reason, as if you still had that same fervor for him.

“Everything good?” You chirp during your return to the living room, tossing a crumpled paper towel into the trash as you blink patiently up at Peter.

Then he sees it.

It baffles him how he never saw it in the first place from the moment he looked at you; the initial necklace sat perfectly between your collarbones.

P for a promise. P for Peter Parker.

The silver chain was something that he had given to you the night he left. It laid there, on his side of the bed, in place of his inevitable absence for the following day. But now, here it is, dangling on your chest — and god, it belonged. As it glistens under the ceiling lamp, Peter finds himself entranced that you kept it on. Even when he wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his, you made it seem so. You came to New York, knowing Peter was there, no longer part of your life and yet you still wore his necklace despite the ties that had been cut. It was a proclamation of the love that was birthed by August, faded by the end of last January.

Were you waiting all this time?

“Peter?”

“Yeah?” He snaps out of his thoughts, noticing how you mindlessly roll the silver-plated initial between your fingers. Your eyebrows are drawn into concern, unaware of what was running through Peter’s mind.

“You’re okay?”

His stomach grows warm when you step closer. “I’m perfect.” The words leave him exasperated and unsure as he toys with the loose yarn of his cardigan.

He wants to kiss you.

He forgets what it feels like to look in your eyes, to look into the swirling flecks in your irises and see a lifetime of summers, an endless August and the burning of sunlight against his skin. He forgets what it feels like to reach out towards you, brush his roughened fingertips against the softness of yours. He forgets what it feels like to trail his hand up your arm, feeling goosebumps form beneath his touch as he finds solace by the naked crook of your shoulder.

You lean into it, not breaking the intensity of his stare as your lips part to speak a cracked whisper. “Yeah, well, you don’t exactly look like it.”

He wants to kiss you.

Peter cups your chin ever-so-gently. “That I don’t… I don’t look perfect?” You chuckle, feeling his thumb hesitatingly press against the corner of your mouth as your palms slowly travel up his torso. His breaths are shallow, fanning softly over your face as you shake your head with a twitchy smile. “What are you trying to say, Y/N?”

“No, no, you look perfect.” Your fingers tangle between the curls by the nape of his neck. “It’s just—”

He’s going to kiss you.

You can feel the low bass of Peter’s voice thrum against your own chest. He looms over you, his tall and lean shadow swallowing your figure. “I think you’re perfect.” His hands cradle your face now, tucking the wispy strands of hair behind your ear. “So absolutely perfect.”

“Pete, I…”

All at once, his lips are on yours like a crashing wave. It’s high tide and his arms are pulling you into the whirlpool that is him, his body, taking you under. His breaths are heavy and loud against you, teeth bumping and tongues remembering the warmth of each other’s mouths as he grasps your waist like a lifeline. Similar to a man deprived of water, he drinks at you as if you’re his first glass in years — tasting the chapstick on your lips and the perfume on your neck when he kisses down your throat. Every part of you quenches his thirst, and he passes through all four seasons — winter, spring, summer, fall — when you whimper his name.

“Peter…” You sigh, his forehead pressing against yours as he pulls away. He’s kissing you like his life depends on it. Starved, needy, messy. It’s more of an ‘I missed you’ kind of make-out rather than a ‘I need you’ but you supposed those two things were one in the same at this point.

“I’m sorry — I wasn’t thinking—“ You kiss him this time before he can continue. It’s short and sweet, but the brunette finds himself wanting for more when he desperately reconnects his lips to yours. “Y/N, the more you kiss me… the more I…”

“Do you… should we stop?” Kiss. “I just… you looked…”

“Really kissable?”

“Yeah — I mean, no, but I… I missed you. Missed this. And you were staring at me as if I wasn’t…” You moan when his hand wanders up your thigh, the other on your lower back. “As if I wasn’t real… and I just… had to prove it to you—“

“Do you have a boyfriend?” His nose nudges against yours, tightly-shut eyes fluttering to gaze at you between pecks.

“You said what?”

“A boyfriend.” His voice is charmingly hopeful, yet wheezy from his lack of oxygen. Breathe, Peter. Breathe.

“You didn’t think to ask before you kissed me?”

“Well, to be honest, I—“ And you interrupt him again, reaching up on the tips of your toes to pull his face back down to yours. “I just assumed.”

“Should I be offended, Parker?”

He chuckles at himself, then mumbles an apology against your skin. “You know, I had a whole thing planned out tonight. Wanted to take you out to that taco truck, maybe walk around the city for a bit, take you swinging if you’d let me. We could’ve caught up. I’d ask you about your studies and you would ask me about my lower than minimum wage job… but honestly…” His fingers run over the initial on your chest. “I really, really, really wanna keep kissing you.” He winces. “Is that okay?”

“Certainly wasn’t the welcome I was expecting, but… okay.”

“Say yes for me.”

You nod, teeth tugging on his bottom lip with eagerness.

“Yes, that’s okay.”

Then instantly, you find yourself backed up against the door to your bedroom. The once-hanging purses and jackets drop loudly onto the floorboards as Peter kisses down your stomach, head buried beneath the short skirt of your dress while your left leg dangles over his shoulder. His bare shoulders ripple below you, flexing as his arms effortlessly hold you up.

“Everything about you, Y/N…” His words are muffled under the green silky material, pining and breathless. “So fucking soft. Missed touching you. Kissing you.” He hooks his thumbs over the waistband of your boyshorts, tugging it down your knees until they pool around your bare feet. “Making you squirm.” He nips at your inner thigh. “Making you mine.” A shudder leaves you when he inhales through his nose. “Missed your scent — that sweet fucking scent. Christ, I can’t wait to taste you again, Y/N.”

“P-Pete…” You whisper, searching for his face beneath your dress. The tone of your voice alarms him slightly, and he doesn’t hesitate to pull his mouth away to check on you. His features are caring, yet worrisome. “I’m alright, I…” You avoid his stare in the poorly-lit overcast of light in your bedroom. “I just wanna be able to watch you.”

His forehead rests against yours in the chaos of your heaving bodies. “Watch me…? What, baby? Help me out here.”

Smug bastard. “Watch you eat m-me out.” You huff out.

A low hum. “Who said I was gonna eat you out?”

“Huh?”

“Y/N, I’m not just gonna eat you out…”

“Well, I mean, I’d hope not.“ You gulp, laughing shyly as he dips down to catch the bashful glimmer in your pupils. “Cause honestly, I’d be a little disappointed—“

You yelp when his hands find your hair, tugging it roughly so that you’re forced to look up at his lusted eyes. “I’m gonna devour you, baby. I wanna remember how it feels to be buried in you again.” He smirks visibly, admiring how your jaw falls ajar at the filthiness of his forward declaration. “Can I do that? Lay you out on your bed and have you all spread out for me?” He thumbs at your bottom lip. “Make you cum tonight, over and over, just to tell you how much I missed you?”

You nod meekly.

You let Peter’s thumb dip into your mouth, your voice quiet and dripping with desperation. “Can’t I show you how much I missed you first?”

He shudders when you suck on the digit. “Okay, show me then. I’m all yours.”

The phrase is enough to make you drop to your knees. Peter exhales shakily as you unbuckle his belt, fingers flying between the buckle and popping the button of his jeans before you’re excitedly pulling the denim down his legs.

You missed him. More than words. More than actions and sex could ever show, but this would work. This could work.

His boxers join the puddle of clothes on the floor, leaving his already-hard dick fully exposed to you. Precum dripped from the aching tip, his girth wider than you remembered as you pumped his length slowly in your smaller hand.

You haven’t experienced a man this big in more than a year.

“Come on, baby.” Peter groans when you press a chaste kiss to his slit. “Don’t be shy now.”

“M’not shy, just wanna admire you.” You lick a stripe from the head of his cock to the base, lips worshipping the smooth skin of his abs. “Just as perfect as the night you fucked me silly in that bathroom.”

“Please, Y/N. Need your mouth already.” He gapes as you stare up at him, batting your lashes innocently as his member prods against your tongue. “Please.”

“Anything for you, loverboy.”

Loverboy. Fuck, he could cum right now.

With doe-eyed pupils, you watch Peter slowly fall apart as you guide his length between your swollen lips. He’s heavy in your mouth, poking the skin of your cheek with enough pressure to create a bulge.

A satisfied hiss escapes him when you use your middle and ring finger to wrap around what your mouth can’t reach, head bobbing on him as he uses the door for standing leverage. His palms are splayed out onto the wood, chin tucked against his chest to watch you suck his cock.

“Oh, fuck, Y/N. Fuck. So good, you take my cock so well.” He bites his lip, restraining himself from bucking his hips into you. “S-Shit, Y/N. You look so gorgeous with my dick in your mouth, all filled up and drunk on this — jesus, this fucking cock.” You hum at the statement with a growing smile, causing Peter to moan at the vibrations of your sweet chuckle. Your free hand strokes at his thigh, painted nails digging into his flesh as your pace quickens.

You’re gagging around his dick, a string of saliva pooling from your chin as your mouth begins to work faster. Peter pushes your hair away from your face, leaving two wispy strands to frame your cheeks as he attempts a poor take at a ponytail.

“Mmm, Peter…” You mumble with a throat full of saliva and a sore jaw, fist stroking him gently. “Can’t wait to have you inside me. Stretching me out… fuck, making me yours.”

“Me too, me too, but Y/N, I’m sorry — I need to… I need to eat you out first.”

You giggle, running your lips across his shaft with a tantalizing gaze. “Right now? You don’t wanna cum in my mouth?”

“I would love to, but tasting you again is at the top of my list of priorities.” Peter carefully pulls you off of him, grabbing you by the hands to help you up from your kneeled position.

“Didn’t know you had a list… was tasting me the first thing you thought of when we saw each other?” You joke, fighting back your excited grin when he turns you around to unzip your dress.

“Thought about a lot of other things.”

His lips skim over the back of your neck, following the hot skin below while he drags the zipper lower and lower and…

You help him pull the straps of your dress from your shoulders, his fingers resting on top of yours as he whispers sweet nothings by your ear.

“Missed you. You drive me crazy. I can’t believe you’re real.”

Peter’s hand wraps around your throat; it doesn’t feel rough, nor is it meant to be an act of outright dominance. It feels like a warm morning, the enveloping heat between blankets and the blossoming of flowers in the wind as his fingers trail across your jaw so tenderly, lips complimenting the ghost of his touch like little birds flocking to a nest. You turn your face up to him, and while his touch is a reminder of all things summer on a hot afternoon, his eyes are a window to the constellations of clear nights.

“I can’t believe you’re here. I’m sorry, I never should’ve left.”

You see the Northern Lights in the glimmer of his affectionate stare and Cassiopeia beneath the Milky Way of his heavy eyelashes. His mouth finds yours in the universal chaos of summer and fall, index and middle finger placed on either side of your ear. He smells of musk, but rather than a forest of evergreen trees, Peter is more like swaying palm trees along the breezy coast of Malibu.

Going with the flow. Here, not there.

You’re here. He’s here.

His stature towers over you, toned arms pushing against you until the back of your knees hit the bed. He doesn’t let you lay back — not all the way, at least.

“Didn’t you wanna watch?” He quirks a smug brow, teeth tugging on the fat of your inner thighs as his mouth nears your needy core. You can feel his cool breaths against you, large hands holding you down by the waist as his nose nudges at your clit. “You’re gonna sit up the whole time, and I’ll give you what you want. Lemme see that pretty face, Y/N.”

He carefully pulls your legs apart, softly drawing hearts on your calf as he gauges your reaction. Your smile twitches with anticipation, a mixture of shyness and amorous familiarity broadening your features.

Peter immediately picks up on the way your heartbeat quickens. “This okay?” He whispers, barely audible when he brings his thumb to your clit. The nub is already throbbing under his light touch, and you let out a whiny hum of approval because it feels so — oh, god, he’s kneeling.

Still keeping you upright, his mouth suckles at your folds. You jolt at the sensation, broken gasps mewling from your throat as he moves back and forth from your clit to your dripping hole.

“Peter, f-fuck…”

“Shh, I know.” He looks up at you with eyes full of adoration and desire. “I know it feels good. Don’t need to tell me. I already know.”

“You still remember what I…”

“Y/N, of course I remember what you like.” He swirls the pad of his middle against your cunt, collecting your wetness before he uses it to push into you. “I remember exactly how your body wants it — wants me. My fingers.” You throw your head back when he adds another digit. “My cock.” His wrist slowly snaps against you, the heel of his hand prodding against your sensitive clit.

“No one gets me off like you do.” You whisper, nails massaging at his scalp as you guide his lips back onto your core. “You were always so — fuck, so attentive with me. So caring, so careful and so…” You whimper when he curls his fingers into you. “So giving.”

“And you, always so needy.”

You exchange bubbly laughter. Even with his face buried between your thighs, he radiates nothing but love.

Pure and absolute all-consuming love.

The combination of being fingered and his mouth starts to make your legs shake, abdomen flexing as you try to even out your breathing.

“Baby…”

“God, I can just feel you squeezing around me. Ready to cum, sweetheart?”

The vulnerable word leaves you in a gasp. “Please.”

Peter doesn’t say anything, but his moans join together with yours as he watches you reach your orgasm. You clench your thighs around his hand, forcing to keep your eyes open as you press your forehead to his.

He coaxes you with a free hand on your back. “There’s my girl. Yeah, ride it out. Fuck, Y/N.” He holds you in place, afraid that you’d topple over from the intensity. “Did so well for me.” He kisses either side of your cheek. “Do you wanna stop? Let me know if you can’t handle any more.”

You shake your head. “I can handle it.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” You gaze into his eyes for what feels like the first time all over again. He’s so unbelievably pretty, that you’re afraid this is all a dream. His lips tug into the faintest smile, almost as if he could read your thoughts. “Hey, stop staring.”

You flick his shoulder. “I’m not staring.”

“You are.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his hand hold you by the back of your head. “Never stop staring at me.”

His name tumbles out in a trembling thrum when you pull him towards the bed. “Peter.”

“Y/N.” He lays beside you, elbow propped up as he studies you.

“I missed you.”

His features soften as you straddle his lap. “I missed you more.” You lean forward, hands on either side of him as you slowly sink down onto his length.

A collective moan echoes through the quiet air. His features mimic yours — eyebrows furrowed, lips parted in a surprised gasp from how full he makes you feel.

And how your cunt is already milking his cock just from him bottoming out.

You roll your hips against his, testing the waters. Peter can’t help but sit up, back resting against the headboard as your bare tits distract him from the view of your dripping cunt. He kneads at the soft flesh, giving attention to either nipple with his warm tongue while he looks up at you.

But something about the way you ride him is different from all the other times.

It’s not a desperate goodbye. It’s a wish for him to stay. Strings of curses and the familiar mewl of his name don’t fall from your lips at this moment. It’s on loop, as if you were afraid that this memory would be fleeting like the rest.

I missed you.

I missed you.

I missed you.

And Peter doesn’t want to say he missed you too. Instead, he utters his next three favorite words in a slow, hushed whisper.

He assures you he won’t slip away.

“I love you.” His hands remember the curve of your hips, the love handles and the dips in your thighs that left him in awe. He kisses you like he’s reaching for your heart rather than your lips. His cheeks are incredibly flushed, tears blurring the portrait of you in his vision. “I love you, Y/N.”

You breathlessly grin at him, “I love you, Peter.”

His hips snap into you, breasts bouncing in his face as he pulls you as close to him as possible. No other words are exchanged. Your moans are full of passion and your hands endlessly tug at each other’s skin in yearning.

Almost two years. August. Summer. California. The way your sweat feels against his. New York. July. You, this is real. Peter, this is real. Strawberry milkshakes and sandy bodies. Ice cream and silent walks on the boardwalk. The afterglow of city lights. The burn of tequila and the feeling of three beers in.

The necklace around your throat.

The way Peter breathes all of you.

You and him twisted in bedsheets like always.

He cradles your head against his shoulder as you both cum, bodies quivering from the long high as Peter coats your walls with his warm cum. Your arms are thrown across his back, forehead slick with sweat as you stick to his body.

A shudder leaves him when you roll off his lap, blankets feeling hot against your exhausted bodies.

It’s just you two and the rare peacefulness of New York.

“Y/N?” You let out a soft grunt in response, too overwhelmed to reply. “I won’t slip away this time.”

“I hope not.”

“It would be an honor…” He inhales himself against your skin. “… to be yours all over again.”

“Mine. Just all mine.” You turn to him feverishly, glassy eyes glancing at the clock on your nightstand. “I won’t slip away either.” Your finger points at the flashing numbers, a playful smile on your lips. “Would you look at that?”

The brunette looks over his shoulder.

August 1st.

With tangled limbs and vibrant smiles, he pulls you into another breathtaking kiss.

Peter thinks August could be the start of forever.

[zvdvdlvr]

bloody hands, hospital kisses

z.david

summary: ziva gets hurt on a case.

warnings: bullet wound, smooching, so much uncanoness smfh, blood, passing out, violence, shy ziva omg, LONG ASS ONESHOT, angst to fluff ur welcome 🤧❤

reader's pronouns: she/her

"you take left, i got right." y/n murmured, panting as she quickly reloaded her gun. ziva nodded, slowly moving to a position that would make it easier for her to weave past the insane amount of crate between her and their perp.

pivoting her head, ziva made eye contact with y/n and when they both nodded, the bolted away from each other in the direction of the murderer of petty officer Kayleigh James. bullets quickly followed in the agents' trail, but the two were fast.

now safely sheltered roughly ten and a half feet away from the killer and her 'goons,' as tony likes to call them, the killer, Avon Presley, started to talk.

"i think we all know how this will end up," she started. "you are both severely outnumbered and outgunned. it would be wise to simply give up."

in the moment of silence that followed, ziva foumd y/n eyes already on her. silently communicating through the facial expressions, there was a silent agreement about what would happen next. gibbs and mcgee went dark just before the two entered the warehouse, and there was no sign of tony anywhere.

Avon sighed, the sound resonating. "i really dont want to kill you. you both would be great additions to my little... team." the end word was puncuated with the sound of pride, a disgusting sound.

ziva, still looking at y/n, started the countdown with the nodding of her head, and the raise of her finger.

five.

"if you're waiting for me to explain why I killed that petty officer, i'll tell you."

team gibbs already had Avon's motive.

four.

"she owed me. Kayleigh James owed me money.  she was so in debt-"

three.

"that no matter how much money she made in her life, it wouldn't be enough to pay me back."

two.

"so i arranged for her to be executed, as you already know, and we knew that outcome for tha-"

one.

ziva and y/n stood up and immediately took down bodies left and right, dodging between stacks of crates. in her peripherals, y/n saw Avon yank a gun from one of her goons and flee.

two minutes and many body thuds later, y/n and ziva reload and make their way cautiously to find Avon.

opening the steel door, the agents slink out, looking around. there are no more hiding places.

Avon, in all her glory, is standing with ger gun poised in her hands, ready to shoot if necessary.

"put the gun down, Presley!" y/n calls over the rushing wind.

"let me go!" she responds, desperation seeping into her voice.

ziva squints at her target, head low, ready to take the shot beside y/n. "you know that we cannot do that."

Avon's eyes gleam. "then i'll make you."

before the last word reaches the air, Avon pulled the trigger twice.

then ziva hits the ground, hard.

Avon starts to make a run for it, but y/n shoot her in the upper body, most likely hitting the heart, knowing her aim.

throwing herself to the ground beside ziva, y/n gasps. blood bloomed from ziva's thigh and stomach, somehow puncturing the bulletproof vests gibbs was adamant about wearing.

ripping ziva' jacket and vest off, she pulled the short up just enough to see the wound.

"gibbs," ziva wheezes.

"i know, zee, i know," y/n says, frantically pressing into ziva's stomach wound, turning to tend to her thigh.

with her bloody hand, ziva struggles for her phone. with little grip, she presses it into y/n's hand.

pressing gibbs's number, she presses the phone into her ear with her shoulder and takes her pocket knife to cut into ziva' pants in the area around the gunshot

gibbs doesn't answer. cussing quietly, y/n looks for mcgee's number.

he luckily picks up on the first ring.

"where are you?" he asks immediately.

"We're still by the warehouse, ziva's shot, get here. now."

"okay. stay on the line, we're tracking you and sending tony. he'll be there in-" mcgoo continues.

"timmy i need to talk to gibbs." y/n commands when she sees ziva start to writhe on the ground after pressing on her thigh.

"y/n what the status?" gibbs.

"status is, boss, if tony doesn't pull up quickly, ill beat his ass. david's bleeding out, and i'm not sure i can dig out this bullet." y/n snaps.

"get- get it out." ziva gasps, bloody hand grasping y/n's arm.

"hold on ziver. y/n has ya." gibbs says in the most sympathetic tone the team has ever heard. 

"y/n, put the phone down and get those bullets."

"copy that." in a rush, y/n puts the phone down next to ziva, and looks straight into her eyes.

"this is gonna hurt like a bitch, darlin'. bite this." y/n slips the arm of ziva's discarded jacket into her mouth. "i'm gonna get the bullet in your thigh."

slipping her pointer finger and thumb into the bullet hole, ziva let out a muffled scream. closing her eyes and screaming again, she claws at the ground while y/n closes her fingers around the bullet and slowly pulls it out of ziva's body. gagging at the amount of blood pooling on the ground, y/n tosses the bullet on the ground.

"hey hey hey, breathe. you're doing great. breathe, ziva." y/n soothes as best she can.

y/n almost thinks she hears a car screech, but it's too faint to tell for sure.

"l/n." y/n hears from the phone.

bringing it up to her ear, y/n hears mcgee telling her tony should be there soon, if not now.

"tony!" y/n screams, ziva below her was probably delirious with the amount of blood she was loosing, from her stomach and her thigh. "tony please hurry up!" y/n called again. y/n did not like ziva looking like this; pale and bloody and falling unconscious.

all at once, y/n felt tears in her eyes, and she cursed herself for crying when ziva was in more physical pain than y/n was.

left hand pressed against ziva's bloody thigh, she grabbed ziva's hand. "c'mon darlin', you gotta stay awake for me, okay? gotta wait for the ambulance timmy called." or rather the ambulance she hope tim called.

the sound of footsteps broke her out of her train of thought. tony, gibbs, and mcgee all rushed up with a flurry of questions, statements, and arguments.

gibbs eased y/n away from ziva's lower body and led her away, though her eyes were still trained on ziva.

"y/n."

she looked up. "i didn't- boss i-"

"tim saw the footage," gibbs explained, pointing to the security camera, positioned in just the right angle to see everything that went down withing the past ten minutes. "ambulance is on it's way. you did good l/n." gibbs praised, scanning y/n. she had turned to look back at limp-bodied ziva.

gibbs pulled her side into him, and she finally cried. her bloody hands wrapped around gibbs as the reality of what happened hit her. "you did good." he repeated into her ear. "but you really need to tell ziva you're in love with her."

y/n pulled away and looked at her annoyingly red hands. "i dont know what-"

"yes you do." gibbs said with a side eye and a smirk. "lets go." he led y/n to the frint of the warehouse, into the ambulance that arrived, and to the hospital.

♤

ziva was in surgery for hours. after hour one ticked by, y/n was taken home by gibbs to get cleaned up, fed, and then drove her back to the hospital.

"gibbs what do you mean that i'm in love with ziva?" y/n asked quietly.

"you know what that means."

"no i don't." y/n answered.

"i mean, l/n, that she likes you, and you like her." gibbs stated, like everyone knew.

y/n's brows furrowed. "she... likes me? really? are you sure, boss?"

gibbs chuckled, a sound only a select few heard. "yeah, y/n, i'm sure. it physically hurts us to watch you guys frolick around each other. so if i dont see any undying love confessions i'm going to fire you both."

y/n gaped at her boss. "i've never heard you talk that much." gibbs looked at her with a glare as he pulled into the parking lot. "but," she continued, "what do you mean 'us'?"

gibbs stopped the truck, and blinked. "abs, mcgee, dinozzo, ducky, hell even leon said something to me. point is, make a move."

y/n turned the words over in her mind as they entered the building. settling back down in the chair beside ducky and abby, y/n rested her head on abby's shoulder and closed her eyes.

two hours later y/n was woken by ducky. "she's awake my dear."

walking through the hallway to ziva's room was one of the longest hallways y/n ever walked through.

the team crowded into the room, completely disregarding the stares of others.

ziva turned jer head and made eye contact with y/n and she smiled weakly. y/n quickly took the chair right beside ziva.

when everyone got their affections over with, y/n was watching ziva talk to ducky about tips on healing.

"lunch, anyone?" tony asked abruptly. catching gibbs' eye, he motions with his head to y/n who was still all heart eyes over ziva. one by one, the entire team minus y/n left to go pick up food.

ziva looked at y/n and smiled a real smile. "hi."

y/n picked up ziva's hand and kissed her knuckles and laced their fingers. "hi ziva." she replied.

ziva looked into y/n's eyes like she was searching for something, anything. an answer maybe, an apology. an apology for scaring the shit out of y/n, and thanking her for saving her life.

"ziva." y/n asked, suddenly looking away.

the mossad agent exhaled. "yes?"

y/n bit her lip. "look, i know that you almsot died in front of me and whatever, but apparently vance thinks we're dating and gibbs said something so i was, y'know, wondering if, at some point, you'd want to go on a date or something?" it all rushed out in an uncalculated ramble that y/n was not proud of.

"i'd love to date you, y/n. i'd absolutely love to." ziva replied instantly.

y/n's heart genuinely felt like it was flying. "really?"

"yes, really."

y/n beamed and stood up and spun around. "holy shit you just made me so happy!" she laughed, making ziva laugh along with her.

when y/n sat down again, smile still on her face, ziva murmured, "my lips hurt... can you kiss them and make them feel better?" she asked shyly.

"don't have to ask darling." y/n ehispered against the beautiful woman as y/n pressed her lips against ziva's. ziva brought her hands up to tangle her fingers in y/n's hair. y/n pressed her hands into the spaces between ziva's head so she didn't topple onto the woman and hurt her.

at some point though, the team came back.

"finally!" tony shouted, causing y/n to fall into ziva's chest, making him laugh.

pecking ziva' neck y/n stood up and smoothed her hair, guiltily with a large smile. ziva turned her back on her team and bit her swollen lips. looking up at y/n, she smiled gently.

"i think we agreed on twenty dollars, tim." ducky said, cheerful as ever, collecting his bet money.

"i personally am not surprised they bet on us." ziva said to y/n.

"neither am i, honestly." y/n replied.

y/n looked over at gibbs. he smiled at her and shook his head.

"well, now that i have my money, i shall go see to making my favorite agents some food." ducky explained with a wink at ziva and y/n both.

"ducky's my ride. bye ziva! i'll be back tomorrow!" abby said excitedly.

"i guess i'll head home too... use protection.'' tony warned, wagging his finger at y/n.

"tony, ziva's in a hospital bed." she laughed, flipping him the bird.

"alright then, lets go tim. we'llbe outside y/n." gibbs said, ushering the crowd out the door.

turning to ziva with a smile, y/n leaned over to press a kiss to her head, but ziva pulled her collar down to kiss her on the lips.

"i'm going to be doing that so much." ziva sighs, eyes fluttering shut.

"i'll be back soon, darling."

"i'll miss you." ziva teased.

rolling her eyes, y/n walked out of the hospital with a wide smile on her face, despite having to sit in the back.