#the further i get from that company the more i realize something was very wrong there.

[eclipsecrowned]

if it helps i'm not entirely convinced that their so called helpline wasn't a massive scam or attempt to phish either, and i know for sure it was an official channel for customer and it support pushed by corporate.

[floralcyanide]

― ᴅᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴊᴀᴠɪ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴs

headcanons of you being friends with Javi and it leading to something more in the future.

↝ pairing: Javier "Javi" Rivera / Gender Neutral!Reader

↝ warnings: SPOILERS FOR TWISTERS (2024), friends to lovers, kissing, innuendo, mentions of injury/ scarring

↝ word count: 1k

↝ author's note: this was requested by anonymous! thank you for the request, and for the others who have sent some in, I will be getting to to them soon! (: enjoy more Javi content ♡

masterlist ⋇ divider credit: @saradika | @cafekitsune

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

✲ You and Javi were thick as thieves all throughout school. You were those two best friends who stuck together no matter what came at you. Even when you harbored a major crush on Javi, you still remained his partner in crime. There wasn’t anything separating you two.

✲ The two of you went on to college together, even. Working in the same field, nonetheless. You meet Kate, Raveen, Addy, and Jeb in environmental science class. All of you worked together on a grand project that Kate had proposed. And the time came for you all to go out in the field and conduct the research.

✲ It goes horribly wrong very quickly. You ended up injured just like Kate, except you have a nasty scar on your arm instead. You, Javi, and Kate are the only ones who survived the ordeal, and after that, communication slowly comes to an end between the three of you.

✲ You lose touch with Javi when he leaves for the military. The storm changed him, and he wasn’t really the same after. Neither were you, but you still deeply cared about Javi and hated to see him go. You tried sending letters and even calling but to no avail.

✲ 5 years have passed, and you’re now an environmental science professor specializing in tornadic weather. You work closely with meteorologists for research purposes. You have written several essays, books, and even textbooks on weather phenomena. 

✲ It’s a normal day when you get a call from an unknown number. Usually, you don’t answer them, but this time something inside you said you should. Much to your surprise, it’s Javi. 

✲ “Hello?” you answer after accepting the call. “It’s so nice to hear your voice again.” a familiar voice says. “Javi Rivera? Is that you?” you immediately close your laptop, sitting in your office chair, nearly frozen in place. 

✲ Javi explains that the company he works for is trying to find a way to stop tornadoes or at least learn how they work, and they need your help. He tries to say you’re one of the best in the field. “Just one of the best, huh? Who else did you call before me?” “I’ll be honest, we called Kate. But she didn’t want anything to do with it.”

✲ You agree to meet with Javi to discuss the project further. The day comes for you to see Javi again, and you’re beyond nervous. But when you arrive at the cafe, and he’s sitting there, all that nervousness fades away and is replaced by those old feelings of butterflies. 

✲ After talking about the company’s ideas, you veer off-topic. You notice Javi staring at you with an expression you can’t quite put your finger on. “What is it?” you ask. “Nothing, I just didn’t expect you to be so much more beautiful now.” Javi smiles as a tinge of red dusts his cheeks at the confession. “Well, if it helps, I didn’t expect you to be more handsome, but I’ve always thought you were.”

✲ A deep conversation leads to both of you finding out you had liked each other all those years and even now. A considerable amount of time has passed, and you realize you must head home for work early the next morning. Javi walks you outside to hail a taxi, but before you climb inside the backseat, he grabs your face and kisses you. It’s sudden, and you aren’t expecting it, but you kiss back. It isn’t until the taxi driver honks his horn that you pull away. 

✲ “Let me know what you think, okay?” Javi says. “About you or chasing again?” you ask, a playful smile on your lips. “Both.” 

✲ Chasing with Javi knowing how you feel about each other is a little more nerve-wracking than it probably would have been if you hadn’t known. Especially since you feel the need to be in the truck with him every time you go somewhere or worry incessantly every time you go to put out the panels during a tornado. You’re afraid something is going to happen again.

✲ But it all fades away eventually. You succeed in the project and are able to create an early-warning system and have enough data to possibly get rid of tornadoes all together. You and Javi decide to go on a proper date after everything settles. 

✲ It’s a simple picnic out in the fields of Oklahoma, but you don’t mind. It’s where everything started with you and Javi, anyway. You thought you’d never come back here, yet here you are. “Can I say something?” Javi asks suddenly after a few minutes of silence. He stares at the clear sky for a moment before turning to you, “I’m sorry I left you behind here. And I’m sorry I never reached out while in the military. I just didn’t know when I’d be coming home or if I’d be coming home, actually.” “I understand, Javi. You don’t have to apologize.” “I kept your letters. I got them all, and I still have them.” 

✲ Javi is taken by surprise when you lean in and return the kiss he gave you weeks ago back in the city. But he kisses back, of course. “I’m glad you kept them, Javi. I just wish you would have at least responded to one,” you chuckle. 

✲ The two of you end up working side-by-side on the project to take down tornadoes once and for all. Your relationship blossoms as you get to know each other all over again. Javi treats you like royalty, always running to open the car door for you, drawing your baths, and cooking you dinner. He always ensures you’re taken care of and makes up for lost time.

✲ Oh, there’s a lot of making up, for sure. Sometimes, you have to sneak into a storage closet at work to compensate. It’s for all those times you and Javi thought about doing something about your attraction yet never did. But there’s the rest of your lives now.

[victoriadallonfan]

Having re-watched Alien (1979) and Aliens (1985), I think I've realized what went wrong with the further expanded film universe on a thematic level (this is not accounting for AVP films, which seem to exist within their own continuity atm).

The main issue is that these films made 2 intertwining mistakes:

Making the Xenomorph too animalistic

Removing the mystery of space

For the first part, Alien and Aliens are quite vague about the Xenomorph mind. Alien treats it almost like a serial killer at times, including a particularly interesting moment where it disregards Jones the Cat entirely, despite making a very easy target, and how it will sometimes meander up to the crew as if it knows it's inflicting terror upon them. This Xenomorph even seems to only flee when Parker goes to kill it with a knife and hides within the evac shuttle when it realizes that Ripley was going there as well.

Aliens forgoes this in favor of showing how terrifying their numbers are even in the face of superior (if greatly mislead) fire power, but then pulls the rug under our protagonists by (seemingly) cutting the power and testing the endurance of the auto-turrets. While the drones are not individually as intelligent as the original xenomorph from the first film, this is instead given to the Queen, who understands not only the danger Ripley poses to her Hive but hostage negotiations of the most blunt variety. And, of course, incredible spite and vengeance when Ripley burns her eggs.

Basically, the two films do a good job of making you wonder... how sapient and sentient are the Xenomorphs? Do we take Ash's word and think of them as simply Hostile Weapons or do we see them for the adaptable and complex - if instinct guided - parasites just trying to protect their hive? This is further food for thought when we learn that one of the cut endings would have had the Xenomorph kill Ripley, tentatively use the shuttles control panel, and speak into the intercom with Dallas voice (ala Predator).

Imo, that goes too far into making them human, but we'll circle back to that later. The point is that the Xenomorph is never clearly one thing or another, but rather, something that constantly foils our attempts to understand them completely.

Aliens 3, Alien: Resurrection, Prometheus, and Alien: Covenant fail in that regard, because they take the firm stance that the Xenomorph is... an animal. A very, very, dangerous and hostile animal but an animal nonetheless. It's not some vague horror that we struggle to comprehend and reason with, because all the facts (as they are for now) are laid out: the Xenomorphs are weaponized animals that just kill, reproduce, and kill etc etc.

Nothing is entirely new about the Xenomorphs in these movies (beyond the forms and one part of Covenant, but we'll circle back to that as well), but rather trying to recapture the formula of Alien and Aliens. And even when the film isn't necessarily about the Xenomorphs like Prometheus, it still goes out of its way to copy the play by play of Alien to an almost hilarious degree (except, somehow, having a cast entirely of stupid scientists).

The Xenomorph is used as a toll for the films to talk more about the human threats who would use them, which is fine, except the same message of "Weyland-Yutani wants Xenomorphs, They Failed" over and over again (except I guess for Alien: Resurrection, but that had Walmart as a plot point so...) gets tedious. It's not longer about the folley of mankind, but rather this one company led by a man (or Android?) who keeps fucking up.

Ditto goes for the second part: removing the mystery from space. Alien and Aliens treat the Space Jockey and other (non-Xenomorph) alien life at an arms distance. They are large, grand, ominous, and vaguely defined. We don't know much about WY in either movie, nor how much is them knowing versus independent people within the company (Burke mentions cutting out his own bosses for profit for example, and Bishop the company Android is heroic and horrified at the situation they are all in, a big difference to Ash). The Xenomorphs having a Queen was a huge reveal, because we literally had no idea until then if those were actual eggs or simply pods artificially created.

Aliens 3 tries to add some mystery with the prison colony, but it's also hamfisted and given a lot of exposition to explain the situation they are in, but I will give it kudos for making Weyland (???) look like Bishop as a twist. Aliens: Resurrection... yeah, no.

Prometheus and Alien Covenant gave us a plethora of seeming mysteries, but also gives us really super simple answers. Basically, Space Jockeys are just super humans seeding life across the planets and they wanted to bomb Earth into oblivion because we killed Jesus Christ (who was a Space Jockey). And one of our androids then - possibly - goes to their home planet and bombs them to oblivion thus wiping out the human race. And they made Xenomorphs yadda yadda.

Prometheus in particular seems to despise the idea of space being a mystery, with the conversation David has with a scientist being plainly spelled out as the theme of the film: "Sometimes, humans/space jockeys just build shit, and it goes wrong I guess. No gods or mysteries here, just hubris."

Which, if handled well, is still a fascinating idea (I think it's a pretty interesting 'take-that' against the stupidity of Ancient Alien Conspiracy Theorists)... but it's not handled well. At all. And certainly doesn't work well when trying to write Xeno-Horror.

So, what COULD work?

Well, I think we need to look at how Alien and Aliens made the Xenomorphs, Space Jockey's, and Space itself all work.

For the xenomorphs, I think back to one scene I actually thought was interesting in Alien: Covenant; as a chestburster is born from a hapless scientist, it lays its eyes (???) on David and replicates his movements, mimicking the first living thing it witnesses. Nothing is ever done with this (of course), but think about the potential that could be used! Plenty of animals like crows, ravens, dolphins, octopi, killer whales etc etc can use mimicry in voices and actions, and that includes things like tool-use! And of course, the fact that they take on new forms from hosts helps with that.

For the Space Jockey's: scrap them. They had their time, the mystery is basically solved. Show us new and different alien civilizations long past. Were they also victims of the Xenomorphs? From some other threat entirely? Surely, there are extraterrestrial predators out there that don't follow the Xenomorph formula. Why not have them share the splotlight, with just as little explanation?

For space itself: stop with trying to recapture Alien and Aliens. Alien: Isolation is the only successor specifically because of the format of the medium. Alien and Aliens rely heavily on the shock factor of sudden reveals. Remove that, and you are given "bug hunt" games and movies ala discount Starship Trooper. Focus more on making human space feel almost alien and beyond our understanding as well, but just enough that we can recognize the purpose that we would have them for our society.

How I would write an Alien Story:

(This would all be backstory and setup for the actual story)

I would set it within a colony satellite with an explicit task: a skyscraper ecological time-capsule for deep space experimentation of wildlife.

It would have levels, with humans situated at the second uppermost and an AI as the manager at the top level of the satellite, with all the other animals in different levels fit for their habitats (including some non-earth, non-xenomorph aliens). It's a religious sponsored and run organization, offshoots of [Insert Church Here] that is trying to get good press with cutting edge AI and biological research.

The prize is an alien lifeform that looks like a cross between a crocodile and a panther. Usually docile when fed, it has been growing more and more agitated, harming several workers on the job. Most assume it may be some late-stage degenerative disease within it's brain.

Not all things are as it seems, as at the bottom of the station, a location no one but a select few faithful engineers are sent to maintain, a pod is damaged. A young attendant watches in shock and horror as a bloody and maimed chest burster crawls out of the pod, possibly having injured itself to burn through the lock. The creature is mewling in pain, but the young attendant makes a choice: leaving food, water, and blanket for the creature. Watching as the creature watches them, before going to feast. All under the gaze of a camera.

The xenomorph grows and grows, eating more, getting bolder and allowing its "caretaker" to feel more comfortable. Soon it begins to recognize certain sounds as they pray when he feasts, and association occurs. One day, its hiss sounds suspiciously like "Lord".

This is when the young attendant reaches out to higher, but trusted, priests to share this miraculous revelation. The first one is shocked, terrified, but intrigued as the creature mimics words like "Lord" and "Mighty". Barely audible, some would say hallucinatory, but they believe they can here this humanoid creature speak their language.

The second is equally shocked, terrified, but listens and becomes a believer.

The third one does not believe. Rightfully horrified and full of questions. Their arguments in front of the beast escalate into violence and when the young attendant shoves the priest to the ground, it is the Xenomorph that pounces. Blood is shed. the creature rises in front of it's faithful, and the Xenomorph uses the same sounds it heard over the fight. Lord. Mighty. Here-tik.

They can't be delusional or driven by guilt! This is a sign... right? This creature is speaking to them!

The faith grows. Never large. Can't risk word getting out or people noticing too many missing priests. The satellite is just barely large enough that people can excuse going missing for a few days between objectives.

But key individuals are brought in. The creature is worshiped. Animal offerings are delivered. It's changing, slowly. Growing larger (not a Xenomorph Queen, it's too maimed, but adapting to a steady diet).

Things might have escalated, had one of the priests killed not had an estranged sibling/spouse/loved one who had the pull to make a formal investigatory complaint.

The investigator arrives with his repertoire, this supposed garden of eden in deep space, none the wiser to what he would uncover. (Again, this would be the backstory, not revealed except through character investigations and evidence found during that. Defeats the purpose if it's spelled out like this).

It would play with the idea of how sapient/sentient the Xenomorphs are (do they care? do they understand? if not, why act like this? if yes, what does this mean for their continued slaughter), how much one puts into faith versus delusions, and leaves lingering questions: who put the xenomorph on the ship, why is the AI so complicit with the deaths and disappearances, and why is the one non-xenomorph alien acting so dangerously agitated despite being far away from the xenomorph's quarters?

[zweiginator]

Dom Patrick giving you punishments and torturing you for being bratty

dom!patrick inviting you to a nice dinner and there are going to be other couples there. other, very important couples who can help patrick’s career immensely. so it’s not like he doesn’t respect you and your choices—but he makes it very clear. look nice, look classy, be respectable. and he’s never had to worry about that; you’re always well-dressed and even more well-behaved.

but maybe you’re jealous that patrick has been spending so much time sucking up to his bosses and the higher ups in his company. and maybe he’s been more and more friendly with their wives. simply as a common courtesy, of course. but you don’t have to love it.

patrick picks you up. he doesn’t like how short your dress is but you lie to him, saying you don’t have anything else to change into. what’s wrong with the dress? doing that little wobble of your lip that makes patrick say fine, just wear it. and one glimpse of his watch makes him realize you’re running late.

you’re being difficult. complaining about the restaurant: patrick didn’t pick it up annoyed about having to wear heels—it’s only for an hour or two.

patrick grips the steering wheel and ticks his jaw, shaking his head. you’re getting on his fucking nerves. you let your dress ride up at dinner; you drink way too many glasses of wine. you lean on patrick’s boss and laugh in his ear and flirt with the interns that were invited as an afterthought.

and the final straw is your eye rolling. how you look annoyed with everything he’s saying to his superiors. as if you being there with him is the worst chore you’ve ever had to do. and it’s not—you just don’t feel appreciated. you miss his attention and you don’t know when his fucking job suddenly became his top priority. because now he isn’t taking you out as much and you haven’t had sex in weeks.

patrick grabs your wrist after you say your goodbyes.

“ow!” you try to yank it away, and patrick lets you, not wanting people to get the wrong idea.

but he doesn’t talk to you the whole way home. he sits in bed and watches tv. doesn’t say a word to you. so you huff and take a shower.

and halfway through, you hear the door unlatch. patrick comes in and opens the curtain. he’s still in his nice suit, his tie long gone. instead, his collar is partially unbuttoned, his hair lightly mussed. but you’re a specimen he’s looking down upon. completely naked, you stare up at your boyfriend. he throws a towel at you.

“dry off. turn the shower off.”

you nod. you haven’t even shampooed your hair yet but you listen to him, wrapping yourself in the towel and stepping out. he yanks it off you.

“get on the bed.”

you do, and you’re embarrassed, by the way he’s staring at you. like you fucked something up. maybe you did. patrick sits behind you, leaning against the headboard. he pulls you back into him.

he cups your tits and tweaks your nipples between his fingers before letting them trail down your torso. you’re still wet from the shower, and now you’re wet from his touch. you lean into him further, soaking his shirt.

he massages your inner thighs, letting his palms run over the smooth skin, his fingers gripping near your pussy but not quite close enough to grant you any relief.

you whimper, reaching your arms behind you to pull him closer.

“you’re gonna wait.”

he says it because he knows how impatient you are. how much you don’t deserve what you want.

your cunt is throbbing and your clit is swollen but patrick won’t touch it, won’t coo in your ear about how pretty and tight and wet you are, won’t furiously rub your clit until your legs clamp up and you’re digging your nails into his thigh. he won’t fuck you, he won’t even unbutton his shirt any more than it is right now.

“you’re gonna wait and i’m not going to fucking touch you until you’re crying.” patrick tilts your head back so you can see him, even if just barely. “and i don’t care how much you beg for my dick you’re not fucking getting it.” he squeezes your cheeks so you can’t do anything but nod. agree to his terms, because you don’t get any.

and he stays true to his word. even though you can feel his cock twitching against the small of your back, he won’t take it out and he won’t fuck you. he doesn’t even plunge his fingers inside you until you’re crying for him, until his thumb swipes your cheek to feel real tears.

“please—i’m so sorry please ill do anything—“ and your chest heaves as you begin to sob but he doesn’t say anything. just pushes two fingers into your pussy, rubbing your clit with his other hand. listens to your broken sobs meld with mewls of pleasure as your hips jerk up to meet his touch.

[zirconika]

PART ONE

⇚ NAVIGATION || MASTERLIST

This chapter is part of a two-part fic entitled 'Chivalry is Dead.' Click the link to view the series masterlist!

PAIRING: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader WORDS: 5.8k SUMMARY: You’re smitten with the archer you meet at the quarry who doesn’t believe in romance, vowing to make him yours, but it eventually becomes frustrating when he’s never clear with what he wants. WARNINGS: fluff. angst with comfort, then angst with no comfort. reader is very flirty with daryl.  SETTING: the quarry, the farm, and the prison

I. A CHANGE OF SCENERY - THE QUARRY

Prim and proper, clean-shaven, wears an authentic watch, bothers to use cufflinks, gets a neat haircut often, works in corporate…

You liked your men worthy of an introduction to your family. The kind of guy who you could, with no shame, flaunt to your family. A guy who would do well in the role of a sweet, loving husband and father in the comfort of the suburban home you built together.

Shame that they’re pretty hard to come by lately, not to mention that it doesn’t even matter anymore—

“…Y’know what I mean?” you rambled to the archer who had a permanent scowl itched on his face. Unbeknownst to you thanks to your drunken stupor, he’d been listening to you going off about your type.

He watched as you held an almost empty bottle of alcohol pressed to your chest, your eyes manning the space around you as if you were talking to a crowd of people. Much to your luck, the rest of the people had eventually retreated to their own tents, leaving you to the company of this — sorta cute — redneck.

“Like, where do you think I could even get them these days?” you laughed, your eyes going back to him. “But then, like, y’know, it doesn’t even matter ‘coz I got my family killed! And I didn’t even do anything, I just ran like a fucking coward.”

Daryl decided an hour and a half ago that he’d up and go off to somewhere else, maybe to hunt. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave in concern for the drunk woman beside him who’d sooner or later become another hunter’s prey. Maybe even the undead’s.

Pain in ‘ma ass, he’d thought to himself while watching you with a scowl as he sank back down to the log in front of the campfire. 

“I could use a bar of chocolate, but… This is the closest thing.” You made to gulp down more of the alcohol, but he reached out to snag it away from your hands. You yelled at the archer. “What are you—!”

“‘Yer a fuckin’ idiot,” he spat, setting the bottle aside. Daryl met your bewildered gaze, and he was certain you wouldn’t even remember it the next day. “Ain’t no reason blamin’ yourself for somethin’ ya couldn’t prevent. And ‘yer worried about all the wrong things, too! I’s out there huntin’ and I couldn’t care less ‘bout what kind’a girl I’d snag, I actually worried ‘bout somethin’ that matters! Like the fuck the camp’s gonna eat, which one of us would those stinking geeks get next and—!”

Daryl zipped his mouth shut for a good moment, realizing he’d said too much. Oh, fuck. He was thinking of ways to save this. He didn’t have an inkling on how to comfort a girl, much less a drunk and crying one. Your eyes turned glassy, your face contorting to…

“Pfft!” you laughed, further confusing the archer before you. He watched as you leaned backward, laughing. It was sort of a relief to watch and to hear; some great change of scenery to what he’d grown accustomed to seeing on the daily. “Y’know the” — you hiccuped — “funny thing about the guys I used to date? They ended up screwin’ some other pretty girl looking for the same guy as me. See, I cracked the code!”

You blinked a couple of times. Daryl remained silent. You couldn’t help but giggle as you leaned closer to the archer, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth in his chest as you came closer, your nose closing in on a couple of inches away from his. 

A buzzing sensation crawled from your chest to your cheeks, warming your face up as you felt something begging to be unleashed from within you—a confession, perhaps?

He got a good whiff of the alcohol from your dry lips as you opened your mouth to speak. “I should’ve been looking for someone like you!”

Daryl felt heat rush to his cheeks. He wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing: Good because you considered him worthy of being chosen or bad because that would mean he was the opposite of everything you thought was ideal in a partner?

Why did it matter to him?

You leaned closer. “Better yet, I think that you’re—”

The warmth he could feel inside of his chest was now outside too, pouring on the surface of his shirt with alcohol and bile mixing in the humid air of the night.

“Fucking hell!” he cursed in a whisper as your body slumped forward, passing out asleep on his lap. Daryl would have done the same as you if somebody told him that that night was the beginning of an epic love story.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The following days went by like a blur, with Daryl’s suspicion that you recalled everything dissolving into the relief that maybe you really had no idea what happened that night. You acted normal the day after that brilliant occasion, save for groggy eyes that lasted the entire day as well as a visible temper. 

You paid him no mind the entire time, but he assumed you were just embarrassed for confrontation. However, the entire week passed and you made no comment whatsoever about what transpired. 

His eyes always lingered on you a second longer than he’d intend to in an attempt to get a glimpse of embarrassment. He’d been meaning to tease you about it as revenge, but… Looks like you’ve forgotten. He probably should, too.

This very relief went away when you volunteered to come along with him to hunt for food. “I’m coming along, you should teach me how to use your crossbow,” you said, dagger in hand.

He wanted to argue, but worried he’d say something that would trigger your memory, he only nudged his nose up as a nod. 

The entire walk in the woods would have been a painful silence if not for the rustling of leaves in the trees and the subtle whistle of the wind.

You watched the broad shouldered archer before you made his way with calculated steps, even while you couldn't yet pinpoint a target. “Well, aren’t you stealthy?” 

Daryl spared a glare your way. “Why’d ya go huntin’ anyway? And with a blunt knife at that—are ya and idiot or somethin’?”

“‘Cause I was thinking maybe you should teach me your weapon of choice.” You looked at him as if he said something mad. “Didn’t I just say that, like, two minutes ago?”

He noticed that you said ‘should’ instead of ‘could.’

“Let me get this straight,” the archer started, halting, and you knew a scowl would greet you before he even faced you. “Ya went into the woods to hunt, but ya don’t even have a clue how?”

“Oh, honey, I didn’t say I needed you to teach me how to hunt. Didn’t even say I was gonna hunt.” You stepped closer to him. You noticed he took a subtle step back, and you couldn’t help but grin. Could it be that this rugged gentleman is nervous? “I said I wanted you to teach me how to use your crossbow.”

He cleared his throat, pulling back his armor of a scowl matched with an anger that was certainly uncalled for. “Oh, yeah? It’s fuckin’ stupid of ya to think I go around grantin’ everybody’s requests! And I ain’t gonna just stand here and take this, hunt by yourself.”

Daryl turned around, a casual swagger to his walk. You had to smirk at his back, knowing what he’d do next once you hit him with your first ammunition: intel. “I know something you stood for and took like a champ.”

The archer froze. 

“Thanks, by the way. And sorry you had to deal with that!” you exclaimed. “See, between the two of us, I’m not the stupid one. You could’ve used that against me, but you didn’t. And that just made me more interested in you—like, wow! You’re a lot more of a gentleman than you think you are.”

Oh, Daryl was pissed. Why were you the one making fun of him when it’s you who should’ve been abashed by what happened? “You remembered all along and ya didn’t say sorry?”

“I just did,” you said blankly.

Daryl faced you, shaking his head in a stubborn way. “Nah, ‘ya didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did. I said ‘sorry you had to deal with that.’”

He scoffed. “Doesn’t count.”

“Does too!” you spat back, this time grinning at the archer. You couldn’t help but laugh at his growing frown. “Come on, if you could take that with dignity, surely a crossbow lesson with Coach Daryl can’t be that bad.”

“Why do ya even want one? Thought ya said it wasn’t practical, righ’?” he asked, recalling all the times you called his weapon all kinds of things when you were drunk: “It’s way too heavy and takes up arm space! Can’t fit it in a pocket! It looks like a toy!”

You laughed out loud from his poor attempts at imitating you. Daryl felt the slightest tinge of embarrassment. He wanted to cup his own cheeks to make sure he wasn’t imagining the heat in there, worried he’d gone red. And if he did, he hoped you’d mistake it for the effect of the Georgia sun.

“Yeah, I did say that,” you said as-a-matter-of-factly.

Daryl raised a brow. “So why want it?”

You stepped forward again, taunting him. “Because I have a thing for the guy giving the lessons.”

The warmth that paid him a visit that one fateful night made its presence clearer, this time from the burrows of his chest. What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“I ain’t interested,” he said. Daryl was all things, but not a liar. This time, though, he might just be one.

Although he was looking down at you, he felt as if he was the one being challenged from above. He gulped. 

This time, you raised a brow at him. “Oh, you’re not into girls?”

“I—”

“I’m kidding. Y’know I thought the same, maybe you weren’t interested in me.”

Daryl shrugged, composing himself in an attempt to restore the dynamic he had in his head where he could be in a position where he could intimidate you. He couldn’t. “Yeah, ‘cause I ain’t.”

You continued to ramble on. “I was thinking, hey, maybe this guy doesn’t have any feelings for me!”

He put his hands on his hips, challenging you. But you weren’t quick to back down from a fight. “‘Cause I don’t.”

“Right,” you mused. “Didn’t you bring me a warm cup of tea the day after to help with my hangover?”

He watched you with question, but he worried you’d see the static coming from his chest and spreading to his arms. “Yeah, that woman Carol asked me to.”

“Huh,” you scoffed with a smile, ready for the look on his face to come and indicate your victory. “Funny. I was ready to ignore what happened, think of your kindness as nothing but kindness. But see, I came by sweet Carol’s tent to thank her but imagine my surprise when she said ‘What tea’?”

He had no answer to that. Usually, Daryl was a man who could think on his feet. Heck, you expected him to have some brilliant excuse. He was a hunter, after all. It was natural of him to think quickly.

You licked your lips, staring at his with that smirk of yours he wanted so badly to wipe off. “I’m gonna court you, Daryl Dixon. And you’re gonna say yes.”

The archer grunted, swinging his beloved weapon across his shoulder, shaking his head in denial. “I ain’t ever sayin’ yes to anything.”

“Sure, not today, not tomorrow, but a little push and I know I can get to you.”

Daryl spit somewhere on the dead soil surrounding you as he walked off to the trees. “Nah, never.”

As he disappeared into the forest, you couldn’t help but grin, feeling confident. You saw that moment of weakness. Somehow, some part of you knew it would happen. “Never say never, Daryl Dixon!”

You saw his middle finger raised just before he disappeared further, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Game on, archer.

It went on like that for a while. Daryl said he hated it, that ‘allat romance crap’s worth nothin.’ Still, those little slip-ups in his expressions and gait let you know that there was an opening there somewhere. 

He did start teaching you how to use his crossbow, and the first time you were able to shoot a deer with it, you felt as if his silence was born from both his shock and the fact that he was possibly impressed. 

“I can feel your boner from here, Dixon,” you smirked as you carried his crossbow with you as you began to walk over to your successful capture.

“Shuddup,” he said in response. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was definitely thrown off by how he was feeling watching you walking with his weapon. 

“Help me with this,” you said, grabbing the animal by its hind legs. “Carry the deer so the gang could see how kickass I look with your crossbow. No wonder you like it, it makes me feel sexy.”

When you faced the archer, you raised a brow. He’d been staring and out of focus longer than he intended to be, not that he did. You smirk at this.

“You’re starting to like me,” you said, pointing at him with an accusatory finger. “You were staring.”

“Nuh uh,” he said, composing himself as he hurried to haul the animal over his shoulder. 

“Is it the crossbow? ‘Cause I get it. I look at you with it and I think, ‘Oh, now that’s a man.’” You adjust the crossbow on your shoulder as Daryl watches you with confusion and… Maybe admiration? “I’m gonna do an experiment. This is hot.”

You move the crossbow to your hands, extending it outwards, posing for him with a slouch. “Not hot.”

You kept going on; hot with the crossbow, not hot for the crossbow. Until Daryl stopped you.

“Yer wastin’ time, yours and mine, when yer hot either way.” Daryl froze. So did you. His eyes widened, his cheeks redder than ever. “Not hot. Either way. Hey, I—!”

“You think I’m hot! You said I—!” you exclaim. Daryl clasped his clean hand over your mouth, pushing you against the tree. 

“They’re gonna hear ya.”

No walker came by. You could hear nothing but Daryl’s breath and yours, at least until he dropped his hand.

On the walk back to camp, you were grinning the entire way. Daryl remained silent, afraid he’d say something that you could use against him.

“That was a Freudian slip,” you said with a snort. 

Daryl wanted to argue, but knowing he couldn’t trust himself with talking, he kept his words short. “A what?”

“You subconsciously said something you actually meant. I get it, really.” You make a show of holding his crossbow. “I like you, you like me. But then you feel embarrassed that I’m going after you before you could go after me because you feel weird about a woman pursuing you even though you clearly really have the hots for her.”

He fought to keep his face stoic. “Nah, I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Alrigh,” Daryl said just to end the conversation.

“Alright as in yes you do?” you tease the archer. 

Daryl smirked, determined to get you to admit defeat on your mission to pursue him. “Alrigh’ as in I don’t care.”

But you weren’t a quitter. He’d shown a glimpse of how he felt, and you were determined to get it out of him. By the time you reached camp, you handed his crossbow over to him with a glimmer in your eyes.

“You seemed to enjoy having your hands on me just a couple of minutes ago.” You flip him off as you walk away to go help out with the rest of the people in the camp. “See ya, Dixon.”

Though he wouldn’t show it, Daryl would rather sleep in the woods alone, weaponless than admit that he did. 

It wasn’t just that. He didn’t hate the things you were doing to him and for him. He hated that he wished he thought of pursuing you sooner so he’d have the upper hand. . .

Nah, nah, I don’t. He shook his head to himself.

But it became harder to deny whenever you went out of your way to do something for him, especially when he lost his brother. When he mourned Merle, you were there. And you weren’t a menace like he thought you would be.

You were just. . .there. Giving him the bigger half of whatever food you had, lingering just ever so near, and more. Daryl was surprised to realize that he enjoyed your company. 

He knew he was fucked. Especially when he realized he missed you flirting with him, but he’d never tell you that.

II. NICE - GREENE FARM

Looking for a missing child was way easier when there were no corpses roaming the land of the living, back when there was no need to distinguish what’s alive and what’s not. You were hoping that Sophia would turn up as soon as possible. 

You felt a twinge of guilt realizing that your hope for the child being found was just Daryl’s return, but it wasn’t like that at all. It wasn’t that you had this silly crush on the archer. Yes, you did, but you needed the right time to talk to him about what happened at the CDC.

You’d never felt so mortified. For the longest time, you’ve been saying that you wanted to accept death in exchange for peace. You always thought that when the time comes, you’d be ready. It was a fucked up way to realize that you weren’t, and you found yourself out of breath, unable to chase your breathing.

Daryl was hysterical, but upon seeing you, he immediately rushed in front of you, cupping your face with his rough hands. 

“We’re gettin’ outta here alive,” he’d told you as your chest heaved from realizing you were nearing your doom. He then held you against his chest, his calloused fingers caressing your hair with the most gentle care, as if holding you wrong would cause you to break. You weren’t able to process the rest, but you remembered him at first assisting you in walking until he eventually carried you in his arms out of the facility right before it deteriorated.

You never got to speak to him since then except for when you encountered the herd on the road. He just asked if you were okay, and that was it. 

He’d been preoccupied looking for Sophia ever since. You didn’t want to assume that he’d only been looking for her just because that would make you the biggest insensitive asshole in the world. 

Just then, a young blonde girl came out of the house, a tray in hand. 

“Hi,” she said. You could tell right from how she held herself that she was of good nature. “I’m Beth. I brought you some tea and some oatmeal.”

A small smile came on your face, and you couldn’t help but let it grow brighter when you watched the girl realize why. 

“Oh, I gave this to you on my own—nevermind,” she sighed. “He told me not to tell you ‘cause he said you were—”

“A pain in his ass?” you teased with a grin. “Verbatim?”

Beth considered what she was going to say, but she eventually smiled as well as she set it on the small stool table beside the rocking chair you were sitting on while you stared in the distance. “Well, yes.”

You laughed together with the girl. It was easy to talk to her, you felt light. 

“But he also told me to watch after you.”

You waved your hand, dismissing Daryl’s order to the girl. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. In fact, we should share this oatmeal. It looks good!”

Beth gave you the warmest smile anyone’s ever given you for the past week. “No, I’m okay. He specifically told me to make sure you eat enough. Said he’d bring in something later for you later.”

This time, heat rushed to your cheeks. You stuffed it down. “I’m pretty sure the meat’s for all of us, just including me.”

“I don’t know,” Beth said, leaning against the railing of the house’s front porch. The air certainly felt different in the farm compared to every other place you’ve been to. The sun was setting, and the view of the sky could make anyone oblivious to the newfound horrors of the world. “He was talking about how you needed it, but my dad said you weren’t in need of any medicine. You just needed to eat somethin. And if you needed something for your headache, we have it.”

“I see,” you said, your shoulders sinking. “He’s probably just avoiding me.”

Beth faced you, confused. “Why would he do that?”

“Well, that’s Daryl.” You shrugged, thinking back to what he’d done for you at the CDC. You could almost feel his arms carrying you again, and you couldn’t help but feel the heat in your cheeks return. You instinctively look down. 

Beth noticed your brow furrowing just before you reached out to feel your temple. “Do you need anything?”

“Sorry you have to take care of me,” you say with an apologetic smile. “Just whatever you have for headaches and a decent sleep.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You awoke around the middle of the night to the door to your room shutting closed. At first, you thought that someone came in only to find that you were completely alone. You then heard the faint sound of footsteps walking down the stairs just outside. 

Stirring awake, you sit up straight to rub your eyes. Outside, the sky was dark. You must’ve slept for around eight hours, because you could no longer feel sleep returning easily. The urge was there, but you knew sinking back into a deep sleep would be for nothing. 

You yawn and scratch at your neck. On the nightstand to your right, you’re relieved to find a glass of water. But what stole your attention was what sat right next to it.

You were surprised to find three packs of chocolates: KitKat Bars, Kisses, and Hershey’s. There were also some packs of M&Ms.

Thinking back to the footsteps rushing down the stairs just a minute ago, you hurriedly carried all of the chocolates with you and ran down the stairs as lightly as you could so as to not wake anyone. 

You swung the screen door open, trudging down the stairs of the porch. You reach Daryl just before he enters the tent. You chuck the pack of KitKats to his head, to which he yelped. “Ow!”

“Do you like me?” you ask directly.

The archer faces you, picking up the pack of KitKats you threw at him. “What’d ya do that for?”

“Do you like me?” you ask, firmer this time.

There’s that pause. That two-second, lingering, suffocating pause. “I don’t.”

But that pause meant maybe. Both of you knew it, he just didn’t want to admit it, like he always does. Annoyed, you throw the rest of the chocolates to his feet. “Then you shouldn’t be doing things that make it seem like you do!”

You don’t know if it was the painkillers or just your interrupted sleep, but you definitely felt your temper controlling you. 

“I was bein’ nice.”

“Nice is opening the door for someone. Nice is handing the water pitcher at the dinner table. Nice is not asking someone to take care of me while you’re away, nice is not you bringing me chocolates like it’s Valentine’s to cheer me up when you know damn well how I feel about you. Nice is not making me feel like you feel the same and then take it back then just act like you do feel the same again!”

Daryl stood there, taking it all.

You rubbed at your eyes, your shoulders slumping. You feel a lump in your throat and your eyes begin to water. You stare at him for three seconds before turning around to return inside when he grabs you by the wrist to pull you into that same embrace he’d wrapped you into that day at the CDC. 

He was warm. God, he was warm. You hated that your body craved the press of his. 

He held you until you stopped crying. Until, for some reason, you were holed up in his tent, eating the chocolates he got for you while the two of you talked about everything and nothing. 

You realized how easy it was to speak to Daryl, too. How it came naturally, and how you felt comfortable being yourself around him outside of the flirting. Maybe it really was better to remain friends.

You were just being nice to each other. But if Daryl really did feel an ounce of what you felt, then that wouldn’t be very nice of him.

For a while, you accepted that. You stopped pursuing him altogether and maintained a respectable distance with him. He then always seemed to be everywhere you went, but you told yourself you were in over your head thinking he’d ever even feel the same way.

III. RETURN - PRISON

Life was good. Save for the nightmare that was facing the Governor, of course. The last time you felt a grudge against him was when he left with his brother, but you stopped yourself from feeling anything. After all, that was his brother and you were…

A friend. He’d apologized leaving by bringing you more chocolates from his run. Things have been good lately. You loved being friends with Daryl.

Sure, you’d find yourself in feats of attraction towards the guy ever so often, like the time he carried baby Judith. . .

That was something.

It didn’t help that he was looking at you while he was carrying her, even playing with her and showing her to you. You hated that even though you say you feel nothing anymore, sometimes everything resurfaces.

If only you knew what was going through his mind when he passed baby Judith to you. 

Those were little tests that failed to weaken your belief that you were better off as friends. You survived them. Yep, you were fine being friends. It was just a silly crush anyway.

“[Y/N],” Daryl called from outside your cell. “[Y/N], we’re heading out to get some meds, ‘ya need anythin’? Chocolates again, maybe?”

You were covered in two blankets head neck to toe, your back to the cell door. You said nothing, much less did anything to indicate you heard him. Daryl stepped inside, feeling bad that he’d crossed over but he somehow felt like he had to.

“[Y/N]?”

By the second Daryl laid his hands on your shoulder to tap you, he knew he had to turn you over. You were shivering in your half-sleep, and yet when Daryl pressed the back of his palm against you, you were burning up.

“Jesus, you’re—!”

“I think I caught it,” you said. You try to sit up, and Daryl helps you up. You turn the other way to cough. “I was gonna bring myself to the quarantine cell block, but I couldn’t stand up.”

“Here, I got ‘ya,” he said, helping you up. “You sure ‘ya don’t wanna stay here in your cell instead?”

You shook your head. “I could turn and infect everyone. I—”

“Hey.” He cupped your cheek with his hand, gently tapping it to keep you in check. “You’re not gonna turn, I’m not gonna let that happen to ‘ya. I’m goin’ out and gettin’ ‘ya the meds, then yer gonna be fine.”

“Well, that’s awfully nice of you,” you said drunkenly. On the way to the isolated block, you feel yourself losing your step… Losing your consciousness…

“[Y/N]? [Y/N]!”

And it all went dark.

The days that followed promised a new routine. After the supply run, you were the first stop Daryl visited. He talked to you, took care of you. He’d tell you stories about him and his brother Merle. You’d tell him about the guys you dated and every single terrible date experience you’ve had.

“Yeah, you said you hated dating ‘em. So you wanted to date guys like me instead, y’know, the kind you’d be embarrassed to introduce to your ma and pa.”

You laughed. “Oh, come on. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Friends, friends, friends. That’s how it is, how it should’ve been right from the start. It’s so easy to laugh with Daryl, so easy to be with him.

That was until you got better. You were out, making the rounds.

“Ya shouldn’t be here,” he’d told you when he caught you walking the perimeter with a revolver. “At least not yet. I’ll take over from here.”

“Nah, somehow I feel way sicker when I’m not doing anything.”

He shrugged. “You could read a book.”

“Oh, yeah?” you chuckled.

“Oh, yeah.”

Silence again. It was just the two of you in the dead of night, and you wondered if you only imagined the flurry of emotions back then when you were separated when you got sick.

You wanted to stay there in that moment forever, just standing in the dark with Daryl. But you felt a sort of suffocating sensation the moment you thought of him fondly. You were a bit sleepy anyway.

“Actually, maybe I should go.” Yawning, you stuff the revolver back to your holster. “Good night, Daryl.”

You only got to walk past him a couple of steps before he spoke.

“[Y/N]?” he called out to you just before you were about to return to your quarters. You felt sleep about to take you in deeply, but you fought it off, telling yourself it’ll be quick.

You face the archer, raising an interrogative brow in response. 

For some strange, mundane reason, you found him extra lovely tonight. You were forced to discover why as he leaned forward, pressing his lips into yours in the most gentle way he could. You pull away.

There’s a question in your eyes, and so he only kisses you again in response. You kiss him back, this time with desperation. You don’t know where to put your hands, overwhelmed by this gust of exhilaration washing over you as his hands caress the nape of your neck. 

He pulls away this time.

You couldn’t believe it. So many thoughts ran into your head. Pursuing Daryl used to be something you were just looking forward to as a challenge, maybe even just for the sole purpose of enjoying a fling knowing the end is near.

But you got to know him. He got to know you, and you let him. You felt heat rush to your cheeks, bringing them high enough for the most genuine grin to show in your face. “Does this mean—?”

“Nah.” He takes a step backward, and your grin instantly dissolves into a frown at the sight of him shaking his head. “No, I…”

What?

You shake your head in disbelief. 

What the fuck?

Your smile faltered further. The butterflies in your stomach you thought you felt suddenly felt as if you were about to throw it up again.

“No?” you utter in disbelief, the taste of his lips still stuck somewhere in your mouth. You step backward as well, staring into space as you touched the lips of yours he’d just kissed with so much passion, opposite to the coldness he’d brought upon you with that one word. The rush from the kiss was being drowned by an otherworldly anger threatening to be unleashed. “What the—No?”

You turn your focus to him again. He says nothing, his back to you as he stares into the dark greenery outside of the fence. 

“You make me chase after you like a fool and ‘No’?”

Daryl sunk into himself. He didn’t deserve you. He didn’t deserve anything you gave him. He didn’t know what to say. “I didn’t ask ‘ya to.”

He wanted to disappear. 

“Right.” You had to laugh. “Turn around. Face me.”

The archer obliged, and you couldn’t read his face enough through the tears born from your anger. He hated that he wanted to grab you by the waist and pull you into another kiss, to press his lips against your neck and down to your chest. He wanted to caress your hair, to—

“Back at the CDC, I wanted to stop pursuing you. But then” — his heart broke as your voice cracked — “you held my hand when we found out we could die and you looked at me with those fucking eyes of yours on your goddamn face and I thought maybe there was something real, something I could get out of you if I tried hard enough.”

“We’re gettin’ outta here alive,” he’d told you as your chest heaved from realizing you were nearing your doom. He held you against his chest, his calloused fingers caressing your hair with the most gentle care, as if holding you wrong would cause you to break.

“Then you were cold again, and I thought maybe you were just being kind like usual back then but you—argh! You got me chocolates when I was scared shitless from almost dying and called it being nice and friendly before holding me again!”

You rubbed your eyes, frustrated more than ever.

“You just had to take advantage of the fact that I’m weak for you! You nursed me back to health when I got sick, you spoke to me as if you felt the same way, just—everything! You say you didn’t ask me to chase after you but when I did stop, you find ways to get me back on your trail and now you kiss me and then you take it back?”

You felt your heart begging to be freed. You couldn’t breathe. The lump in your throat was building up, and you knew it did its work once you felt your cheeks begin to wet. 

You couldn’t even see him clearly through your tears. “What the fuck do you want, Daryl?”

How could he tell you? What could he say? He didn’t even know what he wanted. Still, you waited in hopes he’d give you an explanation. That he’d at least explain himself.

“Do you like me?” you ask him again. No response.

You steel yourself for what you were about to ask next. 

“Do you love me?”

Silence. 

“God, I’m so stupid."

Realizing the chance you gave him is all for naught, you shook your head with a mirthless laugh as you walked away. The embrace of sleep never returned, and you were left to stare at the ceiling, waiting for daybreak to come just so you could fight an unwinnable war.

i'm still building my blog. so for now, just send me an ask to be added to my taglist :)

TAGLIST: @vaniniweenie @avabh12 @stinkygirl009

[cheese-water]

Charlie is right.

Bolas Rojos won today. They got their revenge after yesterday’s beating. They’ve proven themselves as real competitors. They have literally won the battle today.

But they themselves have orchestrated the war.

Peace is no longer an option. All bridges have been burned for the red team. Any sympathy or pity from the other groups was gone as soon as they cemented first place. And even worse, there were many witnesses to their carnage. Primarily ElQuackity on green, who faced them head-on (so much for blaming the base raid on Bad), but Pol and Tina on blue saw those same chat messages. Like Charlie said, in situations like these, people will never forget. These are how grudges are formed, how small decisions lead to larger repercussions, and how consequences end up mattering after all is said and done.

The Bolas can’t go back now. They’ve made their bed of destruction and warfare, and now they have to lie in it. While the actions of the others may have led them down this path, do not get me wrong. They were not backed into a corner. There are many opportunities to do something different. For instance, the trader village or going full-on cult mode were genuinely viable options. Due to the lack of players on today and the players that were online’s motivation for the competition visibly waning, the red team could have easily isolated them each and indoctrinated them into the group.

To be honest, the Reds’ resistance to joining general vc only furthered their “us against the world” and “peace was never an option” mentality. Disregarding everything pre-purgatory, the only person who actually has positive relationships with the others is Foolish, who made an effort to interact outside of the team (1v1 with Étoiles, chatting with Tina and BBH, etc.). Unlike his teammates, Foolish really has set himself up well for the future, be it for trading, secret alliances, or if, for whatever reason, teams switch. And in games like these, that's how you gain credibility; that’s how you end up being pitied; that's how you survive.

And today, guess who won in that regard? The team in last place, SoulFire. Which thank god they did, because steamrolling the competition two days in a row is how you get majorly targeted. Their lack of progress (which was definitely unintentional lmao), the gen vc basically being BadBoyHalo’s “apology” tour for a bit (which again, very unintentionally focused the blame off of the six kills from their equally bloodthirsty leader), but most importantly, keeping Étoiles, the skilled and need I mention literal leader of the enemy team, company when his team was gone has more impact than even they might not realize. I mean, talk about damage control lol. Like going into Day 3, my bets on who’s group will form an alliance first are solely on green and blue.

Anyway, I am happy not only about the Reds getting the win they rightly deserve but also about the fact that they are aware of what they are doing. The moves they have and will make are purposeful, self-aware of their own “let’s all be peaceful” hypocrisy.

On Day 1, Blue and Green got to be the bad guys.

On Day 2, Charlie can’t help but question his own morality while doing the same terrible things that sent him down this spiral to ElQuackity tonight.

But I guess it's the burden that first place has to bear. I’m sure they’ll all get used to it eventually :)

[jenniferjareauwife]

Hiii !

Love your fics with JJ !

Do you think you could write a fic JJxfem reader, where JJ met reader and realises she’s falling in love, they get into a relationship but JJ has too much internalised homophobia. She hides the relationship to the BAU and reader is doubting everything and thinks it’s her fault.

Your call to decide if it’s happy ending or not.

Thank you !

Just Asking

pairing: jennifer jareau x fem reader

category: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

word count: 742

summary: jj is coming to terms with her sexuality and slowly falling in love with you

JJ and I sat on the conference room, looking over old files. I had told her I was gonna be staying late tonight and she offered to stay with me, to keep me company and to help. It was really calm for the first hour until she broke the silence. "Y/n?"

"Yeah?" I looked up from my files, giving her my full attention.

"How did you know you were..." She trailed off, tapping her fingers against the table anxiously. "How did you know you were attracted to women?"

"Well...I was 15 and I realized that I felt the way for my best friend the way she felt for her boyfriend." I put my files down completely.

"Oh."

"Why'd you ask?"

"Just asking." She went back to looking at my files and my heart sank. I knew her relationship with her mom and I knew how religious her mom was. I didn't want to press her any further but I had a pretty good idea at what she was going through right now.

"Hey."

"Hm?"

"You can always talk to me...you know that right?"

"Yeah...I know."

We didn't talk for a few months after that and it hurt. I had never told anyone but I had been in love with her from the moment I saw her.

I was sitting at my desk, spinning around in my chair. It was 7pm and everyone had left around 2 hours ago. I was just about to get up to leave but then I heard the doors to the bullpen open. I saw that it was JJ and offered her a small smile. "Y/n." She stopped in her tracks. "I um...I need to talk to you."

"About what?" There had to be something wrong. She hadn't talked to me for 3 months and now she needed to.

"I...you remember when I asked you about how you knew that you were attracted to women?"

"Yeah." She took a few apprehensive steps towards me. "What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"M-my mom found out."

"Oh JJ...Jayje I'm sorry." I immediately put everything down. "Do you need anything? A hug?"

"Yeah...I'll take a hug." I wrapped my arms around her tight, rubbing her back. "She doesn't get it."

"She doesn't have to."

"But I don't get it either. I don't understand why...how I haven't figured it out earlier, you know?" She started crying so I held her tighter. "But now...I really like this girl and it won't go away."

"I'm sorry to say it Jayje...but the feelings not going to go away, you know? It's not something that you can change. You're gonna have to learn to love yourself." I whispered, my heart dropping when I realized she liked someone else.

"How'd you do it?"

"It took a while." I admitted. "I had to have a lot of therapy and reassurance from my former partners."

"I don't have anyone to talk about it with though."

"You can talk to me."

A few more months go by and she didn't talk to me until she stopped me as I was leaving. I wanted to go home after a long case but I bumped into her while walking out of the bullpen. "Y/n."

"JJ." She hesitantly put her hands on my elbows, I couldn't tell if it was intentional or if she was just surprised to see me.

"Y/n..." She said again, trailing off this time. "I...I love you." Her voice was quiet but she corrected herself, saying it louder this time. "I love you. I want you to know that. Because I don't know when I'm going to have the confidence or feel the insecurity to say it another time. So...do...do whatever you want with that information but...I am very much in love with you-" I cut her off with a kiss, a passionate one.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for that." I whispered.

"You have?" She looked flustered, her cheeks a deep red.

"Of course." I caressed her cheeks. "Have you seen yourself?" She blushed even deeper.

"Y-you love me?"

"More than anything." I rested my forehead against hers, practically feeling her body melt into mine.

We just stood there for a second, relaxing against each other and living the moment. She was the first to pull away, tucking my hair behind my ears and leaning in for another kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too."

[lilyletham]

Heart-Shaped Box

hiiiii! I finally finished my long-awaited sequel to 'A friend on Thanksgiving'! I may have gone a little overboard with it, though. This has not been beta'd and I've gone over it a few times for errors but if there's any stragglers, all mistakes are my own. Happy Valentine's Day <333 Words: 1.6k Pairing: Jacob Palmer(Crazy, Stupid Love) x reader - wording is very gender-neutral, total reader insert Content description/warnings: Inebriation from alcohol, angst, vomiting, some mild fluff

Over time, the two of you grew into a casual and relaxed friendship. There was sometimes a slight fluttering under the surface, perhaps an echo or a whisper of something more, but neither one of you ever acted on it, as it seemed to disappear just as quickly as it surfaced. Jacob came off especially distant in the days approaching Valentine's Day. While he's had plenty of temporary company in his bed on that holiday in the past, it didn't soothe the lingering loneliness forming at the center of his chest when he thought about it.

You were surprised then when he declined your invitation on the 14th to hang out, watch cheesy movies and eat takeout. It was practically a weekend ritual with him at this point. He mentioned he had a date and promised to make it up to you later. Without much further thought about it, you left him to enjoy the night while you curled up on your couch and browsed Netflix. You binged-watched an entire corny B-movie trilogy before your eyes started to get heavy and your belly was full of snacks. You checked your phone, 1:44am.

You wrapped your fleece blanket around yourself and closed your eyes. Just as you started to drift off you're startled by a shuffling sound approaching your door and the jiggling of your doorknob. You also heard…singing? Very off-tune singing. You got up and checked the window and sure enough, Jacob was wobbling in front of your door, singing Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana(or attempting to anyway), trying to insert his house key and confused as to why it didn't work; every other lyric of his song replaced with a mumbled 'fuck' and 'goddamn lock'. He must've thought he was at his house. It would almost be adorable if not for the fact that you really didn't want him to destroy your door attempting to jam his key in.

You opened the door and he very nearly stumbled forward onto the ground, as he was leaning on it with his key in his hand. He looked at you bewildered.

"What…wait…what are you doing here?" He slurred, eyes glossy and unfocused.

"Jacob, this is my house. You're at the wrong door." You replied, trying very hard not to laugh at him.

He squinted his eyes tightly and tried to focus his vision, looking around the outside of your yard and then inside your front door. "Are you sure?" He looked down at his house key and the change in perspective caused him to sway, and he gripped the door frame tightly to keep himself from falling down.

You held onto his arm to keep him steady and he absolutely reeked of alcohol. He was much more intoxicated than you realized, and that was going to be a problem. He could barely stand on his own, so you draped an around around him and reluctantly took him into your house, closing the door behind you. You peeled off his white jacket and the both of you hobbled to the couch. He felt like a rag doll as you plopped him down on the cushions, and he landed with an 'Oof' and a very un-serious giggle.

"What happened to your date?" You huffed, recovering from dragging a drunk grown-ass man across your living room.

He laughed loudly, the sound unable to contain its bitter tone. "I s'got ghoshted…at s-thuh barrr…" His words were mushed together and mumbled. "Shtupid…"

Ouch. Ghosted on Valentine's Day? That's harsh. You leaned over him laying there, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, and then you saw it. His face went lax, his complexion paled and he started to heave. Oh, oh no. You rushed to your kitchen to grab your garbage can and flung off the lid, bringing it to him, thanking your lucky stars you replaced it earlier. He unceremoniously rolled over on his side, grabbed the trashcan and violently emptied his stomach contents into it. You winced from how bad he was coughing and gagging and spitting. After a few more unproductive retches, he groaned and put the can down, laying back on the couch with his arm over his eyes. He seemed too embarrassed to look at you.

"Are you okay?" You asked as you got up to get him a glass of water, returning to him swiftly. He gratefully drained the glass and handed it back to you.

It seemed the puking helped to sober him up slightly as his response was much more coherent, "I'm sorry I'm such a f-fucking loser." He pushed out, his voice cracked from a combination of his forceful heaving and his emotions. His eyes were already watering from throwing up, but you watched as they welled up again, threatening to spill over.

"Aw, no, you're not a loser. The person who ghosted you is a loser." You reassured him, and he looked up at you with upturned brows, like he's unsure if you really mean it or if you're just being nice. You sensed his insecurity and put your hand on his shoulder. "I mean it, really. It's their loss. You're a great person Jacob, I want you to know that."

He choked back a sob and reached out to hug you, and despite him smelling like a minibar, you wrapped your arms around him and let him rest his head on the crook of your shoulder. The fluttering feeling returned in your stomach, and you tried hard to ignore it, pushing it down. After a few more seconds of sniffling, he brought his head up to look into your eyes, searching. You wondered if he too felt the same feeling just now.

"I should have just stayed here with you." He said softly. You weren't sure if it was simply a statement or a confession of some sort. When he leaned toward you, you had your answer. His eyes looked full of hope and yearning, and you very nearly let him close the gap when his eyes went wide and he quickly turned his head, heaving into the trashcan once again. You're reminded of where you are and the moment passes. You rubbed his back in soothing circles while he rode out his nausea, head buried in the can between his legs. Poor guy.

When his vomiting subsided you got him more water, some Pepto and encouraged him to relax and lay down on the couch to rest. By the time you replaced the garbage bag in the trashcan, he was completely asleep, snoring softly. You wondered if he would remember anything about tonight, or if he even really meant to do what he did. You couldn't help but sleep out in your living room on your lounge chair because you wanted to keep an eye on him. After you've determined he's probably going to stay asleep, you do the same, trying to relax and get even a few hours of rest from this chaotic Valentine's night.

It was late morning when your eyes finally opened. Your back was stiff from the awkward position on the lounge chair and then you remembered what transpired the night before. You noticed that Jacob was nowhere to be found, and his jacket was no longer hanging from the coat rack on the wall near your door. He must have left while you were asleep. There was a little part of you that missed him even though you just spent the previous night watching him cry and puke in equal measure. Thoughts swirled in your head about whether or not he remembered trying to kiss you, but you figured it would be for the best to not even bring it up. Alcohol can do a lot of things to people, especially someone freshly heartbroken and vulnerable.

You got up to start your day as usual, debating whether or not to get some discounted Valentine's candy for your stash. As midday rolled around you heard a knock at your door. When you opened it, you were met with a lovely bouquet of flowers. Jacob peered around the colorful arrangement in his hand to sheepishly greet you. He looked tired and definitely hung over, but he thankfully had time to shower, change and brush his teeth.

"Hi. I'm sorry about being a drunk idiot last night and puking." He chuckled. So he did remember that part.

You smiled and took the flowers. "You're fine. All's forgiven. How do you feel?" You don't know why you even asked, he looked like shit and both of you knew it.

He humored you and grinned. "Like my head got thrown in a cement mixer. Do you have any Tylenol?"

You knew damn well he probably had painkillers at home but you let him in anyway, gesturing to follow, and he smiled. You told him where it was in your medicine cabinet and as he fetched the pills for himself you put the flowers in an empty vase. When he returned you watched him casually move about your kitchen, navigating your space comfortably as he filled a glass with water and took the pain reliever. It was as if he felt at home with you. You weren't sure why you hadn't noticed it before. Perhaps you just weren't paying attention. You locked eyes with him and you realize it-- he remembered everything. There were those butterflies again.

A beat passed, and then another. He tentatively approached you, setting down the glass on the counter and resting his hand on your waist. Slowly, he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your lips. It was feather-light, experimental. When you kissed him back, wrapping your arms around him, all apprehension in his mind dissolved.

[seramilla]

So in Sera contracted to Carmilla AU. Sera is eventually starting to notice the obvious flirting from Carmilla but right as she's about to realize it and respond but her religious guilt and trauma kicks in just in time to stop her. Clearly it's her sinful mind making her see what's not there and it's sinful and wrong to assume her boss who has been very helpful and kind to is like her and even if she's in hell she shouldn't give in to temptation. Poor Carmilla still has more work to do if she wants to get rid of that guilt and repression.

Sera begins to notice the "special" way Carmilla acts around her right away. She shouldn't be surprised - Carmilla had taken a liking to her rather quickly, and even offered her a contract at an unbelievable pay grade, compared to what she'd been doing to make ends meet here in Hell before.

Carmilla keeps things between them (mostly) professional. During the day, Sera keeps the overlord's affairs and schedule in order, helps the cogs of Carmine Enterprises spin smoothly, and corresponds with other overlords when Carmilla doesn't have the time.

After work, however, Carmilla isn't shy about asking her to stay for dinner. Keeping her late, chatting about mundane things, both related and unrelated to work, and letting Sera see a side of her none of the other employees get to see. Like when she leans across the seat they're sharing after Carmilla's opened one of her favorite vintage wines. Like the way Carmilla's looking at her lips, eyelashes brushing the tops of her cheeks, as she stares at Sera's face intently.

It's obvious Carmilla wants to kiss her. Sera wants to kiss her back. The nature of their relationship, overlord and contract, is so fraught. She shouldn't feel this way, and yet, she does. It feels forbidden, somehow, and wrong, but that only adds to the appeal. Carmilla leans in closer, until their mouths are barely brushing. Sera takes a deep breath, closes her eyes tight, and Carmilla swoops in for the kill.

Carmilla's lips are softer than they look. She just peppers light kisses around Sera's mouth at first, tentatively, curiously. The scent of steel and lilac brushes against Sera's nose. When Sera doesn't protest, Carmilla's almost polite kisses become a tad hungrier. She introduces her tongue, and wow, her mouth and the wine taste sweet, and that makes Sera's head spin. She shouldn't be surprised the overlord is this good at kissing...considering how many souls she's probably been with over the years...

That's right. This is a contractual relationship. Carmilla is her boss, but not only that, she owns her soul. She's shown more kindness to Sera than anyone ever has, whether on Earth or in Hell. But still, there is something so unnatural, so sinful about kissing the woman who could rend her soul apart with a word.

The temptation is strong. Which ones aren't, in this place? She wants to give in to...whatever this feeling is. It feels divine. But Sera can't stop the nagging thought in the back of her mind.

When Carmilla starts to lean in further, to try and move herself above Sera, to have a better position to deepen the kiss, Sera pulls away with a gasp. She averts her gaze, blushing profusely. She silently hopes Carmilla doesn't scold her.

"I’m sorry," Sera says, still trying to catch her breath, and hesitating to look back over at the other woman. She's afraid at how Carmilla will react. "I...I can't do this now."

Carmilla looks disappointed; crushed, even. But she doesn't scold or punish Sera, like any other overlord would. Thank Satan for that. She just moves back to her side of the couch, fills herself another glass of wine, and chugs it all back in one gulp.

"I"m sorry, Carmilla." Sera tries to justify herself again. "I'm not trying to--I'm not ready to--Maybe--"

"You're not obligated to do anything," Carmilla says, that stern and stoic expression she always wears at work adorning her face once again. "While I do...enjoy your company very much, the feeling doesn't have to be mutual."

"It is!" Sera says, frantically trying to over-correct for some huge misunderstanding. "This is all just so confusing, and overwhelming. I'm still trying to understand what's happened to me, and how to move on from...everything."

Carmilla looks over at her. Her face is filled with so much concern, but also understanding, which Sera appreciates.

"Give it time," Carmilla says, before re-corking the wine bottle and standing, as if to leave. "Things down here are difficult. But a life can be made, if you let it."

Then, before walking out of the room, Carmilla turns back around to say, "Lock up before you leave."

Sera nods. She watches Carmilla close the door, and then she's alone in that big, fancy office, all by herself. She sighs dejectedly. Will she ever get over herself? Sera does as Carmilla says, and locks all the doors and turns off all the lights, before heading home.

[megatraven]

Falling

Pairing: Alex Cyprin x MC Summary: When Alex saves her from a nasty fall down in the H.E.R.A. vaults, she falls in a completely different way. AO3

_

Her heart pounds in tandem with Cyprin's as they hold her in their arms, tight and secure. The ladder shakes from the force of her fall- and Cyprin's desperate bid to catch her, but stays upright, as if to say that it was her fault she fell.

And it was- her foot missed the step on her way back down, and she thought for sure she'd wind up with the wind knocked out of her, and a concussion to boot. Maybe even something broken, if she landed wrong. But despite her mistake, and her her split-second certainty that she was about to face the consequences of too-little sleep and a long work day, Cyprin was there to save her.

They must have called out for her when she fell, too, because she could hear the distinct sound of fear in their voice. Afraid that they wouldn't make it in time, or that she would get too hurt to help them with the case.

Or maybe, just maybe-

"Em?" The blood pounds in her ears, drowning their voice out, and she screws her eyes shut. "Emily, are you alright?"

When she opens them again, she looks up into Cyprin's face, worry etched into every divine feature. Their brows are drawn together, and their eyes swim with emotion so strong she has look away, down to their lips pulling a tight frown. They're moving, she realizes- talking to her.

She starts in their arms, and blinks a few times as her situation comes back to her. Cheeks growing red, she shakes her head, shooing off the rest of her daze.

"Emily?"

"I'm- fine," she finally manages, feeling more embarrassed the longer they hold her. Not that she wants them to stop.

"Are you sure? You didn't hit anything on the way down, did you? Nothing twisted?"

"No, I- I think I'm okay." She pauses, fighting back her blush and working up the strength to look them in the eye again. The worry is still there, but less, now that she's responded. She beams at them. "Thanks to you."

It's their turn to avoid her gaze, as their own cheeks- and the very tips of their ears- turn pink. They shift from foot to foot, jostling her lightly as they do it, and clear their throat. A nervous laugh leaves them when they still again.

"I just wanted you to be okay."

Something hangs in the air between them, something more than the tense silence. It becomes clear what it is the longer she feels their heat pressed against her, in every single spot of her that touches them. And just as it becomes clear to her, it becomes clear that it can't happen. She turns into them, lips pressed against the stark white of their button-down as her arms come around their shoulders, and she shifts there in their arms, like she's about to leave climb out of their arms. Instead, though, her lipstick catches on the fabric on their shirt, staining it with light pink.

She pauses, wincing, and opens her mouth to apologize when she looks up, and catches Cyprin watching her again. The worry is gone, replaced by heat- and something more. For a moment, she would almost say they look enraptured by her. It's enough to wipe the apology from her tongue.

Her words are gone just in time for Cyprin... Alex?... to tilt their head down towards her. And if she used her hold on them to push herself up, just so...

Their lips brush, sparks erupting between the two of them in a rush. Somehow, she's the one to take the initiative, pressing into them further and solidifying their kiss into something that can't be written off as an accident. It's certainly not one, although she might think it a mistake later. They might, too. But for a brief moment, they relax into her, giving her the safety and the pleasure of their company.

And when a hand slides up the back of their neck to find purchase in their hair, sparks light up again, warm and bright and... real?

Bright flashes break into her vision, and she wonders if maybe she really did hit fall to the floor and hit her head. But no- when she opens her eyes fully, she sees them: silver sparks zipping over Alex's skin, and hers. Their aura is warm and fast, almost tickling her as it passes over them both.

Too soon, she breaks away from them, breathless for a reason entirely not entirely unrelated to falling. There's a question in their gaze for all of a second before they catch on to why, and they promptly cut their aura off.

"...Sorry," they murmur, voice too rough for what they'd just been doing. They swallow, and then move to set her down. Not acknowledging what happened- the aura or the kiss- they ask one last time, "Are you sure you're okay?"

She's a little light-headed. And dizzy. And she could stand to catch her breath for a bit. Not really okay at all, in that sense.

"Yes," she says anyways. It's not a complete lie. "I'm okay."

They nod, decisive, then take a step back.

"I think that's enough cameras; you can head back to the office, I'll-" they glance down to their shirt, and the pink painted on it- "stick around to make sure they work before heading up."

"...Right." She waits a moment longer, wondering if they'll say or do anything more. When they don't, though, she nods their way and straightens up, combing her hair back into place with her fingers. "I'll see you up there."

[adaptacy]

A Found Flame {Pt.12}

Pairing: Mentor!Gale Dekarios x Apprentice!GN!Reader

(Previous Chapter) - (Next Chapter) ➔ (AO3)

A/N: Sorry I haven't been updating this super frequently, I lowkey forgot tumblr existed for a hot second. it's all up to date on AO3, but I'll get back into posting it on here too! Also, I have commissions up on my page! There's a link to an info post on my pinned :) could really use the extra money & I'm happy to write for ideas that y'all have!!

Word Count: 4.6k

The start of the morning went according to routine. Waking up at sunrise, fixing yourself and Tara breakfast, and tidying up the study before she awoke. While doing some light reading over a cup of hot coffee, you’re startled by a knock on the door. Soon your increased heart rate is not out of fear, but instead out of excitement. An eagerness to see a familiar face, somehow believing that he had managed to cut the trip down to only nine days. An incredible feat, but you certainly weren’t going to complain – you would be without him no more!

You’re quick to stand from the loveseat and rush for the front door, leaving the book you’d been reading on the table, far less interested in its contents when Gale had finally come back. You open the door – you don’t bother to call out, or ask who it might be, as you’re sure that you know who it is. 

But Gale’s beard was certainly not that long. And not nearly as white. And his face was never as… old. 

“Hello?” You stammer, caught off-guard by a completely unfamiliar elder, dressed in obvious wizard-esque attire, with a long orange and red robe and a matching hat that drapes behind him. He nods, smiling wearily and glancing behind you.

“The apprentice, I presume? I intend not to affright thee. Might you indulge an old man? I bear regards to Gale,” he speaks, his voice deep in the stereotypical elderly way, and you swear he’s far too old for a mortal human, but he looks plenty human. 

“You know Gale?” You ask, hesitant to believe anything the man says, both due to your immediate disappointment that the door didn’t open to Gale, and because you know better than to immediately trust strangers. 

“Indubitably. You may safely classify Gale and I as friends,” he confirms, and you realize that this may very well be Gale’s ‘old friend’ that he intended to visit. After all, he’s plenty old, and allegedly a friend. There is an instant pit in your stomach – If he is here, and notably lacking the company of your mentor, then something must be wrong. 

You know that your worry shows on your face, but you don’t care. You step out of the way and pull the door open further, inviting him in. “Come in, please.” It takes a lot not to choke on your words, on your rising anxiety, on your terror. He enters, steps out of his boots, and makes his way to the study, not requiring any sort of direction – a confirmation that he’s likely who he says he is. 

You follow, and he pauses in the middle of the study, motioning about the room. “A mighty toothsome abode this has become – cert ameliorated since I last bore tarriance.” He turns to look at you and waves a hand, a smile crossing his wrinkled features. “Compliments! Alas, I trekked not for flattery. Should thy curiosity bear uncertainty, I shall put to rest such indecision. Elminster Aumar, at your service.” He extends a hand, and you stare at it for a moment before ultimately taking it, and he gives it a firm shake, pushing dried wrinkles against your palm, before he drops his hand. 

“Nice to meet you. Where is Gale? Is everything okay?” You question, desperately searching his eyes for answers, perhaps something more clear than his convoluted conversation will provide, but you find a barrier of blue wisdom, refusing you any peeks into his true nature. 

“Enigmatic, the situation remains. Harrowing dawns are upon us, I fear. Mystra sanctioned the deliverance of a memorandum most paramount,” he sighs, and you frown, simultaneously trying to decipher his statements and search for assurance that Gale is okay. You don’t particularly succeed at either. “Cognizant am I of his absenteeism, inclusive of thy enlistment to the abecedarian chosen’s – ah, erstwhile chosen’s – service. A most discommodious concatenation has seized the deliberation of the Gods.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, but when he doesn’t speak anymore, you shake your head, narrowing your eyes. “I’m… not understanding.” 

He tuts, clasping his hands together and closing his eyes, sighing yet again. “Apologies. I come bearing a–”

“By Mystra’s mercy!” Tara yowls, her tail stiffening and puffing as she emerges from Gale’s room, anxiously glancing Elminster up and down, her head shaking and her wings twitching. “Elminster Aumar? Oh, dear – whatever trouble has my wizard gotten into?” 

Elminster looks at Tara, and he smiles nervously, dipping his head once more. “Tara, dearest, a delight to see you.” He clears his throat, addressing you once more, and Tara comes to rub against your calf, taking a seat between your ankles and looking up at the old man. “I desiderate not to impose you, but to entrust to you a message. A consideration, on Mystra’s part, to offer Gale redemption.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, and you feel Tara’s fur bristle against your skin, both of your guards up. “Redemption? I don’t understand – where is Gale?” 

“I know not his precise locale. Hence my emergence in Waterdeep. It is in your hands I allocate his discovery. Tara – grant me aplomb, will you?”

Her tail swishes, brushing over the ground in mild irritation, or perhaps worry – maybe even a combination of both. “I can find him, Elminster. Rest assured.” 

“Most meritorious. Upon reconciliation, I ask you to inform him of the following. It is imperative that he understands the false deity he faces is far more dangerous than he may possibly conceive. It threatens the gods, the realm, the universe itself. Mystra believes only he is capable of its thorough destruction.” His voice is tainted with regret – as if he is apologetic for the goddess’ message. He reaches into his robe, presenting a tightly tied scroll, and you take it from him, though don’t dare to open it. “If he complies, the spell contained within that scroll will put a halt to the orb’s impending implosion. A temporary fix – all too temporary indeed. He must find the heart, and obey the ritual.”

“False deity? Threatening the gods – the ‘heart’? What are you on about?” You let out an exhale that borders on the edge of a confused, overwhelmed whine, your head shaking in an attempt to dispel the oncoming migraine. 

“Set out as quickly as you can. The realm battles against time. He will understand, even if you do not.” He shakes his own head, inhaling slowly, as if to steady himself. “My sincerest apologies, child. Had I any choice in the matter, you would not be my target of burden. Alas, you know him well, and the trust is mutual. I have little time – Mystra beckons me afresh. I may only bestow upon you luck. And the best of luck it is.” 

. . .

“So, he is her chosen?” You ask, sorting through Gale’s desk as you collect two pouches of gold, dropping them into a quickly-filling traveling pack. 

“Has been for many a century. Oh, I do so hope to be absolved of my misery at a quicker rate than that. To live for a millenia – isn’t it plain dreadful?” She mews, kneading at the cushion of the loveseat across the room from you. 

You close the drawer that you’d been sifting through, opening a different drawer filled with quills, as well as a dagger that has gone unused for longer than you’ve known Gale. You don’t have any intentions of using it, but you’re smart enough to know better than to travel unarmed. “Did you understand anything he said? All of that about Mystra and the ‘huge threat’, or whatever he called it?” 

“Hardly, though I rarely concern myself with the affairs of gods. Once we find Mr. Dekarios, he will explain all. He won’t want to risk the clawing that would come with keeping us in the dark about whatever he is up to,” she replies, stretching out her back and jumping off of the couch, approaching you before hopping onto the desk, inspecting the bag you were packing. “My, quite the pile of gold you’ve acquired, dear.”

“Well, yeah. We’ll need to afford rations for the trip, there’s no telling how long it will take, and probably transportation, and–”

“Hah!” She meows, amused at your statement. “Nonsense. The trip will be a short one. With my purrrfect nose, we’ll find him in a whisker’s twitch.” 

“We’ll still need to travel to him, though.”

“Ah. With my trusty sense of smell, my unbridled connection to my darling humanoid, and a sprinkling of conjuration magic, we’ll be in the… general area of Mr. Dekarios,” she assures, sticking her head into the bag and biting the tip of a gold pouch, removing it and dropping it onto the desk. “Let’s leave some inheritance for our return, yes?”

“Wait – we can just… appear there? Like, teleporting?” You chuckle in surprise, a little baffled that it would be that easy.

“Well, thirty-two years of companionship doesn’t go without its benefits! Aside from the self-warming bed, of course. I know Mr. Dekarios better than he knows himself. I’ll find him, don’t you fret. Elminster emphasized the urgency of the situation, so I best be referring to a few studies on transpositional spells. We should depart before the evening. Will you be ready?”

You think over what else you need to do, or pack, and eventually nod. “Yeah, I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Delightful,” she praises, hopping off of his desk once more and walking towards his room. She pauses, however, to look behind herself at you, her ears twitching. “Do bring along some of that salmon, would you? As much as I enjoy hunting the occasional mouse, we’ve larger missions to sink our claws into.”

“Of course. I’ll even cut it up into squares,” you tease, and she lets out a loud purr in response, satisfied with your answer. Tara disappears into his room, and you return to your packing, picking up the backpack and leaving the study, immediately preparing the salmon before you risk forgetting. You slice it into squares as you’ve been doing for the past few days, and then place those squares on a sheet of parchment paper, rolling it up and securing it before you tuck it into your bag. 

Knowing that you have very little hunting experience, you make sure to grab plenty of rations for yourself, as well, though find that the bag is getting quite full. You suppose the several changes of clothes are mostly at fault for that, and you have to sacrifice two sets in order to fit what you believe will keep you fed for at least a few days. Maybe less, should you need to share with Gale, but you’d be happy enough to have found him, you doubt you’ll have room for complaints. 

When you return to the study, you can hear Tara muttering incantations in the next room over, and you decide better than to risk interrupting her. You would pick out a book to keep you company, but you doubt you have the room for that, and as Tara said, you’d probably have your hands full for the next few days. Instead, you take a seat by the unlit fireplace, allowing yourself a few minutes to think – to properly process everything that has been dumped onto you in a morning. Truly, it would be nice if ‘grand reveals’ were a little more spaced out, or had some build up to them. Alas, you were smacked with concerning news flashes that rattled you for a morning, or a single conversation, and then you were promptly dropped in a sea of confusion, left to teach yourself how to swim. 

How unfair. 

Thanks in part to Elminster’s intensely coded and decorated speech mannerisms, you have no clue what you should expect. On the bright side, it seemed quite assured that he was not dead. Mystra would certainly know if he was – not only because of her familiarity with him, but likely that her connection to the weave within him would draw her immediate attention, should that connection be severed, or… exploded. 

She was rather audacious, if you had to be honest. To abandon him in his time of need, to leave him wandering and hurting after everything he tried to do for her, was one issue, and a plenty large enough issue on its own. But now for her to suddenly call upon him for a mission because she felt threatened? Oh, the gall. 

You couldn’t tell if it was incredibly serious because she’d called on a mortal to do her bidding, or if it was incredibly un-serious, because she had called on a mortal to do her bidding! She, a goddess, the weave incarnate, the mistress of magic, couldn’t take care of a threat to the entire universe, but Gale Dekarios, a middle-aged, objectively gauche and reclusive wizard, was capable of such victory? 

It was the orb. It had to be. In no world did Gale naturally have such power at his fingertips. Even so, the weave within him is only a fraction of Mystra. Surely she is stronger? Surely she can cast such destruction tenfold, should she be so inclined. 

…Right?

Gale was not more powerful than Mystra. Nobody could be – not via the weave, anyways. Gale wasn’t even on a similar level to Mystra. He had a fraction – a fraction – of her power. Didn’t he? That’s what he’d told you. 

You recall your own experience – pulling energy with the orb as your source. The split second of unforeseen power that you felt, that surged through you as if it was you. In that moment, you’d believed yourself unbeatable. All-powerful. An irrational thought, you’re aware, and yet such possibility intrigues. 

If Mystra controlled the weave, couldn’t she remove the orb? According to Elminster, she’s capable of pausing it, and yet it remains latched and active within his body. She had to have her reasons. Mystra would not turn down the ability to be even stronger without good reason. 

Again, you return to your memory – the quiet calm of the orb, paired with Gale’s utter terror. It makes you think.

Is Mystra scared of it?

“Are you quite ready?” Tara peeks her head out from Gale’s bedroom, and you quickly stand, putting on your boots and nodding, grabbing your backpack from the loveseat. You follow her into Gale’s bedroom, where a swirling purple and black vortex awaits you. 

“We’ll be able to return, right?”

“Oh, of course,” she reassures, and you relax, stepping closer to the portal. You feel her rub against your ankle, and she outstretches her wings, yawning. Jumping to fly behind you, she perches on your shoulder, her tail bumping against your back. “With the assistance of a horse, but a return is a return, yes?”

You cringe, a little less sure, but give an affirmative shrug nonetheless. “Right. Here goes, I guess.”

“Prepare your feathers, dear – a quick trip through the cosmos and we’ll surely be on his doorstep! Or… somewhere in the vicinity.”

With that, and a nod at one another, you step through the portal, having to rely on your trust in Tara to recite the spell correctly and not land you in a heap of trouble. 

–   –   –

He’d left the ruckus of the party behind him, the noise from drunken singing and laughing a little too much for him to bear. And far too sweet of an opportunity. A perfect distraction – as if it had been curated for him. He did deserve it, didn’t he? 

He’d worked so hard. Slain so many goblins. Thoroughly exhausted himself, dirtied his daggers and saved lives. Heroes, they named them. As if his intentions were entirely pure – as if he felt empathy for the tieflings, as if he’d been pushed to act in their honor, as if he cared. 

The wine was tolerable, at least. The company not so much. Drunk and dry. Below his standards, and far too chatty. 

The boars were better than the rats. Had more sustenance to them – a little more flavor. More of a kick, too, as small as their legs were. Alas, he was hungry, and ever-so-greedy. Perhaps he’d find a deer. Or another boar – it wasn’t too wretched of an idea. If he had to compromise, he wasn’t entirely opposed to it. Hardly a fan, but blood was, ultimately, blood. A boar would hold him off for another day or two. A deer, though? Oh, certainly a week. 

He finds himself traveling deeper and deeper into the forest. The party, ringing through the trees around their little clearing, scaring off the prey he so helplessly yearned for. What insatiable hunger. A hindrance, a terrible flaw, a godsforsaken craving – until he satisfied it, at least. 

However temporary the satisfaction, it made the carnal desires, the churning desperation, the withdrawals – all of it, worth it, for a little while. Few things came close to the sensation of blood running down his neck, washing him inside and out, fulfilling his bone-chilling needs. 

How clueless his companions remained. It granted him fragmented amusement, witnessing their utter hopelessness – gave him the slightest rushes of power, of pride. Of security. To know, and to trust, that his secret remained just that, all thanks to his carefully plucked words, his controlled smiles, his flawless manipulation. Even his kills were tidy –

Well, save for the first boar, that is. Not that they’d picked up on it, fortunately, but he supposes he could have cleaned that one up a little better. He’d been desperate, and practically starved. Trekking about in unfamiliar lands was so incredibly exhausting. Especially when he was forced to sweat under the heat of the sun – not to say he didn’t enjoy walking freely under the sun, of course he did, but the sweat he could do without. 

And slaying was even more taxing on his body. Swinging, dashing, dodging – oh, catching prey used to be so easy. 

At least he did it for himself now. Made the burdens far easier to bear. Free will was such a luxury, wasn’t it?

Astarion pauses, hearing movement ahead of him. He can’t hear the noise of the party anymore, nor can he see the lights, and he’s sure that his prey lies close. So he sticks closer to the denser parts of the forest, hugging every shadow that he can, moving with them as one as though he’s Baldur Gate’s best trained assassin, or a panther, slinking about the underbrush, eyes on a darling, oblivious gazelle. 

He smells a fire, and then he hears quiet chattering –

A person.

His heart flutters, his fangs practically ache, and he realizes that settling for a boar would be a horrific lowball. Unfair – unfair to him. 

He deserves better. He deserves real prey. He deserves payment for two-hundred years spent in a hell personalized for him. He deserves payment for having his freedom robbed from him. He deserves payment for freeing those poor, defenseless tieflings. 

He deserves payment. Retribution. 

He deserves real blood. Sweet blood. Thick, terrified blood – crying blood, pleading blood. Blood with a life. Blood with a soul. Blood with a personality. 

Better him than a wolf, or a bear. Better fangs in the neck than claws across the torso, surely. He’d be doing this stranger a mercy. Maybe he’ll even be gentle. Maybe he’ll be kind – maybe, he’ll be the hero that the tieflings claim he is.

But he is hungry. And he is weary. And he can smell them, smell a meal, smell satisfaction. It is yards away, and he is closing in, and his fingers twitch, and he is silent. The grass does not betray him, no sticks dare to sneak under his steps, not a leaf crunches under his weight.

He is being given what he deserves, at last.

No – he is offered no gifts. Every step is a careful one, every stick is dodged, every leaf is tip-toed over.

He is taking what he deserves. 

He creeps closer, finding someone getting ready for rest, curled up alone on a bedroll, unaware of the danger lurking mere feet away. They smell sweet – innocent. Had he any less dignity, he’d positively be salivating, closer to an excited mutt than an ex-magistrate. However far he’s fallen, he cares not. 

His mind belongs not to him, but to his need, to his cravings, to the yearning of his fangs. He watches them, their eyes closed, but he’s sure they’re awake; moments ago, they shifted their makeshift blanket, ensuring perfect comfort. 

He hopes it’s an adequate final resting place. 

In an instant, he’s pounced, and he kneels beside them, a hand firmly clasped over their mouth as their eyes widen and they writhe, making his own blood rush. He shushes them, feigning some care for their comfort, but he knows that the more terrified they are, the quicker their heart beats, and the more blood that will be pumped directly into his mouth. 

His other hand tangles in their hair, and he yanks them up, his mouth opening as he eyes their neck, and at last, he bites down, earning a pained squeal from his victim. 

It is magnificent. 

Perfect, sweet with a kick, and it warms him, far better than any blood he’s ever tasted. Animals are no match. When blood like this exists, blood that makes him feel like royalty, blood that makes him twitch, blood that consumes his mind as he consumes–

“Fiend!” A feminine voice hisses, and Astarion feels claws rake across his face, earning a hiss from himself as he stumbles off of the victim, dreadfully yanked away from his meal. That meal clutches their neck, and Astarion finds that his assailant is a winged cat, her fur standing on end, her tail thick and bristled, claws unsheathed and prepared to strike again. 

“Bloody hells! What is wrong with you?!” His victim cries out, and Astarion’s eyes linger on the blood trailing down their neck, pooling in the crevice of their collarbone, painting them a perfect feast–

Once more, claws strike across his nose, and he growls, backing away an extra step and looking between his victim and the tabby. Despite his urges, and his concern for allowing a victim to escape, he recoils and retreats, believing it to be better to return to camp rather than expel any more energy in a battle. 

After all, it’s quite unlikely for the pair to stay in these woods when they’re aware of a vampire on the loose – They’d have to be positively insane to stick around.

–   –   –

It’d been too long since he’d indulged in the bittersweet sting of wine, and he’d made up for lost time tonight. Several glasses deep, as a matter of fact, and his mind was entirely distracted from any pressing matters, and certainly drawn away from the impending regret to follow the next morning. 

The river bank they camped by was perhaps the most peaceful place he’d found thus far. So it was on the bank that he sat, not minding the tickle of sand, too focused on the quiet, buried sound of the water slowly running past. Buried, that was, underneath the sound of the off-tune singing and chattering of his companions and their guests, the tieflings they’d rescued. 

It isn’t half the view, but it reminds him of Waterdeep. Reminds him of the view from the balcony – the one he could share with them, no matter the time of day, or night. The breeze here was slight, but it’s enough to make him reminisce on the salty breeze he had grown so used to. The kind that’s just chilly enough to allow for him to pull them closer, wrapping an arm around their shoulder in mock defense of the cold and be safe from any possible accusations about ulterior motives. Gods forbid he be pushed to answer for what exactly his feelings on them were – he hardly knew, and he doubted anyone else, especially them, would be capable of understanding.

Tara called it love. Tara also had quite the habit of getting ahead of herself. He enjoyed their company, that was certainly a given, but toleration was quite different from love. Albeit, he was beyond simply tolerating them, but it still hardly called for such an extreme adjective. He was not, and still is not, a man who is searching for love. Even if he did possess such feelings for them – which was wildly unlikely – he wouldn’t be able to act upon such feelings. Gods, he didn’t want to even imagine the embarrassment that would follow any kind of confession from his end. Perhaps even worse, the accusations. He had not taken them in so he could pursue any kind of an intimate relationship with them. He had not mentored them with such intentions in play. 

Gale knows his concerns are reasonable, and completely justified. Any such unforeseen flattery would put too heavy a damper on what they already had; a perfectly innocent business relationship, perhaps even one more akin to a professor and his student. The kind of relationship that absolutely did not, under any circumstances, have room for romantics. 

Anyways, he harbored no longing for them. So it mattered none. Whatever limitations he had firmly set in his mind were not going to become tainted with regret, because there was nothing to regret. Nothing more to wish for. He yearned for survival, nothing else. Certainly not them. 

Likely, the wine was to blame – mixing unpleasantly with the tadpole in his head, causing his thoughts to branch off into unsavory places. The wine and the scenery. Wishing for them, now, meant nothing. Being calmed by the waking dream of their presence beside him, it was nothing more than a result of his exhaustion from the day’s events. What little peace he experienced now, he wished he could share with them. But that was not due to love, he was a perfectly sane man, and sane men don’t fall in love with their apprentices. Unreasonable – that’s all it was. Unreasonable to miss more than their company. Unreasonable to allow himself to crave their touch, to dream of the sound of their voice. 

Unreasonable to revisit the feeling of their weight in his arms, carrying them back to bed after they’d fallen asleep in the study, resting so comfortably against his chest. It had been unreasonable for him to hold them for a few moments more, despite standing beside their bed, knowing he should set them down. 

Unreasonable for his mind to drift in this moment, the wine barely being strong enough for him to blame his less chaste thoughts on, conjuring up other scenarios in which he might feel their weight against his body, close and gentle, or what sorts of noises he may be able to pull from them when his hands are allowed to roam their body freely. The expressions that may come across their face, acting entirely on reactions to his saccharine teasing, playing them much like he would a lute, capable of plucking their strings enough to form only the most blissful of melodies. How pleasant such an encounter would–

“The fun is coming to an end.”

Gale’s eyes open quickly, and he finds himself gripping the base of his chalice rather tightly, causing him to gulp and forcefully relax, sitting up and turning his attention to Shadowheart, a glass of her own in her hand. He nods, cracking an awkward smile and raising an eyebrow. “Is it?”

She nods, motioning with her cup back towards the main gathering space of their camp. “Indeed. Assumed you’d want to say some goodbyes. Perhaps accept another round of praise. I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

Gale scoffs, shaking his head and rising to his feet. “Nonsense. I was merely enjoying the quiet. Past time I submitted to sleep – fear I’ve gotten well-too deep in our wine supply for one night,” he chuckles, and Shadowheart dips her head and raises her glass in agreement, returning to the fading festivities alongside him. 

[winniethewife]

You Can’t Always Save Everybody.

(Miguel O’hara x Spidersona!Scarlette Web)

Chapter 1

Words:1467

Warning; Angst, Violence

A new super villain with the moniker Scarlette Web was causing problems. There was no precedent for this in any other universe. But she wasn't an anomaly. She was supposed to be there. But why wasn't the local spider stopping her? Miguel, Peter B. And Gwen go to the universe in question to investigate.

 “She should have been capable enough to defeat this Scarlet Web person on her own with no complications.” Miguel says to the group as they stake out a high up building. He couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Just then they hears a voice from behind him.

“Miguel O'Hara. I'm surprised it took you this long to come investigate. You're usually so on top of these disruptions in canon.” There stood the Scarlett Web. Her dark red and black suit was quite reminiscent of a classic Spiderman suit, with additions, high heel boots, bracers, and a cowl. What really bothered him was that her voice was really familiar. And the way she held herself.

“Sarlette web, I presume?” Miguel questioned

“In the flesh.” She says with a sadistic tone in her voice. She uses web shooters to stick him to the wall behind him. Something they didn’t expect. Miguel found it impossible to move, this was not normal webbing. He struggled to get out as she fought off the others.

“Woah, Hey wait you like know all my good moves!” Peter exclaims as She easily fights him off and easily webs his arms together and kicks his legs out from under him. Gwen was to busy fighting off some spider-like robots too even have a second to notice Scarlette approach, she puts her hand over Gwen’s mouth and some kind of sleeping agent penetrates her mask and she’s out cold.  

“Nice to see some familiar faces.” She snidely remarks as she walks up to Miguel. “How’s the new web formula I created? Several times stronger than what you use at the society. Plus with the added bonus is the more you struggle the harder it is to get out.”

“No way hang on…Miguel…it’s-” Peter realizes who they were dealing with.

“Valentine…” Miguel is taken by surprise.

Valentine Foxx joined the Spider-society early on, an amazing inventor, she was a little cold a little distant. She had lost her husband just under a year before, they had been together since sophomore year of high school, It hadn’t helped when a man almost identical to her husband had shown up and asked her to become a part of the Spider Society.

Her Miguel was thinner, less muscular, he had several tattoos and piercings, he was a Bassist for a Punk band that was just starting to get popular when the unthinkable happened. A shooting at a concert, Miguel was declared DOA, dead on arrival. Valentine was fighting Green Goblin the night it happened. There was nothing she could have done. Valentine had hardly recovered, when The figure of Miguel O’hara, Spiderman 2099, came into her life.

Although He looked like her husband they had very little in common personality wise. What surprised most that knew either of the two however was they became fast friends. Miguel had a soft spot for her, and she let down her barriers of ice for him. It seemed like they had really found solace in each other’s company. That was until everything had happened with Miles, and Miguel closed her out. No more patrols together, No more quite afternoons in the lab, no more slightly drunken escapades where they got closer than they should have, none of that. Valentine felt like she had lost everything all over again. So one day, She portaled home, threw her gizmo in a drawer and wasn’t seen for months…until now.

 ~

She was so different now, it felt wrong. Miguel struggled against the webs, only to get himself further stuck.

“You’re not Valentine…” Miguel hissed. “She would never do this!” But that voice…

 “Believe it O'hara!” She hissed before pulling her mask off to reveal her face. It was most definitely Valentine. Those piercing midnight eyes, the beautiful raven hair, the porcelain skin. That was definitely her. “How far the mighty have fallen hm? A spider woman switching sides? Inconceivable right? Well here I am.” She continues in that venomous tone with a smirk on her face as she watches his reaction.

 “This isn’t you…” Miguel said “What the hell happened to you?” he questioned, as her voice caused him to flinch every now and then. It was almost unsettling, to hear her voice say such things.

“Oh this is me Miguel. This is the me you created...”she chuckles slightly “what the hell happened to me? You. You happened to me. You got under my skin. Made me think I was doing good for the multiverse. Made me think that all the suffering I went through was worth it. Being spider woman is about sacrifices. The choices we make along the way. With great power comes great responsibility....” She mocks him before coming in really close and turning off his holographic mask. “All that bullshit you tell us right?”

“You’ve lost your way…” Miguel stated, the truth stinging. “You went off the deep end…” Miguel could see it in her eyes, she meant what she said. He was responsible for letting things get this far, he pushed one of his closest friend too far.

“Oh yeah I got pretty fucking lost. Went from having a community, a close friend, someone I thought I could trust with my entire self.” Her eyes glare into his with intensity. “But then I just became a thorn in your side right? I was easily discarded. It's easy to forget about little Valentine.” She sneers at him. “Poor little spider girl, hangs on Miguel's every word, practically worshipped the ground he walked on, wanted nothing more than to be his friend, his confidant…” She grabs his hair and pulls it up hard hitting his head into the wall. “Easy to lose track of her right?”

Valentine was truly gone.

“You’re not Valentine! Where’s the Valentine I know! What happened to her?!” Miguel questioned, as he began writhing. He began to get angrier and angrier with her.

“Oh, at first she just cried...for days. Wondering what she did wrong. One day there was a knock at the door and she thought for sure it was you. There to make everything better. But no!” She pulls his hair again so He's looking directly at her. “After that she hid in the closet for a couple days. Eventually she finally got mad. And once she got mad she got pissed. And now she...is me.” She narrows her eyes at him.

“You… are insane.” he hissed. Every time she pulled his hair or hurt him in some way Miguel felt like he was losing his mind. As she spoke that dark smile on her faces pissed him off. Her words were getting under his skin, and it was infuriating.

“Oh, if you think I'm insane now...”she kissed her teeth. “At first I just wanted you to fucking pay attention. I just wanted you to notice. But I quickly figured out, it's a lot of fun to be the bad guy.” She grins at him as she yanks his head back hitting his head on the wall again before laughing. “If it's so bad why does it feel so damn good?” She pulls his face closer to hers and she grins at him with a sadistic evil glint in her eye. Miguel tried struggling, but the more he tried, the more stuck he got.

“Damn it. She really is crazy…” Peter says quietly.

The way she looked was unsettling. Her dark eyes blood shot, her every word dripping with venom.

“You aren’t My Valentine though.” Miguel hissed. ”My Valentine wouldn’t do this.”

She tuts her tongue at him and releases his hair before grabbing him by the chin. As she made him look into her eyes the smile faded from her face.

“You keep telling yourself that. Whatever lets you sleep at night Miggy.” She uses that nickname the one he only lets her use. For flash of a second he can see his Valentine in her eyes as the shimmer slightly with tears. She closes her eyes and lets his face go. Valentine starts to walk away.

“Go ahead and tell everyone back home that I’m the villain now but please... don’t forget to tell them… you created me.” She says with a sense of finality. She swings away from the scene. Knowing that although the new webbing formula was more dangerous and deadly it only lasted about an hour. And she was running out of time to get out of there before Miguel and the others were free from the webs.

~

Next chapter

Masterlist

Tag: @femmeanonymelives

[callofdudes]

hello, sorry if this is rude, but I wanted to ask why you write Ghost the way you do?? I haven't played the games yet but I've been seeing some people debating on others writing him different ways.

Hey anon, I don't think it's rude. Now, if I understand this correct, yes, there are people who have been debating and even aggressive toward some people who write for different characters.

But I'll break down why I write Simon why I do.

First off, for those who haven't played the games and haven't looked into a character further than their sex appeal; Simon isn't heartless and rottenly cold.

He's not. Nor would he push around and hurt people who are in his circle on purpose. Going back to 2009 when Simon was shown in the og trilogy he was very close to captain MacTavish and made jokes and comments all throughout the game. While he's still very much professional, he has that balance.

It's shown, even in the new game that Simon cares deeply. One reason I think people want to think he's so cold because that's how he likes to present himself. But in the military, being particularly scary is probably favorable. That and being in the military as long as Simon or Price has, they have probably learned not to get too close to soldiers.

Since the sad part it, there's a very high chance they won't make it long.

And an intimacy issue. I've seen people getting upset because some people write Simon to flinch at every little touch. And while I think part of that has truth, Simon 100% has intimacy issues.

And this is partly me projecting into him, because Simon wouldn't be raised how he was and not have issues or extremely negative views and experiences around intimacy. And I doubt the military encouraged any different.

While I don't think he would flinch at every single thing, certain things are completely beyond his limits. I personally had a very abusive relative who always wanted hugs and I was always forced to hug her and be close to her. And since getting away I am extremely careful and particular about who hugs me.

I am uncomfortable hugging people who aren't in that selected little few, and really I'm still only 100% with hugs from my dad.

So does Simon have intimacy issues, absolutely he does. He doesn't know affection, and for someone who hasn't known a lot of a affection it can come off like a red flag or a trigger because they aren't used to it happening so in their mind; something must be wrong.

And a lot of affection can take Simon out of things. Like myself, if he's love bombed he is out of it and needs to step away because... Like what does he do? That's too much in one place at one time. Big boundaries.

But Simon is also gentle. Just because all of these things have happened to him doesn't mean he's always nasty. He's very gentle toward someone who shares an up bringing or even just a situation like he had. He's gentle with hostages and with kids when he finds them on the field. While he may not like children, he doesn't do anything to openly show that.

Touch-starved. All I need to say. When Someone like Johnny, or Reader gives Simon affection that he likes, he wants it all.

Like snuggles, when Simon comes to the realization of how much he just genuinely and innocently likes the company of a close body with warm arms wrapped around him, he wants more. He wants what they can give him. He needs to trust them though.

Simon is very closed off only until he's with those he is close with.

And yes, Simon is strong, but that does not mean he can't have mental struggles. Simon, in my world has had struggles with food because I have.

Simon can have anxiety and still be able to throw out quips and quick remarks like when johnny and him were bantering in the alone mission about his mask. He can have both.

You can be both confident in your profession and lacking confidence in another field. I see this a lot with König as well. They are both firm and know the drill and are very, very confident in their field of work because they know it.

But taken out of that head space and thrown into something casual of domestic for a bit and it completely takes them out and gives them anxiety.

Simon can be self conscious of his body and his stretch marks and still have confidence in other things.

And this is just how I personally like to write Simon. There is probably a lot more I missed but off the top of my head this is how I write him. And I enjoy writing him like this, and I'm glad others do as well.

[animeyanderelover]

Can you please do general yandere headcanons for shinra from fire force and takumi aldini from food wars?

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusion, jealousy, clinginess, guilt-tripping

Yandere Fire Force + Food Wars Hc's

Shinra Kusakabe

🦶The boy has pretty much a childhood trauma from losing his mother and his little brother which is the main reason for a development of possessive as well as protective instincts when he falls in love with his darling. He wants to protect someone precious to him now that he has gotten stronger than he was as a child and so he often winds up stalking his darling a bit when he has the time. He always checks thrice though to make sure that no one from his friends and comrades follows him and calls him out. That stems from the fact that Shinra winds up being about half-lucid about some of the things he does. Whilst he will excuse more brutal and wrong stuff if it guarantees your safety and your stay with him, he’ll avert his eyes from the unpleasant truth as much as he can. On the other hand he’s also decent enough that the gesture of stalking would be frowned upon if someone would catch him in his act.

🦶There are a lot of rumors about him bring responsible for killing his mother and he has the name of “Devil’s Footprints” too so he is often preoccupied worrying what you might think of him. If your image of him is influenced negatively because of those rumors, he’s going to be quite persistent and determined to change your perception of him. There’s a real obsession about keeping you safe and staying with you, all largely thanks to the loss of his family. Despite that obsession, Shinra has initial troubles interacting with you. He thinks of you as really pretty and dazzling and is due to that nervous and flustered when around you, resulting in his nervous grin he always has in such situations. Hopefully that won’t scare you off though since Shinra will always be very stubborn and persistent as soon as you pull away from him, urging you to give him another chance. That can be quite scary the moment he starts following you around and waiting for you in locations he knows you’ll seek out.

🦶Objectively speaking, Shinra always tries to respect his darling and he’s also very considerate of the people and citizen around him. He wants to be a hero after all. He’s very passionate about you though and for that tends to get triggered fast when he realizes that someone tries to impress you. In such times he can’t help his signature strained smile he always gives when something is bothering him and becomes for you after some time the best indicator possible about how he’s feeling at the moment. Unfortunately not everyone knows upon first meeting about Shinra’s habit so that smile will either unnerve them or anger them, possibly both. If someone does call him rudely out for it, Shinra will get slightly angry. Not only is that person trying to get with you, now they’re also trying to get him into a fight!

🦶He has high standards for the companies protecting citizens from Infernals and has a promise to hold he made with his mother so considering all that, he probably would be more tame when it comes to hurting others. Sure, he can get into brawls with others when he’s triggered because of his jealous and possessive emotions but that rarely escalates further than insults since he knows better than to hurt someone. If he’s desperate though, he’ll definitely be willing to injure others seriously but that’s probably only the case if someone threatens to kill you. If his obsession starts messing with his rational thinking though, he tends to get impulsive and messy.

🦶Abduction is wrong from a moral point of view and by stretch also his point of view yet I wouldn’t put it under him. Shinra would do it if something escalates but he also knows that he isn’t in a position to really be able to pull something like that off. He’s working under a special task force, doesn’t have the resources nor enough money to kidnap you and provide for you whilst simultaneously keeping you for forever a secret. It seems impossible and he probably wouldn’t be able to help the guilt knocking on his consciousness if he’d actually pull it off. So an abduction is basically him pushing his darling into their room and locking them up inside only to let them out after some time again. He’s going to be very persistent to stay with you whenever something like that occurs though so he can quench the unease in his heart.

🦶An introduction to the fellow people in his company is eventually due and that already makes him a bit nervous. But it’s nothing compared to when he meets your own family. Oh boy, his smile at this rate is creepy with the way it stretches across his face, showing you clearly how nervous he is. He’s initially not overly terrible but I feel like he’d get more paranoid the moment the White-Clad show themselves and he finds out that they’re after him too. He wouldn’t put it above them to use you as a bargain chip if they were ever to find out which inevitably has him turning more protective and overbearing out of paranoia.

Takumi Aldini

🍝Takumi strikes me more of a tsunderish kind of Yandere in the beginning which pretty much just means that he’s trying to hide his rather massive crush on his darling in the earliest developments of things. Partially because he feels ashamed thanks to the somewhat abnormal thoughts and feelings about this crush he has on you, something that has him occasionally questioning his own sanity. The other part of him tries to hide his feelings because his pride tends to not be able to handle the embarrassment he feels every time he’s seeing you and transform into a flustered and clumsy mess with his poor heart doing a parkour inside his chest. He’s always a bit on edge when you’re around, almost hyper aware of every glance you give him which wracks his nerves quite a bit because by god, he doesn’t want to humiliate himself again.

🍝Once we’ve gone past that stage of denying and hiding though, Takumi becomes very passionate and determined to court his darling. He still tries to downplay his feelings at times and still gets flustered but is more open with his feelings now that he’s embraced them. You and his friends and his brother might catch him in the act of intensely staring at you as he tries to learn about you by observing you. Takumi becomes quite keen on memorizing the smaller details on you. He also grows to act a bit like a mother would do, always asks you if you’re feeling good and offers you lunch he prepared himself. He also develops the habit of always following you around in his best attempts to stalk you a bit although he’d die out of shame and embarrassment if someone from his friends or worse even you would notice him.

🍝Takumi wouldn’t want to be someone who comes over as overly jealous, especially if he’s worried that his s/o might think of it as rather annoying. So despite his sometimes hot-blooded side getting the better of him, he’ll do his best to swallow everything down. He’d probably calm down a bit once he’s in a relationship but before that, he’s going to feel quite easily jealous. It’s obviously his fault for trying to play his emotions down and he truly resents himself for this in such moments of jealousy. His pride will only let him handle that much if he notices that someone tries to court his darling. He’s not arrogant but takes still confidence himself. He can be an individual who is quite serious when it comes to rivalry but once he is officially your boyfriend, he won’t take any bullshit.

🍝Looking on how he got incredibly pissed when his brother got insulted, Takumi definitely gets triggered when people he cares about get in any way degraded or disrespected. He’s capable of holding grudges if someone does such a thing to his lovely s/o just as much and even if he isn’t prone to violence, he will find other ways to silence that person and make them somehow apologize to his darling. He won’t rest easy until he has fulfilled that desire of his which shows how tenacious he really is. During his time in the Totsuki Culinary Academy and his position as the 7th seat, he’s quite respected as it is.

🍝He plans to take over his family business in Italy and especially if his s/o doesn’t come from there, he’s going to feel simultaneously dread and joy the closer the day of graduation comes. He definitely wants his darling by his side since he can’t imagine being separated from them for too long at the same time knows that he can’t force them to be with him though. He’s going to do his all to coordinate it somehow That both of you still can see each other. He functions in his restaurant without you but as soon as he has nothing to do, he starts feeling miserable. He wants everything to be consensual so he waits for his darling to be ready although to be fair, he will resort to guilt-tripping if nothing else seems to help anymore.

🍝Isami is teasing the living daylight out of him as soon as he finds out about Takumi’s crush. Obviously he still supports his older brother despite everything. Takumi is at the beginning of the relationship a bit more bashful about physical affection since he has a gut feeling that his brothers and friends will tease him for the fact that he’s so flustered about it. With time he grows more comfortable with it though. His main love languages are probably quality time and acts of services though and knowing what this show is about, you can bet he’s going to coon Italian cuisine for you.

[shmaptainwrites]

Hey!

I thought about something...

Reader as Michael Tritter's wife during the events of season3.

The reader has no idea of her husband’s actions. Until that day, she confronts him and he begins to threaten her with divorce if she doesn't mind her business.

She worries about Wilson and goes to meet him. She introduces herself as Tritter’s wife and apologizes for her husband behaviour. She asks him if he has a place to eat and sleep for the night and offers him (at least) a drink to apologize.

They continue to see each other and begin to appreciate the company of the other.

Tritter learns it and the reader must make a choice between her mariage and Wilson

-👀

anon i’m foaming at the mouth this idea is so good

ngl i think if tritter is threatening divorce right from the beginning the marriage is already pretty much over

maybe you hear about his vendetta against house from one of his colleagues who’s also a friend of yours and when you realize this poor other doctor is caught in the crossfire gives you whatever courage you needed to confront your husband about his actions and how ridiculous he’s acting

he gets mad and after some escalation he says if you can’t stand by him maybe you guys shouldn’t be together in the first place. disgusted by the implications that you can’t even have honest conversations about his actions, you pack a bag and leave to go stay with a friend until he hopefully comes to his senses, and meanwhile you try to right some of the wrongs he’s created by offering some help to wilson

you’re nervously waiting outside his hotel room, wondering if he’s even going to open the door and if he does whether or not he’ll hear what you have to say when you introduce yourself. eventually he does open the door, he doesn’t look too bad but he also doesn’t look great (you can imagine he’s going through a lot considering his accounts are frozen and he’s had to shut down his practice), but when you introduce yourself he’s about to say something about not wanting to speak to you (but still very politely of course, he doesn’t want to get himself into deeper shit than he’s already in), but you stop him before he can close the door and say you’re there to try an extend an olive branch

he waits a minute to hear you out while you say you’re very ashamed and embarrassed about what your husband is doing and that you wanted to see if there was anything you could do to help for the time being seeing as you didn’t have too much control over the situation

wilson ponders for a moment and when you offer a drink at the hotel bar to start he accepts. when you go down you explain a little further to him that you’re very uncomfortable with the whole situation your husband has created around this incident and that he’s acting like a bully (which he shouldn’t be because he has power over others and it’s just wrong to use it for a personal grudge and say it’s in the interest of the law even if house technically is doing some illegal stuff) and really you just don’t know what you should do

wilson empathizes with your marriage troubles, clearly having been in that situation before, and after a few drinks it becomes easy enough to lean on each other and talk through what’s going on

it gets pretty late and you reluctantly say you have to go back to your friend’s home so you don’t keep her up, but that you could come check in on him again tomorrow if he’d like, maybe take him out to grab something to eat and he nods his head and says he’s free with a hint of mirth in his voice considering your husband is the one pretty much forcing his days to be open

your lunches and dinners together become more frequent and you find yourself very much drawn to wilson, and he to you, so when your husband finds out of this (maybe it’s word of mouth or maybe he actually sees the two of you out together) he comes to your friend’s home and confronts you about it

he’s incredibly upset, but for some reason you could care less because if anything over the past few weeks he had shown you his loyalties didn’t lie with you, he didn’t even apologize for threatening divorce or how he had spoken to you and so when he gives you an ultimatum it’s not even a question, you don’t want to be with him anymore

after calling your lawyer and dealing with those details to get the papers served, your dinner with wilson becomes a bit tense as he asks you what you were up to that day and you try to find a way to break the news to him

he’d be a bit surprised that divorce is what it had come to and maybe even feels a little guilty thinking it’s his fault, but really, with the way tritter had treated you throughout this mess you had gotten an indication of a side you didn’t see before you got married and you were more than happy to get out of there before things escalated and you felt trapped

wilson is so gentle with you even with everything that he’s going through and you both cling onto that desperate need for the other and your emotional comfort slowly finds its way easing into something more than that and it’s not before long that you spend more nights at the hotel than your friend’s home and when all was said and done neither you or wilson felt you got the short end of the stick (because clearly, that all went to tritter)

send me your sfw RSL character x reader thoughts

→ accepting asks for james wilson, cruise, and peter müller

→ i’ve seen up to 5x12 of house — NO SPOILERS PLEASE

[kzele]

Cold Hard Truths

Disclaimer: this story is not for fans of the Peter/Gwen ship! If you are a diehard shipper of them and dislike anything that pokes holes in that ship, do not read! On the flip-side, this is not a story that bashes anyone. It does, however, cast a critical light on Gwen Stacy and her canon choices.

Summary: Peter has very different feelings about the kiss on Thanksgiving than in canon and as much as he cares about Gwen, there are some things to air out if either of them can move forward.

As Peter continued to skate a little more away from Liz and Flash, he heard the scrape of approaching skates and looked up to find Gwen coming near him. He started to wave but the look on her face stopped him.

"You've been avoiding me all week long!"

"What?"

Peter recalled when he had tried contacting Gwen earlier only to get told she wasn't available by her dad when Peter could clearly hear her voice in the background. Didn't she not want to talk to him? He was already getting more confused by the second as to what this was all about.

She crossed her arms and glared a little, "I won't be your second choice."

 Peter really didn't feel like chasing her down to tell her his side of things AGAIN so he grabbed her shoulder, "Okay, look. I was going to tell you this over the phone but maybe this works out better doing this in person. . ."

She turned to look at him with curious, hopeful eyes.

He internally cringed. Saying this was going to SUCK. He took a deep breath and formed the words, "I don't see you as anything more than a friend."

Gwen's jaw dropped, "WHAT?!

People started to look their way, so she hunched her shoulders and dropped her voice, "I mean, you-you don't. . ."

Peter rubbed his eyes and sighed, "No, I don't. I'm sorry."

Gwen looked away, "Then. . .the kiss and the hints I gave. . ."

"Hints? I didn't realize you felt anything like that until you kissed me on Thanksgiving. And I was kinda too much in shock when you kissed me to say anything, " he stated, rather bluntly.

"Oh. . .I see."

She clearly didn't.

Peter felt awful seeing the hurt in her eyes, but it had to be said. The one good thing about the avoidance was that he had some time to review what he felt and ask May for advice. Surprisingly, his aunt was very supportive of his lack of feelings towards Gwen.

*flashback*

"Dear, you don't need to feel guilty about not returning someone's feelings. There's going to be no easy way to say something like this, especially to such an old friend."

Peter frowned, "But what if I say the wrong thing and end the friendship?"

His aunt shook her head, "Peter, unless you say something intentionally cruel and further trample the poor girl's feelings, it won't be you who ends the friendship. Whatever flaws in your upbringing or in you, I know for a fact that you are not naturally cruel nor did we raise to be so. Be straightforward but also be as kind as you can afford to be."

His shoulders deflated, "And if she ends the friendship? Won't it still be my fault?"

At this, May Parker took her nephew's face in her hands and spoke, "That would rest entirely on Gwen's shoulders. If she can't handle being 'just friends' then maybe she was never a friend in the first place. Friendship has a very special place in life and should never be undervalued or tossed away lightly. When Mary-Jane told you she wasn't ready for a serious relationship, did you stop hanging around her or enjoying her company even though you were a little hurt?" 

"No. You're right, Aunt May. Thank you."

She patted his cheek, "Don't mention it, Peter. It's what mothers do."

*end of flashback*

 "I-Gwen, I've always appreciated your friendship and I hope we can keep that going still! Just because I don't feel anything romantic between us doesn't mean I don't still care about you," Peter said while gently gripping her shoulders.

She remained silent both her head and eyes turned downwards.

He looked at her pleadingly, "Forget thinking about me in that way and move on, alright? You'll find that someone at some point and I'll support you 100%. Well, maybe not if they're a serial killer or abusive or something. Other than that I'm behind whoever you choose."

Peter thought he saw her lips twitch at that last part and gave her one last squeeze before letting go.

"Give yourself some time to adjust, alright? I'll see you. . .when I see you," he awkwardly stated before skating away. 

Great note to end that on, Parker, he thought. Gah! He could have kicked himself for making THAT his conversation ender. However, before he could further berate himself on his choice of phrasing. . . 

"Tiger, can we talk?"

Since only one person calls Peter that nickname, it wasn't exactly hard to guess the next person coming up to him. 

"Oh, hey MJ. Sure, I guess. What do you need?"

Mary-Jane Watson looked much less carefree than usual and her next words showed this. 

"What'd you say to Gwen? She looks like you told her Christmas was canceled."

He grimaced.

Wonderful, the rumors are practically starting already. Knowing how gossip mills love a bad guy, Peter will probably be made out to be the next Satan by the time the week is over.

"To make a long story short: she likes me beyond our friendship and I. . .had to explain that I don't see her like that."

MJ's eyes widened and she uncrossed her arms in shock.

"Peter," she said slowly, "she's had feelings for you since the third grade."

Oof. Now he feels worse.

"Oh, wonderful. That's not the best thing to hear when you're hoping for someone to move on quickly."

MJ frowned, "Do you really think Gwen's the one you should be writing off? She's been waiting for you for years and Liz only just started giving you the time of day. And even that still seems divided between you and Flash."

Peter shook his head. "First off, they literally just broke up this fall so of course they aren't over each other yet. Point two, Gwen could have told me much earlier than this year and we could resolved all this ages ago. Point three, neither of those previous points compare to the fact that I can't FORCE myself to like her like that."

"No one's saying you have to force yourself, Tiger. I'm just wondering if you've thought this through enough. You're not a neanderthal by a longshot, but you don't always know how to go about things like feelings. Maybe you should be giving yourself some time to really think before talking like that."

Her voice was set in a soft, coaxing tone but Peter was so done with this conversation and everything else today.

"I've had since Thanksgiving to think about it since she wouldn't return my calls. AND she had her dad stonewall me when the phone was picked up. I heard her talking in the background when he answered the phone, MJ. All she had to say was 'hey, I need some time to think before we talk' and I'd have been happy to wait. But I had no idea what was going on with her at all. If she's loved me since the third grade and we've been friends for even longer than that, why is it SO HARD for her to communicate with me what she wants?"

He knew it was kind of unfair, venting at MJ like this, but he couldn't say this to Gwen after he already took a sledgehammer to her feelings.

She had paused for a long moment and Peter was tempted to skate away like he had previous conversation, when she opened her mouth once more, "She didn't want to ruin the friendship she has with you."

He looked away for a moment before speaking, "I don't want that, either, but it's kinda hard to keep a friendship alive if it's this painful for us to talk to each other. As the social expert between the two of us, Mary-Jane, how much more difficult is it to keep a long-term romance alive if this kind of thing happens all the time?"

Dead silence was his answer as he pinned her stunned face with a searching look, ". . .Yeah. That's what I figured."

His voice held no hints of mockery, just tired expectance.

This time he didn't even bother with excusing himself; Peter just skated in the direction of the hot chocolate stand. Solitude and hot chocolate would really go a long way to improving his mood.

It would be not long after this thought that a lightning bolt hit the ice rink.