#the improv thumb war.

[usersukuna]

i wish i could watch Our Flag Means Death season 2 episode 5 "The Curse of the Seafaring Life" dir. Andrew DeYoung for the first time all over again

[dixons-sunshine]

Improvement | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: After starting a playful argument with your partner about not knowing whether or not he had improved since you two first slept together all those years ago—which you knew he had, you were just messing with him—Daryl decided to take matters into his own hands.

Era: Alexandria, can be any time post Saviour war.

Genre: Smut.

Warnings: Porn without plot, basically, soft sex (I think), unprotected p in v, swearing, dirty talk, praise, others I am probably missing.

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: So...hi lol. I haven’t written anything in over three weeks, so this was long overdue. This was mainly written for practice because I am not that confident in my smut writing skills, but I hope you all like this! And thank you so much to @dixonsdarkelf for being a second set of eyes 💜

The sound of soft gasps and groans filled the air in the bedroom. The sun had begun its descent into the horizon, illuminating the room in a way that gave the atmosphere a more romantic feel. The room was warm, the summer heat clinging to every atom it could. However, the heat in the room did not compare to the warmth of the archer on top of you.

Daryl’s warm, solid body pressed against yours, his bare chest nearly flush against yours, your breasts moving with each thrust of his hips. His face was buried in your neck, his breathing heavy and erratic, his eyes closed as he relished the feeling of pure, utter bliss that washed over his body. Your moans and gasps of pleasure reached his ears with each snap of his hips against yours, and that sound was like music.

“Oh, Daryl,” you drawled your partner’s name, your voice several octaves higher than usual. Daryl’s dick dragged against your walls deliciously, hitting that one spot inside of you that he knew well. “Oh god, just like that.”

“Yeah?” Daryl whispered into your ear, breathless and panting. He snapped his hips against yours, his cock hitting that spot once more, and it tore a breathless ‘Daryl’ from your chest. Soft, almost asking, begging, pleading for him to get you over that edge in the way that only he could. “Y’like that, Sweetheart?”

You nodded frantically, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he picked up his pace, going a little faster, a little harder, a little deeper. “Yes,” you whined, your fingers tangling in his brown locks. “Jesus Christ, please don’t stop.”

“Not even if the world was endin’,” Daryl promised you. He pulled his head up from your neck, only to then lower it back down to capture your lips with his for a messy but absolutely perfect kiss.

If it were any other situation, you would make a joke about what he said. Probably say something along the lines of “well the world already ended.” But not now. Not while he was making you feel so good. Not while you were steadily approaching that edge, getting ready to dive headfirst off of it, right into the pool of immense pleasure.

Without breaking the kiss, and without letting his pace falter, Daryl snuck one of his hands down your body, gliding lower and lower, softly kneading at your flesh along the way, until it reached its destination. Daryl smirked slightly against your lips when he gently pressed his thumb against your clit, loving the way your body responded to his touch.

Not missing a beat, he began rubbing slow, tight circles against the little bundle of nerves, his kisses trailing from your mouth to your cheek, your jaw, down your neck to your collarbone. The urge to mark you was strong, but he resisted. You were going on a run that following day, with people in the group who would be relentless in their teasing if they saw hickeys on you. Because of that, his teeth only lightly nipped at your flesh, enough to cause pressure but not enough to leave a mark.

“Oh my—oh my god.” The sounds that escaped your mouth were downright pornographic. Your mind was clouded, that coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. You weren’t going to last much longer, that you knew for certain.

Daryl groaned when you lightly tugged his hair, his breath hitching at the feeling of you clenching on his cock, squeezing him, a sign that you were at your peak. You just needed that little push to fully let go.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” Daryl whispered into your ear, pressing a tender kiss to the skin there. “Let go f’me. Wanna feel you.”

Almost as if his words were the key to unlock the metaphorical gate, the coil in your stomach snapped. Waves upon waves of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over you. You arched your back and let your hands fall to Daryl’s shoulders, gripping them to try and ground yourself as your orgasm continued to take over your body. Soft whimpers spewed from your lips, muffled only by the archer kissing you once more. You could taste the faint linger of the cigarette he had earlier on his tongue, mixed with the flavour of the whiskey he had drunk before this. There was something else as well, something you could not quite make out, but that wasn’t important.

When the fog in your mind cleared just enough for you to be lucid, you detached your lips from his and focused on Daryl. His brow was furrowed, quiet grunts slipping past his lips as his thrusts grew sloppier, but his pace sped up. He was close. You knew it. You could practically feel it.

“You close, Baby?” you asked breathlessly, leaning up slightly to press your lips to his jaw. “You gonna let go for me this time?” Your lips moved lower, lightly nipping at the flesh beneath his jaw and smirking slightly when Daryl muttered a quiet fuck. “Come on, Dar.”

With one, two, three more thrusts, Daryl came undone. He snapped his hips forward, locking himself there as he spilled deep inside of you, small, quiet curses spilled past his lips. The archer dropped his head to rest against your shoulder, his body shaking and his mind clouding up in the best way possible.

You were breathless, still coming down from your own euphoric high as you held Daryl, your fingers gliding through his hair and lightly scratching his scalp as they went. The huntsman was panting, his eyes screwed shut and holding his body weight up with his shaking arms, trying his hardest not just to collapse on top of you.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, just basking in each other’s presence and slowly coming back to reality. It was peaceful, quiet, except for the sound of your erratic breathing that was beginning to even out.

You were the first to break the silence. “Wow.”

That made Daryl chuckle. He lifted his head and gazed down at you, his beautiful ocean-like eyes scanning over your face. Even after all these years together, after many times of being in this exact position, Daryl could never get over how absolutely gorgeous you looked post orgasm, how you seemed to positively glow. “Yeah. Wow.”

You raised your hand and gently cupped Daryl’s cheek, a lazy, contented smile on your face. “I love you.”

A small, genuine smile graced the archer’s features. He turned his head and pressed a tender kiss to your wrist. “Love ya too.”

Slowly and carefully, he gently eased his cock out of you, and you instantly missed the feeling of him. However, your heart swelled with love when you saw Daryl reached for his discarded shirt on the floor, using it as a makeshift rag and gently cleaning you up. When he was done, he flopped down on the bed next to you, opening his arms so that you could snuggle into his chest, which you did.

With a contented sigh, you closed your eyes. However, Daryl’s voice cut through the air before you could begin to drift off.

“Y’think I’ve improved?”

Laughing lightly, thoughts of your earlier playful argument surfaced to the forefront of your mind, the very reason you both were here at that moment. “Yeah,” you mused. “You have definitely improved since our first time.”

Daryl hummed, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Told ya so.”

“Oh I know you’ve improved. I was just joking around earlier,” you told him, pressing a kiss to his chest. “And I was hoping that it would rile you up so that this could happen.”

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed again. “You could’a jus’ asked.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” you joked. “Seeing you all riled up…it’s hot as fuck.”

Daryl scoffed, but that small smile didn’t falter. “If ya say so.”

[the-kr8tor]

For you Ekko reqs, may I suggest R and Ekko hurt/comfort where Ekko slowly confides with R about what happened at the end of show (like probably a year or 2 of Ekko trying to process everything) and how he sometimes wished he stayed at the alt timeline? 🥲 Just him processing his grief of everything while R comforts him. Mans deserves better

-😅

Ahhhhh writing this made me tear up ngl 🥲 I hope you like it! ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, can be read as platonic, cw violence mention, cw injury mention, cw blood and death mention, hurt/comfort.

Navigation

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

“Ekko?” Your call is carried by the cool autumn wind, breeze fluttering your lashes as you stare at his back. You see him shrink in his seat, face hidden on the crook of his elbow. Walking closer, footsteps clanging against the metal balcony where you always find him on the same day it all happened. “You'll catch a cold up here.”

Piltover shines in front of you, warm light flickering off by the windows as people settle in for the night. But the glimmering fire paper still flies above the city, its light fading as it burns out in the breeze. It's the anniversary of that day, the day Piltover and Zaun saw war right on their doorstep.

Your arm aches, a phantom pain ebbing in and out when your mind goes back to that exact day where the sky was covered in searing smoke, and the streets splashed in warm crimson. Thumb brushing along your scar, it's a mark, a reminder of what was lost that day.

After a minute, Ekko sighs, still unmoving on his spot. “I'm not leaving.”

“I'm not trying to make you leave.” You fetch the blanket that was folded and draped over your shoulder. “I have a blanket for you. If you want it.”

He turns his head slowly over to you, mind playing tricks on him as he sees the flash of you bleeding and yelling for him. Eyes bloodshot, skin clammy and marred with blood. As fast as it came, he blinked and it's gone. Vision returning to the present, the present that wouldn't be possible if not for his sacrifice.

“Don't just gawk at me, bossman,” you smile gently at him, the blanket now unfurled in front of you, ready to drape it over his trembling form. “Do you want it or not?”

The corner of his lip curls up in a small smile, his eyes are tired, weighed down by the world. “Come sit down?”

He has never asked you to join him. You always left him alone up here whenever the anniversary comes around, thinking that's what he needed. But you always waited patiently just outside the door, sitting down on the cold steps while you let grief wash over you like the tides. Until it's time to pick yourself up again at the sound of the door opening. His hand helping you up wordlessly, grief holding the two of you in place, mourning together silently. When morning comes, everything seems to go back in place. The sun still shines, the world still breathes. But it lingers, that grief that has etched itself in your bones, sorrow that lives in his chest, weighing him down but never letting it fester and spread.

You two continue to fight, to improve the very place where blood has been spilled. Carry their memories, their names and their voices until the end. Lest their sacrifices would be in vain. Ekko's sacrifice would be in vain. He deserves better, to not bear the heaviness left in his soul.

“Are you just gonna gawk there or will you take a seat?” He uses your own words against you.

“Can't help it,” you say, heart pounding in your chest as you take a seat right next to him. Giving him enough space, but close enough to see his heavy eyes marred by unshed tears. “You look good under the moonlight.” You joke in an attempt to make him smile.

Ekko manages to chuckle softly, letting you drape the fluffy blanket around his shoulders. Your warm fingers grazing along his cool skin, sending goosebumps on his lean arms.

“Do you find my frown charming?”

You smile kindly, knuckles brushing down his goosebumps. “It’s the tear stained cheeks that gets me everytime.”

He scoffs with a small smile, attention turned towards the Piltover sky. The smell of burnt paper and violets linger in the air, frown deepening at his racing thoughts.

“Will you stay?”

With trepidation, you take his hand in yours, giving him enough time to pull away. He doesn't, instead, he weaves his fingers around yours. His grip is weak, but you can feel how much he needed it by how his eyes stare at your joined hands.

“Of course, whatever you need, Ekko.” You'll stay forever if he asks.

He nods, eyes staying downturned. “I wanted to stay at that place.” Letting out a shaky breath, he closes his eyes, trying to remember what they look like in his mind's eye. Faces that he once thought that he'll never see again. Faces that he had to say goodbye to. “But that would be selfish. I couldn't—” you squeeze his hand. “—I couldn't just leave this place and let it burn.”

The last two years have melded together in your head. All those months of waiting for him at the edge of the hideout, never losing hope, not even when they declared him dead. And then the war came, and you two didn't have the time to reunite, until it ended with you laying half dead on the streets of Piltover. Waking up to him holding your hand in a grip, wishing for you to open your eyes. And you did. A year later, he comes to you, angry and furious, wanting to let it all out. You still remember the day he told you exactly what happened when he disappeared for months like it was yesterday.

He recalls it all like it was a dream, a dream that was destined to be forgotten once he awakes. He didn't want to wake up, not when everything he always dreamed of was there. He gripped onto you tightly that day, held onto you until the sun rose. Nothing was left unsaid, his story left a hole in your heart, wishing that you've seen it for yourself. But you're afraid that you wouldn't be strong enough to leave, as strong as him who made a difficult choice to leave.

He has experienced unthinkable loss, a longing you've never felt. You don't have the exact words to comfort him, to soothe his want, so you move closer to him, fixing where the blanket has fallen and wrapping it over his body like a warm cocoon. You could only hope that it's enough, but you know it will never be enough.

Ekko tucks his head on your shoulder, hand finding its way over to your raised scar. His thumb traces along the skin, feeling your warmth and in turn comforting you. He knows the pain you're in too, he witnessed it, all the nights you've hid away only to come back with red eyes and grief etched on your face.

“I couldn't leave you and Zaun behind.” He mumbles against your shoulder.

Your heart wretches out of your chest. “It wouldn't be selfish.” You say, whispering it into the air around you. “I think— I would've done what you wanted to do. I wouldn't be strong enough to leave, but you did.” He leans away, eyes soft and shining under the moonlight as he meets with your eyes. “You're brave, Ekko. You might not want everyone to know what you had to do to save everyone, but I know. And I'm forever grateful for what you did. For what you have sacrificed so we could live. I'll remember it until I can't, even then, I'll try not to forget.” Cupping his jaw, you watch as a tear slides down. You wipe it away gingerly, smiling at him as he leans against your warmth, eyes closing, shoulders slumping with every word you utter. “You did well, Ekko.”

He moves forward, leaning his forehead against your own, affection radiating off him. “Thank you.”

“We'll be okay. We have time.”

“I know.” He has seen it, one day that dream will come true.

With a tender squeeze, his hand takes the other edge of the blanket, pulling and covering you with its warmth right next to him.

[temiizpalace]

helloo may I request a prompt for the love triangle event please?

I'd like to ask for Jade and Vil with prompt 3 where they both offer their shoulders to rest on! tysmm

☆┊PUT YOUR HEAD ON MY SHOULDER! NOT HIS! (👑 vs.🐬)

SUMMARY: THEY BOTH OFFER HIS SHOULDER TO REST ON. WHO KNEW IT BECAME A FULL BLOWN WAR!

CHARACTERS: vil schoenheit vs. jade leech

EVENT MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: no determined end couple, jealousy, mentions of jade ssr vignette

NOTES: eel mafia vs a world star. sure why not!!! thank you for your request!

reader is g/n, reader is yuu

˚∘☆∘˚

vil did not mind helping you study.

actually, it was quite flattering. all these students around you with incredible grades, and you hand selected him as your tutor. i guess it was only natural. smart and goodlooking? you have good taste.

“and you have to carry the 7 or else it’ll throw off your entire answer. keep note of that.” he pointed at the equation on your worksheet. “ohhh.. that makes sense. thanks vil!” you smile, eagerly writing down the answer. your happy smile was so enthralling. a moment that cannot be captured elsewhere. a one of a kind sight. thank goodness he was an actor, hiding his emotions came like second nature.

if only you were alone together...

“well done, prefect. that was a difficult problem.” jade chuckles, nodding as you solved another equation. “at this rate, you’ll become quite the mathematician.” vil was less than pleased to be accompanied by jade.. especially considering what a manipulator that man could be. he’s already been played for a fool once, he doesn’t dare allow you to fall under similar influence.

“your steadily improving. i say finish a few more problems and you should have it memorized.” vil adds, pulling out a couple more pages. “oh! that’s.. uhm.. can we take a little break?” you ask hesitantly, fearing the tall stack of papers vil had seemingly grabbed out of thin air. almost offended by the thought, vil scoffs.

“this isn’t only about the material, it is also routine. perhaps not this entire stack, but we must do a few more to ensure you’ll continue to do well.” vil places a new worksheet in front of you, sounding like an enraged father when their child can’t memorize the multiplication table. “yes sir..” you mumble.

“oh come now, vil. the poor prefect looks positively exhausted. just look at their eyebags.” jade sighs, suddenly patting your shoulder. as much as he hates to admit, jade had a point. your eyebags stick out like a sore thumb. what an idiot he was to not notice sooner, a fault on his part. “tell me, [MC], when have you last slept?” jade asks, making you flinch.

“next question, please.” you reply, breaking into a cold sweat. the eel tuts in disapproval, shaking his head with a frown. “this simply cannot do. didn’t you know you need at least 8 hours of sleep?” it felt like a lecture. an incredibly boring and uninteresting one.

“agreed. beauty rest is important and staying up late is horrible for your skin,” vil adds, massaging is temples. “i’ll send you some of my own personal skincare for you to use and hide your eyebags, but you must get adequate amounts of sleep.” he huffs, crossing his arms. “okay, okay, i hear you both.” you yawn, stretching your arms out.

“please, rest now. we can always carry on another day.” jade smiles, patting his shoulder for you to rest on. “i can rest there?” you ask, a bit taken aback. “what’s the catch?” vil raises a brow, feeling uneasy with jade’s suggestion. it might be the jealousy, but something doesn’t sit right with him. “please, my intentions are entirely pure. i want nothing more than to see our beloved prefect resting well.”

jade put a hand over his heart, keeping his usual expression while hiding the beating of his heart. “mostro lounge might need their vice soon, no? the prefect may rest on my shoulder. i insist.” vil points to his shoulder, imploring you to place your head onto it. “huh?? guys it’s fine seriousl—“

“mostro lounge can handle itself, i assure you.” jade cuts you off, finding vil’s intense glare quite amusing. it was clear he was livid, and honestly that was the best source of entertainment jade could ask for. “i just wish to care for the prefect. your presence is excused.” vil waves jade off, signaling for him to get lost.

“oh? but wouldn’t having [MC] rest on your shoulder be harmful to your image and theirs? think of the scandals that might go around.. fufu, quite intriguing, hm?” jade hums, lifting a gloved hand to his chin. “i have a man taking care of any possible scandal that might go around, so that is truly the least of my concern.” vil smiles smugly, standing his ground.

as the argument, or rather, civil discussion, continued, the drowsiness began to capture your body. their murmuring began to sound like soft lullabies as you allowed the sleep to take you. your head rested against the hard wooden desk, staying unnoticed til both boys heard your snores.

“they look quite peaceful.” vil murmurs softly, looking at you with a twinkle in his eyes. “breathtaking.” jade coos, brushing stray hairs out of your face.

this rivalry wasn’t over, oh no, much farther from that. however, to keep you sleeping for as long as you could, they’ll hold off their insults and bite their tongue.

how could you turn him like this?

A/N: sbsbsbsb writing is feeling difficult lately

date published: 9/16/24

[anything-pov]

request

Emily and Readers child colour in Readers tattoos while they sleep(w/ eyeshadow)

reader wakes up to beautiful art on her body

fluffy domestic blissssss

BANTEr

Enjoy...

The Tattoos ✨

The house was quiet in that soft, golden hour between dawn and morning chaos. Emily padded barefoot through the upstairs hallway, one hand wrapped around a strong black coffee, the other rubbing sleep from her eyes.

She'd already been up for an hour, habit, muscle memory, whatever you'd call it. The quiet was her peace before the world started asking for her brain, her badge and her patience.

But the quiet, as always in a house with a 5 year old, didn't last.

From the master bedroom came a faint whisper of sound. Not crying, not screaming, not the telltale thump of something broken. Just… soft humming.

A gentle, off key version of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” Followed by the squeak of what sounded unmistakably like...

“Is that…” Emily whispered to herself, narrowing her eyes as she stepped closer to the cracked door, “… glitter?”

She nudged the door open with her shoulder, peeking in. There, bathed in morning light and surrounded by an explosion of makeup palettes, markers, and god knows what, from Emily’s travel kit, sat Penny.

Their daughter. Five years old, curly haired chaos in a Star Wars onesie, tongue poked between her lips in concentration. She was perched delicately on Emily’s sleeping partner’s hips.

Straddling them like a careful little artist, completely focused on her canvas. And the canvas? Emily’s partner, dead asleep, one arm draped lazily over the blanket, mouth parted softly.

Their bare arms and torso were covered in tattoos, delicate linework, bold color, fluid shapes curling over muscle and soft skin. Or at least, they had been. Now they were… enhanced.

Their koi fish had become a rainbow trout. The celestial snake along their ribs now sported blue glitter eyeliner for eyes and fuchsia contour stripes.

The constellation map across their back had new stars drawn in Crayola. And the sun around their shoulder? Bright pink. Shimmering. And smiling.

Penny dipped a finger in Emily’s eyeshadow, brushing it gently across her parent’s collarbone with reverence, then leaned in and whispered, “You’re a unicorn pirate now.”

That was the moment their partner shifted slightly, brow furrowing, groaning low in their throat. Emily cleared her throat, biting back a laugh.

Their eyes cracked open slowly, pupils adjusting, sleep clinging to their lashes. “… Em?” they croaked, voice gravelly. Emily stepped in, grinning over the rim of her coffee.

“Good morning, Picasso's canvas. How’s your nap?” Her partner blinked, groggily trying to sit up, until they noticed the small human straddling them.

“Don’t move!” Penny ordered with the seriousness only a 5 year old could muster. “I’m not done blending.” Emily couldn’t hold it anymore. She barked a laugh. Her partner groaned again, flopping back onto the pillow.

“Should I even ask?”

“You’ve been… improved,” Emily smirked, setting her coffee down and kneeling beside the bed to press a kiss to their inked shoulder. “She got into my makeup kit. You are, apparently, now a unicorn pirate with a galaxy for a chest.”

Penny beamed. “I gave them galaxy freckles, too.”

“I noticed,” Emily said, brushing some green highlighter off their partner’s cheek with the pad of her thumb. “Honestly? It’s kind of a look.”

Their partner sighed, a sleepy smile finally breaking through. “Remind me why we taught her how to open the drawers?”

“Because she’s brilliant,” Emily replied, running her hand gently over their now shimmering bicep. “And also? Because watching the two of you like this is the best part of my whole damn day.”

Her partner glanced at her, soft eyed despite the glitter in their eyelashes. “You’re the best part of mine.”

“Even with the pirate makeover?”

“Especially with the pirate makeover,” they said, voice warm, gaze drifting to Penny. “She takes after her mom.”

Emily sat back with a sigh, brushing her hand through Penny’s curls. “God help us all.”

[nemisuki]

𐔌✧.* GᑌIᗪᗩᑎᑕE .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ೀ⋆ || Noticing his increasing confidence after the war, you decided to ask your crush for some advice ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 

. ♬ ݁˖ || listen along : spotify version & yt version ᯓ★ 

ᝰ.ᐟ ||  izuku midoriya x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, words of affirmation, 1.3k word count •°. *࿐

Admiring your green haired classmate was nothing out of the ordinary.

It was almost astonishing how much he compares to the awkward kid he once was — back in their first days at UA — for now in the present, lies a more confident 2nd year, who is calmly reviewing his notes in the lounge area of the dorms.

That's what made you approach him, hesitantly tapping his shoulder, breaking Izuku out of his not-so-subtle mumbling as the clock continued to tick on the wall, reminding you just how long it took.

How long it took for you to gain the courage to ask for help.

"Um deku... sorry to bother b-but are you free?"

You internally winced at the obvious stammering in your voice, an uncontrollable habit you've had since you were little, one that always seemed to taunt you in conversations, like a worn out joke that keeps repeating itself over and over again.

His eyes visibly brighten up at the sight of you, a mix of surprise and joy clouding his gaze, already smiling and nodding along to your words, not an ounce of judgement in his cheerful tone.

"Oh y/n—! Mhm, i'm free! Did you need help with something?"

Maybe that's why you liked Izuku so much. At first, the similarities between you two were obvious; the frazzled stuttering, wavering eye contact, and nervous fidgeting.

But now, you couldn't help but to notice the recent differences, the changes in his demeanor, the clear improvement of his previous misfortunes. It was beyond inspiring and you couldn't help but to watch him with pure awe every damn time.

You look around the lounge, trying to focus on anything else but his pretty doe eyes, shifting your weight on the other foot, attempting to find the words that got stuck in the back of your throat.

"I was just wondering if uh..." your words waver, unsure if you should continue, already feeling the heat forming beneath your cheeks.

Though, your worries soon turn forgotten as he patiently waits, not bothered by your nervous stuttering as you try to finish, and if anything, gives you a more softer encouraging gaze.

You gulp.

"I noticed that you don't stutter as often anymore so— i wanted to ask... i-if you can tell me what helped you with that?"

His brows slightly raise up, clearly not expecting such a question as he stays silent, resembling a deer caught in headlights. You immediately grew embarrassed, quickly blurting out a sheepish apology and taking multiple steps back,"ah—! i'm sorry i shouldn't have—"

He's swiftly broken out of his daze at the sight of you retreating, making him jump out of his seat and reach for your wrist, gently holding onto you.

"No wait—! don't apologize y/n! honestly, you just caught me off guard is all! i didn't even notice i got better til you mentioned it!" he frantically rambles.

You pause.

If you weren't flushed before, you surely are now with the way his thumb mindlessly rubs calming circles against your skin, only making the heat on your face grow more intense by the second.

He sheepishly smiles, scratching his scalp with his free hand, "I didn't know anyone noticed... makes me kinda happy you did, y/n..."

Your breath hitches.

"Of course I did! you inspire me so much, so i always—"

The two of you freeze, your faint words definitely reaching his ears with the way his eyes widened — much to your dramatic horror — you couldn't believe you just said such a thing!

Your stuttering only turns more prominent as you try blurting out an explanation, an auditory testimony to your frazzled state,"W-what I meant to say is— um— I—"

He blushes bright red.

And it surely doesn't help you come up with a proper response, causing you to say the first thing that comes to mind, an apprehensive look in your eyes, mixed with subtle honesty and a hint of fondness.

"I really admire you deku..."

He blinks. Twice.

A bewildered glint in his gaze, watching in disbelief as you quickly shut your mouth, simply wanting to crawl in a hole and never come out.

"E-Eh?! Me?!"

You simply wanted to run away from this humiliating situation, but for some reason, by the way he's clearly taken aback by your words, it makes you feel a little confident to continue. As if randomly motivated to remind him, just how great of a person he truly is, because he is just that.

Hell, you didn't even notice the way you smiled as you spoke, mumbling words straight from the heart.

"I think you're really amazing, caring and kind... a-and anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend! I hope one day I can be just as great as you, izuku!"

You shyly meet his eyes, inwardly panicking at what you just spouted out, not at all eager for his reply. You assumed you completely ruined things, made a complete fool out of yourself... but you were far from wrong.

He was frozen stiff, face entirely taking on multiple shades of pink and red, gaze focused on you, thoughts swirling within him like a sea, sea of emotions that is.

People would expect him to feel good about your words, feel the least bit of confidence, maybe boost to his — nonexistent — ego but that's not what had him in a trance.

It was your smile. Your beautiful bright smile.

An expression that was replying in his head, as if trying to engrave the image in his mind, like a precious memory that he must never forget, that the gods themselves blessed him with.

He hesitates.

"I-I... really don't know why you admire me so much, but—" he smiles, "if I can help you in any way I can then... I'll try my best!"

Being as oblivious as he is, he didn't quite understand your embarrassed reaction, assuming it was just your natural shyness acting up. So for the next hour or so, he chatted normally with you, offering heartfelt advice and much needed reassurance.

"—remember it's not something worth feeling embarrassed over, our friends don't mind at all! And I certainly don't!"

You eagerly listen along, smile turning a bit shyer, heart rate spiking up at each one of his encouraging words, "t-thank you deku..."

He sheepishly chuckles, "I guess I'm kinda biased though, since I got used to my own stuttering..."

You giggle softly, already feeling more at ease, earlier nerves now melted away the more you two converse, it was a natural gift of his after all, making someone feel calm in his presence.

But oddly enough, you took notice that his gaze lingered on you more than usual, only making you more bashful each time you caught him in the act, though you never chose to bring it up.

That was until he adjusted his posture on the couch, reminding you of one thing that leaves you beyond flustered.

"U-Um deku, are you gonna continue doing that..?

He tilts his head, "hm? doing what?"

Your gaze zeros in on the 'problem' that you speak of, his own eyes looking down to what you were focused on, his eyes widening at the sight.

He was still holding your hand.

Izuku shrinks back, quickly letting go as a wave of embarrassment overtakes every inch of his body, only matching your current flustered state.

"Oh—! I-I'm so sorry y/n, I didn't realize!"

You quickly flail your arms around, waving off his nervous apologies with a shy smile.

"It's— it's okay... I really don't mind if it's you, deku..."

The two of you remain motionless, staring into each other's eyes with a whirlwind of emotions, with a type of intensity that leaves you both breathless.

And if anyone else were around, you'd surely look like a pair of flustered lovers, and that thought alone... makes the both of you a little happy.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

ᴀ/ɴ ||| hi my beautiful flowers! idk why my izuku fics are always so long like hello? sometimes writing stuttering commentary is kinda cringy to me but in a izuku fic i feel like its mandatory so i don't mind here, hehe... now time for me to go, plus ultra! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ ᴛᴀɢꜱ ||| @leleyro @skylermiller1 @aikojwhpa (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)

[bearwithegg]

Fight Like a Girl || B.Blackwood || Part 2 ||

My thoughts have just been plagued with scenes I can write for this, i honestly intended this to be 2 parts but I ALREADY HAVE IDEAS FOR PART 3 SO FUCK IT WE BALL???

PART 1 HERE

PART 3 HERE

Kieran!Benjicot Blackwood (fancast) x f!Reader

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Swearing??? Idiots in love but they dont know what that means

Tags <3: @spider-stark

***

War, for all that it brings with it, destruction, pain, suffering on a scale hitherto unknown remained a constant and unchanging conundrum. Were the gods so cruel as to let brother kill brother over trivial squabbles? It was a fascinating thing, to understand, to learn. You, however, decided in this current juncture it felt like a personal punishment aimed to torment and break you down. Realistically, the suffering it caused on a wider scale was insurmountable and that was something you could acknowledge. But in this instance, the way your body aches and screams from constant use makes it feel like a personal sleight.

“Your grip is weak.”

A soft groan of frustration exhales when you sigh, “I cannot hold the sword otherwise.” Dropping the sword by your side, it had been hours without respite and weeks of training for what? You still couldn’t even hold a sword properly and that frustrated you only more.

Benji laughs, softly, circling you with his head tilted to the side. You want to hit him but decide against it. After all, he didn’t need to visit your tent and assist in getting you battle ready — yet he did it either out of some sense of male honour or he secretly enjoyed overseeing your own personal agony.

“Does my ineptitude amuse you, my Lord?” You throw the sword on the ground, it landing with a thud on the canvas flooring. In the throes of frustration, you wipe the sweat from your brow and run a hand through unevenly chopped locks of hair.

“Your petulance, perhaps.” The boyish smile breaking through his hardened demeanor always caught you off guard. A gentle reminder that he was not some battle beaten man, he was young and had his innocence ripped from him; more or less like you. “You may not see it but there is improvement,” he dips down to pick the sword up, holding it out for you to take it again.

Right or not, it didn’t matter in the present. The improvement may have been so miniscule it might as well not have counted, though it was always difficult to see one's progress without the lense of the past. And with a sigh of concession, you snatch the sword from his hand and give him a goading look, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Again,” he instructs firmly, tongue protruding slightly out from between his lips — he was too good at that, switching from his natural charming disposition to a commanding authority in an instance. As if two halves of him were at odds with each other, another part of him lay dormant but the crazed look in his eyes often betrayed his steadfast composure. You weren’t sure if you liked it or feared it.

With a roll of your wrist and standing with a sturdy bearing, you take an offensive stance. His eyes wander all over you, in a completely different scenario it may have been flattering or intrusive, but there is no desire hidden away in the deep brine pools of his eyes. Under his scrutinous gaze you hold firm; at least my wrist doesn’t feel like falling off.

Improvement.

He steps to your side flank, head tilted in thought. The low hum accompanying the loud thoughts you wished he’d say out loud.

When did he get so close? You swallow nervously — he was a practical man, but often opted to show you how to do something by watching him first. Surprisingly gentle to the touch he brings a hand over yours, the one that grips the sword and adjusts your grip. Tilting your wrist slightly and nudging your thumb to a different position.

“Can you feel the difference?” He murmurs, an unexpectedly tender moment that would have floored you entirely had you not spent weeks training at his command. Even now though, you feel composure waning, creaking away like a tree that has had its trunk chopped halfway.

“Feels like… I have more control,” You utter, looking slightly over your shoulder. Oh. He was much closer than you thought.

He nods, softly adjusting your grip to keep the blade upright, though he doesn’t move his hand this time. “Your stance is good and solid. But means little if you have no strength to fortify it…” His other hand is held up so that you can see it and slowly brings it down to your hip. Not once during this small interaction does he break eye contact, it was as though he was giving you the chance to stop him if you wanted to.

You don’t, of course.

A moment of hesitation as he tentatively touches your hip before holding it and rotating you ever so slightly, “what you lack in strength, you have in speed… This stance is better for your momentum.”

“Right,” you whisper, blinking out of the daze you felt yourself fall into by the pull of his gaze. His eyes were so lovely. In moments like this they were bright with a golden hue, as if marked by the Gods. Other times they were dark, dangerous abyssal pits that you could equally get lost in. But not now.

“Good,” he smiles, the same boyish smile that makes you a little nervous and nauseous concurrently. Which was a strange feeling because you weren’t repulsed by him and yet your body reacted all the same. No one had ever elicited such strange reactions within you like he did.

“Try and disarm me.”

“What?” You feel your arm immediately drop as he steps away and unsheathes his own sword. No longer honey touched eyes boring into yours, they were void and wild. He doesn’t give you a chance to process anything before swinging his sword, you have no choice but to stumble back, practically flailing your own sword to stop from getting hurt.

Clang!

The metal blades ricochet off one another and you take the chance to scurry across the bed swiftly before he can attempt another blow, “fuck, fuck — fuck!” You hiss, standing on the other side of the tent, barely a chance to think properly before he’s back onto you like a grounded tempestuous storm.

With wide eyes you jump out of the way, his sword connects with the side table and wood splinters off into pieces. The first casualty — you’d have laughed or joked if you weren’t absolutely fearing for your life in a way. Heart pounding hard as you take a chance to counter, using a leg to disable him by going for his knees but he sees it and contorts his body just in time.

“C’mon!” He shouts, eyes wild and borderline murderous.

Unsure what possibly possessed you other than it felt right. Call it a childish rebuke or not, you instantly straighten your stance and yell back at him, a deep and guttural yell, like one would trying to fend a bear off an attack.

He licks his lips, the grin of a mad man apparent, “there she is.”

This time you swing first, kicking off the back leg gives you a good enough propulsion and wind up with the sword. Cling! He cross blocks, letting your blade slide down his own and the two of you are practically face to face, the slightest smirk pulls at his lips and you match it with a barely audible snarl.

Using your full body weight, you push into him to get distance which only just works.

Another swing from him, narrowly missing your shoulder as you jump aside, his sword clashing with one of the bed posts, it snaps under the force and limply hangs onto the unmarked wood. You take advantage of his over extension, ducking beneath his arms and opting for the best option, shouldering him in the waist and bringing him down to the ground.

Not your finest work, but he tumbles - and you with him - onto the canvas flooring, but at least you had the upper hand and though strength was not in your arsenal just yet, speed was. Pinning him to the ground, you straddle higher than the waist to keep him from bucking you off or swinging his legs around.

Both of you held your blades to each other's throat in a stalemate, chests heaving with heavy breaths.

“A fair play, my lady,” he pants quietly, though the impish grin on his face suggested otherwise. Your eyes travel down to his other hand where he had his dagger pressed softly against the leathers of your tunic, no doubt a lethal puncture in the abdomen if you were in a real fight. He lowers his blades, “you are improving — getting better at trusting your instincts.”

“You went easy on me,” you whine, tossing your blade indignantly. The semi victory loses its glory almost instantly, souring in your mouth. Standing back up seemed to be more effort today than usual, muscles shaking, screaming for a modicum of respite. But war does not rest so neither shall your body.

“If you wish for me to kill you, then you need only ask,” he jests, you knew this — he was holding out for a reason. You hadn’t seen him in battle but can very well imagine without much stretch of the imagination how he has coined the notorious namesake of ‘Bloody Ben Blackwood’. Even more it seemed, he was often harsher, stricter and more brutal when he would lead training with the younger boys.

“Don’t offer such a tempting proposal,” you laugh, tired, exhausted.

He looks at you, seriously for but a moment, “if you desire rest, it is okay to take it.” And the sweet, caring and kind Benji fronted, flecks of gold honey in his eyes as he steps forward and grabs your hand with a touch so kindly it seemed foreign. He need not force you, tugging you to the bedside and sitting you down, “you are not weak for needing rest.”

You chuckle softly, “there is no rest for someone like me, I need to be ready for when we march forward within the tenday.”

“You won’t be much use to us if your legs cannot even carry you. Rest.” He says firmly, pushing gently on your shoulder which didn’t need much for you to collapse onto the bed. “We can resume overmorrow.” He’s seated on the side of your bed now, you open your mouth to contest but he glowers immediately, tilting his head forward and setting his jaw as if to silently say ‘don’t you dare’.

So you don’t dare.

“If I was less encumbered by my exhaustion I’d have hit you for looking at me like that,” you bite, rolling onto your side and instinctively curling in on yourself.

“You certainly would have tried.” He laughs.

“And succeeded, I pinned you already today — I could do it again if I willed myself.”

“Is that so? Perhaps we should get a maester to check those ears of yours, did I not request you disarm me? I don’t recall asking you to pin me.”

“Hmmm,” you hum, narrowing your eyes at him though the barely suppressed smile betrayed your poor attempt to keep a straight face. “I stopped thinking the moment you attacked me like a brute.”

He nods along with your words and though his words are vaguely threatening, his smile indicates a hint of mischievousness, “a Brute am I? You have a crass tongue, My Lady, you’d better keep it in check.”

“Clover.”

“Hm?” His head tilts to the side, like a dog hearing a command.

“Call me Clover… Garrus finds it easier… Less likely to accidentally call attention to my identity.” You run your fingers over the furs of your bed, naturally you omit the little part of the nickname because that seemed sacred to Garrus. Only he can call you that. But Benji had your trust, and you had his, even if it be an unspoken bond that grew stronger the more time elapsed within one anothers company. He at least deserved a little part of you.

There is silence, as he sits on your words, a faint smile ghosting his lips and he nods singularly, “As you wish, Clover.” And the strangest feeling encompasses the tent, it was thick but not suffocating, warm but not a hellfire. His hand moves so deftly, you hadn’t seen it until his fingers barely grazed your temple, pushing back a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He holds it, a moment, two moments, before his eyes blink rapidly, something reminding him of his place and he flushes red, retracting his hand quickly as though he had touched hot coals. “A-Apologies… forgive me — that was wholly inappropriate. Please do rest, I will see you overmorrow.”

It happened rather quickly, he stands and you sit up as swiftly, “Benji.” You call but he was out quicker than bat out of the hells. Your shoulders slump, a faint pout on your lips as you try to decipher what that could’ve been about. Whatever it had been, you liked it, you liked him but that could mean a plethora of things.

You sigh, falling back into the bed and staring at not particularly anything. Perhaps it would be prudent to speak on the matter with Garrus when he returned.

[mythals-whore]

Day 3: The Calling*

(you thought you were so safe from me, but you forgot i was evil)

*venture under the cut at your own risk.

(divider from THIS post, thank you @flowersforthemachines)

"Something wrong?"

Cyri bites at the inside of her cheek and gingerly places the dish on the drying rack. She dries her hands, taking a long moment to herself before she turns to him determinedly, "I have something to show you."

Davrin blinks.

"Alright," he says slowly, reaching for her discarded towel to dry his own hands.

He follows to her desk where Cyri is sliding a key into the hole of her top left desk drawer. The lock clicks and Davrin's frown deepens—he'd never had any reason to check, but he hadn't realized she bothered locking it. Out of the drawer comes a sheaf of papers and a long, thin leather-bound book. She sets these things on her desk with finality before looking at him.

Davrin takes the silent invitation, dread settling heavy in his stomach for a reason he can't quite pinpoint. It's something about her wary eyes, the way her fingers press into the desk until her knuckles turn white.

He searches her impassive face for any hint of what awaits him. When he finally starts rifling through her things, it takes him less than a dozen words to understand. Davrin closes his eyes, breath turning stale in his lungs.

"Dorian's had this research for a long time." she explains, "After Elgar'nan, he and Mae worked to improve it." Davrin can tell from the set of her jaw and the way she seems determined not to look at him she already knows his answer. "It's not a longterm solution, but it's safe. It would give us more time to—"

"Cyri."

She stares determinedly at the research laid out before him, but he catches the wobble in her lip.

"Why not?" she demands, and when she finally looks up, her eyes are burning. "Tell me why you won't even try—"

"It's blood magic, Cyri."

"So?" she demands, and he gapes at her. "Use mine." the plea enters her voice then. Her lip wobbles again, so she presses them together. "I—" her voice breaks with his heart. "Please, don't."

"I don't have a choice, sweetheart," he reaches for her, an attempt to soften the blow. She steps out of his reach and all of the broken pieces of him press into his stomach.

"You do." she insists, "You do have a choice and your choice is to leave."

Frustration and love war within him, but finally he says, "It's not a long-term solution. You said it yourself."

"But it would give us more time."

"Cyri I—" Davrin breaks off with a sigh, running a hand over his face. He reaches for her hands, and this time she doesn't deny him. His hands close over hers, and he sits back into her chair, pulls her until she's standing between his legs. He stares at their entwined hands, thumbs running over her skin. "The song it's…" Roaring in his ears, pressing against his skull. "I'm not sleeping. My head it—I can't think." the first hot tear hits their entwined hands. He doesn't look up, "I've seen what happens to Wardens when they wait too long. They get weak, angry. I can't…I don't want you to see that."

Davrin looks up, to a clenched jaw and silent tears. A muscle in her jaw flicks. It seems difficult for her to meet his eyes as she croaks, "When?"

[writingsfrombeyondthegrave]

Torn from the future- Chapter 1

Tom Riddle X Fem!Reader

Summary- After tampering with a Time Turner, you find yourself back in 1942. You decide that your best chance of improving the future is by befriending a certain man named Tom Riddle. You've heard of him before, but never in a positive light. Will you be his key to power or salvation?

Warnings for this chapter- Mentions of death and war, Stealing

Time travel has always been controversial in the Wizarding World. The Ministry in particular has taken to keeping any form of Time Travel under wraps as to prevent Wizards from dabbling in the illegal form of magical transportation.

Now with the Second Wizarding War quickly approaching, this dangerous threat was overruled by your desperation to change the past and prevent this whole mess from happening. The sorrows of your friends, the loss, the unnecessary violence and rift between wizards and muggles, even further than it already was.

Hermione had recently been popping in and out of lessons unnoticed and denied knowing what you or your friends had accused her of. You knew she had a Time Turner. If you had that, you could find a way to fix things yourself.

The smart thing to do would be to inform your friends so that they could help you but losing them was something that you couldn't bear. Your only hope was to take the time turner and figure it out alone.

Luckily there was no need to fret about your plan since you shared a dorm room with her. You waited until nightfall when the famous Golden Trio left Gryffindor tower, claiming to be sick yourself to stay behind and search for the it

The thing about your dear friend was that she was a perfectionist, not only in her schoolwork, but especially in her living quarters. If even a single paper was out of place, she would scream at you for days. But at times like this, where the whole group was stressed enough as it was, you could easily get by that little issue... hopefully.

Going through her belongings proved more difficult than initially intended, considering you never actually witnessed her putting the Time Turner anywhere away in your dorm, at least not while the both of you were present. She was actually quite protective of the thing, which you could understand given the gravity behind it all.

Digging through the trunk at the bottom of her bed, you searched through a dozen sweaters before finding a hidden compartment tucked away in the bottom corner. Surprisingly it seemed that Hermione had opted to leave the thing behind, too afraid of losing it on their unpredictable outing.

Hurriedly tucking the pocket watch into your bag, along with your journal, you got up from the floor of your dorm and made your way out of Gryffindor Tower.

Hours ticked by with you sitting on the ground of the restricted section. Books were scattered open around you in a circle while you chewed absentmindedly on your thumb nail, a nervous habit that you were too focused to pay attention to at the moment.

Thoughts and plans, one after another swirled in your mind continuously. A headache began forming from it, as you continued to reach dead ends. No plans that you came up with seemed to work well enough. Not to mention the fact that you never actually learned how to use the Time Turner before stealing it. You blamed that fact on your stress and desperation. Normally, you would plan out your actions meticulously but not this time.

Finally, it hit you. Harry's parents, Sirius and Remus, Even Regulus. You could save them all and prevent the heartache. It was simple in your mind, you would go back to the 1970's to save as many people as you possibly could. Maybe you could warn them somehow, or at least prepare them ahead of time for what was to come. It was the only way.

It's not as if you were afraid of participating in the war alongside your friends, it was just that you couldn't possibly stand by and watch your friends die beside you in the bloodshed and horror of war.

Pulling out the pocket watch from your bag, you decided to take the Time Turner apart piece by piece and rewire it to take you further back in time. Normal Time Turners would only send you back a maximum of five hours, which wouldn't have worked for anything you had planned.

Consequences by damned, you thought as you opened the Time Turner and began poking around at the mechanisms inside. The diagrams in the book made absolutely no sense. They only contained detailed drawings of the watch, but previously there had been no history of ever tampering with one.

Ticking began to get louder and louder. The books on the shelves rattled violently as if sensing the worst. You raised your eyes from the Time Turner in your hand and your eyes widened slightly, looking around to see what was happening.

Your finger slipped and accidentally grazed a metal coil that was exposed. Blood dripped down and the watch sizzled from the intrusion. A bright flash of light startled you and threw you back into the bookshelf, causing a copy of Dark Witches and Wizards Through History to crash down on your head.

Time shifted, books disappearing from their place on the shelves, dust cleared, and the watch rattled as you tried to clasp it tightly. Instantly the world faded and the last thing your blurry vision saw was the room spinning fast as you collapsed to the floor.

The creaking of footsteps in the library outside the Restricted Section was what woke you up. Your head pounded and you lifted your hand to place it on the top of your head. Sitting up to regain your balance, you rested your back against the bookshelf, albeit much more carefully than before.

There were no books on the ground anymore, it was only you alone. That should've been your first indication that something wasn't right, but your head hurt far too much for you to worry about your current surroundings.

After shoving the pieces of the Time Turner back into your bag, you finally stood up and made your way out of the library, cautiously avoiding the librarian or wandering Prefects. The only thing on your mind was getting back to your dorm and figuring your next course of action.

The hallways were deathly quiet, not a single person in sight. It must've been far later in the night than you had remembered.

You had almost made it to the Gryffindor Tower when you heard a deep voice speak from behind you.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked, his voice calm and authoritative. You must've gotten stopped by a teacher. Being prepared for a lecture, you raised your hands as you slowly turned around to face him.

"I was-" Your eyes widened as you saw him, words failing you. This boy was around your age, with dark eyes that bore into your soul.

He raised his eyebrow, the tiniest hint of acknowledgment before his expression became emotionless once more. "I know everyone in this school and I have never seen you before. Follow me"

It wasn't a request as he walked ahead, down the hallway. Never once did he look back, clearly expecting you to follow behind blindly. You weren't sure if it was the headache, but you obeyed for the time being.

A/N- Please like/repost/comment and tell me what you think! Constructive criticism is always encouraged and appreciated. If I left out an important trigger warning, please let me know and ill add it.

This Series is inspired by Time Warp, written by @astonishment, but I won't be tagging them in every part since that would probably be annoying. I definitely recommend reading their series! Thank you again for letting me use the idea as the basis for me series.

Misc Credits:

Dark Mark Divider- @firefly-graphics

Diamond Divider- @troublesomesnitch

Header- Me

[rileyslibrary]

How about this: After some especially rough missions, Ghost is on edge, his mental health hanging by a thread. Of course he doesn't admit it and powers through training and everything, but everyone knows he needs help, something to balance him out again.

Even the doctors are on their wits ends with him at this point, so they try a new approach and assign him to some animal assisted therapy. OF COURSE he hates the idea - waste of time and he is fine anyway...

So reader and their animal are invited to base to try and help him. (Or reader is the team mate, and the therapist an additional character - how ever, you know best.) I'll leave to you which animal it will be. ;-)

Ghost & Peppa (the dog)

Anon, hold my purse while I fill this with warnings:

Brief mentions of war

Mentions of physical & emotional trauma

This story is purely fictional and should not be considered an accurate representation of the practices and/or effects of Animal-Assisted Therapy

I did NOT cry while writing this. I’m fine.

——————————————————————

He’s fine. Of course, he is.

Nothing wrong with collecting mutilated bodies after a bomb explosion—It’s part of the job.

What about him getting shot? Ah well, it got him on his shoulder—that doesn’t count. It wasn’t life-threatening, according to him. He was fine.

He had to talk to someone. You all tried to pass the idea to him. Everyone except Gaz, who didn’t want to get involved since he, too, was going through some shit.

Soap told him straight away. “Mate, you need to talk to somebody”.

“I got nothing to say”, was his response.

Price was more subtle. Such a tactful guy, your captain. He tried to bring the subject up by sharing his own therapy experiences.

“Opening up and feeling vulnerable was difficult,” he said, “but I pushed through.”

But all he received was a shrug and a stern “glad it worked out for you. I’m fine.”

And you? You tried to cheer him up, calm him down, make him talk.

Nothing.

For the past two months, he has been training daily, hitting that punchbag and bench pressing like a maniac. He was pushing his physical limits, attempting to lift barbells equal to his weight, and you were looking at a person struggling to lift the weight of his conscience.

But he was fine.

Until Gaz came one day and pitched an idea to the captain: “Animal-assisted therapy” they called it. The doctors assigned it to him, and it helped. So, why not give it a try with Ghost?

The lieutenant hated the idea. Hated it. Why? Because “it was pointless and stupid” to him.

Plus, he was fine.

But Price placed his thumbs under his shoulder straps and told him it was an order. And nobody messed with the captain when he put his thumbs under his shoulder straps.

The therapist arrived the following week with Peppa, the dog.

“Peppa, like the pig?”

That was Ghost’s first question. And upon the therapist’s first nod, the follow-up question came.

“Why the fuck would you name the dog Peppa?”

The therapist explained that Peppa’s first patient was a little girl who struggled with anxiety. She named her Peppa after the cartoon character, and the name stuck.

Days turned into weeks, and although he initially protested against the therapy sessions, he was now willingly participating in them. Almost looking forward to them.

“Can’t come to training today; got a meeting with Peppa.” He would say.

Such compliance? From Ghost? How?

You all reached a conclusion because you needed an explanation that could make sense—Ghost wasn’t engaging with the therapist as much; he was opening up to the dog.

Peppa became his silent confidante.

He was playing with her and scolding her for eating too fast. Sometimes, he would ask her “why she was so sad” or “so devious” and why she was always drooling. In response, Peppa would just whine, wiggle her tail, or tilt her head, and Ghost would interpret her reactions as he pleased.

Although you could all see the improvement in his demeanour, you still worried about his well-being.

But whenever you asked him how he was, his response remained the same.

He was fine.

You tried to shift the focus and ask how the therapy was going instead. Yet, Ghost would still cling to his standard response.

Fine.

And then, the therapist advised to do something else instead.

“Ask him how Peppa is doing.”

And that simple question, about the dog’s well-being, unveiled the hidden side of his emotions. He would open up, and recount how Peppa was feeling a bit down one day, seemed too scared another day, or ate very little. He projected his own feelings and experiences onto the dog. He used her as a vessel to express his inner turmoil, revealing his struggles in a way that felt more comfortable and less vulnerable to him.

After all, it was the dog’s struggles, not his own.

He was fine.

“Do you think Peppa gets a payslip every month?” you joked one day as you looked at Peppa lying next to Ghost. “For having a job and all?”

“Peppa was a stray, you know; she always fought to survive.” he replied, kissing her head, “poor thing.”

“Poor thing,” you repeated, this time looking at him.

He knew he wasn’t fine. You all knew.

But Peppa didn’t pressure him to do or say anything.

She wouldn’t urge him to “talk to somebody” or “try meditation.”

She would insinuate, in her own way, that she was there for him.

Looking at him with her tongue out and a wide smile across her face.

Whining and demanding more pets.

Giving him the ball so they can play fetch.

Reminding him that caring for himself was just as important as those gentle scratches behind her ear.

“We’re in this together, human—you will be fine.”

——————————————————————

[choking-on-ice]

exactly 1 person asked, so here's 30 minutes worth of reasons why Silco x Viktor is my Arcane OTP and more people should open themselves to it's glory

and yes, I did format it a little like an oral presentation, what of it

General Compatibility

Both of them have a dry wit and unique outlook on life

People who don't know them well might find them very blasé but in truth they're both very caring and passionate people

Their banter would be top tier, frankly it's hard to picture anyone would be able to match Viktor’s quips as well as Silco could (Jayce understands the jokes and teasing ofc, but I just don't see him being able to bounce back the same energy. Though Mel could probably keep up just as well as Silco, but in a more light hearted way)

Silco wouldn't struggle with pitying or underestimating Viktor for his disability, nor would he ignore it and be all “it doesn't matter, it's what makes you, you” (as a disabled crutch user, ppl pretending ur disability doesn't exist and just expecting you to act able bodied is wayyy more common than people being over the top “worried”)

Viktor would very much be the angel on Silco’s shoulder, while Silco would be a bit of the devil on his

Silco is arguably the angel on other people's shoulders at times, given that he gives ppl who would be in senseless gang wars a real goal and drive towards progress for Zaun

Viktor could be considered the devil on Jayce’s shoulder sometimes, tempting him to push against authority for sake of technological advancement

Silco needs someone who has the mind for tech, strategy, politics, and philosophy at his side, since he's in a position of power with no advisors

Viktor needs someone who values him for his mind, body, and heart, but also his background. He's seen as “one of the good ones” and this never really gets a seat at the table, he needs someone who genuinely trusts in his input that would put his advice to work

They're both men of action, sitting on their hands and twiddling their thumbs doesn't suit them. There wouldn't be a “will they won't they” and the chances of them getting together in the spur of the moment only to realize there are real feelings there much later are pretty high

Similarities

Disabled men from the undercity who are driven by their desire to prevent anyone else from having to suffer the way they have at the hands of a corrupt system (in a non "gotta cure all the poor cripples way" cuz that shit is as uninspired as it is insulting)

Have dedicated their life to improving the living conditions of their people

Very intelligent and clearly brilliant in their professions, despite how different they may be

Both their altruistic goals come to ruin because power, whether they wanted that power or not, blinded and corrupted those goals

Impulsive as hell, Silco in his personal life but Viktor in his personal and professional

Differences

Silco is disillusioned and doesn't see a path to freedom for his people that doesn't involve bloodshed

Viktor is an idealist who might understand the necessity for violence in certain instances but would never seek, encourage, or enact it

Silco is a strategist, and a very good one at that, who uses the genius of others to gain and hold power via technology

Viktor is an inventor, and the most brilliant one we see in their world, who yes pushes boundaries of authority but never seeks power over others (from his perspective, his Messiah era was meant to be a chance at freedom for people who had been denied it, not authority over them)

Viktor is deeply trusting, he doesn't plot or scheme and barely ever lies

Silco trusts very little, we even his moment of doubt that Sevika might kill him that one time, his greatest skill is his ability to scheme and cheat others

Viktor doesn't believe in “the sacrifice of the few to save the many” but would commit the personal sacrifice of those he holds most dear to achieve his dream of helping Zaun and the world

Silco does believe that the death of a hundred to save a thousand is worth it, but he would never allow a personal sacrifice of the person he holds most dear even when it would mean Zaun becoming a free nation

Potential Dynamics

Disappointed Leader and Follower

Silco thinks Viktor is a class traitor, who abandoned his people as soon as the wealthy Pilties showed him an ounce of approval

Viktor thinks Silco is brilliant, and was an eager follower of his when he was younger, but now thinks he's abandoned his goals of freeing Zaun from Piltover and is just replacing the subjection of their people by Pilties with his own.

As they get to know eachother they come to understand better that their goals are the same, the only difference is how the world allowed them the chance to pursue it.

Is this fighting or making out?

Silco likes the power of putting “Piltover’s Brightest” in his place

Viktor is even more stubborn than he is smart, and maybe has a bit of a thing for humiliation

Who's worshipping who?

Silco is in secret awe of enlightened Viktor, but is overwhelmed by the idea of putting his hope and heart in someone else's control

Viktor is putty in the hands of his childhood hero, but can't shake the feeling that even now with the Arcane flowing through him, he isn't strong enough to stay afloat in the storm that is Silco

(Would happen in a version where Silco is revived by Viktor, but in this one the ppl saved by Viktor retain their personalities)

Scenarios / AUs

Early enlightenment Viktor being sought out by Silco who at first is worried about him being a threat, but then seeing the vision Viktor has for Zaun and the things he's capable of deciding he is an asset. Silco providing protectors of their sanctuary, under the guise that he’s “planning how to use Viktor as a pawn” when in reality this commune is the first sign of hope he's seen for Zaun in a long time.

Viktor seeking out shimmer from Silco, because he recognizes the ingenuity behind the drug even if he doesn't approve of it. Silco distrusts him and will only sell to him if he conducts his experiments on it down in the undercity. Viktor starts pulling double duty, working both in Piltover and in Zaun and they become closer and begin to collaborate on the creation and distribution of a new strain of shimmer, not meant to be used as a recreational drug but instead as an affordable, accessible medication for those affected by the toxic fumes from the mines. Viktor is reminded of his roots, and realizes how distant from his culture he's become. Silco is reminded that his dream for Zaun doesn't mean anything if the generation of those he wants to build it for are dead. (Also a great opportunity for some Jayce/Viktor Silco/Viktor love triangle jealousy nonsense hehehe)

Silco succeeds in his negotiations for Zaun freedom before he can become a chembaron, Viktor ends up becoming an ambassador for Zaun. Specifically dealing with education and technology as Zaun would have limited resources, so he is one of the people overseeing the building of the educational system and helping to fix the pollution from the mines with Hextech (he and Jayce would obviously be able to recreate Hextech, but the existence of a free Zaun means that the property of it is shared by both nations)

Viktor loses his benefactor when they discover something from his past that the Pilties deem “unfit of an Academy member” and must return to the fissures, this time as the right hand man of Silco who would never be stupid enough to let his talents go to waste.

Silco replaces Sky as Viktor's astral guide (because let's be real Sky was just thrown in there bc Arcane was queerbaiting the fuck outta Jayce and Viktor for some reason so they needed a random woman who had barely ever spoken on screen before) and their astral conversations go a little differently

Honourable mentions to: Viktor doing that shimmer painting stuff for Silco or vice versa, Speakeasy AU where there's a Zaunite run speakeasy topside that both Viktor and Silco frequent, Altered Timeline AU where Viktor seeks Silco out just before he becomes a chembaron to bring him to the Council as a temp member while they consider his proposition for Zaun's independance, Viktor must form an allyship with Silco so he can work on reducing the toxic gases in the fissures without being arrested by enforcers as he's going against council orders, or being killed by the other chembaron who runs that section of the city, Viktor joins the Firelights after Jayce threatens war on Zaun and begins brokering deals with other smaller gangs until Silco hears word and is interested in forming an alliance.

I hope you enjoyed this ted talk, please feel free to share with your friends and to tag me in any fanart / fanfics you see out there because I'm rabid for these fellas

thank you @orionchildofhades for the opportunity to go apeshit on main about these two

And big shout out to @blueberrymffn who's fanfiction The Things We Do For Progress got me hooked on this ship

[rarepairdumpster]

WWI AU

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: M C/W: Nurse Viktor, Soldier Silco, Period-Typical Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Post War, PTSD, the boys get a pupper

Viktor volunteers as a nurse after his disabilities prevented him from being drafted. He hates the war, hates all the needless violence, but if he can help ease the suffering of even one man....then it's good work. 

Silco is brought in to the "hospital" where Viktor works, face half-obscured with blood-soaked bandages.

Viktor being the first source of warmth and tenderness that Silco has experienced in the long years since the war began. 

At his most delirious, Silco thinks Viktor might be an angel sent from God. 

Especially at night when the warm glow of the lantern sways into the ward when Viktor comes to check on the men.

Silco's certain Viktor is an angel when he kneels beside him, holding up the lantern so the light reflects in his eyes. 

"There will be more morphine coming in the morning shipment," Viktor says softly, changing out the cool cloth on Silco's head, hoping to reduce the fever. 

"I'll make sure you get some."

Silco can't stop the little sigh that escapes him when cool fingers brush over his feverish skin, his hair. He feels himself mellow against the ratty pillows and mattress, despite the pain that seemed to pulse through his whole body, despite the awful heat that made his clothes stick to his skin

Viktor smiles. "You're very lucky, you know." 

He brings his hand down and grabs hold of Silco's, even though the soldier's skin is clammy and his grip is weak. 

"I hope I'll get to hear the story one day," Viktor rubs his thumb against Silco's hot skin.

"Lucky," Silco murmurs, blinking his one visible eye tiredly. The quiet gloom that surrounds them beyond the scope of the small lantern is  what gives him the hazy courage to continue. "Yes, to be greeted with such a beautiful face before I die."

Because Silco knows infection and illness kill more soldiers than bombs and bullets do

Viktor flushes, used to hearing soldiers call the other nurses beautiful, but there were only a few that had ever said that to him. 

"I hope to greet you many more times," Viktor says, taking his hand from Silco's and reaching up to smooth his damp hair back.

Silco smiles tiredly, but then winces as it pulls at the mangled side of his face.

Viktor winces in sympathy; having changed his bandages a number of times, he knows how gruesome the wound is.

"Soon." Viktor's hand lingers over his hair. "Things will be better soon."

Silco just sighs and falls back into a hazy sleep, comforted by the cool touch of Viktor's hand.

Fighting off the infection is hard battle. Silco spends weeks under his care, getting better, and then getting worse, in a vicious cycle.

During that time, Viktor visits his bedside as often as he can. Reads him his letters. Articles from any newspapers the hospital manages to get their hands on. 

And they talk in small bursts at night under the lantern light. 

Viktor is surprised and delighted to learn they're both from the same shitty town.

As Silco starts to truly improve, Viktor finds himself a little melancholy. While his job is to make Silco and the rest of the men well enough to either return home or to the front lines, it hurt him knowing Silco was bound to be leaving his care soon.

Now half-blind, Silco gets discharged from service and is sent home when he starts to improve too much to be kept in hospital.

The day Silco is set to leave, Viktor comes to see him off.  He wants to hug him so badly, but he knows that wouldn't be appropriate, so Viktor just offers his hand.

Silco takes his hand in both of his and squeezes just a little.

"When the war is over, and you're free of this place," Silco says quietly, "come find me."

Viktor can feel his cheeks flush a little when he nods, and misses the warmth of Silco's hands when he finally has to let them go. 

He watches as the truck takes Silco away, waiting until he can't see a speck of him in the distance.

It's two long, bloody years before Viktor is able to return home. Thinking of Silco keeps him sane, but as the time goes on, Viktor starts to accept it as a fantasy that was never meant to be. There was no doubt that Silco had already moved on and forgot about him, so why couldn't Viktor do the same?

Viktor tries "dating", or as much as he can when he's elbow deep in bloodied soldiers crying for their mothers and praying to a god they're not really sure exists after all this horror.

He's tired when the war ends. He's not sure the tiredness will ever fade. But at least he gets to go home. At least he gets to wash blood from his hands for the last time.

There's no relief even on the long train ride home. Bloody faces flash through Viktor's mind as he tries to replace them with views of the mangled countryside. 

It's only when he steps off the train that he can seem to get a fresh breath, one that doesn't have the aftertaste of death. He can't even manage to look up from the ground until he hears a familiar voice.

"Vitya?"

Viktor whips his head up and its like the world stops.

Silco.

Silco, standing about 30 feet away, at the other end of the station. Wearing nice civilian clothes, reminiscent of a banker or some such position. His hand is giving idle scritches to a dopey-faced dog.

Viktor starts to tear up, because he didn't think he'd ever see the man again, even knowing the two were from the same crappy place.

Viktor knows it's risky as he turns towards Silco. 

He knows people might talk as he drops his bags and awkwardly runs towards Silco, closing the distance. 

He doesn't care as he wraps his arms around Silco's torso and buries his face into the man's neck, leaning on him as his cane hangs in the crook of his elbow. 

"You remembered me"

"I could never forget you," Silco can't help but wrap his free arm around Viktor and sigh into Viktor's hair. "I've been here for every train since the war ended."

There is some comfort in knowing that there are other reunions happening at the station. Boys, and men, all crying. Hugging mothers, fathers, wives, children. 

Maybe no one will notice two men hugging a little more closely than usual.

Silco is the one to finally pull away, smiling as he takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and uses it to dab Viktor's cheeks. 

"I'll put a kettle on at home and we can talk," Silco suggests. 

Viktor nods. His parents had passed just before the war, and that was one of the reasons he joined the nursing effort. He didn't really have anywhere else to go.

Silco goes to retrieve Viktor's bags while Viktor and the dog get acquainted.

The drive back to Silco's home is so relaxing, with the dog resting its head on one of his legs, and Silco's hand resting on the other.

Viktor had dreamt it would be like this, back when he was nursing Silco. He had almost forgotten.

When they arrive, Viktor's glad that Silco's cottage is a good deal away from the village, on its own land, away from prying eyes.

Viktor catches Silco's hand before he can disappear into the kitchen after dropping Viktor's bags in the front room.

Silco looks back at him.

"I..." Viktor swallows. "I missed you. Every day."

Silco turns and grabs Viktor's elbows. "My angel," Silco smiles. "I've spent every moment I've been home preparing and hoping I'd be honored with your presence again."

When Silco leads him into the kitchen, Viktor learns that Silco used part of his ration books to collect things that Viktor had mentioned he liked in passing during their conversations.

Viktor picks up a jar of his favourite jam from the counter. He feels himself tear up as he stares down at the label.

Silco takes the jar from him and sets it back down before tilting Viktor's face up with gentle fingers.

"Now, I hope you'll allow me the pleasure of something I wished for since we met," Silco whispers just above Viktor's lips. 

Viktor reaches up and grabs the lapels of Silco's jacket, closing the rest of the distance between them. He wasn't going to deprive Silco or himself any longer.

Silco forgets about making tea entirely, his hand now sinking into soft hair as he crushes Viktor close, devouring the fuck out of his mouth.

His other hand drops to rub over the curve of Viktor's lower back

Viktor's never been kissed or touched like this, and he lets out a soft gasp as Silco's hand presses him closer.

Silco pulls away softly, trailing from Viktor's lips to his jaw. "Do you still want tea, darling?"

Viktor shivers at the breath that tickles his ear. "Tea can wait."

Silco reaches down and hoists Viktor's legs up as Viktor gasps then chuckles. He carries him through the small cottage to the soft bed in a room in the back of the house. 

Silco lays Viktor down and takes off his shoes, then sits on the edge to remove his own. They each shed their outer jackets, and Viktor pulls Silco down into the bed just as he's divested of it.

They spend the rest of the day kissing lazily as Viktor drifts in and out of sleep, exhausted from travelling. Silco only gets up a few times to keep house and feed the dog, but stays with Viktor as much as he can, still amazed he's really there.

Silco soothes his hands over porcelain skin and soft hair as often as possible, making up for lost time.

Sometimes, during these long two years, he'd thought perhaps he'd imagined the angelic nurse that had so often sat at his bedside in that terrible place.

The PTSD nightmares set in during the nights that follow, with Viktor trembling and weeping in his sleep, dreams filled with bloodied faces and limbs as soldiers grab at him and beg him to please don't let them die please please please please

The nights he dreams of Silco perishing from the infection are the worst. 

Silco has to crush him close and assure him that he's alive, that he's fine, that Viktor saved him each time.

By comparison, Silco seems relatively unaffected by the war. 

Until the first time a car backfires while he and Viktor are out and about. And Viktor gets the wind knocked out of him as Silco tackles him to the ground, protecting him from "enemy fire"

Viktor has to hold him close and remind him that they're not at war anymore. 

Their dog begins to notice when one of them might be having panic attacks and helps them through it.

At first, it takes a long time to come down from that protective panic, but between Viktor and their dog, Silco starts to recover faster over time. He never gets 100% better, but he improves by a lot.

Silco starts keeping a journal, filled with recollections from the war, and macabre poetry about his experiences. 

One poem about the sense of drowning in mud and rain and blood makes Viktor cry

They still live a full life and later, end up taking care of an orphaned girl from the village who was bright and witty, and too many people saw as a problem.

Arch + Woods

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

I wanna talk thumbs.

They say you can tell a lot about a person from a handshake. You can from a handhold too. The way Ed holds Stede’s hand in 1.9 is tender and beautiful. We can see from the positioning and circumstance that Ed is the one with agency here, and almost certainly initiated the handhold.

However it’s the positioning of Stede’s thumb that bends my mind out of shape. Ed’s whole hand is in natural position. Stede’s thumb should be lying parallel to Ed’s. But Stede has deliberately twisted that thumb up and over Ed’s. Pressing down. There is nothing passive in Stede’s grip here. It’s a symbol of reciprocity, of reassurance. And Ed’s staring right at it. There’s an unspoken promise in that thumb.

We all know what happens next…

Yet they get a do-over in 2.5 as part of their healing process. They kiss for a second time and hold hands for a second time, romantically. The handholding then becomes a thumb-war game. It feels like a tiny callback to the beach handhold in 1.9. It’s a playful power-struggle. A memory. Perhaps an unspoken apology.

It’s fun and it’s beautiful, but no way is Stede’s thumb remaining atop this time. Last time that happened, things did not go to plan. The way Ed cocks his head to the left playfully yet assertively as he ‘wins’ the game reveals a need to feel in control. Stede has already respected Ed’s boundary in this scene and builds Ed’s self-esteem further with this silly little moonlight game. This time things are different.

Sure, it’s improv. But improv doesn’t mean not planned. It just means we have some ideas and we’re going to develop them in the moment. These two guys understand the psychologically of Ed and Stede so well this scene developed organically to its perfect and natural conclusion.

This time, Ed won.

Which means Stede wins too.

[mysteriouslybluepirate]

Samba had a baking class! There he revealed some scenes that were cut/rewritten at some point in the process include:

From Samba: Calypso’s birthday was supposed to be LuPete wedding and wee John and Roach were trying to get Ed and Stede to hook up. Roach is the one who would have given Stede the pierced ear. Wee John makes Ed an outfit. Then Stede & Ed actually danced! Samba likes what the episode changed to, and that they didn't force the Ed/Stede relationship earlier. This episode would have been a combination of Parent Trap+Makeovers+Slow Dancing [SLIGHT agreement about being happy they didn't push the relationship (as they move it from being the point of ep 6 to the end of ep 6), I'm just more mad that they made the LuPete wedding a last minute thing. This still would have felt rushed after multiple non-apologies from Ed. A part of me says they wanted the drag bits? But then you're telling me Lucius wouldn't want Wee John in drag at his wedding, which just sounds SO out of character]

[CUT SCENE] The reason Buttons had a rope around his waist for ep 1 was because he kept on trying to run to the sea. They had scenes showing this but it was cut.

[CUT SCENE] S2E1 where Stede's crew were all making wishes for a ship. Black Pete wished that Lucius would be alive on the ship, Olu wished that Jim would be on the ship, and Roach wished for a big kitchen on the ship!

[CUT SCENE] Apparently a LOT of Jim/Olu scenes were cut, including one where Archie and Olu step out of the bedroom in boxers. Confirming 100% that they are all poly, and Jim/Olu was still together together. With a hint of maybe Olu/Archie?

BEHIND-THE-SCENES STUFF

The 'Don’t you want your Sammie' sandwich scene in ep 4 was fully improvised, and that on top of getting hit in the face is why Nathan broke.

Thumb war scene was improv, which is a shame, as to me this was the most romantic moment of the fucking season. It's just so soft, and sweet, and happy.

Stede's jacket from ep5 is cursed irl bc the fire alarm went off w/ no explanation in the first scene with the jacket

David Fane got bit by an eel on the toe while filming the Roach&Fang spa scene

So they really seemed to have had a decent script then changed it, for some reason. It wouldn't have fixed everything, but it does confirm my theory that they mostly cut scenes with the crew/rewrote episodes so the crew wasn't heavily featured.

ALSO: Samba wanted to do an official podcast when the season was releasing but couldn't due to the strikes.

[conacoflakes]

Conan O’Brien media archive

As a rule of thumb I avoid any movie streaming services or other ways to download that aren't totally virus free, etc. so these links lead to Drive, archive.org, and YouTube or other trusted media sharing sites.

Shows + TV

Conan O'Brien Must Go (2024) | Drive

Conan visits his fans from around the globe and indulges in various countries cultures. His most recent show with only 4 episodes: Norway, Argentina, Thailand, and Ireland. All four episodes can be found at this drive link

Late Night With Conan O'Brien (1993 - 2009) | archive.org @ mountainmikeinoregon

Archived episodes of Late Night sorted by year. Not a complete collection, many episodes are missing (for example the 1993 collection jumps from episodes 1-4 to episode 35) but a great deal of them are here. Easy to access and watch.

The Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien (2009-2010) | archive.org

The show he briefly inherited from Leno which would cause the infamous TV war between them. Conan would leave NBC for TBS after this. All 145 Conan episodes that aired are in here.

Conan Without Borders (2018) | dailymotion

A series of specials that aired on Conan where he travels various countries. The precursor to the 2024 show. Filmed during the height of the Trump administration which is reflected in a lot of the jokes, topics, and other parts of the show. Various clips are also avaliable on YouTube. QnA's are also avaliable on YouTube.

Episode List:

1. Conan in Cuba - 49:18 2. Conan in Armenia - 42:48 3. Qatar - Unable to find 4. Conan Does Korea - 36:23 5. Conan in Berlin - 42:58 6. Conan Without Borders: Made in Mexico- 42:20 7. Israel - Unable to find. Judging from the clips this episode paints Israel in an extremely sympathetic light. Know that I stand with Palestine and that Israel is an Apartheid state. Learn more at decolonizepalestine.org 8. Conan Without Borders: Haiti - 42:04 9. Conan in Italy - 50:13 10. Conan in Japan - 42:03 11. Conan Without Borders: Australia - 42:03 12. Conan Without Borders: Greenland - 42:01 13. Conan Without Borders: Ghana - 43:00

Film

CONAN O'BRIEN CAN'T STOP (2011) - Part 1 / Part 2 | dailymotion

CONAN O'BRIEN CAN'T STOP is a documentary about what Conan and his crew did on tour before TBS. After Jay Leno took back his show, Conan travels to 32 different cities to do improv while attempting to severe all ties with NBC. Fun film with more intimate and candid moments of him and his crew.

CONAN O'BRIEN CAN'T STOP - Commentary by Conan, Andy Richter, Sona Movsesian & More (2011) | archive.org - YouTube

CONAN O'BRIEN CAN'T STOP is a documentary about what Conan and his crew did on tour before TBS. This version of the film has his own commentary over it.

Podcasts & Radio

The Conan and Jordan Show (Podcast) | soundcloud.com | episode 1 | episode 2

Only two episodes have been uploaded. Apparently the site that it’s hosted on (SiriusXM) doesn’t even show all the episodes available.

To be updated as more links are found

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

How would your skellies react to an S/O who has a green thumb? It seem like every plant S/O takes care of comes back healthier and better.

Undertale Sans - Well that's a good thing because he's a mass plant murderer. You're balancing each other lol. Every plant someone trusted Sans with ended up dying a horrible death somehow, so you're kinda saving the day by somehow reviving them. He doesn't understand how you're doing this. He swears he tried a ton of things and nothing worked. Ok, maybe most of the time he remembers he had to take care of the plant after two weeks to two months, but still.

Undertale Papyrus - He's good with flowers but he's a bit bored with the classic species. He wants cool-looking flowers and you're here to help. After two months, plants turned into a hyperfixation for Papyrus and you're living in a jungle, congratulations.

Underswap Sans - He thinks plants are boring honestly. It does nothing, it doesn't last long either, and it takes so much energy to take care of for only a few days of nice-looking moments. That's your thing, and it will say your thing. He's not patient enough for this.

Underswap Papyrus - Mr "I'm-allergic-to-everything" is not making the task easy for you lol. You're struggling to find plants and flowers that don't make him sneeze all day long. But it's a little victory every time you find something that he tolerates. Honey loves to help. Well, he loves to be included in everything his S/O is doing, but taking care of plants actually makes his anxiety shut up so he's always happy to help a bit.

Underfell Sans - He's doing his best to help but somehow he makes things worse every time he's helping. Like that time he watered your plants with gasoil and only noticed avec the twentieth flower :') He's not doing it on purpose, he's just terrible with plants.

Underfell Papyrus - You two are fighting on which plants to keep inside the house. Edge actually loves plants too, but he loves plants you hate... And you love plants he hates. He waits for you to leave the house to replace the plants, and you're doing the same. It's an eternal war. Maybe someday you'll find one you can agree on.

Horrortale Sans - He actually learns with you. At first, he doesn't show that much interest, but the more you do, the more you notice him staring behind your back. He's a bit clumsy and forgets half of the things he has to do, but it actually keeps him occupied. It actually helps his memory too since he has to water the plant every day, which is training his memory. He thinks it's a really relaxing activity and he would love to do it more often with you.

Horrortale Papyrus - He doesn't have that much of an interest in plants, but he's curious about what his S/O is doing and he's always happy to help if he can. He gladly appreciates your advice on his vegetables though. He had some difficulties growing them in the beginning but you showed him how to improve his fields and he's delighted with the result!

Swapfell Sans - He doesn't have any interest in the activity, but he likes having plants around. It makes his house look even more expensive and he's a material girl so he's really happy. You pretend like you don't see his black-and-white edge lord photos on social media next to your plants lol.

Swapfell Papyrus - I mean, you can do what you want but... Do you really want to have plants in a secluded area where Rus lives? Your plants are living in fear, never knowing if they're going to see the next day. That guy has no limits and can accidentally set the house on fire at least once a week. He's dangerous to all living things, please reconsider.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Wine surprisingly likes to take care of plants too. It was a true shock the first time you discovered that because that skeleton usually hates more things than he likes some. Of course, he will never say it out loud, or show he likes it. But you can sometimes catch him watering the flowers or cutting some disgracious leaves from your plants. He gives you the "what are you even looking at?" kind of look every time you see him though lol.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He saw you cut leaves and he wanted to help! So he cut leaves on all your plants. And by that I mean he cut 75% of each of your plants. When he sees your face, he goes from very proud to kicked puppy in three seconds. Maybe it's best if Coffee stays away from your plants from now on.