#they always found common ground and fought for each other

[andreal831]

E: I do hope your daughter inherits her mother's everything.

Haylijah in every episode -> 1.17 Moon Over Bourbon Street

[sevarchive]

♡ strawberry gummies ──

જ⁀➴ a shidou ryusei story. 3.9k words

synopsis: in which two kids grew up side by side in an orphanage, and swore they’d never leave each other behind, but not all promises survive growing up.

a/n: i really gave this my all, shidou’s a tough one to break in angst, and there’s so little of it out there. i rlly tried. btw this piece was written for a ticket from the ask roulette carnival! visit their original ticket here!

ryusei shidou was born rabid.

that’s what the other kids at the orphanage whispered, wide-eyed, after the first week. after he broke a chair over someone’s back. after he bit a teacher. after he smiled at his own bloody nose like it was confetti.

you were the only one who didn’t flinch.

not because you weren’t scared, you were.  but you’d lived with monsters before.

people who smiled like lies and touched like bruises. people who said they loved you and left you with scars to prove it. you knew cruelty that dressed itself up in soft voices and parental authority.

the first time he talked to you, he was outside alone, holding an ice pack to his jaw and there was blood on his temple, already crusting into his hair.

he squinted at you. “what? you lost or something?”

you shook your head.

“then quit staring. i don’t need your pity.”

still, you didn’t move. you knelt down instead and held out a bandage.

“tch.” he scoffed. “what, you tryna play nurse now?”

you didn’t answer, just started unwrapping the gauze. he hesitated. then, with a dramatic sigh and a roll of his eyes, he dropped onto the ground beside you.

“whatever. just don’t screw it up.”

you dabbed at the cut on his lip gently, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything.

“…you’re not scared of me?” he muttered, quieter now.

“no,” you said.

he didn’t smile, but his shoulders dropped a little.

and when you pulled out an onigiri from your pocket and held it out to him, he blinked, then snatched it from your hand like you might change your mind.

“…fine. but you’re weird,” he said through a mouthful of rice. “don’t expect me to share.”

but when you pulled out a second one, he didn’t argue. and from that day on, he never made you flinch.

time slipped past like a lazy tide. shidou got worse. or better—depending on who you asked. he grew taller, faster, sharper. talent curled beneath his skin like a fuse waiting to burn. feral on the field, a menace off it.

football was the only thing that held his attention. it wasn’t a sport to him. it was instinct. survival. something that lived in his bones and blood, something he sank his teeth into like it was the only way he knew he was alive. the rest of the world was too slow.

too soft. too boring. so he broke it.

but y/n stayed. always.

she watched him turn shin guards into weapons and grins into warnings. sat through suspensions and scoldings. walked him to the principal’s office more times than she could count.

everyone else saw a rabid dog in cleats. but she saw a boy who once gave her half his onigiri when they had nothing else to eat.

on one of those storm-soaked nights, the power flickered out again at the orphanage. she found him in the common room, hunched in the dark with a cut lip, a swollen cheek, and scraped knuckles.

another fight. another blame he never deserved.

someone’s wallet went missing, and no one cared enough to ask questions before pointing fingers. shidou didn’t bother defending himself. not because he didn’t care—because he knew they wouldn’t listen.

he let them hit him first. let them think they were winning before he fought back.

when she sat beside him, he didn’t say a word. just let her place a warm onigiri in his hand and a gummy candy on his knee. she gave him the first bite, even though it was her favorite. and he took it like it meant something.

“If the world’s gonna treat us like trash,” he muttered, “I’m gonna be the meanest, loudest, most dangerous pile of it they’ve ever seen.”

she turned toward him.

his eyes were wild with certainty, gleaming like something alive. he looked like a boy with nothing to lose and everything to prove.

they sat like that, shoulder to shoulder, sharing candy while the rain poured and the world outside spun without them.

and for a moment, even with bruises blooming and silence thick between them, it felt like they’d carved out their own little piece of peace.

like as long as she was there, he wouldn’t fall apart. not completely.

it didn’t happen all at once.

there wasn’t a moment where shidou stopped being the boy who shared half his rice ball in the rain. it was slower than that. quiet. like a door left ajar in a burning house—you don’t realize it until the smoke’s already in your lungs.

he got angrier and more reckless. after school, he’d vanish without a word. sometimes he came back bloodied. sometimes not. you never asked, and he never told you. but he always smiled.

a smile too sharp to be safe.

he started playing like he had something to prove. like scoring wasn’t enough unless he crushed someone to do it. he wasn’t chasing the ball anymore—he was chasing domination. fear. the kind that makes people flinch when he walks by.

you started staying up later. just in case.

and then one night, he knocked.

three slow thuds.

you opened the door and froze.

he was drenched in sweat and someone else’s blood. his shirt stuck to his skin. there was a rip in the sleeve and dried red smeared along his arm. but he wasn’t hurt. not physically.

he was grinning.

not out of joy—because he felt alive.

his eyes sparkled with adrenaline. his fingers twitched at his sides.

“guy pulled a knife on me after the game,” he said, laughing under his breath. “so i broke his wrist. and his face. might’ve cracked a rib too. not mine. his.”

you stared at him.

“was it about me again?”

he scoffed. “yeah. they always think hurting you is the way to get to me. they’re not wrong.”

he stepped into the room like it belonged to him. he was pacing now, still riding the high.

“i told them to stay away. i warned them. i begged them to try me.”

he stopped, turned toward you.

“i can’t let anything happen to you. you’re the only thing i give a shit about off the field.”

you didn’t say a word.

he took another step closer, lowering his voice now, like it mattered.

“you know that, right?”

you looked up at him. his face was flushed. blood dried on his cheek like war paint. he reached up to touch you—just a brush of his fingertips against your jaw. gentle, even now.

“so i scare them. so what? fear’s better than failure.”

“i didn’t ask you to protect me,” you whispered.

he paused. his hand fell back to his side.

“you didn’t have to.”

for a moment, it was quiet. he wasn’t smiling anymore.

he looked away.

“i know you hate it,” he said. “the blood. the fighting.”

you didn’t deny it.

he rubbed his temple, messy blond hair sticking to his skin.

“i don’t wanna miss it,” he mumbled.

you blinked. “what?”

“your birthday. it’s next week, right? sixteenth.”

your breath caught.

he laughed softly—no grin this time. just a small, tired sound.

“i was gonna take you somewhere. somewhere nice. just us.”

you looked at him. he wasn’t angry now. just... worn.

“i remember when you turned thirteen,” he said. “you made me that stupid little paper crown. said i was king for the day. i kept it, you know?”

your chest ached.

“i just wanted to keep you safe,” he whispered. “that's all i was trying to do.”

he sounded younger than you remembered.

for a second, the mask cracked. and behind it, the boy you grew up with was still there. bloody. bruised. tired. but still ryusei.

still yours.

i was holding the damn onigiris again.

tuna mayo. her favorite. the ones we used to split when we were kids. i’d always act like i hated them; too soft, too sweet, but i never said no when she handed hers over. never could.

i was sitting on the curb outside the field. dirt on my cleats. blood dried on my sleeve from some fight i barely remembered. practice was done. the sun was already dipping low. and all i could think about was her.

she wouldn’t get out of my head.

every match, i looked up into the stands like she might be there. every time my fists curled, i heard her voice in the back of my skull, soft and stubborn, trying to reel me in like i wasn’t already too far gone. every time i scored, i thought—she’d be proud of that one. and it pissed me off. how she was still inside me. everywhere.

i wanted her beside me. always. i wanted her to wear my name like it meant something. like a warning. like a promise. because that’s what she was. mine.

even if i never said it, i built entire futures around her in my head. mornings with her humming while she made tea. nights where we argued and yelled and then she’d sit next to me and press her hand to my chest and all the noise would stop. that was the life. the one i wanted. the one i swore was coming.

so i went back. to the orphanage.

i had the onigiris in my bag like some idiot. remembered her saying she missed them once, and i thought maybe—just maybe—if i showed up with them, she’d smile like she used to.

but the second i stepped through the door, i knew. too quiet. too still. no laughter echoing down the hall. no voice calling my name.

the staff looked at me, and i already felt it in my gut.

"shidou."

"where is she?"

they paused. my skin went tight. my jaw clenched.

"where is she," i asked again, lower this time.

"she left. she was adopted."

no. no.

my ears rang. my heart started punching my ribs. adopted. like she was some stray someone could just pick up and take. like she didn’t already belong to me.

i ran. didn’t stop to think. like if i didn’t move fast enough, the world would close around me and rip her out for good.

i saw her. in the back seat of a car. just her outline through the glass.

she didn’t see me. i shouted her name. over and over. my throat burned.

she didn’t turn around.

i ran until i couldn’t breathe. until my legs were jelly and my chest felt like it was going to cave in. like if i just got close enough, i could grab her back.

but i didn’t make it. the lights disappeared. the road went silent. and i was alone. no sound. no blood. no bruises.

no her.

“they’re for you!” i screamed, chest heaving. “i bought them, y/n! with my own fuckin’ money! didn’t steal—didn’t hit anyone—i stayed clean! for you!”

my hands were shaking. the onigiris were half-smashed in my grip, warm and ruined.

“it’s tuna mayo. you like that shit. i remembered. it’s your birthday, isn’t it? sixteen. i was gonna say happy birthday like a dumbass and you’d roll your eyes and—fuck—”

my throat closed up. i could barely breathe.

“why didn’t you wait? why didn’t you turn around?!”

i dropped to my knees, still clutching the food like it meant anything. like it could bring her back.

“i was right there. i was right fucking there, and you left anyway…you left me.”

i turned and slammed my fist into the nearest wall. again. and again. and again. didn’t matter what it was made of. i just wanted it to hurt. i wanted to bleed. i wanted something real. something to hold onto while the rest of me fell apart.

my knuckles split. blood dripped down to my wrist. i kept going. i screamed. not words. just rage. grief. failure. all twisted together, tearing out of me like it would kill me if i kept it in.

i dropped to my knees. breathing like i’d just played the longest match of my life. but there was no whistle. no finish. no reset.

y/n was it. the leash. the brake. the voice in my fucked-up head saying stop. when i was ready to burn the whole goddamn world, she was the reason i didn’t. and now? now she was just gone.

i couldn’t punch through this. couldn’t fight it off. couldn’t bleed hard enough to feel anything but empty.

if someone looked me in the eye right then and told me to give something up—anything—i wouldn’t even blink.

football. my future. my name. everything i ever clawed for.

i’d throw it in the fire, laughing.

just to hear her say my name again. just once. that’s all.

y/n thought that maybe if she stayed quiet, if she didn’t let the weight of it settle too deep, leaving wouldn’t hurt as much. but it did. even now, in a soft apartment tucked into the quiet corners of france, it still ached like an old bruise.

her new parents were gentle. they spoke carefully, always asking how she felt, always treating her like she might shatter if they pressed too hard. but no amount of kindness could reach the place inside her that never left.

her body moved forward, but her heart stayed behind. it stayed with ryusei.

she thought of him more than she wanted to. sometimes it came without warning. the sound of boys yelling on a sidewalk. gravel crunching under worn sneakers. a rice ball in the corner store that looked too much like the ones they used to split. she missed him.

not just the version the world saw, wild and brutal and on fire, but all of him.

the boy who once curled up next to her in the dark and whispered promises he never learned how to keep.

she had told herself that leaving would protect them both. that maybe he would stop fighting so hard if he was not always trying to protect her.

but then she saw him again. not in person, but through a screen. a u-20 match playing late one night. his name caught her off guard, and when she looked, it felt like the air left the room. and when the camera caught his face, she saw the same expression he used to wear when he came home bleeding and didn’t want to talk about it.

after that, y/n could not stop. she watched every match, every interview, every replay. she looked for him in every frame, searching for proof that he was still there, that he had not turned into someone the world could not love. she watched to see if he looked angry. she watched to see if he looked like he remembered. she did not think he ever forgot her. and she knew, without question, that she had hurt him more than she meant to.

if she could go back, if she could hear him calling her name just one more time, she would not have walked away. she would have turned around. she would have stayed.

because she loved him. because she still did. even now, with nothing left but flickering screens and memories sharp enough to bleed.

one night, y/n booked a flight without thinking. told herself it was to watch a match, just to see how he moved now—how he lived without her—but she knew better. it wasn’t about football. it never was. she wanted to see if there was anything left of the boy who once shared half an onigiri with her when they were ten.

she found him outside the stadium, half-hidden by shadow and sweat, hoodie pulled low over his eyes. his teammates passed without looking at him. he leaned against a vending machine like the world bored him. and when she called his name, his head lifted slow, cautious, like he didn’t trust what he was hearing. their eyes met.

for a moment, everything stopped. the noise, the crowd, the city. she saw something flicker—wide and open and almost afraid.

then it was gone. like it had never been there. the light left his eyes. and ryusei turned away.

“wait—ryusei, please—”

her fingers caught his sleeve. he tore away from her like she’d stabbed him.

“you don’t get to say my name anymore,” he muttered, voice gravel and glass.

her throat tightened. “i had no choice.”

“you always had a choice. you just didn’t choose me.”

“that’s not fair—”

“you think i care about fair?” he stepped closer, eyes burning. “you got in that car and didn’t even look back. not once. i begged you with my fucking legs. chased you until i couldn’t breathe, and you kept going.”

she felt it. that old ache, crawling up her spine.

“i missed you,” she whispered. “i never stopped missing you.”

he shook his head.

“i needed you,” he said. quiet, almost shaking. “you were the only thing i gave a shit about. and you left me like i was nothing.”

“i was scared.”

“so was i.”

he swallowed hard, chest rising and falling with the kind of pain that had nowhere else to go.

“you think i didn’t cry for you?” he spat. “i would’ve set the world on fire for one fucking word. one goodbye. you didn’t even give me that.”

“i thought leaving would protect you,” she said.

“you broke me.”

he looked at her like she was the ghost of something he used to pray for.

then he stepped back.

“you’re too late.”

and when he walked away, this time she didn’t follow.

after that night, ryusei got worse. whatever restraint he had left burned out fast. he played like he wanted to hurt people—opponents, teammates, anyone who crossed his path. fines piled up. warnings blurred together. he stopped showing up to meetings. he stopped sleeping.

on the pitch, he was a wildfire. off it, he was wreckage no one could stop.

his name started flashing across the news for all the wrong reasons. leaked footage. street fights. blood. a busted lip in one clip, a shattered nose in another. he slammed someone against a wall after a foul in training and walked off grinning. he did not care if they suspended him. he did not care if the entire world labeled him a monster.

the only person he wanted to see him had already looked away.

eventually, they brought him in interrogation, sat with his hands cuffed, wrists scraped raw, eyes dulled by exhaustion.

the questions came fast, one after the other. about the charges. about the career he was setting on fire. he barely answered. gave nothing but silence and smirks. his eyes kept drifting, unfocused, locked on corners of the room where no one stood.

when one officer leaned forward and asked if he even wanted to save himself, ryusei looked up, slow and far away, like he was listening to someone else.

like the voice in his head was the only one that mattered.

“this is what you’ve become?”

he blinked hard. it was the officer. of course it was. but when he blinked again, it wasn’t. it was her.

“i did this for you,” he muttered, breath unsteady. “i fought so no one could hurt you. i—”

“you lost me anyway.”

his head snapped up. something cracked in his chest. “shut up. shut UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP—”

but she kept going.

“you didn’t protect me. you scared me. you broke everything you touched and called it love.”

he lurched forward, chains clanking against the metal table. eyes blown wide. breathing jagged.

“don’t say that,” he whispered, trembling. “please, don’t say that. i love you. i still do. just stop—stop looking at me like that—”

she tilted her head. “i don’t even know you anymore.”

he screamed.

not words. just noise. animalistic and raw, the kind of sound you make when your soul’s been dragged out of your throat and shattered on the floor.

he stood, dragging the chair with him, throwing his body toward the vision that wasn’t even there. the officers yelled, reaching for him. he didn’t hear them. he was clawing at his chest, his arms, the air—anything to tear her out of him.

“MAKE HER STOP!” he begged, collapsing to his knees.

his voice was wrecked. small now. childish.

“please… please just make her stop…”

shidou was walking back from the field. still in his cleats, hoodie pulled low, blood crusted on his sleeve from some fight he already forgot. the match was over. the streets were quiet. but something restless still gnawed at him from the inside.

then he heard it.

someone's crying. choked between hiccups.

he turned the corner and spotted her, little girl, alone on the curb, knees pulled to her chest, face hidden.

shidou slowed. something in him paused. something about her small shape, the trembling, the way she looked so alone...it reminded him.

of her.

so he crouched in front of the kid. cleats dug into the concrete.

“you good, short stuff?” he said, voice flat. “you look like the world ended.”

she didn’t answer, just sniffled louder.

he sighed and dug into his hoodie pocket, pulling out a crumpled strawberry gummy. it had been there a while. he wasn’t even sure why he still carried them.

“here,” he muttered. “don’t cry.”

she looked at him—wide eyes, watery—and slowly reached out.

but before her fingers could even touch the candy, a voice roared behind him.

“hey! get the hell away from her!”

shidou’s head snapped up just as a man came barreling over. the stranger shoved him back, nearly knocking the gummy from his hand.

shidou stumbled, more stunned than anything.

“what the fuck’s your problem?” he barked.

“my problem? you’re some grown asshole cornering a little girl!” the man snapped, shielding the child behind him. “she’s ten! what the hell are you doing?”

shidou’s face twisted.

“you think i’m trying to hurt her?” his voice was dark. low. “seriously?”

the man glared. “don’t play dumb. what were you giving her, huh? you some kind of freak?”

shidou’s grin fell.

he stood up slowly. too slowly.

“i gave her a candy, you moron. i had one. that’s it.”

“oh yeah? you think that makes it better? you're a monster!” the man snapped. “back off, or i’m calling the cops. y/n, come here—”

that was the mistake.

the second he heard it, that name, shidou froze.

“what… did you just call her?” he asked.

the man blinked, thrown off for a second—but then his face twisted with something meaner. louder.

“y/n,” he barked, tugging his daughter behind him. “my daughter. now back off, freak—”

that was it.

something inside shidou cracked.

he slammed the man against the wall, fingers twisted in his collar, hard enough to make the siding groan. the man gasped, eyes wide.

“you don’t get to say that name,” shidou snarled, spit flying from his teeth. “you don’t know what the FUCK it means.”

“GET OFF ME—!” the man choked, trying to shove him away. “you sick piece of SHIT! GET OFF—!”

his daughter sobbed behind him, too scared to move.

“you’re disgusting,” the man spat, voice sharp with panic. “you look like you belong in a cage. you are a monster—look at you! you're scaring a kid, you FREAK—MONSTER!”

shidou’s hands shook.

he’d heard those words before.

freak. monster.

over and over. in classrooms. on the field. from people who never looked past his fists. but it never stopped cutting.

he wasn’t even trying to hurt anyone. not this time. he just wanted to help.

just wanted to be something good for once.

but no matter what he did, the world still looked at him like this. like he was made of teeth and violence. like he was already beyond saving.

his chest heaved. his voice broke.

“she was the only one who didn’t look at me like that…” he said, voice cracking. “she was all i fucking had. and you think i’d hurt her?” his grip tightened. “you think i’d touch something i’d kill the whole GODDAMN world to protect?”

the man didn’t answer. he was too busy staring at the wild, broken thing in front of him: the fury, the heartbreak, the grief painted into every inch of shidou’s face.

and the little girl just cried louder.

he reeled his fist back.

and then—

someone screamed his name.

not the little girl. not the man.

her.

shidou’s whole body went still. his fist hovered in the air. his breathing stopped.

“y/n,” he breathed, like the name itself was keeping him alive. “oh my god. you’re—fuck—you’re really here.”

his voice cracked. his hands trembled.

“i thought i was losing it. i kept seeing you—kept hearing your voice—and i thought it was just my head fucking with me again but you’re—”

he laughed, breathless and broken. “you’re here. you’re here.”

he took a step closer, blinking through the tears already falling. “look at me. please. just look. you saw it wrong. it wasn’t—i wasn’t hurting her. i swear. i was just trying to help, that’s it. i heard her crying and—shit, y/n—i would never—”

his voice faltered. he rubbed at his eyes like it would somehow fix the wreck of himself.

“don’t look at me like that. don’t—don’t look scared. please.”

his hands reached forward, hesitant, like she might disappear if he touched her.

“you know me. you know me. this—this isn’t who i am. not to you. i never wanted to be—whatever the hell this is. i just—i just wanted to keep you safe.”

“i’ve missed you every single fucking day,” he whispered. “i didn’t forget anything. i couldn’t. you’re still the only thing that makes this life feel like it’s worth anything at all.”

his voice dropped, soft and begging.

“just say something. anything. tell me i’m not too late.”

and then—

her expression didn’t change. her voice was steady, but it sliced deeper than any punch he’d ever taken.

“you are.”

and she walked away.

but she came back.

not right away. not after the fight, not after the world turning its back on him. but eventually. y/n moved back during the winter, after everything. people even said she was crazy for it. she didn’t care.

she found him in a rehab facility near the coast—quiet, twitchy, eyes a little too empty. he looked like someone who'd been living with ghosts.

she became the reason he started healing.

at first, she just visited on sundays. sat with him in the courtyard while he stared at the sky like it might have answers. she brought snacks, old books, the onigiri he used to pretend he didn’t like. then one day, she didn’t leave. told the nurse she’d stay the night. told him she wasn’t going to keep loving him from a distance anymore.

he didn’t cry. he just looked at her like she’d handed him the whole damn sun.

eventually, they found a place together, nothing fancy. it was close to the train station and two blocks away from a bakery that always smelled like caramel.

he even started therapy. y/n always held his hand after every session, no matter how drained he looked walking out. and little by little, the walls started to come down.

and she—god, she lit up their life like it was her second chance too. danced around the kitchen barefoot. sat on the counter in his oversized shirts. called him “my husband” even before the wedding.

when he proposed, it was stupid. he blurted it out over burnt toast and toothpaste still on his mouth. she laughed until she cried. said yes anyway.

they got matching rings. she teased him for crying at the city hall. he denied it. later, she caught him staring at the silver band on her hand like it was the first sunrise he’d ever seen.

he also stopped playing pro. said he didn’t need the noise anymore. started coaching at a small local school instead. the kids loved him. she swore it was because they didn’t know how violent he used to be. he said it was because he was the coolest bastard on earth. she told him he was lucky she loved him.

a few months after that, she told him they were expecting.

he didn’t sleep that night. just kept his head on her stomach, whispering things like, "you’re gonna be so loved, little punk,” and “i swear to god, i’ll get it right this time.”

they painted the nursery yellow. she taught him how to fold baby clothes. he read parenting books even though he hated reading. started keeping strawberry gummies in his pocket again—for her.

at night, he’d fall asleep with one hand resting on her bump, the other tangled in hers. the fan spun overhead. her breath warmed his collarbone. he hadn’t had a nightmare in weeks.

he felt safe. he felt whole.

some nights, they’d lie on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, lights off, dreaming out loud.

“i’m scared,” she whispered once, palms on her stomach.

“i’m not,” he answered. “not with you.”

and then—

"who the hell are you talking to, freak?" his cellmate muttered, half-asleep.

જ⁀➴ © sevarchive ✦ masterlist ; like/reblogs are appreciated ꣑ৎ

[imaginary-eddie]

Merlin looked at the arguing men in front of him and questioned how he ended up in this situation. It shouldn't be surprising given all that has happened in his life since he arrived in Camelot, but this really takes the cake.

“I am king, you will respect me!”

His Arthur, not one of the clones? Doppelgangers? Shspeshifters? Whatever they are. His Arthur is trying to corral them.

Obviously it didn't work.

Two of them shout back that they are also king, and the youngest Arthur, a knight, shouted that ‘No, Merlin is king!’

Definitely strange.

The knight looked about ready to slash them all so Merlin decided now is as good a time as any to break them apart. With a deep breath he calls their attention with a clap and casts a spell to make them all stand in a line, youngest to oldest. He pulls his Arthur to the side as to not get confused.

The oldest, most rough looking, glares at Merlin and shouts, “What is the meaning of this? Let me go sorcerer!”

He struggles against the magic keeping him still and in place, but otherwise stays quiet. The lines around his eyes run deep and the demeanor he carries is that of a man betrayed by the world. Nothing about him is anything like the Arthur Merlin knows, but he's coming to suspect that'll be the case with all of them. His clothes are definitely that of a king and Merlin is reminded of Uther as he looks upon the dark colors that surround the man.

The Arthur next to him, younger but not as young as the other three in the room, shifts as if trying to fidget against the magic binds and sighs as if he's got places to be. Merlin notes the clothes he wears are that of a commoner and he has a tan that makes him stand out amongst every Arthur in the room.

The middle Arthur hasn't stopped smirking since he laid eyes on Merlin and he would be unsettled if it weren't for how distracted he was by the other Arthur's muscles. It perplexed Merlin how any one person could be so filled out and still fit into everyday clothes. He supposed maybe they were tailored made for this Arthur but that's neither here nor there. This one was also dressed like a king and carried himself as such.

The fourth and final Arthur in line was looking down to the floor. He was dressed as a knight but not like the ones here in Camelot. His armour was different but there was no denying the fierce loyalty that shone in the young man's eyes. When he looked at Merlin that is. For now his gaze rested to the ground, awaiting a command from his king. And in this case it seemed that the king would be Merlin.

“Knight Arthur?”

The knight’s head snapped to attention and those fierce eyes were once again matched to Merlin's own. A shiver ran up his spine and he wondered for a moment if this is how his Arthur felt when faced with his own loyal stares.

“Yes, my lord?”

Merlin heard a scoff from beside him and chose to ignore it.

“What is your business here?” Merlin tried to remain firm in his tone but found it hard not to squirm under the knight's unrelenting stare.

“I am here to serve you, sire. As always.” If not for the magic holding him in place, Merlin was sure he would have knelt in front of him as knights do to their kings. As he's seen the knights do to his king many times.

“Knight, where did you come from?” Surely this question would yield some kind of good result.

“Camelot.”

Right.

“Right,” Merlin fought the urge to roll his eyes, “You're all from Camelot, but what are you doing in this Camelot?”

The knight blinked and furrowed his eyebrows. It seemed that this was the first time he had ever stopped to think about what was going on around him. Merlin pursed his lips and surveyed the other Arthurs. They each seemed to be coming to a realization of some sort, so Merlin waited.

“I was swimming.” The knight spoke and each Arthur's eyes widened.

“Yes! Yes, I was swimming and you were with me!” The middle Arthur for once looked upon Merlin without lust and instead looked for a moment frightened. “I, I went under the water and when I came back up, you were gone.”

Every Arthur agreed except the oldest. His eyes seemed to darken and he spat out, “I was alone. I don't fraternize with sorcerers!”

Merlin watched as all the Arthur's faces hardened and in unison they spoke, “Watch it!”

Merlin had no choice but to laugh at the outburst. With his laugh his concentration spell broke and all Arthurs were released. Within a second the eldest was upon Merlin grabbing him by his jacket and shoving him against the wall.

“What have you done sorcerer? Why have you brought me here? What games are you playing?” The dark king spat in Merlin’s face as the others hurriedly came to drag him off the warlock.

His heart raced as he watched the Arthur's hold back their eldest as he continued to scream nonsense at him. His Arthur looked at him with concern and to that he shook his head. He was fine. Shocked, but in no need of intervention.

“I assure you, I did not bring you here, sire.” Merlin hoped the respect would pay off with this one. “There are no games being played, and nobody is here to attack you in any way. Everyone here just appeared and we're trying to figure out why.”

“Yeah, right! I know you've done something, you're one of them!” The eldest glares daggers at Merlin and refused to listen to his words. He thrashed against the men holding him and Merlin was once again reminded of Uther and his rage. His heart gave pull and the words left his lips without thought.

“What happened to you, Arthur?” His voice shook with the thought of his friend being in so much pain.

The king said nothing for a long time. The fight left his body as Merlin slowly inched his way towards him. He realized with a start that the king had started to cry. He kept his gaze firmly fixed to the ground as Merlin stepped as close as he dared and asked again.

“What happened to you, my friend?”

This made the king scoff. His voice thick with sadness spoke, “Friend. You're no friend of mine. You got her killed.”

Each Arthur shared a look of confusion yet Merlin knew in a moment of pity who ‘she’ was.

“What happened to Guinevere, Arthur?” His soft voice felt like cactus pines against the dark king’s skin as he let out a rough sob. The other Arthur's slowly released him and stepped back, letting Merlin take the lead.

The sobbing king hit the floor and cried out in agony, “You killed her! You had her framed for sorcery! She was innocent! She-”

He struggled to breathe and Merlin watched as he clawed at his chest. His whole being screamed of pain and heartache, and Merlin was finally beginning to understand why.

“Her- Her father was sick, and you! You healed him! You healed a dying man and she was killed for it because you were too cowardly to speak up and tell the truth! And my father-”

Another sob ripped from his throat and everyone in the room could see where the story was headed. Everyone could understand this man's pain. And Merlin hesitantly laid a hand on the man's shoulder. The king flinched but otherwise accepted the touch.

“My father killed her without a second thought. I watched her die and you just stood there. Even after, when Morgana killed my father, you just stood there. Silent. Like a coward! You let everyone I love die so you could live! It should've been you!”

Horror is what crosses Merlin's stare at this broken man in front of him. His story was that of a tragedy and Merlin couldn't wrap his head around it. The Arthurs around him looked upon the man in pity and understanding. They could now see why this man was filled to the brim with hatred. Why he had lashed out at the sorcerer in front of them.

The king continued to sob as Merlin firmly held his shoulder. Everything was quiet for a moment, then the broken man spoke again.

“I-I tried to kill you.” The confession earned a gasp from the other Arthur's, and a scoff from the knight, then the king continued. “I tried to kill you, but I couldn't. You, you told me you only wanted to help but I didn't care. I don't care. Because she's gone, and it's all your fault.”

Merlin nodded and for the first time his Arthur spoke up, “Then where is your Merlin?”

The king looked to the Arthur that spoke and clenched his jaw, “In shackles, underneath the castle, forever a prisoner. Just like that blasted dragon.” His stone cold stare made Merlin flinch back as if burned.

In another life he was a prisoner to his friend. It was hard to wrap his head around, but he understood. Grief could rot you from the inside and it seemed whatever good inside this broken king had died long ago and he was destined to be this way until his body caught up.

Merlin took a breath then looked at the king. “I'm sorry for your loss, my friend. Truly, I am. I hope you find peace one day.”

There wasn't much else anyone could say and a silence once again enveloped the room.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Bound by Love and War

Pairing: Steve Rogers X reader (already established) eventual Steve X reader X Bucky

Warnings: None! Just fluff🤭

Word count: 2.1k

Authors Note: I’m in love with these two, literally have me in a choke hold, enjoy!

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

It hadn’t been some grand declaration or movie-style romance that brought you and Steve Rogers together. It started with quiet moments after missions, both of you sitting side by side in the Avengers compound, talking in hushed tones to unwind after the chaos. Steve had always been easy to talk to, even when his status as Captain America had once made him seem untouchable. But over time, beneath that shield and that larger-than-life presence, you saw the man: Steve, not the Captain.

You remembered the first time you’d actually let your guard down around him. It was after a particularly rough mission. Your telekinetic powers had saved lives, but it had drained you. Physically, mentally, emotionally. You’d found yourself in one of the compound’s common rooms, staring out the window at the skyline, feeling the weight of the world pressing in.

Steve had quietly joined you, his presence always calm and reassuring. He didn’t speak for a long time, but his closeness grounded you in ways you hadn’t expected.

“I know that look,” he said after a while, his voice gentle but sure. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

You sighed, brushing away the emotions threatening to spill over. “I’m not as strong as you, Steve. Not in the way that matters.”

He had turned to you, his eyes soft and warm. “Strength isn’t about being unbreakable. It’s about being willing to let people help when you need it.” Then he reached out, hesitating for just a second before resting his hand on yours. It was such a simple gesture, but in that moment, it felt like an anchor.

That night was the start of something neither of you had fully realized at the time. More and more, you found comfort in each other’s company. The late-night talks turned into early-morning runs together, which, admittedly, were more him dragging you along until you found your rhythm. And those quiet, shared moments began to feel like home.

It wasn’t until a mission where things went sideways—where you had been cornered and Steve had fought his way to you with a desperation you’d never seen in him—that everything became clear. His eyes, wild with fear and relief when he found you, said it all. As soon as the danger was over, he had pulled you into his arms and held you tight, his lips brushing against your forehead.

“I thought I lost you,” he had whispered, his voice breaking.

You had pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, heart pounding. “I’m here, Steve. I’m not going anywhere.”

In that moment, something shifted. He had kissed you, slow and tender, like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. And maybe, just maybe, you were.

That was almost a year ago. Since then, you and Steve had built something real, something steady in the middle of the chaos that was your lives. He was everything you could’ve hoped for: kind, supportive, strong in ways that went beyond the battlefield. He didn’t just see the hero in you; he saw the person.

But there had always been Bucky.

At first, it was easy to write off the connection you felt with him as something natural. Bucky was Steve’s best friend, practically family, and over time you’d grown close to him too. He had opened up to you in ways you didn’t expect, sharing pieces of his tortured past that he still struggled to reconcile with. You admired his strength, his resilience, and the way he always fought to be better, even when he didn’t think he deserved it.

It had started as friendship. But the longer you spent around Bucky, the harder it became to ignore how your heart sped up when he was near, how your thoughts drifted to him in ways they shouldn’t. You loved Steve, there was no question about that. But the truth was, part of you had begun to love Bucky too.

And that was where things had gotten complicated.

One night, after a quiet dinner together, you and Steve had been sitting on the couch, his arm draped casually over your shoulders. There was a weight between you—something unsaid—but you could feel it pressing in. Steve had been distant, thoughtful, and you wondered if maybe he sensed it too. The growing tension, the unspoken feelings.

“I’ve noticed something,” Steve said quietly, breaking the silence. He wasn’t looking at you, but at the floor, as if gathering his thoughts.

You felt your stomach twist, nerves creeping in. “What is it?”

He took a deep breath, turning to face you. His expression was soft but serious. “I think… you have feelings for Bucky.”

Your heart dropped. This was it. The moment you had been dreading, where the truth you hadn’t wanted to admit came spilling out. You had no idea what to say, how to explain it without breaking his heart. “Steve, I—”

But before you could even finish, he held up a hand. “It’s okay. You don’t need to explain. I’ve seen it for a while now.”

You blinked, confused. “You’re not mad?”

Steve smiled softly, his hand reaching to cup your cheek. “No. How could I be? I love you. And I know you love me. But I also know that you care about Bucky. And… I care about him too.”

Your heart raced at his words. “You… you have feelings for him?”

He nodded slowly, looking as though he had come to terms with something that had been weighing on him for a long time. “I think I always have. I just didn’t realize it until recently. He means everything to me, and seeing the way he’s been with you… I guess it made me realize I’m not the only one.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. This wasn’t the conversation you had expected. And yet, here Steve was, not angry, not hurt, but understanding. Maybe even feeling the same way you did.

“So what do we do?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Steve’s thumb brushed against your skin gently. “What if we didn’t have to choose? What if we asked Bucky to be part of this? All three of us. Together.”

You stared at him, unsure if you had heard him right. Could something like that work? Could you love them both, and could Steve, and Bucky, love each other the same way? The idea felt almost impossible, but in a strange way, it made perfect sense.

“What if he says no?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Steve’s expression softened. “Then we’ll figure it out. But we won’t know unless we talk to him. And something tells me he might feel the same way.”

The sun had barely risen over the horizon, casting soft golden hues across the landscape of the Avengers compound. You stood on the training field, focusing on lifting several objects in the air with nothing but your mind. Your telekinetic powers hummed in the air around you as you moved boulders, crates, and even a few steel beams without breaking a sweat.

A familiar voice brought you out of your concentration.

"Still showing off, huh?" Steve Rogers—Captain America himself—smiled as he approached. His blue eyes sparkled as he crossed his arms, admiring your abilities.

You smirked and set the objects down carefully. "Just keeping my skills sharp, Captain."

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against your arm. The two of you had been together for a while now, navigating the chaotic world of being superheroes and partners. It hadn’t been easy, but Steve’s steady presence and unwavering sense of duty made everything seem possible.

"I’ve been thinking," Steve started, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. You raised an eyebrow at him.

"That’s never good," you teased.

He chuckled softly but then grew serious, his gaze searching yours. "No, really. I’ve been thinking about us… and about Bucky."

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Bucky Barnes—Steve’s best friend, the man who’d fought through hell and back, and someone you’d grown incredibly close to. Your feelings for Bucky had grown over time, and they had become confusing, tangled in your deep love for Steve.

"You have feelings for him," Steve stated, not as an accusation but as a fact. "And I know I do too."

You blinked in surprise, taken aback by his honesty. You had thought about it before—those stolen glances between Steve and Bucky, the quiet moments they shared, the unspoken bond that felt stronger than just friendship.

"Well… we had that talk the other night but what are we going to do about it Stevie?," you asked him softly, trying to process what Steve was saying.

He sighed and ran a hand through his blonde hair. "I wasn’t sure at first, but it’s been on my mind for a while now. I love you, more than anything, but I also care deeply about Bucky. And I can see how you look at him."

Your face flushed as you looked down, feeling slightly guilty for the affection you had for Bucky, even though your love for Steve had never wavered.

"I don’t want to hurt you," you whispered.

"You’re not," Steve reassured, taking your hand in his. "Why don’t we talk to him about it?"

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. "What are you saying?"

Steve’s thumb traced circles on your hand, his touch soothing. "What if we invited Bucky to be part of this? The three of us, together. I mean it this time. All three of us together."

You stared at him, your mind racing. Could something like that work? You knew how much Steve meant to Bucky, and if Steve had feelings for Bucky too, maybe this wasn’t such an impossible idea. And your heart had been aching for Bucky for so long.

"What if he says no?" you asked quietly.

Steve smiled, that soft, reassuring smile that made you feel like everything would be okay. "Like I told you yesterday, we’ll figure it out but, love we won’t know unless we ask him. And knowing Buck… I don’t think he’ll say no."

Later that day, you found Bucky in the gym, his metal arm gleaming under the overhead lights as he punched a heavy bag with ferocity. His dark hair was damp with sweat, and his jaw was set in concentration.

Steve and you approached cautiously, waiting for him to finish his set. Bucky noticed you both and gave a small smile, wiping his brow.

"Hey, what’s up?" he asked, catching his breath. "Something on your mind, Stevie?"

Steve exchanged a glance with you before stepping closer to Bucky. He was nervous—you could feel it—but he pressed on.

"Buck, we need to talk to you about something," Steve began, his voice calm but firm.

Bucky’s brow furrowed as he sensed the seriousness in Steve’s tone. "Okay… what’s going on?"

You swallowed, your pulse quickening as you spoke up. "It’s about us. Steve and me… we’ve been talking. About you."

Bucky’s confusion deepened. "Me?"

Steve took a deep breath and stepped closer to his friend. "We care about you, Buck. More than just friends or teammates. And we were wondering if… if you’d want to be part of our relationship."

Bucky’s eyes widened in shock, his body going still. He looked between the two of you, clearly trying to process what had just been said. "Wait… what? You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," Steve confirmed. "We love each other, but we also love you, Bucky. And we want to be with you."

Bucky stared at the two of you, his mouth slightly agape. He had been silently pining for you both for months now, his feelings buried deep beneath layers of guilt and denial. He never thought in a million years that this would be possible.

"I… I don’t know what to say," he finally muttered.

"You don’t have to say anything right now," you said gently, stepping closer to him. "We just wanted you to know how we feel. And we don’t expect you to decide anything immediately."

Bucky’s blue eyes searched yours, then Steve’s. His heart was racing. He had always felt like an outsider, someone burdened by his past, undeserving of happiness. But here you both were, offering him a place, a family, a chance at something real.

"I’ve… I’ve wanted this," Bucky confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I didn’t think it was possible."

Steve grinned, that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, it is."

For the first time in a long time, Bucky allowed himself to hope. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be alone anymore.

He smiled softly, feeling the weight of his fears lifting. "Okay… let’s give this a shot."

And in that moment, standing together with the people who had always been by his side, Bucky felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: home.

Hope you enjoyed! Please follow, like and Reblog💜 -Midnight’s Cafe

[supercap2319]

Jaime with a Blue Lantern BF

Jaime Reyes had never been one to expect anything out of the ordinary. He had the Blue Beetle scarab on his back, the never-ending fight to balance being a young adult and a superhero, and the occasional run-in with some pretty dangerous villains. But lately, things have been… different. Better, even. It all started when he met him—Y/N, a fellow hero with an unexpected connection to Jaime's own mission.

Y/N was a Blue Lantern, a rare hero who wielded the power of hope itself. Jaime had met him during a battle with a cosmic threat, a creature from the far reaches of space that had arrived on Earth to drain the planet's energy. Jaime had fought valiantly, the Blue Beetle's powers an extension of his will and determination. But it wasn't until Y/N entered the fray, his blue ring glowing brightly, that the tide turned.

"In fearful day, in raging night, With strong hearts full, our souls ignite, When all seems lost in the War of Light, Look to the stars-- For hope burns bright!," Y/N had shouted over the roar of the battle. His ring pulsed, sending a wave of energy through the air, neutralizing the creature's dark energy.

Jaime was stunned. He thought Batman was impressive, but nothing compared to the raw power presence of the Blue Lantern. He'd heard of them—beings who harnessed the power of hope, a light in the darkness of the universe. But this one? This one was different. He didn’t just embody hope. He made it feel real.

After the battle, the two of them talked, and Jaime was struck by how kind and thoughtful Y/N was. He wasn’t just a superhero; he was someone who genuinely cared. That was a rare trait in the world they lived in. The more they spent time together, the more they found common ground. Y/N had his own struggles, his own burdens to bear as a Blue Lantern. His power relied on hope, but hope wasn’t always easy to hold onto, especially when faced with the harsh realities of their world. Jaime, with his scarab constantly fighting for control, understood the pressure of bearing a burden too well.

They began to train together, swapping stories and sharing experiences. Jaime couldn’t help but admire how Y/N carried himself, how his calm demeanor contrasted with the chaos around them. In Y/N's presence, Jaime found a sense of peace he never knew he needed.

As the days passed, their bond grew stronger, and soon, it was clear that their connection was something deeper than just friendship. They cared for each other in a way neither of them had anticipated. Jaime had always been reluctant to open up, especially about his life as a superhero, but with Y/N, everything seemed easier. Y/N's hope gave Jaime the courage to confront his own fears, to believe that maybe things would get better.

One evening, after a particularly intense fight against a group of invading aliens, the two of them stood on the rooftop of a building, gazing at the stars above them.

"You know," Jaime said, breaking the silence, "I never thought I’d find someone who gets it. Who really understands what it’s like to constantly fight for something bigger than yourself."

Y/N smiled, his blue ring casting a soft glow on his face. "Hope is something that’s always with us, Jaime. Sometimes, you just need someone to help you see it."

Jaime turned to face him, his heart beating a little faster. "I think I see it now."

Y/N's eyes softened. "I’m glad."

Jaime reached out, gently taking Y/N's hand in his. The weight of the world seemed a little less heavy with Y/N by his side, the constant flicker of hope lighting the path ahead. And for the first time in a long while, Jaime allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could make a difference together—not only as Blue Beetle and Blue Lantern but as something more.

"Let’s keep fighting," Jaime said with a smile.

Y/N squeezed his hand. "Together."

And under the stars, with hope shining brighter than ever, they shared a kiss between each other as Jaime's sister, Milagro, took a picture and shouted down from the rooftop of the house. “Mami! Tio Rudy! Nana! Jaime has a boyfriend!”

[agirlsawalittlerose]

This is Me Trying

ModernAU!Aegon x OFC

Fresh out of rehab, Aegon Targaryen is looking for a way back into music when he meets Victoria, a talented but stubborn singer-songwriter who wants nothing to do with his family’s record label. Reluctantly thrown together, they form an unexpected creative partnership, finding common ground in music and shared struggles.

TW: Alcoholism, Addiction, Sexism

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 21: What is it about men?

Sara had no interest in playing the uptight friend, nor had she ever found any satisfaction in being the mom of her friend group.  

She just wanted some kind of order in the universe—for things to go the way they were supposed to, for karma to catch up with bad people, and for good people to actually succeed. That was all she hoped for herself, after all.  

She had always told herself it was because she was a Virgo. That was also the reason, she figured, why directors and casting agents seemed to instinctively know she wasn’t the easiest to tame (Leo rising, after all).  

Her Pisces moon, on the other hand, made her particularly susceptible to a third category of people she had only encountered in adulthood: the broken ones.  

She had wondered why she could only truly understand—and be understood by—people who were broken. But then, thinking about the father she had never known, she started noticing the cracks in herself, too. In the way every story she made up had a happy ending. In the way she always felt a quiet, gnawing concern whenever she came across someone broken—someone like her.  

It was the third week in a row that she had found Vic practically passed out on the sofa. The first time it happened, she had assumed it was just exhaustion. Sure, it was a little sad not seeing her at the pub as often, but it was also a relief. Vic was finally doing the thing she had fought so hard for, even if it meant dragging herself to the end of the day too tired to talk—or be talked to.  

But then Sara had noticed the empty wine bottle on the floor next to the sofa.  

And it wasn’t that she wanted to mother Vic or scold her like some nagging friend. But her Pisces moon was screaming at her—loud, insistent, impossible to ignore—that something wasn’t right.  

"You should know that after twenty, sleeping in weird positions destroys your back," Sara announced, slapping Vic’s foot to wake her up as she crossed the room to open the window.

The smell of wine was so strong it almost made her nauseous. Or maybe that was just the growing worry gnawing at her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vic rub her face and turn over on the sofa. "Tell me about it," she muttered, voice still thick with sleep. "My back is wrecked."

Sara barely avoided kicking the empty wine bottle on the floor. She didn’t have the heart to pointedly pick it up in front of Vic. "Rough night?" she asked as casually as possible, lighting a cigarette by the window.

Vic, now somewhat conscious, sat up with a groan. "I recorded All You Wanted for seven hours yesterday," she said flatly. "I hate it now."

"Shame. I like that one," Sara replied with a shrug.

"I liked it better when Aegon sang it," Vic admitted, scanning the room for something. There was a tinge of something in her voice—something sad—that Sara immediately picked up on.

Once Vic found her bag (and a cigarette), she joined Sara by the window.

"I haven’t seen him around the house," Sara noted. And honestly, that was weird. Those two had been practically fused for weeks, impossible to be around without feeling like an intruder—or worrying she’d walk in on them naked, unapologetically all over each other.

Then the contract came, and Aegon vanished.

"Haven’t seen him since Tuesday," Vic murmured, lighting her cigarette. That was odd.

It was Friday.

"Allen barely lets me breathe, which is fine—I mean, the first show’s in two months—but every time Aegon stops by the label, Aemond suddenly has some urgent, top-secret meeting to drag me to, or he locks me up in the booth for hours," Vic huffed, “It’s almost like he’s doing it on purpose." she said, not really thinking about it, though frustration crept into her voice.

At the end of the day, she was only human. And maybe a good fuck with her boyfriend would’ve been a better stress reliever than downing a bottle of wine every night. Sara couldn’t exactly blame her.

Also Sara was starting to think maybe she was right and Aemond was doing it on purpose.

Maybe Aegon hadn’t been wrong that night at the pub when he clocked his brother’s behavior. And that pompous, arrogant sore loser definitely deserved to be called out on it.

"Well, thank God it’s Friday, babe," Sara said, trying to lift the mood—though her eyes flicked to the empty wine bottle by the couch.

"Yeah, no," Vic snorted. "I have to go to the label even tomorrow." She exhaled a humorless laugh, staring blankly out the window, ash collecting at the end of her cigarette. "And on Sunday, Jen booked a full day with some Hackney photographer so I can film twenty TikToks hyping up the single."

"Sounds awful."

"You don’t get it. She rented an Airbnb—wants to pretend it’s my actual bedroom and have me film videos in pajamas, like I just spontaneously wrote All You Wanted there on the spot."

Sara let out an exaggerated groan of disgust. Normally, that kind of reaction would’ve made Vic laugh—but not today. She kept staring out the window, and Sara was pretty sure that what came out of her mouth a second later was a genuinely miserable sigh.

Fucking Pisces moon. It was always the damn Pisces moon. Now that she saw the full picture, it was all painfully clear:  

She was happy for Vic, of course she was. But none of this was happening on her terms. It should’ve worked out the way Vic wanted—not according to the plans of whichever puppet master was pulling her strings this week.

Sara’s thoughts were cut off by the sound of Vic’s phone ringing, followed by the way she lunged to grab it from her bag, carefully sidestepping the empty wine bottle by the couch—just as she carefully avoided Sara’s gaze.

She answered while stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray on the armrest, mumbling a series of “yeah”s and “mmhmm”s that, for the first time that morning, carried the faintest trace of excitement. And that terrified Sara. That faint spark—how fragile it felt. Like it could be smothered at any second by this goddamn grind turning Vic into a one-woman content factory.

“I gotta go. Aemond’s picking me up in fifteen,” Vic said, scooping her bag off the couch. “At least we’ll swing by the studio before the torture begins.”

“That already sounds like a way better plan,” Sara said gently. Maybe telling him to fuck off could wait, but it still didn’t explain why that other idiot—his brother—hadn’t tried a little harder.

“Right? And he finally admitted my version of the bassline in Cut Song is better than his,” Vic replied, something lighting up in her again. The sweetness of Aemond’s praise worked on her like a balm—calming, soothing, grounding. It was written all over her face.

Then she was gone, vanishing in a flash. The moment Sara heard the shower start upstairs, she finally picked up the empty bottle from the floor and, as her fucking Pisces moon took over, started dialing Aegon’s number on her phone.

Sara had heard about those red bricks a billion times. She’d heard Vic talk about the mortifying public incident a few months back—how the shame had eventually morphed into pure joy every time she mentioned the life she now shared with the love of her life.

The same love of her life who was now very clearly neglecting her, and with whom Sara absolutely needed to have a word—just to make sure he was putting in the effort Vic deserved. Or else she’d personally rip his balls off. She quickly started scanning through her mental toolbox to figure out what would be the best method for this lovely little task.

“Hey!”  

The voice that greeted her when the door opened was soft and friendly—but it wasn’t Aegon. Instead, it was a blonde girl with big eyes, looking at her with a mix of polite curiosity and the kind of familiarity that said she definitely knew who Sara was.

Well, Sara knew who she was too. Aegon’s sister. She’d seen her a few times at the pub for open mics, though they’d never spoken.

“Hi! I’m looking for your brother,” Sara jumped right in, trying to keep her mission vibes in check.

“The wild card or the psychopath?” the girl asked with deadpan seriousness.

Sara burst out laughing. “Exactly…?” she shrugged, and even though the girl didn’t immediately get what was funny, after a beat she lit up and laughed too.

“It’s for me! Be right down!” Aegon’s voice boomed from upstairs.

His sister motioned for Sara to come inside. The Targaryen place looked more like a five-star restaurant than a home. Of course it did. Aegon was the type of guy made for Louboutins and Christmas in Cuba. Nice catch, Vic.

She led Sara into a huge living room, asking if she wanted some tea while collecting a few crystals from the coffee table and turning them over in her hands. Sara shook her head—tea wasn’t the priority right now—but curiosity got the better of her.

“Black obsidian?” she asked, tilting her chin toward the girl's closed fist.

The girl nodded, still fully committed to making oat milk coffee without letting go of her stones. “For grounding. There’s something in the air I really don’t like lately. Must be my Pisces moon...” she murmured, pouring the milk with care.

Sara barely had time to nod in total agreement—finally someone else who sensed the vibe was off—before Aegon walked into the room.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sara snapped the moment she saw him—maybe a bit too aggressively.

“Hey, you’re the one who showed up at my place—so you don’t get to ask why I’m always soaking wet every time we run into each other,” he said, raking a hand through his dripping hair.

His sister, coffee in one hand and her crystals still clutched in the other, mumbled a quick apology and left them alone in the living room.

“No, genius, I mean what the hell are you doing and why the fuck is my best friend miserable, hasn’t seen you since Tuesday, and you’re just… doing nothing?” Sara shot back, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Aegon rolled his eyes as he dropped onto the sofa. It was painfully obvious that if something was going on, he wasn’t about to just admit it.  

“Look, it’s not like I want to leave her alone and miserable. It’s the label’s schedule and they clearly don’t want me there.”

“Why the hell do you say it like you couldn’t care less?” Sara pressed, arms crossed now, suspicious as hell.

He shot her a look that could’ve fried her on the spot. “You think I don’t care? First they scrap my album again and now it’s like they don’t want me to even see her,” he said, throwing his arms wide in frustration, the anger in his voice more real than she expected. 

Maybe she’d misjudged him. “Every time I try to see her, she’s exhausted. And whenever I swing by the label…”

“She’s in some ‘super secret, totally off-limits’ meeting with Aemond or locked in the booth in the recording room,” Sara finished for him, deflated.

Aegon gestured at her like, exactly, then dropped his head into his hands.

Sara debated for a long moment whether to tell him what she really came to say. She wasn’t sure if he’d understand, or worse, if it would trigger him. She knew his history. Maybe he wasn’t the right person to bring into this mess. But still…

“She’s been drinking a lot lately,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper as she watched his reaction closely.

Miraculously, Aegon’s head shot up. His eyes locked onto hers, intense, urging her to keep going.

“I mean… a lot,” Sara added, needing to make it clear this wasn’t some ‘Friday night wind-down’ thing. This was a bottle of wine by herself—sometimes more—and her passed out on the sofa until morning.

And Aegon understood.

“What shift do you have tonight?” he asked suddenly, like the pieces had just clicked together in his head.

“I’m closing,” she replied.

“Good. Leave me your house keys.”

******

The lights in the studio were low and amber-honeyed, soft enough to blur the edges of things. One of the smaller rooms, the kind wrapped so tightly in soundproofing you could hear your own heartbeat if you sat still long enough. Vic perched on a stool near the mixing desk, sleeves shoved to her elbows, one boot hooked around the footrest, the other planted firm on the ground like she needed at least one part of her to feel steady.

Aemond sat beside her, nursing a mug of black coffee like it held all the answers, nodding along as the rough mix played through the monitors.

Her voice came through raw, frayed in all the right places. Unpolished, but intentional. She liked that. Honesty had a kind of texture you couldn’t fake.

When the track ended, silence stretched, thick and slightly charged. Vic glanced sideways at Allen.

“Well?”

He sipped his coffee first—always had to do that, like opinions required marinating in caffeine—then leaned back, long legs outstretched, casual. Too casual. “It’s good.”

“Good,” she echoed, dry. Her eyes shifted to Aemond, looking for the flicker of something—approval, maybe, or recognition. That steady kind he gave her sometimes when no one else was paying attention.

“Mhm.” His gaze slid to hers. That little glance he did, the one that always felt like it came with subtext in italics. “There’s something in the second verse. Not a flaw, exactly. Just... a moment. It dips.”

“Emotionally?” she asked. “Or melodically?”

“Bit of both,” he said, leaning forward, elbows to knees. “That line about ‘waiting in doorways with empty hands’—that’s the gut punch. But then you back off. The tension’s all built up and instead of snapping the thread, you let it go slack. I’d lean in.”

She hated that it made sense. Hated more that she couldn’t argue.

“I like it understated.”

“Understated’s great,” Allen said, stepping in now, voice softer. “But you’re not meant to sit in the background, Vic. You’re not wallpaper. People should hear you and forget to breathe.”

Something flickered in her. Small. Defiant. Unwilling.

Allen had this talent that Vic found dangerously compelling—he always managed to make her feel like the most precious person in the world. And yet, Vic couldn’t help noticing how things always seemed to turn out the way he wanted.  

Probably part of being a manager, she thought.

She shrugged.

Allen tilted his head. “You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you don’t. Not all the way.”

She looked down at the scuffed toes of her boots. She didn’t have an answer for that.

Allen let it breathe for a moment before going on. “You’re right on the edge of something,” he said. Then turned to Aemond, like calling in a second opinion. “You feel it too, right?”

Aemond didn’t answer at first. Just looked at her—really looked—like he was reading some private translation only he could understand.

Vic shifted under it, not sure if it made her feel grounded or exposed.

“That shoot Jen set up,” Allen said, steering the moment back. “It’s this weekend, yeah?”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why?”

His tone didn’t change. Cool, practiced nonchalance. “Just wondering if you’ve thought about how you want to show up.”

“This the part where you tell me to wear fishnets and glitter?”

He grinned. “Nah. You’ve already got the aesthetic. It’s about owning it. Making it unmistakable. People remember Stevie’s shawls. Debbie’s bleach. Sometimes the right look cements a moment into myth.”

She didn’t reply, but didn’t roll her eyes either. Just held his gaze a second too long, until she could feel herself starting to believe he meant she could actually become a myth.

Allen leaned against the console, arms crossed, smile like he was in on something. “You know hair theory?”

Vic looked at him sideways. “Hair theory?”

“Yeah. All the greats have a signature look. Some little detail that makes them unmissable.”

“So I need to shave my head and become someone’s Pinterest board?”

He laughed. Low, warm. “Oh Jesus, not shave! That fringe? The way it moves when you sing—it’s stupid photogenic.”

She almost smiled. Almost. He didn’t even notice how crooked it was from years of DIY trims—or maybe he did and just didn’t care.

“You’ve already got the voice,” Allen said, starting to circle her now, slow like an orbit. “The edge. The truth. But a recognisable look might even give you a little more—” he searched for the word “—swagger.”

That made her laugh, short and involuntary. The way he’d said it was warm, but not suffocating, and Vic thought that if Allen had been her manager back when she was a scared little girl with three thousand hang-ups about her place in the world… maybe things would’ve been a little easier.

“That’s not even a real word.”

“Sure it is. Bite. A little ‘don’t fuck with me’ in your walk.”

She looked at Aemond again, like do you believe this?, but he just gave the smallest nod—the kind you could pretend not to notice if you weren’t ready to take it seriously.

“People should see you,” Allen said, sitting on the edge of the table across from her, “and know exactly who the fuck you are.”

Vic let her head fall back. “Feels a little... calculated.”

“It is,” he said. “But so is walking on stage with a setlist. Doesn’t make it fake. You’re not selling out, Vic. You’re carving space for the real stuff to live.”

Vic stared at him for a second, grateful—really grateful—that he’d hit the exact nerve of her fears, ones that now felt a little childish and a little too idealistic.  

She weighed it for a moment, wondering if there was anything wrong with trusting him completely. Maybe even handing over the reins—at least for the cluttered, tangled parts of her brain she couldn’t seem to sort out in this new life that was moving faster than she could keep up with.

She felt like she was learning how to walk for the first time—that was the right metaphor. And right now, with her legs still shaky and her balance uncertain, the temptation to reach up toward Allen’s outstretched hand was suddenly strong.

“Maybe a bob,” Allen said under his breath, stepping in front of her, reaching out with slow confidence and gently tilting her chin like he was testing the silhouette.

Vic instinctively gathered her hair in one hand. She remembered that night with Sara—drunk, dramatic, declaring with absolute certainty that bad bitches wore their hair long. That Vic didn’t have the bone structure for risks like bobs.  

She thought of Aegon’s fingers tangled in her hair at Ruskin Park, the way he looked at her with that kind of distracted love neither of them was ready to name.

“It’d suit you,” Allen said.

Her head snapped up, surprised by how gentle his voice had gone.

Vic bit her tongue to keep from asking if he really meant it.

After all, he was supposed to believe in her. He had fought to have her on his roster. He’d loved All You Wanted, loved her demo, had thrown himself into her project (God knows what Stevie Nicks would think of that). He’d treated her album like it was a child.

She didn’t answer. Just picked up her guitar and started strumming the same three chords again, a little slower this time. Thoughtful.

Across from her, Aemond stayed quiet, but she could feel his eyes on her—curious, watchful, present. He studied her like a song half-finished, waiting to see where the chorus landed. Then he gave the smallest shrug, as if to say, It’s not a bad idea.

And Allen, well. He saw things. Named them.

If he said it would help, maybe it would.

She told herself it was just a haircut.

But even as she played, her mouth started shaping that half-finished chorus again—the one Allen swore might be the second single.  

And she wasn’t sure anymore if she actually wanted to cut her hair or if she just wanted to hear him say she was doing okay.

“Anyway,” Allen said, stretching like the conversation hadn’t just curled something deep inside her, “that second verse. Think about it. Or don’t. You’re the one in the booth.”

******

Vic didn’t need big speeches or candlelit five-course dinners—if anything, she’d mock the hell out of him for trying. But he could do quiet. Thoughtful. Her kind of romantic.

So Aegon let himself into Sara’s apartment with the keys she'd dropped into his palm that afternoon and got to work.

First: clean up. Not a deep clean—she'd smell that shit immediately and get suspicious—but just enough to make space feel a little softer and relieve her from doing it herself. The coffee table was wiped down. The blanket she always curled up with folded over the sofa, then unfolded and draped again because it looked too staged. The lamp near the sofa clicked on, casting a warm, low glow that made everything feel calmer, even to him.

He set up their old DVD player next.  

Moulin Rouge! still in its scratched plastic case, cover slightly torn at the edge. They’d watched it once weeks ago—she’d cried and tried to pretend she hadn’t, he’d pretended not to notice and then teased her about it anyway. She’d rolled her eyes, called him a little shit, but smiled the whole time.

The menu screen flickered on, Ewan McGregor’s voice caught mid-note, looping endlessly. He turned the volume low and left it waiting.

Dinner was next.  

Takeout—of course. Anything else would’ve felt wrong. She didn’t trust people who liked cooking too much. Thai was safer. Pad See Ew, crispy tofu, green curry—the comfort food she never ordered herself but always stole from his plate.

Now all that was left to do was wait.  

And try not to look like he was waiting.

He paced a little. Changed the position of the chopsticks. Adjusted the blanket again.  

Sat down. Got up. Checked his phone. Zero texts. Nothing from her.  

Not that he expected one.

She was exhausted lately. He could see it in the gaps between their moments—the way she slouched in doorframes, how her sentences trailed off when she thought no one was listening. And if Sara was telling the truth—and she usually was—Vic wasn’t just exhausted. She was slipping. Going quiet in a way that didn’t look like peace.

Aegon hated that. 

Hated feeling like the world was making her smaller when all he wanted was to see her whole.

He needed to grow a pair, set aside his stupid jealousy that she definitely didn’t deserve, stop selfishly obsessing over his damn album, and get back to focusing on what was now his priority: Vic.

So he waited. Quiet, in her space, in the soft light, with a movie and dinner and the tiny hope that maybe this would be enough to make her exhale.

And then—

Keys jingled outside the door.

His chest pulled tight.

The door swung open.  

And she froze. Like her brain short-circuited at the sight of him in her apartment.

She was mid-shrug out of her jacket, bag still half-slipped off one shoulder, hair damp at the ends from a light rain outside. Her eyes darted from him to the couch to the takeout and then back to him, wide with suspicion.

“What the fuck,” she said softly, blinking.

Aegon raised both hands like don’t shoot. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, a soft smile blossoming on her face.

“I broke in,” he said. “Left a trail of destruction. Probably microwaved your fish sauce.”

Vic narrowed her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Is that green curry?”

“Yes.”

“Did you—” She stepped inside slowly, eyes sweeping over the room like she was trying to spot the trap. “Did you set up Moulin Rouge?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Well… Sara’s out. And you haven’t exactly been returning texts, so…”

Her brows lifted, finally catching up to what was happening.

It hit her all at once, visible in the way her posture shifted. The bag thudded to the floor. Her jacket joined it. She clearly wasn’t used to this. Not from anyone. Not something sweet, and quiet, and no-pressure. 

She nudged him with her hip as she passed, heading for the sofa. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Aegon followed, slower. “You think I’ve been what?” he asked, the laugh in his voice edged with disbelief. “I’ve been trying to see you for days.”

He sat down beside her, close but not touching. “I missed you,” she said finally, voice almost too soft. “A stupid amount.”

Aegon looked at her, studied the edges of her face like he’d been trying to memorize them in her absence. “It felt like the fucking universe was in on it.”

She nodded, something small and sad in it. “It really did.”

They sat there for a moment, the kind of silence that wasn’t heavy, just honest.

Then she glanced sideways, a half-smile tugging at her mouth. “So this is how you say “I missed you too”.”

“I was romantically pursuing you against odds worthy of a tragic Victorian novel, thank you very much.”

She let out a quiet laugh. “A real martyr.”

“So brave.”

They both smiled at the same time, soft and slightly shaky, like exhaling tension neither of them knew they were still holding.

And then he saw it.

The hair.

Shorter. A sharp bob now, grazing her jaw, with a fringe that looked like it hadn’t fully decided what it wanted to be yet. It framed her face in a way that made her look… sharper. Like she was cosplaying confidence and hadn’t fully committed to the role.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared a second longer than was socially acceptable.

She noticed.

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” Her hand lifted to her bangs, nervous, defensive. “I cut it. It’s fine. Allen wanted ‘a  look’. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Aegon tilted his head. “Do you like it?”

Vic didn’t answer right away. That was the answer.

“I don’t hate it,” she said after a beat.

He leaned closer. Gently reached out, ran two fingers along the edge of her bangs, soft and damp.

“You’re allowed to say you don’t like it,” she muttered, eyes flitting away again. “I won’t cry about it.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” he said, voice softening.

She raised her eyebrows, skeptical.

“I was thinking,” he said, trailing her cheeks with his thumb, “You look like a dangerous French film student,” he said.

She laughed once, sharp. “That’s weirdly specific.”

“I mean that in the best way. You’re like, mysterious now. Might seduce me and then ghost me for three years.”

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, but she was smiling now.

“I’m serious.” He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “You look hot.”

Her cheeks flushed. She tried to roll her eyes again, but it didn’t land. Her hands moved to his shirt, tugging him a little closer.

He didn’t resist.

Her lips were right there, and when he kissed her it felt like opening a window. Warm, easy, a little clumsy at first—like they were both trying to remember how this worked after too many days apart. Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugged just enough to make him exhale against her mouth.

The second kiss was messier. Hungrier. Less I missed you and more I need you right now. His hands found her hips, slid beneath the hem of her shirt, skin warm and familiar under his palms. 

She broke the kiss long enough to murmur, “Wait, the movie—”

“Fuck the movie,” he said, already steering them toward the hallway.

“But it’s Moulin Rouge.”

“It’ll still be Moulin Rouge tomorrow.”

“You lit a candle, didn’t you?”

“I was trying to be romantic, Jesus—”

She laughed against his neck, breath catching as he pressed her against the hallway wall.

Their mouths found each other again, and again, and it felt like breathing for the first time in days. Like shaking off someone else’s version of who she was supposed to be.

By the time they reached her bedroom, Moulin Rouge was still looping in the background, the menu music tinny and distant. Aegon barely noticed.

He realised he didn’t care how long it took for her to feel like herself again. He’d be here. Quietly. On her red sofa. In her bed. Wherever she needed.

[wildtobio]

Between Cheers and Silence

Finnick Odair x reader

During the Victory Tour, you and Finnick Odair navigate the pressures of the Capitol. Starting as distant acquaintances, your bond grows stronger as you find solace in each other's company.

The train sped through the districts, each passing landscape a reminder of the world beyond the arena. You sat by the window, watching the scenery blur past, your mind drifting to the events that had led you here. The Victory Tour was supposed to be a celebration, but for you, it was a constant reminder of the lives lost and the battles you wish you never fought.

Finnick entered the compartment, his presence a stark contrast to the solitude you felt. He sat across from you, his gaze assessing.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, his tone neutral.

You sighed, not quite meeting his eyes. “It’s hard. Every district we visit brings back memories I’d rather forget.”

Finnick nodded, understanding but maintaining a certain distance. “We have to put on a brave face, for them and for ourselves.”

The train’s whistle blew as it approached the next stop. You and Finnick exchanged a brief look, bracing yourselves for the spectacle that awaited. The Capitol had orchestrated grand celebrations in each district, forcing you to relive the horrors of the arena under the guise of victory.

As you stepped off the train, the cheers of the crowd rang in your ears. Finnick’s hand brushed yours, a fleeting contact that grounded you momentarily. Together, you smiled and waved, playing the part of the victorious tributes.

The day was a whirlwind of speeches, feasts, and public appearances. By the time the sun began to set, you were exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Finnick suggested finding a quiet spot away from the festivities, and you agreed, grateful for a break.

You found a small garden illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns. Finnick leaned against a tree, while you sat on a nearby bench. The scent of the flowers filled the air, providing a brief rest from the chaos.

“This is better,” he said, his voice breaking the silence.

You nodded, feeling awkward. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

Finnick was your mentor in the games and you are extremely grateful for all the things he did for you, from training you and giving you advice on how to handle the arena, to just being there for you when you got out, providing you a moment of peace similar to what you're feeling now. Still, he was much of a stranger to you.

For a while, neither of you spoke, and the distance between you was a reminder of the roles you had played: mentor and tribute, now victors thrown into the Capitol’s spotlight.

Finnick broke the silence first. “You know, it’s okay to talk about it. The Games, I mean.”

You looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his eyes. “I just… I don’t even know where to start.”

He walked over and sat beside you on the bench, the distance between you closing slightly. “We don’t have to start with the Games. Tell me something about yourself, something you enjoyed before all of this.”

You hesitated, then decided to share. “I used to love painting. It was a way to escape, to create something beautiful out of nothing.”

Finnick smiled, a genuine warmth in his expression. “Painting, huh? You don't seem like an artsy type of person.”

“What about you?” you asked, feeling a bit more at ease. “What did you enjoy?”

“Swimming,” he replied. “The ocean has always been my refuge. It’s where I feel free.”

You shared a small smile, finding common ground in the simple joys that once defined your lives. The conversation flowed naturally, stories of your pasts intertwining and revealing parts of yourselves that had been hidden by the trauma of the Games.

The night deepened, and the sounds of celebration faded into the background. In the quiet of the garden, you and Finnick found a moment of peace, a brief escape from the demands of the Victory Tour. He began to speak more openly, sharing moments of joy and pain that shaped him into the person he was now.

You listened, grateful for his openness. In return, you shared more about yourself, and the experiences that had molded you.

As the night wore on, you knew that the tour would continue, the challenges and expectations ever-present. But in that moment, with Finnick by your side, you felt a glimmer of hope.

And so, as the lanterns flickered, you and Finnick Odair embraced the fleeting tranquility, ready to face another day in the Capitol’s game, but no longer alone.

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

Hi there, sending you lots of love and good cheer, darling💕💕💕💕 Love your work, really respect your contribution to our favorite fandom!

I would love to see a work that reflects the friendship between Baldwin and Saladin, rulers from two different nations, cultures and religions, yet find common ground and maintain good relations. I have a rough, simple plot in my head: Baldwin visits Saladin, being his guest during one of the truces. The two, despite the war conflict, get along well and are friendly with each other. At one moment Saladin notices that Baldwin is getting sick due to a combination of heat and illness, and he immediately takes steps to help him by keeping him from fainting, offering him his bed, calling his doctors and offering him all sorts of comforts✨

That's it, I really like the idea of them acting like real men (and they really are), being very human and understanding, respecting each other and also not shy to show their softer side and support each other! I hope this description is enough to give you a rough idea of what I'd like to see! Thank you in advance🥰

I apologize if there are any mistakes, I'm writing through a translator✌️

♧ Old Friend - King Baldwin & Saladin ♧

♧ Angst ♧

A/N: Hey girl !!!! I was so exited to do this request, I love it so much and I really hope it came out how you wanted it to 😭🩷. I love your art so much and youre such an amazing friend, this is the least I can do 🫶. As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

PS: THIS IS NOT A SHIP FIC. Putting emphasis on that 😅

TW: Leprosy, Mentions of Fainting

It was late in the afternoon by the time Baldwin along with his party of royal officials and advisors arrived in Egypt.

As much as long travel weakened his already frail form, this journey was important. He along with his advisors would be guests at the Sultan’s palace for a few days while a treaty of peace was written to be signed by the two of them, putting an end to the conflict fought for hundreds of years.

Baldwin was in pain from the long, strenuous day spent on horseback. His body ached and the blazing sun left his heavily bandaged body overheated.

But there was much to be done before he could rest.

His mind had raced for the entire journey. As much as the young king kept up his usual calm temperament, he couldn't help but feel slightly nervous.

This was his first time speaking with Saladin since the Christian’s victory many years ago and he hoped that despite their past, they would find common ground.

As the palace came into view from a distance, the knot in Baldwin's throat tightened.

Saladin, along with his own advisors, greeted the group at the palace entrance, instructing his servants to help Baldwin down from his horse after noticing the young king’s slightly slumped over position.

Baldwin thanked them and straightened his posture, attempting to keep his professional appearance despite the pain he felt.

They said their greetings and entered the palace to begin the first day of affairs. For Baldwin, every step was agony. He felt dizzy and the bandages were too tight around his skin, but he had to keep his failing body upright.

“Just a few more hours,” he told himself as they entered the Great Hall.

As everybody took their assigned seats, Baldwin found himself seated next to Saladin. They spoke for a while as everyone else got settled. The young king's nerves calmed themselves as he and the sultan became acquainted, even agreeing to bury the past and look to the future.

As the meeting proceeded, Baldwin felt himself fading in and out of consciousness.

It was already dark outside and he assumed the meeting would go for far less time. Saladin noticed this and made a mental note to keep an eye on him, just in case his condition worsened.

Until one point, Baldwin could not keep himself upright anymore and felt himself falling to the side with nothing he could do about it.

A few of Saladin’s guards managed to catch him, helping his weak body back into the chair. As Baldwin came back into consciousness, he could barely make out what was happening.

Saladin ended the meeting and requested everyone to go to their respective chambers for a while before dinner was served.

He placed a hand on Baldwin’s shoulder, searching for his barely open eyes.

“I am very sorry about this my friend, I should have seen to your adequate care when you arrived”

“It's quite alright, I’m just tired..” the young king replied weakly.

“Come, I will show you to your quarters” the sultan said with a reassuring smile, gesturing for the guards to help Baldwin to his feet.

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

Once inside, Saladin instructed the guards to fetch his private physicians immediately as Baldwin sat down on the large bed. He had regained a small amount of strength, just enough to hold himself upright at least.

“I can't thank you enough for your hospitality,” the young king said, his voice still raspy and faint.

“It is the least I can do, truely” Saladin replied as the physicians filed into the room.

They worked quickly to remove his old bandages, cleaning his wounds and covering them with new bandages as Baldwin lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

All the while, Saladin stood beside the closed door with his eyes fixed on the wooden floor to give the king some privacy while still ensuring he was alright.

Once the physicians left the room, the sultan approached Baldwin’s bedside. The young king now wore a white sleep robe, his mask was removed to reveal his bandaged face, framed by blonde curls.

Upon noticing his presence, Baldwin gave him a small, grateful smile.

“How are you feeling?” Saladin asked, taking a seat on the chair beside the bed.

“Much better now, thank you”, Baldwin replied with half lidded eyes.

Once again, the two got to talking well into the night.

“As much as I enjoy your company sultan, it is getting quite late” Baldwin said, covering a soft yawn with his bandaged hand.

“Yes I suppose it is. Would you like me to stay and watch over you? Just in case something happens” Saladin offered.

Baldwin smiled weakly, “I'd like that” he replied before letting his eyes fall shut.

The young king was fast asleep within minutes, leaving Saladin to watch over him. It was odd seeing him like this. A young man who was once his sworn enemy was now trusting him to watch over him while he slept.

Baldwin looked much different in sleep he had discovered. His face was softened, especially without the mask. The sultan had always seen the young king as a man, but in that moment he realized just how young he really was.

Only twenty years old and had already experienced such hardship. It was truly admirable.

While Saladin respected Baldwin as a king, he also felt compelled to look after him. Like an old friend from long ago.

He looked so peaceful like this, his fluttering eyelids closed with soft, slightly audible breaths escaping his parted lips.

Once he was sure that Baldwin was sleeping comfortably, Saladin stood and covered him with a blanket, tucking him in gently before deciding to sit back down and finally allowing his eyes to close.

He soon dozed off into a deep sleep, content with the knowledge that his guest and friend was alright. 

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

The following morning, Baldwin woke first. His eyes opened slowly to reveal the dimly lit room. As everything came into view, he realized that he was not alone.

Saladin was still seated in the same place from the night before, exept only this time, he was sleeping soundly with his head propped up on his hand.

Gratitude swelled in Baldwin’s heart as he realized that his friend had remained true to his promise and stayed to watch over him.

Noticing that it was still early morning, the young king closed his eyes once more and allowed himself to drift off again with a small smile on his face in anticipation of the days to come

[tinypandabasketballfarm]

ehm...just woke up and did this? Well, basically just 1k of a lead up to confessions. Go get it Eddie!

first thing I wrote and shared in 4 years

Their breaths started to mix. It was slow, measured and most of all careful.

“Stevie,” he breathed out.

“Yeah?” Steve whispered back, his thumb doing the back-and-forth motion on Eddie’s cheek. Eddie fought his inner battle against leaning into the touch. Steve had his face in his hands, gently cupped.

“What is happening?” Eddie didn’t dare to speak above a whisper of a breath. He felt the bubble around them. It was just them here, in this moment, nothing else mattered. His own hands, slightly trembling, ghosting over Steve’s hips. Steve’s forehead touched his, their noses brushing, and Eddie held his breath. Frozen in place he waited.

“I…I’m not sure,” he confessed. He brushed their noses against each other, and Eddie stopped a whine in his throat. He wanted to connect them, but he didn’t dare - fear would not let him. This was too delicate. Their friendship finally had solid ground. He dared to say they became best friends since Eddie was hospitalised. Steve keeping him company in the hospital, keeping Wayne company. The former jock was a constant support throughout the whole recovery, always reliable, always there, always eager to help. Who was Eddie to not appreciate it? Who was Eddie to not find it absolutely heartwarming? Who was Eddie, a gay man in small town Hawkins Indiana, to not find it charming? So yeah, he developed a crush on the reformed King. How could he not, he has eyes, and have you seen Steve? That man is a walking wet dream.

So, this? The closeness, the tender touches? Yeah, Eddie was threading carefully and trying to keep some common sense (the fear helps). He had no intentions of confessing his crush. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if Steve figured out, he’s into men! Eddie thought of hiding it, but then he got to know Robin. During one of their many Party movie nights she came out to him. She told him about the bathroom, about the muppet voice and suddenly Eddie thought to himself “maybe I won’t have to hide.” So, he didn’t. He didn’t flaunt it, of course, he didn’t have a death wish (not anymore at least), but he didn’t stop a comment or a quip if he felt it. He wanted to ease Steve into it. Into the whole idea of Eddie being queer. Bless the The Hair, he took it in stride and never prodded. He wasn’t put out by the flirting, sometimes even flirted back (!), made comments to Eddie’s comments and it all felt weirdly organic. It felt safe. Still, as it had never been said out loud, he could not be sure Steve knew he was gay.

Eddie mulled this over. He couldn’t indulge this without being sure what it meant to him. He took a staggering breath and braced himself. His hands found steady purchase on Steve chest (tiddies!) as he slowly shook his head from side to side, forehead never leaving Steve’s.

“Stevie,” he tried to keep the wobble out of his voice. “I…”

“Yes?” Steve nudged his forehead, lips coming dangerously close to his. Eddie went against the screaming in his head to hold on tight as he took a tentative step back. He focused on his hands placed gingerly on Steve’s chest (tiddies!).

“Steve, I…” he tried again but failed as he locked onto those hazel green eyes. Half lidded, Steve’s eyes were almost glossed over and there was something akin to a need in them. Eddie took in the sight of him, the parted lips, relaxed eyebrows, the way his chest was expanding on deep breaths. A burning fire awoke in him and the need to devour Steve got overwhelming. He was beautiful, borderline ethereal, in the setting sunlight. “What is this, Stevie?” his voice came out hoarse. Steve’s eyes roamed his form and locked onto his lips. Eddie gulped and Steve stared transfixed at his Adam’s apple.

“This…it just…,” Steve appeared to be having a hard time piecing together a sentence. It did nothing to calm the fire inside Eddie. “I need to…,” Steve’s breath came harder then. His eyes clouded over; his left hand went to Eddie’s hair at the nape of his neck holding him firmly. Eddie’s breath hitched as Steve’s right thumb glided over his bottom lip. “Want you.”

The inside fire melted Eddie completely. He went gooey for a moment allowing himself to bask in Steve’s confession, in the pure raw way it tumbled out of his mouth. It must be a dream, Eddie thought to himself, there was no other explanation – it certainly felt like one of his many dreams he had had about the boy with soft hazel eyes.

Steve went to close the distance Eddie had put between them, the hand in Eddie’s hair guiding his head to a position Eddie knew was meant for kissing. He stopped him by putting pressure on Steve’s chest (tiddieeeees). “No,” he stood firmly. Steve halted immediately, his eyes losing the glossed over look. He appeared to sober up, to take in what Eddie said.

“Shit. Sorry, I-I thought-,” he stummered.

“No, Steve, I didn’t mean…,” Eddie huffed. He needed to explain for Steve started to look panicked, which was the last thing Eddie wanted. He took a deep breath and bunched up Steve’s shirt in his hands not allowing him to move away. “I want this too,” he whispered, “but I-,” he let out a sharp breath in frustration. He had no idea how to do this. There was too much at stake and he didn’t want to lose Steve. He looked into those hazel eyes, wrinkles at their corners, eyebrows drawn down to the middle and told himself to be brave. He faced a swarm of demobats and he lived to tell the tail. He thought against interdimensional monsters, he could do this.

“Steve,” he began.

“Yes?” A low chuckle pushed pass Eddie's lips. What a dork.

“I can’t do this without getting feelings mixed with it, strong feelings. This, whatever this is, will mean something big to me. If we do anything I need to know you are in it, fully committed. Not an experiment, not a passing horny thought. I can’t do that. I rather never do anything than knowing what it feels like to have you only to lose it because you change your mind or realize it’s not for you.”

There. He said it. He was brave and Eddie waited with a bated breath. Eyes were scanning Steve’s face, analysing, and overanalysing any and every move of a muscle. Steve opened his mouth then closed it, did it again.

The silence did wanders to calm the fire inside Eddie – he barely feels it. It flickers though. A flicker of fire; a flicker of hope still there.

Steve’s jaw clenched tight, his hands leaving Eddie entirely and he could have cried. His stomach fell through the floor, the flicker went out, his shoulders sank, hands leaving Steve’s chest.

“I’m bisexual. I have had a crush on since you slammed me against the wooden wall of the shed and put the broken bottle to my throat.”

Well, call the firefighters.

[differentcoloredcontacts]

Ayo you're back!! Awesome!! Could I perhaps ask for how each of them are when they're chronically sleep deprived? Like "I've lived off of caffeine for the past two weeks and I am currently communing with the microwave via love bites" kind of sleep deprived (and maybe what the others do to get them to fucking bed)?

Not proofread we die like men

Awase - he already casually drinks energy drinks so no one really noticed he was as tired as he was until they tried talking to him. Bro can not understand a word being said to him at any given moment. Not to mention he sounds like the dyslexic scene from the ghost stories dub. Rin or someone probably throws him onto his bed only for him to almost instantly pass out lmao.

Sen - everyone knew he was lacking sleep when the saw him poor an energy drink into black coffee and say sorry to a wall for walking into it. He eventually falls asleep on the common areas couch and his classmates just leave him there undisturbed. (Monoma did draw on his face with a sharpie thought)

Kamakiri - it takes so long for people to find out hes lacking sleep. Him cussing at objects and drinking 12 black coffees in five minutes or less is considered normal for some reason. They only realize hes desperately needs rest when he doesn't immediately try to fight tetsu when he asks to train his quirk. He probably just ends up falling asleep on his own since he dosent let his classmates in his room anyways.

Kuroiro - bro is always sleep deprived so nothings new. He goes on average 2-3 days without sleep. So him walking into class with a bag full of energy drinks and a large black coffee extra espresso in hand no ones really surprised.

Kendo - shes pretty good at keeping a good sleep schedule but because of that kendo losing only a few hours of sleep can really mess with her head. So a full all nighter has her seeing stars and stuff. Everyone can instantly tell shes exhausted and all it takes is for someone to ask her to go take a nap and she does just that no problem.

Kodai - when shes sleep deprived she actually becomes more talkative but shes yawning in the middle of every sentence and constantly losing her train of thought (not to mention she poured an entire pot of coffee onto the floor before realizing she missed her cup completely.) Komori or kendo probably takes her to bed lmao

Komori - shes a very loving person so when shes sleep deprived its probably because she struggles sleeping without someone near her. Shes probably used to sleepovers with the other girls (mostly pony and setsuna) so once the girls see komori bite into a piece of tree bark she found on the ground they decided to hold a small sleepover to help her out.

Shiozaki - its really hard for her to become tired much less sleep deprived since she can absorb a little energy from the sun with her vine hair (at least thats what the wiki said) but since shes used to the sun giving her a little boost she quickly becomes tired during long periods of clouds and rain with little sunlight. She starts to doze off while standing and kendo has had to carry her to her room more than once during this.

Shishida - once he starts getting tired he takes less care of his hair(fur?) And it quickly starts getting tangled and matted. He unintentionally starts sounding like an old man thats fought both world wars. Idk its just his tired tone of voice lmao. He probably doesn't drink energy drinks so when hes sleep deprived there isnt a moment where there isnt a black coffee in his hand. He probably ends up falling asleep sitting up in a chair.

Shoda - if hes lacking too much sleep and the coffee and energy drinks arnt helping anymore he will simply fall asleep at his desk for a few minutes at a time or in the common area. If hes that sleep deprived he will catch up on sleep through little naps throughout the day instead of just going to bed normally. (Which arguably makes his sleep deprivation worse)

Pony - when shes sleep deprived she dosent bother with brushing her hair in the mornings or things like that so as she gets less and less sleep she looks more and more like a zombie. She probably is a lot like komori and needs one of the girls to help her sleep a bit.

Tsubaraba - hes always sleep deprived. It gives charachter. He'll go for days without sleep and not even notice until one of his classmates point out how hes taking to his own shadow. Rin and awase got him to go to bed. (It took welding him down but if it works it works)

Tetsutetsu - not getting proper sleep isnt manly in his opinion, so he tries his best to take good care of his sleep schedule. So on the rare times where he is lacking sleep hes not sure what to do. He ends up falling asleep in class and staying asleep until schools over pretty much. Other than being really tired and barely being able to form a coherent sentence hes not as bad sleep deprived as ya think.

Tokage - she will say absolutely anything and everything she thinks of when shes tired and she will be immediately forget what she said. Its not anything mean or remotely understandable for that matter, but she will say it. She seems the type to get more tired from things like coffee and energy drinks so those dont help. The only way she gets any sleep is either from the girls sleepover or by actually collapsing

Manga - pulling 4 all nighters in a row just to draw was not his smartest moment. Doing that during exam season was an even dumber move. He pulled up to class without a pencil or book of any kind but he had a black coffee with triple espresso. He dosent like coffee but he forgot until he was already half way done with his coffee and the bitter taste hit him like a truck. After that he slept for like 2 and a half days straight.

Honenuki - he can go 4 or 5 days without sleep but in those final few hours on the last day he loses all grip on sanity lmaoo. He'll be fine and then suddenly he'll be drinking 12 energy drinks in one sitting and forgetting his own name. Hes pretty good at getting himself to sleep at that point tho.

Bondo - no one can tell hes sleep deprived until he falls asleep standing up. He starts moving all sluggish like and is constantly yawning but other than that not much of a difference despite how tired he is. He probably ends up falling asleep in the common area.

Monoma - he loses an hour of sleep and he'll look like he hasn't slept in months. So even one all nighter causes him to get the biggest eye bags youve ever seen. He can only stay awake thanks to the multiple energy drinks he has. He finally gets some sleep after kendo knocked him out.

Reiko - she usually stays up later than the rest of the class so shes used to having a bit less sleep than some of her classmates but the second she starts walking into walls because she can barely keep her eyes open she knows its time for bed. When she gets like this she can sleep for almost a full day and a half and still be tired when she wakes up. Becoming sleep deprived is how she knows its bed time.

Rin - the only reason he would ever lose sleep is if he stayed up all night studying or some nerdy thing like that lmao. Day of the test he walks in with the biggest eye bags and 12 energy drinks in his bag only to pass out the second it starts and not wake up all day. He refuses to pull all nighters after his final grade dropped 20% from that.

Gifs anime - dungeon meshi

[spicyrouletteburrito]

Ungh kinda wanna talk about the Name Hunt Station arc and put into words how uncomfortable it was? I think I might be criticizing SIU too lots of spoilers below and this might end up being a bit of a deep dive into Team Isu

First of all: I dont understand how Team Isu would throw everything they have with Bam back in Bam’s face like that. I am so so so glad that Isu realized how badly they fucked up, how he as a leader fucked up and that Khun called them all out on it. But i am so confused how they even got there.

Bam died as far as they knew but the second someone told each of them that he was alive, ALL OF TEAM ISU even people that DIDNT know Bam dropped everything to get him back. Khun asked Isu in the middle of the Workshop Battle to even FORFEIT AND THEY DID IT. Forfeiting the Floor 30th game, that could get them OP items, keep their status as the strongest E rank Regulars and notoriety to FUG, they gave up all that cuz Khun said it would help them save Bam.

And in NHS when Endorsi’s life is on the line suddenly its ‘you guys owe us for helping you save Bam?’ I’m sorry what?! Hatz who respects Bam endlessly, to the point that he shares KHUN’s feeling of inadequacy turning on Bam?! Endorsi who never stopped grieving Bam, who also fought for Bam’s autonomy is okay with taking that away from him? That being said…

Endorsi has come a LONG way from how forceful she used to be with Bam from that point. She now vouches for his autonomy constantly, even if it puts her in danger (the whole marriage tournament, entering the Sprout). She stays level headed and keeps Bam’s own goals in mind when she switches to Bam’s team(Hidden floor with making sure Bam knew what happened to Khun, keeping Khun and herself safe at the end of S3 whenever Khun got distracted by how batshit insane the whole Vam thing was). Her character is consistently loyal after NHS, just as it was pre NHS.

All that to say, it really doesn’t make the NHS arc feel less like an attention grabbing arc than it does. Cuz while I do somewhat understand that sometimes you get so caught up in something you forget about the people youre hurting (I’m guilty of that irl, tunnel vision isnt always good yall) but to see how many characters apparently were all for it? That just felt…really gross.

Isu literally did not tell his team that he was helping Bam in the end and I’m sure they all found out in the end but yeah….

Again their team after NHS does revert back to what we expect, with Team Isu supporting Team Bam when things hit the fan, (Hell train). The Isu Bam hug had me in tears, Endorsi reminding Bam that even if he’s lost some people, others returned and that counts for something. Isu and Hatz and Rak dropping everything just to heal Khun out of loyalty to Khun specifically is slept on by Khun and driving me insane. (I want to shake Khun awake and be like: LOOK AT ALL THE PEOPLE WHO LOVE YOU). Hatz moment where he wonders if using a ton of power is as painful for Bam as it was for him was a great callback to what their relationship is.

Isu is in a way, sort of the Bam for his team. Everyone follows Isu without question just as everyone does in Team Bam. If Isu has declared that revenge is the move(s2), the team will follow, if Isu has ANY differing feelings to Team Bam, the rest of the team will echo it faster than Isu can grasp (Khun and Hatz fighting while Isu was still trying to find common ground cuz Isu isnt fking stupid). But while Isu might be their leader, he doesnt have Khun’s overall prowess that keeps everyones respect for him nor Bam’s natural charisma(and Im calling Bam’s innocent charm charisma cuz that is a form of charisma imo) so he struggles to reign them in. Isu’z greatest quality is his wit afterall. The team follows Isu out of love I would say, whereas everyone follows Bam cuz they appreciate and want what he represents and they want whats best for him while Khun keeps everyone in line. Not saying people dont follow Bam out of love, they absolutely do, but I mean in terms of how easily random people who have just met Bam are immediately willing to help him.

[shadowjack12345]

Three's Company - Chapter 7: Normality

TC 7 - Normality

The Tower was starting to get back to normal. Or perhaps their new arrangement was becoming their new normal. The first time Cyborg had walked into the common room to find Beast Boy and Starfire sat next to each other on the couch, he had paused, honestly unsure how welcome he would be. Until Beast Boy craned his neck around to look at him.

"There he is! You up to challenge the Street Combat master?" he asked, grinning wickedly. Cyborg smiled back.

"Sure am. But I guess I could play you until they get here," he teased. Beast Boy grumbled wordlessly.

"Burn," Raven added, eyes still glued to her book as she lay across them both, her head in Starfire's lap and her legs in Beast Boy's.

"Hey, you're supposed to be on my side," Beast Boy chuckled. Raven, still reading, raised her hand and waved an imaginary flag.

"Go Garfield, ra ra ra," she deadpanned. Beast Boy tried and failed to frown at her and looked up at the screen as Cyborg tossed him a controller. Starfire leaned down to speak quietly to Raven.

"Did Cyborg not understand Garfield's claim to the mastery?" she asked. Raven finally looked away and up into Starfire's eyes.

"He did, but by pretending not to he insinuated that Garfield is incapable of such skill," she explained. Starfire nodded and giggled.

"I see, it is the trash talk!" she said. Raven smiled as well.

"Exactly," she confirmed, and while she wanted to return to her book, she found her gaze locked as Starfire beamed down at her. Her fingers ran gently through her hair and then tapped her on the nose.

"Boop" Starfire said, giving Raven one more smile before turning her attention to the screen as the game started. Raven resumed reading her book, unaware that Cyborg had watched the entire exchange. Honestly, he had thought that seeing Beast Boy with either or both of his girlfriends would be strange, but the way Raven had looked at Starfire, that was the real eye-opener.

"Come on, Cy, choose your guy," Beast Boy complained. "Afraid to face me?" he growled, baring his teeth and flexing his arms. Cyborg snorted.

"Yeah, right. Prepare to get stomped, salad top!" he cried.

"Same to you, meat head!" Beast Boy answered. Their battle was ruthless and long, each of them knowing the other too well for either to claim a quick victory. A new wrinkle was that Starfire, who had always cheered for everyone who played at the same time, was very much on Team Beast Boy this time, though she was careful not to move around too much for Raven's sake. Narrowly, Beast Boy won the first round.

"Well done, Garfield!" Starfire sang, throwing her hands up.

"Wooooooo," Raven drawled, turning a page. Cyborg grumbled through a smile at the one-sided support. With a sadistic grin, he took the next round.

"Do not give in, Garfield! Victory is still within reach," Starfire said, leaning over and shaking him by the shoulders. To his credit, he only chuckled as she released him back to his game. The final round was even more closely fought, each fighter warily chipping away at the other until they each had only a tiny amount of health remaining - the next one to land a hit, any hit, would win. Eventually, Cyborg saw his moment, a mis-step from Beast Boy and charged in to deliver the final blow. But it was a feint. To his horror, Beast Boy's character leapt up and, by the barest of margins, avoided the attack. Then, while Cyborg's character completed the sequence, Beast Boy darted forward and tapped him with a jab, his weakest attack. With a dramatic wail, Cyborg's character threw itself to the ground in appropriately dramatic slow motion.

"Nnnnnnnnooooooooo..." Cyborg groaned.

"YYYEAAAH!"Beast Boy cheered.

"Victory!" Starfire sang, clapping her hands before reaching for Raven's book and tossing it into the air. She took Raven's arms and yanked them around Beast Boy's shoulders in a clumsy embrace before wrapping the both of them in her own. Raven only blinked and casually levitated her book down to the floor safely.

Even Nightwing's finely honed detective skills took a moment to interpret the scene: Raven awkwardly but passively sandwiched between Beast Boy and Starfire on one side of the couch while Cyborg whimpered into his hands on the other, the monitor still flashing his defeat at the room. He opened his mouth to speak but quickly looked away when Starfire took Beast Boy's head in her hands and tilted it up, leaning over to kiss him. He was honestly surprised at himself. He took a breath and forced himself to look at his friends... and grimaced. It hurt. He had no right to hurt but he couldn't help it. He would just have to live with it, after all he was happy with Barbara, honestly. The reminder of what he had softened the pain, and he even found it in himself to smile at his friends a little.

"Krrrhhhh? Ghhhr?"

Starfire broke the kiss and looked down: Raven's face was smushed into Beast Boy's chest by her own, and she quickly relaxed her embrace. Raven took a deep, exaggerated breath before looking over her shoulder at her sheepish girlfriend.

"Thank you, Kori. Fond as I am of your cleavage, I'm not sure I'm ready to die in it," she said. Beast Boy's eyes were as wide as saucers and Cyborg burst into a laugh so violent it was followed immediately by a coughing fit.

"Is that so?" Kori asked, her smile becoming sly instead, and Raven was certain her throwaway gag would have a more lasting impact that she'd thought. What the hell, why not play along? Raven took a long glance at Starfire's bust then smirked as she returned to her green eyes. No words were needed, and Starfire grinned back, showing teeth. Despite having evolved from felines, Tamaranean canines were only slightly longer than a typical human's, in fact Beast Boy's were much more pronounced. And yet, somehow, Starfire's smile had a distinctly predatory vibe to it, and Raven felt heat creep up her neck. Even from his more distant vantage point, Nightwing recognised - and remembered - that look. He cleared his throat and tried to act like he hadn't even seen the last few minutes.

"Who's hungry?" he called out, examining a takeout menu. The heat in Starfire's smile diminished, but she didn't look away from Raven.

"I am. And I feel a great... thirst," she said, drawing out the word as her face moved closer. Then she booped Raven on the nose again and stood up to go and peruse the menu. Cyborg was already there so Beast Boy was the only one who heard when Raven muttered to him.

"I knew I would regret you teaching her that word," she said. Beast Boy, whose eyes had followed Starfire as Raven's had, replied back in a subdued monotone.

"Don't even lie, you don't regret a single second of that." Raven sighed.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." She stood and joined the others perusing the menu. What would she have? The room flashed red and the monitor displayed an alert, meaning the Titans would have to go hungry a little while longer.

"Titans go!" Nightwing cried.

It was a simple alert, but far from easy. An enterprising criminal, eager to climb to the top of the crooked heap, had managed to acquire advanced weaponry. While many villains decided Jump City wasn't worth the effort of confrontation with the Titans, they were more than happy to interfere in small, petty ways, by selling their technology to people stupid enough to use them. And so the Titans found themselves pursuing a beaten up truck while a man in the back fired a high-powered laser weapon at them, laughing all the while.

"Hahahahaaa! Give it up, Titans! You're no match for... Laser Man!" he cried. Nightwing, giving chase on his motorcycle, groaned.

"Ugh... he doesn't need a laser to beat me. If he keeps using that name I'll surrender," he muttered.

"Maybe that was his evil, evil plan all along," Cyborg replied through the radio, following in the T-Car. Nightwing snorted, then twisted the accelerator. Starfire, Beast Boy and Raven darted around in the air, holding their quarry's focus while Nightwing advanced. He passed the truck and, with an artful but unnecessary flip, landed on the vehicle's hood. He crouched and saw the driver, a terrified but otherwise unremarkable man. Nightwing looked him in the eye and shouted.

"Maybe just pull over now and get it over with." The driver glanced fearfully over his shoulder. "Don't worry about him," Nightwing shouted, and clambered toward the cackling man in the back. With an embarrasingly short martial display, his enemy was subdued and the truck slowed to a safe and complete stop. Nightwing none-too-gently booted 'Laser Man' to the ground, tossing the weapon to Starfire as she landed nearby. "Recognise it?" he asked.

"Hmmm... perhaps," Starfire said, eyeing the weapon critically. "It bears a resemblance to Rannian technology, but the materials are all different. Perhaps it is reverse engineered."

"That makes sense," said Cyborg, exiting his car. "No way anyone would waste original alien tech on this guy." Beast Boy alighted next to him, shifting from bird to man.

"This guy?" Laser Man hissed. "THIS GUY?! Nobody disrespects Laser Man! Self-destruct, minimum radius!" With that command, the weapon emitted a shrill beep and, a second later, erupted into a bright, red light about six feet in diameter, with Starfire vanishing into it.

"Star!" Beast Boy cried, running forward.

"Hahaha! Laser Man is always ready. LASER MAN IS ALWAYS... always... ah nuts," he ended weakly. The light from his destroyed weapon faded and, much to Beast Boy's relief, revealed a smoldering but largely unharmed Starfire. She glanced down at her scorched outfit, then glared at him with barely restrained malice.

"I. Liked. This. Outfit." she snarled, tightly. Her eyes glittered dangerously and green light lanced out from them, burning a line only an inch from Laser Man's fingers as they sat on the ground.

"Whoa! Hey, come on, don't hurt me! I got kids out there somewhere..." he tried. An unnaturally deep voice seemed to surround him in answer.

"They'd be better off without you." With that, pools of shadow sprang up around him, tendrils of darkness emerging to wrap around his limbs and hoist him high into the air and face to face with a volcanically angry Raven, eyes red and promising vengeance. "Give me one good reason not to rip you apart and throw the remains straight to hell," she asked, with alarming calm.

"I-I-I-I-I-I-I-," he stammered. Fortunately for him, he wasn't alone.

"Because I asked you not to," Starfire said, rising up to them. Raven appeared to pause to think.

"Very well," she muttered. The shadows vanished and Laser Man plummeted with an undignified shriek, until Starfire caught him and dropped him at Nightwing's feet. He was quickly cuffed and picked up by local law enforcement. Raven had made a point of floating high above the ground but within his line of sight, her eyes glowing just enough to be seen in the shadow of her hood, and he squirmed under her watchfulness. Nightwing watched her in turn, cautiously. Beast Boy and Starfire had embraced, showing their gladness, but Raven would only hover and stare at her enemy. When he was taken away, she finally descended to the ground. Her head was bowed, so her cloak covered her eyes, and she took Starfire's hand in both of hers, holding it wordlessly. They decided to pile into Cyborg's car to head back, and she never let go.

Later, back at the Tower, Nightwing called the others to attention.

"We need to discuss what just happened. Raven. Don't you think you took things too far?" he asked. Raven didn't even glance up at him.

"No," she said.

"Raven, you traumatized the guy!" He-"

"He tried to kill my girlfriend. He's lucky I only threatened him.," she interrupted. She had tilted her head up now, and a single, deep blue eye glared up at Nightwing.

"You only meant to frighten him?" he asked, a little mollified. Raven snorted humorlessly.

"I meant to make him so afraid he won't be able to hear my name without soiling himself. Considering how furious I am... I believe I showed admirable restraint. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to meditate before I yank the Tower off the island and throw it into the sea." With that, she turned and marched to the door, her cloak billowing behind her. Beast Boy and Starfire made to follow, but she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I need to be alone for a while." And she was gone.

"Well," Nightwing said, rubbing his temples, "that could have been worse, I suppose." Behind him, Cyborg switched on the TV.

"Uhhhhh... Dick?" he said. Nightwing turned and saw the screen showing amateur footage of Raven's display all over the news. He groaned.

"It's worse."

Uh. Hi.

-Jack

[toons-inkwell]

Misery Loves Company chapter: 6

Warnings:

Words: 1,204

"Lucky" ding "Rabbit" ding "That lucky Oswald rabbit" dink dink "nicest rab–" Oswald suddenly stopped, looking down at his banjo with a raised eyebrow "it shouldn't sound like that, Right?"

"Nope" Felix responded blankly, flipping a page of a book he held "that thing ain't tuned"

"Mmm... Thought so" the buck grumbled, tuning his banjo "this thing never is..."

The cat and rabbit duo rested in the basement beneath the floorboards of a quaint unfinished house in the countryside. Times like these were a rare opportunity for the two, Felix's company forbidding communication with other acting toons and Oswald's not allowing a lot of free time. It didn't matter what obstacle was in their way though, both managed to make their friendship work. The rabbit had cleverly planned out a weekend retreat for the two under the guise of having the cat "help him build his retirement home", Felix of course left out the specifics of who he was helping. If his company knew it was one of his competitors they never would have let him go, but the feline was used to lying to get out of sticky situations. It had become second nature to him, lying just came easy when his entire career was built on hiding who he really was. Which is why currently it felt so strange to him.

It had been a month since he revealed what he really looked and sounded like and while he couldn't take off his mask because of the fuss his manager made about it "slipping off"—as he told him—before, Felix still spoke in his natural voice. The raspy, hoarse, almost smokerish voice that would scare anyone else. It didn't scare Oswald though, in fact the rabbit's ears always perked up cutely each time he spoke. The cat found it strange, a deep bubbling within his chest always rising when the buck listened, but it was the good type of strange. The type of strange he'd never want to give up.

"Say Oz" Felix started, his eyes unmoving from his book "How did ya process me showing off all that I am? I remember you looked like a kid in a candy shop when staring at my face, but there had to be some fear... Right?"

"Hmm?" As usual Oswald's ears twitched, his attention immediately snapping to the cat "uhh... That's a strange question to randomly ask, don'tcha think?"

"I mean, sure it's weird to bring up, I'm just curious is all"

"Well you know what they say Tommy" he leaned in and booped the cat on his faux nose "curiosity is what killed the cat"

Felix wiggled the nose of his mask and shook his head "buuuutttt–" he leaned over, grabbing a hold of Oswald's "satisfaction brought it back"

With a firm tug Felix popped Oswald's nose right off, an empty black hole remaining where it once was.

"HAY!" Oswald shouted all nasally "gimme that back!"

Felix reeled backwards seeing Oswald try and grab his nose back "If you want it back–" he jumped to his feet, holding it above his head "go ahead and take it!"

Oswald followed the cat's lead, dropping his banjo and standing up "you're on Tommy!"

Felix was soon tackled to the ground, the buck grabbing onto him and trying to wrestle his nose away. This was fairly common for the two, a little playful game of keep away involving body parts that could harmlessly detach. Felix only had the power to do it to his tail so he took every chance he could to try and pop something off his friend, finding it cute the way the rabbit's tail always wagged. Even when rolling around on the floor, scraping themselves against the stone and against a few boxes filled with items they were using for the construction, they remained unphased by anything else. Instead it was just the two of them, having fun and giggling while they fought without actually hurting each other. Just like every other time they did it it ended when both physically weren't capable of going on anymore. They huffed and panted, staring up at the ceiling struggling to breath while they continued to giggle.

"Ha-hay Felix?" Oswald gasped "You... You okay?"

"I'm fine" he dismissed with a wave "You good?

Oswald didn't respond. He was still struggling to breath and instead just gave a weak thumbs up for an answer. Honestly that response alone was a sort of a lie since he was more than "just good", he felt alive. Distinct loud beats of his heart was audible in his ears, his pulse much more rapid than what it should have been. It seemed to always get like that when around Felix, whether it was just talking or goofing around and wrestling, it always seemed to race. The little black cotton ball tail of his wagged back and forth dusting off the floor beneath him, another sign of his excitement that was impossible to ignore.

"... Felix?" Oswald finally spoke with his still ragged breaths "do you know what I actually felt when you showed me your face?"

Felix's ears twitched and he looked over to face the buck, a glimmer in Oswald's eyes making it hard to form thoughts "wha... What did you feel Oz?"

"I was happy" Oswald grabbed Felix's hand and squeezed, reassuring the cat there was not for a second any fear "I was happy that you cared enough about me to open up, I don't think I could ask for a better friend"

Felix tensed up, his claws emerging from his fingertips for a split second. The sudden hand holding was... odd. Him and Oswald were very touchy with each other but they never held hands casually so it startled him which made no sense? Oswald would kiss him on the nose and he would return the gesture whenever they had to say goodbye and were in private, so why did the handholding feel so different? Like a fluttering butterfly that strange sensation rumbled through his chest, something like anxiety but... Nice? He couldn't quite put a finger on it but it wasn't the same anxiety he felt whenever his manager spoke to him but rather like something was gently purring.

Oh god—it was Oswald!

Felix had looked up at the ceiling for a second and in that time Oswald had crawled over and rested himself upon the cat's chest. Gentle purrs from the tired buck rumbled throughout Felix's body. His eyes were closed so he didn't doubt that his friend was probably exhausted from all the roughhousing, but this? This was new. All this was new. That fluttering within him, the touching, the constant compliments, none of this was in his life before Oswald came into it. Before he spent the few seconds of free time he had with his faux face crammed in a book to dissociate for a bit. With Oswald though he didn't need to do that. Instead he could actually enjoy this. He could enjoy the feeling of someone who actually cared for him purring on his chest, no doubt probably already asleep.

He could enjoy the fact that as long as he had Oz, he wasn't alone.

[katyspersonal]

I think one of the longest clown emoji streaks I've earned regarding Elden Ring ideas is how I've made a joke like "lmao how many times do you think Leda and Hornsent hatefucked" but then it turned into an actual dynamic that got my interest in literal 20 minutes ffgfnkfjnn

The worst/best part about them is that they have full capacity for being reasonable, they just CHOOSE to not use it 🤦‍♂️ But it would be interesting considering they both have a lot of aggression to tame, and this hypothetical relationship just feels so.. "alive"? I don't have a better term.

Like think about how whereas he is trying to fix the quest of revenge where it belonged (Messmer and associates), he of course has relapses sometimes and Leda is too trigger-happy to jump onto "oh so you ARE unfit for the world Miquella wants I guess, I wasn't right to trust you" instantly. And like.. it is not very nice to make him unsafe just because he naturally has PTSD episodes. Every goddamn time. And I like to think that sooner or later he'd finally manage to successfully communicate it to her in the way that'd make her understand how much pressure she has been putting on him because of her paranoia. Like guilt and trying to do better than to threaten to get back at being enemies just when he is finally attached to someone again

I also doubt that he is good at these things, like my friend Val says, noting good ever comes out of his mouth regardless of intentions hfhggfh He would probably still feel self-conscious that he is "wasting her time" because after having lost his actual family he would not start another one no matter what. Like, he would want to tell her that he can not offer her kind of bond and experiences she deserves, especially considering she barely if at all had relationship yet.. but then tell her something along the lines of seeking someone that'd treat her like "real woman" or otherwise misogynistic stuff vfhfhhb And they'd go through uncomfortable but needed convo that she is a knight, not a housewife and a mother. Like, she is not "robbed of her proper place by a bitter broken man", she decides where her place is and not anyone else (well except for kind miquella of cooooourse :3 though imagine her actually hastily correcting the moment of self-assertion with Miquella's name, like if she did something wrong 😔). Just her way to say she's content, but I just know these people can't express any affection directly! It is always something under exterior of vitriol and coldness that they just learn to read between lines fuckin tsunderes, man

I just like how this is all not perfect at all just because they stopped trying to kill each other! It gives some dynamic, something I found entertaining to imagine? These are not even all conflicts between the two I can imagine, but also them both being very hardened people helps it to not get toxic! Especially since there is an actual variant of the events in the game where they find common ground despite having fought earlier! Again: they CAN, they just DON'T xD

But still it is embarrassing how I no longer can even shitpost/be horny/both without turning it into some headcanons tangent gdjghfh I am booboo the fool

[l1ghtfromthecloset]

Whelp since you guys loved the last one so much (53 notes DAYUM) uh, let's do another one :3

Here are some MORE funny and wholesome Yu-Gi-Oh! (DM and DSOD) head canons!

(With the addition of my OCs L1m and Zephyr)

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

Yugi: Has a strange obsession with oranges. Like he HATES orange juice but loves anything orange flavored. Especially fanta.

Atem (before afterlife): Shared the same obsession with orange flavored things as yugi. They often fought over the last can of orange Fanta in the fridge... They always ended up sharing it tho. (Via switching places in Yugi's body.)

Solomon: Could secretly see Atem stand next to Yugi, even though Atem didn't have a physical body. But... He never said anything because he knew the bond between Yugi and Atem was special. He also bought more Fanta for the two when he found out Atem liked the soda.

Atem (after dsod): Visited Yugi and Solomon regularly. Even though Yugi couldn't see him, Solomon could. For some reason, Solomon has the ability to see the dead? No one knew why. But Atem and the old man reconnected. Eventually Yugi found out, and they all talked again, reconnecting, and Yugi/Atem played Yugi's newest game together.

Téa: She would help Joey, Tristan, and Yugi with algebra homework when the trio skipped classes for go to the arcade.

Téa (dsod): when the boys skipped class for the arcade, so did she. They all had Bakura help them with Algebra homework instead.

Mokuba and Kaiba (dsod): Mokuba had a late diagnosis of Autism and Adhd when he turned 16. When Kaiba found this out, he invested about a good $10,000 into putting a volume/color easing setting on the duel disks so those with autism don't get over stimulated when dueling. He eventually added visual audio settings for the deaf and convinced Pegasus to add braile on the cards so the blind can duel too.

Kaiba (dsod): Cut Mokiba's hair himself. He knew Mokuba would want to keep his hair longer, but also knew that Mokuba needed something slicker for his ever-growing corporate personality.

Bakura and Marik (after DM) : even after the Pharaohs tomb collapsed, Bakura kept in touch with Ishizu and Marik. Eventually, Marik moved to Japan just to see Bakura, and they started living together as roommates (😏).

- (oc) KaibaCorp L1m1nal (after dsod): Was originally created as an experiment for Kaiba to see if he can give ai emotional sentience (this was before dsod arc) but they eventually just became Mokuba and Kaiba's extended family. (After dsod arc) Litterly they lived with the two brothers. They eventually just became a "third sibling".

- (oc) Zephyr (dm): didn't know Yugi and the gang much, but being a pagan and having a connection with the dead, they always saw 2 Yugi's. One taller, one shorter. They thought that it could have been a dead relative of Yugi just watching over him, but then saw Yugi talking to the taller Yugi one day. Zephyr brushed it off as Yugi being pagan too. (But it was actually just Atem).

- (oc) Zephyr and L1m (during dsod arc): Did NOT like each other. Zephyr had a disdain for artificial life, being the pretentious pagan that they are. L1m had a disdain for mysterious and unreadable people. But both found a common ground in confusing everyone with their genders (one is a biological enby, and one is a amab).

Joey (in general): Buys eyeliner for himself and the ones that have a color that he doesn't like, he gives to Serenity (she loves any color).

Yugi and Atem(dm): Found an old photo of Yugi's mother in his closet, though it wasn't in good shape. Later on that day, Yugi found it in a picture frame, good as new, on his bedside table. He knew only Atem could have done this.

Mai (after dsod): started running a cosplay/modeling agency for people who liked the duel monsters card game and cosplay. She even worked with KaibaCorp to develop realistic holograms to add flair to her shows. She found that life wasn't about just getting money, but just about having fun and working hard to help yourself and others. She became an inspiration for millions of young girls who wanted to rule to world.

Lemme know if y'all want more :3

(maybe I'll do side/arc characters next time)

[writerofadream]

Can u either do Nat x Reader oneshots, or Clint x Reader oneshots.

And have a powered reader, with gravity manipulation

(seriously best power ever ngl)

Of course I shall, mi amor, I'll do whatever your heart desires. I'll be starting off with Natasha first!

If I am being totally honest, you kind of didn't know what to think of Natasha Romanoff at the begining.

I mean how could you? She came up to you with her beautiful red hair and amazing voice.

You didn't know what to do!

But Natasha knew exactly what to think of you from the start.

Fury had told her exactly what you deal was and why you were there in the Avengers just like her.

You worked with Bobbi Morse, and when she went undercover at Hyrda... you did as well. But you didn't make it out.

A year later, a girl named Daisy Johnson pulled you out, and well the mess you had been undone to, wasn't pretty.

When you became even the slightest upset everything around you seemed to drop to the floor, people, animals, picture frames, food, the list went on.

So when you found out that SHIELD wanted more from you, that they wanted you to join the fucking Avengers?

"There ain't a chance in high Hades I'm going ANYWHERE, with you." Is exactly what you screamed at the poor intern assigned to picking you up.

... There's a chance that you may or may not have pushed him twenty feet away from you with a flick of your wrist very soon afterwards.

So Natasha came next.

Well, after an hour of... talking, you joined, and let me tell you, the ammount of god damn JOKES Tony made about you 'Shaking his world.' made you want to drop him through his building to the bottom floor, no scratch that, through the bottom floor.

When Natasha asked you out, it was- something to say the least.

Nat at 3 a.m: *Knocks on your door* You opening the door yawning: What the fuck- Nat quickly looking at a spot on the wall behind you: Do you want to go out yes, or no? You tired out of your mind: Sure? Nat: *slams door*

When you did start going out Clint and Tony made about a million bets (Who'd kiss the other first, etc.)

You did, you kissed her first, (cue sounds of Clint clapping in the background and Tony crying) and it seemed to be the only thing that kept your emotions in tact

Natasha loved you, she loved the way you looked at her, the way your mouth smiled, she loved each of your scars, she loved you, and that meant every part.

Now here comes the true oneshot time.

You were not a cuddler, but surprisingly, Natasha was, after the redroom and all that time with Drakov, and not truly ever knowing the way a loving touch felt, meant she loved whenever you held her, or whenever your shoulder brushed hers, any simple touch, made her so happy.

Natasha had a tiny secret, which was that she loved cooking, her best memories where when she was younger with Yelena, and her parents were at work so she'd cook up something special for her younger sister, but you on the other hand, were terrible at cooking, the one time Clint tried to convice you, you got so pissed off the entire refrigator began floating and getting suspiciously taller then Cint.

Nightmares were a common thing between the two of you, but on days were it was truly terrible, the entire bed would lift off the ground and you'd scream these horrible words, and when you woke up? All you'd do was stare at your hands and rock back and forth.

Natasha's nightmares on the other hand were always silent, but you weren't used to silent, the tower was always bustling even at nightime, no matter if it was the familiar pang on the window as Tony's pet project The Spider would come in to repair his suit, or if Clint was pacing in the vents, or if Thor and Loki were fighting over Uno... again, or if Steve and Bucky were sparring with Wanda, and finally Natasha's familiar snore, it was soft, but whenever it stopped you woke up quickly. When she woke up it was different, she'd wave you worried hands away and tell you nothing happened.

When you guys fought, it was deathly silent, aside from the gentle hum of raw energy in the air. If she was to blame you'd just stare at her and with a whisper of despair all you'd manage was "Why?" and if you were at fault you'd get the cold shoulder, she'd change bedrooms, and wouldn't tell you what you did wrong.

she proposed because god knows your not risking rejection from the god damn black widow of all people

Now it is Clint's turn.

He screamed at you the first time you met.

Okay let me explain.

You had walked into the compound on your first day after a workout session at the gym, and it had been fucking four in the morning (You had sleep issues), and he was just laying half in-half out of the vents, and when his half opened eyes saw you...

Well he screamed.

Loudly.

Surprised by the action, a chunk of the wall fell down and you cursed, and made the concrete rise back into its place in the wall, and you stitched it together, Clint watching you silently the whole time.

When you finish, you give him a slight glare and walk off

Hes in love

Your hot, powerful, and hate him??? literally on his knees

He fell first, and he fell hard.

You didn't fall in love till around age of ultron.(at least that is what you told him)

But you ask him out first, and you do it at the worst time possible.

*during a fight* You as you bring down a building with a snap of your fingers: Just curious, you free saturday? Him blowing up some bad guys with his arrows: Yes- why? You: We're going on a date then and just wanted to make sure.

... does natasha give you the shovel talk?

...kinda...??

one night you go to bed and wake up somewhere in the middle of isreal tied up with a large piece of paper sitting in front of you that says "fucking watch yourself."

and then y'know, u quicly become besties... somehow

clint hates it (but he likes that it makes you both seem brighter)

now heres the real oneshots

he's not the best with kids, but you are, yet kids make you worried

the first date is a movie and dinner

he doesn't visit your part of the tower till the fifth date ;)

after the loki incident and even before that nightmares were common with clint, he was even more paranoid the nat

there was a gun underneath his pillow, a smoke bomb on the dresser, a comprresed bow and 15 arrows in a basket by the bed

and ofc his gravity girl <3

(thats ur name on his phone)

(his name on urs is: hawkie xo)

he loves cooking, like it borderlines crazy,

"hey babe, do you want to go out tonight cause i dont wanna cook?"

clint crashing out of the vents screaming his head off: FUCK NO. IM ABOUT TO MAKE THE MOST SCRUMPTIOUS SHIT YOU'VE EVER TASTED

and then- and then somehow he does??

your a super big hugger, but he's not.

none of the avengers have noticed the fact u 2 r dating

steve catches the signs though

he notices the way you 2 act after rough missions

You had been ignoring everyone on the way home, the avengers has went after a sex trafficking ring and you had stumbled on a room full of what the children called 'the miss behaviors' it was a room full of twenty-three children dead, with one bullet in their heads.

Now you sat in the kitchen your head in your hands. "What can't the big bad, Gravitas, deal with it?" Clint teased. "Fuck you, Barton." You hissed at him, about to stalk upstairs. "Wow, the great Gravitas can handle everything but emotions can't she?" He laughed at you and Tony was about to tell him to screw off, but Natasha grabbed Tony's arm and shook her head.

Suddenly a kitchen knife flew at Clint and he deflected it quickly. "Oh come on, such a cry baby." He smiled wide and joyfull. You were standing in the hallway shaking quietly and when you turned around you were smiling.

You were fucking pissed. You launched yourself at him, and the entire compound shook. But Clint didn't return any of your punches. He either took them or blocked them.

Finally you just stood there, your fists clenched. "Come on gravity girl. You'll be alright." He whispers.

Then... you break.