#unconventional friends :) its nice to think about

[feastfic]

I had a moment and wrote down a whole lotta nonsense with Popcorn and I accidentally made myself feel really hard with it so. I might as well haha

Tw for drug use and (NONGRAPHIC) mentions of sex.

Okay so, where to begin hah. A lot of this was spawned from indulgent things and so I'm going to try and reword a lot of what I wrote down to make it more general.

• To me she is the pinnacle of "making everything a joke to push away the fact that she is deeply fucked up". To her it's just easier to never address anything and play it off as just a bit or something unimportant if somehow, someway, someone approaches her about it.

• Her avoidance has lead to an unstable relationship with substance use — it's a cycle of getting high and getting a whitey, and then getting hungover and being back at the base of "feeling the things she literally just got high over to not handle". Keeping herself busy with hosting (as precarious as it is, given that her contestants aren't exactly the most empathetic bunch about her case) is one of the only means for her to dodge herself, in a sense. So it sure isn't a good alternative, but it's better than y'know, whiting out...right?

• Literally everything she has is undiagnosed and she isn't about to get her shit checked out. (ADHD, BPD, MDD and Crohn's.) The majority of the folks around her aren't really versed in Why she decides to act like she does; they just think she's egotistical, big-headed and a dick overall.

• If for whatever reason somehow there was someone who was wholeheartedly genuine with themselves and with everyone around them...she'd actually kind of hate them. Literally they could do nothing wrong but she would be skeeved about the fact that they can just essentially gallivant around with their heart on their sleeve. It's like an anti-her, you get me.

• To add onto the last point, she's made herself so distant that if there was anyone that would try to actually talk to her and y'know, be a basic human being (or, well, object being) she wouldn't know how to reciprocate that in the slightest. Because she does want closeness but that kind of thing is deeply unsettling to her, and she would engage in what she guises as just "casual" sex; to her it's the only feasible way to actually figure out how exactly she feels about someone. It's just an empty feeling spawned from an innate guilt at this being the only way she can achieve basic positive social interactions and anger — less at herself and instead projecting it onto the other person for, in a twisted and cruelly roundabout way: leading her into this situation in the first place.

• She doesn't really cry — it's just...hard for her to be able to. "Feeling miserable" isn't how she'd describe it but there's no real way to really say it otherwise. Pretty much everything gets bottled up, both good and bad, and it can sometimes (unfortunately) seep through into her actual hosting job.

• If somehow she came across Airy, he would genuinely be one of the only people she could tolerate. He's so similar and yet could not be more different. Both apathetic but in his case he just... legitimately doesn't really seem to express that he cares. It's like if Popcorn were a firecracker and Airy was a bundle of wet sticks — they can exist next to each other without friction that would spark either of them.

• On MUCH much lighter notes: somehow she managed to get her 3D glasses to be prescription. She cannot see without those things but also you just Cannot take them off; if you lift them up there's just an endless amount of others underneath the pair(s).

[jjkbambi]

the best man! luigi mangione x reader

summary it’s your brother’s wedding this weekend. best man! luigi and you are in charge of finding something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue to gift your sister-in-law for the wedding!

no warnings! just fluff and vibes. slight enemies to lovers? he’s your brothers best friend, so naturally there’s a bit of a push and pull. comfort + slice of life . pls tell me if u like!

for the first and last time, your brother entrusts you with his shiny silver credit card.

the fancy card was shoved in the back of your scuffed clear phone case, and yet, you couldn’t help but feel a touch of pride swinging it around. it felt like everyone around you now knew about your exclusive access to mediocre airplane food and flight points no one ever knew how to use. of course, the real perk was priceless: this thing was doing a great job at stroking your ego.

“i’m sure we won’t find something borrowed at swarvoski, y/n.”

your brother’s last-minute plea to fulfill the wedding tradition of something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue came with two conditions: an unlimited budget and the unspoken punishment of spending the weekend with his best friend.

“luigi, all diamonds are borrowed,” you huff. “we didn’t find them under the mall or in america.”

luigi had dropped by your house far too early in the morning for you to be in a good mood. he hadn’t been fair, either, proudly announcing that he’d already fulfilled two out of four of the needed items on the list. something old: the beloved couples prom photo glossed over and re-framed, tossed at the back of his car for all those with eyes to see. and something blue: a pair of bright blue oval sunglasses the boys had found in tokyo. you tried to tell him that, objectively, the glasses were really fucking ugly and there was just no way anyone could give that to a woman on her wedding day. luigi wouldn’t listen. he tried to sell you on the idea that the foreign souvenir was sentimental, proof your brother had been thinking about her despite time and distance, but you were already settled on the idea that oval sunglasses hadn’t been a good idea since the nineties.

you stare down the case of rings intently. before you can find one that catches your eye, luigi interrupts again, “she’s already getting two rings.”

“she has two hands,” you argue.

“you have two shoulders; you don’t wear a bag on each everyday.”

“you don’t see me everyday.”

“right.” he agrees seemingly just to agree. the brunette boy leans over the counter, casting his masculine judgement over the case of brightly colored jewelry.

just as the quiet settles in, he comes with a grumble, “these are impractical.”

they’re supposed to be. they wear bold, unconventional jewels. to his point, their gallant design teetered on the edge of gaudy, yet there’s the one. the white idyllia cocktail ring: a mix of cut gemstones, with a delicate flower design at its heart. the petals were a collection of smooth yellow stones, curled in a way that almost looks like they’re caught mid-bloom, while the rhodium plating gives it a nice silver contrast. it’s sweet but striking, the kind of piece that demands attention without screaming for it.

“they’re cocktail rings,” you say, defensive.

luigi lifts one shoulder up to shrug. “they’re tacky.”

“you wear hybrid shorts and souvenir tees—“

“are you two alright over here?” the sales associate chirps, all bright eyes and perfect teeth.

“we are perfect,” you reply through a small, forced smile, your headache blooming like a bad omen.

she’s tall, polished, and dangerously cheerful for how early it is. “what’s the occasion?”

“a wedding—” you start.

“oh, wow, a wedding?” she gasps, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “congratulations! you two make such a beautiful couple.”

the sheer horror of spending any more life tethered to luigi hits you like a truck. you open your mouth to deny it, but before you can, luigi nods with a polite, “thank you.”

he doesn’t even flinch, casually inspecting a display of bracelets while you’re left to choke on your indignation. you freeze, caught between correcting the mistake and just letting it slide. but before you can make up your mind, luigi leans in, casually gesturing to a row of silver tennis bracelets. “we’re actually just picking out something nice for her before the big night,” he says with a playful grin, his tone light and teasing.

the sales associate beams, clearly oblivious to the tension between you two. “how lovely!“ she sings. “you’re both so lucky to have each other.”

“so lucky,” you manage.

luigi, on the other hand, doesn’t miss a beat, turning to the associate with that effortless charm you’ve heard so much about but never actually seen in practice. “we were just talking about how much we prefer simpler jewelry, you know? nothing too flashy. like those rings over there, totally not our thing, right babe?” he grins, nudging you playfully before adding, “these thin bracelets look nice, though.”

“tennis bracelets,” you correct him, trying hard not to look annoyed.

“whatever you want, babe,” he says with a wink, clearly having way too much fun with this.

the sales woman says something chirpy before fluttering off to grab a tray of options, and luigi leans closer to you with a stupid playful smirk. “you know, it’s fun messing with people sometimes,” he tells you.

you rub your temples in attempt to soothe your storming headache. “you’re just being annoying,” you say, deflated. “i’m gonna go grab a coffee. please just don’t get an ugly color like yellow or green.”

he cocks his head to the side. “i like those colors?”

that doesn’t surprise you. “you’re one of a kind, mangione,” you hum, the words almost losing their bite as you slip the shiny silver card from your case, tapping it lightly against his chest. “have fun. just text me when you’re done.”

luigi opens his mouth to reply with something, perhaps incentive to stay to keep you between him and the sales associate, but before he can get it out, the winter chill finally gets the best of you. you make a sharp, purposeful exit, walking fast enough to look like you know where you’re going, but not so fast it’s obvious you’re trying to escape.

the cold air bites at your skin, but your instincts were right: espresso is the only thing that’ll fix your morning. you settle by the fountain, wrapping your hands around the warmth of your cup, grateful for the quiet. just as the steam from your drink begins to settle, you hear the rustle of gift bags. expensive gift bags.

you look up. luigi, brown-haired and a bit late. “you didn’t answer my texts,” he says.

you blink, then glance over at your phone.

from Luigi Mangione (Penn) Where are you

from Luigi Mangione (Penn) I hate this mall

Luigi Mangione (Penn) is now sharing his location with you! Would you like to share it back?

from Luigi Mangione (Penn) Fucking answer me

3 missed calls

“oh my god,” you say, eyes widening. “luigi, i swear i’d never do that on purpose.”

before he takes the chair beside you, he gives you a telling look. you would.

“pep,” you frown, the childhood nickname rolling off your tongue seemingly ticked him off more. “seriously, my mind hasn’t been working all day. i haven’t slept and—you know. everything’s just been weird.”

“alright,” he sighs, trying. “what’s bothering you?”

“you’d think it’s stupid,” you say, trying to dismiss the purpose of your sadness entirely. at the end of the day, you didn’t want to get into your dip in depression with your brother’s best friend. all your woes would just turn into an endless run of joke material at next year’s thanksgiving. “what’d you buy?”

“silver thing.” luigi answers, sliding the giftbag toward you. “shiny, impossible to hate. we’ll have to pull together something more interesting for something borrowed.”

you nod, flying through the clouds of gift wrap to get to the beautifully extravagant

yellow

box.

your lips pull into a straight line.

“they were out of the other color boxes. but the bracelets silver,” he tells you.

you touch the box gingerly and try to take the high road. there was no reason to end a bad week worse. “i’m sure it’s nice,” you manage.

luigi crosses his arms over his chest. “look in the other bag,” he says, slightly pushy. you brighten up, slightly at this—he was a smart guy, but was he wise and willing enough to invest in options?

you turn to the other bag with the other box, also mustard fucking yellow, but smaller and more delicate. pulling the top open, you reveal the white flower ring you’d been eyeing earlier—its petals a soft, intricate design that now seems even more beautiful in your hands.

“you kept looking at that ring,” luigi points out. “it’s yellow.”

you first look at him, then the ring. did he seriously buy this just to prove a fucking point?

“it’s white and gold.”

“says yellow on the receipt.”

you sigh, shutting the lid and dropping it back into it’s fancy gift bag. “i guess we’ll have to ask the bride.”

“we can go back and ask the sales associate for all i fuckin’ care,” he says, his tone firm. you laugh at how silly this is.

“you swiped my brother’s card for a ring, just so we could argue about it?” you say, rolling your eyes. “somehow, i’m the one everyone calls crazy?”

“no, i put that one on my card,” luigi corrects. “you can keep it.”

you freeze, looking up at him, confused. he wasn’t the type to indulge in unnecessary accessories. he hated consumerism. hell, he’d gone off about capitalism all the way over here. “what do you mean?”

“you liked it.” he shrugged. “it’d look good on you anyway, just keep it.”

you blink, momentarily thrown off. it sounds so silly, but as you look at him, you realize it’s the nicest thing that’s happened to you all week. you feel a warmth spread through you, unexpected but welcome. you lunge in for what was probably your first ever hug.

“aw, pep,” you say, tone soft and musical.

he pulls back, “no—we don’t have to—”

“no, seriously, you have no idea how awful this week has been for me,” you sigh into his neck. his warmth feels nice. warranted. he’d allow it. “thank you.”

“tell me,” luigi says into your hair. he hugs his arms around the small of your back, gentle, soft, barely there.

“hm?”

“tell me what happened.”

you try to mask the tension in your chest as you search for the least emotional way to explain your drop in enthusiasm. you pull away and start cautiously.

“well… my boyfriend pulled out of the wedding.”

“…oh.” he blinks, slow to a reaction. “is he okay?“

“we broke up,” you truth. the words feel foreign on your tongue, awkward in their simplicity. of all the people you expected to have this conversation with—gossiping over coffee about your ex—instagram user luigi.from.fiji was nowhere near the top of the list.

“oh,” luigi says. you feel him turning in, his gaze sharpening, studying you closely. you deliberately adjust your hair and look away, trying to escape the intensity of his attention.

“it’s whatever.”

“it’s not whatever. are you okay?” he asks, the concern in his voice making it clear he’s not going to let you off the hook that easily.

you put a hand on his wrist. “just don’t tell anyone. everyone in the family still really likes him.”

“y/n, i wouldn’t do that,” luigi swears. “and for the record, i never liked him.”

“you met him, what, once?”

“first impressions only take seven seconds,” luigi says, his tone shifting, a hint of a smile in his voice. “he wore a band tee to my parents’ country club. any reasonable person would’ve at least read the dress code before stepping in. it’s fuckin’ golf, not bowling.”

“luigi mangione, the fashion police,” you retort mockingly.

luigi relaxes into his seat, chocolate brown eyes searching yours. “so what happened? what’d he do?”

“everything just started to suck,” you admit, your voice softer now, like you’re still trying to make sense of it all. “he forgets what weekend the wedding is, forgets he has a trip planned with his boys. it’s like everything else comes first, and i’m just… somewhere in the background. i asked him if he knew when my birthday was — and he just stood there, silent.”

“so you broke up with him?”

“does that surprise you?” you ask, lifting an eyebrow.

he raises his hands in defense, a small laugh escaping him. “i was surprised you gave him a chance,” luigi argues, his gaze reuniting with yours, a different comfort in his gaze. “i’m not surprised you left him. surprised it took you so long, sure.”

“oh, fuck off,” you dispute, playful but sharp. “you don’t get to have an i told you so moment right now. you met him once then moved away!”

luigi scoffs. “it’s not rocket science, you know. i didn’t have to be across the street to see that you’re way too pretty to be wasting your time. honestly, i don’t know how anyone could ever forget someone like you.”

you hate that you flush at the compliment, quickly shaking your head back into reality. “you don’t have to be nice to me just ‘cause i had a shitty week, pep.”

he rolls his eyes. unbelievable. even your gentlest moments were shielded by your wall of contretemps. “i’m not being nice just because of that,” luigi says, his voice dropping a little lower. “i’m being nice because you deserve it. shitty week or not.”

you feel light-headed, like the ground beneath you is shifting with every word. the afternoon sun hasn’t even touched you yet, but it feels like you’ve been swept away by a storm. “thanks, i guess,” you say, suddenly shy and unlike yourself.

he leans forward — just a touch closer, his lips curling into something warmer, more certain. “you’re welcome,” he says, his gaze never leaving yours. it’s as if he’s trying to read the very contours of your soul, tracing each flicker of thought that dances across your face. his eyes move slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid to miss even the faintest shift in your expression, as though every moment with you holds something worth studying, something worth remembering. “and in case you didn’t know—if you ever need someone to make you feel special, i’m always around. not just ‘cause you deserve it, but because i’d be lucky to get the chance.”

your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, time seems to slow down. you can’t even really help the smile that tugs at your lips. “you really know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you?”

luigi chuckles softly, a hand brushing lightly against yours. “only when it’s you.”

[ceruark]

slasher summer various yandere! serial killer! blue lock x fem! reader

final girl. [ghostface duo kaiser & ness] - premiering 7/4.

everyone around you— friends and foes alike— is dropping like flies, and it all seems to be at the hands of your shitty boyfriend. but are you certain that your best friends-turned-bodyguards have your best interests in mind and are innocent as they seem? is trusting them essential for your survival, or guaranteeing your demise?

the new national anthem. [stalker nagi] - premiering 7/14.

as a shut-in, you don’t interact with new people much outside of your close group of friends and family members. so when those dear to you start disappearing and their presences are replaced with a chill down your spine and the feeling of being watched, you know you have to do something, and fast. 

happy together. [prom king reo] - premiering 7/24.

you’re a rather unconventional pick for prom queen, but after your best friend convinces you to run alongside him, your innocent campaign turns into a bloodbath once the student populace decides to vote for you two in order to “stick it to the man”— or rather, to high school royalty. is the killer really some disgruntled member of the popular crowd, or a secret admirer upset that the whole school now fawns over you— or both?

no mercy. [classmate rin] - premiering 8/3.

maybe it shouldn’t surprise anyone in the pre-med department that teaching students all about the body’s most vulnerable parts might one day backfire against faculty and the student body spectacularly. luckily for you, you’ve managed to fly under the radar and don’t really have a large presence on your campus— although, that might mean the killer runs in your circle and is closer than you think.

comics. [camp counselor bachira] - premiering 8/13.

you spent your summers as a kid at camp silverstream, and have returned as a counselor for your final summer before university. working with your tight-knit group of friends— and a former outcast you tried to play nice with all those previous summers— you’re ready to partake in one more youthful, memorable summer that’s all bliss and no drama. it’s all smooth sailing— until the first body in the lake shows up. 

i can’t decide. [babysitter isagi] - premiering 8/23.

despite your insistence that you can handle your angel of a little step-brother just fine, your parents still hire a babysitter to ensure that you can still have the social life you deserve. it’s fine, really, you don’t mind the guy at all, and he’s actually quite sweet— that is, until you catch him doing something you really have no business seeing.

let’s kill tonight. [neighbor sae] - premiering 8/31.

you’re new to town, and just so happen to have moved into the apartment next door to mr. perfect. he’s the ideal neighbor: never too loud late into the night, keeps to himself, and is nice on the eyes. after his pet cat manages to sneak its way out of his apartment a few times, the two of you become acquainted, and he eventually invites you over for dinner. it’s a nice affair, if you don’t think about the strange texture of the meat too much.

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[ixloom819]

It's What's Inside

What if MC had a thing for blood, specifically the taste of it? How would the lads find out? This is heavily based on the song "The Red Means I Love You". Trigger warnings for blood, self-harm, violence, slight mention of bullying, maybe toxic relationships? If I miss any, let me know and I'll add them. Also, if your name is Andrea or Cassius, I swear I'm not targeting you; these are just names I'm using for the fic.

Caleb: (This is also backstory for this MC)

Your fascination started all the way back with the Unicorn team. No one had really seen how a drop of your blood made its way into the corner of your mouth on one of the experiments, so no one knew where it started. But it was something different than what the scientists would feed you. It was something alive, something that was entirely you, and you craved it.

Everyone was worried when you started scratching yourself to draw blood, even more so when you refused to get bandaged and kept pinching the area to squeeze more blood to lick up. They tried all sorts of punishments and persuasion to get you to stop, but you wouldn't.

Caleb was the only one who tried to understand you. He would listen to you about why you wanted to drink blood so much, then do something no one expected: offer his own blood. Because that was who Caleb was. He would never think bad of you, and he would look out for your every need, even the unconventional ones.

Caleb had hoped that once you had escaped together, you might not feel the need to drink blood anymore, as if it were a coping mechanism for dealing with the trauma. But even if that was the case, your urges didn't go away. That was fine. He would still be there with zero judgment and a willing arm. The last thing he wanted was for you to hurt yourself over this.

Then something unprecedented happened: Josephine got a call from the school that you had attacked a girl in your class with some scissors. Josephine and Caleb rushed to the school, where Josephine apologized and promised it would be a one-time event, and Caleb went to comfort you, who was shaken up by the whole ordeal.

"I-I didn't mean to hurt her," you tried to explain between sobs, "it-it's just- I really like Andrea. She made me happy, like you. S-so I wanted some of her blood... But-but she wasn't like you. She didn't understand. She-she screamed and cried and- she said I was hurting her... I didn't want to hurt her..."

Somewhere along the line, you had associated drinking someone's blood as showing love and happiness towards them. Josephine and Caleb had to explain that taking someone's blood like that hurt them, and it was considered wrong by most people. If you had the urge to drink someone's blood, you had to ignore it.

"...Does that mean, when I drink your blood... I'm hurting you?" you had asked Caleb afterwards, looking ashamed and miserable. Caleb quickly scooped you into a hug. "Not at all, pipsqueak. I'm strong, I can handle it. If it's something you need, I'm glad to give it to you."

Since you were so young, the incident was eventually forgotten by your classmates, though teachers and concerned parents kept an eye on you. You learned from your mistakes and didn't even mention your desire for blood to your friends. Each time you felt the urge, you remembered Andrea screaming and stayed silent.

At least until Cassius. He was your middle school crush. He was good-looking, athletic, pretty smart, and he always seemed nice to you. The desire to taste his blood, to have the essence of someone you loved inside of you, was irresistible. Maybe if you explained it to him, he would be willing to give you some blood?

But no. Once he realized you weren't joking, he looked at you with revulsion. He called you a psychopath and left you ashamed and broken-hearted. He told people what you had done, and children that age were happy for any excuse to bully others and put them down. It's not like anyone really believed it (who would want to believe one of their classmates was like that?), but that didn't stop the torment.

When Caleb heard what had happened, he figured something was wrong with him because he was glad. Sure, he was angry at Cassius for saying such cruel things to you and starting the bullying, but he also didn't want you to find someone else who would give you blood. That privilege, that right, was his alone. Blood was a special connection towards you, and he wanted to be the only one with that connection.

You learned to be ashamed of your desire. You already knew it was something that caused pain, but now you were learning how abnormal and unorthodox people saw it. You started believing yourself a monster for your cravings. Caleb did his best to dissuade you, but self-hatred has deep roots.

At least Caleb accepted you for the monster you were. He was your safe space, the one person you could turn to to satisfy your cravings. He was always willing to give blood to you whenever you needed it. Even when he left for flight school, he made you promise not to take blood from yourself. "Just wait a little longer, pipsqueak," he'd say, "I'll be home soon. I don't want you to hurt yourself for this."

Then he and Josephine died, and it was like your pillar had been smashed to pieces. Your grief was all-consuming, and you had no one to turn to. No one understood you like Caleb did. No one loved you like Caleb did.

And now, a year later, he was back.

Once Caleb had you safe from outside eyes and relatively calmed you down from your (well-deserved) freakout, he took your hands and looked at you solemnly. "Pipsqueak... can I look at your arms?"

You tensed. There was one reason why he'd ask that, and you wouldn't be able to hide it from him. The lump in your throat too large to force words through, you shook your head minusculely.

Caleb didn't have to look at your arms, and frankly, he didn't want to. The fact that you refused and the guilt-ridden expression, though hidden well, was enough for him. "Oh, pips..." he murmured.

Tears welled in your eyes. You had disappointed him. You had hurt yourself when you knew he didn't want you to, that it made him sad. "I'm sorry..." you whispered, trying not to break in front of him. "I... It's been so lonely... I couldn't... I wanted to feel closer to you..."

Caleb pulled you into a hug, stroking you soothingly and shushing you. You couldn't help but cry. "It's alright, pipsqueak, it's alright... I'm here now... I'm not leaving, ever again... everything's going to be okay..."

Eventually, when your tears dried up, Caleb sat you on his lap and pulled something out of his pocket. You looked at it with surprise and slight trepidation: a switchblade.

"It's been a while, right?" Caleb said in his light tone, rolling up his sleeve. "I figured it might help you feel better."

You clutched the blade tightly. "Caleb, I... I don't know..." He had just come back from the dead. It wasn't right for you to hurt him so soon after reuniting with him.

Caleb looked you dead in the eyes, with the no-nonsense expression that always helped calm your inner demons. "I want to," he said plainly. "I missed you, every part of you. Especially this."

You couldn't deny it. You missed him as well. You missed this too.

Taking a deep breath, you pressed the blade against his forearm, just enough to draw a bit of blood. Then you pressed your lips against it, sliding your tongue across his skin.

So much had changed, both with time and with Caleb. But he still tasted the same. No matter what happened, he would still be your Caleb. You could still find these moments of happiness with him. And maybe that was enough for you.

Zayne:

Zayne glanced at you as you washed the potatoes, a contented smile on your face as you hummed under your breath. You seemed so at peace and happy here with him. It made his heart warm.

You didn't always look so happy. He remembered when you both were younger, when terrible rumors were spread about you threatening a student. He had scoffed then, and he did now. How could someone as kind and wonderful as you ever think of wanting to harm someone?

You always seemed so... downtrodden by the rumors. Zayne never asked you if they were true, not wanting you to think he believed them at all. But he always made sure that you knew he was in your corner in his own way. He wasn't the most affectionate person, but he made sure his quiet presence was constant around you.

Until that day-

A spark of pain flashed through his hand, and he hissed, the knife dropping onto the cutting board. He saw the blood welling up on his finger, and he quickly moved it away from the vegetables.

"Are you- okay...?" You turned at Zayne's noise of pain, then your eyes locked on his finger, the blood still welling up.

Zayne did notice the slight shift in your tone, but he dismissed it for now. "Yes, I'm alright. I was just lost in thought," he said, already moving towards the first aid kit. "I'm pretty sure none of it got on the food, but I'll have to clean the knife-"

"Hang on," you said quickly, grabbing his hand before he could move away. Zayne looked at you curiously. There was a certain intensity to you that was foreign to him. Your eyes were still locked on his finger, the blood gathering together into a drop.

You felt a swell of trepidation. You threatened to show a part of you that could scare him away... but you had been craving this for so long. And you wanted him to see this part of you. You hoped that... he would still accept you after this.

"Let me," you murmured, bringing his hand towards your mouth. Slowly, so he had time to stop you if he wanted. "...kiss it better first."

Zayne looked at you with bewilderment. He had never seen you like this before. The doctor in him said that this was unsanitary, that he should clean the cut first. But he was never one to deny you.

When he made no protest, you pressed your mouth against the cut. You suppressed a shiver as the taste of his blood invaded your mouth. It tasted sweet... was it from all the desserts he ate? Before you could think about it, your tongue slipped out and caressed the cut. You heard a sharp inhale, and Zayne's body flinched.

The motion shocked you back to reality, and you quickly moved away, dropping his hand. You forgot, pressing your saliva against his cut would sting. What were you thinking? You'd let your cravings get the best of you, and now not only did you weird him out, you also caused him additional pain. "Sorry," you said quickly, turning away back towards the potatoes and scrubbing them with a bit of aggressiveness.

Zayne looked at you like he was seeing a whole new person. He had seen your expression as your lips went against his cut. You looked... euphoric? No, that was too intense. You looked... happy. Like you had wanted to do something like that for a while. And when you pressed your tongue against him...

He didn't mean to react like that. It just took him by surprise, and while it caused a minuscule amount of pain, it certainly wasn't unmanageable. But he caught that fear in your eyes. Like you had done something wrong.

"Darling," he said softly, "is everything alright?"

"Yeah," you said, not turning to face him. "Here, I'll clean the knife while you clean up."

You moved your hand towards the discarded knife, but Zayne took your hand and pulled you to face him. You let him turn you, but didn't meet his eyes.

"I don't mind you kissing me better," Zayne said in a reassuring tone. "But I think... it means something more to you. You looked... happy. And then scared."

Seeing you still avoided his gaze, he put his hands under his chin and gently lifted it. "You can talk to me about anything, my love," Zayne said softly.

Meeting his gorgeous hazel eyes, you swallowed the lump in your throat. "I..." You looked away again, ashamed. "...I like the taste of blood." There, the worst of it is out in the open now.

Zayne was expecting something like that, based on your reaction to his bleeding finger. "May I ask why?" he responded. "Is it the taste? A compulsion?"

He didn't sound any different, any harsher. But you didn't want to look at him and find what you expected. "...It's a bit of a compulsion," you admit. "But... it's more than that. When I care about someone a lot... I want to taste them. I want to feel like a part of them is... inside of me. Normally, I'm able to ignore it..." you trailed off.

It surprised Zayne how pleased he was to hear that. That you cared about him so much that you wanted to feel that much closer to him. "But my little accident pushed you towards temptation?" he offered a conclusion. Flushing with embarrassment, you nodded.

Zayne placed his cool hand on your warm cheek and guided your gaze back to him. "I don't mind sharing some blood with you," he spoke softly, "if that is what you desire from me."

If his words didn't steal the breath from your lungs, the soft, accepting expression on his face made you melt. Your doubts and self-condemnations faded into the background. "...Really?"

Zayne gave you one of his rare smiles. "Of course, darling." After a pause, he added, "Though I would suggest we find a more sanitary option."

Xavier:

Xavier and you were sent on a mission to a site with high Metaflux readings. The Wanderers here were fairly high leveled, and you had to fall back.

You hid behind a cliffside, reloading your guns. "There's still a lot of them. How're you doing, Xavier?"

"I'm doing alright," he replied, "but I think one of them got me a bit."

"What?!" you looked up, alarmed. "Where? Let me see."

Xavier showed you his arm. The sleeve was rolled up, and you could see a small scratch on his arm. And... blood was pooling up. It wasn't coming out at an alarming rate, but a few droplets were forming at the cut.

The scarlet droplets shining from the moonlight were a mesmerizing sight...

"Starlight?"

You snapped out of your trance. "Sorry." Ignore it, ignore it, it's not important right now. "Do you have a first aid kit?" You tore your eyes away from his arm to check yourself for one.

"No," Xavier said, having the same results as you. "It's not a big deal. I'm just worried about the blood getting on my hands and making my grip loose."

The thought of his blood running down his arm to his fingers - of you licking it all up - made your body heat up and a shiver run down your spine. Get a grip!

You swallowed, gathering your thoughts. "I think we have a few minutes," you said, glancing around the area. "Pinch the area and try and get as much blood out as possible. When it stops, then it's not likely to bleed, though I can't guarantee that in battle. Maybe you can make a small makeshift bandage."

When you looked at Xavier, he looked... surprised. "How do you know that?"

You flushed. Obviously, you sounded like you knew from personal experience. How to explain? "I pick at hangnails and they bleed sometimes," you explained, "I do that to get them to stop bleeding faster since I don't normally carry band-aids on me." It was true, so hopefully it would satisfy him.

Xavier looked at you oddly. What was going through his head? The man was an enigma on the norm, but it felt much more pressing when you knew he was thinking about you, especially the part of you you've always tried to hide.

"So... like this?" Without breaking eye contact, Xavier's hand moved and pinched the cut on his arm. The blood escaped a bit faster, and again, your eyes were locked onto the cut.

You swallowed, trying to keep track of the conversation. "Yeah... you'll, um, want to get into a rhythm of relaxing and squeezing it, so you can... tell when it's done bleeding."

Xavier let out a small hum and followed your instructions, loosening his pinch then tightening it again. The blood slowly, tantalizingly, trickled down his arm, and stars it was hard not to pounce on him.

Xavier took in the scene, how you looked at his arm - or specifically his blood - with such... hunger? No, fascination was a better word. You were captivated by the blood flowing out of his arm.

He knew you weren't the sadistic type, so you weren't taking joy in his pain. He hadn't seen you act this way in any of your incarnations. But maybe this was one of the quirks this version of you had. And he would never push you away for it.

"How do I tell when the wound's done bleeding?"

His question brought you back to reality. "Um... you wipe it off each time, or ever so often, depending on what you want to do, and... well, you'll be able to see when it stops bleeding."

"I see." Then he did something unexpected. He stretched his arm towards you. "Could you clean it up then?"

Your eyes finally broke from his arm to meet his in shock. Don't go crazy, don't go overboard, don't just do what you want, you'll scare him away, clean it up normally, don't-

"I can tell you want it," Xavier interrupted your attempts at control. "I don't understand it, but I'm fine giving it to you. Take it,"

You were sure you looked a mess, on the edge of separation. You walked towards him, your legs feeling weak. You gently held his arm and met his gaze. "You're... you're sure you want this?" You had to check, had to make sure you were on the same page and you weren't going to scare him away.

"Of course, starlight."

You couldn't resist the temptation anymore. You brought the end of the blood trail to your lips and slowly followed it upwards with your tongue. You felt Xavier shiver. You're pretty sure you did, too.

You went all the way up to his cut, and you lapped up the blood. Other than a small flinch, Xavier gave no indication that the saliva hitting his cut did anything to him at all.

Xavier tasted... tangy. You could taste a stronger hint of iron in it, the metallic taste sending a pang at the roof of your mouth. Yet it also tasted... tingly. Like it was full of energy, quivering in your mouth. You moved your lips away, your tongue covering every bit of your mouth to make sure you didn't lose any of the sacred, forbidden flavor.

When you looked up at Xavier, there was no disgust to be seen. A little confusion and curiosity, but none of the horror you had come to expect from people. Instead, he pinched his arm again, causing more blood to seep out.

"I guess it's not done bleeding," he said in that constantly calm tone. He moved his arm back towards you. "Will you clean it again?"

Gladly.

Rafayel:

You're slowly going insane.

It wasn't even his fault. How could it be? He couldn't control who he was born as. He couldn't control his physiology.

It was all you. You and your twisted cravings and your perverted sense of love. You were the problem here, and you didn't know how to solve it.

You had been getting closer to Rafayel. So close that the urge, the desire for his blood, was getting too loud to ignore.

He had his quirks of his own, you told yourself. Sure, he was judgy towards others, but he seemed to hold a soft spot for you. Maybe he'd be different from Cassius. Maybe he would give you a shot.

But then he told you he was Lemurian. Not only that, but his kind was being hunted down because their blood granted immortality.

What were you supposed to do?! Obviously, you couldn't tell him about you wanting his blood. He could take that to believe you wanted to use him for immortality. That would make you the same as EVER in his eyes.

And you didn't even want immortality! Not if you'd have to watch Rafayel grow old and die, leaving you with the consequences of your thirst. You were not about to create a sort of Bella and Edward relationship.

"-cutie? Helloooooo?"

You snapped out of your thoughts to see Rafayel waving his hand in front of you, his paintbrush tucked between his fingers.

"Geez, if you're so bubble-headed, you won't be able to protect me well, Miss Bodyguard," Rafayel teased, giving you a cheeky smile.

You tried to give him a reassuring smile. "Sorry, I just spaced out for a sec." You glanced at the painting he was working on. "It's turning out pretty good."

You waited for him to dramatically gasp and demand a better compliment than 'pretty good'. When he was quiet, you turned to look at him, surprised to see him studying you seriously.

"Something's bothering you." He said it bluntly - not a question, but a fact.

You flushed a bit. "I'm fine, Raf, really-"

"It's not just today," he cut you off. "You've been thinking a lot since I... told you about who I am." You could hear a sliver of vulnerability in his voice. "Does it... bother you? That I'm not human?"

"No, no!" you said quickly. "It's not that at all, it's..." You trailed off. How could you tell him the truth? "...Something else."

His gaze didn't falter. "But it is something."

You didn't respond. Again, it was a statement, not an inquiry. You didn't need to confirm it. You both knew it was true.

"You can talk to me," Rafayel spoke up, his voice holding a tenderness that wasn't often found in favor of his playfulness.

A nearly hysterical laugh bubbled up before you could swallow it down. "No, not really," you said with bitter amusement in your tone, raking a hand through your hair. "Because I can't say it without sounding greedy, two-faced, or insane." There, it was out in the air.

Rafayel looked nonplussed. "Well, I know you're not the first two." Then, with a teasing smile, he added, "Thought the court's still out for the last part."

Smile. Laugh it off. He meant it as a joke. Don't be so sensitive. But you couldn't. That hit harder than it was meant to. Cassius' words rose to the surface of your memory. Freak. Disgusting. Lunatic.

He seemed to sense that he had touched a sensitive spot. "I'm not going to judge you," he said, emphasizing his words to show his sincerity. "Please, tell me what's bothering you. I want to know. I want to help."

The breath you took in trembled more than you wanted. You had to look away. You couldn't bear seeing his face, or more specifically, how it would change.

"...I want to taste your blood," you forced the words out. You waited to hear his inhale of breath, the shift in his body, the inevitable question of why.

Nothing. You dared to look at Rafayel.

No disgust. No judgement. He just waited for you to say what you wanted. You had to look away again. You started pacing, wringing your hands as if you could push all your anxiousness out of you.

"It's not- well, it is an urge, but it's more than that. When I get close to someone, I... want to taste their blood. It helps me... feel closer to them. I'm normally able to ignore it, but... I really care about you, Rafayel, and I want to be closer to you.

"But... you're Lemurian," you continued, running your fingers through your scalp. "And apparently, your blood gives immortality. And... I don't want to live forever. I don't want to see you die." You felt yourself get choked up. "I want to be closer to you... to love you the way I want to... but I can't. And it's killing me..."

When you dared to look up at Rafayel, he wasn't portraying fear or pity. He had his head lowered, brow furrowed, and fingers holding his chin, as if deep in thought. You watched his lips move and thought you made out '...wouldn't forget anymore...'

"...Raf?" you spoke up, wishing you did a better job at hiding the vulnerability in your tone.

He looked up, snapping out of his own thoughts, then stood up. He quickly approached you and wrapped you in his arms.

"It's alright," he said softly. "I don't think you're a bad person for knowing what you want. It may be unconventional, but it's not to cause pain to others. That's not who you are."

His words of reassurance and acceptance made your eyes water, and you buried your face into his chest to try and regain your composure, an act that made him chuckle.

"As for the immortality complication... we can talk about it later. It may not be as impossible or terrible as you may think. In any case, we'll find a way to get you what you need.

"I will do whatever it takes to make you happy."

Sylus:

You weren't sure how to deal with your growing affection (and therefore growing thirst) for Sylus.

On one hand, he made it obvious he wasn't afraid of blood or pain, and he certainly didn't mind it. He walked through battlefields on his own and walked out victorious with his injuries healing on the spot. He didn't even die when you put a bullet through his heart.

But that was part of the problem. He healed way too fast. Your eyes would lock onto a cut or a grazed bullet wound, and it would heal before your eyes, not even leaving a bloodstain for you to stare at. If you knew how much Sylus would mean to you, maybe you would've taken advantage of it when you were on top of him with his blood flowing out of his chest.

At the same time, you feared what he might think of you. Sure, he killed men and acted like he enjoyed it, but he didn't play the role of a locksick vampire. He did what was necessary for a crime boss. Meanwhile, you did it for pleasure and your own selfish wishes.

Did that make you more of a monster?

So you did what you always did. You pushed your desires to the back of your mind and did your best to keep your head in the game.

But Sylus is very observant of what he's interested in. And people's desires are his specialty.

He didn't miss the way your eyes would lock onto any wounds he got in fights. He also didn't miss how... disappointed you looked as you watched them heal. It wasn't obvious, but he was hyperaware of the slightest shift in your expression.

It wasn't animosity or the desire for him to be hurt. No, he was certain you had gotten past that phase where you were... repulsed by him. It mystified him. He needed to know why you acted in such a strange way.

Which is why he invited you to spar with him. Specifically to spar with knives.

"Remind me again what the point of this is?" you asked, tossing your dagger between your hands while looking at Sylus scrutinously.

"I know how well you handle guns, kitten," Sylus answered with a smirk, twirling his own dagger in his larger-than-life hands. "I want to see if you do as well with a blade."

You let out a small exhale and held the dagger steadily in your hands, preparing for the fight. "Well, I hope not to disappoint then."

Sylus grinned, clutching his blade in a relaxed yet firm grip. "Oh, I'm sure you won't." He lunged, beginning the fight.

You were a good fighter. You dodged all his attacks (not like he was aiming to seriously hurt you), identified his feints, and made him have to put a bit more energy into avoiding your weapon. His kitten certainly had some sharp claws.

But he didn't invite you here for a nice workout. So, as you swung for his face, he hesitated just long enough for your blade to slice his cheek. He could feel the air sting the cut, and a small drop of blood trickle down his face.

And there it was. The laser focused attention, your body slowing to a stop, your dilated eyes watching the drop's path. It was so strange, yet so addicting to see.

"It looks like you got me, kitten," Sylus said in his rumbly deep voice, which was not helping you focus on the matter at hand. You knew you were in a fight, but he was bleeding, and it wasn't healing instantly. Why? Was it because you were the one attacking him? No, that couldn't be it. When you attacked him the first time, he healed his cut away-

He was suddenly right in front of you, his knife lying gently against your throat. "You got distracted," he purred, "and now you're dead."

You knew he was right. If you had frozen up like that in a real fight, the enemy would've taken advantage of you and stuck a blade in you. But it was a sparring match, it was Sylus who was bleeding, and that drop of blood was so tantalizingly close right now...

Sylus took note of your continued silence, your continued staring, even when he had you at knifepoint. You were so entranced, and he had to know why.

"I've noticed you pay quite a lot of attention whenever I get hurt, sweetie," he said in a soft, yet teasing tone. "Do you like seeing me injured that bad?"

His words finally got through to you, and you flushed, forcing yourself to glance away. What were you thinking?! You were way too obvious, and now he knew something was up. What could you say?

"...You're not healing right away," you said. An observation that would be considered an explanation, if not a very weak one.

Sylus gave that rich chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine. "It's not because I don't want it to right now. But that's not the point." He lowered his knife and got closer.

"Every time you see me get hurt, you look... enchanted. Almost like you want to pounce on me. And then you're... disappointed when it heals."

Your heart pounded. He noticed? Even then?

"I can't help but be ever so curious," he continued, "so I let up this little sparring match to get an answer from you." He leaned in to whisper in your ear. "What is it about my injuries that captivate you so, kitten?"

It was a fair question, you knew it. Anyone would be curious about such a response. But you couldn't help the shame rising in you, the voices of the past berating you about how freakish and awful you were for what you wanted. You couldn't look at him. "It's not... about you getting hurt..."

Sylus could tell he was breaking through your walls. "Then what is it?" he urged.

A lump was forming in your throat, as if your body rebelled at the idea of telling him the truth. "...You'll... think I'm a monster for it..." you whispered.

Sylus could tell you meant it, but he couldn't contain the disbelieving scoff. "Darling, you know what I do for a living, right? I'm certain you could fill a lake with the blood I spilled. If there's a monster here, you're talking to him." He softened his tone, "So you don't have to fear any secret you may be hiding from me. I just want to know."

You tried to breathe, to calm down. Sylus wasn't going to judge you for this, Sylus wasn't going to judge you for this...

"...When I care about someone," you began slowly, as if walking through a landmine, "I want to feel... closer to them. I want to feel like... a part of them is inside me. When I care about someone deeply, I..."

You fought to get the words out. Sylus waited patiently.

"...I want to taste their blood," you finally whispered, your cheeks blazing with the shame of admitting such twisted desires.

Sylus' expression didn't change. No furrow of the brow, no thinning of the lips, no sense that he was pulling back in any sense.

"Does that mean you want to taste my blood?" Sylus asked instead. "Does that mean you care about me that much?"

Somehow, your cheeks burned brighter at that. "I... I guess," you said shyly. "Normally, I'm able to ignore it better, but..." you trailed off.

The smirk on Sylus' face was nothing but victorious.

"Well then," he drawled, "a little blood is a small price to pay for your affections."

Sylus gently grabbed your chin and guided you to him, towards his face, towards his cheek, where the blood was drying. "Well?" Sylus asked challengingly. "What are you waiting for? It's what you want, right? It's all yours."

Your eyes locked onto the trail of blood down his cheek. You looked into his eyes one last time for any hesitation, any sign he would rescind his offer.

When you found none, you tentatively leaned in and touched the end of the trail with your tongue. It had been outside the body for too long; it didn't taste like anything. Your tongue moved, trailing up his sharp cheekbones, and you swear you felt Sylus shiver.

At last, you got to the cut and lapped up fresher blood. It was salty, probably mixed with the sweat of the workout. You let out a soft sigh, almost a moan, and swiped your tongue against the cut again.

Sylus flinched, and you stopped. Had you gone too far? You started pulling back, an apology already on your lips.

His hand cupped the back of your head, keeping it in place. "Don't stop," he said lowly, almost a growl. "Not unless you want to. I'm fine, it just stung a little."

You stopped resisting his hand. "You're sure?" you asked.

You didn't see as much as you felt his smirk. "I'm all yours, darling. Body, blood, and soul."

[thirstkanaphan]

Casting Ateez in a BL (revised and expanded)

Purely self-indulgent and a way for me to draw from my stores of BL knowledge (see my tags) and procrastinate on my actual work

Hongjoong

Hongjoong doesn't quite fit standard BL male lead visuals, yet he has shown himself to be intense, jealous, and possessive with atiny (and certain other members), which makes him a good fit for a cult fave Taiwanese BL. I would cast him in a Lin Pei Yu drama as a lead who secretly and furiously pines over his love interest for years, leading to an explosive moment of passionate intimacy, only to then ghost the love of his life for five years in order to prove himself worthy.

We Best Love 1 & 2 (Taiwan 2021)

Seonghwa

With Seonghwa's ability to draw from the emotional spectrum in his art (sadness, longing, grief, anger) and his unconventional yet staggering good looks, he would be a great fit for a Korean BL directed by my queen Hwang Da Seul. A show about the cost of aiming for perfection in a society that values beauty above all else. Seonghwa would definitely try for a more authentic depiction of queerness in a BL and would not be afraid of playing a messy character yearning for love.

Bleuming (Korea 2023)

Mingi

Given Mingi's penchant for pushing boundaries and zagging where others would zig, I see him fitting in with his new friend Up Poompat in a high-budget Thai BL adapted from a Chinese web novel. A show filled with questionable/downright problematic tropes and an incomprehensible plot, yet with great ratings due to its flashy visual style and high heat. Yes, I think Mingi would have a field day and charm the pants off everyone on the set.

My Stand-In (Thailand, 2024)

Yunho

Realistically, Yunho has the best chance of being cast in a Korean bromance drama like The Devil Judge or Beyond Evil, playing an honor-bound yet impressionable rookie who comes under the thrall of a mysterious and dangerous older mentor. However, we are casting him for BL and I think he would be perfectly suited for a Japanese BL filled with comfortable and nostalgic vignettes of everyday life and extended scenes of one character cooking for the other. His handsome, boy-next-door good looks would make him the ideal romantic lead who quietly devotes himself to his childhood friend-turned-roommate.

Living With Him (Japan, 2024)

Wooyoung

Has there ever been someone more suited to a pulpy Thai BL? I mean this as a compliment, of course. Yes, these shows have a reputation for being little more than sexy melodramas with poor production values, but I see the vision. Wooyoung's magnetism, swagger, and confidence would land him a show produced by Be On Cloud with great cinematography and a high-concept story held together by tape and glue. That wouldn't matter, because Wooyoung would get every advertiser of ice tea and printer ink to fund the show.

KinnPorsche (Thailand, 2022)

San

Yes, I know San was actually used as a visual reference for a character on KinnPorsche, but he would be playing it safe as a nice, strong, romantic lead in a New Siwaj-directed Thai BL. Physically, he embodies all the attributes of a seme, defined as the active pursuer in the narrative. He is the soft dom of our dreams, and would gently yet persistently woo our skittish ML while dealing with the emotional fallout of an intergenerational trauma that threatens his happily-ever-after.

P'DEEEAAAAAN!!!

Until We Meet Again (Thailand, 2019)

Yeosang*

Yeosang is tough to cast, because we know he sees himself as a doberman while the world insists he's a maltese. Unfortunately, his angelic good looks and soft-spoken demeanor would make him catnip for a Koran BL casting director looking for the ideal uke (the passive resistor in the narrative). He would play a sweet-natured yet timed character with a tragic backstory desperate to be loved by the touch-too-possessive ML who has known him since childhood. The show would be inexpensive yet tastefully staged, with a soft and dreamy style. The chemistry would be awkward and unconvincing, but the visuals would do most of the heavy lifting. His co-star would dine out on fan-meetings for the next 2-3 years.

Cherry Blossoms After Winter (Korea, 2022) starring Ok Jin Uk, from the trot idol group SUPERFIVE

*Thanks to an excellent suggestion by @byemambo, I am also casting Yeosang in A Man Who Defies the World of BL, using their explanation:

Mob is easily one of my favorite BL characters because I rewatch A Man Who Defies the World of BL religiously. I know we tend to see Yeosang as this ethereal beauty or someone who defies the odds of reality, but Yeosang to me is one of the funniest and wholesome members once you really take in his personality and composure. I feel like even if he tries not to due to his wallflower and observant tendencies, he draws you in, which is also Mob's dilemma until he has to come to terms with his bigger than life presence in the grand scheme of things. Although he spends so much time avoiding the spotlight and desire to lay low, he finally comes to terms with how signifiant his role is in the lives of others, and I find that beautiful (even if the series itself is unserious in nature haha).

Jongho

This was the hardest casting, because Jongho is so emphatically anti-fan service. Yet his prickly appeal and fondness for weepy dramas makes me think he could tough it out in a melancholy Japanese BL. Despite a mean and grumpy demeanor, his big round eyes would fill with devastation as the person he loves is taken from him too soon, only to get him back with only enough time to say their goodbyes and learn something about acceptance and memory.

Eternal Yesterday (Japan, 2022)

I will happily hear your substitutions or recommendations.

[multiheadcanons]

EVERYONE LOVES(?) PYRO!

scout: it took… a very long time for scout to get even remotely comfortable being around pyro. and they really started clicking over cartoons. scout thought he was the only one awake on an off day, and when he made it to the tv, pyro was already there with the channel pulled up. and scout almost decided to leave, but something in him told him to stay. as they watched cartoons together, usually in silence, scout and pyro slowly became good friends with each other. the conversations aren’t deep, but they are generally two people who can be found around each other, or at least know the other’s current or most recent location off the top of their heads. scout will even come to the defense of pyro, if people are getting on their case for something. from this, though its hesitant, scout would definitely call pyro a friend.

soldier: soldier doesn’t really… care about pyro. not in the sense that he hates them or anything, but soldier is one of the few mercenaries who isn’t scared of pyro, and doesn’t let pyro’s purposeful or accidentally intimidating presence affect him. it’s because of soldier’s general apathy towards pyro that makes them very effective battle partners. soldier barks orders, pyro follows. and pyro doesn’t question soldier! pyro doesn’t question soldier unless they think it’s certain death! pyro is one of the only mercs who actually does respect soldier, and holds his opinion and rank in high regards. they don’t speak to each other often off the field. but on the field, they are tight knit and aggressive. and to soldier and pyro, that’s all that really matters.

demo: demo doesn’t have any real issues with pyro, and that’s all he’s really looking for when it comes to he and pyro’s relationship. pyro makes good close range backup on the field when demo is focusing on doing damage from a distance, and pyro is generally quite nice outside of battle, when he can understand what they’re trying to tell him! demo uses pyro to keep loose tabs on the doctor, and lives vicariously through the antics pyro tells him of. demo appreciates pyro’s unconventional means of moral support for the team, and pyros general affability makes it easy for them to click, they just don’t interact often.

heavy: heavy actually quite enjoys pyro, in all of their moods and forms and variants! and he’ll admit, pyro can get unsettling. pyro is unsettling. but odd and distinctly concerning personalities have never stopped heavy before. they interact often, if only quick check ins with each other throughout the day. heavy does take pyro into consideration more than other teammates. it’s a slow process, but he’s getting better at understanding what pyro needs and what certain actions mean. it’s made heavy a de facto handler of the explosive personalities of the team. but the animals he’s handling, for lack of better term, back his authority up without question. the more psychological threats heavy can handle, the more unintended influence he (and his little posse) has to exert. and sometimes, the stuffed animals pyro gifts him are cute. he’s unashamed to admit it.

engineer: engie loves pyro! that’s his friend, his bud, his homie, his closest confidant on the team, his brother/sister from another mother/mister, pyro is all of that and a bag of chips as far as engineer is concerned, and engineer will confront anyone who thinks otherwise. engineer feels a deep sense of responsibility over pyro. he’s not sure why pyro attached to him as hard as they did, but he uses that to keep pyro as close to a moral light grey as he can. it’s not a difficult task. engineer is the only member on either team who can tell the difference between the red and blu pyro. he’d say his pyro is “shyer”. still just as sweet as they want to be, just a little introverted with it all. they’re good buds, and can usually be found within close proximity of each other during off times. usually pyro’s first call when arrested.

medic: oh, the doctor adores that little freak. if pyro is an addict and the flame is their drug, the doctor is their enabler and their dealer. if engineer is an evil gay man, and pyro is the eviler and gayer person behind him, the doctor is the evilest and gayest one behind them both. they are almost horrible for each other. with both of them, it’s a certified bad day for anyone around them except heavy and engineer. they are utterly embarrassing to be around, they are loud, they are crass, they are criminal— literally, and they have an absolute joyous time with each other. pyro is also the tangential point connecting the two geniuses together. engineer and medic don’t normally get along unless pyro is there. but with the three of them, it’s a guaranteed good, guaranteed enflamed time.

sniper: sniper does his best to tread lightly around pyro. not because pyro freaks him out, or he hates pyro or anything, but because with that flamethrower of theirs has a natural affinity for the australian’s ass. it’s like every time snipes passes pyro in a six feet radius they accidentally hit the trigger and give sniper’s heart a pop quiz as to how much stress it can take. other than that, snipes actually quite likes pyro! they’re quiet, they can be a little goofy, they’re willing to laugh at themselves, which is great because sometimes sniper has to laugh at pyro. that weirdo is a hoot and a holler sometimes, even when they don’t mean to be. occasionally sniper will join them in their arts and crafts time. neither one of their pieces look very good, but it’s a good time for both of them!

spy: spy is keenly aware that pyro does not like him. he is well aware that the ice he stands on with pyro is so thin he’s knee deep in water. spy is very acutely aware of the fact that the only reason why pyro even remotely tolerates him is because they think that spy holds more social power in the team’s environment than they do. and they use that placebo effect to their advantage when they get bold enough to play mind games with spy. but that’s so rare that pyro ever feels bold enough to challenge spy in that way. so pyro doesn’t know that spy has accepted that he could never go toe to toe with pyro socially and win, especially when it comes to winning over the team. they are two dogs side eyeing each other to see who lunges first. spy once asked the doctor to put a good word in for him with pyro, and the doctor told him no. pyro just doesn’t like him. if he was pyro, he probably wouldn’t either. that fucked with spy for a while.

[lulu2992]

Today is the fourth anniversary of HITMAN 3, the last game in the World of Assassination trilogy!

I’ve wanted to write something about it for a while because I love it, but as much as I enjoyed playing it, taking my time exploring the levels, finding useful objects, taking notes, completing challenges, listening to conversations, following my targets, and being as stealthy as I could to reach “perfection” in each mission, what I’d like to talk about today is the scenario. Indeed, this trilogy doesn’t just have good gameplay, a nice soundtrack, and pretty visuals, it also has a great story.

My favorite thing about Hitman, at least in the most recent games (the first I played was the divisive Hitman: Absolution), also happens to be one of the main focuses of this trilogy: the relationship between the protagonist, Agent 47, and his handler (I would even say the deuteragonist), Diana Burnwood.

To me, their bond is just so special, unique, and compelling, so nearly four years after finishing HITMAN 3, I decided to write this post as an attempt to finally organize my many thoughts about it, but also and mostly, about them.

My relationship with theirs: how it started vs. how it’s going.

When I want to summarize what’s going on between Diana and 47, I usually like to describe their connection as “platonic, but more in the French acceptation of the term”... which must sound rather confusing or boring to most of you, especially if you’re a native English speaker, but I’m not, so let me explain what it means to me.

I must digress for a moment here but, the first few times I saw people use the term “platonic” in English to talk about friends or even family, I was quite confused. In French, if we say a relationship is “platonique”, there’s only a small chance that what we mean is, “They’re just friends” and a much higher probability that what we’re actually saying is, “They’re having a soulmates-level of romance so deep and spiritual that carnality is completely unnecessary” instead. I’d find it weird to use that word to describe relationships that are inherently not sexual; it mostly refers to a “special” kind of romance in French.

And this is what Diana and 47’s relationship is to me: something powerful and unconventional that I don’t think can reasonably be described as definitely romantic but that simultaneously manages to be, somehow, the ultimate form of romance.

So, as a fan of this unusual and seemingly unbreakable bond, playing through the entire trilogy was a delight. There were a few scenes in the first two games that made me smile like an idiot (such as this one), but in HITMAN 3 in particular, there were even more moments to enjoy.

I was pleased to see 47 get a bit upset when he realized Lucas didn’t fully trust Diana and to hear him affirm she would make things right because “she always does”, felt vindicated when she told Edwards he was “delusional” if he thought she could betray 47, was touched when Olivia said she understood why he wanted to “protect her”, then both surprised by the bluntness and happy with the assertiveness of 47’s “You don’t know her” after she questioned Diana’s allegiance, and I even pretty much turned into that “excited Kermit” reaction GIF when Diana explained she was 47’s only weakness even though that was exactly what I expected her to say.

Finally, in Mendoza, the most exciting mission for me despite its worrying name (“The Farewell”), I loved their conversation at the beginning, was glad to hear that he was right about her true intentions and loyalty all along, and much like he clearly was, caught off guard when she touched his hand. In the rest of the level, I enjoyed following her around and found their banter and synergy quite delightful, especially at the end. Then, of course, there was also the tango.

But when the “Necessary Evil” cutscene happened, I was… upset. Well, the first time I saw it, at least, because there is so, so much more depth and beauty to this scene than I initially realized, as concerned as part of me was that yet another franchise I love had forgotten its own lore and was collapsing in on itself before my eyes, ripping away from me what I loved most about it. Thankfully, that was not what was happening.

Looking at what I know of their history, I was and still am very much confident that Diana and 47 would rather turn against the rest of the world (and do it together) than be disloyal to each other, so even though I kept telling myself that her betrayal was fake and she had a plan, I was disappointed to see that, contrary to what I thought, they weren’t past the point of pretending to deceive and/or kill each other as a way to fool and bring down powerful people and organizations. She “killed” him in Blood Money, he “killed” her in Absolution; they were even. She most likely thought things had to happen this way to truly work, but I hoped they were done keeping secrets from one another. I’m still sad she had to trick him, and even more so that, even for just a moment, he genuinely thought she was serious and that he had lost her too.

In the toxin-induced and introspective hallucination that follows, 47 faces his worst fears... and some happen to be Diana deriding, belittling, and abandoning him. This was painful to watch because those are distressing thoughts for him, but to be honest, I also liked seeing just how much she meant to him. When he watches her dancing with Edwards, I couldn’t help but think of that scene in Polarized, the fifth episode of Life is Strange, in which Max, also drugged, has a nightmare and sees her “special friend” Chloe criticizing and replacing her. Fortunately, 47 quickly reconsiders the situation, talking some sense into himself with the help of “Lucas”. The other voice in his mind, Diana’s, encourages him to trust his intuition, and so he finally understands what he has to do.

Although she partly left him in the dark about her strategy and there are certain things she didn’t say, rewatching “Necessary Evil” made me appreciate how much Diana did say and how significant all of that was. Indeed, despite the apparent disingenuity of her act, the context suggesting, at first glance, that she’s either backstabbing him or purely playing a character, and the rather contemptuous tone she made sure to use to fool her audience, it’s since become apparent to me that she meant every single word she said.

She makes it sound like she’s turning against him and doesn’t want to see him anymore, but what she’s actually saying is that he, like everyone else, should be free to forge his own path. Even though she meant no harm and believed it was what he needed when she recruited him, she felt she used him, that he was only a tool, a weapon she controlled, and it was not right. He didn’t object when she chose him as her agent 20 years earlier, but had he not lost his memory and been truly able to make an informed decision, what would he have chosen?

And when she says she knows it was 47 who killed her parents, which is something he (and the players) only recently discovered, although she doesn’t even blame him for it, he apologizes. He sincerely apologizes, with an unusual and palpable pain in his voice. He’s genuinely sorry for what happened (so much so that he thinks that’s reason enough for her to want him dead), and maybe also for not having had the courage to tell her the horrifying truth. She deserved to know, but maybe out of shame, because he didn’t want her to suffer or for their relationship to be affected, he chose not to say anything. Had she known the full story sooner, though, what would she have chosen?

Diana’s last words before she leaves and he loses consciousness are, “This is a kindness. Goodbye... agent”. “Goodbye”, not “farewell”. “Agent”, not “47”. This is the end of the partnership she realized she imposed on him, but whether or not it’s also the end of the friendship they nonetheless built along the way is up to him. She’s been the one making most of the choices this whole time, and now it’s his turn. Calling what she’s just done a “kindness” isn’t a lie or emotional manipulation; it’s a fact. In their “own special way”, they care about each other, deeply and earnestly, but both of them also made selfish decisions they convinced themselves were in the other’s best interest. In that scene, they’re finally facing their past(s) and accepting the truth, freeing themselves and each other in the process.

“Necessary Evil” was initially worrying to watch, but what it shows isn’t the brutal and grim end of a 20-year partnership; it’s a moment of pure honesty, maybe even the most heart-to-heart conversation Diana and 47 have ever had. After this “last tango”, she sets him free, allowing him to live the life he wants. At last.

Although, again, I would have preferred her to do things differently and spare him that suffering, I also absolutely love the fact she didn’t even need to reveal her full plan for him to figure out what it was and carry it out exactly the way she expected him to. I suppose it’s not that surprising since he’s already demonstrated many times in many ways that he knows her better than anyone else does (and vice versa, probably), but it’s still fascinating. They don’t need words to communicate anymore, yet the few they exchanged before leaving Mendoza were salutary. A necessary evil, indeed.

In the last scene of the game, one year later, 47 recontacts Diana and informs her of his decision to go back to doing his former job, but this time by choice and on his own terms. “It’s good to be back”, he says with a smile (yes, a smile) on his face. There was one on mine too as I realized this was a callback to the very first “Announcement Trailer” for the World of Assassination trilogy. In the video, however, it was Diana who said, “Good to have you back” while he remained silent the whole time. In more than one way, the trilogy ends the way it started, but the major difference is that 47 now truly has a voice.

“I choose him”, confidently said Diana in the prologue, thus starting their productive partnership. More than 20 years later, he’s back in business, not because he has to but because he wants to, believing his mission is not done and wishing to continue it… but not alone. Finally free to do whatever he pleases and having had time to decide what he wanted his life to be, 47 came to a conclusion, and what he tells Diana in the epilogue, implicitly but assuredly, is, “I choose you.”

Almost six years after it was first announced, the trilogy has come full circle, and it feels like IO Interactive had it all planned out from the start. Diana and 47 are back to being partners, and by embracing their past, they can build their future on better, stronger, and healthier foundations. Now, more than ever, it’s them together against the rest of the world. As a fan of their duo, as well as nicely wrapped-up and carefully written stories in general, I don’t know if I could have dreamt of a more satisfying ending.

Perfectly executed.

[starshadyy]

what your favorite splatoon character says about YOU!

obligatory “this is a joke” disclaimer, please don’t take offense i’m only being silly👉👈

☆ ★ ☆

callie: you are a diehard squid sisters fan. you have an intrinsic sense for design and are probably super creative. you hate it when people misinterpret her. others wouldn’t assume it, but you actually need therapy more than most others on this list…😔

marie: you’re really intimidating but probably super nice. you’re actually good at the game and are well-versed in the meta. you may not be the best at communication, but you have a strong intuition and are good at reading people

pearl: an absolute feral crackhead who needs to be kept on a leash. definitely queer. nasty majesty is your national anthem. you breathe life and energy into every situation you enter, and others appreciate you for it. you are pearlina’s strongest soldier! 🩷🩵

marina: you are a massive nerd /affectionate. you either wanna be her friend or you have a fat crush on her. you listen to splatoon ost all the time. your room is packed with stuff from the media you like, including mountains of plushies

shiver: you join her team during splatfests even when you don’t necessarily agree with the platform. you’re likely very sarcastic and always speak your mind. oh yeah, and you’re a weeb

frye: you loved her from the start and defended her honor back when everyone was clowning on her design. you’re very talented but humble about your accomplishments. you would bite someone if allowed

big man: you act laid back but are probably filled with anxiety. i get the vibe that you would own an unconventional pet of some kind [turtle, frog, ferret, etc.]. you’re for sure the mom friend. you know nothing about splatoon lore

captain 3: you are the BACKBONE of this fandom and i have nothing but respect for you. you’re probably ranked pretty high in competitive and are likely a completionist

agent 4: you grew up on splatoon 2 and were sure that they would show up in side order only to be… uh, half right? i’m so sorry sweet prince /gn. don’t you worry, your day [splatoon 4] is fast approaching…

eight: you’re very analytical and derive great joy from the story aspects of splatoon. you either write or read fanfiction and maybe cosplay too. you LIVE for the found family trope, and also probably ship them with captain 3. you have amazing taste :]

neo agent 3: you think lil buddy is the most adorable creature to walk the planet. you wish their initial outfit was actually accessible in the game. you’ve probably only played splatoon 3

cap’n cuttlefish: you’re an og who’s been around since splatoon 1 but still know next to nothing about the lore. you don’t main a weapon, and instead prefer to bounce around. you are… an inscrutable crackhead who i want to study

dj octavio: you’re willing to die on the hill that he is not a villain and only did what he did to support his people [you’re right btw]. you’re actually really chill and fun and i have a lot of respect for you. also, i’m liable to believe that you ship him with cuttlefish, don’t you? DON’T YOU?!?

commander tartar: you’re… ME??? villainous characters are always your favorites. you think octo expansion is a masterpiece [and you’re entirely right]. you’re a splatoon scholar and scour every obscure twitter post and artbook note to satiate your hunger for that sweet sweet lore. there’s something deeply wrong in your head.

mr. grizz: you play a lot of salmon run but are actually kinda bad at it [shhh i won’t tell]. you suffered through after alterna just for his backstory log and the bear ears. i’m going to go out on a limb here and say… you have daddy issues

smollusk: you LOVE the idea that marina and pearl are its adoptive moms. you’ve beaten side order with every palette. you overuse the “🥺” emoji. you miiight be a little annoying, but your heart is in the right place… probably

acht: either the chillest person you’ll ever meet or the most insane. probably both. you’re 100% queer and probably neurodivergent too. i bet you listen to will wood and / or tally hall. i wanna be your friend

harmony: you know every chirpy chips song by heart. you’re probably really sweet and i know you make banger fanart. you have an affinity for cute things and i bet your favorite pokémon type is fairy. DEFINITELY neurodivergent.

cq cumber: ???you both confuse and frighten me!!! what can i even say? you’re a cryptid! but honestly, you’re kinda iconic. i salute you, you freak of nature🫡

iso padre: I LOVE YOU. you’re accepting of all people and are just an absolute saint in general. daddy issues, but you’re coping way better than the grizz fans. also, i’m betting that you’re neurodivergent

sheldon: i didn’t think you existed, but turns out that you do? you actually listen to his rambles. splatoon 2 is your favorite game in the series. you’re able to see the value in things that others tear down and y'know what? i respect that [not saying i approve of your character choice though]

judd: wait, why him? ohh wait, i know! you probably just don’t care about splatoon’s story at all and / or love cats. there, that’s totally it, right?

lil judd: you either DON’T know his lore and just like the cute little kitten, or you DO know his lore and you’re unhinged. i’m scared of you

spyke: you’d bark for him without hesitation and DON’T pretend you wouldn’t. you clown. you absolute freak. i know what you are. /j

murch: if i had to bet, you’re probably the shy type who prefers to let others do the talking for them. you might secretly be a little freaky though, and i think you should embrace that side of yourself. you’re safe here. be free.

[mikuluvu]

A/n: WKWKWKKW, HERES ANOTHER CURLY X READER. I LUV HIM SM. Cuz what if you and him had a daughter? And literally took her into the tulpar?

Curly x fem!Reader

Warnings: none, just its bitsy angst on the end.

“Careful, sweetie,” Curly said, crouching next to her as she lined up her magnetic building blocks on the floor. “You’re gonna trip me on my way to work.”

Your five-year-old giggled, clutching one of the blocks to her chest. “Sorry, Daddy! I’m making a house.”

Curly grinned, his warm brown eyes sparkling with affection. “Well, it’s a very nice house. Just keep it out of the hallway, okay?”

Bringing your daughter aboard the Tulpar had been a controversial decision, one that had sparked more than a few arguments among the crew.

“You really think it’s a good idea?” Marcus, who's one of the guards, (before going on to the ship( had asked when you first brought it up. “Space isn’t exactly kid-friendly.”

“She’s not just any kid,” you had argued. “She’s our kid. Curly and I know how to keep her safe, and honestly, the Tulpar is better than leaving her behind on Earth. At least here, we know what’s happening around her.”

Life on the Tulpar might not have been perfect, but it was safer, more stable.

Initially, the crew had been skeptical. Anya had to say something about it. “What if something goes wrong? How are we supposed to focus on our jobs if we’re constantly worried about a kid running around?”

But over time, your daughter’s presence softened even the most hardened crewmates (Jimmy Lol)

Jimmy... Didn't really enjoy the company of his best friends daughter, his basically an uncle now... But when he got called 'uncle'... A small smile would appear on his face.

Daisuke, ever the gentle soul, quickly became her favorite babysitter. He had a knack for making paper cranes out of old reports, which never failed to make her squeal with delight. He would let him play on his gameboy really. Would play tag w/ your daughter.

“I think she likes me more than you two,” he joked one evening.

“She just likes that you’re a pushover,” you teased, though you appreciated his help.

Anya would teach her how to do some simple first aid.

“She’s got a good eye for detail,” Anya admitted one day, ruffling your daughter’s hair. “Might make a decent nurse one day.”

You and Curly alternated shifts, ensuring one of you was always with your daughter.

Swansea would go instantly soft, cuz your daughter reminds him his own children! Maybe 2nd best being a babysitter, he keeps warning your daughter to not get any closer to the utility room... And your daughter would ask: "why not?" "Because i said so"

One day, during a quiet moment in the cockpit, your daughter climbed onto Curly’s lap, staring out at the stars.

“Daddy, why are the stars so far away?” she asked, her tiny voice filled with wonder.

Curly wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. “Because that’s just how space works. But you know what? Even if they’re far away, they’re still beautiful. Just like you.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

That night, as you tucked your daughter into bed, Curly leaned against the doorframe, watching with a soft smile.

“Do you think we made the right choice?” he asked quietly once she was asleep.

You stood and crossed the room to him, slipping your arms around his waist. “Bringing her here was the best decision we could’ve made. She’s safe, she’s happy, and she’s growing up surrounded by people who care about her. What more could we ask for?”

Curly kissed your forehead, his embrace warm and comforting. “I just want her to have the best life we can give her. Even if it’s a little unconventional.”

You smiled up at him. “She’s got us. That’s all she needs.”

All she needs...? Yeah... Isolating her from the world is that it? Maybe... It wasnt a great idea...

A/n: WOOHOO! Daisuke would be the best babysitter for your child. I just know it really :) Please support me through ko-fi

[charmwasjess]

WIP Wednesday

Y'all were so nice about my Milk Run 2 (Returning the Sword to the Stone) post that I'm giving you a piece of it.

Qui-Gon is learning a LOT about undercover missions with Uncle Sifo-Dyas! :D

“Qui-Gon, you and I trust each other, don’t we?” 

…Master Sifo-Dyas always asked such interestingly timed questions. 

Qui-Gon adjusted the speeder’s course around a curve to give himself a moment to think. Yes was the obvious answer, but why was edging in strongly. “Master Dooku says I am to consider you a part of my training lineage as much as himself. And I do.” 

“Oh, good!” Sifo-Dyas sounded pleased. “Because I was thinking, maybe that one part back there doesn’t get back to him when we tell him about all this later.” 

That one part. Qui-Gon considered their last few hours together. The part where Master Sifo-Dyas was close personal friends with sex workers? The fistfight on the floor of the bar? Or the little oddity that everyone in the club had seemed to know Sifo-Dyas, and also, to think he had died violently some years earlier?

He couldn’t help it; he took his attention from steering through the traffic to glance over at the seer.

Sifo-Dyas winced as he felt for the bleeding hole where his fang earring had made its inglorious exit in the grip of the Pantoran. “Dooku’s been saying someone would rip that thing out of my head for years. He’ll be insufferable if he learns he was right." 

He nodded automatically. It did sound like Master Dooku, in truth.

"Well," Sifo-Dyas amended, "more insufferable than usual."

Qui-Gon found himself blurting out the question he’d been wanting to ask since their evening began. “Also, how do you know that Twi’lek woman?”

“Shakka Rha?” Sifo-Dyas waved a hand, as if to reference the unpresent dancer. “We used to sleep together.”

Qui-Gon kept his hands steady on the controls and tried to make his face as neutral as possible. He might have expected that kind of confession from Rael, but Sifo-Dyas was a disconcerting shock. 

“Literally.” Sifo-Dyas shrugged. “We shared a rented bed at the club. When I went under, I was still adjusting from surface time, used to diurnal hours. She needed a place to crash between shifts, and knew I wouldn’t bother her. She always passed me great information. When we were actually awake, I mean.” 

That sounded almost reasonable. Unconventional, perhaps, but…

“She was a fantastic big spoon, too,” Sifo-Dyas added, settling back into the speeder’s seat with a contented sigh, evidently at the blissful memory of falling asleep in a stranger’s arms. 

Qui-Gon decided to nod again. 

[juliussilver25]

Harnessing Silver

In the bustling streets of London, a man clad in a shimmering silver outfit stood out like a beacon in the night. His metallic puffer vest and matching joggers caught the light from the sun, making him the focal point of the urban landscape. Passersby stole glances, some intrigued by his futuristic attire, others bemused.

This man in silver, known to his friends as Adrian, had always been a bit of an enigma. He thrived on the edge of the extraordinary, his fashion sense merely an outward manifestation of his colorful personality. Today, he found himself in the company of two young men in black hoodies and caps, their attire a stark contrast to his own. These lads, often dismissed as chavs by society, were anything but ordinary.

"Nice outfit, mate," one of the young men, named Liam, remarked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Adrian smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Thanks, Liam. Silver suits me, don't you think?"

Liam's friend, Ethan, chuckled. "You've got guts, I'll give you that."

Adrian's confidence never wavered. "Guts and style," he corrected with a wink. "But enough about my fashion choices. Let's talk business."

Liam and Ethan exchanged a glance. They had heard rumors about Adrian, whispers of his unconventional ways and his knack for turning the ordinary into the extraordinary. Today, they were about to find out if the stories were true.

"I'm listening," Liam said, crossing his arms.

Adrian leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I've got a proposition that could change your lives. No scams, no tricks—just an opportunity to be a part of something bigger."

As Adrian continued to speak, Liam and Ethan felt a strange desire to touch the silver. Hesitantly at first, they reached out to feel the smooth, cool fabric of Adrian's vest. As their fingers made contact, their clothes began to shimmer and transform, the black hoodies and caps morphing into sleek silver garments that matched Adrian's own.  Their perceptions changed bringing them closer to realizing their untapped potential. 

"What the...?" Ethan muttered, looking down at his new attire in amazement.

Adrian grinned. "Welcome to the silver club, lads. This is just the beginning."

While Adrian spoke with Liam and Ethan, across the street another man, also dressed head-to-toe in gleaming silver, was having a conversation with a different group. This man, known as Jace, had an air of mystery and a charisma that drew people in. The group he was addressing consisted of a few university students masquerading as Chavs for a research project.  The students were completely engrossed by the conversation and captivated by Jace.

Jace's voice was smooth and confident as he spoke. "Silver is more than just a color or a fashion choice. It symbolizes power, prestige, and transformation. Throughout history, silver has been revered for its purity and strength. It's conductive, resilient, and reflective. It’s a metaphor for how we should live our lives—shining brightly, adapting to change, and conducting positive energy."

One of the students, a man named Max, raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying we should all start wearing silver?"

Jace chuckled. "Not exactly. It's about embracing the qualities that silver represents. It's about standing out in a world that often tries to make us conform. It's about being resilient in the face of adversity and reflecting the best parts of ourselves."

Another student, Ben, asked, "So, how do we start?"

Jace smiled. "By believing in yourselves and embracing the unique qualities that make you who you are. The silver? It's just a symbol, a reminder of your potential. But the real power lies within you. And once you tap into that, there's nothing you can't achieve."

As Jace's words resonated with the group, Max and the other students felt an irresistible urge to touch the silver. When they did, their plain clothes began to shimmer and change, transforming into stylish silver outfits.

The students looked at each other in awe, their skepticism melting away. "Wow," Max said, admiring his new attire. "This is incredible."

Jace smiled. "And now you understand. It is not about the clothes.  The silver you wear is a symbol of the potential within you. Embrace your individuality and shine brightly your silver clothes reflecting your inner strength."

As Adrian and Jace continued their enlightening conversations, another man in silver stepped into the urban scene. This third man, Rey, wore a tailored silver blazer over a crisp white shirt, paired with silver pants that shimmered with every step. His appearance was sophisticated and commanding, contrasting with the street-wise attire of those around him.

Rey approached a group of individuals gathered around in an alleyway bathed in smoke. These were the locals, the unsung heroes who knew the city's heartbeat better than anyone. They eyed Rey with a mix of curiosity and wariness as he walked up to them.

"Afternoon," Rey greeted with a warm smile, his voice deep and reassuring. "Mind if I join you for a bit?"

A man named Jordan, who seemed to be the leader of the group, nodded. "Sure thing, man. What's with the silver? Some kind of promotion or something?"

Rey chuckled, taking a seat on a crate. "Not exactly. The silver is a symbol, a representation of resilience and transformation. You see, in ancient times, silver was considered a mirror to the soul. It reflected light and repelled darkness. I believe that each of us has the power to reflect our inner light and transform our surroundings."

A young man, named Tom, who had been listening intently, spoke up. "So, what's the point? Are you trying to sell us something?"

Rey shook his head. "No, Tom. I'm here to share an idea. The power of silver isn't about wearing silver clothes; it's about recognizing our own strength and potential. It's about standing out, not blending in, and using our unique qualities to make a positive impact."

The group seemed intrigued, their skepticism slowly fading. Rey continued, "Think of the silver as a reminder. A reminder that we can shine even in the darkest of times, that we have the resilience to face challenges and the ability to transform our lives and the lives of those around us."

Jordan leaned forward, his interest piqued. "And how do we do that?"

"By starting small," Rey replied. "By supporting each other, finding our passions, and working towards our goals. It's about community and connection. Together, we can create a ripple effect of positive change."

Rey's words began to resonate with the group. As Rey continued to speak, Jordan and the others felt a compelling need to touch the silver. As their hands brushed against Rey's blazer, their clothes began to transform, the drab and worn fabrics turning into radiant silver garments.

Jordan looked at his new outfit, his eyes wide with amazement. "This is... wow."

Rey smiled. "These silver outfits are a reminder of your strength and potential. Embrace it and use it to create positive change in the neighborhood." 

Just as the conversations with Adrian, Jace, and Rey were gaining momentum, a fourth man in silver emerged from the shadows. His name was Seth, and his presence exuded a calm yet powerful aura. His silver attire was a blend of both futuristic and elegant, with a tailored silver suit jacket over a sleek black shirt, and silver shoes that gleamed under the streetlights.

Seth approached a small gathering of artists and musicians who had set up an impromptu performance area in a nearby park. The flicker of candles and the strum of guitars created an intimate atmosphere. The artists paused as Seth stepped into their circle, his silver suit catching the light in mesmerizing patterns.

"Hey there," Seth greeted with a warm smile. "Mind if I join your circle for a bit?"

A man named Nate, who was tuning his guitar, looked up and smiled back. "Sure, feel free. What's your story?"

Seth took a seat on the grass, crossing his legs comfortably. "My story is simple. I'm here to share the power of silver, not just as a fashion statement, but as a symbol of creativity and connection. Silver, like art, has the power to reflect and enhance the beauty around us."

Another man, named Ryan, who was sketching in his notebook, looked intrigued. "How does silver relate to creativity?"

Seth leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Silver is a conductor, a medium through which energy flows. Similarly, art and music are conduits of our emotions and thoughts, allowing us to connect with others on a deeper level. When we embrace our creative selves, we reflect our inner light and inspire those around us."

As Seth spoke, Nate and Ryan couldn't resist the urge to touch the silver. When they did, their clothes began to shimmer and change, transforming into sleek silver attire worthy of musicians.

Nate strummed his guitar thoughtfully. "So you're saying that by embracing creativity, we're channeling something powerful?"

"Exactly," Seth nodded. "When you create, you tap into a source of energy that is both personal and universal. It's about expressing your true self and making a positive impact on the world. The silver we wear is just a reminder of that potential."

As the artists absorbed Seth's words, they felt a renewed sense of purpose. The man in silver had not only captured their attention but had also ignited a spark of inspiration within them. The night air buzzed with the promise of new beginnings and creative exploration.

Gradually, as these four men in silver continued to share their wisdom, the Chavs, the students, the locals, and the artists began to fully embrace the silver. Each felt more confident, more connected to their true selves. The silver became a part of their identity, a reminder of the strength and resilience they had discovered within themselves.

In the end each was ready to inspire others to embrace their unique qualities, to stand out and shine brightly in their own way. The silver clothes reflecting what was already within, letting it shine for all to see.  And so, under the stars of London, a new movement was born—one that celebrated individuality, creativity, and the transformative power of silver.

___________________________________________________________

Silver is Brotherhood.

Silver is Family.

Silver is Life.

Ready to join us on this journey? 🩶 Contact Our Cap @morphmastersilver

[hannahbarberra162]

hOrnithology For Beginners, Chapter 2

on Ao3 Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You have to suspend disbelief for this story - just enjoy the ride. I really wanted Ace to be in it, so don’t think too hard about the timeline. This is just silly fun.

I learned a lot about birds writing this.

Since you and Etta were going on a double date the following day - against your better judgment - she released you from your promise of going out to the bar that night. You watched as she flirted with Ace after he woke up from his mid-meal nap, laughing at something he said to her. She pointed at you, indicating you were the friend in question for tomorrow’s activities. You wanted to flip them off, but you didn’t want to get in the way of Etta’s fun. So instead you waved once and almost smiled. That would have to be enough. Only Etta and Ace waved back. 

It was busy in the restaurant, so you didn’t get a chance to tell Etta about the phoenix you’d seen. You were constantly thinking about it, hoping it was still on the island. It probably wasn’t, but a girl could dream. Your shift ended and you headed back home to pack some camping gear for the night. Since you didn’t have to work the following day you could indulge in camping out near the waterfall, one of your favorite things to do. You packed up quickly, making sure to grab your blowgun and poison tipped darts. With waterfoul on the island, you wanted to be prepared in case someone got any ideas for a quick cash grab. 

Trekking out to the waterfall, you were scrutinizing the landscape for any errant phoenix feathers that may have fallen. They were said to have healing properties when ground up into medicine, but you just wanted to keep it in your collection. Unfortunately there were no phoenix feathers, but you did find a nice tern feather specimen that you tucked into your ponytail for safe keeping. That was enough to make you happy while you set up your camp.

You hadn’t eaten dinner yet, so you pulled out the fresh fruit you’d cut up at home. You needed to eat it first since there was no refrigeration outdoors. Opening your container of pineapple, you popped a piece into your mouth and you hummed contentedly. Pineapple was your favorite fruit, dessert, breakfast, lunch and dinner all rolled into one. You ate as much as you could without getting mouth sores. 

You were munching heartily when you had the feeling someone was watching you. You swiveled your head but didn’t see anyone, or hear anything. You put one more piece into your mouth and set down the container. You slowly reached for your blowgun, preparing in case of trouble. As you grabbed it, you felt a rush of wind behind you. Turning to look, you broke into a huge smile. The phoenix from yesterday was perched in a nearby tree, perhaps 5 meters away. You admired it silently for several moments, watching its blue flames flicker.

You couldn’t believe your good fortune. It was astounding that the phoenix had stayed on the island and that you’d gotten to see it twice. You were reaching for your pencils and sketchbook slowly when the bird gracefully flew down and sat near you. You didn’t move - you didn’t breathe. It meandered over to you, looking interestedly at the pineapple.

Marco POV

He knew he’d seen you somewhere before. He hadn’t realized the charming woman from the woods yesterday was the same as the surly waitress in the restaurant. The work uniform was part of the reason he hadn’t noticed, your hair slicked back into a severe bun and wearing the same apron as your coworkers. But it was your attitude and demeanor that made you unfamiliar to him even though he’d met you before. Out here you were relaxed, free, and full of life. You smiled easily and delighted in the nature around you. You were beautiful in an unconventional way - like your features had been perfectly balanced to make you alluring. Even when working, it was clear you were pretty but it was tempered by your…temper. 

In the restaurant you seemed like you’d rather be eating glass than working. You had no patience for him and his brothers especially, practically throwing their orders on the table and stomping away. Marco was used to not getting a warm reception at some islands - some civilians were hostile towards pirates - but with you it seemed to be more than the usual distrust. He didn’t think they’d been there before, so he wasn’t sure what was irking you. He didn’t take it personally, there were good reasons why some people didn’t like pirates. 

You had spotted him in his bird form the previous evening as he relaxed from a long day. Though he often favored a hybrid form for fighting and day-to-day activities, he felt more rested when he shifted completely - either to human or bird. He had been sitting and enjoying a moment of solitude away from his boisterous family when he heard you rustling in the forest. You were astounded at the sight of him, like he was the sun and you a moth drawn to him. He had briefly watched you draw his figure - you were quick but precise with your lines. It was an accurate and flattering sketch, one he would have normally asked for. But hearing his “voice” when he was in bird form was jarring for anyone who hadn’t experienced it and he didn’t want to scare you. So he enjoyed the moment and flew away, leaving you with a fond memory. 

Something that was convenient about being an infamous pirate is that Marco rarely had to introduce himself. Not only was he a Whitebeard Commander, but his Zoan fruit made him a memorable personality on the seas. Surely you knew who he was by the emblem on his chest and well…that he was a phoenix. Though, if you did, you would have probably warmed up to him and spoken to him at the restaurant, he thought bemusedly. Well, seeing this you again was a nice surprise. Your friend had spoken highly about your ornithological knowledge to Ace, assuring him you were the best birder on the island. He wanted to see what you’d do when faced with a legendary bird - maybe your curiosity would trump your dislike. 

You were eating and humming to yourself, watching a tanager hunting for food. You looked peaceful and serene, enjoying the evening’s fair weather. He watched you for a few minutes until the hairs on the back of your neck alerted you to his presence. You reached for a blowgun, at which point Marco decided to make himself known. Even though it wouldn’t hurt him there was no need for violence. He made enough movement for you to track him and watched as you stared up at him adoringly. The look you gave him was a mixture of awe, reverence, and naked joy. He wouldn’t admit it, but he always enjoyed when people stared at his bird form. Who doesn't like to be appreciated now and again? He kept himself from preening under your gaze.

He later realized you weren’t going to do anything unless he initiated. Maybe you didn’t know how to act around a transformed Zoan Devil Fruit user? Marco saw you were eating pineapple and tilted his head, asking for silent permission to have some. Your mouth opened into a perfect circle, and you spoke softly.

“Please, go ahead. Have as much as you like.” Marco nodded his head in thanks and ate a few pieces from the container. Good pineapple. While he was eating, you started drawing him again. This time you had brought more colors and were sketching smaller areas of his figure. You were watching him intently and sketching as fast as you could. You were very talented, he thought, both in terms of anatomical accuracy as well as capturing the essence of his spirit. He finished off the last of your pineapple to his dismay. Marco realized he hadn't eaten dinner yet and was still hungry. Oh well, maybe he’d see you another time. He prepared for flight.

“Would you like more food? I have plenty.” For once, Marco didn’t have anywhere to be immediately and a free meal was always welcome. He inclined his head once more. You scrambled to get him food as quickly as you could - he could get used to being treated like this.

“I’m not sure what you prefer to eat but you can have whatever you’d like.” You set out a veritable buffet in front of him - meat, vegetables, fruit, rice, bread. He was spoiled by Thatch’s cooking but yours was tasty as well. He ate until full and trilled in gratitude. What a pleasant evening this had turned out to be. You were still furiously sketching, now working on a drawing of his wings. He looked over at it and as a thank you for the dinner, spread out his wing for you to get a better look. You gasped and reached out your fingers on autopilot as if to stroke the downy feathers. At the last second you yanked your hand back, probably afraid he would dislike the touch. Marco stood patiently, allowing you to draw his wings and smaller feathers.

“Thank you,” you said. It was simple but full of genuine emotion. You drew silently for a while, referencing his body every few seconds.

“What’s that symbol on you? Some kind of sigil? I didn’t get a good look at it yet” you said, talking to yourself. Marco turned and faced you so you could see the Whitebeard symbol adorning his chest. OK, now you’d have to put two and two together, especially since you’d seen his and Ace’s prominent tattoos over lunch. Besides, Whitebeard had one of the most recognizable jolly rogers in the world.

“I know what that is. That’s the Whitebeard jolly roger.” See, you figured it out. Soon he’d shift back into his human form and see if he could charm you now that you understood. Maybe you’d be more receptive to him now.

You scowled and spoke like acid burned your tongue. “I can’t believe Whitebeard would maim such a beautiful creature with his disgusting jolly roger.” You looked mournfully at Marco. “I’m sorry. He’s an Emperor, and really strong, I could never fight him. But I would do anything if you need help.”

Y/N POV

Could birds sigh? It really sounded like the phoenix had sighed. You felt so bad for it, knowing that some shitty pirate had harmed it. It was an intriguing thought though - how had he done it? To your knowledge, the phoenix should have been immune to that kind of damage. But you had no doubt that pirates had enough nefarious weapons to hurt even the strongest of birds. The bird gave you a look of… exasperation? It exhaled once and flew off into the dusk. You still held your breath - no matter if you saw the phoenix daily you’d appreciate its beauty every time.

~~~

Marco POV

Marco seldomly fought with any of his siblings. He didn’t need or want to - his generally relaxed attitude meant he didn’t care about the petty squabbles of daily life. However, that morning he had grabbed Ace with a taloned leg and thrown him to the ground. Even though Marco had the most seniority on the ship, Ace had the most experience with being a little shit. 

Marco had volunteered to be the second man on the date to everyone’s surprise. They had all agreed you were pretty but it wasn’t enough to sway their opinions on your attitude. Ace had cornered Deuce and was trying to coerce his friend when Marco offered to tag along. 

“I’ll be your second, yoi” Marco said, allowing Deuce scurry away from Ace.

“Really? Why? I mean, thank you, but why? Etta and her friend are hot but her friend seems…bitchy.” 

“I met her friend yesterday and the day before actually. She can be very enjoyable company.” Marco did not include the part where you thought he was only a bird.

“Are you sure? She’s a looker but I think she’s only looking for birds….ooohhhhh.” Ace’s brain finally caught up. “So did you show her your bird form? Did she lose her mind?”

“She saw it yoi.” 

“Then why was she so mean-spirited yesterday? Maybe she doesn’t like phoenixes?” Ace mused.

“No, she likes the phoenix. A lot.” Ace thought about Marco’s words for a moment and broke into a mischievous smile and barked out a laugh.

“She doesn’t know!! She might be the only person on the Grand Line who doesn’t know you’re The Phoenix! Oh my god this is too good I’m gonna go tell everyone right now, that’s so funny.” Ace ran away to run his mouth. Marco was fast but Ace with gossip was like lightning on earth. After chasing him down in hybrid form, Marco grabbed Ace and shoved him down onto the deck with a talon.

“Don’t. Say. Anything. Yoi.” Marco said as he held down a still-laughing Ace. Marco closed his eyes. It would be wrong to claw his brother. And useless.

“Just don’t. Let it be.” 

Ace was still giggling but finally agreed. The truth was that Marco liked seeing you with your guard down when he was in bird form. You were sweet, kind, intelligent, and beautiful. He wanted to see if you would show him that side of you when he was in his human form too. 

Y/N POV

The next morning there was no phoenix but you did get to enjoy some solo birding before your social obligation. You trekked around, sketched some newly arrived birds, and went swimming in your waterfall. The only stain marring your perfect day was the thought of the upcoming double date. You wished Etta had just asked you to play tour guide for her and Ace - but you knew she was not-so-subtly trying to get you to “have some fun.” For her, you’d tolerate whoever for a few hours. And you’d keep your dart gun close by too. 

Unfortunately time passed and you headed up to the main path for the date. You saw Etta from afar and waved to her. She was wearing shorts, which you had told her not to do. They made her ass look phenomenal but weren’t suited to the activity.

“Hey! Are you ready?” Etta clearly was excited. You weren’t going to rain on her parade, you’d be on good behavior.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” you said neutrally. “Hey, listen, you should wear long pants. You look incredible right now but there’s tons of ticks and berry bugs out there. I have an extra pair, do you want to switch?” You unzipped your pack and took out an extra pair you had.

“Oh yeah, thanks, I forgot compl - oh, look!  There’s Ace! Ace! Over here!” She waved at Ace who spotted her. He smiled a thousand watt smile and waved back. You could see why she liked him - he was exceptionally cute. Not your type, but you could imagine him dropping panties all up and down the Grand Line. Along with Ace was another pirate - the Pineapple one. He looked calm and half awake. Fine by you if he passed out before you all set off. 

“Hey Ace! I was just -uh - I need to change into long pants. Give me a moment? I’ll be right back.” Etta grabbed the pants and went to change over in the public washrooms. 

“Hi,” you said. You were going to be nice, not conversational.

Ace didn’t seem to mind. “Hi! I’m Ace, this is Marco,” he said, gesturing to the tall man beside him. “We’re Whitebeard pirates. Thank you for taking us out to look for beetles, it’s kind of a silly hobby of mine.” You frowned when he said Whitebeard pirates, thinking about that poor phoenix getting marked. 

“Beetles are a fascinating species and they provide a lot to various ecosystems,” you said. Talking about birds and associated topics would be an easy way to seem cordial but not provide any personal information. 

“Yeah, my younger brother is really into them and I keep a record of what I see so I can tell him when we meet up,” Ace said, pulling out a small weathered notebook.

“Would you mind if I took a look?” you asked with genuine curiosity. Since he traveled around to different islands, it would be interesting to see what he had found. Ace handed you the notebook and you flipped through it with care. He had fairly good descriptions and accompanying drawings. You were able to identify many of the beetles he had listed and told him about some of the species he’d seen. He was paying attention, to your surprise, and was asking about a rare hercules beetle when Etta returned.

Etta came up and looked Ace up and down. “Oh, we didn’t tell them to wear long pants. Do you think they’ll be OK?” she asked you.

“Oh yeah, no problem. Marco and I won’t have any issues because we’re…” Marco gave Ace a pinch on the neck. “Uh, we are..used to it. We’re used to it, we uh, go outside all the time.” Ace was obviously lying - and poorly - but whatever. If they got ticks it wasn’t your problem. Time to look for beetles. 

[grokebaby]

What is it that got you into making a pokemon oc? And what is it you like about conkledurrs?

Mostly my plushies! I love plushies and me and my friend tend to play pretend by giving them character (names, personalities ect). 90% of the time we name them at least and that usually sparks something out of it. I got so attached to my Pokémon plushies that I just started rolling with it bc it was fun and I genuinely was just that attached to them

Here's both of my conkeldurrs, as well as Barbi (Garbodor) and Pamela (Probopass)! I also have dusknoir, gurdurr and timburr obviously.

It just started from there and it felt exciting to explore new characters considering many of these are genuine comfort characters (creatures?) to me. Autistically. Nuclear level autism attachment.

I first met Conkeldurr in pokepark 2 wonders beyond! I was. Maybe ten or eleven. In that ballpark. I remember having a very visceral reaction to seeing Conkeldurr for the first time ("THAT'S what it evolves into?? Ueug...") and I think that definitely left a permanent impression on me. Years later come 2023 I'm having a sleepover with my homieboy and I remember hey. Conkeldurr exists. And the 20yr old sleeper agent in my brain activated. I started googling images of it and wishing I had a shirt with conkeldurr on it and I obviously discovered the plushies and I just fucking had to have the whole evolutionary line. AND A whole other conkeldurr. A whole entire second one. Just in case anything happened to my most precious AND because it's so nice you need it twice.

God I remember the summer when I was waiting for them to arrive. J��rkäle was my first one. I thought about them almost daily. I imagined going on walks with them. And when I finally received them I filmed myself cackling maniacally while I opened the package. That same evening I took Järkäle out for a bike ride where we hung out at a park together and I held her in my lap while we played on the swings and cradled that little plushie and took a ton of pics of her at that park

I felt genuinely so happy. Happier than in a while.

Special beloved creature.

So anyway onto the actual response. I was just itching to talk about my conkeldurr journey.

So in my waiting for the durrs to arrive I read up on the pokedex entries online and apparently Conkeldurr is based partly on a circus strongman clown as well as very obviously construction workers, body builders and ykno, it's intended to look like an older man, which apparently in Japanese tropes is often depicted with a red nose. So there's several reasons for why it looks like that. For me mainly the thing is about the stark combination of Visceral and grotesque and incredibly silly. It has a goofy smile and red nose, a little dingly thing on its head, it's clearly wrinkly and stares into nothingness. It's also covered in the hugest, most bulging pink veins you've ever seen, so much so that my therapist said they look like swim floaties.

It hits such a juicy spot between incredibly endearing and viscerally confronting. I'm known to like visceral creatures (amnesia grunt, eldritch monsters, the morso, ic3peak videos) as well as Huge large things (elephant seals, Bulkhead from transformers prime, mammoths). Probably helps that I also like clowns, and always have especially as a kid.

To me it's incredibly lovable. I also just like powerful looking things.

And yeah, I'll say it even if I don't agree: I love ugly things. I'm known to love ugly things. I know what I mean when I say this - ugly in most of the world's opinion as well as according to many innate human sensibilities. I don't like calling the things I love ugly but it is true - I like things that look extremely unconventional and challenging, confronting and even uncomfortable. I think it's great. I like the stuff that falls outside of generally palatable and popular lines and always have. I like ugly things. I like gross vulgar things. I think they're precious and have an important part to need to not look away from.

I genuinely cannot find Conkeldurr hideous despite my initial reaction as a kid (although one can still enjoy experiencing revulsion in safe environments - like media). It's the highest grade comfort item for me. This and elephant seals. It feels weirdly human in it's off puttingness and despite what most Pokémon fans say, I like that actually. I think it's cool when Pokémon look like People in a weird uncanny way. Bc I like uncanny.

I love conkeldurr. So I have two plushies and two ocs. And tbh I also want a teddy sized conkeldurr so I'd have something big enough to hug properly. But it's fine. I love them. I love it. Silly and creepy is a fine line to straddle!

[1tbls]

been thinking about AF and daemon AU.

i read one fic where artemis had a lemur demon, and i really liked that 👍🏻 like with ms. coulter's daemon, primate daemons are associated with intelligence, but also an element of the cold and calculating, which obviously suits artemis.

however, for me, monkey and great ape daemons also have a touch of brutality or connection to baser instincts. and i don't quite get that same feeling from lemur daemons? i see a lemur daemon as being more in touch with the creative or unconventional. a little more contemplative and reserved. just a touch of whimsy. just as artemis prides himself on maturity, but also chases after fairies.

i get the most artemis vibe from the fork-marked lemur and the silky sifaka, though perhaps the latter is a little too on the nose. they look a little more silly than he would probably prefer, perhaps before she settles she's often in the form of a magpie or other corvid? similar vibe but a little more subdued.

next, butler :) i think a dog daemon is essential for butler for their association with service. my thought process was that it needs to be a dog, something huge and menacing, bite as bad as its bark, but also deeply loving and caring.

regular guard dogs felt right out because there's a persistent hardness to them as daemons. they serve and protect, but where's the softness? now livestock guardians are perfect. they blend in with the herd, take them as family all their own, and the teeth come out for anything that threatens their wooly friends.

here i chose the kangal. the daemon needed to be something big and muscled, but not too fluffy or sweet looking. great pyrenees got ruled out for fluffiness, central asian shepherd dog because their faces look just a little too goofy :p kangals win because they're huge and have a resting bitch face. i also like that the breed is from turkey, a bridge between europe and asia, since butler is described as eurasian.

juliet is a hard one, especially since it's been a while since i've read the books where she's a significant character. the key characteristics i associate with her are strength, extroversion, glitz, and unconventionality, particularly in family expectations. so, my two thoughts:

my first thought was to pair juliet with a wild cat. i think it creates a nice juxtaposition between the butler family expectations of service to the fowl household and her choice to strike out on her own. the same way wild cats may look so much like our pets at home, may not even be physically imposing, but are still dangerous predators. i like caracals specifically because they're a bit stockier in build, and also the ear tufts make them eye-catching like juliet's wrestling outfits :p

not as much thought in choosing the rainbow stag beetle as another option, except that i wanted another option because feline doesn't feel like a 100% fit for juliet to me. "rainbow" stag beetle because jade princess, and a stag beetle because they look tough but mostly they just like to show off (not that juliet isn't actually tough, but she's more interested in the performance than viciousness or sadism.)

[cyrus-badman]

I've got a little scene from my loft AU for you guys!!! Hope you like it!!

Game night

Over the last two months, Kurt, Rachel, Santana, Blaine, and Sam have fallen into an unintentional yet rigid routine of sorts.

Mondays are the quiet, stay-in nights. On these days, everyone is tired from the day, still decompressing after the hard shift from weekend to work or school.

On Tuesdays, the five of them all go out together, either to Callbacks―the karaoke bar Rachel was so eager to introduce them all to, frequented by all of her NYADA friends, Brody included (Sam likes Brody; he’s nice, he’s hot, and they both understand what it’s like to compromise yourself for money)―or just out to dinner for a nice evening. Typically, they opt for the former, though that inevitably morphs into Rachel Berry Diva Hour, wherein the diva competes with herself for Best Bar Performance of All Time™ and “allows” everyone else to participate by being her “adoring audience of loving fans”. One time, Rachel and Kurt dragged them all to yet another Broadway show, though Sam can’t remember its title. He was reluctant at first―he has this thing where he pretends to hate all musical theater, and he’s pretty sure Blaine has to resist the urge to throttle him every time he does it; Sam wouldn’t worry too much about that, though, as Blaine looks adorable when he’s pretending to be upset with him―but after the show, he was vibrating in place, and even engaged in an enthusiastic conversation with Rachel―Sam is still surprised that that ever happened anytime he thinks about it―wherein the two of them practically talked over each other in all their excitement.

Wednesdays are movie nights. It’s a little unconventional, but in their case, they have other plans for the last day of the work week. Every Wednesday, the five of them (sometimes six, if Sebastian is over) alternate between who gets to pick the film. Most often, this results in a rom-com from Kurt, a Broadway classic as Rachel’s choice (Funny Girl more times than not), a superhero movie for both Blaine and Sam and some obscure indie film about feminism and “hot bitches” as Santana’s pick.

On Thursdays, Blaine and Sam typically have the loft to themselves because Santana takes late shifts at the Spotlight Diner, Rachel’s Funny Girl rehearsals run until seven on those days, and Kurt goes out somewhere with Sebastian (now that Sam thinks about it, there’s probably a reason for that―one that starts with B and ends with lam). Sam loves Thursdays for that reason. His and Blaine’s constant presence at the Hummelpezberry loft is a nuisance to their three friends, a fact that encourages them to stop by more often than they normally would, which is already a lot.

That means that Fridays are reserved for game nights. It wasn't intentional at first, and it's not like they've always done it. In fact, Kurt once mentioned that he, Rachel, and Santana had never had game nights before Blaine and Sam’s arrival in New York.

But one Friday a couple of months ago, the five of them were in the parlor, watching yet another of Rachel’s guilty pleasure films, when the power suddenly flickered out. It was late August, the rain was raging outside, and the electricity in Bushwick really wasn't that reliable―it still isn't, one of the many reasons Blaine and Sam picked an apartment just outside of the neighborhood―so naturally, they were bathed in darkness for the unforeseeable future. Of course, that was, until Blaine pulled out flashlights and lanterns and Rachel lit candles. Sam always used to roll his eyes when people gave each other candles as gifts, but at that moment, his opinion shifted―man, those candles sure smelled good, almost as good as his boyfriend and his raspberry hair gel.

So, of course, someone―probably Blaine, because of course it was Blaine―busted out a stack of games that had no business being in an adult household (“Who even put these in here?!” Rachel had demanded, followed by the evil cackle of Santana). They started with Uno, but that soon morphed into Sorry! and then Monopoly. It had devolved quickly into Rachel accusing Santana of stacking the deck in Uno (“HOW?!” Santana had cackled, flinging cards like throwing stars). It was fun and allowed them to spend quality time together where they could talk and interact. The week after, they’d been debating their next movie choice when Sam suggested they play another game because it had been a fun, pleasant experience the week before. Santana griped and grumbled, but ultimately, she was out-voted as Rachel jumped in glee (heehee) at Sam’s request.

When Sebastian started becoming a regular face at the Hummelpezberrys (a term coined by Sam for Kurt, Rachel, and Santana’s apartment), he would join in on their group activities, and soon enough, it became a thing. And Sam loves game nights; he savors the moments when they can all just disconnect from the electronics and enjoy each other’s company.

In high school, his family couldn't afford luxuries like game consoles and cell phones, so they’d spent a lot of time making memories, telling jokes, and just generally having fun as a family. Game nights were a regular occurrence, too, and Sam thinks it’s nice to “go back to his roots,” in a way.

This week is different.

Normally, Blaine and Sam pair up for team games automatically, and Sebastian forces Kurt to be his partner, leaving Rachel and Santana as the third, reluctant duo. Game nights like these usually consist of Rachel and Santana bickering endlessly about the most mundane aspects of the game (because Rachel insists on following the rules and apparently, Santana doesn’t see the logic in that), Sebastian self-sabotaging his and Kurt’s team with the royal goal of annoying Kurt (an objective he reaches every time), and Blaine slipping into Sam’s lap, which leads them to make out indiscreetly and quite loudly. By the end of the evening, Blaine is always a giggling mess in Sam’s lap, Kurt’s glaring daggers in Sebastian’s direction, and Santana is making fun of everyone while tossing popcorn at her friends. This is all while Rachel paces in the corner because she’s an OCD subject, and not only is there popcorn scattered on the floor, but the pieces of what used to resemble a game of charades are strewn about on the couch, under the coffee table, and―somehow―in the doorway to the kitchen. The chaos is fun, Sam argues, and Rachel turns her murderous stare on him.

...

Tonight, the volume of the apartment hit a maximum before the games even began. The plan is to play charades, a setup that Blaine happily complies with, adjusting the game pieces on the coffee table with that cute, irresistible grin of his. Just like last week, and the week before that, Blaine is wearing another of Sam’s sweatshirts, the sleeves drowning him. The neckline of the sweatshirt hangs off Blaine’s smaller frame loosely, exposing his pale, olive-colored collarbone. Sam tries not to drool, pushing the fresh swarm of memories from the sight to the back of his mind. It’s game night. He’s gotta stay locked in.

Before Blaine and Sam can even exchange more than one glance―yes, they're always partners, it's an unspoken agreement―Kurt clinks his wine glass, drawing everyone’s attention. “Teams, everyone,” he announces, wine glass and hourglass in hand. He scans the group solemnly like he’s about to make a crucial battle strategy assessment. “This time, we’re being strategic.”

Already hyped up on her third glass of wine, Rachel whirls on the only couple in the room, exclaiming, “Yes! We have to be strategic. Samuel and Blaine can’t be on the same team again! We don’t need a repeat of last week.”

“Why not?” Blaine asks, bottom lip protruding in a dramatic pout. Sam leans back into the cushiony couch, urging Blaine to relax further into him. The brunette is leaning against Sam’s chest, his dark, curly hair tousled from where Sam’s fingers have been carding through it, Sam’s sweatshirt now hanging off one shoulder. Sam can’t help but soak up the warmth of his boyfriend against his body. Blaine’s head is tucked beneath the blonde’s chin, his dark curls tickling Sam’s jaw with their soft whispers. For a moment, it’s entirely too easy to forget the madness around them and slip into the bliss that wraps around him and Blaine.

Rachel narrows her eyes, glaring, a passionate fire burning in her gaze. The look is scathing on its own. “Because you never actually play, Blaine. You get distracted!” Her eyes pointedly flick to Sam at that.

“By what?” Blaine prods again, batting his lashes with faux innocence. His hand snakes up to rest a tad too high on Sam’s thigh.

“That.” She jabs a finger at the brunette, then at his blond boyfriend. “That’s what.”

Trying to suppress a laugh but failing miserably, Sam tucks Blaine further into his side. Blaine grins and tilts his head up to kiss Sam’s cheek. As he pulls back to rest his head on his boyfriend’s shoulders, his smile turns soft. “Can’t help it,” he explains, shrugging.

Properly ruining the moment, Rachel’s voice cuts through the romantic haze. “Well, you’re not on the same team tonight,” she declares, voice firm. “You’re with Kurt.”

The boy in question jerks his head around to gape at her, practically choking on his wine. “What?!” he shrieks. “Rachel, no! You know I can’t―”

“Too late,” the short girl interrupts, cutting off whatever inevitably rude and offensive comment Kurt was about to make. She herds Blaine over to Kurt’s side of the room. Blaine’s ex sighs exaggeratedly but protests no further, shooting Blaine a glare that clearly screams don’t ruin this for me. Blaine just shrugs and smiles innocently in response.

Turning back to Sam, Rachel grabs the blonde’s arm with surprising strength. “You’re with me. We’re going to win this.” And then all of a sudden, she’s pinching him―which really hurts, by the way―while Kurt whisks Blaine away. Sam’s not too sure how he feels about that; yes, he knows Blaine is completely, one hundred percent over Kurt and head-over-heels for him, but still, the insecurity lingers. Blaine and Kurt were together for a long time. Blaine used to insist that they were soulmates. The fear is justified in Sam’s mind.

Sam blinks at Rachel, who is still pinching Sam’s arm (This is abuse, Sam thinks distantly). She announces yet again that Sam is her partner, which he never agreed to, but oh, well. He can feel Blaine’s puppy-dog eyes burning a hole in his skin. But Sam can’t exactly do anything about it, so he merely shrugs helplessly. “Sorry, B. Rules are rules.”

A loud snort reminds them all that Santana is still here and banking on a win tonight. “Oh, this is gonna be good.” She turns to Sebastian, leaning against the kitchen counter and tossing back popcorn like he’s watching a soap opera: prime entertainment. “What do you say, Smythe? You and me?”

She doesn't even have to ask. The boy in question is already smirking as he replies, “Obviously. Let’s ruin their lives.”

Apparently, Kurt and Rachel didn't think this through all the way. Sam can see both of them pale instantly when they turn to the Latina and her counterpart. Santana and Sebastian are wearing matching evil grins, and Sam knows he should probably feel dread pooling in his gut right about now, but he really doesn’t. Tonight is guaranteed to be even more chaotic than last week, and that’s a plus in Sam’s book.

He can understand her concerns, though. With Tana and Seb working together, it’s surely possible that no one will win this game. Either that or one of them will end up rage-quitting and/or flipping the board game over. The mental image of Santana Lopez and Sebastian Smythe overturning a table is apparently so hilarious that it deserves an outward reaction; Sam barks out a laugh when he pictures it, and everyone turns to stare at him like he’s crazy―well, Rachel does. Santana appears unsurprised, Kurt just looks exasperated, Sebastian’s amused, and Blaine rolls his eyes fondly and curls into Sam’s chest. The blonde wraps an arm around his boyfriend’s waist and drops a kiss into his dark curls. He loves Blaine’s natural hair and spends every waking moment making sure Blaine knows it.

Sam supposes it wouldn't be the end of the world if they were on opposing teams for one game of charades. In fact, that might even make it easier to win; Blaine is terrible at this game, whereas Sam has been working on his impressions for years and finds it quite easy to translate voices into body language, hand gestures, and expressions.

Seemingly, Rachel has been trying to argue against the Sebtana duo for the last few minutes. It doesn’t seem like she’s had any success.

“I’m just saying,” Santana’s voice cuts through the comfortable atmosphere encasing Blane and Sam like a scalpel, “if I’m stuck with him―” she jerks a thumb towards the tall boy, whose smirk only widens, “―we’re guaranteed to win. Because, as much as I despise admitting this, Smythe’s clever stupidity might actually come in handy.” She pauses then, flashing a wicked grin at Rachel. “Unlike your usual partners, Berry. Dead weight is, unfortunately, not conducive to victory.”

Wide-eyed and gaping, Rachel splutters at the implications, hands flying to her hips in the universal gesture of I’m about to unleash the wrath of a thousand stage moms. In other words, Super-Saiyan, Sam thinks. “Excuse me? I am an excellent teammate.”

“Riiight,” the Latina drawls, drawing out the syllable as she tosses a kernel of popcorn down the hatch. “Just like you’re an excellent person to sit next to during a movie when your constant running commentary makes me want to toss myself off the fire escape.”

Rachel’s eyes widen further at that, mouth opening as if she’s about to fire something just as long and offensive back at her. Sam wouldn't doubt that she would if not for Kurt’s intervention.

The countertenor pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes rolling hard. “I thought this was supposed to be fun.”

Blaine, ever the optimist, takes the opening to chime in brightly, “It is!” Sam doesn't know if it’s because he's trying to diffuse the situation or because he’s just genuinely fucking oblivious. He’s willing to bet it’s the latter. His boyfriend claps his hands together as he beams at their friends. “And if we could all just channel our inner holiday spirits―”

Santana cuts him off, already shaking her head dismissively. “Unless the spirit is tequila, I don’t give a shit.”

Up until now, Sebastian has been twirling a pen in his fingers lazily, obviously having repeated the gesture enough times to be a pro at it. Now, he grins and pitches into the conversation. “What’s the matter, Lopez? Afraid I’ll upstage you in front of your little Broadway BFF?”

“Please,” the Latina scoffs. “You couldn’t upstage a rusty tambourine.” A laugh escapes Sam at the odd choice of words; sometimes Santana can be so random.

Blaine’s quiet chuckle vibrates in Sam’s chest. “Think we should referee?” he questions privately, craning his neck to look up at his boyfriend. Sam pats the brunet’s thigh and shakes his head.

“Nah, let them go at it. Adds flavor.”

Sam can tell that Santana’s preparing to interject once again, hands poised to gesticulate animatedly and eyes gleaming with fiery intent, but Kurt beats her to it, stepping between her and Sebastian. “Enough!” he demands, fixing them both with his best I’ve had it with your nonsense glare. “We’re here to have a civilized game night. Not to recreate an episode of Real Housewives of Bushwick.”

His comment may not land exactly the way it was intended, but it does ease some of the tension. Santana cackles, head thrown back as the evil gleam in her eye resurfaces. “I’m definitely Teresa,” she claims with a smirk. “Blaine can be Melissa.”

The boy in question nods as if accepting his fate, while Rachel, clearly grasping for some sense of order, inserts herself into the discussion. “Fine. If we’re all done now, can we just―”

“You never answered my question," Blaine points out. His tone is innocent, but there's an impish lilt to his voice that betrays his intentions. His hand, moments ago resting on Sam’s thigh, now inches upward marginally. “What distracts me during the game?”

Biting back a laugh, Sam watches as Rachel narrows her eyes at Blaine, her expression scandalized and accusatory in equal measure. She points at the two of them wildly, screeching, “That! That right there is exactly what I’m talking about!”

Blaine gasps dramatically in response. “Rachel Barbara Berry, I am appalled! Are you suggesting that I―”

“Stop it.” Sam thinks it was a pretty good Rachel impression and offers his boyfriend a thumbs up. Grin widening, Blaine latches onto Sam’s thumb and tugs it toward himself, hugging it to his chest in an adorable gesture. Sam knows he's smiling like a dope and he couldn't care less. Rachel goes on, unfazed by Blam’s display of affection. “You’re not charming your way out of this. We all know exactly what happens the second you and Sam end up on the same team.”

Sebastian, who has been reclining against the arm of the couch, perks up. “Oh, this is so much more entertaining than charades.”

“You,” Kurt says sharply, pointing at Sebastian, “zip it.” At that, Sebastian smirks but makes a show of miming zipping his lips, locking them, and throwing away the key.

Then Rachel stands and takes a deep breath, clearly summoning every ounce of patience in her body. She grabs Blaine by the wrist and tugs him toward the coffee table, where Kurt is already arranging the charade cards. “You’re on task tonight, Blaine Anderson,” she orders, leaving no room for discussion. “No distractions.”

As Blaine takes his place, dropping to the floor next to Kurt and crossing his legs, he turns to Sam. The brunette’s cheeky grin is already firmly in place like Sam knew it would be. The blonde wiggles his fingers in an exaggerated wave, mouthing, Behave. It’s wishful thinking, really, but the least Sam can do is try.

“Only if you promise to stop being so distracting,” the shorter boy retorts. They both laugh a little, just subtle enough to avoid prompting an icy glare from their respective teammates. Sam sighs as Blaine shifts across from him, trying to get comfy. It’s going to be a long night.

He rubs his hands together and leans forward on the couch, hanging off the edge of the cushion. “Alright, let’s get this game on then!”

...

Predictably, the game devolves almost immediately.

The room is an explosion of noise and motion. Rachel is too competitive for Sam to keep up with. She keeps barking guesses at Sam’s dramatized impressions like she’s auditioning for a role in a war film, and it’s confusing as hell. Meanwhile, Blaine and Kurt are bickering intently over whether Blaine’s charade for tap-dancing penguin is accurate (of course, Sam knows it’s not, but he values his sexytime and so he’s not going to say anything). In the background (or amidst the chaos, depending on your perspective), Santana and Sebastian are making the game into a gigantic gag, using every turn to act out increasingly suggestive gestures worthy enough to make Kurt turn red.

It all goes completely to hell when Santana grabs a stack of cards and decides to fling them about, tossing them at her partner like ninja stars. With dramatic grace and inelegant yelps, Seb manages to dodge most of the artillery, though Santana’s able to land the occasional hit square in his face. And where Blaine is terrible at guessing, Kurt is apparently shit at miming. Kurt’s pulled the Phantom of the Opera card from the deck and is nearly in tears desperately trying and failing to imitate it.

“You’re useless,” Blaine mutters under his breath, standing next to Kurt to offer his own interpretation. He proceeds then to deliver a melodramatic rendition of The Phantom Sam has ever seen (which isn’t really saying much, considering Sam hasn’t even seen it on Broadway, but still). Kurt scowls at him.

Sam turns back to his own task; he and Rachel are trying to decide whether Titanic counts as only one word or two. “I’m pretty sure it’s two,” Sam claims, scratching his head. “Like, there’s Titanic the movie, and then there’s the boat.”

Rachel narrows her eyes at him, and it sends a little chill down Sam’s spine. That girl can be really spooky when she wants to be. “Do I look like a dictionary to you, Samuel?” It’s supposed to be a rhetorical question, Sam knows, but he can’t resist.

“I dunno, you kinda look like you could fit in a dictionary,” the blonde quips with a grin. The girl’s icy glare is the last thing he sees before a book is flying at his face, whacking him in the arm when he uses his forearm as a shield. “Ow!” he whines, rubbing the injury with a wince. Rachel shoots him a prim, smug smile, clearly the victor. But only because she didn’t get thwacked in the arm with a book!

“B!” Sam calls, because throwing books at each other is fun and all, but they are playing a game, after all. His boyfriend turns to him, expectant smile on his lips, and Sam feels a grin forming when he sees the brunette. “What’s the ruling? Titanic, one word or two?”

He seems to consider the question for a moment, finger on his chin as he contemplates. After a few beats, the curly-haired boy smirks. “Whatever Rachel doesn’t want; we’ll do the opposite.” At this, Santana bursts into a fit of laughter while Rachel releases an indignant squawk.

After Rachel claims to disown the group, Sam lets himself grin, leaning back into the couch. He watches his boyfriend light up the room with his easy charm and disarming smiles that always steal Sam’s breath. Regardless of how unpredictable and utterly chaotic these game nights are, Blaine somehow always manages to make them perfect.

By the time Blaine’s next turn rolls around, he’s already a giggling mess, falling apart at the seams. Sam watches him try to mime “Superman” and it’s not even half-bad. Sam’s surprised, if not slightly impressed even. Of course, it was too good to be true because halfway through, the curly-haired boy slips on the carpet, landing sprawled out on the floor. The game cards flutter around him, one landing on his nose somehow. Blaine stares at it, going cross-eyed, and Sam wonders once again how the boy doesn’t get headaches from that. Crossing his eyes has always made Sam’s head hurt! It isn’t very fair, is all. His boyfriend blows at the piece of paper, trying to get it off him, but he only manages to launch it straight up in the air and back down on his face. The brunette huffs in mock-annoyance for a beat before bursting into laughter. His attempts to rise back to his feet are futile, as his shoulders are shaking so hard that he can’t keep his balance.

“You’re useless!” Kurt hisses, hands thrown up in indignance. His glare slides over to Rachel for a second before snapping back to Blaine. “I don’t know why I even―”

Yeah, like that is going to end well. Sam steps in, cutting Kurt off before he can go on a whole-ass tangent like he inevitably would if no one stopped him. “Alright,” the blonde says, stepping over to help Blaine to his feet. “Time out. Someone’s had too much wine.” Despite his words and the playful tinge of annoyance in his tone, Sam chuckles fondly as he scoops Blaine into his arms with minimal effort. The shorter boy reflexively wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s neck, still laughing as he buries his face in Sam’s shoulder.

Hands on her hips, Rachel stares at them expectantly. “Samuel. Put him down,” she says cooly. “We’re playing to win.”

From somewhere to his right, Sam hears a snort followed by, “Yeah, like that's gonna happen, Berry.” He tries to hide his smile by nuzzling into Blaine’s hair, pretending that he’s kissing Blaine’s head rather than secretly sniggering at Santana’s comment.

“I think Blaine needs a break,” Sam says once he’s regained his bearings. He does not put Blaine down. Take that, Rachel! He grins down at his boyfriend, who’s already gazing up at him, his wide, glossy amber eyes filled with affection and awe. It makes Sam’s heart skip a beat, being looked at like that. So tenderly, so lovingly. The blond clears his throat. “He’s, uh, clearly too drunk to keep up the game.”

Santana smirks, jabbing a finger at the pair. Her fiery eyes are dancing with knowing amusement. “Oh, that’s your excuse? What are you two sneaking off to do, huh?”

Kurt wrinkles his nose while Rachel scoffs indignantly. Sam can almost hear her squeaky upset voice, The audacity! Blaine just giggles, nuzzling Sam’s neck. “I don’t think you want me to answer that,” he responds, the mischief in his voice clear as day.

“Gross!” Kurt exclaims, throwing a pillow at them as Sam carries Blaine toward the hallway. He misses by a landslide as predicted, and when Sam passes by the weapon of choice, he kicks it back toward the living room, flashing Kurt a wink, his tongue poking out.

With a mock-salute, Sebastian shakes his head and says, heavy with amusement, “Godspeed, Evans. Don’t break anything.”

Sam grins at that. This is one of the main reasons he and Blaine love crashing here so much; the commentary is hilarious! Sebastian’s approval is always welcome and feeds Sam’s pride a bit, Santana’s sexual remarks are funny and somewhat accurate, and Kurt and Rachel’s indignant exasperation has the ability to bring Sam up from any bad moodswings he may have. Not that Blaine’s company alone wouldn’t fix that immediately.

As they disappear around the corner, Sam can hear the glare in her voice as Rachel addresses the remaining players. “That’s it. We’re locking them out next time.” Although her voice is resolute, Sam knows it’s not going to happen. Rachel and Kurt have been bullshitting about revoking his and Blaine’s loft privileges since the first time they'd been caught in action, but they’ve never actually followed through with the threats.

Santana’s cackle echoes through the corners of the apartment. “Oh sure, Berry. Like that’ll stop them.”

[nortism]

Nor's Les Mis Fic Recommendations

I've been scouring les mis ao3 for a few months now so here are my fav fics I've found. I've tried my best to tag tumblrs where I can but let me know if you are the author of any of these and I'll tag you!

Three Days (or The One Where Javert and Valjean Take a Road Trip Through France and Raise a Child) by zamwessel

Rating: E

Ships: Javert/Jean Valjean

Summary:

Javert calls what he thinks is Valjean's bluff about needing three days to find the child Cosette and intercede for her. The Inspector comes along for the ride -- and gets much more than he bargained for, in the process.

Notes: First Les Mis fic I ever read and its an absolute banger. It's pretty much exactly what it says on the tin and I'm a sucker for a kid fic so I absolutely adored it.

A Change of Bizarre Kind by M_Moonshade

Rating: E

Ships: Javert/Jean Valjean

Summary:

Six months ago, Doctor Henry Jekyll sought to escape the dramatics of London by coming to M-sur-M. Tonight his murderer pays a visit to the Mayor Madeline. (Being the Curious Case of Inspector Javert and Mister Hyde)

Notes: Criminally underrated. Jekyll and Hyde AU but I went in knowing very little about that book and I could understand what was going on. Each chapter contains bits from the past and present day until the timelines eventually add up which makes the main mystery all the more compelling. Also Fantine is alive and well which is always nice.

Our Souls Still in Fetters by Cinaed

Rating: E

Ships: Javert/Jean Valjean

Summary:

After Javert is assigned to discover a blackmailer within a public-house that caters to men who prefer other men, Valjean is unexpectedly drawn into the case. Together they must stop the blackmailer before any lives can be ruined...including their own.

Notes: This author has so many great Valvert fics but this one is probably my favourite. There's the classic "undercover as a couple" trope as well as old timey gay bars. Also a huge fan of how this author portrays Cosette and Valjean's relationship.

In Defiance of all Geometry by idiopathicsmile

Rating: T

Ships: Combeferre/Enjolras/Grantaire

Summary:

Amis House might not be the biggest student co-op, or the fanciest, but it's got something all its own. Specifically, smoke damage on the kitchen ceiling from that time Courfeyrac lit a political pamphlet on fire. In which there are secrets, pining, pancakes, and revelations, and sometimes the shortest distance between three points is not a triangle but a circle.

Notes: I love a good poly fic and this is one of the best. Also just a generally fun and wholesome friendship fic. Definitely a nice comforting read after all the old man angst I've got on here.

Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight) by Need_To_Comment_Rising (@aromantic-enjolras)

Rating: T

Ships: Courfeyrac/Enjolras, Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Its complicated)

Summary:

Enjolras takes a swig of his drink with everyone else, and then smirks at Courfeyrac over the rim of his glass. "You didn't seem to mind much me being bossy yesterday night when I had you in my bed..." At his side, Grantaire chokes on his drink and starts coughing. But how did we get here, you might ask? Well, let’s rewind. ------- Enjolras and Courfeyrac have had a friends with benefits arrangement for a while. But when Coureyrac starts dating Combeferre, Enjolras is left with the question of where he fits in the new status quo...

Notes: Another poly fic with aromantic!Enjolras. I love fics with unconventional relationship dynamics as well as people actually communciating with each other (though not before there's been some hijinks ofc). Criminally underrated.

How Marius (Painstakingly) Won the Hand of Mlle. Fauchelevent by writingsyrup (@syrupsyche)

Rating: G

Ships: Cosette/Marius

Summary:

When setting out to woo his beloved Cosette, Marius had never imagined that it would bring him to this: sitting at a dining table next to her grim-faced father, and staring at the marble that was Enjolras picking at his peas. Or; Enjolras and Cosette are siblings in 19th century France. Marius has to deal with the consequences of this.

Notes: Probably the best Marius characterisation I've ever read, he's just so awkward and weird bless him. I love a good awkward "meeting the parents" and this filled that hole in my heart. Is part of a wider series but can be read as a standalone.

Omnia mutantur, nihil interit by Apathy and saltedpin

Rating: M

Ships: Javert/Jean Valjean, Cosette/Marius Pontmercy

Summary:

Valjean's panting breath does not belong to him. He scrambles out of the bed and stumbles on too-light feet to the mirror in the corner, although he already knows what he will see. Peering back at him from behind a curtain of dark hair, wide-eyed, is Éponine Thénardier. Jean Valjean awakens one morning from uneasy dreams to find that something quite unexpected has happened during the night.

Notes: Cosette and Javert get bodyswapped and Marius is weirdly into it, if that's not enough to convince you to read this fic then idk how to help you. Not normally a huge body swap fan but this was absolutely hilarious as well as having some genuinely sweet moments. Also Theodule is there which means something to some people.

It's Not the Same Anymore by ShameDumpster (@shamedumpster)

Rating: T

Ships: Enjolras/Grantaire

Summary:

Grantaire is a bookstore clerk in his late twenties, and to everyone’s eternal disbelief, a father. It’s been years since he’s seen anyone from his former group of friends, after a falling out cleaved him from the ABC, but everything changes when Enjolras walks into his bookstore. Can they rekindle their friendship, or something more, while they both come to terms with how their lives have changed over the past decade?

Notes: SO SO GOODDD!! Top tier slowburn kid fic, I could wax poetic about it for days. Had me gripped from start to finish.

Acts of Mercy by cruisedirector and Dementordelta

Rating: M

Ships: Javert/Jean Valjean

Summary:

After witnessing and reporting a murder, Javert is dismissed from the police and takes a job protecting the women in a brothel, where many of his long-held ideas about justice are challenged.

Notes: Breaking, man from the 1800s finds out that life for women is hard. Such a solid redemption arc fic with some really memorable ocs.

Lynx's Claws and Wolf's Mane by Kaleran

Rating: T

Ships: None

Summary:

When he is older, when he is a prison guard, he thinks back to his childhood and realizes he had been considerably fortunate. "Prison is no place for a girl like you," his mother told him often, usually fussing with what rags they could use for clothing. "Forgive me for this, draga mea." And so, instead of a daughter, she pretended to have a son.

Notes: Completely canon compliant except Javert is trans and the impact that has on the story really adds an extra layer to his character that I find really compelling. Warning, it is very depressing bc canon.