#which is certainly very helpful! there's scary shit down there!

[discordiansamba]

local merman describing all the weird ass shit he's seen in the deeper parts of the ocean, but everyone thinks he's just pulling their legs... at least until some sailors dredge up the corpse of something he'd talked about before.

zuko: see? told you I wasn't making it all up.

sokka: I am never going back in the water again.

[homunculus-argument]

I would not say that I'm a scary-looking guy. I don't dress particularly alt, just pretty basic dad rock band tees, black skinny jeans with a chain, plenty of assorted jewellery and accessories, dyed black hair and seven piercings around my head, but this is apparently enough to make old people give me A Very Long Stare. But this post isn't about them.

Today I was walking homeward, and there were these two kids (about 8-10 years old?) standing in the middle of the road. They stood there talking, one was on foot but the other one had a pastel pink bicycle, which she had apparently unintentionally stationed horizontally across the walkpath, so the two effectively blocked the whole way. So I kept my eyes on the girl with the bike the whole time I approached their happenstance roadblock.

Now, the finnish culture is both a high context culture and an introvert culture, which means that finns regularly behave like weird animals. A prolonged, maintained eye contact directed at a stranger is a mild, but certainly clear, aggressive gesture. Not as outright hostile as verbally telling them that they're in peoples' way and should move, but intended as a stern gesture to correct them anyhow. The way that dogs sometimes do that very specific low growl at misbehaving puppies, just to say "I have no intention to hurt you, but you better cut that shit out."

And the girl with the bike kept eye contact with me the whole time I approached, while pulling her bike out of the way in a pointedly slow, deliberate way. Looking down or away and moving the bike hastily would have been an apologetic gesture, and this kid clearly wanted to let me know she wasn't yielding just because she did, in fact, move out of the way. And once I was just about to pass, she said "hi?" to me, in a mildly confused and disgusted tone. Not confused by my intentions themselves, but by my evident audacity.

While this may not seem like anything odd, as I mentioned earlier, finns are an introvert culture. Talking to strangers unprompted is rude, a downright hostile act, more aggressive than prolonged eye contact but not as hostile as physically touching a stranger without warning. And I was caught off-guard so badly that I just said "hi" back to her while not slowing down as I passed them.

So just this week, I've had two random old people stare at me like they've correctly identified me as a Manmade Horror Beyond Their Comprehension, and this little girl dressed head to toe in pastels with a pink bike and sparkling unicorn backpack just glared right back at me and stared me down like Can I Fucking Help You.

[happy74827]

Joyride

[Wade Wilson x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Remember kids, always look at the road when driving. It can help you avoid certain blabber mouths 🫶

WC: 2556

Category: Fluff, Annoying!Deadpool, 4th Wall Breaks, Insane Amounts of Profanity {TW: Deadpool (for obvious reasons)}

In honor of watching Deadpool 3 (super good btw), enjoy this random chaotic fic I created with the help of @yoursacredqueenmother. This is super chaotic lmfao

『••✎••』

Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

A millisecond ago, you were driving down a street. In the middle of traffic. At a red light. Now, you were panicking, looking over the front of your car for the flash of red you had just seen. It took a couple of seconds for you to realize that there was blood on your car and on the ground—a lot of blood.

"Oh, shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!"

You quickly hopped out of the car, rushing to the spot you thought the person… or thing would be, but… there was nobody. There was blood on the ground but nobody.

Did you hit a deer, and it just… ran off? No, that can't be right. You definitely saw something red, and it most certainly was not a deer.

You looked around, confused. How the hell does something bleed all over the ground and then disappear without a trace?!

You got back in your car, deciding to drive to the closest police station. Maybe they knew something about this.

So, you decided to abandon the shortcut home and drive to the nearest police station, which happened to be just down the road. But as you were minutes into the drive, you felt the sudden urge to look in your rearview mirror.

And there you found your mysterious red-suited victim in the backseat, holding the biggest knife you have ever seen as his white-covered eyes stared at you from behind the mask.

You never hit the brakes faster in your life. The car made an ugly screeching sound, and the sudden force slammed the red-clad man into the back of your seat, making him let out a surprised yelp.

The car finally came to a stop, and the masked man recovered quickly, pushing himself off of your seat and glaring at you.

"Well, aren’t you just a heart break—"

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.

You grabbed your keys from the ignition and popped off the attached pepper spray, turning around and squirting him in the face. He let out a scream, and you quickly got out of the car, shutting the door and running as fast as you could.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get very far. Despite being hit by a car, and subsequently getting pepper sprayed, the man (or what you assume to be) caught up with you and blocked your path, his hands on his hips, his head cocked to the side.

"Alright, lady, what the fuck?" He asked, his voice sounding nasally, most likely because of the spray.

You stared at him, confused. He looked like he was waiting for an explanation.

"W-What the fuck?! What the fuck me? What the fuck you!" You exclaimed, your voice cracking a little. "What the fuck are you doing in my car?!"

"Well, I was trying to hitch a ride! But clearly, that didn't work out. Thanks a lot, by the way, for the pain and suffering. You’ve really opened up my horizons here."

It almost sounded like he was pouting.

"What the—! A ride?! Why in the hell would you just hop into someone's car?!"

"Uhh, because you ran me over, genius! I mean, come on, the least you could do is offer a guy a ride home after that. And then, the cherry on top of the fucking sundae: pepper spray!"

The masked man, so to speak, threw his arms up in the air, and you could almost see him rolling his eyes underneath the mask. Of course, that’s when you noticed the obvious broken bones in his hands. And the blood. There was a lot of blood.

"Look," the guy started, walking closer to you. "I know, I'm a big scary guy with a big scary knife and a bad temper and all, and you’re just… well, I’m sure you have an amazing personality, but how about we put all that aside, and you give me a ride, alright? Just drop me off at the corner of 10th and 55th, and you can forget this ever happened."

"Your arm… your wrist. It's broken," you told him.

"Yeah, no shit," the man scoffed. "Got any Taylor Swift CDs in that car?"

"Uh… no, not really. Why?"

"Cause, baby, I’m Shaking It Off!"

There was a pregnant pause, and you weren't quite sure if he was being serious or not. I mean, surely he wasn’t about to just ignore the fact that his arm was the complete opposite of norm—

But when he shook his arm in a violent manner, and a loud crack followed suit, you realized, with a heavy heart, that yes, this guy was serious.

What you didn’t know until a few seconds later, however, was that he snapped his bones back into place like it was nothing. It took the flexing in his fingers to realize it, too.

"Holy shit." You truly were in awe.

He seemed to find amusement in your expression, tilting his head slightly and giving you a once-over. And, yes, you could feel his eyes on you, and for some reason, it sent a shiver down your spine.

"So… Wendy Torrance, about that ride? Can you give me a lift, or are we gonna start that chick flick moment where your mental breakdown leads to slow-motion running to a Sia song?"

You could only stare.

"Alright, well, if you're going through with the latter, then at least play something that doesn’t involve that little dancing girl who likes to wear potato sacks as clothes."

You couldn’t believe this was happening.

"You are literally insane." You breathed out, shaking your head.

Even if you couldn’t see it, something told you that he made the biggest grin underneath his mask.

"Why, thank you, darling."

Fast forward a couple of minutes, and you found yourself driving towards the address the red-suited stranger had given you. You couldn’t really make conversation. He had his hands in his lap, playing with a knife, and was staring at you, his head tilted.

"You can blink, you know. I'm not a zombie," he informed you, making a gesture to his mask and eyes, which you assumed he was blinking underneath.

"Right," you nodded.

“Well, mostly, at least. I mean, I still have a pulse, but it's kind of irregular, and I think it's because I keep getting shot and stabbed in the heart. Oh, and I guess I'm also pretty much immortal, so that's probably the reason. But I think the whole not-dying thing cancels out the heartbeat thing, right? Like, the more times you get impaled or decapitated or set on fire, the more it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t affect you anymore, am I right?"

You glanced at him. He was staring at you, his hands still and his knife resting on his leg.

"…Do you ever shut up?"

"Woah-hoho, feisty. And here I thought I was going to break the ice with a good ol' fashioned knock knock joke."

"I don’t think that would've been funny."

"That's what the last girl said."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm. Except she wasn’t talking about the joke. I made her laugh in a different way."

You glanced at him again, and he was giving you a knowing look.

"I can't decide if you're disgusting or not."

He hummed, shrugging his shoulders. That made him shut his mouth just long enough for you to turn on the radio but not long enough to avoid the inevitable.

"Hey, hey, I got a good one: Knock knock."

You let out a long sigh, closing your eyes. "Who's there?"

"Orange."

"Orange, who?"

"Orange you glad I'm not a serial killer?"

"That wasn’t even good."

"I know. It would've been better if I could've pulled the knife out of my belt. You know, just for show." He twiddled his fingers at you.

"That wouldn’t have helped," you said.

"Nope," he agreed. "But it would've made a great story."

"I suppose."

"Yeah. Hey, hey, I got another one: Knock knock."

"You just—"

"Knock knock."

You let out a huff. This man was the most childish, annoying, idiotic, strange, weird—

"Knock knock."

"Oh, just fucking tell me the joke!"

"No! It doesn't work that way!"

You rolled your eyes, but before you could answer, he beat you to it.

"Okay, okay, how about this: Knock knock."

You didn't say anything.

"Knock knock."

Your eyes flickered over to him for a second.

"Knock knock."

"For fucks sake!" You exclaimed. "Who's there?"

He leaned forward, closer to you, and you could see his mouth moving.

"Deadpool."

You were confused.

"D-Deadpool? Is this a reference to that shitty horror movie? If so, that wasn't even good, and I'm not laughing, and I don't get the joke."

He just gave you a blank look, or at least you thought he did.

"No. My name's Deadpool."

"That’s…" you trailed off. "A pretty dumb name. Like that outfit you're wearing."

"Hey! Diss the name all you want, but don’t you dare diss the suit. It's my trademark. Not everyone can pull off this type of look; it’s a very rare art."

"Whatever. You still haven't told me the punch line to your dumb joke."

"Punch line? I never said there was a punch line. It was a knock knock joke."

"So then… What was the point? To annoy the driver into wanting to run you over again?"

He chuckled, a low, deep sound that vibrated in his throat. That… That was… oh.

He was still close, and now, with the new angle, you could see the small, yet very visible, curve of his lips, and that made you wonder who was actually hiding behind the mask.

"You are seriously the strangest person I've ever met."

"Oh, babe, you don't even know the half of it."

"Please, enlighten me," you replied sarcastically, glancing over at him.

His masked eyes looked into yours, and you knew he was grinning; you could practically feel it.

"What do you wanna know?" He asked.

"Uh, I don't know. Something other than the fact that you're a nutcase. How about your real name? It's obviously not 'Deadpool,' and I doubt anyone actually calls you that. So, what's your actual name?"

"Oh, wow. Right off the bat, huh? You know, the last girl I was with wasn’t nearly as direct. Then again, she never sprayed me like I was a roach in her kitchen."

You didn’t respond. You kept your eyes on the road.

"Fine," he relented. "But don’t expect a happy ending. This isn’t Kanas anymore, Toto."

He leaned back in his seat, his arm hanging off the open window, the wind blowing through his red suit.

"Names Wade, like the boxers, but without the fancy pants."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Wade Winston Wilson, I love long walks on the beach, and a good movie, and tacos, and chimichangas, and guns. Especially guns. Kinky, but not too kinky… and did I mention the tacos? Cause I love fucking love tacos."

Maybe you should start carrying tape around.

"What about you, sugar lips?" He asked, gesturing to you with the hand he wasn’t leaning against. "Got a name, or can I call you mine? Ooh, I should’ve used that before the pepper spray. 'What's your name, or can I call you mine?' Classic, Wade. Well, except for the fact that I forgot the 'I'd like to hit it from the back' part. Damn, should have used that, too. It's a good thing they gave you the lead. Otherwise, the audience would've been confused. They would've been wondering, 'Why did the writer suddenly change the dialogue to be about sex? Wasn’t this supposed to be that pure Notebook love story we all wanted?'"

He paused for a moment.

"Wait a minute. Are we still doing the monologue thing, or is the writer done? Cause, no offense, but that was a shitty transition. And, come on, no one wants a Notebook love story anymore. Who writes those? What we need is a little romance and a whole lotta smut."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Me? Nothing, just giving some feedback. I've always had an open relationship with writers. Some might even call me the next J.K Rowling. Except, instead of a lighting scar and magic, I have an ass load of weapons with an insatiable lust for violence and blood. And tacos."

You decided to ignore him.

"Anyway, back to you. You never answered my question. Do you have a name or not?"

"I can’t believe I actually agreed to give you a ride home."

"Yeah," he said, sounding bored. "Why did you do that?"

"I don’t know. Because I hit you with my car and felt bad? You had a broken arm and were bleeding out all over the ground."

"First sign of insanity."

"What?"

"Nothing," his mask wiggled around the area of his eyebrows. "So, your name? Don’t tell me you’re gonna pull out the classic yes and no abbreviations. You know what? I’m just gonna call you Spidey. It's easier, and it’ll sound sexier when you're screaming it later."

You rolled your eyes, deciding just to ignore his comments for the rest of the drive. You were wishing that you didn't live in a city full of traffic cause, damn, this was taking a while.

"Alright, turn here."

You followed the directions and pulled up in front of an abandoned-looking building. You didn't say anything, but you did raise an eyebrow in question.

"What? A guy like me has to keep his place secret, especially when the fangirls are after him."

"I didn’t ask."

"Yeah, but I saw you wondering."

"Right."

"Hey, Spidey," he said, unbuckling his seat belt. "Thanks for the ride."

"No problem. Just make sure to keep your ass away from car bumpers. And out of my car."

"Awe, come on, baby cakes, don't be like that. You're really missing out. My ass is the finest in the business. Not to mention my package. You should see the reviews I get online."

You snorted. "I'll take your word for it."

"Yeah, you will," he said, leaning over and patting your cheek. "Hey, if you ever get lonely, or bored, or horny, or whatever, just give me a call. Here," he handed you a crumpled piece of paper. "Don't lose it, that's my number. We should totally bang, like, tomorrow, or tonight, or right now."

"Goodbye, Wade," you said, and he took it as his cue to leave. He gave a silly salute and exited the car, but not without giving you a wink first.

"See you soon, Spidey!"

With that, he walked up to the building and disappeared inside. With a sigh, you collapsed into the seat, not even bothering to watch him. You were exhausted, and all you wanted was to go home and sleep.

After a couple of minutes of relishing the nice breeze that came through the open windows, you sat up and un-crinkled the paper.

The only thing written on it was a phone number, with a small, messy, red heart and a few words that honestly had you questioning the sanity of the world:

'If you're lucky, maybe I'll even let you top. ;)'

——

Spoiler alert: it took about a month for the two of you to hook up.

And no, you did not have Domino’s luck.

[signedkoko]

Hi hi!

How would Striker, Bee, and poly Stolitz (romantic) react to their chubby s/o being very physically strong and working out a lot?

No pressure to write this, and If you don't write for this many characters, you can choose who to focus on!

Sending lots of love your way 💚💛💙

-🐻

Beelzebub | Blitzo & Stolas | Striker [Romantic]

In which you are considerably physically stronger than them, and work out plenty to match.

Naturally, all of the sins are extremely strong in comparison to any overlord or sinner

Even so, you were surprisingly up there, without her magic Beelzebub couldn't begin to carry half the weight you did, and usually had to resort to her larger form- or just asking for your help

It's part of why she found you so attractive, it felt like in some way you could protect her more than anyone she knew

A lot of the people around her were already small, so it was also nice that you compared to her in size, though she found you to be much more curvaceous than her own lanky figure

" Ugh. I'd kill for hips like these, babe. "

She loves to feel you up and down and hold you close because god, you are just sooo comfortable

And when you flex your muscles it drives her crazy! She thinks you're the hottest person she's ever met

She also may be partially to blame for your chubbiness, because she never stops feeding you sweets, oops!

Both of these fools are physically WEAK, however strong they might be with guns or magic

They recall their first encounter with you was when someone was making fun of Stolas for dating an imp, and you totally rocked their shit with a punch straight to the face

Blitzo is already on you, asking so many questions about who you were, why you did that, making jokes

And Stolas has a faint blush because god, that was so attractive

They kept inviting you over until eventually you were closer than most- present on every date, called by the same sweet nicknames

Stolas likes to go with you when you work out, he especially loves to see you boxing

Being able to cheer you on against an opponent, or imagine you protecting him- oh it was just so exciting

Blitzo enjoys walking around hell with you because he gets to see everyone fuck off

Scary dog privileges

Stolas is always squishing your cheeks and hugging you tightly while speaking of all his fantasies involving you both

Blitzo is sneaking pictures of you after workouts for his office

Stronger? Than him? Sure thing

Striker first heard it at a place he frequented for drinks, that there was a guard for hire poster put up on their bulletin, someone new

When he hired you to see what'd happen, you sweeped the floor of some royals security team in minutes, and all he had to do was pull the trigger

Admittedly, he didn't feel the need to work with you more than that, as he enjoyed the hunt as much as the kill

But it was certainly fun seeing what someone else pulled

He’s straightforward about that, but also admits that he'd like to keep in touch

OBVIOUSLY so he can hire you on tougher missions, not because he thought you were interesting or fun

Suddenly, he's always popping up in the places you go, always offering you a drink, always getting tipsy enough to invite you to dance

Oh yeah, he certainly wants you

Fortunately for him, you're his lovely significant other only a few weeks later

He enjoys practising sparing with you, though he usually loses with just strength to strength, hsi wits certainly make him a tougher opponent

Striker find your resolve fiery, and something about you ignites something in him that leaves him wanting more

Author's Note - Actually love these guys sm... good crew you chose bear non I respect it!

Also I CATCH all the love you sent my way and EAT IT 🖤

[aryxchse]

hello!

i see ur requests are open so i have one (potentially) if ur willing to write it!!

yk how we get some glimpses into a dark percy jackson in the HoO series when he’s protecting annabeth… what if we got some of that for jason grace? potentially like the reader, she’s threatened by a minor god or monster or anything, so jason kinda goes unhinged? maybe like, he takes the air out of the opposing party’s lungs or anything else kinda unhinged?

i hope any of this makes sense lol thank uuuuu

🫶🫶🫶

dangerous storms / jason grace x female! reader.

a / n : I WAS THINKING THE EXACT SAME THING BECAUSE WHY THIS MAN HASN'T BEND SOMEONES OXYGEN ALREADY???

warnings : jason grace's angry self, airbending type of shit, cursing, DANGEROUS JASON I REPEAT DANGEROUS JASON!!

jason grace was a calm man.

he was rational, he would think before he act and he never made a move with his feelings. call it him being roman, or his father being literally the king of the gods, or maybe him growing up with a wolf raising him. jason grace was always the type to show his powers through strategic thinking.

well, everyone has boundries right?

he had a thin line in between destroying one thing or everything when it camed to you. if you're fine, then no one has to fear for anything. if you're okay, safe and healthy, no one has to panic.

but if it's the other way, than everyone should pray. even the non-believers. because jason grace can be scary and intimidating when he wants to. and he's so damn good at it.

things weren't supposed to go this way. you weren't supposed to get kidnapped by some giant. the plan wasn't this way, then why, why we're you in danger?

jason stopped being rational. his brain only said 'why, why, why' for like, an hour now. jason wasn't thinking straight. jason wasn't thinking.

"jason, we're gonna save her," piper tried to charmspeak him, but it didn't worked. the girl who put gaia back in sleep, couldn't calm down the son of jupiter.

percy jackson, who was feared by most monsters, demigods and even gods, was afraid how jason acted at the moment. but he didn't judged, he knew he would act the exact same way if something happened to annabeth. which, he did.

he was the only one who would go down with him if he asked. boundries we're boundries, and percy knew that very well.

"jason, we can make a plan." piper tried again. she was trying from the moment they got you. but it wasn't working and she started to get anxious.

"yeah, man. she's strong, she could be on her way back here even-" leo tried his best too. he couldn't recognise his best friend right now. he should've been like percy, who wasn't judging jason's madness and ready to go down with him. but he couldn't—it was like leo meeting jason for the first time, again.

"i already have a fucking plan." jason snapped, but he was quiet. which, it didn't help with the gang's fear. "and you guys are not involved."

"you sure?" percy asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. "my hands been itchy these days, and riptide is no better."

jason wanted to smile, but his situation didn't allowed. instead, he softened his gaze, just a bit. "thanks, but i'll handle it myself. it's my war now."

percy nodded, giving a look at the team. 'if someone wants to stop him, they have to go through me.'

"go get em', tiger." he joked. and jason flied away, not answering.

‎ ⚡️

you would fight for your life if you weren't hanging up by the chains on your wrists. your feet we're dangling in the air, and arms hurting from carrying all your weight. the sick giants put some fancy greek dress on you, making your hair prettier while you were unconscious.

the giant fucking fell in love with you, and it certainly did not liked jason.

jason. we're was he? what happened to him?

well, you we're about to find out.

"oh dear," the ugly beast purred, his big hands finding your tiny body. you disgusted, squirming under his touch to get away. but it was no use.

"you'll be all mine once i make the potion." he rambled, drool on his chin that showed you how hungry he was for you.

"in your fucking dreams." you spat, eyes shooting daggers. you we're jason's girl, and your own person, most importantly. "i'm already taken."

the giant growled, mixing the sound with his sick laugh. "that jupiter boy? he got nothing compared to me sweetheart!" he yelled and his voice echoed through the big cave. where we're you, even? "he has to kill me to get you!"

"be careful what you wish for." the sound made you melt instantly. how was he able to find you? well, you didn't cared to be honest. he was here.

jason's eyes we're nothing like before. it was like his own eyes had their storms and thunders. one part of you we're amazed, while the other got scared. you knew he wouldn't even touch you if it ever hurt you, but you we're scared for him. not from him. for him doing something he'll regret for the rest of his life in order to protect you.

but, jason seemed to not give a damn.

"you tiny little demigod! you have no chance against me, you don't even have a god next to you to kill me!" he yelled, leaving you dangling in the air again. you wanted to call jason's name, but your voice muffled through the lightning.

"i don't fucking need a god," jason hissed, taking position. "i'll send you tartarus myself."

it all happened quickly. jason was so fast, unlike the big giant trying to capture and kill him. he was like a lightning himself, moving in light speed. there was a blonde thing moving, and you couldn't understand if it was his hair or sword. also there was little lightning sparkles that helped you figure him better.

then, the next thing you knew, jason was on top of the beast's face. he quickly called a lightning before stabbing his sword into the giants eye. it growled, but didn't falled.

"this is what you take for hurting my girl. my loved ones." jason said, his free hand going up in the air. you thought he was gonna make the giant eat some lightning, but it didn't go that way.

"remember my name in tartarus," he flied up again, taking a large air with him. the beast suddenly started to choke, holding it's neck desperately. "and make sure your friends does too."

it was the last thing giant heard before falling down, his oxygen flying in the air and dissapearing. jason immediatly flied towards you, cutting your chainst and holding you by the waist before you fall.

"jason," you breathed out, crying. you couldn't believe what you just have witnesses, but you figured it was the best to not mention. you we're happy that you we're safe now, in his arms.

"baby," he panted, hugging you so tight. you guys slowly landed on the ground, jason still clinging on you. "thank gods you're alive."

"i got scared," you admitted. normally, you would rather die than admit someone you're scare. but it was your jason, who could you tell if you're not gonna tell him? "he was gonna- jason, he was gonna make me one of them."

"shh baby it's okay," he cupped your face, his own tears matching you. but he had a smile, a smile that appeared once you we're in his arms. "i'm here. no one's touching you ever again okay? i'm here." he gently wiped your tears away, kissing you after.

you relaxed the moment your lips met, but it wasn't very long until you both heard footsteps again. jason quickly picked you up in bridal style, flying away from the little crack of the cave.

later that day, you both layed together in his quarters at argo ii. everyone decided that they shouldn't ask questions, like they didn't asked percy and annabeth after they got back from the tartarus.

even coach hedge let you snuggle eachother, because he saw how hurt jason was. he needed you for his own sake, to stay sane.

jason was the child of storm after all, he knew how to be scary when he wanted to. he kept it all inside when you we're near and safe. but if something slightly happened to you, he knew how to show them real power.

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Lies and Alibis

Part 2, Previous, Next

Nikolai/Plus Size F!OC

This one's a bit longer! Nothing to scary, but their is some violence. Again this is a bit silly and very self indulgent, please enjoy!!!

banner by @/une-femme-de-lettres

Life or death situations really do sober you up, which is really handy considering very big men with very big guns were now looking for her. She tries not to tremble too badly as she scans the bathroom for something, anything really to help her.

Best case scenario, she escapes with all her limbs intact. Preferably. 

Worst case scenario, they bust in and simply kill her then, a quick bullet to the dome. There were certainly more worse scenarios…but there was no time to line all those details out. She shudders. 

Think think think.

Locking the door would only make her presence inside more obvious. 

Find a weapon? She's seen broads in movies use the ceramic back of the toilet as pretty solid weapon before, she knows if she clocks someone just right it would at least knock them out. 

She peers into the stall, and of course there isn't one. Stupid automatic flusher. 

She turns again, eyes the small windows lining the far wall and nearly curses. She couldn't even fit her tits through the opening let alone the rest of her. Who the fuck even makes a window like that?

She can hear more yelling outside, and her heart pounds. She wasn't going to make it out. Not without someone seeing her.

She’s desperate, mind racing as a very hairbrained thought occurs to her.

If she was going to die cartoonishly, her fat ass wasn't going to be shot to swiss cheese hanging out of window she most certainly was going to get stuck in. Instead she works the glass pane open, pushing it as far as it could go before peeling off her heels and tossing them haphazardly onto the floor below the opening. 

With the clock ticking she scampers on bare feet into the handicap stall, leaving the door open a crack and climbing onto the toilet in the far corner. She was thankful that nicer bathrooms didn't have a crack a mile wide between the frames. She hunkers a bit, feet on the bowl with her ass resting against the wall to brace her. 

This was stupid, really.  Beyond stupid, suicidal even. But her mama did not raise a quitter. 

The door opens and her heart catches in her throat. She holds her breath as a pair of footsteps echo against the pearly tile. One set coming closer as the other kicks open the other closed stalls ahead of her. Oh god. She was going to die like this. On a toilet, Elvis style. She almost starts to cry, clutching her hands over her mouth to stifle her trembling breaths.

I escaped, I escaped. 

A voice rings out in the quiet, disbelieved barking.

“Blyat, Sbezhal!!”

What.

More cursing. A frantic phone call, and hurried steps out of the bathroom follow.

She waits. That…that seriously worked.

Holy shit. That worked.

She climbs down on shakey legs and puts an ear to the door, listening carefully for any more noise. The commotion must have cleared the place, and she cracks the door into the dead quiet. She'd planned to bolt, hit the door and run for her fucking life, but she thinks of her knight in glittering gold jewelry.

She doesn't know why now out of all times she feels guilty for a random russian mobster. He couldn't have been too much better than these other men, and for all she knows if it was his business she was poking into he would have had her murked too.

He helped you.

For reasons unknown, or perhaps even nefarious, but she didn't know that, just like he didn't know having her on his arm would get him a gun stock to the face.

Her eyes flicker between the door to her escape and the long hallway they'd taken him, and she sighs, long and ill suffering. 

-

This is beyond stupid, she grouses inwardly, crawling her way underneath another set of hallway length windows in an effort to not get her head blown off by the rifle toting jarhead she'd seen walking the perimeter. 

She didn't have much besides “Grab Nikolai and Leave”. The details around even that fuzzy, not to mention the man may or may not be dead…or at minimum very angry with her. She pauses dead for a second, a little spinning wheeling flashing in her mind's eye as she slowly works that problem out.

…maybe he won't be so mad if she helps him. He could at least get them out of there and hunt her another day. 

Too late to go back now. 

From what they could tell they were searching the woods for her. What remnants of the dinner party left long gone in the aftermath, with just a few men and her knight left. 

She continues following the trail of blood and black skid marks from well polished shoes down fancy tiled corridors. Pausing around the corner as the sound of wet thuds and pained grunts hit her ears, followed by more seething russian.

Words so snarled she can barely understand. Something about her, betrayal, stupidity. Their captive rasps. Feigning ignorance.

No, not feigning, telling the truth. As the familiar voice definitely belonged to Nikolai, a light edge to it despite his predicament. Her heart pangs with guilt. This was definitely her fault.

She's fully prepared to play the waiting game, find a place to hide until at least one of the guards leaves the room. That is until she hears the light tap of a shoe on tile far too late, turning just in time to catch the pistol careening with her face.

-

Fucking, ow. 

Her head bounces off the marble and she sees stars, body laying limply on the floor as she attempts to reboot.

He'd definitely busted her head open, hopefully she wouldn't need stitches, but probably considering she could already feel the blood slipping into her hairline. 

And as she takes stock of herself, she realizes that he definitely thinks he's knocked her out, judging by the way he bitches, grumbling about her weight before unceremoniously grabbing her ankle and dragging her along.

She bites her tongue, forces herself to fall limp despite the radiating pain in her skull. Cracking like lightning as her head thunks between the grout. 

Eventually she's stopped, her thick leg flung hatefully to the floor as a door slams behind her. She keeps still. Listening. There was another, ragged labored breaths. She dares to crack her eye just a smidgen, taking in the blurry visage that was Nikolai, his limp black locks hiding his face from her view.

Okay. Target located. She hadn't necessarily planned playing possum to get there but hey, a win is a win. 

Win number two, a knocked out fat girl was apparently not threatening enough to justify security. Her arms and legs left splayed lifelessly beside her and undisturbed.

The door clicks again. Followed by heavy footsteps.

New problem.

She cracks her eye again, watching the guard stalk back and forth through the blurred slit of her eyelids. His back, thankfully toward her. 

He's yapping again, yanking Nikolai back by the hair to sneer. Monologuing as power hungry idiots are wont to do.

Her eyes scan the room fully now. She can make this work. He's bigger than her but she's got enough ass to swing hard if she needs to. Enough pressure in the right place can knock anyone out. Jaw, temple, base of skull, she lists. 

Her eyes search, lamp, chair, paperweight, all doable but loud….her eyes fall just above her. Pretty velvet curtains tied back neatly with thick, golden tasseled chord. Bingo.

Keeping her eyes glued to her chatty assailant she reaches upward, fingers barely grasping at the silky strands before tugging it down the length of the curtain, catching it swiftly before it could thunk against the floor. 

She'd needed to be quick for her next trick. She eases herself up. Wrapping the chord around both palms, steeling herself for what could very well be the worst decision she's ever made. Cut off blood supply, crush his windpipe. She pictures the anatomy in her head, and before she can bitch out she lunges, throwing the chord around his throat and yanking.

There's a choked gasp as she twists, turning her body 180 and pulling down sharply, attempting to use her own weight to assist in strangling the man. He thrashes against her back, nearly toppling them both over.  She's too short, his legs still able to scrabble against the ground.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She twists again, maneuvering her arms to twist the makeshift garrote around his throat into more of a noose. They both stumble in the struggle, falling to the floor in a heap. 

Absolutely fucking not.

She scrambles, keeping the chord pulled taut around the guards neck as she kicks her feett out, planting them both against the man's shoulders and yanking with all her might. Keeping her legs stiff and holding onto the chord for dear life, palms straining as she simultaneously pushes and pulls.

He really flails now, legs kicking and eyes bulging. Dull nails drawing blood against her calves and ankles where he fights to claw her off. She'd be impressed with his tenacity had she not been fearing for her own life. How fucking long did it take to strangle someone?

“Pull harder, zaychonok” a voice rasps over the gurgling and choking in the room. Nikolai.

And she does, grunting with the effort as she pushes with her knees, keeping the chord pulled tight against her chest, whole body beginning to tremble with the effort. 

“pull, keep pulling, more, more”

The man at her feet tries to howl, frothing and flailing desperately before there is a sickening pop. His body falling limp and silent. She sags, panting harshly, letting her cheek rest against the cool tile of the floor. Her hands throbbed, burned and bloodied from the rope, but she was alive, blessedly alive.

Which could not be said for the guard. 

She shoots up, flinging the chord viciously from her hands and stares at him. He's dead alright, head cranked at an unnatural angle, dead eyes bulging and painted red from broken vessels. His neck painted in varying shades of red and purple. 

It makes her stomach churn. 

She stares at the body, her memory carving his corpse into the inside of her skull. It’s not that she hadn't seen a dead body before, she's seen plenty. She's just…never been the direct result of a dead body. The words Do No Harm, echoes in her brain. 

“Zaya”

She flinches, eyes bouncing to Nikolai who watches her carefully.  “Fetch me his knife” he instructs, and his voice is soft, surprisingly gentle given the situation. She follows, moving on autopilot to flip the thug over and snag the knife from his belt. 

She stumbles toward him. Clumsy like a newborn foal as she cuts the zip ties from his wrists with trembling fingers. Vehemently ignoring looking at the dead man on the floor. 

Nikolai makes a little relieved sound, rubbing his aching wrists as she circles back around. He carefully tugs the knife from her hands, never taking his eyes off of her as he slides it against his belt.

“Good job” he murmurs, hooking a hand a bit to roughly against her shoulder. Shaking her from her thoughts again. The poor man looks rough, they both do. Thankfully it’s something she thinks a few stitches and a bath couldn't fix. But something else occurs to her.

“You speak english.” she deadpans, staring at him with exhausted eyes, and this mad bastard has the gall to let out a small wet laugh.

“Very observant” he chuckles, patting her shoulder moving across the room on stiff legs. He plucks a handgun from the desk drawer and checks the magazine. Satisfied , he slides it into his belt, bending again to pick up the guard’s fallen handgun making the same check. He eyes her with a raised brow.

“Can I trust you with this?”

She swallows hard, nods. It’s been a while, but she knows how to use it. 

He approaches, quickly going over the safety, how to clear it, before pushing it into her hand. His warm palm slides over the metal, gripping her wrist securely. He folds his chin to his chest, looking into her eyes. Holding her attention. 

“Stay close to me, keep your hand off the trigger, we will survive.”

“Da” she repeats, preening just a bit as he smiles at her.

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood (4) - i'll be your mirror

pairing: biker!roman reigns x black reader warning: angst. talks of parental neglect. consensual underage intimacy (just a kiss!) roman and reader are 17 & 16 in this flashback authors note: we going down that memory lane again. this chapter is inspired by the velvet underground's song "i'll be your mirror". it's such a bittersweet song, something that i think perfectly sums up the relationship. word count: 3900 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @spritelucozade @gg-trini

roman didn't, and still doesn't have the burden of being an only child—thank God—and certainly not the burden of being an only child to such disagreeable parents. i love you, i hate you, and then that heavy  drowning silence to follow. and no, he's never seen your mother and KG fight, but the after affects of such tumultuous affairs are always evident. cleaner and more clear than a chrome finish. a force fed sort of isolation he can feel, even if such feelings are just, to him, a secondary burden. pain by association. and he hates to imagine the messiness of it, that mangled and tattered sort of hurt littered everywhere, but his imagination is all he has, because you never say much about it.  leaving the air as dry and brittle as they had. but maybe if you do ever say something, give the silence a soft solemn touch, he can restore it the rest of the way. or try to at least. he can do or say or be something, enough of whatever you need to remedy what he can. but even the idea of that is scary, a new desire the sixteen year old him that existed the year prior wouldn't have. lacking so much urgency about anything that wasn't him inspired. 'you need to grow up fast', he'd heard his mother say once. maybe this is what she meant. his seventeen year old sensibilities a little different. a little more urgent than easy, a little more ardently driven. 

priorities are funny though. a list constantly shifting. everything ever that he liked, maybe even loved—parties, bikes, parties, girls, his hair, his bike—trumped by the state of your emotional being. which was interesting. a tire skid of an abrupt shift. and not to mention your hair, and your eyes and your face. full lips that love to pout in time with their irritations. and how would he notice that unless he was lingering? his eyes there, trailing up and over, down and everywhere. a twist in his belly, hearing you call his name. he can't help but to like it. to crave that rushing energy of getting you to squirm, to smile. to have your eyes fix themselves on him.  

and if he didn't like you so damn much he'd probably hate you. his heart sinking into himself all the time now. a habitual falling that couldn't be stopped. regardless of how deep he breathed. self soothing be damned. so its nothing new to work through, when he gets to you—twisting open the door with a spare key he forced you to get made for him because he hated the idea of you being alone a lot at night —comfortable in your very empty house but not really. wrestling still with his body, because doesn't it know he has a coolness to maintain? an air? a quality? prince of pensacola and all that nice prestigious shit. but maybe that wasn't the point. maybe that wasn't supposed to exist with you. his fingers playing over the velvet box in the right pocket of his sweatpants.

but when roman says empty, he doesn't mean barren because your house is homey. comfortable. lived in. theres just no one here to indulge in it. to indulge in earth tones and splashes of green. plants and throw blankets. KG staining the place with pops of black leather jackets and silver things. little harley bikes and idle jewelry. no one but you. but whatever you've done, it leaves him hungry. the air warm and savory scented. tomatoes and garlic and bread and other fragrant little seasonings. 

roman's sneakers thud over hardwood floors. your voice carrying from the lit kitchen. music low and melodic under your words, just enough to fill in the emptiness of the house. "roman i swear if you don't have my ice cream, please turn your ass about face and exit stage left". 

he leads himself into the kitchen easy paced. overly familiar with the lay of the house. sliding into a too tiny for him kitchen island table high chair. his body half way off the seat. "you tryin to kick me out when i have a key is real backwards shit". 

and you pout. full lips down turning. brows pulling. it makes the tip of his fingers itch. his tongue working over the roof of his mouth. he'd thought about it, once or twice. your mouth. questioned how good mango lip balm tastes. 

you throw a balled up napkin his way. "the one little thing i ask for, you keep forgetting. its like you hate me". 

"first", he starts. eyeing the portion of food you've tonged onto a plate. "that lil market you want it from is out of my way", snagging a fork and dipping it into the heat of the plate. your hand sliding him a can of coke. "second, its expensive as hell. tryna have me travel damn near across country for a forgettable ass flavor". 

you gasp offended. full on dramatics that confirm just how spoiled you are. because KG and your mother were many things. complicated people he couldn't at times understand. but they always gave you things. whether it was wanted or needed. you always had it. 

"my needs are forgettable?" 

his eyes roll playfully. pulling his fork to watch the heat rise from it. "gimme a few days. i'll draft up a nice fat invoice for your pops. show him just how needy you are. spending all my money".

"money you let me spend!", you give. smiling. because you were right. there was never a moment where he let you buy things around him. not since the development of such abrupt, overwhelming feelings. harsh butterfly's and hard to quell desire making him do things he otherwise wouldn't think of. and he never saw his dad do it. never saw his mother reach into her wallet. your fingers pointing to the once upon a time crew neck band tee that you cut into a tank top. "your contributions paid for this top by the way. and my shorts", the neck of it slit into a v shape that gave him a view he didn't need to see. it wouldn't do much but excite things that didn't need exciting. ideas that didn't need encouragement. not now anyways. the biker shorts hitting mid thigh, soft brown skin left to the air. and you seem none the wiser to his examinations. cleaning out the contents of the fridge. your voice carrying over to him still. "the best thing you can do for a woman is open up that little wallet of yours". 

roman snorts. sips at his coke with a smile. "when this so called woman shows up, give her my number so we can chat". 

your teeth suck. throwing in a little mumble of "whatever", taking a towel to the fridge shelves. a diligent but bizarre work of your hands. because the house was already clean. already presentable. there was no reason for you to drench cloths in pine scented product. to work in a wipe down that left reflections rivaling the fresh chrome finish of his father's vintage cruiser. maybe that's why you've been on him about ice cream pick ups and late night last minute shopping mall trips for band tees and flannel shirts. everything a project. a process to pass the time. and his sudden willingness to say yes to everything didn't help. it only drew him in. manifesting itself in the form of a little black velvet box. one which sat in his pocket, waiting for some much needed exposure. exposure roman is sure won't be given tonight. not if his fears have anything to say about it. obnoxiously loud, heart thumping fears. seventeen isn't the age for rejection anyways. and he's seen it before, he can do well without that type of pain. 

and with all this passion filled anxiety, roman goes unaware. tunnel visioned by thoughts and the impression of that velvet box pressing into his leg. levels the good heap of food you've given him easily. growing boy and all that jazz.

your reaction is cute though, when you do finally face him again. a play at disgust. pretty brown eyes watching the roll his tongue takes over his lips to taste the remnants of flavor. and he can feel the exacting of them. a sensation over his mouth from your eyes. hesitant and curious. 

"y'know you could've chewed it right? it wasn't going nowhere"

roman stands. a finished plate in one hand and his unfinished coke in the other. shuffling to the sink. "the way you mindin my business is kinda crazy actually". 

"the way you eat is crazy actually. very much like a starved animal". 

and roman does a lesser by the day rare thing, slipping out of the hesitancy that comes with what if's and unknowns. the saucy mess of his plate in his right hand, body inching close, smooth and unashamed, till he's caging you in between his height and the sink. his eyes catching onto the slight hitch in your shoulders as you flush up against the counter. his head tilting, narrowing in on the surprise of your face. the stillness in your body that comes with unsure thoughts. mixed desire. or at least. thats what he hopes. this would be bad if you absolutely hated everything about what he was doing. but he kills that way of thinking. pushes it to a deeper, quieter corner. his blood racing. something in him wanting to see you thrash and break against the hold of your resolve for him. for him only. "all that jealous energy for a plate of food is unnecessary. i got enough attention to go around".

you gasp. catching his drift. his thigh nudging into yours. this teasing, faint knock in that has your hands rushing into him. a not so hard pushing away. "be so fuckin for real right now".

"starin me down, watchin me cause you like the way i eat", his emphasis on words, sharper on some than others. it makes your nose flare and the pulling in your brows deepen. his body rife with sweet satisfaction. he smiles, teasing, and the slip of it catches your eyes again. "it's ok to admit i make you feel something". his hand reaching down to dump the plate in the sink and sit down his can of coke. a maneuvering that gets him closer, deeper into the warmth of your space. "squirmin n'shit away from me like you don't like it". 

your eyes dilate. a black heat pushing against the sweet docile brown. something new and unknown pushing against something comfortable and old. telling him everything he needs to know.

you bristle. short of breath."roman shut the fuck up and-...", your teeth sucking as you push against him again. "...and make yourself useful". getting away from what he's sure is suffocating air. and no this isn't totally his ego, but he knows that the intoxication of such a new feeling is more than likely overwhelming, because roman isn't new to making girls melt. to having them go weak and silly eyed for him. he was and is who he is, and the aura is natural, comes to him as true as would a birthright to the firstborn son of ancient nobility. but its never left such a satisfaction in him as it does now. 

"need me to eat somethin else?"

your fist balls around a towel you've picked up. standing in front the light of the open fridge. you hurl it fast to hit him, approaching to have your hands push at his solid chest. so obviously overdone by whatever truths you're fighting to avoid. because why else would it bother you so much if it isn't true. if you don't feel the same way he does. 

"close this", your finger pointing as his mouth. "wash this", directed at his still saucy plate. 

eyes rolling for dramatic effect. to really sink home that overflowing of disgust. you fooled nobody. nobody but yourself. 

"not sure if you know this...", his hands soapy and wet as he starts to clean his plate. heart pounding in his chest. a giant step of words tumbling down off his tongue. heavy and thumping as they hit the air less implied than they've ever been. "...but we can't work if you're gonna be violent to me. it's gotta be fifty-fifty. give and take and all that good shit". 

you wipe mindless at another fridge shelf. from what he can see of your face, the gears turning slow and cautious. "and what exactly is supposed to be workin?"

"don't be dense". he throws a look your way. mocking and a little impatient. 

you wince. a slight hitch in your arms. like such a thing to hear was painful. "roman. stop saying that", you scold. his name leaving you violent and parental. 

and he feels an immediate failing in his chest. a stuttering that forms as the complete summation of every heavy bout and measly piece of anxiety since he's taken his first step past your front door. of course he didn't mean to be so wounding as to bring up in your eyes a more than mild detesting but there it is. brown and burning and heavy. a loathing born from the awful slip of his memory. too comfortable in his slip from caution to reign in the no go phrasing. because KG—as cool as roman thinks him to be—says not so nice things sometimes. 'don't be dense', as a way to inspire common sense from the other guys romans age. ones that hang around lazily. doing half ass jobs and wasting his—your fathers— time. but it doesn't mean you hate it any less, even if it never is directed at you. 

"sorry", he gives softly. "sorry".

and the silence after is agony. like his body is working through the painstaking process of drowning. a suffocation that makes him squirm. uncomfortable in his skin. soft music playing still, the only thing that attempts to fill in the deep well of quiet. his hands toweling dry, leaning up against the sink to watch you work. steeping further into a self directed annoyance. the banter at one point ok. teasing but never so much that it made you go quiet. because quiet, from you, means that roman can't access whatever you're thinking. he can't gauge whatever feelings exist. and he's never been so brainless about a thing before, so disconnected that his words make you mount with a displeasured heat that quickly. again, this care for all of your feelings all the time. happening so quickly. when the fuck did that start and how the hell is he going to catch up? 

he needs to fill the silence. the loudness of it nearly killing him. 

"how's your mom?"

because he hasn't seen her for a while. her always less than warm stare and short words. smiles that don't reach the eyes and tense, unsure hugs. it was better when you both were younger. she gave him more to work with then. always smiling and cooking and present. her eyes bright and warm and brown, similar to the ones you have now. they looked at him with less distance then. 

the circular wipe down of your hand falters for some seconds. picks back up as if nothing has happened. "she's fine", your voice flat. unenthused. "went up north to visit family". 

and he's heard his own mother and father talk about it before. hushed words when they think others don't know. a sadness to the syllables. to the air when they say things. he figures its an excuse. visiting family is an excuse for other things. 

the curiosity crushes into him. for the sake of wanting to do something. to have you not be so quiet about it. so alone in it. "how long has she been gone-"

"a few days", sighing out answers. seemingly exhausted with his prying. you stack things back into a clean—it was already fairly clean—fridge. dumping out not so old containers and ceramic dishes into the sink. "she'll be back whenever". 

"whenever?"

you give him a look. one that peers up from under your lashes. one that says to stop. to drop the subject. to let it go. but roman is compelled by his own needs to get closer. to be something more than whatever it is that exists now. he wants to be let in. 

"listen", picking his brain for words to say. anything that will properly stick. "...i'm here... if you wanna talk about it... you don't have to shutdown-"

you wipe out a tupper-ware bowl. old food and a nasty smell. disinterested. "don't really know what you want me to say". 

romans jaw clenches. "don't do that". 

"don't do what?"

"don't downplay shit", words toughing out harsher than he means them to. he sighs, tightening his eyes and going for a deeper breath. "i'm just trying to-", but you maneuver about him regardless. eyes not meeting and your fingers soapy and wet with too hot water. like he's not there. a twist in his gut performs well enough that he thinks somehow it'll bruise internally. his jaw clenching. "stop ignoring me-"

the dishes in your hand drop hard. but somehow not breaking. the fire in your eyes small but dangerous. "s'nothin to say...", you start. each word cutting out. "...because everybody knows. because it's very fuckin obvious. she gets tired, she goes to visit family", your tone playing patronizing. like a parent to a child. "he gets tired, he stays at the clubhouse". 

"...and they leave you here alone", he finishes. upset for you. upset alongside you. why is that so hard for you to see? 

"oh really roman?", sarcasm washing over. "i didn't notice. thanks for telling me". 

and he doesn't really know what to do now. what to say. to much of an abrupt turn back into the banter could make you grow more sour. but he doesn't want to leave you to quietness either. doesn't want you to stew in the heat of all this unaccounted for anger. he's lost. ill feeling. but finally at least coming to some resignation of just how deep the care for you is steadily staking its claim into him. and that insistent scrubbing you're doing, roughing your hand into hot soapy water, almost mindless the way your arm works. like maybe whatever it is you're not saying, you're bleeding into the motions of it. your lips between your teeth. biting in. he wishes you'd just say something. even if that thing is small.  

the ceramic dish breaks. a clacking sort of crack from too much heat and pressure. weak and overworked. the water it suffers under running red from the spill of blood. the skin on your hand lifted and pooling steadily. the pieces dropping to shatter more as you let them go. beads of blood pull up still past your skin but you don't dare to move. shocked maybe? the pain waiting to sink in. 

"shit", a full registration. roman running to your bathroom. rummaging for anything first aid. bandaids and alcohol and gauze and ointments. but the cut itself was easy enough to bandage. yeah no, his speed isn't for the cut. it's for distance coloring your eyes and the way your body refuses to react. the speed of his running is to get back to that. to help that. attempt at a bandaging for that. or maybe thats not something mendable by his hand. maybe not at all.

the kitchen water is running when he comes in. hands full of helpful things and eyes filled with worry. your hand under cold water. grimacing with pain. 

"here", he gives. stripping paper towels and pressing them into your hand. holding tight to pressure over. staring hard at sad eyes. 

your hand pulls from his. releasing him. "thank you", fragile. on the precipice of breaking. soft breaths and a firm standing in front of him. amongst a too clean house and a bloody hand. your eyes not meeting. your lip suffering under the tension of weary teeth. and roman aches but the tower of his body stands over you present and waiting. a comfortable patience. your head falling into his chest. a lean in that asks for the permission to gain relief. if not from pain than from the  carrying of a full burden. something that can be shared. and he takes it gracefully. his arms coming over and around till you're flushed into his chest. fingers spread and soothing. a pleasant caress. 

you sniffle. small like but he can hear you. and maybe in this moment, this is all you can give. a simple cry without the heavy complexity of words. but it's enough. for him it's enough. 

and your face is warm when you decide to shift away from tear staining his shirt. his fingers feeling the brunt of the heat as he thumbs the wet streaks along your cheeks. feeding his eyes into yours. no examinations or readings. just simple presence. an undefiled attention. here now, not so similar to before, he knows what to say. 

"i gotchu". a tender thumbing caress just under glassy pink eyes. 

everything about you here soft and abruptly undone. 

his eyes slip against the seam of your lips. yours doing the same for his. looking away quickly to your hand. 

"i got blood on your shirt", you say. his hands leaving the comfort of your face. looking up to him from under wet curled lashes. "sorry". 

"it's cool", smiling. fingering the fabric of his t-shirt before tugging easy at yours. smudges of blood on it pressed in from the impact of your embrace. "we gotta get you a new tank top though. time to open up my little wallet i guess". 

"that and my ice cream is the least you can do". 

and roman goes about the work of wrapping your hand patiently. a tenderness he's never really known existed in his till the first breaths of this moment. soft music that played before, playing still. his fingers steady as the gauze folds over and over to cover the wound against your palm. 

he can still feel the impression of the velvet box in his pocket. the pressure of it calling to him. heart thudding ill-controlled. with no mind to give him reprieve. 

his thumb runs over the wrapping of gauze against your hand. taking in just how much he towers over you easily. something like possession working into his blood. wanting to keep you safe. 

he does the lesser and lesser rare thing. slipping out of hesitancy. 

"can i show you something?"

you nod. "show me".

the velvet box gets its much needed exposure. after living so long in the shadows of such a deep pocket. his thumb opening it to reveal a pretty silver necklace. slim and simple. a heart at the center covered in diamonds. surprise takes you whole, pretty post-tear brown eyes full of questions. 

"you like it?"

you nod again. "its pretty".

"it's yours if you want it". 

his heart. if you want it, it's yours. 

your eyes trail to his lips again. his tongue licking sly over them, feeling the burden of such a sensation. you reach on your toes, lips planting delicate and shy. an unsure take to his mouth that burst' the ways of his seventeen year old heart. he clutches the necklace dearly, the slim silver of it nestled in his palm as it circles your waist. hugging you in as his lips slot. pursing to pull against yours. a hum of sweet satisfaction slipping up as he maneuvers your mouth gracefully. something tender and fleeting, like a moan, from your throat. breaths heavy as you part from him. his nose knocking gentle into yours. mango lip balm sugary and addicting as he pecks your mouth again. 

he latches the pretty heart to secure around your neck. thumbing your cheeks. his body urging him to go for more. pursing against your lips for another kiss. 

angst and fluff… theyre so sweet!! makes all the present animosity and tension better i think. let me know what you think!!

[fullmetal-scar-simping]

seeing you mention mangahood purists liking manga/broho bc it's "pure" got me thinking: whenever i see someone shit on 03, they'll say "oh it's too 'dark', scary, depressing" (sorry having to confront/acknowledge imperialism is "dark and scary" lmao) and yet, in the same breath, i've seen several turn around and praise mangahood/broho for its "mature themes" and its handling of "dark topics" and it's like... are the mature themes in the room with us?? this is pure speculation and i'm sure i'm not saying anything new here, but i think a large part of why mangahood purists hate 03 is bc it makes them uncomfortable. 03 does not give the viewer the luxury of turning away from the atrocities amestris commits to liore/ishval; they're forced to confront it head-on throughout the show (see: ed standing among a graveyard of liorians, ishvalans getting targeted no matter where they go, etc) and there's no "the military was controlled by supernatural monsters all along!!!" to conveniently pin the blame on either. it's the military itself that's the problem and needs to be taken down. and mangahood/broho purists just don't like that i think.

The critical eye towards the military absolutely makes them uncomfortable and you're right to say it. In fact, it's 03's focus on the suffering begotten by the military and the relative centering of its racialized victims that spoils the fun for a lot of people.

[Because I have a pathological need to ramble for eternity, here's a readmore:]

Without fail most fans who hold Brotherhood and/or the fma manga up to be this dark, mature, incisive piece of entertainment will then levy the weight and severity of the topics they think mangahood adeptly tackles (lol) as a strike against the first anime adaptation. It's practically rote at this point.

They love dark stuff! Except when it's actually dark. Which is therefore too dark. And fma 2003 commits the sin of being dark in ways that the manga isn't, so it's obviously edgy fanfiction for immature sickos who rage against happiness and friendship. It's immature to like adaptations that depicts difficult topics, and genocide as a topic should be an inspiring romp with quirky pals! 😒

It's very telling too. Because the way homunculi are created and societally and personally (mis)function in this version of the world is a mixture of horror storytelling and allegory (for the most hidden and reviled classes of people). It's dark! Certainly I've seen some people complain about the gore and blood associated with the homunculi, their appearances, and their actions. But that's not the truly petrifying darkness that 03 haters gripe the most about. Sometimes they even celebrate that specific element of the 2003 adaptation! No, it's as you said: the highlighted hideousness of the military and its imperialism is what makes them balk in revulsion.

How dare a show about real topics like genocide and fascism not bury the travesties under a thick layer of positive gusto! It should be dripping in sludgey shonen bravado, perhaps even carry the cutesy-kid friendly veneer akin to an 80s GI Joe cartoon instead. Make soldiers fun again! What's with all of this death and misery? Why are people being shown as rightfully disgusted by and against the State?! How come these characters can't overcome their idiosyncrasies, ideologies, and traumas to win the day?? Wait, our military guys aren't even being lauded for feeling sad and get everything they want as a reward??? Scar is willing to sacrifice himself for liberation and we're not fed some pap that helps us despise him and feel suitably smug and comfortable in our own privileged lives while he condemns our propensity for siding with soldiers? That's not right, Scar's a villain! Soldiers are honest good guys! Hold up, there's RAPE?! In my silly anime about imperialism?!!? UM?!

Time and again I find posts ranting about how the 03 writers "had no idea what to do with Scar, so they waste his entire character". Once I get over the initial offense that this causes me (lol), I'm left sitting here wondering what the fuck they're talking about. Did they even watch this show? How can anyone even so much as think this, when he's a pivotal character? And increasingly I have come to realize it's because he doesn't have that fuck-awful ~redemption arc~ (excuse me while I throw up) that everyone looooooooves in mangahood. It's because he would sooner obliterate every single Amestrian soldier across the land than renounce liberation and buddy up to the pigs. He dies accomplishing his greatest act of love for the survivors of genocide, but since these people turned their brains off as soon as "03 diverged from the manga" (which the show does from episode 01 but don't let that get in the way of their manga-purity) they think the Liore arc is random happenstance, with no rhyme or reason, and Scar is still a """""""villain""""""" AND he dies (character deaths always means you wasted a character btw), so therefore fma 2003 is pointless darkness that spits on Arakawa personally.

Never gonna forget the posts that gripe about Scar being "disrespected" in 03 because he... dies on the ground. Guess we're throwing context and analysis to the wind and just misrepresenting scenes for cheap points. Better to make Scar feel like human garbage because he killed genociders! Now THAT'S respectful!

People don't like it when a character dies for their principles and is lauded by the narrative for it too. All of this is too much for the enlightened mangahood purist! It paints such a dire image of what the colonized have to do to push back against their colonizers! Can't we all just get along (and both-sides the invasion of Ishbal)?

Guess there aren't enough tone-annihilating chibi gags interspersed between every other shot of Ishbalans being rounded up into prison vehicles by Mustang and Riza to assuage viewers that all is well, actually. Concentration camps are total bummers. Aren't the Ishbalans supposed to be living tranquil, idyllic lives in the slums ala mangahood?

That's the other piece of the hate against 03: that it doesn't mercilessly break the melancholic, tragic, violent, and ethical/philosophical tones and quandaries with incessant jokes. The majority of the time, you are meant to stew in it, ask yourself hard questions too, while peeling away some of the mysteries presented and seeing how multiple factors play into the actions and circumstances of these characters. None of these factors absolve anything, they are merely another string in the show's web. Levity is mostly sparing. It does exist! Mostly in the earlier eps, with the odd palette cleanser in the middle of the show. But it's hardly as over the top as your average Brotherhood episode, which is incessantly brimming with jokes, gags, chibi/cartoon style shifts, quips, and buddy-buddy comradery, over and over forever. Are we even beginning to feel the tendril of despair from something that happened in Broho? Nope no worries, here's a goofy-whatever suddenly thrown at the viewer 3 seconds into any emotional state that is less than hopeful and cheery.

are the mature themes in the room with us??

The mature themes are dressed like low rent clowns who forgot their props, but I'm meant to play along like it's a mastercraft of artistic expression.

We could contrast 03's depictions of imperialism vs mangahood's, but I want to highlight a different, prime example of how paperthin Brotherhood's darkness is:

Ed and Al's human transmutation.

This moment in 03 has long lasting effects beyond what it did to the Elric brothers' bodies, with this act having created a tortured and exploited entity who can only envision escaping the pain by obtaining retribution against them. Ed lives in denial for as long as he can, until he's run up against a wall and has to dig up Trisha's grave. He has to kill his creation using a stolen piece of his mother's remains. Is this doppleganger truly his mother? Can she ever forgive him? Does he have the right to take an unlife just because he forced her into being, and abandoned her? He will grapple with that for the rest of his life, while having nearly torn his relationship to Al apart in the process. And for his own sake, he will dehumanize homunculi in order to survive his ever growing pain.

Meanwhile, in mangahood? Well, here's this heavy moment where Ed tells Pinako that he's going to face what he did and dig up the body he transmuted buried under the burned house. Things are tense. The mood is almost suffocating, the sky dark, the sound of dirt being shovelled almost sickening. Ed throws up, Pinako trying to help him persevere. He hits something. There's hair. He holds up these spare strands, looking shaken. This isn't his mother's hair? Oh thank goodness, he never harmed mom. In fact, what he transmuted was an empty fucked-up vessel that Al's soul briefly wiggled around in. Phew! Alright awesome, we're all good and all doubts have been wiped away. Mommy wasn't desecrated after all! Here's Trisha's soul later on being so super proud of her boys. Yippee!

So dark mangahood! What the hell was 03's problem tho? /s

Anti-03 posts can sometimes be fun if you're a jackass like me, because I can't help but feel like a smug dirtbag when someone admits to how hard they cried after watching the show- someone even admitted that's why they hate 03! It hurt too much. So odd to see this framed as a negative. I love the hurt. I love when a story challenges you, doesn't make it go down easy, when it has the guts to admit to the hideousness of what was intended to be taken for granted in other contemporaneous media.

I understand that having such emotional overflow and the weight of sadness can be very difficult for some folks. Sometimes you might not even be in the mood for it. But you would think that a show producing feelings of sorrow was a grand affront according to these more aggrieved critics. It's practically an insult to them! Yet when Brotherhood (somehow) renders people to tears, it's a plus. Guess Broho over-plays its saccharine assurances, so that the tears feel cathartic rather than challenging.

Although I have my opinions on the wealth of coddling stories, toothless entertainment, and all the propaganda barely hidden within so much of it; I don't necessarily look down on some people wanting more gentle or alleviating stories. Positivity is not a grievous need, nor am I immune from generally needing some form of it too. However I do think it ridiculous how desperately people in relatively powerful nations want stories about genocide that make them both feel as though they are baring witness to the darkness of the world (a reassuring pantomime to turn your brain off to), while still so sanitized and airy that it soothes their anxieties and ensures them that they shouldn't have to look in the mirror even once. If people simply liked Brotherhood because they like shonen battles or teenagers being friends or some shit, then at least it would be a more honest appraisal of what Brotherhood adequately offers.

However the repeated assertions that it's a mature story or has any aplomb to its surface-level use of challenging themes is comical. Alongside hailing Brotherhood as an anti-racist, anti-military story, but I've harped on about that hypocrisy more than enough times. We know the drill.

I just can't take this specific criticism against 03 seriously. Not because 03 is beyond critique, or that people can't be indifferent to it or dislike it, but it's a hell of a farce to boo it for the same reasons they claim to adore mangahood. They want a "brave noble soldier who solves everything" story. A fluffy copaganda battle anime with none of the ugliness of militarism from the viewpoint of its victims. That's it.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Heya, Mouse. I hope you're doing well. 😊

So, I recently got the Mr. Qi mature event again in my most recent save. A personal issue I have with this event is that no one, including your own spouse, ever hint at the event at all. Yes, the Farmer can't talk about it, but surely they'd be acting differently after such a scary and traumatic event? So my request is this: How would the sdv/sve marriagables + Krobus (bc I know my shadow roomie would be worried too) feel about the Farmer acting differently after they were found after the Qi event? Like, maybe the Farmer's more jumpy and sullen after what had happened, but they can't say anything because of the seal.

Hi, hello! 👋 I'm doing fine! ☺️ Thanks for your question, and I really apologize for taking so long to reply 😅 I decided to post here about only Bachelors + Krobus, hope you don't mind. Anyway, thanks again for caring and for the ask! Enjoy ❤️

Sam:

Given that the Farmer was found unconscious in the forest, Sam immediately thought that the reason for their behaviour was that they had been frightened by a wild bear or wolves. No wonder: you are lying defenceless and predators are walking around you, wanting to eat you. The young musician's guesses are far from the truth of what really happened to Farmer, but whatever happens, Sam will be there for his love, supporting them and comforting them.

Elliott:

Poor Elliott nearly had a stroke when he saw Farmer lying in a hospital bed at the Clinic. Taking them by the hand, the writer began to ask what had happened to his spouse, but was quickly silenced when he saw Farmer getting even worse. Elliott apologises for his panic and will do his best to make Farmer feel better. He still hopes that Farmer will be able to tell what happened in the future.

Shane:

Shane feels angry and wants to punch someone (or something) with his fist, which is the reason for Farmer's sadness and constant tension. He is even ready to fight with the whole world if he has to - no one dares to offend the people close to him and get away with it. But realising that Farmer's rage won't help him in any way, Shane tries to comfort them and calm them down. Even suggests they go to the therapist he went to himself after that event on the hill. Magic, not magic, he doesn't know shit about it. All he needs right now is to be there for Farmer and give them all the help and support they need.

Sebastian:

Sebastian can't calm down himself now. He knows that the Farmer fights monsters every day, which is the pure nightmare fuel of many people's lives, and the fact that his spouse met someone that even scared them.... However, Sebby is trying her best not to show his worries, because right now the Farmer needs someone to protect them. And he will be brave for them now, just as Farmer was brave for Sebastian and the other people they were protecting.

Alex:

Alex went into full protective mode, not letting anyone he deemed suspicious near Farmer. The young athlete thinks that some tourists have decided to attack and harm Farmer, as many people (including some unpleasant ones) have come to Stardew Valley, to admire the local town and relax. Unfortunately, Farmer can't tell the real reason, and that's what kills them the most - it's the inability to tell Alex what happened. However, gentle words and cuddles in bed are just what Farmer needs after the traumatic event.

Harvey:

Breathing exercises, sedation, elimination of junk food..... Harvey doesn't know what happened to the Farmer, but he certainly knows how to help them. Alas, in matters magical he will not help in any way, so does not even know of its existence. But Harvey will definitely do his best to help deal with his spouse's depressed mood. He promise to them, everything will be alright, doctor's word!

Magnus:

Magnus know very well about the silencing spell, as he knows this school of magic very well. And the fact that his spouse was acting like a frightened lamb after that strange event made him think about this possible option. Touching their hand, Magnus was scalded like fire, leaving no doubt. Magic. Dark, unfamiliar magic. The Farmer no longer needed to try to say anything, Rasmodius understood all at once. The wizard would assure his lover that he would definitely help them, no matter who cursed Farmer.

Lance:

Lance didn't feel magic as subtly as the same Rasmodius or Camilla, but he could feel the incomprehensible dark aura that wrapped around Farmer's neck like ropes. His one penetrating look into his consort's frightened eyes was enough for Lance to signal to some his fellow mages, including same Camilla and Magnus, that something out of the ordinary had happened. The gallant adventurer also remembered to kiss them on the forehead and envelope them in a tight hug, reassuring them and promising them that everything would be all right.

Victor:

Victor, seeing how the constant tension and depressive state is affecting his beloved spouse, he tries to find a therapist to help Farmer. Poor Victor cannot watch them suffer, so will offer his support and convinced them accept professional help. The sad irony is that Farmer can't tell anyone, no matter how hard they try. Still, they're glad Victor won't leave them alone.

Krobus:

Krobus doesn't realise what exactly happened to Farmer, but shadow person can feel them exuding alien magic and a restless aura after they returned from the clinic. Never, no matter what dangerous adventures they had been on, had the Krobus seen the Farmer so frightened. The fact that they wouldn't tell him anything tensed the shadow person even more. It's unlikely that Farmer would lie to him like this if they had always told Krobus everything about their adventures before. Something is wrong, and Krobus, worried about his friend, thinks that maybe Magnus or Marlon can help Farmer.

[kalcifers-blog]

I have a thought and I physically need to talk about it BC I think the JSE Fandom as a whole does not talk about it nearly enough.

BEFORE WE GET STARTED!!! Content Warnings :

Discussions on mental illness, alcoholism / alcohol withdrawal, mentions of potential suicidal behaviour!!!!!

CHASE BRODY IS NOT AN IDIOT.

I feel like Chase gets mischaracterised as being a bit of a himbo at best and just straight up stupid at worst.

For the record I generally dislike the way that happens? Like there's already a big stigma around addiction, I'm actually very impressed with how Chase Brody is such a sympathetic character with his addiction being an aspect of that. I love how it shines a new light on this very real and scary issue that doesn't villainise Chase at all for his condition.

But this is exactly why I feel it's so important that people understand that Chase also isn't an idiot.

Genuinely speaking there are so many examples of Chase being someone who is an extremely smart individual and I think a lot of that gets overshadowed by the fact that he's an alcoholic and depressed.

EXAMPLES BEING:

He is immediately asking questions the moment he's in IRIS.

He's constantly making it known exactly how he feels about his predicament but at the same time he understands that at certain points (especially when he doesn't have a clear view on IRIS and what they're up too) he needs to go along with things and keep civil to not put himself in potential danger

He calls out the way IRIS puts him through shit and how fucking weird that is of them to do

The moment he sees a shimmer of hope (in the form of Echo) he immediately tries to comfort them and tries to help them and attempts to make a plan to leave IRIS

When IRIS attempts to relocate Chase he immediately calls out that they're lying to him, that something has happened

He can spot people being manipulative from a mile away and is very quick to shoot it down as soon as he can by making it known he knows exactly what they're doing.

I would also like to mention that all this is happening while Chase is very likely going through major alcohol withdrawal issues- the symptoms of which include: tremor, craving for alcohol, insomnia, vivid dreams, anxiety, hypervigilance, agitation, irritability, loss of appetite (i.e., anorexia), nausea, vomiting, headache, and sweating.

Chase is quite literally going through it, like every severely going through it and the entire time he is he's surprisingly got more of a level head than most people probably would in his situation. And he's doing all of this while probably going through some intensely bad withdrawal symptoms as well as all the mental shit Anti is putting him through every moment he can.

All things considered Chase is insanely capable of being able to keep fighting even through some of the hardest things a person could go through.

Chase Brody is not an idiot, he's not useless and he's certainly not weak. If Chase can go through all the things he has and he's still fighting tooth and nail to survive even tho he previously was shown to be someone who was very clearly suicidal? I just think it says so much about his character that at Chase's core he's smart and strong- in ways a lot of people wouldn't appreciate nearly half as much if they didn't physically see the things he was being put through continuously for potentially years at this point.

And again I wanna keep in mind that all of this is going on while Chase is quite literally at rock bottom, like we have only seen Chase while he's at his worst. The fact that he is so smart while he's at his worst only makes me wonder just how capable he has the potential of being once he gets the right help he needs and deserves.

[totes-tubulardude]

Not Star Wars but I mentioned a while ago a sibling g/t story and I finally wrote out a lil bit of it!

-

The sound of sirens had long since faded by the time Luke began to slow down. He didn’t stop moving until the lights from the city were pretty well and faded from the night sky, this far out into the sticks no one was moving around this time of night. 

Uphead was what looked like a shed structure, considering that he couldn’t see any lights or any cars near it he assumed that it was empty. The perfect place for right now. 

In his arms, Kira was still expect for the occasional shudder, he hoped it was from the cold outside. She was smaller than she was supposed to be, or he was larger than he should be, she didn’t weigh much to him right now which was good considering how far he’d run to get them away. 

Sure enough, the large shed was empty, save for a few boxes and tool cabinets. 

He let out a relieved sigh as he set his sister down. 

Kira stumbled a little as she got her feet underneath her. 

Normally she came up to mid chest in height, right now she barely cleared his stomach. He wasn’t even trying to be bigger than he should be, this was just happening. 

“Are you okay?” He asked her.

She stared up at him before nodding hesitantly. He let out a sigh of relief. There had been so much happening before, he’d just grabbed her and run the first chance he’d gotten. 

Everything was so messed up now. Those men had come for him, they’d wanted him for whatever this ability was. The thought of what had happened caused him to shoot up a few more inches.

Not good. 

Luke paced back and forth, dragging his hands through his hair roughly as he tried to gain some semblance of control over his emotions. It wasn’t going very well considering that his skin felt like it was growing tighter and tighter. 

Finally, he sank down onto the floor, putting his head between his knees to quell some of the nausea he was feeling. He was honestly still trying to wrap his head around this whole situation, which was not particularly helping calm him down. 

All he knew right now was he was on the run, he had his ten year old sister with him, and he had little to no control over these abilities. He should be working through his junior year of high school not dealing with this!

Oh god, he was on the run. From some weird government agency that probably wanted to experiment on him or something. 

He felt himself shoot up a little in height and suddenly his knee collided with something. There was a thunderous crash as he knocked over one of the tool cabinets, sending it careening into some of the boxes and causing Kira to scramble out of the way of falling items with a small shout. 

“Crap, Kira are you okay?”

He was large enough now that he could reach his hand over towards his sister without getting up. That certainly wasn’t bizarre. 

Kira flinched back slightly from his outstretched hand and pushed herself away from him a little, the loud sound of the crashing items still ringing in both of their ears. Luke froze. 

Even in the dim light of the LED lantern, he could see the fear in her eyes. Holy shit she was afraid of him. 

Any semblance of control he had shattered. 

Luke groaned as his body swelled in size and he brought his hands up to grip his head. 

This wasn’t good. He was supposed to protect his sister, not terrify her. 

His feet slid across the floor as he continued to grow. Shit this was probably scaring her more. That thought sent another wave of panic through him which only seemed to increase his height faster. 

Luke tried desperately to calm down, but nothing was working. All he could think about was how fucking scared he was and how scary he probably was to Kira.

His left hip hit something, causing it to topple in a much quieter cacophony. 

Shit, shit shit. 

His back pressed against the wall suddenly. Luke lifted his head out of his hands and turned to see that he was indeed now large enough to have reached the wall. The ceiling was nearing the top of his head as well. 

Before the thought of that could send a wave of panic through him, he forced himself to take deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth. Slowly but surely he felt himself start to calm himself down enough to slow his growing. 

He took up a large amount of the floor now and he tucked his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs as he continued to breathe. Kira was near the other wall watching him, she was both too far away and now too small for him to make out her expression in the dim light. That might be a good thing considering that he was just now getting himself back under control. 

Luke shut his eyes and focused back on his breathing. Finally he felt himself stop growing, just before his head would start brushing against the ceiling. 

He let out a long sigh of relief. 

Suddenly he felt a small pressure on his arm, making him jump slightly. Luke blinked his eyes open and looked down to see Kira resting her hand on his forearm. He froze once again. 

Holy shit she looked absolutely tiny next to him now. 

She reached up to place her other hand against his arm too, it felt like she was trying to tug him slightly. 

“I’m fine.” He said quietly, but his voice still rang out in the space. “Sorry for scaring you earlier. I’m um… trying to figure this out.”

She pushed at him imploringly. 

He furrowed his brows and carefully lowered his right arm down towards her, not entirely sure what she wanted from him. 

“Look,” He mumbled as she seemed to inspect him. “I don’t have, like any control over this ability. For now you probably should stay away from me.” 

She looked up at him with imploring confusion. 

“As you just saw, I can’t really control this.” He explained. “I don’t want to accidentally hurt you. I’d stay away from me until I have more control of this… not as dangerous.”

She continued to stare up at him with one of her looks that made him feel like she was staring right into his soul. He dropped her gaze and rested his chin on his knees.

Luke hoped she understood what he was trying to explain. 

The reason that agency was probably after him was because he was dangerous. Seeing what he’d done to that building and how easily Kira had almost been hurt moments ago, he found that he suddenly didn’t blame them. He’d want a freak like him locked up in some facility away from people he could hurt. 

Luke’s head jerked down when he felt a new pressure on his arm. His eyes widened even more when he saw that Kira was scrambling up onto his forearm. 

“Wait Kira-” She crawled up to the crook of his elbow with surprising ease. “W-what are you doing?”

She looked up at him before waving her arm, motioning towards his still bunched up legs. He continued to stare at her with no small amount of fear and did not move a single muscle. One small move and he feared that he send her tumbling off of him. 

Kira let out a long suffering huff before scrambling up his arm a little more and making as if to hop into his lap. 

“What the-”

Luke quickly unbunched his legs and brought his left hand up under her to support her as she landed on his stomach. 

Holy shit he could support her with one hand. That wasn’t terrifying at all. 

“Kira I don’t think this is a good idea.” He said, unease making his voice waver slightly. 

In response she sank down on his palm, letting her back lean against his stomach and her feet dangle over his hand. She settled back before patting his finger and looking up at him. 

“I trust you.” She spoke softly and simply. 

Luke melted almost instantly at that. 

He slowly brought his hand up by his chest and wrapped his right arm around his middle. 

[sephirthoughts]

I wish you would write a fic where...

too embarrassed to ask so i went anon you mentioned you like tseng x aerith as a ship would you possibly be down to write a little something for them? 🫣

Hello lovely anonnie! i adore any excuse to write about ships that i like but never get around to writing, so you're the real hero. thank you for the ask and the excuse for self-indulgence!! 🖤

tags: tseng, aerith, tseng/aerith, elmyra gainsborough, ms. folia, cute, short, unresolved pining, inconvenient interruption trope

rating: general audiences

warnings: aerith-typical violence, very very minor blood

note: yes i gave tseng a first name don't @ me i have no time for cowards

think sephiroth with masamune is scary? wait till you see my girl with a folding chair

“Tseng!” Aerith exclaimed, dropping the folding chair, with a resounding clatter. “You scared the shit out of me! What are you doing sneaking up on people, like that!”

Tseng pushed himself up to a seated position, on the dirty floor, gingerly touching the large bump that was already forming, on the side of his head. “I apologize for startling you. I’ve certainly learned my lesson.”

“I’m so sorry,” Aerith winced, as she held out her hands to help him up. “I really didn’t know it was you. I just heard a noise and, to be honest, I’ve been pretty high-strung, all day.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Mm, nothing I can put my finger on. It’s like…the energy in the air is all tensed up, or something.”

Tseng stopped dusting off his trousers and frowned. “That doesn’t sound like anything good.”

“Never is, these days. Oh—your head is bleeding. It looks pretty bad. You better come back to my house. I’ll clean it up and heal it for you.”

“No, thank you. I doubt your mother would appreciate my intrusion, at this hour.”

“She’s not there. She went over to the Leaf House to work on the layout for the new garden. They’re pulling an all-nighter.”

“Even more reason for me not to go. You shouldn’t be alone in your house, with a man.”

“What is this, the 50s?” Aerith laughed. “You think I’m gonna ruin my reputation and never be able to get a husband?”

“Of course not,” Tseng said patiently. “I only meant that it isn’t safe for you to be by yourself with a man, in that isolated house.”

Aerith rolled her eyes. “So, now you think I’m stupid? I wouldn’t just invite some man to my house. It’s ok, because it’s you.”

“I see. I…wasn’t aware we’d become so familiar.”

“We’ve seen each other at least twice a week for fifteen years, Tseng. How much more familiar do you want to get, before you let me treat your bleeding head injury?”

“An injury you inflicted. With a folding chair.”

By way of reply, she raised her eyebrows and pointed at the door. 

Aerith had a specific mood in which she simply would not be contradicted, and so the stone-faced, professional killer found himself obediently following a little pink-clad girl, out of the church and up the dirt road, toward the town center.

He attracted many glares, as they passed people on the narrow streets of the bustling little slum, but that was the worst of it. Everyone knew the long-haired Turk was a friend of Aerith’s, and no one was eager to incur her wrath. 

The atmosphere had been stuffy and stale, as usual, on the walk back from the church, but the evening air was crisp and refreshing, in the hidden grotto where her little fairy-cottage lay, surrounded by lush and gorgeous greenery, that could be found literally nowhere else, within a several-miles radius of Midgar. 

Inside the small, tidy house, that Tseng knew as well as his own, Aerith commanded him to sit, at the dining table, then went off to do something in the kitchen. He heard rummaging and water running. He felt a tickle on his cheek and brushed at it, thinking it was a stray hair, but his gloved fingertips came away wet and sticky.

It was only then that he realized the blood had run down his face, and dripped onto his white shirt. His head was throbbing pretty badly, too. Just how hard did she hit him? He was more inclined to be impressed, than anything.

“Don’t touch!” Aerith scolded, as she came back bearing a tray, loaded with clean towels and a steaming kettle. She poured the water into a ceramic bowl, into which she dipped one of the towels. “Sorry about your shirt. I could try to get the stain out, but I don’t have anything for you to wear, in the mean time.”

“That’s not necessary. You’ve—tss!” he hissed, as she pressed down on the wound, with the towel.

“Too hard?” she said, pulling it away.

“Hot. It’s too hot. You have to let the boiling water cool for a minute, before you slosh it all over someone.”

“Oops. Sorry, I’ve never done this before. I always hear people say to boil water and get clean towels, when someone’s hurt, so that’s what I did.”

“I think you’re thinking of childbirth.” 

“Am I? Oh, you’re right. That’s funny. Why would I confuse the two?”

She grabbed his chin to turn his head to the side, before she applied the wet towel again, and he employed himself in looking studiously at anything but her. Because while she was dabbing at his head, chatting away like they were old friends, she was also leaning extremely close, and her gauzy sundress wasn’t exactly cut conservatively, at the neckline. Her knee kept bumping into his thigh, too, which was profoundly distracting.

“Alright, that’s as clean as I can get it, before we get the bleeding stopped,” she announced, after a several long minutes of what seemed to be needlessly assiduous labor. “I’m gonna cast a healing spell, but I’ve never used it, so. You know. No guarantees on how well it’ll work.”

“I’m sure it’ll be—wait, you’ve never used it?”

“Nope. It just sort of…came to me, today. I haven’t had a chance to test it out, yet.” She smiled sunnily. “I guess that makes you my guinea pig.”

Tseng balked. “Maybe we should just use one you already know works.”

“Maybe if we were cowards. We are pioneers, Tseng! Now, sit still. This might sting a little.”

For a second or two, he felt nothing. Then there was a swell of intense, golden light, and his head felt like she’d pressed a branding iron to it. He gave a start and pulled away, but it was already over. 

“Wow, did you see the light?” Aerith breathed. “I’ve never had one do that before. Your wound healed so fast, too. I didn’t even have time to blink and it was just gone. It’s all healed, already!”

“It is?” 

“Mm-hm. Go ahead. Feel.”

He reached up and gingerly prodded the area with his fingertips. Sure enough, the swollen, throbbing lump on the side of his head had vanished. Not only that, there was no pain at all. Not even the lingering tenderness and tingling, which he regularly experienced in wounds that had been treated with cure materia.

He gave a stiff nod. “Impressive. Your skills are developing.”

“Maybe not,” she said, laying a hand on her brow. “I think…I think I’m gonna—” 

Mid sentence, her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed, like a puppet with cut strings. 

Tseng caught her and cradled her in one arm, patting her face and shaking her gently. “Aerith? Aerith, are you alright?”

“Mm…” she murmured faintly. 

He leaned closer. “What was that?”

“Mmmm…my hero!” Aerith burst out, with a peal of laughter. “What a knight in shining armor! A big, strong man, taking such tender care of a fainting damsel. You caught me and everything! If I’d dragged it out a little longer, would you have princess-carried me?”

Tseng let her go and stepped away, pursing his lips. “I’m glad you’ve amused yourself. I didn’t find that funny, at all.”

“What, because you can’t deliver damaged goods to Shinra?”

“Because I care what happens to you, Aerith!” he said, with sudden heat. “If I thought you’d harmed yourself, helping me, I would be very displeased.”

Aerith’s green eyes went as wide as saucers. “You care about me?”

“Of course I do.”

“But care about me, how?” He wouldn’t look at her, so she leaned around, into his eyeline. “You mean, as a valuable research subject, that your bosses would be furious about you losing…right?”

Tseng gave a cold laugh. “I dislike that you think that about me, but I suppose it was inevitable, given the nature of my employment. Whether you believe me or not, is immaterial. I have never seen you as a subject, or a target. Not ever.”

“Oh, really? If you don’t see me that way, then why are you always trying to make me go back to Shinra?” 

He narrowed his dark-brown eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic, or not. If not, then it can only be willful blindness.”

“What do you mean by that?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips. “Stop insulting me through the side-door, and just say it, outright.” 

The tall, black haired and black-suited man stepped closer, looming over her, suddenly appearing very different, to how he normally seemed. Sharp and dangerous. Like an unsheathed blade. “I have the power to destroy nations, with a snap of my fingers, Aerith. Do you truly believe that if I ever intended to deliver you to Shinra, you would still be free?”

Her lower lip trembled and she faltered back a step. “I never thought about it. I guess, I…I never thought of you as such a scary person.” 

“No—I wasn’t trying to scare you,” he said, with a sigh of frustration. “I only wanted you to understand me. To know where I stand. After all this time, you should…know.”

“You mean, you stand…between me and Shinra.” A tear escaped her emerald eye and slid down her cheek.  “I see, now. You’ve been protecting me from them, all along. But why? Why would you do that for me? Why would you spend fifteen years watching over me and holding them off, at your own risk?”

Tseng turned away. “Everyone has their reasons. Let’s leave it at that. It’s getting late. I should go.”

Aerith caught him by the sleeve of his jacket, stopping him in his tracks. “But…what if you didn’t?”

“If I didn’t?” he asked, glancing down at her white fingertips, just pinching the edge of the black cuff.

“You should stay,” she blurted out, then blushed and lowered her eyes bashfully. “I mean…I want you to stay.”

He let himself be tugged back, away from the door and escape. Toward her. As if he could have resisted. It was like the pull of gravity; gentle, ceaseless, inescapable. Unconsciously, his hand turned over, to cradle the one grasping his sleeve. Ever so lightly, so that she could easily have pretended not to notice, and drawn away. She didn’t. She let go of the sleeve and let her hand rest in his. Her palm on his palm and her tiny wrist between his fore and middle fingers. 

Her head was tilted down, and her eyes were still fixed on the floor. He could feel her trembling, as if she were afraid. But he had never seen her afraid of anything, in her life. So, was it fear, or something else?

“Tseng…” she murmured.

“Jiang.”

“What?”

“Tseng is my surname. My given name is Jiang. Since we’ve become so familiar.”

“Jiang,” she repeated slowly, rolling the unfamiliar word around on her tongue. “It feels strange, calling you a different name, after all this time. But it suits you. What does it mean?”

“It means descendant of the god of water, but the meaning has no special significance, in relation to me. My mother chose it because she liked how it sounded. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Aerith smiled. “Mine means something between earth and flower, because the Cetra spelling included both word elements, but there’s no special significance in relation to me, either. My mother probably chose it for the same reason your mother chose yours.”

“She chose well.” 

“I guess they both did.” 

Her hand was still resting in his hand. All this time they had been edging imperceptibly closer together, till they reached the event horizon. All it needed now, was for one of them to poke a hole in the window paper. Then there would be no going back to the way things were.

“Zack,” he said. 

Aerith stiffened perceptibly. “Um. What about Zack?”

“Zack was…my friend,” he explained, haltingly. “I promised him I’d take care of you.”

She lowered her eyes, then looked up at him again. “Then you should take care of me.”

His other hand slipped around her slender waist. Her body felt impossibly fragile and delicate, compared to his (particularly for a girl who had whacked him over the head with a folding chair, not an hour ago). She leaned into him and he bent down. 

The sound of footsteps and voices, on the walk outside pushed them hastily apart, again. A moment or two later, the door opened, and Elmyra entered, with one of the women from the village. Aerith was at the table, gathering up the towels and teapot, and Tseng was standing a professional distance away, with his arms crossed. 

“Mr. Tseng,” Elmyra frowned, looking back and forth between her daughter and the Turk. “What’s going on, Aerith? What is he doing here?”

“Hello, mother. Ms. Folia,” Aerith said breezily. “Nothing to worry about. He had a little injury and I treated it for him. What about you? I thought you were going to be at Leaf House all night.”

Elmyra’s gaze flickered down to the blood on Tseng’s shirt, then back up to his face, before she turned to Aerith. “Well, I forgot my notebook, with everyone’s ideas from the last meeting, so we came to pick it up. How exactly did Mr. Tseng get injured?”

Aerith looked sheepish. “Well, he—”

“I wasn’t paying attention, and I hit my head on a stray piece of furniture. Aerith was kind enough to tend to it. Thank you, for your hospitality. I’ll be going.” Without waiting for a reply, he gave a clipped bow and departed, quickly vanishing into the night, outside.

“Good goddess,” Ms. Folia remarked, after he’d gone. “I’ve heard people mention the long-haired guy in the suit, but he is something else. I’ve never even seen a man that good-looking, before.”

Elmyra glanced toward the door, the way he’d gone, then back at Aerith, who was carrying the tray into the kitchen. She had a lot of reasons to hold that Turk in deep distrust, and be wary of his presence, but this specific one had never even occurred to her.

Not that she thought of her daughter as some kind of vestal virgin (she was well aware of the extent of her intimate relationship with Zack), it was only that she hadn’t considered the man who had spent all this time circling overhead, like a hawk above a rabbit’s den, might be a different kind of threat, altogether. 

“Aerith, if those Turks hurt themselves while they’re poking around and spying, it’s their own problem. I don’t think it’s a good idea to invite them into the house, too often.”

“Huh?” Aerith said, looking perplexed, as she came back from the kitchen. “But we invite them in, all the time. You and Rude have tea together, every Wednesday. Or…oh. You mean Tseng, specifically. I understand why you’d worry, but the thing is, I kind of had to help him. He was lying about how he got hurt.”

“Oh, goddess, what did you do?”

“Well. He startled me, at the church, and I may have…hit him over the head with a folding chair.”

Ms. Folia burst out laughing, and Elmyra couldn’t suppress a little chuckle, even as she shook her head disapprovingly. 

“You know what? Nevermind,” she said, squeezing her daughter’s hand. “You can clearly take care of yourself. Here’s that notebook, Ms. Folia. We’d better get back, before they send a search party.”

“Bye, have a good time!” Aerith called after them, waving cheerfully, as they went away down the walk. 

When the two ladies were out of sight, she shut the door and leaned on it, letting out a deep breath, as if she’d been holding it in. Absently rubbing her palm, where it had rested in Tseng’s hand, she gazed into the middle-distance, with a troubled expression clouding her brow.

[woodsfae]

B5 s02e22 The Fall of Night table of contents • previous episode

Wow, the season finale of another season! That's 44 episodes and the Gathering in eleven months! Or a year? With the little break I took shortly into season one, and the big break I took in season two, I'm actually surprised that averages out to one every week and a bit. It's been a riot, but I'm beginning to suspect that they aren't going to fight the great war by the end of season two….a few episodes ago Lord Refa told Londo it had been six months since the war with the Narns began, and Sheridan says in the credits it's the year the great war began. So there's another six months to fill before the all-out war begins?

I cannot believe that last episode, Jack the Ripper from 1888 London tortured Delenn half to death. that. That was wild. But it only makes me more stoked to see what they do next, for the season finale! No, really, how are they going to top the whole season so far?

I'm just picturing Bruce Boxleitner sitting in a little set and his plastic helmet acting earnestly into the studio lights for some reason.

Huh, Lennier and Vir have a lot in common. And they meet every to gripe about their ambassadors. So cute. Lennier plus anyone is a winning strategy.

The Centauri arm of colonialism is spreading again, and it's been less than an episode since they took the Narn homeworld! They're doing 90% of the shadows' job for them.

B5, over and over again: "Imperialism is - hey, look at me. Imperialism is bad. Say it with me: "Imperialism is bad." It's not a good thing, only bad."

Hm, Garibaldi's take on Londo that he's holding on for dear life as the situation spins wildly out of control, since he has no fall-back plan or safe harbor that he knows of, gives him more credit than I had been.

There's more sightings of the shadows now, passed off as scary stories pilots tell each other half joking, half warning.

EarthCorps is here to meddle and get direct reports from their fashy spies.

There's pilot elitism!

"A spider big as death and twice as ugly. When it flies past, it's like you hear a scream in your mind. I saw it too."

They really must exude a visceral wrongness. Natural, or cultivated? Lt Keffer (?) is a little batshit to want to find one again. But all pilots are a little nuts (I say as someone about halfway to a pilot's license)

Hm, Ivanova sort of gets along with this EarthForce guy. Or she's charming him on purpose? She's usually blunt or bluntly professional.

A Narn war cruiser survived! Help them, Sheridan! It'll flare tensions like crazy, bring war to Babylon 5 almost certainly. But it's also the right thing to do.

Hm, the other Earthforce guy is also making an effort to get along with Ivanova. Deal with the devil shit. Join our political faction and add your rising star of influence to our cause. And oh, also spy for us and send us information on everything and everyone on B5.

Ivanova gives an excellent, very civil smack-down. Booo fascist faction in the already fascist government.

Lovely. A meeting of everyone who signed up to be spies, and they all get grilled and criticized in front of each other about the quality and quantity of the information they reported. And there are informants who inform on the informants. This isn't concerning at all.

Wasn't Lt Keffer banned from going out and doing sweeps looking for the shadows in hyperspace? This man cannot be stopped by mere orders.

Going by EarthForce Guy's mien, Earth isn't interested in supporting the Narn. Lame. And an Earth-Centauri Alliance! Terrible! Typical!

"A non-aggressive treaty with the Centauri? That's like trying to make nice with a piranha."

A great simile, Sheridan. And awww, he's having baby's first shame over one's totalitarian and morally bankrupt government.

Sheridan and Ivanova's relationship warms me heart. She got him a piece of the Black Star, the Minbari warcruiser which he defeated, to remind him that the impossible is within reach.

Way too many fucking spies on this station. Earth Force does not need to find things out this quickly, and it's disastrous that the Centauri have.

Yeah, go Sheridan! EarchForce is going to be PISSED, but he's defending B5 space. It can't be a neutral station if they bow to whomever shows up with a big warship. Plus, he's the Captain, and he hasn't gotten any direct orders from his superiors, so it is his decision!

There is tension! I feel tense! Wow! What a space battle! They do well at those. Love that Zeta Squadron went and escorted the Narn ship into hyperspace. Good relations being established there!

Sheridan: "[The Centauri ship] fired first, Mr Lantz. I have an obligation to protect this stations." Mr Lantz: "You had no business helping a Narn cruiser." Sheridan: "Are you telling me to disobey regulations?" Mr Lantz: "What regulations?" Sheridan: "General Order 47. EarthForce personnel are required to answer distress calls and assist any vessels not currently involved in hostilities against Earth. Now, it may not have been politically convenient, but legally and morally it was the right decision."

That it was. No matter the amount of Centauri blustering. It is 100% bullshit of these people to be catering to the Centauri so much. Sheridan is ordered, on pain of losing his position, to apologize to the Centauri, which is super lame.

Lt Keffer's computer's voice is fantastic. Good job, human voice actor playing a computer voice!

Sheridan's practicing his apology in the mirror is excellent.

Londo being a sad outcast in the middle of parties because no one wants to associate with his shitty ass is also excellent.

Awwww, Lt Keffer. Excellent work tracking down a shadow ship, brave and quick thinking saving the information, but bad death.

Whoa!!!! Sheridan just jumped out of the shuttle! But Kosh pulls a Dues Ex Machina! And everyone recognizes him with a local name or designation. Has this actor been in the encounter suit all along?

Huh, the inside of the shell of B5, an interesting view.

Sheridan really keeps it together. His calm acknowledgement in just saying "Kosh."

Hmmmmm. Good Vorlon lore.

A Narn in speaking with another being agrees that seeing the being of light was a good omen. Londo claims he saw nothing. I wonder how much truth there is to that.

Ivanova voice-over! We started the season with her voiceover, and I'm glad to end it the same way.

"…[Babylon 5] became our last, best hope for victory. Because sometimes peace is another word for surrender, and because secrets have a way of getting out."

At least there's a publicly released footage of the Shadows now!

This episode did a really good job of making me want to immediately watch another! Season one was great. Season two was better, and with this finale, I'm completely invested in where Season three will take me!

this just in! my top five from s02 and final thoughts before starting s03!

[femmmie]

What about Anthony being very jealous when he finds out that Amanda had kissed Ian in her audition when they were improvising together?? Ian and Anthony don't have to be together in this already just Anthony being jealous! Or they could be together and be jealous of Amanda doing that before Ian and Anthony got together??

Falling

Ian and Anthony were smoking expensive cigars and drinking hard liquor as they celebrated their acquisition of Smosh. They sat on Ians balcony and were howling with laughter. Both from their jokes and from general happiness to be together and vibe so well, after all these years.

"So, I watched your funeral roast video," Anthony said, one eyebrow raised.

"That was pretty epic," Ian giggled.

"I couldn't help but notice something!"

"What?"

"You were very quick to judge SMASH on Amanda. There seems to be some sexual tension between you guys," Anthony had a laughing fit after saying that, so badly that Ian had to laugh too.

"Nah you idiot, she's married!"

"So what?"

"Wow, that's cold."

"Even so, I see what I see! There's something going on there!"

The truth was, Anthony had certainly seen it and played the moment on loop for a whole afternoon, overthinking and overanalyzing. Amanda had been dressed up as Ian's mom, which was weird (and hot). "You scare me so much. SMASH." Did he like scary women? Why?

"Well, if you MUST know… we kissed."

Anthony resumed his fit of giggles and almost choked on his cigar smoke. He got up from his lounge chair and leaned heavily on the banister. His head was spinning. They KISSED...

"Hey bud, I think you should go a bit easy on the substances now," Ian laughed but his brows were somewhat raised.

"So, give me the TLDR of what happened bro." Anthony wanted to know everything. Every minute detail, how her lips had felt... how his lips.. had felt... did he look at her like he looked at Anthony when he seemingly casually but actually fully intently changed shirts in front of him? Did he... did he touch her hair, her face... her body...

"Alright," Ian said as he shook his head ever so slightly. "So, she auditions, right. And she's hilarious. We were doing a scene. And we just kept messing with her but she wouldn't budge, absolute professional. But I think she read the room in how far she could go and she just went for it!"

"Whaaaa! How did it go down?"

"Well, she stood where you're standing right?" Ian said, as he stood up as well.

"And I stood like here." Ian took a few steps towards Anthony.

"And she said in this horrible Australian accent: "Are you from Australia? Because I see that you have some great koala-fications." You know how I can't resist Australian jokes. And then she just grabs me…"

Ian grabbed Anthony by the waist.

"And kissed me like that! Only she was leaning down as she is so much taller than me, which is very hot, I'll admit."

Anthony half laughed, half whimpered. Having Ian this close while this intoxicated was a dangerous combination. And Ian was drunk too. He always did crazy shit when he was drunk. Would he go for it and kiss Anthony? Why did Anthony want to be kissed? His mind was racing, his cheeks burned, and his heart behaved like a Brazilian drum band. He took a step back and tripped over his own feet, falling backward, over the banister.

"Anthony!" Ian was laughing as he held on for the dear life of his best friend, who dangled upside-down from his balconee.

"What the fuck, Anthony!"

"Get me up!"

"So, do you agree to a 20-80 ownership of smosh, me getting the 80 of course?" Ian joked.

"Fuck you!"

"Hey, my head is against your dick, I'm sacrificing a lot saving you!"

"Just pull me up!"

Ian got Anthony on the balconee again. They sat there, panting for a while. Then they resumed their laugher.

"Oh my god, did that just happen?"

"That was kind of insane. But also kind of hot."

"Yeah, you like that, huh, I bet you wanted me to kiss you!"

"Maybe."

"Idiot."

"I love you, bro. I just got you back. Now, don't die on me, okay?"

"I'll try my best not to."

"Alright! Better..."

Anthony felt moved by Ian's words, the adrenaline still rushing through his body. He grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him onto his lap, while still sat on the ground.

"What did you do that for?"

"I want to prove something to you."

Anthony was determined. He just almost died. He couldn't waste any more time. Ian felt very warm on his lap.

"However hot that kiss was, this one's going to be hotter."

Anthony cupped Ian's startled face in his own tattooed hands, blinked slowly, and gave him the best smolder he could muster at the moment. He leaned in, slower and slower, he heard Ian's gasping breath against his face.

"I love you too, Ian," he crooned. "And it's about time I show you what I truly mean by that."

[orionsangel86]

God same about Jensen!

He clearly had some insight into Dean that came out intermittently I just thought it was Instincts he had because he'd internalised Dean so much but didn't actually understand what he was saying, stuck in ol' "oh haha Dean is a stupid repressed child who only likes guns" mindset

Turns out WE'RE the fools and Jensen's been playing us ALL

when do you think he took up plans to take over SPN himself? I honestly think it's when they decided to end SPN at S15 and talks about how they should end the story were going on and they had to send him to KRIPKE of all people

Yeah its wild. I would love for him (with Misha's help) to write a tell all book one day.

I feel like jackles has been a far better actor than we all gave him credit for. He has always been very switched on to fandom, he knew about the warring sides, the hate and the bullshit, and I reckon he was being told for years by his bosses to always keep all sides of fandom happy and to play his damn role at all times (ironically just like how Chuck ordered Dean to play his role - life imitates art too often in this fucking show its almost scary). Hence why he's insights into Dean often came across contradictory and odd. Sometimes he had beautiful accurate insights which make total sense, and other times (usually in j2 panels) he'd regress back to the "haha dean just likes guns and girls like a macho man should".

We will never truly know what went on behind the scenes following the moment j2m announced s15 was the end (unless jackles writes that book) so its hard to truly speculate when jackles decided to take things into his own hands, but I also believe it was around about the time they planned the finale and everyone was kissing jarpiss's asshole and jackles was left in the cold to stare down a shitty death scene he didnt agree with. Going to kripke was prob the final straw for him.

He was gaslit into thinking that ending was okay, and whenever he tried to question it he was told to sit down shut up and do what he was told, all the while watching his manchild tantrum throwing drama queen of a costar get his dick sucked by the entire production team for coughing a few times and puffing out his chest and singing the praises of a finale that pushed the spotlight firmly on him and his cop propaganda show.

So yeah, jackles was done dirty, and so he became That Bitch and started making plans. He had the production company set up only days after the finale aired, turned off his social media and refused to be involved in any spn finale celebratory CW PR (absolute King Shit)

I think he started making calls before they even finished filming. Dean wasnt even cold on the ground before The Winchesters had been dreamed up as a way to bring him back. Jackles rare few post finale SM posts all alluded to Dean returning again. He knew what he was doing.

At the same time he was ghosting the manchild, and planning to move his family to Colorado to get away from him. After SPN finally wrapped in mid 2020, him and Jarpiss went their separate ways. They barely spoke after that. Jackles was setting in motion all his plans to fix everything that he considered a personal afront to him (because he is absolutely deranged and literally possessed by the ghost of Dean Winchester) and those plans certainly involve fixing the ending somehow - in a way that isnt obvious no doubt, because he still has to be careful and at least pretend like he respects the ending and his egotistical douchebag of a costar (though he hasn't been doing a very good job of either tbh!)

Thats all my speculation anyway. Holding out for that tell all book jackles!

[ace-malarky]

⭐ 🌀

(Am: @literarynecromancy )

Hey Grim! thanks for the ask :)

We're gonna do these for Syn and Halliel bc skies know I haven't given Halliel enough attention lmao

⭐ What is your OC afraid of? Any crippling phobias or some such? How do they act when scared and what helps them calm down? Does anyone ever find your OC scary? Why?

Halliel is Not Great with enclosed spaces but conversely being in pitch black is absolutely fine because if she can't see shit, nothing can see her, right? She pulls out bravado like a pro when she's scared in very much a "fake it 'til you make it" facsimile which to be fair has been known to work for her! If there are others with her (Syn) that helps because then she is Not Alone and that gives her something else to focus on because they will Need Help and she can do that.

Syn is maybe a little scared of her the first time they meet as Val (and maybe a little turned on) bc like. consider Dame Aylin. That's the vibe we're going for when Halliel is pissed. She holds herself real still and bristles in a way she doesn't when she's scared herself, and she's got a sword and you get the feeling she will use it when necessary.

Syn does a lot of pretending never to be afraid ever, which is fair enough when you can shapeshift into something with more teeth than whatever's facing you but they're not great at being alone with themself. If you want them real scared, threaten the people they love, just uh. be careful because that's when they stop being careful and a Syn not being careful lets a hell of a lot more humanity slip.

They tend to get more flippant as they get more scared like they're pretending they're not, but you know it's bad when they can't even muster that.

N fuck listen. people are definitely scared of Syn by the end of the book! They do some shit! the aforementioned throat ripping! it's definitely in a monster-under-your-bed kinda way, a little That Thing From The Wilds

🌀 Where is your OC from? Where were they born? Do they still live there, if not why did they move? If they still live in the area how has it changed since their childhood? How many places has your OC lived in and where has been their favourite?

Halliel has lived in Shutora - the capital of Verial - her whole life but thinks about moving every so often to somewhere out by the coast, perhaps. She'd say the city itself hasn't changed that much but in that way where the shops have changed over and a wider panoply of people have moved in, but it happened so gradually that you don't notice until it's happened and then it's the way it's always been.

There are a few more disused buildings that she remembers being the scene of many a birthday party when she was younger, but now they make for good abandoned haunts and community gardening.

The theme park on the edge of the city is new, too, and that's one hell of a novelty.

Syn uh. well. They settled in Shutora just long enough ago that they seem like they've been there forever, and they certainly know the city like they're a native, but dig too much and you realise that no record of them exists for any education/birth certificate/clubs before they started work.

If asked, they say they come from a little village out in the sticks that barely anyone knows about. Intentionally rural. They came looking for excitement and better prospects and seem content to stay for now, but they always talk about travelling to see more of the world with a kind of longing that makes it seem like they're reminiscing on faded childhood memories