#wholesome mangle

[e-rated-beardo]

Do we need another voice added to the conversation about The Thing? I guess it can't hurt.

I have about every feeling on Earth. I'm frustrated it's going to be shorter than we thought. I'm wary, because we've all learnt this year that a green light can be un-green-lit with no warning. I'm so relieved they've removed That Guy. I'm relieved we're getting something. I'm angry that That Guy had to secretly be a shit (judging from the info I have) which has caused all this bloody anxiety for all of us IN ADDITION to the actual proper shit things he's done to others in the past (given the info I have) and that his shittiness is going to sully people's enjoyment of this thing in big or small ways. I'm cautiously optimistic that we might get something faster, because fewer minutes means quicker work, maybe. I'm worried (as I always was) that it isn't going to be what I've hoped for. I'm frustrated that it's still so very quiet in media regarding what That Guy has done and mildly worried his ex-fans might never know a lot of things that might have led to closure.

I've never been in fandom before this and I have a vague understanding of how lucky I am that this was the one that sucked me in. I'm told not all fandoms are created equal. This one is a bloody marvel. A real fucking marvel. I'm not talking about the art and writing (which are just fantastic like I can't believe), but about how last night I first read The News in a Discord server and thus had other fans Feeling All The Feelings around me right from the start; how I went on Tumblr and found the early discussions and shock and complicated emotions from people whose handles mean something to me, and how I went on Reddit and saw other people gif-screaming in frustration while simultaneously trying to comfort each other. This is such a wholesome place. HOW is this such a wholesome place. Can we keep cultivating this? All of this? Keep welcoming the randos posting on Tumblr about experiencing the Final Fifteen for the first time with avalanches of emoji hearts and fanfic? Keep patiently explaining and re-explaining new and confusing news to commenters who haven't heard all of them yet? Keep showing strangers how to code on AO3 or how to be a lovely fanfic reader or introduce them to the metas people thought up in 2015 or encourage them to post their own loving, scrunckly first art piece and give them love and appreciation for it?

We've Had A Fucking Moment Year, haven't we? And somehow, as an overall experience, to me, this has been an absolute GOOD. Because there's a whole bloody world of other obsessed folks around me now, feeling the same conflicted feelings as I do, largely speaking, and mulling them over in open blogs and private servers and fanfics and comics and DMs.

I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve. (Or more than half of you, more likely. We're not Hobbiton.) I really like y'all, anyway. You're neat. Can we be frembs? ❤️

If you want a little comfort fanfic escapism, I'm told this 7k-word, E-rated silliness I made once is a balm for S2-related wounds. (There's a podfic of it, too.) This thread on GOAD cropped up with great timing yesterday and is full of people's comfort fic recs. There's tons more of this everywhere. This fandom, man. This fandom. 🖤🤍

[ask-mangle-the-sad-one]

*mangle finally managed to calm down spring Bonnie, and spring Bonnie fell asleep in her lap, arms loosely around her, and head propped up against her body, spring Bonnie quietly slept in peace since he had cried all his demons out*

*smileing she said* so this is what it felt like to him, *she then doing her best to not disturb the sleeping golden rabbit, she tried her best to set her body on the ground, then she fell asleep*

[annaswrites00]

A Night In

LN4 x gf!reader

(1.0k)

Summary - You and Lando stay in to bake pizzas… warning - none, just wholesome fluff and bf Lando

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The rain had been coming down all afternoon, a soft patter against the windows that made the whole world outside look sleepy and slow. Inside Lando’s Monaco flat, everything felt golden and warm. The overhead kitchen lights buzzed quietly, the smell of flour and tomato sauce thick in the air, and somewhere in the background, a playlist crooned low and lazy.

You sat perched on the edge of the marble counter, swinging your legs and watching as Lando fought — and lost — a battle with a stubborn piece of pizza dough.

“I thought you said making homemade pizza would be fun,” he said, shooting you a betrayed look as he struggled to flatten the dough with a comically small rolling pin.

“I did say that,” you said, laughing. “You’re just weak.”

He gasped, scandalized. “You wound me.”

You tossed a little pinch of flour in his direction, the white powder floating through the air and dusting his messy curls. He froze mid-roll, eyes narrowing.

“Oh, it’s on.”

Before you could scramble away, he darted forward, swiping a floury hand across your cheek. You squealed, trying to wriggle out of his reach, but he just laughed — that bright, boyish laugh you loved — and grabbed you around the waist, holding you hostage.

“Say you’re sorry!” he demanded, mock-stern.

“Never!” you shrieked, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

It ended, like it always did, with both of you breathless and messy, smudged with flour, clinging to each other and laughing. You finally pulled back, resting your forehead against his shoulder, the scent of him — warm skin, clean laundry, a hint of cologne — grounding you.

“We’re gonna ruin the pizzas,” you mumbled into his hoodie.

“Worth it,” he said, and kissed the top of your head.

You both managed, somehow, to get back to work. Lando was determined to make your pizzas heart-shaped, even if it killed him. The results were… questionable, at best. His looked more like a lopsided potato than a heart, and yours wasn’t much better — but neither of you cared.

“Tadaaa,” Lando said proudly, presenting his mangled dough to you like it was a trophy.

“You’re an artist,” you deadpanned, biting back a smile.

He stuck his tongue out at you.

Your heart flipped stupidly in your chest, and you quickly turned back to your toppings to hide your blush. You layered sauce and cheese, bickering over what counted as “too much”, tossing rogue pepperonis into each other’s mouths, and arguing over whether pineapples were an acceptable topping (they were not, according to Lando).

Finally, the pizzas slid into the oven, and you both collapsed onto the couch, exhausted and giddy.

You dragged a fuzzy blanket off the back of the sofa, throwing it over the two of you as you snuggled close. Lando smelled faintly of flour and boy and something you couldn’t name but always associated with home.

He picked up the small stack of romcoms you’d brought over, flipping through them dramatically.

“The Deal,” he read aloud. “The Kiss Quotient. Love, Theoretically.”

He turned and grinned at you. “These can’t be real.”

You laughed, nudging him with your foot. “Pick one, loser.”

He eventually settled on The Deal, propping it open and resting it on his lap. You curled into his side, your head tucked under his chin, his free arm automatically wrapping around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He started reading out loud, voice a little teasing but surprisingly soft.

You closed your eyes, listening, your whole body warm and relaxed against him.

Every few minutes, he’d pause to make a comment — usually stupid.

“If a guy ever talked to you like this, I’d deck him,” he muttered during one scene.

You cracked an eye open to grin at him. “It’s a romance novel, Lan.”

“Yeah, well. He better watch himself.”

You smiled into his hoodie, feeling ridiculously happy, ridiculously safe.

The rain kept tapping against the windows. The flat smelled like baking dough. Lando’s voice was low and rhythmic, the words buzzing softly in your ear.

After a while, you tilted your head up to look at him. He caught you staring, eyebrows raised.

“What?” he asked, smiling that soft, sleepy smile that was reserved just for you.

You shook your head, heart aching with how much you loved him.

“Nothing. Just… you’re really cute.”

He flushed a little, ducking his head. “You’re the cute one.”

You nudged him again, and he leaned down without hesitation, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to your lips. It was slow, sweet, a little clumsy — the kind of kiss that tasted like comfort and home and all the little things that mattered most.

The oven dinged, the timer going off with a loud beep, but neither of you moved right away.

When you finally pulled apart, Lando grinned, forehead resting against yours.

“Pizza’s ready,” he whispered.

“Five more minutes,” you whispered back.

He tightened his arm around you, tugging the blanket higher, tucking you closer. You stayed like that, tangled together on the couch, the world outside a blur of rain and city lights.

You would eat slightly burnt, lopsided heart-shaped pizzas later.

You would laugh about it, feed each other cheesy bites, and probably fall asleep halfway through another chapter, your bodies twisted together under the blanket.

But for now, you just stayed.

Safe. Warm.

Exactly where you belonged.

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Thanks for reading!!!

✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊˚

[renfieldsheart]

Mafia!Husband x Vampire!Reader thoughts…

Depictions of: violence, guns, blood, fluff? (Is that possible?), dark yet wholesome?, slight suggestion at end but idk it’s pretty tame.

(Psst! If u like my stuff, please go support me on Wattpad!)

Vampire!Reader who gets restlessly jealous whenever they smell a stranger’s blood on their husband, but can’t bring it up without exposing their own vampirism.

Mafia!Husband who doesn’t understand how you always know he’s home before he opens the front door, or how you know where he’s been that day just by ‘guessing.’

Vampire!Reader who can smell the smoke from gunfire on their husband’s clothing when he comes home and tries not to show their concern.

Mafia!Husband who hid his job from you for months, scared you’d resent him, only to be completely dumbfounded by your obvious excitement when you finally find out.

Vampire!Reader who begged him to take them with him to his job one day, to which he firmly refused.

Vampire!Reader who confesses their vampirism to their husband, expecting an argument or at least fear, only to be met with pure fascination and curiosity.

Mafia!Husband who now takes you with him to work sometimes, letting you feed on the casualties.

Mafia!Husband who lets you take the wheel for torturing victims, your infectious bites being the perfect threat.

Mafia!Husband who doesn’t bother washing his bloody hands before coming home because he knows you’d lick him clean without a second thought.

Mafia!Husband who makes out with you in the middle of a shootout, lips interlocked and tongues intertwined as blood spatters and sprays through the air, mangled remains of what was once human beings tossed around like confetti.

Match made in hell ♥️

[giddlygoat]

Jeeves in the Country is a masterpiece,

Jeeves putting his foot down about the trombone playing with the threat of giving notice and then looking genuinely sad when Bertie actually chooses the trombone over him? That rapid eyelash batting as he turned away??? Wowww that was gay. [Also Bertie being utterly prepared to move into a secluded countryside cottage with Jeeves aww]

Jeeves showing the new man around and leaving detailed instructions: “He’s very particular about the pressing and cleaning of his clothes etc“ oh come on, Jeeves. We both know Bertie hardly gives a second thought to these things; it seems obvious to me that Jeeves was simply trying to tick the new man off. [To be more precise, I think that scene illustrates how much smug pride Jeeves takes in his own skills and attention to detail, not only in relation to his immaculate care of Bertie. He really is one of the best in his field and I love that he knows and shows it.]

Bertie habitually responding to Jeeves before realizing that Jeeves should not even be present? Classic 

Jeeves making a point to tell Bertie “A good man is hard to come by” OKAYYYY! Love that!!

Jeeves and Bertie walking together and scheming as if nothing has changed. Very cute. 

Bertie offering Jeeves a smoke on that beach stroll [even if Jeeves declined] was . I’m not sure, it just really stuck out to me for some reason 

“Your man Jeeves said you’d be delighted to help.” “Oh he did, did he?” !!!!!

This whole dynamic with the American girl and Bertie is really cute to me. Idk Bertie’s aromantic is showing. It’s weirdly wholesome but I can’t really explain it 

Bertie coming up with the name of a fake uncle he’s ‘on his way to visit’ and the first name out of his mouth is Reginald. COME ON MAN

JEEVES WEAVING A FUCKING WEB OF DECEPTION AND PRACTICALLY SETTING BERTIE UP FOR CERTAIN DEATH 😭😭😭 good for him honestly 

Jeeves milking a cow and setting up an emergency kitchenette in the yard of the burnt house just to make Bertie’s morning tea. GAY SEX WOULD HAVE BEEN LESS GAY 

“Wait a minute. Are you back with me, Jeeves?” “If that’s agreeable to you, sir.” STOP! STOP THIS INSTANT! 

Bertie observing the mangled trombone with a “What might have been!” And Jeeves only smiling and hitting him with a VERY final “No, sir.” HELP MEEE

That episode was superb 10000/10 I love that they got divorced 

[mothyspace]

Death's Pet (yandere oc x reader)

Being the prized possession of a god of death. (❁´◡`❁)

[//warnings:// violence, captivity, mind break kind of implied]

A Grim Reaper, a shinigami, Death, they have many names. As you've also learned, there are many of them. This one has trapped your sad pitiful soul like a mouse.

*splat!* You flinched as more gore spilled out from the mangled corpse. It wasn't anywhere near you. But just watching it was too much... You wanted to turn your head but his large clawed hand held you still. His talons were tangled in your hair, almost painfully. Almost. He would never truly hurt you. So he says...

He laughs, the sound low and rumbling and too sudden that it makes you jolt in surprise. He only laughs more and leans down to speak directly in your ear. His breath is cold as always.

"It's been years and you're still afraid of these things? I thought this was my best work yet." He sits back, pulling you with him to settle you further on his lap. One hand is at the base of your neck, the other at your waist. By now you've grown accustomed to your place here with him. Being held like a precious doll.

But these visions he shows you... of people dying. It's something you will never get used to.

He's the god of death- or rather one of them. His domain is over what you used to call "freak" accidents. Now you know they're no accidents, he orchestrates them all.

You stare blankly at the vision as he laughs like it's some kind of game. To him it is, you suppose. A woman holds her husband- what's left of him and sobs. You can't hold it back anymore and you retch.  He lets go of you and lets you curl up on his lap and tremble to your hearts content.

"Still so delicate and pitiful, aren't you?" he laughs, softer this time, and gently strokes your back. He soothes you from the brink of another panic attack, "Give it another hundred years and this stuff will be as mundane as bugs to you."

"Please... I don't want to watch this right now..." you stare up at him with teary eyes and beg, hoping it's one of the few times he's in a good mood.

He leans closer, the dark void of his hood gives no emotions. It's always unnerving. Another thing you don't think you will ever get used to...

Slowly he brings a gloved hand up to wipe away a tear. You wonder briefly how such a monster could also be so delicate. and why, why so gently with y-

"On second thought..." his voice is a low whisper it fills your head and interrupts your frantic thoughts, "Maybe you shouldn't..."

 

He hugs you tightly to his chest, burying his cold face into the crook of your neck. You feel his whole body shuddering... 

"Because... You're just so cute when you're frightened."

This an oc i've had cooking in the oven for a bit! He's a grim reaper, god of death type of guy. I'm thinking he might actually be part of a group? and they're people who no longer have human faces so they wear masks or hoods to hide the void of where their faces SHOULD be!! I have a few more ideas for characters in this group~! a few more yanderes too and one (1) wholesome boy. Maybe.

Also a few ladies bc,,,, i like wamen 🥺

YES THEYRE ALL EDRITCH FREAKS TOO!!! EXPECT TENTACLES FROM SOME !!!! not this guy tho--

ANYWAYS, as you can tell it's going to be a little messed up setting. You're his pet and there's p much no escaping that 💕 But it's not so bad maybe? He's…. well he doesn't hurt his darling. He's not someone who would assault his darling either! HE'S LIKE SECRETLY DOWN BAD but just doesnt kno how to be normal lmao? loser ???

I'LL THINK OF A NAME FOR HIM SOMETIME… LATER ?

His appearance im thinking is like, classic hooded figure but also with fancy clothes like this:

also um,,,,, ( ^////^) this is my first fiction in like a million years,,, hope you enjoy it 💌💕

-Mothy

[sungiescheotluv]

am i the asshole? ⭑.ᐟ lee jeno

pairing: lee jeno x gender neutral reader

word count: 2.1k

tags/warnings: fluff, meet not-so-cute turned cute, (excessive) swearing, crack (if you squint - or read any of my fics really 😭)

summary: things are looking up for you - a promotion at work propels you into a new, more extravagant apartment that has all you need and more. too bad you forget to look down.

notes: hi hi, i'm back with a new fic! it's been really fun to crank out all these fics in such a short amount of time :) i usually spend a stupid amount of hours mulling over word choice and reading too much into things, which i've tried to abandon with this blog and just write whatever inspires me and makes me laugh honestly. i'm not sure if this is funny for you guys, but i enjoyed the care-free time i had writing this and hope you enjoy it the same reading it! wishing you all the best and thank you, THANK YOU for all the love on my fics! it means so so much to me 🥹💗

also, this fic wouldn't exist this prompt list from @corvase so big big thank you to them! much love! <3

If there is one word to describe Jeno, it’s doting. 

Ever since the moment you two met, you’ve been living a life of luxury. Not necessarily in terms of monetary means (except for the very pretty promise ring Jeno got you a few months back), but in more valuable, sentimental places. Someone by your side that treasures the ground you walk on, someone that makes the effort whoever big or small, someone who’s totally and utterly obsessed with you. For so long, you thought you had your head in the clouds, imagining such a love as an abstract, fictional thing. Like it could never materialise beyond the limits of your mind and yet, there it is. Three years ago, the love you’d wished for on many stars, many birthday candles - right in front of you. 

You meet in a rather…unconventional way. Nothing shady or anything, but it’s a bit of a blunder in comparison with the wholesomeness of your relationship. You’d just moved into your new apartment building, your new promotion uplifting you as the future brims bright. You’d seen it in person before getting the keys and your jaw dropped every time. Admittedly, the office assisted with most of the expenses to keep you in close vicinity of the main building, explaining the lavish skyscraper of a building. Marble floors, polished elevators, key-pad locks. To you, someone who didn’t come from much, this was the high life. A merit your family let you know you deserved for all your efforts over the years, whether it was in academic ventures or familial affairs. Either way, as you are driving through the front gate, the security guard tipping his hat at you, you’re beaming with glee - nothing, and you mean absolutely nothing, could ruin your day. 

Except this.

For someone so accommodating, you lacked understanding (and patience) for what you, in a flare of anger, called ‘stupidity.’ Unfortunately for you, this is one of those moments. Pulling up to your assigned parking space (underground, might you add), your eyebrows furrow at the sight before you. There’s a car in front of you making an awkward turn, almost as if they don’t know where they’re going. Maybe they’re new like you, you reason. Your understanding drains from there, as the car goes back and forth, turning its wheels and frankly, looking like a hot mess. You try not to be an asshole, because drivers deserve some grace, especially Learners judging by the large ‘L’ on the back of their car, but just as you’re about to offer some help, you squeal.

The learner attempts to manoeuvre out the tight space it’s wedged itself into, having to reverse generously due to the sheer size of the car and in doing so, it nearly rear-ends you. If you hadn’t had the sense to put more distance between the two of you, the front of your car would’ve been mangled. This time, you honk, a slam of the hand on the steering wheel as you yell, “The fuck are you doing!”

The driver offers an apologetic hand out their window, somehow managing to squeeze into the parking spot they’d been trying very hard to get into. As grateful as you are for the stupid ordeal to be over, a pout forms on your lips as you squint at the parking spot the driver’s parked into. 

Your parking spot.

You’re out of your car before your brain registers, the slam of the car door accompanying the echo of your loud voice as you say, “That’s my parking space.” 

The driver hoops out of their car, a large grey hoodie shrouding their face as they step into view. Under the fluorescent lights of the barren car park, the stranger reveals their face, shadows enveloping the sharp edges of his high cheekbones and jawline. You nearly lurch back, because what the hell? Why is the driver you’d nearly had an aneurysm over unbelievably hot? Handsome? Cute?

At this point, you’d throw a whole dictionary full of words to describe how attractive he is, his pink lips folding into an apologetic grin, bowing to you deeply. “Is your car ok? I’m so sorry. It’s my first time driving this big ole thing - it’s the only car I could fit all my belongings in.”

Then, you see it. Items, belongings cluttering the pick-up truck, and if you really look, you’re pretty sure a pillow’s obstructing his sight from his rearview mirror. 

You exhale, a wave of sympathy drowning the fires of your annoyance. “It's fine, thanks. Just a word of advice, you shouldn’t be driving with something blocking your rearview mirror.”

Why did you have to tell him this? If he's a learner, surely he 1) knew this and 2) had someone in the car with him.

Just then, the passenger front seat opens, another figure in an oversized black hoodie coming round the vehicle. Were they-?

“Jeno, you forgot your dog treats in the-” the passenger cuts themselves off at your presence, lowering their hood to reveal another handsome face. What is this? A traveling circus of hotties? How many more were hidden in there? “Oh, hottie alert.”

Instantly no. 

In the face of a man also sculpted by the Gods, with his big brown eyes and irresistible smile, you scowl. Maybe even vomit a little in your mouth because did he just say ‘hottie alert’ about you…in front of you? 

Nevermind you calling him that first.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” the stranger - Jeno, you’re assuming - looks even more embarrassed, shuffling to shield the glaring ogling his friend does. “He’s got no filter. No sense either, now that I think about it.”

“Since when did the samoyed become the owner?” you make out his friend say, in a headlock that he forces himself out of with a bite through Jeno’s sleeve. 

Samoyed? Owner?

The longer you watch their bickering, the more confused and honestly, more annoyed you grow. A promotion and new apartment, what is meant to be an upgrade from your previously cramped but friendly neighbourhood, only to find yourself caught in the middle of a quarrel. With some themes of petplay, too, you weren’t sure.

All you know is that you’ve got a long day ahead of you, and they’re prolonging it by snatching your parking space. 

“Sorry to interrupt but,” their heads turn at the sound of your voice, having the decency to look embarrassed as you continue. “You’re parked in my space. I’m D7. So, in case there’s been a mix-up-”

“Thing is, sweetie,” Jeno’s friend addresses you, the latter hanging his head in shame. “Unfortunately, someone’s parked in our sweet Jeno’s place. We’re on a bit of a tight schedule, and your space was the only one avail-”

A car honk makes you jump, your head on a swivel, mortified to find a car behind yours, luckily trying to exit the underground space.

Now you look like the asshole.

You huff, exhausted already. “I’m gonna let this car through, and we’re going to solve this, alright?” 

They both nod, the enthusiasm that Jeno nods with earning a fond smile from his friend, Jeno’s sleazy partner ruffling his head of long black hair.

In the end, when you’ve circled back, the person parked in Jeno’s space comes out and profusely apologizes for the inconvenience, citing an emergency they had to take care of and since Jeno’s space was free and close to the building, they snagged it. So, you get your parking space back, a small victory. Jeno’s friend, who notices you’re moving in too - Jaemin is his name - offers his help, to which you politely deny, catching the pure apologetic nature in Jeno’s shiny eyes. 

Minor blunder. A small thing in the grand scheme of things, nothing worth losing your mind over.

Except when you’ve managed to heave your first few belongings to your apartment, the door next to yours opens, Jaemin’s bright smile greeting you as he says, “Oh, I’m definitely coming over to yours more often.”

So, yeah. Not that romantic - your first meeting.

Heck, even your second and third meeting isn’t too great because on one exceptional morning where you’re running late, you collide into Jeno on your way out, your possessions and fingernail flying in the air. You’re lucky your nail-bed remains unscathed, but not so lucky the days following that when you’re walking in the open courtyard of your apartment building, out for some fresh air, time to decompress for the mounting work you’re quickly submerging in.

You’ve got your headphones on, noise-cancelling ones you got for Christmas - how nice. What isn’t nice is that you miss the yell behind you, and the strange texture you step onto. Your body freezes, nose twitching from a foul smell that wafts upwards and when you gaze down to your shoe, you find the worst. The absolute worst.

Shit. Huge, putrid clumps of shit.

It’s so shocking that you slip your headphone off down to your neck, deciding between screaming or crying. Your decision is cut off by a familiar voice, yet again so apologetic.

“I forgot her bags upstairs. I didn’t think anyone would…” Jeno cuts himself off, eyebrows pinched together like he may cry. “Can I-can I do anything for you? Wash your shoe? Scream? Disappear into oblivion?”

“All of the above.”

He chuckles, the furry friend he’s accompanied by nudging their wet snout against your hand, smiling at you like there are no thoughts behind their eyes. Your eyes flicker between the dog and Jeno, the white samoyed eerily similar to his owner.

Was this what Jaemin was referring to when you first met?

“Don’t worry about her, she’s harmless,” he comments, the ghost of a grin appearing against his face. “Except when she takes a dump.”

You have to laugh. Otherwise you’ll cry. “Too soon?”

“No, no - I needed that actually,” you sigh after your fit of chuckles. “Today’s been…well, shit.”

“You don’t say,” Jeno muses, handing over the leash his dog is on. “Do you mind?”

You take it without a word, securing his furry friend as he slips off one of his shoes, bending down near the scene of the crime. Without a peep, he cleans around as best as he can, undoing your shoe and casting it aside, slipping his one on your foot.

“Well, I can’t scream because it’s non social hours,” he leads, wrapping your shoe in one of the bags. “And as much as I’d love to disappear into oblivion, I’ve got a shoe to wash.”

He then hesitates, parts his lips like he wants to say something. There’s something adorable about his loss for words, how his gaze is downturned, flicking side to side in indecision. God, all these awful run-ins robbed you of remembering how cute he is. 

“Did you want to come back to mine?” he finally asks, meeting your eyes. “So, we don’t have to drop each other’s shoes off like some fairytale.” 

“It is almost midnight,” your quick wit earns a chuckle from him, eyes moon crescent and you can’t believe your own. How tragically pitiful and handsome he is. “Why not? I’ve got no ball to be at.”

So, instead of spending your night wallowing in the darkness of your apartment, you’re next door, laughing at the failed attempts of Jaemin’s ‘flirting’ Jeno tells you with his samoyed, Ari, cuddled into your side. Once your shoe dries, that’s when you say you’ll leave - what you infamously tell yourself, picking up the bone-dry shoe hours later, belly full of Jeno’s special bowl of noodles and heart full of infatuation for your neighbour. 

Again, not so romantic. But your following run-ins prove to be a turning point, the close relationship you develop unveiling a world of romance you thought were reserved only for movies and books. Somewhere along the line, your elevator talks stretch into rambling dinner dates, rotating between your place and his depending on the meal since Ari once stole a whole steak off your plate once. You take Ari on your nightly walks Jeno accompanies you for, you meet his friends and he meets yours. You make space for each other, carving out time to spend binging the latest season of your favourite dating show or over a bowl of kimchi stew you reward him with for getting the spider out your apartment. 

It’s like your puzzle pieces come together, initially ill-matched but now, the perfect fit for one another. And even if Jaemin jokes you were a bit ‘rough around the edges’ (code for an asshole) when you’d first met, Jeno kisses the denial out of you, making sure you know how much better his (and Ari’s) life is with you in it. 

[thegnomelord]

Shark Merperson reader is real gud.

- 🦈

(HOLY FUCK. THANK YOU TO WHICH EVER ANON REQUESTED THAT BECAUSE I FUCKIN LOVE SHARKS.

Now Im thinking of a Price x Reader, because shars are the oldest species known to exist. Obviously sharks arent immortal, they've just been on this earth way b4 tress bloody existed.

So Im thinking the readers an eldritch creature, they represent sharks as a whole, as long sharks exsist they exsist. Heck they mights of even of been Prices mentor when he was in his draconic 100s? (Late 20s?).

Imagine Price missing his friend calls him up to see hows hes doing. Reader elated to meet an old friend, accepts the invitation to meets up with him. Reader definitely scolds him for lossing a wing, honestly is pertrified Price lost a piece of himself and thought he was retiring due to it. Cut ahort to him smacking him slap dab on the head when he learns he's lost it a long time ago and didnt tell him.

Cue wholesome interactions th 141 and etc. Heck maybe some romance with Price.

Just a blurb i had yo tell you abt)

Okay, this tickles my eldrich abomination trying to act human itch

CW:SFW, eldritch reader, kissing

Price knows you're there the second he steps onto the old wooden pier, able to smell seaweed and brine and something in the air — what he thinks the bottom of the ocean smells like, old rot of decaying whales and older heat of geothermal vents — the soft wind billowing his hair like the breathing of an elderly beast.

He knows you're watching him, passively at least, washed up mermaid purses dotting the beach to give you a glimpse of the world above the waves through the yolks vital for the pup's survival, able to dream of the warm sun and course sand while you slumber beneath the waves.

"Oi, ser, yer look like a wee lass waiting for her sailor." Soap's sharp voice cuts through the air, the werewolf far too energized for his own good, the sand in his fur not dampening his mood when he can just shake himself off and flick the grains on Simon.

"Hah," Price snorts, "Maybe I am." He tilts his head back to the sea, sharp eyes watching the breaking waves. "Time to wake up old friend." He mutters your mangled name under his breath, mortal lips and vocal cords unable to replicate your own voice.

The young ones in his team lack the sight needed to notice your form slowly rise from the sea like a submarine breaking through the ice, only the visible flicker of air and the receding water keying them in. Price old enough to see you without needing the inner surface of his skull to be dotted with eyes. Though even he sees your real form like a man having a stroke — vaguely familiar at first yet the details are undefinable — flesh and sea melding together without rhyme or reason, long strings of seaweed bearing miniature eyes with pups wriggling inside, cookie cutter sharks boring holes through finless corpses so long eel sharks may form ever reforming sinews, fossilized bone and old rock giving giving support to the massive insult to reality's laws; birth and life wrapped up in death.

You're an affront to logic. And with one sneeze from existence itself you're human standing in front of him.

Eerily human.

Perfectly human.

Almost.

"What the fuck?" He can faintly hear Gaz's voice, all of them only now noticing you stand where you weren't previously.

Your hand touches his back before he even registers you move, always slightly damp, "When did this happen?" You ask as you trace the spot where his wing used to be. "What did this?"

"And a 'hello' to you too sweetheart." He clasps a hand around your waist, purring softly in greeting as he pulls you closer to his chest. Even if he sees you once every few centuries, even if you don't possess the ability to reciprocate, his love for you is as youthful as it was when he was but a wyrm.

Your facial features remain neutral like the ones of sunken statues, but you blink, and for a few seconds he can see that yawning abyss in your eyes. "Hi." You say, your hand still tracing the bump created by atrophied flight muscles, trying to judge how fresh it is. "Explain."

Your tone sounds like a predator baring it's teeth, but he knows you wouldn't harm him. "In a lil' bit." He snorts, puts pressure on your back until he forces your legs to move. "Come, want you to meet my boys."

The introductions are odd on both ends considering you hadn't spoken with people other than Price since that Icarus of a passenger ship mistook your fin for an iceberg and they've never met an old one like you. But you like them, they compliment Price just like the small scale he gave you makes the pearls and gold offered to you through the ages shine more.

Even if your face is unreadable, somehow they can figure out you're not too amused when you hear he'd lost his wing during a mission. "I told you arrogance would cost you." You at least you can mimic a sigh as you rub your head, "At least you retired." You say,

"We wish!" Soap snorts before he can help it, and the next thing they hear is a horrific crack that has them jumping out of their skin.

Your head had whipped 180 degrees with the rest of your body remained in place, the laws of nature nothing more but blurry guidelines. "You. . .did retire?" You ask, voice like the roar of a whirlpool.

"About that," Price starts, unable to finish his thought as you slap him upside the head as if he's still the whelp who thought he could brave an ocean storm.

"You'll put me in the grave." You growl, holding him by the ear, words spilling from your mouth like seawater filling the empty bowels of a ship. "I swear your scaly hide hasn't learned a single thing-"

"Should we help?" Gaz wonders as they watch you chastise their captain like he's a boy.

"No, this is great entertainment." Ghost chuckles.

"Want me ta grab the popcorn?" Johnny ads, already snacking, tail thumping against Simon's leg and growling playfully when Gaz reaches for the snacks.

Eventually your anger relents, mood changing as swiftly as the tide. You spend the time they have left learning about the men he's chosen as his hoard. Kyle's a bit weary of you just due to his harpy nature, but soon enough you two can be found sitting on the pier and fishing, and if you purposely make the waves flow so a big fish snags on Kyle's line, Price never says anything about it, not when his boy has a smile as big as the sun when he looks at the gigantic fish flopping on his hook.

You attempting to help Soap cook the barbeque, but you're fine motor skills are rusty after all these years of slumber, so the food is slightly burnt but Price loves when his food's basically charcoal and eats it with a smile, especially as it keeps you from telling all the embarrassing stories you have of him, from when he got his ass bit by a squid to when he was so horny he ended up rutting against an extra curvy piece of rock, though the rest have already heard enough dirt to bury him for the next several decades.

Unfortunately for Price, you and Ghost hit it off like a house on fire, and Ghost ends up learning far too many ways to hurt people without killing them that most definitely are against the Geneva conventions but you pull seniority on it. Simon in turn, teaches you how to play cards, which, when you're literally a god that can see almost everything including your opponent's cards, means the shmucks Simon ropes into playing you and Simon end up with empty pockets.

As the sun stars to dip behind the horizon you wind up sitting next to Price by the fire, the others splashing in the water.

You feel his wing spread behind your back to pull you closer to him, "I missed this." He says, knowing you won't comment on the 'I missed you' hidden behind his vellum words.

"Last time we met like this Napoleon was still emperor." You hum, a small yawn escaping you, sharp tips of shark teeth peeking from human gums. "And you had two wings." You can't help but point out, making it clear you've not forgiven him about not informing you.

Price pointedly ignores your later comment, his hand tentatively, almost shyly, reaching down to sit on top of yours. "Afraid I'll forget about you?"

His pulse picks up when you shift your hand to hold his, fingers lacing together when you don't have a tail as a human. "You wait for me." You shrug, holding your free arm up, reality wheezing for a few moments before his scale is suddenly in your hand, shiny and unharmed just as it was when he'd given it to you all those years ago. "And I dream of you."

His eyes widen and heart melts, a purr rumbling in his chest "C'mere sweetheart," He rumbles and pulls you into a kiss, free hand holding your chin stable.

You taste of salt and blood, of chilling cold and boiling heat, of something ancient and familiar and Price drinks it all down like a babe, tongue licking in your mouth and fangs nibbling on your lip, feeling you respond, the touch of hungering god as soft as silk, just to him.

But he knows this won't last.

A shark has no reason to stay on land, and a dragon can't survive underwater regardless of how much he wants. Soon you'll return to slumber, and Price won't know when he'll see you again, if he'll see you again, or if you'll learn of his passing when your waves swallow up his ashes.

He doesn't notice the prickling in his eyes but you do, wiping a stray tear with the pad of your thumb, your other hand still wrapped around his. "Don't worry John," You say, statue features finally cracking into a small smile, "I'll stay for a little while." You say and lead him into another kiss, the other members of TF141 leaving you two to catch up on lost time...

[jackoshadows]

Thinking more about this post made me come to a realization about what I will call the Jonsa conundrum.

I have come across this point frequently that anyone writing about or enjoying Sansa's canon relationships in the books does so because they need Sansa to be humbled or hate the character of Sansa herself.

Which is a really weird thing to say considering that people engage in fandom shipping because they really enjoy or love the character and are exploring these characters in fictional relationship tropes they enjoy. From what I have seen it's hardcore Sansa fans who are shipping SanSan.

It's also interesting because the person who has written all these relationships - positive or negative - with Tyrion and Sandor in the books is GRRM. So are these stans implying that GRRM himself hates the character of Sansa and wrote 5 books focusing on these relationships because he needs Sansa to be humbled?

And then there are posts like these:

If Sansa stans are shipping Jon and Sansa because all her other ships are abusive and she is being taken advantage of then why not Sansa and Sam? Why is that not a popular ship? There's as much basis, even more, for Sam and Sansa as a ship in the books than Jon and Sansa.

At the end of the day both are crackships, so if one has to go for a 'wholesome shipping experience' then why not Sam whose canon character does not even have to be twisted and mangled and changed to suit Sansa's sensibilities.

Sam is a genuinely sweet and nice guy who dislikes violence and actually respects and likes girls similar to Sansa unlike Jon Snow and they could even bond over their love for songs and music. Sam and Sansa have more in common than Jon and Sansa. And for folks complaining about incest, Sam and Sansa is incest free!

Even GRRM wants to know why there are not more folks shipping Sansa and Sam whom he describes as kind, smart, decent and devoted. Everything Sansa wants in a partner!

Here is the author himself going - 'Sandor is not a nice guy, why not ship Sansa with someone nice like Samwell Tarly!' - basically the answer to folks complaining about Sansa's canon ships being abusive and who want a wholesome ship for Sansa.

Like it or hate it, Sandor/Sansa or SanSan is an actual canonical relationship! The author has acknowledged it as such, he has outright stated that he has 'played with it' and even has SanSan fanart hanging on his house walls!

Similarly Sansa is married to Tyrion! That is a canon relationship. By the end of ASoS and in AFfC Sansa starts thinking more kindly of Tyrion and even considers him an option of where she can flee to if only he was still alive.

Littlefinger is clearly attracted to this younger Catelyn clone and is grooming her for his own evil purposes. So it makes sense that there are some fans who are into this sort of trope who are playing around with this ship as well.

Then there is Harry the Heir whom Sansa is plotting to marry and is openly flirting with in TWoW. That's another written relationship for Sansa in the books, so I can see why folks would ship that as well.

Then there's Sansa dreaming of or hoping to marry the Tyrell boys, Loras and Willas. Again, makes sense for shippers to play around with those ships.

So when folks ship SanSan or Sanrion or Sansa/Baelish or Sansa/Willas they are only going by the relationships - positive or negative - that Sansa has in the books and that the author has written for the character in the books. This is not Sansa hate.

There is no such relationship in the books between Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. This is why most sensible book readers treat it as the crackship it is. Even Sansa/Margaery and Jon/Sam make more sense as ships than Jon/Sansa because those characters have relationships with more emotional weight and actual page time devoted to it than Jon and Sansa.

Which brings me to the Jonsa conundrum. An oft repeated justification for Jonsa is that it's the only ship where "Sansa is not getting abused or taken advantage in any way". And therefore anyone who opposes this ship does so only because they hate Sansa. (Jon Snow and the character's likes, desires and wants are not even a consideration in this argument)

One main reason for why Jonsa is the only ship where Sansa is not getting abused or taken advantage of is because it exists only in fanfiction written by Sansa stans who center all their stories, headcanon and fanon around Sansa.

Jon and Sansa have nil on page interaction and rarely think of each other. Naturally there is not going to be any abuse! Stans insert whatever headcanons they want into their 'metas' and present it as canon, while straight up creating the dynamic between these two characters as some kind of Disney fairy tale relationship.

They hyper-inflate the one time Jon and Sansa mention each other while ignoring the many times Jon and his other siblings think of each other. They take away from Jon's other siblings and then pretend like they don't understand why fans of other characters don't like this ship.

They frame Sansa's classist prejudice against Jon Snow as being adorable and cute and praise Sansa for following the rules and being honest in treating a bastard like a bastard.

They twist and deliberately misrepresent Jon's reason for refusing Stannis' offer of Winterfell as being about Sansa. They downplay Jon's canon relationship with Arya by making even that to be all about Sansa.

Secondly and more importantly, why is it that they see Jon Snow as the only character who would not abuse or take advantage of Sansa?

What is different about Jon Snow compared to the male characters who fall for Sansa or who Sansa falls in love with canonically?

What is different between Jon Snow Vs Waymar Royce, Joffrey Baratheon, Sandor Clegane, Tyrion Lannister, Littlefinger, Loras Tyrell, Willas Tyrell, Harry the Heir etc.

Jon Snow is refreshing and unique in the world of Westeros because he often goes against the grain and admires girls who defy Westerosi patriarchal ideals and proactively do their own thing, make their own decisions and are in charge of their own destiny. He is a rule breaker and admires fellow rule breakers, something that is consistent over 5 books, from his bond with Arya to his arc with the Freefolk and now as Lord Commander bringing reform and change to the Night's Watch.

Jon Snow himself uses violence as a tool to achieve his goals. He has killed people, has executed people. He would be a hypocrite if he looked down on women who did the same.

Jon loves the 'violent' girlies. He admires the little freefolk girls wanting to be spearvives. He arms an entire fortress with spearwives (Hardin's tower) and puts one of them - Morna White Mask- in charge of a castle called Queensgate. That's right, Jon Snow put a female warrior in charge of Queensgate - so named after a Targaryen queen Alysanne.

He helps Sam and Satin because they are attacked for being gender non conforming. He supports Giant rights by standing up for and building a relationship with Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun.

Jon loves the pro-active girlies. He admires Alys Karstark for getting herself away from her enemies, riding through the harshest of Winters and getting to the Wall. He compares her to Arya and calls her brave.

Being othered himself, Jon can understand and empathize with Arya who gets a lot of flack from Sansa, her mother and the Septa for non conforming to Westerosi patriarchal ideals. This right here is the major difference between Jon and Sansa. Jon is against oppressive patriarchal ideals while Sansa actively upholds them despite being a victim of that very patriarchy.

There is less probability for a character who actively works against ingrained patriarchal rules and regulations of Westeros to abuse women. They are not going to see women as lesser beings, they are not here for forced marriage, they are not going to take out their trauma on the less advantaged of society. We see this in Jon planning on sending Arya to Braavos to avoid her being used as a pawn in the game of thrones. Or telling Selyse and Stannis that Val is free to choose her husband.

Ned/Cat is held up as the ideal relationship when even there Ned literally frightens Cat into not asking anymore questions about Jon and the specter of marital misery meant Cat ended up emotionally abusing a child instead of blaming the man responsible.

Where, even Ned failed to understand his sister Lyanna or daughter Arya and the only ending he wanted/wants for them is get married for a political alliance and have babies. Lyanna couldn't even confide in Ned because he never understood where she was coming from.

And that's the difference between Jon and like 90% of the male characters in the series. Because anyone blindly adhering to Westerosi patriarchal ideals and prejudices would be more prone to putting women into specific boxes and stepping out of those boundaries can lead to abuse.

However the problem for Jonsa shippers is that this book Jon Snow would also fall for the breaker of chains Daenerys Targaryen, another rule breaker and reformist. A true, wholesome, age appropriate, like minded power couple.

This is a problem for Jonsa shippers because they want a character who is out there befriending and supporting the underdogs, the dregs of society and who shows open contempt and disdain for Westerosi bigotry to fall in love with one of the most pro status quo characters, a poster child for Westerosi patriarchy.

This is a condundrum. How to deal with it? By mutilating and mangling the character of Jon Snow into an unrecognizable OC and making up all sorts of fanon that is repeated so often that most non book readers probably think this is true in the books.

Like the fanon about how Jon Snow hates violence and women who engage in violence. Or how Jon 'keeps dreaming of life in Winterfell with a traditional lady love' when in the books he just once imagines this with Val. Or how for Jon Snow his version of an ideal women is Sansa. Or how beauty is the most important factor in whom Jon Snow falls for.

And then of course, Jon's personality and actions make him attractive and he's got a direwolf and sword and possible chosen one hints in the narrative. And he is a main POV character that would prop up Sansa as the Song of Ice and Fire and the main character the series revolves around. And he's got a sword and can enact violence on other female characters like Daenerys.

Because as much as they pretend to espouse pacifism, these shippers want only Sansa to keep her hands clean while Jon and Arya kill all her enemies for her including inflicting violent abuse on other female characters.

Because if they actually espoused pacifism and just wanted a nice guy who hates violence and wouldn't abuse or take advantage of Sansa, there is always Samwell Tarly as I mentioned above.

Honestly, one of the worst aspects of Jonsa is that one of the rare, few male characters who stands out as being against the patriarchy in the books is then shoved into the same box as the 99% of the other male characters in the series.

If one wants Sansa to end up with someone who loves the traditional girlies there are plenty of other characters in the series. Hell, there are actual parallels between Sansa and Theon Greyjoy and yet for obvious reasons Sansa stans would rather make up these fake parallels between Jon and Sansa instead.

They want Jon for Sansa because he is hot and respects women. However they have to then change Jon's entire personality to have him fall for Sansa. In which he is no different to any other male character who follow ingrained Westerosi ideals, and in which case he would be just as prone to abuse just like the other male characters.

Jonsa stans seem not to understand that what makes Jon Snow more open to women's rights is his being against the traditional rules and status quo of Westeros, having been at the receiving end of those rules himself. And Sansa Stark, as written in the books, is the very opposite of that. She hates if girls don't wear dresses, she gives importance to class and titles, she thinks everyone should behave according to their place in society as outlined by outdated dogma, The very dogma, that Jon Snow is tearing down in his attempts to reform the Wall.

And that's the Jonsa conundrum.

[irondadfics]

Hey hey!

I was wondering if you (or anyone following you) might have any Irondad fic recs where Peter and Bucky have a strong friendship? 🥹 Like, Bucky being super protective of Peter, maybe seeing him like a little brother or even a kid he wants to keep safe — that soft dynamic, y’know?

I’m mainly looking for fics that are still Irondad-focused, with Tony being Peter’s main parental figure, but with a wholesome side of Peter & Bucky friendship. 💙

Thanks in advance!! I’d love to read more fics where Bucky’s part of Peter’s support system 🫶✨

Here are some

Between how it is and how it should be by frostysunflowers

''Doesn’t Captain Rogers ever…wonder,'' Peter winced as he fumbled for the right word, ''where you are?'' Bucky smirked. ''Steve’s a regular mother hen. Used to be me that worried about him.'' He gave Peter a pointed look. ''Better question is, isn’t Stark wondering where youare?''

god only knows what i'd be without you by iron_spider

“Tony. Tony. Tony.” “Pete, what’s happening—” He steps towards him, but Peter’s movements are scattered now and too fast. “Tony, I—I, I, I can’t—” Sam and Bucky rush over too, their feet hitting the ground hard. “What’s going on—” “He see a bug or something—” But it isn’t funny and it isn’t a joke and Tony can tell that immediately, and he watches, he’s watching as Peter’s eyes go cloudy, he’s watching as the horror overtakes Peter’s expression and mangles it.

Missing Links by spagbol99

The Rogues are back; Tony Stark couldn't even be mad about it - it was his idea after all. He's an Avenger and that means protecting the Earth at any cost - even if he has to deal with a certain star-spangled man and his sullen sidekick. After all, he's been through worse in his life; the loss of his wife and the disappearance of his son 12 years ago. Compared to that, this would be a walk in the park. Bucky Barnes is back on US soil as a free man. But freedom is more than just physical. On top of that, Steve is desperate for him to be the man he was before. The only problem is; that man is long dead. Peter Parker has been through the mill but he knows he just had to adapt, roll with the (many) punches and keep going. Spider-man is his safe place now, the one time he could truly feel like himself. Like he is making a difference. He'd make sure no one would suffer like he has, even if he has to track down the perpetrator himself.

The One Where Peter is Bucky's Weakness by JinxQuickfoot

Bucky was returning to one of the small apartments Wakanda kept as safe houses in the States, when he was greeted by a tied-up teenager in the middle of his living room, staring at him with wide, panicked, deep brown eyes. -------------------------------------- Bucky doesn't recognize the teenager someone has dropped off in his apartment, but that's not going to stop him from protecting Peter Parker at all costs.

[misasimagines]

daisy crown / reader x Jiro (Tokyo Debunker)

included characters: Jiro!

rating: SFW

warnings: um there's a bee visitor, but not described in detail. mostly this is just wholesome.

Quite a short fic!

You weren't in the habit of thanking Yuri for things, selfish and self aggrandizing as he was, but right now, you were thanking him. Even if he couldn't hear it.

He had kicked Jiro out of the lab, annoyed by his constant clarifications and suggestions on how to better perform an experiment. You were kicked out as well, not for your own suggestions but because you had no reason to be there to start with, sitting on an autopsy table and loudly sucking down a melting smoothie the entire time. Being a nuisance to the Mortkranken ghouls was in your job description so long as no one asked for proof.

Besides, Jiro didn't think you were a nuisance. He took regular breaks to talk to you and give you kisses and random tasks you were capable of completing mostly without risk or injury. You were like his unofficial union rep, if union reps got paid in kisses and teasing whenever they dragged a mangled corpse in and you jumped at the sight. It was fine by you, the kisses more than made up for the trauma.

Even so, you thanked Yuri because the sight in front of you was the cutest thing you'd probably ever seen in your life: Jiro, crouched down, picking flowers. The sun cast a little halo around his head and reflected in the lightest parts of his eyes. He had a basket where he was collecting them, flowers of all shapes and colors and sizes laid in an array next to each other. He was careful as he went, not picking anything that hadn't yet bloomed and not picking anything that was completely withered. A little bee flew around his head and inspected his flowers. 

Jiro inspected it back, granting it a few seconds of his gaze as it buzzed around him. He let it be (ha) and returned to his flower picking. It seemed interested in his actions, and kept flying around in his general vicinity, sometimes landing on the very flower he was reaching for. You couldn't help but smile when he gave up on a flower that the bee was bumping into. 

You kept yourself busy fawning over him and following a guide on your phone to make flower crowns. You wove the long stems of your daisies together, holding it above your head often to check for basic sizing. It was no neat thing you were crafting, but it held together remarkably well.

You focused on your craft until Jiro made his way to the bench you were sitting on and joined you. You smiled up at him as he sat down. “Did you get everything you needed?” You asked him.

He set the basket in his lap and responded, “Mostly. Some were out of season.” 

You frowned consolingly. “Maybe we can check Rui's garden?”

Jiro looked at the flower crown in your hands, “We can.”

You held the crown up triumphantly. A few petals fell off onto your lap. “It's finished.”

“People have used daisies in medicine for their anti-inflammatory properties,” he told you, picking up a petal from your lap and rubbing it lightly between his fingers. He dropped it on the ground and it fluttered as it fell. 

“Are they very effective?” You asked, leaning over him and putting the crown on his head. You repositioned it carefully until it sat balanced and even on his head. The white petals and green stems contrasted his dark hair nicely.

He watched you do it and made no effort to stop you, “No, drugs like ibuprofen are much more effective and accessible.” 

You sat back and admired your work. Jiro had a daisy crown sitting on the top of his head and a basket of flowers on his lap. It was such a different view of him than you were used to. He spent so much time in a fluorescent lit lab where everything was tinged with a slight green-blue hue. It made him look perpetually haggard, which you supposed wasn't inaccurate, sleep deprived as he was. It was nice to see him out of that dreariness and instead with the sun warming his cheeks. It took everything in you not to jump onto his lap, knock his carefully collected flowers to the ground, and cover those cheeks in kisses. That kind of behavior would have to wait until you were in private, especially because it would lead to planting kisses elsewhere on him and you didn't want to share that sight with any random person who might walk by.

He stared at you, expression the same as it always was, and you stared back, hardly capable of biting back your self satisfied smile. “Did you make it for me?” He finally asked.

“Mhm,” you admit. “And I did a pretty good job, I think.” 

He stared at you a second longer before looking at his basket and pulling out a specific flower. He turned to face you, his knees bumping yours, and you tilted your head in question. He reached towards you and delicately placed the flower behind your ear. His other hand held your cheek while he situated it and you felt a distinct comfort from his touch. Cheesy as it was, it warmed your heart.

“What is it?” You asked, now unable to see it clearly no matter how much you tried to activate your peripheral vision.

“A lily,” he kept gazing at you.

“What's it good for?” You asked, expecting some detailed but simplified explanation about how it prevented plague or something.

“Nothing significant. It's mostly just pretty.” 

Your cheeks flushed; You didn't miss the implication.

“Hm, it's also poisonous to cats,” he added, as casual as ever.

This made you laugh, the kind that caught you off guard and kept going when you looked at how expressionless he managed to stay while you erupted into giggles. It wasn't even particularly funny, it was just Jiro. “Thanks for the cat poison,” you managed to get out.

He put a hand under your chin, his thumb on your cheek, “You’re welcome.” He leaned forward and kissed you.

Eyes closed, the sun on your face, Jiro's lips against yours, you might have confused the botanical gardens of Darkwick for heaven. You kissed him back and kept your eyes shut a second more when he pulled away, just letting yourself exist in that peace for as long as possible. 

When you opened them, he looked away and down at his basket. The flower crown on his head was crooked. “I need to get these back to the lab,”

You nodded.

“You'll come with me?” He asked, standing up and offering you his hand.

You took it and got up to your feet, “I’d follow you pretty much anywhere,” you promised and readjusted your flower carefully. Didn't want that falling on the way. 

He didn't let go of your hand as you both started making your way back to Mortkranken, “Good,” he squeezed your hand lightly, “I'll take you pretty much anywhere,” he repeated.

[d8tl55c]

see? no evil ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ(December 1st, 2022)

let's do thiiiis :DD

#--/ archive (year) is how ill organize these oldies 💕

idr why i didn't post this one! i really liked it at the time. probably nervous abt the art style

it's part of a... wholesomeness series made in the same thin lines (hopefully tumblr doesn't mangle them- :'3 ). Autodesk Technical Pen my beloved

anyway this one was one of those first times i looked at that fuzzy period between AvA III and V. what were they up to after the (fanon dubbed) Blackfire Attacks???

and it's about how trying to enjoy something (someone)... while refusing to address the problems with it (chosen feels responsible for annihilating "bad" things (hence all the Xs))... doesn't hold up forever.

but there's also little nugget of hope there at the end. outside of The Narrative, people can work things out.

.

..

...wait, what the fuck? dark has his bracelets on- o_°

shit-

i have clearly misremembered the context here ppfpfppfp-

uH. well! i know it's still about those themes lmao. just. somehow scooted forward in time a bit, while not. atomizing him.

i was thinking about deadn't timelines a lot so. it's probably aligned with one of those ;P

past me, why did i do this to myself? ; v ; /silly

👉👉 oct 28: stargazing

[mzannthropy]

Rilla of Ingleside Book Club Chapter 11

The first war Christmas... Jem still my best guy despite not even being present. He's Marilla's favourite too!

Rilla showing more sense than her five years older brother by throwing the anonymous letter into the fire. *eyeroll* Look, I don't care whether he enlists or not. I just can't stand all that feeling sorry for himself. And he's making Rilla cry! I wonder if that professor making a 'special pet' of Walter has something to do with the anon letter--I'm thinking that maybe the writer of that letter just hated Walter bc he was a teacher's pet. I mean, it's still a vile thing to do, cowardly (I refrain from calling men who hesitated joining up cowards, I don't really have an opinion on it, but I happily call writers of anonymous letters that). But if he insists that the contents of the letter were true, then... shrug. When people tell you who they are, believe them.

I'm going to have to collect my favourite Susan's gems. The one about burying Germans is one of them.

What Gertrude describes sounds more like anxiety than a fault of imagination. I have both too.

Rilla and Jims = heart melts.

Mary Vance said bitterly that if Rilla Blythe felt as bad as she had pretended to feel over Jem's going to the front she wouldn't be urging other girls' brothers and friends to go.

I see her point but it is possible to worry about your brother at the front and still be proud of him for being there. But why did Mary and Miller attend the recitation when they don't feel strongly about the war?

Whiskers on the Moon is entitled to his views, but people are also allowed to dislike him. It's clear Susan thought him a bad character before the war started. If he has to defend himself with 'not being pro-German', then there must have been a reason why people believed him to be pro-German. Not like anyone's views would change what went on on the other side of the Atlantic anyway--but I get why people didn't like him. Why stop Joe Milgrave from seeing Miranda? (Although, I wonder if Joe raising the flag was just an excuse; it's possible that he would treat any suitor of his daughter the same way, preferring her to stay an old maid and look after his house.) The strange manoeuvres at night with his lantern sound freaky. Probably nothing to do with the war, but Susan did say in the first chapter that he had weird ideas (Miss Cornelia also spoke against him, so it's not just Susan being biased).

A letter from my guy Jem! I'm not into poetry, give me a good prose anytime.

When I saw what had been done here to homes and gardens and people—well, dad, I seemed to see a gang of Huns marching through Rainbow Valley and the Glen, and the garden at Ingleside. There were gardens over here—beautiful gardens with the beauty of centuries—and what are they now? Mangled, desecrated things! We are fighting to make those dear old places where we had played as children, safe for other boys and girls—fighting for the preservation and safety of all sweet, wholesome things.

And this still sounds pretty and poetic.

Lol at Susan being horrified over cooties. Well, trenches are no five star hotel.

Btw have you noticed how Rilla thinks of Jem whenever she needs encouragement? First with the socks heels "I just think of Jem joking about the mud on Salisbury Plain and I go at them" and now with her stage fright "What would Jem think if he knew?".

[critical-birb]

I have 203049920493 unfinished fanfictions as well as a longfic I'm suposed to be working on (a poor half-finished chapter is still sat in my drafts from my last day of work before Christmas...)

Yet between traveling up and down the continant to see family then ultimately getting sick because public transport sucks - I have worked on none of these the past two weeks and instead have been bouncing back and forth between two different revalink oneshots depending on my mood.

A super extremely wholesome one with a very 'tortoise and the hare' style race across Hyrule where they both keep getting distracted with side quests. Revali who's far faster being in the sky arrives at the finish hours before Link anyway and decides to nap by a tree for a bit because he's exhausted from all the tasks and wants to see Links dumb face when he thrashes him. He doesn't wake up when Link wanders past until he's right at the finish line, but instead of taking the win while Revali scrambles to get up, Link wanders back over and flops next to him because he could do with a nap too - and they both settle on a tie they can argue about in the morning.

And a completely emotionally devastating one where post Calamity the Champions revive but with their blight injuries and Zelda/Link are requested to Rito Village by Teba after Revali attempts to uh...return to being a ghost, after learning he'll never fly or shoot a bow again because his wing is too mangled. So Zelda makes Link stay behind in the Village to lowkey 'babysit' to ensure Revali doesn't do anything stupid again while she starts doing research into creating some sort of prosthetic wing, and Link ends up pissing Revali off following him around everywhere obsessively - but ultimately teaches him to use a sword and to swim and climb like a Hylian, and to find new purpose after losing everything important to him, and they grow closer even through some tough moments.

Tragically I will probably never finish or post either of them but lawd - know that dispite it all I am still tryina write SOMETHING always.

[twothpaste]

thinkin bout kumatora & postgame claus

How surreal it must be - after fighting for their lives against the Masked Man multiple times - for Claus to suddenly be airdropped into Kumatora's periphery. How she knew, quite possibly from the first time she laid eyes on him, who he really was. But she refused to intervene, couldn't bring herself to tell Lucas, bitterly resigned herself to writing him off as a lost cause. Now, against all odds or reason, he's still here. And he's literally just a scared broken kid.

The fact he looks just like Lucas is probably beyond gutwrenching. Kuma traveled their whole tiny fuckin' world with Lucas at her side, put all her trust in him, welcomed him into her life as her dearest friend. She came to admire his bravery. She saw his innocence pitted against everyone else's cruelty, and swore to protect him. And now there's this kid - who shares his face - who got kidnapped and chopped up and stitched back together with incorrect metal parts. Got fucking lobotomized, totally mind wiped - everything Kuma finds wholesome and earnest and lovable about Lucas was ripped away from Claus. One of his eyes is sick with exhaustion, the other's some intrusive mechanical mockery they stuffed into his mess of scars. Even just glancing at him probably invokes horrific hypotheticals and gruesome imagery in Kumatora's head, what if they'd done that to Lucas, if they'd done that to Lucas she'd burn down the whole fucking planet Earth!! And why shouldn't she, when they did it to his identical twin brother?! And Claus flinches at the way she looks at him, senses her telepathic fury - probably thinks she's vying for vengeance against him, for what he did to her friends and her family - and he wouldn't blame her! And Kumatora's gotta stand up and leave the room, before her tears start boiling over.

How Claus tries his darndest to rekindle his old self, tryin to cast necromancy on his goofy childhood sense of humor, the boisterous little schmuck he used to be. He musters toothy grins, he attempts reckless stunts, he pokes fun at his brother. And sure, Kuma's heard plenty of stories from Lucas about that funny ol' farm boy. She's sharp as a knife though. She can tell Claus is forcing it. But somehow the effort is all the more tragic, even endearing, maybe even relatable. Hasn't she been putting up a tough front all this time, too? While she too oughtta be grieving her family? Claus cracks some corny-ass joke, and she catches the dry strain in his awkward tweenage voice. But she laughs with him anyways. And reaches over to ruffle his stupid orange hair.

He has trouble sleeping, often plagued by night terrors, and insomnia, and all the strange aches in his mangled and mutilated body. Kuma has trouble sleeping, too. It's hard to shut her brain up at night, now that her whole universe has been twisted inside out and turned on its head. While Lucas snoozes like a pile of rocks, she stays up to accompany his brother. They try to talk about everything besides the shit that's happened to them. If not just for their own sakes, for each others'. She'd like to take his mind off it, if she can. When he tells another dumb joke, this time about how badly Duster's socks reek, she blinks. Recognizing he's tryin' to do the same for her. His strains and migraines sometimes steal away his humor, his sleep, and even his breath. Kuma's got PSI Lifeup. Not as potent as Lucas'. But she'll offer what she can. Mixolydia taught her to knead tension from temples, and how to give a halfway decent shoulder massage. She's mortified to discover his muscles are just as tense as the steel on the other side. She tries to laugh that off, too. And hold back another round of broiling tears, when he musters a weak chuckle in reply.

Claus should've known the "tough older brother" schtick wasn't built to last. They're twins, for christ's sake. A difference of fourteen minutes doesn't make him any more reliable, doesn't make him a better protector, doesn't charge him with any more responsibility than Lucas. Still, the cutesy mythos their family and neighbors'd built around the two of them stays lodged in his chest. Alongside the bygone image of his wimpy younger twin, cryin' his guts out over a scraped knee. Claus' failure feels immense, unconscionable, treachery of the highest degree. Somehow, though? Havin' a big sister almost seems to balance the scales. Puts it all into clearer perspective. He used to wear 'eldest sibling' as a badge of honor. These days, he's relieved to find the burden's not quite all his. Kuma guides both twins to trespass with her on a high rooftop. And catches Lucas by the collar, when a clumsy overstep nearly has him slippin' off the edge.

She confesses her darkest secret, on one of those sleepless nights. Tells him she knew from the start, that Lucas had a twin. Put the pieces together the minute she saw him, leering down from that airship, his helmet gleaming in the sun. And her molten tears finally get the better of her - "damn it" - when she reckons she might couldda saved him, freed him that much sooner, kept him from havin' to fight his brother - if only she'd been brave enough to say so. Probably not, really. But maybe. Kumatora may expect somethin' akin to vengeance, in the way he looks at her. She wouldn't blame him. He shakes his head, though. Says he's sorry, too - for what he did to her family. That maybe each n' every one of 'em would still be here, if not for him. Probably not. But maybe. When she lost Ionia, Kumatora'd been convinced there was no one left in this world who would love her. She's starting to realize these days that she was gravely mistaken. She's not only loved, but needed. It's a warm, curious, brand new feeling in her chest. Deep in Claus' guts, twisted as it all seems, some part of him is just glad someone recognized the kid in the mask.

They hug it out. And maybe wrestle a little, before falling asleep at dawn.

[leorioscanonwife]

♡ “Poked One Too Many Times”♡ (A Leorio x Jolie fanfic)

✎ Fluff, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Wholesome, Comedy

✎ Hunter x Hunter Fanfic, Leorio x Oc, Leorio x Self insert

✎ 544 words

It was one of those painfully slow afternoons at the Hunter Association HQ—the kind where the clock seemed to move backward. Leorio was hunched over his desk, glasses sliding down his nose as he scribbled through a stack of reports. His brow was furrowed in deep concentration.

Unfortunately for him, his girlfriend Jolie had no such responsibilities. She’d spent the last hour lounging on the couch, kicking her feet in the air and groaning like she was dying.

“You’ve been working forever,” she whined, flopping onto her back and hanging her head upside down to look at him. “You’re so boring when you’re responsible.”

“I am responsible,” Leorio muttered, not looking up. “That’s why we still have electricity and a roof over our heads.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?” she said dramatically, rolling onto her stomach. “You’re no fun. So now I have to entertain myself.”

“Please don’t.”

Too late.

She crept over with the grin of a bored gremlin, stood behind him silently—then POKE.

Leorio flinched. “Jolie.”

POKE. POKE. POKEPOKEPOKE. Left cheek, right cheek, ear, back of the head.

“Jolie.”

“You need a break,” she said sweetly, poking his arm. Then his jaw. Then his forehead.

He swatted her hand. “I swear, if you don’t stop—”

“You’re not gonna do anything,” she said with that smug little smile. POKE. POKE. POKE. POKE. She was a machine now. “Look at me. I’m your girlfriend and your personal acupuncture therapist.”

“You’re testing my patience—”

“Boop.” She poked him right on the tip of the nose and giggled.

That did it.

Leorio turned, snatched her hand mid-poke, and without thinking, bit her finger.

“OW!” Jolie yelped, stumbling back like she’d been physically assaulted. “YOU BIT ME!”

He blinked, already regretting it. “You wouldn’t stop poking me!”

“You bit your girlfriend! Like I’m some rogue sandwich!” she held her finger up like it had been mangled. “This is ABUSE.”

“It was a light bite!”

“I can’t feel my finger anymore!”

“You’re literally moving it right now.”

“It’s the shock, Leorio!”

He sighed and walked over to her. “Give me your hand.” She reluctantly extended it with a pitiful pout. He took it gently, kissed the spot he bit. “There. I’m sorry. You were being insufferable, but still. I shouldn’t have bitten you.”

Jolie sniffled. “You know what might help me recover?”

Leorio narrowed his eyes. “What.”

“Superman ice cream.”

He blinked. “What the hell is Superman ice cream?”

“The beautiful, chaotic rainbow one that stains your tongue and soul,” she said, completely serious.

“You’re making that up.”

“I’m not! It’s real! It tastes like nostalgia and sugar and bad decisions.”

He groaned. “Fine. But I’m not getting the double scoop this time—”

“I want the double scoop. With whipped cream.”

“God help me.” He reached for his coat. “Let’s go.”

She skipped over, linking arms with him like she hadn’t just declared war via pokes. “You love me.”

“Questioning that right now.”

She leaned in with a smirk. “You bite the ones you love?”

“Apparently.”

Just as they reached the door, Jolie turned toward him again and POKE. Right on the cheek.

“YOU—” Leorio stopped walking and turned to glare at her.

She smiled innocently. “That one was for the road.”