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kykyonthemoon · 8 months ago

Text

How to babysit a wounded little Hunter

Injured after a mission, you now indulge yourself in his special tender loving care.

ಇ. Character x Female Reader fanfic,

including Caleb, Rafayel, Xavier and Zayne

ಇ. Tags: fluff, domestic fluff, early stage of established relationship

A little heads up: The writer will not take responsibility for any side effect (such as toothache) that might come after reading the fic.

ಇ. Word count: 4k

ಇ. Requested by Wytchie Pie and x

ಇ. Masterlist ♡ Request a fic ♡

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

You dimly sensed footsteps in the bedroom, and then one side of the bed sank. The acquainted scent and warmth embraced you. A cool hand rested on your forehead. In an instant, the heat in your body subsided.

So as soon as that hand was gone, you seized it.

"Don't go…"

You mumbled in a daze. There was a quiet laugh close to your ear, and then that palm brushed against your forehead again.

"If you don't let go, how can I take your temperature then, pipsqueak?"

You recognized that voice. It was Caleb's. So you acted even more aggressively. You yanked his hand tighter, so much so that his entire body appeared to collapse into the bed, just a little above yours.

"Huh? Aren't you a little too strong for someone who is sick?" Caleb laughed again. The sort of laughter that made you feel considerably better.

"I'm not sick." You were persistent, still. "Just feeling a little sleepy."

Caleb's hand tried to pull away from you. But perhaps he kept it that way on purpose, since given your current state, he would have no problem withdrawing if he truly wanted you to let go.

Caleb's hand patted you a little tenderly. He managed to grab the thermometer with his free hand. He took your temperature, then exclaimed:

"Almost forty Celsius!"

You exhaled heavily, almost a moan. Every part of you felt irritated and heated. Despite this, you dismissed it, saying:

"I'm not... sick..."

Caleb used the chance to release his wrist from you. You opened your eyes slightly and gave him a disappointed expression.

"You have such a high fever, yet still saying you're not sick?" Caleb mumbled, but you caught every word. He handed you medicine, but you did not take it.

"Too bitter." You said.

"Quit whining. "Just take it and go to sleep."

"If I take it… you'll have to stay here with me, okay?"

Caleb sighed. "Only until you sleep, pipsqueak."

You smiled faintly and fast to accept the pills from Caleb's hand. You clutched his hand securely as you drifted off to sleep, dreaming of the Wanderers, the escapes, and the secrets in which you were a part of. Then, when you woke up again, you noticed Caleb seated beside the bed.

“You're awake now, pipsqueak?” He smiled at you. He was rather relieved. He put a hand on your forehead again. “Yup. No more fever."

Caleb's presence seemed to chase the nightmares away. You removed his hand from your forehead and held it tightly.

“How long have I been sleeping?”

"Let's see…" Caleb brushed his chin. "When you arrived home last night, you went to bed right away. You got a high temperature around early morning. From the time you took the medicine and fell asleep until now, I've finished a whole movie, cooked a delicious pot of porridge, and measured your temperature three times."

"What nonsense are you talking about?"

Caleb laughed. He squeezed your hand once. "You've just been asleep for a few hours. But it is past noon now. Are you hungry?"

You shook your head.

"Are you sure?" Caleb asked again. "I made a super delicious pork rib porridge for you though."

You opened your eyes wide and looked at him. Pork rib porridge was a dish he would often cook when you were sick and no longer in a mood to eat anything. That dish always helped you feel better, even just hearing about it was enough to make you crave food again.

"Pork rib porridge…"

You could only whisper that much when Caleb pressed the tip of your nose and said:

“I knew right away that you couldn't resist food.”

A minute later, the room was filled with the aroma of a still-hot bowl of porridge. Caleb put it on a little tray over the bed. You lay back against the cushion, staring at the meal in front of you as if it were a rare delicacy, despite the fact that the ingredients were absolutely basic.

You looked over at Caleb. He was observing you. "What's wrong? Still no appetite?"

“It's too hot…” You pouted. “Besides,… both my arms and body are aching…”

It took a quite difficult mission in extreme weather, and a high fever to receive special care at your bedside. How could you not enjoy it?

Caleb read you right away. He said: “What? The Hunter in Linkon wants me to feed her? Weren't you delirious this morning, saying you had to go fight off Wanderers?”

“When did I say that? But it's okay if you don't help me. I don't want to eat anymore.”

“Are you still a three-year-old then?”

Even though he grumbled, Caleb still smiled very gently. He scooped a spoonful of porridge, blew on it to cool down, then held it out to you.

You opened your mouth really wide, making him chuckle. When he saw that you were eating well, Caleb felt relieved. He teased:

"I thought you're a grown-up now and wouldn't need me to take care of you anymore."

You replied, still with a mouthful of pork rib porridge: "When you lose your cooking skills, I won't really need you anymore then."

Caleb laughed aloud. He patted your head and said: "I didn’t expect my vacation to turn into a part-time job for babysitting. If I catch a fever from you, you must take care of me in return.”

You rose up in a sudden and pressed your still-hot face into the crook of Caleb's neck, nearly dropping the porridge spoon.

“Then I’ll cook pork rib porridge for you. Just heads-up though, even if it tastes yucky, you must eat it all!”

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

The door to the hospital room opened. Rafayel's curly purple hair appeared. And immediately, your phone lit up with a text message from Thomas:

[The little devil is coming for you. Sorry, I did my best.]

You exhaled. Clearly, he had not done his best. That was why Rafayel was here, staring at you with such a deep gaze from the entrance.

"Er… "Hello, Rafayel..." You waved your arm, attempting to greet him with a warm smile.

"Rafayel?" He frowned. "Do you still remember that we know each other?"

"Huh? Why did you...?" You left your sentence incomplete as Rafayel surged inside. He placed his hands on his hips, his expression filled with slanderous words as he accused you.

"Who are you? Do I know you? It's been eight hundred years. Jellyfishes are walkin' naked. Sea turtles climb trees. Sharks are eatin' grass for free! And finally, you remembered me?"

You frowned. Why was there something that rang so familiar with this scenario? Yet it was still off.

“Rafayel, I—”

“When are you going to tell me you're hurt?”

Rafayel pointed a finger directly to your shoulder, where the white bandage was visible through the hospital gown. That was the real reason he was precisely distressed.

“Even Thomas knew you were injured. Yet you didn't say a word to me?! You left me waiting alone for three hours at the exhibition. I can't believe you stood me up!”

You lifted your hand, intending to remind Rafayel to keep his voice down because you were both in the hospital. But he gave you no opportunity to speak.

"Do you realize how scared I was? When Thomas told me you couldn't come, I thought about all the things that could happen to you!”

"Rafayel…" You finally found a chance to interrupt him. “Let's calm down first. I didn't mean to hide it from you, it's just... I haven't told you yet..."

Rafayel crossed his arms. He was still irritated.

“I can't believe it! You deliberately manipulated me with your innocence so that I would let you get away this time!”

You felt dizzy in the head, and your ears were ringing with Rafayel's nagging words and accusations. The injured one was you. Why did you feel as if you had just committed a great sin?

"ARGHHH!" You shouted and clutched your bandaged shoulder. "It hurts!"

Rafayel quickly forgot the rage in his heart. He moved right away to the bed and gently raised your arm. His eyes were full of concern and anxiety.

“Are you hurt? I'll call the doctor here right away!”

You grasped Rafayel's hand, urging him to stay with you.

“See? I'm still very strong. Just a little hurt."

"How much is a little?" Rafayel frowned. You could feel his hot glare on your shoulder, soaking into the bandage and searing your wound.

"… This much." You clasped your thumb and index finger to form a circle, then held it up for Rafayel to see. He grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest.

"I don't believe you anymore." He continued to speak with a condescending tone. "I have to check it out with my own eyes."

"Huh? What do you mean?…” You suddenly blushed. Rafayel looked at you with serious eyes, yet very sincere. He replied:

“Your wound. I want to see it."

The mere notion of Rafayel wanting to look behind your garments made your cheeks flame. You withdrew your hand and refused:

“I told you I'm fine… Don't make such a scene…”

“If I don't see it, how can I be sure you're not lying to me? This isn't the first time you've hidden your injuries..."

That was all Rafayel said. You gazed at him for a second. Aside from being concerned about you, he was also saddened since you had repeatedly hidden your wounds from him. A great deal when you did not want to bother him, he always found out and became much more frustrated.

"Alright then…"

Eventually, you had to give in. You turned your back to Rafayel and carefully slipped the shirt collar down your shoulder, displaying the neatly wrapped bandages around your torso.

You could see your reflection in the front window. Your face turned crimson. And Rafayel stood next to the bed, attentively investigating you, his fingers softly caressing the gauze, causing you to bow slightly in pain as well as anxiousness.

“Yet you said it was just a little wound.” Rafayel muttered. It was his hand that drew your collar back up. And the next thing you knew, you were upgraded to the best room at the hospital.

You weren't used to how wealthy people spent their money. You looked at Rafayel, who had constantly been by your side during your hospital stay. He requested you to remain in the most advanced hospital room, with the greatest level of care. More than that, he refused to leave your side even when you asked to be alone.

"You don't have to do this, Rafayel." You spoke as he was peeling the fruit for you.

"Open your mouth." He handed you a slice of mango. Even if your lips stated it wasn't required, you nevertheless welcomed all of his attention.

"I'm serious…" As soon as you finished swallowing the mango, he gave you another slice. "Really, um... This mango is truly delicious..."

"Do you crave anything else?" Rafayel purposely ignored every time you told him he didn't need to stay there all day and night to care for you. Your wound had improved significantly.

“I think I can be discharged from hospital and get back to work now…” You said. “I don't want to bother you anymore…”

"What's that?" Rafayel pretended not to hear you. “I think I heard the sound of abalone porridge just being delivered to the hospital. Let me go grab it.”

You sighed. Another expensive meal he had prepared for you. But you knew how much you would miss these things when you left the hospital at last and could no longer benefit from his tender loving care.

“Maybe I'll stay here one more day... You're spoiling me too much...” You muttered beneath your breath, but Rafayel overheard everything. He pinched your cheek and responded:

“You're staying because of the delicious food, not because of my devoted service? This is so heartbreaking! Then, after you've recovered, I'll make you repay everything. You have to work overtime as my bodyguard too!"

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

You crept along the hospital's vacant rear door. You were just hospitalized in the afternoon due to an injury suffered while on job. Even though the doctor advised you to stay for additional examination, you believed the damage was minor. On top of that, the mission was not yet over. You needed to get back to headquarters.

Unfortunately, your escape did not go well. You ran into a familiar shoulder before you could complete the corridor.

"X-Xavier?" You became pale, but not because of the pain. It was only that you were astonished and a little ashamed when caught red-handed.

His look was incredibly complicated, ranging from apprehensive to serious and somewhat furious.

"Where are you going?" he inquired.

You didn't dare to reveal the truth, so you invented an excuse: "Ah... well... The hospital room is quite boring, so I decided to go for a stroll."

"From the back door?"

"Er… I heard the nurse say this is a quicker shortcut to the garden..."

Xavier gazed at you for some time. You clutched your hand tight, terrified that he would not believe that ridiculous excuse. Yet, Xavier nodded at you: "Then let's go together."

Before you could respond, Xavier grabbed your hand and led you outside. It was night time, the wind blew, sending you a slight chill. Xavier took off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. That incredibly gentle gesture made you feel more guilty than ever for lying to him.

“Lead the way.” He told you shortly. For some reason, you had the impression that he was in extreme anger over you.

During the stroll, you didn't dare to speak, and Xavier did the same. He strolled close to you, as if keeping watch rather than walking together. You wandered about for a long time, but there was no trace of the hospital's garden anywhere. Xavier continued to follow your every step in such silence. Him being like that evoked even more guilt in your heart.

At last, you couldn't take it any longer and had to confess: "Xavier... Actually... The truth is, I don't know where the garden is..."

At that point, he spoke up and asked: "So why did you leave your hospital room?"

You didn't dare look into his eyes, so you just stammered an explanation: "Ah... My injury is nothing to be concerned about... That's why I... planned to return to headquarters..."

You noticed Xavier's hands clenching into fists. Fearing he'd be upset, you added: "The doctor also said my injury wasn't too serious— Ah!"

Xavier abruptly pulled your wrist, causing the wound on your arm to hurt. He read through your face which was miserable but still faking a smile. His voice turned sharp:

“If I hadn't caught you, would you really have sneaked away from the hospital?”

Your body convulsed in pain, but you were more concerned about Xavier's rage. You said, "I'm sorry... I was wrong... I'll return to the hospital room right now..."

"Good." Xavier responded curtly. Then he quickly leaned down and held you up in the attitude of a princess being carried.

"W-What are you doing, Xavier?"

"Let's take you back to the hospital room." His expression remained frigid, making you both terrified and embarrassed to be carried by him in such a manner.

Xavier did not return to the same path you had taken. Instead, he took you into the front entrance, where many people, including patients and hospital staff, could see you.

"Xavier? You... put me down! "They are looking at us!"

"I want them to see, so they know you intend to escape the hospital and will monitor you more closely."

Your cheeks became scarlet with humiliation. You swore you saw a kid pointing at you and chuckling, "Mom! I want to be carried like that princess, too!"

And you swore you saw Xavier smirking at that.

After an embarrassing journey, you finally arrived at your room. Xavier set you down on the bed. He chose to remain silent with you as punishment for your unsuccessful escape. You saw him sitting in the corner of the room, peeling a red apple for you.

“Xavier?”

You called out, but he didn't look at you and just replied curtly:

“Rest.”

“Are you angry with me?…”

Xavier's silence revealed the answer. You groaned and pulled the warm cover up high, as if to conceal yourself away from Xavier's rage, but he remained as quiet as a cloudless sky.

When he finished with the apple, he brought it over and gave you a slice. "Eat."

You did not enjoy this cold and distant demeanor of Xavier. If he was upset with you, he should have expressed it directly. You knew it was your fault, and he was so concerned about you that he got mad when you lied to him like that.

"Xavier, I'm sorry…" Your hands seized Xavier's wrist, which was clutching the apple slice. Your eyes widened as much as possible, even giving the impression that you were going to cry.

In the end, the ploy worked. His gaze had softened completely. He placed the plate of apples on the bed and used his other hand to elevate your chin a little. He said: "If you know your fault, then obediently eat all of these and rest."

His hand softly separated your lips, and his other hand inserted a slice of apple for you to eat. You were back in the sunshine, coaxing him to sit on the bed next to you.

"I'll give you three days to recover." Xavier spoke, his voice still agitated, but you could feel his boundless care and love.

"Then I shall bother you to watch over me for a few more days!"

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

You had just returned to your private cabin at the icy mountain base when you heard a tap at the door. You answered the door, wondering who was seeking for you at this hour, and there was Doctor Zayne, holding a first-aid kit while standing outside.

“Zayne?” Your eyes caught the blood on his face and neck. Snow adhered to his dark hair. You took a step back and allowed him inside. "Why are you here?"

Your team had accepted the mission of rescuing people caught in an avalanche created by a group of Wanderers on the mountain. You had learnt that a team of physicians from Akso Hospital was also on their way. But you did not expect to see Zayne here.

Zayne set the first aid pack on the table and then turned to you. He went on to say: "I'm here to do my duty as a doctor."

You widened your eyes and inquired him again, "Your duty as a doctor?"

Zayne pointed to your abdomen, which was soaked from your own blood oozing through the gauze you had recklessly covered earlier.

"Oh dear…" You cried out. You were so engaged in battles that you didn't have time to look at your wound. Your head began spinning as a result of excessive blood loss.

Zayne's powerful arms directed and assisted you to the table. He put you to the wooden table and took a chair to sit in front of you.

"Doctor Zayne, what are you going to do?"

You noted this when you found his hand on the hem of your shirt. He seemed to want to lift it up.

"Treating you."

You knew that. But you were still extremely nervous when thinking that he was about to lift up your shirt. So your hand was still securely grasping his, preventing him from moving any further.

“I've already bandaged it. A nurse also helped me stitch up the wound earlier..."

During the turmoil, you recalled being stabbed in the abdomen. A nurse assisted you in stitching it up, but because there were so many others with more serious injuries, you let her tend to them while you put bandages over yourself and returned to the battlefield. Perhaps your clumsiness caused the wound to bleed a great deal more.

Zayne used his other hand to remove yours before pulling your shirt up. The gauze surrounding your abdomen was drenched in blood. He slowly withdrew it as you writhed in pain and embarrassment.

"Try to sit still for a bit, will you?"

Zayne's soothing voice burst out, calming you down a lot. You sat on the table, your hands lifting your body up while you looked down at the doctor who was treating your wound. The fact that you had to display your skin beneath his gaze made you uneasy and desire to cover your face. But Zayne was quite professional. He remained silent and entirely concentrated on his work. He cleansed the wound and applied a new layer of gauze. His warm breath occasionally wafted against your skin, causing you to tremble slightly. Even when his frigid fingers touched you, it seemed like you were being scorched.

"It's done."

Zayne said after fixing the new layer of gauze. You were a little discontent when his fingers left you. You were ready to pull your top back down when Zayne lightly rubbed his fingers against your abdomen.

“Ouch!” Even though the place he touched was not wounded, you were still startled and embarrassed.

“Just checking it again.” Zayne elaborated. He had you sitting on the table, your bandaged abdomen at his eye level. You could feel his stare through the gauze, pausing a bit too long in areas that were not covered by anything.

“Doctor Zayne… Are you done now?”

You attempted to keep your speech cool, but your crimson cheeks could have given you away. Zayne appeared to flash a little smile. You felt the icy sensation of his fingertip on your skin again as he slid it beneath the hem of your shirt, then pulled it back down.

"I am now." He answered while returning the supplies to the first aid kit. "Don't be so reckless next time. You have to care for yourself first before you can save others.”

"Hold on." You stopped him. You altered your position and stared into his eyes. "You always say so, but can you actually do what you say?"

Zayne tilted his head to look at you. You took advantage of the moment and raised his chin to have a better look. He had a minor cut on his forehead, and the blood on his body was most likely someone else's.

"You rushed here to take care of me, while you, yourself, are in this condition."

You spoke. His hand found your wrist.

"I barely got a few scrapes. Not as concerning as someone who rushed into the battlefield with a bleeding stomach."

"Whether the wound is big or small, it can be critical." You stated precisely what Dr. Zayne told you whenever he saw you injured, even if it was only a little cut.

Realizing that he had just tasted his own medicine, Zayne let out a small laugh. Then he tugged your hand, causing you to almost lean towards him. He gazed into your eyes for quite a while.

"So, my doctor, will you treat me?"

You blushed again. Zayne relinquished his hand, allowing you to properly wipe the blood off his face. You had to confess that you were a little awkward, owing to your unexpected closeness to Zayne in such a private and calm setting. He probably could hear your heart racing. He supported your hand which was holding a sterilized cotton pad and said:

"If you want to become a skilled doctor, in situations like this you must be even calmer."

"I'm not as professional as Dr. Zayne." You answered with a little caustic tone. "You were able to treat my wound so calmly just now."

Zayne gazed at you for an instant. His face remained calm, but his eyes were not.

"I'm a skilled doctor. Yet, it doesn’t imply that I wouldn't feel anything while treating the girl I like in such a... condition."

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miyamiwu · 10 months ago

Text

@whysapphics FYI WE DO HAVE LESBIANS!!!

Meet Lin Zhen and Yu Xia:

THEY EVEN GROW OLD TOGETHER!!!

They’re practically married tbh

Lesbians and gays, we got them all

Edit coz I forgot to address:

Link Click has an overarching plot, too! Hints of it start in season 1, but it’s only explored in season 2, so too much mention of what it’s about could count as spoilers

I’ve seen some people comparing Link Click to Madoka Magica, though, so maybe that can give you an idea of its plot

Best Underrated Anime Group H Round 2: #H7 vs #H3

#H7: Isekai subversion, now with more women and good writing.

#H3: Two guys time-travel through photos. Depression ensues.

Details and poll under the cut!

#H7: The Executioner and Her Way of Life (Shokei Shoujo no Virgin Road)

youtube

Summary:

Average student Mitsuki Mutou suddenly finds himself transported to another realm. Summoned by the king of this world for the remarkable power he is supposed to possess, Mitsuki is thrown out when it appears that he lacks a Special Concept. Moping about, he encounters a priestess named Menou who explains that Japanese people like him are known as Lost Ones, and such individuals never fail to have Special Concepts.

Menou elaborates that she is part of a church that helps abandoned Lost Ones integrate into society. She invites him to spend the night at her church, where the two can probe the nature of his ability. Eventually, they discover that Mitsuki's Special Concept is actually incredibly powerful and dangerous.

But is Menou's true goal to assist Lost Ones—or the opposite?

Propaganda 1:

An isekai that forgoes the usual tropes and exceedingly dull, whitebread protagonist in favor of a cast consisting more or less exclusively of varying flavors of deranged lesbians.

As a bonus, a certain scene halfway through the first episode made a lot of the worst parts of the anime community SO mad, and I feel like that’s worth something in and of itself.

Propaganda 2:

An isekai subversion that doesn’t feel like it’s subversive for the sake of being trendy! All of its unique parts have lore to explain them, and the world building of the series is super intriguing. The power mechanics are well-thought-out, and the fighting is unique and beautifully animated! Another strong part is the character relationships; I love the various dynamics between the main cast, and I love how none of them are reduced to mere tropes, as anime loves to do with its women. It’s also very funny, and the protagonist is one of my favorites <3333

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore, Suicide. Suicide is basically a deuteragonist’s goal, but it isn’t shown.

#H3: Link Click (Shiguang Dailiren)

Summary:

Best friends, roommates, and business partners Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang run a photo studio, developing pictures and the like. But that’s not all they do. The Shiguang Photo Studio has a secret extra service—they can deliver messages you never got to send and find information you never got to learn, so long as you bring a photograph, or maybe several.

Their method? A clap of the hands, and Cheng Xiaoshi dives into the past and into the body of the photographer. Guided by Lu Guang, he has twelve hours to achieve his goal, whether that is finding a secret, saying goodbye, or winning a fight.

Assisted by their friend and landlady Qiao Ling, the duo navigates a gallery of corporate lies, interpersonal drama, old regrets, and crime. In the second season, threads that began in the first episode of season one continues, showcasing the same level of brilliant writing and even higher stakes for our beloved characters.

Propaganda:

“Past or future, just let them be” is a message that is repeated throughout the show. At first, you’d think it’s just a matter of course, but after enough times of hearing it, it becomes depressing.

How can Cheng Xiaoshi be indifferent when he can feel the emotions of the person he’s possessing? When their pain becomes his pain as well? And so what if the person before him is already dead? At this moment, their hands feel so warm and alive.

This is where Lu Guang comes in. While Cheng Xiaoshi is the empathic and reckless type, Lu Guang is the cold and rational type. They balance each other out, and when they have conflicts, they face it maturely. They also care for each other so so much that the moment the other is in danger, all their principles get thrown out the window just to ensure the other person’s safety.

In s1, we watch them take on their clients’ orders. Through this, the show’s beauty is revealed: Simplicity and Sincerity.

Simplicity, because for a time-travel show, you’d expect the tasks to involve the fate of the world or something, but no. All the people Cheng Xiaoshi have dived into have been your everyday person—an office woman who gets harassed at work, a restaurant owner who’s grown estranged from her best friend, a man who wants to gain the approval of his girlfriend’s family, etc. Even when the stakes go high in s2, the core of the conflicts still lie in the character’s personal problems—which may seem small in the grand scheme of things, but they are not any less important. And I think this is nice. It’s hard to relate to grand plots, but it’s easy to relate to the day-to-day struggles that humans face.

Then Sincerity, because every single character is treated with care. Even characters you’ll never see again past their arcs manage to be impactful and unforgettable. They’ll claw their way into your heart and just stay there. I’ve rewatched s1 three times, but I still cry every time it reaches the basketball arc 😭. Then in s2, even the antagonists will grab for their share of your tears.

And you begin to question—Should they really just let the past or future be? If changing the past could save someone, is it really that bad?

The answer revealed in the s2 finale was so shocking that #link click trended for the first time ever on Tumblr after the episode aired, which is a feat in itself, considering how small the fandom is.

It has great animation, too. I especially love the 360° shots in some key scenes in s2 for they really amped up the tension. The fight scenes are also well-choreographed.

And all the music are bangers! S1 opening makes you wanna learn finger tutting, while the s2 opening is a masterpiece that leaves you in awe. (The s2 second chorus is just the first chorus played in reverse, making it sound like time is being rewinded. Fucking genius!)

If you still don’t watch Link Click after reading this, then you’ll be missing out in one of the greatest animated shows of all time. Just do yourself a favor and watch it already.

Trigger Warnings:

S1: Flashing lights in the opening, attempted and implied sexual harassment, slight panic attack, death, kidnapping, drugging, suicide, blood. Complete list of TW’s for s1 can be found here (it may be spoilery)

S2: Fast-changing images in the opening, domestic abuse, child abuse, emotional abuse, violence, blood, murder.

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form, where you can submit revisions for taglines, propaganda, trigger warnings, and/or video.

#shiguang dailiren #link click #时光代理人 #lin zhen #yu xia #miyamiwu.src

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always-just-red · 2 months ago

Note

I loved the Drunked Call with Sylus scenario you made! I like the way you write it and I see you accepting request hehe. Can I request about... Sylus, Zayne and Caleb reaction meeting fem!reader, dates or accidentally met (you name it) and they noticed her long hair has been attached with chewed bubblegum? some kid pulled a prank on her before and she didn't even aware of it

Aw thank you so much!! 💕 I did different pranks for each of the boys just to keep things interesting- I hope you don't mind! They're all equally silly haha, and I had SO much fun writing them. Added Xavier and Raf for good measure, too!

It's Just Not Your Day...

L&DS Boys (& Caleb!) x Reader

Summary: It's you against the kids of Linkon City, and guess what? The kids are winning.

Genre: Humour + fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, reader gets a little stressed (and with some of these boys you can understand why 🙃)

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

One of the perks of being a Deepspace Hunter is the way people look at you. You’re used to respect: appreciative nods and gestures, wide-eyed admiration. You’re out in Linkon almost every day, putting your life on the line for everyone in the city. You’re a hero, right?

So why is everyone looking at you so… funny?

“Xavier,” you speak in a hushed whisper, tugging at the sleeve of your partner’s uniform. “I don’t like this. Something weird is going on.”

He yawns. “What do you mean?”

Can he really not see it? Sure enough, a businessman strolls past you, his eyes locked on you as he frowns, mid-telephone call. You think he even stumbles on his words. “Just look around,” you whisper again. Someone is watching you from across the street, their head cocked.

Xavier is already looking around. You’re on patrol; that’s sort of the point. But he trusts you, so he follows your instruction: casting his sky-blue eyes around a little more carefully. They narrow. “Sorry,” he says, because you’re usually on the same page, “what are you talking about exactly?”

You fold your arms impatiently. “People are looking at us, Xavier.”

“Oh, I…” he seems to hesitate, “I think they’re just looking at you.”

The words could be romantic, but you don’t get the impression they’re intended to be. He’s implying something. He’s uncertain. “What makes you say that?” you ask, hands moving to your hips.

He shifts awkwardly on his feet. “I think it’s your, you know—” his finger waggles in front of his mouth.

You don’t know. “My what?”

“Your moustache.”

“What?”

Your hand shoots to your upper lip, but you don’t feel anything out of the ordinary. Xavier is staring, though, so you reach for your phone and turn the camera on yourself.

A black, cartoon-villain moustache has been sketched onto your face.

You gape at your reflection. “H— how…?” you stutter, tracing your new feature. Then a memory of this morning flashes through your mind: how you’d fallen asleep on the train to work. How there were those two schoolkids, sniggering, when you’d woken up just in time for your stop. Ugh. Really?

Wait— this morning?!

“Xavier!” you exclaim, turning to him like you’d just found his sword in your back. “Why didn’t you say something?”

It’s just gone three in the afternoon, and he’s been with you for hours. “I thought you knew,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck gingerly.

“You thought I…” You’re too bewildered, too betrayed to repeat it fully. Worst of all you feel guilty; how the hell can he look so freaking innocent? You turn back to your phone, desperately trying to rub the ink from your skin. It doesn’t budge. It doesn’t fade.

“Are you ok?” Xavier asks.

Of course you’re not ok, you feel like an idiot. Your cheeks are hot and the redness is spreading to the rest of your face as you fail to reclaim any of your dignity. “No,” you spit back, “honestly, Xavier, how could you just let me walk around like I’m some kind of—”

You glance up to discover he’s no longer listening. He’s not even here; he’s over there, talking to an old man who’s sat completing a sudoku. Great. Wonderful. Why not? At least one of you is making a good impression on the citizens of Linkon City.

With your eyes close to watering, you have one last, futile attempt at wiping the moustache from your upper lip. It’s not working. Gods, you’re gonna be stuck like this, aren’t you?

Someone taps you on the shoulder, and you look up to see Xavier, back at your side. He smiles reassuringly, sporting a drawn-on moustache of his own. The ends of it are curled even more theatrically than yours.

“Xavier…” you half-laugh in surprise, your eyes watering even more. “Why would you—? Now we both look stupid.”

“I look stupid,” he corrects, running a thumb over your wet cheek. “You look really pretty, moustache or not.”

Zayne ❄

“What… happened?”

You sit across from Zayne on a picturesque park bench, like something from a postcard: blue sky stretched above, wildflowers sprouting from the grass below. Birds are singing, butterflies are flittering about, and even the doctor looks perfect— unmarred by the first half of his work day, no matter how stressful it’s been.

It’s a fairy tale you covet: a little reunion with the man you love, on the odd occasion where your lunchbreaks match up and he isn’t drowning in paperwork. And it would be a fairy tale, if it wasn’t for you. You— your uniform soaked and your hair dripping wet. The wooden bench has gone damp beneath you; you’ve literally only just sat down.

“Gee, I don’t know, Zayne,” you hiss, face almost buried in your phone, “what do you think?”

Not too far away from you, some kids are locked in a water-gun battle, their shrieks of laughter loud and infuriating. Zayne glances between you and them, making his deductions. “Why—” he starts.

“Doesn’t matter,” you sniff, wiping your forehead with the back of your sleeve. “They messed with the wrong person, and we’re gonna make sure they know it.”

“We’re going to?”

“Yeah. Me and you. That a problem?”

You shoot him a glare that sends a shiver down even his spine. “No,” he answers quickly— a survival instinct, uncharacteristically submissive— but his composure returns as you turn back to your phone. “Haven’t you got—”

Another dark look.

“Haven’t we got better things to do than start a war with some children in the park?”

“Not really. Justice is justice.” You shrug before pointing a finger at yourself. “Deepspace hunter.” Then at him. “Cardiac surgeon. Precision is kind of our thing, right? They really don’t stand a chance.” You’re laughing, now: “Gods, I almost feel sorry for them.”

Zayne has been watching your descent into madness with a calmness that does him credit. When he interrupts, it’s gentle. “I don’t think—”

Too gentle; you don’t hear him. “Pick your poison, Dr. Zayne!” Your phone is angled at him to reveal the all-too accessible armoury of an online store. “You’ve got your standard water pistols. Your water blasters.” You’re scrolling and indicating his choices as though you’re the salesman. “This one has two options, single shot or power shot, and— ooh! Look at this one! The AquaJet3000!”

With a soft laugh, Zayne pushes your phone out of his face. He would buy anything you’re selling, although— having seen the prices on your screen— he knows he’d be bankrupt within a week. “Linkon City is fortunate to have you defending it, and whilst I would be honoured, as always, to fight at your side, I was hoping we could… relax. You’re on a break, remember?”

You pout as he peels a wet strand of hair from your cheek. “Justice doesn’t take breaks.”

“Well, justice is going to have to on this occasion, because I said so.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “Besides, you shouldn’t fight fire with fire, or water with water. A lot of people look up to you, you know. Me included. So, set a better example. Save violence for the Wanderers.”

It ought to be patronising: him, lecturing you on right and wrong when you’ve already added three types of water-gun to your virtual cart. He’s always so righteous. So collected. So moral. You want to be mad at him, but how can you be when he’s looking at you like that? Like he thinks the world of you, even when you’re plotting revenge against ten-year-olds.

You have a point to make, so you fold your arms and turn your back on him, even though he’s making your heart feel so frustratingly warm and fuzzy.

“I have something for you,” he says quietly.

To hell with the point. “What is it?” you ask, spinning eagerly around.

He smiles as he retrieves something he’d concealed behind him. It’s a small-ish box, pale pink, with patterns printed to emulate white lace. There’s a logo in the centre and you recognise it at once. “No way,” you enthuse, “that new bakery finally opened?”

You’ve both been waiting for months. “I couldn’t resist when I saw it,” he confirms, lifting the lid. Inside sit two unbelievably pretty cupcakes, buttercream icing spiralled high and adorned with sprinkles of gold leaf. Zayne plucks one from the box. “Perhaps—” he offers it to you— “perhaps this can make you feel better? Without us needing to, well… attack children.”

You giggle; it does sound pretty stupid when he puts it like that. “Thanks, Zayne,” you grin, reaching out for your reward. You’re glad one of you is vaguely sensible— those water-guns were expensive.

The cake is an inch from your fingers when a jet of water sends it flying from Zayne’s hand. It lands at your feet with an unceremonious splat, and from somewhere behind you, laughter roars.

The doctor blinks down at it in disbelief, his hand still hovering beside yours. He grieves for a long moment, then looks to you solemnly like you’re a colleague and he’s about to ask for a scalpel:

“The AquaJet3000,” he says.

Rafayel 🎨

“Rafayel, call me stupid one more time, and I’ll—”

You’ll… you’ll… what? He’s looking back at you with wide eyes, his hands frozen when they had just a moment ago been drying the plate you’d handed him. He has some nerve, pretending he’s the victim when he’s spent the entire evening insulting you. This is supposed to be a wholesome moment of domesticity— doing the dishes together before he has to disappear to a late-night gala— so why is he ruining it? Ever since you got home, it’s been: so how was your day, stupid? Hey, stupid, want a hand washing up?

He said he was fine with you sitting out the gala tonight, but maybe he’s not.

“I’ll do this,” you finish, lifting a palmful of suds from the sink and raising them to your lips, ready to blow.

“Puh-lease, you bought me this suit. You really think I can’t tell when you’re bluff— hey, wait! Stop!”

You do blow the bubbles at him, and he recoils, holding the plate and dishcloth up to defend himself. He blocks some of them, but not all of them. “Honestly, Raf, if you’re not ok with me skipping out on tonight then you can just say so.”

He puts the plate gently aside. “I mean, of course I’m sad you’re not coming,” he thinks aloud as he sets about sweeping bubbles from his suit, “but I’m ok with it, really. You’ve had, like, a crazy week at work. You deserve a quiet night in.”

Compassion? Really? After you just—? Ugh. “So why were you being so mean, then?” you sigh, taking the cloth from him and dabbing away the bubbles he’s missed.

“Mean?”

“You’ve called me ‘stupid’ like fifty times in the span of, what— three hours?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs innocently. “Because you told me to.”

Huh? You stop what you’re doing. “Since when did I—”

He reaches over your shoulder and you feel fingers on your back. “See?” he answers, bringing a piece of paper in front of you. It looks like it’s been torn hastily from a notebook, and it says, in bold, capital letters: ‘CALL ME STUPID!!’

You take the note from Rafayel sheepishly, your lips parted in surprise. How did it—? Wait. “Those kids!” you exclaim, thinking back on your walk home from work. “Oh I knew they were spouting bullshit when they said they saw a Wanderer!”

Your dish-washing companion doesn’t seem impressed by your lightbulb moment. He’s watching you, confusion etched across his face, but you can see right through it. “Rafayel!” you slap a soapy hand to his chest, “you had to call me stupid that many times before telling me?”

“I thought you wrote it. Pet names can be weird sometimes— I don’t know what you’re into.”

He’s still acting. Still lying. Fine, two can play at that game.

You fall deathly silent, turning back to the sink to retrieve the bowl you’d dropped in there the last time he’d called you your new ‘pet name’. “I guess it suits me,” you mumble, half to yourself.

“What d’you mean, cutie?”

He can call you cutie as many times as he wants; you’re out for blood. You give the bowl another once-over with a sponge. “Some hunter I am. Can’t even tell when some kids are messing with me.”

Rafayel frowns. “Hey, it’s been a long week, yeah? You’re just tired.”

“Tired,” you echo, and you drop the bowl back into the water with a dramatic plop. “Tired? No. I’m exhausted. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I work, there’s always… something. To make me feel like an idiot. To make me feel… stupid.”

“Hey,” Rafayel tries again, and his voice is fraught with worry. “Don’t say stuff like that. You’re not stupid. I’m stupid. I’m supposed to make you feel better and instead I was just screwing around. I’m sorry, ok? Don’t be sad. Please?”

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, resting his chin on the top of your head. You don’t give in, not at first, but then you hug him back. “Thanks, Raf. I’m ok— really.” You hear his phone buzz from where he’s left it on the counter. “You should go. Thomas will kill you if you’re late.”

“Nah, he needs me,” the artist chuckles. “You get first dibs, though. You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“Yeah,” you laugh quietly back; your heart not quite in it. “Quiet night in, remember? Go on. Go.”

He steps away from you, though not before planting a light kiss on your cheek. “I’ll make it up to you when I get home,” he says, collecting his phone and the rest of his things. He gives you another kiss when he’s done, dodging your efforts to shoo him away. “Miss you already, cutie.”

“Go!”

And he does as he’s told this time, no matter how listlessly. It’s sweet he wants to stay and make things better, but he already has— he just doesn’t know it yet. It wasn’t the hug. It wasn’t the apology. You lean back against the counter with a smirk, savouring the view as he leaves.

It might have something to do with the note you’ve stuck on his back.

…

Rafayel retrieves the note the moment he closes the door behind him, stuffing it smugly into his pocket. He’ll have a story ready for you, by the time he gets home, about just how much you humiliated him. About how he walked around for a good hour before Thomas spotted the note and gave him a lecture about his ‘image’.

He smiles to himself; he’s a really good boyfriend.

Sylus 🩸

“You should know better than to keep me waiting, sweetie.”

Oh, great. This is just what you need.

You peek over the saddle of your motorcycle from where you’re crouched behind it. “Hey, Sylus,” you greet. The man is watching you, his arms folded. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Sorry?” he repeats, an eyebrow raised sceptically. “What— no ‘patience is a virtue, Sylus,’ no ‘oh please, Sylus, we both know you’ve nothing better to do?’”

You had disappeared behind your bike again, but you steal another glance at him. “Wow,” you marvel, “is this what you did before we met? Have arguments with yourself?”

“More or less,” he smiles dryly, then shrugs: “I’m not bad, as far as sparring partners go. You of all people can vouch for that. Besides, what were my other options? Mephisto?” He laughs. “Luke and Kieran?” He laughs harder.

“I’d rate Mephisto above you,” you add distractedly, no longer looking at him.

“Is that right?” he purrs, and it’s very obvious he doesn’t believe you.

He sounds close— too close— so you stand, re-entering his eyeline so he doesn’t come closer. Gods, this is embarrassing. Those stupid kids; he’s gonna have a field day if he finds out. “Yeah.” You wipe your hands slowly with a cloth, disguising the fact that your mind is scrambling. “The things that bird comes up with, just… scathing, honestly. Emotionally devastating.”

“Oh really?” Sylus tuts. “That’s awful. I can’t imagine where he gets it from.”

You smile back at him, resting your hands on your hips. You do feel bad, actually; you’d completely forgotten you were supposed to meet him this morning for breakfast before work. He’d received no texts to cancel. No calls. How long was he waiting at that sweet little café you’d picked out?

Then again, this morning isn’t really going to your plan, either.

“Something wrong with your bike?” he asks, because he’s already figured out that much. “Besides the usual, I mean.”

Your smile drops. Your whole act drops. “It’s nothing, Sylus.”

“You’ve already stood me up this morning, sweetie. Are you really going to lie to me, too?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. Fine. “Some kids graffitied it, ok?”

“This piece of junk? Really?” He toes the front wheel of it, then catches onto the withering look you’re sending him. “Oh no,” he tries again, with absolutely no enthusiasm, “what a dreadful crime against such an advanced, state-of-the-art vehicle.”

Prick. You keep the label behind tight lips as he wanders around the motorcycle to join you, assessing the damage. You’re stood by a bucket of water and the litany of rags you’ve used to try to scrub it clean— each one a testament to your failure. The sight alone makes you want to burst into tears. The skin of your hands is pink. Raw.

You feel cheated; you wish you were at that café right now.

Sylus taps a finger against his cheek, eyes narrowed pensively. They’re spoiled for choice of what to look at: misspelt obscenities, a generous number of crude symbols. All in permanent marker, naturally. “An improvement, wouldn’t you say?”

“I wouldn’t say. No.”

“Art is subjective.”

“Yeah? So is your face.” Not your best effort. Sylus glances up at you, amused. “Shut up,” you dismiss proactively. “Besides, this is my work vehicle. I can’t ride around Linkon on this. It would be—”

“Too staggering a blow to your professional reputation,” he finishes like he’s bored.

“This isn’t funny, Sylus.”

He points at a particularly chaotic drawing of a penis. “It is.”

You smack his hand away. “It’s not.” Your voice wobbles, ever so slightly betraying you. This is serious; you could get in trouble. You stare down at the graffiti, despair setting in.

Keys dangle in front of your eyes. “Here. Borrow my bike.”

“You’re joking, right?” You swat at them. “You really think that’s gonna help? Me— rolling up to work on a bike that costs twice my annual salary?”

“Twice? That’s cute, kitten.”

You glare at him, any guilt you felt about standing him up long gone. “Can you just stop? Being you? For like, two seconds? Please? This is the last thing I need today, Sylus. I’m gonna be late. I’m gonna embarrass myself in front of everyone. And worst of all? I was actually looking forward to seeing you this morning. Before all of this—” you gesture dejectedly at your bike— “all of this shit happened.”

Sylus is looking back at you, his arms crossed again. He does nothing for a few, slow seconds, and it’s just long enough to make you feel like you’re overreacting. Then he leans over, running a hand across your bike, and you watch as the graffiti flakes and lifts, turning to ash under the influence of his Evol.

He brushes his hands together when he’s done, straightening with a hmph and a self-satisfied smirk. Content (more than content— thoroughly impressed with himself) he turns back to you. Your bottom lip has dropped in surprise and he chuckles, reaching a finger to lift your chin. “You can thank me later, sweetie, and I intend to spend the entire day thinking about how you might. Don’t disappoint me, hmm?”

You’re still silent, and it takes him a moment to realise you’re bristling with something other than awe and adoration. He frowns. “Sweetie?”

The second ‘sweetie’ breaks you, and not in the way he wants. You slap his chest, hard; he doesn’t really feel it.

“Sylus! You could have done that the whole time?!”

Caleb 🍎

“Sit still, dear.”

Sit still? How are you supposed to sit still when you’re brimming with rage? Every inch of your body is tense, waiting, yearning for you to spring into action. It wants you to retaliate. It wants revenge.

“I can’t, Grandma,” you whine, crossing your arms as if to hold yourself back. You’re still fidgeting on the chair as she navigates your hair with her scissors. “This sucks. Everything sucks. The only thing that could make this worse is if—”

You hear the front door swing open, then closed. Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut?

Sure enough, Caleb strolls into the kitchen mere moments later. “What’s happenin’ here?” he asks, dropping a bag of groceries onto the countertop.

“Nothing,” you mumble. “Grandma’s giving me a haircut, that’s all.”

“Ok. So what’s actually happening here?” he tries again. He’s known you forever, after all; he can tell when you’re lying.

You swing a foot out at his shin as he tries to step closer. Nuh-uh. No investigating. No sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. “Nothing,” you hiss again. “Gods, Caleb. What’s your problem?”

“You’re my problem, pipsqueak.” He uses his foot to push yours away. “At least Gran’s on my side—” his amethyst eyes seek her— “can you tell me what’s going on? Please? Pretty please?”

A hand breaks their eye contact. “You don’t have to answer that, Grandma.” You glare Caleb down. “The DAA has no authority here.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.”

Grandma sighs; she’s had far too many years of this. “You know Mr and Mrs. Lee’s children? Down the road? Well, they—”

“Grandma!” You round on her. How long did she last— all of three seconds? You bitterly regard Caleb, your voice dark with resentment: “They put gum in my hair, ok?”

“Really?”

“Yeah." He wanted the truth, didn’t he? “They lured me in with some nonsense about a Wanderer. I didn’t realise until, well, until…” You wave at your hair. “Too late.”

He considers the story, then shrugs. It’s clearly not as thrilling as he was anticipating, because he disappears from the kitchen, leaving you and Grandma in peace once more. The silence is as uncomfortable as it is sudden. You’d expected laughter— a lot of laughter. Teasing. Maybe even a shot at how gullible you are.

You release an uneasy breath, resting your head back on the chair.

“Sit still,” Grandma repeats, nudging you, prompting you to sit up straight. “I’ve almost got it. Just one more… here!” There’s a decisive snip.

“Thanks, Grandma.” You slump again, staring up at the ceiling.

You’re not sure what you’re waiting for. Maybe for the blush of your cheeks to cool, or for a Wanderer to spring out of the floor, killing you, so you can be dead and not so embarrassed. You hear heavy footsteps— Caleb returning— and you really wish the Wanderer would hurry up.

“Caleb…” Grandma’s tone is wary. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

You readjust your head so you can look at him. He’s clutching what must be a dozen rolls of toilet paper; they’re piled up to just below his chin, almost spilling out over his arms. “How about it, pipsqueak?” he asks as he struggles to balance them. “A little team-up between the DAA and The Association— wanna do your part in reclaiming your neighbourhood?”

Now that’s more like it. “Fuck yes! Sorry, Grandma.”

You’re really as bad as each-other. She tuts reproachfully as you leap out of your chair, and she's disappointed, but not surprised.

#🖋rach is actually writing #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #caleb x reader #love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads x mc #shen xinghui #li shen #qi yu #qin che #xia yizhou #lads #lnds #l&ds

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