#canon: like a moth to you sunlight

[azems-familiar]

i commissioned @valkblue to draw Revan and Senya as they appear post-Vitiate's death, and the result turned out so lovely <3

#kotor #swtor #darth revan #senya tirall #oc: revan adarii #canon: like a moth to you sunlight #blue was delightful to work with and i'm SO happy with how they turned out #senya's armor looks so good and revan looks exactly like she should #and the poses and expressions are so soft and warm #and the watercolor! anyway. highly highly recommend :D was a great experience overall

[steviewashere]

Rhetorics and Bad Days

Rating: General CW: None apply! Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington Has a Bad Time, Steve Harrington is an Ugly Crier, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Pet Names, Forehead Kisses, Slight Love Confessions, Getting Together (Sorta Kinda/More Implied Afterwards)

Tripped and fell last night and wrote 3.2k words. Inspired by @scoops-aboy86 idea and my stupid little headcanon from this post!

💕—————💕

It seems like everyday was a bad day when you were somebody like Steve Harrington. Considering the good majority of his life the last four years, give or take, has been a cartwheel of nightmares and torture and blood and injuries—And, well. Obviously he has bad days.

Though, typically, it can be resolved and done over with a hot shower, maybe some stupid movie that he honk-laughs at, a warm blanket and a freshly dried pillowcase. Little things. Little good things that are able to calm him some, at least. Give him something else to think of, at most. He doesn’t have to do anything like cry or breakdown or yell until his voice is hoarse, that’s what he tells himself. Because, what’s been ingrained in his head, men don’t cry. Men don’t get hysterical. Men don’t break that emotional mold.

Though those words are definitely booming and deep and flat like his dad’s. That’s not his brain. Those aren’t his words. But it sure as hell is what he’s been exposed to for far too long.

And maybe that’s why, standing in the barren living room of his brand new (albeit worn down, caulked heavily, all too warm) apartment, he finds the rhetoric silenced. In a fresh space. With crooked blinds and awfully filled tack holes. A kitchen fit for a (former) king. Little breakfast nook that only allows for two dining chairs under the south facing windows. Barely any sunlight able to stream through. His bedroom cramped with just a queen sized mattress placed haphazardly on the floor, definitely crushing some well-loved Playboy magazines, crooked to the wall at his head because the movers carrying it were too tired from the recently odd mid-fall heat, and a decently sized freshly made spiderweb in the corner—he shivers at the thought of something alive and crawling watching him sleep at night. And the glorious bathroom—preemptively marked with darkened piss stains on the floor and a smell birthed from over-indulgence on alcohol. 

It’s his, though. Well, his and Eddie’s.

Eddie has his own bedroom, similar size to Steve’s (think of a shoebox used to bury that poor hamster from your youth, dead from eating too many baseball cards), ceiling light stained with god worshipping moths, and a window that half-opens if he jiggles it the right way. They share that grimy bathroom. And he brought the living room couch, something that had been sitting on his and Wayne’s back porch for some time, definitely a little mud stained and mildew smelling from rain, but it’s not the worst. Not the best. Not even good. But it’s their space, freed from the confines of Hawkins, new and shiny for all of Indianapolis to see.

The rhetoric is gone in Steve’s brain. Like skin shed from his sunburned body. Peeling and crackling to every surface he finds himself on or leaning against or standing with. It evades him. Leaves him with something viciously young and terribly hungry.

Steve Harrington is prone to bad days. Bad weeks. Bad things.

The unfortunate luck begins anew an exact week from when they move in.

October 20th, 1986 is his first day back at Family Video. He’d been transferred, referred much to Keith’s dismay, but probably his pleasure, too. (Considering how immediate his response had been to Steve’s question.) But it was his first day back. Didn’t need to be trained. Just hooked like a fish to deceased worm bait, thrown out to the river that is their block’s neighbors and strangers and mere acquaintances that feel no better or worse about having new people take residency on their street, but he’s also not reeled back in at the end of his shift. If anything, he’s tangled in his own wire, flopping, gasping for water, drying to the gravel by the shallow give of the river’s flow. He is stranded behind the register. Returning customers telling him he should know what they like, or what discount they need, or how many movies they’ve checked out previously. That he should know that a particular customer is friends with the owner of the Family Video he so sorely resides in. But he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. So he makes do. He powers through it. Feigns mundane annoyance like gum flavorless between his teeth, though he’s biting his tongue to not sob.

That’s not where the bad ends. No. Of course not.

He’s within walking distance to their apartment. Which should be fine. In fact, it’s incredibly handy because even if he were running late to work, he could blame it on something stupid. (‘My key broke off in the lock, had to bother the landlord.’ ‘Yeah, had a leak in the bathroom this morning, have to report it just in case it tries to flood the downstairs neighbors.’ ‘It’s odd, seems like the lock loves to devour my keys.’ Nervous laughter.) But just because he’s within walking distance does not mean that life is plainly simple. No, what happens is he gets soaked with dirty road rain water. Was it mentioned that it’s been raining all day? No? Well, it has been. And it’s a downpour. Forecast said it would happen tonight, not midday, not while he’s trying to power walk home so he can make the peanut butter and jelly sandwich of his dreams. But it does. Because of course. And some asshole, screaming out their window to tell him that he should’ve worn a raincoat, speeds by. Coating him from collarbone to toe in the mucky rainwater of a city that’s too busy for a place like bumfuck Indiana. At least in Hawkins everybody knows your name; at least they have the common decency to let you stroll on by before they make a major move like that. But in a city bustling with busy, selfish, awful people—because aren’t all city inhabitants like this, should he have realized something like this was bound to happen? Well, he did. Just didn’t think it would take less than a month for it to occur.

Sopping wet. Exhausted and burnt out. Hungry like a rabid stray dog. He walks briskly. Skipping over the cracks and lines in the sidewalk, no matter how much disdain he tastes for his mother. Missing freshly spat out gum by mere centimeters. Shoulder checking a few too slow pedestrians, their sneering faces burning into his back. And the next awful thing comes in like a planned prank on some mocking little sitcom show. Dog shit. Pure dog shit, brown and putrid and soft on the sole of his right Adidas Superstar. His brand new shoes. The shoes he got himself less than a month ago. Shoes that he had been eyeing for years, but couldn’t muster the courage or the reason to buy them. And now there’s dog shit on the bottom of his shoe. He smears it on the concrete, squishing it further into the ridges of his sole, scraping it against the harsh ground. Tries his best. Checks the bottom of the shoe precariously. And without missing a beat…topples down onto his ass, thankfully away from the smeared shit, but down onto the ground nonetheless. He prickles, stands up on his shaky legs, dusts off his ass, and storms the rest of the way home.

Maybe he shouldn’t slam the door. But it’s barely anything in comparison to the rest of his day. He shouldn’t do it. He knows that it could get them a noise complaint. Though, the way it vibrates against his back, settling deep into the wood, stepping out of his sneakers to wash in the tub in a few—it’s all too good. 

The anger begins to dissipate from him in just that small action.

Then, again like a well-mannered sitcom scene, in barrels Eddie from his bedroom. Arms crossed over his chest, hip popped to the side, harsh scowl to his face. “Man, are you fucking serious?” He spits.

“What?” Steve asks, panting, breathless, absolutely done with today. With tomorrow. With the rest of this week.

“I told you this morning that I was going to be studying in my room! All day! Told you that I wanted it to be quiet, and the first thing you do when you get home is slam the door shut?!” He growls. Snarling, he continues, “And what about the noise complaints?! We can’t afford any of those, we need this place! Could you not—“

Steve pushes past him, shoes in hand, work bag slung down like a bomb to the floor. Leaving its contents scattered. A copy of Airplane! on VHS, some stickers reading ‘Be kind, rewind’, measly three dollars, and his Family Video vest. All of it strewn about their place. Pooling murky water on the surface, just as Steve’s clothes were dripping everywhere else. He closes himself in the bathroom, but doesn’t lock the door. In fact, that stupid fucking lock doesn’t even work. Nothing works. He stays in there anyway. Really, they should clean in here. Clorox the hell out of every surface. Maybe see if the piss stains will come up with a harshly gripped mop. But instead of those important things, he tosses his sneakers into the bathtub, and sits with his head in his hands on the closed toilet lid. Mushy socks to the tiled floor. Pants uncomfortably drying and chafing on his legs. Underwear like a second skin to his balls. His polo tight across his back and terribly moist.

Shoves his palms harsh into his eyes and whistles through his nose. “Fuck,” he mutters, lip wobbling with the word.

A tentative knock to the door startles him. “Steve?” Eddie’s voice rings out. It’s murmured, careful, testing the syllables on his tongue. “Hey, can I come in? I’m—“ He sighs, the anger he had before blowing away from him. “I’m sorry,” he sincerely apologizes. “I’m sorry that my first instinct was to get mad. I—“

“Just come in,” he croaks. It’s not very loud, but it must be enough because Eddie pushes the door open mere seconds later.

He sighs, mouth downturning when he sees Steve on the toilet. Meekly holds up Steve’s also brand new messenger bag. Stained like the tiled flooring under their socked feet. It’s sodden and depressing. “Hey,” he mutters. 

Steve just hums in return. Looking up to Eddie from the toilet, he must be a sorry sight. All soaking wet, spine hunched and scrunched in a horrifically twisted amalgamation, hair limp in his eyes. Something has to read on him for Eddie to be gazing at him the way he is. All big eyes and sorry mouth and his shoulders slouched like he’s admitting defeat. Part of Steve doesn’t want him to, wants him to keep getting riled, yelling about their lease and the slammed doors and the forgetfulness that seems to flow through Steve just as easily as blood. Wants to be called names. Wants to have a non-delicate conversation about how much of a screw-up he is, how he should’ve listened to his father and never moved away, why he’s a disaster of a person. Tell Steve all the ways in which he’s deserving of the bad days. Deserving of their frequency. Deserving of misery.

“Are you—No, you probably aren’t, but I’m asking anyway. Are you okay, Steve?”

That—Well, that breaks something in him. The final block on his wobbling tower of everything and too much. Under his skin, like weak twigs, his ribs are snapping. Crumbling beneath him to make room for the way his lungs expand with the need to gasp. The need to hiccup his way through a terrible explanation.

His mouth twitches, lips pursing. Looks away. “I—“ Steve rasps. “No,” he sobs.

Warmth crowds him, all too sudden and all too much. Hands gravitating to his magnetic pull. Squeezing his shoulder and pushing back his stringy hair. Though, immediately and dizzyingly, he is reminded of that stupid rhetoric. He shouldn’t follow it. Shouldn’t even allow it to have the vice grip it does on his brain.

But he shakes Eddie off, standing uneasily from the toilet, walking around him. He paces into the kitchen, hungry and shaking and needed to do something. Get his energy out one way or another. Fight off the tears, no matter how relieving they would be. Clatters through the cupboards. Finds the cheap, shitty, generic white bread. And an already half-eaten jar of peanut butter, odd peaks and valleys in it as if somebody’s been chowing down on it with a spoon. That doesn’t matter, though. At least there’s any peanut butter at all.

Eddie’s not too far behind him. Standing in the kitchen’s entryway, hands floating in front of him, reaching out for Steve. “Hey, Stevie, I can make you a sandwich. Y’know, if you want to change out of your clothes. Must be uncomfortable,” he’s placating.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Steve lies to himself. Because he needs this to be true. Just this one good thing. One thing he can do for himself. Make something he wants to eat. Something he’s been thinking about all day. Something that plasters an easy enough smile to his already half-puffy face, tears encroaching and sobs clawing their way up to his throat. But when he grabs for the jelly, “Are you fucking kidding me?” He slams the door of the fridge closed. No jar in sight. Not a single kind. No marmalade or strawberry jam or even the nasty grape jelly he bought for when Robin visits. There’s nothing. “Are you—“ He groans, huffs, and hiccups.

Attempting to cover himself, he shoves his hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes.

The one thing he can’t let Eddie see, because crying is going to happen whether Steve likes it or not, is that he’s an ugly crier. The ugliest, and he knows that. All bubbled snot and dripping its residue over his top lip. Lips bitten red raw from muffling the sobs. Spit burbled in the corners of his mouth. Choking on wet gasps, hiccuping with his whole body, trying to drink the air around him. Skin going splotchy red and hideously swollen, the swelling still apparent even two hours later.

With the first sob, he knows it won’t be possible to hide this breakdown. Eddie’s already inching closer, hands still out in front of him. Steve is a wounded animal, it seems like. He cries loud and shameful, mouth dropped open, his saliva bubbling between his teeth. Already choking on his first gasp.

“It’ll be alright, Stevie,” Eddie tries to soothe, “We can get more jelly, it’s alright.”

“No,” Steve cries, “No! It’s not—“ A series of short, hiccuping, wet gasps. Followed then by a snotty snort, bubbled and causing his breath to whistle. “Such a bad day,” he attempts to explain, voice keening, high pitched in the back of his throat. “Everybody was so mean—Clothes are—All wet and gross—“ Heavy swallow like trying to consume large shards of glass. He flaps his hands at his sides, scrunching them, trying to squeeze himself back to his ordinary box. But instead, more snorting sobs leave him.

Eddie places a warm hand on the back of Steve’s neck. Thumb digging into a knot that’s forming. He puts his other palm on his bare arm, coaxing him over to one of the dining chairs. Settles him down and crouches in front of his sob-riddled, hiccuping, contorting body. Holding Steve’s face with one hand, he reaches for the crumpled bandana in his back pocket, raising it between them. “Look at me, Stevie baby,” he murmurs, “Let me help you.” Steve drags his eyes away from where they’d been zeroed in on the floor. Locking with Eddie’s own sad and soft gaze. “There you are,” Eddie whispers. He gently strokes Steve’s cheek with the edge of his bandana. Gliding it over his skin, patting at the drying tear tracks. His other hand, thumb wedged near the corner of Steve’s mouth, wipes away at the spittle. “I’m sorry you had a bad day,” he mutters, “But we’ll get it back on track, alright? You’ll be okay, sweetheart. I promise you’ll be okay.”

Steve’s lips wobble. “I thought you were mad,” he nasally whispers. “Why are you being nice to me?”

Stopping his slow and careful work, Eddie stares in heartbreaking dismay. “You deserve nice things, Steve. It doesn’t matter that I was mad. I’m not mad anymore.” And then he runs his bandana over the snot trails under Steve’s nose. Looking on with an odd mix of sadness and reverence. Thumb not even wiping anything away anymore, simply caressing over Steve’s heated, swollen skin.

He swallows glass again. Blinks sluggishly. Calmed down, oddly. This is probably the quickest cry he’s ever had. He chuckles, “God, I’m such an ugly crier, man.” Sighs. “Can’t believe you’re willingly wiping at my snot right now. ’T’s nice.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself, sweetheart. I don’t even think you’re ugly.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, right.”

“What—I’m being honest!” Eddie quietly exclaims. He shifts the hand on Steve’s jaw, palm cupping his cheek, fingers splayed over his ear, holding him in a sweet yet fragile way. “Steve, you’re, like, gorgeous. I hate seeing you so upset, but you’re like an angel or something when you cry.” He draws his bandana away, but brings it back to cover the end of Steve’s nose. “Blow into this,” he instructs. And so Steve does, blowing out whatever didn’t already leave him in his crying episode. Eddie pulls it back again, not even grimacing at what is surely a squelching snot-covered mess in his hand. He massages his fingers into the hair around Steve’s ear. Gazing. “You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, reiterating. “And you deserve nice things, especially after what a clusterfuck of a day you must’ve had. And you deserve to breakdown every once in a while. Don’t have to hide just because you think you shouldn’t cry or because you’re ‘ugly’ or whatever.”

“Thanks, Eds,” Steve squeaks. Face flushing with heat, gratefully not from tears. He flashes a small smile, modest but there, for the first time today. “You really mean all that? Even when you called me sweetheart?”

Eddie is bashful, smile stretching, going red in the face, tilting his head as if assessing. But the lovesick sheen to his eyes says he’s already made up his mind. “Yeah,” he murmurs, careful and devoted, “yeah, baby. I do mean all that I said.”

“Can I have one more good thing?” Steve tentatively asks.

“What’s that?”

He touches between his eyebrows. “Forehead kiss?” (And sure, maybe he does pout a little, but can you blame him?)

Eddie, without missing a beat, leans forward, fiercely cupping Steve’s cheek, pressing a slightly damp kiss to Steve’s skin. Then under his eyes. The tip of his nose. Corner of his mouth. Pulls back, whispering, “You can have all the kisses you want, sweetheart.” Still caressing Steve, he offers, “How ‘bout I go get you some new jelly while you take a warm bath? And when you’re out, clean clothes and not shivering, we can curl up on the couch and watch that movie you got?”

“Okay,” Steve mutters.

“Okay,” Eddie murmurs back. He presses one more kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Let’s make this a good day, baby.”

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington is an ugly crier #hurt/comfort

[deathmetalunicorn1]

HIII!!! WELCOME BACK I MISSED YOU 🥰

I have a request: I feel like Hades deserves just a LITTLE bit of karma HEAR ME OUT.

Lets say in this universe he DOES kidnap Persephone against her will and has a daughter (the reader) with her. Just like how he's a yandere for Persephone, he's a yandere dad to his daughter too.

In comes yandere Beelzebub who falls head over heels in love with the reader (he has control over his curse so he won't kill her). He and Hades are canonically close... acquaintances? Or friends? Idk, but they're close so maybe Beelzebub gets... inspired by Hades and kidnaps the reader just like how Hades kidnapped and married Persephone.

I just think it'd be funny because Hades kinda had it coming you know? You kidnapped someone's daughter so it's only fair someone kidnaps YOUR daughter too lmao

-You know the truth behind your parent’s relationship, your father fell in love with your mother and stole her away from your grandmother, Demeter.

-While sad at first, Persephone grew to love Hades and his love only grew for her, even more so when she announced that she was pregnant.

-Your father is a wonderful husband and father, and an admired ruler as well, but with the two of you, he would set the world ablaze, just to keep you two safe.

-Hades was slow and patient with Persephone, slowly teaching her to make her believe that others were against their love, their marriage, and wanted to take her away, like her mother, who fought so fiercely to have her back, even to the point of letting humans starve.

-With you, it was easy to teach you that the world was a scary place, and only your parents and the few people they trusted were the only people you could trust.

-You grew up looking just like your mother, stunningly beautiful, only with your father’s snow-white hair, and with pretty daughters come big responsibilities.

-Persephone thought it was amusing to see Hades violently threatening any man who would dare approach you, as none were worthy enough for you, in his eyes.

-Beelzebub was your father’s ‘friend’, they were more than acquaintances but you’re not 100% sure if you could call them friends.

-You had met him only once or twice, at one of your father’s big parties, and you hadn’t really spoken to each other, other than greetings.

-You were stunning, to Beelzebub, you were the moon of his sky, lighting up his dark world, but in respect to Hades, after he witnessed a brutal beat down of a cocky man who had the audacity to put his hands on you, he stayed back.

-However, like a moth to a flame, he found himself being drawn more and more to you, as if the harder he tried to fight it, the stronger the desire came.

-Beelzebub knew the story behind your parent’s relationship as well, and he couldn’t help but grin, getting an idea, a bit of payback in a sense.

-Beelzebub approached you while you were in your mother’s garden, practicing your own magic, growing plants as well, but only flowers and plants that didn’t need a lot of sunlight.

-You greeted him politely when he approached, giving him a small smile before you spoke, “Father is in his office, if you would like to speak with him.”

-Beelzebub chuckled softly, pecking the back of your hand after he asked for it, “No little blossom, I’m not here for Hades, this time. I’m here for you.”

-Your confused face was adorable before you let out a yelp when he pulled you into his arms and swept you up princess style, making your face flush before he was quick to run away.

-You felt like you couldn’t scream, too stunned to do anything but you heard guards shouting after your kidnapper, demanding you be returned safely.

-Persephone knew you were safe with Beelzebub, and she had to hide her mouth behind her hand to hide her smile, thinking it was a bit funny, while Hades was gathering his army, leading the charge, “Papa’s coming Y/N!!”

-At Beelzebub’s place, you did find it rather amusing as well, being just like your mother, as Beelzebub set down some tea and cakes for the two of you to share, waiting for your father to arrive.

-You didn’t mind Beelzebub, he was respectful to you, giving you your space, and he was nice to talk to.

-You wondered how your father was going to react when you told him you liked Beelzebub.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror hades #ror beelzebub

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

PCCP's Monthly Fic Roundup - April 2024

Here's what I wrote this month! Check 'em out!

Multi-chapter fics:

This Sudden Burst of Sunlight: Ed's made the decision, and he doesn't want to keep trying to work towards a happy ending he doesn't think he'll ever get. When he meets Stede, it's still not easy to choose to live, but help makes things a little easier. A fic about learning to love being alive even after you'd given up on it. 15 chapters, 70k words, rated E.

One-shots:

Soft Days and Gentle Nights: Ed wakes up feeling nervous, and he needs a little extra care and gentle love. Canon-compliant, T, 2.8k.

Moth to a Flame: Ed and Stede have been dating for a while, and it's been great! One problem: Stede's an entomologist who just booked them tickets to an insect exhibit, and Ed hasn't told him he's terrified of bugs. Modern AU, T, 4.7k.

No Fucking Mermaids: when Ed gets kicked off the ship, he feels like the scraps of hope he'd been trying to cling to are being ripped away. Starts sad, but ends super sweet and cathartic with lots of hurt/comfort. Canon-compliant, M, 3.5k.

One Tiny Secret, Soft and Sweet: Ed saves one of Stede's robes from the purge, and though he can't fully enjoy it, he can almost convince himself having it is like being held, for a moment. Sad but with a soft, happy ending! Canon-compliant, M, 2k.

PWPs:

Love It, Zaddy: missing scene at Jackie'z in s2e8. Canon-compliant daddy kink fic. E, 2k.

haha and then what: Ed's lonely while Stede's away, and they have some awesome phone sex about it. Modern AU, E, 3.5k.

You Can Bug Me Anytime: adorable meet-cute where Ed meets Stede after finding a huge spider in his house and deciding to call a grindr hookup for help. Modern AU, E, 3k.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fic #my fics #monthly fic roundup #almost forgot to post this!

[bonefall]

What do you think of Fallen Leaves (as in, canon Fallen Leaves)? I'm pretty neutral towards him, but I'm curious to know what you think of him and why you decided to merge him with Hollyleaf. Also, does Hollyleaf ever regain a better understanding of Clanmew again since you mentioned she only half remembered it? Does she ever teach anyone the ancient language or nah? I can imagine kits begging to know ancient swear words.

i dont like jhim

BANGER idea, wasted. Ancient ghost in the tunnels??!? He drowned to death in an ancient ritual?!!? He has been unable to move on for a thousand moons ??!?!?!?!?!?!

Idk make him a lonely sadboy or something. No he doesn't try to drag people down. No there's no ghostly powers or anything. No he's not like a folklore ghost.

He just lives in the tunnels and Is Sad. Lame.

Erin Hunter LOVES coming up with cool ideas for characters and then doing nothing with those ideas, slowly turning them into boring ship material and cardboard background cats.

"We can't just do nothing with the ghost, idk. Hollyleaf is the closest female character. Ship it"

Do they have chemistry? No

but holly is a Girl and fallen is a Boy so that's good enough. Have him (ghost) nurse her back to health ig, people eat that trope up, no effort required.

It also frustrates me that this random ancient Softpaw's death made the entire Lake Society consider leaving their very bountiful home. "Oo it's been a hard year or something. Let's leave everything we've ever known."

Broken Shadow being dramatic about his death is also... fuck it I'm gonna be honest, it's annoying. I hate how women in this series are always more torn up than their husbands over dead kits, I hate how they needed to make Broken Shadow "insane with grief" and completely hysterical to drive home how sad this one, random, singular loss is

Honestly, I don't think there's a single part about Jay's Time Travel Adventure that I like. I'm seriously trying to think of one thing I enjoyed and I'm coming up with a blank. I like the vague idea of the cats leaving the lake I guess fgsdfgf

So, personally, I think there's 2 things you can really do here with Fallen. You replace/merge him with someone for a stable timeloop, or you replace/merge Rock with Jayfeather for a stable timeloop. Without that, being in the tunnels for so long doesn't matter.

Fallen could have been in there for 2 years or 200, nothing about him is legitimately old to contrast modern cats. He was waiting for someone who no one has any actual attachment to because her entire personality is being a crazy-with-grief mother.

Hell, you could replace Fallen with a weirdo who hates sunlight and it would fill the exact same role as Love Interest Who Doesn't Leave Tunnel.

He has the bland honor of not being as bad as Moth Flight but I'm sorry. I would squarely place Fallen Leaves in F tier. You can definitely make an argument that the idea of him is cool, but somehow that feels worse because he could have been GREAT and he wasn't.

SO INSTEAD I merged him with Holly! Because making this unnerving connection between Hollypaw and the tunnels, catching glimpses of a strange ghost, and interacting with her mother when she was young and wreckless is FUN imo and accomplishes a lot more about her whole arc coming to terms with the lie.

Naughty god goes into the timeout tunnel to be adequately wiggled, indeed

And YES she does eventually get a better handle on Clanmew again, it just takes a couple years. And 100% she teaches some kittens how to swear in ancient Lakemew.

#bone babble #I'm sorry everyone that today is just Bones Biting Jayfeather's Adventure sgfdgff

[sl4sh3rsub]

asa emory hcs (nsfw: mdni)

asa emory/ the collector x reader (AFAB, AMAB, FtM, MtF)

warning: all sorts of shit honestly. probably inaccurate bug references. dom/sub + master/pet dynamics, allusions to needles? (potential piercings + tattoos), p in v + allusions to anal (all unprotected - pls stay safe irl), oral sex, various sex toys (butt plugs, dildos, undescribed restraints, vibrator), blood kink (period, knife kink), mention of scarification, musk/scent kink, exhibitionism, slight somnophilia, edging, boot humping, cock worship (asa recieving), power imbalance, overstimulation, cum eating, using cum as lube, mentions of hrt in ftm/mtf section

a/n: first time posting writing. sorta edited. thx to all my friends who helped it come together. does not adhere to the collector movie canon exactly, does reference arkin and hotel argento. NOTE: feel free to read any sections, tried my best to not use gendered terms in agab sections but lmk how i can improve :3

order: general hcs first then amab + afab then ftm + mtf different sections = different content, tried not to repeat much

_ _ _ _ _

general hcs

asa emory loves your body no matter what. stretch marks, freckles, acne, scars and all. you are his precious specimen - his perfection - and anyone who disagrees will have hell to pay

no matter chest size, asa is gonna be head over heels if you have nipple piercings - extra sensitive nipples, shiny, metallic tasting? what's not to love. he may just be tempted to give you some himself, if you'll let him

asa definitely has a dick piercing, a beautiful prince albert to be exact. he loves having the cool metal heating up on your tongue whenever you're on your knees for him

if he lets you wear any underwear once you're his, they're definitely gonna have mysterious cum stains from him 'borrowing' them

asa is a whore for blood play! knives and blades that only just break the skin, not enough to cause serious harm or leave too many scars - as amazing as his plaything is, unfortunately you don't have that much space on your body to mark up permanently. he wants to keep you in the form he came upon originally :(

on that note, the one time he will dig a little deeper with the blade is to place his initials 'A. E.' on you

he definitely wants to scent mark you with pheromones and whatnot - just like his cecropia moths. however, due to human bodies being unable to do so, he may decide to cum on you over and over to drench you in his unique scent - or may just give you his worn, unwashed clothing (especially underwear) that smells like his sweat and heavy musk from throughout the day

in the true entomologist fashion, he adores laying you out and positioning you in very specific, precise ways - he simply wants to worship his precious pet in the best way he knows how. does not matter if you are fragile or not, he will show some rare gentleness and arrange you on the bed as if you are the most delicate being to grace this earth

when asa gives you head as a reward, he'll have to exercise extreme restraint as he tends to get a liiiiittle drunk off your taste, making his head game sloppy and his eyes roll back. he will definitely start humping the mattress and grunting, but don't let him know you notice <3

if he has previously kept you in the hotel or his basement with no escape, asa will eventually get upset that you have lost your glow that he originally admired. he'll drag you out into the outside world and seize the chance to ravish his darling in the sunlight!

asa emory, being a possessive dom, will probably fuck you in front of arkin while said man is trapped in the hotel. forcing the prisoner to watch while he pleasures you, just out of arkin's reach. asa probably has to hold himself back from cumming immediately when you whine and moan on his cock, taunting a heavily turned on and flustered arkin. emory is definitely an exhibitionist

as previously mentioned, asa has a big musk/scent kink. he would much rather lean back, watch you rub your face against his bulge and make out with his half-hard cock through his pants than to properly make out with you. what a romantic. his number one objective of every day is to have you press your cheek against his crotch and make eye contact with him at least once :3

if he ever takes off the mask around you, he would love it more than anything for you to muss up his hair a little and grip his hair at the scalp while humping into his mouth <3

if you let asa design a tattoo for you, he will die a happy man. preferably one on your lower back, with intricate details of insects that remind him of you - dragonfly, moth or butterfly wings, cicada or mantis legs and other various beauties of all types to decorate his perfection's body? god, he cannot wait to fuck you from behind..

asa fuckin adores digging his nails into your hips and it makes his cock throb whenever you bury your face into his neck and moan into his ear

once in a blue moon, emory allows you to tie his wrists together and ride him as hard as you want

asa is the definition of an experimentalist and is also not at all shy about fucking you in open places or in front of others in the hotel, but he definitely prefers a more private setting to properly treat his sweet, little plaything to an experience he curated specifically for you<3

he needs you to cockwarm him however possible after a long day - with your holes preferably (his pet's warmth is his idea of heaven), but if he was a little too rough the night before and it's too painful for you, asa is more than okay to use your wet mouth. shit, he'd even be happy to have you sit naked on his lap and hold you close while fucking your thighs

he'll probably palm himself to the sight of you while you're sleeping in his shirts <3 he'd kiss and nip his way down to your thighs, getting you all needy for him when you do finally wake up, content to listen to your little whimpers and moans in your sleep. however, he'd hate to properly initiate anything - asa wants you fully awake to experience everything he has to give you

_ _ _ _ _

amab hcs

oh lord, asa would be the biggest fan of edging you and teasing you with his mouth - nips at your balls and relentless swirls with his tongue around your cockhead

he impulsively swallows all your cum when giving you head, he can't just let the precious liquid go to waste :( you'd best pretend you don't see him licking his lips and fingers after giving you a handjob

his favourite punishment is to strap a vibrator to the tip of your dick. just watching you squirm and cry, leaking precum everywhere makes him so thankful that he kept you alive

asa prefers to keep your tight ass opened up for him at all hours of the day, so a shiny buttplug does the job. not to mention the amusement he gets from tapping it while you bend over and the heat that stirs in his gut from seeing you go braindead from the vibrations. he loves your eye colour but he much prefers the sight of it rolled back into your skull

he loves the delicious scent of you, so of course he is going to make you wear one of his (clean) shirts while he ruthlessly fucks you from behind. the scent seeping into the material is irreplaceable for him - your sweat, the salt of your tears and the musk of your arousal.. what he'd do to bathe in it permanently

emory will make you get on your knees, humping his grimy and bloody boot and worshipping his clothed cock with your mouth. the laces rub against your shaft so sweetly and his fingers digging into your scalp nearly makes you dirty his boot even further

he much prefers having you naked while he is at least somewhat clothed - the power imbalance makes his head spin and the sadistic thrill he gets from seeing truly how aroused you get while he humiliates you makes him chuckle. you can't hide anything from this man, he enjoys the shame that rips through you far too much

asa will guide you through giving him head and taking him down your throat - especially if you had not had much experience with another man. he's not small in any aspect and he'd hate to ruin you so easily, he still wants to hear all the pretty noises that spill from those lips :(

he is definitely the type to kiss and nip at your lips while he overstimulates you, stretching you to your limits but offering enough comfort to not destroy you - not yet at least. he'll only let up when you whine and beg exactly the way he demands, so be ready to have a hoarse throat tomorrow (not that it's an unusual occurrence)

asa adores fucking you in missionary - he loves when you cum all over both your chests, not to mention the giddy feeling he gets when he pulls out and finishes all over your tummy, mixing your spend together. what can i say, he's a romantic

he's constantly tormented about how to go about prepping your hole - should he work you open with his fingers and tongue after not being filled for a while or should he just keep a plug in you all hours of the day, just for availability and easy access <3

_ _ _ _ _

afab hcs

asa emory is definitely a clit slapper, ten thousand percent. not just for your pleasure - no, he's not that selfless - it's also for the soft sound of your sloppy pussy drenching his firm hand

he would only give you a smaller sized dildo - he wants to keep you wet for easy access and also because nothing and no one except him can have the privilege of filling you up the way he does. a smaller toy would be able to temporarily satiate your need for his dick but it doesn't come near the actual thing, as he still gets the thrill of properly stretching you out

on that note: if you are more into size than most, he doesn't allow to access to any bigger dildos whenever you're alone - asa will let you fuck extremely large dildos but only in front of him. he'll make you cockwarm him to prep your little hole (he has to get something out of it, why not cum in you too? some extra lube would never hurt..)

asa gets pussy drunk so easily :( if asa wants to eat you out, he'll do it. no matter the time of day, he's gonna lap at your cunt until he's had his fill and no one can come between him and his ambrosia

he would carve 'property of asa emory' into the skin directly over your womb. he already marks you from the inside every night, but he'll never allow anyone to have the pleasure of experiencing that firsthand. no, he needed a more visual mark for all to see

when he wants to tease you, asa will make you all wet and sticky just to use your pretty pussy to get off. he's not nice enough to fuck you every time you need, but he'd be more than happy to slide his cock against your wetness. he needs to keep you nice and slicked up though, so of course he'll bump your clit with his tip!

he fuckin loves it when you're on your period. extra slick, blood and sensitivity? is this heaven?? his hands are big and warm enough usually, but when he holds you tight against him with his hot palms against your tummy, the noises that leave your lips make him throb deep inside you. he'll even doodle little bugs on your skin with his finger in the drying crimson

as mentioned earlier, asa is the only person who is able to fill you up. he will do everything in power to bump your cervix with every single thrust, whether it be with his fingers or his thick cock. he's determined to make you breathless, and he is a menace about it, too

_ _ _ _ _

ftm hcs

asa will find a way to procure a breast pump for your thick little cock! he wants it to be just the right size to roll around his tongue and he needs to suckle in such a precise way - he's got it down to an art, truly

he loves to sit you between his legs and jerk you off while his attention is on a new insect study on his desktop. the wetness and quiet breaths coming from his pet in between his thighs.. it makes his dick hard so quickly when you're a good, needy boy for him

if you're taking testosterone, he would help you take it on your schedule. of course, he'd use the needle even if you're afraid - he's right there, so there's nothing to be scared of <3

he loves to document the transition of his handsomest plaything! he'll take intimate polaroids of your cock and hair growth and you can bet he's gonna frame and arrange them in displays in your own little gallery

although he is as sadistic as normal, he also loves flicking your dick lightly and slowly fingering your boycunt until you're tearing up from the gentle stimulation

if asa catches you touching yourself without permission, he's gonna be mean about it! you wanna touch him? hm? after all you've done? too bad, he's gonna make you watch while he strokes his leaking cock in front of your face - just enough to let you smell the pre smeared all over his hand but not close enough to touch. he'll make you kneel there in front of him as he cums loudly. if he's feeling generous, he'll let you desperately lick up the mess he made all over his fingers and tummy

_ _ _ _ _

mtf hcs

if you prefer to wear makeup, asa will keep you in an area where you have access to a mirror and necessary supplies - similar to the room in the collection. he can't have his pretty pet feeling down, what kind of master would that make him?

he has a secret fantasy of bottoming for you - asa has never had the chance to take a girlcock and it's about time he tries something new..

he adores how you sound and feel whenever he's edging you into oblivion, especially when your moans get higher in pitch

asa adores using cum to lube up his prettiest pet's hole! doesn't matter if it's his or yours honestly, he finds it both hot and functional

he loves to take hairs from your pillowcase and display them proudly in chronological order to show how much it's grown (he's a little freak let it slide)

asa definitely has a pink, heart-shaped glass buttplug for his little plaything - a present for his beloved girl, his beautiful specimen

if you're taking estrogen, asa would help you take it on your schedule. of course, he'd use the needle even if you're afraid - he's right there, so there's nothing to be scared of <3

his favourite past time is recording your beautiful moans and whimpers for him to replay whenever he needs to get off quickly. it takes all of his restraint to not grunt loudly or let the sound of his hips smacking your ass get too loud - he doesn't want to ruin your perfection in its most natural state

asa adores cumming all over your body and decorating you with a part of him. seeing your hair mussed and a glistening sweat sheen all over his body.. he truly believes that this is your intended form

_ _ _ _ _

thanks for reading. lmk if you liked it. if i got anything wrong, don't hesitate to tell me.

stay safe.

#asa emory #asa x reader #asa emory x reader #the collector #the collector x reader #the collection #the collector movie #the collector 2009 #slashers #slasher fucker #slasher fanfiction #slasher x reader #slasher x you #emory x reader #slasher fandom #slasher headcanons #asa emory headcanons #the collector headcanons #slasher smut #slasher imagines #asa emory smut #the collector smut #x reader #x female reader #male reader #fem reader #ftm reader #mtf reader #x male reader #masc reader

[ruthlesslistener]

For the chose violence ask games 1 for Elden Ring, 3 for Hollow Knight and 7 for Bloodborne.

the character everyone gets wrong

-You probably already saw this coming, but Mohg. I understand why people's kneejerk reaction is disgust with him, but people also seem to forget that he is quite literally clinically insane and was also dumped in a sewer as a child to die, with the only 'person' to give any sort of affection to him being the eldritch horror that is the Formless Mother. One of Okina's item descriptions talks about how he stabbed Mohg and Mohg was like 'excellent! we're friends now :)' which gives a lot of insight into just how screwed up his worldview is. That's not to say he's entirely without blame, dude is literally The Devil, but I feel like most people also don't realize that Mohg just straight-up is not right in the head and thus isn't acting out of malice

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

-I don't have a screenshot of the argument nor do I want to dig it up bc I've blocked the person and I'm one of those petty assholes who retains grudges, but sunlight-moth's argument that the White Lady was an abuse victim who did nothing wrong and that PK was her abuser and a colonizer and that this was canon because he's literally white (ignoring the fact that WL's moniker is much more memed on for obvious reasons) rotted my fucking brain. I wasn't the only one either because many others vagueposted about it in the tags, but I think I was the only one who argued directly with them and the entire thread was a fucking disaster

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

-Alfred!! I admittedly don't hang out with the bloodborne fandom that much bc my fixation on that game isn't fully fandom-y, but WHY the FUCK is he so popular?? I get that he's one of the few people who's nice to your character in the entire game, but underneath it all he's actually a fucked-up zealot whose only motivation is religious genocide, and in my brushes with the fandom there seemed to be a lot of people who ignored that aspect of him. He's not a teddy bear my guy, he's a crusader! And that's not a good thing!!

choose violence ask game

#mrslittletall #reply #ask game #ask meme #maybe i just dont understand the alfred vision bc religious zealots are a thing that scare me deeply but #ive seen a lot of puppy dog versions of him and thats. not it #he fucking slaps as a character when done like he is in canon though i gotta admit

[nix-writes-mcyt]

hello it is the local mumbo simp

I've been seeing a hc where Mumbo in s9 is canonically hibernating in a copper cocoon (thanks grian) and will come back as a butterfly or moth! So could you write something where he comes back/wakes up and the reader sees him for the first time and is just a completely flustered mess while Mumbo is confused and a bit worried they don't like his new look? They're already in a relationship and the reader has they/them pronouns?

Soft Mumbo fluff my beloved 💕💕💕

I was not sure about this at first but I gave it my best shot I hope you enjoy it!

Copper Coloured Wings

Drabble Contains: Butterfly/Moth Hybrid!Mumbo, Fluff, Self Conscious Mumbo --------------------------------------------

Putting down the last shulker of materials has you relieved. Moving to the new location, the location of yours and Mumbo's megabase, was quite the task.

This year it had been even more of a task, as Mumbo had entered his winter hybernation late. Which meant you had to move all the resources yourself.

"I'm taking a week off once he comes out of that cocoon." You grumble, entering the nether yet again to go back to the vault.

The trip through the nether is long, you run into Impulse on the way back, who is replacing his emerald bridge yet again.

"How's the building going over at the new spot?" He asks, careful not to fall off of the bridge. "Oh you know, haven't even started." Impulse chuckles at your words.

"I imagine it was quite the task moving two sets of resources over there. I'm not looking forward to moving my one set." His smile is warm, comparable to the nether surrounding you. You've missed having him around like last season when he was just next door.

"Yeah, it wasn't fun. My advice is go when it's overcast, the sun out there is hot." Impulse nods. "I'll keep it in mind, anyway, I better get this finished off." He gestures to the bridge which was previously made entirely of emerald blocks. "Between you and me, if I catch the culprit I won't be held responsible for any tnt minecarts found in people's bases."

The two of you laugh and say your goodbyes, you leaving the nether.

The light of the overworld is, like always, just a little too bright after stepping out of the nether. Even under the shade of Scar's tree.

Everything is slightly over-exposed, the grass is bright, the vault is bright, the shiny orange and green blob that's moving is bright, even the door of the vault is bright.

Wait. Orange and green blob?

You blink a few times, eyesight returning to normal. And what you see is.. interesting. You can't really say you're sure how to react.

Mumbo is walking around in the sunlight, black suit quite the contrast to his vibrant wings. They still look a little wet, he mustn't have been out for very long.

His wings, much like his cocoon, are copper coloured. But where his cocoon started that beautiful copper orange and turned the vibrant oxidised green his wings are a number of colours.

For the most part they're orange and green, with some places where the shades are transitional. Some of these are highlighted with white specks. On each wing there is one large black spot with a small red area on the inside. Eyes, the defense mechanism.

Most would likely find them an unsettling sight, after all they are a defense mechanism to keep predators away. You on the other hand are enamoured by their beauty.

Mumbo turns slowly, catching sight of you standing there staring. "Y/n I, my wings, I didn't know." He stumbles over his words, doing his best to hide them from your view.

"What are you on about Mumbo, my love?" You say, walking over now.  "I saw them in the Hermitissippi, they just, I don't know." He frowns, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt sleeves.

"Show me properly?" You ask, Mumbo looks unsure, but turns around anyway. Slowly he stretches out his wings. At full extension they're even more gorgeous than you saw before.

The colours marry each other perfectly, blending from the rich orange to the vibrant green. The eyes are a perfect contrast to the rest of the colours, the deep back and rich red reminding you of the formal wear he so often dons.

Mumbo is quick to hide his wings from you again, turning back around with a sad look on his face. "I understand if you don't like them or want to see them or me ever again." He mumbles.

"What?" Mumbo looks confused at your question. "What do you mean what?"

"I mean whatever gave you those thoughts?" Mumbo shrugs. "That's what I thought."  You fold your arms over one another, walking until you're so close your arms are against him. You slightly move your hand to poke him in the chest.

"Your wings are beautiful, more beautiful than I ever imagined they would be. I can't wait to see them every day of our lives, I can't wait to see you every day either." You smile, noticing the pink flush that appears on Mumbo's face.

"So you don't hate them?" He asks, tone lighter than before. "No, I don't hate them." Mumbo smiles, pulling you in for a hug. "That's good then." He says with a small laugh, holding you tight with the reassurance that you still want him, even with his wings.

#mumbo x reader #mumbo jumbo x reader #hermitcraft x reader #mumbo jumbo #request #moth hybrid!mumbo #butterfly hybrid!mumbo #mumbo #fluff #wings #moth #butterfly #hermitcraft #bug #mcyt x reader #hybrid

[sleepyowlwrites]

FTWT CCCLXIX

breezy said to do the tag so I am. @zmwrites @blind-the-winds

smooth (dragon, snake, worm, 2012)

Smooth over rough A silent shadow weaves through the rocky maze of dead leaves and dust Light glints off black scales Tongue. Complete silence Shadow shifts as body rears Swifter than sight, strike! Black scales slither onward Treasure is clutched in greedy fangs Snake returning home

grim (youth story d0 - this is hella non-canon)

Nyks was stuck to the ceiling with a face of grim determination.

Daniel gazed up at him adoringly, which was honestly how he always looked at Nyks, even when the latter was leeching off his body heat and had an arm down one of his coat sleeves. “Are you afraid to get down?”

“It’s not that.” Nyks bit his lip, his skin blinking red for a second, and see-through, so that it looked like a Nyks-shaped part of the ceiling was red.

Mark had given up on craning his neck backward and was just crouching beside Daniel’s ankles, drawing in the dust of the stockroom floor. “How did he even get up there?” His voice was louder in the empty space.

“I climbed up the wall, obviously.” Nyks’ voice sounded a little closer to an echo this time. His hands appeared to be part of ceiling rather than resting on them.

“Honey, if you’re not stuck, what are you doing?” Daniel was very patient and he absolutely would wait until Nyks felt like giving a proper explanation, but there was no guarantee that Mark wouldn’t just abandon both of them the minute he knew he wasn’t needed.

scowl (youth story d0)

“You won’t pet my head?” Nyks pouted, which frankly was unfair.

“I’ll pet your head,” R mumbled, shaking his own tiredly. “You’re the worst.”

“No, that’s me.”

Daniel didn’t even correct Mark this time, too elated that he was joking with his friends, especially Nyks. Mark noticed and immediately scowled.

warm (you, of dusk, and I, of dust, 2020)

so it happened, and yet, I think the air is warm where my face can’t feel it. perhaps I’m smiling. or I might be on the table with my limbs all askew. I’d like to ask you. but a dead cricket cannot tell me if in this old air I am no longer breathing.

eager (youth story d0)

Savannah huffed and turned to the side, fiddling with her backpack. “I am not mooning over anyone. I am a concerned friend.”

“You’re certainly a nosy friend,” R said mildly, too eager to continue this track of conversation even though he definitely knew he would only lead to an angry Savannah. “Since you can just read his feelings, why don’t you do that?”

“Clearly, that would be impolite.” She blew her pink bangs out of her face.

ennui why

exotic

eternally i mean i only have two scriv docs open but oh well

electric (lights, 2013) also I started singing the schoolhouse rock song for electricity

First, fingertips. His were callused, and I knew every print and groove while I traced my own down to rest gently between his. Palms met.

And then, light. Not like sunlight. Not like starlight. Not false light from electricity. Pure, untainted light, pouring out from my soul, racing down my arm and overflowing onto our clasped hands. His eyes left mine to gaze on this marvel - our hands glowing with warm, colorful light, pulsing softly with our matching heartbeats. I watched his mouth smile, and the light reflect in his eyes, and his hand hold mine.

And release it. Slowly, hesitantly, he pulled his hand away, fingers untangling from my own. My heart beat slowed; his sped up. We were not one anymore. The light flickered, failed and faded, receding back into my soul. I dared to lift my eyes to his face which focused in his knees. Then he was rising, gangly legs trembling ever so slightly as he stood. He licked his lips - no words. I opened my mouth - no words. He turned away.

bent, brave, bored, back. BONUS: body, bludgeon. @writing-moth @the-orangeauthor @oh-no-another-idea @faelanvance @dogmomwrites OR ANYBODY

#find the word tag

[kit-o-nine-tales]

Sunlight

Read on AO3

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Meg/Castiel

Rated M for canonical character death

Summary: They say that demons don't dream. Meg knows that's a lie. They say that demons can't change. Unfortunately for her, that turns out to be a lie too.

Aka: The demon known as Meg thinks about Castiel a lot over the years... and ultimately flies too close to the sun. A songfic using "Sunlight" by Hozier.

I would shun the light, share in evening's cool and quiet Who would trade that hum of night? For sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

She is a demon. She’s been a demon for longer than she can remember. She’s known all the different domains of hell intimately, been on both sides of the knife so many times that she imagines that nothing of who she’d been before remains. And she’s happy like this. She has a mission; something she believes in. Their father will walk the earth again, will rip the wings from all the angels and remake the earth so that his children can walk it without suffering under the cursed, purifying light of life and the sun. Angels and hunters would believe that demons can’t dream, but they do. And the one who calls herself “Meg” dreams of the day when she can leave hell behind forever, and stride across the earth in her true form without having to fear the light.

But whose heart would not take flight? Betray the moon as acolyte On first and fierce affirming sight Of sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

And then the Winchesters and their pet angel ruin everything, sealing her father back inside his cage, putting Armageddon on hold, maybe forever. Father’s trapped with one of his brothers, the one he’d meant to kill. Sometimes she sits outside of the cage, her head propped up in her hands as she listens to the sounds of them fighting. He’d been angry with her, before they put him there. She’d gone against the plan, wanting revenge on Sam and Dean. She failed, over and over. And she wonders if maybe this might be for the better. As much as she might wish otherwise, something changed within her during her encounter with Castiel, no matter how much she’d tried not to believe him, even if he did cast her into the flames and walk on her right afterwards.

She’s a demon, for fucks sake. What’s a little holy fire compared to countless centuries spent on the rack, having your own entrails fed to you, millimeter by millimeter?

Nothing, that’s what.

She sits outside her father’s cage, her chin in her hands, and she dreams. Meg, Queen of Hell has a nice ring to it —  if she can manage to get Crowley out of the way. And she knows just the people she can use to help her do that.

I had been lost to you, sunlight And flew like a moth to you, sunlight, oh, sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight

When she next sees Castiel, she has her own goals now. Granted, they're fairly simple: kill Crowley and take over hell. She wants the Winchesters to owe her, she wants the Winchesters to help her. She wants — she wants to live. And she’s drawn to Castiel. She's not ashamed to admit it, because again, demon. What could be more demonic than potentially corrupting an angel, drawing it into the sin of lust?

She’s no stranger to using her attractiveness as a weapon, or corrupting the innocent (though the so-called "innocence" of angels is a crock; as far as she knows, a lot of them have just as much blood on their hands as the average demon, if not more, even if they do claim it's for righteous reasons.) But when she kisses Castiel to steal his angel blade, it proves itself more than just that. She actually enjoys it. And so, it seems, does he, if the way he presses her up against the wall and kisses her back is any indication. It’s at that moment Meg knows she’s completely fucked. The plan’s gone to shit, and she’s actually risking herself just to give the Winchesters and the angel a chance of winning. Clarence and the Winchesters leave her to the hounds and she chuckles at herself. That angel is a bad influence, and she’s hardly even spent any time around him. But he has her feeling. Wanting. Dreaming.

They say that demons don’t dream; but they only say that because demons shouldn’t dream. They’ll only start to get ideas. And that never ends well.

All the tales the same Told before and told again A soul that's born in cold and rain Knows sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

The Winchesters don’t trust her. Smart of them, really. She is what she is, they are what they are — tales as old as time and all that. But they have little other choice, with Clarence’s noggin scrambled by Sam’s hell memories. Part of her finds it funny; the angel can’t withstand even a small taste of what would just be another Tuesday to her — but at the same time, she knows what it is to suffer under the artistic hands of her father, and it is not something anyone can just shrug off. She honestly kind of respects Sam for managing to hold himself together as long as he did.

This altered Castiel is strange, which means something, coming from a demon. He’s got no filter, and has this… unsettling innocence. He looks at her and he sees her. The real her.

And he looks at all that pain, all the scars and artful carving that twisted up her soul, making it sharp, dark, and bloody — and he calls it beautiful. Looking back at him in these moments is like staring into the sun. Antithetical to the core of what she is, painful and altering, and yet... she can't tear herself away. Like something out of a dream... or a nightmare. She brushes it off with a dirty joke, but once again she finds herself being changed against her will by forces outside her control —  only this time, part of her... allows it. Part of her dreams of where this new path will lead.

And at last can grant a name To a buried and a burning flame As love and its decisive pain Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

He calls her his caretaker — and as much as she wants to reject it, the name has power over her. She kills for him, and she knows it’s not just out of pragmatism. Like this, he lacks the fire that drew her to him originally, but still she finds she can’t ignore him. Just as she can't ignore the twinges of pain as parts of her reshape themselves under the influence of their strange connection. It's nothing compared to being strung up and remade on the racks, of course. More like a sunburn, maybe.

She surprises herself with how well she’s come to know the habits of this altered Castiel. He comes when she calls, and she can’t deny that she gets a thrill out of holding that over the Winchesters’ heads. Whatever changes Castiel might be triggering in her, she is still a demon, after all.

She dreams, all the same. She’s always been quite the dreamer, for a demon. Azazel and Lucifer had said it was what made her special. Demons aren't supposed to dream, but they do. Still, her dreams have always been different than those of her of kind. And now she dreams of a recovered Castiel, of power and dominion and safety and a powerful angel at her side, sexy and dangerous and likely to be the death of her. She's a loyal creature, for better or worse. She is what she is, and he is what he is, even if it doesn't seem like it right now.  So after she saves him from Hester, she runs. She can only really rely on herself, despite everything. Still, she dreams, and avoids staring into the sun.

All that was shown to me, sunlight Was somethin' foreknown to me, sunlight, oh sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight

Of course, it can't be that easy. She makes it half-way across the world, where the local supernatural denizens have no connection to Crowley (demons from other cultures and religions have fairly different power structures) and Castiel, he of the pleading eyes and deep, disjointed thoughts pops up in front of her, scaring away the Kitsune she'd been bargaining with for some fresh virgin's blood to power her cloaking sigil.

"You know, lamb's blood would work just as well," Castiel says conversationally, "though I'd prefer it if you didn't kill the lamb. I could keep it calm, make sure it doesn't feel the pain or get scared."

"Why are you here, Clarence?" Meg asks tiredly. So much for avoiding the sunlight.

"It's gone quiet," Castiel says sadly. "But my fighting days are over."

"So you need a big bad demon to do the fighting for you, huh?" She pulls out her angel blade.

She'll do it, of course. She is what she is; loyal, for better or worse. She can't say who is using who here, anymore. But she supposes it doesn't really make a difference.

"I don't like conflict," Castiel says once again.

"I know, Clarence," she says, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

He places one of his own hands on her shoulder, and suddenly she's standing outside that extremely cliche hunter's cabin again. The only thing it's missing is a plaid flannel of its own.

Meg sighs, and goes to knock on the door, while Castiel zaps himself into the Winchesters's car, hiding. She rolls her eyes. The things she does for her cloud hopper.

Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight, sunlight

The Winchesters ask their questions, she redirects them to Clarence (she is still a demon, after all —  she's not going to fight all his battles for him. Especially not his ex-boyfriend drama.) Still, she keeps an ear out, telling herself she's not going soft. Though she can't lie to herself as well as she'd like.

Then it turns out Rocky and Bullwinkle were stupid enough to try and summon Crowley. She tries to run, calling for Cas, but it's too late. The Rat King of Hell arrives, and she can taste how badly he wants to kill her.

Her little problem only gets worse when Clarence steps in to protect her from Crowley. For all that he hates conflict, he's willing to step up for her. It... touches something in her. She can't remember anyone ever doing that for her, not since she became what she is.

And it's enough to scare away Crowley, at least for now. The Winchesters need Castiel, and Crowley wants the Winchesters to deal with Dick Roman for him... and as Crowley says, Castiel would be upset if something were to happen for her. When the King of Hell can see that there’s something there, she knows it must be real. Crowley can smell manipulable connections like a shark can scent a drop of blood in the water. For now, Castiel’s attachment to her keeps her safe. But there’s no guarantee it will stay that way.

There's proof enough of that in her dreams; more often then not, when her mind drifts, things take a darker turn. She sees herself, burning up in the light of Castiel. She sees herself dying for him, sometimes at the hands of other angels, sometimes demons — prophecy was never her gift, but she can feel which way the wind's blowing. Whatever this thing between them is, it will be the death of her. She knows it in her gut.

Oh, and these colors fade for you only Hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight Oh, all these colors fade for you only Hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight

It's only more true when she agrees to help the Winchesters in their shitty plan to take down Dick Roman. If the demon she was seven years ago could see her now, it would stab her with her own angel blade. Meg, child of Azazel, student of Alistair, devotee to Lucifer —  once again willingly serving as a distraction on the Winchesters' behalf.

This is all Castiel's fault. Being around him... she can feel the sharpness of her fading, her thorns rounding out, slowly.

It's made her stupid — but then, maybe she's always been like this. Loyalty is loyalty. A cause is a cause. She'd started down this path planning to use Clarence and the Winchesters to her own ends, but now she's driving Dean's stupid, over-compensating muscle car towards a building filled with the kind of creatures that  angels and the first demons had nightmares about. Armed with just a knife and a jug of Power Clean.

She and Castiel exchanged glances right before they went their separate ways. He seemed... sharper. Like he got a little bit of himself back. They said a lot without saying anything. It gave her something to dream of.

And she's going to need that, she thinks, as Crowley's goons take advantage of the damage the leviathans did to her to throw her up against a wall and capture her.

Each day, you'd rise with me Know that I would gladly be The Icarus to your certainty Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

Months pass. Meg endures. Meg dreams. Compared to Azazel, to Alistair, to Lucifer, Crowley and his goons' attempts at torture are nothing; drops of spit in the ocean. She lies, she acts, she lets them think they're getting information out of her, all the while she keeps them from finding what they're actually looking for.

She thinks about Castiel, lets herself dream through the torture. Sometimes she thinks of calling for him. He'd come, if she called. She still believes that.

She doesn't call.

Crowley comes to gloat a few times, tells her that her little angel is dead, along with Dean Winchester. She doesn't want to believe that. She doesn't want to prove him right. So she doesn't call. If she were to call, and he never showed, then it would mean that Crowley's right.

Even though part of her thinks that if he were alive, he would have come for her by now. Unless he doesn't know she's been taken. Maybe he's lying low, making plans, searching... if she called, it would put him at risk.

So she doesn't call. There's not much she can do to protect her cloud hopper where she is right now, but that much, she can manage.

She scoffs at herself —  when did she become such a damn softie? Nothing good ever comes from staring at the sun. Nothing good ever comes from dreaming. Not for a demon.

But she stared anyway. She dreamed anyway. And she just keeps dreaming.

Strap the wing to me Death trap clad happily With wax melted, I'd meet the sea Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

She knows the end is coming, one way or another, when Crowley starts complaining that some one is killing his minions. Maybe it's Sam, out for revenge. Maybe it's both of the Winchesters; Dean turning back up like the bad penny that he is. Or maybe it's her Clarence, finally coming to find her.

Yeah right.

Even when Dean, Sam, and Clarence do show up, she knows it's not for her. It's for the Angel Tablet, same as Crowley. Still, she's glad to see Castiel again. He seems different. More focused. Better, but still, not quite the Angel she remembers. She can tell Dean notices too. But she doesn't say anything. She knows what she is. Hell, if she said something, Dean probably wouldn't believe her. Better to just get out of here, save her own skin.

But then Castiel turns to her. "We need your help."

How can she say no? "Any of you dummies got a map?" She chuckles.

This will be the death of her. She knows it. But she just can't seem to stop looking at the sun. Reaching for it, dreaming of it. She lets them take her to their temporary base, wincing in the light of day.

Sam and Dean leave her and Clarence alone, and he looks at her like... like she matters. Like he cares. He takes care of her, cleaning her wounds even though eventually they'll close up on their own.

"These wounds have festered," he says worriedly.

"You really do know how to make a girl's nethers quiver, don't you?" She smiles at him and takes a swig of her booze. Trashy stuff, exactly what she'd expect from the Winchesters. Not that she really cares. She just likes to rag on them. Since, well... she's a demon. Funny how she has to keep reminding herself that, these days. Doesn't help that him taking care of her is actually really hot. Never thought she was one to get off on the touchy-feely crap. But here she is.

"I am aware of how to do that. Although it doesn't usually involve cleaning wounds," Castiel replies, far too seriously.

She raises an eyebrow. Damn Crowley for the shitty bleach-job. She's much better looking as a brunnette. Funny, how body just feels like hers now. The girl from Cheboygan's long gone. She almost feels... bad about that. Ew.

"Why are you so sweet on me, Clarence?" She asks. Even now, even when he clearly doesn't need her anymore, there's still something there.

"I don't know. And I still don't know who Clarence is."

She laughs. "Would it kill you to watch a movie, read a book?"

"A movie, no. But a book with the proper spells -- yeah, it could, theoretically, kill me."

He would give her a real answer for that. Funny though, she feels the need to tell him that he shouldn't be sharing that kind of information with a demon. She doesn't mention it. Instead, she keeps flirting, curious to see where it might lead. "You know, you're much cuter when you're shutting up. So, which Cas are you now? Original make and model or crazy town?"

"I'm just me."

A lie, but one she'll pretend she believes for now. Not like she knows anything about deprograming angels. Aside from maybe doing it the old fashioned way, original sin and all that. "So, your noodle's back in order?"

"Yeah, my... noodle remembers everything. I think it's a pretty good noodle."

Even though he's better, he's still... cute. She shouldn't even be capable of finding things cute. What is he doing to her? "Really? You remember everything?" But like Icarus, she just keeps reaching for the sun.

"If you're referring to the pizza man... Yes, I remember the pizza man. And it's a good memory."

They let that sit for a moment, staring at each other. She winces a little. "What are you doing to me, Clarence?" She finally asks.

He cocks his head to the side. "I believe it's called flirting."

"Not that," she sighs. "Look at my true form."

He blinks at her. "I don't think that was my doing."

She rolls her eyes. "Who else could it have been, Clarence?"

"You," he replies.

She sighs, raising the bottle to her lips again. "You ever miss the Apocalypse?"

"No. Why would I miss the end of times?"

He just doesn't get it. It makes sense, she guesses. Not like the sun cared that it melted Icarus's wings.

"I miss the simplicity. I was bad. You were good. Life was easier. Now it's all so messy. I'm kind of good, which sucks." An understatement. "And you're kind of bad -- which is actually all manner of hot. We survive this... I'm gonna order some pizza and we're gonna move some furniture around. You understand?" She might as well keep dreaming, though. She's come this far.

"No, I-I  — " He seems confused.

Meg gives him a sly smirk and waits, watching as understanding dawns on his stupidly kissable face.

"Wait —  actually... Yes, I — "

But before he can finish that thought, the cock-blocking Winchesters make their return. And joy of joys, they have another one of their shitty plans.

The dream was nice, while it lasted.

Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight

They stand outside a warehouse after dark. She could run. She could tell them she's done, that she's given them what they want. Save herself before she gets too close to the sun.

But she won't. The light is inside her now. There's no running from that.

When Sam suggests that she watch their backs, she's ready to do it. They don't trust her, even after everything. Not that she blames them. Light or no, she is what she is. That's why it burns so much.

But Castiel trusts her. Castiel cares. "....You should stay here and protect Meg."

"Since when do I need protecting?" She wants, suddenly, to hear him say it. That she's worth protecting.

"Since you were held captive and tortured for over a year."

Not quite what she was hoping for, but she'll take it. "Touché."

For all that the Winchesters talk about not trusting her, Dean does still leave her with Sam, which says more than words ever could. Even with the torture, she's pretty sure she could take Sam out it she wanted to, given the state he's in.

They're lucky that she doesn't want to. She's... fond of Sam, weirdly enough.

Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight But it is sunlight

Not that he appreciates that.

"Wait -- so I took how many bullets for you guys, and you didn't even look for me?" She asks as they work together to ward the building. "Like, once?" She scoffs. Stupid of her to hope otherwise, really. Going soft sucks. "My hero. What's with all the "trial" and "being damaged" crap?" Even so, she's still concerned. Stupid sunlight, burning inside her, smoothing down her thorns.

"Look, no disrespect, but you haven't exactly been the most, uh, trustworthy person in our lives, Meg."

She can't deny that one, but still. "You're not gonna tell me? Seriously? How am I not team Sam?" She scoffs again. He doesn't get it. Or he doesn't want to. Fair enough.  "Fine. Whatever it is, you okay dying over it?"

He ignores her. Which, fair; but if she's going to die for these bozos — and she is, she can feel it, like a sudden free-fall in her belly — she's going to say her piece first. He's fighting for a cause —  she wants him to decide if he's really willing to commit to it.

"You don't want to say, fine. But remember, I spent time in that walking corpse of yours. I know your sad, little thoughts and feelings."

"That's creepy," he replies dryly.

It is. "You think I want to have little lingering bits of Winchester-thoughts bouncing around in my noggin? Honestly —  You should be paying for me to see a shrink." She shakes her head. Stay on topic. "Here's what I remember. Deep down, in parts you never let see the light of day, you want to live a long, normal life away from creepy old things like me."

Of course, that's an easy one. She doesn't even need the Winchester leftovers to know that.

"I do," Sam scoffs. Then he sighs. "You know, I spent last year with... someone, and, um... ...now I know that's actually possible." He looks like he doesn't even know why he's telling her this.

Frankly, she doesn't either. She's said what she wanted to, so maybe she should quiet while she's ahead. "Wait —  that's how you spent your last year? With a chick? Lame."

"You know, how about we just wait quietly?" He shakes his empty spray can.

She almost laughs. That's the Sammy she remembers having so much fun with. He's always at his best when he's being a little on the bitchy side. Whoever said blondes have more fun got it wrong; bitches have more fun.

"What was her name? You don't even trust me with a name? Cut me, do I not bleed, Sam?"

Surprisingly, she genuinely wants to know. Did this woman change him, like Clarence has changed her? Did he fly too close to the sun too? Or did he shed his wings and save himself?

"So, some chick actually got you off hunting, huh? That's one rare creature. Tell me —  how'd you meet this unicorn?"

Demons aren't supposed to dream, and neither, she thinks, are hunters. It never ends well.

Oh, your love is sunlight Oh, your love is sunlight

Even more surprisingly, Sam tells her. Maybe part of him senses the light in her, burning away at what she ought to be. Or maybe he just wants to tell someone, and figures nobody cares what Meg has to say. Maybe he senses the end coming for her too —  prophecy was his thing, even if he doesn't do it anymore, now that Azazel's blood's gone dormant with the demon's death.

"You fell in love with a unicorn. It was beautiful, then sad, then sadder. I laughed, I cried, I puked in my mouth a little. And honestly, I kind of get it."

Her dreams never have a happy ending. Castiel is the sun, and it's going to destroy her in the end. It might be warm, it might make her feel nice in all the right places and the wrong ones, but that doesn't change what it is. What she is.

"Really?" Sam sounds like he might actually be willing to believe her. Like he might want to hear her story too.

But they're out of time. "We've got company."

Crowley's goons come out in force. And she's sure that the King of Hell himself won't be far behind.

But it is sunlight

And of course, she's right. Maybe she's got more prophecy in her than she thought. Bitching isn't as fun when Crowley does it. And she can tell that Sam doesn't have much more fight in him. She's gotta get him out of here. She sighs internally. Sunlight might be the biggest bitch of them all. Sure stings like one.

"You gonna talk us to death or get down to it already?" She taunts, drawing Crowley's attention away from Sam. She knows how this ends. But Sam doesn't have to die here too.

Crowley pulls out an angel blade, and Meg feels like she's seen this moment a thousand times since she let the sunlight in. Yeah, she knows how this ends. She's fucked. Damn that angel. Damn her. Damn everything.

Meg steps up to the plate, looking back over her shoulder at Sam. "Go. Save your brother... and my unicorn."

"Did Timon and Pumbaa..."  Crowley asks tauntingly. The door to the warehouse closes behind Sam. "...tell you their big plan? Did they share that little chestnut with you? They mean to close the Gates of Hell, sweetheart. They mean to kill me and all the demons -- you included."

She figured as much. One way another, her dreams were doomed from the start. It doesn't change a thing.

"You had me at "kill you," Crowley," she drawls with a smile.

He raises his fists. She braces for impact.

Oh, your love is sunlight

She does her best not to laugh at him as he lands another brutal hit on one of her kidneys.

"I could beat on you for eternity." He says. Dumbass.

Oh, your love is sunlight

"Take all the time you want, you pig." They hear the sound of car doors closing, and they both look up.

Meg finally lets herself laugh. "No Cas in the back seat. Your stone is long gone." She knows how this will end, but she's going to go down fighting. She stabs him in the shoulder.

But it is sunlight

Crowley gasps angrily, pulls out the blade, and drives it into her. Lightning sparks. Time slows.

Sunlight, sunlight,

She’s always wondered where demons go when they die. She knows it’s not purgatory, and even though it would make sense for them to just wind up back in hell, she knows that’s not how it works either. Maybe there’s just… nothing.

sunlight,

Can dead demons dream? She doesn’t know, but dying ones can — because even in the milliseconds she’s has left after Crowley stabs her, she’s still dreaming. She dreams of Castiel, finding her body and grieving. She dreams of Cas, showing up in the nick of time and healing her, rounding away even more of her thorns. It would hurt, but she’d live.

But she knows her dreams won’t come true. She’s a demon, and demons aren’t meant to dream.

sunlight,

Maybe dead demons don’t go anywhere. Maybe it’s just dark, quiet nothingness.

Once upon a time, she might have welcomed that. But not anymore.

Now… her last thought as the blade in her chest sparks its last, tearing all that she is to shreds, is that she’s going to miss the light of her unicorn.

sunlight

#fanfic #supernatural #megstiel #Sunlight #songfic #canonical character death #Hozier song fic #i just think Meg 2.0 is hot okay #the music made me do it #is it cliche? yes #was it fun to write? also yes #and isn't that what matters?

[sith-shenanigans]

If your Jedi ocs had to disguise themselves as a Sith, how convincing of a job would they do?

👁 thank you for this question, anon!

Brakerre (Liminality/Discontent): Not convincing. It’s not that she can’t be scary, it’s that she can’t summon up any kind of reasonable “what would I be like as a Sith?” persona. The things she cares about enough to fall if she had to… aren’t Sith things. Her Bad End is “living weapon,” not Sith Lord. (Result: she waves her lightsaber around a lot and starts a fight, probably. Though she manages to fake still being brainwashed for a bit on the Emperor’s station.)

Velnira (Liminality/Discontent): Canonically does scarily well. She takes out the pigtails and she puts on Sithy clothing and does this thing with her voice and now Tharan is a little bit terrified, thanks. The good bean has a lot of… force of personality that usually doesn’t come out, and is also surprisingly good at lying to people. After all, she’s trained for diplomacy—understanding other people and figuring out how to present yourself to them is part of that! Controlling your reactions and not giving the wrong things away is part of that! Manipulation skills are part of that! This is why diplomats are also frequently involved in espionage! It’s the fact that she has a capacity for dishonesty that kind of blindsides people, and the fact that “pretending to be a Sith specifically, when she is Made of Shiny” is within her ability. (That said, she can’t shield her aura worth druk, so if a real Sith shows up… she’s basically out of luck. This is why she isn’t a Shadow-in-official-cover-as-a-diplomat.)

Hallen (stolen minor npc): Panicking inside, but does better than you’d think. Unfortunately, Iridonian zabraks aren’t common on the other side. She could pass for a very short period, but then people would get suspicious.

Ru (Liminality/Discontent): Whoops, we’re fighting now. Boring conversation anyway.

Nayan (Sunlight, but maybe not exclusively): She was trained as a Jedi Shadow. She never managed this kind of mission, having left the Order before her knighting, but she would have been judged psychologically qualified. (Before the metric ton of trauma, anyway.) She could do it for an extended period of time—and, in like a moth to you, sunlight, she does. Of course, she eventually gets caught…

#asks #oc: brakerre pellek #oc: velnira coris #oc: ru agrythe #char: hallen #swtor hallen #oc: nayan #……what's nayan's *last name* #maybe she comes from a planetary culture without them #*squints vaguely*

[azems-familiar]

Character Masterlist

so this is an updated version of my last oc masterlist post; it's going to be a work in progress with links being updated as i create bios and whatnot. the end goal is it's going to have all three of my swtor canons and my kotor canon listed here, each character will have a small blurb, and i'll link a bio about each character that has images and a little more in depth description of them and their plot!

under a readmore because it's going to be long.

EDIT: decided to add my mass effect and dragon age blorbos as well, though the dragon age ones are going to be a massive WIP until i finish some playthroughs.

SWTOR/KOTOR

how does a man change the universe?

(kotor fics, solo, connects to swtor canon "like a moth to you, sunlight")

Revan Adarii: a mostly-light-side, incredibly powerful young Jedi with an unprecedented gift for psychometry and a skill with strategy and tactics not often seen, Revan drags herself back to a difficult and painful redemption after falling hard during the Mandalorian Wars and briefly having her memories stripped from her. After the destruction of the Star Forge, she slipped off and started a family with Bastila Shan and Alek, only to vanish into the Unknown Regions for a second time four years later, leaving behind her partners and two children.

Qatya Petheir: young and barely knighted at the start of the Mandalorian Wars, Qatya's gift for strategy and her tireless determination and commitment vaulted her into the position of Revan's third-in-command. after ten years of exile, punishment for activating the Mass Shadow Generator, she returned to the galaxy at large to defeat another Sith threat, finally settling in and rebuilding the Jedi Order as its Grand Master.

canon: start a war

(combined canon with @ipreferfiction)

Lia Vhoss: Lia is a nautolan Jedi knight who served as Satele Shan's padawan during her teenage years. she's one half of a dyad in the Force with her best friend, J'lima Akarr. current Eternal Commander of the Alliance.

Vreila Lanar: Vreila is a miraluka Jedi master and was Syo Bakarn's padawan. a master on the Jedi High Council, she serves as the Republic's and Jedi Order's liaison with the Eternal Alliance and the Master of the Odessen Jedi Enclave.

Kal'vaela Corrin: a cathar soldier who was the youngest and last member of Havoc Squad before it defected to the Empire, Kal is responsible for several of the Republic's top military and intelligence forces defecting and is the CO of Imperial SpecOps unit Blackout Squad.

Vyl Kivan: Vyl is a former twi'lek slave who was freed and sent to Korriban to be trained as a Sith. he had a brief career as Baras' tool, and then as Vitiate's Wrath, before defecting to the Jedi after being pushed to invade Tython. he currently serves as a Jedi master in the Odessen enclave.

Avaanla Ki: known as Darth Aedis, Avaanla is a togruta former pleasure slave, Darth Thanaton's apprentice, the former Dark Councilor for the Sphere of Mysteries, and now serves as one of two co-empresses of the Sith Empire. she also remains the Master of the Revanite cult, though it has much less galactic presence than it used to.

Araala Ki: Araala is a former Jedi knight who fell and turned to the Sith on Corellia. she's the direct apprentice of Darth Nox, the other co-empress of the Sith Empire.

Averr'iis'aloh: known titles for the chiss spy Riisa include Cipher Eight, Legate, and Keeper of Imperial/Sith Intelligence. she currently serves under Theron Shan, Alliance spymaster.

Sa'ziri: Sa'ziri is a twi'lek ex-slave recruited by Darth Arkous into both the Sith and the Revanites. she's a part of the small Sith Academy on Odessen, mostly because she has nowhere else to go.

canon: like a moth to you, sunlight

(shared canon with @sith-shenanigans)

Arielle Tanith: a togruta Jedi knight with the rare power of battle meditation, Arielle spends several years as the Jedi Battlemaster before being captured by Zakuul. she is one of two co-commanders of the Eternal Alliance, leads the Eternal Fleet, and maintains peace in a galaxy unused to anything but war.

Chril'lith'anasin: formerly the Barsen'thor of the Jedi Order, Illitha is a chiss ex-Jedi who walked the tightrope between Jedi and Sith for several years before eventually establishing themself as a Republic-aligned Sith. they are the Rift Alliance's liaison with the Eternal Alliance prior to the two becoming one entity, and often liaise with the Republic on the Eternal Commanders' behalf.

Ktis Kressh: current Empress of the Sith Empire, Ktis is a pureblood Sith and the heir to the disgraced but ancient Kressh bloodline. former pirate captain and occasionally Republic privateer. even-more-former titled apprentice to Darth Thanaton. also a Child of the Emperor.

Callien Ordo: daughter of Jekiah Ordo, champion of the Great Hunt, Callien is clanborn human and spends several years collecting bounties and working with pirates and smugglers. after Zakuul invades and her father is killed, she's drawn back to Mandalore the Avenger's side to become her second in command and frequent liaison with the Eternal Alliance.

Chril'lam'inar: the twin sister of Illitha, Illami is also known as Darth K'imsi, former Councilor for the Sphere of Imperial Intelligence and double agent of the Republic. she now serves the Eternal Alliance's intelligence network.

Niveha Veshari / Niwûihû Wûshaari: Niveha is a pureblood Sith who spends several years serving as Darth Arkous' apprentice before being betrayed and left for dead. she's now a Jedi knight, though she still struggles with the cultural disconnect she feels.

Sozik Veshari: a Sith Lord who formerly served under Darth Serevin, Sozik is a former member of the sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy who served as a diplomat on Voss for several years during the Cold War. after his daughter was betrayed and fled to the Jedi, he left the Empire behind to follow her, eventually finding his way to the Alliance.

canon: hold the hand of the god-child

(shared canon with @ipreferfiction)

Inrokini'kat'rath: Ikatra is a chiss ex-Jedi knight and the current Eternal Commander of the Eternal Alliance. though she once was considered one of the greatest Jedi of her time, she now considers herself a reluctant Sith and is officially affiliated with neither Order.

Aalira Dhey: sister to Mirjal, Aalira is a togruta Cinnagar native and member of the Krath. she's a runaway Jedi padawan and was considered king of the underworld for several years. serves as Vaylin's High Justice on Zakuul.

Vasmi na'Dreshdae: Vasmi is the pureblood Sith former Emperor's Wrath. she knelt to Neyri during the Sith Civil War and now serves as the Wrath of the Sith, Neyri's non-sphere-affiliated right hand.

Akada Szorn: a Ziosti miraluka, Akada is known as Cipher Nine in the Empire and Legate in the Republic. she served under Darth Marr for several years after the dissolution of Imperial Intelligence before fleeing the Empire and becoming an information broker on Zakuul. she serves the Eternal Alliance.

Neyri Qel-Droma: biologically human but culturally Sith, Neyri is the descendant of Exar Kun and Ulic Qel-Droma and is the Jen'ari of the Sith Empire, following a bloody civil war.

canon: the righteous hand of god, the devil you forgot

(shared canon with @ipreferfiction and @sith-shenanigans)

Iaris Kuro: a mirialan man in his early 50s, Iaris is a smuggler of some renown. along with his pirate crew - most of whom he recruited on Rishi, all of them known for their morality, a somewhat rare feature in pirates - he runs supplies for the Jedi Order, maintaining supply lines between Tython and Ossus.

Yatali Kuro: known as Darth Nox in the Empire, head of the sphere of Ancient Knowledge, Yatali is the youngest-ever Dark Councilor in recorded Imperial history. though her past as a Cartel slave and her meteoric rise to power is well-known, her relation to the former Emperor's Wrath and current Alliance Commander is kept quiet.

Qyâsik Dzwokai: Qyasik is the pureblood Sith daughter and heir of Darth Marr. exiled by an Imperial decree the Dark Council couldn't override, she snuck her way back into Sith society as a bounty hunter before becoming the new Empress' political advisor.

canon: this is the road to ruin

Kehree Adull:

Vonyra Dozai:

Zakri Tave: Zakri is a self-admitted heretic Sith Pureblood who, along with zir entire family, was enslaved when zie was a child for that crime. after getting out of slavery and into Sith training due to zir strength in the Force, zie proves zir heresy correct by first taking a seat on the Dark Council, and then becoming the new Emperor.

Kolasei Niket: Kolasei is a cathar bounty hunter who just wanted to prove themself and find a way to survive. instead, when they win the Great Hunt, they find themself forced into joining the culture that genocided their people three centuries ago.

a few final notes: start a war follows the swtor game plots fairly closely in a lot of ways. there's a lot of minor canon divergences, and some characters play different roles than they do in canon, as well as the occasional swapping around of an expansion in the timeline, but it's fairly canon-accurate.

sunlight is fairly canon-compliant through the early expansions and the Zakuul arcs, in terms of broad arcs, but from onslaught and on is heavily canon-divergent, and post-class stories it has quire a few moderate canon divergences.

god-child's canon starts out with an entirely different worldstate in which the Republic fully didn't exist in the majority of the galaxy for a solid fifty years around the kotor era, and that echoes forward into swtor in multiple ways. the biggest story arcs - the class stories, zakuul - remain the same, but everything else is heavily canon divergent, although most of the canon expansions exist in some form or another.

MASS EFFECT

solo mass effect content

Lyrida Shepard: a fully paragon colonist/sole survivor who romances Kaidan, brokers peace between the geth and the quarians, and destroys the Reapers without losing the geth. she survives and builds a family on the Citadel.

unnamed verse shared with @ipreferfiction

Mikka Shepard: the very renegade younger sister of paragon Taryn Shepard, Mikka is earthborn/ruthless and is the Spectre out of the two of them, though she's not the one to sacrifice herself on the Citadel at the end. she romances Javik and is a full biotic.

DRAGON AGE

Desri Surana: a half-elven mage raised in the Denerim alienage before she was discovered to be an apostate and sent to the Circle. Duncan's daughter, though she doesn't know this. probably going to romance a hardened Leliana.

Vivian Hawke: a mostly blue, slightly red mage who romances Anders and campaigns heavily for mage rights both within and without Kirkwall. she supports Anders' decision to destroy the Kirkwall chantry and remains with him after it. her brother Carver is a templar.

Vythral'a Lavellan: First of her clan before she was sent to spy on the conclave, Vythral'a is a very unwilling Herald and a slightly-more-willing Inquisitor, determined to defeat Corypheus and protect her clan. very much loves her people and her culture and would do anything for them. her curiosity and love of unique magic endeared her to Solas, and she falls into a romance with him.

#swtor #kotor #my fic #okay! you will all know when this is done because everyone will have links lol #canon: start a war #canon: sunlight #canon: hold the hand of the god child #oc: revan adarii #oc: qatya petheir #oc: lia vhoss #oc: vreila lanar #oc: kal'vaela corrin #oc: vyl kivan #oc: avaanla ki #oc: araala ki #oc: averr'iis'aloh #oc: arielle tanith #oc: chril'lith'anasin #oc: ktis kressh #oc: callien ordo #oc: chril'lam'inar #oc: sa'ziri #oc: niveha veshari #oc: inrokini'kat'rath #oc: vasmi na'dreshdae #oc: akada szorn #oc: neyri qel droma #oc: aalira dhey #oc: lyrida shepard #oc: mikka shepard

[jennagrinsoverml]

ML Fic Recs - Angst

I’m back with another Miraculous Ladybug rec list! As before, I’m trying to rec fics that readers are less likely to have read, generally trying to keep to under 500 kudos on AO3. You can find my other rec lists on my blog under #jennarecsml

If you enjoy these, please reblog so more readers can find these awesome fics!

I’m a sucker for fics that hurt me. The sting of rejection, the pangs of unrequited love, the hurt and the suffering yesssss, give it all to me!! Read these fics and come suffer with me! (Most have happy or at least bittersweet endings.)

Persuasion by InkyCoffee

Of course, she probably wasn’t going to be there in person. And if she was, she may not even remember him. And if she did, she would probably throw him out without an interview.

She would be well within her rights.

He didn’t deserve to be in her presence.

Still, he hoped.

She was why he was back here, after all.

One-shot. Adrienette. Post-relationship (i.e. they were together but they’re not anymore.) and post-Hawkmoth defeat. Adrien knows. And worse than that, he knows he’s responsible for breaking her heart. My hearttttttt, it breaks. The tension between them just hurts in the best way. But this is seriously beautiful.

Alone by plikki

Adrien thought he knew what it meant to be alone, but he had never felt like that before in his life.

One-shot. Set after S4 Gang of Secrets, this fic just HURTS because Adrien is hurting and it’s even worse because we know that something like this is probably coming. Plikki’s Adrien characterization is perfect. There’s no comfort to be found here, but you should still read it.

our hands would not be taught to hold another's by @ladyofthenoodle

Adrien knew that wasn’t fair to blame Ladybug for this. There were rules, and now that Master Fu was gone, it was her job as the Guardian to enforce them. There were rules, and he knew the rules, and he broke them. He hadn’t meant to, but he did.

That didn’t make losing the ring hurt any less.

Plagg shot Ladybug a skeptical look. “And you really think you can do this without him?”

Ladybug bit her lip. “I… I don’t know. But I have to. It’s my job, I shouldn’t need… I should be able to do it with anyone."

But… maybe there couldn’t be Ladybug without Chat Noir. Ladybug by itself didn’t sound nearly as cool.

Multi-chapter. I put off reading this fic for the longest time because I didn’t know if I could handle the angst of Ladybug taking the ring from Adrien, and I really regret that because it’s SO FREAKING AMAZING. Missnoodles does a fantastic job of exploring their relationship and their characters and really does the work of exploring all the feelings. I really can’t sell this one enough.

Anhedonia/When Adrien Met Marinette... by @mikauzoran

Chat Noir hadn’t been lying when he told Ladybug he’d moved on. It was only when he found out that Ladybug was Marinette that he realized he was wrong. Meanwhile, Marinette thinks that she’s missed her chance when Adrien insists that he’s gotten over his feelings. Now, they’re roommates and making themselves miserable as they pine for one another, thinking the situation’s hopeless. Things finally come to a head, and they’re forced to sit down and have an honest conversation about their feelings.

One-shot. Adrien is pining and feeling unlovable, and wow, do you ever feel all of his pain and anxiety seeping out of every word. This is just so heartbreakingly beautiful with a happy ending.

when you weren't mine to lose by @bugsandchatons

Change is a scary thing, especially when it feels like nothing has stayed the same.

It's been a year since Marinette became the Guardian of the Miracle Box - a year of struggling beneath a burden she never asked for, a weight that has her leaning on her partner more and more as the hours fly by, of letting him come to her, too, when he needs a soft place to land. A year of falling for the boy who takes on the world by her side with a smile made of sunlight, and fighting the growing urge to tell him what he means to her.

After all, they'll have time enough for that when Paris is safe.

But when the unthinkable happens, Marinette learns the tragedy of loving someone quietly, and the lines she'll cross to save him.

Multi-chapter. This is what happens when Ladybug loses Chat Noir. It hurts in all the best ways and the writing is absolutely gorgeous and somehow we still get a happy ending!

Echoes of You by @kittinoir

In the day time, she's Marinette - a normal girl, with a normal life. A normal girl, with a normal life. A normal girl, with...

Multi-chapter. You know the angst train everyone’s been riding since we learned in Miracle Queen that renouncing the miracle box costs the guardian their memories? Kittinoir murders us with it. Marinette’s got giant gaps in her memory she’s struggling to understand while Adrien is desperately trying to figure out just what the hell happened to his lady. Lots of angst and a mystery and this fic is one hell of a ride from start to finish! (There’s also a sequel that’s a WIP but I haven’t started reading it yet.)

balancing act by @fictionalinfinity

“Besides, being Ladybug always came first. It came before school, friends, and sometimes even family. Now it had to come before her health. Marinette had a duty to Paris. She wouldn’t let them down.”

Or, being both Ladybug and the Guardian starts to take its toll on Marinette.

-

the epilepsy au literally no one asked for

Multi-chapter. Oooh boy. Fictionalinfinity does an amazing job of weaving these new symptoms into the existing canon in a way that feels completely organic and believable. The characterizations are AMAZING, and the conflict is just so completely believable and absolutely heart-wrenching.

I swear I’ll let you go in the morning by plikki

When you lose all certainty in your life, you hold onto the only person that keeps you from falling apart.

One-shot. Hawk Moth’s identity is revealed and as a result, Ladybug and Chat Noir share their identities with each other. Not nearly as angsty as some of the other fics on this list, but have some sweet hurt/comfort after all of that.

When Push Comes to Shove by @thatanonwiththeoc​

Adrien had lost everything after he ran away from her in that sewer. His miraculous, his kwami, his Lady.

However, little did he know that she caught a glance of him without him knowing it, and she wasn't about to let him leave just yet.

One-shot. Set after the NY Special. Once Marinette realizes who ran away from him, it changes everything and the way they interact is just sad and sweet and lovely. The happy ending makes up for all the hurt!

Cut here because of spoilers for season 4 below

Behind the Masks by @mikauzoran

Ladybug’s announcement that she revealed her identity to someone and her insistence that she and Chat Noir still have to keep their identities secret from each other leave Chat Noir in fear of akumatization. When he goes to Marinette for help, she realizes just how badly she’s screwed up and becomes determined to make things right between her and her partner.

One-shot. Set after S4 Gang of Secrets, this was exactly the kind of angst-fest I wanted. Adrien has a lot of buried issues and we’re seeing that explored more in season 4. But Adrien doesn’t seem to want to acknowledge any of that. But here he does and it’s beautiful and the ending asdfghjkl please read!!!

#ml fic rec #fic recs #miraculous ladybug #ml lovesquare #ml love square #love square #marichat #adrienette #adrinette #ladynoir #angst fic #jennarecsml

[vitaliciouscreations]

At Your Mercy, Princess Justice

This could not be happening.

Expelled. The word rang in her head exactly as Mr. Damocles has said it. Expelled.

Her friends were all glaring at her. Mr. Damocles looked incensed. Behind him, Adrien stood by with a distressed look on his face. Her parents were embracing each other, not even looking at her.

And of course, Lila was right there, doing her absolute best to look like an innocent victim in all of this.

This was absurd. 

Just ten minutes ago Marinette had been sitting in class with everyone else, and now she was expelled? Just like that? Without anybody even bothering to listen to her side of the story? Without anybody checking to see if there was anything to verify Lila’s claims? Without proof?

She’d known for quite a while now that when it came to bullies, she was on her own. It was that way with Chloe, and it was that way with Lila. Nobody, not her parents, not her teachers, not her classmates, had ever stepped up to help her. She’d had to help herself. So why was it that when she was the one accused of bullying, Lila wasn’t also on her own?

It was so unfair. And Marinette knew this school wasn’t fair, had known it since the moment Chloe had first gotten out of punishment by threatening to call her father, but still she felt stunned at this level of blatant injustice.

She locked eyes with Lila, and the girl smirked at her before quickly taking on the innocent act once again. Nobody saw it.

This could not be happening.

“I demand you leave campus at once!” Mr. Damocles shouted, pointing an emphatic finger at the door. “You will not be allowed back on these school grounds!”

This was absurd.

Marinette stared at him for a moment, and then took a breath and walked to where his finger had pointed. The locker room door.

She was stunned. Her mind was reeling. There were so many emotions whirling through her head right now that she couldn’t even discern them all. What she knew for sure is that she was definitely upset.

She reached the locker room door and put a shaking hand on it to push it open. When she did, she really didn’t even have time to react. All she saw was a brief flash of purple, and then—

It was something she’d never experienced before, and that made sense as it was probably an experience unique to these specific circumstances. It was the experience of another mind making contact with hers. Not colliding, not melding, but making contact.

Like she said, it was a completely unique experience to her. Since akuma victims didn’t retain their memories, Marinette had no way of knowing what to expect. She had no idea what it felt like to be akumatized. Not until now. She hadn’t expected it to be like this.

Her mind made contact with another’s. Hawk Moth’s. The surface levels of their minds touched, and they shared. Hawk Moth felt anger. He felt loneliness. He felt desperation. He felt a desire to have enough power to change things.

And so did Marinette. She was furious at the fact that she was just wrongfully expelled. She felt abandoned by everyone she’d thought she could trust. She felt desperate for someone, anyone, to actually care about her and her side of things. She wanted to be able to fight back against this, but knew that nobody had been willing to listen to her before, and they wouldn’t listen to her now. Not unless she could make them.

Their emotions resonated with each other. Connecting with somebody on this level, experiencing a whole new level of empathy, immediately sparked a sense of camaraderie in Marinette. He understood her. He believed her. He empathized with her. He wanted to help her. And his emotions coincided with hers, so Marinette wanted to help him too.

She wanted to help Hawk Moth.

This mental connection shared his awareness with her and her awareness with him. She could tell he knew where she was and what had upset her, and the fact that he just knew, that she didn’t have to try to fumble through an explanation to him, was incredible. She also knew where he was; she could see it through his mind. It was a large, dark room, but for a single window that let sunlight shine in. She didn’t know what had upset him, and she couldn’t find out. There was no digging or pushing with this connection. The surfaces of their minds had made contact, and they shared awareness but not thoughts.

Princess Justice, she was aware of him saying. It seems the innocent aren't to be believed anymore. Deception and lies being spread is reason enough to be upset, but what’s more, nobody is interested in learning the truth. Everyone around you is content to condemn you to a wrongful punishment without a second thought. However, I can give you the power to enact true justice, and in doing so show them how unjust they really are. I only ask for one thing in return.

The desire intensified. The desire for justice to prevail. The desire to have the power to change things. He was right there with her. He believed her. He wanted to help her. He was on her side even though no one else was.

He wanted the power to change things. He wanted the Miraculouses. 

She wanted the power to change things. She wanted justice. Justice for her. Justice for him. Justice for everything.

“Justice will be served, Hawk Moth.”

Power surged through her. The mental connection, the contact of their minds, was vital as they cooperated with each other.

It was the work of both of them. Hawk Moth was the source of power. He directed it to her, and he directed her how to use it. She shaped that power around her in her desired image.

She wanted the power to enact justice. She got it.

She wanted a weapon to fight with. She got it. Her purse, the item the akuma had merged with, morphed into a long, silver sword.

She wanted armor to protect her. She got it. Shining silver armor formed around her body. A breastplate that was shaped to fit her perfectly, and curved around her sides and back to protect her torso entirely. A skirt made of plates of silver armor, with pink fabric connecting the plates to make it flexible enough to comfortably move in. Bright silver boots that came up to her knees and covered her kneecaps, and yet were somehow light enough for her to easily lift her feet. Gleaming silver gauntlets that came up to her mid-biceps, protecting her arms without prohibiting movement.

She wanted a helmet to protect her head and cover her ears. She got it. A shining silver helmet formed around her head, covering her hair and ears, but not her face. A mask joined it, silver and pink, and shaped a little like a butterfly.

He wanted her to no longer be Marinette. He got it. Princess Justice came into existence.

Wanted to write a perspective on being akumatized, because it’s always kind of vague in what Hawk Moth does and doesn’t know, and I came up with my own explanation for it even though I just know its because ML doesn’t care about continuity. To be clear, Marinette got upset over being wrongfully expelled and not anything to do with Ladybug, so Hawk Moth doesn’t know she’s Ladybug.

And while we’re being clear, Hawk Moth didn’t go Scarlet Moth for this like he did in canon, just sent an akuma to Marinette, and it flew through the door as soon as she opened it, so she didn’t get any chance to fight it off like that. As for internally fighting it off like Ms. Bustier or Chloe, well, sorry I didn’t go for that.

(Also to be clear, Marinette’s internal monologue said she’s always had to stand up for herself against bullies, but there’s technically one exception to that and that’s Alya.)

#ml salt #miraculous ladybug #ml fic #at your mercy princess justice #akumanette #long post #fyi i don't put the read more higher up because it'll break the link if i ever change my username #i don't want people to read three paragraphs of the fic and then get disappointed because of a broken link

[khiita]

✨ Anyone you wish (all of them would be ideal tbh I just want to hear about your babies)

[ ✨ ] what aesthetics or symbols do you reference when writing your muse? are these backed up by canon, if your muse comes from a canon? is there any specific relevance to these choices?

anna i have so many ocs HDKSHDJ i'll try to be brief and i'll skip explanations cuz i feel like most r obvious !! 🥸

beybûn: the sun, pomegranates, embroidered cushions, sky blue, gold, red. (atoc)

chelon: oranges, gambling/cards/money, knives, the color orange, neons. (evenfall/attollo)

crystal: luxury, silks, embroidery, light purple, light blue, platinum, stars. (a6/swan song)

demelza: blood red, browns, roses, gloom. (myrk mire)

eratos: forests, sunlight through tree leaves, summer, browns, white. (soh/bc)

euridi: spring, forests in the night, entropy, hauntings, black, browns. (the nameless)

finn: hi-tech, oversized clothing, eye bags, injuries, greens, teal, blues. (fhr/gw/hadea)

fred: guitars, rainbows, wolves, the moon, black and white, blues. (evenfall/blood moon)

gabe: old money, family, sweaters, black cats, chess, greens. (twc)

hawke: general sluttiness, leather, motorcycles, arrows, black, red, green. (wts)

historia: books, research/knowledge, abandoned places and nature retaking them, greens, brown. (scout/tgr)

ivy: injuries, cowboys, succulents, rings, light blue, light pink, light yellow. (larkin/pfm)

javi: ruins, rings, moss on stone, open shirts, rabbits, dandelions, greens. (fog)

jisoo: pine trees, unexplained events, clean white sheets, homemade food, greens, browns. (fws)

jude: fast food, clutter, lipstick marks, plaid, museums, coffee, red. (twc/attollo)

kalypso: the sea, surfing, road trips, dyed hair, pastels, holo, neons. (speaker)

leigh: potions, fancy cloaks, old libraries, warm tea, owls, black, gold, brown, green. (myrk mire/the nameless)

luce: journals, fingers stained with ink, rats, round glasses, green, white. (twc)

mikael: the sea, the sky, seashells, sports, papayas, angels, the sunrise, teal, light blue, yellow. (olba)

neapolitan: photographs, eyes, warmth/comfort, wool, coffee, chocolate, vanilla, strawberry. (bloomic)

neassa: braids, gold, wolves, swords, honey, poems, pressed flowers, red. (soh/blood moon)

olivia: faceless, blurry pictures, muted colors, broken mirrors, crows, black cats, rats, black and white. (soh/ofna)

rain: wolves, rainy nights, home, clouds, softness, rough but careful hands, blue, black, white. (exile)

rin: luxury, pianos, minimalism, unicorns, cats, heels, pink, black, white. (bc/180)

roxana: paintings, wooden mixing trays, horses, daggers, light pink, light brown, light blue. (tnp/exile)

sol: the sun, sunflowers, bees, baked goods, flower shops, concerts, yellow. (mb/wts)

syl: silver jewelry, leaves, wings, temples, fruits, light and dark brown. (fog)

taliesin: veils, spikes, storms, bones, tears, purples, red, black. (the abyssal/the passenger)

tomomi: worn journals, darkness, large hoods, hands, scars, black, white, jade. (tnp)

uma: magic, jesters, autumn, adventure, carnations, purple, yellow. (amr)

vance: hearth, moth eaten clothes, strong arms, soft hair, homemade food, yellows, beige. (myrk mire)

wanda: hearts, jackets, cakes, lingerie, overflowing closets, red, pink. (twc/mb)

yara: wisteria trees, eyes, origami, water, purple, white, black. (fog)

#mepheesto #i hope any of this makes fcking sense lmfao #IM SRRY THIS IS SO LONG IDK HOW TO USE READMORES ON MOBILE #anyway ty beloved❤️❤️❤️ #ask #ari.txt #long post

[missorgana]

call me what you want

pairing: bucky barnes/sam wilson

fandom: marvel cinematic universe

rating: general

word count: 2741

warning: alcohol, swearing

summary: Bucky thinks he quite likes Sam calling him nicknames, but he likes his smile more. (more tfatws canon compliant fluff.. just because!)

(look at me, once again ignoring exams to write stupid fluff instead. anyways! don’t have much to say but hope u enjoy!! <333 missing them already)

read on ao3

Bucky doesn’t realise just how long he’s been looking at Sam until the man glances over and calls him Buck.

When he thinks about it, his eyes never leave him. Not after those staring contests of theirs, which he’ll admit to himself and no one else that he’s the most responsible for. Not when Sam turns his back to him, focus returning to the mission and Joaquín and Redwing.

He’d roll his eyes at the nickname, but that would mean looking away from Sam, and losing eye contact with Sam.

“Don’t call me that,” he says instead, hopefully conveying his disagreement with a tight-lipped look. He considers smiling. Seems inappropriate.

The other man does smile, “Why not? It’s what Steve called you.”

Sam’s smile looks right. Feels right. Bucky’s had people smile at him before, sure, plenty, but it hasn’t ever felt exactly like this. He’s not sure what it means, though, so he pushes it the furthest way back into his consciousness.

“He knew me longer,” Bucky explains, pretending like it matters, “And Steve had a plan.”

The shorter man seems like he’s holding in a laugh, a smug one. That suggests he knows the obvious lie when he hears it. 

Bucky can see the gap between his teeth.

If he turns his own lips into a smile when Sam turns away again, the man currently preparing to jump out the chute doesn’t need to know. If he spots it and gives him a funny look, he doesn’t need to know the reason behind the smile. Bucky knows.

*

Because Sam’s always calling him a  cyborg, Bucky fumbles for some sort of retaliation. His name’s too short to make fun of, he contemplates. Damn him.

“I can see the gears turning,” the shorter man laughs, hard and out of breath. Bucky still can’t stop looking at him, for some reason. He bends over a bit when he laughs, picking up a faster pace than himself. Bucky makes sure to catch up.

His comeback ends up being, “Sure you can, birdman.”

He can tell the other man feigns offence, raised brows and nose scrunching at the edges. Sam smiles so easily. Bucky wonders what that’s like.

“Oh, I see how it is,” the man next to him speaks up, eyes dancing easily over the open, practically deserted field they’re surrounded by. There’s a car buzzing faintly a fair amount of miles away, Sam wouldn’t notice but he does, super soldier senses and all, “For the record, that movie’s not too bad.”

Bucky kicks a rock and some dirt to the side. The rock’s weird looking, all sharp edges, almost like spikes. Yet it’s so small. He decides to look at Sam instead, “What movie?”

A honk lets them know they’re not alone. He thinks this might be what disappointment feels like, because the other man stops himself after “I-” and shakes his head instead, causing Bucky’s brows to furrow and right hand to twitch and something sinking inside his stomach, “Nevermind.”

He has to remember to google that later.

*

Bucky doesn’t really care that Karli told Sam to come alone, because Sam also knows that he’ll be coming with him, no matter the protest.

He’s got a hunch Sam also knows that he was lying, again, reattaching his vibranium arm and gaining the senses back and pretending not to be all that shocked.

“You okay?” the man asks and he answers, “I’m fine.”

Of course. It’s fine. Kind of annoying, how Sam looks at him with a worried glance, trying to hide it but failing miserably. Bucky doesn’t look away when their eyes meet. The shorter man blinks, slowly, like a question.

And he always gestures for Sam to go first.

So he does, too, on the Wilsons’ boat, when he’s tightened near every damn screw and lifted every imaginable thing like it’s nothing, and yet the other man still refuses to ask for help. He accepts it when Bucky decides to put a cool hand on his hip, though.

Sam stills. He himself doesn’t move till the man in front of him does. Seconds seem like years.

“Alright, show-off, don’t overwork yourself,” he tells Bucky, laughing without much of the familiar smugness. The dimples in his cheeks are deeper now, wide eyes. Bucky expects Sam to be looking at his left arm, but his gaze is resting somewhere under his chin. His throat, above his chest.

He thinks he’s getting the hang of this nickname thing, “Sure thing, Sammy.”

And the other man throws a towel at him in response. “Sammy? What are you, five?”

Sam’s sweatshirt has a small hole in it. Near his hip, a tiny thread poking out. The fabric slides up when he raises his arm, revealing a sliver of his stomach. He imagines his skin to be soft, like his arm. It seems the man notices his fixated stare on the spot, looking for whatever the subject of his attention, wiping his forehead in the hem.

Bucky shrugs, “Give or take a hundred years.”

He understands why Sam’s chuckle doesn’t reach his brown eyes at that. What he doesn’t understand is his pupils, significantly dilated. Stupid serum advancement, stupid awareness.

A spot of sunlight touches the other man’s face, and he squints, covering himself with a hand, moving out of Bucky’s sight.

This is how he realises he’s still holding a grip on the now tightened pipe, harder than he thought. He’ll make sure to fix the bending he caused before Sam notices.

*

Sam is a good dancer. Not that Bucky’s an expert on it or anything, far from it, but he’s not tripping over his own feet or cursing or slinging his sister around like a ragdoll.

His nephews are jumping around them, too, a couple of their neighbours in a slow dance, another reaching out and offering Bucky a beer, which he accepts. The serum doesn’t allow him to be affected much, unless he deliberately seeks being unsensibly drunk, but he likes the bitter taste, regardless.

Sarah straightens her brother’s arm and rolls her eyes in the direction of himself.

Sam turns his head about a millisecond later, winking before spinning her around. It’s smooth as hell, despite not breaking eye contact with Bucky. 

"Come on, Buckaroo!" the shorter man raises his voice, nickname just plain awful, "Get up here."

Bucky decides to shake his head as a reply, he's always preferred observing, really. Besides, he thinks he might be too quick on his feet. Too spinny, urging to not stand still.

Sam doesn't drag him up. He didn't expect him to, but it still surprised him, for some reason. The shorter man looks severely gentle with his hands on the small of Sarah's back, not surprising.

He gets a shake of the man's head and a shimmy of his shoulders. "Man, you're no fun."

Bucky huffs, “Whatever you say, darling.” Sam blinks in disbelief at the name. Sarah snaps him out to carry on with the dance. He likes having the man’s attention, he thinks.

He considers hiding his smile behind the rim of the glass. But really, there’s no need to, and he doesn’t feel like it.

The other man always grins as opposed to simply smiling. It grows just an inch when he notices Bucky smiling back, and there’s these tiny, sensitive hairs standing up on the back of his neck, he feels it immediately. Blood rushing to his face. Maybe it’s just the alcohol.

Just about every window in their house is open, his t-shirt sticks ever so slightly to his lower back with sweat, and a moth is fluttering around the lamp in the corner. It’s comical, tiny wings and body staying so close to that light, not really doing anything.

Eventually it’ll die, he guesses. Well, it has to, of course. But when the living room thins out and the light dies and everything turns quiet, it’ll simply wander around, lost, until that warm glow returns.

That stupid bug bathes in the light like it’s the only thing in life that matters. Bucky feels a sudden urge to look at Sam again, and the other man isn’t looking at him anymore, but it doesn't matter, his presence is enough.

Actually, he thinks he might fear looking away from Sam. Scared he’ll miss something, anything. A look or a smile or a joke or a movement. Some warmth radiating off of him, because the man has so much that he doesn’t even mind giving away a little to his surroundings. 

Bucky’s quite like the moth, in that sense.

*

Now, Bucky didn’t plan on kissing Sam today.

He’d been planning on it, or he wanted to  ask , but most times it was like the certain moment faded too quickly and he felt guilty for not doing anything about it.

When he woke up to AJ and Cass playing with the shield and the man cooking breakfast in a tank top, Bucky wondered if he should do it, then. It felt weird to try with both his nephews and sister in the kitchen though. He also sort of wished he had gone for it on the lower deck of the boat. Maybe Sam would think it was inappropriate when they were working.

When they circulated around each other the last few days, training, talking, Bucky gaining a deeper understanding for the other man and finding a way to convey an apology that sounds  right, it feels like they’re more of a team.

Connected. Stronger, maybe. Sam doesn’t need his super soldier strength at all, though, but it being wanted anyway, that makes him want to smile more. As much as the shorter man, maybe, if he’s capable.

Bucky decides the next time, the next moment, it’ll come, like all the other moments he’s been discovering and making him sort of breathless. In a good way.

“Thanks for the help,” Sam tells him, instead of a goodbye, “It meant a lot.”

Usually, these sentimental moments they keep having will be ended by the other man lightening the mood, so to speak. Not breaking it, just making it airy and familiar. His stupid jokes that aren’t even stupid, or annoying, anymore, they just remind Bucky of something like safety. He hasn’t asked, and Sam hasn’t said, but he feels like he’ll be there if he falls down. He’d do the same for him.

The man doesn’t joke around, now, despite himself attempting to muster the same smugness, “Of course.” He feels like it sounds more sarcastic than he intended. 

He quite likes that boat. Likes the people on it more. One particular person.

Bucky really thinks that’s the end of their conversation, their own way of saying  see you around  , but instead a voice catches him when he turns around, “I’m just telling the truth, baby.”

Naturally, he turns back, but now Sam’s got his back turned.

Funny, how they keep going back and forth like that. Watching, even when the other isn’t looking. He knows he’s been doing that a lot, there’s no denying it.

A feeling in his hand, the way it twitches, makes Bucky feel like this might be a new moment.

“Wilson!”

He doesn’t really wait for a reaction before following. Like the moth. Meant to follow. When Sam stops, he stops. Then, reaches over the shield in the man’s grasp and lets his fingers touch the nape of Sam’s neck.

Bucky half-expects him to push him away, but the shorter man kisses him back immediately, and  that makes him want to smile. So he does.

It’s short, close-mouthed, the softest experience he’s ever had. Soft lips, stubble meeting, even if the shield pokes his stomach, doesn’t matter.

When Bucky draws back, Sam’s grinning like an idiot.

He also lifts an expectant eyebrow, like he’s waiting for him to explain himself. Maybe say some romantic bullshit, but he’s scared the words will fail him. Too focused on the other man’s Adam's apple when he swallows, too busy counting his eyelashes, so he doesn’t forget.

Bucky doesn’t want to forget anything about Sam, ever, for the life of him.

He adjusts the bag on his shoulder, before giving the man one last smile. Sam looks weirdly proud of him. “It’s for luck.”

*

Bucky guesses a kiss is the sort of thing you talk about, but the mission at hand doesn’t allow much talking. He manages to hear Sam’s speech, grab every word and hide it within him and completely pretend he didn’t. The other man knows his bullshitting, again.

“Great job, Cap,” he tries to smile, showing his teeth, like Sam. The man next to him eyes him curiously, for the first time since Bucky met him, looking endearingly shy.

He still laughs, sounding almost like a song Bucky’s trying to remember, “It’s Cap now?”

“Obviously.”

And given Sharon’s wound, he can’t stick around, but the text he receives about a  party  at the Wilsons, a cookout, that doesn’t surprise him, actually. Doesn’t surprise him that he’d go to Louisiana in a heartbeat and pick up the cake Sarah asked for, even if it slides around in the carseat and doesn’t look all that appetizing when he arrives.

The Wilson siblings roll their eyes at him. They both smile. Sam looks like the sun.

Bucky’s so busy being overrun with kids staring at his left arm that he doesn’t notice Sam slipping out of the group. If it makes him panic just a little not knowing where he was, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

The shorter man hasn’t gone far though. He’s looking out at the water, the sunset.

It’s pretty. Looks prettier when Sam stands there.

He knows, he  knows he’s not damn good with communication. The other man told him so himself. But he can’t stop trying, even if it feels like he’ll swallow his tongue.

Sam doesn’t acknowledge him when he comes up behind him, not at first, but Bucky thinks about his easy smile and red shirt and the lines in his palm and the ghost of his lips on his when he says the first feeling that comes to mind.

“I hate everyone else in the world, but you.”

It makes the other man chuckle and turn his face towards him. When he smiles hard, really, really hard, his warm eyes crinkle at the corners.

There’s a small birthmark on Sam’s throat, he notices. And one on his earlobe.

“Really?” he asks, as if it’s up for discussion.

“Yeah.”

Then that smugness returns like a charm with the comment, “So you like me more than Steve?”

And he would be annoyed, but his own smile is kind of preventing that feeling to surface. “I hate Steve,” he answers, with a certainty that surprises them both. Sam’s tugging at the hem of his shirt.

Then, “You liked Natasha, though,” and Bucky wants to roll his eyes so goddamn badly, which is clearly what the other man was looking for. He thinks he finds him adorable. The pink hue of the sky touches his being so perfectly. Hazy eyes, teeth nearly gleaming in the light.

“No, I mean what I said,” and Bucky knows what’s coming, of course he does, “But you can’t not like Rhodey, I mean...”

Sam is so fucking ridiculous. He doesn’t ever want him to stop making him smile like this.

“Sam, please, I’m trying to-” but Bucky doesn’t quite get to finish that sentence. Not because the other man interrupts him, at least not with his lips, which he wouldn’t complain about, or his words, but because both of Sam’s hands come up to cradle his face in the most tender fashion. He thinks he might be going crazy.

So he just looks at the man for a minute. Contemplating how loud his beauty is, how much love is in his eyes and how it’s somehow directed at himself. It feels overwhelmingly peaceful.

And Bucky feels Sam’s breath on his cheeks before they connect their lips again. Long overdue. His tongue tastes like coffee and butterscotch.

When they pull apart, the shorter man bumps their noses together. Bucky quite gladly could stay like this forever.

Then Sam asks, an unspoken conclusion, but voices the question regardless, because, well. He’s pretty sure they both need it, “You plan on sticking around?”

This smiling thing is kind of straining Bucky’s jaw. He’ll get used to it.

“Don’t even need to ask, sweetheart.”

#mine #my writing #marveledit #winterfalcon #tfatws #sambucky #fanfiction #mcu #sam x bucky #eloquencenet #queernet #mlm #canon compliant #fluff #general rating #tw: swearing #tw: alcohol #first kiss #marvel fanfiction #nicknames #love confession #bucky barnes pov #sabrinasfamily #lutkasfamily #the falcon and the winter soldier