#also can you fuckin imagine being a virtue??

[deep-space-lines]

I know Gabriel is canonically really popular with Heaven’s residents but there’s bound to be some heavenly loser with pronoun envy

#my art #ultrakill #gabriel ultrakill #i love angel pronoun lore #he earned those pronouns fair and square and now he gets to wear a he/him pin like the badges on military uniforms #of course he has blue wings and pronouns #also can you fuckin imagine being a virtue?? #imagine you live your entire life as a Good Christian(tm) and then u get to heaven and find out not only do u still have to work a 9 to 5 #you have to do it in hell #forever #man i’d be salty too #straka's shitposts #sketches

[bulletbilltime]

Pikmin 4 verdict: Ok this is gonna be the best game in the series isn't it

Stray thoughts below:

SPOILERS FOR THE PIKMIN 4 DEMO BELOW

The caves are... actually interesting and well designed?? no more half-assed roguelike random cave attempts (sorry pik2 fans but that game's caves just cannot compete IMO)

That being said... I'm a bit disappointed so far that we're only seeing the same styles of caves as Pik2. They do look gorgeous though, mind you.

Industrial Maze was such a cool cave, simply by virtue of actually having a proper puzzle it's already my favourite cave in the series not named Submerged Castle.

Oatchi my beloved!!! he actually works way better with the game flow than I expected when I first saw him in the trailer. He doesn't feel too overpowered; he's basically an upgradable super pikmin but he doesn't ever particularly feel like he truly outshines the actual Pikmin. (Maybe he could if he gets all the upgrades but

YOU CAN FUCKIN MOVE BASES I'M FSBGFJKSHSAJKDLHS I WAS PRAYING TO THE GODS WE'D GET AN OPENWORLD PIKMIN GAME WITH MULTIPLE BASES AND IF THIS IS AS CLOSE AS WE GET I'M FINE WITH IT

The 20 pikmin in the overworld thing might feel super limiting after being used to squads of 100 piks in the previous games... But honestly I think it's a very inspired design choice! It makes it so the early game stuff can still wreck your shit if you're not careful. You can't just easily roll up with a squad of 100 piks on day 3 and destroy everything in your path. It allows for your in-game character to become progressively more powerful which I think is more satisfying in the long run

I love how you don't just automatically get the onion upon finding new Pikmin types. Makes them feel more precious. Basically: the wild pikmin mechanic is really neat! And it could allow for the return of Purple/Whites without feeling too unbalanced.

"Olimar is the fuckin leaf boy" basically confirmed. Question is: what's with Moss? My current theory is parasite pikmin are involved.

And speaking of... the wild pikmin mechanic means we could possibly get overworld bulbmin if they add them... if this happens, I imagine the entire fandom will go nuclear (in a good way)

If you look through the controls, the Form Line controls basically confirms that you will obtain some form of SWARMING as an upgrade!!! C-STICK FANS REJOICE (The text mentions cardinal directions only but I feel like the odds are high that you will be able to actually swarm your crew with this mechanic. I'd say 70-30 odds of it being true. Don't quote me on that. But if true, then fuck yeah)

Honeywisp is back 🥹

Collecting raw material is so much fun, and

I feel like this game is really leaning on fan service, but also manages to balance it with new things to make it feel fresh!

Someone said it felt like all 3 previous games mashed together and yeah I absolutely get that feeling

Very disappointed that they only have the co-op star bits thing. This game in genuine co-op would rule.

So far the music of the game doesn't quite strike me quite as strongly as the themes from the previous games. Hopefully this will change with time.

Is this game like... an alternate timeline to Pikmin 1? Moss was definitely NOT in Pikmin 1, and the story segment seems to hint that Olimar met Moss during that first crash... Giving the "bad ending" theorists more food IMO.......

This game really, really drags out the wait between Y/N landing on the planet and the first Pikmin huh. It felt a bit too much that you went through the first cave before even getting a single pikmin IMO.

I really like the crew in this game!! They're fun, though they do talk a lot and I could see that bothering some ppl.

Honestly I was super disappointed when I thought there were only 6 crewmates to find in the entire game... but then I found the first castaway and I was back to being excited

I like that you have a little base to meet ppl and discuss tasks!

One of the castaways I saved wrote notes on the Treasures I collected. This implies that we will probably get a biologist who will make notes on the creatures 👀

TL;DR: July 21st can't get here fast enough. The 2 hours or so I've played of this game is already my GOTY and it could genuinely challenge for GOAT (game of all time) if it sticks the landing with the rest of the game.

#pikmin 4 #pikmin 4 spoilers #might make more thoughts if I think them #anyway HYPE MODE ENGAGED #I will be normal (lie) for the next 4 weeks (absolutely not I am going feral)

[mangoshorthand]

five has set my standards high for men 🫢 and i’m going to hold out for a partner like him.

It depends on what precisely about Five you would want to match your real life partner to, but in general I would advise against this. I was going to answer this simply but then I went into a full blown ramble so I'm sorry

Being fictional is Five's biggest allure...

Five is not real and that's a biiiigggg point in his favour. You will idealise him to the point that no real man could ever match up. Imagine a man saying that some super smart and sexy anime girl was his standard for IRL women. We'd rightly tell him that it was an unfair expectation.

If Five was a real flesh and blood man, tied to corporeal form and subject to the curse of existence, I promise you he would not live up to the standards set by the Five in your head. The truth is, Five can never fart on you in bed. He can never have that really irritating habit that makes you want to punt him through a wall, and he will never accidentally hurt you with a clumsy word or leave the dishes in the sink or whatever. He'll never criticise you for any of your bad habits either. Real men do all those things because they're human. They deserve your love and consideration. Don't hold out for a fantasy.

...but if he weren't fictional, he'd be a one man communist uprising considering all those red flags

We romanticize Five partly because he is an asshole. His sarcasm is amusing and acerbic tongue is attractive, mostly because we know there's tenderness underneath it. We have a uniquely intimate insight into his life, past and personality by virtue of him being a fictional character who we have seen when he thinks nobody is watching. We don't have that with real men. Romanticising assholes is something patriarchy has taught us. Just look at the Beauty and the Beast myth that replays itself in our culture again and again ("I can change him! He's different when we're alone, I swear!"). We like to imagine that Five would begin by being a dick to us like he does everyone else, but gradually we would end up being the special person who would bring out all the tenderness we know he has underneath. This is fine when it's a fictional character who we know for sure has all that tenderness underneath, but with a real man whose soul we can never know like we know Five's? No way. I can promise you that you should run a mile from a real man who sarcastically insults people and use their intelligence to put others down. A similar point to Five's violence. This is a character trait you should not excuse in real men. In real life, men who are violent to others will almost certainly be violent to their romantic partners. This is another bonus Five gets for being fictional: he lives in a fictional reality where his violence is justified and nbd because it's a world of comic-book morality.

Alright Mango, you fuckin' killjoy, what can I hold out for then?

Having said all this, I think Five does have some qualities you can admire in IRL men. I've said on this blog many times before that I think I find Five hot because he reminds me of my partner in terms of personality as well as looks. So this is what I think you wouldn't be unwise to look for in a man: 1. Someone with intelligence and competence. There is nothing sexier than someone who has faith in their own abilities and wields that knowledge with confidence, like Five does.

2. Someone with leadership skills without needing to dominate: Five sometimes falls foul of the latter but is usually pretty good at taking control of a situation whilst also hearing everyone out and using the knowledge of the entire room.

3. Someone with a sense of humour. Five's cynical little comments and charming phraseologies (e.g. "Chatty Cathies," "A nap and a schvitz, what more does a man need?") would be adorable in any man.

4. Someone with a mature outlook. Five is just happy living a comfortable life. He likes his creature comforts but he takes pleasure in the simple things. He isn't really competitive anymore because he truly doesn't feel like he has to prove anything. This is partly a result of his age, I think, so I would forgive a younger man for not having this outlook.

5. Someone who cares about his appearance: Five isn't vain, but he dresses carefully and intentionally for the occasion. It not only looks sexy, it shows that he has self-respect.

6. Someone who speaks to you the way Five speaks to Dolores: Five treats his (ex)partner with respect and fondness. He clearly worshipped Dolores when they were together but he didn't patronise her either. He spoke to her like an equal. And after the relationship ended, he never let anybody speak badly about her.

Ok, I'll shut up now.

#number 5 imagine #five hargreeves imagine #number five imagine #fictional men #fictional men are better #fictional men can't fart #let men fart

[writers-blogck]

A Favor Called ( Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x Reader )

Warning(s): This will go into religion and the ideas of Christianity. Some information may be incorrect as I myself am not a practicing Christian. This should be expected when it comes to the Sandman, or really most Niel Gaiman pieces. Disrespect is not meant but here is a warning for those who may be sensitive to that topic.  This will also use the information given in the comics. No big spoilers save for including all of the Endless. There will also be original characters, including the Lower Seven Endless. They will show up later in the story.  Reader is Female.  Song: Enter Sandman by Metallica 

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Title: A Favor Called Description:  A century goes by but Morpheus gets out. What is waiting for him on the outside? Pairing: Dream of the Endless [ Morpheus ] x Reader Fandom: The Sandman ( Comics and Netflix Series ) Word Count: 5,358

Previous Chapter: None. Next Chapter: The Pouch Opened Story Index

        Dream was locked in a glass orb, laid out like a marble statue. His eyes were narrowed as his arm laid to cover the lower half of his face. To the guards, the man didn't breathe or blink. He didn't eat, he didn't need to do anything. Roderick said he wasn't Death but then...What was he? A devil? Demon? He kept the truth from the basic guards, they needn't know. They instead were left to wonder. 

        "He's right scary, he is." The rat-like guard spoke, long and thin nose wrinkling up as if he smelled something rotten. Dream never remembered their names. He just identified them based on their appearance. They never stood out. All the same deep in their core. Terrible. Rotten.

        "How does he stay so fit when he's trapped in there all the time?" This one was tubbier and more stout in appearance. His nose was upturned and had fat covering his cheeks; he looked like a pig. Dream could only imagine what he would do to the two guards if he got loose. Those thoughts were a comfort on the harder days. Even though he was an immortal being, it didn't make it any easier to deal with the passing days. 

        "How does he survive without needing to eat? Or needing to use the loo? This man isn't normal, mate. He's a right demon, fuckin' monster. Sleep Paralysis Demon or somethin'. It's why we gotta drink the bean juice and take the pills. So he doesn't possess one of us when we go to sleep." The Rat swirled the black coffee in his mug before taking a swig. 

        "I think he's a Dracula. He's pale enough to be one. Ain't never tried to put him in sunlight before."

        Dream pushed the duo's words out of his mind as he retreated into his thoughts. He knew he had been in here for over twenty years, at the very least. Keeping track of time when you were stuck in the same place day after day was nearly impossible. Rumors of a Second Great War filled the air and for a moment, he thought he might be able to use that to his advantage. But, no, Roderick still took every precaution when dealing with Dream. 

        Even though Dream wondered if his siblings would come for him, deep within him he knew that he would be ashamed if they did. He never needed their help. He was solitary. He was alone. He didn't need anyone. Yet, here he was, trapped. He just had to remind himself that he could play the long game. Humans die. He would not. If he just waited...

        All he had to do was get through these years, which was easier said than done. His mind always would run back to his kingdom and his faithful servants. He would think of the Virtue of Hope who spent more time in his realm than her own. What was happening to them, to his kingdom? He had never been parted from his duties for this long since he was created.  He just had to remind himself that he left it in good hands. Lucienne knew what she was doing and Hope was there to help. She had observed his duties so much, she would know what to do. 

        His thoughts often drifted back to the Virtue of Hope...When all you can do is think, it is hard not to regret past decisions, especially when you were Dream. She would come to his realm to hide and he always pushed her away. She never did anything but be kind to him and Dream would return said kindness with his usual bitterness. 

        The real question was, where did Hope hide now? 

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London, 2020

        John Constantine owed the Devil a favor. That really was just as bad as it sounded. He had no idea what Lucifer would call him to do but he had been in such a desperate situation to save his sister that he had no other choice than to accept the fallen angel's help. Why did he always get himself in those situations? The ends that always were the last resort? It felt as though that was all he got recently. Nothing liked to go his way and it was quite tiring, to say the least. 

        Lucifer had gained some honor recently and that had John hoping that whatever the task was, it wouldn't go against his morals too severely. No murdering babies or robbing the elderly. Eh, Lucifer didn't do that type of thing anyway. That was just the Christians creating a monster to scare children. No, the real Devil was much more clever and even had his own rules he would abide by. Demons on the other hand...They had no qualms about hurting children. John tried to push the screaming girl from his mind but no matter what he did, he could never quiet her. A constant reminder of his failures. 

        He didn't have a clue about what he may be called to do, but he definitely wasn't expecting to see the charismatic man standing there with a young girl, who had to be no older than her early twenties, when he was eventually called. There was a look in her eyes, one of distance and foggy visions. Was she being controlled? His hands clenched in his pockets, mind racing at what he may have gotten himself into. Could he refuse Lucifer and walk out of here alive? He doubted that. Even still, he had boundaries that he didn't like to cross. He hoped that whatever the favor was, it had nothing to do with harming the girl. 

        The girl wasn't wearing a lot of clothing. Only a silk dress, which John assumed to be a slip, graced her form. Other than that small piece of fabric, her soft skin was on full display. Now John Constantine liked to think of himself as a gentleman in many aspects but even he couldn't help but take in the beauty of the woman standing before him. This was no natural beauty. He had been around enough nonhumans to sense when something was off. 

        "Hello, Constanteene." 

        "Constantine." 

        "Whatever, Constanteene, Constantine, Potato, Potaato- Just listen up, Conman. I need to call upon that favor I'm owed and this is a very important task. It would be to your benefit to do everything correctly from here on out. If you mess this up, I will not hesitate to create a personal hell for you that your worst nightmares couldn't possibly begin to dream up. Do you understand?" 

        "I have a feeling you'll create my own personal Hell no matter what I do when I end up kickin' that bucket." 

        "Jonathan, do you understand?"

        "Right, I've just got here, mate. I've no bloody idea what's going on." Flicking open his lighter, he placed one of his cigarettes between his lips. He had a feeling that he was going to need one. He turned out to be right.

        "What's going on, is that I require your services in becoming a sort of protector, guard, whatever you would like to call it. Either way, I'm calling in my favor, now." 

        "Guard her? And she is? Don't tell me she's gonna be a future sacrifice or somethin'." 

        "Listen well. She has many names, but from what I hear, she goes by (Y/N) as the primary title during this current time period. Some have called her Elpis. Others have called her Guan-Yin. Some even like to call her Pandora, though that isn't correct. She may have dealt with the woman but they are not one and the same." Lucifer slowly walked a circle around the still woman. If it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of her chest, John might have believed she was a very realistic statue. It was amazing and terrifying at the same time. 

        "Excuse me? Mate, that didn't clear a thing up." 

        "If you would let me finish," The taller man's eyes flashed red before they softened back to their dusty blue as he looked at the girl, "She is a citizen of the Silver City. She is a Virtue, which is the opposite of a Sin. She is Hope." 

        Hope? Now John had heard a lot of strange things in his life but this was nearing the top. As he blew out a ring of smoke, he did admit to himself that she did seem like a holy being. He had met angels before. Some gave off a sense of fierce loyalty while others had the gracefulness of a swan, but all had an unparalleled beauty. This woman fit into that category just like the rest. Yet, John couldn't feel the same aura that came with Heavenly beings. 

        "So, an angel?"

        "No, well yes, in a way, but high in the ranking. Angels are a rank of Celestial, the same as Archangels or Virtues. You, humans, like to call everything an Angel. Virtues are the highest in power as they can not be replaced. There are only seven in existence and each is just as unique as the other. Father didn't like making creations like that. He always allowed the opportunity for replacement but with the very nature of Virtues, due to them being created from their element, they can not be replaced." 

        "Right..." 

        The Devil shook his head, pushing his annoyance to the side. He was just being reminded of why he didn't work with John Constantine that much. He preferred John's twin sister, Johanna, but even he would admit that John was a better choice for this. Not only did he have a favor owed but the man was kinder than his elder sibling. He likes to play it up that he was doom and gloom all the time but Lucifer could easily see past that. Most could if they spent any time with him. 

        "Think of it like this. All holy beings aren't under the classification angels, though you humans seemed to use the term as a catch-all. Instead, angels are their own type. I, myself, was not an angel but an Archangel before I fell." He grimaced like there was a sour taste in his mouth, "Cherubs, Seraphim, the Powers. All different types of Celestial Beings. But yes, she is an angel if you have to consider it like that."  

        "Like a square is a rectangle but a rectangle isn't a square." 

        "What?" 

        "Nevermind. So, I just have to watch over her? She in danger or somethin'? I don't know how I could do anything more than she could." 

        "She has lost her powers. They were taken from her." 

        "Why did-" 

        "Demons, those that are loyal to me in any way, will offer her no danger. I've informed them that she is off-limits. But there are many things that would love to rid the world of a Virtue, especially Hope. With her loss of power, they may be successful in their attempts. I can not keep her safe without trapping her in my realm which I do not wish to do." Lucifer ran a gentle hand down the side of the girl's face, a look of soft care gracing his features, "She would not do well in Hell, even though I miss her dearly."

        "Is she a past bird, then?"

        "Oh, no. Nothing like that. No, Hope, she is my baby sister. I was her guardian, after all, Raphael could never truly replace me. Our bond is as strong as before, though I may not remember my time as Samael; what I do remember is the feelings I had for her, the sense of protection. I will not allow our family to ruin her as they did me. She does not deserve that." 

        "Wait, wait- You said she lost her powers? That means she's human?" 

        "Not human. Not fully anyway." Lucifer sighed, shaking his head. Constantine tried to ask another question but was interrupted by the other man before he could. 

        "Do you know this is the first time her feet have ever touched the ground?" This time, the Devil snapped his fingers, and a trench coat, golden in color, that was a near match to Constantine's, appeared in his arms. He draped it gently over his sister's shoulders with a sigh. Every move was filled with a gentleness that John had never seen from Lucifer before. 

        "Really?" Did that matter?

        "Holy beings and the beliefs of purity. You know how it is...But, it is clear to me that she will not do well on Earth by herself. Not only from unnatural forces but from humans as well. I don't know how she will adapt. She will need your protection."

        "And can I ask why she's going to Earth?"

        "The same reason we all end up on Earth, punishment."

        Lucifer stared at the girl with a look of pity in his eyes. It was easy to see that he truly cared for her. Had he gone soft? He hadn't been in her life for so long, why did he have to feel this way? The bond should have split as he fell, just as his wings burned away. It would have been much easier but then, who would you have in your corner when it came to family? It worried him, the times he saw just how alike the two of your situations were. Did your Father set you up just for failure? You didn't have the ego that Lucifer did, no armor against the world. 

        "So, I have to watch her for, what, a week? Three?" 

        "Until I say otherwise."

        "Shite, how long until that then, mate?" 

        "Unknown. But what I do know is that this will not be easy. For you or for her."

        Lucifer stood in front of the girl and buttoned up the jacket in both an attempt to keep the warmth in and the skin hidden. This was how a brother was supposed to treat his little sister, not what Michael had done. He wanted to rage against Heaven, knowing how they have turned their backs on her. She always did her job! Even the other Virtues allowed this to happen? He was beginning to wonder if he didn't have the entire story. He was picking up everything from second-hand sources.

        Pushing the sleeve up on her right arm, Lucifer ran his hand over his sister's wrist. On the pulse point on the inner wrist, he began to burn a symbol. A feather with Angelic script underneath reading Redemption. It seemed like a tattoo but actually, upon closer inspection, was a scar. John winced in sympathy but if the girl felt the pain, she didn't show it. 

        "Neither of you will remember this encounter. When you awake, you will be traveling partners and no questions will be asked. It will be as if you have been with one another for months. When the time comes, as it surely will, when she will start her penance, this symbol will be vital. It will hold a memory, a strong one that will trigger her acceptance. Just like a bite from the forbidden fruit."

        "Wait, wot?! What if I have some questions now about everything-" 

        "There is no time for that. All that matters is this: Do not disappoint me, John Constantine."

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The Dreaming, 415 BCE

        "Come on, Morpheus, you can't be serious with this." You lay on your back, staring at the strange creation in front of you. You had seen quite a lot of things in your time of existence but you would never get used to the dreams and nightmares that Morpheus would create. He had a big imagination, that's for sure. Even looking at it from your upside-down point of view, you could see Dream's touch. Anything your Father came up with never could compare.

        "You can't keep making your nightmares handsome, okay? You're gonna give people a complex. Like that man Desire cursed, Oedipus?" 

        "He has teeth instead of eyes. How is he handsome?" His eyes narrowed as he looked at the blonde creation. Sometimes he could be so dense, "And Oedipus had sexual relations with his own mother. I don't see how that's relevant to what we're dealing with in the present moment." 

        Using your wings to push yourself off the rock you claimed as a chair, you ended up doing a strange backflip before getting back to your feet. The fog dispersed around you as you landed with ease, revealing the dark gray rock that made up this strange area of the Dreaming. You called it Dream's Workshop, though he insisted it had a proper name. Morpheus let you watch him at work while you worked on your own duties, knowing how you preferred to be with someone rather than alone. It took a lot of effort for you to carve a place in his dark heart but you had time. If you had anything, it was time. 

        Each step you took seemed to only glance over the ground as if you were floating above the rocks naturally; you looked weightless. With a simple wave of your hand over the creature's "eyes", a dark piece of cloth covered the one obvious indicator that the creature was a nightmare. Now he looked like a normal human would, though admittedly more attractive. His face still was all sharp edges and harsh curves, his smile with teeth like a military graveyard. Was Morpheus so blind that he couldn't see when he made something attractive? 

        "See? Might as well just call him Adonis." 

        "It doesn't matter what he looks like," Morpheus clasped his hands behind his back, stopping to look at the nightmare's new profile. He didn't want to admit it but he did enjoy the look of the blindfold. It hid what was frightening and would allow it to be a surprise for whoever this nightmare would haunt. Some nightmares were more monster based while others were closer to humanoid shapes. The younger children were mostly scared of monsters under their beds, but their nightmares became more abstract as they grew older. Failure, loneliness- Dream had to be more creative with his creations when the humans got older. With this nightmare, he intended to use it for adults who have fears of not having control as well as the unknown. So many couldn't handle the feeling of being helpless...Perhaps he should send this nightmare to those that made others helpless, allowing them to feel what they wrought for a change. He did like karmic revenge. 

        "I don't know. You don't want your dreamer to be scared and attracted at the same moment." You teased, crossing your arms over your chest, "That will be very confusing~. But, he looks good. Teeth for eyes, he could bite you in three different places at the same time! I guess they all would be near each other since, obviously, they still are just on the face. I bet his nightmare would be the ones where you lose your teeth." 

        "Hmph." 

        "What will you call him?" 

        "The Corinthian." 

        "After the town?" 

        "Yes, the one where crime runs rampant." 

        "Hm...It fits," Moving forward, you tossed your arms over Morpheus' shoulders to drape yourself lazily against him. You knew that his face would scrunch up, pretending he didn't like your touch. It had taken centuries for you to even get him to accept any touch and still, he would happily deny it to this day. Even still, you swore that you felt him lean into your touch a few times...He couldn't hate it all the time. But, you kept your mouth shut, knowing he would only lash out if you brought it up. He would give you the silent treatment for decades. You had already experienced that after you played around with his raven, Lucienne. Boy had he been upset when he found you. Though you hadn't done anything wrong, he was just a spoiled sport! Lucienne hadn't even minded...

        "Do Nightmares ever dislike what they have to do?" 

        "I don't care enough to ask." With a hum, Morpheus fixed the blindfold that covered the Corinthian's eyes. He couldn't have his nightmare blindfolded with a cloth tied off with a bow. It didn't scream frightening. A basic knot would do, "They are necessary for humans to work through issues while still being able to wake up, safely. The nightmares have work to do, which, by the by, shouldn't you be working on your own duties instead of bothering me while I complete mine?" 

        With a small whine, you stretched out your wings and flew up a few feet forward to face Morpheus. With a flick of your wrist, you gestured to the collection of fireflies that was flying next to where you had been laying, "I am working, just so you know. Do you not see my own creations? These are the hopes of children if you must know. At least, some of them anyway."

        While Dream could make whatever he wanted, you had to follow a few more rules. Working for the Big Man himself, your Father, he liked everything to be exactly how he wanted. Part of that was everyone doing their jobs and if you weren't, someone might take your place. Luckily, you were in one of the irreplaceable ones, being part of the Seven Virtues. You and your siblings weren't angels, per se, you were Virtues. You were your own type of being. You were all Celestials. It was true that Angels were the most populous and visited the humans the most, but that didn't mean you were all Angels 

        The seven of you, the Virtues, had your individual jobs and tasks assigned to you. One of your main personal jobs was creating the essence of Hope and finding different ways of spreading it throughout Earth. Sometimes you put it in animals, sometimes you put it in plants, and sometimes it was just a certain smell. Depending on the human, hope could be found in many different things. Some could pull essence simply from the air while others needed a bit more help. 

        Fireflies were your favorite. They had been your own creation, the one being on this Earth that you made. Your Father allowed all seven of the Virtues to make one animal when they were old enough and you ended up creating the firefly. You based it on one of your good memories of being a young fledgling. Samael would stand over your crib and entertain you by making lights with his fingers. That was a long time ago and Samael...He wasn't Samael anymore. He fell. But, you made the fireflies in honor of that memory. You think your Father knew that and gave the little bugs a short lifespan because of it. He had been your Father's favorite and when he left, your Father took it hard. You heard Samael went by a different name now but didn't know it...You didn't know if you would ever see him again. You had a feeling that no one told you his name in fear that you would try to find him.

        Being a Virtue could be difficult. They were looked at highly by the other Celestials and were expected to do the best. The only group that had any sort of authority over the Virtues were the Seven Archangels as well as Metatron. All seven of you were created just before humans, being a strange unique creation of your Father. Only seven of you existed...You weren't part of the hierarchy of Angels or the main grouping. You weren't Angels after all. The Virtues were special, just like the Endless. The biggest difference was that you lived in The Silver City and your domain itself was past the gates. Truth be told, it could be suffocating when you knew your Father had someone watching you at all times. Seven Virtues, Seven Archangels. One was always spectating. 

        Perhaps that was one of the reasons you spent so much time in the Dreaming. You knew your Father couldn't send anyone into their realms, a deal he had originally made with Night and Time but had apparently been passed down to their children. The first time you ever ended up in the Dreaming, you had snuck in. Well, was it sneaking in if it was an accident? Either way, that was a chaotic story for another time. For now, with a lot of hard work and determination, you had convinced Morpheus to allow you to spend time in his realm as long as you promised not to mess with anything he was doing. The tale of how you met to where you had gotten to now was a very interesting one, you had to admit that. A Virtue and an Endless being friends? Unheard of. Well, Morpheus would say it still was unheard of but you insisted the two of you were friends. You had even grown close to his sister, Death. 

        "Bugs?"

        "You know that they are so much more than that!" You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest in defiance at Morpheus' words, "I have done a good amount of work today." 

        "I have a feeling your siblings would care to argue otherwise." 

        "Well, then they can come and tell me that themselves but for now, I think that I deserve a good break." 

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥  　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥  　♡　♥ ♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡

        "I swear John, if you ate all the chocolate flapjacks again!" 

        "I did not-!" 

        "John!" 

        "I swear, love!" 

        John knew what it was like to have an older sister. He would bet this was what it was like to have a younger one. Annoying, never listening to you, always bugging you for this or that. Yup, that seemed about right. He didn't get how you could already have this much energy this early in the morning. This was why he was so against you drinking coffee at any point during the day. You already were filled with enough energy for both of you. Adding any caffeine to that just made it ten times worse. He didn't need to learn that lesson more than once.

        "You know I prefer a brew for breakfast." He walked into the kitchen to see you standing there, all legs and way too much optimism for the world. John could admit that you were an attractive lady and perhaps in other situations, a one-nighter might have been in the cards. But, with you under his protection and the bond forming between you two, it all changed. To be honest, Constantine couldn't remember what exactly he was protecting you from or why but knew you were in danger. You were his little buddy and he had to keep you safe. You were special to the mage, after all. 

        "That's a problem we'll talk about on another day." You hummed as you placed the frozen breakfast food in the toaster. He didn't understand why you liked sweets so much. He was more of a savory guy himself. 

        John lazily moved from where he was leaning to taking a seat at the small two-person table. Most mornings would start like this. He would drink his morning pint while you had whatever sweet treat you decided to ruin your body with that day. He would grumble whenever you tried to talk to him, spitting out some excuse of it being too early or how he had a hangover. You never listened. 

        "Whatever you say, darlin'." 

        Piling the flapjacks onto your plate once done, you made a stack of four of the sweet treats. Adding probably too much syrup than was good for you, you plopped yourself down in the seat across from John. The two of you were in a small flat in London, one that was provided to John by someone. Someone you didn't know. There was a question of whether John really knew who was paying the rent or not. At least, you were questioning it. 

        "Can you teach me some more today?" 

        "Teach you what? How to get a job and stop leeching off of me so you can go live on your own? That sounds like-"

        "No! Magic, you Muppet!" Constantine couldn't help but chuckle at your pronunciation of the word. Most of the time, you sounded American, but for certain words you learned from him, well, you kept the British twang on those. It made an interesting accent and never failed to amuse John. 

        "Why should I? Hm?" 

        "Because...A demon might show up when you're asleep and I might need to defend myself." For some reason that John Constantine couldn't remember, that seemed more likely a threat than how you were saying it. It made a shiver run down his spine. It had been a nice morning until you reminded him of the danger you were in. He hated having the knowledge that for some reason, you were being hunted but by what and for what reason were still a mystery. He hated that unknowing. It made everything just that more dangerous. 

        "I don't know, mate. Is that a good enough reason to ruin my afternoon? I could be out at the pub, you know. Maybe finding a bird to bring back to the flat? Have a nice night with a nice lady." 

                "You wish!" Shoveling flapjacks in your mouth, you kicked the man under the table lightly in annoyance. A groan slipped past his lips and he set his beer on the table to keep from spilling it. He was such a drama queen at times! 

        "Whatever, we have to meet up with Johanna anyway." You continued, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's, "So I bet I can just ask her to teach me a few more things. She'd be happy to."

        "She'd be happy to have 'ye in her bed as well! I've told ya, you need to be careful around her! Bless my sister's heart but that woman can be like a dog with two dicks. She'll teach 'ye magic alright if she thinks it might getcha in her bed at the end of the day." 

        Since Johanna didn't spend as much time with you, she didn't develop the same type of feelings that John did. To her, you would never be like a sibling. You always would be open for some fun. Sometimes John thought she messed with you just to get to him. He couldn't help that he was protective of you...

        "You do this just to annoy me, right?" You pointed an accusatory fork in his direction, "Johanna isn't that bad. We get along great." 

        "I didn't say you two didn't. What I am sayin' is that she likes to play a dangerous game and trust me when I say you have enough of that in your life already." 

        "But, 'yer right," He continued, "Jo will be expecting us."

        "What does she need help with this time?"

        "An exorcism. Must be a pretty bad one too if she needs two hands on the wheel to get the bugger out. Either way, you listen to me this time, alright? No makin' more problems when we are there to fix 'em. Don't need you being cheeky on me. Got it?" 

        "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I hear ya. No fun for me. Stay back and just watch, keep out of the way."

        "Right on the money, love."

        "...Wait, are we gonna be paid for this?!" 

        "Bloody Hell..."

        "Can I bring my sand with us?!"

#the thing with feathers #the sandman #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #Morpheus x You #lord morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #destiny of the endless #death of the endless #destruction of the endless #desire of the endless #despair of the endless #delirium of the endless #delight of the endless #john constantine #johanna constantine #the corinthian

[nat-20s]

hello! how about helen distortion for the playlist thing?

ooo okay!

You're at the Party- Lemon Demon

I feel like this pretty accurately describes what I imagine being taken by our favorite girlboss would be like

(Too late) You are the party (Wake up) You are the nuisance (Too late) You're not alone (Wake up) It's not a nightmare (Too late) You are delightful (Wake up) You're not alone (Too late) You've been invited (Wake up) You're at the party (Too late) You're not alone (Wake up) You've been invited (Too late) You're at the party

And you notice that the Sun's not rising and the birds are dead There's only dust on the floor where people were before And the dream won't leave your head, it won't leave You need a drink, half-empty bottles in the sink Down the drain, sudden rain outside alarms you Hour hand's gone and now you're feeling strange Now your hands grow strong, your fingers long and your face, your face begins to change You're mesmerized, you want to cover up your eyes But they're already shut so tight A whisper in your ear Only you can hear, only you can hear it

2econd 2ight 2eer- Will Wood

I feel like "the devil made me do it, but I also kinda wanted to" is like. Helen Distorition's whole fuckin vibe and relationship to the spiral. Also lol look at this music video that's spiral babey

The devil made me do it, but I also kinda wanted to I’m cut from a different kind of meat More than you can chew, hard to swallow me Forget bored stiff, I got rigor mortis, call it morbid curiosity How can I commit to reality, when my third eye’s open and I like what I see? Baby, I may be crazy but I didn’t lose it, no I set it free

I can’t ignore what’s under dance floorboards, the rhythm of my heart a dead-as-disco beat But I still move my feet To slip out of this groove, I’m free Now to row, row, row my boat over the falls And maybe wake up from but a dream, yeah

and also

But I’m more level-headed and clever than ever and I’m getting better one forever at a time And if sick is defined by what’s different, well then pull the plug out and let me die Vice-versa, vice versus virtue Well who I am I choose through all the things I do And if it rhymes, it’s true, but I hate poetry Now with my moral compass pointing south, I'm going down With no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no respect for reality

Turn the Lights Off- Tally Hall

stereotypical pick I know I know but like. If the door fits!

Bend the nightmare You control it Artful dodger Easy does it Shut the closet Get under the covers Snakes and lovers Turn the lights off

Everybody likes to get taken for turns To see how bright the fire inside of us burns And everybody wants to get evil tonight But all good devils masquerade under the light

#replies #anon #mini playlists #helen distortion #tma

[echthr0s]

this was originally a post on my old OC sideblog but some details got changed and others got added in over time so I’m modifying and reposting it

a bullet-point introduction to the not-WoLs

Dayir, Heart of Darkness

non-combatant / defensive / support character

defeats primals by absorbing their aether

does the above by virtue of an Allagan Heart (yes, much like the Ultima Weapon). the various aetheric signatures stored in eir Heart can be summoned for various purposes (including ~fun~ *wink*)

is trained in multiple varieties of dance and carries emself like it

would in some worlds be called a necromancer, or in other worlds an animancer, or in yet other worlds an avatar or a psychopomp or a shaman or a conduit. the class and job divides don’t really exist to em – ey employ disciplines and concepts from multiple sources to achieve eir goals, and a couple of skills that frankly shouldn’t even exist

is spiritually accompanied by a todash-dwelling Qunari named Talan, whose stories of a world called Thedas tend to mesh uncannily with stories of Hydaelyn

think of an NPC, any NPC. there’s an 85% chance that they currently are or have been at some point a lover of Dayir’s (aside from the really biologically-incompatible folk like Sahagin, I guess, but on the other hand, life uhhh finds a way--) (also can I really say that when there’s whole ass dragons on the lover list. like.)

re: pronouns -- I’ve started using the she/her set for Reasons but also because the grammar of the ey/eir set can get under my skin sometimes. technically you could use any pronoun for Dayir and she’d be fine with it ~

Ishan, Hound of Darkness

a denizen of the Thirteenth who found himself yanked out of the Lifestream and bound to the body of a minor Ishgardian lordling who’d gone missing from Carteneau and was assumed dead

(the name assigned to said body was Seraphin Arnaud Laurent Augureau. Ishan never uses it and wants nothing to do with that man’s life. this all becomes a huge point of contention during the HW arc, as you can imagine)

Ishan’s eyes don’t match because of the soul switcheroo, so one of his eyes looks like the body’s (hazel) and the other eye is just Ishan’s (grey-green)

has memories of living on the Thirteenth World, before the botched Rejoining, and on his belated way to the First he is given a remnant of this voided planet, an eldritch black orb that is now a fuckin loaded Chekhov’s gun that I have to figure out a use for (probably around 6.0 sometime I’ll figure it out) (update to that last statement: well! we officially have Void content! we shall see what that brings to this table!)

Ishan does not join Dayir on the First until the confrontation with Hades in Amaurot, because the magic the Exarch was using to port them over scared the fuck out of him and he found a way to put up wards against it. it was a struggle but eventually he shoved his fear aside to go find his bestest dearest companion Dayir and punch the Exarch in the teeth

extremely combative. (Elidibus has a lot to say about Ishan’s penchant for destruction, but Elidibus can also shut the hell his mouth.) daggers and lances are equally his preference, that is until he discovers the scythe (which dovetails nicely with his previously-unrecognised Reaper abilities, seeing as he’s functionally a high-tier voidsent)

hates Garlemald more than anything, which gets messy for specific reasons, a main one of them being that Dayir and Zenos are obsessed with each other

some canon-divergence notes

Haurchefant Greystone’s wholly unnecessary demise is prevented by the fact that... there is two of them. Ishan was gunning for the archbishop; Dayir sensed Ser Zephirin doing his thing and popped a powerful aethershield over eir boyfriends

Moenbryda’s sacrifice was unnecessary as Dayir’s store of aether is far greater than the average dude’s and ey had no problem conjuring a fat aetherblade blunt for Nabriales to smoke. she persists as a Scion to vex her childhood bestie forevermore

this is a pattern. most of the people that die in gamecanon are not dead for me. this also includes people like Yotsuyu <3

Au Ra are the result of a successful Allagan experiment. this technically includes Dayir, but the experiment that led to em was a bit different and so is eir existence on Hydaelyn. Dayir is culturally an Au Ra but biologically more Allagan (and draconic, ofc) than anything else

Dayir and Ishan are both Azem shards, but obviously skewed towards particular facets of Azem’s personality

they are also both possessed of godshards – when Louisoix did his Thang, a bit of Nymeia found its way to a strange dreamy young adult in the Steppe and a bit of Rhalgr found its way to an Ishgardian who was dying on the field and was big mad about it

they do not kill Emet-Selch in a big battle. Dayir lovingly unmakes Hades at his request. being of the In-Between, though, Hades’ essential self still exists, just not on the mortal plane. he now gets to dwell in a new place of his own creation – not the lost city of his grieving heart, but a place that is his and his alone

this list is by no means exhaustive, lmao

#ffxiv #.dayir #.ishan #general oc tag

[jaythelay]

Bruh a suicide hotline before the game even starts is absolutely hilarious.

"Pweese befoarwuhh you pway ower scawy scawy gawum, cawl da soowisid hawtloine!"

Good god, this shit's just disrespectful. Not like those lines are any fuckin' good, maybe properly vet this shit before adding the first number on google. Damn.

Really imagine the CEO forcing the devs to put this shit in their game. And everyone knows it's completely, completely pointless. So how best to handle it? Obviously a message that comes up...Once, in the beginning of the game. Only when you start a new game. Oh my god.

Just say "it has heavy themes" it's a fucking modern Silent Hill game dude, nobody's gonna be suicidal after or before, just the usual depressed and apathetic, and numb. Very, very numb.

Who's this for? If you already have the god damned product, you already researched or accepted the fact you did no research for the shit you bought. Just virtue signalling. Oh yes, please, give Gamers a Number to fucking call. Especial- Especially the suicide hotline within the first second of your game.

Just a matter of time before they get heavily memed on. Stupid. Virtue Signalling, nonsense that does nothing for anyone. It wouldn't bother me, if it was at least handled respectfully, I could at least argue against myself, but here we are, where, my god, this is just simply disrespectful.

I also take it as them trying to make their product seem more effective, essentially marketing. "Our game's story is so impactful we needed to add the suicide hotline!" Bullshit. It's a Modern Silent Hill Title. You won't be feeling shit from it at any point other than the familiar numbness from Homecoming.

tl;dr If your fucking product, your Video Game, is causing Suicides? Stop selling it? Stop selling it. Yeah. I think we can draw the rules of the line right there. If you somehow, Miraculously, make a product that causes inherent suicidality, Stop Selling It. Don't put a fucking phone number in there. No suicidal person is gonna fucking call the suicide hotline and tell a human being "the scawy game made me wanna fucking kill myself" I'm not sorry, but most will kill themselves before mustering that kind've confidence in self-growing moments. Not a single fuckin' soul will use that hotline. Not a single corporation cares about any number of lives. Let's just be honest with ourselves here.

#Suicide Hotlines #Understand I'm not against hotlines or sharing them and all that #I'm against the disrespctful nature by corporations #Nobody #Not a single fucking soul #not the Furthest Left Fucking Person on the Planet #thinks video games need a suicide hotline number #I'm sorry it's just unrealistic that anyone would kill themselves because of a video game #and Silent Hill 1-4 kinda prove that they keep people from killing themselves #It's uh #kinda why it's escapism? #If your game is causing suicides... #stop selling it? #Stop selling it. #yeah #Think we can make that the fucking rule instead of putting a god damn suicide hotline in your fucking video game #If your game is bad enough it kills people #a fucking number #isn't gonna fix that dude

[delafiseaseses]

Everyone is Different

Worda warning, this gets a tad dark. I'm reminisin' on childhood as an autistic person an' then extendin' the thought to the realities of being nonbinary. The idea of 'normality'. So... y'know the kinda shit that this may get to.

Also I go on and on quite a while and this is all a mixture of memories and emotions.

Back in school, primary, year... no bloody idea anymore, maybe around 7-8? 6-7? Don't matter. But I remember this laminated paper sign Sellotaped on the window it read "Everyone is different." and had some clipart of various children with different shaded hair, skin and eyes. The unspoken was 'This is a good thing', but, of course, the lesson one learns in school isn't that at all.

No, the lesson an autistic being learns in school is that yer differences aren't OK. From teachers who hate you to fellow students who hate you. Single you out. Treat you like a freak for whatever fuckin' reason they can think of. Everyone is different, but there am rules, y''ave gotta obey the rules of difference and you never will manage it, so y'am fucked.

I had a teacher in school who hated the fact I 'stared' at them. A teacher, the person you need to look at in class, apparently hated my autistic eyes or whatever the fuck she thought she saw in me. Nobody else got that shit. The "normal" kids.

The sentiment was 'ollow, is me point. Society will say 'Everyone is different.', 'Be yourself.' and 'You are who you are.', but they don't bloody mean it. Empty stock phrases. Normal phrases. Said by people who believe in the virtue of normality. And so many fall into the trap of believing in that 'normality'. They are lost.

I managed to do somethin' that teacher, those students, the entire fuckin' land never did. I grew to believe in those phrases. Not as a normal, stock, meaningless thing t' say or think. Oh no, apparently I managed the radical action of actually believing them.

Because they're true. You are who you are, you should be yourself and everyone is different. That's good. In fact, it's bloody wonderful, a brilliance that brings a tear to me eye. People who don't believe that, they're not worth me time. Maybe one day they can free 'emselves from the prison of normality, but that's their business, not mine.

Of course, the 'normality' people often brandish these things in incorrect manners: 'You are who you are,' and 'Be yourself.' can become 'You are what I think you are.' and 'You should be the yourself I'm comfortable with.' and that's a fuckin' shame.

You are who you are, so be yourself. Who decides what you are? Or what 'yourself' is? Nobody but you. Follow your feelings, become whoever you are in that moment, allow yourself to change and flow, too. Follow whatever path lies before you.

As a personal example, it took me over a month to accept my it/its pronouns. I knew a place with accepting people who'd respect it, but somethin' inside me was scared. I was nonbinary, but it saw the darkness. The followers of normality, nonbinary people who don't like the it/its, who don't like the "weird" nonbinary people. Who think that if they're "normal enough", they'll be spared. Misguided as an ableist autistic person. Failing to see that no matter how 'normal' you like to imagine yerself, you'll never be good enough. A tory don't care if you're a they/them or a Cat. They want us all dead. They want us all dead. You can never be 'normal enough' for normality because cisnormativity means only cis people are normal. The same as no ""cringe"" autistic person will make somebody truly accepting of us suddenly go eugenicist, nobody saying their gender is a vast nothingness will make an otherwise trans-positive person suddenly want to fight the changing of the wording of laws to be inclusive of nonbinary people. At best it'd be an excuse to justify the end of their hollow, stock 'positivity'. Be yourself, to my specifications. To my limits. And we're back in fuckin' primary school being told to stop "staring" at the teacher!

I knew that, of course. So, why the Hell did I have such pause? Why the Hell did I suffer that month to the point I literally saw it/its in a dream? Well, when you grow up in this world, yer bound to end up a little scarred, I guess.

But I did it. And... I was freed. Life got better than ever. Almost instantly. My reflection, my body, my humanity. I struggle, but I am so much more now.

Since then I've adopted two additional pronouns. She/her and a nounself that is too personal for Tumblr to know. And I am proud of it. I have my dignity. I have my self-respect. I have people who aren't shitty to me. And people who are? People I see fighting for their 'normality'? Policing others for daring to be outside their perceptions of 'normal'? I block 'em sharply. We're not in school together, I don't have to see you every day for years and spend over 7 years dealing with the after effects of your presence in me life (as in, this shit all lasted well into secondary, not that I left primary 7 years ago, I left education 7 years ago, I'm young, but I'm not that young, I'm in me early-mid 20s).

In summery, as much as this could ever be summerised, it was kinda just a ramble about emotions and memories, but in summery: Everyone is different and that is wonderful.

#nonbinary #autistic #non-binary #it/its #all sortsa gender and stuff in this ramble #hope it made at least some sense

[nevertheless-moving]

Could you talk more about your gumbo jar jar au or the frog one? 🐸

hm on close review the frog promise draft is a now redundant drabble from this au. Here it is in its entirety:

“I will never join you,” Luke said with a sneer of disgust.

Palpatine, as well as the nearby politicians, Jedi masters, and reporters were taken aback. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning, Master Jedi,” the Senator said incredulously. “Do you mean to tell me that you consider yourself separate from the Republic? I know the Jedi Council had disavowed recognizing you but I never could have imagined...” he trailed off, leaving the crowd to murmur in alarm.

“I mean I will never join the Sith,” the rogue master replied calmly. “I imagine you’re responsible for the traces of the dark side I felt amongst the trade federation leaders.”

“The Sith...I see.” Palpatine took a step back, deliberately reassuring tone and alarmed expression clearly indicated that he suspected the man before him of insanity. “It’s been a very long day and you clearly intended to do good by my humble home world. Perhaps your fellow Jedi can take you to the healers so you can-”

“Why are you working alongside a Sith Lord?” Luke cut off the Senator and addressed Grandmaster Yoda directly. 

“A Sith Lord, you say?” Master Yoda replied. “A most serious allegation, this is.”

Basically, Luke derails the Naboo Crisis by absolutely annihilating the trade federation army, only realizing after the fact when and where he is. This means that Padme turns right around from Tatooine and never voices her vote of no-confidence. Now, Palpatine probably had contingency plans in place, but the public accusation by a Jedi of being responsible for the crisis in the first place, despite absolutely no evidence, hurts his image enough that he’s not going to win a vote, because people will think it’s a power grab. 

And it’s funny cause it’s true but Luke only barely knows that! He’s just accusing Palpatine of being behind the first evil thing he sees and he fuckin happens to be right!!!

Anyway Luke doesn’t focus on Palpatine; there are like 10,000 other Jedi around. He commits himself first and foremost to completing his training with Master Yoda because sometime Yoda just dies and fades into thin air so, you know! He’s not going to procrastinate on that again!

He goes before the council and humbly asks to be taken on Yoda’s student (this is right before Qui-Gon can ask about Anakin- literally, Anakin and Qui-Gon are in the waiting room). He gives several extremely vague banthashit explanations of who he is ‘I’m a follower of the Force,’ where he comes from ‘the Force sent me,’ and why they should train him when he’s way too old ‘the Force willed it.’ Yoda is somewhat impressed because those are some real unhelpfully wise answers and- here’s the kicker- Luke actually believes them! 

He is really committed to being a Jedi! Is 110% all about being a luminous being! This is several years after return of the Jedi and Luke has pretty much just been hanging out in force temples meditating with ghosts so he has quintessential Jedi vibes, he just knows jackshit about anything!

What really clinches it for Yoda is the fact that his robe pocket starts squirming and he pulls out a live Nabooian Salt Frog. And hands it to Yoda like, “These are one of your favorites right? :) I saw it and I thought of you :)”

Now Yoda- let’s step back a second. Yoda is old. Yoda, in his youth, was a bit more feral. He’s a top level predator and the order has always celebrated diversity and being true to your origins! He’s hunted with Tortugans on Shili! He’s unhinged his jaw with Besalisks on Ojom! 

But as the Republic’s boundaries caved in on themselves, he was more and more put into contact with Core senators who tend to be unnerved by more, ah, carnivorous tendencies. And the more he was put into high level positions by virtue of being really frickin old, the more restrained he became in his public behavior. 

Decades passed and younglings who only ever knew his more ‘harmless-prank’ feral tendencies were increasingly shocked and scared to see him occasionally unhinge his jaw to eat a scrocodile whole. Some of the prey-origin younglings from that field trip actually avoided him for the rest of the their lives.

So. Yoda is still a carnivore- but- in private. With his padawans and his closest peers. But his closest peers age and die and his padawans get younger and smaller as the decades pass. He took on two herbivorous padawans in a row and as a result restrained himself from openly hunting with another soul for around for 50 years.

And then there’s Dooku. ‘Ah a human,’ he thinks. ‘They hunt sometimes. Well. They’re omnivores at least.’

And Dooku is- and I’m not saying this to shame Dooku- but he’s prissy. He likes...neatness. He’s not afraid of violence but force forbid it’s untidy. So when Yoda, excited to get his ambush predation on, takes 14 year old Dooku who’s barely ever left the sterile confines of Coruscant on a trip to a swamp world- yeaaahh it doesn’t go well. Dooku- he doesn’t mean to, honestly. How would he even know that Yoda might be sensitive about things? He’s Yoda. 

But Dooku sobbing openly and puking a little in a bush and running away from Yoda because his Master is terrifying and gross. It... kind of puts the nail in the coffin for Yoda being open about that side of himself. He doesn’t really have it in him to try again. People’s view of him is too fixed, they can’t handle him also being a flesh creature so he focuses on the luminous side of him which is and always was, genuinely, more important than him.

And that’s been the last 100 years or so. The thrill of a live kill is just a little piece of himself that he meditates away and that’s ok. He has the force. He has the order. He’s old anyway, a real hunt would probably hurt his joints. 

And then in comes Luke, radiating Light and earnestness and Jedi serenity while also holding out a very tasty looking live frog. And Yoda realizes Dooku’s not around, he’s surrounded by a council he trusts and respects and likes, none of whom are 14 year olds, all of whom have seen the galaxy and seen worse. He is almost seizing the moment but there’s a little part of him that shriveled up when Dooku cried that’s having a hard time accepting this.

“Want it for yourself, you do not?” Yoda cackles, playing off the offer.

Luke smiles sheepishly and pulls out another live frog. “I was saving it for later. Forgive me Master, your senses are keen as ever I see.”

And Yoda...it’s not about the bribe, really, so much as the symbolism, and it’s not about the flattery either, but darn is the kid really pulling out the stops to make himself likable. And he is a kid, to Yoda anyway. Everyone is these days. What does he care about numbers when there’s a boy smiling like his third padawan, an adorable Rodian who took great delight in their more amphibious and wild missions?

Yoda snatches one of the frogs and slowly raises it in a parody of a toast. Luke does the same. The rest of the council quietly watches in various shades of bewilderment and bemusement.

They’re not actually going to eat that right? Mace thinks. Ugh I hate frogs the skin is so slimy. Shaak Ti thinks. I cannot believe they’re not even offering me one. Yaddle thinks.

And Yoda bites the head off the frog in a quick snap of his jaws, the rest following rapidly. Luke does the same- a slight assist from the force helping his less specialized mandible tear through skin and bone in a well practiced move. He chews slower, but finishes the frog soon enough, the rest of the council looking on with deep uncertainty and a tiny bit of hunger, but no actual fear. They’re Jedi Masters; they’ve eaten everywhere, it’s just a little weird for a human to be eating a live animal and Yoda as far as anyone knew only ate stew and also they were in the middle of a council meeting.

Yoda belches and Luke smiles genially.

“Take you on as my padawan learner, I will. Much to learn you have, much to teach you, I do.”

Luke beams. The council looks on in shock. 

“Master Yoda,” Mace Windu says hesitantly, “He’s clearly in his late 20s, at the earliest. If this is about the... frog thing-”

“Was a pleasant surprise, the frog. The reason for my decision, it is not. Had some training already, he has. Know each other before this day, we do. Taking over for a Master passed into the force, I am merely. Our custom, this is.”

Luke bows lowly and an initiate is summoned to escort him to the quartermasters and then the long-empty padawan suite next to Yoda’s chambers. 

Qui-Gon and Anakin are brought in and. Well. It’s a little hard for them to simply reject the boy after Yoda just pulled that stunt. He’s sent to the initiates dorm, eventually. Mace Windu has a headache from the shatterpoints blinking in and out of existence. Shaak Ti is delighted to discuss a hunting trip with Master Yoda and his new padawan learner Luke Svader. 

The force dances.

#Anonymous #ask #300 celebration #star wars #my au #star wars au #frog promise au #yoda #star wars au no 29 #nevertheless meta #luke skywalker eats frogs

[tigerdrop]

Hfbbfbhbbbbff stumbles in here. Listen. Uhhhh hl gordo topping the absolute shit out of vr gordos like, fingers shoved in so far in his mouth and Benrey "accidentally" stumbling in to find them and just seeing vr gordos become such a fuckinf mess under hl gordo..... idk it's on the brain now thanks to you and honestly thank you very much

thank you very much for this fantastic idea i took it and ran way too far with it

vr gordon on his knees with a hand in his hair tilting his head back, hl gordon in the HEV suit with 3 fingers fucking his mouth so you know he got those gloves on, just looking him right in the eyes while he does it, vr gordons got his hands wrapped around hl gordons forearm and his thighs spread wide, hes fuckin droolin and flushed and moaning around hl gordons fingers

and then benrey walks in and vr gordon Flips and is like "mpphh mhmhpph" trying to get those fingers out of his mouth and be Normal but hl gordon just grabs his hair tighter and plunges them in deeper and turns to stare right at benrey. doesnt say anything. just gives him an intense, totally unreadable look

gordon getting cucked by hl gordon and not letting himself join in b/c he is emotionally and sexually repressed as all hell is great. but i think it would be really fucking good if hl gordon wordlessly invites benrey to join in. just jerks his head to the side like "get over here"

well, first benrey just stands there, eyes wide and surprised as all hell while vr gordon slaps at hl gordons arm until he takes those fingers out of his mouth. then he starts bitching like "fucking-- go away, benrey, wait a fucking minute here--" until hl gordon leans down and whispers something in his ear that benrey cant make out. but whatever it is, it has an Effect on vr gordon thats kind of like watching a glass of water be poured over his head - his mouth snaps shut, and his face turns a dark, dark red, and he swallows hard as he looks back at benrey. and then back to hl gordon. and then he says, real quiet, "uh. okay"

and then benrey gets another Look from hl gordon and hes like "uhhh. cool. yeah. this is cool" and steps into their circle like his legs are on autopilot cuz hes still like what is even going on, never fuckin seen freeman like that before, this is craaaazy ha ha

(like, okay, in this scenario hl gordon already fuckin knows that vr gordon is into benrey and hes just being a little emotionally-constipated bitch about it. thats the whole reason he nodded at benrey to let him join in anyway. so what hl gordon is whispering into his ear is something along the lines of, like, this is what he wanted to do anyway, right? hl gordon already knows. so why dont u be good for the both of them, gordon?)

then before he knows it, hes standing in front of vr gordon on his knees and casting a shadow over him and vr gordon is so fucking embarrassed right now. but, like, hl gordon wasnt wrong, and he really, really wants to be good for him. (and, you know, for benrey, but if he admits that to himself he might actually fucking die.) hes sweating as he looks up at the both of them, like, "uh, okay, hey. uh. what am i supposed to--"

hl gordon interrupts him by making a fucking obscene motion with his (still spit-slick) fingers, indicating that benrey should do what hl gordon was just doing a second ago. (please note: hes still got his other hand in vr gordons hair.) and benrey looks between the two of them with his hand raised halfway into the air, like, yo, is this cool? is this actually happening? hl gordon gestures at him like, go ahead, bro. and when his hand approaches vr gordons mouth and his fingers alight on his lip, that mouth parts just enough to let him in, even if vr gordons having a really goddamn hard time meeting his eyes.

and benrey slowly starts feelin him from the inside, feeling the slick surface of his tongue and teeth while hl gordon gives benrey encouraging gestures and shows him how best to do it. how to get vr gordon to whimper and drool around his fingers just like he was doing earlier. not that vr gordon needs much help getting there - the humiliation of copping to his feelings like this, on his knees and fellating his frenemys hand, combined with hl gordons fingers gently stroking and scratching his scalp and stroking his ear and jaw as if to say, youre doing good, is getting him 12 different kinds of Fucked Up. hes still too embarrassed by all this to really get back into Whoredon Freeman mode so easily, but the embarrassment is.......really fucking cute. its doing it for benrey. and soon enough, hes got 3 fingers in gordons mouth and is feeling those low noises gordons making just as much as hes hearing them

i just......i think hl gordon is neat......hes just......a really quiet guy that projects this air of almost total confidence just by virtue of not speaking that much (and therefore, never sticking his fucking foot in it) and talking with his hands comes a lot easier than speaking aloud.......and hes a nice guy who doesnt have a problem showing it when its necessary/appropriate but he doesnt abide bullshit b/c bullshit gets people killed, which vr gordon unfortunately has in spades........literally all just fucking made-up personality traits but i just see it very clearly in my head

in my mind he is the polar opposite of vr gordon. like. vr gordon is so desperate to maintain control over his peers and his environment and he mostly just......yells ineffectually and runs around like a big loud rooster trying to peck everybody into place. and clearly that shit dont work out too well for him. so in comparison hl gordon is just......effortlessly confident in what he does and how he acts and people are just naturally inclined to listen to him/take him seriously. or at least he appears that way on the outside - i imagine the guy still has some self esteem issues, both about himself as a person and in his own abilities to Do What Needs To Be Done. just.......being so quiet all the time projects that air

i also imagine that like......his smiles are a bit of a rare thing, too. especially for vr gordon, who spends most of the time rubbing him the wrong way. so when vr gordon does earn one of those smiles, or a thumbs up, or basically any kind of positive attention, it hits extra hard

still thinking about. hl gordon basically......teaching benrey how to fuck vr gordon. in so many words. starting with the fingers.....hes also quietly being encouraging towards benrey, too, communicating that hes doing good at this. (is hl gordon domming both of them at the same fucking time?? youre goddamn right he is.) and benreys tenting the absolute hell out of his slacks by the time hes got vr gordons hand wrapped around his wrist to keep him there, and by the time gordons whining around his fingers and spreading his legs open wider instinctually and jerking his hips a little against the arm hes got shoved down between em for just a little friction

and then hl gordon stops benrey and makes another obscene motion and-- oh. yeah, benrey would like to take care of his boner issue like that, thank you. benreys a little dumbfounded, like, "yo, uhhh, you really wanna suck my dick? friend?" and vr gordons like "oh my god, you didnt have to say it out loud! jesus fucking christ, do not say anything-- not another fucking word--" but hes cut off by hl gordons hand tugging his hair hard enough to make him hiss. "okay, okay, jeez!"

vr gordon shimmies closer and looks up at him, still red, still sweating, drool running down the corner of his mouth and trailing in a translucent string from benreys fingers. still embarrassed. but daring benrey to do as he was told. so benrey unzips himself with shaking fingers and pulls out his dick. hes fully hard already and hl gordons there to guide the both of them how to do it - takes vr gordons hand and curls it into a fist with his thumb tucked inside, guides vr gordons head with the hand still in his hair. pushes him onto benreys dick. and theres something decidedly fucking weird about hl gordons role in this, but hes clearly getting off on it, and so are the rest of them, so theres not a lot of room left for any of them to worry about it

i cannot rightfully allow myself to keep fucking writing this when i still havent finished writing gordon freeman coming untouched but im just fucking frothing thinking about hl gordon showing benrey exactly how to push vr gordons buttons. shows him how to finger vr gordon, which angle he should push gordons legs back to so he can hit just the right spot, guides him to take just the right pace and shows him how gordon likes his hair to be pulled

and benreys so obedient! its a marked difference from how much shit he gives vr gordon at any attempt to control him. vr gordons honestly a little miffed about it, but on the other hand, hl gordon is really good at jerking him around and getting him off and hes a very good teacher. he cant complain

Anyway. See Ya

#asky #writin stuff

[agapaic]

tianshan top gun-AU drabble. 💞 on behalf of emma’s very generous donation to the ‘justice for jacob blake fund’ @plumb19. if you would like to donate to an organisation supporting black lives in return for a drabble, please see here for more information (closes monday evening). 🌸

///

‘No visual on Farmer! I repeat, no visual on Farmer!’

He Tian’s laugh comes through his headgear. ‘You don’t need a visual on me, sweetheart! This is a race not an op—there’s no bandit here but me!’

Guan Shan grits his teeth. He goes full throttle, flies blind. The finish line is in sight, ten miles out at his twelve o’clock. He can feel his face pulling backwards with the speed, the G-force making him lightheaded. He can’t g-LOC now—he’d die from the shame of acting out the funky chicken before his plane even hit the ground. He Tian will know what happened—he’ll see the Firebird jet tail out, the vape from the tail end stretching skywards.

Faster—fucking faster.

Guan Shan’s eyes dart to his mirrors. All clear. Where the fuck is He Tian? He can’t be ahead of him—there’s no way Guan Shan could go any faster. He’s got the jet firewalled, his head mashed backwards against the headrest. His bones are shaking; his teeth are aching.

He Tian again: ‘Right above you, sweetheart.’

Guan Shan’s head jerks up. He doesn’t know why he bothers looking. There’s nothing there but the roof of the jet: no window. He Tian’s a ghost on his radar.

‘The fuck do you think you are?’ Guan Shan spits, eye locked back on the finish line. The engine roars in his ears. ‘Fuckin’ God?’

He Tian laughs again. Guan Shan doesn’t hate that He Tian’s enjoying this—he hates that he’s enjoying it too. Why shouldn’t he? It’s a game, not a dogfight, and the winner chooses the reward. There’s no bogey or bandit on their trail, no spike on the radar. When’s the last time he got to go full throttle without the fear of a strike?

‘Come on, Guan Shan,’ He TIan croons through the headset. ‘We’re nose for nose.’

‘Are you even tryin’?’ Guan Shan barks back.

‘You should see my hand,’ says He Tian. ‘It’s never wrapped tighter around a stick before.’

Guan Shan swears under his breath. He Tian must hear it: he laughs.

Two miles.

‘Just—get off my back, would’ya?’ he grouches out. ‘Wanna see your face when I beat you over the finish line.’

‘Oh, Ah-Shan. You know I like to finish on top.’

Guan Shan veers.

There’s a damning thud, an awful shriek of metal. He Tian swears over the comms. Everything shakes and the engine judders as the underbelly of each jet scrapes against each other. The sky swings above him, pendulum-like, and an alarm blares somewhere.

Out the corner of Guan Shan’s eye, he sees He Tian’s jet wrench itself away. The Shenyang J-6 sidles up beside his own, evening out. He Tian’s face is shielded by his helmet and the high-alt oxygen mask, but Guan Shan imagines his mouth split open in a wide, white-toothed smile.

Fucker.

‘Daring,’ He Tian comments over the radio, his voice crackling. ‘Nearly took me out with that move. Yourself included.’

Guan Shan breathes shallowly. His heart is beating fast, and he wrestles it under 110. If it goes too high or flatlines Zhan Zhengxi will call in the cavalry from the base.

‘I’m not above playin’ dirty,’ Guan Shan mutters.

‘Oh, I know. You’re not a grape, Mo Guan Shan. Bigger balls than anyone gives you credit for.’

You’d like to think so.

‘At least,’ says He Tian, ‘I’d like to think so.’

700 yards. They’re at break-neck now. A final bend through airspace, and Guan Shan will be over the finish line. His face has started to go numb. He’s conscious only of the pressure in his ears, behind his eyes. Feels like bruising in his eye sockets. His knuckles must be bone-white beneath the gloves.

500 yards from the turn. Guan Shan bites down hard on his lower lip. The jet rattles around him like an earthquake in flight. If he leaves it too late he’ll veer off path and lose seconds he knows he wouldn’t recover. Too early and he might force the jet straight into He Tian’s and they could both go down.

‘You gonna tell me your action plan?’ asks Guan Shan, teeth gritted.

‘Oh, no. I’m leaving this all to you.’

Guan Shan swears, eyes on the blue-skied horizon. 200 yards. ‘Even if I kill us both.’

‘I think you know how to punch out if it gets too much.’

Now. Guan Shan yanks down hard on the controller, the skyline swerves around him; nausea wells in his throat. There’s no collision; he has no visual on He Tian’s jet and no time to wonder why that might be. He makes the turn, levels out, throttles forward to the finish line.

The base comes into view below him, and a green light blinks up at him from ATC like a traffic light.

He’s done it.

Guan Shan throws his head back against the headrest, breathes out shallowly.

A voice comes over the comms. ‘This is Mother to Firebird. Mother to Firebird. How do you hear me?’

‘I hear you,’ Guan Shan says thickly. He starts to drop, pulls back the throttle. He’ll have to do a loop of the base to line up with the runway. He doesn’t mind the victory lap.

There’s a smile in Zhan Zhengxi’s voice. ‘Cleared to land at your leisure. How does first place feel?’

Guan Shan swallows a grin. ‘Affirmative,’ he says. ‘Feels pretty fuckin’ good.’ He checks his mirrors. ‘Where the fuck is Farmer?’

‘Uh, he hasn’t crossed yet. Looks like he pulled back at the finish. Problem with his radar, I think? Jian Yi’s working him through it.’

Guan Shan’s mouth falls open. ‘Bullshit,’ he gasps. ‘Bull. Shit.’

‘Don’t shoot the messenger. Take it up with him.’

Guan Shan glares. He can feel his vision narrowing. He has half a mind to turn the jet around and shoot He Tian down for the sheer fucking hell of it—a fox two, maybe a three if he’s lucky. Guan Shan’s fingers go to the triggers. How fucking dare he?

‘Firebird, did you copy?’

Guan Shan sets his jaw. ‘Affirmative,’ he says flatly.

Take it up with him? He’d better fucking bet.

///

There’s a view of the runway from the changing rooms, a long strip of glass that means Guan Shan knows the exact moment He Tian’s Shenyang J-6 touches down on tarmac and pulls into the hangar. It means, also, he knows exactly how long it will take He Tian—second-place DNF loser—to walk through the base to the changing rooms.

It takes He Tian twenty minutes to land the jet and make his way to the changing room. Twenty minutes for Guan Shan to simmer and get himself close to boiling. The second He Tian walks through the door, he tips over. Guan Shan’s helmet smashes against the floor in fragments of plastic, metal, and glass.

The helmet nearly strikes He Tian in the face, but his reflexes are good. He dodges, swears, looks back to Guan Shan with wide, incredulous eyes. Glass crunches beneath his boot as he moves over to the ceiling-to-floor lockers.

‘Those are expensive, you know?’ He Tian says.

Guan Shan doesn’t care about a fucking helmet. He Tian’s father can foot the bill, mark it off as an extraneous expense. Being the commander of the base has its perks.

‘You fuckin’ fixed it.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ says He Tian, stripping off his gloves. ‘There was a malfunction. Probably after you rammed into me, I suspect.’

‘You let me win,’ Guan Shan growls.

He Tian shrugs. ‘Check the black box if you like. It’s all there.’

‘Who’d you pay to wire it?’

He Tian begins to unbuckle his suit. The black leather sticks to his body like a second skin, suggesting at lean muscle and broad shoulders that bare themselves as He Tian peels back its layers. Nothing about it is standard-issue. It’s been made to fit like a glove. Guan Shan hates it.

‘I didn’t pay anyone, Mo Guan Shan.’

‘Right. You didn’t have to. People will suck your dick around here for a look.’

He Tian looks at him.

Guan Shan snarls. ‘What the fuck do you even get by losing? Are you that fuckin’ desperate to disappoint him?’ He shoves a thumb upwards. Not God, but He Tian’s father, and doesn’t everyone act like he’s the same thing? ‘Fuck me over and bring shame on the family name? Two birds and one stone?’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ He Tian sighs.

‘Fuck, I wanna kill you right now.’

‘Go on, then. Try.’

‘What’s the point?’ Guan Shan sneers. ‘You’ll punch out at the last second. Blame the faulty mechanics.’

A thought strikes him: he could punch him. A realisation: he’s going to.

Five concentrated footsteps, the swing back of his right arm.

His knuckles bruise on He Tian’s cheekbone.

‘Fuck!’ He Tian shouts. He spits blood onto the floor, doubles over at the waist. Guan Shan steps back and his eyes go to the sharp nodules of He Tian’s spine as he bends over, curved out like a penitent. Guan Shan looks at him with disgust.

‘You didn’t even fight back,’ he mutters. ‘Who the fuck has you whipped?’

There’s blood coming from He Tian’s nose; some of it has spattered onto the toe of Guan Shan’s boot. He Tian, Guan Shan realises, is laughing.

‘You’d think—oh, fuck me—you’d think it would be fucking obvious, wouldn’t you?’

Guan Shan stares at him. ‘This ain’t fuckin’ funny—’

‘But it is.’ He Tian winces, straightens, dabs two fingertips against his bloodied nose. ‘You’re a good fucking pilot, Mo Guan Shan, but you are awful with analytics. Never go into the Intelligence sector, okay?

Riddles and disguise. Guan Shan hates it. There’s some truth to He Tian’s words, but he’s glad for it: he’s glad he doesn’t get it. Glad he can’t deal with conundrum and complexity. In the ten years they’ve been at this—flight school, their junior years, coming close to leading, wingmen by virtue of their shared skills—he’s never stopped hating the enigma He Tian enjoys wrapping himself around like a coat keeping him warm through the winter.

‘I don’t have time for this.’

He turns to his locker; he’ll take his clothes back to his room, save changing for somewhere that rHe Tian can see him. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He clicks in the combination, tugs the door open with a metallic clank. A hand falls to the locker beside him, just brushing the side of his head, and Guan Shan can feel the heat of He Tian’s bare chest through the fabric over his back.

Guan Shan swallows. ‘Move.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘I’ll hit you again.’

‘I might put up a fight this time—even if it’s you.’

Guan Shan stills. ‘The fuck is that supposed to mean?’

‘What do you think?’

Guan Shan squeezes his eyes shut. ‘Tell me. Please, just fuckin’ tell me.’ Put me outta my misery.

He Tian’s mouth is level with his ear, and Guan Shan shudders as hot air moves across his neck. He Tian is too close. Guan Shan’s body still aches from the G-force, a strain that will last through the night, but he can’t distinguish it from anything else that might be bruising its way through his narrow veins like swallowing a tablet dry. Guan Shan puts his forehead on the frame of his open locker; the metal is cool to his skin.

‘Why do you think,’ He Tian murmurs, silken, ‘I would make sure you won?’

‘I don’t—’

‘Why do you think,’ he says, ‘I’d let you hit me if that’s what you wanted?’

If that’s what you wanted.

Guan Shan’s voice is tight. ‘I never wanted to win if you made yourself lose.’

There’s a pause. He Tian says, ‘You said you’d quit if you lost. Before the race. You said you’d move somewhere else if you couldn’t be number one here.’

Guan Shan frowns. ‘I was—that was a joke. I was just settin’ the stakes.’

He Tian moves. He’s a few paces back when Guan Shan turns to face him. His expression is unreadable, and Guan Shan’s head is working on overdrive trying to keep track of the conversation and all its hidden nuance.

‘Are you sayin’—you did that to keep me from leavin’? You seriously thought I’d quit over some stupid race?’

‘It wasn’t a stupid race. It was you and me—’

‘I’m never gonna be as fast as you,’ says Guan Shan slowly. ‘You’re never gonna be as good a shot as me. I know where we’re strong and I know where we’re not. I’m not gonna quit ‘cause of some stupid competition with you.’

‘But I didn’t know that.’

Guan Shan swallows. There’s a heat to He Tian’s words that blisters. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s conscious that He Tian is half-dressed before him and that there’s blood drying on his chin.

‘I’m not leavin’,’ Guan Shan tells him, feeling oddly inclined to reassure him. He Tian. The stalwart bastard who never gives him a break. Guan Shan can’t stop himself: ‘I’m—we’re a good team. General Qiu said we’re one of the best this fuckin’ base has seen in twenty years.’

‘You hate being my wingman,’ He Tian says flatly.

Guan Shan’s eyebrow quirks. ‘I get first seat watchin’ you fuck up and take none of the damage.’

He Tian drags a hand over his face. ‘God, he’s good,’ he mutters to himself. Louder, he says, ‘So if you weren't quitting if you lost, what did you want if you won?’

‘Probably the same as you,’ says Guan Shan carefully.

‘Ha!’ He Tian crows. His eyes darken. ‘Oh, I doubt it sweetheart.’

‘Wanna bet?’

He Tian’s brows lift. A smirk spreads slowly across his face, arrogance coming into steady effect. He swaggers forward.

‘My request,’ he murmurs, ‘would’ve been you.’

Guan Shan closes off his expression, puts his walls up. The news comes as no surprise: He Tian’s been clear with his intentions since they were in flight school, tugging at heartstrings like pigtails. Guan Shan doesn’t mind anymore. He’s used to it. He knows, with He Tian, the offer of intimacy is only sex and doesn’t go further. The walls Guan Shan has built are thick with cement.

Behind them, another jet comes into land. The windows rattle.

Guan Shan breathes out slowly, waits for the engine sound to fade. ‘Like I said,’ he starts, lifting his gaze from the floor. ‘Probably the same as you.’

It takes He Tian a few seconds. Guan Shan takes it as a win—a real one.

‘You—’ He Tian swallows. ‘So, all this time—all of our fighting. You could have just said so.’

‘Could’ve,’ Guan Shan admits. ‘But I never wanted sex, He Tian. I mean—I never just wanted it. Not like you.’

He Tian blinks at him. ‘Maybe I wasn’t clear. When I said I wanted to give you what you wanted: I meant it. Every word.’

‘You’re gonna regret that.’

He Tian nods slowly. ‘Very possibly,’ he says.

They’re close enough that when Guan Shan reaches out a hand and loops his fingers around He Tian’s wrist, He Tian comes forward with ease. His smile is indulgent.

He Tian continues: ‘But I’m willing to take a fox three for it.’

Guan Shan rolls his eyes. His fingers knot themselves in He Tian’s hair, and his mouth comes down to meet his willingly.

‘Shut the fuck up, He Tian.’

#19 days #tianshan #donation drabble

[thesealovesme]

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆. ( repost, don’t reblog )

   basics

NAME: Maveric Unelanvhi NICKNAME: Mav, Mavvy, Dumb Mutt, Mavvy-poo, Sea Hobo, Old Man. AGE: Twenty Seven SPECIES: Nouryokusha - Zoan, Human -Tenryuubito.

   personal

MORALITY: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / grey / evil. RELIGION:  Worships the Sea God of the Grand Line. SINS: greed  /  gluttony  / sloth  / lust /  pride  /  envy  /  wrath. VIRTUES: chastity  /  charity  /  diligence  /  humility  /  kindness  /  patience  /  justice PRIMARY GOALS IN LIFE: To survive and live so as to prove his love to the sea for saving his life many years ago, possessed prior goals of protecting and guarding Zoen, and has many short term plans of providing companionship to various people. KNOWN  LANGUAGES:   Common tongue of the Grand Line, can speak the language of beasts.

   physical

BUILD: scrawny  /  bony  / slender /  fit /  athletic  /  curvy  /  herculean  /  pudgy  /  average. HEIGHT: 6′6′‘, 201cm. WEIGHT: Around 300lbs, about 136kg. SCARS  /  BIRTHMARKS: He’s covered in scars from the various injuries suffered on the prehistoric island he survived at a young age, ranging from lacerations from dinosaurs and dire wolves to burns from acidic toxins from hostile plantlife. His signature lip scar was gained from cutting his mouth open on Yarou’s spines after falling from the ship as a child, and was the first injury he had ever suffered in his life. Other scarring was likely gained just from being a stupid pirate. ABILITIES  /  POWERS: Extreme strength and durability, is in possession of the Okami Okami no Mi; Model: Dire Wolf, which gives the user the ability to transform into varying degrees of a massive warg. Maveric is also a master of Busoshoku Haki, to the point where he can even coat a very close living creature(Yarou) as one would their weapon. This mastery of Armament also allows him to coat his vocal chords in Haki, giving him his signature move ‘Hangman’s Howl’, which is akin to a destructive soundblast.   RESTRICTIONS: Seastone cancels out Devil Fruit capabilities, and Maveric is EXTREMELY susceptible to it, even getting tired merely from the smell. He cannot swim, and will be unconscious the moment he touches the ocean.  

   favorites

FOOD: Anything you can grill over an open fire. DRINK: Alcohol, he prefers the sweeter varieties, like rum, also floral teas. PIZZA  TOPPING: I can imagine he’d probably like something horrible like anchovies or pineapple. COLOR: Red, pink, and the color of wheat. MUSIC  GENRE: Shanties, classical, anything with vocal, and piano. BOOK GENRE: bitch can’t read MOVIE  GENRE: he doesn’t. know what movies are. SEASON: likes winter and autumn islands. CURSE  WORD: Fuck. SCENTS: Sea breezes, florals, sweet scents.

   fun stuff

BOTTOM  OR  TOP:   mostly tops, wouldn’t really care either way. SINGS  IN  THE  SHOWER: he’ll sing anywhere, he doesn’t have to be wet LIKES  PUNS: iF HE FUCKIN UNDERSTANDS THEM

TAGGED BY:  Grand larceny from myself TAGGING: @acherys​ @kanashii-na @maljefe @ryuukenshi @samsmulti (anyone! ) @tctidem (lulu!) @bucketfullofocs (anyone!) @logpcse (anyone!) @glxtzy​ AND ANYONE WHO SEES THIS!! please steal I want to see u _ u

#BLOODY MOON| |Maveric #Where's that Snail| |MEMES #CHAINED;;HOLD BACK RAGNAROK| |Maveric #[[ i have completely incinerated my sleep schedule hi everyone ]]

[joshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh]

Love Live! Superstar!!

Yeah so episode 1 huh? Watched the Team ONIBE upload - gonna get Funi upload tomorrow to load myself up on screenies since this 720p TV rip was a bit lacking.

Tbh I don’t totally know where to start since this is kind of of a weird entry in the franchise. So I might just rattle off some notes.

Obviously there’s the inherent structural difference of only having 5 girls to deal with, though that’s obviously less pronounced in this very introductory episode.

The return of School Idol Project’s director is very much felt throughout the episode I’d say - there’s equal parts pretty money shots of the characters as it were, alongside big goofy expressions and cutaways and whatnot.

Love Live is of course generally a feelgood easy show though I think it’d be fair to say that from Sunshine onwards and even in the Niji anime we have been getting quite a self-serious feel sometimes? So this slightly more down to earth approach feels almost unusual. I’m into it but hey.

What’s actually feeling like the biggest difference at the moment is with our protagonist. Honoka and Chika are similar archetypes and fit the mould well; within episode 1 of Niji their more surface level personalities and protagonist position almost feel divvied up between Yuu and Ayumu so that works as expected; Kanon is quite a different beast though. She’s the cool girl with the guitar and great singing voice - she’s got a bit of snark to her based on how she talks to her family and she’s pretty vocal about things she has a problem with based on her conversation with Ren. That being said she’s also suffered from stage fright her entire life and backed away from music entirely after she couldn’t get into the music course. She’ll locks herself away in her headphones to escape reality and whatnot. There’s a lot more established internal conflict for her very early on when compared to Honoka or Chika or Yuupomu as a singular entity. She does seem to basically overcome that hangup after our first big song and dance number? We’ll see how that holds over next episode though.

On that note this might be my favourite episode 1 song in Love Live? I really like Susume Tomorrow so you might need to get back to me on this one but still, the song really fucked and yeah Kanon’s voice is really damn impressive really early on, fuckin huge pog moment.

Keke’s kind of the only other relevant girl this episode. She’s very cute, she says lots of entire sentences in Chinese, and she feels closer in role to a Love Live MC than Kanon by virtue of trying to get the school idol group off the ground and stuff - only not being the MC because her hair isn’t orange and she has less screentime than Kanon. The people that already love Keke are gonna be happy with how she is here. Personally I just think she’s fine, not really any more or less endeared than I was before. Prim’s gonna be happy with her though uwu.

Chisato is relegated to basic childhood friend lines with her maybe 2 minutes total screentime. Sumire just seems tsundere atm. Ren finds school idols inappropriate for a reason I imagine we’ll get into. Fair enough with it only being episode 1 though. Excited to see what’s done with them.

I didn’t take loads of screenshots for the aforementioned reasons but this is a really screenshottable show I can already tell, like so many good faces and pretty artworks and great backgrounds and good visual gags and whatnot. Liella as a project has been really easy to follow so far prior to this anime and doing so has been great, seeing magazine scans and early promo art be reflected in the anime is kind of just a cool feeling.

Yeah idk. Getting late now, I’m getting tired, will invariably rewatch soon so might have more thoughts then. 

#love live #12.7.21

[lucienfairfax]

maybe I should have a little post explaining the salient points of Dayir and Ishan’s existence, that might be confusing for the casual viewer

and by “little post” I mean “whoops, not quite as little as I’d intended. sorry. lemme toss up a readmore after Dayir’s bit” (believe it or not, this is the short version. I can always Say More)

please feel free to ask as many questions as you like if anything is unclear or you want more info, I have no idea how any of this sounds to anyone else but me lol

Dayir, Heart of Darkness

non-combatant / defensive / support character by trade

defeats primals by absorbing their aether

does the above by virtue of an Allagan Heart (yes, exactly like the Ultima Weapon). the aether stored in eir Heart can be summoned for various purposes

originally (well, “originally”) from the Azim Steppe, so accepts “Dayir of the Steppe” as a form of address, but privately regards “Dayir of the In-Between” and “Dayir of the Prim” to be far more appropriate when it comes to place of origin

is trained in multiple varieties of dance and carries emself like it

would in some worlds be called a necromancer, or in other worlds an animancer, or in yet other worlds an avatar or a psychopomp or a shaman or a conduit. the class and job divides don’t really exist to em -- ey employ disciplines and concepts from multiple sources to achieve eir goals, and a couple of skills that frankly shouldn’t even exist

is spiritually accompanied by a todash-dwelling Qunari named Talan, whose stories of a world called Thedas tend to mesh uncannily with stories of Hydaelyn

think of an NPC, any NPC. there’s an 85% chance that they currently are or have been at some point a lover of Dayir’s (no, really) (”beast tribes” aside although there’s probably an Amalj’aa or two--) (most dragons also excepted) (I said most)

Ishan, Hound of Darkness

a walk-in from the Lifestream (allegedly) who found himself bound to the body of a minor Ishgardian lordling who’d gone missing from Carteneau and was assumed dead

(the name assigned to said body was Seraphin Arnaud Laurent Augureau. Ishan never uses it and wants nothing to do with that man’s life. this all becomes a huge point of contention during the HW arc, as you can imagine)

Ishan’s eyes don’t match because of the soul switcheroo, so one of his eyes looks like the body’s (hazel) and the other eye is just Ishan’s (blue-grey)

has memories of living on the Thirteenth World, before the botched Rejoining, and on his belated way to the First he is given a remnant of this voided planet, an eldritch black orb that is now a fuckin loaded Chekhov’s gun that I have to figure out a use for (probably around 6.0 sometime I’ll figure it out)

Ishan does not join Dayir on the First until the confrontation with Hades in Amaurot, because the magic the Exarch was using to port them over scared the fuck out of him and he found a way to put up wards against it. it was a struggle but eventually he shoved his fear aside to go find his bestest dearest companion Dayir and punch the Exarch in the teeth

extremely combative. (Elidibus has a lot to say about Ishan’s penchant for destruction, but Elidibus can also shut the hell his mouth.) daggers are his preference, although he’s not always particular and is known to get real creative in a pinch

hates Garlemald more than anything (don’t even mention the whole Zenos business, he’s still embarrassed and will slice your achilles tendons just for saying anything)

(in fact we’re not gonna discuss the whole Zenos business at all right now. even I’m embarrassed)

(like. fuck. when evil just looks and sounds so good)

important canon-divergence notes

Haurchefant Greystone’s wholly unnecessary demise is prevented by the fact that while Ishan was the WoL that was gunning for the archbishop, Dayir was the WoL that sensed Ser Zephirin doing his thing and popped a powerful aethershield over eir boyfriends

Moenbryda’s sacrifice was unnecessary as Dayir’s store of aether is far greater than the average dude’s and ey had no problem conjuring a fat aetherblade blunt for Nabriales to smoke. she persists as a Scion to vex her childhood bestie forevermore

Au Ra are the result of a successful Allagan experiment. this technically includes Dayir, but the experiment that led to em was a bit different and so is eir existence on Hydaelyn. Dayir is culturally an Au Ra but biologically more Allagan (and draconic, ofc) than anything else

Dayir and Ishan are both Azem shards, but obviously skewed towards particular facets of Azem’s personality -- Ishan represents Azem’s Martian energy, their righteous anger and passion for change; Dayir represents their depthless joy and passion for life. Dayir and Ishan’s character flaws are basically results of being a bit unbalanced in their personality traits this way (like how Dayir is capricious and easily led to despair, and Ishan is aggressive and has a hard time connecting with others)

(it can be understood that they echo the spirits of Hydaelyn and Zodiark this way, as well as the Amaurotians that formed their hearts, and I bet Emet-Selch's commented on it once or twice)

they are also both possessed of godshards -- when Louisoix did his Thang, a bit of Nymeia found its way to a strange dreamy young adult in the Steppe and a bit of Rhalgr found its way to an Ishgardian who was dying on the field and was big mad about it

they do not kill Emet-Selch in a big battle. Dayir unmakes Hades at his request. being of the In-Between, though, Hades’ essential self still exists, just not on the mortal plane. he now gets to dwell in a new place of his own creation -- not the lost city of his grieving heart, but a place that is his and his alone

#.masterpost #.dayir #.ishan #ffxiv #about.dayir #about.ishan #insourced content

[ninety-smiles-an-hour]

omgcp 4.23 reaccs under the cut (spoilers)

DEX!!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!!! OH MY GOD I’M SO PROUD OF DEX HOLY FUCKING SHIT HE!!!!! HE’S THE FUCKING CAPTAIN!!!! he’s one of my favorite characters and i’m SO PROUD of him oh my GOD

like, that panel with the frogs?? was so good????? that’s a fuckin squad right there. those are some folks who care about each other. god.

just. my boy dex, one of my favorite characters in the comic and one of the most personally relatable characters i’ve encountered in any media. who had one hell of an arc. is now the captain of smh. i know i said it already but i’m very proud of him.

also the “finish your fucking thesis” banner made me cackle and the celebratory shots on the ice? ace.

and now for whiskey.

i feel like a lot of us knew going into this that whiskey would get bitty’s dibs. it’s what makes sense narratively and it gives them a reason to talk to each other about the events of the party which, of course, they did.

i think what really got me was the “right. because i’m not. or. it’s college.“ i’m not gonna do a big analysis of this but i will say that whiskey’s got some internalized stuff to work through and it’s not gonna be easy. it hasn’t been easy.

it’s interesting, comparing bitty and whiskey. they both grew up in homophobic environments, and now that they’re in a more accepting environment, one of them is the first out ncaa captain and the other said “i can’t be like you.“ they’re going to have different reactions because, although they both, as stated, grew up in homophobic environments, those environments were different and have different cultural nuances regarding things like this that would make it easier or harder to be able to break out of any internalized homophobia. there’s also the matter of bitty knowing he was gay going into his freshman year and whiskey being at the end of his sophomore year and still refusing to put a label on himself. they’re also just different people, and different people will react differently in the same situation simply by virtue of being different people.

all this to say, what an update. we still have three to go. can you imagine that?

#omgcp

[angrylizardjacket]

a kind of loneliness {Roger Taylor}

Anon asked: I would totally love a Roger fic where the reader is secretly in love with him, but hides it because she constantly has to see him with other girls. I also imagine that when she tells him, he doesn’t feel that way initially…but gets jealous when she tries to move on with other guys. And then BAM! He has a revelation that he is in love with the reader, shows up in her doorstep in the pouring rain still wondering if she feels the same (which she does) and they have passionate and loving ending!

Anon asked: How about y/n is a photographer for Queen and Roger takes quite the liking to her! And you know bc it’s the 70’s it’s all film and Polaroid photography! 😍 And I vibe like y/n giving him a lesson on how to develop photos and him teaching her drums. OMGG.

A/N: 4027 words. Cha-chas real smooth in with a fic that’s a day late. Despite the prompts it’s a gender neutral reader. Anyways the alternate title for this is ‘it hurts not to love him, it hurts when love fades’ from Falsettos but that was a bit long. Not exactly what either of you wanted but like........ its here now. Hope you like it. it’s been a while since my last roger imagine, this is a bit of angst and pining i don’t know what to technically classify this as tho. also @siriuslymooned 😘

His hair is dark when you first fall in love with him, not especially dark, just darker than the world like to remember, but you’ll recall this detail about him clearly because the sun turns it gold when he’s smiling down at you where you’d made a valiant attempt at a picnic. You’re leaning back on the grass, and you can’t help but grin at him, so unbelievably enamoured by him that it almost hurts. You can’t even remember what the two of you had been talking about when you reach up to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, and his eyes - god, you’d never forget the way he looked at you - drifted to your lips.

There’s a moment, a pause, you both know what’s about to happen. You’re breath’s caught in your throat, heart beating hard enough against you’re ribs that you’re afraid it shows. He’s haloed by the light, propped up on his side beside you, asks you why you’re the one taking photos when you’re the beautiful one-

A duck honks hungrily a few feet away, and you burst out laughing. It’s like you can breath again as he looks away from you, turning his attention instead to the intrusive bird. Hand pressed to your mouth, you turn to hide your grin against Roger’s chest as he reaches over you to yell at the creature and begrudgingly toss it the sandwich it had been eyeing.

“Fuckin’ vulture.” He snaps, obviously put out, until he comes back from his annoyance to hear the sound of your laughter. The duck quacks in what you both interpret as some sort of thanks, and that just sets you off again.

“What’d you give him?” You asked, and your eyes shine with amusement when you leaned back to grin at him, and Roger’s wearing that smile that makes your heart melt a little. 

In that one moment you wonder how you got here, how your few stints as Queen’s photographer had lead to very possibly, at the very least, hooking up with Roger Taylor. You’d just suggested a picnic to the band because it was a nice day and you could get some nice shots of them outside, but one by one the others had drifted back to the hotel they’d been staying in, and you’d taken a few nice photos of Roger pelting pieces of bread in the general direction of some ducks. But then you’re laying back and looking up at the sky, he’s laying beside you, the two of you talking about whatever shallow fascination passed through your minds at any given moment. So you’re not exactly sure how you’d gotten here, with his hand on your hip to steady himself as he’s propped up on his side beside you, but it gives you cause for hesitation.

You’ve seen him look at girls like that before, have heard him call them beautiful, and he might mean it at the time, but they mean nothing to him. If he has even half a chance at a pretty girl he’ll take it, and you’re no exception, even if you are working with the band on a semi-regular basis.

“You- that was my sandwich!” It’s easier to chase after the bird with half your lunch in it’s mouth than to make the mistake of kissing Roger, no matter how much you wanted to. As you scramble away from him, he seems to read the change in the situation easily, laughing loud and bright, even picking up your camera to catch a shot of you with your arms outstretched to the frantic duck. He doesn’t seem the least bit phased by your implicit rejection, and you can’t help but feel a little bit disappointed; on the list of Roger’s potential conquest, you weren’t special by virtue of seeing him often, or at all, and despite how foolish you think it is, you’re hurt by this fact.

But you still know you’re in far too deep, and can’t forget the way he smiled at you that afternoon.

The first photo you ever took of Queen was blurry as all hell, since the “official” photographer, who you were assistant to at the time, insisted that you were doing it all wrong and tried to grab the camera back from you mid-shot. It would have been nice too, you’d told them to be candid when you’d been given a chance during the photoshoot, told them to just pretend like they were having a nice, normal chat, asked them about what they had planned for the weekend, and right as you snapped the photo, Roger had made an incredibly crude joke and was beaming as the others reacted; John was hiding a grin behind his hand, Freddie had practically fallen out of his chair from laughing, and Brian looked like he’d been winded from surprise.

“You live and learn, maybe next time you’ll do better.” The photographer tells you back in the studio after the photos have developed, with only the barest hint of fake apology before he tosses it into the garbage. You fish it out and manage to finally get a good look at it; it’s out of focus; Freddie’s the worst, just a dark blur where you’ve caught him mid-fall, but you’re pretty sure you can make out both Roger and Brian’s expressions, and you know without even looking that they’re not nearly so happy in any photos the photographer has taken.

You pin the photo to the cork board above your desk at home, along with your other favourite photos, and you don’t think much about the band other than how you regret not getting a clear shot.

His hair is blonde when you finally admit how you feel about him. He’s bleached it since you’d last seen him, though it hasn’t been that long, and you think he’s so beautiful it aches a little.

“What’s got you all hot and bothered?” He plops himself down next to you when the band is taking a lunch break during a rehearsal that you’ve been invited to attend, and you’re the only two in the lobby. “I haven’t seen you like this since-”

“You’ve never seen me hot and bothered,” you inform him, tone clipped looking anywhere but at him because he looks like a fucking angel and it’s not doing your irritating crush any favours. He shrugs, grinning and rolling his eyes, slinging an arm over the back of the sofa behind you.

“Not for a lack of trying,” he smirks, but you’re so fucking tired of this charade and he can’t keep flirting with you like this without knowing the stakes.

“I have feelings for you,” you blurt out, speaking without even considering what his reaction would be, “like probably serious feelings, which I know is stupid, okay, I just-”

“Darling, it’s not stupid,” he pulls you into a side hug and just for the moment, despite knowing what’s coming, you let yourself lean into it. His voice is gentle, as if he’s had a lot of practice giving this sort of speech, “I’m flattered, but,” and at this he did hesitate, looking away for a moment as he considered his words for a moment - perhaps for the first time in his life, you considered, “first, you know I think you’re an absolute stunner, but serious just isn’t where I’m at right now, dear, I’m sorry.”

And you smile, say it’s alright, because it is, it has to be, but then he’s off again when the others are back, and it’s like nothing had ever happened. Nothing changes, and that’s the worst part. 

When he sees you admiring Queen’s opening act from side of stage, he wraps you in a hug, same as all the others, but he still has that indescribable effect on you that the others simply don’t.

“It’s so good to see you!” And he sounds like he means it, and like he’s already a bit drunk, and he kisses both your cheeks before the band on stage finishes their song and he’s whirled away to applaud with everyone else, as if he’s already forgotten you.

It doesn’t hurt anymore, not like it once did; you’re a professional, you do your job, you ignore the thousands of screaming fans who just want to get into his pants.

What does hurt is how much he apparently likes you being around him, despite the girls at the after party seeking his attention. He buys you drinks with a smirk - “Make sure you get my good side, love.” - despite the fact that you’ve told him you don’t drink, and sometimes, not often, but once or twice when you’ve gone off to roam the room and take photos of the gathered fans, roadies, and crew members, someone will find you and tell you that he’s looking for you.

“He’s so needy.” you’re tired when the words slip out, to Brian of all people, who just gives a thin smile that is equal parts sympathetic and knowing. 

“Isn’t that a cruel irony,” he snorted, taking a seat beside you at the bar instead of head back to whatever it was he’d been doing before he’d been sent to fetch you, “if only all the girls who liked him could realise that.” He snorted, watching as a defensive fluster overcame you; you hadn't exactly wanted your feelings to become public knowledge, especially since they clearly weren't returned.

“I do not- that’s- dude, that’s so unprofessional, I would never-” 

“Has he made a move on you yet?” Brian cuts you off and you press your lips into a thin line, taking a moment to snap a few photos of the dancers spinning themselves out on the dancefloor.

“Why are you asking?” After a beat, your frown deepens. “Why are you here?” You snap another photo, but he doesn’t seem bothered, he just hums for a moment before answering.

“Because you’re my friend, and because-” 

“Don’t give me a spiel, don’t give me all that crap,” you sighed, and turned your camera on him, the photo you take, which will turn out a little blurry but mostly in focus, catches Brian’s amused smile and raised eyebrows better than most any other photo, “what do you want?”

“Okay, no spiel; I want you, tonight I want to make you smile, and I want what Roger is missing out on.”  Despite the situation, the setting, he’s surprisingly sincere, though you appreciate his honest pettiness. After a moment he adds, “and I mean it, you’re my friend and I don’t want that to change.” 

In terms of safe ways of coping with your crush on Roger Taylor, sleeping with his bandmate in some ill-guided attempt to maybe make him jealous in a way that you’re almost positive that he won’t care about, is pretty low on the list. Brian, despite this, is warm and secure and he genuinely cares about you having a good time, and it’s easy to breeze past it and remain friends like nothing had happened. But still, it’s painful in ways you hadn’t quite expected.

It’s been a while since you’d woken up in someone’s arms and it hurts when you leave the security they provided. When you’re in the shower, all you can think about is that you feel bad for feeling like you’re leading Brian on, even though you were both clear about the night being a one-time, strings-free deal, and it hurts that some times, without meaning to, all you could think about what Roger despite being with Brian. You leave shoes in hand, sneaking like a teenager and preparing for a walk of shame back to your own hotel room, and what hurts the most is that Roger’s on the other side of Brian’s door, fist raised like he’s about to knock, expression shocked at coming face-to-face with you.

“Oh.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft. You’re not sure what to read into it.

He goes on acting like he’d never seen anything, like you and he are still good friends. That, in retrospect, is infinitely harder than any interaction you would ever have with Brian after this moment.

He likes you because you like him, it’s as simple as that. Part of him knows he’s leading you on the way he keeps you around, smiling a little too mischievously, standing a little too close, even pinching your ass when he’s feeling especially cheeky. In turn, you know you shouldn’t let him get away with it, should tell him to back off, should stop getting yourself into these situations to begin with, but… you can’t. Freddie’s pity stings.

To be unwanted, and yet somehow still needed, is a cruel and unusual punishment for existing in the same space as Roger Meddows Taylor.

He’s still blonde, but his hair is short when you finally stop playing along, when he realises you’re trying to get over him. You remember this moment because you fucking love his short hair, and the first time you see it you just want to run your fingers through it.

“How,” He’s in your studio picking up some photos for the band’s publicist, “do you do this?” He definitely could have sent a lackey to do this, but instead he’s made himself comfortable on the sofa, looking through your portfolio.

“How do I take pictures?” You ask, raising your eyebrow as you double check all the photos from the last promotional shoot the band had done.

“No, I get the point and click aspect; it’s the film part, developing them, it’s always fascinated me.” He says, flipping through the pages, eyes grazing over some of your best work with mild interest. Wasn’t that unfortunately all too familiar, it felt like in the past few years that’s all he regarded you with; the moment you’d stopped paying him complete attention he’d lost interest. Sometimes, like now for instance, he made a point to keep inserting himself into your life, but it was an empty gesture; you don’t talk like you once did. To call yourselves good friends was generous at this point, at least from your perspective. 

“It’s taken you this long to ask?” You snorted. When he looks up, his smirk sharp and eyes amused, and there’s a moment when you feel yourself slipping, but you look away quickly, hiding your own amused smile.

“I’ve been a bit busy, dear.” And as if to prove a point, he flips the folio around to show off a photo of himself. Both he and the photo are wearing the same smile, and your own expression is momentarily fond. There's something a little indescribable in his eyes when his gaze meets yours.

“You do look lovely there.” You concede.

Oh God, there it is, that irritating feeling in your chest that just won’t leave, the way his smile always makes your heart warm. Maybe, just maybe he feels something too, you think, because he closes the portfolio and gives you an evaluative stare. He wasn’t one to be quiet for long, it’s a little unnerving.

“You look all nice now, what’s the occasion?” And the compliment alone would have sent your heart racing some years ago, but for now you’re so used to hearing his shallow niceties that it barely phases you. But he’s right, you’re a little dressed up, only having come into the studio for this errand, not expecting Roger himself to show up.

“I’ve got a date,” you admit, and it comes as a surprise when he actually looks a little shocked, “don’t look so surprised.” Your face scrunches reflexively, a little hurt that the idea of you dating would be so shocking to him.

“I- no, good on you, love.” He tries to save himself, but the damage is done, and even so, his heart’s not in it. “Who’s the lucky fella?” He asked, shooting for casual. Unlike with the rest of his friends, at least with interactions like this that you’ve witnessed, his smile, his interest seems forced, and part of you tries to take victory in that, but you realise all you want is to see him smile genuinely. It’s been a while since you’d felt like that. Part of you thinks you should spend more time with him again. Part of you knows that’s a terrible idea.

Your date goes well, but the spark’s not there. 

Being lonely is exhausting, which especially when surrounded with people, because you’ve just been trying to feel something for someone else that even holds a candle to the way you feel about him, but it’s not working.

You realise you need to stop timestamping the big moments in your relationship with Roger by the way he wears his hair, because it’s shallow, and you’re trying really hard to not care about what he chooses to do with himself.

But he’s making it very difficult.

Because he’s chosen to show up at your doorstep at like three in the morning, unsurprisingly drunk.

“Don’t exile me to the lounge,” his voice is a whine as he clutches the pillow you throw at him, “please, can I just say what I came here to say?” He asks, and you’re rolling your eyes, heart calcified against years of weathering his somewhat besotted looks with no follow through.

“Absolutely not; sober up and stop being dramatic, you wanker.” You respond, and Roger groans loudly but concedes easily, stomping through your house to his bed for the night in your living room.

“Do you still have feelings for me?” He ambushes you with the question when you come to check if he’s found the blankets okay, and you actually pause.

“What?” It takes a moment for you to recall the moment from your long history with the drummer, but you pick it eventually, and he’s just watching quietly as your face scrunches reflexively. “That was like four years ago, why does it matter now?" Pinching the bridge of your nose you give yourself a long moment to breathe.

"Because I think I made a mistake." That was the last thing you had ever thought you'd hear Roger utter.

"What does that mean? You didn't like me like that back then, you can't chan-"

"Don’t be daft, of course I liked you-”

“Don’t call me daft when you outright rejected me, Roger.” You snap, and that shuts him up fast. “I liked you, and that’s not your fault, okay, I get that-”

“What does that have to do with-”

“I’m trying to say that you don’t have to have feelings for me out of pity or some fucking social obligation;” you cried, hands balling into fists by your side trying and failing to keep your own feelings in check, “you’re drunk, and it’s sweet that I was on your mind or whatever, but this will pass tomorrow; don’t do something you regret.”

“Is that why you never...” Roger actually took the moment to consider his words, looking up at the ceiling with a frown, “is that why we never- because you’d regret it?” There was genuine hurt written across his face; you looked away. “Do you still love me?”

“Love is a very strong word.” You hummed, crossing your arm, still refusing to look anywhere but at him.

“So that’s a no?” His voice is frank, almost artificially so, a tone you knew all too well.

A long silence stretched between the two of you.

You broke with a sigh, “of course I love you, how could I not?” Finally, you make your way to him, moving from the doorframe to sit on the arm of the sofa by his feet.

“You’ve known me for years, Y/N, that’s an easy question to answer.” It’s a surprisingly raw answer, his self awareness catching you off guard. “I love you, I think.” To have him admit that right after a moment of startling self awareness is almost a little disorientating.

“You think?” Voice full of skepticism, you rest a hand on his ankle and he finally meets your gaze.

“No, I know.” And his words are once again met with silence, and yet another deep sigh.

“You’re drunk.” You pull the blanket down to cover his feet and stand, but he’s not going to take that as an answer.

“I love you.”

“Go to sleep.” You can’t handle this right now, can’t handle this. Your heart fucking hurts. His drunken confessions aren’t nearly as endearing as he probably thinks they are.

“Will you listen to me?” He huffs, and the squeak of the sofa is enough to let you know he’s sitting up now, probably looking long suffering or indignant, as if he had any right.

“Not when you’re drunk.” You dimiss quickly.

“I’ve loved you for years, I just-”

“Why didn’t you do anything about it?!” You turned on him, expression fierce, and his own face fell, stepping back in the face of your fury. “You didn’t love me, you loved having someone who loved you without having to be actually emotionally invested, and now, when you think I might be leaving is when you spontaneously decide to catch feelings? Fuck off Roger, I’m sick of being ointment for your fucking ego.” Turning on your heel, you’re about ready to march back to your own room when he calls out to you.

“I think you’re talented,” he speaks clearly, his gaze unwavering, though he looks a little wounded, you make a noise of confusion but he continues, “I think you’re a hard worker, and love, not a lot of people make me laugh like you do. I like that you love me, of course I do, but it’s not why I love you, why I want to always be around you.”

“Shut up-” You mutter through your teeth, heart not in your words, voice weak.

“No, listen to me, damn it I’m being honest and vulnerable here,” he groaned, “listen, I was a dickhead kid who liked living the rockstar life, hell, I still do, but you’re right, okay? You’ve been drifting away for a while, you’re leaving and it gave me a kick in the ass because I- I can’t see my life without you,” he admitted, and you could feel tears welling in your eyes. There was the sound of movement behind you but you didn’t turn around, couldn’t bare to look at him right now, to let him see how much this was effecting you, “and it was easier to pretend like that wasn’t serious and fucking terrifying when you were always around, but I do, I love you, and if I don’t get my shit together, one day you’ll just be gone and I-” he swallowed thickly, “I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I don’t actually have a lot of regrets, and I’m not going to let not telling you I love you be one.”

There’s a light touch on your shoulder, and when you turn, he’s there, eyes wide and bright, surprised to see you crying, and honestly still a little shocked that he’d managed to articulate his feelings so well. He reaches out, his hand cupping your face as his thumb brushes a tear from your cheek.

“If you wake up tomorrow and take it all back-” you sniffle, but he laughs gently, stepping forward, his other hand coming up to frame your face.

“Not going to happen, I told you I mean it.” He said, and finally - finally - you feel years of pining being validated, hope bleeding through your words when you speak them.

“You love me?” You ask gently, and when he smiles, it’s bright and genuine. There’s going to be a serious conversation the following morning, but for now, when he leans in and presses his lips to yours, everything you’d been feeling since you’d practically met him, feels like it’s all been leading to this moment. It feels right. When he pulls back, you’re smiling, soft and bashful, still a little teary but you’re letting yourself enjoy this one moment. He looks so fucking endeared.

“Of course I love you, how could I not?”

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