#kind of but not really buddie? the idea is they're both pining but nothing is actually said. but there's tension <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

antvnger · 1 year

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I'm sad we had an anthill in our garden. I loved watching them going around their day. My brother and I even put food around the garden for them to find it. I figured this would be better because they still had to look for it for themslef but they would defintely find something. So they always had something to eat but wouldn't get used to being fed by someone else.

Today I my brothers stupid "friends" destroed it with some sticks and throwing stones at it :(

I screamed so loud at them and was so furious. My brother tried to stop them but they would just push him away and call him names. That's when he came to me and called me for help. I'm not mad at him he tried his best. His friends are all way bigger than him and they were also more than him. It was three big boys agains one smaller one. He even got an black eye because of them.

And now I feel so sad for the poor ants and my brother. He feels so guilty because he couldn't do more to help. My brother just turned three a few days ago and has such a big heart. Because of him we made our garden animal friendly we have a lot of stuff for all kinds of animals to hide and find food and no matter what comes to our garden is allowed to stay. No matter if it's spiders, ants, bees, birds or other animals.

I tried to talk to him and explain that it wasn't his fault but it didn't really help. Do you have any ideas what I could do to make him feel better maybe an idea how the both of us could help the ants? And maybe you could send him some love? He is a really big Ant-Man and the Wasp fan. They're his favorite superheros and it broke my heart when he said under tears Scott, Hope, Hank and Janet would all be disapointed and mad at him for not helping the ants :(

-Ant-Friend

Ohhhhh Anon! You’re breaking my heart! Your poor brother. He got a black eye and everything? That poor kid.

Okay so to help the ants, make sure there’s good soil or sand nearby. That’s what they build their homes with. Some little sticks and pine needles would be great too. Those help strengthen their walls. Keep leaving food like you have been. I know they really appreciate that. And finally, let the ants do their thing. They are really resourceful and they can handle cave-ins like this. I really believe they’re gonna be okay.

The good news is that their tunnels extend many feet below ground and extend out anywhere from feet to miles, depending on the species. So with that being said, this cave in won’t hurt the colony as much as it seems and they more than likely have more than one entrance. And they should have plenty of food down there too.

As for your brother, keep telling him how good a job he did and that he did nothing wrong. And do me a favor and show him this video for me, will you?

Transcript 👇🏻

Hi buddy! Ant-Man here, I heard about those big bullies who hurt you and hurt the ants. I’m so sorry all of that happened, buddy. That’s not fair that all of that happened to you guys. And I heard that you thought that I or the Wasp or Hank and Janet would be mad at you or disappointed in you. Let me tell you something okay? I want you to know I’m so proud of you! You acted like a hero for the ants. You stood up to those big bullies and tried to help save the ants. You’re such a brave brave boy, and the Wasp and I are super proud of you. I know it didn’t work out like you wanted it to, but it’s gonna be okay, buddy. Things will get better. The ants will be okay. You’re gonna be okay too. You’re one awesome person, buddy, and I think the ants are pretty lucky to have you as a friend. I think I’d be pretty lucky to have you as a friend too. You take care of that eye, buddy, okay? You have your big sibling keep me posted on how you’re doing. Get better soon! See ya!

#ask scott lang #scott lang #ant-man #ant friend anon #ant #ants #looking out for the little guy #tw bullying #tw injury #tw bullies #pardon how dumb I sound #but this calls for a special post #my poor heart #that sweet boy #ant man #antman

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cwarscars · 1 year

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❌✨⚰️

⤿ HEADCANON MEMES; COMFORT CHARACTER EDITION! TW: death, family, religion.

[ ❌ ] is there something your muse struggles with that they might never overcome? what is it? why do they have so much trouble with it?

emotions, lol.

but really - i write heidegger as both a victim and a perpetrator of toxic masculinity. he was very much raised to never be 'weak' or whatever is deemed as weak. his friends ( as a young man ) tried to pull him out of this but the trauma of events surrounding everything during that time reversed any effect that they could have had.

continuing his life alongside the shinra corp and shinra sr saw him continue to progress in an environment where weakness and emotion were shamed. eventually, through further trauma & the way that he was forced to deal with it - he shut his 'weaker' emotions off. to cry, was weak. to love, was weak.

heidegger struggles with it & will possibly never overcome it because love hasn't gotten him anywhere. his daughters don't particularly like him ( despite him loving them ). the boss he pines for & the ex-wife he once loved both look at him with disdain. his enemies wont fear a man who's kind. & he's so entirely stubborn and brainwashed by this idea of what a man is 'supposed to be' - that the chances of him ever changing are just...sadly, very small.

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

i answered this one /here/

so, as a change-up - i'm going to answer for young heid some aesthetics;

piercings // the rebellion that comes from a couple of hoops in the ear - a bar through his nipple that he almost passed out upon receiving ( a dare from a friend ). metal too expensive to be in his ear ( but bought with his parents money ). the dare of giving his buddy a prince albert

rugby // muddy uniform, bruises and bleeding and skin dirty with mud and sweat. late-night drinks with team-mates & sharing a cigarette while overlooking the oppositions matches. the comradery of team-sports & backing each other up against the ref.

katana // the skill that comes with wielding such a weapon, quick-draw & careful steps, aggression when surrounded by the enemy. strong swings but light steps. an artful sheath; his gaze reflected in the blade's edge. excellent care taken of something so fine. treats it better than he's ever treated any lover.

[ ⚰️ ] what are your muse’s greatest regrets? what would flash before their eyes when they’re on their deathbed?

his daughters. ( not being there for them enough )

for, sure.

i guess i'm answering this from a purely 'headcanon' perspective. but i write heidegger as genuinly loving his two daughters. he wasn't the best father in terms of, he wasn't always there. but he did deeply love them and was immensely proud of them. he tried to buy their love with money and things, never realising that all they really wanted was for him to be there. i think, his last thoughts would be them. worrying that they're okay or maybe...confident that they will be okay. heidegger is a strong man & he considers his daughters strong, too. i think, his last thoughts would be pride. not for himself, for once, but for them. he would regret having not been by their side more, though.

from a canon perspective ; i think he would regret nothing.

#(answered)#(headcanon)#thanks for this was cool to answer

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cha-melodius · 2 years

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Procrastinating, I somehow ended up watching real-pilot-reacts-to-plane-stuff-in-movies videos, so: how about an AU where Illya, Napoleon and Gaby are airline pilots? Bonus points if either Napoleon or Illya (or both?) used to be army pilots originally.

Ooh, this is interesting! I always love an unusual AU idea, and although I've seen a lot of flight attendant/traveler AUs, I don't think I've ever seen a they're-all-pilots AU.

I wish I knew more about airline pilots' lives, lol, but I love the idea that Napoleon and Illya are both former military. I imagine it would make itself known in different ways; like, for Napoleon, he'd take every opportunity to resist the strict, regimented life (to the extent that it's possible, obviously he'd still have plenty of regulations to follow, but it wouldn't be as strict as the military), but Illya would still be very disciplined and have little tolerance for what he sees as Napoleon's frivolity. I like the idea that Napoleon is extremely competent and professional, but he appears otherwise (as in canon), and so Illya immediately dislikes him for that. I'd say Gaby would be a younger pilot, maybe in need of flight hours as a co-pilot? (Lol I don't know how this works exactly. Obvs there would need to be research.) Maybe she works with both Napoleon and Illya at different times, getting experience on different routes and with different pilots!

They first meet when one or both of them take a new job with a new airline (UNCLE air, anyone, lol?), but I'd set it up as them constantly running into each other in staff lounges or airport hotel lobbies around the world, when they both happen to fly in to the same location. Initially, there's a lot of friction and they don't really get along, but over time they start growing on each other. They end up talking about their respective military service. They play chess games. They argue. Napoleon flirts, and Illya rebuffs him, though he ends up enjoying it a little too much. As they both fall helplessly for each other, they both think something more could never work, because all they get are these stolen moments together.

Putting the rest of this below a cut because it's a little spicier lol. I would 100% write this as a friends-with-benefits storyline. The opportunities to have them fucking in all kinds of odd, inappropriate places and situations? Absolute gold. Plus, it's perfect as starting off as very transactional: we both find each other very physically attractive, and when we happen to end up at the same place at the same time, it's easier to get a bit of a release together rather than trying to pick up strangers at the airport hotel bar. Plus, since they only see each other infrequently and don't work directly together, there's never any chance of it getting awkward, which sets you up for the most exquisite mutual pining while fucking situation. Gaby, of course, knows (more than she wants to), and initially she's like fine, whatever, it's your business, but eventually she starts wishing they'd just get their heads out of their asses and admit what they mean to each other.

One storyline I'd never be able to resist is: Illya needs to hitch a ride on one of Napoleon's flights in the jump seat to another airport to meet his next plane/crew. Make it a long-haul flight, for sure. Half the time, he's back there making little pointed comments about Napoleon's piloting, not anything outright critical, but you know. Just saying. Oh, you do that? Normally this would be definitely Not Done but they're friends/fuck-buddies at this point. Illya thinks it'll just mean he's wound up when they land and they'll have some really scorching sex, but then Napoleon corners him on the plane (Gaby's flying it, don't worry, lol) and they join the mile high club. So unprofessional. So exceptionally awesome. After that, Illya's got nothing to say for the rest of the flight. 😂

Well, I have to say I'm surprised by how much I ended up plotting out about this one, lol. So thanks for sending this in anon!

#tmfu aus #napollya #napoleon x illya #tmfu #the man from u.n.c.l.e.#the man from uncle #headcanons and aus #napoleon solo #illya kuryakin #plot bunnies #asks and answers

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hayleysstark · 6 years

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Title: Pretty Words Words: 2356 Warnings: Swearing Summary: "You know, you really should just tell them. The lucky troll. Come on, Branch, we both know you didn't make up those pretty words on the spot." Missing moment. Notes: this was not supposed to happen. i don't know why i wrote this. mutual pining is The Good Shit though.

Read on Fanfiction or AO3.

It's official, Branch decides as he stares unseeingly through the curtain of vibrant rainbow monstrosity Poppy calls Bridget's "Lady Glittersparkles" hair, and he tries to pretend he can't feel everyone's eyes on him or his heart crashing around inside him or his cheeks burning furiously in that stupid obvious purple blush spreading vividly all the way to the tips of his twitching ears. Feeling things is bullshit.

There is one thing, though. Poppy and her friends—at least they're not over there out-and-out staring at him. They're actually making some kind of an effort here, and yeah, the glances they sneak at him every few seconds from the corners of their wandering eyes aren't even in the same stratosphere as subtle, but they're—come on, they're trying, and it's decent of them. Even if they're not very good at it. Even if their eyes have begun to burn holes in him, everywhere their gazes fall, little black voids, cracks and fissures opening in his skin and he wishes he could barricade himself behind his own hair or curl into a ball or even just cross his arms a little tighter, anything to stop feeling so naked, like he just cut his own head open and let them have a look inside which—oh, yeah—he kind of fucking did.

He can still taste the words inside his mouth, on the tip of his tongue, clinging to the corner of his lip. If there was a way to—to spit them out, like spoiled food—spit them out into his hands or into the trash or—well, he thinks, as the Bergen King helps Bridget into her roller skates and she giggles and the sight makes something twinge painfully in Branch's chest and he tells himself it doesn't, at least that stupid poem did someone some good. And—the Bergen King goes to his knees before Bridget, and slowly, lovingly, laces up her skates, and Bridget looks like someone has given her a handful of sunshine and it's not a twinge anymore, it's a twist, a tight coil Branch can't breathe around—and even if she is a Bergen, Bridget deserves some good in her life.

The Bergen King and Bridget link hands, and Branch has to close his eyes, and he tells himself he's only tired.

"Sooo—"

Poppy's voice at his ear and Poppy's breath on his cheek and Branch snaps his eyes open and she's standing at his elbow with her hands clasped behind her back and bouncing on her toes and she's got a huge, obnoxious—adorable—grin on her face and she bumps his shoulder lightly with her own and he wonders if she's actually trying to kill him—

"—you've been holdin' out on us, buddy."

"I—" And maybe Branch's mind is just moving really, really slowly because of Poppy's proximity, but for the life of him, he can't figure out what she means. "What?"

She giggles, and he can't tell if the sound fills up every empty place he's got, or drags his insides out through the gash he made in his own head.

"Those were some real pretty words you were flingin', my man." She raises her eyebrows. "Who knew you were such a romantic?"

"I—I don't—" Okay, if a black hole could just open up right this fucking minute and suck him down inside, that would be great. Please and thank you. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, and he knows his voice isn't half as rough or mean as it needs to be. Romantic. Poppy called him a romantic. Death would be kinder.

"Your eyes are like two pools so deep? Come on, no need to play dumb with me, pal."

Branch can't decide if he wants to shut her up with his hand over her mouth, or his mouth over her mouth.

"I just," his tongue feels too heavy, "I just—made that up. O-on the spot. I didn't mean it."

Poppy's rosy cheeks lift a little higher as her smile widens, and he knows she doesn't believe him. "Mm-hm. Sure. Okay." She nods so hard, her frizzy pink hair quivers where it fades smoothly into green-yellow and blends seamlessly with everyone else's. Branch wonders what it would feel to twine his hair with hers. He wonders if her hair is as soft as it looks and if she'd let him touch it if he asked and if it still smells like strawberries since it's touched the other trolls' so much.

And he wonders why he's wondering things that are never going to happen anyway.

He looks away—back to Bridget and the Bergen King, and he sees the soft-spoken scullery maid is still nervously clutching the dirty railing around the rink, to hold herself up even though the Bergen King is promising he won't let go of her hand, promising he won't let her fall. Branch wonders what it would feel like to hold Poppy's hand, and not let go.

"You know," Poppy whispers, "I think you really helped Bridget. Like, a lot." Her eyes are soft, and sparkling like diamonds with a million different colors under the flashing rainbow lights of the rink, and there's no goddamn way Branch is ever coming up for air. "I mean, just look at her! She's really gotten the hang of it now, hasn't she?"

"Sh-she's stuttering up a storm, Poppy." And apparently, she's not the only one. "A-and," Branch continues, quickly, before Poppy can comment on that for herself, "I'm pretty sure she'd have gotten the hang of it without me. She's not stupid. And she had you."

Fuck.

It's way too late to save anything but Branch snaps his mouth shut anyway and isn't that just the fucking name of the day right now—saying everything he means and everything he doesn't want to mean and everything he'd never thought he would—it's like the truth about his grandma had lodged itself in the back of his throat, too big and sharp to swallow down, too horrible, too shameful, to spit out—and now it's gone and there's nothing left—he's got nothing left—no barriers, no roadblocks, nothing to stop the words coming out of him—and God, he has so many, so fucking many—he's kept them inside him so long and now they won't stop coming, they just won't stop coming and Poppy looks at him and she's never looked more like herself than she does in this moment, with her eyes shining and her mouth slowly curling up into another smile—

"That," she says, and there's the barest touch of a laugh to her voice, "just might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Can I hug you?"

"No." He tells himself his heart isn't picking up speed at the thought of hugging her, at the thought of her body pressing against his, and fucking God, Branch, get a hold of yourself. "And you'd better not get used to it." Because if we don't all die a miserable death at the hands of a horrible, bloodthirsty Bergen, I'm going to barricade myself in my bunker until you completely forget my existence because if I have to go the rest of my life with you thinking of that stupid poem every time you look at me, I might as well pitch myself off the side of Bridget's head and shatter my skull on the skating rink right now.

"Come on! You don't want to hug your bestest friend in the entire world?"

"I swear to God, Poppy, if you take one step closer to me, I'm handing you to the Bergen King myself."

"Wow, rude," Poppy huffs, but she retreats a little, and her arms fall back to her sides. "Catch you at Hug-Time, then."

"Don't count on it."

"Aww, come on, where's your way with words gone?" The corners of her mouth start to creep upward again. "Don't tell me that was a one-time thing!"

Branch is pretty sure his face is going to catch fire sometime in the next ten seconds unless Poppy decides to learn the wonderful art of shutting the fuck up. "I don't—I told you—I just—on the spot—didn't mean—"

"Branch," Poppy says, quietly now, and there's something softer about the edges of her smile, when she looks at him. She takes a step closer, and her fingers close around his wrist. His breath hitches and he prays she doesn't hear. "You know, you really should just tell them."

"T-tell—?" Fuck fuck fuck she knows okay can I die now please—

"The lucky troll, of course." She tilts her head a little, to hold his gaze. "We both know you didn't make that up on the spot. And I think if you just—if you just gave—whoever it is—a chance—" She's so close so close so close and he can count every single sparkling freckle on her round pink cheeks and God, what he wouldn't give to kiss each one. "—a chance to know you—to see what I've seen in you—" Her hand slips down his wrist until she's holding his hand holding holding holding his hand and she can feel his fingers shaking and his palms sweating and he knows she can and he should pull away he should really just pull away but he's never wanted to do anything less in the entire world. "—well—" the word's barely a breath in the space between them, "—I think they'd like what they see."

Kiss her kiss her kiss her kiss her and the words echo over and over in his mind in time with the frantic pounding of his traitorous and hopeful heart and everyone's watching them and he shouldn't he shouldn't he shouldn't—he swore he'd never—but he is—he's leaning down and leaning in and here's the crazy part—she's leaning in too—

Bridget falls. Spectacularly.

An earsplitting, headache-inducing screech of her skates against the slick tiles of the rink is their only warning, and then the world is a blur of bright lights and Bridget stammering out apologies and the Bergen King kneeling in front of her, asking her if she's okay, and the unmistakable throb of bruises forming all over Branch's body as Bridget strikes the ground, colors popping in front of his eyes and he's only marginally cushioned by the thick cloud of rainbow hair and there's a strange kind of weight on his chest—

Instinct acts for him, tearing his eyes open and ripping his head back up off the ground—and though the others haven't moved, sprawled where they fell atop Bridget's head, they're not hurt, and he lets out a breath—everyone's all right—no—no, wait, everyone's not all right—where—Poppy—where's Poppy—?

The weight on his chest shifts.

Branch snaps his eyes shut. Why didn't the fall just kill me?

"—I-I'm so sorry, I just—I didn't mean—I'm such a clumsy idiot—" Bridget's trembling voice breaks through his momentary pity party. God, the poor girl sounds like she's about to burst into tears any second. The "Lady Glittersparkles" façade has cracked clean in two—Branch tugs his eyes back open, and makes himself meet Poppy's gaze—tries to tell her, without words, to help Bridget—

"No, no, no, that's okay! It's okay!" The Bergen King smiles down at her. "We all lose control of our skates once in a while, darling!"

Poppy absolutely beams. "Ha! Listen to him! Can't take his eyes off her, can he?"

"I—" Branch tries not to notice the warmth of her breath on his neck. He's not the only one. "Great," he says, a little breathlessly, and it's supposed to be sarcastic but that gets a little lost somewhere between his mind and his mouth and yes, her hair does still smell like strawberries, and she's smiling at him and a second too late he realizes the lift, the ache, in the side of his face means he must be smiling back—

"Hey, Branch?"

His name falls softly as snow from her lips. He tells himself he doesn't care if she ever says it again.

"W-what?"

His own voice is ugly in comparison, all shaky and stuttery and clumsy, like a child still learning how to speak.

"I think you kinda do have a nice smile, too."

Branch's heart stops. Either it's finally hammered its way out of him, and flung itself as far away as possible in a desperate bid for freedom from all the shit Poppy's put it through in the last three minutes alone, or it's just given up, and died in his chest and either way, he really can't blame it. I think you kinda do have a nice smile, too, and his skin is tingling where it's pressed against hers and he needs to say something—something horrible—something that'll make her hate him—

Bridget shifts, and reaches for the Bergen King's outstretched hand—and she starts to stand, and the world is a blur all over again and Branch doesn't know who moves first but the world is a blur of he and Poppy ripping away from each other, ripping back, scrambling away like they can't ever put enough space between them—like repelled magnets, like the touch of one burned the other—and his body aches with the absence of hers and he tells himself it doesn't and now that he can't smell the strawberries in her hair or feel the tingle of her skin on his, it's so much easier to remember why he can't kiss her, why he can't love her, why he can't hold her hand in his or twine his hair around hers or go around telling her she has a nice smile or go around believing it when she tells him he has a nice smile—

"Well," she says, softly, and there's something strangely flat in her voice, in her face, "I guess that's my cue." She slides down Bridget's head, to settle right above the enormous ear, and she doesn't look back.

Yeah. It's official. Feeling things is fucking bullshit.

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #emrys' spellbook

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