#why does the moustache kinda work....like

[shiversdownyourspleen]

I said I'd do it. I haven't even seen the movie but I committed to it

Human puss in boots

#Idk why but the moustache is kinda required for him to work #Like how does that make so much sense #puss in boots #puss in boots the last wish #character design #character art #fan art #fanart

[jamdoughnutmagician]

A Slice Of Life (Waitress AU) Part 2

Doctor!Steve Harrington x Waitress!Reader

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Warnings: Steve is a sweet guy in this, and Billy continues to be a horrible husband. Brief mentions/descriptions of sex.

Word Count:2,158

*dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist // Steve Harrington Masterlist

Quickly you rush into work, the time on your watch already ticking into your shift. You’re running late.

You push through the diner doors, and sure enough Hopper is there to greet you, with a stern expression set on his features. His moustache sitting over his lips pressed into a thin line.

“You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”

“Cut me some slack, Hop, the bus was late.” you huff as you try your best to straighten yourself out.

“Why don’t that husband of yours buy you a car or something?”

“Because he doesn't want me going anywhere.” you scoff, pushing past him to the back room to get changed into your waitressing uniform.

As you step out of the room, Nancy is there to catch your eye.

“How did you get on at the doctors this morning?” 

“Well, I’m definitely pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking.” you laugh to yourself. “It was a new doctor. A man. He’s taken over since Doctor Bloom retired.”

“Ooh a man? Was he cute?” she joked, nudging you with her elbow.

Nancy watched as the heat bloomed on your face, your eyes not meeting hers.

“Oh, okay so he was definitely cute.” she gathers from your embarrassed expression. “Is he single?”

“Nance!” you gently slap at her arm, you’d been friends with Nancy for too long for her not to know when you liked someone. “Okay, he was kinda cute, I guess. Didn’t see any ring on his finger either.” 

“Hey, could you do me a huge favour?” 

“Sure, what’s up Nance?”

“Can you serve Joyce today? She’s in her usual seat by the window. I don’t know if I have the energy to face her this early in the morning.”

“Sounds like someone's got a guilty conscience? You poke at your friend.

“Just because you know I’m sleeping with her son, does not give you the right to hold it over me. She smiles, narrowing her eyes at you. “Joyce. Table 7. Please.” she begs.

“Alright, alright. I got it. No need to get your panties in a bunch.”

“Darling, you’re an absolute angel.” she says with a pat on your shoulder as she whizzes off to tend to the other guests sitting at their tables.

Coffee pot in hand you make your way over to Joyce’s table where she’s sat by herself, reading over a glossy magazine.

“Good morning, Joyce.” you smile brightly, filling up her coffee mug. “What can I get for you today?”

“This is my pie diner, you know?” she starts her usual morning ramble. “Jim likes to think he runs things here, but this is my place. I own it. It’s my name on the deeds, and it’s my name above the door.”

“I know Joyce,” you nod as you listen to her, suddenly feeling un-easy sick feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. You suppress it as best you can for now, to take her order. “So, what’ll it be today huh?”

There it was again, that nauseous feeling creeping up your throat, the kind that leaves a bad taste in your mouth. That couldn’t be morning sickness already, could it?

“I’ll have a slice of the “Midnight Mulberry” pie please, and a glass of water with ice when you get the chance, Hon.”

Midnight Mulberry. A dark chocolate pie shell filled with sharp black mulberries and blackberries, the sharpness offset by the dollop of fresh cream served on top of the chocolate lattice work on the top of the pie.  

“Alright, got it, one slice of Midnight Mulberry coming right up.” you say jotting down her order on your notepad quickly before turning on your heels to rush off to the bathroom.

“Wait a moment, before you skedaddle off, let me read you my horoscope.” she says, her eyes looking back to the magazine in her hands. 

“Libra, smooth sailing today as Mars enters your inner circle, whatever the hell that means. The ones you love will listen carefully to you today, just make sure you’re careful with what you say.” she finishes as she puts her magazine down “do you want to hear your horoscope, darling?”

“You know what, I’m a Libra too, the same as you. If you’ll excuse me I feel like I’m going to be sick.” your words rush out as you hot-foot it to the bathroom stalls in the back of the diner.

After you had emptied the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl, and washed your mouth out with water from the tap, you head back out onto the diner floor to collect Joyce’s order and bring it to her table.

“Here you go, one slice of Midnight Mulberry and a glass of water.” you smile, placing her pie down in front of her.

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” she asks all-too-knowingly.

You shush her, not wanting anyone else around to hear her.

“I remember when I was pregnant with Jonathan, I could barely keep any food down for the first few months, nearly every smell made me sick, it was awful.” she sips from her glass of her water. “When are you due?”

“Shh, Joyce, I can’t have Hopper hearing you or I’ll lose my job. I’m trying to save enough money so I can get away from my husband, but you’ve got to promise me that you won’t say anything about this baby, okay?”

“What baby?” she smiles at you with a wink. 

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Sitting next to Robin in her small, run-down car as she gives you a lift home, because apparently Billy had been too busy at work to pick you up, although the background chatter from the bar he would frequent after work told you otherwise. However, any thoughts of your husband are elsewhere, as you mindlessly watch as the hazy sunset breezes past your window.

“Billy has no idea that you're pregnant, does he?” Robin says softly, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“No, he doesn’t. And I'm never going to tell him. I’m just going to run away.”

“How much money have you got saved up?”

“Not much, about $1,000, and I can save up a bit more before the big pie bake-off.”

“And how much is the prize money?” she asks, her fingers gently tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel.

“$25,000.” you reply with a grin curving across your lips.

“Wow. So what pie were you thinking of baking?”

“I’m not sure yet. I was thinking of baking one of my more unusual pies. Y’know, the kind where you don’t think the ingredients are going to work together, but then they do.”

“You know what you could do with that prize money though,” Robin says, her eyes briefly flicking over to you.

“What’s that Rob?”

“You could open up your own pie shop.”

“C’mon Rob, that’s crazy talk.” you scoff with a playful laugh at your friend’s suggestion.

“No, I’m serious, you totally could. "The Pie Palace’’ I can just see the sign in my mind!” she laughs, her freckled cheeks round and rosy.

The morning comes and you find yourself sitting on the bench a block away from your house, waiting for the bus to take you to work. Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to think about the life growing inside of you, and what your life might look like with a baby in the picture.

Baby’s screaming its head off in the middle of the night pie.

New York style cheesecake base, brandy-brushed filled with pecans warmly spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg.

“Hello.” comes a voice from beside you. “Mind if I sit?” 

It’s your Doctor, Doctor Harrington.

“Sure, go ahead.” you gesture to the empty space on the bench beside you.

He sits down in comfortable silence next to you.

“So what’s a doctor doing catching the bus, huh? Thought you’d have some big fancy car or something” 

He chuckles, a gentle rumbling laugh that illuminates his face with a bright smile.

“Oh no, I do have a big fancy car,” he jokes with that charming smile. “..it’s just having a few problems at the moment. Friend of mine who runs an auto shop downtown is looking after it for me.”

“So, do you live far from the Doctor’s Practice?” you ask, the flow of conversation between you 

“Uh, no, not too far. I live over on Ashmore Road.” 

“Oh, it’s nice over there.”

“Yeah it’s nice. Lotta trees, which is good, uh, y’know, if you like trees. I mean who doesn’t like trees?” he stumbles over his words with an adorably nervous cadence.

“Trees are good.” you smile back, nodding to him.

“So, you’re a waitress then?” he asks, as he gestures at your blue and white waitress's dress.

“I am. I work in a little diner just off I70, Byer’s Pie Diner.”

“I’ve never been there. Is it..is it good?”

“Yes, it’s very good. We make all the pies there fresh. Breakfast pies, dinner pies, twenty-seven different varieties of pie, and a new house special that I create every day.” you smile. “I was actually just inventing a new one in my head when you walked up.”

“So, that peach and raspberry pie that you brought me, you made it?” He asks, sitting up a bit straighter and turning his body towards you.

“Indeed I did. Peaches In Paradise Pie.” 

“That was quite possibly the best pie that I have ever tasted in my life.” he says, his bright smile somehow feeling even more brighter than before. “I mean, that pie was like, life-changingly good, that’s how good it was. You could win contests with stuff like that, I’m serious.”

You delight in his praises, smiling to yourself at the kind words of this man.

“Well thank you very much.”

There’s a beat of silence that falls between you both before Steve speaks again.

“Y’know, when I was a kid, I used to go to this diner all the time after school, I had this insane crush on this waitress that worked there, her name was Margaret but everyone called her Peggy. She’d always wear her little uniform, and she was just so damn adorable, ” he admits shyly. “Of course I was just a dumb kid and didn’t realise that she would never see me in the same way that I saw her, but I don’t know, when I saw you sitting here, you just reminded me of her.”

“Wow, that is quite the thing to say.”

“Sorry, I guess in a round-about way I was just trying to pay you a compliment.” he blushes. 

“No, it was a nice thing to hear, thank you. No-one ever really notices me in that way.”

“Well, I suppose someone must’ve noticed you in that way, or you wouldn’t be in the condition you’re in.” he says, his head vaguely nodding towards your stomach.

“Ah, yes, you mean my husband.” you nod, you’re brought back to reality, suddenly all too aware that you’re a married woman flirting with a handsome man. If Billy only knew what you were doing, his hand would be stinging your skin in an instant. 

The bus rolls up to the bus stop.

“Here’s my bus. It was nice talking to you, Doctor Harrington.”

“If there’s ever anything you need, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call, and please, call me Steve.” he smiles as he waves you off as you get on the bus.

“Please, Honey, you know I can make you feel real good.” Billy pleads as he mouths at your neck, trailing sloppy kisses into the crook of your neck that only served to make your skin crawl. “It’s been at least a month since I last felt you, and you know a man like me has needs.”

“Billy please, I don’t feel even the littlest bit sexy right now.”

“Honey, you have never been more sexy to me.” his raspy voice gravelled out. “I mean, call me crazy, but your tits are looking a lot bigger than before. Not that I’m complainin’ about that, of course.” he chuckles, his wandering hands grazing over your chest, feeling up the swell of your breast. 

You fight against the shudder that wants to run down your spine.

“You’re probably just imagining things Billy.”

“Honey, please, you’re killing me here, I gotta be with you.”

 You lay back in the bed, totally out of it as Billy holds himself above you, chasing his own high, sloppily rolling his hips into you whilst he huffs out groaning moans, before flopping down in bed next to you.

“That was so good, Honey.” he groaned once before turning his back to you and falling asleep without a single thought about your pleasure, but that was your husband. Uncaring and selfish. 

Lying back, your eyes cast up to the ceiling, you think about how different your life might have been if you’d never met Billy Hargrove. 

@penguinsandpotterheads @paybacksawitch @mrsjellymunson @seatnights @ali-r3n @potatobeanpies

#Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader #Steve Harrington x female reader #Steve Harrington x reader series #Steve Harrington fluff #Steve Harrington fanfic

[welightitup]

your wish is my command, so:

piarles prompt: charles noticing how much healthier and happier pierre looks in alpine ❤️💙

Hi Katie ❤️💙

Thank you for sending me this as a prompt on here - and for the corresponding gifs 🥰 They helped me stay focused, truly hehe. I hope this is kinda what you were looking for (I can't remember what we discussed really but I think this was the jist of it :P)

---

Winter break is meant to be the time where they can let go for a little while and just be themselves. They spend time with their friends and family, celebrate the holidays with loved ones, and fit in a bit of extreme training. At least in Charles and Pierre’s cases, even if one heads to the heat and the other to the cold.

But with winter testing only two weeks away, it's time for them to reluctantly get back into their regular training schedule. And that includes their diets, working out, and - as Charles stands in front of his bathroom mirror - grooming.

Not that it's essential in the grand scheme of things, but he likes a routine and it’s easier to follow something that pays off in the long run. Such as shaving off his winter stubble which will irritate the hell out of him once he’s pulled on his balaclava in the desert heat.

He’s taking the razor very carefully down his jawline when a pair of arms slip around his waist, warm and slightly damp from the shower.

“Why are you shaving?” Pierre asks, sounding almost offended.

“I have to. You know I get annoyed, and then you get annoyed that I’m annoyed,” Charles reminds him. It’s a predictable event; the sweat from the heat will irritate his skin, which will lead him to scratch endlessly at his face, leaving him with red marks and an eventual breakout of spots. Throughout it all, he will complain loudly about it to Pierre.

Who’s answer is always to “just shave”, in complete contrast to today.

“But you’re keeping the rest of it?” Pierre checks as he noses gently at Charles’ bare shoulder, droplets of water that had previously been clinging to his hair falling onto his dry skin and working its way down his chest until it meets the towel around his hips.

“For now,” Charles replies, huffing when he tries to tilt his head only to bump into Pierre’s. Knowing telling him to move would only keep him there longer, Charles sighs instead and lowers his arm to gaze at the reflection of the top of Pierre’s head in the mirror. “What about you?”

Pierre rubs his cheek playfully against Charles’ neck, the rough hair of his beard ticklish and eliciting a giggle out of him at the action. There will be a questionable mark there once he’s dressed, but given the nature of their relationship, Charles is sure this is probably the most innocent reason for it.

That is until Pierre starts to press kisses to the column of his neck before nuzzling in. Usually, the sweet gesture would warm Charles, but recently he has learnt that Pierre does it a moment before he carefully bites at his skin, nipping until the bruise forms within the beard - and the newly formed moustache - burn.

“Stop!” Charles tries to chastise, only to come out with a bubble of laughter instead. He feels Pierre laugh against his shoulder as he slowly retreats, keeping his lips pressed against Charles’ skin even as he peers up with his striking blue eyes to catch his own through the mirror.

“Hmm, I think I’ll keep it,” Pierre eventually answers his question. Charles raises his eyebrows without thinking, surprised at his words. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Charles quickly replies, schooling his features to look more neutral with a softer smile. 

It’s not that Charles has anything against the moustache that Pierre now sports, a new addition that Charles only got to see with his own two eyes after they had returned from their independent winter training. But rather the fact that Pierre has chosen to grow one now, the moment he is free of AlphaTauri and Red Bull, when he has failed to do so in the entire time they have known each other.

Which, Charles knows Pierre would deny if ever asked, he can now tell were directly related. It isn’t a secret how much of a toll driving for either team had taken on Pierre, physically and mentally. If it wasn’t the subpar car, then it was the borderline abusive treatment in the top team, and the absolute disregard to his health.

So, regardless of Charles’ personal thoughts about Pierre’s new found ability to grow even more hair, the reason behind it is what reassures him that moving to Alpine will benefit more than just Pierre’s career, and that’s enough reason for it to stay.

Well, that and the way Alpine and its owner and Team Principal seem to absolutely adore Pierre, and have put him at ease, making the transfer as seamless as possible. 

Not to mention the new personal coach who no longer keeps Pierre on the strictest diet Charles had ever seen, or insists on the horrid glucose monitor that had started endless fights between the two of them.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts to focus on the present instead, Charles shrugs instead and laughs when the movement unsettles Pierre from his position. “It’s just different, that’s all.”

“You like it though,” Pierre states confidently. Charles rolls his eyes even though his words do actually ring true.

“I like you,” Charles retorts, avoiding the question and further inflating his boyfriend’s ego. The internet has already done wonders for it as it is without him having to add to it. “The extra facial hair is just a bonus.”

“Uh-huh,” Pierre merely hums, smirking. He steps out from behind Charles and to his side, running a hand over his chin and tapping at his mouth dramatically for a second. “I like it. I’m going to keep it.”

“Okay. As long as you’re happy,” Charles tells him earnestly, because at the end of that day, that is all he ever wants for him.

“I am very happy. And I will be even happier once we go get some lunch,” Pierre tells him. The mere mention of food after the gym session they had had that morning is enough to set Charles’ stomach rumbling almost instantly.

Charles raises his razor once again, intent on finishing up with his shaving before he forgets and heads out with an asymmetrical look that will somehow end up on social media in seconds. 

“You still want to go to the café by Maman’s salon?” It’s a small shop with a limited menu, but they have been going there since they were kids who were rarely allowed to be left alone for more than 15 minutes at a time.

“Yes, always,” Pierre says before pressing a soft kiss to his already-shaven cheek.  “I am starving. Hurry up, okay?”

Grinning, Charles nods. “Okay. Two more minutes.”

---

It's barely hitting midnight but they’re already in bed, intent on adjusting their circadian rhythm to match their on-season schedules, and not stay up until 4am out partying. Or playing Call of Duty. Or having sex. 

They hadn’t had much of a busy day outside of their morning gym session and dinner with his family, which is likely the reason why Charles is still laying awake whilst Pierre has already succumbed to sleep. It is usually the other way around, with Pierre spending the time before bed catching up with his social media or text messages whereas Charles is asleep the minute his head hits the pillow.

At least it gives him the chance to take Pierre in as he sleeps; an opportunity he rarely gets.

Twisting into his side, Charles mirrors Pierre’s position so he can see him better. 

He looks peaceful, is the first thought that comes to Charles’ mind. Brow smooth, eyelids still, and the ghost of a smile curving at his lips. It is a far cry from the uneasy restlessness and nightmares Charles has witnessed over the years. The days of insomnia, the dark eye circles, and the endless number of fitful nights when sleep finally did come. 

Reaching out, Charles skims his fingertips over the side of Pierre’s face, just allowing the grown hairs to prickle at his touch. Pierre’s nose scrunches up adorably at the action, and Charles grins at the instant reaction. 

Trailing his finger down Pierre’s nose instead, he watches as it twitches slightly before smoothing out. He nuzzles gently into his pillow, lips parting in a soft sigh as he does so. 

Charles can’t help but to shift closer, moving his hand down as he minimises the space between them. Brushing over Pierre’s shoulder, Charles once again breathes a sigh of relief when his exploratory touch doesn’t find the foreign, plastic circle that had become a reluctantly familiar protrusion pressing into his palm whenever Charles had reached out for Pierre by the bicep. It had even gotten to the point where he would actively avoid grabbing at his upper arms, unknown as to which would be wearing the glucose monitor, and knowing he could never adjust his response to finding it quick enough for Pierre to not see. 

Subconsciously having started to dig his fingers into Pierre’s arm at the memory, gripping onto him as if to keep this version with him - the relaxed, happier, healthier version - even though there is no current threat to take him away from him, Charles isn’t surprised when Pierre starts to stir. 

“Shh, go back to sleep,” he murmurs, rubbing his hand along the length of his arm and eventually landing on his chest. He can feel rather than see Pierre inhale deeply; a sure sign that he is more on this side of awake than not. 

“Why are you feeling me up?” Pierre asks, slurring slightly with the fog of sleepiness, and yet still managing to insert a hint of humour to his words. 

Scowling though he is sure Pierre cannot make it out through his heavy blinks, Charles scoffs and shoves him in the chest. “I am not! Shut up and go back to sleep.”

“No, no. I’m awake now,” Pierre says, a smirk tugging at his lips when his eyes finally meet Charles’ in the dimness of the bedroom. “What were you doing?”

“Cuddling you,” Charles lies, making a show to grab at Pierre’s wrist to lift his arm and place it over his own waist to cover up. 

“Hmm, okay,” Pierre hums, unconvinced but playful. He leaves his arm where it now lays but allows his hand to wander slowly south until Charles raises an eyebrow at his obvious move.

“Now who’s feeling who up?” Charles asks dryly, huffing when Pierre merely uses the hand that is now resting on his ass to pull him further into him.

Pierre copies his actions and raises his own eyebrow at him. “You want me to stop? It doesn’t feel like you do,” he says pointedly before shifting his hips exaggeratedly to emphasise Charles’ natural bodily reaction to Pierre’s crudely sensuous touch.

Trying to bite back the smile that threatens to break out on his face, Charles settles for a glare that carries no heat whatsoever and only lasts for a couple of seconds before breaking. He’s never been able to resist Pierre’s advances, and especially not whilst he is smirking at him with one perfectly shaped eyebrow arched.

“I love you,” Charles says in between silent giggles, pressing his forehead against Pierre’s, who laughs softly at his confession.

“Wow, I haven’t even done anything yet,” Pierre teases, laughing harder when Charles groans and tries to roll away.

“You’re the worst, Pierre. I’m telling you I love you and you just laugh at me,” Charles grumbles half-heartedly, not even fighting Pierre when he keeps him in place.

“I love you, too,” Pierre replies placatingly, before adding, “And I always laugh at you.”

Sighing, Charles settles back into his pillow and observes Pierre closely. “You laugh a lot more nowadays,” he notes lightly.

Pierre nods, the smirk transforming into a gentle smile instead. “Things are a lot better now.”

“A lot lighter, yes? Freeing?” Charles checks.

“A lot brighter,” Pierre assures him with a gentle squeeze around the waist. 

Charles is under no impression that Pierre doesn't understand how much it means to him to see him do so much better now he has officially left Red Bull clutches. He doesn’t need to say the words for him to know how important of a factor the move to Alpine has been in the overall scheme of things.

“Good. It will be a good year for you, I can tell,” Charles informs Pierre, leaving no room for argument with his adamant tone. It brings out another bout of silent laughter from Pierre.

“You can, can you?” Pierre asks suggestively, shifting to lean up ever-so-slightly onto his elbow and hover over Charles. He slips a leg between Charles’, brushing his toes against the sole of his foot that makes him squirm more from the tickles than the intimate position they’re in. “Can you tell what’s going to happen to me now?”

“You will crawl under the covers and push me onto my back,” Charles states confidently even in his breathless voice.

“Sounds more like a demand than a prediction,” Pierre laughs but follows through nonetheless, using his weight to slowly roll Charles onto his back. “You’re right though. I am.”

Charles grins self-satisfyingly into the dark as Pierre crawls down his body and slowly disappears under the sheets, his own smirk stuck in place. 

“I’m always right,” Charles says smugly before all words are stolen out of his mouth by Pierre’s own skillful one.

#my fics #piarles fic #piarles #pierre gasly #charles leclerc #f1 rpf #alpinerre #for katie #katie tag ❤️ 💙 💚

[hugheshugs]

a tbf!thom imagine of the reader being really clingy and not wanting to leave thomas's side but he has to shave so the reader just goes to the bathroom with him and does it for him while sitting on the counter with him standing between the readers legs, and then he kisses her and gets shaving cream all over her face <3

contains: dbf(dadsbestfriend)!thom, pure fluff and smiles.

"mon amour, i gotta get ready for work," he chuckled with a big smile as you clung to his arm.

neither of you knew why you were acting this way. you'd woken up in an incredibly needy mood and he gave you all the attention he wanted, but it was nearing the usual time he left home for work and you were having none of it.

"oh, c'mon thommy, can't you just call in sick today? please," you begged, jutting out your bottom lip.

"as much as i wish i could, i can't," he looked at you with loving eyes. "i've got a really important meeting and i just can't miss it. je m'excuse, ma belle."

"i don't even know what that means," you huffed with furrowed eyebrows as he started walking away. "thomassss."

he stepped into the washroom and gave you a look as if to say do you really want to follow me in here?

"stink up the whole room, i don't care!" you held your ground, still attached to his arm.

"oh my god," he laughed. "you're so gross."

"i just love you," you shrugged as he shook his head in disbelief.

"i love you too but i wouldn't follow you into the washroom like this."

"well i know you aren't gonna—"

"don't say poop."

you grinned, staying silent. "your face is kinda prickly."

a moment of silence. your spontaneous observation was followed by a slap to his two cheeks as you held them in your hands, running your thumbs back and forth.

"i know, that's why i came in here," he finally told you.

"but i like it," you frowned. it was different. you thought it made him look handsome, whereas you knew he thought it made him look his age, hence why the distate from his end.

"well, i don't," he told you, pulling himself out of your hold to walk up to the sink. as he grabbed the necessary items for his task, you situated yourself onto the counter and right in front of the mirror.

he hadn't realized what you were doing until he was done, peeking up to look in the mirror only to meet your eyes instead. "y/n—"

"i just wanna help you!"

one thing about thom was that he always had a hard time saying no to you. sometimes he could do it but it always broke a piece of his heart, and the look on your face at the moment just made it ten times harder to decline your offer.

"okay," he sighed, reaching behind you to wet his face. "put the shaving cream on."

"yay!" you squealed. he bit back a toothy smile at your excitement, watching as you pumped the cream into your hands.

"that's enough," he warned after three.

"are you sure? it doesn't seem like enough," your eyebrows crinkled as you looked at him.

"it's enough," he whispered lightly, nothing but adoration in his eyes.

"mkay," you shrugged, completely dismissing his gaze. you brought your hands up to his cheeks, smiling as you smeared the cream all over the places he thought he needed to shave.

his moustache, his chin, his sideburns, his jaw—you name it. it almost hurt you to do so but you tried not to think about it too much, which wasn't exactly the hardest thing to do because you were having fun.

when you finished looked up at him, you had to refrain from slapping a hand to your mouth. you giggled, turning back to rinse your hands.

"you look funny. like santa."

"thanks, mrs. claus," he rolled his eyes, looking at you through the mirror. "can i tell you something?"

you gave him your attention after turning to face him, wiping your hands on the towel he left by your side. "yeah?"

"i love you so much," he smiled, the words coming from his heart. you blushed as if he didn't already tell you that everyday, a sight he never got tired of seeing.

"i love you," you told him quietly, completely ignoring the fact that he was leaning in.

"yeah, you do?" he teased, breath fanning against your face. his hands were on either side of you, gripping the counter as he maneuvered himself in between your legs.

"mhm," you mumbled, unable to say anything else. your heart raced the closer he got—if that was even possible.

no matter how much time you spent together, and no matter how much you both knew you loved each other, you never failed to get butterflies in your stomach or get that fluttery feeling at his words, or his touch—or anything he did, for that matter. he always seemed to put you in a trance and he knew it.

his lips inched closer to yours, you completely oblivious to his plan as they finally touched. your brain went numb—the good kind—for a split second before you felt the chill of the shaving cream against your face, making you shove him away with both of your hands before letting out a scream.

"thom!" you gasped, but he didn't take that as a sign to stop.

he wrapped you in his arms, trapping you between his muscles (that you very much loved) as he rubbed his cheek against yours.

"oh my god, thom, stop it!" you cried through laughs.

"never! i love you so much," he grinned, moving to the other side of your face.

"this is so messy! what are you, five?"

he didn't reply, simply moving to the rest of your face as he pressed gentle kisses to every inch of your skin. you couldn't stop laughing, which only made him want to go on. he never got tired of hearing your laugh, especially when he was the reason for the happy sound.

his fingers tickled your sides as he kissed your nose, your forehead, your shaving cream covered cheeks and even your lips. by the end, you were breathless, a result of the laughter and the way your body reacted to his delicate touch.

he finally pulled away and you looked at him with one of the biggest smiles he'd ever seen, which only made him smile even harder.

"you're insane," you said through heaves. he threw his head back with a laugh.

"love drives you insane sometimes," he countered while cupping your cheeks. "i don't know what i'd do without you."

"you wouldn't have anyone to attack with shaving cream. i love you, santa claus."

#thomas bordeleau #thomas bordeleau x reader #thomas bordeleau imagine #thomas bordeleau blurb #dbf!thomas x reader #dbf!thom #daddy issues au #dbf!thomas

[ronaan]

i started watching the movies (for the first time) after finishing reading the hobbit and lotr, and here is my take on the thirteen dwarves' design after seeing an unexpected journey:

thorin. why does he look like a model? it's not exactly uncanny valley (like a certain other drawf i will be mentioning later), but he still looks instantly out of place among most dwarves. i wish they at least did something wild to his beard. but he does look cool and my gay ass isn't immune to a hot guy, even if he probably shouldn't be hot, so i'll give you that. 6/10

balin. WHY IS HE SO FUCKING OLD? this feels like a hate crime. he is literally canonically younger than thorin, and he looks like he is one foot in the grave. like, i understand that they are both a little under 200 years old at this point, but pick a fucking struggle?? either make thorin look like an old wrinkly man as well, or make balin look younger. also, the design itself is boring as fuck. 2/10

bofur. this one is my favourite. he looks very cozy but also a little scary. he could be heading out the back with an axe to chop some wood for a nice little fireplace. he could also be an axe murderer. he's actually the sweetest dwarf you'll ever meet. he reminds me of my grandpa. 11/10

kíli. WHY THE FUCK IS HE YASSIFIED? he literally looks like what i imagined aragorn to look like while reading lotr. he barely has a beard, his hair is just... long. this is some fucking guy. not a dwarf. i do not care that he has a romance plot - you don't need to yassify a dwarf for him to be in a relationship with an elf, just ask gimli. 0/10

fíli. this is a solid design of a younger dwarf. he has more braids in his hair than i can count. he has a weird long ass mustache and it's also braided. i can see him growing into a more unhinged look that most dwarves clearly have as he becomes older. but i do feel like he was cleaned up a little for a lesser contrast between him and his brother. 7/10

ori. he looks very cute. his design instantly makes him stand out and i feel like i already know his personality just by looking at him (which is great for a trilogy with such a huge cast). he's a silly little dwarf. perhaps a little naive. must be protected. 10/10

nori. somehow, i feel like this was the last design they worked on. what is going on on that head. is he the inventor of middle earth hairspray? if he is, he's doing the worst possible thing he could with it. this isn't quirky or interesting - it just looks bad. the beard is kind of cool, but there is still something off with it. 4/10

dwalin. this guy is here to maim and kill. i feel like his haircut choice isn't even due to male pattern baldness. he just wanted as much hair as possible AND head tattoos. he found his look. he has a scar on his face. 10/10

glóin. i haven't seen lotr yet but i know what gimli looks like in the movies and the goal with gloin's design was clearly to make him look as much like gimli's dad as possible. this guy is already walking in his son's shadow, but i don't mind. overall, a solid dwarf look. i love the metal thingies in the beard. 8/10

dori. when i look at him, i have that "look at this distinguished gentleman" sound in my head. he's got a very intricate braiding situation going on in his hair, and i kinda love it. he has clip on piercings on both his ears and he has clearly constructed his whole look so he could show them off. 9/10

óin. we are evidently starting to run out of personalities, because this guy is also here primarily to maim and kill. to be fair, that's what a lot of dwarves are, so i'll allow it. i like the two giant beard braids - i'm pretty sure he has more facial hair than i have hair on my head, which is exactly the kind of impression a dwarf's beard should be giving. 7/10

bombur. he reminds me of obelix from the french cartoons. he has an entirely insane beard-works-as-a-moustache-extension situation going on as well as a huge circular braid which i can't even tell where that's coming from. it's a nice unique design. 8/10

bifur. he's got an orc axe stuck in his head. i forgot that was a detail in the book and i also did not understand what it was until i googled it. i thought it could just be an accessory choice. but i might just be stupid. i can, however, tell that he had an emo phase and he still meticulously dyes strands of his beard jet black, so he could have a trendy dark-and-silver look. 7/10

#i will never be over kili looking like that #this just isn't right #the hobbit #hobbit #middle earth #j.r.r. tolkien #archer speaks

[yellowocaballero]

Hi👋

I remember somewhere you said you’re very visual about your writing process which is why Jake’s stupid moustache had to go.

Does that mean you have fancasts?

:D ! Y'all ask me such great questions :D

The short answer to this question is 80% of the time no jalksdf. The fics I've been writing lately (comics, Moon Knight) are already a visual medium, so obviously I do just kind of use what the characters actually look like in the comic I most strongly identify with them or the TV show. In the end everything sorts out into a really generic mental animation style that's not really anything in particular. The longer answer is that I fucking WISH I did because my actual lifestyle gets so fucking messy. Like all of this actually severely really bothers me nonstop.

Because so much of what I write is multimedia I can't just play the OG work in my brain. Hey, do the other SW writers who think visually have the problem of like - so Obi-Wan in your mind is live action from ROTS, but Ahsoka is CGI from TCW, and Anakin is either live action ROTS or cartooney if he's younger than 19, and the clones are simultaneously live action Jango Fett and CGI clones and it makes it KINDA hard to visualize things? And the exact same issue when writing comic fics with a cast that is half live action and half cartooney in your brain? Like, am I the only one with this issue?!

It is so problematic for the new story bc of 3 different works with so many different art styles. Mr. Knives Trigun has a highly stylized 90s anime appearance that I don't think of him as, and a super realistic modern CGI appearance with which is how I think of the character, except none of that works for MY Knives, and obviously Millie is 90s anime, and Meryl is some sort of demented mix, Brad & Luida are 300% CGI, and Wolfwood is fucking impossible since he's from one hyper-super stylized woodcut-ass flashback of the CGI anime and AGH. Imagine new Knives Trigun as the 'I'm a healer but' meme guy because that's all I can fucking give you.

Again like this like 'Meg is this an actual problem you have when writing Star Wars, Comics, and Trigun' and the answer is that it's a BIG PROBLEM that BUGS ME. How the fuck do you guys live??? Is this just me?!?!

In brighter but equally uselessly complicated news, New Wave was more complicated since everybody was really specifically designed in my mind in a specific animation style and since I can't draw Y'all Will Never Know it. Obviously it was very 00s animation - you can really safely imagine Bruce as himself from the 00s Batman cartoon. I really liked how much sleeker and skinnier and younger he looks in that design! Steph has the BIG hair from her first Robin arc and Tim has Jake Animorph style Generic 90s Relatable Teen Boy visuals.

Sorry that's not a very fun answer and also not a very real answer :( Fancasts that I do genuinely have is, obviously, all for TMA:

Tim Stoker as a younger, sprucier, Daniel Dae Kim.

Daisy as Kristen Bell.

Elias as Marc Evan Jackson.

Annabelle Cane from Sucker's Bet is a mix of Jadah Marie and my friend from high school, which is unhelpful to you.

Teen Gerry was the kid from Monster Allergy. Yeah really.

Martin as That One Fanart My Friend Drew Of My Martin.

And. Obviously. Jon as That One Fanart My Friend Drew Of My Jon That Just Made Me Go Oh That's Jon Now OK.

(Think of Standard Fanart Basira and that's my Basira. Sasha, Georgie, and Melanie are just more generally designed by my brain.)

Do YOU want to design one of my characters permanently in my brain forever. Just draw nice fanart of them. It's that easy. I'll look at it and go 'oh this is what they look like' and that'll be what they look like in my head, forever, and ever. I promise it'll work.

#id post the fanart but id want my friends permission real fast #wish i could draw so bad. #my asks #my writing

[sxdomizer]

Ramble about anything and everything about your OCs?? I love to learn about them so much

Howdy anon! Happy to have you here, thank you kindly for your ask!

Hmm rambles rambles… I assume this is about my fortnite ocs, and I only have three at the moment, so I’ll do my best to include them all here! Buckle up, this is gonna be a wild ride

MOLOTOV

The silliest billy!!!

He wasn’t taught to write, so the way he holds utensils and supplies is similar to how a baby would. That is, with his fist. He can’t hold things otherwise, and he has tried. Old habits die hard.

To add to that, he’s ambidextrous! He constantly forgot which hand he was learning to write with, so he ended up learning with both!

Despite the fact that he constantly traded for cigarettes, he doesn’t smoke tobacco. He hates the taste. He did that as a way to get people to trust him, and as a conversation starter. You’d be surprised at how quickly a person can warm up to you once you do something as simple as offering a cigarette.

He does become a stoner later in life, though. That’s more up his alley.

He burned his hands constantly out of habit, and they became brittle and burnt in turn.

He lost part of his left pinky finger early on in his life, and later lost the ring finger of his other hand in a fight.

He was convinced into getting his hands replaced after that.

He can breathe, but mostly chooses not to unless he wants to smell something, talk, or smoke. Otherwise, he avoids it. He doesn’t have lungs, anyway.

He has extremely explosive anger issues that he quite effectively masks with his bubbly personality.

He has to get his eyebrow, moustache, and goatee repainted constantly. He paints his iris on occasion.

DENNY

The idiot that I hate

He’s a narcissist. Surprise!

He doesn’t have blood. It’s all maple syrup.

He’s sickeningly obsessed with his muscles. Maintaining them is easy, though, seeing as he’s a stack of pancakes. He’s all carb.

He smells wonderful— sickeningly sweet!

He’s buttermilk pancakes, to be specific. Don is bacon pancakes, Wendy is cinnamon, and Flapjack is blueberry!

He’s bisexual, but will deny it until he’s six feet under.

Out of the three, he’s got the highest alcohol tolerance.

He usually avoids consuming alcohol and smoking, though. Not too good on the long run, and the grind never stops.

He works as a mercenary, but most specifically he’s a sniper. He likes the anonymity.

Always takes time to admire the architecture of buildings that catch his eye. Very critical of modern architecture.

He misses his family.

Needs a punching bag. He’s too angry for his own good.

Also needs to get rid of his yee yee ass haircut.

BOSCO

Tumblr’s wife. The funnest guy

He comes off as quite intimidating to most. He’s a big guy, and he’s got quite a bit of power around his area.

He used to have long hair, but has since cut most of it off because it’s “more professional” that way. Disgraceful, society— do better.

He may or may not have a sibling. He doesn’t talk about them, for their own safety.

Partly deaf on one side. I’ll let you guess on which one.

He has a master’s degree in business! Smart guy, knows he could be doing better than Durr Burger; smart enough to know he has to keep a low profile, though.

A father figure of sorts to Heinz, who I still need to develop more.

He likes classic rock, but isn’t much of a music fan.

He’s got poliosis! That’s why there are white patches in his hair; he hates it, but has bigger things to be self conscious about.

He’s confident, but knows he’s seen better days. Misses his youth. Regrets getting into the mercenary business. Something something he’s kinda depressed.

The closest thing Denny’s had to a relationship.

Big romantic, but would rather not risk it.

That’s about it because i can’t quite come up with anything else at the moment,,,, gets gears turning, though, and now i know i have to draw them more

Thanks for your ask again! I’m more than happy to answer your questions ^o^

#asks #text #fortnite #fn #fnite #fortnite oc #fortnite ocs #crackshot #mancake #beef boss

[magicalgirlmascot]

Alright who wants to see my old Bionicle humanizations? These were from my modern/college!AU Metru Uni which I made when I was in college. These were all posted on dA circa 2011-12ish, and you have to understand these were drawn by hand, scanned into a computer, and edited using a laptop trackpad and MS Paint. Get ready for a lot of Shoujo Legs and Weird Character Choices. (All images will have their descriptions in the alt text.)

So first of all you have to understand that Vakama was my babygirl for many many years. This guy has the worst social anxiety you've ever seen. Not sure why I decided to take away his glasses when he transformed considering that's one of my least favourite things but whatever.

THIS MAN HAS NO ASS. I mean none of them do but Matau especially, goddamn. Anyway he wanted to dye his hair green so bad but his mom wouldn't let him. This guy is a huge flirt and we stan. Also I think the second image is flipped for some reason.

Okay yeah the second image is definitely flipped why did I do that. I was genuinely trying to make Nokama look cute and fashionable here but also I didn't know how to draw skirts very well so. Yeah. Vakama and Matau were both instantly smitten with her when she showed up and honestly the endgame ship there was Vakama/Nokama but for real it should've been the three of them. God she was so fucking patient

Now I gotta say I have absolutely no clue why the hell I gave Onewa a punk aesthetic (it's not even that punk, really, just what I would've considered punk as a very sheltered teen in 2011) but it kinda fucks actually. He was such a bitch but also he was so right about basically everything. King <3

WHENUA MY BELOVED. He was the oldest out of all of them and straight up had a university degree already but had for some reason decided to go to college after to get qualifications for a job that definitely would have paid less than the job he was originally going for with the university degree but I was dumb as hell and also he had to be at college that was the point of the fic. He and Vakama were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

Okay so the hairstyle. Um. I was obsessed with Wizard AnimalParade at the time. Also when he lifted the eyepatch on his transformed self he could zoom his vision in and out like a telescope. Also also he was obsessed with astronomy and thought astrology was stupid which. Is very funny writing KNPS now because that version of Nuju has exactly the same opinion

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Hey Rags how come the characters with brown and black as their theme colours are the only brown and black skinned characters" because I was fucking stupid that's why. Moving on.

One of the running gags I had in the manga version of this fic (YES there was a manga version, it only got about halfway through the second chapter) was that Lhikan always had bishounen sparkles every time he appeared. I wanted him to be a pretty boy so bad. I stand by this choice honestly Lhikan should be the prettiest boy. He should be more pretty than he is. VAKAMA SHOULD'VE HAD A BI LITTLE CRUSH ON HIM.

Honestly the only reason his eyes are white here is I forgot to colour them lmao. Dume worked in the college's security office and he was such an uptight old bitch. Look at his stupid little tie clip. This was also before I learned how to, like, make people look older, and so he just looks like a young man with a moustache lol. What learning to draw from Chris Hart books does to a mf

And to round off this part, please have one of the first pieces of digital art I ever did: a cover for the series! Back in the day fanfiction.net let you set a specific cover for a series so I drew this for that. I'm honestly really glad I found this again, I thought that it was lost to time and the only version I had access to was the extremely crunched version still up on ff.net. I drew this all by hand and did all the colouring and shading and stuff using Paint.net, which was a free program. The textures for the dirt and earth were made using MS Paint still though lol.

OKAY there are still about one million billion left to go but I'm calling it here for now so it doesn't get too long. I'll make another post with villains or something later.

Except also here have this no-context picture of Matau that was my deviantart profile picture for a long time.

#bionicle #human bionicle #look. LOOK. #at least half of this story is what became the blueprints for knps okay. i have changed very little. #it was formative for me though. how many big weird au fics have i done since then. metru uni was the first. the progenitor. #without metru uni we don't get west city public library or kini nui public school. so there you are. #but like for real though NO ONE HAS AN ASS. WHERE IS THE BOOTY. 19 YEAR OLD ME WAS A COWARD.

[buchanans]

SEBASTIAN STAN I, Tonya (2017) | Dir. Craig Gillespie

#sebstanedit #moviegifs #userthing #userelena #chewieblog #bbelcher #malecharacters #cinemapix #userfockers #scottstiles #userlukes #userdorka #fysebastianstan #* #sebastian stan #i tonya #why does the moustache kinda work....like

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

To A Mouse

So how about that trailer? Based entirely on the above gif. Why're you kissing that mouse, Jask? Geralt gets cursed. Jaskier gets imprisoned.

3.5k words, warnings for post-mountain angst, the threat of torture and imprisonment/isolation. Contains mutual pining, spells and curses, and season 2 spoilers. Kinda?

~

A witcher is a solitary creature. He does not need help.

Geralt reminds himself this of the umpteenth time as he stalks through the Novigrad Gates, keeping his face low and his dark cloak pulled over his head.

A witcher shouldn’t need help. Yet—

A man with a barrow of root vegetables pushes past him, swearing at him as he does.

—yet here he is.

Geralt has followed Jaskier’s trail through Kaedwen and Aedirn and beyond. He stopped for three days when the frosts thawed at the inn at Hagge where they usually meet every spring; an ultimately useless endeavour that lost him precious time. He headed west, to Lettenhove, then to Oxenfurt, where a smug man with a terrible moustache and a feather in his hat the length of Geralt’s arm told him that dear Julian has headed to Novigrad for the season.

And now he’s in the city, bustling with life, a sudden shock after the comparative stillness of the road. After travelling with Jaskier—then Ciri—he’d somehow forgotten what true silence was like. As soon as he’d felt he’d gotten used to it, he arrived at the gates of the city, and the noise is now deafening.

He needs to find Jaskier. It’s a sour medicine to swallow that leaves him feeling nauseous. After the last time they saw each other—the last time they spoke—he’s sure that Jaskier will refuse him. Why would he ever acquiesce, when Geralt had spoken to him so cruelly on that heath-blasted mountaintop?

However inevitable Jaskier’s rejection—and his rage—will be, Geralt has to know. He has to ask, and he chastises himself like he would a child as he wanders the bustling city. You don’t get if you don’t ask.

A half-formed apology is playing around his mind. Geralt has never been good with words, certainly not as good as Jaskier, and he needs to find the ones that will convince him he’s worth it; that will win his help.

But not just that. Not just his help, like Geralt is bartering his trade, like he’s a Lord demanding Jaskier play him a tune at a banquet.

It’s been nearly two years since he last saw the bard, and it’s taken him nearly half of that time to realise that the leaden weight that’s sunk around his chest is a heavy sort of grief. He misses Jaskier; misses his singing and his humming, misses his ridiculous clothes and unsuitable footwear. He misses how he’d charm landlords into giving them extra food or larger rooms, the way he’d spin lies to convince spendthrift aldermen to pay Geralt what he was owed, not what they wanted to pay.

He misses the way Jaskier’s face cracked into a blinding smile during a particularly good set. He misses the way he mumbled over rhymes when he was trying to work out new lyrics, his tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth as he scribbled them down. He misses the way Jaskier curled around him when they shared a bed or a bedroll, the noises he made in his sleep, the way he never balked, not once, at the prospect of waking up with his limbs tangled around those of a witcher.

He misses his scent, all ink and parchment and oils; chamomile in the evenings, lavender in winter, orange blossom in spring. He misses the sound of his heartbeat. He can still tap out the rhythm of it; he memorised it two decades ago.

Geralt has had a lot of time to think, these past twenty-four months. He’s had a lot of time to think about himself, about the way he thinks, about the emotions he’s tried to bury and push down since he was old enough to know he was feeling them.

Touching them—acknowledging them—is like poking at a tender bruise, or binding a wound. It hurts, but it hurts because he’s alive; because he’s healing.

He’s re-learning himself, starting from scratch, but fuck; he cannot indulge in it too much. Especially not now; not like this. The hot ache in his chest that flares when he thinks of Jaskier is his problem, and his alone. No doubt any feelings Jaskier once had for him—friendly or more than—have been effectively extinguished by Geralt’s own careless words and two years to stew on them.

Jaskier carries grudges, Geralt knows. He’s likely just the latest weight for him to carry, heaved onto his shoulders like it’s nothing at all.

He’ll find Jaskier and apologise and then, only afterwards, will he ask for his help. He’ll beg, if he has to. But Jaskier doesn’t need to know the rest. He doesn’t need to know that the smell of parchment still makes Geralt’s lungs constrict, or that he finds himself mindlessly knocking out the drumbeat rhythm of Jaskier’s pulse—tap-a, tap-a, tap-a—when the road is too quiet and the silence presses down on him.

He pushes those thoughts from his mind. It doesn’t do to dwell, after all, and pressing at the bruise will only make the pain flare worse, healing or not. He can ruminate later, when Jaskier is by his side.

If Jaskier is by his side.

It’s such a fragile thing; and he doesn't even have it yet.

But before all of that—before an apology and grovelling and pleading and pushing aside his pride—he needs to fucking find him. Novigrad is enormous, and he could be anywhere; especially considering how Nilfgaard has spies even this far north. He could be in hiding; his friend at the academy had never specified if he was still even playing music. Maybe the bard—his bard—isn’t a bard any more.

It’s a difficult balance to tread; Geralt can’t simply go around taverns and inns demanding if anyone has seen Jaskier if he is indeed in hiding. He may even be going by a different name, and in any case, the sudden appearance of Geralt of Rivia asking leading questions could land Jaskier in even more danger.

He’ll have to play it slow. He’ll visit the largest taverns and brothels first, asking not for Jaskier but for musicians, following trails and keeping low to the ground. With any luck, he’ll recognise a song—or even the distinctive twang of Filavandrel’s lute—and that will lead him the right way. It’s not a great plan, nor is it a good plan, but it’s all he has. Once he’s centred in the city and used to the sensory bombardment again, he’ll be in a better position to come up with something a little more solid. All he needs is—

There’s a whisper behind him. His head squeezes unpleasantly. There’s an icicle down his back, freezing his nervous system, tingling to his fingertips.

Fuck.

Everything goes black.

~

“A good try, witcher.”

Geralt’s skin is on fire. He’s on his back, lying against something cold and hard, but he can’t open his eyes.

“Good, but not good enough. Walking into Novigrad so unprepared—such pride! Such foolishness. What did you think would happen?”

Something is wrong in a squirming, bone-deep way. Pain suddenly flares through Geralt’s limbs, across his face, down his back. His body constricts in on itself, but he’s tied down and there are chains around his wrists and ankles and he’s trapped, he’s trapped and he can’t even struggle—

“I saw what you did to the others. The ones who caught you, or nearly caught you. I will not be taking that risk.”

The medallion is bouncing wildly against Geralt’s chest. His amour, which had been tightly buckled over his shoulders and sides, feels like it no longer fits. His skin feels tight and dry, like old fruit, like aged leather. His hands form fists at his side and his toes curl in his boots and there is nothing he can do to stop it.

He tries to yell out but his voice is gone, and all the noise he can make is a choking, pitchy gasp.

There’s a laugh from somewhere far away; from right next to his ear.

“Struggle all you want, witcher. It won’t work.”

The disembodied voice is too loud, now. It fills the room, echoing. Geralt’s hearing has always been good, but now it's pin-prick sharp.

Footsteps. Breathing. A heartbeat. The soft shff of fabric.

Geralt can’t move. His arms are stiff, his swords are gone, his signs are useless. With more effort than he knows he has left, he opens his eyes.

He sees a hand. He acts instinctively, barely even thinking.

He bites.

The voice—the mage—swears.

For a moment Geralt is flying, stomach lurching, ears ringing. The floor comes up to meet him, or he meets it.

He lands on his feet, and he runs.

~

Jaskier watches the shaft of dust-speckled light move across the floor of his cell. When it reaches the third crack in the second floorboard from the left, that means the morning is nearly halfway over. When it reaches the dent in the fourth from the right, it means someone will soon be on their way to feed him—or not, depending on the mood of his jailors today.

He’s lost count of how long he’s been here. He’d attempted to keep track for the first six days, scoring a mark onto the wall below the barred window with each sunrise. He’d forgotten one day, couldn’t be bothered the next, and the system had gotten away from him; he’d been stuck on six days since.

“Day seven,” he says each morning when the sun is bright enough to illuminate the cell and wake him from his spot curled upon the floor. “That’s barely even a week.”

The pair of mice who share his cell—skittering here and there, showing off the freedom he wishes he had—do not respond. He makes the same joke every day, and they simply sniff at him, apparently unamused.

Today is day seven—just like yesterday, just like tomorrow. The sunlight reaches the crack in the second floorboard from the left, and nothing happens. He leans back against the wall, staring forwards. He watches a mote of dust sparkle in the light, then fade.

This boredom is deliberate, he suspects. When the masked spies had pulled him from the stage midway through a performance, gagged him, bound him, and dragged him to this cell he’d assumed he’d be dead within two days. Gossip about what the soldiers and spies of Nilfgaard do to their prisoners had reached him months ago, and he’d anticipated torture and blood and pain.

But it hadn’t come. He’d been thrown into the tiny room and left him there. He hasn’t been forgotten—they still bring him food occasionally, if not every day—so he’s been forced to conclude that the seclusion is deliberate.

They’re toying with him. Lulling him into a false sense of security. Making him wait for his own demise, knowing exactly what’s coming to him. It makes each day precious, but each day is the same as the last, and now they've stopped having meaning altogether. It’s nothing more than a cruel, prolonged joke.

Leave him—let him go mad with boredom—let him come to sit with his own death, grieve for himself… and then bring out the thumbscrews.

He sighs, shutting his eyes. Maybe the thumbscrews are preferable to this perpetual waiting, existing but not existing.

They do feed him, today. It’s nothing more than a crust of hard bread, thrown through the door without a word, but he’s grateful for it regardless. Tomorrow he may not be so lucky; they rarely remember him two days in a row.

He stays in the same spot until the cell goes dark. If he looks out of the window, he can likely see the moon. He doesn’t. He moves slowly to the spot in the corner, where once there was a thick pile of straw, and curls in on himself.

He falls asleep. Tomorrow will be day seven, and it will be just like today.

~

“—and he said ‘if I had one blessing’—” Jaskier pauses with a frown. “Yes,” he says, “I know you’ve heard it before, but I’m telling the story and it’s an important one so you’re hearing it again. Yes. Yes I know—”

He sighs, running a hand through his tangled hair and staring down at the two mice perched on the upturned bucket in front of him.

“Oh,” he says, shaking his head, “now that’s not very fair.”

One of the mice peers at him.

“Yes, I know it’s been two years. I should be over it by now. I know. But you can’t just— after twenty years—” he throws his hands in the air. “Well of course you wouldn’t get it, you’re mice. How long do you live? Two years, tops? You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to spend a lifetime pining after…” he trails off. “Do mice pine? I suppose, if you spent two whole years pining…” he shakes the thought from his head. “No, absurd. Of course not. The point is—” he hesitates. What was his point? Oh yes. “The point is that I am fully within my rights to still be angry about it.”

Jaskier slumps back against the wall. “Anyway,” he continues, after a moment. “And he goes, ‘if I had one blessing’—”

He’s not sure how long he’s been talking to the mice. They’re sweet things, and he’d taken days to lure them both in. The first one had appeared quite by chance, and it had looked as rough as Jaskier felt—all scraggly fur with little scars across its back—and his heart couldn’t take it. He’d watched from a distance, then offered a crumb of food after he’d been fed that afternoon.

Against all odds, the mouse had accepted the offering, and he made... a friend. Of sorts. A second mouse had appeared, no doubt lured in by the prospect of food, and now one or both of them are always sharing his cell.

They make for good, if quiet, company. But that’s fine; he can talk enough for all three of them.

He feels like he’s talked through his entire life, several times over. He probably has. He’s touched on his childhood, his father, his fraught teenage years. He tells them about the Academy, and Valdo fucking Marx, and—eventually—about Posada.

He doesn’t really want to talk about Geralt. That’s why he’s here, after all. Nilfgaard wouldn't want him if it weren’t for his connections to the witcher, and soon enough they’ll be dragging him away and asking him more questions about Geralt than he could possibly answer. Than he will answer.

When he thinks about Geralt, it hurts, but he still wouldn’t tell them what he knows; not that he knows very much.

But when he starts talking about their travels together, he finds it hard to stop. He doesn’t talk through their shared adventures chronologically, but picks up whatever thread comes to him first, jumping between memories. He’s sitting with one of the mice perched on his knee a few days after the story of Posada when he pauses partway through a tale about a drowner infestation near Rinde.

“What?” He says, eyebrows raised. “Oh I—” he peers down at his knee. “You’re very perceptive, for a rodent. Yes,” he sniffs. “I was in love with him. Not that I ever told him, or he ever worked it out.” He listens for a moment. “Am I still? I… I can’t say. I want to say no, but—”

He sighs. This is an awkward conversation to have with a mouse. Despite that, it feels good to say it out loud. He wonders if this is another Nilfgaardian trick—get him to spill his secrets to a pair of mice instead of a torturer. But after so long, he no longer cares. Nilfgaard won’t give a shit about the griffin contract that ended up with Geralt being dumped in a dung heap. They’ll care that he’s in love with the witcher, of course—they can use that against him, he’s sure of it—but that barely feels like a secret any more.

If the Nilfgaardians are somehow using the mice to spy on him, they’re taking their damned time to do anything with the information they’ve gotten. So he carries on talking, his own babbling filling the endless silence till his voice goes hoarse and he finally falls asleep, day after day after day.

It’s still early in the morning of the most recent seventh day. The sunshaft has not even reached the first crack in the second floorboard, and he’s sat chatting to the mice as he so often is. The scruffier one seems keen to stick around; no doubt because it struggles to get food alone and knows that Jaskier is a reliable source. The mouse certainly looks like it’d be immediately eaten by a cat or crushed by a cart if it ventured into the street beyond.

Jaskier lowers his hand, and the scruffy mouse scurries onto his palm, no doubt seeking out crumbs. As a boy, Jaskier had trained dogs and cats and—on one memorable occasion—a pigeon, and taming a mouse has proven to be far easier. He lifts it up, peering at its little beady eyes.

“You are a sweet thing,” he says, “even if you look rough.” He laughs at himself. “You make for fine company, given the circumstances.” The mouse sniffs at his hand. “Quite. And look, you haven't even pissed on me, unlike your ungrateful friend.”

The mouse cleans its little face with its paws.

“Very hygienic,” Jaskier agrees.

It really is a darling creature. Acting unthinkingly, like he would with a kitten or a puppy or Roach, if she would ever let him get close enough, he lifts the mouse higher and presses a soft, light kiss to the back of its head.

There is a sound like wind rushing in the wrong direction. A squeak that melds into a swear. A flash—far brighter than the speckled sunlight coming through the bars—and then the mouse is gone and there’s a sudden weight on his legs that makes him shout and there, sitting in his lap and looking dazed, is Geralt.

He is also, Jaskier cannot help but notice, completely naked.

“What the fuck?”

Geralt blinks at him, his eyes refocusing. “You—” his voice sounds hoarse. He coughs, starts again. “You broke the spell.”

“Someone turned you into a fucking mouse?”

“You broke the spell.”

“Yes, you said that. But you were— Geralt, you were a mouse? What the fuck?”

“You still love me.”

Jaskier falls silent. “I… did I say that? In, ah… in so many words?”

Geralt shrugs, and Jaskier makes a concerted effort to look away from his maddening physique, his body littered with new scars.

“You didn’t have to,” he says, voice still gravelly. “Because you broke the spell. With a kiss.”

“But what does that—” it takes Jaskier a moment to catch up. “Hold on. Hold on. That’s a thing? I thought that was just a fairy story!”

Geralt shrugs again. “All stories come from somewhere.”

“Shit.”

Geralt’s expression drops. He looks hurt. Fuck.

“It’s not— Geralt, it’s not that I don’t—” Jaskier scrambles for words. It was so much easier talking to a mouse. “You don’t love me back!” He pauses, watching Geralt’s expression carefully. “...Right?”

Geralt smiles. He leans forwards, pressing their foreheads together. “Can we… talk about it later?” He says, voice low. “I’m not… I’m trying to be better at this, Jask, but we don’t have time…”

There’s a buoyant light in Jaskier’s chest. “I…” He breathes out, slowly. “Of course. Yes. I, ah—”

“I need your help,” Geralt says, cutting him off. “We need your help.”

Jaskier laughs—he can’t help it—then gestures with his arms, taking in the cell around them, the barred windows, the locked door.

“What a coincidence,” he says. “It looks like I’m in need of your help too.”

Geralt sighs. The familiar noise is like coming home. “Fuck,” he mutters. “So you are.”

“Do you…” Jaskier tilts his head to one side, finally allowing his gaze to drop down. “Do you think you can break us out of this cell, take down between six and two dozen Nilfgaardian soldiers and ensure we both get out of here alive while also being completely and totally and quite entirely... “ he looks down again, unable to stop himself from smirking. “...naked?”

There’s a smug half smile on Geralt’s face. Finally, he stands, and now Jaskier really is forced to keep Geralt’s gaze lest he find himself face-to-face with all of his dreams come true at once.

Geralt stretches his shoulders, twisting his neck with a low groan. He extends a hand, pulling Jaskier to his feet.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Let’s find out.”

#the witcher #witcher season 2 #witcher spoilers #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #cursed geralt #prisoner jaskier #aahhhhh #the muse grabbed me and would NOT let go

[ttuesday]

The Feller’s reaction to you asking for a Hug

(This was another request from ao3, trying to work through those requests as well as the ones I have on here)

Arthur

This isn’t a request Arthur was expecting when he first notices you walking over to him but it's also something he won’t deny you. He’s awkward, not sure if this is a set up or some kind of dare but nevertheless, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close to his chest. Hugging you makes Arthur relax so goddamn much, always feeling a sense of comfort whenever you’re around him.

Hugging Arthur is like having a warm, smoky smelling blanket around you. His hugs are strong yet he's very conscious of accidentally squeezing you. Honestly, it's the kind of hug you could melt into.

But Arthur can't help but worry something's gone wrong and that's why you're asking for a hug. As you pull away, Arthur smiles and asks if you'll help him bring some hay over to the horses. He hopes that if y'all spend some time together then you might open up. Either way, Arthur's more than willing to give you some more hugs.

Charles

When you ask Charles for a hug, he initially creases his brow. Not at the request necessarily, he's just curious if everything’s ok and hence why you need a hug. Deciding to ask you later instead of now, Charles gives you a warm embrace.

Charles whispers little lines like "I got you" and "It's okay now" to you as he rubs your back. His main priority is for you to feel secure with him, whether y'all are hugging or not.

Seriously, he’s the best hugger ever. Charles holds you firmly while still giving you enough space to breath. It's the kind of hug where you could rest all of your weight on Charles and he'd hold you and continue to reassures you everything will be ok.

Dutch

Dutch quickly ushers you closer to him once you ask. He feels honoured that you've asked him for a hug and Dutch gives you plenty of space to nuzzle your face into his neck if you want to.

He really tries his best to make this the best hug ever, knowing that if his hugging skills impress you then you'll only ever ask him for hugs... he's kinda possessive in that way.

Depending on how close y'all are, Dutch may kiss the top of your head too. While you bury your head in by his chest and hold on to him as tight as you can, Dutch forms a plan to try to comfort you. He's extra sweet on you for the rest of the day and asks you to dance once the sun sets.

Micah

What the fuck is going on? No one and I mean NO ONE has ever asked Micah for a hug. For a few seconds, he stares at you as if you've just insulted his moustache but he very gradually warms to the idea.

"Fine I supposed we can" he huffs, trying his best to sound like this is a chore to him. Since this isn't a request he's used to, Micah isn't sure how to react or what exactly to do. He kinda awkwardly stands there, waiting for you to initiate the hug.

Feeling you take comfort in his touch and relax into him, something comes over Micah and he tightens his grip, giving you a proper hug. He doesn't want you to pull away, not just yet. Much to his surprise, Micah likes hugging you. This hug may have helped him more than it's helped you.

John

John was not expecting this. Don't get me wrong, he wants to hug you and he does, but he's awkward af. While John's body reacts to your request, opening his arms and smiling at you, John's brain is still buffering at the part where you actually asked him for a hug.

He's very rigid and very conscious of your surroundings during the hug just in case someone walks by and ruins the moment. John’s not too sure what he's doing, keeping one arm around you while his other hand holds the back of your head, encouraging you to rest against him.

He'll stay there for as long as possible, not daring to pull away until you're ready. Afterwards John suggests you both go grab a drink and relax for the rest of the day, hoping he’ll be better at that than hugging.

Javier

He doesn't ask any questions. Javier has one mission right now and that's to give you the best goddamn hug you've ever received. Javier loves having you close to him so he quickly opens his arms to you.

Javier doesn't pry, knowing you'll tell him what's going on in your own time. Right now he wants to focus on the hug and make sure you know you're safe with him and that he’ll always be there for you.

Javier holds you securely, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze every now and again. He keeps this in mind for whenever he thinks you're feeling down or stressed, offering you hugs whenever you need them.

Bill

Bill's stunned. No one's ever wanted a hug from Bill before so when you ask, it's almost like you're speaking a foreign language to him. His initial response is to simply grunt "Huh?".

You repeat your request, giving Bill a few seconds to fully comprehend what you're asking. His brain clicking things into place, Bill abruptly opens his arms to you, kinda scared that his initial reaction has made things awkward.

He's very stiff while you hug him though he slowly relaxes. Bill's screaming on the inside, not able to remember the last time someone willingly gave him affection like this so he treasures every moment of this.

Sean

A lot of the gang either sees Sean as being the goofball or annoying but whenever you're in need of a hug, Sean drops whatever he's doing and gives you that hug. It doesn't matter if he's teasing Arthur or telling Bill an elaborate story about a robbery, if you need a hug then that's his top priority.

He's a little concerned, feeling the need to make sure you're ok before leaving you go on with your day. Pulling you into the hug, Sean rests his head against yours and sways slight for side to side.

Trying his best to be discrete, Sean whispers if you wanna get out of camp for a while and go somewhere more private. And no he’s not trying to flirt or anything like that, Sean just wants to give you the space to talk without the whole gang listening in.

Hosea

Hosea could sense that there might be something on your mind, preoccupying your thoughts. You seemed more distant and Hosea makes sure to subtly keep an eye on you throughout the day.

When you eventually approach him and ask for a hug, Hosea gives you a sympathetic smile and opens his arms to you. Though he won't say it right now, he feels honoured that you've come to him for some comfort and is determined to make you feel better.

Hosea holds you in the hug for as long as you need, giving you as much time as you need. Wanting to give you the opportunity to talk away from the others, Hosea suggests you both go get a hot drink and go for a walk.

Trelawny

You catch Trelawny off guard when you ask for a hug. He raises his eyebrows, the words sinking in as he scans your face for some kind of tell for how you're feeling.

Josiah quickly opens his arms and ushers you closer to him, holding you in a loving hug. He's not too sure if this is a celebratory hug or a sad hug and he doesn't want to pry too much either way.

Trelawny's very conscious of asking if you're ok, scared that you might start to cry if this is a sad hug and he doesn't want to accidentally embarrass you so instead he talks about what he can think of. "Usually when I'm holding my birds, they response better to a firmer grip so I think tight hugs are usually best" he says to you, slightly confusing you but that's Trelawny for ya.

Kieran

You usually come over to Kieran when he's tending to the horses for a chat so when he notices you approaching from the corner of his eye, he smiles brightly. Turning to face you properly, he realizes you look a little down.

When you ask him, Kieran speaks without thinking, agreeing and letting you wrap your arms around him. His brain is still comprehending your request but it's his initial instinct to say yes and hopefully bring you some comfort.

It takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up with what's happening but soon Kieran holds you in his arms, debating whether he should prode and ask if there's anything on your mind. Instead of asking straight out what's wrong, he asks if you'd like to help him with the horses, hoping that way you'll open up in your own time.

#HAPPY (very late) NEW YEAR EVERYONE #HOPE 2022 IS A GREAT YEAR FOR EVERYONE #And I think we could all do with a hug after getting through 2021 lmao #also I’ve reallllllllly neglected the requests from my ao3 so I’ve been trying to focus on them #but I’m still working on a lot of the ones from on here too #gonna be posting loads since it’s 2022 now and new year new random wave of motivation #headcanons #writings #arthur morgan #charles smith #dutch van der linde #micah bell #john marston #javier escuella #bill williamson #hosea matthews #josiah trelawny #kieran duffy

[hakasims]

The Most Important Review of Every Single Marwan Kenzari Film

If you’ve seen this one about Luca, you know the drill.

Now, Marwan’s brand is a little less defined than Luca’s but I managed to find similar tropes in a lot of his films. Also, rather than copy myself and give you a redundant Marwanmeter, I decided instead to recommend which Luca character best pairs with each Marwan character for your crossover pleasure. Let’s see if we ship the same things! Some of them are crack. You’re welcome.

(all gifs again by the awesomely amazing @weardes​ who did not ask to be my gif factory but life’s a bitch)

Het zusje van Katia (2008)

Will you miss him if you blink? Kinda. They talk about him a lot but his actual screen time is like 43.7 seconds. Also can I just say... he’s supposed to be from Italy?? The boy says literally one (1) Italian word, and you’ll never guess what it is. (Obviously, it’s “bella” like there’s a chance he could’ve said anything else.)

Is he hot? Painfully hot.

Is he naked? There’s this one scene where he’s wearing the sluttiest pair of speedos I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

Does his hair look great? Actually, yes. Perfect hair, perfect beard, he looks amazing.

Does he fuck? Yes, a lot - off screen, including an M/M/F threesome he presumably, probably, most definitely initiated.

Best paired with? From what I’ve gathered, this hoe ain’t loyal, so the best course of action is to find him a Luca that would benefit from a one night stand with no strings attached and wouldn’t fall in love with him. The obvious choice here is Valerio from Slam - Tutto per una ragazza. They meet, they fuck, then Giac makes his 4-hour drive back to Pisa, and they don’t see each other again until the next time he’s in Rome. Everybody’s happy, especially the two sluts in question.

De laatste dagen van Emma Blank (2009)

Will you miss him if you blink? Yes, absolutely.

Is he hot? Very.

Is he naked? Almost constantly.

Does his hair look great? He’s got those cute short curls, he looks so good.

Does he fuck? That’s literally why he’s there: to fuck and to die.

Best paired with? Man, I wish I had something to work with here. The only thing we know about him besides his sexual prowess is his affinity for white suits and toy helicopters. And as far as I know, those might be the exact things Fabrizio from Nina finds hot in guys. So like, why not?

Loft (2010)

Will you miss him if you blink? He’s the fifth most important character.

Is he hot? Yeah, sure.

Is he naked? There’s a scene where he’s wearing underwear and a tank top but it somehow makes him look like a kindergartener.

Does his hair look great? It looks quite nice.

Does he fuck? Yes, though I wish he didn’t.

Best paired with? Tom is a very violent person and a drug addict. He does messed up stuff to his sexual partners I’d rather he didn’t do to any of Luca’s characters. Feel free to use him for your sadistic fantasies or as a villain or whatever.

Rabat (2011)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, he’s one of the three leads.

Is he hot? Oh yes! And cute!

Is he naked? He’s at the beach wearing nothing but boxer shorts.

Does his hair look great? He’s got this extreme undercut thing that would look ridiculous on anyone less pretty, so like no, he doesn’t have great hair, but also like it’s Marwan, you know what I mean?

Does he fuck? Before he embarks on a road trip with his friends, he has an offscreen threesome with two girls he picked up at a wedding. Slut.

Best paired with? Gabriele from Waves. They’re both sweet guys who could meet in some Tunisian port and decide to sail the Mediterranean Sea together.

Black Out (2012)

Will you miss him if you blink? Not unless your blinking is very deliberate.

Is he hot? Not really. He’s a dirty cop with a shitty moustache and oral fixation.

Is he naked? No, but I wish he was: his clothes are awful. Marwan is 29 in this movie and he looks 50!

Does his hair look great? Nope. They took Marwan’s usual short hair and made it not work somehow.

Does he fuck? No.

Best paired with? The one thing Luca’s characters all have in common is that none of them come off as bootlickers. All of them are either too soft for such a relationship or wouldn’t waste their spit on a cop.

Wolf (2013)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, he’s the protagonist.

Is he hot? *gestures wildly at the gif*

Is he naked? He’s got quite a few shirtless scenes.

Does his hair look great? It’s nothing special but suits his character well.

Does he fuck? Oh yes.

Best paired with? Hear me out. I know that some people ship him with Fabio, but in my opinion that pair, while hot, doesn’t work. Here’s my pitch: Cesare from Non essere cattivo. The drug connection is still there, but in this case Majid’s problem-solving skills won’t fall on deaf ears. Cesare needs a daddy, ok? Majid can be a daddy when he needs to, especially when he has a soft boyfriend to care for. And Majid needs soft, not psycho.

Hartenstraat (2014)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, he’s the protagonist once again.

Is he hot? Painfully.

Is he naked? There’s that iconic scene where he’s wearing nothing but black boxer briefs and boots while carrying a tray...

Does his hair look great? He’s got Joe-like curls and looks like what every male romantic lead should aspire to look like and then cry because they all fail.

Does he fuck? There’s one very unfortunate sex scene played for laughs. I’m pretty sure he’ll need therapy afterwards. I certainly do.

Best paired with? Paolo from Il padre d’Italia. Paolo deserves the best boyfriend, and who’s better than Daan, an extremely hot man who cooks? They both have daughters, so they can talk about that, I guess, and Paolo can finally have a family. Honestly, this is so wholesome I just made myself cry.

Lucia de B. (2014)

Will you miss him if you blink? For sure.

Is he hot? He’s a cop. Again. But he looks good.

Is he naked? Fully dressed, but man are his clothes ugly. Is that a cop thing?

Does his hair look great? He has slightly longer curls, which is fine and the best thing about this character.

Does he fuck? ACAB. (I know this doesn’t answer the question, I just wanted to make it clear.)

Best paired with? See my bootlicker comment from earlier. While Detective *checks notes* Ron Leeflang isn’t explicitly corrupt, he’s obviously a dick, so the best I can do here is recommend any Luca character that has ever been in trouble with the law for any fics about power imbalance you want to write but aren’t comfortable with a nice Marwan playing the villain.

Bloedlink (2014)

Will you miss him if you blink? Oh no, he’s there the entire time.

Is he hot? In a weird way, yes.

Is he naked? So, so, so naked. Like, leave nothing to the imagination naked.

Does his hair look great? I’d say that little rat tail is the exact opposite of great.

Does he fuck? Probably more than is good for him. I should also add that he’s canonically queer in this.

Best paired with? Rico is a pathetic loser in need of someone who’s got his life together and has a lot of experience dealing with fuckups. Enter Loris from Il mondo fino in fondo. He has a stable job and a savior complex, and with his little bro gaying it up in Chile and not needing him anymore, all he wants right now is someone to fix. I should be a fucking matchmaker in real life, for real.

Pak van mijn hart (2014)

Will you miss him if you blink? Undoubtedly.

Is he hot? No. The whole point of his character is to be the lesser choice compared to a guy who looks like a completely ordinary bland white dude...

Is he naked? ...so of course he isn’t naked! What, are they gonna take this poor woman, show her Marwan Kenzari’s post-Wolf body and expect her to choose her deeply mediocre ex? Please! They’re gonna dress him in the dorkiest clothes possible...

Does his hair look great? ...and make him wear the most awful wig that was clearly run over by a truck.

Does he fuck? No. As you can observe, they tried really hard to make him unfuckable, but honestly, he seems like a perfectly nice guy.

Best paired with? You know what? Mattia from La solitudine dei numeri primi is in desperate need of some sweetness and normalcy. I’m sure Richard will treat him with kindness and respect.

Collide (2016)

Will you miss him if you blink? He’s the fifth most important character. Out of five.

Is he hot? Very hot.

Is he naked? Not for a second! What’s up with American movies where people aren’t just casually walking around naked without any plot necessity???

Does his hair look great? His curls are so cute you guys! Look at them!

Does he fuck? Not explicitly.

Best paired with? Fabio from Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot. Again, the drug connection is there, but Matthias is soft enough not to butt heads with Fabio and, by the end of the movie, rich enough to satisfy his cravings for good living and fame. Also look at how good their color coordination is with those dark wine red clothes! Sometimes planets just align, okay?

Ben-Hur (2016)

Will you miss him if you blink? Yes, especially if you aren’t watching the background.

Is he hot? Your usual Marwan hot.

Is he naked? No.

Does his hair look great? His typical short curls with a twist. I think the forehead area is supposed to invoke the Caesar cut? I don’t know. It looks fine when not hidden under that dumb helmet.

Does he fuck? No.

Best paired with? A better script and a much better director. (Seriously, what is this blocking?)

The Promise (2016)

Will you miss him if you blink? He’s there a decent amount in the first half of the movie and then almost completely disappears in the second half.

Is he hot? Very much, yes.

Is he naked? Unfortunately, no.

Does his hair look great? He’s got short curls again, but this time they’re fashionably styled, it’s magnificent.

Does he fuck? Oh yeah! And there’s no way he isn’t bi or pan in this. No way.

Best paired with? Roberta from L’ultimo terrestre. Listen, Emre Ogan may be a slut but he’s a gentleman, okay? He’d treat Roberta right and he’s got daddy’s cash to spare on hundreds of gorgeous white dresses for her.

The Mummy (2017)

Will you miss him if you blink? He’s there, but barely.

Is he hot? Dangerously hot.

Is he naked? Not once! Instead we get a naked Tom Cruise literally no one asked for.

Does his hair look great? It’s your basic professional short hairdo.

Does he fuck? No.

Best paired with? Malik is a member of an organization tracking and destroying various monsters and historical artefacts related to them. Guido from Tutti i santi giorni speaks four languages, including Latin, and is a literature and ancient history nerd which makes him a valuable asset. Malik can fight and protect; Guido is bumbling and in need of saving. Guys, this writes itself.

What Happened to Monday (2017)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, especially not in the third act.

Is he hot? He’s okay.

Is he naked? Very naked.

Does his hair look great? They shouldn’t have greased his curls back. He looks like another victim of Fabio Cannizzaro’s stylist. Also I wish he’d either shaved or finished growing out that beard.

Does he fuck? He fucks and he fucks good. He’ll go down on you, he’ll deflower you slowly and gently, he’ll choke you if you want him to, he’ll spoon you all night, he’ll give you emotional support, he’ll murder people for you - he’s down for whatever.

Best paired with? There’s one Luca character who needs a lot of sex and even more emotional support. Alright, most of them do, but I’m thinking of Ettore from Lasciate andare. He needs it, okay? Good dicking, good spooning, a good ear, a fine piece of ass to cry into - you get the gist. Most importantly: someone who’d love him for who he is and with whom he could relax and be himself. (Also, I see you, people comparing him to Fabio. Shame on you for sleeping on this soft boy and judging him based on his appearance.)

Murder on the Orient Express (2017)

Will you miss him if you blink? He’s kinda always present, being very French.

Is he hot? Very hot.

Is he naked? No, but I’m willing to forgive that because he looks so good in his conductor uniform.

Does his hair look great? He never takes off his hat.

Does he fuck? No.

Best paired with? Mickey Miranda. They’re both murderers morally dubious characters who would look hot together. What else do you need? (Again, I see you, people who want Pierre for Roberta because he’s a “nice guy”, and I know for a fact you didn’t watch the movie. Spoilers, I guess.)

The Angel (2018)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, he’s the protagonist.

Is he hot? Oh yes.

Is he naked? Not once, but you won’t regret it because he’s wearing excellently stylish 1970s clothes.

Does his hair look great? It looks fantastic. The sideburns (not yet seen here) are a good touch.

Does he fuck? He can definitely get it, but he’s loyal to his wife.

Best paired with? As the most aesthetically coherent and fashionably hot pair in this post, Ashraf and Primo are a no-brainer. Can you imagine Primo calling him “Angel” in different contexts? When he’s being intimidating, not realizing how palpable the sexual tension between them is, and later not even hiding his arousal? Sometimes things just work because they’re hot. That’s all, folks.

Aladdin (2019)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, he’s the main villain.

Is he hot? It’s not like he went viral for being the “hot Jafar” or anything.

Is he naked? No! Fucking thanks a lot, Disney.

Does his hair look great? He has a buzz cut under that turban but he looks good in the turban, so that’s something.

Does he fuck? It’s a Disney movie, so he doesn’t fuck - explicitly or otherwise - but he still comes off as a thirsty bitch.

Best paired with? Jafar ends the movie as a genie who’s obligated to grant his master three wishes but is enough of a petty bitch to exploit the hell out of the “gray area” and screw them over Wishmaster style. My unconventional pair for him is Lui from Ricordi? So many scenarios with distorted memories and magic-induced mindfuck. So many possibilities for awesome and messed up crossover gifsets! Don’t say I never give you guys anything.

Instinct (2019)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, he’s very prominent.

Is he hot? I hate myself for finding him hot but I do.

Is he naked? He’s playing basketball shirtless in one scene, shaking his sweaty boobs everywhere.

Does his hair look great? His weird mohawk-like thing is honestly terrible, but if anything can make it work, it’s Marwan’s bone structure.

Does he fuck? Um, I’m pleading the Fifth on this one for the sake of good taste.

Best paired with? Prison. A very lonely, Luca-less prison.

The Old Guard (2020)

Will you miss him if you blink? No, unless blinking in your case means sleeping through the gloriousness that is the first ever canonically gay couple in an American action film.

Is he hot? Painfully.

Is he naked? Shirtless in one scene.

Does his hair look great? Soft curls courtesy of Luca Marinelli’s tireless lobbying.

Does he fuck? Not on screen, but you can just tell by the way he looks at his husband and reads impromptu poetry right to his face. And everybody knows nothing kindles the fires of passion quite like murdering homophobes together.

Best paired with? If you have to ask, you’re clearly reading this by mistake. In which case, kudos for finishing such a long and confusing post, now go watch The Old Guard and cry at the beauty that is The Immortal Marriage.

#marwan kenzari #luca marinelli #the old guard #and other movies #i'm lazy #immortal husbands #and their parallel versions i guess #crossover ships galore

[writeforfandoms]

Born to be Wild

Look don’t @ me about the title okay it just worked

Find my masterlist and series masterlist

This is what happens when someone throws an idea out here that I adore. Brought on by @jessie-writes-things​ talking about dropping Pero Tovar into modern times, and I ran with it. Tovar goes to RenFaire, folks. 

Two things to keep in mind: the answer to everything is magic. Tovar speaks modern English? Magic. Roll with it. Second thing: I haven’t participated in nor spent much time watching the matches at my local RenFaire but I know they happen, and I think my local faire does some jousting too. I’m sure people actually have to sign all sorts of paperwork BUT we’re ignoring that. 

Warnings: Swearing, mild descriptions of show-fighting, Tovar being a cocky shit. Yes that needs its own warning. 

Word count: 3.5k

Tagging: @tibbietibbs​ @fandom-blackhole​ @shoopidly​ @pedrocentric​ @beskarprincessjenny @sarahjkl82-blog​ @cannedsoupsucks​ Let me know if you want to be added or removed!

There was a man standing outside the café you’d planned to stop at on your way to RenFaire. He looked… well, he looked like a LARPer – dressed in dark clothes with chainmail armor. Dedicated guy – that stuff got heavy in quantity. His hair was wild and longer than you were used to seeing on guys, curling at the ends, and he probably would have been attractive if he wasn’t so busy scowling.

“I think you missed the park,” you told him, smirking. “You’re off by a few blocks.” You pointed in the right direction.

“What are you speaking of?” he asked. Oh, his voice was low and kinda raspy-growly. Nice.

“RenFaire. Down three blocks that way,” you told him.

His scowl only got deeper at that, his hands clenching at his sides. “Do not speak in tongues to me,” he growled.

Deeeefinitely a LARPer. And a pretty hard core one, at that. You took another look at him, head tipping to the side as you considered his clothing. It was pretty non-descript, but something about it seemed… off. Not that you were a fashion expert through the centuries, but something about the clothing struck you as not right. Especially for a RenFaire.

But it was honestly none of your business. So you shrugged the thought off and stepped towards the door.

“I’m heading over there after I get some coffee. You want some? I’ll walk you over.” You decided to err on the side of extra nice with this guy, because why not.

He didn’t reply, staring at you as if you’d grown a second head, so you shrugged and stepped into the café. It didn’t take long to get two coffees and two orange scones to go. You promptly handed one of each over to the guy.

“Faire’s this way,” you told him, jerking your head in the appropriate direction as you started walking. He followed after a moment, looking from the coffee cup to you to the little paper bag with the scone back to you. You took a sip of your own coffee, letting out a pleased little hum. Ah, sweet liquid life-giving caffeine. “What’s your name, by the way?”

He lifted his own cup of coffee slowly, sniffing at it and blinking twice before his gaze cut to you. “Tovar,” was all he offered before taking a careful sip of coffee.

You gave him your name and stopped at a crosswalk, automatically grabbing his arm when he continued forward. His head whipped to you, his arm tense under your grip, until a car went through the crosswalk. Then he just looked startled.

“People always go too fast through this light,” you bemoaned. “Every time, I swear.” You sighed at the lack of courtesy from drivers and took a big bite of your scone. The taste made you hum, pleased. You only ever treated yourself to these scones rarely, so this was a treat.

You looked at your new companion again to find scone crumbs in his moustache and an empty bag balled up in his fist. You snorted, a grin tugging at your lips.

“You, uh, got a little something,” you told him, miming brushing above your lip. He frowned at you, confused, but followed your actions none the less. Most of the crumbs fell away. Good enough.

Tovar walked with you the rest of the way to the fairgrounds, not wandering into traffic fortunately. His coffee was also finished by the time you arrived, and you both tossed your trash. You hardly noticed that he was just mimicking you. He’d also lost some of the scowl around you, though he was still eyeing everybody else warily.

“Well, have fun,” you told him with a smile, digging your ticket out of your purse. “Maybe I’ll see you in there, yeah?”

He looked a little startled at that, gaze swinging from you to the front entrance. He looked… perplexed, of all things. Okay, odd, but maybe he was just the world’s most dedicated LARPer? Whatever. Not your problem. You smiled at him and headed off to get in line, holding out your ticket and letting security check your purse without a fuss.

Your first hour in the faire was spent, as usual, wandering the grounds. You checked in on a few of your favorite vendors to see where they were stationed this year, checked the timing of the shows, briefly scouted out the food (always important), and ended up off to the side snickering at the TARDIS that had, once again, graced the faire.

Tovar emerged from the other side of the police box, nearly giving you a heart attack. He looked shifty but brightened, just a bit, when he spotted you.

“Holy shit dude,” you gasped, hand over your chest. “You startled me. Where did you even come from?”

Tovar grunted something that might have been an apology and strode over to stand in front of you. “What is this witchcraft?” he hissed.

“What?” You blinked at him, caught off guard.

“This.” He made a broad gesture at the faire. He started to flush, red creeping up his neck, and you turned to see what had caught his eye. Ah. One of the washing wenches with a particularly low cut top. Yeah, sometimes they made you blush, too.

“I mean.” You hesitated. “It’s just RenFaire.”

He gave you a look. A very scowly look. But kind of pouty, too? Frankly, it was more adorable than intimidating.

You shrugged and grinned up at him. “I dunno what to tell you, dude, that’s just how it goes here.”

He paused and scowled even more, somehow. “Speaking in tongues,” he grumbled at you.

“Well I don’t speak Middle English,” you grumbled back. “Now, you can come with me if you want, but I have some things to buy while I’m here.” You turned and headed into the crowd again. A quick glance over your shoulder showed you’d acquired a new shadow, this one dark-haired and scowling. You smiled to yourself. Normally you didn’t take to people quite this fast, but there was something about him, despite all the scowling and attitude. And the number of fake weapons on him. Yes, you’d noticed the hilts, but again, it was RenFaire. Security checked those things.

You moved through the faire easily, well acquainted with the fairgrounds and the general layout. Your first stop was to one of your favorites: a small tea company. After purchasing multiple tins and stashing them in a bag you’d brought with you, you continued on your way, your shadow always just a step behind you.

“Is it all this crowded?” he asked with an annoyed-sounding grunt as you squeezed in between two groups.

“In this area, yes,” you answered easily, glancing back over your shoulder. He’d stopped to gawk at someone with wild makeup and hair, and you grabbed his wrist to tug him along. You passed the vendor with the dragon-puppets with only one wistful glance – a new record for you.

“Where are you dragging me?” Tovar asked, although you noticed he made no move to free himself.

“Next vendor,” you told him cheerfully. “Welsh cakes. They’re really good, they’re griddled I think? I don’t know but they’re dusted in sugar and delicious. I always buy a few packs when I’m here.”

Tovar’s brow furrowed, more confusion than anything this time, but he didn’t have time to ask before you made a triumphant noise and pulled him the rest of the way to the vendor.

This vendor recognized you, and you spent a solid five minutes chatting and catching up before making your selections. You got an extra pack for free, the vendor tossing it in with a wink and a smile. And then you were on your way again.

“Busy bee, aren’t you?” Tovar grumbled, still following you.

“I like to have time to watch some of the shows,” you told him easily. “Besides, I kinda want a snack. I know most everything here is junk food but I only come once a year, I figure I can enjoy it.”

Tovar grunted again but kept up with you easily enough. When you finally stopped to get a snack (chocolate-dipped frozen banana this time), his eyes went wide. On a whim, you bought a second one and handed it to him.

“Maybe this will sweeten your disposition,” you teased him with a grin. And then you promptly grabbed him again and pulled him off towards the falconry show, picking a nice hay bale in the back to sit on.

Tovar’s entire face changed when he bit into his treat. “What is this?” he asked, voice low and kind of awed.

“Chocolate covered banana,” you told him absently, taking a bite of your own. You chewed and swallowed before you spoke again. “Good, right?”

His only reply was a low hum as he demolished the rest of his. You couldn’t help but snicker at him, leaning back a bit as the show started.

Tovar was quiet next to you as you both watched the birds show off. One of the birds misbehaved and flew up on top of a tent pole and wouldn’t come down for a solid ten minutes, during which time there were a lot of jokes about stage fright and “she’s only a baby”.

“See?” you asked smugly when the show was over and all the birds were safely back in their enclosures. “Fun, right?”

Tovar rolled his eyes but didn’t disagree with you. He seemed distracted now, gaze flicking around at the various people. He seemed oddly fascinated by cell phones, including yours when you pulled it out to check the time and send off a couple texts. He muttered something about witchcraft which you summarily ignored. Finally, you stood and stretched.

“Still coming with me?” you checked with him, smiling. Sure, he was a grump, but he was quickly becoming your favorite grump.

He grunted at you and stood, glancing around almost warily. “You are the least confounding of the options present,” he grumbled.

“Thanks, I think.” You shook your head and started walking again, in less of a hurry this time. There were one or two other shows you wanted to see, but you’d done the most important shopping already, and it wasn’t quite lunch time yet. So you meandered, and ended up on the far side of the faire where it opened up.

Cheering caught your attention, and you saw Tovar come to attention as well when a clash of metal on metal split the air. Curious, you started forward, only to pause when Tovar grabbed your arm. He offered no explanation, simply stepping in front of you and going first.

Well. That was a first.

Two people stood in the center of a small arena, both with shields and swords. They were circling each other, every so often darting forward to attack. Ah. A different type of show, then. You’d never bothered to come way back here.

“They do this for sport?” Tovar asked gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Pretty much,” you answered, coming up next to him. “They get to show off and they probably have fun. I have no idea if there’s any kind of prize, though. Probably not. This is probably just for bragging rights.”

“Bragging rights,” Tovar repeated slowly. He watched the two fighters until there was a clear winner, looked at you, and then grabbed your wrist and strode off. You yipped as you were tugged along but caught up quickly. “Who is in charge?” Tovar asked of the first person in armor he came across.

“Bill, he’s over there,” the person answered, giving the two of you a wide-eyed look.

“Thank you!” you managed to get out before Tovar was yanking you along again. Well. Okay. You couldn’t really complain too much. You had pulled him around earlier, after all.

“How do I join?” Tovar asked, stopping in front of the aforementioned Bill. You stumbled into his back, and he didn’t even flinch.

You peered around Tovar at Bill, who was clearly eyeing the man in armor. Then he nodded once. “Hey, Jax!”

“Yeah?” Another guy in armor, lighter than Tovar’s, turned to look.

“Let’s see if we can get this guy placed in the ranks. What’s your name?”

“Tovar.”

“Tovar, then.”

Jax grinned, looking at you. “And what about you?”

“Nope,” you squeaked, taking two quick steps back. “I am good. I know nothing.”

“Come on, then,” Jax told Tovar. Tovar threw a smirk over his shoulder at you, confident and at ease, and swaggered away. Swaggered!

What on earth just happened?

Jax and Tovar faced off against each other in the center of the arena. Jax was clearly the crowd favorite, but Tovar seemed unconcerned. He had a sword drawn, looking rather relaxed. Jax made the first move, stepping forward, and Tovar parried easily. He twirled his sword almost lazily, still smirking. The two exchanged a set of blows, nice and easy at first, but growing faster and more intense. The clashing got louder as more force was used. Tovar never lost the smirk, even as he abruptly stepped into Jax’s space, disarming the other and resting his sword just against Jax’s neck.

“I yield.” Jax sounded surprised as he held his hands up and out, away from his body. Tovar stepped back and sheathed his sword with what seemed to be an extra flourish.

There was silence for a moment, and then deafening cheers. Tovar simply found you and smirked, looking far too pleased with himself.

Of course after that apparently nothing would do but half the regulars had to challenge him. Tovar took down each and every one of them with (mostly) restrained feral grace. It didn’t take you long to pick up on a pattern – Tovar started showboating when he didn’t feel challenged by his opponent, adding in unnecessary flourishes and twirls and things. His gaze would find yours. He would smirk at you. But when he did get a challenge? That was almost better, in your opinion. He got ruthless, movements sure and confident. You could definitely see how moves like those could be deadly in a real battle.

Eventually Tovar ran out of opponents, and the competition moved on to something else. You stopped paying attention, because Tovar was swaggering over to you. Still smirking. Fuck but he looked good.

“Have fun?” you asked him, gaze flickering around nervously.

“It was a decent challenge.” That fucking smirk grew when he noted your nerves. “Not the hardest I’ve faced.”

“I’d like to hear about that sometime,” you offered, meeting his gaze and looking away again. You could feel heat creeping up your neck.

“Hm.” Tovar made a rough noise of amusement. “Did you enjoy watching?” His voice lowered a little, just enough to make you think of… other things. Your cheeks burned with heat.

“Yeah, you were great. Very, um, impressive.” You cleared your throat nervously.

Tovar smirked at that. “Seems I won bragging rights,” he continued.

“Uh huh,” you agreed, eyes wide as he took two more steps closer to you.

“What else did I win?” His gaze was intense, fixed on you. He was standing close now, almost too close. You felt like moving any direction but backwards would have you bumping into him, so you’d gone entirely still.

And then his stomach rumbled a bit.

“Food!” you suggested brightly. “We should eat, it’s past lunch time, there’s tons of places here, I’ll let you pick where we get lunch!” You took a half step backwards, stomach fluttering with nerves.

Tovar sighed at that, shoulders drooping momentarily, before he rallied. He nodded and grabbed your wrist again, at least until you twisted your arm to grip his hand instead. He looked startled at that but didn’t shake you off.

“Pick a place,” you told him once you’d gotten to the food. “Anywhere you want.”

Tovar’s jaw nearly dropped at the display before him. You saw him swallow and then he started looking at the options, moving between stalls. Finally he narrowed it down to two, and stood between the two scowling. You laughed a little – you couldn’t help it.

“What do you want?” you asked him. When he looked at you, you shrugged. “We’ll get something from each place and share, how’s that?”

His scowl deepened for a moment, and he opened his mouth. Paused. Closed his mouth and nodded. He pointed to the pictures of what he wanted.

“Alright. I’ll be right back, wait here for me?” You smiled and got in line, ordering the things he’d pointed out as well as a couple extra things. He’d downed the monkey tail earlier, and he’d probably worked up quite the appetite. You certainly weren’t going to let him go hungry.

It didn’t take long before the two of you had plenty of food. Tovar claimed a table for the two of you, and you sat across from him with an easy smile.

“Enjoy,” you told him, taking a piece of artichoke. He dove on the food with enthusiasm, and you nearly choked laughing when he started gnawing on the turkey leg.

The two of you ate in companionable silence, at least until someone bumped into you from behind. Tovar stood, eyes narrowed, reaching for one of his weapons.

“Tovar,” you warned, a little alarmed. “Don’t you dare.”

He glanced down at you and then back to the person who’d bumped you, who was already walking away without an apology. Whatever. These things happened. Tovar muttered something, probably a curse based on his tone, and sat again.

“I’m fine,” you told him, hoping to settle him a bit. “I’m not hurt, no big deal. See? Everything’s good.”

Tovar made a grumpy noise but grabbed the turkey leg to finish it off. It was the last of the food left, and you leaned back a bit to let him finish up.

“So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?” you asked him, gathering up the trash.

He paused at that, chewing his bite before he looked at you and shrugged.

“No set plans? Okay. I was gonna wander around a bit more, see what else there is to see, then head home. Might do a bit more shopping if something catches my eye.” It was your turn to shrug. “You gonna stick around with me or head off?”

Tovar considered for a few moments before he smirked at you. “I’ll stay with you. I still deserve a reward.”

You swallowed hard and bounced to your feet, gathering up the trash with a nervous mutter. The butterflies were back in your stomach. It wasn’t a bad feeling, though. Just… unusual.

You and Tovar ended up at the weapons shop. You’d only purchased a little dagger here once, years ago, but you liked to look. They always had cool looking things. And you thought Tovar might appreciate it.

You thought wrong.

“This is ill made,” Tovar told you, flicking the flat of a blade. “See there? Not suited for combat.”

“Uh.” You blinked at him. “What am I seeing?”

Tovar sighed but he sounded begrudgingly amused. “Here.” He pointed again, and you leaned in closer to see.

“I’ll take your word for it,” you sighed after a few moments of fruitlessly trying to figure out what he was pointing out.

“Hm.” Tovar looked at another weapon and scoffed. “I would not purchase anything here,” he advised.

“I wasn’t going to, I just like to look.”

A smirk slowly stretched Tovar’s lips, and he stepped into your personal space again. “If looking is what you like, I’d be happy to show you mine.”

A flush raced across your face again, and you stammered for a moment. Tovar took pity on you and herded you in front of him out of the shop.

Somehow, he herded you more effectively than you could try to redirect him, and you found yourself in an out of the way corner of the fair. Tovar backed you up until your back hit the fence, and you squeaked.

“Tell me to stop,” he growled, voice low and cocky smirk back in place. “And I will.”

You squeaked again but didn’t say a word as he boxed you in, hands braced on either side of you as he leaned in close. He paused there, holding your gaze for a few excruciatingly long moments. And then he kissed you.

His moustache tickled your skin a bit, was the first thing you noticed. The second thing you noticed was that he was clearly more experienced at this than you, and had no problems taking control. Which he promptly did. One of his hands cradled the back of your head, keeping you right where he wanted you.

One final more-or-less gentle nip to your lower lip and then he pulled back a little. Your eyes opened slowly. You felt rather dazed, a bit disconnected from reality. You didn’t really do this kind of thing. This wasn’t your norm.

And yet. There was something about this man.

“Was there anything else you needed to do here?” Tovar asked, voice rough but hands gentle where he held you.

“Uh. No. I’m, uh. I’m set,” you answered, a bit breathy.

“Good.” Tovar smirked again. “I intend to find every spot that will make you whimper for me.”

Heat flooded your face (as if it had ever left) but you didn’t object. Instead you smiled.

Definitely not how you’d planned for today to go, but you weren’t complaining.

#the great wall #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you

[sepublic]

Through the Looking Glass Ruins!!!!!

         …

         SO! Onto other things first…

         WRATH IS BRAXAS’ FATHER!??!!? HOLY SHIT, Wrath is a canonical dad, I’d always expressed my… OH MY GOD WRATH IS DAD! And of BRAXAS, that sweetie… How is Braxas such a sweetie with a father like HIM, also-

         Wrath was in casual wear? Either he has a day off, or he got fired by Belos/Kikimora after drawing Luz a map to Eda in Young Blood, Old Souls! Either way this guy has a sudden new level of NUANCE that I am reeling from, and yes I checked, that really is Wrath according to the credits! Dang this puts everything in a WHOLE new light…!

         AMITY HAIR OHMIGOD IT LOOKS SO ADORABLE SHE’S SELF-ACTUALIZING I AM FUCKING SCREAMING HOLY SHIT OH MY GOD!!! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD, it’s PINK and not green… They acknowledged it, Emira did! And they CHANGED IT I AM LOSING MY FUCKING MIND OVER THIS-

         She looks so BEAUTIFUL and I love the kind of foreshadowing with the bookends of our first shot of Amity having her hair down, and now it’s changed! And she looks adorable and EMIRA AND EDRIC BEING GREAT SIBLINGS I LOVE IT SO MUCH! This… THIS is everything I wanted! I was resigned to not much of them but HELL YEAH they’re being good siblings and we get a look at their rooms, we see them doing MAKEOVERS together this is everything from my favorite fanon content and MORE,

         Also Edric has a date?! Emira says ‘their’ mom… Unless the Golden Guard has a mom, DARN! Not gonna lie, I half-expected a big twist at the end that Edric was dating the Golden Guard, who was doing some sort of reconnaissance as his unrecognized normal self and/or screwing around with the Blights even further, but in a GENUINE sense… But then who knows Kikimora could be posing as GG’s ‘mom’, this is a stretch anyhow-

         JUST HELL YEAH Blight Twins! Blight Twins being sweet and mischievous and supportive of each other, Blight SIBLINGS being siblings, Emira being an older sister and giving advice! And AMITY, Amity mentioning how much Luz has changed stuff, I love that they acknowledge it openly how her life has completely shifted, and now… NOW…!

         No necklace! Red leggings! PINK HAIR?! Is this why Amity in the intro hasn’t been updated yet… She was getting TWO updates, so the animators decided to only animate a change after this final update?!

         King and Gus are also friends it seems, and they even recorded some fun together! I’m surprised at how much Bria and the others mock Gus’ illusion skills… Obviously Belos is kinda terrible but like; I don’t think he’d set aside an entire subset of magic into Illusions without reason! Also that nightmare trip… I LOVE IT, I love Gus applying the creativity of illusions in their ability to completely warp and distort someone’s sense of reality! And I called that dragon-thing being an illusion!

         A graveyard… I wonder if the Gallderstones (is that how it’s spelled) have any relevance or if they’re just neat? I hope Mattholomule and Gus help hide the Looking Glass Graveyard… Damn, that’s another Death reference with Gus, huh! Is it culminating in his respect for the dead, or will it continue further with Gus being a necromancer, or an Oracle who can commune with the deceased, and he has their respect as someone who treats them properly?!

         Also not to get dark but… What if all those Illusionists are dead because of Belos? I’m JUST SAYING…! And not gonna lie, every time someone insulted Illusions, I kept imagining the Illusion Head just suddenly waking up and feeling like there’s a disturbance in the force, as well as a weird compulsion to beat up some Glandus kids. It’d be even funnier if he had beef with the Construction, Plant, and Abomination Heads as well!

         Speaking of which, more confirmation on Construction Magic being related to earth! Glad to see Bria give us a look into that, which furthers my idea of Belos using construction magic… Also dang, Bria and the Glandus Kids really are the parallels/foils to the Detention kids! You’ve got the short ‘nice’ girl, the tall lanky kid, the furry… But the Glandus Kids start off looking nice and cool, but turn out to be rather nasty!

         Meanwhile the Detention Kids seem like bad news and delinquents, but no! They’re just demonized and actually very kind and chill! The Detention Kids are looked down upon, the Glandus Kids are appraised… The Detention Kids are dual-track, the Glandus Kids are singular; Glandus Kids from, well, GLANDUS, Detention Kids from Hexside… One’s ‘mischief’ is actually very neat and cool, the other’s is literal grave robbing.

         I guess that’s how the bleeding statues got past the censors- It’s technically just an illusion! Also more insight into how Glandus works with its Survival of the Fittest mentality, I wonder if we’ll get confirmation on which coven heads came from there, how that might influence them as adults…

         What is Glandus like, is it more whole-heartedly accepting of Belos’ rule, hence its harsh ideals? Was it made after Hexside? Does Bump hate it for being so cruel like that, or is it just school bias? And dang poor Mattholomule, I always had a feeling he sort of felt and knew that he wasn’t much, so he accepted and compensated by deliberately doing whatever he can for power…

         They confirmed he’s from Glandus, and I appreciate this new look at him! This new leaf turned… Hot take but he’s honestly not as bad as Boscha, his stint with Gus was a one-time thing that Gus was able to live with! And that seems pretty good to set them up as friends! Speaking of Boscha, Willow was injured by pixies? And the last time we heard of pixies, they belonged to Boscha and caused the school to get shut down… Did BOSCHA DO THIS I SWEAR SHE IS DEAD TO ME-

         (Also she’s mentioned in the credits for this episode but I don’t remember hearing her? I might’ve gotten distracted with so much other things.)

         Gus! I like the insight into his relationship with Illusions, and I appreciate how he’s considering other forms of magic… But this hesitation might just serve to reaffirm his believe in Illusions, which is okay! It’s all about choice… And yeah, it seems Gus also has a case of impostor syndrome like King, no wonder they get along so well! I love the glimpses into Gus’ house and the confirmation that he has a library card, no Perry though alas…!

         I appreciate how Gus feels overlooked, like he has no real substance, which is how his Illusions reflect a desire to draw attention, but also the idea that there’s nothing real beneath them… Again, very much like King! And Gus, he’s not a powerhouse like the rest, he’s SKILLED and smart, but strength isn’t his forte, it’s not brute force he operates on, but cleverness! Trickery, I like it…! It’s a nice callback to his last A-plot episode, SVSF, where instead of fighting Mattholomule physically, Gus’ solution is to think outside the box and pull the alarm!

         You go kid, not relying on brute strength but showing that some clever tricks and thinking are just as valid! Kinda wonder if this episode is lowkey a discussion on masculinity for young boys, especially with Gus growing older with puberty, though the latter is mostly because his actual VA grew… But maybe the writers rolled with that and incorporated it, or it’s just a very neat coincidence! Also, it is me or did Mattholomule’s voice change? And the gag that Gavin’s dad looks identical to him, even moreso because he’s NOT supposed to have a moustache… That’s great!

         Malphas! Love this reference to a classic demon, I wasn’t sure if Malphas was the librarian with glasses whom I’ve always headcanoned as a father figure to Amity… But maybe it’s actually this bird dude! He seems adept in Bard magic, and I love the reveal of his true crow appearance… Guess those theorists were right that the one-eyed figure is from the Forbidden Stacks! Also Malphas NOT COOL with Amity, but I’m glad Luz changed his mind, and I wonder how that adventure looked…

         Which- DAMN, the RSD with Luz! She looks so UTTERLY BROKEN when Amity mentions doing stupid things, and she didn’t mean it like that, but Luz just looks so completely shattered and you can tell she wants to cry but instead she bottles it up and tries to take it in stride, and that plays into her trying to overcompensate for her mistakes AGAIN… SOMEONE GET IT TO HER HEAD that she doesn’t need to! I’m scared for Luz, and I was SO scared this episode would end on a bad note…

         BUT DOAHLDdFAEONDKFHN LUMITY KISS LUMITY KISS! ONE-SIDED BUT THEY FINALLY FUCKING KNOW AND AMITY IS LIKE WHAAAAT AND I WAS WAITING FOR IT AND I COULD FEEL IT HAPPEN AND GAY KISS! GAY KISS ON-SCREEN!!! And the way Luz just FLOPS to the ground on her knees AAHJJFFKHGGK and no Alador nor Odalia to ruin this, UTTERLY PERFECT and the twins WATCHING OOOHHHHGGGG YYYEEAAAAHHH-

         This is EVERYTHING I ever wanted!

         What an AMAZING episode with wonderful characer beats and reveals! Again, Amity’s growth as a character, that brief insight into how Luz as a person is very chaotic and sometimes frustrating for Amity and forces her to reevaluate, but ultimately it’s good and Luz DOES try her best, and Amity clearly wanted to make things up for Luz and apologize, they’re BOTH doing things, just the little moments!

         Also, Alex Lawther voices Philip Wittebane! He has long hair and a vaguely british accent, he’s… He’s Belos isn’t he? And they got a new VA because having him voiced by Matthew Rhys would be really spoiler-y right? He’s got the long hair and he’s a nerd… And with how he talks of finding a way back home, maybe Belos really DOES just want to return home, after all? He talks of making a way back home…

         And we see a glimpse of the Portal, so it might’ve brought him there? Or did Philip succeed in making it, and that was his blueprint designs? Did he arrive by Titan’s Blood? What happened to the portal if it brought him there, or if he made it? Why the scar, why near Eda’s house, partially buried?

         Was it lost before he could finish his work, and Philip got side-tracked into something else… Perhaps going on a crusade, on behalf of a curse/demon that possessed him? A demon that killed King’s father…? Was the portal broken and he had to discard it, but then it naturally healed- Or did it just need to recharge, maybe Philip DID make it back home, WHAT IS THE ANSWER?! Is there some sort of doppelganger for Philip, is BELOS his doppelganger?! What is THIS WHAT-

         WHAT AN EPISODE!

#the owl house #lumity #the owl house gus #augustus porter #the owl house mattholomule #the owl house luz #luz noceda #the owl house amity #amity blight #the owl house bria #the owl house gavin #the owl house angmar #the owl house malphas #the owl house wrath #warden wrath #the owl house braxas #the owl house philip #philip wittebane #speculation #analysis #the owl house spoilers #spoilers #toh spoilers

[writefightandflightclub]

Trial by Fire (Part 1/3) Santiago “Pope” Garcia x GN reader

Summary: You’re finally introducing your new boyfriend to The Boys. It must be intimidating for your guy because, hello? Not only are they literally lethal, as well as infeasibly handsome, but they’re hella protective of you to boot. They want the best for you so, naturally, they make your guy run the gauntlet the whole evening. Santiago, though? Well. Given that he is secretly in love with you? Let’s just say he doesn’t handle the situation very well at all.

Genre / tropes: angst, friends to lovers, love confession.

Author’s note: I wasn’t planning on writing this (in fact I’m writing the opposite, where “Santi has a new girlfriend and you don’t take it well” as a series, loosely based around the 7 deadly sins); but, in the meatime, I wrote this to get back into the swing of things after a lil break. It’s just a quick one, but there will be a second and final part, if you want it! Let me know!

Word count: somehow, 4.4k.

Warnings: language, angst, best friends arguing, Santi being an asshole.

Rating: T

The boys aren’t being as awful as you had anticipated, at least. For the most part, they’re actually being pretty friendly, and although they’ve transitioned into grilling Dean about every aspect of his life, they are at least listening intently and smiling at his answers. All except for one fucker, of course; and, naturally, surprising no-one, the fucker misbehaving is one (1) Santiago “Pope” Garcia. 

The group - the boys, yourself, and Dean- are huddled comfortably around the blazing warmth of the fire pit in Frankie’s yard. The dancing, oranged flames cut through the dark and cold of the crisp night, as you sit upwind of the smoke on scattered, mis-matched camp chairs.

Whilst the others are evidently enjoying the evening -faces painted with smiles, body language open and leaning-in to chat to Dean- that fucker Santi is leaning back in his chair, his jaw twitching in seeming aggravation, his arms folded, and his intense eyes needling your beau. In this dim light, with the firelight licking over the sharp planes of his face, he looks every bit like a trained killer about to leap out of the shadows and garotte someone. Well… a very petulant trained killer. His call sign should have been Mr. Grumpy Pants, you think idly.

What’s up with him this time?! you wonder.

He gets these moods sometimes. And, when it strikes him, he can be a little bit hostile - despite the fact he’s a puppy underneath it all. You had hoped that for once, maybe he would suck it up, and yet, your hopes had been in vain, it seems.

Every time Dean speaks, or touches you, or even laughs at another of the guys’ stories, Santi’s expression sinks further and further through layers of distaste; and, by this point, he’s eyeing Dean as though he’s a war criminal the squad have been sent to take-out. You half expect him to leap up and take down Frankie any second for fraternizing with “the enemy”, if you’re honest.

Truth be told, you’ve had just about enough of this. Your friend had better buck his ideas up, sharpish, or he’d be reminded very swiftly that you were Delta Force too.  

For now, trying to ignore the bastard, you look back at Dean, and the sight of him in animated conversation with your buddies causes at least some of your aggravation to fall away. Things have been going well between you and Dean, even if you do say so yourself. Originally from Michigan, he now worked as a lecturer at a nearby music school. He was also a banjo musician in a bluegrass / synth power-pop mash-up of a band, which (sort of) explained his retro-inspired mop of brown hair and his thick dark moustache - majestic enough to rival Frankie’s. True, he wasn’t your usual type, but he was honest, and sweet and kind... Plus, he’d never killed anyone with his bare hands, which was rather refreshing too, if you were honest.

Safe to say, so far, things were working out. So well, in fact, that you’d recently met his parents for the first time while they were in town. So well, in fact, that -after keeping him purposefully away from the boys for as long as you feasibly could- you’d now brought him to meet your family. That’s what this squad was to you, after all. Your family.

Remembering sporadic moments from the past few months together, you smile gently as you listen to Dean talk. You watch him seamlessly integrate some tailored conversation starters you’d fed him ahead of time, and you gently squeeze his thigh in an act of reassurance and appreciation. He is feeling the pressure, you can tell, although he is handling it well. To be fair, you think, who wouldn’t feel the pressure? You’d been nervous enough to meet his parents, but this? A bunch of Delta Force guys and an MMA champion? This squad was lethal; literally -you’ve lost track of your combined kill count, though Will probably hasn’t, you are sure.

Aside from that though, most of all, they are your family. You need them to like Dean and vice versa, and you know that isn’t necessarily a given. You are a tight-knit group, with little hope of outsiders grasping the full extent of your decade’s old in-jokes, or the intense camaraderie instilled by facing a hail of bullets together. Plus, as the baby of the group, they were protective as all hell of you.

It came from a good place, you knew: they wanted what was best for you. But, there was a reason you’d delayed this meeting... It’s not as though they were threatening or anything. They didn’t do the whole “if you hurt our buddy, I’ll kill you” thing, for example (at least, not while you were present – you couldn’t vouch for what happened when you were out of earshot).  However, after introducing a succession of boyfriends to them over the years, the squad had developed a well-rehearsed system for sizing-up your new squeeze. In the past, not all of your squeezes had made it through the gauntlet. It was a trial by fire, to be sure, and you were pleased that Dean has not yet been burned.

Of course, whilst the boys’ approval didn’t mean everything to you, you couldn’t deny it was important; perhaps especially this time, with this guy. And, out of all of the group, Santi’s approval meant the most to you. Always had. Probably because Santi meant the most to you, full stop. You simply couldn’t imagine having someone in your life that didn’t get on with your best friend. And, so, you are not overly thrilled at the reception Santi is giving Dean right now. The reception he had been giving him all evening, in fact. And the more you dwell on it, the more an anger bubbles forth from you. Even though you try to push it down, and focus on Dean, that fucker in the corner of your eye sends you.

“What’s wrong with you tonight, Garcia?” you blurt out, a little louder than intended, causing the amiable chat and giggles to stall, all eyes turning to you - then, in turn, following the direction of your fiery gaze over to Santi, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Now, he leans forward. Looks back at you with a rare venom in his eyes. With a smug curl of his mouth, he dips to pick up his beer from the floor and takes a swig - buying himself some time. Trying to brush you off. Still, your gaze does not relent as he rests his elbows on his thighs, bridging his fingers together in the space between, thumbs sticking in the air.

Now, he engages, and he looks directly at Dean, his eyes sweeping dismissively over the entirety of his form. Now, he speaks, his voice filled with far more bitterness than the situation merits. “Nothing at all. I’m fucking peachy. So, Dean. You play the motherfuckin’ banjo?” he offers, and yet, it sounds far more like an accusation than a question.

What the fuck is up with him?

Wilting a little beneath Santi’s stare, as the ex-operative squints his eyes in his direction, Dean casts a helpless, sideward glance at you from his place in the circle, and yet, you are so stupefied by anger that you can do little to help.

“I think what my dear friend means to say -” Frankie dips in valiantly, smacking Santi pointedly on the thigh, likely hoping to smack some sense into him too “- is why don’t you tell us more about your music, Dean?”

Frankie’s eyes and smile are soft when he looks at you, surreptitiously exchanging a pointed look -what’s up with that pendejo?- and you are grateful that at least some of the evident tension is diffused when he picks up the slack in the conversation.

Santi and his mood swings be damned, and, feeling bolstered, Dean continues on.  

“Actually, it’s going pretty frickin’ well with the band. It’s a side-gig to my lecturing job, but we’re planning a tour during summer vacation. The States -east coast- and Western Europe for now. Maybe headlining a couple of small festivals, if that pans out, who knows.” Dean relates, humbly.

“That’s great, man,” Will chips in, helping Frankie get things back on track. “We’ll have to come down to a gig soon, hear you play.”

“Actually, we have something to tell you about the tour, don’t we, babe?” Dean says bashfully, and he looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to pick-up the thread. You’d talked about it before coming today, and it had seemed like a great idea at the time, but suddenly, now that the announcement is imminent, your mouth is dry - as if filled with cotton. Still, you force a smile, and you���re not sure why, but you look anywhere else but at Santi as your lips form the words. “Yeah – kinda big news, fellas. I’m going to join Dean on the Europe leg of the tour. I’ll be leaving you losers behind for a few months.”

Dean’s face cracks into a smile and he reaches for your hand, looking made-up at the prospect. Still, while you will yourself to be fully present in the moment, you find yourself focussed on looking anywhere but at Santi, sure that his stare must be boring into the side of your head. You hadn’t told him yet. Unfortunately, at Santi is where just about everyone else ends up looking, as the fucker abruptly pushes his camp chair back and stands, storming indoors before anyone can hope to fathom it.

You exchange glances with Frankie, Will, and Benny, with Benny thankfully stepping-in this time to distract Dean from the obvious, and asking him which stops you two will be making, and which sights you plan to see.

“Look, man, don’t mind that tool. Got any sightseeing plans?”

What is Santi’s problem? Why can’t he give Dean a chance? Yes, you’ve made some mistakes in the past- been hurt, and Santi had helped you pick up the pieces -every time- but you had a good feeling about Dean. A really good feeling. Can’t he see that too?

Frankie throws a concerned glance back towards the house and motions as if to stand, but you beat him to it, wanting to get to the bottom of this. “I’ll go,” you insist, motioning for Frankie to stay put, and with a quick promise to Dean that you’ll be back soon (and a silent plea to your boys to take care of him in your absence), you do just that, walk-jogging across the grass.

When you step inside to the kitchen, you find Santi stood, hunched over the counter, his palms clasping the surface tight enough that his knuckles pale, and his head hung low, his shoulders rising and falling as he takes in exaggerated breaths.

“Well?” you ask pointedly, with zero tolerance for his bullshit. “What’s going on with you? Wanna explain why you’re being an ass to my boyfriend?” you challenge to the back of him, and he instantly whips around at the sound of your voice. 

“I’m being an ass?” he asks indignantly, his eyebrows shooting towards the top of his head. 

“Yes. In a nutshell. Yes,” you hiss, any other interpretation feeling impossible. You fold your arms and purse your lips, making it plainly evident that you are waiting for some explanation. And, oh boy, it had better be good.

Instead of explaining though, Santi simply huffs out breath, gesturing angrily out of the window. “That guy, really? That’s the guy you’re gonna go all in for? Go to fucking Europe for?”

That guy, you mouth silently, completely stupefied for a moment. You’re not sure exactly what your so-called friend is insinuating, but you are clear that you don’t like it one bit.

“What is your fucking problem?” you ask, punctuating your words with motions of your hands, as if you are trying to strangle the air in-between you in lieu of his neck. “Dean’s a catch. He’s hot, he’s sweet, he’s a nice guy. He’s there for me. He takes care of me.”

“Like I don’t take care of you?!” Santi exclaims, his voice rising and abrasive; and then, immediately after the words tumble forth from his lips, he steps back imperceptibly, as if startled by his own outburst, his hand rasping over the stubble on his chin.

“What in the...? This isn’t about you, you ass!” you bite back, face scrunching up in confusion. Your fingers come to your temples as you grow increasingly lost-off and perplexed, and seemingly, your riposte only makes Santi double down on whatever the hell he is complaining about.

“Who’s the one who’s always been there for you, hmm? Who picks up the pieces every time you make yet another dumb shitty choice with another shitty guy?” he rambles, gesturing his hand towards you dismissively.

You step back from him this time, just a little, tears spiking instantaneously in your eyes at such an unnecessarily cruel blow. He’s right, in a sense: you had always relied on Santi to heal you, not to hurt you - and yet here he was dealing these painful, incoherent blows out of nowhere.

“Shit, Garcia. If it’s that much trouble to be there for me don’t bother next time,” you snap, your voice breaking as the swell of anger and hurt and adrenalin sends tears spilling over your cheeks. “Don’t worry though, I don’t think I’ll need you again. In fact, I have a feeling this guy might stick. So, maybe? Maybe you should think about the fact that the only shitty guy around here is you.” 

“You really think he’s good enough for you, hmm? He’s really who you want to end up with?”

You listen, aghast, as his tirade keeps coming. However, as Santi’s voice breaks with emotion part-way through his second question, you can’t explain it, but you feel an intolerable sadness in the pit of you. Even though you’re not sure what’s causing all this, what you’re barrelling toward, you want to thrust this sadness away from you. Push him away from you.  You want to push away the knot in your stomach for fear that if you tug at that thread, you might arrive at an answer to his question.

Exasperated, overwhelmed, you roughly paw tears from your cheeks, not knowing where all of these feelings are coming from, in either direction. “Fuck, I... I don’t understand what this is. I don’t get it!” you say, waving your hands, palms-up, through the air. “Is this some macho bullshit? Have I pissed you off somehow?”

At that, the wave of Santi’s anger crests and breaks; as you wonder if you annoyed him. Then, as suddenly as his anger came it is waning, his eyes pooling with rare tears now. With a huff of breath he tears off his damn cap, tossing it aside to run a hand through his grizzled hair. 

“No. No,” he backtracks a little, palms up in surrender. “You haven’t... I.... I just...” He pinches his lips in-between his teeth and looks up at the ceiling as his words trail off, perhaps trying to steady his voice before continuing. Or, perhaps he has nothing else to say to you. Perhaps he’s said enough.

You examine him. Still pissed as all hell, but worried now too, and ultimately, your love for your best friend slightly edging-out the anger. It’s rare that anything affects him like this, and you can’t help the sudden rush of concern.

Cresting too, you exhale a tightly held breath into the now silent, taut space between you, and your body sags - just a little. You chew over your words a moment, but when your voice comes back the volume is lower, your tone softer - and, although it cannot be considered friendly, by any stretch, it’s the best you can do right now.

“You know what,” you offer, generously, wrapping your arms around your own middle, stroking your forearms with your own fingertips. “I’m giving you a pass. You don’t even want to give Dean a chance? Then just leave, Santi. Just go. I’ll give the guys some bullshit excuse that doesn’t leave you looking like a total ass, because I’m not a dick to my friends. So just go, okay?” You pump your eyebrow at him indignantly and await a response, your manner stiff and unyielding.

Santi closes his eyes and knits his brow together, something like regret finally passing over his face and he shuffles guiltily from foot-to-foot.

You puff out air through your teeth and shake your head, as you observe this Delta Force hero; the bravest man you know in many ways, but still too cowardly to tell it like it is. To admit that he’s in the wrong. You are afraid to say that even as his gaze comes back to you, misty-eyed, you have little sympathy for his plight. You are sure it is of his own doing. You are almost as sure that he won’t open-up.

“You know,” you begin, breaking from your position and gathering up a fresh cooler of beers from the fridge, turned away from him as you speak. “I brought Dean to meet my family. Do you understand that? I didn’t have parents and siblings for him to meet. I have you guys. You’re my family.”

Still nothing. Nothing but silence greets you. Nothing but a pained expression on his face, his brows drown together and the artificial light of the kitchen highlighting the harsh planes of his face as you look over your shoulder at him, waiting for some reaction. Some admission of guilt. None comes. He simply slots his hands into his jean pockets, looking sheepish.

“So,” you continue, greeted with a brick wall, “fuck knows why you don’t want me to be happy, but I am. I’m happy with him. Thanks a ton for shitting all over that.”

You don’t even bother to look towards him this time, instead placing the last of the clinking, condensation-adorned bottles into the carrier, resigned to head back out without him, and without any apology.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, and your head whips towards him in surprise.

He looks it - sorry. He looks apologetic. Deeply so. He looks sorry for this, for every way he’s ever slighted you, for every time he’s hurt you, even in ways and moments you never knew about. He looks sorry down to the pit of him, and it catches you off-guard when you see it freely offered there in his eyes.

Even so, this is a stubborn man. There’s an apology, but there’s no explanation. Nothing to explain his behaviour. So, even though it seems genuine, it also doesn’t seem like enough.

It doesn’t appease you, and yet, all you can bring yourself to do is sigh deeply.

You know Santi better than anyone, but there’s always been a part of him that has seemed out of reach, even to you. You’re not sure -never have been- whether to be scared or excited by those unknown parts of him. Not sure whether the impasse hints at buried secrets too dark and deep to bear, or whether it hints of a possibility of something more. Something deeper or something better you could have together, if only he would let you in. You don’t know, and you never have, but all you are sure of is that you have constantly teetered on the edge of that abyss, too much left unknown to know all of him, however much you may have wished to. He’s entitled to his secrets, of course, but you hate how they hurt him. 

With a little sympathy now, you examine his watery eyes, and when your voice comes back this time, it is softer and slower than you intended. More tired than you expected.

“You know, Dean wants to be with me. And he tells me so.” You casually dip down to pick-up the cooler handle, eyes still fixed on your best friend. “He might not be Delta Force… he might be a banjo player from Michigan… but even he’s brave enough for that.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Santi says, bristling all over again, his hand rasping angrily over his stubbled jaw, and yet, you decline him an explanation. Instead, keeping your own secrets now, holding back, you head towards the door, beers in hand.

Still, you turn back to him. You might be angry, but you still care for him -more than you could say. 

“If you figure out what’s up with you, let me know, and I’ll be there for you. Whatever you’ve got going on, you know that, right? But this? This isn’t okay, Garcia. You might think that I make dumb choices -you ass, by the way- but I’ve watched you hit self-destruct so many times instead of dealing with your feelings. Maybe you should look at your own life, huh, instead of shitting all over me for trying to be happy? Shit, at least I fucking try.”

His eyes shift from side to side in the room, the muscles in his jaw twitching, chin jutting forward, and his thumbs locked in his belt loops. He can’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze; at least not until you are disappearing through the threshold; until it’s almost too late. Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

“Wait!” he pleads, but you cut him off, before he can speak. Even though, truth be told, you’re not sure he would muster anything to say at all, even if you gave him a chance. He’s so used to holding back.

“No,” you say firmly. “Forget it, I’m done. I still love you- you’re my best friend. But, fuck, just go home, and get out of my sight, Santiago. I’m so pissed with you right now.”

And so, you turn away, and when his words finally do come, they are spoken to the back of your head. They are spoken without you ever seeing his lips move, and you wonder if he ever said them at all, or if this might be some cruel trick of the night. Some witching hour spell. That is, until you turn towards him and you see the words painted clearly on his face too.

“Fuck it. I’m in love with you.”

I’m in love with you.

Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

You’re not sure what reaction he was expecting, but you almost choke on the sudden lump in your throat. You feel a taste of bile rising-up into your mouth. An intense, resurgent anger fills you, which near makes the room spin, and makes your hands and your legs tremble.

Even if a hidden, unconscious part of you has been waiting, hoping for these words all these years, when they finally come all you can feel is... royally pissed off.

“Oh. No. No. No,” you repeat, words gradually increasing in volume, looking at Santi as if he has mortally wounded you, rather than offered that confession. “You do not get to do this to me.”

You see a hard swallow bob down his throat, a near-instant regret on his face, and your heart pounds in your chest as you reel with the implications of his words.

The coward. The fucking asshole. He waited until now? All the times things had gone to shit, and he waited until you were happy?

“All the times...” you accuse, your tone as bitter as the taste in your mouth, the metallic tang of blood as you feel a rushing in your ears. “All the fucking times. All the chances, Santi, and you do this now?” you continue, your finger sawing through the air, wagging accusations at him, even as your voice wavers, as your hands notceably tremble. “No. Fuck you, Garcia. Fuck you.”

You want to cry, or scream, but you are too angry. So angry, that it eclipses anything else which might come to light. So angry that you almost come full circle again, beginning to stabilise out at eerily calm.

Santi looks down at the floor, and exhales air, chuckling disbelievingly to himself, then lightly nodding his head, lips pressed tightly together. His feet shift agitatedly below him as he brings his endlessly familiar eyes back up to meet yours. This time when he looks at you, it hurts. You remember bullet wounds, and you swear that was nothing compared to this.

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say to me, hmm? Fuck you, Garcia?”

“What the fuck were you expecting?” you say, launching your words before you realise the implications of them. Yes, you know fine well that your boyfriend is sitting outside, likely wondering where you have got to. But, if you had the wherewithall to have thought about it, you would know exactly what Santi was expecting, despite all of that. You would know that a part of him must be expecting, hoping, that when he told you, you might reciprocate. That you might love him back.

And, would that be so outside of the realms of possibility? Would it be so hard to imagine that the deep, magnetic, and unshakeable friendship you shared could be something else? Something more? That you could tip over the edge you had long been teetering on? Maybe it could, or maybe it could have, but right now, you can’t see past the flashbang he has just dropped over your life, and it is clouding your vision.

You were happy. You are happy. Fuck him for doing this now.

Why would you fall into the unknown for him, if you never knew whether he would catch you? If you never knew whether ruin or safety awaited you if you let yourself tip? He always held back.

What the fuck were you expecting?

Your words linger in the space between you, and in lieu of any other lifeline, realisation dawns on Santi’s face. Realisation that, although he jumped, you are not intending to catch him either. But how could you catch him, with your arms already full?

And, so, he slowly nods his head once again, his eyes beading with glassy tears and his hand grazing over his chin in a self-soothing gesture. Wordlessly, he sets his jaw and he abruptly replaces his baseball cap on his head, padding a few steps forward to stand opposite you, sucking all of the breath from your lungs. This time, when he looks at you, you see all of your past, but you still can’t see beyond that. The abyss still scares you too much.

Like this, facing each other down, eye-to-eye, the silence in the room grows sharp as a knife, refined to a point. So, when Santi abruptly turns to leave in a sharp, determined trajectory, without so much as looking at you, it is as if he has dragged the blade across your skin in an equally swift motion. As if he has left you open and bleeding-out, having delivered a mortal wound with the act of his exit. You’ve felt like this on the battelfield before, and in life, yet he was always there for you. Always there to patch you. To pick up the pieces.

Instead of screaming open-mouthed for help, this time, you simply watch him go, and now you are the wordless one, mustering nothing but a gasped inhale of breath before your vision blurs with tears - as you watch his hazy form disappear along the hall and out of your sight.

“Santi,” you call pathetically, your voice small and weak and teary, barely making it past your throat, and he doesn’t hear you. He doesn’t hear you but even if he had, you’re not sure anymore if he would have stopped.

When Santi slams the front door behind him, you shudder with it in its frame, your hand coming to your chest as if to hold your heart inside your opened-up ribs, and you close your eyes against the jarring sound, tears spilling down your cheeks, your face screwing-up into a shined, contorted grimace.

Entirely lost, now alone, you bizarrely wish for the room to be filled with anger again, instead of the intolerable sadness - which all too suddenly takes hold of you as your emotions crest and break. It is all you can do to stumble forward a few paces and hunch over the countertop, finding yourself in the exact position you had discovered Santi in. You stand, bracing yourself with your arms, fingers clutching the edge of the worktop, and your head slumped forward, tears freely spilling out of you as your chest heaves.

You wonder whether he’d held himself in this same position because he had felt an intolerable sadness too. An intolerable sadness at seeing you happy.

Suddenly you could understand it.

That fucker. Santiago “Pope” Garcia.

I’m in love with you.

I’m in love with you.

The words echo in your mind, but this time, if you’re honest, you’re not wholly sure if they’re his, or yours.

PART TWO IS HERE

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fanfic

[waddlenut]

Masterlist of the masterlist - Harry Styles

I HAVE WRITTEN NONE OF THESE FANFICS, CREDITS TO THE WRITERS!

This is a masterlist of my reblogs :)

ONE DIRECTION

Fluff -

He doesn’t want to take advantage of you while you’re drunk (5/5)

You fall asleep on hijm in front of the boys (5/5)

Angst - 

You get mobbed by paparazzi (Harry and Louis preference)

The one where your house is on fire and you are asleep (Niall preference)

You pass out (Niall)

Tiger (Niall finds his girlfriend looking in the mirror, judging her appearance)

HARRY STYLES

Fluff -

Choosing her (y/n overhears Harry sticking up for her)

The one where you have a huge fight and you are sick

Not your fault (fav. y/n has epilepsy and Harry feels helpless. TW - minor graphic description of an epilepsy attack)

Y/N is in a wheelchair and she is grocery shopping with Harry

Just talk (fav. y/n has a minor speech impediment and one of Harry’s friend makes fun of her for it. She doesn’t know how to react, Harry does.)

Tea mugs and tear stains (y/n gets overwhelmed and Harry helps)

Harry jokes about your moaning

A white t-shirt (Harry find out about y/n’s scars. TW - mentions selfharm/scars)

Y/N vomits down Harry’s gucci suit and Harry couldn’t give a shit (TW - throwing up)

Y/N falling in the shower and boyfriend!Harry getting ultra worried

You’re deaf and Harry is besotted with you

Cus y’laugh is pretty (in which Harry gets his wiskom teeth removed)

Y/N is stressed and Harry makes everything just a little bit better

Coming out to Harry as bisexual (good ending, no worries)

Sweater (y/n cold and steals Harry’s sweater)

Periods, pads and pain (Y/N is on her period)

Holding him (just pure love and affection)

He’s just jealous (fav. a small kids thinks Y/N is pretty and wants to sit with her)

My muse (TW - camille)

My hero (Harry being protective)

You’re poor and he doesn’t know

The best doctor (Y/N has chronic migraines)

First class (the one when Y/N and Harry meet during a long flight, and Harry makes a new little friend too)             part 2

Your best friend negatively talks about you and Harry’s relationship and he overhears

Your english is so good yet, and someone makes fun of it. Harry does not appericiate that

The best gift (fav. Y/N can’t afford Harry’s life style. angst w/ fluff)

Right place, right time (fav. When someone starts following the reader, Harry is the prince on a white horse)

Harry points you out at his concert             part 2                        part 3

Y/N has an asthma attack at Harry’s place

Y/N gets drunk and uses Harry’s dick as a microphone

Y/N is breastfeeding in public and a man started saying rude remarkt to her, Harry knows how te react (fav)

Families meet (one where Harry’s family and Y/N Mexican family meet)

Her good baby (fav. Y/N has been really busy with a family program and kinda forgets about Harry. That’s until he breaks)

Spill your guts or fill your guts (based on spill you guts or fill your guts with Harry and Kendall but instead of Kendall it’s you)

Harry think Y/N and the kids forgot his birthday (fav)

CEO!Harry bring this baby angel to work, all fun until she gets lost

Y/N accidentally eating Harry’s edibles

Harry just cannot believe how much he loves

Harry and Y/N’s first thanksgiving in their home and a little announcement

Candy Wrappers (Harry loves candy, that results in a house full of candy wrappers)

Harry dating a curvy girl

Y/N and Harry’s home birth doesn’t go as planned

Under the canyon moon (dad!harry blowing raspberries into bubs tummy but they get a rash)

Y/N is in London while he is LA during quarantine (fav)

Quarantining with dad!Harry and your bub

Harry feels neglected when Y/N spends lots of time with Anne

Pregnant (where you’re pregnant during the corona outbreak and Harry is super protective)

Sunflower vol.6: the fic (fav. Y/N has tourette syndrome and Harry falls in love)

Bad days and good days (Y/N has depression and Harry takes care of her. TW - mentions of depression)

Mornings with the Styles family

Y/N following Harry around the house because she got scared watching a movie

Better than melatonin (Harry’s songs help you sleep)

Harry doing baby bubs hair in the bathroom while she’s facetiming Mitch (fav)

Harry helps you through childbirth

Anasthesia and letting go (reader has gotten their wisdome teeth removed and Harry takes care of them)

Getting naked in front of Harry for the first time

Harry reads Y/N a story to help her drift off to sleep

Want a chicken nugget (you’re taking a shower and Harry, knowing your love for chicken nuggets, comes and gives you one)

Rainbow cardigan (Harry loses his favorite cardigan. You learn how to knit)

My shy little boy (Y/N’s son is too shy to play with other kids at Anne’s house)

Golden dancing (fav. Harry is on stage singing golden and little Artemis comes running on stage and starts dancing)

Daddy (Artemis calls Harry daddy for the first time)

The first meeting (Y/N and Artemis met a handsome (to Y/N) and intimidating (to Artemis) man)

Watermelon suger (behind the scenes) (Shots of long-term girlfriend Y/N in watermelon suger. TW - some strong language)

Roses and vanilla (in which Y/N and Harry aren’t really close until Y/N falls in the shower, and Harry falls in love)

Babbles (bubby crying during a show just to get Harry’s attention so they can go on stage and babble into the mic)

No kids (H and his partner deciding not to have children)

Toxic family (fav. The reader doesn’t have the best family, lucky for them, the Styles are basically their family)

Harry’s son runs on stage

Listen to me (fav. Autistic!reader has a difficult moment)

Angst -

You pass out backstage

You have paranoia disorder

Can you leave? (fav. ceo!harry)

Complains (In which Y/N heard Harry complainging about her)

Taken (your abusive ex tries to contact you when Harry’s away on your. (TW - name calling and slight violence)

Autistic!reader has an interview with Harry (fav)

You get into a car accident when Harry’s in the middel of a concert       part 2 

Too busy for a baby (TW - harry’s an asshole + mentions of pregnancy)

Y/N gets anxiety at one of Harry’s concerts. (TW - anxiety and guns are mentioned)

He kicks you out of the car. (fav)       part 2

Long way down (the one where she tinks he’s being unfaithful, and he questions the trust in their relationship. TW - mentions of creating and pregnancy complications)             part 2 

The one where you have a huge fight and you are sick

There’s a rumor being spread about you

Remember me (Harry forgets your birthday)

Harry calls Y/N clingy and she leaves

Harm done (fav. Y/N makes Harry food but he doesn’t even like it)

Harry coming home to find Y/N locked herself up in the washroom

Don’t touch her (you’re in the crowd and somebody touches you while Harry’s performing. TW - sexual harassment and mild assault)

Why would you keep something like this from me? (In which she’s been feeling umcomfortable and doesn’t tell Harry. TW - mentions of assault)

Y/N and Harry get in a bad argument and Y/N gets a panic attack (TW - panic attack)

And I can’t give that to you (fav. In which Harry suffers from seasonal depression ands he doesn’t know how to help)

So tired (you join Harry on tour but he seems to have other prirorites. Angst w/ fluff on the way)                part 2

You have self-esteem issues (TW - talking about low self-esteem)

Y/N has an anxiety attack at a concert and calls Harry (TW - anxiety attack)

Even if it was momentary (in which Harry is forced to watch his worst nightmare)

Little white lie (a television talk show host feels you up backstage and you don’t tell Harry. TW - sexual harassment)     part 2

He hides the fact that he’s sick on tour form you and insults you when you try to take care of him

There’s an intruder in her house (Harry comes home to find his girlfriend is being threatenend by an intruder. TW - some curse words, mentions of sex & just in general subject of break ins and panic)

Narcissistic behaviour (Harry loves to talka bout himself, but it’s suppose to be Y/N’s special day)

Miss you (where Y/N loses Harry’s rose ring and he gives them the silent treatment)

Dizzy (Y/N gets hurt on Harry’s watch. TW - fainting/passing out)

Happy birthday (in which Y/N throws Harry a suprise birthday party, but Harry ends up making her cry)

Harry comparing you to Camille

Exhaustedly in love (Y/N passes out as soon as Harry comes home from tour because she has been studying day and night)

Go home (in which Harry is jet lagged and you’re completely humiliated)    part 2

Get out (Y/N is done with Harry being busy with work all the time)       part 2

Anesthesia and apologies (fav) 

Y/N has a condition that makes her have seizures (TW - mentions of seizures)

Harry loses his baby angel while shopping

Harry complains to the boys about Y/N and his sex life       part 2

You’re in love with Harry but your self-doubt won’t believe he’s in love with you

Don’t shout (Harry doesn’t know what to do after he lied to Y/N)

Make it up to you (Harry loses his temper and almost hits you. TW - almost being hit by a lover and swearing)

I’ll get there (Y/N has been struggling with her body image ever since she was a teenager, but now that she was becoming a big time model, it had only gotten worse. TW - mentions of eating disorders and symptoms similair to those of a panic attack)

Smut -

Harry comes home to Y/N being in subspace but he doesn’t realize

Needy baby (the one where Harry’s bakc from tour and his girl really just needs to feel him)

Shower head

Harry gets emotional because he loves you so much

Taste my lips, feel my touch (Y/N’s stuck in subspace and Harry helps her out of it)

Where Harry is an asshole CEO but Y/N is his little love

Happy anniversary

Y/N goes into sub space when she is overwhelmed, but now it happend in public

Then again sometimes I get really sweet (TW - belly humping)

This cutest thing ever

Crossing the finish line

Right choice (Harry has a moustache now and you want get it sticky. TW - swearings, sexual intercourse and a sticky moustache)

Timing (Harry cumming early and he is upset and disappointed)

Cause I’m high, chewing on your taste (TW - Sub!Harry, H in fishnets and pegging)

Out in the heartland (It’s Harry’s birthday and you have a very special gift for him. TW - daddy kink, pegging, anal fingering and rimming)

#one direction masterlist #harry styles masterlist