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yuellii · 6 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒; if you could just say them, she thinks she may lose herself in the blinding eclipse of the moon.

Whether or not you intended to instill these emotions in her heart, you’ve done so at a moment right as she’s found herself in the spotlight again. But when you stand there, bouquet of roses in your arms that were tied and arranged just for her, she can’t help the familiar sense of aching longing that chained her down for five hundred years.

“I love your voice,” you tell her kindly, and she freezes in her stance when the first three words run from your mouth. There is an unwelcome disappointment that settles in her chest once the rest of your sentence registers, and she can’t help but feel disgusted in herself, as if she’s exploiting your kindness towards her. It’s in such light she feels like the most terrible friend in the world, one who still craved for more even after you did the the nicest for her: from giving flowers after her shows, to complimenting her more genuinely than anyone has before.

“Thank you.” Perhaps it wasn’t fair to you—the small, forced smile she attempted to give. She was more than sure you could see the drought in her eyes, a stifled sadness that ringed her irises like the surface of the ocean. So long did the waters crave the reflection of the moon; And, so long did her heart crave the sound of merely three words once spoken upon your lips.

But her heart stops when you lean in to gift her the flowers, eyelashes fluttering shut as she feels a fleeting kiss to the skin of her cheek. And that’s when she nearly crumbles from her knees, body leaning forward so instinctively to chase you as you lean away. There’s a smile in your eyes that leaves her starstruck whilst you bid your farewells—and the stammers of her heart almost curse you for leaving her like this.

She couldn’t control the squeal-turned-into-a-yell that left her throat once you shut the door.

y’all can yew hear that it’s the sound of my brainrot yelling “BRR ELY YOURE INSANE STOP THINKING AB FURINA”

#furina x reader #furina x you #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #can you tell i’m obsessed with furina.#genshin x gender neutral reader #furina x y/n #furina

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sun-snatcher · 2 months

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🌾 ・ OF CLARION CALLS

summ. The rebellion runs into trouble, & Jet takes the brunt of it. In the aftermath, you fight to keep him alive. pairing. Jet x f!medic!reader w.count. 1.5k a/n. So little Jet fics/imagines around so i had to take matters into my own hands. Enjoy!

The moonlight casts a halo above your head, and for a brief moment, Jet thinks you’re a divine spirit, perhaps a goddess— or whatever it is his mother used to read to him before bed.

( In some ways, you are. )

…Jet, he hears, distant. He can’t pinpoint exactly where— every sound is either muffled or echoing, and the world keeps tipping in and out of a blur. All he can sense through the haze is the belt of dull pain creeping up his chest, and the cotton-numbness engulfing his head. Right. He’d been shot clean through his armor plate by a wayward arrow after he’d jumped infront of Sneers to protect him. He remembers now, vaguely. It had been an ambush on their way home.

...et, stay with me.

Jet.

“Jet!”

The world focuses. He inhales, sharp, and the pain blinds him white as he gasps.

“Easy there, handsome,” you joke (not really), holding his twitching body down and trying to meet his dazed look. The blood is thick enough to taste, and one look is enough to tell he’s walking a tightrope between life or death. He's growing colder, and losing colour by the minute. You make quick work to staunch the gaping wound in his chest, hope he can’t detect the shakiness in your hands, or the tears gathering in your eyes. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Will he?” comes a voice behind the two medics crowding him. It’s Smellerbee, standing at the step of the medical tent; her voice sounds uncharacteristically frightened, and it sends a pang through your heart. I’m fine, Jet instinctively wants to insist, but you answer for him instead. “Yes. He will." ( And, well, surely such a small deception would not count against you, not when it was meant to give the others some measure of peace. )

Jet blinks, finally orienting himself enough to look at you and not through you— and blinks again. You’re lying. He could feel it. He could always tell, whenever it comes to you.

…Stay, he thinks, suddenly and senselessly, and clasps his bloodied hand around your wrist. He calls your name, voice straining in pain. But he must’ve said it aloud instead, because you’d smiled at him as gently as you could— even when it looked as if the effort of doing so would wound you— and said, calmly, convincingly: I promise, I’m not going anywhere.

“With me?” he asks, again, even when he knows he must’ve sounded like a madman. Perhaps it’s the bloodloss. Likely, it was. It wouldn’t be such a bad end, though, so long as you stood by his side. He wants to tell you this— been wanting to for a long time, now— but the strength has left him, leaving him floating somewhere between the world of waking and dreaming.

“With you,” comes your reply.

You catch the ghost of his trademark smile just before he slips away.

Jet survives.

That’s the first surprise.

The second is that; you’re here. Just as you’d promised.

He must have been out for longer than he thinks, because the atmosphere in the medical tent seemed to have ebbed to something much more conducive than last he remembers. The tinctures of alcohol and sedatives surrounding him and his bloody bandages that night are now replaced with dry ingredients; yarrow half-crushed in a mortar and pestle, mixed herbs and colourful liquids corked in tiny bottles and tins he couldn’t begin to name. His armour had been stripped from him, lying above a chest by the corner.

Ever the leader; “Sneers,” is the first word out his mouth, once he’d stirred awake on his cot and recognition returned slowly to him. It’s early sometime in the morning, judging by the colour of the sky outside the tattered tent flaps and the still quietness in the air. Beside him, an incense of sandalwood burns. “Sneers—”

“Is alive, thanks to you,” you override. The faint bitterness in your voice is not lost on him.

Somehow, someway, seeing him conscious now seemed to make you bristle. You think— no, you know— that it’s unfair of you; that it’s simply the pent-up frustrations and stress overflowing from the night he’d been hauled back to camp with one foot in the grave. But Longshot’s harrowing clarion call for a medic from the trees still rings clear as a bell in your head, just as much as the cold shock that had seized you the moment you realised the birdcall was for Jet.

“Good.”

“Not good,” you correct, “Not when you of all people pay the price.”

( Jet doesn’t delude himself into thinking that there could possibly be another meaning to what you said. It would be impossible. ) “You would’ve done the same,” he bites back, and takes your silence as quiet agreement.

“You’re upset,” Jet points out, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

A sigh. “You just woke up,” you dismiss, if only to get him off your scent. “We can talk another day.”

“We’re already here, so let’s settle it now. The mission went well, and as far as I can see, I’m the only one in here, which means nobody else got hurt on the way back but me. Atleast, not as badly.”

It’s a debrief, you recognise. A coping mechanism for him— to spur himself into action and settle himself. Given the stress and trauma his body has been enduring the past days, you let it pass.

It’s only when you shift out from your seat by his cot, standing to begin putting away the bowls of medicine prepared, that Jet realises your fingers had been holding his wrist before. You must have stayed up for, what he can only imagine to be long nights, to keep track on whether his pulse was still beating. ( Something inside his chest burns. He can’t tell if it’s your doing or the injury being fussy. )

“I’m sorry,” he huffs, sighing out. “If that’s what you wanna hear.”

“For what?” You set the mortar down on your table with more force than necessary, and looked at him sharply from over your shoulder. Jet, damn him, still looks at you straight in the eyes, confident as ever. You want to kiss him. You want to break his nose. “For being a hero?”

“No.”

“Playing martyr?”

“No.”

“For saving Sneers? Everyone?”

“No—”

“Then what?”

“For scaring you,” he says, simply.

Your heart starts.

A frisson runs through you, and you feel the back of your eyes begin to burn.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” he emphasises, and doesn’t say, I’m sorry I made you cry, because your prideful self would have denied it instantly, even if he remembers it clear as day. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”

He yanks at a loose thread on the blanket you’d laid on him a night ago. It must have been terrifying to see him be dragged to the table, half-dead with a broken arrow in his chest, and leave a mess of blood and horror in his wake. It must have been terrifying, indeed, to be the one responsible for him against Death itself— to carry the weight of his life on your shoulders, while the rest of the Freedom Fighters watched on.

“It’s, it’s my job,” you turn away to close a drawer of medical instruments, because you’re not quite sure you can stand meeting his gaze. Not when it only reminds you of just how much he lived, breathed and bleeds chaos and revolution; not when you know this accident definitely won’t be the last.

You can’t handle him. Or maybe it’s yourself you can’t handle, when it comes to him. “Just, be careful.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he salutes mockingly, albeit with a wince. The flinch is what kicks you back into action.

“You’re staying in bed until you’re better,” you order, curt, ignoring his groan. His wrapped shoulder still seems painfully defiant despite all the numbing you’d given him; it would be a couple of weeks longer before he’d be fully healed, but knowing Jet— he’ll be up performing duties within a week. “That means no strain at all. No scouting or recon or hunting, got it?”

He lulls his head, but there’s a dash of humour on his face. “Since I’m bedridden, does that mean you’re at my every beck and call, then?”

Your face twists. He lets out a laugh when you answer, "In your dreams, Jet."

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

You roll your eyes, though without heat, and place a bowl of fresh water by his side. There is, at the very least, a smile on your face, and Jet’s sure he can sleep well tonight knowing you both are, at the end of the day, okay.

“Hey,” he calls your name, once you've begun making your way out the tent. You try to ignore how much more sweeter it sounds coming from him. “I really am sorry. I’m serious.”

He had caught your sleeve when he spoke, so your fingers now brush against his. You try not to focus on the touch too much. “So am I.”

“We can’t lose you, Jet,” you continue, unsteady; because saying I can’t lose you would have been unthinkable.

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caito-does-stuff · 2 months

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EVEN MORE BAND AU :D

#can you tell i’m obsessed #the outsiders #band au #ponyboy curtis #johnny cade #dally winston

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gumdefense · 1 year

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Idk how to caption this just. Characters being friends and caring about each other

Edit: this post is months old but I can’t believe I forgot, here’s a direct link to the plays (with subtitles provided by Rayne :D, edgeworthlez, Grace rivalsforlife, and PinkPurpleBlus)

#ace attorney #aa stage plays #do i have to tag everyone #phoenix wright #maya fey #pearl fey #miles edgeworth #dick gumshoe #kay faraday #ema skye #franziska von karma #larry butz #not described #general my post tag #can you tell I’m obsessed with the stage plays yet #i just… wah #i care them

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checkertrains · 3 months

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He may be dead but he’s still alive in my heart y’all 🙏🙏 (let me cope💀, click for better quality btw tumblr hate me)

#hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin art #hazbin hotel #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #Adam #fanart #art #my art #he might be a ass but man is his design SICKKK #I need to draw this man MORE #can you tell I’m a bit obsessed #hazbin hotel oc #oc #my oc #angel oc

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miublogs · 5 months

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fluffy long white winter boots

#angelnumber555 #can you tell i’m OBSESSED?

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tonguetyd · 5 months

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GUYS.

GUYS GUYS GUYS.

ITS NOT JUST THE KEYCHAIN. HES GOT AT LEAST 3 FAN GIFTS ON THE JACKET.

Including the 3 of Swords *AND* the rune patch!!! WHICH with those two in particular means the designer had to specifically leave room for them??? So they were worked into the design special?

And idk that’s just got me feeling some kinda way

#like?! it’s just so sweet?!#can you tell I’m obsessed with this jacket.#there’s a million different bits to it #sleep token #sleep token iv #now the question is…do I include them in MY jacket #cuz I kinda feel like I shouldn’t #(cuz they’re not gifts for me yk?)#but we got tiiiiiime

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martyfive · 1 year

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the sound of major scales

#dishonored #the outsider #corvo attano #corvosider #dh #you can tell i’m obsessed don’t judge me

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captainfern · 4 months

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Not a request, just a remark: soft but strong and hairy dad bod Price makes me very weak at the knees

#stole this from my darling bbbbyblu and i felt like it was fitting #this made me have a physical reaction #i’m obsessed #i love my men big and beefy and just large #and hairy wtf #i can’t stand mf who say hair is gross or hair is unhygienic blah blah blah #i’ll lick the fuck out of a man’s happy trail i’m telling you now #rubbing the hair on his chest and stomach like he’s a fuckin scratch and sniff #love hairy men lol #god can you tell i’m obsessed or what LMAO #captainfern #captainfernsalutes #captain john price

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bbyseok · 2 years

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pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

cw: fantasy au with dragon king bakugou n soft cuddles all around

analysis: bakugou katsuki—he’s the fearsome king of dragons.. but away from prying eyes and behind closed doors, he’s also the king of cuddles.

—-—

the soft furs of the oversized bed are something you can happily drown in, you decide. thick and heavy that chase away any cold, soft as clouds.

pops and crackles from the flames of the fireplace from the side of the bedroom bring a nice ambience. an idle noise that you associate with warmth.

but the beast that lays between the space of your legs with his head nestled on your tummy is what completes the epitome of your comfort.

you absentmindedly play with bakugou’s hair, and with a hum, you decide it’s even softer than the bed furs.

little purrs escape from him every now and then with your attention, but he’s made you swear not to speak a word on it a while ago. (how cute.)

even though you’re somewhat propped up with the mass amount of pillows and blankets, you crane your neck to see your king’s face.

“katsuki? are you awake?” you pry softly, pushing some of his hair back gently to expose his forehead, and more importantly, the sleepy (and pouty!) look he offers.

he blinks owlishly at you once, then twice. “no.”

you can’t help but breathe an airy laugh at that, fingers still in his hair as you take in his features. “no?”

“shut up.” it’s spoken gruffly as he buries his face back into your stomach with a tired groan.

“aww, katsu,” you coo, ignoring his grumbles, “that’s no way to speak to your mate.”

“right now, i think my mate should be quiet.”

well, if he was gonna be like that then..

silently, you retract your hands from his hair and rest your arms above you with a small huff.

he only lasts three seconds before he’s glancing up at you again with his brows furrowed. he glares.

you simply raise a brow down at him.

he growls grumpily and reaches up for your arm, dragging it back down so you can resume petting him. “oi, dumbass. didn’t say stop.”

even with your hand back in the nest of blonde hair, you don’t make any moves. you keep staring down at him, biting back a giggle.

he growls again. “what? what’s up with you?”

you merely tilt your head, lips pouting ever so slightly. he had told you to be quiet after all!

katsuki brings your other arm down, his own lips prominent in showing his usual scowl. except this one is terribly sleepy.

still, you don’t return his advances, squinting down at him. he can figure it out himself. silly dragon king.

so you have an intense staring contest that carries over for five seconds before he lets loose another one of those growling grumbles.

“fine, fine,” he relents, now subtly pouting himself. he huffs. “..‘m sorry. don’t.. be quiet.”

you huff and smirk in victory, and yet your hands still remain still. “that’s what i thought, katsu.”

he rolls his eyes. “yeah, yeah. you gonna give me what i want now?”

you’re still smirking, and you can tell he wants to wipe it off your face. (actually kiss it off, but he’s not gonna tell you that.) “well, what do you want?”

“don’t play dumb with me,” he threatens lazily, lifting his head a bit. “you know what i want.”

and then you laugh. “alright, alright.” finally, you ruffle your hand through his hair, your other sliding down to cradle his cheek.

katsuki’s eyes close with bliss and he sighs quietly. “mm..”

“get some rest, my king,” you murmur, guiding his head back down to rest on your tummy. “i’ll be here in the morning.”

a purr rumbles from katsuki then, and his arms pull you in closer. “good night,” he mumbles.

who would’ve thought—the great barbaric dragon king.. so calm ‘n peaceful. reduced to nothing but a purring mess with his human mate.

#bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #dragon king bakugou #fantasy au bakugou #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #bnha fluff #mha fluff #my writing #rain’s writing #can you tell that i’m obsessed with petting bakugou’s hair #no? okay

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