#I still don’t understand why I have to learn it in the first peace

[devils-little-sista]

.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt. Ghost King uses Uno Reverse Card

Ghosts are not a race of evil creatures that most people think they are. And Danny was really happy when the Infinite Realms were able to make peace treaties with most countries of the human world. Ghosts, however, are a very vindictive race. At least that’s how young Phantom explained himself to Batman afterwards.

It just so happens that a couple of hours before the event aimed at expanding intergalactic unions most of the JLeague members due to an emergency call went on a mission. Which means people who had any authority in Phantom’s eyes became unavailable for a while.

So Shazam and Phantom as the most known outside the Earth were assigned to greet the guests and most importantly to entertain the visitors until the founders of JL return.

According to Phantom, Batman, being such a good detective with a bunch of backup plans, should have known that Danny’s favorite cereal ran out this morning, that he was late for first class, and that after school he had a fight with his parents. No, seriously, aren’t so-called scientists supposed to be able to admit mistakes in their own judgment? Danny got tired of being constantly ashamed of their behavior near other ghosts. It's bad enough that his authority as a ruler is sustained only by the support of those Ancients with whom he maintains friendly relations. Average citizens still doubt that he is a is sufficient to claim the throne. He’s had enough of being accused of not being a full-fledged ghost.  He’s not ready to hear rumors that he supports his parents' racist judgments too. In short, his day sucked. And all his ghostly nature now wanted to do something nasty to his neighbors to get rid of the tension.

Alien leader stretched out a hand to Phantom and Shazam. “Your Majesty Phantom, Champion of Magic. It’s an honor to meet you. I hope I learned the proper greeting gesture of the local intelligent race.”

And with that Danny’s reserve of conscience ran out. It’s a perfect moment to feed his need to be a little shit.

“The local intelligent race?’ Danny had this extreme bewilderment on his face. “Which one do you think..? Earth was the home of the Gods and of various inhabitants of the galaxy but it was a long time ago.”

Woman is clearly confused. Great. “E-Earthers. I think they’re called that.”

“Earthlings, intelligent race? You must be mistaken.” Danny faked a giggle. “Who told you that crap?”

“Phantom, what are you doing?” Batman hissed at him from an earpiece. Danny turned the sound off with a clear conscience. “I mean, seriously, there’s not a single serious study in the science library in this galaxy or any other galaxy that says humans are intelligent. Shazam, do you think they’re..?”

For some reason, Billy immediately remembered watching a man spend his entire salary on lottery tickets last week. And of course he was careless enough to shake his head and snort. That was all Phantom needed.

“Exactly. Earthlings don’t have to be intelligent to mimic the behavior of more evolved species. Surely you are well aware that Martians and Kryptonians, and many others have visited Earth at different stages of human development. My supervisor Clockwork and I have long been observing this strange species. In many ways, their behavior resembles a mixture of instinctive reactions of specimens from the 126 sectors of the nearest SBc Galaxy and several other creatures from planets of the galaxy KV59. However, even I, as an anthropologist with extensive experience of observing human species in their natural habitat, still have to explore and discover many of their secrets.”

“I do not understand. According to the documents among the delegation that greets us there are Earthlings. I mean I don’t question the scientific evidence of a respected Chronos or you, but why then..”

“Of course you don’t! It’s really quite simple. For the purity of the clinical experiment, which we are conducting now, it is necessary that Earthlings feel themselves ostensibly full participants of the «society» consisting of members with developed intelligence.”

“So, any luck, colleague?” Shazam, who realized that Batman would now skin them anyway, decided to at least participate in this theater so that the punishment would be at least deserved.

“Well, we’ve certainly come up with some interesting preliminary insights about the adaptive capacity of the human brain in limited contact with Martians. Of course, humans do not have real emotions to be full participants in communication, but their attempts and zeal are very inspiring.”

~~~~~

Meanwhile, Fentons watching a live broadcast of what was supposed to be an interplanetary friendship encounter are beginning to realize that if trying to punish a rebellious human teenager has always been difficult for them, the attempt to control the behavior of the 14 y/o half-ghost may become a nightmare not only for them.

Jack: Honey, I think Danny’s still a little upset about our old theories about the ability of ghosts to feel or think.

Jazz, sitting between them with the face of a man resigned to the chaos around her, could not restrain the sarcasm: Really? Why would you think that?

[sttoru]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 '𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐒, CHAPTER II: you smuggle the wounded man into your dorm room and nurse him back to health in secret. a fragile bond forms between you and the stranger - whose name you learn is toji - as you spend your first night together.

word count. 6.6k-ish

tags. assassin!toji fushiguro x college student!female reader. sfw. bits of angst. mentions of blood, knives, murder. reader gets called 'woman'. general warnings: size difference. age gap (reader early 20's, toji early 30's). chapter one here

Three. Two. One.

You accept your miserable fate with a gulp. You prepare yourself for the unbearable pain that awaits your body until the last breath leaves your lungs. You hope the anguish lasts for a second or two before your vision turns pitch black. Before your soul meets its maker. Or before it gets lost somewhere more peaceful than this life you've led.

Closing your eyes, waiting for the impact, and uttering your final words in your head felt like eternity. Maybe the man is playing with your emotions before he decides to make an end to your life. Perhaps he is such a nasty psycho. And you can’t believe that out of all people who could’ve met him tonight on the street, you did.

You sniff. Life is unfair. Even at your final moments, you couldn’t help but feel you got the short end of the stick. You wait and wait, but your death doesn’t arrive. You sigh and ask whoever can hear your thoughts to make it quick.

“Shit,” Your ‘murderer’ coughs. It sounds like a painful cough, one that came out the back of his throat. You hear metal clattering on wet concrete not a second later. Your eyes shoot open at the sudden noise, your vision instantly filling with a frightening sight. You watch as the injured man starts to cough up blood. He’s unable to lift a finger in that state of his.

This is your chance to make a run for it. The voice in your head is screaming at you to move and get yourself to safety. It’s a perfect opportunity to get help. But something inside of you is urging you to stay.

Any normal person would have escaped by now.

‘I must be out of my mind,’ you silently think. You don’t loosen the grip you have on your scarf, the one pressed against the man’s open wound. Your body is yelling at you—begging you to move away—yet your heart is pleading to stay put. There is no way your body wins over the strong will of your heart. Your soul, that’s strangely connected to his, a man that threatened to kill you without hesitation.

You surely have lost your mind.

“Sir, oh my god,” you panic. You chose to stay, however have no clue what to do. You’re trying your best to think of a solution to all of this. Your eyes catch a glimpse of your now wet phone laying in a puddle of rain. You hope it still works. Well, even if it does, you surely can’t call an ambulance for the man. He had stated that he didn’t want any help.

If you consider the possibility of him being a murderer, you’d understand that he wouldn’t want an ambulance to be involved. You shake your head as your body desperately tries to continue fighting against your heart’s desires. ‘Sympathizing with a possible murderer. God I really must have gone insane,’ you curse yourself out in your head.

The sound of heavy breathing brings you back into the current moment. You catch the way the bloodied man is trying to regain his strength. You try to coax him into staying still, “sir, please don’t move. It could worsen your injury.”

You voicing your worries only causes the man to try and push you away. Despite his weakened state, the little push he gives you is enough to make you lose the grip on your crimson stained scarf. You watch in pure horror as more blood pours down his black shirt, onto his white pants.

“No, please. Please listen to me,” you don’t know why you’re begging a grown man, a killer, to listen to you for his own sake. You shouldn’t even be here. You should be back in your dorm room, in your cozy bed, watching a series while it pours outside. You shouldn’t be playing the hero to a stranger.

You think quickly. The only option you have aside from an ambulance, is to try and help him out to your best ability. You don’t have anything with you that could help, but you do have some rubbing alcohol in your dorm. That could work as a disinfectant. Stitching his wound up is the real challenge.

“Okay, uhm,” you try to think of a way to do this as smoothly as possible. You quickly grab the knife from the ground and shiver at the sight of the blood on the handle. Time is ticking and it won’t be long until the man in front of you loses his consciousness and possibly… dies.

You take off your coat, making haste to do so. Your hands are trembling, and your heart is stammering. You hiss as you tear apart the material of your coat using the sharp knife. The leather should help slow down the bleeding. Even if it’s only for a little bit. That’s all you really need.

“Here,” you quickly replace the scarf with the cut piece of your coat. You wrap it around his waist and fasten it, making sure it doesn’t slip off. The man does not say a word nor does he fight you off. All the resistance is gone from his weary body. That should tell you enough; he’s barely holding on. His heavy yet faint breathing is the only sign that reassures you that he’s not fallen unconscious.

You collect your bag and all the other things scattered on the dirty ground of the alleyway. You don’t want to leave any evidence of you being here, helping an alleged killer with getting away. Your heart tells you it’s fine, but your body is telling you that you’ll regret all of it. Time will tell which is the truth.

You stand up. Barely. Your knees are nearly giving out on you because of the stress and anxiety, though the adrenaline pumping through your blood is helping you stay composed. Your eyes follow the flow of the man’s blood as it mixes with the rainwater on the concrete. You can’t clean that up. The only thing you can do about it is pray—pray that the rain will wash all of it away. Down the drains.

“Are you okay?” You whisper, checking in on the stranger. He doesn’t answer. You crouch down in front of him, a worried expression on your face as you carefully move the hair from his eyes. They’re closed. You freak out and your initial reaction is to gently tap his cheek for any sign of life, “sir? Sir? Don’t tell me he’s—"

“Shut up,” his gruff voice echoes in your ears. It seems like he still wants you gone, though is not trying to actively shoo you away anymore. Not like he can in the awful state he is in.

The stranger coughs again, his eyelids opening just halfway before closing again. You sigh in relief and move next to him. You lift his arm so that it loosely sits on your shoulders. You grunt softly—the muscles in them makes it a tough job. You try asking him for his compliance, “I’ll help you stand up, okay?”

As expected, you’re met with silence. You take it as an agreement and use all the strength left in your limbs to get up on your feet. It’s a struggle, with you nearly toppling over thrice, but you eventually get the co-operation you’re looking for. The bloodied stranger slowly but surely manages to stand up straight with your aid.

You’re shocked by his large stature. He was intimidating enough when seated, but now that he’s towering over you, his aura is reaching high levels of unsettling. You hope he’s got enough drive left to move his feet. You can’t expect your frail arms to half carry a six-foot-something man.

“Hang in there,” you mutter, trying to cover the anxiety you’re internally facing. You look ahead and move forward in small strides, the steps you’re making are wobbly, as are his. You look up and try to gauge the man’s reactions, though his eyes are once again covered by his wet bangs. All you can make out is the slight twitch of his scarred lips. He’s in pain.

You manage to escape that damned back alley. Your bag is soaked, as are your clothes. You take one quick glance back before you turn the corner and once again pray that the rain washes the blood away. You take the quietest and fastest route back to your dorm.

A couple people pass you by. They don’t look at you funny nor do they bat an eye to the man you’re helping keep balance. They have their own lives that they need to take care of first. The pouring rain makes it harder for them to concentrate on anything else as well. Besides, the material of your coat wrapped around the man’s waist covers up most of the blood. It’s not visible to others.

If someone were to describe the image of the stranger and you from an outsider’s perspective, they’d think you’re just helping your drunk partner back home. It’s not an uncommon sight in the busy streets of Tokyo, especially in the evening.

“Where...” The stranger speaks up, his deep voice hoarser than before. He unexpectedly grips your shoulder. His meaty fingers digging into your flesh makes you wince. He’s only using a small bit of his actual strength and you’re already in pain. You push through and continue helping him forward. “Fuck,” He cusses. He’s starting to become deluded due to the blood loss and pain, “where ‘re—”

The tall man coughs, interrupting himself. You cringe at the sound of that excruciating sound. You could see the lights in the distance. The ones you’re used to seeing when coming back to campus after a night out with your friend. Now, you’re coming back with an unknown man. An alleged killer that you’re bringing into the building. You don’t even want to think about all the lives you could potentially put in danger.

You try to avert your attention. Now is not the time for that. Your gut feeling says so. You need to figure out a way to sneak this man inside your room without anyone finding out. Not the security guards, hall monitors or students: No one can know. You answer his question with clear doubt in your voice, not knowing if you’ll both even make it, “safety. To safety.”

All the thoughts about your poor life decisions get pushed to the side. You grunt and try to increase your speed, having difficulty dragging the man with you. You’re sweating. The amount of strength you need to put in to take only one step is severely draining. You remember that there is one path that doesn’t have much surveillance cameras hanging around. It’s the one you and a couple others use to sneak back into your dorms very late at night.

“Almost,” you try to encourage the stranger, who’s silent is quite eerie. You hope he’s holding on. The way he’s dragging his feet over the bricks tells you that he’s trying to keep conscious. You hurry up and get to the hidden exit at the back.

It’s locked on some days, so you let out a breath of relief when you manage to push it open. That spares you the trouble of having to go through the main entrance and risk getting caught. Plus, you don’t have to use and show your student card now that you’ve infiltrated the building. You hope that there aren’t many people around this side, praying that they’re all eating dinner somewhere.

The creaking of the door is ten times louder than it is usually. Or it could be the fear in your body restructuring your thoughts. Luckily, your dorm room is only one flight of stairs up. You can’t take the elevator because of the cameras in it. You look over at the man leaning against your shoulder, his head tilting to the side in exhaustion.

“Christ,” The stranger grunts. His head sways a little closer to yours unintentionally and your breath hitches. For a split second, he rests the side of his head against yours, too tired to move away. It makes your heart stammer for a moment. To have this coldhearted man lean on you, depend on you, and lay his life in your hands.

You’re filled with another rush of adrenaline. “Are you still holding up okay?” your quiet voice snaps the man out of his disoriented state. He only then realizes that he’s leaning his heavy weight on your small stature. He grumbles and tilts his head the other way again, away from yours. He clearly hates to be vulnerable. Especially around a random girl he does not have any business with.

Without getting an answer back, you carefully make haste to your dorm room. Your room is the first one in the entire row, located the surveillance camera's dead zone, which works out in your favor again.

You hold in your breath and try to fish the keys out of your pocket. Your fingers move the old and now wet receipts and garbage to the sides, pulling the desired object out from between them. You fumble with the keys, your fingers trembling as you try to grab the right one.

The intimidating stranger looks down at your hand through a blurry vision. You’re in a hurry to open the door and avoid being caught. Someone could turn the corner right now and you’d be busted. He huffs in annoyance, though voices no audible complaints. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he knows you’re helping him and that you have zero ill intent.

“Sorry,” you whimper before finally unlocking your door. You hurriedly get in an shut it behind you. It feels like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. Figuratively in this case, since you still have a whole man leaning on you. You help him over to your bed and carefully assist him down.

You’re ignoring your own boundaries for the nth time. The ones you are so adamant to follow in any other situation. You would never let someone sit on your bed with their outside clothes still on, especially not if they’re dirtied and wet. You’re tolerating it for now. All for this man that you have a sudden, unfathomable attraction to.

You don’t have time to think. You rush to your wardrobe and pull the drawer open. You search for a first aid kit. You had it laying somewhere—though never used. Your parents had given you it in case of an emergency. Which is right now.

You find a whole bunch of gauze rolls and a bottle of antiseptic liquid along with bandages, scissors, and pain killers. You have zero clue on how to treat a wound. You only saw such stuff in action movies and cartoons. You grab a needle and thread that you had laying around. A towel and a tissue box as well. Just anything that’s redeemed relevant for the situation.

You drop everything on your bed and fiddle around on what to use first. You’re tempted to grab your phone and look up some instructions on the internet, but you quickly get interrupted by a bloody hand reaching out for the disinfectant. You watch with worry as the man gets to work—not expecting any help from an oblivious girl like you. He’s gone through this before.

“Get some water.” The man huffs, undoing the coat around his waist slowly. You only have a few seconds to act. You look around frantically and find an old water bottle on your nightstand. You hand it to him, and he nearly yanks it from your hand, still showing that stubborn reluctance around you. There’s not a thank you in sight as he gets to work.

You can tell that the stranger has stitched up his own wounds many times before. It makes you think back to your initial thoughts. The thoughts about his occupation. His skills would be self-explanatory if he were to be an actual murderer. Having to deal with these types of wounds would be an everyday experience.

Yet, instead of being alarmed at the possibility, you manage to feel bad for his situation. You helplessly watch as he pours nearly the entire bottle on his wound, getting rid of any debris that’s got on it. He clearly does not care about the wet stains it’s created on your sheets. They’re messy anyway. “Give me that,” the injured man comments and nods at the needle and thread with his head.

You do as told, staying silent as you let the professional do what he knows is best. He cleans the needle with the antiseptic fluid and prepares the wound some more. You want to advise him to at least use some pain killers before he goes to work on it, however they’d take too long to take effect. There is no time to do all of that.

“Ah,” you hiss, like you’re the one experiencing the pain, as you notice how he’s starting the suture near the edge of his wound. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your head to the side, not wanting to witness the gruesome scene. A few occasional grunts and groans sounding from the man leave you nauseous. You can’t imagine what he’s going through at the moment, cleaning and stitching up his own injury. He seemed to know what he was doing, so you don’t comment on it any further.

After a couple seconds pass, you hear another pained hiss. You can’t stand it. You’re just sitting at the edge of your bed, hoping for the best. Hoping that he could make use of all that you provided him with. “Can I help somehow?” You breathlessly ask, your voice a quiet whisper.

“Yeah, by shutting up,” The older man answers bluntly. He’s fixated on healing his wound the best he could, and your voice is disrupting that focus. He’s made some progress with the suture. It isn’t done under perfect circumstances, but he’s used to it. His body has been through enough since childhood to have built up a resilience to most things. The pain and discomfort are nothing he isn’t familiar with.

You bite your lip and apologize for asking him something, “sorry.” His deep voice makes you shiver. It only reminds you of the fact that you have a grown man in your room. A possible killer on the loose. You don’t push your luck and just remain silent. You don’t want to end up as another victim.

Though you have a feeling that he wouldn’t hurt you. Where that feeling came from, you have no idea. It could be your delusions, however you’re sure he wouldn’t harm a hair on your head. Maybe it’s due to that little moment of vulnerability he showed in the halls moments ago. Your body warms up at the memory of how his head laid against yours for a split second.

The man finishes off the suture with a firm surgeon knot. He cleans the remaining blood with the tissues he’s drowned in disinfectant. You look his way again when you hear him shifting in his place. Your baffled as you notice how he’s trying to stand up. You don’t know much about wounds, but you know for certain that someone cannot stand up after getting an injury stitched. It could reopen the wound.

Your hand moves on its own. You firmly grab the man’s wrist and tug him back down on your bed. The stranger lets out a surprised grunt and instinctively slaps your hand away. He wants to leave.

To him, it’s nothing serious. This is just another day in his life. He’s used to ignoring his body’s pleas for rest. Vulnerability does not look good on him. He hates it.

The older man parts his lips to defend himself, yet quickly decides on the opposite. He shuts his mouth once his eyes met your pretty ones. They’re glimmering with tears. He does not realize why you’re suddenly so upset. Nor does he actually care... He thinks.

He just wants to leave before you ask too many questions. It’s best to act like you two have never met. For his sake and yours.

You stare at each other for a few seconds. The silence creates an undeniable tension between you both. You don’t exchange words, though you think he knows what you mean with that look you’re giving him. You’re indirectly begging him to stay still and rest. You know he needs it. He secretly knows he needs it as well, though does not want to acknowledge that weakness.

The stranger sighs in frustration. He looks down at the wound he’s worked hard to patch up. His head hurts. His eyelids are heavy. His limbs are unresponsive. He has no other choice but to lay back. He promises himself that he’d leave after an hour or two. He wants to have nothing to do with you.

A college girl helping him. Who would’ve thought that day would come. Did he become that weak? He has always refused the help of others, so what would make this any different? He can leave and deal with the consequences of that poor decision on his own. However, his body doesn’t move an inch.

The man frowns as he realizes that his cold and distant attitude would get him nowhere this time. His body is actively resisting the urges to leave.

You cautiously ascertain his reactions. You notice the way he slumps back against your pillows with a curse word leaving his lips. You can’t help but feel relieved. You don’t know why, but you’re happy that he’s staying with you. Even if it’s just for a little longer. You want to make sure he’s going to be fine.

You nod silently and don’t say a word for a good while. You don’t want to annoy the man more than you already have. You get up, knees buckling as the adrenaline wears you down. You’re glad you haven’t been caught and that the man you saved didn’t die. You’re tired from everything that went down in the last hour or so.

Though, you cannot rest.

You clean up the mess around your bed. The used, bloody tissues. The rain that’s dripped down your clothes and onto the floor, making small puddles on the surface. The piece of leather you had used as a temporary solution for the stranger’s bleeding. After you’ve gotten rid of all that, you finally take off your coat and shoes. You want to take a bath as soon as possible. And dry your hair.

You don’t take your eyes off the man on your bed. He’s starting to stir again, which could mean one of two things. He’s either trying to escape or trying to change his position. To your surprise, you catch him pull his shirt over his head. The older man’s ripped physique comes into view. Faint veins run down his beefy arms, his abs are perfectly defined, and his waist compliments his bulky stature.

You’re staring. You only realize it when your eyes catch the way he’s attempting to wrap some gauze around his lower abdomen. You can tell that he’s struggling, but he does not ask for help. Nor does he even look your way—acting like it’s just him in the room. It’s easy to conclude that he’s never depended on anyone in his life. It saddens you.

You walk over to your bed and sit down at the edge. You wordlessly reach out to grab the roll of gauze from his hand. Your fingers brush against his palm while you do so, and you can feel the rough calluses on his skin. You don’t comment on it but make a mental note of your discovery.

You carefully wrap the gauze around his waist once. You’re as cautious as you could be, not wanting to inflict any more discomfort on the stranger. He doesn’t resist. He’s too tired to do so. Alhough, that doesn’t stop him from showing his complaints about the situation through his distant body language. His eyes are staring at the nearby wall, his expression as stoic as ever.

You go around with the roll of gauze once more. You lean a bit closer to his torso to properly do your job. You can’t help but feel a tiny bit embarrassed by your proximity. Neither of you says anything about it. He doesn’t move away, and you take that as a sign to continue tending to him.

The older man can’t help but feel that urging desire to push you away and leave. He doesn’t want to be involved in any of this. You weren’t supposed to find him. You weren’t supposed to help him. You weren’t supposed to bring him back here. He hates the idea of letting someone – you - get close to him. He hates letting others in his personal space.

 “What’s your name, sir?” Your soothing voice breaks the silence. You’re still visibly nervous, but also a lot less panicky. He finally looks down at you, seeing you put the gauze in place before grabbing a roll of bandages. He hates your touch.

The stranger clenches his jaw. He had to have scared you away in that back alley. He couldn’t and that’s what got him in such a predicament. One that triggers his many internal issues and struggles. He hates having to talk about himself to others. That’s how most bonds form.

“None of your damn business, girl,” The older man growls. His tone is harsh and cold, but you don’t back away nor even flinch. That only serves to irk him more. You’re meant to cower in fear, leave him alone and never turn back, but you do the complete opposite. You don’t know him and yet still choose to take care of him.

You nod, not pushing the matter any further. The injured stranger narrows his eyes for a second. Nothing seems to work on you. His intention is to scare you off, though the more he tries, the more you seem to get closer. It’s got the total opposite effect and he despises it.

He hates it all. Your closeness, your need to help him, your eyes that stare up at him with such worry, your hands bandaging him up. He promised himself, the day his wife died a couple years ago, that he’ll never involve himself with people if it isn’t for business related matters.

He’s managed to live all by himself for all those years and reached a level of independence that others could only dream of. Now it’s shattered. It feels like he’s back to square one because of your choice today. The choice to help a total random stranger.

The older man closes his eyes for a second and sighs deeply. It’s foolish of him to think of such unimportant matters. He’ll just use this to his advantage. He’ll use you, your kindness and everything you have to offer for his own sake. He’ll exploit you like he’s done to many other women before. That’s the way he’s used to treating others.

He’ll indulge your need to help him and try to act nice to satisfy those innocent wishes of yours. Just for his sake and his sake only, he promises himself.

The older man eventually speaks up again after you managed to bandage him up properly, “…Toji.”

You raise your eyebrows. You guess that that’s his name. Your lips curl up into a faint smile, feeling thankful that Toji decided to reveal that little detail about him. You grab his bloodied shirt and put it with the rest of your clothes that you need to wash. Your eyes wander over his exposed upper body for a split second, looking for any other possible injuries, only to find none. You nod in satisfaction as you grab a washcloth and wet it with some water, “that’s a nice name.”

That’s a first. Toji didn’t see the significance of complimenting someone’s name. Everyone has one, it’s not special, so why would you tell him it’s nice? Maybe he just doesn’t understand sentimental stuff like that. He’s not made out for such things. “Hm,” he lets out a small hum in acknowledgement and that’s all you get.

You walk towards him again and brush his bangs to the side. Toji holds himself back from moving away from your touch, but then remembers the decision he made mentally just moments ago. He’ll use that kindness of yours to his advantage until he’s all healed up. Then he’ll leave for good.

You place the cold cloth on his forehead. You know he’ll have a fever throughout the night because of the wound he’s suffered. You’re simply preparing him for that. You grab the painkillers that are scattered around the bed and place them on your nightstand, along with the water bottle. If he needs it, he’ll grab it, you think.

“Ah, sorry,” You snap out of it and realise that you haven’t introduced yourself properly. You might as well, considering you’ll be having Toji as your roommate for a couple days. Or at least you hope he stays that long until he’s all healed up. You continue, “my name is..”

“I already know.” Toji cuts you off before you’re able to reveal your name. You’re dumbfounded for a second. What does he mean by ‘he knows’? You tilt your head in confusion. You try to figure out how he could’ve possibly learnt your name but are unable to make any assumptions.

Toji easily notices your bewilderment. He admits that that could’ve come over as extremely creepy. He looks at the nearby wall and points at the decorations with his chin. You follow his gaze and instantly recognize what he’s staring at. It’s a picture with your friends that you have framed. They gifted it to you some time back and had engraved your name in the frame.

Toji must have cautiously examined his new surroundings whilst you were busy finalizing the treatment for his injury. You understand the need for that. Anyone would be wary in a new environment. “Hehe. Right,” he’s quite observant, you think to yourself.

You look outside of your window and close the tiny gap between your curtains. Even if you’re on the second floor, you don’t want to risk anyone finding out about what you did tonight. It still hasn’t properly processed in your brain; the fact that you have smuggled an alleged killer into your dorm. Maybe it will hit once you sleep and wake up tomorrow.

You look down at Toji with great concern. Even if the wound has been taken care of, you’re unsure if it’s even enough. A doctor would’ve been the safest option. But seeing how great Toji is handling the pain, you guess that it’ll be just fine. You glance at your hands. They have some dried blood on them. You also reek of the rain since you’re still uncomfortably soaked from before.

You decide to go take a shower. Before that, you make sure Toji has everything he needs. You give him a towel to dry himself off and make sure he can reach the first aid kit if needed. You stare at the pile of bloodied and wet clothes in the corner of your room. Both his and yours. You’ll take them to the laundry mat tomorrow.

You avert your attention back to Toji. He’s lying on his back, head turned away to the wall so he wouldn’t have to see you or look you in the eyes. It’s like he’s in his own world. You speak up again, this time a little louder, “are you gonna be alright now?”

Silence again. Toji doesn’t face you and keeps his eyes closed for some peace of mind. He sounds indifferent and distant as he answers you, “who knows.”

The ambiguous answer certainly doesn’t help ease your anxiety. You don’t want the older man to regress back to a state of near unconsciousness again. Despite your wishes, you can’t do much about it. Calling an ambulance or asking for help from others is a big no-no. For you as well, since you’ll be dragged into a big mess if anyone were to find out you gave shelter to a murderer.

“Uhm, all right. I’m gonna take a quick shower.” You announce quietly, not expecting a response. You would’ve preferred it if Toji did respond so you could leave your room for a couple minutes in peace. Without worrying about his condition. You know that you’re annoying him with the constant questions and comments, but you can’t help it. You’re worried. Even if he hates the attention and would love to have as less interaction with you as possible.

“D-Don’t move, ‘kay? I’ll be back.” You add quickly. You take a few steps towards the exit and place your hand on the door handle. Your limbs won’t take another step forward. You’re worried sick that Toji’s going to grab his chance and leave the moment you’re gone. You don’t want him to go. On one hand, it’s selfish of you, but on the other hand, it’s out of consideration for his situation.

You turn your head and glance at his still figure on your bed. His bulky stature nearly took up the entirety of it. You can’t help but ramble about your worries to him, hoping it’d convince him to stay, “If they find you, I’ll get in trouble and god knows what will happen to yo—”

“Just go, woman.” Toji’s deep voice rings through your ears. It’s the second time he’s cut you off. You’re pissing him off, clearly. You immediately zip it and do as told. You decide to put your trust in him and believe that he won’t take the opportunity to leave behind your back.

Without another word, you sneak out of your dorm room, making sure to close your door behind you. You act normal in case anyone walks by and finds your behaviour suspicious. You make a beeline towards the communal showers with your toiletry bag and pyjamas in hand.

Meanwhile, Toji is finally experiencing some real peace. He empties his mind, though cannot seem to get rid of your voice. He still can’t comprehend why somebody would be this worried for him. A college student who’d be at risk of being expelled if found out. You’re taking such great risks for a man like him? He doesn’t understand.

Toji rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands and groans in aggravation, “unbelievable.” Why he’s thinking it through is also something he cannot grasp. The man decides to enjoy the quiet atmosphere for now. He’s still somewhat disheveled from the entire ordeal and if he were to keep his brain running, he’d lose his mind completely. He drapes an arm over his eyes and lies there silently on the soft mattress.

A couple minutes pass. You feel like you’ve taken the quickest shower ever. You avoid as many students as possible while you make your way back to your dorm. You close your eyes and take a deep breath in. You open the door and peek through the crack. It’s pitch dark in the room. The sun had fully set a while back and your curtains cover any light from outside.

You lock your door and step forward carefully. You squint and wait for your vision to accommodate to the darkness. You approach your bed and finally let out that breath you’ve been holding in. He’s still there. Toji’s still where you left him. His chest is slowly moving up and down, his breathing steady as he rests.

You quietly turn on the nightlamp in your room. It casts a faint shadow over Toji’s face. He seems to be asleep. You can’t quite tell for sure since his bicep is nearly covering the entirety of his face, but you judge based on his breathing patterns. You sit on the edge of your bed and feel tired yourself after that eventful evening. You’re sleepy. The adrenaline has worn off and exhausted you to no end.

You glance down at the bandage around his torso. You’d have to change that for him tomorrow. For now, you’re content with the outcome of it all. You shift in your seat, which causes your hand to brush against Toji’s on the bed. You feel the warmth creep up to your head. His veiny hands still had stains of blood on the skin.

Now that Toji’s asleep, he won’t refuse your help. You grab a spare washcloth from your wardrobe and wet it with some water. You carefully lift Toji’s left hand. His palm touches yours and you find yourself enjoying the physical contact. His hand is heavy—bigger and rougher than yours. There are faint scars on his fingers which reminds you of his unknown identity.

All you’ve discovered until now is his name. His background is a mystery, and you have the feeling that it’s going to stay a mystery. You’ve realized by now that Toji does not open up to just anyone. You diligently clean the crimson stains from his left hand and move to do the same for the right one. You’re as careful as you can be, not wanting to wake the injured man from his well-deserved rest.

Once done, you put the washcloth away. You yawn and look at the clock. It’s nearly midnight already. You can’t sleep on your bed since it’s occupied, and it doesn’t fit two people. You look down at the soft carpet below your feet. That’ll have to do.

You grab an available pillow and a spare blanket, setting up your own little sleeping bag on the carpet right next to the bed. You lay down and stare at the ceiling. The ticking of your clock and the occasional sound of traffic outside of the building are the only loud sounds that distract your mind from any turbulent thoughts.

All you want is to sleep. What’ll happen tomorrow or the day after that is a problem for later. You’re safe for now. For today, you can relax. Your door is locked and the man you saved hadn’t left just yet. You feel a strange form of comfort having him with you. Even if he may be a bad person, his presence somehow soothes your tired body and mind. You feel like you’re safe with him. No harm shall come your way tonight.

And with that decisive thought, you close your eyes and give in to the slumber. You turn to lay on your side, facing the frame of your bed. Facing Toji.

You smile and utter your final words for the day, “good night, Toji. Sleep well.”

You drift into the land of dreams and discard your eventful reality. Little did you know that the man on your bed had been wide awake the entire time and is now left unable to sleep. . .

to be continued !

[urhoneycombwitch]

hold me like water

foreword: followup to my unofficial eddie x shy!reader series. not necessary to read in order but here’s one and two if u want. this takes place after the events of s4 but everyone (including the trailer sorry i’m too attached) is mostly fine and so is the town. except for all that pesky PTSD… lol. written epilogue-style but I just wanted to give them something soft… not done w them yet!!

cw: PTSD, nightmares, trauma bonding, medical stuff, scarring/wounds, light smut post-traumatic event, R has breasts+a vagina, R wears a bikini

wc: 3k

___

For the first month, you don’t leave the trailer.

More specifically, you don’t leave Eddie. 

While he’s recovering from the attacks, you confine yourself to his room; Wayne had pulled in a comfy armchair for you when he realized you’d been sleeping on Eddie’s floor for three nights in a row, just to be closer to him than the guest bed down the hall. 

Now, with the chair, you’re actually getting some sleep at night- enough to tend to Eddie’s wounds every morning and evening without yawning comically loud. 

After the first few weeks of healing, while Eddie is still tender but learning to walk shakily with the use of a cane, you still stick to the boundaries of the trailer. Neither of you really want to go anywhere, anyways: Hop’s instructions to keep a low profile while the dust settles on the murder investigation have to be taken seriously. 

Plus, Eddie and you are very well taken care of by your friends-turned-family. Anything you could ever want for shows up on your doorstep and kitchen counters by a rotating crew of familiar faces; Mrs. Byers brings groceries and finds excuses to stay longer, busying herself by making tea, doing the dishes; Mrs. Wheeler brings casseroles and her son, who steals Eddie away for intense D&D discussions (Eddie made Mike interim DM, and the power’s really gone to his head). 

The trailer is almost always filled during the day, bikes in a heap on the front strip of grass, Beemer parked at an angle to avoid a popped tire. Steve picks up Eddie’s medication every Friday, brings it over along with a bunch of VHS’s and Robin. Sometimes Jonathan and Argyle join in on movie nights, too, and Nancy when she’s not busy with work.

It’s easy and peaceful, spending time with people who understand and share the same traumas. People who don’t stare at the bandages or Eddie’s cane or ask why you won’t leave the trailer any more. 

The government officials from the now-defunct Hawkin’s lab call every few days, wall-mounted landline ringing like a toll bell at 3pm sharp. You tell them the same thing, every time, curt and firm- if they want to interrogate you and Eddie, they’ll damn well have to come here. Or drag you, kicking and screaming.

Steve asks about it one afternoon, naive and confused with the force of your phone slamming- “Y’know, they probably just want you to sign one of those Don’t-Talk-About-This papers and give you a bunch of money. I heard they’re setting up college funds for all the kids-”

“Good for them.” Your dry remark cuts in smoothly from the couch, hand on Eddie’s knee as a lifeline. In a voice wobbly with anger, eyes glittering with unshed tears, your chin tilts up, defiant- “It’s the least they can do. I want them to look me in the eyes when they try to grovel for my silence. For Eddie’s. After all they fucking did to us, to the town-”

Eddie’s hand slips over yours, squeezes. Steve raises his hands in a placating gesture, surrendering with haste, then retreats to the kitchen for movie night snacks. 

“Never heard you so bossy before,” Eddie murmurs, at the shell of your ear. Goosebumps cascade across your neck when he rests his heavy palm there, cold rings warming to the temperature of your skin. “Goin’ to bat for me. It’s hot.”

You’re a couple of steps removed from the quiet, shy thing Eddie’s known for years. Seeing the love of your life almost bleed out in an alternate dimension will do that to a person.

Owens shows up at the trailer one morning, at the end of summer after all the phone calls provide no results. Him and two of his muscliest-looking lab guys are met by you in the threshold of the door, arms crossed and somehow looking fierce despite the fuzzy blue bathrobe you’re swathed in.

“The goons stay outside.” Your word is final. Even the doctor knows it.

The two men in coats settle on either side of the porch, while Owens is allowed to sit at the kitchen table indoors, accepting a mug of coffee Eddie generously supplies (you certainly aren’t in a hospitable mood, glaring daggers at him from the opposing chair).

Predictably, the doctor explains he’s here with some NDA’s for both you and Eddie to sign, the shiny promise of a government-allotted chunk of change waiting on the other side.

Hidden from view under the table, your fingertips skate over Eddie’s palm, lying open and pliant for you. Calmly, like you’re stating the weather, you tell Owens to double his offer.

By the time he’s done using your phone, Owens is wiping sweat from his forehead with a kerchief. Once the papers are signed, him and the lab goons load back into the shiny black car like silent sentries. 

They leave, and Eddie laughs, a full, rich noise that makes your heart ache. His fist slams the table in excess of humor, mugs jumping with a clink. “Goddamn. You just made the richest guy in Hawkins run off with his tail between his legs.” 

“Pretty sure Harrington Senior has him beat,” you mutter around the rim of your coffee, unable to repress the satisfied smirk that tugs at your lips. 

The payoff is a sickening amount, more money than you or Eddie have ever seen- enough to send you both to college, twice, with a hefty nest egg for the future leftover. You put the bulk of yours in a savings account, just so you don’t get dizzy looking at the numbers. 

Eddie does the same, with the exception of a down payment on the vacant trailer at the end of the park. Along with the new place, Wayne gets a fresh mattress, a couch that doesn’t have holes, and a proper, working stereo to play all his “old man country” tapes (in Eddie’s words). The quiet and deep thankfulness Wayne gives you both makes you feel like you’d do it all over again, like the fight was all worth it for the Laz-E-Boy in the corner and the new mug collection shelf. 

Eddie floats the idea of college again, now that you’ve got the funds to make it possible. You’ve certainly got the time, too- neither of you have any need to work long shifts at the diner or garage anymore. 

Unfortunately, this makes it all the more easy to form reclusive habits. By autumn, the solidness of your refusal to leave the trailer has less to do with helping Eddie than it does with your own fear of what lies beyond the comfort of your home. 

Most days, you work on healing. Eddie’s still your lifeline, gentle encouragement turning stern when you need it the most- he talks you into visiting Max by yourself, a veritable feat; the short walk between the two trailers feels like death, your knock shaky with nerves. It feels horrifying, to walk the thin line of being both braver and more scared than you’ve ever been.

You stay for an hour. The next day, for two- Max has a new kitten that passes the time easily, the girl giggling behind her new thick-rimmed glasses while pulling string across the floor for the tiny thing to pounce on. One night, you bring dinner for both the Mayfields and stay well past supper; it’s nearly 11 by the time you return to Eddie’s open arms, triumphant in your success with a tupperware of Mrs. Mayfield’s cookies to boot.

Your bravery builds in increments. Eddie cleans the rust from his van that’s been sitting untouched since spring, and takes you on drives that go a bit farther each time. The Byers’ place for lunch, Dustin’s to pick up an extra radio, then all the way to north Hawkins for more of Mrs. Wheeler’s plastic-wrapped dishes she asks you to relieve her of. 

When winter rolls around, Steve takes advantage of his now-permanently empty home to throw a holiday party. It’s loud with chatter and overwhelming with noise but it feels so good to be surrounded by it, by everyone, Eddie’s hand a steady comfort on your waist or lower back as you eat and drink and make merry with your friends. 

Hop pulls it off, a Christmas miracle- all the murders get pinned on Jason, buried six feet under with parents who skipped town ages ago. You’re out for groceries one cold morning and realize that not a single shopper has even given Eddie a second glance, conspicuous as he is in black leather and flashy silver jewelry. 

The strings loosen with a sigh, fluttering in release, allowing some space for you both to breathe.

Sex has been… different, lately. There’s been lots of readjusting, both physically and mentally- accounting for unforeseen muscle spasms, bone-deep bruises hidden beneath rippled skin, tissue and scarring pulled taut, testing the limits of new pains.    

The first time, just a few weeks after the attacks, Eddie had begged to go down on you. He wanted the comfort of your thighs, your taste and scent, all-consuming, to think about anything else other than his wounds. 

You’d been more than hesitant, terrified of hurting him, of letting your focus shift inwards. More in your head than ever, it took Eddie over an hour to coax an orgasm from the walls that’d been built back up around your pleasure; even with his lithe tongue and long, seeking fingers, it took forever and an age to get you anywhere close to the edge.

Eddie didn’t complain once- in fact, he kind of got off on the amount of time you let him spend between your legs. The muscles in his right arm were trembling by the time you clamped down on his fingers, jaw burning but keeping the suction at your clit even while your hips rolled strong as a tidal wave against his face.

And before you could open your mouth to apologize, or say something equally silly, panting and wrung-out and heartbreakingly beautiful against the pillows, Eddie’s teeth flashed at the inside of your thigh. 

You’d jolted, breathless and giggly, endorphins soaring as he’d tenderly crawled up the length of your body to slip his tongue between your lips, sharing the earthy tang of your release. 

“One more,” he’d said, uninjured arm taking the bulk of his weight while he dipped down to mouth at your breast. “And this time, put your hands in my hair. I’m getting jealous of the sheets.”

As Eddie’s physical limitations lessen with time, your mental barriers ease, as well. There’s still some stilted moments of relearning, of working together in bodies that don’t always respond the way you want them to. 

There are raw, stripped-open emotions that have you clawing at Eddie’s back, his nails leaving indents on the flesh of your hips. To keep pressure off the worst of his side wounds, you find new positions, usually some form of your thighs draped over his or the welcome weight of you in his lap. 

He’s endlessly patient. The kind of patient that makes you want to run, far and fast, and he knows it; when your pleasure recedes, frustration in the form of tears and hands pressed to your face, Eddie’s there to soothe. To try a new angle, to slow down or speed up, offering a break or an extra pillow to keep you comfortable and feeling good. 

If you were comforted by each other’s presence during the night before the Spring Break from hell, it’s tenfold now. Neither of you will sleep a wink if Eddie’s not wrapped around you like a koala, snoring gently, overheated and tacky with sweat by morning but neither willing to compromise the closeness. 

Nightmares are easier to handle, too- you’re there to soothe the sweat-coated bangs from Eddie’s forehead when he wakes up whimpering in fear, coaxing his panic and adrenaline back down. He’s so fine-tuned to the rhythms of your body that even though your own nightmares rarely end in noise, Eddie often wakes anyways from the disturbance in your breaths. 

Just as you do for him, sometimes all it takes to get you back to sleep is a tender voice, a stroke of the arm, a reassurance in the dark that he’s with you. 

A year after it all happened, Eddie hears you singing in the shower.

If he wasn’t craning to hear the gentle splashing noises as confirmation of your presence, he would’ve missed it. Eddie leans with his good shoulder on the wood frame, door partially cracked to let the melody of your voice float through.

Stevie Nicks is crooning sweetly from the handheld radio on the bathroom counter, and you, just as sweet and twice as pretty singing along. 

Eddie closes his eyes, puts a hand to his chest; through the fabric of his shirt he feels the raised, bumpy edges of scar tissue, but there’s something beyond it. Curling around his heart, making it ache- it feels like healing. Like getting better, at least well enough to sing.

He’s dumbstruck with it. 

That summer, he takes you to Lover’s Lake.

It’s just the two of you, which makes it easy for Eddie to go shirtless; currently, he’s enjoying the way you’re watching him from the back of the van, bare feet swinging and paired with a killer black bikini that he begged you into.

He’s not so sure the scars that criss cross his front and sides are as “metal” as you claim they are, but he’s trying. He’d drag himself over hot coals just to get half a smile; going shirtless is nothing. 

You reach for him, and he walks into the V of your legs willingly, your arms wrapping around his torso, head pressed to the middle of his sternum. Eddie plants his hands on either side of your hips, drops his chin to fit you under it.

“Come swim with me.”

In response, you sigh- a longsuffering, worried sort of noise that leaves your lungs and enters his. He’s been trying to talk you into it for weeks- it’s a miracle he’s gotten you both this far, dressed and ready to take the plunge. 

Eddie’s not really sure why this swim is so important to him. It might have something to do with the fissure at the bottom of the lake, all scabbed over and sewn back together; or maybe it’s the surface, skimmed by a light breeze  and rippling gently, nothing of monsters or alternate dimensions leftover to disturb the placidity. 

Eddie wants to prove that it’s safe, for you and for himself. That the nightmares and the sticky feelings and the tears, they all mean something, of course they do- but the only way to is through. 

So he takes you by both hands and you only drag your feet a little until he’s walking backwards on the shore, water lapping up to his ankles, and you freeze. Heels digging into the wet earth, tense under Eddie’s grasp, eyes wide and darting around like something might come crashing through the treeline.

“Hey. Look at me.” In a voice that’s reserved for you and you alone, Eddie speaks softly, calmly, letting out all the tension of his pull to just hold, instead. “You’re safe. There’s nothing out here that’s gonna hurt us, okay? Steve went all the way back down to the bottom to make sure. No more gate. No nothin’. It’s just a lake.”

“Just a lake,” you repeat, like a mantra as you take another step. The water rolls over your feet; Eddie murmurs his encouragement while leading.

“That’s right, sweetheart. It’s just a lake. Our lake.”

The water rises, up the back of Eddie’s calves, swishing around your shins; the pebble-rock floor shifts with each step. You and Eddie used to spend long summer days here, swimming and picnicking and fucking in the back of the van, syrupy-slow and stretched with time. 

“Our lake.” You’re shivering, teeth chattering, even though the air is hot and the water is just-cool.

Eddie rubs at your upper arms, allaying the goosebumps; waterline up to your waists, now. The rock you’re balanced on beneath the surface jolts, and you stumble forward into Eddie’s arms; in a smooth maneuver, he catches you while sinking into a crouch, pulling you both from the safety of the shallows.

Then, your kicking feet meet nothing but the vastness of the lake, nails biting into Eddie’s arms, fear rattling through your spine until Eddie- treading water while valiantly supporting you, too- tosses his black hair back and whoops. 

The sound is loud, joyful, ricochets across the lake and bounces back from the other shore. He crows at the sun, startles a laugh out of you as he clings harder, kicking to keep you both afloat- “Holy SHIT! We’re swimming in Lover’s Lake!”

“Holy shit,” you agree, giddy and breathless, nerves turning over into disbelief, excitement. “We’re swimming in our lake.”

Eddie kisses you. It’s sloppy and he misses the middle of your mouth as you both try to keep the other from slipping under, teeth clashing, giggles escaping around the sides. He puts a hand dripping with lake water to your cheek, holding you in place, thumb pressing gentle just under your eye. 

“I love you.”

“Love you.” Your reply is swift and just as eager, hand coming to rest at the puckered line of scarring at Eddie’s chest. 

Somewhere at the bottom of Lover’s Lake, a twin crack, a Something that was never supposed to be but now just Is. 

You feel extraordinarily grateful, awash with we made it, as you and Eddie swim out further, shores in the shape of a heart holding you both from all sides.

[midnight-in-town]

About Yor: she isn’t dense, but most likely indoctrinated by Garden

So I wanted to address this for a long while now, because I’ve seen one too many posts talking about Yor like she’s just an aloof assassin who doesn’t care about things outside her direct environment, which is why sometimes she says dense things. 

I’m well aware that she’s a fan favorite so people don’t mean her harm, yet I think the whole story actually hints at way more than her being dense, especially considering her background and who she still works for. 

In other words, since Yor was trained but also half raised by Garden’s leader, the Shopkeeper, it’s likely that, considering how they operate and what they’re about, they instilled in her a conditioned dependency since childhood or teenage years that would make her unable to learn things on her own without asking for their opinion, making it very hard for her to turn against them ever. 

Want a striking example? Her encounter with Melinda Desmond. 

Not only did she not know who Melinda was (but I mean, that at least could be understandable)...

...but she also didn’t know what a First Lady is. 

Sure, it’s funny on first glance, but after thinking about it, what does it betray? That Garden probably made sure over years Yor would never get the slightest basic info and understanding on what politics of this country are all about. Because if their strong soldiers start to get opinions of their own, then they could start disagreeing with Garden and turning on them. So, “let’s prohibit people having free thinking, so that they can remain good little pawns” as we “fight for peace in our country”.

In fact, for Yor, until a short time ago (when she met Loid and Anya), all she did was thought and decided for her by Garden and, to this day, she still voluntarily asks them for their agreement when she opens up her close circle little by little: she asked them if it was okay to marry Loid and then she asked them if it was okay to befriend Melinda. 

To be honest, that’s a scary ass thought process to envision, when Yor’s an independent working lady well into her 20s, but this shows how deep Garden’s indoctrination runs in Yor, since they got hold of her as a child/young teen. 

Another striking example is the way she always describes her job, in an almost childish way. Her nickname “thorn princess” aside, I always found it interesting that Yor’s aware she’s an assassin but she isn’t morally anguished at all about killing people and never mentions or distinguishes any grey area in her missions. In fact...

... it’s all in black and white and she clearly thinks that the people she kills are all evildoers (which as we saw in the recent arc with the Red Circus isn’t always the case and begs the rhetorical question “why does Garden get to decide who’s evil?”), therefore “she’s not doing anything wrong”, which also pretty much betrays how she was pushed into it. 

Long ago, Garden probably baited Yor with Yuri’s protection and told her that, since they’re “about peace”, Yor’s work would just help them to “fight against evil”. As a child, she wasn’t mentally fit to understand the deeper implications and then she was mentally conditioned to always do and think like Garden tells her to, which promotes this systematic childish description of her assassin’s job. 

Finally, please take notice of the Shopkeeper’s reaction the first time she tries to argue about her work, in the ship arc: 

Enough said, Garden’s awful. I’m sure there are more examples throughout the story, but I now want to talk about future character development. 

After all, since the story obviously calls for Yor to ditch Garden, to protect what’s actually important to her (Yuri, Loid and Anya), we actually do see her changing little by little so far, thanks to her living with Loid and Anya. Her coworkers quickly mentioned that she’s more lively ever since she got married and the ship arc overall emphasizes that her family is starting to become more important to her than her job, so there is high hope for Yor. :D

Additionally, while she’s still far away from noticing that Garden mentally drove her into a corner, she now openly voices her concerns that “she’s not normal” but that she wants to understand why in order to learn how to change. 

To be fair, fighting against indoctrination is tough and takes time so I’m very proud of her for slowly realizing that she ought to decide for herself from now on. :D 

TL;DR Yor is not dense. She was indoctrinated as a child by Garden and can only (for now) see the world through the filters they taught her. 

Ironically enough, the only character who knows about her real job and could, thus, notice that Yor isn’t being critical about Garden...... actually can’t because she’s a four year old who is too young to understand that Mama’s job is wrong. Well done, Endo-sensei!

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

The boys reaction on the reader breast feeding 😅

Like would they want to taste it or would they watch idk lol up to you I feel comfortable 🫶🏻

Breastfeeding (Fluff)/(18+)

Bayverse!Turtles x reader

A/N: oop. Don’t mind if I do👀💚 Not super long this time, as I've had a long ass day😭💚

Warnings: I’m not sure if breastfeeding needs a warning, but I’m just gonna put it anyway to be safe.

Leonardo:

Leo could not explain it, but watching you breastfeed their children did something to him. It has never been in a turtle's nature to seek out their parents. Once the egg was laid, they were on their own. And therefore it obviously wasn’t a common thing to see a turtle suckle their mother's breast for milk. Damn it, turtles don't even have nipples. But with your children being part human, the need for breast milk was there, and to Leo the sight was… interesting. In all honesty, he found peace in the sight, watching you throughout the years with all four of your children. It was a different way of meditation for Leo, to sit with you and your child, in the moment your child’s small hungry cries turned to a content silence.

Raphael:

This might sound strange, but Raph found it hot when you were breastfeeding. To be blunt and honest, he thought you looked absolutely amazing, and at times he wondered if he was willing to have another child, just to see you like that again, when you’re just sitting there with your tit out in the open, but other than that, he couldn't really explain why. Sure, your child was gaining sustenance from your nipple and he knew better than to ever interrupt that, but he just couldn’t keep his thoughts from going to that dirty place. And he would take you with him to that place, when you’ve laid your kid to bed, fighting the urge to put another child in you. It was like you brought a smaller mating season on to him every time, something he had thought had ended with your last child. But he still found himself thinking back upon it, weighing whether the pros and cons, figuring out if it was worth one more child.

Donatello:

Donnie enjoyed watching you breastfeed for many different reasons. You were his wife, so of course he found a sense of joy and happiness while watching you feed your child. It brought him peace to know that both you and his child felt good and comfortable, and watching you in these moments made him feel warm and happy. Who would have thought that he ever got to experience something like this? But of course, it also evoked the more science oriented side of Donnie. He could not help but analyze and take mental notes, learning from all he saw, in order to understand. It was the way of nature, and in this case, two different natures coming together and forming a new one.

Michelangelo:

Breastfeeding was a curious wonder to Mikey. He had never seen it before, and he did not know that was a thing with humans before you had your first child. There was no doubt that Mikey definitely wanted to taste. It started out with genuine curiosity. He wanted to know why his kids would whine and grab for their mother’s breast whenever they were hungry, thinking it had something to do with the flavor. It took some time before you let Mikey taste, had he seemed disappointed when he learned that there weren't any spectacular flavors, but just… milk. But nonetheless, Mikey could not help but find the whole thing a little exciting, and now you had to put up with not just a hungry child, but your imaginative husband.

[pedgito]

hi! would u ever be comfortable writing about eddie's uncut cock? if not, it's totally fine. hope ur having a great day! <3

author’s note: funny you ask, because yes, absolutely. and look, i know people have varying opinions but let me be a whore in peace with my own nsfw headcanons, i don’t care what others think about eddie’s dick because this is just what sits in my brain. this was meant to be a small blurb so ignore the lack of form that i usually keep.

cw: 18+ (minors dni) obviously lots of dick talk what else do you expect, talks of self-exploration/masturbation, eddie dealing with some body issues pertaining to the topic in the ask, handjobs, oral (m receiving), i don’t apologize for any of this.

word count: 1.4k

eddie doesn't realize how uncommon it is until the reactions become the same and frequent, eventually forcing eddie to hate any kind of sexual interaction outside of himself for a while—he knows it's not a big deal, but the judgey looks and offhanded comments about how weird it was didn't make him impenetrable. it was always there in the back of his mind.

but eddie has always been about self-exploration, maybe to an unhealthy degree as he got older, interacted with girls less, buried himself into hellfire club and his side business of dealing—he usually kept interaction to a minimum, which wasn't hard when most of the school despised him.

and he can't imagine how anything could be better, his dick laying heavy against his belly as his fingers dragged up under his balls, touching delicately, almost teasing in a way before he gripped himself forcefully, tugging down until the head peeks past the skin in all of it's glistening glory, precum smeared over the slit as he slides back up, squeezing the head between his thumb and forefinger under the foreskin.

he thought being this sensitive was normal, but he was proven wrong time and time again. he's learned over time and through a lot of experience how to hold himself back, squeeze himself at the base to keep himself from coming too early or letting go completely, occasionally trying the tactic of squeezing the head until the feeling fades, it works wonders, but still, it doesn’t prepare him for the real thing—he's embarrassed when he's coming in the hands of some beautiful girl he sat next to in english class at the beginning of his first senior year, only some unrhythmic strokes of her hand and her thumb rubbing over the head of his cock before he's there, spilling over her hand without warning.

and when he’s really eager and seeking the relief, he's quick, knowing just the ways to touch himself, how sensitive the head of his cock can get under the skin and he's there before he can even process, groaning through clenched teeth.

he meets you somewhere between the beginning of his hopefully last year of school and the few weeks before then end of '85—he doesn't understand how you came into his life, telling himself how he surely manifested you, that there's no possible way you were real.

regardless, eddie's is riddled with nerves the first time you touch him, making some off-handed comment about how not pretty his dick is, hoping it isn't a total deal breaker.

you can't help but look at him, eyes wide but your gaze scewed, confused on why any of that would matter. you can't remember the last time you've found that to be a dealbreaker.

when you finally get his pants down, sneaking your fingers into the waistband of his boxers until his dick springs free, you realize just how dramatic eddie was being about the whole thing, having been fed some idea that uncut dicks weren't as acceptable as the contrary and it's a shame, because if it isn't the prettiest dick you've ever seen, arguing his earlier statement with a quick quip that has eddie laughing through his nervous blush.

"eddie—i don't say this to too many guys, none actually," you glance up at him briefly before trailing your fingers along the hard ridge of his abdomen, barely grazing him, "your dick is very pretty."

"careful," eddie warns with a grin, teeth peeking through slightly, "you'll give me an ego."

eddie watches you wearily, your eyes taking in the full sight of him as your fingers wrap around the shaft, the soft velvety texture of his skin pressing against your palm and fingertips.

his thick, not so much that it's intimidating but he fills out your hand in the best way and somewhere between seven and eight inches, the head of his cock a deep pink that slightly contrast the softer shade of his skin and you're pulling the skin back to rub your thumb over the tip, earning a hiss from eddie in response.

"sensitive?" you ask teasingly, smiling at eddie's reaction before you repeat your previous movements, circling his head with a torturous pressure that has eddie gripping the pillowcase above his head, chin tilting down slightly against his chest to look at you, his eyes squeezing shut momentarily as the feeling becomes too much.

"okay, okay," he rushes out, "maybe ease up on that unless you want—want this to be over in the next five seconds."

he's right, so you relent, continuing the slow drag of your hand as you gauge his reactions, the easy glide that the skin creates until you're leaning forward to lick a stripe along the underside of his dick, tracing along the faint vein that ran there before you’re practically drooling over him, the mix of your spit and his own precome making it more overwhelming before you're closing your mouth over him completely, keeping the same pace of your hand as your mouth hollows out around the tip.

eddie feels like he might die, but he's fully accepting it.

"oh fuck—shit, that's so much better than—" eddie rambles mindlessly, "never—never had anyone suck my dick before."

which is a shame, because it's easily becoming your favorite thing.

"can't see how," you reply as your bottom lip drags along the ridge of his blushed tip, “but i guess that makes me lucky.”

“just—girls always looked at me strange, said it was weird,” eddie comments, “like i have any control over that, guess my parents have always been destined to fuck me over, even from birth.”

you laugh along with him, his rambling thoughts slipping past his lips and filling the quiet lull of the air.

you were so thankful eddie wasn’t the type to stay quiet, because while his sounds were torture, the way his voice cracked with every few words was even better. you let him talk as much as he pleased until he physically couldn’t, his fingers slipping over the top of your head and into your hair, squeezing lightly as your shifted your hand up, skin slipping back over the head as you pressed your tongue over the small glimpse of his slit that was still visible, moaning softly as he tugged a little harsher, mumbling something under his breath you couldn’t make out.

“can’t wait to have you inside me,” you confess, his eyes lighting up as they connected with yours, “don’t ever want you thinking anything negative about yourself again, either—it’s not true.”

eddie nods slightly, “fuck—can’t say stuff like that with my dick in your mouth, sweetheart.”

you prod further, breath ghosting over his dick as you spoke, “why?”

eddie groans quietly, speaking through gritted teeth, “really need you to stop unless you’re okay with me coming in your mouth—i’d hate—hate to do that without asking.”

your teeth drag along your bottom lip, biting at the skin briefly.

“is that you asking?” you giggle softly, stopping briefly with skin pulled back to take him into your fully and fast, earning a choked gasp from eddie.

eddie nods again, more needy, “uh huh—yes, yes—god, please—“ and it’s only a few seconds later that he’s spilling into your mouth, his own hand wrapping around his shaft to pump it quickly, swatting your own hand away, salty slick pooling over your tongue in spurts, the warm liquid wouldn’t be as enticing if it wasn’t for it being from eddie—and you wouldn’t dare let a man come in your mouth like this, but eddie had earned that right.

you pull back slowly, swallowing for show as eddie squeezed at his dick, thumb rubbing over the head tenderly as his body jerked slightly with aftershocks.

“i’ve never—“ eddie sighs heavily, catching his breath, “never came that hard, holy fuck. i’ve always been sensitive but jesus—“

“i guess that’s quite the perk then,” you tease, crawling back up the slowly until your clothes cunt is pressed over his slowly soften dick, “amongst others.”

“you sure it doesn’t gross you out?” eddie asks curiously, having been programmed to always think it does, needing to hear the words for reassurance.

you grind the soft fabric cover your hips over his cock, feeling the subtle pressure it applies and watching eddie wince from the overstimulation, chucking weakly.

“positive.” you smile, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss against his lips, quickly turned dirty from eddie’s obvious impatience, his tongue slipping into your mouth to taste a mix of you and himself, the tanginess strange but welcoming as you moaned into his mouth openly.

“about being inside you—“ eddie starts, speaking softly against your lips, “can i take you up on that?”

“i thought you’d never ask.”

and it’s safe to say that eddie never doubts himself again, learning just how beautiful every piece of him is.

[ventismacchiato]

24 behind the lens — how to get akumatized 101 !

scaramouche x g!n reader

notes; translations for the french will be at the bottom of this chapter!

That morning felt surreal. Almost like you were walking through a hazed dream. You awoke to the feeling of calloused hands on your skin, your shirt scrunched up and Kuni’s head tucked in the space between your neck and shoulder. He looked peaceful when he was asleep. The crease above his eyebrows was relaxed and his lips were parted open every so slightly. He looked so inviting.

You awkwardly scooted yourself out of his grasp and got yourself ready while he was asleep. By the time you were done, his head was still under the pillow. You took a quick photo before gently shaking him awake. He grumbled before sitting upwards, his hair sticking up every way as he carded his hand through it.

It was a little too domestic for a pair of people who weren’t even dating yet.

He patted your waist on his way to the bathroom, his hand pinching the skin underneath the hem of your shirt.

It all felt a little too good to be true.

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

“Why did we have to walk here?” you question, your legs sore as you and Kuni make your way toward the Eiffel Tower.

“Want me to carry your lazy ass?” Kuni asks, earnestly, as you both finally arrive. There’s quite a crowd for it being so early in the evening, causing Kuni to pull up his mask as he grabs ahold of your back to direct you towards the elevator. You let him guide you as he kept you close to him.

He’d told you to dress nicely for lunch, which was why you were now blessed with a view of Kuni clad in a dress shirt as he stared out the lift.

It was all a little too much for you two to not even be official.

You squirm around in your seat, not used to getting spoiled quite like this. It’s true, being a popular streamer made you rather comfortable with money, but you never went out of your way to treat yourself quite like this. You never really had to when Xiao insisted on paying for everything when your group went out.

“Is this too much?” Kuni asks, sliding over a glass of water towards you.

“No, I’m just not used to it,” you answer, taking the glass from him. Even the dishes were fancy.

“You should start getting used to it then,” Kuni calmly says as you almost choke on your water.

A waiter decides to appear right then, sending you a worried look as you waved him off to assure him you weren't dying.

“Bonjour, qu’est ce que vous désiréz commander?” the waiter asked, his accent causing you to only understand the first half of his sentence. You really should’ve paid more attention to your French lessons.

Kuni pulls his mask down, eyeing the menu for a quick minute. You couldn’t help but notice the hue or pink dusting across the waiter’s face as he saw Kuni’s face. Your stomach felt a little sick at the sight

“Bonjour, on prendra le plat du jour,” Kuni answers, his usual voice tilted with a slight accent.

The waiter notes it down and turns away to walk off before looking back.

“Désolé, est-ce que je peux avoir ton numéro de téléphone?” He questions, his ears a bright red.

Kuni gestures at you in response, “Désolé, j'ai déjà quelqu'un.”

The waiter quickly nods and scurries off. You feel a bit proud of that, whatever it was.

“Hope you don’t mind I ordered for you, you mentioned you liked this dish before,” Kuni says, pointing to the menu.

“It’s cool,” you answer, “I didn’t know you knew French.”

“My mom forced me to learn,” Kuni hums.

“That means you can seduce in French, right?” you joke.

“I suppose I can if you’re into it,” Kuni easily says, “Weird ass.”

“Say something sexy to me then,” you propose, leaning forward.

Kuni’s pale cheeks flush underneath your gaze, but he still abides by your request. He reaches across the table to grab ahold of your hand, caressing your knuckles with his thumb.

“Tu es magnifique sous le ciel étoilé,” he muses.

“What’s that mean? It sounded hot.”

“J'aimerais être assez courageux pour pouvoir t'embrasser,” he says instead, a smirk tilting up on his lips.

“You’re so mean,” you huff, ignoring how his hands felt on yours.

He kept it there until your guys’ meal arrived, only letting go when you both had to eat.

behind the lens !

masterlist — prev | next

jungkook as scara

i forgot to give childe’s comments likes mb

translations:

(1) paris est magnifique quand je suis avec toi = paris is beautiful when I'm with you

(2) bonjour, qu’est ce que vous désiréz commander? = hi, what would you like to order?

(3) bonjour, on prendra le plat du jour = hello, we will take the dish of the day

(4) désolé, est-ce que je peux avoir ton numéro de téléphone? = sorry, can i have your phone number?

(5) désolé, j'ai déjà quelqu'un = sorry, i’m taken

(6) tu es magnifique sous le ciel étoilé = you look beautiful under the starry sky

(7) j'aimerais être assez courageux pour pouvoir t'embrasser = i wish i had the bravery to kiss you

author’s notes — thank you to ori and xiydia for helping me translate the french!! mwah mwah merci 💋

synopsis — you, better known as STARDUST, and BALLADEER have always been in competition for the top streamer spot on twitch, which is especially impressive since the two of you have never shown your faces. you’ve never been on good terms, constantly one-upping each other in matches and getting into petty arguments on twitter, causing your fans to also dislike each other. that’s until BALLADEER does a face reveal that breaks the internet with his good looks…which makes you realize it’s the same guy you went on a date with last night. the type of date that made you crave to see him again. the only problem was he didn’t know you were STARDUST and he was way different behind the lens than he portrayed himself online to you. should you keep your identity a secret to salvage the relationship or just let him go?

taglist is closed — @captainzep @elysiumarchieve @plinkuro @sakkakuu-squared @eliqusgenma @vuvulia @kunikuzushiit @heehooyeslol @stxrgxzxr @lilneps @uma-umie @goubaia @mitsukifilms @caesars-bubbles @wheneverthesunrise @its-like-twilight @kazuhalvrr @erosdevil @thenightsflower @p1utto @noodleshark420 @lxry-chxn @orbitscara @court-jester-stuff @lauragalliart @veyu002 @kaeyas-eyepatch-69 @leathernourishingshoepolish @satowaluverr @lexlapis @drunkwithfever @exhaustedcommunist @vincanzu @ainlaw @ovaliz @kitsuvil @whatamidoing89 @celestair @kunihaver @kazioli @xiaosoneandonly @cridtiins @cherrybeomgyu @asukahiriko @moon-320 @orionicchaos [1/3]

[floristjimin]

charles and edwin's enneagram types

ok so I’ve been seeing a lot of really good analysis on charles and edwin’s internal motivations and how they tend to react to difficult situations. I’ve also had a deep interest in the enneagram for several years, and I just started reading a book about it, and my brain immediately connected it to DBD. so here are my thoughts on what charles and edwin’s enneagram types might be, how this influences many different aspects of their personalities, how their types complement each other really well, and how they’ve supported each other to be the best versions of their true selves.

What is the Enneagram?

More than just a personality type, the nine types of the Enneagram describe the “basic archetypes of humanity’s tragic flaws, primary fears, and unconscious needs.” Most Enneagram authors agree that we are born with a dominant type, and that this type “determines the ways we learn to adapt to our early childhood environment.”

The types are not static — there are different “levels of development” that describe how each type behaves when they are psychologically healthy or unhealthy. There is also something called the direction of integration/disintegration — each type behaves like another type when they are under stress or in growth (e.g. type Nines behave like Sixes when they are stressed, and Threes when they are in growth). So two people with the same type may not behave the same way as each other, and a person throughout their own life may grow and change, but they will still align with that dominant type.

All this to say, the Enneagram is a really useful tool for self-understanding and for having empathy for yourself and others, because it gives a lot of insight into a person’s core fears and underlying motivations.

charles - type nine

A big part of Charles’s character arc in season one was the repression and denial of his own anger. This was the biggest clue for me that he might be a type Nine.

There are so many examples of this, especially in episode 4:

the scene with Charles and Crystal on the lighthouse where they talk about the events of the devlin house (Crystal: Charles, could we just for one second talk about what happened? Charles: Crystal, I don’t have anything else to say. yes, that guy was horrible. yes, my dad was horrible. yes, I got angry. now I’m fine. Crystal: you don’t have to keep things bottled up)

the scene (1) when Charles is upset that Edwin hid the fact that he saw the cat king again, Edwin directly asks “why are you getting so angry?” and Charles immediately falls quiet

the scene where Charles attacks night nurse — he can no longer hold back his anger, and his friends are shocked (2). It is unusual for him to express his anger like this.

Ok, so why do Nines tend to be out of touch with their anger? Type Nines are “the peacemaker”, described as easygoing, reassuring, and agreeable. The basic fear of the type Nine is of loss and separation (3), and their basic desire is to have inner stability, peace of mind. “They want everything to go smoothly and be without conflict, but they can also tend to be complacent, simplifying problems and minimizing anything upsetting.” Nines want to avoid conflict; they have seen from past experiences that anger can be a huge source of conflict, so they learn to repress their anger.

This could also be part of the reason why Charles decides to stay (4) with Edwin when they first meet. Going with Death would mean having to fully accept the fact that he is dead, and that’s upsetting to him. Nines are also known as “chameleons” and tend to mirror/blend with those they are around (a way of avoiding conflict) — “being a separate self, an individual who must assert themselves against others, is terrifying to Nines. They would rather melt into someone else or quietly follow their idyllic daydreams.” So it makes sense that staying with Edwin feels like the safest option to Charles.

Some other scenes that make more sense through the lens of Charles being a type Nine:

Any time Edwin tries to initiate a serious conversation, Charles’s immediate reaction is to downplay things, and give a lighthearted response in an attempt to minimize tension (ep 6 (5), ep 7 (6)). There’s also that flicker of emotion on his face before he promptly represses it and tries to present a more reassuring reaction (ep 6 (7))

“Every (8) day, I’m fuckin’ smiling. ‘Cause who else is gonna be the one holding it together and keeping spirits up? … What good am I even doing? I couldn’t stop Devlin from murdering his family over and over, I can’t stop Crystal from hurting, I can’t stop whatever it is that’s going on with you, I can’t stop anything! I sure as hell couldn’t stop my dad from beating the shit out of me. No matter how good I was.” — This directly points to his desire to create harmony in his environment (and taking on way too much personal responsibility (9) for it)

The scene in ep 5 where Charles admits he is afraid (10) that he’s like his dad, and Edwin’s response (11) — this is a really important moment where Charles finally allows himself to acknowledge his feelings, and Edwin learns to respond with patience and mirrors the reassurance that Charles himself so freely gives.

edwin - type one

One of the things we learn about Edwin in the very first episode of season one is that he deeply cares about solving cases and helping others.

“Our (12) deaths didn’t matter. No one ever solved them. Now you are sharp and fun, but this is not a game. We are solving cases that would never be solved. Police don’t know what to do with a fucking witch! We didn’t matter. He and I. So these cases matter. They have to matter!”

Type One is “The Reformer”; they are described as principled, purposeful, and self-controlled. The basic fear of the type One is that they are corrupt, evil, and defective (which makes it even more devastating that he spent 70 years in hell), and their basic desire is to be good, have integrity, and be balanced.

This description above reminds me a LOT of the conversation he has with the cat king in episode 4:

Cat King: Why do these cases of complete strangers matter to you so much? Edwin: Not that you would understand, but I help ghosts whose cases would go unsolved. I right wrongs. [after Cat King forces him to tell the “truth”] Edwin: I’m also doing as much good as I can, so that eventually if I have to go back to hell, I can make my case for leniency … I’m ashamed. It’s selfish.”

A lot of Edwin’s repression definitely has to do with the time period he’s from, but I think it also points to that type One desire to be “good”.

Does this not perfectly describe Edwin’s entire journey (13) of self-discovery in season one? See also, his remarks about emotions (14) and human connection (15).

Lastly, I’ll link to this post (16), as well as the fact that it took me a lot of thinking to figure out that Edwin was a One — he does not fit the usual stereotype of a One. He’s not overly perfectionistic or highly critical, he’s not afraid of making mistakes. Instead, we see a One at a healthy level — principled, a person of integrity, who is able to see that imperfections are part of perfection, who is able to work on undoing those patterns of repression. Additionally, type Ones tend to look like Sevens when they are in a direction of growth — Sevens are described as spontaneous and playful, constantly seeking new and exciting experiences. We definitely start to see this side of Edwin, and I think part of why he is able to grow in this direction is because his friendship with Charles has given him an environment where he feels safe and comfortable.

charles & edwin - the relationship between Ones and Nines

Even more interesting, there is a section on the Enneagram site that discusses relationship dynamics between different Enneagram types. This part highlights how the One and the Nine have different ways of reacting to stress and how they express (or don't express) anger:

For Edwin, this perfectly captures his prickliness and snippiness in the first few episodes towards Crystal.

And for Charles, this lines up with his emotions (17)/reactions starting from episode 3 in the devlin house and how he tries to ignore his emotions and repress his anger

Lastly, on a more positive note, this part really describes their partnership and synergy perfectly:

I also think this ties in to Charles’s direction of growth — as a type Nine, Charles would look like a type Three in his direction of growth. Threes are described as adaptable, driven, and energetic (as well as attractive and charming). I think he exhibits all of these traits -- being friends with Edwin for the past 30 years has definitely supported Charles in this direction of growth.

Overall, I think all of this really speaks to how realistic and complex these characters are. If you read this whole thing, THANK YOU. I would LOVE to hear your thoughts on this, if you agree with these types, if you have any more examples you can think of in the show, if you think they fit better with a different type, etc.!! And if you’re interested in learning more about the Enneagram I’ll leave some sources below.

The Enneagram Institute website

The Sacred Enneagram by Christopher L. Heuertz

Sleeping at Last podcast feat. Chris Heuertz, about type One and Nine

One by Sleeping at Last

Nine by Sleeping at Last

references: 1 - @that-ineffable-devil 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 14, 15 - @mellxncollie 3, 7 - @homoquartz 4, 13 - @nikossasaki 9 - @asidian 16 - @abeautifulblog 17 - @melefim

[spacebarbarianweird]

Astarion with gnome Tav HC?

Ok, we all know Astarion hates gnomes. And his facial expressions during the first date if you play Gnome Tav are priceless. Like, he doesn't smile and definetely does his best trying to hold back slurs.

I have been to his shoes coz I found gnomes weird and freaky. To write this Headcanon, I read manuals about them and got to this description:

It’s rare for a gnome to be hostile or malicious unless he or she has suffered a grievous injury. Gnomes know that most races don’t share their sense of humor, but they enjoy anyone’s company just as they enjoy everything else they set out to do. It’s rare for a gnome to be hostile or malicious unless he or she has suffered a grievous injury. Gnomes know that most races don’t share their sense of humor, but they enjoy anyone’s company just as they enjoy everything else they set out to do.

And then I googled gnomes.

Source

Honestly, if you think gnomes are ugly - you've met the wrong gnomes!

Thanks @evillittlebirdie for the next concept

A gnome that hates elves and an elf that hates gnomes

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion x Gnome!Tav

You are tiny, only 3.2 ft.

All your life you spent far from "big folk", living deep in the woods.

But you were always warned against the elves, those arrogant pricks who think the world belongs to them.

Astarion… hates gnomes. It's not uncommon for elves to be weird about them but he has some personal issues.

Maybe it's his "brother's" fault, maybe some dating preferences.

"Dwarves are fine, but gnomes! Freaky and ugly."

You can't understand where this comes from.

Gnomes are peaceful. Kind. Never malicious to anyone. Always accepting strangers in their homes and caves. So why is your kind so hated?

You bicker but eventually you fall for Astarion's charms (and he suppresses his disgust to seduce you).

Maybe elves aren't that bad, after all.

And Astarion suddenly realizes he isn't averted by you.

Tiny. Yes. You are barely tall enough to reach up to his hips.

But you are cute. Beautiful, even.

Like a small elf.

Finally, Astarion confesses to you.

That he manipulated you. That he used you.

And what is worse, he hated the mere idea to touch you. As if you were some nasty creature.

Like a goblin.

He apologizes for that and is waiting for your verdict.

He expects you to yell. To curse him.

You do nothing of that. You approach Astarion and hug him.

Well, for him you are the most beautiful person in the world.

To kiss you, he has to kneel (or pick you up like a child)

You were embarrassed first to be carried around - besides, you are considered "tall" by gnome standards!

But you learn to like it. Your weight is 40 pounds and Astarion can carry you on his shoulders as long as you want

And, the hells, you enjoy it!

Firstly, because Astarion can go faster and longer if you don't slow him down, and, second, you can see the world around not being blocked by taller people.

When you go like that, you play with his curls and carefully touch his ears (it's impossible to resist when you are so close).

He loves your feather-like touches.

He still laughs at your height, though

"Oh, I am sorry I can't hear you from up here!"

"Apologies, darling, I thought someone was squeaking!"

And you wait for the opportunity to mock him for heing the tall one.

"Oh, I am sorry, I forgot I travel with a brainless giant!"

As a gnome, your desire to help is innate. It's just against your nature to deny someone's needs.

And more often than usual, Astarion has to carry you away before you agree on something too dangerous or too cheap.

"I am Astarion and this is my micro-wife. Ouch!"

When you stay together in taverns and inns, you don't have to pay for two beds - a single bed fits you both.

And Astarion always presses you to his chest - you drown in his arms. You feel safe and protected.

Sometimes, you hear mockery and evil laughs.

"An elf and a gnome, can you fucking believe it?"

You usually let these words go but Astarion doesn't.

He beats those who dare speak ill of you two and makes them kneel and beg for forgiveness.

Gnomes live long, up to 400 years. And you are young. As a gnome, you want a stable home (when you get tired of travels) and somewhere to stash things.

And you understand Astarion craves stability as well - so he will get it with you.

A comfy home in the woods among your kind.

Gnomes are accepting, after all.

Even if it's a vampire.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

[shiinata-library]

Imagine: You can speak to animals in Middle-Earth

Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, Bilbo's reactions when they understand you can speak to animals in Middle-Earth

N/A: I haven't written in English for a while. I may be rusty…

[ 📚 Main Imagines Masterlist 📚 ]

Thorin

“The inn is this way,” you say to Thorin several times during the journey when he is lost in towns that you pass through. Or something like “I think the stable with our ponies is at your right, then at your left.” Or, “Oh, Balin is looking for you at the town's entrance, hm, straight on, then left after the bakery.”

At the beginning of the journey, it surprised you how many times Thorin could be lost. But now, you eventually get used to it. 

The only thing you’re not used to is the look on his face every time you help him. Surprised and suspicious. While you just want to help him…

Well, could you tell him it's some ravens that are letting you know when he needs help? “The king is looking for Master Balin.” “The king doesn’t walk in the right direction.” “My lady, the king wants to go to the inn.” They are polite but they never give you the choice…

Other animals speak sometimes with you and you love to listen to them. It’s surprising how much you can learn with them. The best place for that is in Beorn’s house. Thanks to his hospitality, you can walk around his house and speak to animals you have never spoken to before. It’s fun and it especially changes your mind after everything has happened during the journey.

Yet, when you thought ravens have let you in peace, two of them come for you in an evening. You have just finished dinner and the night has almost fallen. They ask for help, explaining their baby is trapped in an orc’s trap. At first, you want to refuse : it’s almost night, Beorn is already out in bear’s form, and some orcs are also soon out.

But you can’t let a baby raven die, right? So you follow them in the forest behind Beorn house. A forest that looks welcoming by day, but much less so at night.

Thanks to other animals' help, you finally find the trap, more or less quickly, and free the little one. As he thanks you, you notice the silence around you, especially the ravens. Then, you notice the darkness of the forest. You remain motionless until you hear a voice behind you.

“What are you doing here?” a cold, hard male voice says behind as you turn to him and realise it’s only Thorin. Even in the dark, it’s impossible not to recognise his voice.

Damn, your heart is dead by now. You don’t even find the good words. “It’s our fault, my King,” one of the ravens says as he comes closer to you on a branch. He explains everything to Thorin while you look at him astonished.

“Don’t tell me he could understand you from the start!” you say, upset as you turn to the raven. “Why did you use me all this time if he could understand?” you progressively raise your voice, ignoring where you are.

“Roäc is the only raven I can understand,” Thorin says. “But now is not the time to speak. Let’s go back to–” When he stops talking, you shiver. You can feel you’re not alone. The ravens and the other animals are already left. Thorin suddenly takes your hand and pulls it. You start a quick sprint to Beorn’s house and you’re glad no orcs found you. 

You enter the house out-of-breath. Thorin turns to you, not making the effort to hide his anger. He shouts at you that you should never have gone outside, that you’re stupid, that you could die easy. And like Bilbo before, that you shouldn't be here with them. 

Oh, hm, it really hurts to hear all of that. You remain silent, looking down until you notice he is still holding your hand. His hand is so big but warm. Oh. Hm. It’s hot all of a sudden, isn’t it? 

“Well,” he starts, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry if Roäc bothered you many times. And thank you for saving his little one.” Is he embarrassed? Oh, you would give anything to have more light to see if he is blushing!

“It’s nothing. He and other ravens helped me during the journey, so it's normal.” Now you look him in the eye, you don’t know what to add. He also seems engrossed by your eyes.

Maybe something could have happened. Well, only if his nephews didn’t enter the room abruptly, shouting they were looking for him. Or maybe it's just postponed for another time…

Fíli 

“Kíli is looking for you,” you say to Fíli once you find him cleaning one of his swords among a lot of them scattered on the floor. An impressive collection that you always wonder if you already saw all of them or not. “This time is because Dwalin has made fun of him and he wants revenge. It seems he can’t leave without you less than an hour,” you resume, smiling as you see him putting away his swords one by one. “The maximum was three days,” he replies, laughing at his own answer. “I'm surprised you found me before him.”

Can you tell him you asked for help from a bird and a dog? The town where you stopped isn’t big but it seems that Kíli couldn’t find his brother ; or maybe it was Fíli who didn't want us to find him. Anyway, you offered your help and with your capacity, it’s always easy to find someone, in exchange for some food or other information. Animals are easier to convince than humans.

“I guess I’m lucky,” you answer, shrugging as you start to walk with him. “Speaking of luck, you should speak to Oín about your recent injury. It could become infected.” Despite your serious tone, he looks at you with a smile, the radiant smile that swings the beads from his moustache, but doesn’t say anything about it. When you join his brother, they immediately start to plan to take revenge on Dwalin, leaving you to your own business before Kíli asks for your help.

During the journey, you notice Fíli disappears sometimes for a short time. You guess you need time alone when you’re a prince with an uncle like Thorin and a brother like Kíli. Even Dwalin and Balin seem to expect a lot from him. It looks exhausting, even from where you are. But, you always eventually find him when someone is looking for him, and luckily for you, he is never upset with it.

Yet, one evening when you were looking for him because Thorin needs him, you got lost in the forest. Because of the darkness of the night, your foot catches on a root and you fall suddenly to the ground. Great, now you’re hurt in addition to being lost…

You chose to sit down for a while, waiting for the pain to pass. Then, you strangely notice there are no animals around you to help you. It’s not good. Not good at all. The only time you didn't find animals in a forest was when there was an orc camp nearby. 

When you wait in this kind of situation, it’s hard to know how much time passes, but the forest is totally dark when you decide to go back to the company’s camp. Now, you can only count on your luck to find the right path and not to meet orcs…

You barely walk when you hear silent branches crackling not far from you. Just a few metres from you, one orc with a small lantern is walking. An orc scout. You don’t have time to take out your weapon that he is already running after you.

When you are about to run, a raven rushes to his face, blinding him, while someone comes from nowhere and kills him without a sound. The lantern falls in the ground and you recognise Fíli. The raven doesn’t wait to fly away, letting you both alone while he crushes the lantern and the fire with his foot.

“How did you find me?” you ask, surprised, as he takes your hand and starts walking away. “Wait, my foot is hurt, I can’t walk fast…”

He stops his steps and takes you on his back as if you weighed nothing. Oh, his hair smells like earth and metal. “My uncle’s raven helped me,” he eventually says as he starts walking. “And some of your friends showed me the forest but my uncle’s raven was the only one who wanted to go with me in this forest’s part.”

“My friends?” you frown. “A squirrel, a bird and, hm, a frog,” he says. “The last one was really hard to follow.”

You stay silent for a moment, understanding he knows you can talk to animals. “How do you know?” you eventually ask, shyly hidden behind his back.

You hear him laugh first as you both get out of the forest, seeing the company's camp nearly. “You talked with all the animals you meet. It's not hard to guess.” 

“So, everyone knows?” you exclaim, glad to be out of the forest given the volume of your voice. “I don't think so,” he says as you breathe in relief. “But I can ask them if they know about it.” 

You don't need to see him to know he's smiling. You travel enough with him and his brother to know when they take advantage of a situation. “What do you want to hold your tongue?” you ask, a little upset. “Nothing,” he replies as he puts you on the ground, his smile widening when he sees your annoyed expression. “Nothing yet,” he hurries to resume. “Let me think about it and I'll tell you.” 

As you both almost join the company's camp, the light of the fire shows his proud face. You don't know what you should expect from his future request, but you know he already enjoys it…

Kíli 

If there is something you enjoy the most in this journey, it’s teasing Kíli. His reactions are always entertaining!

It started at the beginning of the journey when he asked the company where his knife was. Thanks to a little bird’s murmur, you found it for him. He was very surprised. It was honestly so cute. 

Now the journey continues and you often answer his questions. You can even predict the rain. It’s amazing for you and troubling for him. Maybe you should tell him the truth before he imagines anything. But, well, his expressions are too cute and innocent to stop. 

Some dwarves are still suspicious about you, and this doesn't get better with all your answers. So, you would like to avoid Kíli and his questions, but it’s impossible. You’re becoming more and more friends with him, and he often speaks with you, especially in the evening after dinner, when everyone is busy with their own things. (In truth, his brother is also often with you both, when he is not with his uncle and Balin.)

Yet, something changes when you arrive in Beorn’s home. When you realise the skin-changer can also, more or less, speak with animals, you spend a lot of time with him. Used to live alone, you thought you were bothering him, but he seemed interested in talking to you about some animals, their habits, their preferences or the manner to ask them a service. 

So, as Kíli doesn’t know about your ability, he doesn’t understand your obsession for him. “Obsession” may be an exaggeration, but he really misses you. He tries to speak with you, but you often say that you’re busy with Beorn.

A night when Kíli notices you’re not sleeping yet, he looks for you in the house. His worry increases when he doesn’t find you and nobody can tell him where you are. Even if Beorn told them not to go out at night, he ends up outside, walking around the house. 

“No! Don’t get too close to me like that!” he hears you exclaim in the distance. “Don’t force me to use my strength against you!” Then he realises your voice is coming from in the barn behind the house. “No, stop! I already told you not to touch me like that!” Alright, Kíli is now running to you, abruptly opening the front door.

Following Beorn’s instructions, you spend your evenings talking to some animals and all the animals have their own personality. And this bloody dog is too affectionate and full of energy to speak with.

When Kíli enters, he shouts your name, waking up all the animals in the barn. He can’t understand them, but they’re furious against him. He runs to you until he notices the dog next to you. “What’s happening here? Are you hurt? Who is touching you? Even if he is very tall, if Beorn tries–”

“What are you talking about? Beorn didn’t do anything!” you suddenly say, standing up. Then, the dog you were talking with pokes you in the leg with his muzzle. “No, he is not!” you whisper, visibly embarrassed.

“He is not what?” Kíli asks, raising an eyebrow. You start to walk to the exit, but the dog is following you. 

“Yet, you seem important to him!” the dog barks as he walks before you and goes out when you open the door. “He often looks at you during the day. Even his brother is sick of hearing him talk about you all the time.”

“Stop saying nonsense. Join the others for the night and we’ll continue tomorrow,” you reply, not noticing that Kíli looks at you talking to the dog until the dog barks again before leaving. “So, ask him what he dreamt about yesterday night, you will know!”

The dog finally runs away, leaving you and Kíli alone walking to Beorn’s house. He stays silent, hoping you would explain what happened. Yet, you surprise him so much by asking him what his dream was last night that he can’t help but blush and lose his words. His eyes suddenly open wide and he even takes a step back. He was far from imagining that you would ask that question and you clearly understand it when he quickly wishes you a good night before leaving you alone in the entrance.

You stay a while thinking about what happened until you choose to go to sleep, hoping the dog will be talkative tomorrow.

Bilbo 

Talking to animals is so great. In exchange for information or services, they can tell you a lot of things, especially where the best fruits or nuts are. You’re clearly never hungry.

And it didn't escape the hobbit's notice! Bombur or some others saw it too, but they are still too suspicious about you to speak to you. So one afternoon, usually at tea time, Bilbo approaches you on his pony and asks you where you find your apple. You’re happy someone other than Gandalf talks to you, so you gladly tell him and give one from your bag.

That’s how you started your friendship with Mr Baggins. You even call him “Bilbo” now. But you never dared tell him your capacity. He'd think you were crazy, wouldn't he?

Bilbo knows you hide something from him, but everyone has their secrets, so he never asks you how you find those fruits and nuts. It’s only in Mirkwood that he discovers your ability. 

Mirkwood, as everyone else, turns your head and you have trouble staying focused. It’s only when the spiders attack that you notice you aren’t with the company but you can still hear them shouting in the distance. A giant spider finds you, then another. It’s clearly impossible to flee, so let’s try talking?

Well. You try the same technique that Bilbo used with the trolls, but they are more intelligent than them. “It’s the first time a meal can understand us. It’s amusing, don’t you think?” one says to the other. “You’re right, let’s enjoy it a little longer.” 

They talk to you until you don’t hear anything but them. No dwarves’ shouting anymore. Some other spiders join their friends and now, you’re in the middle of a circle of so many giant spiders that you’re ready to faint. You continue to speak, hoping the elves will be here any minute.

But to your surprise, you hear one of the spiders cries and falls, then another. But you don’t see any elf. 

Then Bilbo appears, provokes the spiders, runs far away before disappearing again. All the spiders run in his direction, leaving you alone. You take advantage of it to free the dwarves and then, the elves finally find you like they should have.

After the elves’ dungeons and the escape, it’s only on the freezing Bard’s boat that you can speak again with Bilbo. You sit next to him, wrapping yourself to keep you warm. “I haven't had time to thank you for the spiders yet…” you say, knowing he saw you talk to them. “They seemed to enjoy chatting with you,” he chuckles. 

“I prefer to chat with you,” you say, closing your eyes and letting your head fall on his shoulders. Some dwarves smile but remain silent. You can’t see it but Bilbo’s face has never been so warm despite the cold of the lake.

[artist-issues]

I’m going to say it.

I don’t think How to Train Your Dragon 3 was good.

Not when you compare it to literally either of the other movies. Certainly not as a conclusion.

I mean, the first movie was about a boy who manages to understand a hostile dragon species and bring peace to two warring factions, which is a parallel for his relationship with his father. The second film was about how sometimes, peace has to be fought for, and Hiccup’s whole identity was in contrast with that—because while his mother ran from conflict and his father leapt at it too eagerly, he had always been the one to stop the fighting. Then he has to learn that the things we love are worth protecting. 

And after he learns that humans and dragons can learn to understand each other and coexist—after he learns that it isn’t enough to run and hide or fight out of fear, but instead you must protect the things you care about—

After those two natural, powerful progressions are clearly worked for in the first two movies—

How to Train Your Dragon 3 comes along and says “‘No actually, sometimes all it takes is one madman whom you defeated with no loss of life to convince you that the things you care about should just crawl into a very pretty hiding hole, because you don’t feel like spending the rest of your life fighting for them.”

And I can say more. Below the break. 

Because I’ve waited a long time to talk about this. Everybody around me was saying that the third HTTYD movie was sooo good, how could I not love it, what was my problem, they’re crying in the theater seats around me, they’re all moved, but nobody can tell me why. What makes HTTYD3 so good, STORY WISE? What makes the fact that Toothless, who is established as “Hiccup’s Other Half” and his character’s support, leaving, a good conclusion?

And it’s not just that my feelings were hurt at the idea of this iconic duo being split up in the finale. 

It just doesn’t make any sense. Because the main thing that the whole series was built around was the adversity Hiccup and Toothless were always going to come up against, because they shouldn’t be friends. The whole first movie is like “dragons and Vikings hate and kill each other, there’s no way to get over this fear, nobody can be around Night Furies without dying,” and Hiccup and Toothless literally fly in the face of that. Then the whole second movie is “dragons either have to be left completely alone to themselves and their ways in the wild apart from man, or they have to be brutally enslaved as war machines under man’s boot” and then Hiccup and Toothless fly in the face of that. They stick together as their own, unique partnership, and it changes the world in HTTYD and in HTTYD2.

And then in the third movie, boom, Toothless suddenly doesn’t belong with Hiccup anymore? Suddenly it’s essential that he live completely separate, alone with “his own kind?” Suddenly it’s too hard and too dangerous to protect this dragon-Viking way of life that the whole first and second movie worked for?

I mean. They even abandon Berk. They fought so hard for Berk throughout three television series and two excellent movies. 

And I get it. The idea is that, they left Berk because Berk is a people, so no matter where they go Berk is still alive, just like no matter where Toothless goes, his friendship with Hiccup is “still alive.” And that’s a fine theme, I guess, except it totally makes the first two movies seem worthless. It makes Hiccup’s mom seem right for abandoning her family and giving up on the idea that humans and dragons could ever live peacefully. According to HTTYD3, Hiccup and Toothless never should have interacted again after he cut Toothless free of the net. Because Toothless should’ve just…gone on to live with his own kind.

Oh except he couldn’t, because Hiccup knocked his tail fin off and Toothless needed Hiccup. Just like Hiccup was weird and innovative in a time of traditional brutish Vikings, and he, in his own way needed Toothless. So they couldn’t live among their own kind without one another. 

And I see that HTTYD3 is trying to say “‘yes, they needed each other, but now they’ve grown up and the only thing left to learn is how to let go and move on.” But you know what, if you were going to tell me that, you shouldn’t have made the driving motivation for these characters to leave one another: “too many bad guys keep inevitably attacking us.”

You also shouldn’t have made the secondary driving motivation: “Toothless likes a pretty girl dragon and he can’t be with her and be with Hiccup because she’s Too Wild.™” Because guess what? The other thing that all of the previous canon content set up was that Hiccup can basically tame and befriend any wild dragon.

There are very few dragons, even in the TV show, that he cannot make friends with and live side-by-side with, and the ones that existed were basically just big, angry killing machines who presented themselves as way more threatening in mannerisms than the Light Fury does in the third movie. The Red Death eats other dragons; the Light Fury warns other dragons of traps. The Skrill tries to lightning-fry every human around it; the Light Fury only ever plasma blasts at humans that surprise her while she’s actively snooping around their camp.

I am willing to buy a story where a dragon needs to be free of his human master if he wants to have a future with his own kind, but you can’t do that if the dragon in the story is Toothless and the master in the story is Hiccup. Because those characters’ relationship was established as the future of their kind. Viking’s way forward was dragons—dragons’ way forward was Vikings. 

And that brings up another bone of contention with me—the first reason for the finale split-up—what made Grimmel so terrifying that it convinced Hiccup to uproot his whole tribe from their ancestral home and eventually give up on fighting for his dragon/Viking way of life, and Toothless himself? Was it that Grimmel was a better strategist than Hiccup? Because Grimmel lost and died, so there’s no reason for that to remain the reason. Was it because Viggo had a whole army of people that were slapped together to hastily represent “the rest of the world” and a bunch of dragons—again, DRAGONS, Hiccup’s specialty—to attack them with? Because again, all of them lost. And Berk sacrificed nothing in the process, unless you count, like…stress.

And DON’T give me any crap about the epilogue. Don’t tell me “‘Oh, OP, you totally ignored the part at the end where Toothless and Hiccup’s new families visit each other, they’re not gone forever, they’re just Friends From Afar, living at peace, protecting the peace by staying apart.”

That is 1) a terrible cowardly step back from any emotional impact that the big goodbye and sense of sacrifice that living apart from each other should have given the audience, and 2) still doesn’t negate the fact that Hiccup and Toothless WERE fighting for their way of life, which was living together, since movie 1, and the fact is whether they visit each other or not they still don’t get to have that anymore. For no good reason. I could say more. I could talk about how silly I think a lot of the Light Fury plot is, how poorly set-up the Hidden World was as a conclusion piece, blah blah blah. But instead, I’ll just leave this quote from the end of How to Train Your Dragon 2, and you tell me how the logical conclusion to this quote was “let’s abandon our home and stuff our dragons in a hiding-hole because the enemies and armies that have never once actually defeated us are just too much hassle to keep fighting with.”

“This is Berk. A bit trampled and busted and covered in ice, but it's home. It's our home. Those who attacked us, are relentless, and crazy. But those who stopped them, oh, even more so! We may be small in numbers, but we stand for something bigger than anything the world can pin against us. We are the voice of peace, and bit by bit, we will change this world. You see, we have something they don't. Oh, sure, they have armies, and they have armadas. But we... we have... OUR DRAGONS!"

[avatarmerida]

Hey fellow losers I’m back with more beta huntlow fluff. I know I’ve written some Paulina/William stuff before but this is based on the most recent even more beta huntlow we got from the leaked show bible. So we’ve gone from awkward little prince and fumbling quirky girl to feral witch hunter and equally feral creepy plant girl and I also love them too so hope ya like it 💛💚

———

“And if the water boils here how do all the plants live?” William asked, balancing on the fence along Paulina’s garden as she did some maintenance and planted some new seeds they had found in the forest. She never tired of answering his many questions about the demon realm, especially about the flora and fauna.

“The same way they do in the human realm I suppose,” she said with a small shrug. “I think the stems here have more coating than the plants you’ve seen, but a lot of plants close up during the rain to protect their petals.”

“Interesting,” he said, jumping down to look at her work closer. “How do you persuade the ones with teeth not to bite you?”

“I just keep them well feed, they don’t nip unless they’re hungry or scared,” she said. “But feeding them the food that helps keep their teeth healthy is tricky because it smells kinda gross.”

“They can smell it?”

“They sure can.”

“Fascinating,” he marveled, looking at them closer to see if he could understand how.

“Can I ask you a question?” Paulina asked, wiping some stray dirt from her glasses.

“Of course you may,” replied William, sitting on the ground beside her.

“Why are you still so upset with Luz?” She asked, changing topics. She saw his body language shift.

“I think it’s very clear why,” he said softly.

“You know she didn’t wake you up early on purpose,” she said gently. “She’s really a very nice person, and she genuinely thought she was helping you. Is there anything she can do to prove she’s sorry?”

“I’m not upset that she woke me from my slumber, I'm upset that she was able to,” sighed William, hugging his knees.

“What do you mean? Do you not want to be here?” Paulina asked, hoping it wasn’t the case. Selfishly, she liked having him around.

“When it happened… my uncle told me I’d awaken to a better world. That the suffering and confusion I was around would be gone. That I’d be awoken gently by my…”

“By who?”

“… by my true love.” He said under his breath, almost as though he was embarrassed to utter the words.

“Oh, so you think that Luz is your-.”

“Ew! Bleh, no!” He exclaimed in disgust. “Er, sorry that was rude. No, no I don’t think that. But I think she able to awaken me the way she did because I don’t have a true love.”

“Oh,” Paulina breathed, seeing the genuine hurt slip though the cracks as he tried to keep his lip from trembling. She ventured this was the first time he had said the sentiment aloud. “Or maybe the spell just wore off.”

“Or maybe it just gave up,” he said with a hurt chuckle. “I mean, it makes sense; maidens didn’t favor me before, why would they ever start now? I was better off sleeping forever, giving the world some peace.”

“William, don't say that,” she said, taking his hand. He didn’t flinch at her dirt covered hands.

“It’s true, is it not?” He sighed, focusing on her knuckles decorated with grass stains and tiny scars from the thorns she did not fear. “I cause you nothing but trouble despite you showing me nothing but kindness.”

“Well technically I did threaten to feed you to my plant,” she reminded him. It was certainly a unique first impression.

“Twas for my own good,” he said. “Plus knowing you as I do now, I know it was merely a jest to teach me a lesson. You are kind and patient and I’m just a nuisance.”

“No you’re not!” She insisted. “Okay, well maybe a little at first, but you’ve changed! You’re still learning and adapting, growth doesn’t happen all at once overnight.” She gestured to her garden as proof, a mixture of progress and color. “Love is the same way, ya know. Usually you have to get to know someone first before you label them as your ‘true love.’” She carefully plucked a vibrant yellow flower and placed it behind his ear.

“So… you don’t believe in love at first sight?” He asked timidly as she went back to her gardening.

He remembered when he first saw her, how there was a rosey spotlight around her like a halo. How time slowed down so he could soak in every detail of her beauty, memorize her voice and her movements before reality set back in and with it brought a new breed of confusion. He didn’t know better, but upon reflection the whole ordeal felt like what the poetry he had read in secret during his studies labeled as the phenomenon of love at first sight. His eyes had not seen such a thing before and ever since.

“Hmmm, not really?” Paulina pondered. “I think it’s different for everyone, but I also don’t think I’d want to marry someone I don’t know who kissed me while I was sleeping.”

“That is a fair point,” William chuckled, leaning over to help her make another hole in the ground for her next round of seeds. “You’re correct, as usual.”

“Exactly, and I’m also correct when I say if you want to fall in love then you will,” said Paulina. “You just have to give it time, it’s not something you can force.”

“You know… much about love then?”

“I mean, my dads really love each other but they didn’t get married the second they met,” she said. “They got to know each other first and they didn’t meet the way they thought they’d meet their spouse. Everyone’s story is different.”

“But it’s also possible that some of us aren’t meant to have a story.”

She couldn’t deny that, but she refused to accept a world where a boy who seemed to cherish love so much wasn’t meant to have it. “Maybe she was able to wake you because she was meant to introduce you to your true love.”

“Perhaps,” he said, his mind fully focusing on how she had been the first person Luz had introduced him to. He couldn’t complain about that logic.

“It also might help if you had a crush first,” added Paulina, carefully pressing the dirt back into the ground as though tucking it into bed.

“Like a duel?”

“Oh well, a crush is like… what comes before someone is your true love,” she tried to explain without divulging how complicated they could truly get. “Like, having positive feelings about someone, and wanting to spend time with them without, like, getting married after a few days. Just like thinking of them romantically.”

“I think I may… have formed this crush.”

“Oh! On who?” She asked with enthusiasm that made him quiet. Paulson wore her heart on her sleeve, but he had trouble expressing anything that was not deeply rooted in fact. Or at least, the facts he had been feed. A few moments ago he didn’t have the words to describe his feelings let alone validation their were sinful. He didn’t know the proper way to share them.

“Wel… um…”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Paulina quickly, sensing the answer was hard for him to bring forth. “I didn’t consider it could be someone from your original time. I’m sorry if that was too forward, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“And… not wanting to share it doesn’t make it wrong?” William asked.

“Of course not,” she assured him. “You’re allowed to have secrets, and if you want to tell me eventually that’s fine too; you decide when and if you’re ready. I mean, I’ve had tons of crushes on very different people but sometimes they’re just something small, ya know? Sometimes they take awhile to figure out and sometimes they go away on their own, each one is different.”

“Has there ever been one you weren’t able to escape?”

“Well, I don’t know if I would word it like that,” she chuckled. “Having a crush is supposed to be fun, it’s exciting. And sometimes scary, but that also makes it fun. Like a rollercoaster.”

“A roller… coaster?”

“Oh yeah I forgot,” she giggled. “I’ll have to show you one.”

“A… crush?”

“No a rollercoaster,” she said.

“Ah, haha yes of course,” he laughed nervously, painfully aware that he could not seem to stop. “So w-what does one do if they don’t wish to have the crush dissolved?”

“Well I guess you could ask the person you have a crush on to go on a date with you.”

“And a date is like… a courtship, yes? I would seek to woo them?”

She giggled. “Yes, you would seek to woo them.”

He didn’t know what he said that was so humorous but he’d say it everyday for the rest of his life it meant getting to hear her laugh like that.

“Ah, well then. That’s another obstacle, as I know not the way to do so,” he said with a slight frown. “Especially in this foreign, modern land I feel that any outing I plan would not be up to her standards.”

Paulina’s ears perked, her first suspicion dashed as William made it clear the person he liked was someone he had met since he had awakened, which meant it was more than likely that she knew the person as well.

She wondered how well she knew them.

“I mean, like you said I still have much to learn about this world and this time,” he sighed. “But regardless, I’m still myself and I can’t help but feel as though someone discovering I have this crush for them would be most unwanted.”

“I don’t think so,” said Paulina. “I think they’ll think it’s sweet.”

“Surely you jest,” he scoffed. “You’re kind to spare my feelings but I’m sure if this person was aware of my thoughts regarding them they’d be repulsed and uncomfortable.”

“Well I’m sure they’d be perfectly fine with it,” she insisted. “After getting to know you these last few months I can tell you’re actually really sweet, even if you don’t think so. Give yourself more credit.”

“Oh so if I were to tell you I fancy you and wish to spend my days with you, you wouldn’t find it revolting?” He asked as though it was the most comical thing he could imagine.

“No.”

“Oh.” He said, surprised at how quickly and confidently she replied. He cleared his throat and dared to continue. “S-so if I were to say that I would consider it an honor to hold your hand and escort you anywhere you wish to go, you wouldn’t find it inappropriate?”

“No.”

“A-and if I told you you have the most captivating, soft eyes I’ve ever seen and that they make precious jewels envious you would be… okay with that?”

“Um…” Paulina found herself speechless, struck by his words like they were an arrow destined for her very heart.

“Oh yes of course that sentiment is made of cheese, as you might say.” He laughed, slightly embarrassed. “I should have realized my attempts at poetry were novice at best. I apologize if the example was offensive, I should have-.”

“No, no it was very nice!” she said quickly, not wanting to prevent him from saying such lovely things. “It was a beautiful thought, Will. I think anyone would like to hear that.”

“Truly? Uh, well thank you,” he said, unable to hide the blush that danced across his freckles. “Eh, but I’m sure you hear things such as that daily from your suitors.”

“My suitors?” She repeated with a snort. “Oof, now that’s a good one.”

But William did not find it humorous. “I’m sorry, I’m confused.”

“Well let’s just say when other witches my age notice me it’s usually not for the best reasons,” she said. “Most of them think I’m weird or creepy.”

“My apologies again, I’m still getting accustomed to the colloquialisms of this time, do those terms mean something different now?”

“No, I’m pretty sure they mean the same thing now as they did back then,” she said with a small smile, secretly recalling how when they first met William had a similar impression of her, though in fairness it was more about the witch aspect than her specifically. She wondered when exactly that had changed. “I’ve never been very popular. In fact, after Amity stopped talking to me and until I met Augustus most of my closest friends were plants.”

“Well perhaps it is because those plants have the sense to appreciate being in the presence of a rose.”

It was her turn to blush now. “Well, aren’t you the secret romantic?” She giggled, impressed with how quickly he had provided the response. They sat in silence a moment as William realized he hadn’t complimented her hypothetically this time and that something in her tone had shifted. As much as Paulina was willing to try and spare his feelings, he knew she would not lead him astray in this manner. She would not lie to him about this, but did that mean her words applied to her?

“Miss Park… I have a favor of sorts to ask of you,” he began, taking a deep breath.

“Of course,” she said, and he was taken back by how quickly she had agreed. She didn’t even ask what was in it for her benefit, like he was worthy of her assistance without any bribery.

“I will admit I know little of the courtship rituals from my time and even less about the present ones and I was hoping that you would be willing to help… educate me.”

“Oh yeah?” She said with a smirk, scooting closer to him. “How so?”

He could feel his hands get sweatier under his gloves. “Well, would I perchance be able to take you on an outing I believe suitable for expressing such… feelings,” he said as he cleared his throat as though the word made him dizzy. “And you advise me on if it was a suitable choice? I can compensate you for your time, I’ve been saving the snails I’ve acquired in exchange for my sewing and tailoring skills. We can have a grand collection of treats!”

“That sounds really nice,” said Paulina, adoring the way his full smile was on display and she could see the gap in his teeth without him shying away, too caught up in his own hypothetical excitement. “I would love to go out with you William.”

“Okay, wonderful,” he managed to squeak, and his eyes lit up in a way Paulina had never seen before. “I will uh I shall make all the arrangements! What day favors your schedule?”

“I’m fine with whatever day works best for you.”

“The sooner the better!” He exclaimed, louder than he intended to. He swiftly adjusted his volume. “I-I just mean for research purposes. I look forward to the learning aspect of the evening, heh.”

“I’m excited too,” she said and he couldn’t control the wide grin that consumed his whole face. She began to pat down the dirt to help support the budding bulb she had been keeping an eye on, ready to bloom any day now. “Do you think at the end you might be ready to tell me who you have a crush on?”

“I think that if everything goes as planned… I will be. Yes.”

[xdacted]

The art of sibling hood

Paring: sister!Reader & Charles Leclerc

Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3,815

Status: Complete

***Request made by reader***

Summer break offers us a sliver of peace. 

No teams are calling, no coaches screaming, no clients to take care of - there is nothing but family. For a few weeks out of the year, all we have is each other. I can’t ask for anything better. 

We all gather at our mother’s house, hiding away there with her. It’s nice, to all be under the same roof again, we haven’t been since Lorenzo first moved out. It only worsened when I decided to take my training to France. 16 years of living under one roof was gone in an instant. We had lived together our entire lives until that point. 

It was like losing a piece of myself. 

But then, after the sadness rolled away, I was filled with so much joy. To know that both Charles and Arthur were chasing their dream, to see them every weekend battling it out on the track. Though my mother refused to watch, I always did. 

But there is always more I want to know, more I want to see. I can’t help myself from asking questions. The countries they see, the people they meet - it’s a world I’ll never know. I almost got involved, my father put me in karting as a child, but it was never my passion. Not the way it was with Arthur and Charles. I found my calling in school. 

At six, I was sitting among my classmates in the gymnasium, watching as our instructor introduced the sport of fencing. He was trying to start a club, with a school as small as ours, it wasn’t very likely to happen. 

He brandished the swords, explaining the rules. My friend, Anies, had fallen asleep on my shoulder, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I was transfixed, hooked. That day, I ran home, with the club papers in my hand and begged my parents.

At first, Papa was hesitant, telling me that this sport was a fighting spot - I wasn’t a ‘fighting girl’. But I pleaded, hooking my arms around his neck and staring up at him. This was my dream. Fencing was racing to me. Fencing was everything. 

What I didn’t understand was that fencing was also incredibly expensive. With two children karting and one in fencing, I remember the night I caught Mum and Papa talking it over, they couldn’t afford it. 

I was lucky enough to be given a scholarship by a fencing club, I would have the funding to chase my dream. Arthur, however, was not so lucky. I remember how he cried, screaming and howling into his pillow. He mourned the loss of his sport, but he was never angry. Just sad. 

I shake off the memories when Charles calls my name. 

“What?”

He looks at me, staring at me from his seat on the floor, arms holding his knees close to him. He and Arthur are playing some card game they explained more than once - but I have never cared to learn. Arthur glares at the cards below him, flipping them over in his hand.

He laughs, “I asked how training was going?”

“Good,” I burrow further into the couch, pulling a blanket across my shoulders, “When I go back, I have a tournament in Italy.”

“Well,” Arthur huffs, still fixed on the game, “You’re already a World Champion - Ugh! Charles, you’re cheating! This is why I hate playing with you!”

Charles throws his hands up, turning to Arthur with an indignant expression, “I am not a cheater. I am a man of honor, you just suck.”

With a curse, Arthur throws his cards down. 

He stands, “You’re a cheat and you know it.”

“You just don’t know how to lose.”

Arthur throws himself beside me, moving the pillows so he can lean against them, crossing his arms in front of him. I don’t have to hide my laughter, I let it slip from me. The laughter is easy, the tension from yesterday gone. Charles had still been insistent on apologizing, even when I told him to just drop it. 

My brother is one of the kindest people in the world. 

“What about you?” I dare to ask, offering Arthur some of my blanket, “How’s Ferrari treating you?”

I don’t need to ask because I already know. Even from across the world, every Sunday, I watch him. Every Sunday, I watch my brother get into that car and put his life on the line. And every Sunday I watch Ferrari screw him over. My teammates were getting far too tired of my outbursts. 

Charles clears his throat, looking down at the cards scattered across the floor. He sweeps them together, shuffling them, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

I’m stepping on thin ice. My brothers like to assume that when it came to racing they knew everything, but I had grown up around this. My father was a racer and now my brothers were racers - it was in my blood. I had just chosen not to pursue it. 

“Yes, fine.” He pushes himself up, standing and walking to the edge of the couch. 

“If you say so, brother,” Charles opens his mouth to speak, but the sound of the doorbell cuts him off. 

He practically leaps over the couches, nearly tripping over the carpet, to throw the door open. My mother hardly has time to scold him as she steps inside her room because cheery voices are ringing out through the house. 

“Hello!”

Lorenzo comes bounding from upstairs and Arthur rolls off the couch, kicking the blanket away from him. The three women who step inside the house bring the light of the shining sun with them. 

“Girls!” I cry, it has been so long since I’ve last seen them. 

Carla sees me first, throwing her hands in the air. She pushes past Arthur to sweep me into a hug. The position is awkward, as her body curves over the couch and I attempt to reach up to her, but I can feel her laughter vibrate within her chest. 

“Did you get in today?” Her eyes are shining and the glasses perched atop her head threaten to fall, “Why didn’t you text me?”

“I wanted to surprise you, of course!” When we pull away, Charlotte and Alexandria are right beside us. 

“We need to get breakfast while you’re here,” Charlotte says, pressing her hands together. It isn’t so much a request as it is a plan in motion. 

I just nod along. I look around, my brother’s waiting behind them with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased expression. 

“What?”

“They’re supposed to be here to see us.”

“No,” Charlotte says, wrapping her arms around me, “We’re here for her and of course - Pascale.”

“Hello, dear,” Mum says, Carla placing welcoming kisses on her cheeks. 

I turn to my left, Alex having taken a seat in the open space that Arthur left. 

“Hey,” I whisper, pulling her close. 

“Hi,” She whispers back. 

There’s something different. I can tell when she hugs me, pressing a kiss on my cheek. When we pull away, there’s a glow to her skin and a twinkle in her eyes. 

“Is there -?” 

Charles is draped across her in a second, gentle hands on her shoulders, “She is my girlfriend. Please, do not be selfish.”

Alex only rolls her eyes and I can’t help but follow. 

What a drama queen. 

__________

I watch Charles and Alex as Mum bustles around the kitchen. It’s little, but something is different. I can feel it. Something about the way Charles has an arm curled around her waist or the way she clings to his arm. They keep eyeing the rest of us, Alex turning around to whisper in his ear. 

Hm. How strange. 

Alex was quite shy, this much became evident when I first met her, but she was by no means afraid of the family. Just a few weeks earlier she had come to visit me in France, we spent the day together and had been texting each other constantly. 

What could it be?

I met her eyes and she sharply turned away from me. 

A secret then. 

Papa liked to say that I inherited Mum’s gift for reading people, especially my brothers. Even when we’re separated by seas, I know when something’s bothering them. I know when something is wrong. 

But this - this was different. 

I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. 

But, my mind can help but wonder, what if - no. Could it be?

“Arthur.”

He hardly looks up from his phone, “Hm?”

“Wanna make a bet?”

“What kind of bet?” He asks, still scrolling. 

I lean in closer, “I think Alex is pregnant.”

Arthur nearly drops his phone. He whips his head over to look at me, mouth agape, “What?!”

“Sh!” I smack his arm, he is going to give us away, “You’re so loud…”

“Why do you think she’s pregnant?” He whisper-shouts, “That’s crazy. Charles would’ve told us.”

“Maybe he’s going to tell us tonight,” I shrug, pulling away from him. 

“Are you in or out?” I crossed my legs, my gut feelings were always strong. I’d guessed many things over the years and felt a change within the people around me before they told me. I’d known Charles got signed to Ferrari before he told us, or that Arthur was going to be moved to F2, or that Lorenzo had met someone new - all of these things, I’d felt. All of these things I guessed. 

Maybe I was a bit psychic. 

“You’re on,” He stuck his hand out, “€10?”

I scoffed, “That’s nothing - €100.”

“You could be wrong.”

“I could be right,” I looked down at his waiting hand. 

“€50?”

I slapped my hand in his, “€50 it is!”

“You’re going down,” He whispered, squeezing my hand. I kick at his shin.

“Ow!”

“That’s what you get, dumbass.”

“LANGUAGE!”

__________

Dinner is an easy affair. The time ticks by slowly, but none of us mind. Warm and laughter fill the house, everyone staying at the table after the food has long been eaten. Stories are tossed around and jokes float about, it's peaceful. 

A peace that’s so very addicting. 

Here, I can forget that I have to leave in only a few days. I can tell that the boys forget too, throwing themselves over Mum and the table. Arthur laughs so hard that he snorts and Lorenzo’s jokes have Charles reduced to tears - it’s all so nostalgic. 

As we eat, I can see Charles and Alex glance at each other, watching as he scoops her hand in his. She whispers something in his ear and he nods. 

Before I know it, they are both standing. 

“I,” He clears his throat, “I have something to say - well, we do, actually...”

“Well,” Alex begins, a bright smile pulling over her face, “Charles and I are expecting a - a child.”

The table erupts into cheers and exclamations. Mum drops her head into her hands, and before we can rush over, she looks up with tears in her eyes and a dazzling smile on her lips. We stand to offer them hugs and kisses, pats, and words of encouragement. 

“I told you!” I cry. 

Arthur lets out a loud groan, pushing his face into his hands, “Why?”

Confusion is written across their face and I can only laugh

I hold out a waiting hand.

With another groan and a roll of his eyes, he shoves his hand into his pockets, pulling out the €50 I’m owed. The bill is crunched and he drops it into my palm with little fanfare. 

“This is so unfair,” Arthur throws his arms around my shoulders, “How could you have possibly known?”

“I just do,” I shrug, looking up at him with a smile, “I’m just that good.”

“I knew it,” Carla giggles, “You are a psychic.”

I lock eyes with Mum over the table, she flashes me a smile.

“Of course,” I say, “I learned from the very best.”

__________

The ocean calls our name, the lull of the tides and the crashing of the waves. Such a beautiful song and we can do nothing but dance to it. With the sun shining down on our backs, we pile into Charles’s boat, clinging to the railing as we push away from the dock. The salt of the air tangles in my hair, and gentle winds give us a beautiful day. The weather was perfect, the sea was calm. What more could we ever ask for?

We spend the day lounging about the boat, pushing and shoving each other in the water. I manage to convince Charles to let me take the smaller boat out for a spin, with Carla clinging to the seats, and Charolette cheering us on from the deck above. I can’t help but dissolve into laughter at his face, twisted with worry. 

The water is cool against our heated skin, it invites us in for more. The longer we stay, the more we forget about the world that surrounds us. It is nearly enough to make me forget about my flight in only a few days. I will have to leave and this will all become a memory. 

But what a beautiful memory it will be. 

I can’t dwell on my thoughts, because Charlotte demands that we all jump. There is little fanfare for Charles and Lorenzo as they practically wrestle to the sea below. Arthur grips my hand as we jump, throwing ourselves into the Moncao air, caught by the arms of the sea. 

It is perfect. It is home. 

When the sun begins to dip in the sky, my mother draws herself up from the couch and claims that dinner will not ready itself. The others agree and begin to shuffle off but Carla and I are the last to get back from the boat. Though Charles has always held the title of ‘captain’, I have always maintained that the sea is but a little requirement for boating. We stayed behind to just lounge about in the sun, only coming back to the house when she got a frantic call from Arthur, telling her to come back. 

“What’s…” The words die in our throats when we see Alex huddled in the corner, sobbing into her hands. Charlotte stands over her, rubbing a reassuring hand over her back, whispering something into her ear. 

Before we can say another word, Arthur and Lorenzo interrupt us. He pulls us into a corner of the house, wiping his hands on his shorts. His eyes dart around the room, lip caught between his teeth. 

“What happened?” Carla demands. 

“It - it was the press,” Arthur manages, “They got pictures from earlier, on the boat.”

I need to hear little else. I dig my phone from my bag.

Finding the photo doesn’t take much work. It’s there as soon as I open Twitter, Alexandria and Charles standing on the balcony of the boat. Her hands on her stomach, nothing there to show - not yet - but the implication is enough for the media to run with. 

I can hardly breathe. 

Anger coils tight within me. 

Fucking vultures. 

Carla gasps from beside me, pressing a hand to her mouth. The headlines make my stomach turn. Far too atrocious to look at, I shove my phone back into my bag. Carla is quick to slip from beside me, rushing over to the couch, and dropping to her knees beside Alex. 

Haven’t they gone through enough? Have people not thrown Alex into the fire already? Had they not already ripped her apart? I remember the articles and the tweets when their relationship went public, the look of sadness on her face. People hated her simply because she loved Charles. How they got together and why they got together was no one’s business but their own. 

“Where -” I cut myself off, dropping my voice lower, “Where’s Charles?”

For a moment, Lorenzo doesn’t answer me, phone in hand. I can’t tell who’s calling, but the grave look on his face is all I need to know. He shakes his head, dragging a hand through his hair. 

“He’s outside,” He whispers, sparing a look over at Alex, “He stormed out and won’t come back in.”

“Of course! He’s upset!” I hiss, this was private. This was personal. The media has taken that away from him. 

Lorenzo holds his hands up, “I’m not saying he shouldn’t be - I’m not saying that I’m not,” He sighs, “But this is more - this is more than just…”

He looks away, rubbing a hand over his face, “He can’t run from this now.” 

I turn away from Lorenzo and the tears begin to gather in my eyes before I can gather the courage to force them back. I wrap my arms around myself, afraid that I might throw something across the room. 

This wasn’t right. 

Summer is our time. 

There is never any anger, never any sadness. That’s the world that waits beyond the walls of our home, that is the world we leave behind. We shut it all out because summer break is just us. I don’t realize that I’ve begun to dig my fingers into the flesh of my arm until Arthur yanks my hands away. 

He doesn’t say anything, just squeezing my hands in his. I can’t look at him, but I feel his gaze on me. When he releases me, my hands drop back down to my sides. I suck in a large gulp of air, trying to calm the pounding of my heartbeat. 

Before I can make my way to Alex, Charlotte stops me. She holds her hand up, a sad smile on her face. 

‘We’ve got it,’ She mouths, ‘Go.’

Her eyes flicker to the terrace, doors closed tightly. I can see, in the shadows of the darkness, Charles. 

“I’ll be back,” I whisper, reaching out to squeeze Arthur’s shoulder before I walk towards the doors. 

I gently push them open, waiting for Charles to scream out that he wasn’t privacy, that he needs space, but he never does

I step through. 

Charles stands out on the balcony, hands clutching onto the terrace railing. He stares into the swaying trees of our backyard, the melting sun casting a glow around the shadow of the house. Though the wind blows, there is no twinkle of windchimes. There is no echo of laughter or memory of youth, there is nothing. The light from the entry room spills across his back, but he doesn’t turn. 

The silence is thick, sitting heavily atop the both of us. With his back turned to me, I can’t see his face. There’s a selfish part of me that never wants to. I never want to see the pain and anger on my brother’s face. I never want to watch his heart fall apart before me. He is my family, an extension of myself. 

“Why can’t they just leave us alone?” 

His voice is hardly above a whisper, nearly consumed by the distant sounds of the city, but I hear. It cuts through the silence, piercing it with ease. There is sadness in his voice and I can feel the tears burn once more. His shoulders slump forward, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. For a movement, I fear that he might collapse. 

I take a tentative step forward. 

My brother is many things. Charles is competitive and rash, he is hard-working and self-deprecating. But he is also kind and forgiving, with a smile like the sun and a laugh like the sea. He is good. Our Papa used to say that Lorenzo and I got all the anger and bite, as it never seemed that Charles could hate, to be spiteful. 

Always the first to take the blame, always the first to vouch, always the first to arrive, always the last to go. 

My brother is good. 

And the world is cruel. 

“Charles,” I whisper, he doesn’t turn.

I reach for him, my fingertips barely grazing the fabric of his shirt, “Charles.”

He finally turns, biting his lip, tears in his eyes. The words die in my throat. There is nothing I can say to fix his pain, nothing I can do to take his unhappiness away. It kills me. They may be my older brothers, but I have always been fiercely protective of them. To hurt them was to hurt me - and to hurt them was unforgivable. 

And Charles. 

Charles, who flew through the night to catch my competitions. Charles, who cheered me on, even if he knew nothing about fencing. Charles, who always had an extra Paddock Pass for me. Charles, who always let me have his last cookie or pastry. Charles, who held me when I wailed for weeks after Papa’s passing. Charles put the money he earned in Formula 1 into getting Arthur back into carting. Charles, who always called to scream ‘Happy Birthday’ in my ear. 

That Charles. 

My brother Charles, would forgive. He will see it as a mistake, he will blame himself. In only a few hours, he will make a statement and tell the truth - because that’s just who he is. 

I throw my arms open and catch him as he falls into them. 

He doesn’t cry, not at first, just clinging onto me. But then, the moment that Alex’s cries drift onto the open terrace, he begins to weep. He sobbed into my shoulder, pressing his wet face into the fabric of my shirt. He clutches my hand, and I can do nothing but hold him. 

I hold him and let him fall apart. 

From over Charle’s shoulder, I see Arthur peeking out at us. He wrings his hands, twisting his fingers around. He can’t sit still, pacing around the room, brushing Carla away when she tries to calm him. 

I gesture for him to come and he does. 

Before I can say a word, he’s wrapping his arms around Charles, burying his face into his back. 

“We’ll fix this,” He mumbles, “I - I don’t know how, but we will.”

Charles doesn’t speak, he just searches for Arthur’s hand blindly in the pile of libs and holds on. It’s all we can do. I feel like I am 15 years old, losing our father again. It feels just as it did then, unbearable. But we do just what we did then, we hold each other. Clinging onto the only people that we have known since before we knew them, the only people that will love us even when no one else does. 

The only person -

Lorenzo is there, strong arms trying to tuck us all into him. I can feel his warmth against my back and push my face into his chest. 

“We’ve got you, Charlie,” He says, “We’ve got you.”

We do. 

We always will. 

_________________________

A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3

[starsreminisce]

I have to preface this by saying that I really don’t care who gets the next book; this is more about me trying to get my thoughts out.

A lot of people are basing their expectations for the next ACOTAR book on HOFAS, and I feel like this is another situation where, despite being told how influential ACOTAR was going to be for HOFAS, it ended up being just Nesta and Azriel on a walking museum tour with Bryce under the Court of Nightmares. Someone who had never read ACOTAR wouldn’t have missed out much on who the ACOTAR characters were. I feel like the same mistake is being made by relying too much on HOFAS for Azriel and Gwyn to take the lead in the next book.

It’s not about a character being at their lowest to prompt the next main character; it’s about a character needing to exhaust all viable options in their current circumstances before they are presented with a change that will help them.

That’s basic storytelling when starting out a book. In the first chapter, there needs to be a hook—the “why,” the Call to Action.

In ACOTAR, it was Feyre killing the wolf; in ACOMAF, it was Feyre struggling post-UTM and finding comfort in the night sky; in ACOWAR, it was Hybern coming to the Spring Court; and in ACOSF, it was Nesta’s intervention.

Even HOFAS’s first chapter started with Lidia to preview her upcoming revolt later in the book.

There are theories that Elain will see Azriel pull away from her, become more drawn to Gwyn, and that they’ll end up being mates, which would then push Elain to focus on Lucien because Azriel is now soul-bound to someone else.

The problem I have with that theory is that Elain already has a mating bond that she’s avoiding, and seeing Azriel happy with his mate isn’t going to force her to finally face her own bond. She has Nesta’s ceremony coming up to do that for her.

Azriel needs to understand why the third sister was given to someone else. He needs to see why Lucien, the male who supposedly doesn’t deserve her and in whom she had no interest, ended up with her. Why Lucien’s patience was rewarded while his own was not. Azriel needs to realize that with every mating bond, it's only a matter of time before mates inevitably come together.

It doesn’t do Elain any good to be rejected twice by Azriel and then realize there’s no one left, so she defaults to Lucien. She’s already aware of that after being rejected twice by two people who aren’t her mates, realizing she can no longer afford to ignore her true mate.

If the BC was supposed to be a “test” or lesson from the Mother about the mating bond, Elain passed because she applied what she learned from Graysen to Azriel. Azriel failed because not only did he not have an answer for Rhys about Mor, he ignored it. The Mother graded him on a curve to pass by means of Gwyn.

Rhysand also gave a vital clue when he said that Lucien would defend his bond against Azriel and how important Lucien’s survival is to maintaining the fragile peace between Autumn, Spring, and the Human Lands.

Both Lucien and Elain are now at a point where their next chapters are coming into focus. Lucien’s assignment to be permanently stationed in Spring is technically over because Feyre gave birth, and his frustration with Jurian and Vassa constantly clashing is reaching a tipping point, especially with Vassa’s time running out. Lucien has also demonstrated inherent dominance, and Beron is becoming more audacious with his alliance with Hybern to take over the Spring Court from Tamlin, who is still dealing with grief and guilt.

Elain’s last distraction from the mating bond just told her it was a mistake and left. She doesn’t need salt rubbed into that wound by having him be right about calling it a mistake. But Azriel does need to understand, through Lucien, that it doesn’t matter if Elain showed disinterest in Lucien because, in the end, Elain is still Lucien’s mate. Mor’s lack of interest in Azriel isn’t why the mating bond between them hasn’t snapped.

Azriel is the one who misunderstands the mating bond, while Elain is the one avoiding it. Elain has no reason to avoid it anymore, but Azriel still has more to learn about the mating bond.

So, with that said, even with HOFAS, Elucien now has a much higher chance of providing a compelling hook in the first chapter compared to Gwynriel.

And that starts with Nessian’s ceremony because SJM gave an oddly specific timeframe for when that would happen at the end of ACOSF, in addition to Nesta placing Elain's rose marker on Papa Archie's grave.

That’s not to say Gwynriel can’t or doesn’t happen in the next book. I’m sure Azriel will experience a wave of emotions during a ceremony (especially since Feysand did theirs in secret) and might look over at Gwyn, sparking something more between them, or this could unfold after Bryce’s first, second, or third visit.

But Elain watching the sister who was most antagonistic toward the Fae embrace the most Fae aspect of herself, pulling herself out of her downward spiral with Cassian’s help, could have a profound impact on her. Realizing that Lucien would be staying in Velaris (possibly for two weeks, as Feyre suggested in FAS) to figure out the next steps with Tamlin and Beron, especially after Nesta’s interference, sets the stage for the next book.

[shkudss]

Weakened by Eywa Pt. 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Masterlist

Summary: Ao'nung finally realizes that his actions have consequences

Warnings: curse words, bullying, mental breakdown, English isn't my first language

Author's note: guys I’m so sorry that I didn’t tagged those who voted in the poll😭 I had no idea that it’s anonymous and you can’t see those who vote🥲 I’m really really sorry!!! Please, text me or comment if you want to be tagged. I hope you won’t get upset by this

Yawntutsyip - darling, little loved one

Yaymak - foolish, ignorant

Tsmukan - brother

Sa’nu - mommy

Metiyawn - love (plural)

“Now you can’t call me helpless, water boy.” After finally learning how to ride ilu, you were really playful, swimming with Ao’nung.

“Yeah, that’s because I was your teacher. Otherwise you would be helpless.” Light smile was on his face as he was talking to you. “Hey, who first reaches that stone will be the winner!”

It was really sudden game, but you managed to react fast. Even though your swimming skills improved significantly, you still were far from Ao’nung’s skills. He was way faster and was already standing on that huge stone and looking down at you. His skin was lighter on the sun.

“Come here, I’ll help you” you were about to thank him, but then he added “Loser” and chuckled at your unpleased face.

“Hey! You’re stronger than me and you are water na’vi. I’ll look at you running on the trees and trying to keep your balance with that thick tail!” You pushed his shoulder a little when he helped you to climb up.

“Yeah, I would probably be loser in the forest. I remember you almost killing me that day, I didn’t even recognize you at first. You were in your element and I understood that you’re actually strong. Surprisingly, not really loser.” Ao’nung laughed at last sentence and you pushed him again, but also had fun.

“Yeah, forest is my home. I don’t know how it is possible for people to claim that sea is their home. We’re actually different as you said before.” You sat on the warm stone and looked at the sunset.

“Yes, but we’re still all na’vis, children of Eywa and I didn’t understand it before.” Ao’nung joined you, you were so close that your shoulders were touching each other. “Y/N, you know I’m really sorry what what I did and said. Even though you said you forgave me, I, myself cannot forget it.” His aquatic eyes were looking far at the horizon.

“You don’t need to forget it, you must forgive yourself. I forgive you, but I will never forget about it and that’s not bad. You need to learn from your and others’ mistakes. It is your life and experience. But it is also your choice how to react on all these things happening to you. I could choose not to forgive you and I would be a lifelong burden for both of us. You could choose to be blind and not see anything wrong in your actions and it would break me and my family more and more. But we made our decisions and we’re here now, being friends and having this conversation. It is because we choose peace. Inside us and around us.” You placed your hand on his chest, explaining your thoughts and forgetting about boundaries.

Ao’nung didn’t respond to you, but placed his hand over yours on his chest. You looked up at him and met his gaze. It was so intimate, you could feel the whole atmosphere between you changing vitally. You wanted to remove your hand, but he didn’t let you do this, holding it solidly.

“What are you doing, Ao’nung? Why are you looking at me like this?” All your confidence and playfulness disappeared.

You could feel him examining you. Your eyes, your hair, you lips, your hands. Ao’nung wanted to look at you all day long. Enjoying your beauty and wisdom. You captured his heart, his soul not even knowing about it.

“If you were the Sun, I would burn my eyes but keep looking at you every day. If you were a bird, I would spend all days in the forest listening to you.” He took your other hand, stroking it softly. “I know I hurt you deeply and I know it might be too early to say that as we’ve recently just came to peace. But I don’t know how I can live another day keeping it inside. You told that it is my choice how to react on things happening to me. This thing has been making me crazy for so long and I finally made my choice, Y/N.”

You felt your heart blowing inside of you. You didn’t know what to do or to say. Ao’nung was looking at you for a couple of seconds and then his face got as close to yours that you could feel his warm breath. Your knees felt weak at that type of closeness. One second and he leaves a little kiss in the corner of your lips.

Your eyes widened, breath is our of control. He looks right into your eyes, trying to catch your emotions. Ao’nung is also nervous, but he can’t show it to you since he is a future warrior, Olo'eyktan of the Metkayina. He wants to look strong and mighty in front of you.

“Y/N…”

“I… I need…” all words left your mind “I need to think it over.”

And you left him, running away from that stone. You didn’t even notice how you ended up riding ilu back to your marui. Your heartbeat was going crazy every time you remembered his lips on yours.

“What’s going on..?” You placed your hand on your heart trying to calm down. “Why my heart is beating so fast?”

“Y/N, are you okay?”

Mother’s voice distracted you. She knew something was wrong, you looked shocked. Even your hands were shaking a little.

“What happened? Someone annoyed you?”

“No, I just… I think I have feelings, but I’m not sure.” Neytiri led you to the Marui, looking at you worried.

“You mean feelings to a boy?”

“Yes, he kissed me.” It was hard for you to tell the truth, especially to your mom. You were embarrassed.

“Who was that?” Neytiri was actually excited to know that you’re getting used to the life here. You build your own story here.

“I’m not ready to tell it yet. But I don’t know what to do. He kissed me in the corner of my lips and I ran away. Is he going to hate me?” Helpless look on your face made your mom feel the wave of love. You’re still a kid who is getting through first romantic feeling.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. If he had true feelings to you he won’t be mad.” Her words easined your heart. “But you have to talk to him and explain everything, if you really value him.”

“Okay, thank you sa’nu.” You hugged Neytiri. You really needed it. “I will go for a walk. I need to think about everything.”

“Okay, but don’t be out for too long. You better be home before the eclipse.”

***

You’d been sitting in your place in the forest for the past 2 hours and trying to understand what you feel. That kiss put you out of your stride completely. You wouldn’t even think about having feelings to Ao’nung if he didn’t do this.

These days, every time you got physically close to each other you felt a little awkward and shy which is unusual for you. This never happened with Roxto or other guys.

“Do I like him?” As you asked yourself you felt your heartbeat increasing.

“Y/N, what are you doing here? We’ve been looking for you.” You saw Neteyam coming out from the bushes.

“Sorry, I was just thinking, this place is peaceful.” You moved a little to let your brother sit next to you. “I thought it’s my secret place, but I guess it’s not.”

“Yeah, sorry.” He looked at you apologizing. “What are you thinking about? I see you’re worried.”

“I don’t think you would like to hear it.”

“C’mon, I’m your big brother. I won’t get mad, promise.” He patted you on the head, waiting for your speech.

“I think, I have feelings to Ao’nung.” you were really cautious when revealed the truth. “He kissed me today and I don’t know what to do.”

You were afraid to look at him. Silence made you nervous.

“I see.”

Neteyam looked thoughtful. You had no idea what’s going on in his mind. For you his opinion on this was the most important. You really needed his support as an older brother.

“Talk to him.”

————————————————————————

A/N: Heyyy! I hope you liked it! I’m so happy for their developing relationships and that everyone is so supportive🥹 I’m really excited about next part! I think it’s going to be the last one, but we’ll see! I have ideas for some one-shots and I can’t wait to finish think work and write them🙈 Also, sorry for the delay, I’m really busy at school these days🥲

Taglist: @elegantkidfansoul @ijwsbdinp @universal-s1ut @myh3artt @lynbubble @jjkclub @kenzi-woycehoski @marvellover4 @ssc7514 @stvrligghtt @johfaam @simplecole18 @flavaliz @chrisbelle @bajadotcom @jak3suiiyscvmslvt @a--1--1--3 @roxannedaybreakermidnight @aonungmyaddiction @neteyamsmate4life @boilingpots @fanboyluvr @zilena9 @maxiel4life

I couldn’t tag those, whose nicknames are in red:(