#but mostly those who spent a long period of time around him would absolutely notice the change.

[rodismancave]

. wanting 2 write stuff for bad ending rodimus but it scares me soooo bad

[stars-of-kyber]

I just read your newest one-shot "Your favorite things" and absolutely loved it! Could I make a request for a fic? Could you write about Anthony helping Kate deal with post-partum depression after having Edmund?

HELLO!

Gotta be honest here, you got me working like crazy with this prompt. It’s a bit far from my comfort zone and on such a sensitive topic like this, I ended up spending a bunch of time reading about PPD on the internet. But it was great to push myself like this. Thank you.

Actually, like most stuff, it got away from me and started getting pretty long, so I decided to divide it into two chapters. I’m posting the first part now and I’ll finish the second one in the next few days, hopefully. I’ll have it here and on my AO3 account.

Well, I hope I did your request justice and I’d love to hear your opinions on it.

Enjoy!

———————————————————————

Viscountess Kathani Bridgerton loved her son. She really did. Edmund was a lovely little thing, with coppery skin and a shocking amount of chestnut-coloured curly hair and he looked so much like Anthony it was startling. And he cried. A lot. Every single time she’d try to hold him, to be specific. And he refused to latch, he simply did not want her to feed him at all. But she really did love him.

She was just tired all the time, despite the fact she spent her entire day laying in bed, so sore and exhausted. All she seemed to have the disposition to do was take a stroll around the house before retiring back to her chambers. She sometimes would sit with Anthony in the study, watching silently as he worked. Sometimes she’d walk to the kitchen for some biscuits, even if she did not really feel hungry at all. She rarely visited the nursery, though. She did not want to risk sending the baby into another crying fit. But most of the day, she’d spent holed up in the sleeping chambers she shared with her husband, alone, doing absolutely nothing at all.

And yet, when night came, sleep eluded her. She’d toss and turn, her mind refusing to be lulled into the sweet relief of slumber, watching as Anthony’s breath would even out, even if he was a horrible sleeper. Most nights she saw the moon run its course in the sky, climbing steadily before falling down, the red and orange rays of sun dawning in the early morning sky.

And she’d feel hollow. She preserved most of her strength for the daytime when she had callers, mostly just family wanting to see the baby. Mary had stayed with her until a couple of weeks after she gave birth when Kate had insisted she’d go to Edwina, who was having a very complicated beginning of her pregnancy. Mary had not wanted to go, but Kate had insisted. Edwina had no family in Prussia but her husband. She had the entire Bridgerton brood to help her.

Kate enjoyed the people coming and going to visit her and the baby. They kept her distracted, even if it was just sitting with them as they interacted around her in the usual chaotic Bridgerton manner.

The problem was when they left and she was allowed time alone with her thoughts. During those long lonely periods when Anthony was in the Parliament, or working in the office, when she’d sit, the baby sleeping in a basket next to her or taken up to the nursery and Newton by her feet, she felt so completely miserable. During the darkest hours of the night, when she’d stare at the ceiling, her darkest thoughts caused the most ridiculous wind whirl of feelings and she had to get out of bed so Anthony wouldn’t wake up to her crying.

The doctor had assured her it was most common for her to still be having humour oscillations in the first few weeks after childbirth, as the body was still adjusting to a new reality. Yet, two months had come and gone, and the oscillations had turned into a melancholy she couldn’t quite shake. And she knew Anthony had noticed and he worried about her. She could tell by the way he watched her, the purple bags under her eyes more and more pronounced, the way he noticed her food going untouched more often and tried to always have something for her to nimble if she wanted, the way she didn’t spend enough time with their adorable little baby, avoiding the nursery all together if he was awake. But he didn’t pressure her.

Every time she’d get up from bed in the middle of the night, his arms would be waiting for her, ready to tug her back close to him “in his sleep”. He’d fill their silent meals with chatter about his siblings’ antics, his latest bill in the Parliament, a spot of trouble their tenants were having, the last correspondence from his Aunt visiting Lisbon. Anything but the baby. He’d sit behind her in bed, her hairbrush in his hand as he carefully pulled her tangled curls apart as she’d sit in stony silence, staring at a fixed spot on the wall.

And she did not deserve it.

He was the sweetest, most gentle person in the world and she did nothing to warrant it. He had chosen her to share his life with, to be his partner, the mother of his children and she was failing him in every single one of the accounts. She had trouble managing the household and the staff, her mind jumbling around the words as the maid came to her with menus to approve and correspondence to reply. Most days, she couldn’t keep much of a conversation, nothing of note coming to mind as they’d sit together, his voice trying a little desperately to fill the cold silence. She was barely a mother, escaping the presence of their child altogether most of the time, watching him and the baby from afar as he visited the nursery, Anthony being the loving and doting father she’d always known he’d be. She felt guilty. She felt worthless. She was terrified of the moment her husband would realize what a mistake loving her was. Maybe there was a reason she’d always been so sure she’d have no children at all, in the end.

She broke down nine weeks and three days after Edmund was born. The nurse had brought the sleeping baby to her, placing his resting form next to her on the large bed. Even the nurse seemed to understand it was for the best if she only saw him when he was not awake. She longed to touch him, place her hand over his little chest and feel his soft breathing, but she was so, so scared he’d wake and refuse her once again, that he’d start crying. She did not want him to cry. She did not want to feel angry at his little desperate tears. She should not feel mad at her baby because he was crying.

So she sat there, just looking at him, her hands wrapped around each other carefully over her lap. It was how Anthony found her, some forty minutes after the baby had been handed to her. He entered the bedroom, his eyes flickering from her to Edmund. Had he been looking for her? For Edmund? Had he been worried about leaving her alone with the baby? Should he be?

With the softest smile, he placed a tender kiss on her forehead before reaching his hand out to stroke their son’s mane of curly hair.

“Don’t!” She cried in a sharp whisper, her hand closing around his wrist a little desperately. “He’s sleeping.”

Anthony eyed her for a moment before nodding, sitting himself opposite her, the baby between them as they both watched his chest rise and fall with each breath, silence stretching itself into long minutes. Eventually, Edmund began to stir, his little fists opening and closing as his head moved from side to side, making panic swell into her chest, settling there with a vice-like grip, making it difficult to breathe.

“Kate…” Her desperation must have been obvious in her eyes because she could hear the hurt resignation in Anthony’s voice when he called out her name.

“Can you take him back to the nursery?” Her voice was high-pitched, quivering slightly as she pleaded with her eyes for him to understand. “Take him back to the nursery now, please.” The words were harsher than she intended when he didn’t move at first, but Anthony did not look angry, just sad. In a second, he had the wakening baby in his arms, cooing softly as he exited the room with just another worried backward glance at her.

Kate just couldn’t deal with the desperate, sad, despondent looks, with the burning disappointment she just knew he was feeling. She curled up on her side of the bed, her knees pressed tightly to her chest, sobs wracking her body. She heard the door open and close behind her and the shuffling sound of quick footsteps before Anthony’s strong arms pulled her shaking sore body against him, her back to his chest. Her sobs had subsided to a silent stream of tears as his hand caressed her arm soothingly.

“I don’t think I love him.” She confessed miserably, her eyes focused on the curtain closed over the window ahead of her, her voice so low it was barely a whisper, but she knew he had heard her by the way his body stiffened at her words. “I want to but I don’t think I know how.”

Anthony was silent for a very long time as if deciding what to say to her. Would he express her disappointment in her weakness? Would he be angry? Would he tell her she was being ridiculous because every mother should love their child? He didn’t. He didn’t point out her mistakes, or called out her deficiencies or even tried to tell her how she really was feeling.

“I am so sorry you feel this way.” He whispered against her hair. She could hear the way his words seemed pained, his voice catching at the end of the sentence.

“I don’t think he likes me either.” Saying these things out loud, things that previously only belonged to the inside of her head in the dark hours in which her thoughts roamed free, was painful. It felt like admitting to her failures, like accepting they were there, that they were not just some silly ideas in her head. “He cries every time I’m around, and I get angry at his crying, and he cries, even more, the angrier I get. And I feel horrible because I shouldn’t be angry at my own baby, should I?” Kate was thankful for Anthony’s silence as she took a deep breath, willing herself to let the thoughts pour out of her chest. It was easier to do so with her back turned to him but his arms comforting around her, his hands caressing her softly, patiently, the heat of his body enveloping her. “I barely feel like leaving the bed most days. Everything irritates me. No book interests me, I barely wished to touch any food at all the past month and I can’t even sleep. I feel like a horrible mother. Which mother hides from their child all day long? What is wrong with me Anthony?!”

“There is nothing wrong with you. You’re not a horrible mother.” He affirmed into her hair, his tone still gentle but firm now, his heart pounding against her back. “You’re feeling overwhelmed and you need some time to yourself to understand it. My mother…”

“Your mother had just lost your father, the love of her life!” She snapped, her voice harsh, making him flinch. “She was greaving. I have absolutely no reason to be feeling like this.”

“I don’t think you need a reason to feel like this, my love.” He commented quietly, his hand resting on her waist.

“Sometimes, I think…” She forced herself to speak, her eyes closed, the tears leaking from their corners, forming little wet circles where they landed on the sheets. It was her dark, most horrible thought, the one she, herself avoided thinking about at all. In her worst moments, when she was most lonely and desperate it would surface in her mind, leaving her sick and dizzy afterwards. “Wouldn’t it be better if I died when Edmund was little, so he wouldn’t have to remember me at all?”

Anthony swirled her around forcefully, his hands harsher than they’d ever been, until she was face to face with him, chest to chest, his eyes a little wild as he stared down at her.

“There is absolutely no reality in which you leaving us could be better, Kate. You must understand that. Please. I cannot do this without you.”

She could see the pained tears forming in his desperate eyes, his face just a couple of inches from his, his breaths shallow. He gathered her in his arms as she dimly noticed her entire body shaking. Her breaths were raggedy and fast as the tears washed her face harder than before.

“I’m sorry.” She sobbed against his shirt. “I don’t know why I am like this. Most of the time I am horrified at the idea, but some moments I just feel so miserable and…” She needed to stop speaking to be able to catch her breath. “It makes me feel sick, thinking about it. It only comes to me when I am too overwhelmed. I don’t understand it. I don’t know why I feel like this. I’m sorry.” The silence took over the room, only her harsh breathing echoing in the walls. He held her close, his face on her hair and his arms wrapped tightly around her as if he was afraid she’d vanish in a moment. His hands were trembling lightly around her back.

“After my father died…” He began, speaking the words in a hushed whisper into her curls. “My mother barely left the bed. My siblings were destroyed. Eloise would scream herself hoarse every night. Francesca simply stopped speaking for four months. Greg was so little, he didn’t understand. He kept asking for Father. And I couldn’t feel anything at all. It was like my entire body was numb. I would go through my day because I had no other choice. My siblings needed me. The estate needed me. It felt like I would never feel anything ever again. I couldn’t even bring myself to cry.” He spoke methodically as if he had been nothing but a spectator on it all like he was recounting someone else’s feelings. “I used to wish it was me instead of Father.”

“And how did you make it stop?” His brow furrowed as if it was the first time he’d ever stopped to think about it before he shrugged.

“I don’t know.” She watched him as he tried to puzzle out what had happened in the months after his father passed when he’d taken over all the responsibilities that should not have been his. It was a topic they had discussed many times before, but every time there was some side of their loss that seemed new. “I remember sitting with Hyacinth one night when she wouldn’t sleep some eight months after he died. I think Eloise was there as well. She was barely sleeping at all at the time, El. I was tired. It was close to the harvest and there was so much work to do. And Hyacinth would wake and only settle with me. So I’d take her to the office. We were sharing a glass of warm milk, I think. You know Hy, she could never stay still for long, not even as a baby. She managed to hit it and drop the entire thing on me. Not a drop on her, even if she was on my lap. She let out these big adorable baby giggles. Then I looked at Eloise, she looked shocked for a moment. I thought she might cry, her face was all red, her eyes huge, and then she surprised me. She started laughing so hard she could barely breathe. I think it was the first time I heard her laugh aloud since father passed.” Kate gently ran her fingers on his cheek, wiping away the lone tear that he had barely seemed to notice that had escaped. “Eloise started laughing and I felt so… relieved. Because Eloise would be okay. And so would Hyacinth and Greg and the others. I ended up laughing with them, completely covered in warm milk, in the middle of the night in the office.” He took a deep breath, his eyes finally drifting down to her face, watching her with so much tenderness it had Kate’s eyes watering all over again. “I think this was the moment I realized that things would be alright. It would never go back to what it was before. Not without my father. But that… hollowness? That would eventually go away.” He cleared his throat, pressing a loving, soothing kiss to her forehead. “It will go away, Kate. It will pass.” He whispered into her skin, his words burning into her, settling deep into her heart. “No matter what, my love, you’ll still have me. You’ll always have me, Kathani Bridgerton.”

“Thank you.” She whispered into his shirt, closing her eyes and allowing the scent of her husband to surround her, his warmth soothing away her tears. She was not exactly well, but pushing her feelings out of her chest, having them out in the open, raw and painful for him to see, seemed to make her entire body lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from her.

She was not close to being better. She suspected that it might be a long and hard way before she’d be back to herself, if she ever truly would.

The feeling of guilt and shame still swirled on her chest, but something else was there, blossoming as a flower coming back to life during the spring. Anthony loved her. Anthony understood. He might be frustrated, worried and hurting by seeing her like that. But he would never desert her.

And there, with her husband’s hand on her back, his caring words, his easy reassurances, she felt less alone.

And well, that in itself was a step forward, was it not?

Send me a pairing and a number and I'll write you a drabble.

[astaroth1357]

Demonic Pregnancy (But It Makes the MC… Problematic)

Okay, so hear me out. I know the prevailing idea is that a human getting pregnant with a supernatural kid would sap their strength and what not… But what if the opposite happened? So basically, getting pregnant by the brothers would make the MC physically stronger, but more susceptible to their sin… Oh this is going to be fun. 😈

Trigger Warning: Pregnancy

Lucifer

First noticed something was up when the MC came into his office to bring him coffee and casually ripped the door of its hinges… with one hand… by the handle…

He didn’t even have time to be mad about it because he was already frantically texting Diavolo and Barbs that there was something very wrong with the human. They’re not supposed to do that.

Meanwhile MC is in the background marveling at the newly freed door in their hand… They hadn’t even thought about it! Is this what having power is like?? Are they actually dangerous now??? Better not let it go to their head…

*it is totally going to go to their head*

Lucifer learns two things pretty quickly, (1) The human is pregnant with his child and (2) They’ve just been given access to a whole lot of power and they’re mind is set on one thing: Domination.

The next nine months for him are spent practically having to leash the MC or else they’ll go out to pick fights with anything that moves to prove their “superiority”… His brothers and even Diavolo included!

It wouldn’t be so bad if their body wasn’t still very human and very breakable… and also they’re PREGNANT, so please STOP!!

This baby, honestly, could not come fast enough… Good thing demons don’t develop grey hairs… Poor guy…

Mammon

Noticed something was up when they were chatting out at RAD and they dodged a stray ball from Beel. 

They dodged a ball. From Beel. And he throws at, like, Mach 7 speed… And it didn’t even look hard!

… But being the dumbass that he is, he just thought they had gotten a lot better at their magic. It was Lucifer who saw something wasn’t right when the MC was actually holding their own against Mammon and Beel in a race.

Was thrilled by the news at first but then quickly learned that he must have infected them with Greed somehow…

They wouldn’t stop begging for new stuff! Sometimes for him or the baby, but mostly just whatever struck their fancy the second that they saw it.

He’d try to tell them no but then they’d look all sad or whine about hard it was to be pregnant and how they couldn’t do things like tie their shoes or stand for long periods of time or…

(Never mind the fact that they could bench-press Beel if they wanted to, no no, that didn’t matter.)

His nine months were pretty much spent pandering to Lucifer and Levi for more loans to keep his MC happy… and praying they’d snap out of it after the baby finally came because he CANNOT keep paying for their crap…! 😥

Leviathan

MC and Levi playing games in his room and one of their online matches got particularly heated… The MC may or may not be prone to gamer rage, but that night they got so frustrated that they snapped his controller in half like a toothpick…

They were too busy trying to frantically apologize to take notice of their sheer strength, but HE did. And he was thrilled!!

Like, sure, it sucks that he’d have to buy a new controller but that was So. Cool. Their strength was like something out of a shonen!! He was honestly fanboying too hard to question, “Wait a minute, how did they even get that strong??” The MC later went to Lucifer themselves to get it all got sorted out (really Levi was no help whatsoever) and man was he shocked by the news…

Though he was even more shocked by the sudden spike of jealousy that they seemed to exhibit afterward… Like, extreme “You better not leave my sight” level jealousy… 😣

One the one hand, he’s kind of into it because being alone with the MC is all he’s ever wanted!… but on the other hand, dude really wants some space… 

He tolerates the next nine months for three reasons: (1) He does honestly love the MC, (2) Watching them break (other people’s) stuff and fight demons with their bare hands will never stop being cool, and (3) He’s somewhat afraid of what they’d do if he tried to leave so…  😥

Let’s hope the effects are temporary…

Satan

Found out something was wrong when he and the MC went to the park. He saw an old acquaintance of his and left to go say hi but came back to find that the MC had uprooted an entire park bench to squash a nosy lesser demon…

Nothing, absolutely NOTHING, he’d ever read about humans told him that they were capable of that!

Figuring this has some kind of magic origin, he doesn’t bring them to Lucifer but to their resident human sorcerer instead, Solomon…

…and THAT bright idea ended up getting the MC magic tag-along throughout their pregnancy since Solomon wanted to make "a few” observations, the lying bastard… 🙄

Even more unfortunate though, is that the introduction of Wrath into their system also gave the MC an utterly monstrous temper which didn’t help their newfound strength at all…

Poor Satan gets saddled with caring for what amounts to a hair-triggered glass cannon… (though really it’s less protecting them from the world and the world from them 😣).

Needless to say, he’s lost quite a few bookcases over the next several months…

Asmodeus

It was another night with Asmo, so another night out clubbing. He and MC were together for most of the time, but they had left him briefly to get another round of drinks… and somehow got dragging into a straight up brawl in the process.

And they WON…

Asmo brought them right to Lucifer after that. Like, he loves you sweetie, but there were like ten lesser demons there and no way a little human like yourself could pull that off without something being up.

Oh he was overjoyed by the news, but the real test was yet to come… Who would give out first? The Avatar of Lust or a very, very, astronomically horny MC…?

In truth, no one in the House ever wants to talk about what happened for those next nine months ever again… The things they saw… The things they heard… Filthy, filthy things….. 😖

And more broken beds than anyone could care to count…

Let’s just say that they’re all happy the MC was already pregnant, otherwise they’d be dealing with a LOT more demon babies running around… What a hellscape that would be…

Beelzebub

The MC was helping him move some of his weights between rooms. They were only supposed to carry the lighter ones (which really weren’t that light) but they were carrying them so easily that the two got suspicious… They tried to lift one of his heaviest barbells and, to their amazement, they picked it up even easier than he could!

They both just kind of stared at each other for a few seconds before calmly agreeing to go find Lucifer. This probably wasn’t normal…

What pregnancy even was had to be explained to Beel since he doesn’t really understand humans and he only needed one thing confirmed…

So, they’re eating for two now?

And boy did they act like it! The MC’s appetite practically tripled as the months went on and he did his best to keep up for them. He even missed a meal or two for the first time in his life because he was so preoccupied making sure his MC had enough to eat… 😣

Their tastes also got weirder as time went on… At one point they asked for Solomon’s cooking which nearly had him “Nope-ing” out of the relationship right there. He stuck through it to make them happy, but he couldn’t watch them eat it… Even he has his limits, MC… 😟🤢

Wants the baby to come out already if for no other reason than he can finally go back to being the biggest eater of the House again. Having to work around two is a nightmare for everyone…

Belphegor

Would you believe he straight up didn’t know for weeks?

Like, they told him they were pregnant a while ago but all the pregnancy seemed to do was make them really sleepy…

Combine their naps with how often he’s dead to the world and it just never got brought up. 🤷‍♀️

That was until the day it was his turn to vacuum the common room and the MC was resting on the couch…

“MC, can you move? I need to get under there.”

“Hm? Oh, sure. Let me help.”

They then proceeded to get up and lift the couch with one hand like they were Beel or something!

He was, perhaps, slightly miffed that they didn’t think it was necessary to mention they had gotten a butt ton stronger for like a month, but you know…

Belphie has probably the easiest time managing his MC anyway because ALL they want to do is sleep. At most he just has to take on the responsibility to remind them to eat and move around a little.

Lucky bastard always gets off easy… 😖

[antiquemotel]

I recently came across your blog and I adore it! (or maybe because I'm enfp)you are very talented ^^so .. do you think soobin (txt) has dated someone before ?? and do you think it's dating now?

Soobin Love life reading ♡

Thank you 😭😭You don't know how much I appreciate it when people enjoy my content^^ I love making it sm <33 I'm still pretty new to Tumblr so I'm grateful to you guys for showing me love and following my blog as it helps me out so much :)))

Soobin is a member of the 4th gen male idols that I call the "loverboys" (currently listening to the song) who I always feel romantic energy around...He is SO popular especially among his Noona's 😭😭 and he is always receiving some sort of romantic attention...It's obvious that he's a very bright person and he definitely has one of those playboy auras. I don't doubt that he has good intentions since he rejects most of his love confessions. People who are highly sought after can make it difficult to read exactly who they reciprocate feelings towards, that's why I applaud all the readers who predict BTS future spouses with so much detail using tarot by itself🕊🕊 as a love witch, I'm an absolute sucker for romance readings and romance in general. This one was pretty short but do tell me if you guys would like for me to talk more about the "4th gen loverboys" and reveal some of them. SPOILERS!! it's mostly within enha, txt and NCT💀

Tools used: Tarot decks, Rose Quartz, Pendulum, scrying

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Past Relationship:

his past "relationship" was definitely a learning experience...It was something he learned and grew from. He didn't have authentic feelings and just kept up a shield around himself from this rude person. They never bothered giving him the time of day as It was definitely a crush on his side; This was definitely pre-debut and happened YEARS ago, Middle school maybe :/ or elementary but it barely had an effect on his life in the long run. He used the temporary dissatisfaction and turned it into motivation to do better (in his studies?) Not much to read into as it's VERY obvious. Roblox girlfriend type beat lol.

current Relationship:

who is she? She is definitely someone who is looked up to and respected in her line of work...publicly known and has a wide social circle. Approachable and friendly, also super popular/ A lot of air energy. She's super bubbly and kind yet he is in the confession stage of his relationship with her and has been stuck in the friendzone for months 😭😭 poor boy BUT IT definitely LOOKS LIKE there's GOING TO BE PROGRESS SOON. He spent a lot of effort planning something which ended up not happening/going to plan because of unpredictable circumstances and he's still letting it sink in; A missed opportunity. He seems insecure and overcritical of himself as if there is someone else who is already with that person?? She is definitely older than him by a few years (not much) and he feels as if there is someone else who is outdoing him. Right now, he's in a little bit of a relationship slump and starting to lose hope but the boy better pick his head up as she is finally starting to notice his efforts after a long reflective period in her life.

[angelkurenai]

Imagine Pedro being teased and questioned about how close he is with you, Gal’s adopted sister, and trying his best to hide the fact that you are actually dating.

“So, Gal, I am going to direct this question mostly at you but of course anyone can get to answer. I actually wanted to know your opinion about it.” Conan said, as Gal herself nodded her head with a smile.

“Oh, please, with pleasure.”

“There have been several photos, and I do not mean just from paps or professionals. Even you on your personal instagram posted a few. Which, to say the least, broke the internet as we all saw.”

“Yeah uh truth is my instagram wasn't working for several hours afterwards and I thought it was just me but then I kept asking others and got the same reply from everyone! Turns out, we caused a blackout of sorts.” Gal laughed, admitting to it before looking away in embarrassment while the rest of the cast nodded their heads as if almost giving her a a playful glare, even through the screen of the computer.

“And the reason behind that, who would have thought, a couple photos!” Jimmy nodded his head “Your sister, your adopted sister (Y/n), came to visit you on the set of Wonder Woman 1984. It was, for lack of better words, a historic moment not just for instagram who crashed because of the popularity of the photos but also for comic book fans worldwide. It was the closest we could get to a Marvel and DC crossover.”

“You say that because she was in her costume in some of them yeah?” Gal asked with a bright smile, always loving to talk about her little sister as Conan nodded his head “Yes, it was (Y/n)'s idea and everyone knows it, I can never say no to my little sister. Plus, she was right; we had so much fun fooling around in our costumes! I had more fun than I've ever had on a set of a movie before. And, yes, I almost always enjoy the movies I'm in, but this one- this one was truly something else! We- almost everyone, I think, played along as we acted as our characters and filmed some scenes just for laughs. I really really hope they make it into the bloopers somehow.”

“So you're planning on taking down youtube next, I see. I see.” the host nodded his head with playfully narrowed eyes, seeming all suspicious and making everyone laugh.

“No, no I swear! I don't want to!” she said in between laughter “We all had so much fun and an amazing time on set and in front of the cameras, playing superheroes that it would be incredible for the fans to see! It's- Really, it is kind of an unofficial crossover that should make it to the internet at least!”

“I'll have to-” Patty spoke up “I'll have to give it to Gal, she is right. (Y/n) had this amazing idea and creative at the same time because she had a small plot in her mind and lines and everything concerning the set. We all did a small setup and filmed it and, honestly, it came out to be real good!”

“Patty is no even exaggerating and Gal is certainly right. We had so much fun filming that small crossover, and (Y/n)'s ideas were brilliant! Fans will definitely love it!” Kristen said in addition.

“She truly is an incredibly talented, smart and creative person, besides an absolute darling. So kind to everyone and sweet, we all couldn't get enough of her. And-” Patty raised a finger “I will say it here once more because Gal has heard it before: the fastest we've filmed a scene in this movie. And it was all thanks to how professional she was, it was truly incredible!”

“Well, I can't ever deny it, my little sister is the biggest star there is! Oscars or other awards aside, she proves how great she is on every set on her own!”

“And you are definitely her biggest fan, as we all can clearly tell.” Conan pointed out with a small laugh “Speaking of, I think we do have someone who could only be described as your main rival on that sweet stop of being your sister's number one fan. Someone who hasn't been shy about expressing his admiration about (Y/n) but who has yet to utter a word.” Conan looked back up from his papers and said someone almost felt his heart jump in fear and nervousness, hoping that at least nobody noticed that he was indeed being silent for a reason “Pedro, you're being uncharacteristically quiet about this one, especially for something that caused Instagram to crash within thirty minutes of the photos being uploaded. I'm not- I'm not used to this from you. Come on, talk to me. Say what's on your mind.”

“This is oddly- I'm getting strange deja vu vibes here. Must be cause of that one time I visited a therapist. Long story short, it was only one session for me and about hm at least 25 for him. I heard he's still going to a therapist now.” he shrugged casually, earning laughter from everyone. He chuckled slightly himself, glancing over the screen of his computer while trying his best to keep anything from showing on his face even more so his smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I mean-” he cleared his throat “Ah man, what else can I say? The ladies have spoken, and they've said exactly what- I believe anyone that gets the opportunity to work with (Y/n) or watch her movies would agree she is one of a kind.” he shrugged softly with an adorable smile “Besides, it feels like anything I say is just going to be used against me, so I- I better keep on silently observing. That does seem like it's the safest option here.”

Pedro's laugh was more of a nervous if not awkward one, but he was pretty confident it was just no different to how he would usually laugh away questions he didn't want to answer in interviews. Most celebrities did the same, he wouldn't be the first nor the last, so he didn't expect Conan to insist any further. He didn't want to push his luck, he had been really successful (if not blessed after all these close calls) with all these online interviews to not have everything revealed by accident, so now especially with the current topic, he didn't feel like messing things up. He loved this privacy, he didn't want to lose it not yet, he wanted you and this all to himself for now. And he wanted the story of how you met, of how over that one month and a half on set he felt himself fall in love with you.

And yet... Yet, he was probably a weak man, a man who couldn't help but indulge even if he knew it could probably get him in trouble. You were worth it, though, you were worth all of it and as you were his weakest spot and so indulge he did. He slowly chewed on his lower lip and he so subtly looked over the screen of his computer.

His eyes fell on you, still splayed on his bed, book in one hand and steaming mug on the nightstand – your nightstand on your side of the bed, the thought of which made his heart flutter inside his chest – hair slightly messy, that oversized Mandalorian shirt on, which you'd gotten all excited amongst many many more fandom related toys a couple months ago and couldn't wait for him to see. A shirt which had, inevitably, ended up being taken off you barely ten minutes later starting from him stealing kisses and leading to the two of you making love till the very morning in between endless giggles. The pup you'd gotten – the both of you – not so long ago made a small noise drawing your attention for a short moment as you kept petting him, the both of you too tired to do anything else after an exhausting day of playing. Pedro couldn't complain, although he'd been a part of it he had mostly spent time filming everything even if you hadn't been the one to ask him to, he couldn't help it.

It was something that the both of you decided on and although you hadn't said it out loud, you both knew and at least Pedro hoped, that it was the next step, a very important one, in your relationship besides you moving in with him. To be responsible for another living being together was, if not a test, at least a way to see how well you could cooperate. And, if he could say so himself, you had been doing great so far.

“Good morning, darling. Here for morning kisses? Yes? Come up here.” your giggles were able to warm him more than the sunlight coming through the window “Ooooh someone really loves mommy, don't you?”

And then your words set his entire being alight. Or more specifically that one particular word.

“Well-” he stretched a bit, his arms finding your waist again to bring you closer and cuddle with you “Who doesn't love mommy in this house?” he couldn't help it as his smile turned into a lovestruck grin “Morning, mi amor.”

“Good morning, darling.” you pecked his lips “And don't worry, mommy loves daddy back, enough to make up for the rest of the world.”

As if reading his mind, you chose to look up from your book at him, smiling as you held his gaze for a good few seconds. So much love was evident, even in those few seconds, he could almost feel his own heart burst. Yet another reason for him to control his reactions from showing just how much on high on happiness and love he was. You shook your head, eyes wide as you heard Conan speak again, you playfully mouthed to him “Focus!”

As subtly as possible he tried to clear his throat and taking the mug of coffee that was beside his computer, he took a sip and decided to focus on it as much as he could. Until the subject changed, at least.

“...Wise man. I feel you, so don't worry I'll leave you to it.” if only he knew the big sigh of relief Pedro tried to hold back as Conan continued “It's the tactic I follow 99% of the time when I'm out with my wife, just smile and wave kind of thing. Alright-” he nodded his head in thought “Alright, well, let me ask you all something else. You keep saying in front of the cameras and talking about this small crossover, but I assume she must have been around for longer than that, yes?”

“Yes, yes she was there for at least a month, a month and a half I think. She was on vacation, after being done with filming, and she decided that before heading home that she'd come by and visit us. It was meant to be for a short period of time. She loved the place... the people, perhaps, how could I know for sure?” she shrugged not looking innocent in the least bit, earning a few laughs.

“Anyway-” she cleared her throat “And you see before she knew it, before we all did, one week turned into two turned into three and so on. It-” she chuckled “She was around on set and with us on all those beautiful locations we were in. And while we were all working and walking around with purpose and the need to finish this scene with so much pressure on- on our shoulders and she was just sitting around with a iced coffee or tea on her hand, sunglasses on and phone on the other hand looking she didn't have a single care in the world. It kind of made everyone a little bit jealous to be honest.”

“A little? Cause I sense that there's more than you're letting on, Gal. Come on, spill the tea.”

“Alright more than a little.” she laugh “I mean, it wasn't all the time, of course. Just the first couple days mostly but you can imagine how it was. It seemed like she did it on purpose sometimes.”

“Twistin' the knife even deeper, that's what she's best at. Oh I know!” Conan nodded his head “I'm actually afraid to invite her on the show because I fear how bad she'll roast me. Andy-” he laughed “Andy is the only one who has the most fun during those interviews.”

“I know right? Boy you tell me!” Gal exclaimed “That little shit. I adore her to no end but I really had the hardest of time when she was around. She just had to make comments on everything she could, especially when I was acting. I couldn't stop laughing sometimes, but nobody got mad at her. It was always my fault somehow!”

“I mean she's just so sweet, how could we be mad at her?” Patty added.

“She messed up so many of my scenes!” Gal pretended to be angry but her smile gave it away “But it's true, I couldn't even be mad at her. I don't get to see her that often, because of the work we both do, so I would give anything to have my sister with me like that every other chance I got. Even if I got all the blame for it, there's nothing I wouldn't do for her, you understand.”

“Aw that's- that's incredibly sweet, actually. It's- that's the exact opposite of me and my brother so no I can't really understand to be honest, but alright.” Conan laughed “Well, then, you really got your chance this time, right? You had the opportunity to spend all this time with her. When you were not working of course.”

“I...” Gal trailed off, her smile turning into a mischievous one but the rest of her expression trying to remain innocent, and failing at it because she truly wasn't even trying “Well, I would say yes. And I would agree with you. And I would even ramble about the wonderful two months I spent with my sister... If that had been the case. If I had really seen her for more than a week total, then yeah I would say that.”

“Wha- P-Pardon me?” Conan blinked in surprise “Didn't you j-just say your sister was with you on set for about two months? Or have I been in a parallel universe all this time and I just now came back to our reality?”

“Oh no it's very much our reality but I also did mean what I said. My sister was on set, and I did see her quiet often. But did I spend almost all of my free time with her? Did she spend hers with me? Nope. And that-” again with a far-from-innocent shrug “That is probably the only question I can answer. What she did? Did she have fun?... Who she was with? I wish I knew. What I know is I wasn't the one closest to her on set.”

“So you're telling me, (Y/n) was on set full of people she didn't really know, and you, her sister, barely spent any time with her? I'm gonna assume the rest of you didn't spend more time with her compared to Gal, right?” he asked and got nods from everyone, well, everyone who had their eyes on their screen and therefore looking at Conan, because there was still one that would avoid eye-contact even through the screen “Well, then, who was closest to her on set, if not you?”

“She, well-” Gal paused, smile all too sweet as she added “There could be someone...”

Said someone who couldn't even look up from his mug of coffee, as if it was the most interesting thing in the entire world, and didn't dare say a word for fearing of messing things up; even if his silence spoke volumes as it was. A silence which was... even more intense than before. Even more... real. Probably because it wasn't just in his head, probably because it wasn't just from his part.

Blinking several times, he slowly raised his head to look up from his mug and at the screen of his computer. Only to be met with the eyes of the rest of the group staring at... well, they were staring at the screen of their own computers but for some reason – a reason which he knew all too well – he felt like all eyes were suddenly on him. And they probably were. Because Gal was being nice about it but almost everyone had noticed how much time you had spent with Pedro during those almost two months. You had just met back then so they didn't imply anything back then but now... now they could just as well do so.

“I-” he laughed and he hated how nervous he sounded “Is it time to talk about my character?” he asked almost shyly, nearly praying on the inside that they would say yes and let him change the subject “Well, Max Lord is a guy who-”

“Are you trying to change the subject there, Pedro? One can wonder why.” Conan narrowed his eyes “Come on, don't be shy. Share your opinion here, or maybe your personal experience. Since I am assuming you do have one?”

“Yes, Pedro, why don't you share your opinion with us?” Gal raised an eyebrow, small smirk on her lips “You've been particularly interested in that drink the past couple minutes apparently.”

“I-” Pedro paused, before shaking his head with a laugh “This is going to be a long interview. I can tell.”

[sultryvodka]

𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙜𝙚! 𝙖𝙤𝙩 𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨 | 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 1

𝙥𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙚 - 𝙢𝙖𝙮 4𝙩𝙝

warnings: mild swearing, mildly suggestive (if you squint lol)

| armin - colt - eren - jean - porco |

armin arlert

• i think most, if not all of us, agree that armin looks like the type to get all flustered with PDA & shy away from his emotions --- HOWEVER.

• rather than being all over you, he finds himself most comfortable with holding your hand or having an arm wrapped around your shoulders.

• he wouldn't mind you being clingy though 👀

• would occasionally place a gentle peck on your forehead, cheeks & his personal favorite; the palm of your hands.

• you guys' dates would mostly end up being in a library, café & restaurants with a nice warm atmosphere.

• i bet he would be the kind of guy to take you to the beach whenever you're stressed out in hopes of calming you down.

• gets very defensive when his friends tease you, if a man could bark his friends away, it's armin arlert.

• this lad over here would establish a routine with you (with your consent & opinions ofc)

• mondays to friday mornings are centered on school, you guys do your own thing at school & walk you home while making sure to stop by a convenience store for snacks, assuming that you guys don't live together yet.

• both of you make it a point to check on one another to make sure you guys aren't wearing yourselves out.

• which leads me to the conclusion that your parents grew very fond of him & treats him more like their child

• when you guys are having a sleepover, this whole lowkey facade of his takes a 180 and the second you reach the bedroom he'll shower you with cuddles and kisses.

• you would watch movies (mostly rom-com just bc armin makes it work okay) tucked in a warm futon with popcorn and candies between you two.

• armin strikes me as a very studious guy and he does this to ensure you guys' future together ^-^

• all in all armin cares about you so much and he doesn't mind being vulnerable to you. he is your safe haven, and so are you to him.

colt grice

• okay can we talk about how this perfect man deserves some more attention

• colt, my man, gives me disney's prince florian vibes. the soft-spoken, kind-hearted, & just an absolute dream.

• he's the kind of guy to take you to the park, a greenhouse, & WORKSHOPS!!!

• given the idea that he is in fact a shy little baby, he is actually pretty active with you. every date you guys have is different. mans has a quest planned out for y'all.

• at school i think that you might be the one to initiate skinship. doesn't have to be kisses on the lips, it's more of gently trailing your index on the back of his hand or rubbing a hand on his forearm when he gets a little anxious.

• the type to peek through your classroom's door because bubba's too shy to ask someone to call for you 🤧

• colt, in my opinion, is very domestic in private, now don't get me wrong he may be a little too shy in public because he isn't used to it but i promise you he takes on the nurturing role of the relationship more than you are.

• he helps you with cleaning, folding your clothes, and god if you guys get periods, he's got a whole pouch in his locker just for you.

• he doesn't do it intentionally, he happens to know you so well that he notices the slight change in your moods & cravings.

• colt often reads a book while you guys cuddle during the afternoons once all the work is done, he'd make you tea or whatever you want. he hums a tune, probably from old disney movies that his brother falco used to enjoy as a kid.

• your parents are more invested in your marriage than you and colt combined.

• okay, now if you happen to have a baby or a toddler somewhere around the house, someone keep this man from turning into a putty.

• as much as colt acts prim and proper most of the time, he has his moments where he just wants to be an entire mess. perhaps sleeping past his usual waking time, indulging in more snacks than usual. you know, loosen up? yeah, that is a side of his that only YOU will ever be allowed to see.

• so yes you and colt would be labeled as the: put-together couple who needs a little bit of adventure every now and then.

eren jaeger

• i hope i don't ramble too long because i love him sm

• mr. loverboy over here is a simp for you, more than you are a simp for him! he is not afraid to show you off and shower you with flattery. now he does this because he feels so lucky to have you.

• he can be a little cliché (well maybe not as much as jean --- more on that later), like he'll randomly interrupt your vacant class with a gift box he put together, & a bouquet. yes. (carla helped him pick out flowers from her shop)

• he's the type to crash his lips with yours in the middle of campus when you achieve something or when he does, vice-versa. if he plays in one of your school's teams, there just HAS to be a bet that if he wins he gets a kiss... or more... or something else.

• dates with eren are usually random than planned. like it pops in his head and he'll inform you right away. he respects your vacancy too of course but if you aren't he might pout just a little bit.

• his ideal dates are prop shop dates, going to hotspots, amusement parks, antique shops! & maybe late night drinks at a quiet bar where you can both enjoy the solace of the atmosphere.

• on special occasions, he does plan ahead. usually it's something on the simpler side. candlelit dinners at home or somewhere you guys both enjoy dining.

• if eren's had a bad day, best believe that he will run to you for comfort. only you can help keep his aggressive response to anger at bay.

• if given the chance he would take you around the world, he's that passionate in making sure you live a little

• hear me out... you and eren would probably have the most philosophical conversations, just laying on your backs beneath his room's skylight? heavenly.

• eren can get a little poetic expressing himself & i believe that it's just wonderful. no one can describe their feelings as good as eren.

• his favorite look of yours is when your eyes beam with excitement, it usually happens when you spot something that you used to enjoy as a kid or when you're concentrating on one of your hobbies.

• he's a very touchy person too, his hands are usually on your stomach/waist, his kisses are random & they linger for awhile.

• when you're asleep next to him, it's his habit to solemnly watch you while his own drowsiness starts to take over.

• eren is passionate & sometimes people might take it the wrong way. one of the reasons eren loves you is because of the way you understand how he is. mutual growth for y'all ♡.

jean kirschtein

• jean is not afraid to pull a live performance for you, you see this man is at the top of the world when he's with you. from 80s hits to recent releases this man will blast his playlists catered for you.

• dates with jean are certainly spent on concerts, (him & eren bond over chase atlantic don't argue with me) music festivals, thrifting & late night drives!!!

• personally, i don't see jean as very gimmicky unless you guys are with his friends, he takes you very seriously and you are his top priority.

• at school i think he's definitely one of those flirtatious boyfriends. the kind who would not miss an opportunity to blow you a kiss or throw you a wink. he can be a bit of a dork, who wouldn't be? if he can get one of your rare smiles 🥺

• jean's the type to ask his pals for help when it comes to styling. not because he dresses badly but he's too focused on getting a flush on your cheeks. he's a hopeless romantic.

• if you guys happen to stay at home, he'll definitely serenade you with the amount of songs he had written recently just for you.

• since he bonds with sasha and connie, his jokes are either dad jokes or something that went viral on tiktok. he's the perfect balance of goofy and mature.

• if you aren't much of an active person he wouldn't mind being lazy with you and insist on a diy spa day at home.

• it's just netflix with a tub of ice cream and face masks on.

• since jean is quite the romantic, he would be into couple outfits or items that aren't cringey obv and probably doesn't mind using your perfume or vice-versa.

• jean probably asked you out during one of his gigs, offering you a single rose afterwards.

• he's the type to leave you random post-it notes if he visits your house. just random phrases or doodles. and boy does he pick you up every single day on his smexy motorcycle.

• he'll bring you coffee and breakfast to-go. this man's spoiling you baby.

• aside from that, i feel like jean would make you hand-made gifts with the help of his momma. he thinks it's sentimental when you make your presents because it's one of a kind.

• jean does all these things because he's 100% about you being a constant person in his life. he loves how he can be whoever he wants when he's around you, i'm certain you guys wouldn't have it any other way either.

porco galliard

• porco can be a dick if he wants to not to you though, this tough guy turns into putty just for you. he definitely loves being treated like a baby.

• at first he might come off as cold because he isn't used to the whole romance thing and he gets flustered with the slightest pecks so you might have to initiate at first.

• but once you guys get through the awkward phase this boy would straight up greet you with a passionate kiss and does not give a damn about everybody who witnessed it. he might even have a stupid smirk on his face.

• like eren, i feel like porco would be very passionate and intense. he doesn't say much but he definitely shows you just how much he adores you.

• speaking of friends (: reiner would tease him every second of the day. i bet he would team up with bertholdt to annoy this poor boy. annie and pieck's not much help either.

•whenever you're stressed, porco would run you a bath and give you massages very often. he'll sit on the edge of the tub while he runs his hand through your hair.

•his type of dates would be watching at a cinema or a drive-in, going to the mall just to look around,he's a simple guy.

•if you guys happen to have an argument, porco would distance himself for a few minutes to a few hours just to process the situation and avoid anything his aggression might cause.

•he knew that if he wanted you guys to work he needed to be better.

•he would come back though and hold you in his arms while you guys talk it out.

•i bet he's one of the aot characters who would be an athlete, so most days you'll end up watching him practice.

•overtime, porco would be more open to being intimate in public and post stories of you two just doing things most couples do.

•he's proud that you're his and he's all yours.

•porco is a great guy and he would do anything just to make you smile.

i hope you guys liked these~! let me know who you guys want to be in the second part. requests are open and as always, stay safe! - 🌸☁️

[lizbotw]

Oikawa, Akaashi, Kuroo, Kenma, and Nishinoya With a S/O that Has a RBF and Can Be Moody

Anonymous said:

Hi! Can you do Oikawa, Akaashi, Kuroo, Kenma, and Noya with an S/o that has a resting bitch face and gives off a strong “dont talk to me” aura when moody or tired?

hey! these took me a while to finish so i hope you like them ♡

Oikawa Tooru

He’s used to people praising his personality, all sweet words and thoughtful gifts. What he wasn’t used to was someone other than Iwaizumi blowing a fuse in response to his actions, especially if it was over something miniscule.

You had forgotten your water bottle in the gym after your daily P.E. class, but with your lunch period having already passed, you had no choice but to wait until the end of the school day to go pick it up, lest you get scolded by a teacher for “skipping class” and going to do something deemed “unnecessary” during their precious class time.

And so you impatiently waited out the last few classes of the afternoon before you hurried to the gym, hoping that no one had moved your bottle. (If you had to go run to the lost and found because someone had placed it there, you swore you would just about scream—you were tired and wanted to go home, plus the extra time spent going on a wild goose chase for the object meant you might actually miss your ride home if you didn’t hurry).

You shoved open the gym doors unceremoniously—after-school sports clubs were already gathering in the room for their pre-practice warmups—and you kept your eyes focused on the area in front of you, wanting to get in and out quickly.

You squinted a little at the familiar shape in your line of sight. Ah! There it is. In the distance you could make out your water bottle resting upon the same bench you had left it on, and you jogged over to it, swooping it up and slinging your backpack down and off of your shoulders in one movement. Your bag landed on the bench with a thump and the hiss of the zipper when you tugged the main compartment of the bag open were all you were focused on.

While you were shoving around a few books in your bag, trying to make room to squeeze the water bottle in, you failed to notice the intense stare you had earned from one of the very sports players you had ignored on your way in.

“Hey! Can I help you?” A chipper, smooth voice was the culprit.

You whirled around at the sound, water bottle half shoved into your already overcrowded bag.

Just your luck. The infamously chatty Oikawa Tooru had been the one to seek your company the one time you were actually in a rush. Resident pretty boy and captain of the volleyball team—of course you knew who he was.

His smile was charming and even in his normal workout clothes, you had to admit he still looked good.

And you also had to admit that while any other day this would have been a great conversation to have, right now you were so over it.

You ignored his attempt at conversation and focused on finishing up here and leaving, turning back to your bag and silently praying for the water bottle to just go in.

He was taken aback by your lack of response, but, never one to give up, he tried again.

Next to you on the bench, he gently placed down the small towel he had slung over one shoulder, along with his own water bottle, looking at you out of the corner of his eye as he set them down—he kept his grin on, although it was beginning to waver at your lack of reaction.

“This is the volleyball bench, so that’s why I was wondering if you needed something. We don’t usually let people stay and watch us practice, but you know, I’m feeling generous today so if you want to-”

You straightened up, backpack now firmly placed over your shoulders and water bottle secure inside. Your eyebrows had furrowed into an annoyed expression out of habit and thus an involuntarily glare was given to the captain. “Yeah, no thanks. I’ve got to go,” you mumbled, barely feeling like talking—seriously, how could someone have so much energy after school?

Oikawa watched as you left the same way you had come, confused and slightly appalled by your behavior. It took Iwaizumi giving him a firm punch to the arm and an order to “get back to stretching, dumbass, I’m not dealing with you pulling a muscle later and whining, I fucking swear,” to get him to go back to work.

Your interactions were minimal much of the time, but as though fate drew you together, you found yourself having many more similar interactions with the captain, much to your dismay. You didn’t hate him per say, but you definitely couldn’t stand his radiant, flirty personality when you already felt half-asleep after a long day.

First it was your friend leaving their water bottle in the same place you had and them begging you to go get it and give it to them first thing when you saw each other tomorrow because they had to go home right after school today for some reason.

Next it was someone forgetting their phone and you offering to go get it because they had done you a favor that one time a few weeks ago and you wanted to return it.

Then it was a whole textbook (what are you even doing with a textbook in the gym anyway?).

The cycle went on and on, and each and every time Oikawa was there, you used to his cliche conversation starters by now. It became a sort of routine, a game, and when your brain was clear from the throes of sleepiness later, you would mull over the interactions and realize that you actually enjoyed them.

It was quite the shock for Oikawa when he ran into you during lunch one day and you were bubblier than he had ever seen you (you were still filled with energy after a long night’s rest and school hadn’t sapped all of your vibrancy for the day just yet—plus you were excited that it was lunchtime), even being greeting him enthusiastically with a “Hey, Oikawa!” and waving to him when he had called out to you (he expected you to ignore him so he was frozen in shock for a moment at your display).

At some point, lunchtime hangouts between the two of you became the new routine, and from there the routines slowly continued to change and evolve until you two were miraculously dating. (The new routine was now stopping by the gym after school, even if you hadn’t forgotten anything there, to give him a goodbye kiss and a “Good luck with practice, babe!” before you headed home. The alternative routine was that you finally took up that offer he had made on that very first day about you staying to watch practice, and afterwards he would walk you home, you two stopping in a convenience store to buy ice cream before you got far. You both seemed the enjoy the latter a lot more.)

Oikawa, observant as he is, figured out that you become “pouty” when you were tired (you were sitting on his bed and doing homework with him when he announced that as though it was some sort of profound realization, and you hit him overhead with a pillow because why did you just described it like that, Tooru???).

He’s pretty good about giving you space when you need it, although most of the time, even if you’re sleepy or upset and don’t want to deal with anyone, he’s still liberal with the affection he gives you, knowing that you secretly love the attention. He just has to look past your sharp words to see what you really want and at this point you’re pretty sure he’s a mind reader.

When you’re not feeling tired and overworked, he knows you can actually be pretty sweet, so if he sees you staring off into the distance, your not-so-neutral resting face on, he’ll absolutely annoy the hell out of you because once you crack that million dollar smile? He’s done for (but he likes the pain of his heart beating wildly around you so it’s okay).

He’s just an absolute sucker for how angry you look most of the time but how you’re simultaneously the most supportive person he’s ever met underneath it all (in some ways it reminds him of Iwaizumi, although you’re less… prickly than Iwa seems to be much of the time; that and you don’t throw volleyballs at his head whenever he messes up a play during practice—most of the time that is).

Akaashi Keiji

The literal calmest couple ever that simply likes to stick to themselves—that’s the initial impression many have of you two.

That couldn’t be further from the truth though. Despite your outward appearance, you were quick to crack smiles around just about anyone (you got along well with Bokuto for this very reason), and Akaashi had proven to be unexpectedly playful at times as well (it was mostly around you and his team though, so that side of him was relatively unknown).

Akaashi wasn’t put off by how you appeared at all—that sort of thing didn’t really matter to him—and the faithful pairing up of you two together for a group project finally gave you the opportunity to talk.

He’s generally good with dealing with just about anyone, so while he was surprised once you started talking his ear off about the project, outwardly he didn’t so much as bat an eye, simply listening to you ramble on and responding when appropriate.

Once you two are together, quiet evenings become common, you most likely laying on his chest and scrolling through your phone while he holds a book above his head, the only noise being the flipping of the pages. Evenings like those are exactly what you need when you’re feeling overworked and want to snap at just about everything, and Akaashi is quick to soothe you—with even just a few words from him you can already feel yourself feeling better.

He secretly takes pride in the fact that others may look at your moodiness and intimidating appearance and shy away, meanwhile he’s able to actually understand you (also he has experience with Bokuto so literally just hit him with all you’ve got).

Together you two can seem pretty intimidating and unapproachable, but you also look cool as hell walking through the hallways side by side so it’s a necessary sacrifice.

Akaashi picked up the habit of taking pictures of you when you’re not looking because you look amazing with your neutral face and fierce expression, but also when you’re joking freely with him, eyes screwed shut and mouth open as laughter spills out, you’re simply stunning. He likes the duality and sees something poetic in it because of course he does.

He loves looking through his camera roll sometimes and just scrolling and seeing you simply minding your own business and looking out the window in one picture, but then getting up to all sorts of trouble in the name of fun in the next.

He’d probably be embarrassed if you found out, although he quickly realized that he also likes to show you the pictures sometimes so you can see yourself exactly how he sees you, and you have to admit that some of the shots are breathtaking with how he seems to capture you in the perfect way (the lightning, background, and of course you all look amazing because he’s Akaashi and to him every detail should be just right, especially if it involves you) and when the pictures are paired together with the others, the contrast jumps out and you have to smile at that.

Kuroo Tetsurou

A mostly empty hallway, the two of you being the only ones there, was where it all started. An entire open hallway and of course, he still managed to bump into you somehow. (To be fair, you were tapping away on your phone, complaining to your friend over text about how you just wanted to go home already and take a nap because the test last period had been exhausting, and not paying attention to where you were going at all).

To his credit, he was quick to apologize, turning over his shoulder so you would catch his words, seeing as you two were walking in opposite directions. “Ah… sorry, I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” A light chuckle on the end tied up the apology nicely by adding a charming casualness to it.

You looked up from your phone with an annoyed expression, eyes narrowed, and sighed to yourself before you turned around to reply to him. “Maybe work on that next time,” you snapped. You were clearly exasperated and Kuroo was left blinking in bewilderment at the interaction.

You two were in the same class and although you knew of each other, you weren’t exactly friends—more like acquaintances, although Kuroo was wondering if he had missed the memo on when that title had switched to sworn enemies.

He decided to test this theory and tentatively bid you “good morning” when he got to class the next day. He had almost chickened out because you looked absolutely terrifying, almost as though you were going to bite whoever so much as glanced in your general direction.

Although you seemed confused at first at the fact that he was even talking to you, you gave a small, “Good morning?” back. (It came out as more of a question, but you know what? He’ll take it.)

Okay, so… you didn’t hate him? Or at least not as much it seemed?

And so Kuroo kept this up, always the first one to say “good morning” to you each day—it was sort of like a science experiment, him trying to gauge what you thought about him and test out his hypothesis (the mystery of that interaction in the hallway is what kept him at it, even as silly as it seemed).

You asked him at one point why he suddenly started talking to you and he quickly deflected the question, afraid you would catch onto his little research experiment, even as outlandish the possibility of that happening was.

Those were the first few interactions you two had and even now when Kuroo looks back on it he has secondhand embarrassment for his past self—what was he even doing?

Nowadays, now that you’re finally dating, he doesn’t question your moodiness, knowing that everyone has off days. He has also finally figured out that you two were never sworn enemies in the first place (although he thinks that this love story would have been way more interesting if that had been the case).

Whenever you’re staring off and looking serious, Kuroo loves to pinch your cheeks to snap you back to reality and even as often as he does it, you fall for it every time and honestly he can deal with the death glare you give him because then the small smile you can’t conceal comes out right afterwards (what he can’t deal with though is you withholding kisses from him because you said he didn’t deserve them after pinching you three times in the span of two hours, so after that one time you learned that that punishment was horribly ineffective because so clingy throughout it).

If you’re looking tired, simply down on your luck and annoyed at life, he doesn’t let it affect him and knows not to take it personally, slipping you a cup of tea to help you calm down and clear your mind, and sitting across from you at the kitchen table and watching you as you sip at the drink, ready to talk whenever you want. His affection is quiet in those moments, but you welcome it as much as you do his grand gestures of love—he always brings each type of support out at just the right moment and you find it hilarious that he had ever thought that you could hate him (you could never, not when he was like this).

Kenma Kozume

The fact that the first impression he had of you was that you weren’t in-his-face hyper was jarring enough—he was used to his teammates and their high energy shenanigans, so you were an anomaly in his eyes.

He wouldn’t exactly make a first move, or at least not for a while, but in class when he’s bored, head in his palm, elbow on the table, and drumming his pen against his desk absentmindedly, he would watch you out of the corner of his eye.

You confused him. You had tons of friends, Kenma knew that much about you, and he always overheard people talking about how much fun you were to talk to, yet here he saw none of that rumored playfulness. You were stone-faced as the teacher droned on, rigid in your movements as you copied down the notes from the board robotically.

Watching you write reminded him that he should probably do the same, but even as he went back to trying to focus on that day’s lesson and stared down at his notebook, you stayed on his mind.

He knew that not everyone always outwardly showed their entire personalities, but he had been watching you for what felt like forever and you never so much as cracked a smile. Surely that was unusual?

Kenma found himself itching to just walk up to you and say something—he hated not being in the know and… you seemed approachable enough. Even when he came to the conclusion to stir up a casual conversation with you to finally put his mind at rest, he was still surprised with himself when he actually did it.

He was even more surprised when you instantly brightened up when he talked to you, polite in your responses, yet not stiflingly so, the conversation flowing easily as you two jumped from one topic to another—he wasn’t even exactly sure what you two discussed, just that the words kept flowing out of him as he followed your lead, and for some reason he didn’t want it to end.

He’s not sure how it happened, but that one time conversation soon turned into multiple conversations and he found himself getting strangely attached to you, your excitable personality growing on him as time passed.

Kenma found it endearing how you could be upbeat and ready for an adventure most of the time, but that those times when you simply got tired or weren’t in the mood, you were the complete opposite, either wanting to talk to no one, or claiming that you wanted to talk to no one and secretly actually wanting someone to let you rest your head on their shoulder and just hold you (that’s what he was there for).

If he can tell you’re not in the mood to socialize, he won’t force you to do anything or talk about it if you don’t want to. He’s good at picking up the little cues you put out and you love him all the more for it.

Kenma knows what it feels like to just want some alone time, so it’s common for you two to just hang on in one of your bedrooms on weekends, each of you doing your own thing and not bothering one another. Sometimes one of you will just get up and move closer to the other person, cuddling up under their arm, and no words will be exchanged the entire time. (If you’re sitting between his legs while he plays a video game, he likes to lean down and give you a quick kiss on the forehead whenever he feels like it—come on, you’re right there, how could he possibly resist?)

Nishinoya Yuu

He’s used to Kiyoko outright ignoring him, and even any harsh words from her have him running to go tell Tanaka the “good news” about their latest interaction, so he wouldn’t be put off by your seemingly cold demeanor at all. In fact, he may be even more intrigued. He likes the chase after all.

You were sitting in class one day during a break, spacing off and simply watching your other classmates mingle around the room, and Nishinoya saw this as the perfect opportunity to talk to you, bounding over to you with a spring in his step.

He leaned down close to you, a mischievous smirk matching the playful lilt in his voice. “Hey, (Y/N)-”

He stopped short though when you turned to him smiling and returned the greeting without missing a beat. Wait, what?

In class you always looked bored out of your mind, or just plain angry to be here, unamused look in your eyes and the corners of your mouth downturned. He hadn’t seen you out of the classroom that much, or if he had, you had never been with your friends (so he had missed all the times when you joked around with them), either standing in the hallway alone waiting for someone and on your phone, or walking out of the school after class to head home and looking like you would absolutely fight anyone who prevented you from doing so. Even during group work in class, you were closed off—you had spoken the bare minimum during the majority of that one time that he had been paired up with you.

But now? You were a literal ray of sunshine. Nishinoya blinked at the sight, eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights—and then a giant grin spread across his face. He liked this.

His constant high energy is a great contrast to your sometimes “just done with everything” appearance (also school was absolutely tiring, so it was more likely to catch you in one of your sleepy, unenthusiastic phases than not during particularly high stress weeks).

He’s amazing at dealing with the times you just don’t want to interact with anyone besides him, never forcing you to speak if you’re tired and instead filling up the empty space in the air with his own words while you lean against his chest, you two on his couch and watching a movie during the weekend.

He thinks you’re absolutely badass and the fact that people are easily intimidated by you at first glance is just awesome to him like yes! That’s his baby right there! You should be scared! (But then, of course, people come to realize you’re actually a giant teddy bear inside.) He may or may not ask you to give Asahi some confidence pointers because you both can give off the same energy at times.

Even when you’re in a bad mood, Nishinoya is as vibrant as ever and has an infinite amount of energy and love to devote to you. Sit down with him and just vent all of your frustrations and he’ll make you feel better about everything, hyping you up if you display any sort of worries, and actually racking his brain for solutions to your problems if you ask for his opinion on what you should do (it’s adorable when he sits there with his thinking face on, going full on serious boyfriend mode).

[yanderecandystore]

Hey, I love your work alot you're an incredibly skilled writer and always look forward to seeing your notification pop up! Is it ok if I request Adrien pinning a male reader down while they're alone?

A Adrien solo headcanon? How fun, boo!

Sure thing.

Sorry boo, even if I really liked your idea I've been having a lot of headaches (sorry if it's tmi, but: Periods fuckin sucks-).

I hope you don't mind if I redo your ask another time, probably a better one shot than- Whatever the hell I was thinking when writing this XD

TW/Tags: bullying but like- That's no surprise lol- // mentions of past encounters // perhaps mutual simping? // short hc, sorry about that boo ;-; // Terrible quality for an headcanon

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Sorry I don't have a title- [Yandere!Bully OC (Adrien) x M!Reader - Headcanon]:

You have been running around this place for quite some time now, Amaryllis Academy is quite big after all.

You suspected that someone like him would not have enough stamina to continue pursuing you like this. And the truth is that he didn't have enough of an athletic build to hold it for so long, he just changed his strategy.

You also weren't necessarily interested in exercising everyday, you could say that maybe you two have the same amount of stamina, the difference being that you decided to waste it all while trying to run from him- And he decided to plan a way to corner you.

No one can blame you for falling so easily to that, but let's be honest- You should have seen this coming the moment he stopped chasing you and started coming forward very calmly.

"Why didn't I stop running as well?" You thought out loud now that you find yourself in a no ways out situation, great, just great.

You were choking on your own air- Completely out of breath having a hard time bringing more oxygen to your lungs. You take a look back and notice who was walking in- Wow, how surprising.

"- Ugh, come on-" you were not really pissed off, or surprised, or even scared anymore, you were just tired of having to run from this guy. One would think that someone like him isn't capable of hurting a single fly, but those who doubted him would end up having a big wake up call- Just like you did.

Do you remember now? It was in a similar situation like this- You were cornered, out of breath, your legs were giving up and couldn't even fight anymore. The only difference from that moment to now was that there wasn't anyone else here, except you two.

No audience this time, this was the backstage and you two were the actors getting their costumes out. At least that's how he saw it, to you it was just like any other time he would bully you. How wrong were you to think that.

He didn't make any attempts at running at you, and as you tried to help yourself on the walls beside you, he clapped at your latest performance.

"- Bravo, Are you happy with yourself now? That you managed to make a fool out of yourself?" His voice wasn't as bored as he usually was, it sounded filled with sarcasm with a hint of true anger in it.

Despite that, you weren't sure what he was talking about. I mean- You know what happened, but you can't recall a single moment where you have made him so pissed off.

"- You tried your hardest to get me to this point, and congratulations- You did it-" Adrien was holding himself from lashing out as much he could, he was feeling humiliated and the fact you're so unaware as to way makes him want to choke you. Put his arms around your neck and force you to at least look at him when he is talking with you.

You tried to remember what could have possibly made him so desperate to get back at you, and as you do, you can feel your blood pulsating inside your skull- You can recall one incident that happened yesterday.

Yesterday, you were avoiding Adrien as best as you could, while also trying to make new friends that could help you get away from him for a bit longer. You started talking with a shy girl in your class, you thought that it would be easier to get to know someone who is mostly alone all the time then going straight to the popular crowd- Who would absolutely dismiss you or even do worse things considering Adrien's influence over them.

You started talking to a girl you thought to be an outcast just like yourself, maybe you two could have been friends- But that didn't last too long after you realized exactly why she would be so distant from other people, apparently she was one of those who were… A little too into other people's relationships, more specifically your relationship with Adrien.

She only started talking with you because of how much time you spent with Adrien, how suspicious it is for someone like him to be so clingy towards you. Her endless nagging was horrible but even worse was how she had planted the idea in her head that you two have been dating or something- You tried arguing that Adrien has done nothing but bullying you and distancing yourself from others, but she couldn't really listen to you, or even care enough to try.

You were heavily reconsidering your options, after all it didn't seem like you two would really work out together- But before you considered ditching her, Adrien had confronted you about walking around with her.

He was acting like his usual bratty self, keeping himself calm and still holding that stern look in his face, but the actual contents of his speech were a bit concerning- It sounded like he was really jealous of you hanging out with a "creep like her", as he said.

You tried calming him down to not create a bigger scene, but your new "friend" had pushed Adrien to end up bumping on you, which only made the situation to escalate.

Adrien took this whole thing as a plan you both created to make himself seem like a fool, this was just an attempt to get his attention and he fell for it- He got red and started yelling at you two, his threats sounding like barks.

That's why he was chasing you today, at least that's why you thought so- Although the truth was a bit deeper than that, dearest. That whole event didn't slip through his mind even when he was asleep, he dreamed about the incident- Although with a thin veil of something a bit… Uncalled for in his opinion.

In Adrien's head, the accident made it look like he was hugging you, which made him get flustered and panicky. He had a dream about the whole scene happening again, but without your friend and without any of the other students, it was very pathetic of him to imagine a scenario where you would be there for him, to get him when he falls, how wishful.

He blames you for such a dream, just as if he would blame you if he ever got a dream about you cheating on him- Regardless of how your actual relationship is currently.

His own delusions and anxious thoughts would get the best of him, and that's why you're in this exact situation- Feeling out of breath with no one to save you from Adrien.

You felt yourself almost lose your balance and almost hit your face in the concrete, but thanks to Adrien slamming your back against the wall you didn't need to scratch your face, at least that's a positive.

You didn't pay much attention to what he was saying, you were just kinda pissed off of having to deal with this brat's bs everyday. Although, you're very aware that Adrien can be a bit more than just a brat, sometimes you have to remind yourself of that- It wouldn't be pretty to make him mad.

Bullying you, hating you, liking you, loving you- All are so difficult to manage everyday, it's too much work for someone like him. It's exhausting overthinking about you every day.

"- …. Sigh- You're very annoying, very, very annoying…." all that anger that was previously in his voice has almost gone away, being slowly replaced with tiredness. Key word being "almost", he was tired but not over his own jealousy yet.

You didn't want to provoke him considering how, well- Dangerous this situation is, or could be if you do the wrong thing. It's a 50/50 chance of you finding a way to comfort him without him lashing out once again. Then again, nothing can prevent him from getting the wrong idea of your actions, so choose wisely your next move, dearest.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[smol-and-grumpy]

Good Morning - Chapter 2

Coffee shop!AU

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, owner of Dean’s Beans is living a humble and quiet life. Roasting beans and selling coffee in his little shop is what makes him happy. When she walked into his shop four months ago, his life changed, but is it for better or worse?

Chapter Warnings: None. Just Dean being adorable and flustered.

WC: 1804

Beta’d by: @deanwanddamons​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Tuesday, September 1st

 Dean’s working the front again like he always does in the mornings. Mainly, because he lives just above the shop and secondly, he wants to spare Benny the travel time. If someone would ask Benny why Dean never lets him work the early shift, the dude would say that the arguments Dean’s bringing up are all lies. Benny would say that it was because Dean doesn’t want to share preparing coffee for her with anyone else. 

He thinks his friend is exaggerating. But maybe, yeah, there’s some truth to it. She never comes in during the day. Not at night either. They’re open till eight, but he’s never seen her coming in apart from the mornings.

While Dean works the machine, his phone starts to vibrate in his pants. With one free hand, he fishes it out.

Liz.

He’s got no patience for the woman, at least not when he’s working, but maybe it’s about Ben. It usually is about Ben when she calls. 

Dean picks up, wedges his phone between his shoulder and head to be able to still work with both hands. 

“Liz,” He breathes out.

“Dean, you’ve got to talk to him,” Liz says meekly.

He knows exactly who she means by him.

“What about?”

“He’s not happy. He’s closed up and we have a fight every morning before he has to go to school. It’s draining my energy!”

“Why can’t Gordon talk to him?” Dean asks, and he thinks it isn’t too much of him to ask to get Gordon to talk to Ben. Gordon is Ben’s stepdad after all and he and Liz have been married for quite some time now. The dude has spent more time in the house with Ben than Dean ever had. 

“It will only make it worse.” 

Dean’s putting the lid on the cup and hands it out, taking the money in exchange, and letting it slip into the register. He only nods at the customer, but the man understands, nodding back at him.

“You know that you’re the only one he listens to,” Liz continues and adds, “We had a fight this morning. Every morning actually since the school year started.”

The bell chimes and Dean’s still trying to find a polite way to talk to Liz. It’s hard to form words sometimes without sounding too rude. While he’s still thinking about what to say, he looks up and sees her walking in. 

“‘K, Liz, have him call me, alright? I got work to do, bye.” He hangs up before Liz could say anything and lets the phone slip back into his pant pocket before taking another order, “Good Morning, what can I get you?”

While Dean prepares the order for the man in the front, he can’t help but take quick glances at her every now and then. 

She has a backpack strapped around her shoulder instead of the usual laptop bag. He shouldn’t notice these little things, yet here he is and it’s weird, isn’t it? The way he already knows her habits, the way he knows that when it’s warm enough, she wears a shirt or a blouse, combines it with some kind of a jacket when the mornings are cool. Sometimes, leather, which makes his head spin. Sometimes it’s a jeans jacket, which is really cute and it suits her. Sometimes, she’d wear a cardigan that makes her look so innocent and pure, it almost gets his heart to explode from all the clenching that it does.

There were times when she would wear a long-sleeved shirt for three or four days in a row and Dean kept wondering why. It was not exactly cold out. 

Now, when the mornings start to get cooler, he notices that she wears a thick jumper that’s way too big for her. It makes her look more fragile. Makes her look like someone that needs protection. Maybe she does? Dean doesn’t know. Didn’t allow himself to go there and question it. All he knows is that it makes him want to protect her.

What he also knows is that when she’s running late to his shop, she’d show up bare-faced and her hair’s usually in knots or a ponytail because she probably overslept. There’s no make up on her face whatsoever, but there’s always a glint of lip gloss on her lips. Which is not really fucking fair to him because he’d like to kiss those glistening lips. 

Right now, Dean’s serving the customer before her, but he feels her eyes on him. It doesn’t make him work on the order any faster, though. Almost spilling hot milk over his own goddamn clumsy hands as he does. Finally, he manages to put the lid on the cup and hands it over, “Thank you, and have a good day!”

With a grin, she steps closer to the counter and he turns into a stupid teen again. His face is tilted down a little, his cheeks are flushed because they feel like they are burning up big time, and there’s a smirk on his stupid face, can’t really help it.

“Good morning,” He mumbles, can’t really bring it out louder, “The same as usual?” He manages to ask, is a little proud of himself to push the word over his lips without a stutter.

She nods with a smile, “Hi, Dean. Please,” 

Oh, she’s greeting him by name now. That’s progress, right? He absolutely loves how his name sounds rolling off her tongue. Smooth like fucking honey, and he absolutely wouldn’t mind to hear it more often.

“Double?” Dean asks, just to make sure. 

Double is her go-to when she needs to wake up. A One-shot is normally only reserved for a couple of days a month, he guesses that it’s when she’s on her period. It’s absolutely stalker-ish of him to know these facts, and Dean knows that he shouldn’t even notice but he does.

“Uh, do you do triple?”

He chuckles, “I don’t think that would do you any good if you have to work, you might be shaking the whole morning and your eyes are going to cross.”

“Good thing I’m not working in the office today, then.”

He lifts his eyebrows, wants to ask more, but he knows that it’s not his fucking place, “Right,” He says, “Just this one time, okay?”

Smiling, she nods, “Thank you.”

As Dean prepares the three shots of espresso, he risks a glance, sees her watching him with a small smile.

“So, no office today?” He blurts out and he feels absolutely stupid. She’d think he’s weird for asking about her personal life, won’t she?

“Nope, my office has maxed out on capacity and I’m working mostly from home unless I do have to go in for meetings.”

He lifts one eyebrow, “And why aren’t you home now when you don’t have to be anywhere?”

Dean can feel her change in demeanor. Her shoulders are tensing and she bites on her bottom lip. It’s just really quick and she probably thinks that he didn’t notice, but he did. 

He pours the three shots into a big cup, proceeds to pour some milk into the jug and he doesn’t look at her, because he’s afraid that she’ll close up to him now that he has gotten her to talk some more. 

“I don’t really have good wifi at home.” She says simply and Dean believes her, although he has the feeling that there’s something else she doesn’t tell him. But he takes that explanation because it’s a valid one. 

He knows himself how wifis can be a pain in the ass in the city. The wifi in his apartment above the shop does the same sometimes and he should really buy a new router, but he just doesn’t seem to spend enough time in there and the wifi in the shop is good enough for him to do his administrative work. 

Dean is warming up the milk, the sound is noisy and he can’t concentrate on her because he has to be careful not to make too much foam and spill it over his own hands again. 

When he pours the milk into the cup, he has a sudden lightbulb moment. And he looks up, sees her staring. 

Dean grins.

“What?” She asks with clear irritation on her face. 

“I was just thinking,” He says, as he picks up the cocoa powder and sprinkles it over the foam of milk, “You can work in here. We have a pretty good wifi connection and you’re right at the coffee source.” He shrugs nonchalantly, doesn’t want her to see that he’s excited about the prospect of her doing her work in his shop. At least he doesn’t want to seem like he’s more excited than he should be.

“Oh, I can’t,” She says and pauses, “Or can I?” 

Dean raises an eyebrow as he finishes putting the lid onto her triple espresso beverage, “Yeah, you can. There are a couple of people coming in to work from here, some stay a couple of hours, some the whole day.” He shrugs and it’s not even a full lie. He really has people working out of his shop, he doesn’t have people who stay the whole day, though. The most that someone stays is about three hours, so it’s not really a lie. He’s just twisting the truth a little. 

“Okay, I might take you up on that. But this week I’ve rented out an office desk space downtown already, so maybe I’ll be here next week?”

“Sounds great,” Dean smiles, couldn’t not smile because there’s a sudden feeling of joy logged in his chest. 

She hands him a five-dollar bill this time and Dean actually doesn’t want to take it. She notices the irritation on his face.

“For the muffin last time, Dean.”

“I can’t take it.” 

“Do it.” 

“Fine, but here,” He grabs the little paper bag packed with a muffin and holds it out for her, “Another one.” He hopes she doesn’t see how much he’s blushing. 

She grins, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dean answers with a sincere smile, “Oh, and do I get to know your name?” 

His heart is thumping fast in his chest and his throat feels dry. God, he definitely feels like a teen again. 

“My name?” She asks, her grin grows cocky, he likes that a lot.

“Yeah,” Dean huffs out a breath, “You know mine. It’s only fair.”

She actually laughs, god what a nice sound. It’s indeed a good morning.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s only fair. I’m Y/N.” She’s still chuckling. 

“Alright, Y/N, have a nice day and thank you,” He holds up the five-dollar bill. 

“I’ll see you, Dean.” She nods before she leaves and hell, yeah, he hopes that he’ll see her soon.

Chapter 3

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

[darker-soft-starker]

 Starker High School AU, Pt. 4 (Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.5)

---

The last bell of the day sounds and Peter doesn’t know if he’s thankful or reproachful.

On one hand, no more classes. 

On the other: giving up an afternoon of Robotics to spend time with the modern embodiment of the antichrist.

To add insult to injury, it had been one of those long, arduous days that never seemed to end. The hours stretched themselves into impossibly bloated milliseconds as he watched the clock - and it still wasn’t over.

Dread filled him in anticipation of the afternoon and before first period he accidentally smacked himself in the forehead trying to get his locker open. It hurt and he was sure it would bruise. But if he was looking for sympathy, there was none to be found. Bucky and Nat weren’t speaking and in result their friends seemed wary and divided amongst themselves. 

It made for a rather awkward day.

His efforts to be neutral ground and to bridge the gap were met with vexation and were brushed off, so he ate lunch alone again in the library Bucky and Nat were fiery and fiercely independent, so not unexpected, but it was in his nature to want to mend the rift.

Ben used to tell him not everything was up to Peter to fix.

Easy for him to say.

Nonetheless he does his best to keep that notion in mind as he goes through the day, but everything seems off kilter. No one is talking to each other, he was so busy and caught up with all of the internal discord and schoolwork that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. 

And May was acting super weird this morning. 

Worry gnawed at him in a way that had him forgetting about eating, whether it was about May and Thursday’s match, about the giant pimple that bloomed on his chin overnight -- or whatever inevitable torment that Stark had cooked up for them this afternoon.

It’s still a few minutes before they’re due to meet but Peter isn’t dragging his feet.

He isn’t. 

Sure, the hallways are vacant of any other students. 

And maybe he is feeling just a little petty for the time Tony kept him waiting despite his own plea not to -- besides, he still has a couple of minutes before he’s due, he’s not going to turn up early for goodness sake, as much as the part of him that says if you’re not early you’re late begs him to quicken his footsteps. 

Maybe he does stretch it to the last minute just to see Tony looking frustrated by his vintage ‘69 Mustang, the line of his mouth unmistakably displeased as the cars in the lot around him gradually disperse.

He knows the moment that Tony notices him, leant against his car, sunglasses slipping down his nose to properly glower at him. 

“This is why you’re an asshole,” Tony points a finger at him as he arrives. “I should leave you here.”

“Sorry,” Peter apologises airily, “I was trying to be anywhere but here. I’m not late though, so?”

Tony rounds the car to the drivers side, still pointing at Peter. “Don’t push your luck, Parker. Get in.”

Snickering quietly to himself, Peter heads to the other side. 

The engine growls loudly, a deep rumbling that goes through Peter’s entire body. Buckling himself in quickly, he peers around curiously while Tony reverses out of the lot. He’s reluctantly surprised. For an old car that belongs to a teenager behind at least two school fires it’s in impeccable condition. 

“Nice car,” he says quietly, mostly to himself as his gaze roams the interior with interest. 

It’s difficult to associate Tony Stark with the words nice or neat even, but that’s exactly what the car is. The interior is unscuffed, squeaky clean, the leather seats are comfortable, not a sprinkle of cigarette ash to be seen.

It really is spectacular - when the engine roars and the seats vibrate under him, Peter gets a sense of wonder and curiosity, like that one time he fell in love with DeLoreans after watching Back To The Future with Ben.

Curious, he opens the glove compartment and finds a generous stash of snacks and chocolate bars inside.

“Don’t touch anything,” Tony scowls, smacking Peter’s hands from the dash. “That’s rule number one. The interior is original and my girl is sensitive to your residue.”

Residue, he scoffs, tempted to reach out and touch more just to be contrarian.

“You got a sweet tooth or somethin’?” Peter asks instead, gesturing to the glove compartment. 

“No.”

“Can I have some?”

“No.”

“Are you gonna say anything else to me on this trip?”

“No,” Tony smiles sardonically, turning up the radio louder until the riffs of Queen’s Somebody To Love drown them both out.

True to his word, Tony remains silent over the course of the drive. It suits Peter fine, it’s not a quiet that is uncomfortable or awkward, not with the radio playing loudly from an oldies station, the wind whistling through the windows and the echoes of traffic around them. 

He thought it might be a stiff and uncomfortable drive, however the longer nothing goes unsaid between them, the more Peter feels himself relax in his chair, warmed by the heater and his limbs loosening until they feel boneless after the day he’s had.

And to his credit, Tony doesn’t appear overly tense or uneasy in having Peter in his space - in fact, he looks as chilled out as Peter has ever seen him. 

The perpetual strain around his jaw and shoulders seems eased, his posture open and casual as he drives with one hand, shifting gears with the other, sometimes tapping out a tune on the steering wheel. And whenever a song he particularly likes comes on the radio he turns up the volume, and if Peter looks over at the right moment he sees him smile privately to himself, a pleased little quirk of his lips.

Sometimes Tony speeds and puts his fingers out the window to card them through the wind, and his smile grows.

Although the amicable vibe has little to do with him, it’s probably the first time that they’ve spent more than five minutes together without hurling insults at each other. 

It’s weird.

Too wary of shattering the peace, Peter doesn’t mention it.

By the time they’re on the Queensboro Bridge the Eurythmics are playing one of May’s favorite songs. Without realising he’s doing it, he’s bobbing his head along to the tune, whispering the words under his breath, suddenly reminded of dancing in the kitchen with her and Ben, nine years old, using wooden spoons as microphones.

He’s smiling before he can stop himself, head tilted back against the seat, eyes unfocused on the skyline. It smells like Tony’s cologne and engine oil, like being enveloped in an old memory. He can see Tony looking at him from the corner of his eye but neither of them say anything.

The volume is turned up.

---

They arrive at the realtor with just minutes to spare before their appointment is due to commence. 

The traffic had built incrementally during the drive to Long Island City, the roads becoming more congested as they went. The tension in Tony’s shoulders returned as the minutes ticked closer to four-thirty, his tapping on the steering wheel out of impatience rather than good-cheer. 

Peter actually does feel a little bad now. 

Not that the five minutes he could’ve spared would have made much of a difference, but still, guilt whispers vehemently. 

It’s for that reason that he politely doesn’t say anything that could be perceived as inflammatory when Tony pockets his sunglasses and buttons up his dress shirt, checking his reflection in the rear-view mirror. Even if he’s dying to tell him that he looks like a damn nerd.

Not that he can talk. 

Heeding Tony’s words, he’d dressed similarly in his okay-est pair of jeans, a clean shirt and a cardigan. In class, MJ laughed and told him he looked like Napoleon Dynamite.

They head in, a bell above the door signalling their arrival. It’s a chain realtor, not the one they rent their apartment through, but Peter thinks there is an office right near his building. Inside, a middle-aged woman at the front desk greets them.

“Uh... we have an appointment with Kate Price” Tony gestures between them. “Appointment for Tony Stark?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman apologises in a heavily Welsh accent, “you should have gotten a notification, she’s unwell and taken the day off.” 

“Oh, um --”

“That’s okay though, I’m free, I can help you if you’d like.”

“Are you sure?” Peter queries, sharing a look with Tony who appears just as uncertain. “We’d really appreciate it.”

“Absolutely. It’s quiet anyhow. Come,” she beckons them down a narrow hallway to a set of cubicles and L-shaped desks. There doesn’t seem to be anybody else in the office, he notes, as the two are directed to sit before a desk while the woman types away at a computer. 

“I’m Miranda,” she introduces herself, holding out her hand for both of them to shake. “The appointment notes say you’re after a nearby rental?”

“Sort of, we’re just looking at some pricing. Nothing serious, we just need to take some notes, get a feel for it.”

Miranda’s glasses slide down her nose as she observes them.

“You’re a wee bit young to be moving out of home, aren’t you?”

“Oh! No,” Peter stutters, waving his hands, “we’re not actually --”

Miranda waves at him dismissively. 

“Not that I can judge. My husband and I were living together and married by nineteen, ‘course he’s dead now. We had a good run though. Anyway, good for you. Young love, it’s so sweet.”

“Young what,” Peter says.

Miranda, typing away cheerily at her computer, clearly didn’t get the memo about the school project like Kate must have.

Peter turns to Tony, who is just as wide-eyed as he is.

What the fuck, he mouths, slinking down in his chair.

I don’t know, Tony mouths back, stupefied.

“So, what are we thinking - a studio if it’s just the two of you? Something cozy?”

“Uh, well, we’re looking to grow,” Tony says, hand slapped over his mouth. He shares a bewildered, wide-eyed stare with Peter.

“Right, well, nothing wrong with knowing what you want. What’s the budget? Let me see what I can find for you.”

“Ah,” Peter shifts in his seat, trying to communicate wordlessly with Tony as their research angle quickly becomes derailed.

He tries to communicate the need for an urgent exit in a stare that he hopes is prolonged and meaningful, but is only met with equally panicked blinking from the other boy. There’s a moment spent blinking undecipherable messages at each other and before he knows it the silence has stretched on far too long.

“Well, we were thinking sixteen-hundred a month. Right... Tony?”

“Right,” he nods slowly, eyes darting between the two. “Single income, see. Parker - uh, Peter is still in school.”

“Oh, bless,” she says spiritedly, typing away at her keyboard. “It’s not easy, I know, been there. What do you do for work, young man?”

“Me?” Tony asks, gesturing to himself, shooting Peter a desperate look. “I’m... a mechanic...apprentice.”

Peter has to disguise his snort with a cough, the horse so far out of the gate there is no catching up to it.

“Good for you, darling,” she says distractedly as she busies herself with the monitor, missing the heated glare Tony sends him. “Let’s see, might be tight, but we may have something for you. One bed, one bath, a living room that can be converted to a second bedroom.”

“Great,” Peter nods hesitantly. “Where?”

“Across the street, actually,” she swivels the monitor on its stand to show them a set of blurry photos of a small apartment. “And it’s currently vacant - we can do an inspection right now, if you’d like?”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“One moment,” Tony smiles at her, holding up a finger.

There’s a screech as Tony pulls Peter’s chair across the linoleum with a single hand.

“This is getting out of hand,” Peter whisper-hisses, ducking his head.

“I know, I know, I know,” Tony squeezes his eyes shut, making placating motions with his hands that do little to appease Peter’s rising apprehension. “It’s alright, it’s under control. Listen, hear me out, we go to the inspection, have a look at the place --”

“You can’t be serious, dude, we’re sixteen.”

“We’re not going to actually fill out an application, numbnuts, listen; we go, we take some pictures, get some details about the property, add it to our report and bam, who needs a reference? Think about it! Who else is going to have this level of detail in their report?”

“I’m not exactly sure this is what Miss Ahn meant by field research.”

Tony pokes him in the forehead. 

“Think outside the box, precious. Rise above the urge to do the bare minimum and we might just get a good grade.”

Peter sneaks a glance at Miranda. “Fine,” he pokes Tony back in the chest. “But you do all the talking, smartass.”

“Fine with me.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Tony turns back to Miranda and offers her a charming smile. 

“We’d love to. Lead the way.”

---

They door sticks when Miranda turns the key into the dead-lock.

She struggles with it momentarily, smiling assuredly at the two boys as she twists the doorknob back and forth, pressing her shoulder against the peeling wood, forcing it open with a bang.

“Here we are,” Miranda announces brightly.

The two follow her inside, sharing a reluctant look with each other as she leads them into what must be a living room, the click-clack of her heels echoing off the scuffed floorboards and bare walls.

The first thing that Peter notices is that the room, while void of furniture, seems impossibly small, even by New York standards.

With the three of them spread thinly throughout it, there are but a few inches of space between them. Barely any room for a couple of armchairs, let alone a full sofa or a coffee table.

At a glance, he takes stock of the cracks in the ceiling, the discoloured patches in the plaster and the splintered wood of the front door frame where it appears it has been forced open from the outside. The chain-lock is broken.

Tony is over by the far corner, wiping a finger through a layer of dust on the window sill. 

There’s a loud bang from upstairs.

“So, this is the living area,” Miranda says with a flourish of her wrists. “And if you follow me, this down here,” she leads them around the corner, “is the kitchen.”

The kitchen is comprised of a small formica bench, a stained backsplash and several cupboards missing their handles.

While Miranda continues to point out and inform them all of the ‘cosy’ and ‘quaint’ features, Tony slips his phone from his pocket and with a nod of acceptance, lingers back a few steps to take photographs of the apartment. 

While he’s doing so, Peter busies himself by inspecting the kitchen, toying with the dials of the oven and the two-burner stove top, testing the swing of the cupboard doors. 

Inside one of them is a dirty tea-cup and a dead cockroach.

“-- and as you can see, plenty of room for a dining table, maybe you might like to have friends over --”

He follows them into the bathroom, which is just as compact as the rest of the apartment. He tests the faucet, noting that the tiles are cracked, as is the bathtub. 

Most worryingly are the speckled spots of black spores along the higher walls and the ceiling. 

“-- it’s a big old tub, plenty of room,” she pats Tony on the stomach, “could fit two in a squeeze if you suck it in, aye? Now, this way please boys, let me show you the pièce de résistance --”

Tony guards his stomach with his hands, pouting as Miranda leads them to the adjacent room.

“This is the main bedroom,” she beams, flicking on the light. “Perfect, isn’t it?”

The two young men stall in the doorway, peering inside. 

The space, probably equipped to handle a solitary king-single and a drawer at best, isn’t particularly generous by any means. The flickering bright yellow globe seems to only highlight the blistering wallpaper and the suspiciously stained carpet.

It smells like weed and cat pee. 

“So as you can see, plenty of privacy for you two, the living room can be converted into a second bedroom if need be -- or if one of you needs to sleep on the couch,” she winks at them.

“Right,” Tony says slowly, nudging the other with his elbow. “What do you think...honey?”

“I don’t know, dear,” Peter says, elbowing him back. “What do you think?”

“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

“Bless,” Miranda cuts in, leaning on the doorframe while she observes them. “You’re just adorable, you must be high-school sweethearts.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“...Y-Yes,” Tony says after a moment, voice croaky. His hand snakes out to awkwardly pat Peter on the shoulder. “...we are.”

“So, what do you think?”

“About him?” Tony points to Peter.

“About the apartment,” she laughs. “What do you think, do you like it?”

“Oh, um, I have a few questions actually,” Peter mentions, following them back into the kitchen area, ignoring the odd look that Tony sends him. “If that’s okay?”

What are you doing, Tony mouths, back turned to the realtor as he clears his throat. 

Peter holds a finger up to request a minute. There’s a struggle to each convey their message silently, however, Tony reluctantly concedes, spreading his hands wide in a theatrical approval to proceed.

He paces the room, shuffling at the bubbling linoleum that he’d narrowly tripped on coming in, bending down to inspect it.

“Do you know how long the apartment’s been vacant?” He directs his question to the realtor.

“Oh, not long,” she replies vaguely, flipping through her file. “Couple of days or weeks, I think. I’d have to check.”

Peter nods, glancing between the three, standing. 

“Umm, I noticed that the oven doesn’t heat up. I thought that maybe the gas was turned off but the stove works? Also, um, in the living room there’s a section of floorboard that’s rotting with because there’s a water leak from the ceiling?”

Miranda’s smile freezes. “Oh, is there? That must be new.”

Peter wrings his hands together, glancing at Tony, stomach swooping at his own boldness. “And, uh, I noticed that the windows stick; the water pressure is funny, too?”

“I can get that checked --”

“There’s black mold in some of the rooms. I think because there isn’t temperature control, the windows are west-facing, so it must get pretty humid in the summer.” 

Peter looks to the other boy in what he hopes seems heartfelt. “I don’t mind, I only mention it because Tony’s... well, he’s got asthma.”

Tony coughs, catching on. 

“Yes, that’s right.”

Miranda’s posture crumples at that, her professional veneer instantly wiped from her face. 

“You’re right, this place is a dump,” she admits, kicking at the floor, spreading her arms out wide. “Look at it, it’s vile. I wouldn’t let my wretched old mother-in-law live here, the old bag. I’m sorry, boys.”

“Well, actually,” Peter says, gesturing between himself and Tony, stepping closer to him. “We’d be happy to do all the repairs and look the other way about the safety violations if there’s any wriggle room on the rent?”

Miranda flicks through the papers she’s holding, adjusting her glasses as she reads through it. The adjacent neighbors can be heard yelling through the thin walls.

“We do have a margin to drop it from sixteen-fifty to... fifteen-hundred a month for the right tenants. Not going to lie, the landlord is pretty desperate. Would you like an application?”

Tony clamps his hand on Peter’s shoulder, squeezing it. “We’ll think about it. Could we get all of those terms in writing, pretty please?”

Peter grins.

---

“I can’t tell if that was genius or crazy,” Tony says after they’ve departed ways with Miranda, headed back towards the Mustang on the other side of the road. “Seriously can’t say I expected that.”

The pair jog across the road once there is a gap in traffic.

After Ben passed, Peter and May moved twice. As a young child Peter saw another apartment as just that - another place to set down his duffle of second-hand clothes and thrift store toys. But May was smart. Savvy. She calls it the Parker Discount. 

Peter shrugs when they reach the car.

“Well, just because our report is meant to focus on budget against costs, doesn’t mean we can’t find ways to save money and maximise it. Not when you consider insurance, bills, food. It all adds up.”

“I’m still trying to pick my jaw up from the floor. Didn’t know you had that in you, Parker.”

“Yeah well, you don’t know anything about me,” Peter says to the ground, kicking at the pavement, “so.”

He tries not to squirm under the weight of Tony’s considering gaze, like a vice tight on the back of his neck. He feels the moment something shifts, as if a pin pricks the wall between them, easier to breathe.

“Look, whatever you think about me, I don’t care, but you probably couldn’t find a better partner for this project. I know more about this than you do.”

“Alright, no need to crow about it, I just said I was impressed. Don’t let it get to your head.”

Peter’s stomach growls loudly over the evening traffic before he can respond. 

“Sorry,” he says, cursing the timing of his body, “haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

Tony nods to a diner across the road.

“You wanna?”

“Oh,” he objects, worried about his bone-dry bank balance, “I’m not --”

“C’mon, dickweed, my treat. Don’t leave a guy hanging, it’s not polite.”

Tony waits patiently, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s sure it’s a look that many have fallen for. A crooked, wry smile and a self-confident air that one might confuse between charm and indolence. 

He feels out of his depth for once, and isn’t sure if he likes it. But his stomach growls again and he’s got nothing to lose except for his appetite. 

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “Sure.”

---

It’s the most surreal experience he’s ever had.

He pinches himself to believe that it’s real, that he’s dining out on a Tuesday evening in the boroughs with Tony Stark. The same guy he thought might murder him just last week.

He’s still not so sure that’s out of the question, to be honest. It would be the most normal thing about this entire day.

The silence is definitely awkward this time, sat at a table outside under a weather-protective canvass while they wait for their meal. A woman with a large doberman sits nearby, giving them odd looks every so often as she speaks loudly on her phone.

Peter’s nursing a giant glass of cola. The only sounds between them since they ordered have been the clinking of ice cubes from his glass and the sound of bubbles as he blew through the straw for a lack of better things to do.

From the daggers he’s getting from Tony, he’d wage that he’s annoying him - hence the probable murder - but he’s spared by their waitress returning with their meals.

A truly monstrous pile of fries is placed before Tony, along with a burger, a sundae and a milkshake. He takes off his dress shirt to reveal a black undershirt, as if in preparation to sweat through the meal.

Big meal for a big mouth, Peter thinks, as his own BLT is set before him. 

It’s weird.

Tony is weird.

This whole damn thing is weird.

“Don’t you think this is weird?” he asks, idly picking a seed from his crust and nibbling on it.

“Yeah,” Tony sighs. 

“I don’t like it.”

“Me neither. What was I thinking?”

“Dunno,” Peter says.

It’s quiet again after that. And it’s weird. Sitting down with over a civil meal with Stark or any of his cohorts wasn’t particularly on his bucket list for junior year, but here he was, picking at his crusts, dying to pee.

Tony takes three fries from the pile and dips them into his sundae, then the milkshake before eating them.

“Dude, gross.”

Tony looks at him oddly. “Uh, no it’s not. Have you never dipped your fries in ice cream before?”

“Is that a metaphor for sex?”

“What? No, you weirdo,” Tony shakes his head. “Are you serious? You’ve never -- god, that explains everything,” he slides his fries across the table a few inches. “Though it truly nauseates me to share with you, I can’t let this stand. Try it.”

“Ew, not after you’ve touched them --”

Tony slides his milkshake closer.

“Try it, butthole. You won’t totally hate it, promise. Well, you might, but if you do it’s just gonna confirm that your taste is garbage, which is what I already think about you. Anyway. C’mon, try it.”

Peter, while staring at Tony, begrudgingly accepting a fry from the peak of the pile and scooping it in ice cream from Tony’s sundae.  

He waits for the moment the combination of textures will make his stomach turn while he hesitantly chews, but instead is pleasantly surprised that the sweet salty flavours compliment one another so well.

“Not the worst, is it?” Tony grins knowingly, placing another fry in his mouth in the same manner. “I’m right, aren’t I? It’s good. Say it. I’m right.”

“It’s alright,” Peter says, stealing another fry to make sure. “Don’t let it go to your already inflated cranium.”

The self-satisfied smirk on Tony’s lips tells him it already has.

Quiet fills the space between them again, more charged than before in a manner that Peter can’t really describe. Like as if there was a soft buzz in the air, like he would get be struck with static electricity were he to touch it. 

Not keen on getting stung, he continues eating his sandwich.

Tony on the other hand, has other ideas.

“So, Peter Parker, now that I know you’re not a total dumbass, tell me this,” he takes a deep breath, his expression grim, “ -- do you wear glasses for the aesthetic or what?”

Peter stares at him.

“C’mon. Are you aiming for nerd chic? You shouldn’t, it’s very 2012.”

“Dude, no. I know glasses are like a thing or whatever but I actually do need them to see. I’m like, blind as fuck.” 

“How blind is blind as fuck?”

“Pretty blind.”

He takes off his glasses and twirls a finger in the direction the smudge of colour that he assumes is Tony.

“Can’t see you, like at all,” he squints. “You’re just a blur. Which is the best you’ve ever looked.”

Tony takes the glasses from his outstretched hand, and he has a hysterical moment where he thinks that Tony might go so low as to steal them, but is quickly realizes he’s just trying them on. He whistles before handing them back to Peter.

“Yup, those are prescription alright. The fuck? Why don’t you wear contacts?”

Peter shrugs, slipping his glasses back on. Stark comes back in perfect clarity. 

“They’re super expensive,” he’s alright with admitting to Tony at this point. “I have some I use for matches, or for special occasions, but I dunno, I’m used to glasses.”

“Do you have to clean them all the time?”

“Yes.”

In fact, there’s smudge from where Tony has inadvertently touched the lens.

“Have you ever stepped on your glasses accidentally?”

“Yep.”

He’s done it more than once but he’ll never forget the first time, how upset he was in the moment or how he fruitlessly tried to hide his face from Ben and May so they wouldn’t see the cracks in the lenses. He cried when they found out. 

That first time was just weeks after his parents had died, and he’d already been laden with thoughts of being a bother and a financial burden on the couple. They never stopped trying to prove that he wasn’t a hardship to care for. Sometimes, on mornings like the one he had, he still can’t help but wonder how much better off they might have been without him.

They eat in contemplative silence afterwards. While he finishes his sandwich he watches as Tony surreptitiously feeds his fries to the doberman under the table, unbeknownst to the owner. He has to eat quickly to conceal the smile taking over his lips when the dog slowly shuffles closer to their table with purpose, looking at Tony with big, soulful eyes. 

Once he’s finished eating and there’s nothing left to hide his amusement, he resumes their conversation.

Clearing his throat, he points towards the Mustang once he has Tony’s attention. “Okay, your turn. What’s with the deal with the old girl?”

"My car?”

"Yeah. Explain the whole greaser vibe.”

The other boy is quiet for a moment, his gaze searching Petter contemplatively, a napkin being twisted between his hands.

“She was a hunk’a junk when I bought her, mostly scrap metal. I bought all the spare parts and got her up to scratch. I dunno, I just like cars, tinkering with them or whatever.”

“You restored her by yourself?” Peter asks, reluctantly impressed. 

He looks at the car again, trying to picture it.

It wasn’t hard to imagine Tony Stark getting his hands dirty, being the prized pig that he was, but having the wherewithal and competence to rebuild a vintage vehicle at sixteen? It would explain the whole Danny Zuko, T-Bird look, but with his bank balance, he could have easily bought a Mustang in mint condition without having to lift a finger. It would explain the streaks of oil from the other day.

Tony shrugs, twisting a napkin between his hands.

“Sorta. Anyway, quit your judging, four-eyes.”

“Not judging,” Peter holds his hands up in innocence. “I just didn’t expect that about you.”

“Yeah, well. I’m exceptional, I know.”

"That’s not the word I would use,” Peter allows. “But you’re not the worst.”

A flash of surprise briefly crosses the other boys face before it disappears. 

“High praise,” he says wryly, resting his chin on his hand. He looks Peter up and down slowly, his big, curious eyes made warm by the dying sunlight. 

“I’m as shocked as you are.”

“...You’re not the worst either, I guess,” Tony sighs like it pains him to admit it. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we could never be friends -”

“Definitely not -”

“ - but you’re not completely intolerable. God, never thought I’d say that. Maybe I’m growing as a person.”

“Am I still a neanderthal?”

Sipping his milkshake through the straw, Tony raises his shoulders half-heartedly.

Peter kicks his foot from under the table, unwilling to take that for an answer, even if Tony kicks him back, his eyes flicking upwards briefly, his smile almost bashful. In the dying light of the sunset he almost looks soft; approachable.

“Probably shouldn’t have called you that, huh.”

“Probably not. Is that an apology?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Don’t push it, Parker. I’m just saying you’re not completely abhorrent. Who knew.”

“I knew. I just don’t know why you’ve always hated me so much.”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out small and quiet, but he can’t take it back once the words have left his mouth.

It starts to rain.

“Sorry,” Peter says, louder to be heard over the droplets hitting the overhead umbrella heavily, immediately feeling stupid. “I shouldn’t have -- it’s not a big deal. I mean, I really don’t like you either.”

“Can I get you boys anything else?” 

Both boys turn towards the waitress who’s approached their table, lined-lips smiling down at them, a notepad in her hand.

Tony throws a fifty down on the table and stands and Peter follows suit.

“Nah,” he says, cocking his head to the door. “We’re good.”

---

“See you back at school?” Peter yells to be heard over the rain, back on the sidewalk.

“I’ll drive you back,” Tony yells back, wet hair clinging to his face.

“What?” Peter cups a hand over his ear.

“What?” Tony does the same. “I said I’ll give you a lift!”

“The station isn’t far,” he points. “I can walk!”

“Don’t make me look like an asshole! Get in, princess!”

With the rain pelting his thin shirt and thunder cracking angrily from above, he doesn’t spend his energy arguing. He gets in.

---

The short drive back is amicable, music muted, the pitter-patter of the easing rain filling the ever-growing comfortable silence between them.

With the heater going it doesn’t take long to dry off and restore the feeling back to his fingers. Heat beats from the vents beating pleasantly and along with being sated from the meal, Peter feels like he could nod off at any moment. He has to keep snapping his eyes open, although it’s difficult to adjust his focus as the sunset bleeds into a ruddy orange on the wet windshield, the lights from the cars blurring into bright long streaks of colour. 

"You’re not a total lost cause, Tony admits, slowing as they near his apartment block. It’s the first time either of them has spoken since starting the drive back. “Look, maybe it’s the fact that your face looks like a puckered asshole when you speak, I don’t know. There’s just something about you that really rubs me the wrong way."

Peter cringes as they come to a stop outside his building.

"I don't want to rub you in any way."

"And yep, here comes the mental image,” Tony’s nose scrunches, like an infant that just ate something sour. “Gross. Thanks, Parker.”

“Welcome.”

He unbuckles himself and opens the door, hesitating for a second while the moment settles between them. 

“Thanks for the grub and the ride, I guess. Text me when you get the paperwork from Miranda?”

“Aye, aye,” Tony mock salutes him. “Now get out of my car.”

Peter complies, giving him the finger by way of goodbye. 

Once the car merges and disappears into the traffic, he grins down at his hands, cheeks going warm.

It’s the thrall of finally feeling on equal-footing, he reasons, as he takes the step back up to his apartment. That’s what it is. His stomach is inexplicably still squirming as he enters ascends the floors, going over the day in his head until he arrives at his door.

It smells like tikka masala and too much ginger when he enters. He sets his backpack by the door, placing his keys on a nearby hook. 

May greets him with a sway of her spatula, sauce hitting the splashback with the motion.

“Hey bubby,” she says, gripping his shoulder as he nears and kissing his cheek.

Upon closer inspection, he finds that the kitchen is sparking clean. The floors have been mopped, the grout between the tiling is without a speck of dirt and there are faint notes of harsh disinfectant below the smell of spices.

“Oh wow,” Peter says, looking down at the chicken and bean assortment. The rice on the burner looks soggy and overcooked. “That looks great. How was work?”

She gestures vaguely but doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You hungry?”

It’s the same weird behaviour from this morning and he doesn’t have the heart to say that he’s already eaten.

Instead, he collects the cutlery and napkins, takes a stack of bowls and helps her plate up.

“Dancing With The Stars?” he asks, tilting his head towards the living room. He hip-checks her when she doesn’t reply. “C’mon, you’re not going to let me eat all alone, are ya? Tony says ‘hi’, by the way.”

He doesn’t know why he adds that last part, recalling the exchange rom the other day, but it’s worth it to see her smile.

“Alright,” she nods, scooping rice into the bowls. “How is Tony?”

Everything that happened that day bleeds away, unimportant, insignificant. 

“He’s alright, I guess.”

---

May falls asleep on the sofa hours later. 

He doesn’t want to move her, as exhausted as she is, so he covers her with an old blanket and removes the glasses from her face, placing them on the coffee table. He cleans up as quietly as he can and places her phone on charge in the living room.

On his way to bed he checks his phone for the time. Both Bucky and Tony have sent him text messages, the latter with the awaited paperwork.

Ben would be proud of him, he thinks, smiling as he reads through some of it, saving the rest of it until he’s more alert.

Maybe it wasn’t such a horrible end to the day after all.

---

*

*

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny,  @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers @starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar

[secret-engima]

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret DoTF Characterization Rant

OKAY, ME RANT RAMBLING ON LUNA’S CHARACTERIZATION IN DAWN OF THE FUTURE IS A GO.

This is … likely going to get messy, but I’ll try to keep it at least moderately coherent. Lemme start by saying that- for the most part- I did actually enjoy Luna’s chap. I’ve been enjoying the book (kinda-sorta-mostly, I really liked Aranea’s chap at least) and I don’t think it’s like- a BAD book? Necessarily? But I feel like it is extremely telling in regards to how the characterization/lore is treated that my brain is automatically filing this thing under “fanfic that’s not my HC but is okay-ish” rather than “canon I will be gleefully tweaking as I please”. My brain is literally looking at this officially licensed book and equating it to fanfic. To fanfic that NEEDS EDITING.

With that out of the way, lemme attempt to summarize my (main) issues with Luna’s Characterization and then I’ll expand on them from there. Get ready for the salt.

1. Luna’s backstory is inconsistent. She herself states multiple times that Oracle training is grueling and involves both physical and mental trials as well as things like fasting for long periods of time WHILE doing said training, yet she is mostly treated like a well-meaning but overall pampered, naive princess who is only now being forced into hard circumstances and has to adapt accordingly. She is also treated like she doesn’t know “common people” that well and doesn’t know how to interact or pick up things like lies (????). A common example is how she treats Sol as trustworthy but reserved when according to Sol’s POV she is literally debating shooting Luna as a possible threat. And Luna supposedly doesn’t pick up on this danger. But we’ll get back to that.

2. Luna is characterized as being oblivious to how people outside Rich Oracle Circles live. That despite traveling all over the world she has never really seen it’s “ugly” sides because she’s always traveled in fancy guarded processions with the sick brought to her. Pretty sure the book specifically mentions at one point that she’s never “considered” what it would be like to be anything other than an Oracle. Admittedly this issue could go under number 1 or 3a but I’m putting it here because I’m salty.

3a. This and the next problem are heavily intertwined and, not going to lie, I could make an entire rant just about these two issues all by themselves, not just in Luna’s context. The first is that Luna is portrayed as not being able to make her own decisions, not even wanting to make her own decisions, until she is forced to or has her “eyes opened” by Sol, our jaded Long Night survivor character. The author treats Luna’s sense of duty as some form of social brainwashing she needs to “get over” and spoiler alert I hate it with every fiber of my being.

3b. Playing right off the whole “Luna is incapable of making her own decisions and that’s why she does her freaking job until someone ‘opens her eyes’” is the idea that Luna’s faith is a character flaw. Lemme reiterate. The story treats Luna’s faith. As a character flaw. Rather than the entire cornerstone to her character and one of the big reasons she’s as amazing as she is. Her faith is treated as foolish and shortsighted, something that has only survived for this long because it has never been challenged and, heads up, the rant I am going to go into on this one specific thing is going to be long and extremely salty.

Alright I think I’ve covered the basics. Starting from the top, BRING ON THE SALT.

…

1. Luna is pampered, well-meaning but naive and bad at reading ulterior motives of people.

….*slow, deep breath* Luna. The Oracle. Who became the youngest Oracle in history. Because her mother was murdered in front of her while her home was burned down and conquered by the people who then proceeded to rule her country, subvert her brother to their cause, and generally control and monitor every aspect of her life that they could. Luna, who was fully prepared to take a single suitcase and escape her own home and run off alone to get to Altissia and had to be stopped by her own brother (who you’ll note brought a bunch of soldiers with him, which indicates he did not expect a submissive response if he came alone).

This girl who was canonically physically abused as a child by a Niflheim officer (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iZHzBtIfpdg slow this down if you need to confirm, but she is grabbed and manhandled and hit by an adult man when she only looks to be twelve, around the age Tenebrae first fell), who has spent twelve years living under the rule of a nation that is not only aggressively atheist but has willfully attempted to kill one of the very beings she serves and openly plans to do so again. The woman who successfully survived the fall of Insomnia with only one magic-less glaive as her backup for most of the event, then evaded the search efforts of an entire empire with only her own wits, a dog, a Messenger who has only ever been shown to talk rather than fight, and the extremely grudging on-off help of her brother who works for said empire. All while waking up the Astrals and forging covenants that were slowly killing her from the strain, which is the exact thing the empire was trying to prevent her from doing. Then, when it became necessary to complete the last covenant, turned herself in to the very same empire that has imprisoned her since she was a child and has been actively hunting/trying to stop or kill her since Insomnia’s fall.

That girl. Is pampered. Is naive. Is bad at reading people and telling when they have ulterior motives or are lying.

Pull the other one. I’ll kick you.

But seriously, how are we supposed to believe this? Luna’s life post Tenebrae’s fall to Niflheim is only pampered in the sense that she was given fancy clothes and fed regularly (outside the grueling fasting periods mentioned in this same book). She had no freedom, no privacy, her guards were all either men who wore the same uniform as those who killed her mother or were monsters infected with the very scourge she is sworn to purify. The Oracle is famous, is revered by the people. To keep the people on their side, the Empire would have flaunted her, would have taken her to all the shiny events. Luna would have had to dine with, converse with, even dance with the very same people who ordered and condoned the murder of her mother, her own imprisonment, and the brainwashing of her own brother to the enemy side. She would have been the epitome of a bird in a gilded cage or a dog on a silk leash and humans are not meant to live like that.

Am I really expected to think she survived a situation that oppressive, that toxic, that actively hurtful, for years by being naive and bad at reading people? Am I really expected to believe that she cannot tell when people are out to use her or hurt her or are lying to her? Am I really expected to believe that she is pampered and doesn’t have, at the very least, PTSD from seeing her mother murdered and her brother join the very people who did it, let alone everything else that would have followed over those years?

Really?

Luna didn’t have a pampered life. She suffered abuse. Longterm emotional abuse, likely sporadic physical abuse until she learned to play along well enough to escape such punishments, and almost certainly gaslighting (again: religious leader being held captive by an aggressively atheist nation that wants to kill the pantheon this religious leader communes with).

Luna would have learned to navigate the canonically cutthroat politics of Niflheim while being at best an outsider and at worst a target because of her beliefs, her nationality, and her loyalties to the Lucians (nobody was surprised when Luna went on the run. Nobody. Her continued devotion and loyalty to the Lucians -Niflheim’s enemy- was absolutely a well known factor). She would have learned to pick truth from lie and when to pretend she hadn’t noticed in order to survive. She would have lived twelve years knowing that any mistakes or misplaced moments of trust would be paid for in either her suffering of the suffering of the people close to her like her servants, or just the citizens of Tenebrae in general.

And none of this is taking into account her Oracle training, which the book does not elaborate on but repeatedly states was hard and grueling and she completed it years earlier than any Oracle in history.

There are a lot of words I would use to describe Luna, but pampered and naive are not among them.

…

2. Luna is oblivious to how people outside her rich circles live and has never considered being anything else but an Oracle until Sol specifically points it out.

The book states that she mostly travels in procession (ie, with tons of servants to serve her every need and bodyguards to keep the masses at bay) so clearly she can’t go anywhere too dangerous, otherwise her servants wouldn’t be able to come. Right? Oh boy where do I start with this.

I know! Let’s start with the fact that Luna canonically maintains the blessings on Havens! You know those things. They’re your only safe place to camp at night and they can be found in all sorts of nifty locations like the middle of the wilderness where cars can’t go, chocobos won’t go, packs of wild animals will literally leap out of the bushes to eat you (Voretooth packs can get up to twelve or more members all trying to eat you at once, fun fact), and poor choice in clothes will lead to broken ankles at best? The ones that can be found in the depths of locations so dangerous that even the Hunters are leary of going inside and are actively forbidden from approaching unless they are a very high rank?

Off the top of my head some of the Havens that come to mind is the one in the middle of Malmalam thicket, the top of an active volcano, multiple spots in the middle of the voretooth and coeurl infested desert, two up in Vesperpool aka the home of all demon crocodiles and flocks of cockatrice that are bigger than the average car and can literally turn you into stone if you aren’t careful.

Yeah those places. She maintains those. Depending on how often Havens need to be maintained and if the weather/nature shortens that time then she might also have to periodically enter the dungeons Noctis explores in game that also have Havens hidden inside where it is always dark all the time and infested with daemons.

The book also states that the sick (who are highly infectious and not supposed to be touched by people who can’t heal the scourge and in the later stages of sickness become extremely violent and prone to biting in order to infect other people) are … brought to her…

By whom? Exactly?

Moving on from that giant and obvious plot hole to the “never seen or considered other lifestyles” bit: Luna has traveled literally all over the world. In her duties of healing the otherwise incurable she has gone all over Niflheim, Tenebrae, and Lucis. She has walked through the streets of cities filled with lights and glamor and stood on the dirt roads of towns so small they have to go to the next town an hour or more away to buy groceries or check their mailbox and who’s royal hotel suite is just a caravan with a new coat of paint and “welcome Oracle!” sign. Luna’s work is to cure the Starscourge, which is a disease that I can almost promise the rich don’t get. Because the rich and fancy do not risk their lives by going into daemon territory (Prompto, a middle class Insomnian, didn’t even know what wild animals would be like, you expect the rich and famous to be any better?).

The vast majority of Luna’s patients would be people like Dave the Hunter, or Sania the scientist who wades into the wilds. The truck drivers and the farmers and the electricians risking their lives to repair power lines in the middle of nowhere. She wouldn’t be going to cities except to talk to the refugees who fled there from the outside and thus picked up the Scourge. Her only two social circles would be Niflheim’s cutthroat nobility and the “unwashed masses” who come to her for healing. Guess which ones she’ll be more invested in getting to know on a personal/friendly basis and interacting with.

Of course Luna has interacted with and understands “common folk”. Luna is a caregiver, not just physically, but emotionally. She is beloved by the people because she is kind. That means she talks to them. More importantly, she listens. She has held the hands of the farmer as he begs her to heal him, because the harvest season is so close, and if he can’t work, if he dies, then what will become of his wife or the people his farm feeds? She has embraced the sobbing refugee mother as the other breaks down in gratitude for a child who’s skin is a healthy shade and who’s veins no longer bulge a sickly purple. She has met people who are not rich, but who are content. Who have lives that do not hinge on the razor thin dance of staying true to self and not exposing weakness to those who want to eat her alive. Who can laugh with their neighbors and kiss that nice boy down the street just for the fun of it, who can defy curfew to dance in the rain with the person they love and risk, at most, a lecture and a weekend grounding.

And no, they aren’t rich, no, they aren’t influential or powerful, but they are peaceful. They are happy.

Am I really expected to believe that Luna has not looked on these people’s lives from afar, listened to their rambles as they try to distract themselves from the sickness she is drawing from their veins, and not yearned to be the same? That she hasn’t thought over and over again about running away and being free from her gilded cage? That she doesn’t know anything about the lives of the people she heals even as she walks down their streets and steps into their houses so she can heal those who are too sick or too violent to be safely taken out of their room? That she has never thought about what life could be like if she wasn’t an Oracle as she watches the landscape roll by and walks through the wilderness to find the lonely farmsteads that the townsfolk tell her has sick children that cannot be let out of the shed for fear they will bite?

Setting all of that to one side, what human hasn’t thought of being someone else? What person on this planet, hasn’t looked at another person’s life that is so very different from their own and gone “huh, I wonder what that would be like” even if only for a moment before moving on and forgetting about it? Humans are creatures that dream by nature, that are curious by nature. To assume that Luna is not just because she gets to have the fancy dresses and servants is stupid.

…

3a: Luna is unable to make her own decisions and is only the dutiful Oracle because she doesn’t know any better and needs a “wiser” rebellious character to “open her eyes”.

Okay buckle up. I have tried to suppress the salt until now but over these last two points I don’t care. I will be salty. I will be sarcastic. I will be mean. I will reference Real World faiths (tho I’ll try to keep that to a minimum).

Both 3a and 3b are actually systemic issues in storytelling (particularly noticeable in movies/shows but maybe that’s because I’m pretty lucky with my book choices) that I despise with a passion. Specifically 3a relates to the chronic issue writers seem to have with characters not being allowed to be happy with their role in life. There’s this persistent thought, this narrative push, that if a character is following in the footsteps of their family, is entering the “traditional” profession that their parents (or grandparents, or entire generations of predecessors) have been in before them then they must be unhappy with their lot in life. That this is clearly the character being “repressed” and that if they are content then they are either a bad guy (see: every antagonist from a proud military family or every ruler who thinks they are better than everyone because of bloodline ever) or they are just blind to their own unhappiness.

Now, the basic idea of “character discovers they are unhappy in current role and seeks a new one” can actually be done really well. But those stories that do it well have a lot of internal conflict, a lot of self-reflection and searching and choosing to take a new path after really giving it some thought. Maybe they have help along the way, or encouragement, or another character to show that it’s possible by example and that’s okay.

What is not okay is infantilizing a strong, intelligent character by saying “oh it just never occurred to them until they are told that they are unhappy by this much more worldly wise character and then they went and did it”. That is not okay. It not only trivializes the efforts of every real person who has proudly followed in a parent’s footsteps to become something (a doctor, a missionary, a soldier, an actor, even an electrician, pick a life goal and I promise someone has been inspired to do that by their parent being one before them) but it also takes an otherwise strong, dedicated character and implies that they are too stupid to think for themselves or have any free will until the plot and a Shinier Character demands it.

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret is an Oracle, as her mother was before her, and her mother before her, and all the way back two thousand years to the very first Oracle we see in canon. Possibly back even farther, depending on if any of Aera’s ancestors were Oracles too. That isn’t a suffocating tradition, that is a heritage, that is a culture, that is a necessary, life-saving service that canon proves literally kept the world from falling into eternal darkness (Luna was the last Oracle, the day after she dies is literally the last time we players see sunlight until the end of the game when Noctis dies to restore it). Luna is not stupid or repressed for following in those footsteps, she is breathtakingly strong for shouldering her heritage as the Last Oracle with pride even when the forces controlling every other aspect of her life want her to be ashamed of it and give it up.

The empire that took over her home when she was twelve are actively anti-magic and anti-Astral. Luna is someone who speaks to the Astrals and is born with a magic that can heal the very sickness they want to weaponize. They couldn’t outright forbid her from training to be the next Oracle because that would cause the people to riot, but they could and absolutely would try to make her give up in any way they could. They would have insulted her, demeaned her, hurt her, and imprisoned her. They wouldn’t have wanted a “real” Oracle, they would have wanted a puppet who said pretty promises and then did nothing to stop them.

It would have been so easy for Luna to go down the same path her brother did. To give in to the empire and it’s propaganda that she would have been forced to listen to every single day of her life for twelve whole years. It would have made her life so much easier to be a puppet Oracle who didn’t have to walk miles through the wilderness to maintain Havens, or defy the empire by maintaining loyalty to Lucis, or leave her manor home to heal the sick that could not come to her themselves. As a puppet Oracle she could have stayed in the Manor and only treated cases that could reach her doors and were vetted by the empire. She could have eaten the finest foods and worn the best dresses and never had to worry about a pack of hungry Voretooths or a rogue Behemoth tearing her apart. Most of all, Niflheim wouldn’t have been nearly as oppressive or violent. They would have gladly given her the illusion of freedom and control as long as she played along rather than been fully willing and prepared to run into the jungle with a suitcase just to escape as seen in the movie.

Luna was not blindly fitting into a mold and she was not and has never been incapable of making a decision. The fact that she shows up in canon as a strong, dedicated woman who is in control of her emotions and not afraid to face down a giant sea monster with the power to summon tidal waves with just her words and a glorified pointy stick proves that. The idea that she needs a “wiser” character to come alongside her and “free her” from her own duties is not only stupid, it undermines one of the key things that makes Luna such a strong character despite her relative lack of screentime.

Furthermore, canonically, one of Luna’s main reasons for sticking with her duty as Oracle isn’t because it’s tradition, it’s because of what Niflheim did. In the Kingsglaive movie, when Nyx Ulric is getting angry at Luna for doing really reckless, life-threatening things, she tells him quote:

“I do not fear death. What I fear is doing nothing and losing everything.”

That’s not a woman who is blindly following a path laid out for her. That is a woman who is desperately, furiously fighting against the people who killed her mother in front of her the best way she can: by being the Oracle they cannot stand for her to be.

But sure. Luna is only the Oracle because she doesn’t know better and it never occurred to her to be anything else until some jaded kid with a shotgun made a snide comment about it.

3b: Luna’s faith is a character flaw that has only survived this long because it wasn’t challenged by a worldly wise character who knows better.

Not going to lie but words cannot express how much I hate this trope. This is another thing that shows up a lot in television/movies but also in books too, and that is that a character is not allowed to have a faith in something/religion unless they are 1. Foolish, 2. Brainwashed/tricked into it, 3. A crazy fanatic, or 4. It’s a character flaw they have to overcome by becoming more jaded and atheist and hateful.

Because … that’s not how it works. There are- millions (billions) of people all over the real world who are intelligent, well educated, thoughtful, kind, and religious. And no I’m not just talking about Christianity (tho I am Christian so you can see why this trope grinds my gears so hard). There’s Hinduism, there’s Islam, there’s Buddhism, there’s Judaism, there’s so many faiths and belief systems okay. And no we don’t tend to play well with each other or accept the validity of the others but that doesn’t mean we’re fanatics or brainwashed or stupid. And no we really don’t appreciate it when media introduces a character who follows a religion (even fictional ones!) only to make them an antagonist or rip it away from them in the name of “improving their character”. Just like every other cultural group ever who really doesn’t like their heritage and culture being used as a butt of jokes or is turned into a caricature or used as the basis for the antagonist being Evil™.

But no. We can’t possibly have a character who’s faith makes them strong or gives them comfort in times of hardship unless they are deluded. We can’t possibly have a character who is both intelligent and faithful. We can’t possibly show a character who is breathtakingly courageous and selfless as well as religious unless we point at their faith and go oh look a horrible character flaw to overcome by having non-believer characters open their eyes via sarcastic commentary.

And look. Look. I am well aware that the plot of Dawn of the Future has Bahamut as the Bad Guy™. I am fully aware of that. But if you want to be purely honest and technical, that doesn’t invalidate Luna’s faith because (spoilers) the other Astrals fight Bahamut to save the world. They hear her cries and the come to fight on behalf of Lucis and Noctis and all of Eos and they kill Bahamut even when that ensures their own destruction.

But we’re not actually here to talk about whether the Astrals deserve Luna’s faith in them, we’re here to talk about why insisting Luna’s faith is, by nature of being a faith, treated like a flaw and why it is treated like something so weak it only survived to this point because Luna didn’t face anything “bad” enough to “snap her out of it”.

Spoiler alert, it’s not a flaw and it’s not weak.

Going back to something I have mentioned several times already: Niflheim is an empire run by people who actively want to kill the very beings most of the planetary population worships. The very same people in charge of Luna’s life for twelve years, starting from when she was twelve and very emotionally vulnerable and traumatized, hate the Astrals. I repeat: They hate the Astrals. They have devised weapons to try (and spectacularly fail) to kill them. Half their continent is a winter nightmare-land because they tried to kill Shiva the Glacian and she went “haha, nice try, lemme leave a fake corpse here that constantly pumps out freezing temperatures and blizzards”.

Am I seriously, honestly, supposed to believe that these people didn’t try to tear down her faith at every single opportunity? That Ravus wouldn’t have tried to bully and cajole and harass her into abandoning her faith because he knew that her faith was what kept her walking her chosen path as Oracle and that said path was destined to kill her? Am I seriously supposed to believe that Luna didn’t spend those twelve years having to sit there and bite her tongue to keep from raging at these cutthroat nobles as they gloated and sneered and spat on the names of the Astrals who gave Luna the very magic she uses to heal those in need?

Luna never needed Sol to come along and say “what have the Astrals ever done for you?” because I promise that she’s heard some variation of that exact phrase from everyone in her life. From her own brother to the Emperor himself she has heard some form of this question, this taunt. In the Kingsglaive movie, General Glauca even says something to the order of, “To what god do you pray? The gods do not listen.” Right before he kidnaps her.

Luna’s faith isn’t something blind, and it is not a flaw. It is a cornerstone of her character. Luna’s faith is a bloody, stubborn, tenacious thing that she has nurtured and shored up and been steadied by through twelve years of emotional abuse and physical imprisonment. Luna’s faith is an unshakeable thing that can only come from long nights spent crying into the silent dark of the room and asking “is this real? Am I right? Should I give up? This hurts so much, what do I do?” and finding the answer to be “yes this is real. Yes I am right. No, I won’t give up even though it kills me. Yes it hurts, but what I believe in is stronger than this pain.”

Faith is not optimism and it is not fanaticism. Optimism can be broken by hardship and fanaticism has no room for selfless kindness or acceptance of other people not being as devoted as they are. Faith is personal. Faith is a bedrock, and maybe it’s a bedrock that makes no sense to people on the outside, but it is a bedrock and it can make mountains move.

Just as Luna proves when she runs rings around an Empire to win the respect and cooperation of Titan and of Ramuh, to stand amid the rain and tell an enraged TideMother that “it is in mercy that men offer praise, and in shedding grace that the gods solicit worship” and not flinch because she knows she is right.

Luna’s faith is a fierce, scarred thing that has taken every kind of suppression and propaganda and poison the empire could throw at it and kept on going.

Furthermore. Luna’s faith is treated by Sol as something empty. Because when did the Astrals ever help her or comfort her or save her?

I can answer that. They helped her when they gave her Umbra and Pryna, who kept her company through her life and gave her a way to talk to Noctis. A way to reach out to a person who was not either imperial, warped by imperial propaganda, or too afraid to speak out against the empire for fear of dying. They comforted her when Gentiana became a second mother for Luna after the death of Queen Sylva. A physical shoulder to cry on, a sounding board to bounce fears off of, a well of advice when it was asked of her, a rock to retreat to when Ravus turned away from her and the empire continued to control as much of her life as they could.

Gentiana, who is really Shiva in disguise, has been with Luna since she was a small child.

One of the Astrals themselves has been with Luna for almost her entire life. Has guided her, has comforted her, has led her to safety as she fled Insomnia’s ruins.

Shiva had no reason to do that. The Oracles have done their duty since the time of Aera without her help or company. Shiva didn’t have to stay. She didn’t have to linger and offer comfort and become Luna’s friend. She didn’t have to listen to the last words of a scared young woman who wanted only to see her fiancé one last time and promise to carry them to Noctis in the event of her death. Shiva didn’t have to cry on behalf of Luna. Shiva didn’t have to help Luna remember what it was like to be an ordinary woman (“Yet others need not hide their grief. Is she [Luna] so different from them?”), and in fact, if Shiva had played up to most of the stereotypes, she would have done the opposite and done her hardest to suppress any part of Luna’s personality that wasn’t her Oracle duties.

But she did. Shiva was there, and she remembered. Shiva loved and we as a fandom may yell at the Astrals a lot for not doing more to take care of the Starscourge, but of all of them Shiva gave the most because she came down and she lived, and walked, and loved this Oracle, this scared child, this frightened, weary woman who couldn’t even turn to her own family for comfort. Shiva’s husband Ifrit was betrayed by humankind and yet Shiva still defended them, she kills Ifrit to protect the man (the king) that Luna loved.

And at the end of the game, in those final moments outside the Citadel, when it’s just Noctis and his Retinue against all of Ardyn’s armies of daemons, when Luna calls out to these Astrals whom she has remained faithful to her entire life, even unto her death…

They answer.

Every. Last. Astral. Who is not corrupted like Ifrit, comes down at her prayer and fights. Even Leviathan who’s only voiced lines are screaming wrath against the humanity that forgot her, even Bahamut who otherwise remains aloof in his plane of magic beyond the concerns of the mortal world. Luna calls, and they answer her.

“What have the Astrals ever done for her” indeed.

Luna’s faith is a driving force of her character, it is irrevocably intertwined with her duty, with her choices, with her desire to help people and save the world even if it costs her own life, and in the end her faith is rewarded. Not in the way we want for her, because we love the ultimate happy endings where everyone lives and nobody dies. But Final Fantasy XV was never a story about happy endings. It was a story about coming of age, and tragedy, and sacrifice. Of holding onto hope against all opposition, and of having faith that someday the dawn will return, even if bringing about that dawn requires personal sacrifice.

…

Okay this is over 5k words, I’m tired, and I’m extremely salty so I can’t really figure out how to wrap this up but there we go, my salty personal rant about why I think Dawn of the Future messed up some really critical parts of Luna’s characterization and why it’s Really Bad that they messed up those specific things.

Also I kinda despise them making Bahamut the bad guy in DotF because yes he’s a jerk and yes he really could have done the whole Prophecy thing a ton better, but in the original FFXV one of the things that made the game so heartbreakingly tragic to me is that most of the characters involved weren’t pure evil. They could be greedy, and flawed, and crazy, but in the end the source of the problem was too big to pin on one character.

Do you pin the entire thing on the god of war for his mistakes in trying to bring about peace, or the god of fire for trying to destroy humanity and no longer being there to do his job and purify the plague? Do you blame the Astrals for their hubris or humanity for theirs, because Ifrit loved humanity until they betrayed him so deeply he went mad? Do you hate Ardyn for causing the Long Night or pity him for being a victim of Somnus’s greed? Can you blame Somnus for everything even though the Scourge was going on long before him and kept spreading long after he sealed Ardyn away? The whole thing is a tragedy because at this point it’s a problem too big to fix without someone paying a price too heavy and we hate that because the characters who pay that price are the ones we grow to love over the game.

But that is an entirely different rant for an entirely different day when I am not so tired and my hands no longer hurt from writing this much in one sitting. Thank you and good night.

[celosiaa]

H/C prompt: Jon breaking down crying and Martin being there to hold him. possible reason(s) for crying: guilt? exhaustion? frustration? despair? after leaving the Dark's domain? after waking up from a particularly horrifying nightmare (his own or someone else's)? ALL OF THE ABOVE? (PS: I adore your fic 'Steady, love'. so beautifully written, it had me crying like a baby, and the sickfic elements were absolutely *chef's kiss*.

thank you so much for this prompt!!! I loved it so much!!  this is set right as they’re leaving the Dark.  Martin’s thoughts are formatted in italics.

CW: mention of hitting, monster Jon

 The instant a bit of light had managed to seep through the Dark, just barely enough to see, they had dropped each other’s hands.

Martin isn’t sure who was first, and finds that he doesn’t care much at the moment.  He walks on ahead of Jon now, holding a pace that’s just a bit too fast for the shorter man behind him.  Altogether, he’s mainly pleased to have a moment to himself—to take the reins, even—since they were obviously heading toward the light.  And of course, Jon would tell him if he was turning the wrong way.

Probably.

He peeks over his left shoulder anyway, just to make sure that Jon is still there.  Naturally, he’s following at some distance behind—probably on purpose, allowing them both some space to breathe.  If Martin weren’t so angry, he would likely feel immense gratitude for this action, but he simply does not have the room in his heart to do so at the moment.

It’s not his fault, some small voice behind the seething anger tells him.

You’re only angry at yourself.

For pushing him so hard.

For leaving the children to their terror.

For doing nothing.

Monster.

Sighing and hanging his head, he claws at the anger over their powerlessness, wanting more than anything to tear it down, to have Jon at his side again.  Anything to ease the leaden weight that has settled on his heart.  With the growing light comes a rising discomfort over the emptiness; the space where Jon should be like a gaping wound.  Even so, Martin does not slow his pace nor turn around—unable to bear looking at Jon’s face now.  Not when he knows he’ll be met with his gorgeous eyes, filled with nothing but disappointment and hurt.

Coward.

The weight on his chest sinks beneath the earth.

They walk a bit further, the stark white light surrounding them forcing Martin to stop briefly to blink it away.  As he recovers his vision, he notices with a start that the asphalt of the Dark’s streets trails off just ahead—crumbling into the endless sea of sand now stretching out before them.  His stomach drops as he passes his gaze over their surroundings, overwhelmed with such unfathomable nothingness that he feels his anger immediately melt away into anxiety.

The Vast.  Has to be.

Behind him, Martin can hear Jon’s shuffling, much slower than usual, before—

He stumbles.

Shit.

“Jon?”

Martin whirls around at once, greeted with the sight of Jon bent over, bracing on wobbling knees—and knows he’s about to go down.

“Oh shit shit shit—”

Martin dashes toward him, arms outstretched, as Jon falls—managing to catch him around the waist just in time to lower him gently to the ground.

Should have known should have known should have known

He moves with practiced motion now, adrenaline pumping, glancing around for any potential threats as he feels Jon’s pulse—a bit more rapid than he’d like, but still thrumming forcefully against his fingers.  Satisfied for the moment, he moves to crouch by Jon’s feet, lifting them up to rest on his right shoulder in an attempt to bring him around.

“Come on, Jon, wake up,” he murmurs, eyes still flitting around periodically for any sign of danger.

This is the fourth time Jon has blacked out after leaving a domain.  Though he tends to mince words about these things, Martin had managed to coax him into explaining that, occasionally, the sheer amount of horror that piles into his head from some of these places is simply too much to bear.  Too painful to swallow, too painful even to speak.  His brain—the human part, that is—simply shorts out when the weight of it sinks in, sometimes sending him to the ground faster than Martin can catch him.

Thankfully, this had not been one of those times.

This was, however, becoming concerning—Jon has woken up within a minute each and every time before.  Nearly two minutes have gone by now, and he’s shown no sign of increasing awareness—no twitching, no gasps, nothing—and Martin’s heart beats faster with every passing second.  Sliding his legs off his shoulder, unsure of how much that really helps in this situation anyway, Martin takes his hand and kisses his wrist briefly.

“Come on, love, please.”

Please don’t leave me here alone.

The wind is rising now, kicking up the sand around them and tossing Martin’s hair wild.  The sound of it rings through Martin’s head like an empty cavern—or as if he’s on the top of a tall building, toes tipping over the edge, ready to blow over the side and down, down, down at any moment.  Shuddering at the thought, he swipes a hand over his face as the sand begins to sting in his eyes.

We need to find shelter.  Fast.

As the wind rushes even faster, Martin finds himself angling his back against it in front of Jon, in some feeble attempt to protect Jon’s face from the harshness.  Already he can feel his lips beginning to chap in the never-ending dryness, and licks at them—only to find them instantly more chapped than before.

“Please, wake up, Jon please,” he begs, shaking Jon’s shoulders in earnest now.

At last, at long last, Jon begins to stir—static pulsing from him in a blast loud enough to force Martin to cover his ears.

“Nngh—”

His eyes, now an aberrant green, flit about wildly—seeing without taking anything in.  Martin does his best to recover himself quickly, and clasps Jon’s hand in both of his own.

“Hey, you’re alright, you’ve just blacked out again.  You’re alright.”

Attempting to lift his head off the ground, Jon finally meets his eyes.  The confusion displayed there is enough to send Martin’s heart straight into his throat.

“M’tin?” he slurs, blinking sluggishly at him.

Oh god.

Martin is thoroughly worried at this point, as Jon has never been this confused when he awakens from these episodes.  To be sure, he’s often forced to rest in the wake of their intensity, but never has he seemed so completely unaware of their surroundings, unaware of him.  In an attempt to conceal his growing panic, Martin clutches his hand just a little bit tighter.

“That’s right, Jon, it’s me.  You with me?”

He receives no reply, Jon merely staring at him for a moment with bloodshot eyes before his gaze drifts away, scanning around listlessly.

“Okay.  Okay, that’s fine, that’s fine,” Martin says in a shaking voice, mostly to assure himself of this lie.

He forces himself to take a steadying breath, and becomes suddenly aware of the sand stinging the back of his neck.

Focus.

What do we do?

…

Shelter. Now.

Leaning back over Jon, patting his hand against his cheek, Martin steels himself for action.

“Listen, Jon—can you hear me?”

Martin is forced to shout against the howling of the wind.  Slowly, ever so slowly, Jon’s eyes drift back to his.

“I-I think we’re in the Vast.  We need shelter, now.  Can you See if there’s anything around?”

For a long moment, Jon merely stares back at him, and Martin is unsure if he is even able to comprehend his words.  To his relief, he’s proven wrong when Jon closes his eyes, and Martin immediately senses the power building in him.  He reaches his mind across this wasteland, searching every hill and valley for any bit of it that might protect them—then snatches Martin’s wrist, squeezing it tightly.

“Ow, Jon, you’re hurting—”

Jon’s eyes meet his, and suddenly Martin can See too.

A cliffside, impossibly tall—a barrier from the wind, if I’ve ever seen one.

Jon drops his hand at once, exhausted, as black ink begins to cascade from his eyes and nose—and Martin knows he is utterly spent.  With overwhelming relief, Martin wipes at the wetness with his sleeve.

“Thank you, love, thank you, thank you,” he whispers, leaning down to plant a kiss on Jon’s clammy forehead.

Even as he does so, the wind against his back rises, and Martin is suddenly launched back to the task at hand.

Shelter.  Focus.

“Jon, we need to move.  I’m going to have to carry you, I’m sorry.”

At this, Jon opens his eyes, his brows knitting together at once in silent apology.

“It’s alright, love.  Don’t worry.  If I put you on my back, could you hold on?”

After considering this for a moment, Jon nods determinedly and moves to sit up.  Martin supports his shoulders at once, pulling him gently upwards—but he loses Martin’s body as a barrier against the wind, sand flying immediately toward his face.

“Ooh, close your eyes, close your eyes—” Martin says as he lifts a hand to shield Jon’s face. 

It takes Jon a few moments, as he’s teetering on the brink of consciousness, before he complies.

“Keep them closed, alright?  And keep your head down.  Ruddy sand is everywhere.”

Jon nods and coughs weakly, pulling at Martin’s heartstrings.

There’s got to be something I can do.

Thinking for a moment, Martin slips his bag from his shoulders, rummaging around until he finds his t-shirt.  Unfortunately, it’s an old favorite of his—a prize from a writing competition where he’d won third place.  He pulls out his knife.

Sorry, old friend.

Slashing it to pieces, he turns back to Jon and places a hand on his shoulder to alert him to his presence.

“I’m going to tie this fabric around your nose and mouth, and another one over your eyes, okay?”

As he does so, Jon reaches up to meet his hands, fumbling to help him.  It’s to no avail, however—left without his arms to brace him, Jon immediately begins to tip over, listing into Martin’s arms.

“It’s alright, Jon—let me, let me,” Martin soothes, pushing Jon’s hands down.

He props him back up to sitting and completes his task before tying his own makeshift bandanna over his face.  Turning back to his bag, Martin realizes his problem—if he’s going to carry Jon on his back, he’ll have to strap his bag onto Jon’s shoulders as well.

Shit.

He freezes in place for a moment, unwilling to do anything to make this worse for Jon, when—

A gust of wind throws the sand behind his glasses, stinging painfully at his eyes, and he remembers that they need to move now.

I’m sorry, my love.

Regretfully, Martin loosens the straps of his bag before draping it across Jon’s shoulders, over his own pack.  Moving toward his front, Martin clips both bags across Jon’s chest to anchor them.

“Sorry, Jon, I’m so sorry.”

Jon does not reply, head merely lolling forward in response.

At last, Martin turns, crouching with his back toward Jon, and guides his arms to drape around his neck.  When he feels Jon’s grip tightening, Martin lifts himself to half-standing so that he can hoist Jon’s legs, holding them tightly in his arms.

It’s heavy, and it’s painful, but it will have to do.

“Alright?” Martin asks, testing Jon’s consciousness.

Jon nods weakly against his shoulder, where his head has tipped against him, and Martin begins their trudge toward the cliff.

---

Time.

What is time, really?

Is there anything so silly as time?

Even the word sounds funny.

Time, time, time—

Hardly even a word at all, I’d say.

…how long have I been walking, then?

Martin is beginning to stumble now, his breath coming in audible, wheezing gasps.  He can feel the tender skin of his lips split and bleeding below his bandanna, the sand somehow managing to reach beneath it to tear at his skin and lungs.  All he can do now is move forward, braced against the onslaught, and hope to god he’ll see the cliff face rising from the emptiness.

Any moment now.  Surely.

At last, at long last, his prayer is answered—the cliffside juts out before them, and Martin desperately wishes he had the energy to run toward it.  His entire body shakes with effort, back aching impossibly, eyes barely open against the wind.  Nevertheless, he presses on—feet slipping in the sand in his hurry to get behind the rocky outcropping.

“Almost there, Jon, almost there,” he mutters, voice cracked and thin.

The moment he gets them out of the wind, Martin’s knees slam onto the ground, Jon slipping from his back at once as he leans forward on all fours.  Coughing and gagging desperately, his limbs barely willing to support him, he is forced to allow himself a minute or so of recovery.  His vision spins and pulses wildly—whether from exhaustion or relief, Martin cannot tell.

We made it we made it we made it

When the coughing subsides, he turns slowly back to Jon, who has propped himself up on one shaking elbow to watch him with concern.  Martin pulls the cloth from his face at once and offers him a pained smile. 

“It’s okay, I’m alright.  Just have to—get the tent going—and we can rest,” he assures between pants.

Martin can read the guilt written across Jon’s face like a billboard.  He crawls toward him, unclipping the bags from his chest and sliding them gently from his shoulders—as he does so, Jon’s eyelids begin to flutter as he swoons.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Cradling him where he lies, Martin wishes he had anything at all with which to comfort him, but knows he needs to get the tent up first.

You can’t trust comfort.

Not anymore.

He sets Jon’s head on the ground gently and stands, vision swimming unpleasantly.

Keep going, Martin. 

Work yet to be done.

---

“Ow, fuck, ow ow—”

Martin curses against the stinging of the water that he’s just poured over his eyes, attempting to wash the sand out yet again.  He’s leaning halfway out of their now fully-staked tent, which he dragged Jon’s unconscious form into nearly half an hour ago.  All things considered, Martin feels that he’s done at least a decent job at caring for him—he’s been carefully tucked beneath their threadbare blanket, head pillowed on a pile of clothes that Martin has stuffed into a t-shirt, face washed of the ink that had spilled from him earlier.  Unconsciousness has lightened gradually into what appears to be sleep, and for that, Martin is grateful.

Sighing, he zips up the tent flap before taking a swig from the canteen, careful not to drink too much.  They haven’t needed water during the entirety of their journey thus far—different reality, and all—but who knows what may lie around the next corner?  He swishes the water around his mouth before swallowing, savoring the sensation of moisture over the cracking dryness.

There’s a poem in there somewhere.

Should write it down.

Turning around to grab his notebook from his bag, he notices with a start that Jon’s eyes are now open, watching him intently.  Martin’s face immediately melts into an easy smile as he moves to kneel beside him, brushing away the loose strands of hair hanging over his face.

God, I love him.

“Hey, there you are.  How are you feeling?”

Jon says nothing, continuing to stare deeply into Martin’s eyes before his gaze moves lower, taking in the full extent of his form—dirty, bleeding, and exhausted.  Tears well up when he looks back up at him, giving a shuddering gasp as a hand flies up to cover his mouth.

“Jon?  What is it?” Martin asks, grasping his hand in concern.

All at once, Jon’s expression falls, tears cascading down his cheeks like a river.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes, before breaking off into wrenching sobs.

Martin’s heart is absolutely shattered.

“Oh no, it’s okay, it’s okay, shh—”

He pulls Jon up into a gentle embrace, pressing his violently shaking form against his chest.  Jon buries his face into Martin’s shoulder, unable to control this ultimate expression of sorrow, of grief, of bottled-up anxiety, of overwhelming guilt.  

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be, Jon—please don’t.”

Running a hand up into Jon’s locks, Martin continues to whisper soothingly, fighting back against his own tears now threatening to spill over.

“You’re alright, love; I’m alright, we’re safe, and I’m here—”

Jon only sobs harder at this, the dryness of his throat pulling such raw cries from him that Martin can no longer hold back his own tears.  Grasping him even tighter, he angles his head downward to press his lips against Jon’s cheek, and again into his hair.  Martin has run out of words now, letting his arms be the hope to which Jon clings.

Please let it be enough.

I know it’s not, but please.

After several minutes, Jon’s sobs fade away, leaving only the trembling of his weakened body behind.

“Here, let’s—here, lie down with me, alright?” Martin says, fearing that Jon might lose consciousness again if he stays upright any longer.

Jon does not reply, still clinging to him, but Martin reaches out for his pack anyway—pulling it behind his head as he guides Jon down to lie against him.  Nuzzling into his shoulder at once, Jon lays a hand across his chest as Martin strokes his free hand through Jon’s hair.

“Must have been a bad one, eh?” Martin whispers, unable to imagine the magnitude of the nightmares filling Jon’s head.

“It…it was,” Jon replies shakily.  “It is.”

Oh, darling.  I’m sorry.

Silence falls for a moment, and Martin pulls Jon even closer to his chest.

“Do you…want to talk about it?” he asks, wanting desperately to take even a small portion of this burden from him.

Jon’s eyes well with tears once again, and Martin’s heart sinks.

“…I can’t.”

The tears spill over, and Martin knows he has no recourse for comfort but to press his chapped and bleeding lips against Jon’s forehead, willing it all away in silent prayer.  Mercifully, these are quicker to subside—the quiet resumes after a few moments, and they begin to speak over each other.

“Jon, I—”

“Martin—”

They pause, staring into the other’s eyes before Martin continues.

“Jon, listen, I owe you an apology.”

Jon’s hand clenches around a fistful of Martin’s shirt.

“You—what?”

“No, I do.  I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard back in the Dark, made you explain everything to me.  It was obviously hurting you, and I just acted like I didn’t care, and I should have trusted your judgement,” Martin says, the words spilling out of him in a rush.

Jon’s voice is low and solemn when he replies.

“No, you shouldn’t.”

A shiver runs up Martin’s spine.

“What?”

“Look, I…I’m not—”

He breaks off, tears pooling yet again at the corners of his eyes, breath picking up as he continues.

“I’m not the same anymore, Martin.  You had to beg me to even think about saving children from—from unconscionable torment, and I-I’m so sorry I couldn’t, that I put them there, that I—”

“Shh, shh, it’s alright, darling.  Try to breathe.  Breathe with me, love.”

Jon squeezes his eyes shut, a few more tears leaking out between gasps, and clutches at Martin’s shirt like a lifeline. 

Like I might fade away again.

Jon has never looked so young in the nearly five years that Martin has known him—graying hair and all.

“You didn’t put them there, Jon.  Eli— Jonah did.  This is not your fault, do you understand?  And we’ll—we’ll come back for them.  We’ll save them.  If there’s a way, I know we will find it.”

At his words, Jon nuzzles deeper into Martin’ chest, tears still dripping silently down his face.  With his free hand, Martin strokes a thumb over his cheek to wipe them away—

The cheek that I hit.

I hit him.

“Oh my god,” Martin says, stomach lurching.

Jon opens his eyes, lifting his head slightly to look at him.

“What is it?”

“Jon, I…god.  Fuck.”

Martin sits up fully, unable to bear the thought that Jon was forced to be here with him, a person who had hurt him.

His breath picks up, coming in short gasps.  With some difficulty, Jon half-props himself up on one elbow, craning his neck to look at his face.

“What is it, Martin?  What’s wrong?”

So gentle.  God.

Martin turns to look at him, eyes brimming with horror.

“I hit you.”

Jon sighs, hanging his head momentarily.

“Martin, no, you—”

“No, Jon.  No.  There’s no excuse, all this time I could have just talked you out of the statements, but I settled on hitting you first—”

“You didn’t know.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“You didn’t know, Martin.  That’s all.  You were trying to help.”

Martin falls silent, chest heaving, distinctly not looking at Jon.  The way he swallows now tells Jon of his growing nausea over the whole affair—the guilt, the shame, the regret—too much for anyone to bear; especially here, especially now.  When Jon begins running a soothing hand along the length of Martin’s thigh, he comes undone.

I don’t deserve this.

“I…I am so sorry, Jon.”

Martin does look at him now, pulling every ounce of sincerity within him into this one gaze.

“A-and I know that doesn’t even begin to cover it, but—”

“It’s alright.”

Martin shakes his head fervently.

“No, it’s not alright.”

“Then I forgive you, darling.”

Jon takes his hand, ever so gently, and the tears fall unbidden from Martin’s cheeks.

I do not deserve this.

Martin brings Jon’s hand to his lips to kiss it.  To Martin’s astonishment, Jon huffs out a laugh.

“It’s not like they were very hard anyway.  More like a…gentle slapping.”

Shocked, Martin’s mouth drops open for a moment as more tears cascade down his cheeks.

“Jon, that is not funny.”

“Oh—oh no, I’m sorry dear, I was just trying to make you laugh,” Jon says, brow furrowing as he attempts to sit up—and nearly goes back down again, the dizziness threatening to pull him under.

“Lie back, Jon, just lie back—”

Martin pushes against his chest with a lighter touch than any Jon has felt, suddenly afraid even to touch him.  Leaning over, he fusses at Jon’s makeshift pillow, his blanket, before—

Jon reaches up to cup a hand around the back of his neck, and he freezes in place, hazel eyes meeting bright green.

“I love you, you know,” Jon says, voice nearly a whisper.

You shouldn’t you shouldn’t you shouldn’t

Jon’s brow furrows at once, as if Martin’s thoughts were written across his face.  The hand at the back of his neck moves forward to cup his cheek, Jon’s other hand reaching up in parallel.

“Hey.  Hey.  Listen.  I love you—you gentle, kind, compassionate, gorgeous man.”

The way Jon looks at him now—eyes full of sincerity and honest love—forces Martin to believe him, bringing a blush to his sand-flecked cheeks.  There’s nothing for it now—Martin smashes his lips into Jon’s, smiling against him when Jon lets out a noise of pleasant surprise.

I love him I love him I love him

Martin deepens the kiss for just a moment before pulling back, resting their foreheads together.

“And I love you—you brave, passionate, protective, beautiful man.”

Jon pulls him back down at once, and they find nothing but rest in each other’s arms.

[realcube]

the heart || kei tsukishima x reader

 summary: modern au! you and tsukishima are supposed to dissect a lamb heart in biology but it doesn’t go to plan

tw// cussing, the dissection of a lamb heart, blood, biology 🤢

my excuse: this is based on a true story and i wrote it at like 3am - read at your own expense. this is probably the worst piece i’ve every written.

“Geez, why are you complaining? You literally just play Cool Maths Games during every period of Biology and now that we actually have to do something you become a whiny bitch.” Tsukishima clicked his tongue, slipping his phone back into his pocket while adjusting his headphones so they hung around his neck, rather than having to take them off because they were apart of his look at this point.

You tossed your head back upon hearing the news that you’d actually have to do something in class for a change, “Exactly! Biology is supposed to be the one class where I am not bombarded with work. Just last period, I drew at least fifty stupid fucking graphs! For what? To find x? To hell with your x !” You cried, running a hand through your hair to make sure you didn’t mess it up because you spent way too long straightening it this morning for a swift movement of your neck to mess it all up. 

Tsukishima sighed, hesitantly rubbing your back as you genuinely seemed quite stressed, “It’ll be fine, and it’s not like we’re learning anything new. We have already studied the heart, I think it was last year; we’re only doing the experiment now because we couldn’t to do it last year for some reason.” Tsukishima mumbled, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he noticed that he was doing a decent job of reassuring you as your hair was no long standing on its ends. 

“Plus,” He said, flicking his pencil with his fingers, “This’ll be cool! The heart is quite an interesting organ, it’ll be fun to actually get hands-on and see the chambers and valves up close, don’t you think?” He added, seeming a bit too enthusiastic about dissecting a lamb heart - it was kinda creepy.

After you finished loudly judging him, you pulled out your phone from your pocket and absently went to snapchat, to send your streaks. “Yeah, whatever. Get in ‘ere with me Tsukishima, will you?” It was hardly a request as before he even had time to process what you had just asked him, you had taken a selfie of you and him with the indie filter, wrote ‘streaks’ on it and sent it to your whole best friend’s list. 

It took him a moment to react to what you just did but when he noticed you typing away to your friend, he let out a breathy sigh. Usually, he’d be fuming by your action but he had to admit, he looked pretty good in that picture - especially because he barely had any nice candid photos of himself. “Send that to me - but without the stupid caption.” Was all he could be bothered to utter.

You hummed in agreement, “Will do.” You replied, immediately finding the photo in your saved pictures and scrolling down your friends list until you found Tsukishima; he wasn’t too low down since you recently asked him for the answers to the Maths homework - he said no, of course, but it was worth a shot.

“I’m feeling kinda bummed so y’know what I am gonna do?” You spoke and without giving Tsukishima a moment to respond, you answered your own question. “Check your Snapchat username, it always makes him laugh.”

Tsukishima’s blood ran cold and his eyes widened at the mention of his username on Snapchat, “(Y/N). Do not--”

“Dinoguykei!” You exclaimed rather loudly, tears of joy pricking at the corners of your eyes as you cackled upon repeating his username to yourself - absolute gold.

“I was, like, 11 when I made it! Give me a break.” He spat, sticking out his bottom lip momentarily before pulling his headphones back over his head to clasp his ears so he no longer had to listen to your ‘annoying-ass laugh’, as he called it. There was clearly no music playing from his headphones and he acted as if he couldn’t hear you when he had them on despite the fact that they were clearly not noise-cancelling - this was a move he pulled often which you liked to call ‘blocking out the a haters’ as he would do that exact thing whenever you said something to displease him..

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow, flicking his fake-ass SOMY headphones but since they were made of wurtzite boron nitride or something like that, they hit you right back, resulting in your hissing and quickly pulling your hand away. “Do you think that your crusty, dollar store headphones can prevent my noise from reaching your ears? I think the fuck not.” 

“I-”

“If you want me to buy you new ones, just ask. How much were they? Or are they hend-me-downs?” You inquired without missing a beat, it wasn’t often that you managed to tease Tsukishima which such flow consecutively so you were obviously going to make to most of this opportunity while you had it.

“They are from the dollar store but I didn’t buy them.” Tsukishima mumbled but loud enough for you to hear, he lowered his head and desperately tried to resist the sly grin which tugged at the corners of his lips as all the memories came flooding back to him. “You were there, weren’t you?” 

“No.” You replied simply but immediately realising what Tsukishima was talking about and leaning in closer to him, “Is Tsukki a criminal?” You sung while wiggling your eyebrow playfully at him. 

Tsukishima scoffed, once again lowering his headphones from his ears back down to his neck. “As if you aren’t, with all the stuff you stole from the supermarket.” He hissed while trying not to laugh as he recalled the time you tried to sneak out passed security by shoving food under your shirt so you looked pregnant - and they fucking fell for it! Or  maybe they were just too lazy to bother calling you out, either way you got away with it though. “And this is what you said before bolting out of Forever21 with sunglasses in your bra - verbatim: ‘If it is a chain, it’s free rein.’.” 

You wiped an imaginary tear from your eye as you heard those words leave Tsukishima’s mouth, “Beautiful-” You mused, about to go on to tell him about the other economic benefits of stealing from large corporations until he cut you off to correct you as always.

“So, you were wrong. These headphones were not a dollar, they were free.” 

Of course, Tsukishima never talks to you without the intend of either insulting you or proving your wrong in some way/argue with you. So why would this be any exception?

“Anyway,” Tsukishima began, his gaze shifting around the room rapidly in search of the biology teacher, “Where is that bitch? I’m ready to dissect the fuck out of that lamb heart if he just gets his ass over here immediately. He always does this.” Tsukishima huffed as this was far from the first time he had been let down by the biology teacher, as well as all of his classmates.

In fact, the whole class had basically mutually agreed that the biology teacher was shit as almost everyone in the class was failing due to his horrible teaching - or lack there of. Tsukishima was the only one passing because he had a tutor but he was still averaging 60% - a C - which was way too low for his liking. 

Also, the biology teacher had a habit of making false promises - for instance, there was that one time he said the class could use whiteboards to create model cells so he rushed out the room to ‘go get the whiteboards’ and didn’t come back. Instead of getting the whiteboards, there was a rumour going around the school that - with the assistance a foreign language teacher - he conducted a different kind of biological experiment in the janitor’s cupboard. 

Be that as it may, all my homies hated the biology teacher..until today, when he actually pulled through with the goods.

He came marching into the class holding a pale bag filled with a dark, red substance and quickly placed it on his desk. “Right, troops. Get yourself a partner, come ‘ere and grab a lamb heart then remove the tricuspid valve for me, will ya?” He panted, rubbing his forehead and bringing attention to his bright red face. He was seemingly out of breath yet nobody has ever seen him run before; was he that tired from walking to the storage cupboard and back?

“Sir, do we dissect it with out hands or?”

The teacher shrugged, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder before rushing out of the room. “I don’t know, sure? Or maybe use a spatula or something. Right, BRB, guys.” Just like that, he was gone. Probably to go rail Tsukishima’ foreign language teacher in the privacy of his own home or something. ‘Ew.’ Tsukki shuddered at the thought. 

“I’ll go get us a heart.” He said, getting up from his chair and about to make his way over to the teacher’s desk until you giggled, asking, “Who said I wanted to partner up with you?” 

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, checking the time on his phone and spoke without averting his gaze from the path in front of him, “You’ve not got much of a choice.” With that, he slinked off to the front of the class to grab a heart and hopefully a spatula too. 

Your mouth was left agape at his comment, mostly because you were unable to decipher what he meant by that; curse his naturally sarcastic-sounding tone! Perhaps that was his way of trying to hit on you by saying he wouldn’t allow you to partner up with anybody else - or it could be a jab at the fact everyone in this class hates you for one reason or another.

“Some knob took the last spatula so I guess you’re using your hands.” He grumbled, dumping the heart which was packed in a thin, clear plastic bag onto your desk. Crossing his arms over his chest before sitting back down at his own table, pulling out his phone and about to start playing some music until you realised what he was trying to do and instinctively flicked his arm.

“What?” He hissed, jerking his head around to shoot you a deadly glare. You stuck your bottom lip out to form a pout but then you remembered that he finds your pouty face funny and right now you were trying to be intimidating so you quickly switched to a scowl. “You’re the one who wanted to dissect the stupid thing, you do it!” You roared, slamming the lamb heart onto his desk then leaned back in your chair, folding you arms over your chest in a bad-tempered manor.

Tsukishima’s expression softened slightly as he looked over, doing his best to stifle a chuckle at how silly you looked with a scowl on your face - like grumpy cat, in a way. “Why are you so mad?” He asked monotonously, shifting his gaze onto the heart on his desk, hesitantly reaching out to unzip the plastic bag which it was packed inside. 

You shrugged your shoulders, biting your lip as you looked down at your hands, shocked at how white your knuckles had become from holding a fist for so long. “My bad, Tsukki.” You said in a low voice, embarrassed at how his simple actions had pissed you off so much. “I guess I am just kinda frustrated with this whole class - mostly the teacher. I mean, we’re literally all doing horribly and instead of helping he just gives us a fucking lamb heart to dissect like what good does that--”

Suddenly, you felt something cold and slimy splat against your elbow, leading to a small gasp escaping your mouth as you instinctively whipped your head over to see what it was - however, as soon as you laid your eyes on it, you wished that you hadn’t. 

A high-pitched shriek left your mouth, immediately gaining the attention of almost the whole class but once the turned heads realised how uneventful the situation actually was, they went back to what they were doing prior to your scream. 

Tsukishima winced slightly in reaction to the shrill sound that left your mouth - “Oh, shut up.” He snapped, rolling his eyes at your - in his opinion - melodramatic reaction. “It’s just a bit of lamb heart; here, I’ll get it off for you.”

As soon as you realised what you had just done and the reaction it had evoked, you slapped your spare hand over your mouth but without averting your gaze from the god-forsaken piece of meat which clung committedly to your forearm. “Tsukki.” You tried to sound angry but the fear was still clear in your voice, “Why would you do that?” Although you hadn’t seen him do the deed, you were almost 100% this was the work of him flicking the wretched lamb muscle onto your arm - this theory was reinforced by the fact the plastic bag was lying wide open on his desk.

Tsukishima laughed, leaning over to pick the bit of heart off of your arm then proceeded to flick it away to some other poor soul’s desk. “There we go. Happy now?” 

You growled - something your friend had taught you to do whenever you were mad - shooting daggers at the lanky megane sitting in front of you while he wore a sly grin which just made you want to punch him right on the nose. “What the fuck was that for?” You snarled, “You know how much I hate blood.”

Tsukishima wheezed, he genuinely couldn’t tell if you were being serious or not, “Then what are you doing in a biology class?” His question was barely audible through his gasps for as well as the sound of him slapping him knee.

You clicked your tongue, wiping the excess lamb juice off of your arm, “Joking.” You droned, turning to eye the heart on his desk. “Go on, dissect the thing.”

[coldwind-shiningstars]

ok ok prompts!!! so, I would be Delighted by some more qinxiyao family fic (deleted scenes or things you might have wanted to include in the big bang fic but didn't get to?), or, alternately, anything in the modern tcgf au? anything at all; they're all so excellent <3

both of these are such excellent prompts I started working on both of them, but the modern au got finished first! I’ll probably both a) do a lot of edits on this and b) do the qinxiyao family fic in a week or so, but here this is for now. Also, for those not in James and my brains, this is a very small part of a very large AU! Small note, all characters appearing in this fic are trans; however, He Xuan is still very much an egg and so they are referred to throughout the fic as “he/him,” although SQX at least is aware of this and wondering when to bring it up with her. She is, however, unaware that “Ming Yi” is a stolen identity and He Xuan is actually the eco-terrorist who’s been blowing up her brother’s fish hatcheries. It’s a long story. 

If Xie Lian was being honest, he didn't much like the internet. It was so bright and everything moved too fast. People used a bewildering array of slang and images. It was surprisingly difficult to avoid spending hours reading upsetting news stories. People spent days arguing about pornography. 

Also, his phone didn't really connect to WiFi very well. Even by the loosest definitions of the word, he hardly counted as a netizen.

People were usually shocked when he told them this, though, because Xie Lian's best friend was one of China's most popular beauty influencers.

Xie Lian's face appeared on her Weibo with some regularity. She talked about him often. He'd gone viral three separate times on Douyin, entirely accidentally. 

What Shi Qingxuan was most famous for, however, was makeup tutorials. He had never actually appeared in one of these, but, since there were very few people in the world capable of saying no to a very determined Shi Qingxuan, this was about to change. He was used to being in her charmingly decorated little apartment but not quite used to becoming a decorated thing himself. He'd even put on one of the outfits Hua Cheng had designed and sewn for him, based on some of his old dance costumes and a few frantic weeks of historical research, and kept swishing the skirts around his legs.

Shi Qingxuan started setting up, chattering away to Xie Lian as she did. "You need anything before we start? Bathroom, water, a snack? I edit my videos pretty heavily, so we can always take a break, but it’s good to be comfy." 

"No, I'm fine," Xie Lian said, and then had to close his eyes when she clicked on the ring light.

He fiddled with the makeup compacts laid out on the table.

Shi Qingxuan adjusted her light, scootched Xie Lian’s chair a little to the left and a little back, and then fiddled with the camera. It was quite the involved operation, Xie Lian thought; he knew a lot went into making videos, but he hadn’t realized it took this much effort before the camera was even on. Shi Qingxuan had done his makeup before, of course, but mostly just for fun, or something she could take a picture of and post on Weibo. It had been so long since he'd been filmed.

He watched Shi Qingxuan press record on her camera and then sit back and flash it a smile, putting on her Influencer Face. She squeezed his hand under the table.

“Hi everyone, welcome to Feng Shi!” she said, chirpy. “I’m Shi Qingxuan, and today we’re doing xianxia makeup with my good friend, Xie Lian. Now, for this look, we’re going to need…”

When Xie Lian was little, the makeup artists for his dance troupe had known he took about twice as long as anyone else did to get his makeup done. He was the darling of the company, though, so this was tolerated with fondness.

He didn't like the way the foundation felt on his face when it dried. His eyes watered when they put on eyeliner. He liked to spin his chair from side to side. 

He'd had much worse things on his face than paint since then, and had learned how to be still.

Shi Qingxuan patted his hand cheerfully as she pulled out the setting powder. 

"You're always one of my favorite models," she said. "You're so photogenic and so patient!"

"Thank you," Xie Lian said, and held still while she brushed it in his face.

Ruoye, probably noticing the warmth, slithered out of Xie Lian's robes and curled up on top of his head so she could get the full blast of heat from the ring light. She flickered out her tongue to scent Shi Qingxuan when she leaned in with a liquid eyeliner pen.

Shi Qingxuan made little kissy sounds at her, which only confirmed Xie Lian's certainty that he had good taste in friends. Most people were startled by Ruoye originally, but how they responded to her after Xie Lian introduced them was a good litmus test.

Ruoye settled in, and Xie Lian reached up a finger to stroke her scales. 

He was feeling good, content and warm, happy to sit still. Then the apartment door clicked open, and Xie Lian stiffened.

"Ming-xiong? Is that you?" Shi Qingxuan called.

Ming Yi mumbled something back and shuffled into the room, buried deep in his black hoodie. As always, Xie Lian's first thought upon seeing him was wondering how he could see through all that hair.

The hoodie had a fish skeleton painted on it that he recognized instantly as one of Hua Cheng's drawings; it made Xie Lian smile, thinking of how insistent San Lang was that they absolutely weren't friends, no way, there was no particular reason he would make custom hoodies for Ming Yi. The fish were a coincidence. He’d even made Ming Yi custom salmon breakup boots while proclaiming it meant nothing. 

Xie Lian, wearing an elaborate hanfu Hua Cheng had designed, sewn, and embroidered himself, even making him a period-appropriate duduo to flatten his chest, absolutely did not buy any of these excuses. Hua Cheng covered people he cared about with his art. 

Ming Yi grunted a greeting and wandered off, probably to raid the fridge. Shi Qingxuan winked at Xie Lian.

“I’ll edit most of this out,” she said, conspiratorial, “But my viewers love Ming-xiong. Especially when he’s out of focus in the background. They’ve made memes. I haven’t told them anything about him. It’s good to keep a little mystery! It keeps people watching.”

Xie Lian, having no real idea what she was talking about, smiled and suppressed his instinct to nod. Shi Qingxuan began painting a flower on his forehead with red pigment.

Finally, Shi Qingxuan gently removed Ruoye from Xie Lian’s head and shoulders and settled a wig cap over his hair, then the wig she’d pre-prepared. A few bobby pins, a few tucks, and then she stepped back, grinning.

“Ta-dah! How do you like it, taizi dianxia?”

“It’s beautiful,” Xie Lian said, honestly.

“We’ll end the video here, I think,” she said, “But I’ll get some posed photos of you to edit in here if that’s alright. Oh, tilt your head back and forth a little? Good. Smile at the camera!”

Shi Qingxuan fluttered her fingers at the camera in a wave; Xie Lian waved too, a few seconds later. As she leaned forward to click off the camera he straightened his legs out to try and loosen them up. His knees made terrible crunching sounds as they stretched. 

“You can take a little break if you want,” Shi Qingxuan said. “I’ll set up the area where we’ll take photos, but I’ll try to make it quick. You’re a darling for sitting through all this, you know?"

She was already bustling around again. She seemed to have an endless fountain of energy; Xie Lian found it admirable. He laid flat on his back on her bed, careful to not get makeup on her sheets or wrinkle his clothes. Ming Yi sat next to him, eating shrimp chips. He put a few directly into Xie Lian's mouth, feeding him like a little bird, and Xie Lian felt warm. Like Hua Cheng, it could be hard to know when Ming Yi liked you, but there were ways to tell.

He let Shi Qingxuan pose him until she was satisfied with the numbers of pictures she’d taken, trying very hard not to feel like the chuunibyou teenager he’d once been. He felt himself mostly immune to embarrassment at this point, but he supposed there were always exceptions.

Eventually, they cleaned up, although Xie Lian had promised Hua Cheng to show off the full look, so he didn’t get changed or clean his face. 

“I’ll buy dinner,” Shi Qingxuan said. “We deserve it. You too, Ming-xiong!”

She herded them both out of the apartment and down the street to a small noodles stall. They all ordered (in He Xuan’s case, three bowls) and Xie Lian was fumbling for his phone when he heard Shi Qingxuan cheerfully tell the clerk to put it all on the same ticket. She tapped her phone to pay for it all before Xie Lian could protest.

A few people asked Xie Lian for pictures as they ate. He posed obligingly, hoping he hadn't spilled any sauce on his clothes while eating. When he was done, he packed up his leftovers, let Shi Qingxuan nag him into calling a Didi instead of trying to walk home, and bid both her and Ming Yi farewell. Ruoye, who had spent most of the time they were eating in Xie Lian's backpack, made a brief appearance too like she wanted to say goodbye as well.

Xie Lian clicked his own apartment door closed quietly and tiptoed over to slide his leftovers into the refrigerator. Down the hall, a light shone out from underneath Hua Cheng's studio door.

There was an old picture of the two of them on the fridge; it was them in a hospital pediatric ward group room. Xie Lian, age fifteen, was beaming at the camera, his "FIGHT! JUVENILE SLE" shirt a bright red and his pants an immaculate white. Next to him, Hua Cheng, his right eye patched with patterned tape, bald and tiny, stared up at him with devotion. 

Ruoye bonked her head gently on the freezer door. Xie Lian pulled out one of her mice and slid her gently into her tank before giving her the treat; she was swallowing the mouse as he left the kitchen.

Hua Cheng turned to him as Xie Lian opened the door to his studio. His eye got wide, and his face looked like it did sometimes when he looked at Xie Lian, like he was seeing something holy. He slid his headphones off his ears.

Xie Lian did a little twirl for him, letting him see the way the fabric moved, and then tilted his face up for a kiss when Hua Cheng came over to him.

“Gege, you look beautiful,” he said.

“San Lang,” said Xie Lian. “It’s all you and Qingxuan. I’ll get her to send you the pictures later.”

Hua Cheng kissed the top of his head. He was dressed down, in a soft shirt and pants, not wearing his prosthetic eye. Xie Lian leaned his head into Hua Cheng’s chest.

“Gege seems tired,” Hua Cheng said. “Would you like to get ready for bed? Do you need dinner or your medicine? I can help you take all that off.”

“San Lang, you’re working,” Xie Lian said. “I already ate, so I think I’d like to sleep. But you don’t have to help.”

"Gege is more important than commissions," Hua Cheng said, and Xie Lian let him bundle him off to bed.

post about prompts! 

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 4.2}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

The same feeling, the same pictures, the same ordeal. Wednesday night brought the very same dream as the three nights before, the very same terror. Robin woke to blind panic yet again, her skin covered in a layer of cold sweat. For moments she stared at her hands, incredulous that they weren't covered in blood, as it seemed to have been burning into her flesh only moments before. It had been so real, it had felt so real… she had murdered those people, over and over again, and the darkness had swallowed their screams and her own. She had been her very own victim. Nothing about this dream was acceptable, understandable… Robin felt disturbed to the core. As she stared at the ceiling above her, letting the tears flow down her face to drench the pillows in her sadness, she wondered why her mind was doing this to her. She was the very one torturing herself, and she couldn't remotely understand why. Somehow, this dark version of herself, this dream-her reminded Robin of the boggart. Of something she had seen in herself before. Maybe she was becoming this person now, maybe… she was this person now.

No. Snape had said that this horrid darkness wasn't in her real eyes, and she believed him. She wanted to believe him. Robin closed her eyes, darkness or not, and focused on the memory of their walk last term. She had been feeling similar to now, physically, heart beating too fast and eyes filled with tears… but he had made her go outside, in the most perfect gloomy dusk, and they had walked along the shore of the black lake. It had been so calm, so peaceful… And Robin remembered the tingles on her skin, the excitement upon compliments that hadn't been meant as such. The fact that he had sacrificed an hour, more even, of his precious time to saunter through the woods with her. The memory made her smile, despite the tears, despite the dreams. A good while later, she could actually fall asleep in peace.

… … …

Thursday night came, and of course Robin wasn't spared from her purgatory either. The blood, the hollow eyes, the haunting insanity of laughter in dark hallways. It was all there, but it was more. It was stronger, it was deeper, and it froze the life in Robin's veins even hours after she had woken up in a pool of her own sweat and tears that at first had felt a little too much like clammy blood. She had run, without even bothering with her boots, and ended up on the bathroom floor once more in a shaking ball of wild eyes and even wilder thoughts. The dream was truly haunting, but the fact that she was having the same dream every single night was even worse. It was wearing her down, breaking her inside out with tiredness and fear. And it started carrying over into the days as well.

The anxiety she was usually keeping at bay with her carefully constructed walls hit her like an invisible wall at the most unpredictable times, as she was mostly busy forcing herself to function at all. She hadn't gone to Snape's classroom on Thursday night, and now that it was Friday she didn't go either. There wasn't a spark of focus in her mind nor any grain of remaining strength, and honestly, Robin was fairly sure that she would simply break down crying if he looked at her for a second too long. She felt too safe with him to allow herself this comfort right now, it would only make things worse, for as much as she still wished she could just tell him about the terror and pain she was in, she knew that it would be inappropriate.

Thus she lay in bed on Friday night, dead tired and yet unable to fall asleep. Her eyes hurt, her muscles, her head… But sleep avoided her as if she was its polar opposite, and thus she lay in bed and read the book she had borrowed from Snape. It wasn't all too interesting, for she believed in the measure by feeling rather than the ratio by science, but it was nice to have a contrast to her opinion. Robin couldn't help wondering… was Snape more the person to go by science or by intuition? He always was so precise and exact, but then again he also seemed to follow his own rules more than any other. Maybe she would just have to ask him once she didn't feel like a puddle of goo anymore, once all of this was over. Currently, she had to believe that this purgatory of nightmares would come to an end eventually, for she didn't know how much longer she could keep up with this.

And once her Friday night was haunted by the same dream yet again, the same horrors that left her in the fragile brokenness of her own mind, she spent Saturday in as close to apathy as was likely possible. Oddly, the day still went by as most other Saturdays would. Robin went to help out Hagrid in the school gardens, did her assignments in the afternoon, and had the most sober five-word-conversation with Snape in the hallway she's ever deemed possible. For once she was the neutral one, the one void of any expression, but it was entirely without her conscious doing. She had felt absolutely empty all day, void of emotions or thoughts that weren't essential to the task she was to accomplish. It was a means of self-preservation, a displacement activity. Her entire self wasn't fit for functioning anymore, her emotions had finally turned off for good, for her good, and even the last reserves of her batteries had run out. Robin felt like a living zombie, in a sense of not feeling at all. It was the only thing that could get her through the day. After an entire week of sleeping for a maximum of two hours per night, she was surprised that she even was still able to go through her day (almost) as usual at all. She didn't know if anyone else noticed the change in her behavior, but she couldn't care less. Her existence revolved around the night, around the dreams that were slowly killing her from the inside. It was a death trap she couldn't escape from. And so the day passed by as a period of waiting for the night, when the chains of numbness would be broken by terror.

Again, Robin didn't go to the potions classroom after dinner. She didn't even go to dinner. Hours ticked by and she merely sat on her bed in alternating periods of reading and staring at the wall, while her roommates were absent for once. They had never not been here in the evenings, and the fact that they started with it now should at least have caused a spark of question in Robin's mind, but she found herself as indifferent to it as to everything else. Eventually she didn't even read anymore, and just stared at the wall while the room grew darker and darker. A glimpse at her watch on her nightstand eventually told her that it was eleven at night. Time to surrender.

Seeing as her room still was empty but for her one roommate's cat, Robin decided to change into her pajamas here for once. Yet her routine stayed the same as always: first the dark green flannel bottoms, which she had to tie a little bit tighter every night now as a result of skipping most of the meals, then the Queen t-shirt Robin had bought a few years ago after making the forced promise to her parents not to wear it in public. They had absolutely no taste for rock music or pop culture and deemed both a rather despicable thing to celebrate, which is something Robin had never understood and still didn't. But she never broke her promises, and so she had only been wearing the shirt as part of her pajamas for years now. Finally she brushed her hair and tied it in a topknot to keep it away from the seemingly inevitable layer of sweat that would soon cover her skin. The whole procedure, as well as the short visit to the bathroom, felt like she ran through it entirely on autopilot. Her hands knew how to move, her feet where to go without her command. It just happened, and Robin was a mere spectator of her own engrained mechanisms. Fifteen minutes later she lay in her bed, under the covers, straight and stiff like a wooden plank. There was no use in getting comfortable if the night would take the comfort from her anyway.

… … …

The same nightmare. The same death. The same rooms, the same hallways. The same blood, the same terror, the same haunting smile on her lips. The darkness, the door. Her room, her bed, herself. No matter how often it happened, no matter how often she stood there watching herself in an impossible ambivalence of who she was, what she was… the same blood on her hands, the same hallow clad in murder, the same dark insane. She saw herself as prey and predator at once. And she saw that she was both.

She stared at herself with a smirk, and she stared at herself in shock. Her own hands, bloody as well as her clothes, as cold as ice.

Robin startled awake. She was in her bed, but her hands were still bloody, her sheets and clothes too, and she still stared into her own hollow eyes above her. Blind panic overtook her body, a sickness accompanied by a stabbing pain in her chest. She couldn't move. Tears spilling over her cheeks. A scream died in her throat, she was the prey. Her own cold hand forced her to stand up, even though she didn't want to. Still Robin stood, she had no choice, her own self right in front of her, like a terrible mirror. She was going to die, the dream always ended that way. She was going to kill herself. Robin couldn't move, couldn't breathe. But she could feel. The burning tears in her eyes, the pain that was already present everywhere in her body. This wasn't a dream. This was real.

Her opposite self turned her head to the side, and Robin's head turned in accordance without her permission. Oh no… the blood, the bodies, it was real. It was here. Her roommates in bloody lakes, here, real. Her head was forced away, back to herself, back to staring into her own eyes. She couldn't look away, couldn't close her eyes… the pain was too much. This was torture beyond a nightmare, this was real, the death was real, this Robin was real. It was herself, and its lips turned up into a slow smirk of utter delight as it pointed to the bodies in the corner. She did, her own shaking fingers, the same blood on her hands. Robin was her own nightmare, her nightmare had become reality in herself. She had been her own darkness all along. And she had finally become what she was supposed to be, what everyone saw in her, what she had been so afraid to become. No, it couldn't be. She felt cold and her heart hurt so desperately much, the blood in her veins was burning up her entire being. No… please. She didn't want to die… she didn't want to kill herself again.

An unnatural sound escaped her lips, an eerie sob of agony, and she jumped at the loud noise that broke the painful silence of before. No… she didn't jump. Her opposite did.

Robin's still outstretched arm fell limply to her side in an instant, but the other her's stayed in place. What?! It didn't matter, Robin could once more feel her body beyond the pain, she felt herself and only one of them, only her very own body and matter, and she could finally control her own movement. For another silent second she stared at this thing that wasn't herself, eyes wide as shock struck her like a lightning bolt of liquid energy. This wasn't herself. This wasn't a dream. This was someone.

For once Robin didn't suppress the flight instinct in the least, she pushed whatever, whoever this was out of the way with every strength she could fathom and bolted, as fast as she could, out of the room, out of the hallways, out of the dungeons, and out of the castle. A blind run, she saw mere blurry shadows in front of her, she had no destination. Robin simply ran as fast as she could wherever her feet were carrying her. It didn't matter, nothing mattered, only that she got away from there. From it. From what she still didn't know to be real nor to be an illusion. But it hadn't been a dream, and neither was the current moment. Running didn't hurt in dreams, breathing didn't hurt in dreams.

She stopped when her feet touched water. With a start, she snapped out of her blindness and looked around… she was standing in her safe place, her spot on the shore of the black lake. Pebbles beneath her naked feet, freezing water gently lapping at her skin. Robin took a deep breath. This was reality indeed.

For a moment she simply let the pain wash over her like the gentle movement of the water around her ankles. It was the end of November, the lake was freezing cold. But the pain was a beautiful reminder that she was alive, awake, herself. Her feet hadn't taken well to the barefoot run, she could feel scratches and bruises that were slowly numbed by the freezing water. Robin looked down at her hands, at her entire self once she could think somewhat straight again. The blood was still there. But somehow the sheer amount of adrenaline in her body was keeping her oddly calm for once. How ironic… usually the adrenaline gave her panic attacks and now it was the only thing allowing her to think straight. Life was curious sometimes.

But the longer she stood there, the more the adrenaline wore off, the stronger the emotions came rushing back. She had to get that blood off herself, now. She had to get rid of the panic before it consumed her yet again. In almost unshakable determination, she took another step into the lake. Sure, she could die of hypothermia, but she already felt like she was dying anyway. If this sped things up, she was okay with it, and if it didn't, then she would soon have to deal with herself and the events of tonight. She didn't know which horror she preferred.

For now the pain of the biting cold brought an almost physical relief to the pain Robin felt on the inside, and she waded into the water until it reached her waist. She could have cried in joy at the peace this brought to her mind, but she also could have cried for countless other reasons. But she didn't cry at all, not yet, not before she could rid herself of any connection to what had or hadn't happened in her bedroom. The blood, it had to get off her body before her fingers were too numb to scrub it away. So she set to work, deliberate and effective moments paired with an intense focus that she had missed for days. It was horribly easy, really, to wash away the physical reminders of it all… on her arms, her shoulders, her hair. It didn't matter anymore, she dove under entirely to wash it all away, to get the sweet burning back onto her skin where the water hadn't reached before. But once she was done, breaking through the surface again, breathing, and her body almost frozen to oblivion, she felt the improvised dam in her mind cracking anew. If she started feeling now, she wouldn't stop again. Perhaps she should dive back under and wait for the darkness to comfort her again.

"Blimey! Scare the living daylights outta me!" A hollered exclaim caused Robin to spin around in an instant, and her eyes fell onto Hagrid standing on the shore with a large basket on his shoulders. "What the bloody 'ell you think you be doing there?!"

Robin wasn't prepared for company, wasn't prepared for anything from this point on actually. It messed up her entire strategy to deal with herself, if one could even call it that, and she felt her control and composure slipping away without a trace. She was entirely lost, vulnerable like a feather in the waves to whatever current would grab her next.

"Get outta there already, will ya?" Hagrid commanded urgently, in a haste her numbed mind didn't understand anymore, and thus Robin complied without resistance. Neither did she resist as he led her back towards his hut with a speed only a half giant could still call 'walking', nor when he sat her down in front of the fireplace, wrapped in a thick blanket.

Only when Hagrid moved to boil some water to make a pot of tea, Robin's mental dam finally cracked the very last bit, and she surrendered to the helpless sobs of someone who overcame their shock at last. Someone who didn't understand what had happened to them, someone who was terrified to the bone. Someone who had a week's worth of pent up emotions that went deeper than panic and that finally needed an outlet as well. Someone who only now came to realize that her nightmares might not have been her own.

While Robin was sobbing relentlessly, Hagrid appeared to be just as lost and confused by her behavior as she was herself. Robin wasn't someone who showed vulnerability on the outside, not in front of anyone but Professor Snape perhaps (to some degree), and thus it was understandable that seeing her like this, helpless and frightened and deeply vulnerable indeed, confused the gamekeeper quite the bit. But Robin couldn't help it, couldn't be bothered with facades or charades, as she finally let herself work through the shock and the tension. So Hagrid let her sit by the fireplace in peace, giving her some much appreciated space to sort through things by herself for now.

Eventually Robin's tears dried out, she stopped shaking and her heartbeat slowed down. She still felt frightened and still felt confused, but both the panic and the overwhelming numbness were gone to leave only a fairly shaken but otherwise normal Robin behind. The Robin she had been before last Sunday, only a little more broken and a lot more fragile at the moment.

Good as he was with people, Hagrid didn't ask what had happened to her, and accepted Robin's vehement 'no' upon the question if she didn't want to return to the castle with a nod and by offering her a mug of tea at last. The tea was a bit strong for Robin's taste, but perfect in its warmth and comfort nonetheless. Her clothes were slowly starting to dry from the heat of the fire and the now returning warmth of her skin, and after a while she didn't feel cold anymore. Neither from the inside nor the outside. Only terrified at the prospect of returning to her bedroom. She didn't want to know what she would find there, and she didn't know what would be worse… to see that it was real or that it had only been another illusion. She just didn't want to think about it at all, that was the least painful thing to do right now.

Thus, for a while, Robin observed the flames and sipped her tea while it was still hot. She felt different than she had all week, more like who she knew she really was. More like she had before Sunday night indeed, before the first nightmare… it was an odd thing to try to explain even to herself. No matter how much she tried not to think about it, her thoughts always returned to her bedroom. To her roommates, to their motionless bodies in puddles of blood. She shuddered at the memory, and willed away a new wave of tears. It couldn't be true… it couldn't be real. Otherwise they would long have found her, or at least found Hagrid to alert him of a gruesome murder in the school. A murder Robin was more certain by the second she had nothing to do with, no matter if it was real or not. She knew herself, better than anyone probably could understand, and she knew that she was not what she had seen in her room. It had looked like her, yes, but it hadn't been her. But honestly, who would believe her? Who would believe that a nightmare she's had for a week straight had suddenly come to life like some badly orchestrated puppet show?!

Maybe her dream had been prophetic! But that would mean that the murders were real, and there was just too much speaking against that.

Robin praised herself in very little, but she had always thought of herself as a very logical person, and a good thinker. And as she tried to think this entire thing through in disregard of her own fear, she always came to the conclusion that whatever that thing looking like her was, it had been real, and it had not been her. That much she could tell by the fact that she had been able to physically push it out of the way on her escape. And if it had been her (or a part of her), it wouldn't have jumped when she had made a sound. Just like people couldn't really tickle themselves… or so her line of thought went. Nobody could make themselves jump with a sound they made themselves. That conclusion was both relieving and scary at once, for it on one hand meant that Robin was still herself and who she believed to be, but on the other that someone, something had been in her bedroom tonight and possibly murdered her roommates. No, right, she had also ruled out that there had been an actual murder. So… why had they been lying motionlessly in puddles of blood? Maybe that had been an illusion too, after all. The thing that looked like her had come to her bedroom, and shown her an illusion of a gruesome murder. Geez… that sounded both absolutely ridiculous and yet like the most likely explanation she had come up with.

Another thought struck her suddenly, and this one did make her feel anxious once more. What if the thing was still in the castle? What if it was still out to get her, or worse, out to get someone else?! Her breathing hitched, and she tried to force the fear away and out of her mind. What should she do? Was there even anything she could do at all?!

"Hagrid? If… if someone was in the castle, someone or… something that shouldn't be there, you would hear of it, right?" She asked after a while, but once she got no reply after a few seconds, she looked over to the man in the chair across from her, only to find him soundly asleep. Oh great… what the hell was she supposed to do now? Run back to the castle and make sure nothing was going on there? She didn't even have her wand, or shoes for God's sake! What could she do without either of those?! Not much. Maybe warn the people in the castle, but then again, if nothing had happened by now then it wasn't all too likely that anything would happen at all. For now Robin could only hope that she was right in that. At least she didn't feel heroic enough to do anything other than hope.

After a few minutes Hagrid started snoring softly, and Robin went back to watching the fire. There was no way she would find sleep tonight, and she had no intention to try. But with Hagrid asleep, she suddenly felt very vulnerable, and very alone. Not in the sad kind of way, but in the frightening one. Never before had Robin been scared of the dark nor of the silence, but right now she feared both. That's why she kept focusing on the fire, in its warmth and light and soft crackling.

Until a determined knock on the hut's heavy door sparked the flame of fear within her once more.

"Hagrid!" Robin hissed, letting the blanket slide off her shoulders as she jumped to her feet to shake the gamekeeper awake. "C'mon, wake up! Please! Wake. Up!!!" But he only turned away from her in his chair and kept on snoring.

Fine… If he wasn't going to protect her, she would do it herself. In an instant she grabbed the nearest thing she could find that would make a somewhat decent weapon, a heavy saucepan of solid copper, and walked towards the door silently. Then she ripped it open with a start, saucepan at the ready, and a heart that threatened to jump out of her chest yet again. She was met with the most startled black eyes she had ever seen.

"Bloody hell! What are you doing here?!" Robin blurted out before she thought, a cool relief loosening the tension in her body for but a second before she froze once more. With even more of a scared frown, she pointed her weapon of choice towards Professor Snape once again. "You… you are you, are you not? You're not… you're not that thing, right? Please, don't be that thing…"

The desperation tainted her voice like the tears that yet again came to her eyes at the suspicion she was having. After what had happened tonight, she didn't rule anything out of the possible anymore. The crueler the idea seemed to her currently, the more likely it was to be true. And if it could turn into her, it surely could turn into the only person she truly trusted.

Snape frowned at Robin in return, but it was an expression of surprise and honest concern rather than scorn. "I have no idea what you are talking about, but you might as well let me inside before you enlighten me in detail."

"NO!" Robin immediately replied and held onto the saucepan even more tightly. It was a pathetic weapon, but it made her feel a little braver and that was good enough for now. "I have to know if you are you… I-I can't…"

"Don't be ridiculous, Miss Mitchell…" He tried to make the statement sound scolding, but all that came out was concern indeed. "Who would I be if not me?"

"What do I know…" She breathed in return. "Too much has happened that I can't explain, and I will not be fooled another time, so prove to me that you are you!"

For a moment he looked like he wanted to roll his eyes at her antics, but then the mixture of sincere terror and determination on Robin's face made his frown drop instead, only to be replaced by grave neutrality. "How do you suggest I do that?"

"Uh…" Darn, she should have thought of something prior to this. "Tell me… what is my biggest secret?"

Now he did roll his eyes indeed, but thought for a moment nonetheless. "How could I possibly know that?"

"If you are you, then you know."

Again, he thought for a moment and let his eyes travel over Robin doubtfully in the meantime. Oh darn it… she was still wearing her pajamas. To hell with it, there were more pressing issues at hand. His eyes didn't leave Robin's as he replied. "Your promise to me. The page."

Robin dropped the saucepan in an instant and hid her face in her hands instead, letting herself fall against the cold wood of the door with a badly suppressed sob. He definitely was himself, and the relief she felt upon that, as well as the twisted embarrassment, was too much for her to take without a reaction in her shaken state. If she had previously believed that she'd cried enough for the night, she definitely had been wrong, as silent tears ran down her cheeks in a continuous stream once again.

"Huh? What did I miss?!" Hagrid's startled voice got through to Robin. He must've finally woken up from the loud crashing when saucepan had met floor. "Oh, Professor Snape, what brings you 'ere?"

Robin was led to the nearest chair where she dropped down compliantly, keeping her hands twisted in her lap as she stared at the ground for now while her professor went to answer the gamekeeper.

"I came here with the intention to request your assistance in finding Miss Mitchell, but I must admit I did not expect to find her here instead." Snape's voice was followed by the sound of Hagrid's footsteps, then the door closing.

"Aye, found 'er freezin' to death in the lake!" Hagrid started, and Robin stopped listening as he explained how he had brought her here like one of his sickly creatures. She only focused on keeping up breathing, and counted slowly to six while breathing in and to six once more while breathing out. Really, she should do that more often when she wanted to calm herself down; it was working well enough even now, when everything else was failing.

"Is everything alright, in the castle I mean? Is everything as it should be?" Robin finally made herself ask, as she looked up from the floor in newly regained composure once Hagrid had finished his story. "I know it's an odd question, but please just answer it." 

Her eyes met Snape's across the room in doubt, but also in dread. She didn't want an answer… but she knew she needed it. Yeah, he would definitely think she was insane for good.

_____________________________

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[cloveroctobers]

NOAH SAMPATH —

IG info/bio: @/noahknowspat | 275k followers | “A True Renaissance-Man.” | (currently his page is on private, which he often does several months out of the year

25 (26) years of age

Born & raised in Kandy, Sri Lanka until his mother decided to uproot him & his sibs to the uk leaving his father behind

Both of his parents are from Nuwara Eliya

His parents decided it would be best for just his wife & children to live elsewhere while he continued his work in hotel & tourism

Which to him, is the best job he’s ever had—in a sense it felt like he loved his job a little more than his family but Noah knew that wasn’t completely true

Noah figured there was something secretly going on between his parents, he noticed how they would argue more over the years & how his father was fond of their homeland while his mother was not

She did not have much family left, most either leaving the country or dying from sickness

He’s used to living in a bungalow since that’s what he grew up in

Moved to Romford which didn’t take long for him to get adjusted to, he was quick to adapt to situations since that’s normally expected of him as the eldest...

Lived with an aunt? Who really wasn’t a aunt in a cramped 2 bedroom apartment with a child of her own (who was around Noah’s age and favored Richa Moorjani) for a couple of years

Has two younger sibs: a 17 year old brother, and a 11 year old sister

His mother was m*rdered just before his 18th birthday, therefore he’s grown not to celebrate his birthdays even tho he knows deep down that’s not how his mother would have wanted him to go on

She was wise and often stayed up with the moon having conversations with her eldest—if not with all her children

but as he looked back on their conversations he could tell that his mother knew she wouldn’t be on this earth for long

Which showed him a different way of living

His father hated Romford, didn’t think it was the best/ safest place ( I did some research and mostly saw that this town is kinda rough. Anybody from the uk reading & have experience with the town please confirm? Not attending to offend anyone plus every place has its rough areas) for his family & felt his point was proven once his wife was k*lled

He demanded for his children to come back home but Noah wasn’t having it once he realized his father had changed & became aggressive himself

He hated confrontation but he was of age now so he could do what he wanted but there was no bloody way his sibs were going back with this man

He was not the man they all once knew—shit, his sibs BARELY knew him

So Noah fought a lengthy battle with guardianship over his siblings

It only became easy once money was involved for the man to back off

It was v difficult to manage a household and two children at 18-19 all on his own but he was willing to do it, he felt like it was part of his purpose

Plus his “auntie” & “cousin” came around quite often which helped somewhat & even tho the woman was gritty in how she carried herself, anyone could see she cared for Noah’s mother & her children otherwise she wouldn’t have been around before & after his mother’s death

She became like a second mum but no one would ever replace his mother

It was tough going through his early twenties...he had became a parent figure instead of going to uni to study archaeology

He loved fossils & dinosaurs as a kid 

probably keeps up to date with any articles or shows that share their findings on prehistoric species in water or land (I find that shit so creepy yet interesting until I get too creeped out and leave lmao? especially dealing with the ocean!)

Enjoyed that American show called “siren”

He didn’t enjoy much of what usual twenty-something year olds would, he had to be home to take care of his siblings they became a major part of his life now

He is the type to bottle up his feelings. Ofc he jumped at the chance to raise his sibs without a question after seeing the state of his dad a week after his mum’s funeral but he knew he HAD feelings

He wasn’t a robot just because he tends to be quiet & observant

He had his low days too

But he would hide them in books, that was his safe haven, his escape

He loved working as a librarian even if he got shitted on for it

It never payed much even in his position but it brought him comfort that there were aisles of novels ready to tell him stories & found some relation to his own life

As if that wasn’t enough, he loved going to book shops as well. If he had enough $ leftover he would treat himself in a new book purchase

Will buy a new book even if he has piles of unread ones, which he does have a section of that in his room & in the corner of the living room

Has a kindle since it was the cheapest & can easily slip it into a bag if he can’t decide on what book to bring with him

Has glasses but prefers contacts, ‘i don’t want someone to think I’m that nerdy since I read out in public.’ He often thinks to himself—yet when he’s immerse in those pages the world goes silent around him

Collects vinyl toy figures and keeps them either on his mantle or built in shelves in his room

Loves coconut water & won’t drink any water unless it’s coconut

Got his gorgeous cheekbones from his dad

His father p*ssed during his 23rd year of life due to tsunami hitting the hotel he worked in

He took his sibs to their native land once it was safe and connected with their father’s side, which was bittersweet

I think I get Scorpio energy from noah? Idk but it’s in there somewhere

He likes cutting his food into smaller pieces no matter what it is, it’s just a habit since he did so for his younger sibs

Secretly it’s also easier for him since he feels like the dentist ruined one of his nerves once he got his wisdom teeth out

He hates the dentist

His baby sis is deaf & he absolutely took the time to learn sign language along with his brother

Chose buying her hearing aids over paying a monthly bill when $ got tight

His 17 year old brother now works a job & helps out the best way he can even if it took a bit of persuading from their cousin

They’re all extremely close and are aware what Noah’s done and continues to do for them

Probably enjoys painting even if he’s not the greatest at it, but there’s something about water color that is pleasing to his eyes

He’s had many jobs to keep food on the table and support his family but being a custodian paid him the most yet he couldn’t continue working overtime not when his sibs were as young as they once were. He had to let the job go, the money was great, his co-workers sucked since they never came to work leaving him with OT, but it was also a lot of gross work & the teenage girls were always hitting on him

Prone to taking on more than he can chew whether it’s in relationships or life situations

Has either one or two best friends outside of the villa & they’ve been tight since junior year

They didn’t approve of Noah stepping forward to take care of his sibs, knowing it would be a big responsibility & possibly put his life on hold

But they didn’t understand & came around to once they saw him in action & became supportive/proud

He knows they mean well?

Cannot dance

Owns a couple of blazers that he feels the most comfy in

Loves a good pin-striped dress shirt

Has soft thin wavy hair

Will sport a 5’oclock shadow if he’s stressed out, tired, or wants to show a more “mature” side of himself

Misses his mum’s Lamprais & kottu roti

He’s 5’11

Had 1-2 gfs before the villa & both of them were super lengthy relationships which there’s obviously nothing wrong with

Always trying to make it work even if there are signs of it failing

Is not the dominant one in relationships & usually wants to keep the peace—which falls back on him taking everything on his plate & bottling them up instead of addressing situations from the jump

Is observant but also likes to assume?

Tries to be honest & loyal

Once he’s in a relationship & it’s confirmed from the other, he is completely devoted & smitten

I think quality time is his love language

I also think he tried to play the violin growing up since he found that to be one of the instruments that holds so much passion

Likes period pieces minsus the racism :)

Has read Frankenstein countless of times over Shakespeare, he’s got good work, yeah? but it’s a bit overrated

Keeps in touch with rahim & feels he understands him on a level his mates of years do not

They go holiday together when Noah feels he can afford it, even if rahim says he can pay for it. It’s not a big deal

Yet it is. He feels insecure when someone feels like he can’t do something because of where he’s from & what he does for a living. It showed more in his relationship with hope

Sure she was constantly paying for things but when he silently took the initiative to do so it was automatically assume that he didn’t have it even with his wallet out to pay

There were plenty of flaws in his relationship with hope and it took forever for him to see the toxicity in it even if fans adored them together

I’ve decided that they won’t be endgame. Which breaks everyone’s hearts after he’s the one to surprisingly call it quits after 3 years. He thought it would get better once he realized they way the acted towards each other was not completely heathly but it got worse

So he did what he had to do with what was in the best interest of everyone & hope did not agree

It was heated, it was emotional, and there was a last moment of intimacy to seal the deal of their goodbyes

Then came the drama online, with interviews and people trying to bring Priya into the mix & Hope was always vocal so it became a bigger issue

Noah just wanted to heal on his own but he was never going to engage in the drama. If they were all back in the villa face to face he might have said something but he didn’t need his words twisted so he rose above it and knew the two would eventually along with the fans

To get over the breakup? He hung out a little later with his mates at CLUBS, visited rahim, spent more time with his sibs, read, and...reached out to...BLAKE

After almost two years with whoever (in my case it was henrik) she was freshly single herself & not really looking but knew Noah was trying to get underneath someone. A rebound? Since he couldn’t bring himself to do so with the girls around home

Blake knew what happened with hope. She along with mc & some fans saw it coming. She thought about it, really thought about it but decided that she wouldn’t be Noah’s rebound. She knew Noah just needed time and when he was ready, maybe she’d be around

Celeb crush: Gillian Anderson, Antonia Thomas, Tika Sumpter, Aja-Naomi King, Normani Kordei, & Sophie Turner

Who does Noah listen to? Hozier maybe? KWABS, Grace Carter, Seinabo Sey, Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson, Half Moon Run, Aisha Badru, Lianne La Havas, Dana Williams, Allan Rayman, Rationale, etc...

Anthem = Sid Sriram, “It isn’t true”