#done anywhere in the history of the entire world

[coquelicoq]

spent the evening with my siblings going through boxes of my sister's preschool and early elementary school effects and i need to share some of her spelling choices:

budrfli (butterfly)

stroberre (strawberry)

apl (apple)

orinj (orange)

peach (peach!!)

bnana (banana)

lemin (lemon)

grapse (grapes)

wodrmin (watermelon)

ovcdoe (avocado)

par (pear)

[softquietsteadylove]

Hi! Can you please do the eternal/human au but with thena being human and gil as the eternal this time, please? Your stories are so good!

Thena somewhat glanced to her right as someone else also sat down at the museum bench. She was looking up at one of her favourite relics--an old tablet potentially depicting one of the earliest examples of The Epic of Gilgamesh. She sighed. "Is this really about you?"

He sighed, his hands in the pockets of his black bomber jacket. "It's not the real story. Just something Sprite made up to make me sound like a jerk."

Thena looked up at the tablet again. "The Tyrant King in one of humanity's earliest tales, but you go by Gil?"

He shrugged his massive shoulders. "It's easier than Gilgamesh."

Thena looked at him more properly. She was very familiar with the face of the apparently immortal man next to her. Of course, she had thought he was a very mortal, very human person, just like herself. She had thought he was sweet, if a little shy, and that he just had a special interest in the history of the ancient world.

A very human man who had asked her out, and she had said yes.

"Were you okay?" Gilgamesh asked her more quietly, even given the echously silent exhibit. "Did anything happen close to here?"

"No," she admitted just as secretively. She looked at her hands on her lap over her pencil skirt. "We felt some tremors, but I suppose you took care of things at the epicentre."

Gilgamesh squirmed in his seat.

She had been watching the news, knowing that he was closer to the centre of the city at the farmer's market. The footage was shaky, and the world was acclimating to strange and wild events more and more rapidly. But still, seeing some deviant beast running around London was certainly a shock.

Even more so when the news footage seemed to capture the blurry image of an incredibly strong looking man, literally punching said monster straight through the skull. His face was still a mystery, but he didn't have the average build, certainly. And Thena had known right away that it was Gil.

"Are you a wizard?"

"Pfft, no," he scoffed, waving his hand in the air to dismiss it. "We've seen those guys pop up all over the place, but I wouldn't call what we do 'magic' in any way."

"Then what do you call it?"

Her sharp question landed as intended, and he sighed again. He turned somewhat on the opposite side of the bench from her. She eyed him. "Cosmic Energy."

"So you're an alien?"

"Uh, I guess I don't have a better word for it," he made a face, finally pulling his hands out of his pockets to fidget. He scratched at the hair on his chin. "Eternals is what we're called, uh, officially--I guess. We've been on earth for..."

They both looked up at the tablet again, describing the strength and might of 'Gilgamesh' the tyrant.

He rolled his eyes, "I guess you know, give or take a thousand years."

Thena did look at him more now, as opposed to glaring at him from the corner of her eye. He looked truly contrite, and she knew that he wasn't particularly comfortable with little white lies. Apparently larger ones were more necessary though. "So when you said you could 'really picture yourself' in the battle of Troy, or the siege of Alexandria-"

"I mean we couldn't be everywhere at once," he excused for himself, his smile convincing neither of them. He gave it up rather quickly, sagging again. "But, uh, yeah."

They fell into silence, Gil in particular struggling for what to say next. Thena looked around the museum. She had always been so entrenched in history from all over the globe. The museum felt more like home than her cold and neglected one bedroom flat ever did. And when she had first thought Gil was quite like a walking historic encyclopedia - like a walking piece of history - perhaps she hadn't been so far off.

"So," she started in what she hoped wasn't too bitter a tone of voice, "why talk to me?"

Maybe it didn't work, because Gilgamesh certainly looked like she had screamed and slapped him across the face.

"Or do you make a habit of chatting up humans?" she added, and that part was more acerbic. This wasn't even about their relationship, or the lie of who he was at his core, or even his species.

"Thena," he pleaded, sounding like she had stabbed him through the heart. Would that even kill him?

But she did feel bad. Against her better judgement, she regretted that she had hurt his feelings. She huffed, mostly at herself, "I would think befriending humans would be dangerous for you."

"It can be."

She looked at the honest confession in time to see the sad slouch in his posture.

"We outlive basically everything, and we have to move pretty often, especially with wifi and phones and stuff, now. We don't usually get to really meet or get to know people anymore."

Gil had said Eternals, plural, and she had heard him discuss a few names like 'Sprite' or 'Kingo' before, implying he had some kind of kin or at least some of his own as friends. She didn't know these other Eternals, but knowing what of Gilgamesh she did, she had to imagine that it was hard for him.

Gil was sweet, and charismatic and gentle. And he seemed to genuinely love getting to hold the door open for people, or helping someone elderly with their bags or petting stray cats. He seemed to thrive most when he was surrounded by life, no matter how fragile or temporary it was--how mortal it was.

"I ended up here to keep my sister some company after," Gil slipped his hands back into his pockets, a sign of uncomfortability in both mortals and immortals, evidently. "She and her husband had a split, I guess you could say. I didn't want her to be alone, so I moved here a few years ago. It was just going to be for a decade or so, then maybe we'd go our separate ways again or maybe we'd move on somewhere else together."

Just a decade or so, he said.

"But then," he looked at her with a soft smile, and unfortunately it still made her heart skip. "I met you."

She forced herself to frown at that.

"I didn't mean to," he confessed, and she wasn't sure if that made it better or worse. "Sersi told me all about the museum here, and to see all the stuff people have gotten right or wrong over the years. She met some human, which I told her not to. I guess I can't really say anything about it now, though."

He truly did sound like a brother disapproving of his sister's boyfriend. And he truly didn't have any leg to stand on now, either. "Was it because of Sersi-"

"No, no," he shook his head and looked at her all soft eyed again. "It's not because of anything. It was...it was because of your eyes."

"My eyes?" she felt the need to repeat aloud. It sounded like a cheesy pickup line, or something from a tawdry romance novel. But she supposed that if Gilgamesh had heightened senses, perhaps he would be able to discern her eye colour from an unreasonable distance.

"I used to look out over the water all the time," he recounted, even turning to look at a painting on another wall. "My favourites were always really calm and green and sparkly."

Damn this man and his charming words.

He tilted his head back in her direction. "I was just gonna ask you some dumb question to chat a little and then leave. But then you got so passionate when I asked you the wrong thing on purpose."

She pursed her lips faintly. He had - deliberately? - asked her about the 'Minerva' statue they had, and where in Greece it had been made. It had immediately irked her that he had gotten the Roman name for her right, then the location also right, but in direct conflict with the other half of his question. Surely if he knew the name Minerva, he knew that was not what they called her in Greece--Athens, of all places!

Then he had asked her name, and she had to explain that Thena was not some nickname but her actual, legal name. The thought had charmed him and...and they kept talking from there.

He had picked just the right topic to get her to unload her entire master's degree of knowledge upon him, and he had eagerly listened to all of it. Most would flee partway through, but he had happily followed her around basically the whole floor as she recounted the many details and secrets and misinformation about her expertise.

And he had come back the next day for more.

"I loved hearing you talk about it," he whispered, moving a little closer now that he felt he could. "You were so passionate about it. I could really remember some of those times, and what I couldn't remember, I felt like I could imagine with how you described it."

"Thena, I just loved talking with you. I loved asking you silly questions, I loved you correcting me about stuff. I especially loved when we got interrupted that one time for your real job, and you offered me your card in case I had more questions."

He had pretended to have more questions. And they did actually end up texting that way. And then making plans that weren't just him showing up at her workplace. And then those plans became dates. They'd had five dinner dates and two lunches, and two coffees, although one of those had still been under the guise of their shared love of history.

"I wanted to get to know you more."

Even if he knew he would inevitably have to leave her life in a matter of months, if not years. It was a petty and bitter reaction, but maybe that was the truest way she felt about it; that he would have had to abandon her sooner than later. He thought those consequences were worth the risk, and she wasn't sure how to feel about it.

Because she didn't want to lose him, thinking about it now. And the fact that she now knew that she would have to no matter the future was a slap in the face of her own.

"No matter how soon you would have had to leave London for a small lifetime?" she accused, using the adrenaline in her system to drown out the pain she was feeling.

But Gil didn't turn away from her scathing demand. He looked at her with those eyes that she had always seen as holding more than he ever said within. He clasped his hands in front of him, resting on his knees. "After meeting you, I didn't know if I could."

Thena looked down at her lap again as well. It had been a few months since she'd met Gil. And if what he said was true, he hadn't intended on staying in London long, let alone permanently. She wasn't sure how long he had been here before meeting her, either. But Sersi's relationship with Dane was no more than a year old, by now.

"Sersi asked me," he laughed dryly. "She asked if I knew what I was getting myself into, which was rich, coming from her."

He sounded exactly like a protective brother.

"I said I totally had it under control," he laughed at himself, which was something she - foolishly - found so charming about him. "No worries, y'know, so I made a friend, so what? It would be good for me. Next thing I know, I bought my first phone just so I could text you."

She stared. "You didn't have a phone before?"

He waved his hand dismissively again, and maybe she could see why a few of his mannerisms really seemed more like that of an old man than a gentleman in his late forties at most. "Sersi's been trying to convince me. She's so addicted to hers it's ridiculous. She even made an instagram! I told her she would just have to delete it in a few years but-!"

Thena held back a laugh as he cut himself off. "Should I feel honoured, or even more betrayed?"

It had been half joking and half serious, but Gil took on that sad, wounded expression again. "You have every right to feel that way. But Thena, I swear on all the time I have left: I chose to stay, so I could be close to you. I wanted to spend whatever time we could have together...with you."

It was a humbling admission. She didn't quite want to imagine the heavier implications of that. The idea of Gil never aging while she slowly became an old woman beside him. Or did he have some kind of magic, or Cosmic Energy rather, that would help with that? It sounded like Sersi had accepted the consequences of her dalliance with a human.

Gil had asked her if she would want to go to dinner with Sersi and Dane as a couple. Although now all she could think of was the two Eternals smiling on as their humans chatted away about trivial human things.

"Thena, please," Gil slid closer again, taking her hand in his. "I know I sound insane, and I don't blame you if you say you want nothing to do with me after this. But I never lied when I told you liked you, or that I wanted to spend the rest of my days listening to you talk about South American architecture, or Grecian olive harvesting, or the Guptan Empire."

Thena squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears in them. Gil swooped forward pulling her closer to him, always eager to comfort. He pressed his lips to her temple.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I never meant for you to get hurt."

She believed that. Because Gil would never be capable of wishing harm on her. He probably wasn't capable of really wishing it on anyone, except maybe Sersi's ex-husband. She wouldn't have believed him capable of causing harm either, until the news today.

"If I could trade the rest of my forever for one more day with you, I would."

Maybe that was easy to say for someone who really did have a forever. She looked at him, wild in the eyes.

"Sorry," he whispered, looking away from her. He gave her cheek another kiss before releasing her slowly. "I'll give you time to think. If...if you don't want to talk anymore, I'll understand. But if I don't hear from you in a few days, can I at least come check if you're okay?"

She nodded, completely without the words to ask him to stay. He took it though, nodding back and then walking towards the far exit of the museum floor. She could hear his steps the whole way, although her heart felt like it was pounding at the inside of her skull.

She had a lot to think about. Aliens and monsters and immortal Eternals who had been on Earth for thousands of years. Did this have anything to do with how half of the earth's population vanished in the blink of an eye those years ago? Did they also blip? Could they?

She had so much to think about, so much to worry about. And the only person she wanted to talk to about it all just left.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Dating Miguel O’Hara Would Include…

Warnings: Implied Smut, Domestic Miguel !!!, Possessive Miguel, Protective Miguel, Dominant Miguel, Slight Yandere Miguel (if you squint), Fluff, Mild Angst, Hurt/Comfort, No Pronouns used for Reader Except You’.

Miguel being stoic and militant around his associates, but melting into a massive softie when he gets to see you.

His eyes literally light up when he hears you coming. He has to resist the urge to scoop you up into his arms and cuddle you silly whenever he hears you call his name, your tones music to his ears, his heart thrumming – harpstrings.

Golden retriever boyfriend to the MAX.

He brings you breakfast in bed whenever he’s awake before you – which is often considering his vampiric nature. And he looks so proud of himself when he cooks a good meal, too. Literally just a beaming, teeth-filled, closed-eye smile when you tell him he’s “Done such a good job, Babe !”

Any kind of praise sends him absolutely wild, so use it sparingly. It can either get you out of or into a world of trouble; especially if you're trying to get Miguel hot under the collar.

Miguel’s love language is, simply put, everything.

The adoration that swells in his chest whenever he thinks of you manifests as him throwing himself into your service.

He does anything and everything you ask of him, no matter how extravagant or nominal the request is. And everything you don’t.

He isn’t stingy with his words, either; he tells you how much he loves you whenever you’re alone, often coming up behind you and sliding his arms around your front, resting his head on your shoulder and breathing deeply.

He presses soft, careful kisses into the crook of your neck, making sure to keep his fangs from pinching you, inhaling your warmth, your scent.

“I love you.” His heart drums into your back. His lips capture your skin again. “I love you,” And again. “I live for you.” And again.

He’s lived with a lifetime of regret for not being able to protect those he held dear; he won’t allow you to go without knowing the extent of his adoration for you. Not when he feels he never truly got to show his family – his ghosts – how much he loved them.

On a lighter note, Miguel LOVES having his hair played with; just card your fingers through his locks and he’s as good as incapacitated.

After a rough day, he crawls into bed and lays his head in your lap or on your chest, his body winding down in your soft embrace.

He lowkey moans when you catch his sensitive spot, his brows knotting together, his voice coming out as a rasped whisper.

He knows when you’re purposely trying to get him worked up, though. And he doesn’t stand for it.

“Careful Darling,” he glowers, the phantom sensation of you tugging his hair a half-weight on his senses. He cracks an eye open, his wine irises peaking out beneath heavy lids.

“Or I won’t be so gentle when it’s my turn to take care of you.”

Miguel prefers private displays of affection over public displays of affection; he doesn’t want his subordinates knowing he’s gone soft.

But, there are exceptions to this principle.

Like if Miguel’s feeling particularly hot and desperate, by which point he whisks you away to the bathroom and the two of you aren’t seen for a good hour or so. Usually longer.

The other exception is if he’s feeling jealous or possessive, by which point his sensibilities have vacated his mind and he’s right behind you, his hands on your waist, your shoulders – anywhere he can hold you. Or, he’s filling your mouth with his tongue and your ear with his words if the other party present doesn’t get the hint that you’re taken.

“You’re mine,” he rasps, his breath hot, prickling your skin, the tips of his fang drawing goosebumps. Miguel’s eyes shine an ocean red, dark and unknown. He has you caged, arms encompassing you entirely.

“And I’ll never let anyone take you from me.”

Speaking of; Miguel is incredibly possessive.

Years of rumination and a history of scattered failures make for a very territorial man. And it shows.

He keeps his hands on you whenever you’re together or in the presence of someone he thinks can steal you from him; someone better than him.

He stares down at them until they fumble or leave; whichever prevails first. After which point, when you’re alone, he turns you round to look at him and just stares at you like 🥺.

The epitome of ‘Babe you pushed my leg off you while you were asleep; do you still love me ???’

You have to reassure him when things like this occur. Take him by the face and hold him gently in your hands; press a soft kiss to his lips and call him your “One and only,”

Doing so is a one-way ticket to a very long night.

Possessive, heartfelt, grasping, gasping love-making.

Miguel can’t stop until your bottom half is numb and the only thing you’re capable of thinking and saying is his name.

Of course, he rewards you for your endurance after the fact.

Aftercare king right here <333

Treats you like you’re glass; he runs you a bath, brings you your favourite drink and changes the bedsheets.

And, when you’re fast asleep and curled up into his chest, his heart flutters, and, for the first time in his life, he feels that he has stability. Pure, unconditional, everlasting love.

And he’ll sooner dismantle the multiverse himself than let anyone or anything take that from him.

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner - Part 2

[Masterlist] [Part 1]

18+ Only | 7.3k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 1. Voice kink (mild). Roleplay. Established Relationship. Masturbation. Dirty Talk. Unprotected sex. 

Summary: After much deliberation you finally decide to meet your hero at a meet & greet.  

Author’s Note: Sorry if the ending of this feels a little confusing. I did have an idea for a retrospective Part 3 of this that would cover the events in between Part 1 & 2, clearing up the confusion a little bit, let me know if you'd be interested!

The metal detector beeps, finally letting you through after the hassle of emptying your entire bag and getting a full body scan. You quickly collect your scanned belongings and you scuttle along, almost sprinting across the now-empty hallway. You’re breathing heavily, holding onto the bag over your shoulder as you reach the right door. Panicked and out of breath you show your pass to the man working the door and he just about lets you in grumbling something about it being way past the time slot and how you’re the last one in. You ignore all of it, instead you focus on your breathing and move along. You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to mask just how winded that rush got you. 

You take your place as the last one in the line. Turning around just in time you see the door guy close off the room, not letting anybody else in. Phew. You just about made it. You smooth out your summer dress, adjusting the bag you had over your shoulder as you look around the hall. God, you’ll be waiting forever!

You knew it would be busy but having usually avoided convention centres it still hits you hard with how overwhelmingly packed the hall is. The ventilation and air conditioning could be state-of-the-art and it would still feel stuffy. Looking around you feel like one of the few people who didn’t bother dressing up like their favourite heroes. You see about thirty Queen Maeves at a quick glance, another twenty Black Noirs, a few of the Seven’s new member Starlight but the most prevalent one is easily a sea of Homelander knock-offs. The sea of cheap red, blue and white assaults your vision, making it actually pretty overwhelming to look around.

For once Homelander is actually drowned out in a sea of look-alikes where normally he stands out like a sore thumb in all his primary-coloured glory. Homelander. Just the thought of seeing him here makes you pick at your nails and bite your lips with anxiety. Sure, you’ve met him before. You’ve talked. You even had sex, really good sex, goddammit. You have history. But still, you’ve never done this. Not the in-public meet & greets that you decided to put yourself through today. But still, you’re doing this for him. 

The longer you’re standing at the end of the line the longer being surrounded by fans dressed in Spirit Halloween versions of the Seven’s costumes is becoming less comical and more uncanny valley. You only wonder what it feels like to them.

You slowly move through the line. Sighing impatiently, your nerves are slowly being replaced by irritation as you watch the interactions play out in front of you. You’re now close enough to see and overhear. Thankfully with each step you take forward the people in front of  you get what they came here for and they leave, making the hall a little more breathable. 

You’re now watching Homelander as he tends to each fan, all puffed up and high energy to replicate the vision they all have of him but you see how much he wishes to be anywhere but here. Most of the Seven do. Vought plucks them from what most expected to be their duties, like saving the world, and instead they drop them in front of cameras and paying fans. You watch as Homelander signs each piece of merchandise his fans bring him, one after another with a smile on his face.

Having seen part of his real self, or the extension of himself he doesn’t show the media you see the smile for what it is. Placating, empty, downright forced. Were you none the wiser you wouldn’t have thought to look past the showmanship but now you knew better. It was easy to notice his tells, his jaw ticks anytime he’s irritated, his eye twitches anytime he has to hold a smile for too long or anytime he’s forced to compliment someone. You overhear his booming stage-voice going, ‘you look great buddy, wear it better than I do!’ for about the twentieth time. The crowd eats it up, again, and somehow they’re blind to his tortured expression. Sure, he hides it very well but if any of them cared to look underneath the surface it would be glaringly obvious. Instead they look at him like the hero they want him to be. Flawless, perfect, serving their needs. The more you’re privy to this viewpoint the more it grates on you. He’s so much more than that! And you don’t understand how they don’t see it. More than that, you're angry that they willfully don’t want to see it. Why would they ruin the image of a perfect hero they look up to when they don’t care to know the person behind the suit in the first place. 

You shake your thoughts away, focusing on keeping up with the queue. Thankfully the hall has now almost emptied, few residual fans loiter around taking pictures of themselves in their costumes with the Seven members right behind them. As it’s almost your turn, and with that the end of the event, you clumsily pull out a postcard out of your bag clutching it in your hands getting it ready to be signed.

With each step you hear him clearer and clearer. Your heartbeat picks up and by the time the Homelander female cosplayer in front of you gets her very own, ‘you might as well take my spot, you pull it off better than me’, your heart is pounding so hard that you think it must grate on Homelander’s nerves. You rub the glossy paper of the postcard in between your fingers trying to distract yourself from the impending doom that’s bound to be caused by whatever comes out of your mouth. Even after all that’s happened between you two, all that history, you cannot stop yourself from feeling flustered in a situation like this.

You’re so stuck in your head that you don’t realise that the lady in front of you already left and all who’s left is…well, you.

You’re broken out of your trance by a familiar voice.

“Looky, looky, who's here? I can't believe you actually showed up at one of these.” There he goes, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he quickly looks you up and down. Already his eyes are glittering with excitement. Your heart skips a beat at his smile. It's more genuine. You see the annoyance seep out of him, his posture a little more relaxed. 

“Yeah…about that. I thought I couldn't really call myself a fan otherwise right?” You rattle off some lines and your anxious mess of a gut is slowly unravelling to make room for the coil of excitement replacing it. Sure, you’re nervous. How couldn't you be. But the place is nearly empty and there isn't much he could say that would get you as flustered as he did the first time.

“Here for an autograph? The one I gave you before wasn't good enough?” Right. Scratch that. You blush a bright red as the images flood back into your mind. And he's grinning so widely, clearly pleased with how he can so easily make you into a blubbering mess. Even if someone overheard, there’s technically nothing dirty about his words but the shiver they send down your spine along with the vivid imagery is enough to make you feel indecent in a public space.

“No—no! It was, um, great. I just—uh—wanted something a little more permanent.” You quickly look around seeing if anyone caught that interaction as if they could read your mind. Well, you are in a room full of superheroes, who knows what they can or can’t do. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear like anyone is interested in Homelander signing a photo for yet another fan. The rest of the Seven is slowly filtering out of the room, finally relieved of their duty.

“Alrighty-doo, let me sign that for you.” He takes his hand out prompting you to put the postcard in his palm. You do so, giving him a little timid smile. Your hands shake a little as you retreat them back by your sides. Catching the way his eyes linger on the movement you cover your shakiness by clasping your hands together in front of you.

“Is this all you want me to sign? Did you really wait the entire line for that?” He says his eyes squinting incredulously as he waves the postcard with his likeness in front of you. Without waiting for your answers he still places it in front of him reaching for his marker pen.

“What was I meant to bring?” You scrunch your eyebrows with confusion. Sure, you weren’t used to going to these events but you still brought something he could sign, that’s good enough, is it not?

“For starters, something that my signature won’t cover entirely.” 

“It’s fine if it covers it.” You brush off his concerns. Really you didn’t care about the signature as much as you cared about seeing him. So placement be damned.

You look as he uncaps the pen, turning the card around. It’s a photo of him in his hero pose standing against a very patriotic background. Originally it came in a pack of seven postcards, one for each member of the Seven. You don’t want to admit that you were so anxious over deciding whether you would even turn up or not that when it came to the day you forgot to bring an item to sign. Hence the pack of generic postcards you bought on the way when you realised that you forgot just about the most important item. This also turned out to be the reason for your tardiness, you spent way too long in the shop just angsting over the small selection of items you could even pick from. 

“You know it's a real shame you of all people didn't come dressed up. I'd like to see you as Mrs Homelander.” He says all cheeky and amused at the image in his head, while he’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  

“Oh no no no, I couldn't. I don't think it would be a good look on me. I mean nobody can rock the uniform like you do!” The idea of dressing up as him was ridiculous, you couldn’t just take that away from him. He’s more than a circus animal to you.

“You think I rock it?” He gives you a look, clearly fishing for compliments while he lets his voice rumble. He might not be in your ear but you still feel a shiver dance down your spine. You don’t think you’ll ever get over the effect his voice has on you. He just knows how to pull your strings. And what’s a puppet to do if not follow.

“It looks very good on you. The colour brings out your eyes.” You make an awkward gesture, pointing at your dress and then your eyes, as if it wasn’t obvious that those two had the same colour on him. You cringe internally but he always seems endeared by your awkwardness. You think it probably feeds his ego. You’re always such a mess in front of him and he slurps it up.

“Wowie, heavy on the flattery today are we?” He’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  “Oh for fucks sakes.” He tries another two times, the leather of his glove creaking with pressure around the pen. You expect him to snap it in half at this point but he just sighs and recaps the used marker, placing it down. He looks around, his jaw ticking as he mumbles, “where the fuck is Ashley…” He rolls his eyes, muttering something about being surrounded by incompetent idiots as he stands up. 

“Just, come with me, I think there are some spares in my dressing room.” He waves his hand, still holding the postcard in the other one.

“Are you sure? It’s really no big deal!” You feel guilty at the way his suggestion sends a shiver up your spine. You’re not entitled to it but the fantasy of him fucking you in his dressing room still plays out in your mind. 

“Nope, you waited your turn. You know I’m not one to leave my biggest fans empty handed.” He winks at you before he beckons you to follow him. You give a short nod and you scurry behind him like a little duckling, mesmerized by the sway of his cape swishing with each purposeful step. You feel your heart rate rise with every step, just being in his presence is overwhelming and the closer you get to his dressing room the more vivid your fantasy gets.

“Righty-ho,” Homelander says as he opens the door to his dressing room, fiddling around to pick up a spare marker. He presses the postcard against the wall signing it for you with a silver sharpie. You stand in the half open door a little awkwardly. Rather than focusing on him, you’re looking around making sure nobody sees you standing in Homelander’s dressing room. He tears you away from your paranoid thoughts as he hands the card back to you with a sing-songy, “there you go!” 

Your eyes widen and you gingerly take the postcard with a “oh, thank you,” and you gently put it back into your bag, not wanting to smear the ink. Part of you was disappointed that he genuinely took you here for innocent reasons. 

Like the open book you’ve always been to him he reads your facial expressions for what they are barking a laugh at the dumb-struck look you were sporting. “What? Did you think I brought you here to fuck you?” He leans against the doorframe, his tone a little condescending and mean. 

You really do your best to recover but your embarrassed blush and the spike in your heart-rate is such a blatant giveaway of your true thoughts. “N-no! I wouldn’t, of course not.” It doesn’t matter what you say in the moment, it’s not wiping the all-knowing smirk off his face.

“Jesus, you’re so easy, you know that?” His gaze is predatory as he looks you up and down again, this time slowly, reaaally taking you in. Before you know what’s happening he yanks you into the room, closing the door behind you. For all his strength he controls it well as you don’t end up with a dislocated shoulder after a move like that.

He cages you in against the door, leaning close to your ear so he can get his voice nice and low and he whispers, “For that kind of slutty behaviour I definitely need to fuck you.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. You love how easily he reads you, there’s nothing you can hide from and you know that these days, you’re his favourite book. In a way it’s liberating, it removes the thoughts behind actions, it removes the second-guessing. You know that he knows what you want. So you don’t have to make propositions and embarrass yourself further, he’s either gonna take you as he pleases or tell you to get lost. So far it’s always been the former. 

His gloved hand grabs the side of your jaw as he leans back and the woodsy, natural scent of leather whiffs past your nose. His other hand is less stationary, he brazenly glides his hand down your dress, generously palming your tits before he slides down further down your waist and back, settling on your ass. “Gotta teach you a lesson that you shouldn't be spreading your legs for men you don't really know that well.” He growls out tilting your head so he’s directly staring into your eyes with his impossibly piercing blues.

“You’re not just a man.” 

“Mhm you got that right.” He purrs all pleased at the obvious stroke to his ego. You’re all flustered, breathy and eager for him and he loves it. The pure adoration and love you give him so easily just flows through him, feeding that black hole starved for affection inside him.

He didn’t wait a second longer to kiss you, one gloved hand still on your jaw, the other quickly moving up to the back of your head pressing you into him. With a moan he kisses you, already acting like you’ve been starving him this entire time. His kisses are feverish, already hot hot hot as his lips ply yours open. You feel his shaky breath hot against your lips while the plush pillows of his lips are pressing against yours in a frenzy.

You wrap your hands around his neck for support more than anything. You know how he gets. Your heart rate has skyrocketed by now, beating hard and loud in his ears as he presses his tongue in between your lips, already wanting to be in you one way or another.

You part your lips for him just like you’d part your legs and you let him kiss you, heavy, hot and wet as he holds you with almost shaky hands trying to get as much as he can out of you.

His ravenous kisses don’t relax you, they make your body feel tight, wound up, always expecting and wanting more. At this moment you need him as much as he needs you. You grind your body against him with each more pressing and needy kiss. You know he can feel you through his suit, even though it’s handily hiding his hard-on. He still moans when you rub against him, clearly just as wound up as you are.

He pulls away, his eyes no longer that bright piercing blue but now his pupils are blown, his gaze lustful and heavy. His breathing is rough and stuttered. Even though he can’t get winded or tired his body is so strained that he pants for you like a thirsty dog.

Homelander takes his time to calm down, wanting to take control of the situation, he wants you to look up at him with those unsuspecting sweet wide doe eyes while he defiles you. And you do, you look up at him, panting out of actual lack of breath and you stare in reverence. 

There he goes, grinning like a shark again and you’re already waiting for the foul words that he’s undoubtedly going to thoroughly wet your panties with.

“Tell me,” he purrs out, seducing you with his dulcet tones. “How many times did you make yourself cum to my voice, huh?” He’s now leaning into your ear again, knowing this is where the occasional brush of his lips makes your body burn bright and hot. “Or to the memory of my cock inside you?” 

You expect him to be filthy and talk with no filter, it’s his specialty behind closed doors, but it still catches you off-guard. It especially does anytime you’re reminded of the time he utterly ruined you for any other man in your home, in your safe space, in your bed.

“I don’t know—many times. I, um, I lost count.” You don’t know exactly what answer he wants from you but you know that he will turn each and every one against you. His hair tickles the side of your face as he nuzzles into you with a small whimper before continuing. 

“Yeah? Maybe you should show me, do it for me. A little performance as a reward for all that I've done for you.” You hear the restraint in his voice. You know he wants nothing more than to just fuck you, have you fall apart on him. For him. But you also know Homelander loves to play. And he doesn’t want the game to be over yet. “You can do that for me, can’t you?” He goads you with that. Homelander knows just as much as he swallows up all your love and affection; you thrive on being reminded of how much you adore and worship him. How much you’d do anything for him. Anything. 

Homelander pulls back from you, his hands now firmly on your waist as if you were a flight risk.

“What do you mean?” You regain some sense of self after he gives your hot and flushed body a little break. 

“I mean you’re gonna sit your pretty ass in that chair, make yourself cum for me, while I watch.” He guides your body towards the further end of the dressing room where he points at a chair in front of a lit vanity table that’s still littered with make-up and brushes from when his team got him ready for today’s event.

Your body is buzzing with excitement but part of you is still a little embarrassed by such a blatantly open display. He wants you to sit in that chair, spread your legs and give him a perfectly lit view of the way you get yourself off? Yeah, that’s not the easiest thing you’ve ever done. But again, for him, you’ll do anything. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He pulls the chair out a bit tilting his head towards it. He looks at you, blatantly undressing you with his eyes. Literally, undressing. You may not physically feel his x-ray vision but the look in his eyes and the way he stops at your tits with a leery smile on his face is very telling. He doesn’t bother to hide how much he ogles, he knows how much it turns you on anyway. “Come on, panties off and hop on.” He clicks his tongue impatiently.

You sneak your hands under your dress and pull the hem of your panties down. You slide them down your legs until they pool at your ankles where you step out of them with your shoes still on.

Homelander chuckles to himself as he picks up the undergarment inspecting the damage. “You’re like a faucet, always fucking dripping wet.” He brings them closer to his face, inspecting the pair of Homelander-themed panties. He inhales the scent of your pussy now that it’s long seeped into the fabric. “I didn’t think these would be salvageable after last time.” He speaks as if he was talking about the weather and not pure debauchery while he indulges in the scent of your cunt.

“I got more pairs.” You said with a shrug as you got into the chair. You had to jump up a little as it was set on the highest setting for Homelander’s viewing pleasure.

You watch as he tosses the panties on the vanity table in front of you. “You’re gonna have to spread those legs some more.” He tuts with his tongue. You spread your legs as wide as you can in the chair and he shakes his head. “No, nope that won’t do either. Legs up on the arm rests.” He commands and as much as you want to comply, even you have your limits.

“I’m not that flexible!” You yelp out in amusement. “Wait!” You exclaim again except this time he easily manoeuvres you around in that chair with his stupid strength and you feel like a pretzel as you’re being pushed into the right position.

He ends up hooking just one of your legs over the armrest letting you rest it against the vanity table and giving you a comfortable enough position but more importantly, giving him a great view. “See, there you go. Flexible enough.” He pulls off his gloves one by one, throwing them on the table, out of view. “Come on, show off for me,” He coos in your ear, his bare hands, hot and smooth, sliding up your legs picking up the hem of your dress on the way as he pulls it up.

You gasp at the view in front of yourself. In the lit mirror in front of you you see yourself spread wide, your pussy easily visible and glistening in the bright light. This might as well be a porn shoot with how well lit and visible all your parts are. As you instinctively start closing your legs Homelander presses your thighs down, barely putting any power into it yet you feel the unyielding strength thrumming through his fingertips.

“Don’t be shy, you know I’ve seen it all.” He tucks the skirt of your dress above your waist and behind your back. Your hand slowly slinks down to rest on the bunched up fabric of your dress.

He straightens up properly standing behind you, his hands land on your shoulders, close to your neck, squeezing softly. He watches you in the mirror. He extends his pointer finger pushing your jaw up so you look up and meet his gaze. “Keep going, spread that pretty pussy for me.” He growls in your ear as his eyes are locked on the way your fingers slide down your slit, your pointer and middle finger spreading your pussy open for him to see. “Just as I said, like a fucking faucet.” He chuckles at the sight of you drenched and dripping.

You blush at the way he’s staring so intently at your reflection. Your fingers tentatively run up and down, gathering the wetness on your fingers, bringing it up to your clit where you rub small, shy circles around it. You’re taut as a bow and struggling to relax.

“Stop thinking and start feeling.” Homelander purrs in your ear. “I know you can do this for me, can’t you?” His voice sends a hot flush down your body, and you feel your clit throb under your fingers.

“Yeah… I can.” You breathe you, closing your eyes for a second to take a deep breath. The tension slowly leaves your body as Homelander presses soft kisses down the side of your face as he leans over to your other side. You let your hand go on auto-pilot trusting it to know what to do. You suck in a sharp breath as he sucks on your jaw, giving it a little nip while you still circle your clit with a soft squelch of your slick.

“There’s my girl.” He watches as you breathe deeply, your eyes finally opening to watch as he descends more kisses down your neck. You shiver at the sensation, pressing in your fingers a little harder, at the right pressure in the right spot. You’re just about to dip lower, push a finger inside your wet, needy hole but Homelander speaks up. “Uh uh, nothing but my cock is going inside that pussy today so keep your fingers on your clit.” Your entire body prickles with heat all over at his words. He’s so brazen and upfront and no matter how many times you hear it it always makes your head spin and pussy throb. 

You nod a simple ‘okay’ and only ever slide your fingers down to collect more of your own slick. Homelander is whimpering with you as if just the sight of your pussy was enough to get him off. For him, it’s intoxicating. His senses enhance the way your slick squelches loud to his ears and the scent of your pussy just makes him want to stop this little game and rail you already. Yet, he’s a patient man when he wants to be. And more so, indulging in his own desperate urge isn’t as fun as watching you submit to him first.

“Eyes open.” Homelander interrupts the thoughts and visuals in your head. Your eyes snap open and you meet his sharp gaze in the mirror. You didn’t even realise you had them closed. “What were you thinking about?” He asks, almost testing you. As if saying, you better not be straying too far from the path he wants you on.

“‘M thinking about you fucking me.” You say meekly, your fingers rubbing at a particular rhythm now that you know will get you off. Your clit is already throbbing, aching under your fingers.

“Getting a bit ahead of yourself missy, first you’ll have to cum for me.” He says nonchalantly while he pushes the strap of your dress and bra down your free arm. As much as you’ve gotten more used to functioning around him, his voice still makes you dizzy, especially when he’s a master at saying the most depraved shit. 

You pause to help him get out of the other set of straps and when your arm goes up to slip out of the strap he gives your slicked fingers a little suck, tasting you with a pleased grin making you flush hot.

While you go back to rubbing your clit Homelander unclasps your bra from behind your back dropping it on the floor and he pushes your dress down, already groaning at the sight of your tits free for his eyes to feast on. He presses his hands against your tits from either side, groaning at the sensation of the plush pillows underneath his hands.

“That's a good girl, keep rubbing that clit.” He growls out an order, yet somehow he looks more frazzled than you while he's not even the one performing. “Open up,” he whispers, his voice frayed at the edges as he presses two fingers against your lips. Obediently, you open up giving them a suck and laving them with your saliva while you keep eye contact with his reflection. He moans at the raunchy display, his eyes glazing over as he pulls his fingers out. With both his hands back on your tits he pinches your nipples, overwhelming you with the different sensation of one being rubbed wet and the other dry. You whine at the sensation, your pussy throbbing with each hot breath you feel against your neck as he tucks his head against it.

He listens to your heart beat like a drum in his ear, while he gives your nipples all his love and attention. He whispers and moans sweet nothings into your ear whilst watching you rub harder and faster finding the perfect rhythm that has cascading heat climb up your spine. “Thaaat’s it, come on—fuuck—come on, you can cum for me. I know you can.” Homelander watches as your muscles tense, seeing your body just ready to snap. What really does you in is the way he’s whimpering like he’s the one getting off. It’s like he’s sharing all the pleasure you're feeling with you.  

You cum with Homelander’s lips whispering against your ear as you hold your breath, your body tense until it finally gives in and you feel the wave of heat and tingling pleasure wash over you from your core to your limbs. “Ohhh god.” You finally release your breath, your chest heaving with the release.

Homelander is less impressed. Clicking his tongue again against the roof of his mouth.

“Mhm that won’t do, you can do better than that. I’ve seen you cum better than that.” 

You barely have the strength to counteract his claim. This was easily one of your strongest orgasms and he’s trying to say that it was weak? Oh please. You shake your head. You know he’s just playing his little game of ‘I can do whatever the fuck I want’ so you let him.

“Come on, up you go,” He says as he pulls you up on your feet all wobbly and numb from the way you were sitting on the chair. He pushes the chair out of the way with enough force that it topples over with a bang. He bends you over the vanity table where you’re up close and personal with the mirror, watching Homelander’s reflection as he hurriedly unzips his pants pushing them halfway down his thighs. 

You can’t see his cock from this angle but you’re sure it’s rock fucking hard and leaking precum with the way he’s panting like a dog in heat. He’s not even in you and he looks about three strokes away from finishing.

“God, fffuck!” He grits out through his teeth before parting his lips letting a long groan out as the tip of his cock parts your folds, immediately finding your soaked hole and pushing inside with one long slide. He huffs and puffs, his head tilted back as he keeps his eyes shut with restraint. His cock is hot and hard inside you, giving your pussy something to quiver around. 

You’re overstimulated, your nerves totally fried and your body has still nowhere recovered from your performance of a lifetime but you still take him in. You push your ass towards him, whimpering yourself as you feel his hands land on your hips, holding you there. “Look at how your pussy just opens up for me. Taking me riiiight in.” Homelander’s voice is strangled and raspy as he hisses air through his teeth.

You whimper at the way his words leave you buzzing and mindless with pleasure. You prop your elbows against the table as he starts fucking you, dragging his cock agonisingly slowly at first as if he was so sensitive he was about to bust. 

Thankfully that gives you some time to recover and your pussy is no longer screaming at you that it’s too much. He gives you more and more with each thrust, letting out a breathy soft moan each time he hits home. Tip to hilt on every slide. 

His boots kick your legs together giving him a tighter, more pronounced feel. That’s where he really starts to pick up speed. He moves his hands up, gripping where the fabric of your dress is still bunched up as he wholeheartedly fucks into you, minding his strength of course, he gives you what you can take and not a drop more.

You’re so deliciously taken in by him that you barely remember where you are and that you reaaally shouldn’t be screaming and moaning at the top of your lungs. Against all odds, your body is still so wired up and wound up that you feel the climbing sensation prickle at your nerves, your legs quivering with each stroke.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Homelander pulls out of you unceremoniously and you whine.

“I was so close!” You pull a displeased face in the mirror, looking at his reflection.

“I know. And so does everyone on the other side of that door.” He mumbles as he picks up the panties he tossed earlier on the table except this time he balls them up stuffing them in your mouth. You protest around them, your eyes widening in shock and your body flushing with indecent heat when you get a remnant of your taste from the soaked fabric.

“I don’t need people barging in to see who’s screaming bloody fucking murder.”

He turns you around, swiftly picking you up and plopping you on top of the vanity table where you’re nicely lit from behind. “Now behave, the door’s not locked. I’d rather not have anyone see you like this. Capiche?” You nod fervently, at this point just doing anything to get him back in you. 

“Good girl.” He coos as he pulls your legs up wrapping his forearms underneath your thighs, his hands gripping the sides for easy control. And just like that he slides back into you. You give muffled little sighs into the fabric of your panties as he fucks you hard against the table, making it rattle on its legs. The littered makeup and brushes were now rolling off and in some cases breaking on impact.

“You’re always so fucking worked up. Just need someone to fuck you don’t you. Poor little fangirl, so obsessed with me she doesn’t even have time to date anyone else.” He gives you a sharp grin, his canines sharp like a predator’s would be. You body flushes with embarrassment at the almost degrading comment and with the way you’re gagged and fucked you feel like Homelander’s personal toy. 

He fucks you until your legs tremble in his hold and your eyes flutter shut with each press of his cock deep inside you.

He slows down with the literally mind-melting grinds of his pelvis against yours and instead he looks you straight in the eyes getting your attention. “Did you learn? Will you be good?” You nod. He takes the panties out of your mouth, leaving the now even more damp fabric back on the table. 

You keep your promise and you keep mainly quiet, biting your lips shut and only letting the occasional whimper out as he strokes a particularly good spot inside you. Instead you let your body do the screaming for you. You shake and tremble around him, all tense and hot and Homelander doesn’t need to hear you scream to know that you’re close.

With your lips free again he captures them, as if he’s been starved this entire time without them. He kisses you deep and wet while he bucks into you, slowly losing his impeccable rhythm as he’s so strung out for an orgasm it’s bound to happen any second.

“Ah—I’m, uh, close…” You nearly whisper out, all strangled and needy. Homelander nods, clearly just as far gone. He lets one of your legs go, instead letting you wrap it around his waist as he places his fingers on your clit, giving you the extra push to the finish line.

He doesn’t wait for you as he cums in the next, one, two, three, strokes. But he pushes through still fucking into you while his cock pumps you full of his load. You cum immediately after, it’s more the thought than the faint feeling of him finishing inside you that just pushes you over the edge. A burst of buzzing fireworks sparks behind your eyelids as you close your eyes shut through the euphoria sinking into your bones. 

You’re panting, catching your breath, moaning your residual finish in small whimpers. “Wow, that was—”

There’s a sharp knock on the door.

“Sir, you’re needed on stage in 10 minutes.” Ashley’s panicked shrill can be heard on the other side of the door and your heart stops for a second before realising it’s her. Ashley knows better than to barge into any rooms ever since Homelander’s shown interest in you. 

“Oh well, there goes the afterglow.” You mumble with a tired laugh. Homelander nods quietly as he tucks himself back in, finally spent and satisfied—for the time being at least.

Homelander looks at you with fond hunger, leaning in for a soft kiss. “Yeah. Sorry I have to cut it short.” He grumbles, displeased, as he nuzzles his face in the junction of your neck.

He pulls away, reaching for your bra and passing it to you so you could make yourself presentable again.

“Tell me, did you actually leave the door unlocked?” You ask. 

“No! I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this. Well. I want you out there with me, just not when you’re freshly fucked. That’s all for me.” He gives you a wide grin, unable to stop himself from peppering you with kisses, capturing your lips again hungry for them as if you’re constantly denying him air. 

“Thank you for today.” He breathes hotly against your lips. “You know how to indulge me, I really didn’t think you’d turn up.” He smiles against you, caving in for another kiss.

“What wouldn’t I do for you?” You say with an amused roll to your eyes, but it’s all light-hearted. He knows you really would do anything for him. 

“I haven’t found that out yet.” He rumbles all pleased as he helps you make sense of the mess he made of your dress.

“And you never will,” You beam at him, your heart pounding again but this time it’s just from that overwhelming love you have for him, the butterflies that don’t seem to ever calm down in his presence. Even though you’ve been secretly together for a couple of months ever since the fated phone call, the excitement hasn’t even begun waning yet. 

“Hey, you know, you’re a really great actress. Had me sold quite a few times. Maybe I should get Vought to cast you in a movie alongside me, huh?” He grins as he picks up his gloves, pulling them over his hands again. 

You have to laugh. Sure, you’ve enjoyed role-playing as the obsessed fan that you were a few months ago but it wasn’t all acting. 

“I wasn’t acting! Well, obviously I did with the ‘I don’t know what’s gonna happen’ part but beyond that I was really nervous to be with you like that in a public place. You know how I get. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you publically, it’s just a huge adjustment. So… baby steps.” You finally adjust your dress though you still very much look like you just got railed. 

“Come ooon, let me make you mine officially. Fuck this sneaking around. The people who need to know, know. The rest is not important.” He presents you with his sweet honeyed voice, and he’s cheating really, he knows how much it affects you.

In a way, he’s right. The people who matter at Vought know about you seeing as you’re up at his place every other day but there was something terrifying about announcing to the entire world that you were Homelander’s girlfriend. That’s nothing easy to get used to. He’s not just a celebrity. He is the celebrity. You will have to say bye-bye to the comforts of a private life. But maybe that’s all worth it for him. 

“Okay. How about you go do your job and I go do mine and when you see me for dinner we can talk about it again. Sounds good?” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another sweet kiss.

“Sounds good." He repeats before continuing with a fond, "I love you,” which always comes out a little strained. He’s never been able to say it without letting himself drown in the endless pool of emotions that are just swirling around inside him. 

“I love you too. Now go before Ashley has a heart attack. You’re already late.” You kiss him sweetly, adjusting his hair, making it look more purposefully-tousled, less ‘sex-hair’. You let him go, smoothing your hand down his suit. 

“Oh please, I’m the Homelander. Does the party really even start without me there?” He blows a raspberry into the air with a scoff.

“Sure doesn’t, babe.” You shake your head, amused as you watch him wave you off and shut the door behind himself.

You took the time to make yourself look more presentable but you couldn’t leave the room in the state you both left it in. So you collected the things that fell, you wiped the surfaces clean and you trashed whatever broke on the way. It’s the least you could do.

You looked into the mirror, almost not recognising the woman you’ve become over the past few months. Being someone who feeds off your endless adoration has done wonders for your confidence. You no longer feel crazy and obsessive. You’ve finally found someone who’s never gonna have enough of you. Someone who inhales your love like the oxygen he needs to breathe.

You revere Homelander less as an icon and more as a person, as a partner, these days. You know so much more of who he is now and strangely, while he scares others, you’ve never felt safer in his presence. Something about you two just clicks. It’s no wonder he wants to show you to the rest of the world. He wants to lock you in, have people forever associate with him.

And soon enough, there will be no way out.

[Part 3]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story): @morishitoshi

[kyracooneyx23]

I loved you Leah Williamson fic! I was wondering if you could do a Lucy Bronze x matildas reader where reader and lucy both player for barca and then they verse each other in the world cup semi final

Don't Be Sorry - Lucy Bronze

Lucy bronze x matildas!reader

summary - the Matildas lose to England in the semi final of the womens world cup and you take the blame.

warnings - death threats and hate comments

90+ minutes of you playing your heart out, the hope of a World Cup final promised if your team could get the result you desperately wanted slipped through your fingers as the dreaded sound of the full-time whistle rang through your mind. You collapse to the floor, face buried in your hands as you feel your tears wet the floor around you. The salty taste burned your already parched throat as you sobbed into your hand.

You were never an emotional person over football, but you had the weight of an entire country resting on your shoulders and you had let them down.

This was the moment you had spent your life working towards, ever since you were 4 years old, when you first watched a game of women's football you had made it your goal to one day be like the women you had seen on your screen. You promised yourself that one day you would represent your country in a World Cup, and now that dream had become reality you had stuffed everything up.

The haunting images of the ball flying past you and into the net still haunts you. You had the chance to stop the ball from going in but stuck your leg out too far and the ball went right past.

Not only did you feel like you had let down your fans, you had let down your teammates as well. It was your job as the team's main center-back to stop the goals and you failed. It was a stupid mistake for Tony to pick you to start, even more stupid that he'd kept you on the full game.

You felt the England player's hands patting you softly on the back, but you didn't bother getting up to congratulate them on their success not feeling up to facing other people.

'Hey, it's going to be ok y/n/n.' You hear the soft, comforting whisper of your captain, whose voice makes you sob even harder. You roll over onto your back so you can see her properly, out of everyone on this pitch you knew you owed her a proper apology.

'I'm so sorry Sam.' Your voice is hoarse and it pains you to see her tear-stained cheeks 'I let the whole team down, I know how much this meant to you. I'm sorry for ruining it, you deserved the win.' You burst into tears again as your captain pulled you into a warm embrace, rubbing your back to try and calm you down.

'This is not your fault.' She says, her voice is stern but you know she's not using the tone in a mean way, 'You played your heart out. I'm not allowing you or anyone to take the blame for the result. Every single person who has pulled on the green and gold jersey this tournament needs to be proud of everything they have done. We've made history this World Cup and that can't be forgotten because of one game. We still have the bronze medal match, we need to dust ourselves off and focus on winning that.' Your breathing slows down, knowing you were overreacting and that Sam was right. You needed to concentrate on the third-place game, there was still a chance to bring home some silverware for your country.

As you rose from the ground, extending congratulations to several of the Lionesses for their victory, you found yourself mid-conversation with Kyra and Mini. Suddenly, you felt the gentle embrace of two arms encircling your waist and a head nestling into the curve of your neck.

You turn around, enveloping your girlfriend in an embrace, the silent language of your intertwined bodies speaks more than any words could in the moment. It was a relief to be in the arms that felt more like home than anywhere else, her presence was all you needed to feel slightly better. Tears trickle down your cheeks again, a release from the flood of emotions that have become too overwhelming.

After a while the silence is broken 'I'm so sorry,' Lucy whispers into your ear 'I know how much this meant to you baby, I wish it didn't have to end this way.' You shake your head at her words, not wanting to ruin the special moment that she had also worked so hard for.

'Luc, don't be sorry. I'm not hearing it. Go and make the most of this moment. You deserve it.' You say pulling out of the hug, not wanting your disappointment to ruin her occasion, you knew better than anyone how much effort Lucy put into getting here in her career.

Lucy looks at you with sincerity in her eyes, you can see how excited she is to have made it to a World Cup final, but she still stays with you instead of celebrating with her team. You know you would've done the same thing if the roles were reversed but you still feel bad for keeping her away. 'Babe, go celebrate, I know you want to.' You tell her, your tone almost demanding.

But she doesn't leave your side and for the next 15 minutes she's constantly peppering your face with kisses and expressing words of admiration and respect, acknowledging the relentless dedication you had put into getting here. You keep trying to push her away but she refuses to leave, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and keeping you tucked as close to her as she possibly could not letting you free anytime soon.

Whilst you walk around the pitch together the fact that you two are rivals dissolves, no one would know that one of you had just lost to the other in a World Cup semi-final if it wasn't for the two different jerseys the two of you were wearing.

You gaze at her, and you know that you look like the biggest simp for her as you send her a loving look. The fan's edits after this match would be crazy.

The two of you were a popular couple that the fans adored even though you two had never properly gone public with your relationship, you just weren't the best at keeping it much of a secret.

Neither of you minded though, you found both the tiktoks quite funny.

After a little more walking around with Lucy, you know you can't let her stay with you any longer. 'You've poured your heart into every match, every training session,' you murmur, your voice barely a whisper against the loud atmosphere. 'You deserve this win more than anyone. This victory is yours, you've earned it through all your determination and hard work. Now please go and celebrate, I know that you'll be greatly missed in the changing rooms. I refuse to keep you to myself anymore, we'll have so much time just the two of us back in Barca. I love you, now enjoy your win' You tell her managing to wriggle free from her tight grip and place a light kiss on her lips, which she tries to deepen before you pull away laughing lightly at her clinginess.

'I love you sunshine.' She tells you blowing you a kiss before running over to her teammates who all bring her in for a large group hug. You smile at her almost forgetting how you'd felt only a short time ago.

Seeing Lucy happy made you happy.

'Hello, Miss Bronze.' Caitlin says standing beside you and you can hear the smirk in her voice. 'Care to join your team anytime soon or are you going to keep staring at your girl like a freak for the rest of the night?' She laughs and you shove her slightly.

'I'm coming, you can piss off now.' You tell the brunette, following her towards the team huddle not too far away from where you were. Steph and Kyra wrap their arms around you as you squeeze into the team circle.

The circle is quieter than your previous huddles, the energy gone from the disappointing loss and everyone exhausted from the game you'd just played.

Tony speaks to everyone, telling us it's not over yet and we can't stop working. The talk is coming to an end when he begins to talk about how we should all be very proud of ourselves 'You girls should all be extremely proud of what you have done,' he waves his hand across the sea of fans in green and gold, still screaming and cheering despite the loss. 'Every single one of you has won the hearts of a nation, you have inspired generations to come, and have changed the future of women's football in Australia. That is an incredible achievement.' A small round of applause echoes throughout the group and Tony finishes up the talk letting everyone head off.

All the girls do one more lap of the field, thanking the fans for their support before quickly getting changed and heading back to the hotel, everyone wanting a good nights rest after the long day.

The next day, the bright sun and Kyra's snoring wakes you up. You chuck a pillow at her, laughing at her annoyed grunts and swearing before getting out of bed, showering, and getting changed. You're quick, not wanting to be late for Lucy as the two of you had planned to go out for coffee this morning. You were excited to see how hungover she would be, you'd be surprised if she even managed to get out of bed this morning.

You weren't meant to be meeting Lucy until 10 and it was only 9:15 when you got out of the shower, so you took the extra time to scroll on your phone.

You had hardly thought about the game last night, knowing it would only affect your upcoming game if you worried about that too much. But as you open your phone, which you hadn't been on since before the game, your stomach twists and you feel like you're going to be sick.

A million notifications pop up on your screen. DM's of people telling you to kill yourself and posts that tagged you showing the two goals you couldn't stop yesterday. You tried not to read them but there were too many and you couldn't stop yourself.

Y/N L/N can go fucking throw herself off the Sydney Harbor Bridge for all I care. What a fucking joke this is, I knew women's football would suck. You're telling me that a 'professional' fullback can't stop the easiest goals. hope she fucking dies, let down a whole country.

Morning Y/N, hope you slept terribly last night. Let down a whole country with your shit performance. I'm sure many people would appreciate it if you took a break from football and found a job you're good at. I don't want to see you step foot on a pitch ever again and if you do I'll make sure you're sorry for it.

L/N just proves that female athletes are all just sluts, lost her team a world cup semi-final and all she did after the game was eye fuck Lucy Bronze, what happened to being a team player?

Hi Y/N, thanks to you my daughter cried herself to sleep last night, what happened to inspiring all the young girls, get a fucking life and get back into the kitchen. women like you don't belong on a football pitch. Never touch a football again thanks.

There were so many, all saying the same kind of things that it all just blurred together. Your thoughts from yesterday returned and all you could think about was about how all these people were right. You let down your country and you were a joke.

You were so caught up in everything that you hardly noticed the time slowly tick past 10:15 and all the notifications from Lucy asking where you were. You just sat on your bed, not quite sure what to do. You'd never felt more like a failure in your life, tears poured down your face they were practically choking you but you didn't mind.

You had let down your country and thousands of people agreed with you.

When you didn't answer Lucy's fifth call she got seriously worried. You always had your phone on you and you never ignored Lucy's calls. She called you one more time and when you didn't answer, she took matters into her own hands.

As soon as the Uber arrived outside your hotel, Lucy sprinted up to your room. Until security stopped her at the front desk, demanding that she prove that she was staying at the hotel before they let her in.

She was begging them for a good five minutes until it got to the point when she was offering money for them to let her in. Fortunately, Alanna spotted Lucy at the desk and after seeing her desperate expression she decided to go over and see what was happening.

'Is everything all right?' She asked both the receptionist and Lucy.

'She's not letting me see y/n/n' Lucy snapped shooting the desk lady a dirty glare.

'I need proof, I can't just let anyone in.' She says matter-of-factly causing Lucy to roll her eyes. Alanna ignores the lady giving Lucy all her attention.

'I thought she was going out to see you?' Alanna asked confused 'That's what Kyra told everyone.'

'She was meant to, but she didn't show up and hasn't been answering my calls, I need to know if she's ok.' Lucy's forehead creased with worry, her girlfriend was never late and always picked up the phone.

'I'm sure she'll be fine, I'll take you to go and check her room and see if she's there.' Alanna tells the brunette before turning around having a quick word with the receptionist who mumbles something under her breath before turning to Lucy and allowing her to go up, apologising for the trouble.

Her words aren't heard by the English footballer who is already speed-walking up the hallway despite having no clue where she is going. Alanna jogs lightly to catch up to her grabbing her wrist to stop her from walking. At first, Lucy tries to pull her wrist away but stops when Alanna drops it.

'Her rooms the other way.' Alanna says softly, causing Lucy to turn around and start power walking in the opposite direction. Alanna laughs lightly at her. 'Slow down, you're just going to get lost. I'll take you to her.'

You're curled up under the blankets in your bed. You'd been lying there for almost an hour. Your phone was on silent so you hadn't seen all the missed calls from Lucy, you felt guilty for not showing up but surely she wouldn't care too much. No one in their right mind would want to be seen with a mess like you, especially not the Lucy Bronze.

You lay in silence for a while longer, nobody disrupting you as the do not disturb sign was up and all the girls were out for the off day. You were almost too caught up in your thoughts to hear the knocking on the door and Alanna's voice calling out your name.

'Y/N, are you in there?' She asked again 'Y/N?' You groaned pulling the blankets up so they were almost covering your head.

'Go away Lani.' You mumble only just loud enough for her to hear. You are shocked when she agrees and you hear her footsteps getting further away.

You roll further into your bed, groaning when you hear another knock on the door. 'Baby, are you alright?' Your girlfriend asks, your stomach flips with guilt.

'I don't want to talk right now Luce.' You tell her even though you know that's not going to stop her from coming to see you.

'I need to know that my girlfriends ok.' She tells you and you hear the doorknob twist, the bright light that fills your room makes your head pound and you bury your face into the pillow.

When Lucy sees you lying in the darkness she immediately rushes to your side and places a hand on your forehead, probably checking to see if you had a temperature.

'What's wrong my love?' She asks sitting next to you on the bed and stroking your back. 'Are you sick? Do you need me to get anything for you?' The brunette asks the worry evident in her tone. You turn around to face her, only seeing her concerned face makes you burst out crying.

As tears streamed down your cheeks, you poured your heart out to your girlfriend, the weight of disappointment and guilt heavy on your shoulders, you couldn't not tell her about what was going on.

The two of you told each other everything.

In the quiet of the hotel room, you confessed her insecurities, voice choking with emotion. 'I'm a failure,' you whispered, hands trembling as you recounted the mistakes that haunted you from the semi-finals and all the awful messages you'd received after the game. With each word, Lucy listened intently, offering comforting words of reassurance. 'You're not a failure,' she whispered back, gently wiping away your tears. 'You're brave for putting yourself out there, for giving it your all. Football doesn't define you; your resilience does. You are the best player I know, you didn't win Player of the Year for nothing. All the girls were talking about how well you played last night, just because the result didn't go your way it doesn't mean you're a failure.' She places light kisses over your face 'The people hating are all just dickheads, I can't imagine them doing even half of what you've achieved. Don't let them get to you.' She tells you, midway through your conversation she had laid down beside you, wrapping you in her arms. You had your head lying on her chest, the beat of her heart helping calm you down.

You don't know how you got a girlfriend like Lucy. But you were undeniably grateful for her no matter what. She'd been there for you through the worst and best parts of your life.

'I'm sorry Lucy.' You whisper to her.

'Don't be sorry.' She tells you placing a light kiss on your forehead 'You've done nothing wrong.'

'You're meant to be enjoying making it to the final, but instead you're stuck looking after me.'

'Yeah, but being stuck with my favorite person in the world is my kind of heaven.' She tells you softly causing a small smile to break out on your face 'I love you y/n/n.'

'Love you more.' You say back to her.

'That's impossible baby.' A small smirk appears on her face 'I'll always love you the most.'

[devildom-moss]

I request…diavolo courting headcanons with an exasperated barbatos sprinkled in

Super late, but I hope you enjoy it. I love when Diavolo causes trouble for Barbatos but Barbs just kind of manages because affection duty. I could probably have done a few more, but I think I got a good chunk of stuff. I put a few MC courting Diavolo at the end since I realized the request wasn't specific that only Diavolo did the courting and because Diavolo is babygirl/babyboy and deserves courting too.

Diavolo courting headcanons

(Diavolo x gn!MC) (SFW)

Diavolo has no idea how he’s supposed to court a human. He’s never courted anyone (except for Lucifer, in his own, naïve, convoluted and lovestruck way – and even then, he didn’t acknowledge it as courting). He’s been courted by a few brave witches and demons, but it didn’t go anywhere, so he doesn’t care to replicate someone else’s failed attempt at courting. Other than that, he’s only read whatever made it into his family’s history. His father didn’t speak about Diavolo’s mother – let alone their courtship. In short, this poor man is lost and scrambling the entire time.

He turns to Barbatos, Lucifer, and Solomon for advice. None of them are keen to help him seduce MC if they already like MC, but Solomon is the only one to actively sabotage Diavolo’s plans on occasion. Solomon has suggested that Diavolo pick one day a week to actively avoid you so you’ll want him more or that he fill your entire room up with balloons in your least favorite color so you can enjoy destroying them or that humans enjoy being watched while they sleep and doing so shows that you will protect them when they’re most vulnerable. Barbatos catches on to his weird plots and attempts to stop him if he’s at risk of troubling you. Barbatos just counts this as another reason to be a bitch to Solomon the next time he sees him.

Eventually, Diavolo decides that the best course of action is to do whatever he can to see that precious smile on your face and just be around you. He may not know what he’s doing, but he knows that nothing in any realm could feel better than when he catches your gaze in his and you smile at him affectionately.

As such, he asks you to accompany him in his study while he does paperwork late into the night. No one else has the privilege of bothering him while he works. Literally. Barbatos doesn’t allow anyone to interrupt Diavolo when he has important work to do. Diavolo sneaks you in when he asks you to keep him company. It’s actually a great environment for reading and studying. He feels more productive having you around (most of the time). Sometimes he’s distracted by his desire for you, and he takes a short break “to refocus.” If his paperwork isn’t confidential and you’re lonely, he’ll let you sit in his lap.

Some nights, Diavolo has so much work that you fall asleep to quiet music, scribbling, and pages turning. When Barbatos comes to deliver tea, only to find you asleep on the couch, he sighs and escorts or just straight up carries you to a spare room to rest. He’ll scold Diavolo in the morning, but he doesn’t put any extra effort to prevent Diavolo from sneaking you in – not after he saw how affectionately and longingly Diavolo stared at you when Barbatos sent you off to bed. Barbatos hates that he has such a soft spot for you both sometimes.

Diavolo doesn’t tell anyone, but once he establishes peace between all three realms, he wants to build an entire city in your honor. It’s one of the dreams that sustains him when he feels like a failure. He has to do this for you.

He wants his love for you written in history books. This man is down so bad, that he needs you to be remembered in the history of the Devildom. If your name died with you, he would tear the Devildom to pieces until every denizen memorized your name. You’re such a comfort in his daunting, stressful life, he needs your beauty to stain the world. This is the only way he can cope with the thought of you dying one day.

Diavolo will open entire public parks and gardens dedicated to you. If you’re shy or don’t want recognition, he does it secretly and only tells you that he opened it in your honor. Unfortunately, he always invites you to the opening ceremony, and anyone who sees the way he looks at you will know that this is all for you. He plants your favorite devildom plants or flowers that blossom in your favorite color. Usually, he includes some kind of water feature (pond, lake, elaborate fountains) or interesting sculpture. Sometimes they’re so romantic that he gets a bit jealous that other couples get to spend more time there with each other than he can with you.

With Solomon’s help, Diavolo imports your favorite human world flower and plants it somewhere hidden in the garden at the Demon Lord’s castle. He will not allow Barbatos to tend to the flowers and takes pride in the fact that he’s the only one keeping that gift to you alive. One time, he suddenly got too sick to leave his bed and couldn’t water the flowers, so he allowed Barbatos to water them. However, he sulked for a week afterwards, and Barbatos couldn’t raise his spirits no matter what he did. It was so troublesome that Barbatos decided the next time Diavolo was too sick to tend to the flowers, he would rather carry Diavolo there or transport him in a wheelchair and help Diavolo water the plants than do it himself.

The prince offers MC a lot of gifts – an excessive amount of gifts. He gives you clothes he thinks would look good on you, cute things (like charms, plushies, cups, etc.), delicious and often expensive food and drinks, and anything you seem to take interest in. This man would give you an entire armory if you wanted it. It gets to the point that it’s overwhelming (and would be uncomfortable for most humans. If you love gifts, you start running out of space to put things). Barbatos has to point out that he makes you uncomfortable if you won’t. (Or if you don’t get uncomfortable, Barbatos notes how cramped/cluttered your room is after delivering one of many gifts and informs Diavolo that he must cut back.) “My Lord, you ought to show some restraint. Certainly, MC will still adore you with a few less presents.”

Diavolo offers you his arm whenever you are walking in the same direction as him at RAD. He loves being your escort. Who else gets to say that the future king walked them to class? You have to understand that you’re special, right? He’ll offer to escort you if he has the time when he sees you around town, too. Diavolo will only stop offering if you ask him to. However, if you ask him to stop because others are being cruel to you due to his special attention, he will give you an option: he can be more secretive about his affection or he can deal with anyone who is cruel to you “in an appropriate manner.” Do not ask him to elaborate.

Speaking of being your escort. Diavolo loves to invite you to fancy parties. It’s a good way to make his intentions clear to you and any of your potential suitors (Suck it, Lucifer). Incidentally, it also sends a message to his own potential suitors (Suck it again, Lucifer). Besides, he wishes to keep you by his side in the future, so he’d like you to get more accustomed to royal affairs. But, mostly, he just likes showing off his beloved.

Diavolo is always the first person to ask for your hand at a dance – even if he didn’t invite you to the party. He’s very formal about it - he even bows to you and kisses your hand. Mephistopheles gives you shit about making Diavolo, of all demons, bow to a human. He’s a bit jealous, and he can’t stand the idea of Diavolo lowering himself or potentially harming his reputation by looking like such a lovestruck fool. (One time, Diavolo overheard this and informed Mephisto, “Ah, but I am a lovestruck fool for MC. Why should I not appear exactly as I am? Is there something unbecoming about me, Mephistopheles?” Mephisto let that shit go real quick.)

If Diavolo sees that you are stressed, upset, having a panic attack, etc, he’ll transform into his demon form and wrap his large wings around you as he holds you until you feel better. He knows he can’t protect you from everything all the time, but in that moment, he wants you to know that he will shield you from the entire world until you feel safe. If you get claustrophobic or this makes you more uncomfortable, it will break his heart a little bit, but he’ll work with you to figure out a better solution. He’ll do anything to make you feel safe and comfortable.

Diavolo spends time planning vacations with you instead of doing work around the holidays – which results in a rather annoyed Barbatos. Consequently, Barbatos forbids you from visiting the castle until Diavolo finishes his work. Diavolo ends up exhausted all week between catching up on his work and trying to plan the perfect vacation, which only frustrates Barbatos further. Eventually, he gets his work done. Barbs can’t even get mad at you because he knows you didn’t ask Diavolo to be so reckless with his time, but if you could find a way to get Diavolo to manage his time better or delegate vacation plans, Barbatos would be grateful beyond words.

MC does not need to do anything official to “court” Diavolo on their end, but any time you get him a gift, it means more than he can express – so long as you actually give it some thought. If it’s a couple’s/matching item, he will be over the moon – gushing over it around anyone who will listen. Every once in a while, Barbatos will consider asking you to avoid giving Diavolo matching presents because if he has to hear about a little acrylic charm for two weeks again, he’s going to use a glamour to make little D. no. 2 look like him and stand in his place.

You can melt Diavolo into a blushing mess if you offer him your hand or arm and escort him anywhere – but especially if you do it when getting out of a car or on the way to a party. If you ask him to dance, even if it’s somewhere secluded, he will feel adored. Whether it’s in front of the entire student body at a RAD party or a random balcony in the Demon Lord’s castle under the moonlight or in his study because a particular song started to play while he was working, he’ll be delighted and take your hand with a chuckle.

The best thing you could do to court Diavolo would be to take his hand and ask to visit either the mausoleum or wherever his father is being kept so that you can declare your affection for Diavolo in front of his ancestors/family. If you compliment him and bring an offering of flowers for his family, he might actually cry. He will never feel more desired than at that moment. If you ask for permission to be with him (although he would be equally happy if you just inform his family that you love him and plan to stay by his side), even if his father rose from his rest or his ancestors rose from the dead to deny you, he would go against them.

[samsalami66]

Don't Go Kicking My Heart

Another part of the soccer au, it is time for fluff and trauma! Enjoy!!

Read on ao3!

Today was the first day of a new era. A new age of football.

The world of sports would remember this day. 

The day Morpheus Ateleios, winner of the European Golden Shoe, first played for Fiddler’s Green, the highest ranking football club in all of Europe. 

Or, well, the day he first trained with them. His first match was still far off, the next season only started in a few months after all, but today was his first day as a part of the team. He would face the players for the first time not on opposite sides of a field, but as a teammate. 

Morpheus was about to be sick, standing in front of these unfamiliar training facilities in the middle of London, miles away from Wych Cross and Roderick’s now cold and dead body. The distance wasn’t enough. No distance could make up for the ache he still felt in his bones, in his muscles, for the bruises slowly healing on his back and chest. 

But thinking about the ghost of Roderick Burgess still being imprinted on his skin was not what really got to Morpheus’ stomach. 

No, it was the fact that he would face Robert Gadling for the first time as a colleague. A part of the team. 

Gadling was… well, to say Morpheus and him did not get along would probably be an understatement. They had a bit of a turbulent history. 

Said history might have involved red cards for both of them during their latest match, following a disagreement they had decided to solve with fists rather than words. 

It hadn’t been one of his proudest moments. 

There was just something about Gadling, something that set him off in the worst way possible. Morpheus wasn’t a pleasant person to be around, he’d admit, but Gadling would stare at him with such distaste, it felt entirely unwarranted. Jessamy would say it was jealousy, because Morpheus was clearly the better player between the two of them. But who knew, perhaps the Fiddlers’ star player was simply a homophobic asshole, like so many others in this sport. Maybe Roderick had a point when he said that nobody would want to play with him or share a locker room if they knew about him, about his fantasies. 

Perhaps he had been right to announce them to the world.

But god, was he really about to walk into a locker room full of people who would rather have him dead than anywhere near them? Would they refuse to undress before him, just like the Riggers had done? And what would Gadling do to him in the privacy of a training facility, where there was no referee to step between them, no cameras pointed in their direction? 

Fuck, all of this had been a terrible idea. He should leave, should tell Gilbert that he simply couldn’t play for this club, that he would have to find another player, that there was simply too much antagony and hatred and-

“You alright there, mate?” A voice, all too familiar, sounded from behind him. Morpheus couldn’t help the yelp that escaped his lips at the sudden appearance of Robert Gadling right in his personal space. He had been too caught up in his thoughts and didn’t even notice that the other man had approached him. It took every ounce of self-control Morpheus possessed to school his face back into something less terrified as he turned towards his old rival. 

“Why do you care?” He replied, venom dripping from his words. All it earned him was a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, you look like you’re walking to your death sentence. Mind, I don’t actually know what you’re doing here, of all places, but I’m pretty sure the death penalty was abolished in 1969 over here in the UK.” Robert Gadling looked thoughtful for a moment, one hand coming up to scratch at his beard, and Morpheus was left to stare at him. None of this answered his question. “Unless you committed treason of course, the death penalty for that was abolished in 1998 I think. Not that it matters much, both are in the past now, but the more you know!”

There was a moment of silence after Gadling stopped talking, one in which Morpheus contemplated if he should pinch himself for the unlikely reason that this was all a dream. Though surely not even his brain could come up with such impossible scenarios all on its own. After all, he knew nothing about English history. 

Perhaps if he didn’t answer, the other man would leave. 

But no such luck. Robert Gadling was not fazed by his silence. 

“Not a fan of history, eh? Fair enough, I guess it’s not everyone’s cuppa tea.” Gadling winked at him then, and Morpheus decided that perhaps pinching himself wasn’t the worst idea after all. A stab of pain shot up his arm, but, again, no luck. This really was no elaborate nightmare. Gadling was talking to him. “How about a joke, then? Something to wipe that mopey look off your face?”

He did not wait for Morpheus’ answer. He would not have gotten one anyway, but it was still rude. 

“Why’s Cinderella bad at football?” Morpheus was dreading the answer to this question more than he had dreaded entering the facilities in the first place. Robert Gadling waited for a moment, if for dramatics or simply to torture him, Morpheus didn’t know.

“Because she lost her shoe and ran away from the ball!” 

It was an awful joke. Really, it might be in the top ten of the worst jokes Morpheus had ever heard. And yet, he felt the familiar feeling of laughter bubbling up from deep within him, a sort of hysteria he simply couldn’t control, couldn’t stop as it was about to simply burst from his chest. 

Perhaps it was the whole situation that made him hysterical, the stress of the past few days that came crashing down on him that had sent him into delirium. Or, maybe, he simply wasn’t very sane to begin with.

Morpheus tried desperately to clasp a hand over his mouth in order to stop the horrible noise from escaping his lips, but it was a futile attempt. Waves of laughter shook his body and the sound, only slightly muffled by his hand, spilled into the air between him and Robert Gadling. 

Morpheus knew that his laugh was horrible. Back at school people had held their ears whenever he laughed, much later people had simply asked him to stop whenever he couldn’t catch himself in time. Roderick had had the cane. But Gadling did not do any of those things. 

Gadling was simply… looking. He looked… amused? Fond, perhaps? Morpheus couldn’t really see through the tears that were building in his eyes as he tried to calm down. But he had to be imagining things, nobody had ever looked fond when confronted with his joy. And Gadling… Gadling hated him.

Didn’t he? 

“Looked like you needed that.” he said, tone warm, and Morpheus wasn’t too sure about it anymore. “Come on, I’ll bring you wherever you need to go. And call me Hob, yeah? My friends usually do.”

Robert Gadling clapped a hand on his shoulder, and Morpheus had never felt so unsteady on his feet or in his world-view. 

It was minutes later that the two of them entered the training facilities of Fiddler’s Green, Gadling chattering away at Morpheus’ side as if they were old friends. He talked about anything and everything, topics seemingly unrelated to one another, though somehow Morpheus managed to keep up with the jumps in his stories. How he went from a camping trip the team went on last month to when he went fishing with his father when he was younger, to the anatomy of grasshoppers they had presumably used for fishing, and the physical differences between grasshoppers and crickets. 

It was weirdly familiar, so similar to how his own brain worked. Though he could never verbalise his thoughts like this, without overthinking every single word. Gadling didn’t particularly seem to care if he could keep up, just kept talking and gesturing as they walked. 

It was… calming. Morpheus found himself hoping that he didn’t stop any time soon. 

But, of course, they had a destination. And once they reached it, Gadling slowly came to a stop in his rambling. Before them were the doors to the locker rooms, through which Morpheus heard voices, broken up by laughter, louder than he had ever experienced a locker room to be at Fawney Rig. 

The Riggers hadn’t talked much to one another. Certainly hadn’t laughed together.

“Right, Gilbert should be with the other guys. Do you want me to get him or come inside?”

Considerate. Morpheus wished he didn’t have to go into this room. But there was no point, if he was supposed to work and play with these men in the future. 

“I would come in, if you don’t mind.” 

God, Morpheus hated how small his voice sounded. Gadling must be aware of what he was actually asking. The question Would you allow someone like me into your changing rooms? hidden somewhere between the lines. But the other man simply raised an eyebrow at him, smiled fondly and held the door open for him. 

“I wouldn’t have asked if I did.”

Morpheus remembered very clearly how the Riggers had once asked him to come inside the locker rooms after Roderick had outed him, just to close and lock the door in his face. 

It had been three years since he last stepped foot into a shared locker room. And Robert Gadling invited him, his rival, inside with a smile. 

Morpheus hoped the tears stinging in his eyes weren’t too obvious.

As they entered, member after member turned to look at them with an air of surprise and curiosity. One of them, blond, American, and with a devastatingly handsome smile, whistled and waggled his eyebrows in Gadling’s direction. 

“Did you finally have the guts to talk to Mister Dreamy without starting a fight, Robbie?”

When Morpheus turned to look at the other man, he could see that his tanned skin turned red around his cheeks, all the way up to his ears. Huh, Morpheus hadn’t known that Gadling felt embarrassment over their common disagreements on the field. He had always seemed very confident in his anger.

“Shut it, Cori. He’s here to talk to Gilbert.”

Just as Gadling said it, the man in question looked up from some papers he had been studying, with a smile spreading over his face. “Oh, Mister Ateleios!” Gilbert stood quickly to offer him his hand, which Morpheus took without much hesitation. The coach of Fiddler’s Green was a homely man, soft and welcoming in every way Roderick hadn’t been. “It’s wonderful to have you, son, just wonderful! I’m glad to see you’ve found your way just fine.” 

Morpheus couldn’t remember when someone had last called him son. Perhaps when he had last seen his parents… some six-odd years ago. Though, honestly, his father had stopped calling him son long before that. It made a part deep within him ache to hear it again, from a stranger nonetheless. But he couldn’t get emotional in front of all these people, not now, so he forced a smile and a nod, and hoped his voice didn’t break when he answered. 

“Yes, Mister Gadling was kind enough to lead the way. I am honoured to be here.”

The elder man patted his shoulder, fatherly, and Morpheus was a hair’s breadth away from breaking down. 

“Glad Robert could make himself useful at least, when he’s already never on time.” Gadling pouted at that, but didn’t otherwise react. Such a statement from Roderick would have had the entire room cowering in fear. But these men weren’t afraid. It was strange, but at the same time filled Morpheus with hope that this perhaps wasn’t a huge mistake. “And now that you two are here as well, it’s time for the big announcement, wouldn’t you say?”

Gilbert hadn’t warned the team of him? With all their history? Either the man had incredible trust in his men or he didn’t care much about Morpheus’ physical well-being.

Morpheus was about to be sick after all. 

“What’s the announcement, boss?” a raven-haired man asked from their right, curiosity in his voice. Or was it mistrust?

“Well, boys, Mister Ateleios here approached me a few weeks ago, asking to become a part of the team. And I signed him on, of course. He will take Paul’s place, since his spot opened up with the end of last season.” 

Morpheus closed his eyes, preparing himself for protest, for judgement, for insults. All of it would be reasonable, and he wasn’t stupid enough to hope for a better reaction. He had landed Gadling in hospital once, for Christ’s sake. He would be lucky if nobody resorted to violence in the face of what must feel like betrayal from their coach-

“Oh fuck yeah, we will kick ass this season with Morpheus on our team!”

Gadling’s excited voice cut through the silence like a knife through butter, and suddenly the whole room erupted into cheers. Hands found his shoulders and back, patting them with enthusiasm as Morpheus blinked his eyes open in surprise. The men were smiling at him, not a hint of malevolence in any of their faces. Robert Gadling was practically vibrating with excitement, his eyes shining like those of a child at Christmas. Nobody had ever looked at Morpheus like that, like his presence was a thing to look forward to. 

It would change, surely. They were happy to have his skills on their time, were looking forward to a successful season. That was all. 

It would change. 

Morpheus was sure of it. 

- - - 

The next day, Morpheus was the first ready for training. He was early, really. Dreadfully early. When Roderick said training started at eight, he had expected the team to show up at six at the latest. But apparently the Fiddlers were less inclined to begin a day so early. 

No matter, a few extra hours would not do him any harm. 

He could warm up already, set up a few exercises. Perhaps it would reflect on his conviction to be a valuable player for the team, so they would perhaps forgive his lack of character. 

It was as good a plan as ever. 

He started off with stretching his legs and feet, before moving onto his arms and neck. It was calming, to spend some minutes in tranquil silence, simply feeling the muscles in his body stretch and loosen for the day ahead. Just as he was about to start his last set of stretches, a voice came from the side of the field, which almost caused him to strain his neck with how fast he turned around to look at the source. 

Of course, it was Gadling. 

“Did you hear about the team whose back four was only two fullbacks?”

That. Didn’t make any sense. What was that supposed to mean? Had he been supposed to do preparations for today’s training? Research the teams they would be playing? Gods, if he had already missed such a vital task on his second day they would never tolerate him, they would put him on the bench and find a different player, they-

“Apparently they're double stuffed.”

It was another joke. A pun. A horrible, terrible, awful pun. 

Morpheus couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, half-delirious, his heart beating so fast in his chest he felt a bit faint. 

He hadn’t misstepped. No reason for punishment. He was okay. 

Except that he was laughing, freely, before Robert Gadling. 

He really had to get a grip on himself. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep the laughter in, couldn’t stop, not even when tears were running down his cheeks and his stomach felt like he had done a hundred situps. 

Gadling was smiling when he came closer, as he seemed to do so very often since they had met in front of the facility. He sat down next to him, mirroring his current position, and Morpheus couldn’t help but smile back at him as they began to stretch together, Gadling once again regaling him with stories and anecdotes and seemingly random facts. 

It was nice. 

Morpheus had absolutely no idea how to deal with it. But he decided to simply accept it for what it was. 

- - - 

On Saturdays, the Fiddlers met for drinks. 

It was an unspoken rule, a tradition, and Morpheus had been invited during that first week of training with the team. Therefore, it was important to leave a positive impression. 

He arrived, dressed in a tux and carrying a bottle of wine, at the address Gadling had sent him. It was… not a real restaurant, nor another place he recognised. It didn’t seem to be a place where any of the other players lived either. The sign on the front of the building read The New Inn and from inside Morpheus could hear the same laughter and joy he had come to associate with the locker rooms of Fiddler’s Green. 

They were a loud bunch, almost irritatingly so, if it weren’t for the warmth their company provided. Spending time with them was easier than it had ever been with the Riggers. 

Upon entering Morpheus was greeted with cheers and whistles, and he realised very quickly that he was immensely overdressed. The team sat around a large table towards the side of the room, dressed in jeans, t-shirts and hoodies (except Ken and Cori, those two technically wore shirts, though Morpheus was not entirely sure that they could really qualify as such with how little they were covering.). Gadling sported a fading band-tee about two sizes too large and sweat-pants.

Gods above, Morpheus would stick out like a sore thumb. Why had nobody told him about the dress-code?

“Looking good, Dreamy!” Cori called over the cheers, a grin on his face. “Dress to impress! Robbie will look dreadfully underdressed next to you.”

The man in question kicked Cori underneath the table. 

“Ow! What, it’s not my fault you roll from your couch upstairs right down to drinks night!” 

The tips of Gadling’s ears turned red at the other man’s words, and Morpheus almost felt the need to defend him. After all, it was his being overdressed, not Gadling being undressed, that was the faux-pas here. 

But in the spirit of good impressions Morpheus simply sat down on the free chair next to Gadling and placed the bottle of wine on the table. It was immediately nicked by Mervyn, an appreciative whistle leaving his lips as he read the label. “Good stuff, Dreamy. Cheers!”

That nickname, twice already this evening. Morpheus wasn’t entirely sure if it existed to make fun of him or was simply a thing these people did. It had been there since day one, and apparently the team wasn’t about to stop anytime soon. It… did not bother Morpheus too much. He had never had a nickname. Roderick had only ever called him Morpheus, and he had only ever said it with hatred, disappointment or cold detachment. Never with humour, joy or fondness, had never used it to tease him. 

“Why did the winger miss the match?”

Gadling’s voice, quiet and right next to his ear, quickly pulled Morpheus out of his thoughts. It was a question. Had he missed a part of the conversation? Was he supposed to answer? Or, no, it wasn’t another one, was it…?

“He was busy chasing ball.” 

Oh, fuck, it was another one of Gadling’s horrible, god-awful puns. That was it. Proof that Gadling hated him, had just been nice to him to gain some twisted sort of amusement. Morpheus knew the laughter was coming this time, knew he was helpless against it bubbling up in his throat. He didn’t want to face the whole team as they were subjected to his laugh. Surely they would tell him to stop, to keep quiet, to leave the inn, laugh at him. 

But there was no helping it. With his face hidden behind his hands, Morpheus allowed the sound to spill over and mix with the laughter around them. Seconds passed by, and the noise around him did not stop. Conversations continued, drinks were drunk, and nobody seemed to react at all. 

Ever so slowly, Morpheus dared to raise the hands from his face and to peek into the group of people around him. 

Nobody was batting an eye. 

Stunned, and more than a little confused, Morpheus let his hands drop to his lap. Beside him, Gadling was nursing his beer, almost as if he hadn’t just tried to embarrass him in front of the entire team. Or… perhaps he really hadn’t tried to. Nobody was laughing at him after all. Nobody was shouting at him to keep quiet or to go outside. 

Almost as if it were okay for him to just… be. 

- - - 

About a month later, Morpheus sat in his apartment on his day off. A Sunday. The first of the month. 

It was a quiet day, warm and sunny and the only sounds were the birds chirping outside.

That was, until someone decided it would be a brilliant idea to abuse his doorbell. Probably some reporter, or an obnoxious fan. They would get bored soon. Very soon. 

Ten minutes later, the doorbell was still ringing and Morpheus had had enough. 

“Gamo to kerato sou. People nowadays have zero respect for privacy.”

Morpheus was ready to yell at whoever was standing behind the door, scare them off so they would never show their face here ever again. 

But behind the door was Gadling. And Cori. And Matthew and Mervyn and John and Ken and… even Gilbert was there. Gadling was holding a cake in his hands. Self-made, by the looks of it. 

The frosting read Happy One Month Anniversary!

Morpheus was about to cry. 

He couldn’t help it. He rushed forward, right into the arms of Robert Gadling. Because this must have been his idea, insufferable, incredible man that he was. Considerate. God, he was always so considerate. Cheering him up with stupid puns every single day, forcing him to relax, to trust, to breathe, to be. 

Forcing Morpheus to enjoy his company. Seek it out even. He didn’t do hugs. And yet, here he was. 

“Thank you, Hob.” he whispered, so only Hob could hear. The arms around him tightened, and the other man pressed his cheek against his own. 

“Anytime, Dream.”

[gojos-whatnow]

hii im from wattpad and i want to request :

Rui x reader (reader is afab), fsmut ig ?? both college students nd they both wanted to start a project but ended up.. yk 😭

HIHI WELCOME!! Honestly this ask is my entire rui sequel fic on wattpad (wink wink go read it and the prequel anyone who hasn't)

Anyway enough talking, let's just get into it ;)

⭒Synopsis: ^^

⭒Warnings: NSFW,

⭒Setting: College, so yall are anywhere from 18-22 or so

⭒Notes: AHH IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER TO GET OUT

"Alright, we have everything we need! I think..." You gazed over the messy pile of mechanic bits strewn across the floor, your boyfriend sitting in the middle.

"This should be all I need," he smiled up at you from the floor.

"Great! Then, let's get to work!" You hopped over onto your bed, starting to look through the brainstorming notes for just what kind of bot you'd use for this project.

That was over half an hour ago. So far, you had done nothing but add maybe 3 more things to your notes, and ramble endlessly. You suddenly stopped yourself mid-sentence, shaking your head in frustration.

"Noo, Rui, we're on another tangent..."

"Sorry, I knew this time, it just seemed like something you really enjoy talking about."

"Thank you, Sweetheart, but now's not the time to indulge my scatterbrain." You sighed, flopping back on the bed. "I still have no idea what this bot is even gonna do, let alone look like..."

"You have plenty of ideas down, I suppose it's just choosing that's the hard part."

"Are you sure the animated hologram is off the table?"

"That would take several months of research and work. You need this done by the end of the week."

You groaned and sat back up, slipping off your bed and leaning down over Rui's mess to cup his face and nuzzle his nose. "Thank goodness I have my pretty genius boy to help."

He chuckled softly, going along with your affection before standing up to stretch his legs. "I'll have you know, I didn't procrastinate on my homework this time, just to make sure it was done for when you get home."

You cooed, thanking him with a hug as he stepped out of his sea of silvers and metal. "Y'know, maybe a snack will help get us on track?"

"I don't think a snack is going to help you focus better."

"Awe, c'mon, we won't know til we try, right?" As you started walking out from your bedroom to the kitchen, you were tugged back by your shirt before the door closed in front of you.

"I know something that'll help."

"Hmn? And what would that be?"

Suddenly, you felt Rui pick you up and toss you onto your bed, jumping on you immediately after. He held himself up, hovering above you with a smirk on his face.

"If history repeats itself, this'll probably help out," he purred, before leaning down to start kissing and licking up and down your neck. You shuddered slightly.

"W-what in the world makes you think this is the solution?"

"You haven't noticed? You do much better work when you're... we'll say... relieved."

"What evidence is there of that?" You chuckled, resting your hands on his shoulders.

"I've witnessed it a time or two. Now, enough talking. That's what got us here in the first place."

You wanted to inquire some more, but refrained, instead just simply letting your breath shake with every exhale as Rui soaked your neck with growing impatience.

He wasted no time in slipping his hands under your shirt and pulling it up your body. His hands found their way to your sides, gripping and rubbing over your ribs, down to your hips. His mouth left your neck and pressed against yours, tongue slipping past your lips within seconds.

You kicked your legs up over his hips, squeezing his waist between your knees. He carefully pulled his face away from your kiss, smiling down at you darkly.

"Let's get this over with quickly, yeah? We shouldn't take too long when we have work to do."

"Yeah, you're right..."

His hands tugged your shirt all the way off, tossing it aside dismissively and going for your pants. Then his pants came off. Meanwhile, you tugged off his shirt, which he had neglected due to time. His leg pressed up between your legs so you could grind against it as your tongues licked together with hunger.

He felt over your body, squeezing roughly, grabbing at his favorite parts of you and feeling your soft, plush skin under his fingers. Fuck, were you irresistible, even with his eyes closed.

With the softest groan of frustration and impatience, he stuffed his face into your neck and shoved hastily at his all too tight pants. He sighed at the freedom once they were finally off, and paused before he made for his boxers. Rui lifted himself up and gave you a devilish look.

"Is my Darling ready for me?"

You let out a shuddering breath as his hand trailed down your stomach, dipping into your underwear and feeling across your folds. Just how easily his fingers slid told you the answer to his question. His smirk widened.

"Good."

With that, his fingers hooked into the leg holes and started tugging them down your thighs. Once they were off and discarded with all the rest of your clothing, you suddenly felt two of his fingers slide into you embarrassingly easily. You tensed, gasping, but huffed at the amused look on his face.

"I thought you said we shouldn't waste any time?"

"I wouldn't call this a waste. You aren't seriously asking me to just ram into you without a little preparation, are you?" He gave you a pouty look, to which you rolled your eyes and let him continue, stretching you out. Once he pulled his fingers out of you, sucking them clean before they wrapped around your hip, you mentally prepared yourself for what came next.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

He propped your legs up onto his hips and carefully slid into you. You let out a shaky breath as each inch slid in, filling you up how he always did. He groaned out happily, smiling as his lashes fluttered.

"Mmh, yeah... that's it." Rui sighed as he leaned down, pressing his chest against yours. His arms slipped under your shoulder blades and grabbed your shoulders. He rubbed his cheek against yours and placed a few kisses across it, grinning all the while. "I love you... Want me to start yet?"

You wiggled your hips slightly, listening to his breath hitch. Once you were fairly sure your insides had adjusted, you leaned back and relaxed, then nodded your head.

"Yeah, you can start."

"Okay, Honey," he sighed happily, then pressed his lips to yours. He started to pull back, then thrust back in slowly, breaths uneven. Your own breath was shallow as you kissed him, feeling how gentle and slow his movements were starting out. He continued at that same pace for a while, then pulled away from your lips to catch his breath as his hips began to speed up.

The feeling of his cock brushing against your inner walls and his tip hitting so deep in you gave you a wave of goosebumps, how it usually did. A few soft moans started to leave your lips as your head fell back against the pillows. Your vision was blurry with pleasure, but you could see as Rui looked over your face, his muscles tensing as a moan escaped him. He leaned back down, groaning softly as he shoved his face into the nape of your neck and started to speed up more.

It felt glorious, the pleasure making your brows furrow and eyes roll back. Your hands gripped onto his back, and with every moan of his that sounded next to your ear, you felt your insides grow hotter, until a knot started to form in your stomach. The most you could do was squeal out Rui's name, but in response, he sped up to a pace that had you wailing with pleasure.

You could feel your finale quickly approaching, but it's not like you could muster the ability to warn him, especially when his mouth met yours again and your moans mixed together. As you reached the edge of bliss, all you could manage was a frantic shove to Rui's shoulder, before your back arched and you cried out. He immediately slowed down, now back to focusing on his depth as his orgasm also neared. You clenched around him as you soaked his cock with your release, and those sweet sounds you were making made his cock more solid than stone. Every second his orgasm neared, it felt like you were driving him more and more crazy. He could just barely sense himself getting louder as he kept slamming deep into you, until his pleasure peaked and he let out a long, shuddering moan as he released inside you. You shuddered, yet another wave of goosebumps raising over your body. As his cum gushed into you, he held you tight, squeezing you with euphoria. When the feeling finally subsided, his whole body relaxed, almost going limp above you. He let out a sigh and started catching his breath at about the same pace you were.

The two of you spent a couple moments just basking in the relaxing, post-orgasmic afterglow, before Rui dropped his head back down to your shoulder, shifting slightly to get comfortable.

"Don't fall asleep," you warned with a chuckle.

"I know, I know. We still have work to do."

His words made you pause, before you groaned. "Awe, fuck."

[dirtyzucchini]

Let me tell you something about Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, who came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of his father and, for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, remained, attached as liaison with the Canadian consulate.

There was never much of a chance that Benton Fraser would grow up to be what most people would casually call "a regular guy". From what little insight we get, no part of his childhood would have been standard. Looking at the anecdote Bob Fraser tells in Burning Down The House, we can assume that Benton grew up in a cabin his father built by hand, in a location remote enough and far enough North that living in an igloo during the construction of said cabin was a sensible thing for his parents to do. We see one picture of the family in Good For The Soul, and it is a puzzler:

Now, I wasn't around in the mid to late 1960's when that photo would have been taken, and I've never been to Canada's far North, but everything I could find anywhere tells me that that is not how (white!) people dressed then even up there, and no, I am not talking about trendy fashion. Everyday clothing looked pretty much like what we still wear today, but the people in that picture don't. They look like this guy - a European "explorer" whose picture was taken in 1889:

Side note: I am purposely only talking about white/western/mainstream society in this post because the Frasers are white.

I wonder what drove them to live like this, and so far away from other people? It can't have been money, Bob would have made enough to support them. I guess Fraser's parents weren't regular guys, either.

Anyway, we know that Bob wasn't around much while Fraser's mother was alive, and even less so after her death. He handed the boy off to his own parents instead, and Benton was raised by literal, real life Edwardians, people who were born before the invention of band-aids and bubblegum. Public radio broadcasts were cutting-edge technology when they were young. I'm glad they stepped up, and I'm sure they did their best, but they weren't exactly well-equipped to prepare a child for life in modern society. They were librarians who for some reason moved around a lot. When he was eight, they took Benton to a place called Alert - the northernmost continously inhabited place in the world. Unfortunately it's inhabited by soldiers and researchers who go there on six-months-tours, but it counts because the tours overlap. Fraser would have been the only child there, and, the times being what they were, his grandmother the only woman. What librarians would have done in Alert we can only speculate about, but between this and the fact that they helped build an English-speaking library in China before the revolution, we can safely assume that we are dealing with another generation of non-regular Frasers here. This idea is supported by the fact that they fed Fraser arctic tern for Christmas. Each bird weighs under 130 grams, and they would be hard to come by in northern Canada in December because they migrate to literally the other end of the world after breeding in the Arctic in the summer. I'm not entirely certain what this says about Fraser's grandparents, but it sure says something, doesn't it?

This bird may scream, but it does not scream Christmas to me.

Listen, I LOVE that Fraser's grandmother taught him how to box from a book.

Perhaps this one from 1922? In this book, the writer "not only describes the various moves of the game and traces the history of their development but deals comprehensively with all the factors of body and mind that make for success in the ring." Sounds like a good choice!

I do NOT love that she taught him that being in the hospital for three weeks after being shot in the back is "babying yourself". She also raised Bob Fraser to be the kind of man who tells his journal "The last time I saw Ben, he was barely tall enough to reach my belt. When I said good-bye he shook my hand. Never a tear or a complaint. Seven years old and he's already a stronger man than I'll ever be. Someday I'll tell him.", and friends, I DO NOT love that at all. That is NOT a healthy way to deal with emotions, and I think we can agree that growing up guided by these mindsets did Fraser no favors at all. Look at how he lives! His apartment is absolutely bare-bones, no personality, and after that he literally lives in his office - this is a man who gets REALLY uncomfortable when he's comfortable, is what I'm saying. Everything he does is quick and efficient to make sure he can devote a maximum amount of time to his work. I'd bet "Idle hands are the devil's workshop" was a very common saying in the Fraser household.

Look, our upbringing informs who we become, how we approach life, how we connect to those around us. Fraser's view of the world is completely different from how other people see it. Long before he's displaced geographically, he's displaced in time.

He grew up without TV, and while living with librarians gave him access to a large number of books, the libraries they worked at served remote communities and would not have been all too well funded. It stands to reason they would have had to make their books last as long as possible, and that new purchases would have been, shall we say, conservative? Copies of beloved classics, books with general appeal, books with educational/instructional value would have made up the bulk of purchases. Even if the librarians wanted to, there would have been little money to buy more controversial books - and it doesn't seem likely that Fraser's grandparents would have wanted to. Fraser probably grew up on adventure tales, detective stories and, as a teen and young adult, the classics from Austen to Shakespeare.

When he gets to Depot in Regina to become a Mountie he has nothing in common with the other recruits, and that continues throughout all his career. There's a reason he's still a Constable after all his years of service: he's severely lacking in social skills, and his upbringing is a big part of that problem*. He was raised by Edwardians on Victorian (and Romantic) mores and values, and bridging that gap to make connections with people from what's essentially a different world is very, very hard.

TL,DR: Fraser is both an alien and a time traveler, and we should remember that when we talk about him.

*Other parts of the problem are his queerness and neurodiversity, but those are topics for another essay. Please know that by problem I do NOT mean there's something wrong with him, I mean that there's something wrong with how society treats people like him.

Big thank you to @sammaggs and @sammeltassensammelsurium for excellent feedback!

[birdbaddie]

Spar: Gone Wrong

Oooooo we starting to get fancy up in here.  More slop that I have cooked for you to enjoy! Thanks for reading and toodles! ;)

--SUMMARY-- Where you try out your new move and it gives Satoru a heart attack.

Satoru Gojo x Teacher! f.Reader

“Yuji! Stop being a nosey idiot!” Nobara hits Yuji over the head with her phone as both of them walk up to Megumi and the year 2’s. 

“It’s not being nosey when you’re practically showing off your texts to the entire world!” he rubs his head as they bicker.

Megumi sighs in defeat as he hears his friends get closer. They’re only down the hall but he already feels a headache coming on. 

‘At least it’s not that idiot.’ That he’s grateful for but it’s still lunch so anything could happen, especially in this school.

Thinking about that idiot, he wonders where you are. Because where you are, Gojo is usually only 2 feet behind. He remembers you mentioning you have PPA time to plan lessons for next week but he couldn’t remember which day you said you had it. It was usually the same scheduled time every week, but after a certain blindfolded menace complained and whined to principal Yaga for 4 days straight about it being on the same days as his off days- her schedule was magically changed. 

He recalls how confused you were when Gojo gave you the ‘great news’ but you accepted it fairly quickly because that was just who you were. Even though that was a certain charm that Megumi loved about you, Being that aloof and naive in the field they were in was nothing short of dangerous. The only reason the higher-ups haven’t done anything about it was because of the power you held. That and you were Gojo Satoru’s spouse.

“That would be interesting, What do you think Megumi?”

At the sound of his name, he was snapped out of his thoughts. 

“Huh?”

He sees Nobara scowl at him not listening and points an accusatory finger at him. “You’ve been around those two longest so surely you’ve seen them spar before?”

At her words, he can only guess they were talking about you and Gojo. 

“What about it?” He’s only ever seen you guys spar twice, Gojo winning one and you winning the other. Both times Megumi didn’t know how it was going to end due to your techniques basically being opposite of each other. Where Gojo had some of the strongest offense techniques known in jujutsu history, You had the reverse. Big strong wings that could get you anywhere as fast as Satoru’s warping technique and a mutated version of cursed energy the higher-ups like to call ‘blessed energy’. It lets you create shields out of this energy that repels any cursed technique, even Gojo’s purple hollow.

He could never get a scratch on you (not that he’d want to anyway) And you could never do the same because of your lack of offensive techniques. In that way, Megumi could say you were made for each other. 

Maki crosses her arms as she sports that usual bored look.

“We were gonna ask that idiot if he could take us for lunch but Inumaki said there were bentos for us in the fridge anyway,” so it was PPA day, you usually got up early to make them for everyone as you couldn’t help yourself if you have the time. Megumi gets one every day anyway but if he let everyone else know then he’d have them all on his ass and that’s just another headache he’d rather avoid.

“So if we’re stuck here, Panda came up with the idea of asking those two to show us how they’d spar” Maki genuinely looked interested in the concept. You had helped her how to handle different weapons in her first year so he couldn’t blame her for being curious how her sensei would handle herself in a ‘real’ fight.

Even though Gojo made it clear that most lunchtimes, it was his time to chill with you and just you- Megumi knew the idea of another spar with (Y/N) was filling his need to be near you and tempting his ego at the same time.

“Fine, but I’ll just say this to give you guys a warning,” Megumi started to walk towards your office where he knew both of you would be, not caring if any of them caught up or not.

He shoves his hands in his pocket as he thinks back to those two spars he’s witnessed before- rare excitement building inside him.

“Neither of them hold back”

➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵

“Toru, slow down! You’ll choke if you keep eating that fast!” Satoru loved it when you doted on him, it felt domestic to him and it was a nice change from killing curses all of the time. It was also one of the reasons he fell in love with you in the first place so he guesses he’s never grown bored of it.

He smirks as he leans his head over the shoulder of the small sofa, knowing it was annoying you by how nonchalant he was about it.

“Well sweets, if you didn't make this so nice every time then maybe I wouldn’t eat it as quickly” The smug smirk on his face only irks you more as he wasn’t taking it as seriously as you.

Putting down your pen and pushing your swivel chair behind you to stand up, you simultaneously picked up your own bento and worked your way to the sofa Satoru was currently taking all the space on.

“If I feed you myself, you’ll slow down right?” You made it sound more of a request than a question and that was what gave Satoru the victory. It was always easy to pull you in the direction he wanted and he liked to abuse that power every time. This situation itself has just become such a common occurrence now, that the back and forth has reduced to the absolute minimum.

He takes his legs off of the other side of the sofa and sits up properly, still sporting that shit-eating grin as he makes room for you to settle in properly next to him. Most times he does feel some sort of guilt for doing what he does but in most cases, it was only for your best interest. For example- now, you have been at that desk on that computer for at least 3 hours straight. He was sure if you didn’t get out of that chair for another hour you would lose circulation in your legs. And with you basically being on top of him it was a win-win situation.

“ I definitely wouldn’t refuse something like that,” he gave you his bento as he quickly snatched your own from your other hand. “ But only if I get to do the same for you”

Seeing the soft look on his face even with the blindfold gave you tingles up your arms. 

‘This man could say anything and I'd still be whipped’ 

Mirroring his look, you gently fixed his blindfold where it had begun to slip on his undercut. Him leaning into your hand as you caressed the back of his head, playing with the little hairs.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing” You sighed blissfully as you moved your hand to the side of his face instead. He overlapped your hand with his own, playing with the engagement ring on your finger. 

“Well if you know what I’m doing then why haven’t you stopped me?” He challenged your statement so swiftly but it was just as easy for you to come up with your own reply. 

“I never said I didn’t enjoy it” You recognised his little efforts for you to relax and it was just natural at this point for you to give in without much fight. 

He fought high-grade curses nearly every day and you were called nearly every meeting as a bodyguard for the higher-ups. You would be a fool to pass up any chance to be this close to your fiancè. Not being as strong as most of the other jujutsu sorcerers offensively, you were barely only graded as a semi-grade 2 so you were not called on as many missions as most others. Instead, you were used as the unbreakable shield to protect the higher-ups and lead escorts for related important people to them.

Satoru would always be worried about you when on any mission and vice versa, but it was never a question of if you came home, it was a matter of when. Both of you know better than to doubt the other's ability but it would be impossible to stop that worry from appearing.

“Love you” his usual smirk comes back as your hand moves to your chopsticks.

“Love you too idiot” The endearing look on your face makes it obvious you didn’t mean that nickname and as this was precious time, Satoru decided to ignore it just this once in favor of starting to feed you. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t get back at you later for it.

5 minutes go by with you both still feeding each other with little conversation in between before a knock sounds at the tatami doors. You look at Satoru, letting him decide what he wanted to do and by the look on his face, it didn't look like he was all too happy from the disturbance. 

But before he could tell the person on the other side of the door to kiss his ass, they heard Megumi’s voice come through.

“Oi Idiot! You in there?”

Widening your eyes, you gave Satoru a certain look as your wings twitched behind you. Looking back at you he only groaned inwardly as he stood up.

‘She has a softer spot for him than me’ he whined to himself as he set your bento on your desk and worked his way to the door. 

“This best be important” he whispered as he threw open the door with an indifferent look.

Behind the door, he could see all of the first years and the 2nd years grouped up and whispering amongst themselves.

Growing confused by the sight of everyone there he wanted to get straight to the point so he could go back to spending time with you.

“What did you guys need?” No quip or annoying comment showed all of them that Satoru Gojo wasn’t that happy he was just interrupted from his free time with you. Hopefully, the incentive of this idea would be enough to convince him.

“We were wondering if we could watch you and (L/n)-sensei spar” 

Satoru’s eyes widened as he was briefly surprised. He thought they were just gonna ask for money to go to that new fair in the nearby town or ask him a stupid question about Panda’s fur or something. Before he could answer, you piped up from right beside him. Caught off guard from the question he didn’t notice how quickly you came up to the door.

“Well I have been working on a new move, it would be nice to try it out properly- but why the sudden interest?” You had been working on this new skill for a while now and because of how busy you and Satoru have been lately, it was quite difficult to know how effective it was.

“Wait really? How come I didn’t know about this?” He turns to you and wraps both of his arms around your left, feigning a sad and disappointed face.”I thought you loved me?”

Megumi scoffs at Gojo’s over-the-top display.

“Idiot” He mutters.

“I didn’t mean to not tell you! It’s just slipped my mind since I’ve only worked on it a bit each week” You genuinely looked guilty and Megumi didn’t know whether to sigh or laugh.

Megumi instead cleared his throat, if he didn’t stop you two- this would go on for the rest of lunch and they would have no time to spar. The number of times he missed his solo book club because of the same reasons- He only had a designated time for those classrooms dammit!

This time Satoru looked at you, letting you decide what you wanted to do as either way he would still be by you anyway. 

Thinking about it some more you started to grin as you crossed your arms.

“What’s the score right now? Seventy to seventy-one?” Understanding your words, Satoru copied your grin as he looked down at you.

“Think you can even it up sweets?” Already thinking of ways to win, he brushed his hair back with one hand in his pocket.

“I think you shouldn’t underestimate me” You let your wings brush against him as you walked past and down the hallway towards the training grounds. Your feathers leaving a tingling sensation against his cheek.

Satoru bit his lip and willed his excitement to go down as he was still on school grounds, All students following closely behind you now as well as he was left to catch up. 

Still lingering by the door, he stared down the direction you went as you turned the corner and secretly gave him a challenging smile.

‘Game on Princess’

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After calming himself down and thinking of a battle strategy, he worked his way outside where he saw the students had created two designated areas on the steps. One had your name and the other had his messily written on big white cardboard sheets. How they managed to do it so quickly he didn't know. 

“YOU GOT THIS SENSEI!” turning to Yuji’s voice, Satoru sent him a cocky smirk until he realised what the areas were for- face immediately dropping.

They were areas for them to guess who would win. 

And only Yuji was sat by his name. 

Turning to the rest of the students he put one hand on his hip and one on his heart.

“Do none of you think I can win???” Despite his act of trying to get them to pity him, they were only annoyed more.

Nobara being the one to speak up.

“If you don’t get your ass down there now, I'll be the one beating you up”

“Tuna, Tuna” 

Gasping dramatically, he held his head up as he went the rest of the way to his spot on the training grounds.

“Even my own students don’t believe in me” pretending to wipe a tear from his blindfold.

As both of them were finishing up their stretches, Nobara turned to Megumi with a prevalent question that had been lingering in her head for a while.

“Is it just me or does this seem insanely unfair?”

Locking eyes with Nobara, he paused eating his bento- putting the half-eaten ginger-chicken slice back on top of the rice. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well Gojo-sensei has infinity and limitless, I’ve only seen (L/n)-sensei create shields” Before Megumi could say anything, Yuji piped up from across from them. His cheeks full of the bento you made for him.

“That’s a point! Can’t Gojo-sensei teleport as well? (L/n)-sensei doesn’t even have the speed edge on him” 

Megumi grumbled as those two went off on a tangent. To be fair he had been thinking the same the first time he was about to watch his guardians spar. It was clear to everyone how he favored you over Gojo and as he caught your eye mid-hamstring stretch- giving him a small wave, it took him back to that first one. He was barely 7 years old, yet he already knew to trust you more than Gojo. He watched you guys from his bedroom window, silently cheering you on. From then to now, your techniques and the way you fight have come a long way but back then you couldn’t form your shields for more than 5 seconds at a time before they dissolved. But where you were training him for months before that fight, he saw you steadily improve your skills. Not just relying on your technique.

 So when he saw Gojo win he remembers the disappointment he felt for you as Gojo helped you up. The memory was a bit foggy now but he’d never forget the way you ruffled his hair as you gave him his miso and rice the next morning, calling him-

‘My little believer’

“She has more of an edge than you think morons”

“HUUHH, WHO ARE YOU CALLING A-” but before Nobara could wack him over the head, a loud bang was heard and you and Gojo were on each other in less than a second. You threw your left leg at his ribs, covering it with a shield. It easily went through his infinity- as if it wasn’t even there. But before it managed to touch him, he teleported behind you ready to twist your arm. 

Using your wings, you unfurled them and let them spread out as much as possible, not only blocking his attack but you flew back as hard as possible, knocking Gojo as he stumbled backward.

Quickly shooting up into the air, only about 15 feet, you did a half backflip-curling your wings in as you shot down to your target.

Warping again, Gojo landed a few meters behind where you would land, readying a lapse red. He didn’t want to take any chances in this fight because he had no idea what the ace up your sleeve was, but he couldn’t lie that he wasn’t at least a little bit intrigued.

“He’s doing a lapse red already?!?!” Panda stood in shock not knowing how it escalated so quickly.

“Sit down dumbass you’re blocking my view” Maki nearly tugged panda down herself before he crashed back down on the step.

You turned and to the students, it didn’t look like you turned quick enough. The lapse red shredded through the training grounds until it just stopped. Every student except one stood on their feet with wide eyes.

The dust cleared and the students couldn’t see you, Thinking Gojo just disintegrated you they all started yelling at him.

But Gojo only smiled as he leaned a bit to the side, you flying right where he just was, missing his neck by just a few centimeters. At the sight of you, the students all sat back down.

“Nice try princess, but your energy gives you away every time”

Narrowing your eyes, you carried on with your strategy. All you had to do was make sure he couldn’t get too close to you. You can get away with a lot of things with your techniques but if you let him engage in hand-to-hand combat with you, you’d lose instantly. You weren’t physically as strong as him at all and he had more experience in that field. It was how you lost over half of the duels you two had.

You knew your energy was more visible than others, probably twice as potent as Satoru’s. Because of the nature of it, you understood you would be less than helpful on missions involving curses graded 1 and higher. They would find you before you would find them.

Good thing this new move you’ve been working on centers around it.

The back and forth went on for about 10 more minutes until Gojo decided enough was enough.

Seeing the familiar hugh of his hollow purple, you felt relieved as you were starting to tire yourself out. Gojo could sense that too and he was feeling a bit nice today.

Flying alongside the forest, you let the final parts of your plan fall into place. Covering yourself with your shield. At this point, you’ve shown the capability of your shields- hopefully letting Satoru put his guard down. 

And as the hollow purple shot across and towards you, you feigned shock, letting your wings falter for a second. And as the technique touched your shield, you let it absorb the power. Only letting it shatter at the last moment of force. Letting it blow you backward and into the forest.

“Blessed technique; veiled armor”

With a victory smirk, Satoru pirouetted and bowed toward the students as if he were on a stage and just performed a simple magic trick.

Straightening up quickly he pointed enthusiastically towards Yuji.

“Yuji! I dub you my favorite student!”

After no reply, he dropped his arm as he looked at his students' unreadable faces. Waving his arms up and down.

“At least give me some praise for being a super awesome and strong teacher!”

Another few beats went by and no one did anything, not even move. 

Hands now laying limply by his sides, he was about to reassure his students until a flash of black ran by him.

Turning, he could see Megumi’s strands of hair disappear into the forest followed by his divine dogs.

Confused, he stared at where Megumi ran in trying to figure out why he would do it. Before, he’d never worry over either of you this much after a spar. He knew how strong you both were and he knew Satoru wouldn’t hollow purple you if he knew you couldn’t handle it.

Taking a step towards the forest, about to follow Megumi, he staggered.

His breathing grew uneven as his thoughts stopped altogether.

‘Wait…..why can’t I..’

Tugging his blindfold quickly to bunch around his neck, he let his six-eyes search the forest. 

That usual constant hugging feeling was gone. That feeling of comfort gone. That warm-soft feeling that always calms his thoughts- gone.

He only ever feels this when he has to go on missions, when you have to go on missions, and when he is ever away from you. You would still be in the same city, and he could still feel that good feeling. Like a blanket on his soul.

Your energy was a constant since he met you, but right now.

He couldn’t feel anything.

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Instantly warping to Megumi’s trail of curse energy residue, taking note of Megumi’s tight expression he could tell he was silently seething at him. But right now their main priority was finding you so any conversations could be had later. So Satoru clenched his teeth and became serious- something Megumi didn’t see often.

Thoughts were running through both of their heads like wild but they both tried hard not to let them waver from their goal. Guilt was prevalent in both minds, not that that was surprising. 

Following the path created by Satoru’s hollow purple, they both noticed how it started to become narrower and narrower. Three emotions became prevalent, Churning your bento that suddenly became so heavy in Satoru’s gut- Anxiety, hope but the strongest was dread. Those three emotions feeling so familiar to him. He didn’t know what he’d find at the end of the wreckage, and he dreads at the thought of what he might've done. 

“You best hope she’s ok”

Keeping his focus in front of him, he barely regarded Megumi’s sharp words. 

“Or I’ll kill you before you can say sorry” 

Gojo always knew Megumi had more of a soft spot for you. That was evident the day he brought him and Tsumiki to meet you for the first time. He’d tease those two non-stop and you’d always be there to defend them. But in his opinion- you only won him over because you bought him that one book that he’d been eyeing through a shop window.

But you were his fiancè, he was pretty sure if anything happened to you he would never be able to forgive himself. He’d probably retire outright too. He’s already let down one of the most important people in his life- and that was his maximum.

Steeling his focus, Megumi’s divine dogs suddenly shoot forward, obviously following your scent now.

Warping to keep up with the dogs he left Megumi to catch up. The caved path had gone into single meters in width and the dogs started to maneuver to the left- darting into the densest area of the forest. 

It only took about 25 seconds more but the dogs stopped at the bottom of a large dead tree. The humongous branches and twisted roots make the area look more haunting.   

Seeing the dogs sniff at the base of the large tree, Satoru slowly made his way forward to see. His fast and shallow panting not only from the long spar with you and the run to get here but also the fear that gripped his throat- tightening with each step forward.

Shooing the dogs to the side, he willed himself to look at where you were. 

Or what was left of you anyway.

A single button from your uniform lay there- slightly browned from where his purple hollow started destroying it.

The world was silent for a few seconds.

Satrou Instantly thought back to that fight with Toji, where he created a giant hole in his side.

Oh god, had he eviscerated you?

It was only meant to be a playful thing to distract you from your work. 

You guys did the same back and forth every other week, why was today the day it went wrong?

His six eyes tunnel-visioned onto the button, he swore it was mocking him.

He bent down to grab the button, legs shaking and almost giving out on him. Any moment he’d feel like he would break completely, shattering into a million pieces.

As soon as his trembling fingers grazed the still burning button, something crashed onto his back holding him down.

He couldn’t care though, at the moment all of his fight had vanished and he felt like an empty shell. Thinking it was Megumi ready to deliver the final blow he closed his eyes and waited.

“I win!”

His eyes shot open, he felt gentle hands turn him around so he was looking straight up at the person straddling him.

“I’m sorry I landed on you! I needed to surprise you and it was the only thing I could think of on the spot, I’m honestly just glad I- Satoru? Are you……crying?”

Either Megumi had killed him and he was in heaven or you were perfectly safe without even one scratch on you. 

He didn’t even realise he was crying, but when he felt your usual delicate fingers wipe his tears away he knew it was real. You were real.

He could feel the air finally able to enter his lungs fully as he closed his eyes in relief. 

You were okay.

You were safe.

You were with him.

The sounds of the forest filled the silence. Satoru used his hands to double-check you were there, running along your legs and your arms and finally resting on your face.

“Never leave me, ok?” words so soft and fragile you almost missed them.

Furrowed brows and a small confused frown graced your face as his sky-blue eyes stared dazedly into your own (e/c) ones.

“Toru what-”

“I thought something happened to you when I couldn’t feel you, I thought I ki-” He choked on a sob before he could finish his sentence. He started to shake as he couldn’t control the sobs and the cries leaving his mouth. “I couldn’t- I-I didn’t-”

“Shhh, everything is ok Toru, deep breaths” 

Having him sit up, he wrapped his arms securely- almost protectively around you as you rubbed circles on his back. This was nowhere near as bad as he was when he came home last year after being ordered to kill his best friend, but it still filled you with guilt that you were the one who caused this in the first place.

After his body had grown more lax and the wet spot on your shoulder stopped growing in size, he slowly pulled Satoru off of your shoulder so you could look him in the eyes.

“Toru I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you what my new technique was. I never meant for you to think I was hurt-” Your own sobs in regret starting to overwhelm you.” Oh God, S-Satoru I’m so sor-ry”

A small smile grew on Satoru’s face as it was his turn to wipe your tears.

“You must-must’ve been so scar-scared, and I was-s the one that did that to yo-you”

“(Y/N) It’s ok now, you’re ok”

Leaning forward until both of your foreheads were touching, you let your wings sag and curl around both of you as if to shield you from everything else.

You both waited until both of you calmed down enough to stand. 

“How did you do that anyway?” 

You hummed in confusion as he began to pick out leaves and sticks from your hair from where you were camping in the canopy of the trees.

“Your energy, It’s like it just poofed”

Giggling at his wording, you released the technique and let your energy flow around you again. He visibly relaxed as you also started brushing mud and gravel from his shoulders from where you tackled him earlier.

“It’s a technique I've been working on for a while now, basically I create a concentrated viel around myself and it keeps all traces of energy inside. It needs a lot of concentration and energy to keep it going and flexible though so I’ll need to work on that.”

“I’m really proud you’ve managed to do this yourself princess, just……next time give me a warning”

Looking up at his face from his uniform, you notice how tired Satoru seems. Dazed and droopy eyes, slumped shoulders, and a general look of sluggishness as he shuffles on his feet.

Standing on the tip of your toes, Satoru bent and met you halfway as you shared a gentle kiss. You wove your hands around the back of his neck as his sneaked around your waist. Neither one of you wanted to let the other go as Satoru pulled you closer until there was zero space left between you two.

Eventually, you both ran out of breath and slowly pulled apart. Eyes fluttering open, you searched his sky-blues for any lingering fear but you only found love.

“I promise”

Grinning, Satoru leaned down again to initiate a more heated kiss but he was interrupted by the clearing of a throat.

“If you just wanted to kiss in the forest, I would’ve stayed behind”

Groaning at Megumi’s poor timing, Satoru pulled his blindfold up and fixed his hair.

‘Menace of a child’ 

On the other hand, you started laughing at Megumi’s statement. Strolling up to him and pulling him in for a hug too.

 He shot up since he was 6 years old, now towering over you and he was still only 15 so you were he was going to rival Satoru in height. So he also had to bend down to hug you back properly, but like Satoru, once he could feel you there and alive- his shoulders sagged with relief as he just enjoyed your presence and your energy surrounding him.

Megumi was never one for words so you felt everything as he held you tighter than usual. Taking into account how Satoru reacted, you could tell Megumi was trying hard to suppress his emotions. Instead, letting them flow through him by the hard grip he had around you. You reached up to stroke his hair as you found out that was the best way to help him sleep when he was small, So you just used that knowledge to calm him down. 

When his grip loosened, you let your hands fall as you took the chance to make sure he was ok. 

He was about to say something but Satoru threw his arm around his shoulders roughly and started ruffling his hair.

The annoyance quickly returned on his face as he shoved Satoru away, calling back his divine dogs as he stalked away. 

Hearing him mutter about being around too many idiots or something as he made his way back to the other students.

Feeling Satoru weave his fingers with your left hand, you noticed some strands of hair not in their proper place.

Letting you fix his hair with your free hand, the moment you pulled back he quickly snatched it with his left hand and warped you two back to the group of students.

“Satoru! We left Megumi…” Quickly shaking off the surprise of being teleported, You turned back to the forest to look for Megumi. 

Forgetting Satoru was still holding your hands, he twirled you and dipped you until pulling you back up and wrapped his arms around you, that whole sequence making you dizzy.

“Eh, brat deserves it”

Rolling your eyes, you wiggled out of his hold and walked over to the students.

“Sensei! We thought that idiot killed you for a second” Panda yelled as you saw how tense the others were, even the usual stoic-faced Maki looked like she just saw a ghost. Frowning at what you did to everyone, you lit up again as you thought of a way to make it up to everyone.

“ No more studies for the rest of the day and I’ll take all of you out tomorrow to the new Sushi place that just opened!” 

Cheers were heard as the tension started to dissipate, students asking each other what they were going to do now with their free day.

Feeling your own tension leave your body, you decided that was enough excitement for one day.

Turning back around you had a quick hug with your fiancè and gave him a peck when you made sure the other students weren’t looking.

“Anyway, I best get going- the babysitter has a group project meeting to go to and I convinced Principle Yaga to let me work the rest of the day from home.”

“‘kay princess, want me to take you there now?”

“Thanks, Satoru but Ijichi is already waiting by the entrance and he said he’d also drop the babysitter home”

Kissing him again you walked up the stairs to grab your bag from your office.

“See you soon everyone! Love you Toru!” waving at everyone you heard them all shout goodbye and a loud ‘I LOVE YOU MORE!’ from Satoru. You giggled as you disappeared behind the large Tatami doors.

The conversation came back and Yuji came up to his Sensei in curiosity, noting he was still staring at where you disappeared. He thought it was amazing how in love you two were and you both didn’t care who was around to see it. He hoped he got that one day.

“Sensei? What did she mean by baby-sitter?” 

Satoru snapped out of his thoughts as a wide and proud grin stretched across his face- Always getting giddy whenever he gets to talk about his son.

He pulled his wallet out from his back pocket and let the comically long picture reel fall almost to the floor.

“BEHOLD! My son!” The first picture being a still frame of an exhausted but happy you in a hospital bed holding a baby with snow-white hair and Satoru next to you wrapping his arms around both of you.

“WHAT?!-”

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Bonus-

“SATORUUUUU!!!!! WHY IS THERE A HUGE CRATER IN MY FOREST?!?!?!?!”

Satoru scrambles to fold back up the pictures he’d been admiring alone in his classroom. But he wasn’t fast enough as his classroom doors burst open with a very furious Yaga. Satoru felt sweat bead above his blindfold as the two faculty members stared at each other.

Yaga did a quick look around the room and snapped his head back to Satoru.

“AND WHERE ARE YOUR STUDENTS?!?!? SATORU I WILL STRANGLE YOU RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW-”

Satoru glossed over the fact that was the second time someone had threatened his life today and let out a loud screech at the approaching principal. He tried to run away but his collar was snagged as Yaga started to drag him to his office. His limbs flailing around trying to free himself and pleading with Yaga to let him go because his butt was starting to get sore.

“Strongest my ass-”

[oltammefru]

To Theresa, Kal'tsit sort of represents the vastness and wonder of the world, the fact that she can do so much and be part of so much and yet not be tied down by it.

From the way Theresa writes this (in a really flowery and romantic sort of way), this seems like an aspect of Kal'tsit which she greatly envies, how Kal'tsit has done so much and seen so much and is still unfettered. Perhaps it was only a dream of hers that she would never get to experience, but I get the impression that deep down she wanted to be able to witness the vastness of the world and see all the sights of the world that Kal'tsit had told her about, and have the same sort of freedom that Kal'tsit had, and she specifically wanted to do it "alongside you (Kal'tsit)."

Meanwhile, Kal'tsit is in some sense a deeply lonely person. She feels that she has no place that she can call home, and she feels that she has "none of the same kind."

I get the impression that Kal'tsit is similarly sort of envious of what Theresa has, that she has a place to call home, that she has close ties and responsibilities to the people of Kazdel, and she has a family that she is close to.

For Theresa, I sort of interpret that much of the ties and connection to her home she had was a sort of burden for her. Perhaps not necessarily in the sense that she actively regretted having all these things that tied her down, but more in the sense that, given her personality and ideals, they would ultimately and inevitably lead to her death. The Black Crown and the entire weight of Sarkaz history that comes with it (for which it is implied that eventually the crown will cause its holder to become overtaken by like the collective anger of previous Sarkaz). This, combined with her duties and her desire to avoid as much death as possible, led her to decide to pass the crown onto "not a Sarkaz" Amiya and face her death with a smile, in order to bring about peace.

For Kal'tsit and Theresa, both of them saw what they desired in each other, but ultimately, Theresa's life ended in tragedy, and as much as both of them tried to provide to the other what they wanted, neither of them really got what they wanted in the end. (Except for brief glimpses of it through the other. Perhaps that would have to be enough.) Theresa, although her goals were to unite Kazdel and furthermore all the other nations of Terra under one banner, and to see what the rest of the world was like, she was never able to experience a life outside of Kazdel. Similarly, although Theresa had tried to provide a place for Kal'tsit that she could call home, she never really thought of Kazdel or Rhodes Island or anywhere else as a place she could call home after Theresa's death (although this is sort of changing with the way the current story is going.)

One of the things about this that intrigues me the most is that the Kal'tsit/Theresa dynamic is a sort of reversal of how the Sarkaz are often framed in story!:

It's mentioned in quite few places that Kal'tsit has "special feelings" for the Sarkaz. There's quite a few reasons for why this is, a major one has to do with how the Sarkaz are often framed as "rootless people"; their homeland has been destroyed over and over, many of them have been forced to leave Kazdel, and because of this she feels a sense of kinship with the Sarkaz, because she has a similar sort of rootlessness.

The way that a Walk in the Dust seems to frame it, in some ways, the Sarkaz still have it better than Kal'tsit does. One of the ways in which AWITD examines its theme of "homeland" is that basically every character interrogates the concept of one's home or homeland in some way, and what it means to them. Old Isin is searching for the lost glory of his homeland, everywhere the Emperor's Blade stands is the dominion of Ursus, the Sarkaz mercenaries think of Kazdel as they die, the Duke thinks of his motherland Ursus as he dies etc. In explicit contrast to all of this is Kal'tsit, who has no place she calls home at all. The way AWITD frames it, the Sarkaz mercenaries may have never been to Kazdel, but they still have somewhere they consider home. Kazdel might be a "nation of rootless people", but it is still a physically existing, (mostly) extant nation, and it still has people to belong to it and consider it their home, but Kal'tsit, she has nothing, nothing at all.

In contrast to Kal'tsit, Theresa defies the concept of Sarkaz rootlessness. What ultimately caused her death was that she was too weighed down by her ties to the Sarkaz and the weight of thousands of years of Sarkaz history burdening her down. No matter how much she might have wanted to run away and see the world, or how much she daydreamed about otherwise, there was nothing else she could do but face her end at the hands of her own people with a smile.

[insidemyrottenbrain]

Years later - TSH

Henry Marchbanks Winter x GN!Reader

Word count: 1666

TW: religious imagery

Out of guilt and dread you end up leaving Vermont and building a new life. Just as you thought you escaped your past, you once again find yourself in its grasp.

The past haunts me. It has been years—so many I cannot begin to count, and if I’m being completely honest, I was not counting to begin with. Everything I have done was to escape that wretched part of my life in which my naivety and perhaps self-consuming passion, managed to control me. I wanted—want—to forget it all. 

The first time I stepped foot into what would soon come to be one of the few select places in my nightmares was very awe-inducing. The university was large, larger than I’d imagined. The stone walls had arched indents that made it look as if it belonged in one of the novels I read as a teenager and that my family wholeheartedly despised. The hallways were a contorted maze of watchful ancient statues following every movement with their eyes, priceless antiques donated by rich parents and students with more money in their pockets than I could ever dream of having. A multitude of departments found their home in that twisted place, such as theater, arts, modern literature, architecture, history, music, philosophy, and more. I believe you can imagine my excitement when faced with the exact kind of university I dreamed of studying at, especially when I had little to no hope of ever getting anywhere close to it, much less belonging.

One thing, as you know, led to another, and I ended up as one of the infamous Greek pupils. I’m quite sure everyone thought we were some kind of cult, which, if you think about it, isn’t entirely wrong.

The first few years were everything I had ever hoped for. I felt that I had found my place and, most certainly, my kind. We used to do everything together. Being with them was the only time I truly felt alive. It doesn’t matter whether we went to the comforting country house engulfed in trees safely from the outside world, had delicious dinners debating the most obscure topics, or simply studied in the library, sleep-deprived and on immense amounts of caffeine, I always felt as if I was doing something more than just existing.

Where did it all go wrong? I wouldn’t be able to tell you. I do not want to categorize Richard’s arrival as the initiator factor, for it was not his fault. Nor is it correct to say that the Bacchanal was the beginning of it all. It wouldn’t be Henry’s doing either, at least not the start of it. I have speculated on this over the years, and I have come to only one conclusion that seems right. My theory as to what the answer is and my attempt to pinpoint the exact place on the timeline are not as precise as I hoped they would be. It was not a single event that gave birth to our ruin, but rather multiple little moments, that are rather large in the big scheme. I also like to believe that Julian had as much of a role in all of this as the rest of us. Perhaps, even a considerably more sizeable one.

Everything that happened—I wish to leave behind. However, I recently came to realise, that, to my misery, it incorporated and formed my very being. My views, my ideas, my tastes, and my activities are all, to a certain extent, if not fully influenced and ruled over by it. I am my past.

My great, futile attempts to escape the life I once had, led me to London, a perfect setting for someone who wished to hide. A bustling place, where I had the chance to not be me, but a mere shadow lurking throughout the crowded streets, observing every passerby, while trying to guess their life stories, deepest desires, and strongest fears. I was no one, and I adored it. However, my presence became known among museum guides and librarians for its consistency. I have also earned a reputation among university students for being one of the few odd professors. This is probably due to the fact that I am very selective with my pupils, and I teach a couple that are quite brilliant in my office. I often have open discussions with them, for I consider it helps them engage with the topic better and understand the meaning and philosophy behind it in such a way that encourages them to analyze, observe, and critique. One such day, we were talking about the loss of self, Plato’s four divine madnesses:

‘Death is the mother of beauty,’ said Felix, one of my students.

I nodded in approval as I propped myself up on the desk.

‘And what is beauty?’ 

‘Terror,’ a voice answered from my office’s door.

My life up until this moment, along with all my darkest memories and the series of events that led me to where I am today, flash before my eyes, and it feels as if the universe has stopped specifically to play along with his sadistic trick. My jaw clenches involuntarily, my eyes threaten to betray my emotions, and I have to remind myself I’m not the same brainless kid chasing empty promises and impossible dreams, fully convinced that every existing land, no matter how vast it may be, is my playground and that fate will bend according to my petulant will. I have to get out of my head, the silence is stretching. My students, probably confused, are expecting some kind of sign from my disordered self. He is waiting for a reaction. The past has finally caught up to me. After all my futile attempts, it still managed to intrude on my present’s doorway. 

I take a deep breath. I look at my students, curiosity mixed with confusion clear in their expressions. I don’t need to look at him to know who he is.

‘I apologize,’ I start hoping that they cannot hear the tremble in my voice as accentuated as I seem to do, ‘class is dismissed.’

I need not say more before my students start gathering their belongings in complete silence so as to not further disturb the room completely filled with palpable animosity and perhaps something more vivid, cursed to lurk in the depths of our minds. I reach blindly toward my pack of cigarettes, lying somewhere on my desk between books and coffee-stained papers. Lucky Strikes, yet another sign of his hold on me. I light my cigarette, breathing in the curls of smoke spiraling down my throat. The sound of his leather shoes clicking against the wooden floorboards reverberates through my beating heart. I am well aware that even now, after years of attempting to escape from the rosary He entangled around my neck, I am still His most loyal devotee, respecting vigilantly every silent command. Deep and numbing smoke inside my lungs, like a relaxant, washes me with warm Indian summer waves of calmness.

He is fixating me with his cold blue eyes, watching for any sign of defiance. Over the years I’ve spent in his presence, I’ve learned to recognize his transitive facial expressions, his secretive ways, and his small habits, whether it is the way he holds a page between his fingers before turning it or his tendency to dive into long monologues about whatever interests him at that moment. It is a distinct ability that has grown its roots along my blood vessels, twisted and intertwined beyond differentiation. Understanding each other used to be our way of showing our affection. It is something so sacred that I cannot bring myself to weaponize against him and betray the bond we once had. You’d think that after so much time I’d be able to break free from the shackles His divinity holds me in and convert to a different faith. But He is nestled so deeply in me, that I cannot help but like the burns and the imprints upon my skin.

Henry Marchbanks Winter looks the same. But he now has a new pair of glasses and slight crow’s feet, along with faint smile lines framing his lips. He’s wearing one of his dark English suits, which have always fit him incredibly well. And if the wrinkles weren’t enough, the few grey hairs peeking from underneath the familiar dark colour of his hair are a brutal reminder of how much of him I missed. A cruel admonitum of the years that have passed and of all the times I wasn’t next to him, not by chance but by choice. It takes all I have in me to not fall to my knees, confess my sin, and beg for forgiveness. As if all the years I’ve been away from him turned into mere days I find myself falling back to my old habits and once again bowing down to his silent command.

Amor dominus terribilis est.

The cigarette burns, forgotten between my fingers, as I get wasted on his scent, for once, unbothered by the consequences.

‘I’ve finally found you, dilectus.’ Beloved.

‘I suppose you have.’ I cannot help but stare at him, hypnotized by the storm in his eyes.

‘I have been searching for you since the day you left.’ He reaches a gentle, steady hand to brush my cheek ‘London of all places-’

As much as I wish to let him hold me again I find myself interrupting him. ‘You have no business here.’ I walk to the open window and take my second drag from the almost fully burned cigarette.

He sighs, frustration slipping through the cracks of his perfection.

‘Like it or not,’ he emanates divine turmoil as he emphasizes every word  ‘you are my business.’

‘After so long we can’t be anything but strangers.’

‘You are wrong.’ He states immediately as I finish the sentence. ‘You cannot act as if you have forgotten everything we’ve been through.’ His hand once again finds its way to my face and caresses it with smooth, slow motions. This time I let him. ‘One more chance is all I ask for.’ He whispered.

‘One more chance.’ I agree, defeated.

[hidden-among-stars]

An Identity Without Name

A little while ago, I helped some other folks to coin a new term: Anymic (pronounced ay-nim-ick). The purpose of this term is somewhat paradoxical - it gives a name to identities that have no name (etymologically, anymic translates to "being without a name"). Those of us who coined it, though our experiences differ greatly and our species identities are practically nothing alike, had a few very key things in common:

We know our experiences very well. We have a very good idea of what our species identity is

That species identity does not correlate completely with any species that is known to exist anywhere in the history of this universe or in the known mythology/imaginations of humans

This identity is not a character or species we created in our imaginations, but rather feels like something that did, does, will, can, or should exist either in this world or another - therefore, OCkin doesn't fit

We also expressed frustration with how we are able to introduce ourselves when coming into new alterhuman spaces*. While others are able to be more succinct about their identities - for example, saying "I'm dragonkin" or "I'm a fox therian" - we would have to say something to the effect of "I'm a therian of an unknown species," which gives the wrong idea. It implies that we don't know what species we are, that we don't know what our experiences amount to, that we don't have any sort of image of who we are or what we should be.

The definition we settled on is "An identity that does not possess a formal name (and may be the only one of its kind/type)." As a note, the part about being the only one of its kind/type was added mostly by request of the others who were working on coining this term, but does seem to be an integral part of this type of identity. It was a commonality among all of us who worked on coining the term and the definition. Regardless, one of the most important things about this term is that it insinuates that yes, I do have an idea of what species I am, I do know what my experiences amount to, I have at least some image of who I am or what I should be, there just is no name for what I am.

Of course, this term doesn't negate our potential need to explain our identities further if someone should ask, but it is far easier to say that I am an anymic contherian than to say "I'm a contherian with a theriotype that has no known species name and is not something that is currently known to have existed/currently exist/someday exist, nor is it anything that has appeared in known human mythology/folklore/fiction." Yeesh. What a mouthful.

This is not a term I would necessarily recommend to the newly awakened alterhuman, but rather what I might call a "last resort" term. When you've exhausted all of the options that seem like they might fit, when you've done all the research that you could possibly do, when it just seems like you constantly try and fail to find that one identity that fits - that's when you take on the term anymic. Even more important to recognize, though, is that it's very possible that someday as you continue to search for potential fits, you might finally stumble across something that makes you say "that's it! That's me!" And that's just fine! Anymic isn't a static term that you're stuck with forever, but it's a term that will be there for you when you need it. After all, it's entirely possible that you could find something that makes you say "that's it! That's me!" only to later discover that maybe that doesn't fit either, and you go back to being anymic. The point is, while this is a term that should be considered a last resort, it's also a term that should not under any circumstances be gatekept by age or experience or by whatever one individual considers "enough" research or self reflection.

As for how to use it, it should be considered an extremely versatile term. It can be used on its own - one could simply be "anymic." It can also be used as a microlabel, such as the examples I've already given ("anymic therian"). It could even be used as a secondary identifier - for example, if someone has an identity that seems to be a un-named subspecies of a known species, or is part of a larger category (of whatever kind) but doesn't fit any known identities within that category, they could say they are an "anymic fox therian" or "anymic draconic otherkin." How it is utilized in a line-up of labels is entirely dependent on the individual who uses it, so long as it maintains the definition of being a known, understood identity that simply has no formal name.

I might be biased, but I think this is an important term to add to our general alterhuman vocabulary. Personally, one of the things that made me feel somewhat alienated from the rest of the community is that when introducing myself I have to either give less than the full story by saying that my theriotype is "unknown," or practically write an entire book about my identity. Coining this term with others who have been experiencing the same sort of feeling helped me immensely to see that I'm not the only one with an identity that doesn't have a proper name. To be able to just say "I know what I am, but I just don't have a name to give you to describe what I am" in just one word is honestly game-changing, and it would be incredible to see this term catch on so those of us who have this experience could even more easily connect.

Obviously use of this term by those who have this experience isn't a necessity, but it's an option that so far seems to be appreciated.

*When I say alterhuman spaces, I mean alterhuman spaces in general, not just therian/otherkin spaces. I am well aware that alterhuman =/= nonhuman identity, I promise! This post may be more focused on the nonhuman-type identities, but an anymic identity can apply to just about any identity that otherwise has no formal name.

[coldgoldlazarus]

Echoes and Hunters are really interesting to me because of their place relative to the rest of the series, as basically the closest thing to being self-contained Filler Episodes in Samus's life. It can be argued the Prime games as a whole are a filler arc, what with how you really don't need to play the Trilogy to understand the 2D games' ongoing narrative. Even so, it is still a whole arc within itself; despite being decent standalone titles, the phazon connection spanning all three enriches them in conjunction with one-another, and Corruption in particular leans a lot on the setup the first two provide.

Yet at the same time, while definitely connected to the other two, Echoes is distinctly the odd one out in a lot of ways, and the overarching phazon storyline seems almost incidental at times despite Dark Samus and the background setup of the conflict. It's not confirmed either way, but the dark world could be read as a pocket universe created by the leviathan seed malfunctioning, or a whole parallel dimension that it simply broke through into and created the copy of Aether within. Even if it is the latter, the Ing were probably a byproduct of the interaction of Phazon and the dark dimension, but there is also the possibility the were a distinct entity existing beforehand. Regardless of all of that, the Luminoth and Aether as a location certainly stand out as unique, and are only loosely connected to the bigger picture through a shared history with the Chozo.

Hunters, meanwhile, may wind up tying into Prime 4 through Sylux, but that too is extremely incidental to the main story focus, which is even more outright disconnected from the usual Metroid factions and concepts than even Echoes is. As people have joked about before, it really says something that killing Gorea, a terrible eldritch abomination that singlehandedly wiped out an entire galactic-region-spanning civilization, is probably one of the least important things Samus has done in her career. Even that aside, apart from Sylux and Weavel, most of the other hunters are similarly unique and disconnected from the established story, with Trace and the Kriken Empire in particular standing out as an elephant in the room that are weirdly less relevant than the info on them would imply.

And I love the overarching storyline, both of the Prime games and the series as a whole, and how the different mainline titles are for the most part thematically enriched by their interconnectivity and parallels. (Even Proteus Ridley, for all the problems I have with him, I do appreciate as a clear bridge between Corruption and Super.) But there is also something really fascinating to these two more avant-garde titles, that really expand the universe and try new things, instead of remaining confined to the core concepts the series usually keeps a tight focus on.

There is a risk of going too far and possibly losing sight of the aesthetic/thematic shore, so to speak, but I feel like we're not quite there yet, and I appreciate the effort to branch out. On the flipside, there is again some weirdness to some of this stuff being so confined instead of having a bigger impact, (looking at you Trace) but the level of tightness of the mainline games does kinda work in our favor here. Sure it's weird, but it's not out of the realm of plausibility that the Kriken really are a big deal, but just... elsewhere, and mostly haven't directly relevant to Samus's life outside of this one-off run-in with Trace.

Idk, I'm not really going anywhere in particular with this, I just think it's neat.

[justmenoworries]

Transformers EarthSpark Season 2 Spoilers

If I had to describe S2A in one word, it would be: Disappointing.

Others have said this before me, but if you were a fan of S1 this most definitely isn't the show for you anymore.

S2A is so far inferior to S1 in every conceivable way. The animation, the characters, the story, it all just feels so half-assed. Every single interesting concept S1 introduced, S2A either mangled beyond belief or flat-out erased from existence.

The few new interesting things that do come up in S2A don't last long and/or are underdeveloped.

Tensions between humans and Cybertronians? Never mentioned. All the racism died with Mandroid and GHOST, I guess.

The Terrans' connection to Quintus Prime? Pfft, you're still on that? It's all about the Quintessons now, keep up nerd!

Starscream's development and start on the road to recovery from trauma? Gone. He's back to being the villain now for no reason whatsoever. He murders two actual children. What, did you think we were still doing that silly nuance thing from S1? Lol, sucks to be you.

The ongoing theme about the Transformer War not being as black and white as history would have people believe? Ummm, ackshually, the Decepticons are inherently evil and irredeemable. The Autobots are saints and have never done anything wrong or questionable, ever. Ignore the prison complex from last season that performed unethical experiments on prisoners of war. Y'know that same one that the Autobots knew about and supplied with Decepticon prisoners.

Spitfire and Aftermath are interesting in theory, but S2A doesn't really do anything with them besides making them the generic Evil Twin characters to Twitch and Jawbreaker respectively. And then Starscream murders them for his evil masterplan, which feels like a colossal waste.

I've been saying since S1 that it would be interesting to have a Terran actually choose the Decepticons over both the Autobots and the Maltos. It would've been a neat way to explore the family dynamic the 'Cons have compared to the Maltos and maybe show that just because a family is different from yours, maybe not as physically affectionate or as instantly harmonious, doesn't mean it's worse. We had a good start with Aftermath and Breakdown but that never really goes anywhere before Starscream does a Fuck Them Kids.

The Decepticons are just evil again now. Great. I guess we're completely throwing the "history isn't black-and-white" thing out of the window, huh? That whole thing where it was implied the Decepticons were rising up against an unjust system a la Aligned continuity and IDW? We kind of had a very significant confrontation between Megatron and Shockwave about that in that one episode that even explicitly referenced IDW? Or how about the whole "This is not freedom" plot line about how mayyybe throwing every Decepticon in the slammer forever might be, just might be, bad? We had a whole episode about that? Soundwave was in it?

Nah, 'Cons are unambiguously evil. Always. Especially that no-good Starscream. "What Dwells Within" and "The Last Hope, Part 2" might as well have never happened, because Starscream sure as hell doesn't act like they did. He barely even interacts with Hashtag. "Come on, did you expect Starscream to be a good guy now?" No bitch, I expected believable character development. I find it hard to believe that the same Starscream who saved Hashtag from the Cybertronian equivalent of a vampire, at risk to his own life, and then told her to take care of herself as a good-bye would just suddenly go back to the same moustache-twirling evilness we'd be expecting from G1 Starscream. You expect me to buy that this guy is the same Starscream as the one who showed up with the entire cavalry to save the world in the S1 finale?? Why go through the trouble of giving Starscream an entire episode going into his trauma and abuse and learning to be better if this is all it amounts to in the end??? At least show us how it happened? What made Starscream suddenly completely regress like that??? I don't know and the way it's going I don't think EarthSpark is all that interested in explaining it.

The Maltos remain a criminally underdeveloped hive mind. And no, I don't consider adding even more powers to their arsenal character development. Robbie and Mo still don't have any friends outside of their siblings and this season did nothing to change my mind on the cybersleeve connection being borderline creepy and making the characters co-dependent. "The Butterfly Effect" basically showed us all the reasons why having your siblings in your head 24/7 with no way to turn it off would actually suck. Cybersynching is so obviously combining with a new coat of paint and it's not even used or utilized that much in this batch.

We did not need the Quintessons in this season. At all. They added nothing except implying that Quintus Prime is shady af. Which, we been knew? The whole of "Prime Time" is literally Quintus torturing a little girl for being upset her big brother is sick and probably dying. If you wanted to explore Quintus through one of his creations seeing him in a much less benevolent light, well, how do I put this? There were two whole new characters added this season you could've done this with. Aftermath and Spitfire not being in the "We Love Quintus Prime" club together with the rest of the Terrans would make sense, since they're far more rebellious and anti-authoritarian. That would've given them something interesting to do besides being minor nuisances to the Delightful Maltos from Down the Lane.

I've heard that EarthSpark isn't doing well both in ratings and in toy sales and after that first batch I can see why.

The show is not all bad, but legit none of these characters are developed enough or distinct enough that I could see a kid wanting a toy of them. And that goes double for older fans.

The writers messed up big time and I honestly don't know if I'm gonna stay and see if they fix it in S2B.

[genshin-scenarios]

Adopt a Wanderer: Introduction [Part 1]

Summary: By which you’re going about your normal day irl, and a certain character from genshin gets isekaied into your world. (The rest will be explained as you read!)

Note: This is meant to be a found-family series with Scaramouche, who you address as Kuni in this AU! Mostly meant to be interpreted as platonic. (Any romance will probably be in a sequel, so at most he’d just develop a puppy-crush on you that doesn’t go anywhere in the current series.)

If you like the idea of ‘pre-betrayals Scaramouche’, this AU might be for you! 💜

>> Part 2

When a person you’ve only seen inside of a video game suddenly appears before you in-real-life, you’re understandably confused and in slight denial about what’s happening right now.

On your way to get groceries, you came across a familiar-looking figure wandering the area outside of your home. Upon closer inspection you realized that it looked like a character from a game you played - and most importantly, he didn’t look like just any elaborate cosplayer, but was observing the darkened neighborhood with a sort of intrigue and wonder too genuine to ignore. 

How could you have left him, clutching a golden plume to his chest as he walked, alone when it was about to get dark out?

“I’m dreaming, right?” You mutter to yourself while you paced around your living room; luckily, you’ve just moved into a new place and have no roommate - but with Scaramouche standing in the corner right now, arms crossed as he watches you have a breakdown - your home suddenly feels much smaller than it is. Or maybe it’s your urge to run out of the door as if he was some creature instead of a person. “I’m dreaming. You’re not real.”

“I…” Scaramouche– No, Wanderer? Or Kunikuzushi, based on his outfit that matched the one you watched in his backstory cutscene weeks ago; for a game. That’s entirely fictional. He looks up at you, concerned about your obvious panic but also slightly hurt that you seemed to be avoiding him. “Thank you for giving me shelter, but… If you’re afraid of me, I won’t be offended if you ask me to leave.”

His indigo eyes avert their gaze to the side, trying not to startle you further. Despite everything, the sight of him like this softens your heart just enough to calm yourself down. “Sorry, I’m just… I was really surprised to see you there. You looked really familiar, and you turned out to be lost, so–” You stop yourself from rambling, reminding yourself that even if this was a character that just came out of another world, they might not be the same person that you know of. “Could you tell me about yourself? And where you came from?”

Seeing hesitation flicker across his face, you give him a smile and walk to your kitchen to boil some water. “Why don’t we talk about this over tea?“ When he nods, you gesture for him to follow. “You can come watch if you want. It’d be pretty boring to just wait over there.”

When he does join you and trail after your steps, you smile despite yourself, noting how graceful his movements are even from a simple action like this. After the tea is done and you both settle down at your dining table, you pick up a pen and paper, writing the name you’ve decided to call him at the very top.

“Alright, Kuni.” You try to sound as positive as possible, keeping your nerves buried for his sake. When he’d told you that he didn’t have a name, theories already began swimming through your mind. “You can start now - I’ll hear you out even if it might sound a little crazy, so go ahead!” Considering how he’s here in the first place, your expectations for the norm are completely gone.

After a moment of sorting out his thoughts, Kuni divulges a summary of his history before he got here:

He was left at a pavilion by his mother.

He mostly lived within that place for a while, before wandering out to explore more of what was outside.

He had no name, but the land he was born in was Inazuma, the nation of eternity.

No, he has not befriended anyone specific since exploring outside. You’re the first person that he’s become this familiar with– in the sense of entering their abode and all. Everyone else remained at a point of conversing outside before they went home.

After he fell asleep one day, he woke up in the park nearby (in your world), and wandered around a little before running into you.

From what you could tell, this meant that the Scaramouche– No, Kuni that you knew right now, had not experienced any of his backstory yet.

Which means… The boy that stands before you now, curiously observing the interior of your home, had not suffered the worst of his lore.

For an overwhelmingly unknown reason, this knowledge makes your heart ache. And seeing as neither of you knew of a way to send him back to his world, all you could do for now was…

“If you’re alright with it, you could live with me?” You blurt out, before catching yourself to elaborate quickly. “Not necessarily as a permanent thing! Just until we figure out how to get you home.”

Something lights up in his eyes - close to hope. “Are you alright with that?” You’ll accept me?

“Of course!” You reach out your hand for him to shake, giving him an encouraging nod. “I can’t promise to provide the best since I’m just living alone right now, but I can at least afford to let you stay for a while.”

“I– I’ll help out in any way I can!” He wraps your hand in both of his as he gives you that promise. “As long as it’s within my ability… I don’t know much, but I can learn in order to lessen your burden.”

Is this really the same guy that insults and glares at people in the game? “I’ll be counting on you, then.” You smile - genuinely, for the first time tonight. You’re not sure why, but seeing Kuni like this makes you want to cheer him on. “Let’s take care of each other, alright?”

Once a puppet that shed tears upon its making - Kuni experiences a warm, wholehearted elation for the first time. Weeks later, he finds words befitting of the emotion; joy, gratitude, hope.

>> Part 2