#goddamn this took forever to write lol i just had a lot to say

[vintagemulti]

shards and splinters

parings: marc spector x reader , steven grant x reader

desc: apparently what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. now you’ve died and returned alive, perhaps it’s time to test that theory; or risk losing your life once and for all.

warnings: blood, angst, swearing, fighting, guns and gun violence, death descriptions, long as fuck, sex mentions i guess(? if you squint), hurt/comfort, gory i guess (jake🤷🏻‍♀️) writers note: idk how accurate these are bc i’ve been writing this on and off for years but cover all bases i guess xx

a/n: psa to pls reblog anyway she’s BAAAAAACKKK did you miss me ?? i missed youse … if there’s even a moonknight fandom anymore 🫣 i’m so sorry for the 2 years gone from the face of tumblr, i’ve quite honestly had two years from hell and insane writers block so. can anyone even remember this series?? idk maybe you should all reread the first parts 👀👀 anyways. there’ll be one more part to this (will it come this year? next? 2026? who knows…) bc i HATED my original ending and just had to change it. also sorry if this feels rushed or like it jumps around a lot, it’s been written over YEARS, but i’ve tried my best for continuity. also, i know there’s a lot missing in like fight scenes but they are BORING and i hate writing em so i’m not doing it. tried, got half way thru then didn’t touch this for 7 months so.. it’s no fight scene or no part at all. but my last part is pretty much done so hopefully it’ll be posted soon! ill let youse savour this for a while tho lol. on a real note thank you all SO much for all the love, even two years later. it means the world. all my love, all the time x

series masterlist

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the air felt different now. it was funny; you and marc had been apart hundreds, if not thousands of times, but he had never felt your absence. not like this. no, never like this. it was different now because he knew he could look for you everywhere and you would still be in that room, not breathing, not living.

he could see it all so clearly now. all of what? all of it. everything; life, your life, his life, where everything went wrong, what he should have done, should have said, how he could have saved you.

there was nothing you could have done, marc.

“that’s easy for you to say.” he mumbled, looking down at his hands. “you’re not the one who was halfway through a fucking argument when harrow took her. and if you can remember, harrow took her because of me.”

steven sighed, and went quiet.

“i should’ve died on that fucking alter.”

marc said it over and over, like a prayer, to go back in time and pull the trigger. he was fuck knows where, it looked like the middle of the desert but marc didn’t care enough to question it.

he had walked out of that pyramid and kept on walking - for hours. the hot egyptian sun had began to set, casting a rosy hue on everything. the humidity make marc’s head ache.

steven had gone silent - a small hum of anger in the back of marc’s head. it usually would have surprised marc, for steven to be the angry one. but he wasn’t sure he would never feel surprised again.

are you going to wallow here forever?

marc looked up, low sun glinting in his eyes, making him squint. but he could tell exactly who it was - crescent staff in his peripheral.

“fuck off.”

khonshu laughed. that’s one way to talk to a god.

“fuck off.” he repeated.

and why should i, mortal? why should i listen to you?

“you did this.” it was stiff, cold, a definite statement. “you did this to us.”

khonshu groaned, moving to block the sun from marc’s eyes so he could see him properly. aren’t you going to question how i am here?

“no.”

perhaps you should.

marc could never cope with khonshu’s riddles. they had always infuriated him - never getting a straight answer. but this one, he could tolerate.

“fuck does that mean?” he was looking directly into khonshu’s eyes now - something he had readily avoided for years. “and don’t give me any of your goddamn riddles.”

if you must be so blunt, it would seem like osiris has taken a liking to your poor lady wife. hathor isn’t half fond of her, either. maybe you ought to go back to the pyramid, something tells me your needed.

and he was gone. disappeared with a gust of wind, leaving marc alone in the saharan sunset, shaking and still covered in his wife’s blood.

she’s alive?

“i-” marc looked around. “i don’t-”

his eyes slipped into the back of his head.

steven took a deep breath, swallowing hard. he set off in a run - towards the pyramid.

-

“this feels so fucking weird.”

you were pressed flat against the wall, peeking around every few seconds to make sure one of harrow’s followers wasn’t coming your way.

i must admit, it’s been a while since i’ve had an avatar.

you let out a breathy laugh. was that your first ever laugh since being revived? you supposed it must be. oh, you wished it was one of steven’s jokes you were laughing at instead.

you didn’t think you’d ever find one of his jokes unfunny again.

“where is he?”

it’s hard to tell. i can’t check, unless i’d like ammit to spot me.

humming, you looked around the corner once again, breath hitching when you saw a shadow come closer.

what made your breath stop completely, however, was the slow, melodic tapping of a cane, following every footstep the person took.

harrow was less than two feet away from you.

swallowing hard, you pushed yourself against the wall even harder, back cold against the concrete. you hoped - prayed with your newfound faith in osiris and his mercy - that harrow would turn back the other way, not hearing your thumping heart.

but your luck had ran out for this lifetime.

the tapping of the cane became louder, until you could see the tip of it in your peripheral, crunching glass finally becoming audible. he was about to come around the corner, and see you. you would be impossible to miss, even the bright red of your new outfit making you stand out.

it seemed like it was impossible to escape harrow, and the tapping of his cane. he had killed you once, what would stop him from doing it again?

apparently, a guardian angel. someone spoke, making harrow turn to look behind him.

this was your chance - to slip away and turn the opposite corner, escape harrow in your new life as you couldn’t in your last.

his voice made you flinch. cool, charming, low. like a snake - exactly like a snake, now you thought about it. the way he slid through life, from the bar all those years ago, to now, awakening a centuries old god, aiming to destroy the world.

you could slither away too, though.

still holding your breath, you sidestepped along the wall, making sure to watch your step over any lose stones, until the wall fell away behind you and led you into another corridor.

as soon as the light from the hall had faded, you let out your breath, hands coming to your forehead and rubbing your eyes.

we have to keep moving. ammit is almost ready to begin.

nodding - although it felt like your brain was rattling around your skull - you looked back up and saw hathor, still looking as beautiful as ever.

this hallway was much dimmer than the last. colder, too. it was like all the light had been blocked, the only thing keeping your vision was the small, fading candles lining the walls every meter or so.

perhaps it was your natural instinct, or a new given sense as an avatar, but you could tell - something wasn’t right. something in the air had shifted, on top of the hot, sticky, egyptian heat, there was something sinister.

your years as a mercenary had taught you to recognise something - blood in the air. and there was certainly blood in the air around you.

“what is harrow’s plan?”

he wants to judge people. through ammit, he believes he can rid the world of everyone bad, even if they aren’t already bad.

“so he’s playing god?” the corridor seemed to go on forever.

he would never admit it, but yes. and ammit is the perfect enabler for him, she’ll know exactly what he’s up to, but because he can give her her power back, she’ll play along.

you scoffed lightly. “harrow isn’t stupid either. he’ll know what she thinks.”

hathor shrugged, a few paces in front of you. only time will tell, my dear.

for a few minutes, the walk along the corridor was silent. the tap of your shoes echoed down the hall, breeze from your passing flickering the candles on the wall.

why did you marry him?

it stopped you in your tracks, hathor stopping too.

“what?”

marc. why did you marry him?

you stuttered for a moment, looking around as if someone would come and help you.

i don’t mean it in a rude way. i’m the goddess of love, it’s natural for me to want to know.

“well,” you paused for a moment and began walking again, slower this time. “we were young when we met, i was coming up for 18 and he was 19.”

and?

“and i knew what i had done to him.” you swallowed. “i felt fucking awful, i thought, maybe if i get to know the guy, and he’s not as much of an ass as everyone makes him out to be, it’ll make it easier for me to forgive myself.”

the corridor kept on, as if it were never ending.

“as you can tell, it didn’t work.”

he wasn’t as much of an asshole as everyone thought?

“no, he was,” you gave a dry smile. “it just so happened that assholes are my type, and i think he worked it out pretty quickly. so after only about two months of knowing each other, he asked me on a date. a real date. it was my first ever date too, god knows anton never took me out. but god, he was such a gentleman.

he picked me up, gave me flowers, wore a fucking tie. and he payed for everything, too. dinner at a four star restaurant, a movie, then out to a bar for drinks.

i knew i had fucked up when he kissed me that night.”

you regret it?

“not for a day. and that’s my mistake- i mean, i was supposed to hate him. i told myself i would hate him. so i wouldn’t feel bad about telling someone to kill him. i didn’t even know how he got out alive- he didn’t tell me about the khonshu shit until after we got married.

oh, our wedding,” you smiled again, a real one. “it was perfect. i was twenty one, marc was twenty three. we were so young. it was a small wedding, just some friends, neither of us invited our family. it was the best night of my life.

it was the night i met steven, too. i think the stress of the day must have triggered it. and that was it- there was marc, and there was steven.”

didn’t it take a while to get used to?

the corridor began to open up, getting slightly wider by the meter. still - there was no end to it in sight.

“it did and it didn’t. i knew for a while there was something happening to him, he would disappear, look confused all the time. i knew it was a matter of time until something changed. and then came steven, perfect steven.

he changed so much- it was like dating all over again. he was even more perfect than marc, stupid english accent included. but, naturally, abuthing that’s perfect must come to an end.”

hathor sighed. and it gave you the impression, just for a moment, that she already knew the whole story. that she was humouring you by letting you tell it. her sigh, sad and resigned, almost confirmed that she knew what was coming.

“the-” you stopped. your voice had broken, and your feet no longer moved. hathor continued for a few paces before looking back at you.

i understand, but if there’s any time you need to tell this, it’s now.

“you know?” you voiced your suspicions.

take into account which god i am, my dear. there is no one else i could chose, but you.

you swallowed. “what’s the point of talking about it if you already know?”

you have been born again. revived. would you like to carry this, this horrible vendetta against someone who has done nothing but love you, for the rest of your new life?

“no.”

then voice it. i can take this pain from you, if you only ask me too. i can help you.

you bit your tongue, looking down at your feet and kicking around a few of the loose rocks. hathor waited.

“the baby was supposed to be born just after my twenty-third birthday.”

a beat. hathor didn’t reply.

“but he didn’t live past twelve weeks.”

you looked back up at hathor, anxious for a reply. she didn’t give you one, only nodding.

“i don’t- i don’t know what i did. i was waiting until i could get a scan, tell marc, have it done properly, you know? but when i went to my appointment, i knew. she didn’t say anything, she just looked. then she left, got the doctor to come in.

he said that the baby had died, that they weren’t sure of the cause, but it was a boy. that my baby boy had died.”

tears threatened your eyes. never - never - had you spoken about this before. not even with marc.

“i went home, with a hatred in my heart. the next few days were the worst. i was grieving a child no one knew i even had. the blood was horrible, it hurt so badly. i told marc i was on my period. fuck, for all he knew i was.

and then my baby was gone. and i hated marc.”

why did you hate him?

you shrugged. “i have no idea. i needed someone to blame and marc was the easiest. that’s when it all went downhill, you know? i wanted him to be there for me, for something he didn’t even know happened. and when he wasn’t, i blew up at him. and he blew up at me.

and that was it, for three years. this horrible hatred towards each other, me hating marc for something he knew nothing about, and marc hating me for every other reason.

he hated me the most for making him stay a mercenary. he wanted out, he wanted a normal life in the suburbs with a dog and a big house and maybe, one day, a child.

but i can’t have that. i don’t want that kind of normal - not when i was so close to it and lost it. so i pushed him into this world. i made him take jobs and work himself to death, even when i found out about khonshu. i made him do it.

and that’s why we’re here. because i told him to follow khonshu here. and now look what i’ve done.”

hathor took two, wide steps towards you, and cradled your face in her hands.

you have done nothing that makes you inhumane. none of this mess is you fault. khonshu would have gotten marc here one way or another. anyone in your shoes would be the same.

her hands were warm. you felt a tear fall, running underneath her fingers. “but i’ve been so horrible. i’m a monster - if not for this, for everything else.”

hathor shook her head. you are a human being.

there was silence as you cried and hathor wiped your tears. at least two minutes passed - but it didn’t matter to you. harrow could come running around the corner and you wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

hathor took a deep breath, looking to her left along the corridor. she opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, another figure appeared.

is now a bad time, human?

you flinched at the rough edge in khonshu’s voice. “what do you want?”

what do i want? there’s a long list.

even through your tears, your patience thinned. “seriously?”

hathor took her hands from your face, turning to look at khonshu. enough of your riddles. just tell her.

the unmistakable sound of footsteps, running, drew your attention. they were getting closer.

i don’t think i have to say a word, actually.

just as khonshu had finished, a figure appeared, coming around the twists and turns of the corridor.

your heart stopped.

marc looked around in a daze, eyes falling first on khonshu, then on hathor, then…

“y/n!”

just as he had stopped running, he started again, coming towards you like a lion out of his cage, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off of your feet.

“oh baby,” he mumbled into your neck.

you had just reached - wrapping your arms around him in equal tightness, hands flying into his hair. oh, god. his hair - his curls, his skin - you’d never take it for granted again.

he pulled back, hands on your cheeks in a mirror image to hathor. his eyes locked into yours, brown irises melting into his pupils, filling with tears.

marc stuttered, trying to get several sentences out at once, before you hushed him.

“please, marc, we don’t have much time. harrow is gonna-”

“i know,” he nodded, eyes still not breaking from yours. “i know- baby, i know. please- please, just give me a minute. i never- i thought i’d never- oh, baby.”

he leaned in, moving his hands out of the way to rest his forehead against yours. he was hot - sticky with sweat and dirt and, although you didnt want to think about it, your blood.

“i know,” you whispered, closing your eyes. “marc, i know.”

barely having finished your sentence, he leaned in and kissed you.

it was like the first kiss all over again, and you supposed it was. hot, needy, passionate, desperate. you could live in this moment.

but the unmistakable sound of khonshu clearing his throat broke your kiss.

if you wouldn’t mind, harrow is about to release ammit. i’m sure your couples catch-up can wait another hour.

“yeah,” you nodded, breaking away, but marc was far more hesitant to let go.

“i can’t-” he looked around, paranoid. “i can’t do this, y/n. i just lost you, i can’t run the risk of losing you again, i’ve never- y/n, i can’t let you go, you’re everything to me, and if harrow- oh god, what did harrow do to you? i swear to god, the minute i see him, i’m gonna-”

he blinked. a beat.

“paranoid git never did know when to be quiet, did he?”

“oh, steven,” you threw your arms around him again. “fucking hell.”

steven, unlike marc, seemed far more willing to let you go. “love, i know, but if we don’t go now, we’re all gonna end up dead. please, we can do this all after, yeah?”

he took your hands in his, stilling your shaking fingers. he was so warm - always so warm.

“okay,” you nodded, looking between him and the gods beside you. “okay.”

-

you had severely underestimated how far harrow was willing to go. it had been what felt like hours, an unrelenting fight. you weren’t even sure when layla showed up, hoping to help you in any way she could.

but her attempts were futile; ammit was huge. really - huge, bigger than the pyramid behind her. khonshu had, as usual, gotten involved too, so that meant he was the same size, almost trampling you with every step he took.

you had tried. really, you had. you’d tried to use your new found avatar abilities to at least land something on harrow, but truth be told, you were failing. he’d hit you far more times that you’d even aimed for him, you were covered in cuts and rapidly forming bruises, you were sure your shoulder was dislocated.

but worst of all? your head wasn’t right. you weren’t sure what was wrong with it - it seemed fine every time you focused on identifying the issue, but every time you weren’t paying attention, it was there again. dizzy, a ringing in your eyes, everything a second or two behind; your vision lagging and cloudy. but just as you’d notice it, it was gone.

it was getting worse, too. you could see marc out of the corner of your eye; he was one to one with harrow. it would have made you anxious if you could properly focus on what was going on. but you couldn’t - your thought were scattered, a ringing back tenfold in your ears, the world had gone distant and hazy.

the doctors told you it was a concussion the next morning. layla had actually came in very handy, able to translate the man’s arabic into english for you.

he had told you that you’d sustained a massive head injury - you figured it would have been investigated, if you hadn’t been one of the people there last night.

‘there’ was all people could talk about. first the sky had gone backwards (you’d missed that part, thanks to being dead), then, out of nowhere, two ancient egyptian gods had appeared, destroying all the buildings in their wake, pyramids too.

it wasn’t that you couldn’t remember it. you could - it was clear in every aspect. it just didn’t feel like you’d been there at all. even the build up to it, every moment from when you’d stepped out of that pyramid, hand in hand with steven, hot air hitting your face;

it wasn’t you.

well, obviously it was you. but it wasn’t the same you. everything felt different, you didn’t have the same emotions you did before. the same key ones, yes, like how you felt about marc, and steven, and who you are as a person, but basic thing, like fear, and compassion? it was gone.

you’d have voiced this to a doctor if you could put ‘i died and got brought back to like by an ancient god, but not the same one who destroyed half of your city last night, sorry about that, by the way’ into layman’s terms.

trauma induced dissociation was enough of a label for you. it fit - everything just felt a little hazy, was all. not that you’d asked your doctor, a google search (excluding the resurrection part) had taken you to pages and pages about dissociation and how it’s normal to feel it after a traumatic event. you were pretty sure dying was a traumatic event.

and yes, you could bring it up to your doctor, he was payed to help you, after all. but there was a strange gnawing in the back of your head: that if you voiced this feeling, it would only get worse, and the happy ending you and your husband currently had would be shred in two because you couldn’t feel properly.

so instead, you listened to his professional diagnosis; a severe concussion, fractured rib, dislocated shoulder, several cosmetic wounds, and mental trauma that would be discovered at a later point, if you ever got around to voicing it to a doctor.

what a lovely shopping list, you thought.

-

it was three days before they let you out, and marc wasn’t getting out for another two after that. you’d had to beg him to even go to the hospital in the first place, but now he was getting the medical attention he’d needed for years, he seemed content in his hospital bed. not that he’d ever admit it.

with two days to yourself (not nights, you’d go back to the hospital and stay with marc), you decided to have the egyptian holiday you had come for.

the first stop was obvious; buy clothes. all of the ones you had were either covered in blood or halfway shredded. once you’d achieved this, in a new white linen sundress (cut below the knees to hide the still raw scars), you felt just slightly lost.

of course, you weren’t lost, you were always quick to get your bearings in new places - mercenary years had left you with a few skills, after all - and you kept yourself in a fairly small area, close to the hospital in case you got an emergency call.

no - the feeling of being lost came from deep down. ever since you’d come back to life it was the same, a strange longing for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. something you felt you just had to have, maybe not right now, but in the near future. the hazy feeling had already begun to pass, you were sure google had served you well. but it left behind this in its wake, a new, even stranger feeling.

a breeze blew your hair lightly as you looked down the street in front of you. it was picturesque, all kinds of small shops and cafes as far as you could see. you could hear kids playing somewhere, a baby crying in the distance.

the lost-longing feeling piqued at this.

“oh.” you breathed. “oh.”

beside you, hathor, dressed in a golden, floor length dress and looking beautiful as ever, laughed.

oh, indeed. did you forget which god i am?

[montammil]

frothing at the mouth and begging for more cruel lawrence content. either with marshall and nathan but since you mentioned nathan had it the worst, could you write something for that?

I've been so busy and burnt out lately, but I pushed through for once lol. I've written Nathan being tortured before, but since this has been sitting in my inbox forever, I decided I'd give it another go.

TW: Torture with hot iron, failed escape attempt, parental whumper, burns, infantilizing behavior

...

Even when Nathan tried to conform to Lawrence's twisted views on family and parenting, he always did something wrong. Even if he hypothetically didn't hate Lawrence's guts, he wasn't nearly as much of a lovey-dovey person as his captor was.

When Lawrence would hear what he deemed as a sarcastic comment or rude tone, he'd give him a warning and blank stare that hid any emotions that might be bubbling underneath the surface.

The situation was so bizarre, it was almost funny to him. How many people in the world had gotten kidnapped by a delusional man who believed he was their father?

Not a lot, he could assume. How unlucky could one be, right?

It seemed that Nathan was one of those people.

Surprisingly, Nathan's least favorite punishments weren't getting tortured in the basement. The punishments he hated the most were the infantilizing ones, where Lawrence would talk down to him like a goddamn baby, and then go make him stand in a corner or something equally degrading.

At least Lawrence treated him like the adult he was when he kicked him repeatedly in the ribs and called him every name in the book.

Nathan had a high tolerance for pain. He thought that was the farthest Lawrence was willing to go, physically speaking. As much as Lawrence liked to play daddy, Nathan didn't think he'd ever go so far as to truly hurt his "kid".

How wrong he was.

For a week now, he managed to pretend to be the sweet little angel Lawrence wanted him to be. Lawrence would see through his sardonic comments or wry tone and Nathan would get a warning look.

It would stop there, thankfully. Maybe if he played his cards right, he could gain Lawrence's trust and get the hell out of here.

The biggest issue was he could barely even be physically close to Lawrence without cringing and feeling his stomach turn. His fist wanted to act on its own when the blond bastard would call him "sweetheart" or kiss his forehead.

"You're quiet today," Lawrence mentioned at breakfast.

Nathan poked at the pancake on his plate with a fork. He wasn't very hungry. "I'm fine. I just didn't sleep well."

Lawrence tilted his head in sympathy. "I'm sorry, bud. Did you have another nightmare?"

He hated being reminded of that. One night he woke up screaming because of a nightmare--about Lawrence, of course. Lawrence had rushed into his room and cradled him in his arms like an infant.

It was nauseating. Nathan could remember vividly how his body had shuddered in fear when Lawrence insisted on holding him for the rest of the night.

The only reason Nathan allowed it was because Lawrence had hurt him badly the previous night. The last thing he wanted was another violent punishment so soon after his last one.

"No," Nathan lied. "It wasn't a nightmare. I just couldn't sleep."

Lawrence frowned, lifting his eyebrows in worry. "That's no good. Maybe you need a nightlight. Would that help?"

Nathan didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that suggestion. Sometimes he wondered if Lawrence was directly trying to piss him off.

"Sure," Nathan decided to humor him. "A nightlight might help."

Lawrence's features softened in happiness, thinking he had found a solution to a problem that wasn't even there. "Anything for you, buddy. You know that."

He took a bite of his pancake so he wouldn't have to say anything back to that. He finished the rest of his breakfast quickly and put his plate in the sink. Nathan wasn't in the mood for interacting with Lawrence today, so he went into his room and tried to nap.

Nathan didn't actually manage to get much sleep. He was exhausted, but the memories of everything Lawrence had done to him wouldn't stop playing over and over in his head.

If he didn't go insane in here, it'd be a miracle.

At one point, Nathan could hear his bedroom door opening. He buried his face under his pillow, pretending to be asleep. Lawrence must have bought the act, because Nathan heard him close the door.

After a few more minutes of laying down, Nathan sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.

He was tired, but his mind was too noisy. He really needed something to do around here, or he was going to lose it. He decided talking to Lawrence was better than nothing, so he got up and headed into the living room. Lawrence was usually there, but this time there was no sign of him.

"Lawrence?" Nathan called out. No matter how much he was going to try to play nice, he was not going to call that man his dad. No way in hell. "Where are you?"

There was no answer, which was odd. Usually Lawrence was in the living room at this time.

He frowned, beginning to wonder if maybe he had gone out. He looked out the front window to see his car still there. That meant Lawrence was definitely here somewhere.

Nathan trudged back up the stairs until he heard him talking. He was using that different tone of his voice, more professional. Oh. He was on a business call, or maybe even doing some kind of interview or audition. He was usually on those calls for hours at a time, which meant Nathan was always restrained while Lawrence did his work.

This was a perfect opportunity he couldn't just not take advantage of. It was risky, but his gut was telling him to give it a shot.

He crept back down the stairs and to the front door. Knowing Lawrence, his room was likely locked and he probably had his keys and phone on him anyway, but maybe if he could find something to pick the lock with...

Nathan looked through the kitchen drawers and found a paperclip. It would have to do. He carefully inserted it into the hole, feeling around for a moment before the lock clicked and the door opened.

For a brief moment, he hesitated. Was it really that easy? Could he really just walk out that door?

No alarms, no locks, no Lawrence holding him back?

He stepped outside, shutting the door quietly behind him. As soon as it was shut, he took a deep breath and ran as fast as his legs would take him.

On his left was the eerily bleak and empty beach, and on his right was a thick forest that surrounded the house, that was somehow even creepier.

Nathan made a split second decision and ran for the forest, hoping there would be a road there.

He ducked under trees, sidestepped bushes, and leapt over rocks and sticks. He didn't stop running even when his legs began to feel like lead. Even when he had the wind knocked out of him by a low-hanging branch. He kept running.

For what felt like a lifetime, Nathan continued through the woods. It was mostly silent, save for his heavy breathing and footsteps on the ground below.

After a while, he slowed down so he could catch his breath and assess his surroundings.

Nothing looked familiar. There was a bit of sun coming through the leaves and branches of the trees above, but the sun would soon be gone. The farther he walked, the darker the area became. Nathan had never been afraid of the dark, but something about this place just made him uncomfortable.

Even if he wanted to return to Lawrence, to admit he fucked up and take whatever brutal punishment he'd be given, he wasn't sure if that was even an option right now. He had no idea where the hell he was.

Nathan gulped, deciding to keep walking.

The birds were going to bed, but a few cicadas and frogs remained awake. Their song was the only thing breaking the silence.

For the first time since his escape, Nathan began to doubt himself. Maybe running away was a bad idea.

After what felt like hours, he finally saw something other than trees and bushes.

A road, finally.

He sprinted down the hill to the pavement, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw there was a car heading down the road. Nathan held up his arm to flag the car down. It didn't stop for him.

Nathan couldn't help but groan. "You've gotta be kidding me."

He spent so long getting through those damn woods that the sun had completely gone down. And now here he was, following the road from the side and waiting for another car to come by.

Despite how late it was getting, Nathan was determined to get out of here. He'd follow this road for miles if he had to.

Hours passed, and the weather began to grow colder. It was practically pitch black now. Nathan's feet hurt from walking so much, and his hands were freezing. He wished he had grabbed a jacket or something before running out.

Nathan wasn't sure how long he'd been walking down the road before he heard something in the distance.

Headlights.

He perked up, running a few yards and holding out his arm again. "Please stop," he pleaded. "Please."

The car stopped right in front of him.

Nathan's heart leaped with joy. He jogged around to the driver's side window. "Hi, I--"

He immediately shut up when he realized who the driver was. Lawrence didn't even bother wearing that emotionless expression, he looked enraged. Nathan had never seen him look so mad.

Lawrence rolled down the window, just enough so that Nathan could hear him. "Get in," he growled.

Nathan weighed his options. He could either get into the car and face whatever consequences Lawrence had in store for him, or he could try to outrun him. But even he knew that was a terrible idea--Lawrence had a car, and likely weapons on him too. Not to mention Nathan was already exhausted. He didn't really have a choice.

Reluctantly, Nathan climbed into the passenger's seat. He expected Lawrence to say something to him, but he was quiet.

For a moment, Nathan saw Lawrence's eyes scan over his body, looking for injuries. Nathan almost laughed at that--as if Lawrence gave a shit about whether or not he was hurt.

Lawrence began driving back the way Nathan came. Neither of them said a word for the entire ride.

Nathan stared out the window at the trees, occasionally looking back at Lawrence's profile. The only emotion he could see was anger.

He wanted to break the silence so badly. Ask him what he was going to do to him when they got back to the house, beg him not to hurt him too badly, but nothing came out. His vocal chords were frozen.

When they pulled up to the house, Lawrence parked in the driveway and shut the engine off. He exited the vehicle in silence, making Nathan shrink into himself with fear. Lawrence opened his door, gripping his wrist so tightly Nathan hissed in pain.

He practically dragged him back into the house, slamming the door behind him and locking it.

Nathan struggled to get his wrist out of his grasp. "L-Lawrence, please--"

"You're not speaking to me," Lawrence interrupted. His tone left no room for argument. He dragged Nathan down to the basement, and Nathan just wallowed in his own self-hate for feeling too paralyzed to object or fight.

He was forced to lay on his stomach and have his hands cuffed behind his back. He could hear him rummaging through things in the corner, making him swallow anxiously.

When Lawrence returned to his side, Nathan closed his eyes. He refused to watch what Lawrence was doing.

A moment later, he felt the cold metal of handcuffs attach to his ankles as well.

Lawrence exhaled deeply through his nose. "You are in big trouble, Nathan," he told him in a low voice. "Do you have any idea what you put me through? I was terrified out of my mind when I saw you were gone."

Nathan still refused to look at him, and he wasn't even going to humor him with an apology. If Lawrence was expecting him to feel guilty, he would be sorely disappointed.

"I'm disappointed in you," Lawrence continued. "You know better than to run away."

"You don't know shit about me," Nathan snapped at him.

That only seemed to anger Lawrence even more. "Wrong answer."

He could hear him move behind him and his mind raced, wondering what he was going to do. It wasn't like he hadn't been punished in the basement before, but the air felt heavier than usual. He wasn't shocked, he had never gotten as far as he did when attempting to run away. Lawrence had always been able to find him quickly.

Nathan heard something being plugged into an outlet and tensed. "What are you doing?"

"I've been too lenient with you. This is the last time something like this happens again."

His words sent a shiver down his spine. Nathan wanted to shrink into himself when he felt Lawrence lift up the back of his shirt, exposing his bare skin to the cold air of the basement. "What are you doing?!" Nathan repeated frantically. "Stop it!"

Lawrence didn't say anything back to that. He thrashed and tried to buck Lawrence off of him, but he didn't budge.

"Lawrence, what the fuck are you doing?! Let me go!" Nathan yelled. "I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry!"

"No, you're not," Lawrence argued calmly. "You're only sorry because you got caught."

Nathan's brain was racing at a million miles per hour, trying to figure out what Lawrence was doing. After a few more minutes of meaningless pleading and horrifying tension, he felt something on his back and screamed at the contact.

Whatever it was, it felt like it was burning him, and Nathan thrashed even more violently than before.

Lawrence didn't react to his cries other than putting more pressure on the object against his skin. Nathan could hear Lawrence mumble something along the lines of "it'll be over soon, kiddo."

The younger man was seeing stars behind his eyelids while he screamed in agony. This was so much worse than all the times Lawrence had tortured him before--he wanted to die. Anything was better than this excruciating pain. He could hear his skin sizzling through his own screams of torment.

After what felt like an eternity, the torture finally stopped. Lawrence set down the object he had been using, and Nathan sobbed in relief, hearing it make contact with the hard concrete floor.

He wanted to turn around and look at what the hell Lawrence did to him, but it was excruciating to even move in the slightest.

Lawrence sighed above him, as if this was just a chore that he was happy to be done with.

"Are you going to run away again?" he asked in a gentle voice.

"No," Nathan choked out through sobs. If it weren't for the fear of the iron coming back into play, he would've told him to go fuck himself.

"Good." Nathan stayed still while Lawrence undid his bindings. He was exhausted and barely had the energy to move. He laid on the ground, trembling, while Lawrence stroked his hair gently. "Poor thing," he murmured sympathetically. "Are you gonna listen to me from now on?"

Nathan didn't even care about saving face anymore, he was in so much pain that he'd probably agree to anything Lawrence said at this point. "Yes."

"That's my boy," Lawrence praised him. "It's okay, pumpkin. It's all over now. Dad's got you."

Those words were the last thing Nathan wanted to hear right now. He had been tortured with an iron, and Lawrence had the nerve to call himself his dad?

The two of them remained in the basement for a while, Nathan weeping on the floor while Lawrence cooed at him in a soothing tone of voice.

Eventually Lawrence got him to stand up on his feet, and led him up the stairs to the bathroom so he could clean his wound.

Lawrence dabbed the burn with rubbing alcohol, causing Nathan to squirm and grit his teeth in discomfort. When that was over, he carefully bandaged it. It made moving around very difficult, but the throbbing pain was starting to become slightly more bearable.

After Lawrence was done cleaning up, he took Nathan into his room and tucked him into bed.

Nathan usually slept on his back, but had to settle for his side for now. Lawrence ran his fingers through Nathan's dark locks. Nathan could make out his eerie smile through the dim lighting.

"Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I found you?" Lawrence's smile faltered. "What if someone bad decided to pick you up? You could've ended up dead in a ditch somewhere. I'd be heartbroken."

Nathan turned his face into the pillow so Lawrence couldn't see the fury on his features.

"If something happened to you, I would never forgive myself." Lawrence tucked some of Nathan's hair behind his ear. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

Then die, Nathan bitterly thought.

Lawrence leaned down to kiss Nathan's forehead. "I love you." Nathan didn't reply back, and Lawrence didn't seem to mind that. He simply smiled again and stood up straight. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

Nathan waited until Lawrence had shut the door and locked it to finally let himself cry. He bawled his eyes out into his pillow, shaking with sobs until he fell asleep from pure exhaustion.

[jerzwriter]

List of Your Ten Childhood Ships

Thanks @thefirstcourtesan for tagging me. I'm so showing my age here, lol I'm going to count "childhood" right up through the end of high school for these purposes. God, I'm straining my brain. lol What's sad is, outside of Jodie Dallas on Soap, I cannot even recall a queer character, much less pairing, from my childhood. How sad is that? So this list is def hetero as it comes.

This is in no order - not really...

Princess Leia and Han Solo - Star Wars: OK, this was THE couple of my childhood. I was OBSESSED and still am. There was NO better movie than The Empire Strikes Back. The "I love you." "I know." sequence. Goddamn, I've always had a type; it goes back to childhood. I'm ashamed (not really).

Lando Calrissian & Princess Leia - Star Wars: OK - this is bringing back memories - and this is fucking crazy - I did write fanfic as a kid, and it was a Han/Leia/Lando triangle (as good as a 5th grader can write...). God, I'd kill to have that notebook now, and OMG, what a predictor for DTI. 😂😂😂 Even as a tween, I knew that would have been some juicy triangle that never came to be. lol

Sandy & Danny - Grease: Some asides. I was WAY too young to be watching this when it was out (my Mom was insane). Most of it went over my head, and in retrospect, I am so anti-most messages in Grease - but that doesn't mean I don't still love it. I do. And OMG How I loved Sandy & Danny and danced around my living room pretending I was them. lol

Jessie & Angie - All My Children: I was a soap junkie, so I have a lot of soap ships - but this is one of my all-time favorites. A modern-day Romeo & Juliet, and the soap world's first true black super-couple. Angie's well-to-do family forbade a relationship with her obvious soulmate, Jesse. They eventually got together, but in true soap fashion, that didn't last. A death that wasn't really a death, among other things, impeded. But how I remember watching those summers and rushing home from school to check the VCR and pray it recorded. lol OLD SCHOOL!

Kevin & Winnie - The Wonder Years: This was the sweetest show and first love story. The ending was so poignant and probably led to my penchant for beautiful but heart-wrenching endings. I need to rewatch this sometime.

Maddie & David - Moonlighting: This one makes me sad, thinking of Bruce Willis's current condition. 😢 These two drove each other crazy, but the sexual tension radiated from the TV screen. They were the ultimate "will they???" couple, and even when they did, they still never really got it together, but that didn't mean I stopped rooting for them. Sadly, this show is just about completely not available on streaming/reruns due to musical copyright issues.

Nina Cortland & Cliff Warner - All My Children: Told you. I was a soap addict, and AMC will forever be my favorite show. I don't remember how old I was, but I remember that their wedding took place THE DAY that we went back to school, and my prepubescent little girlfriends and I LOST OUR SHIT. This wasn't the days of reruns, this wasn't the days of DVR, this wasn't even the days of Soap Central (y'all don't even know what that is). These were the days of "You missed it, bitch - so sad." And I was...I was...

Maria & Georg - The Sound of Music: OK - I loved musicals from a very young age, and I am forever obsessed with The Sound of Music. I had a mad crush on Georg as a young girl, proof that assholes with a heart underneath it all have ALWAYS been my thing. lol

Dwayne & Whitley - A Different World: It was not a pairing I liked the idea of - initially. Whitley was such a spoiled, obnoxious, rich princess at the start, and Dwayne didn't seem like he'd ever have a chance, but as time moved on, they made it work, and I tuned in each week, dying for them to finally get together.

John & Claire: The Breakfast Club - What can I say - I have a type? lol This was the iconic couple of my teen years, and if had been writing fanfic at that time, I would have had a treasure trove for them.

Tagging @jamespotterthefirst @liaromancewriter @lucy-268 @genevievemd @angelasscribbles @icecoffee90 @cariantha @doriopenheart @peonierose @potionsprefect @coffeeheartaddict2 @lilyoffandoms @storyofmychoices @annoyingmillenialnewbie @utterlyinevitable and anyone who wishes to jump in and play!

[ifeltfree]

Yeah, of course I'll talk with you about it. I'm sorry to hear you're recently diagnosed. I'd say it gets better, but I'd be lying. What does change is that you get tougher, more resilient. If you're lucky, you have people around you who understand and support you well. The seizures never stop being terrifying.

It's an awful disease and one that is extremely misunderstood. Isolating is the right word, for sure. I was diagnosed at 16, so I know how hard it can be to have it as a teenager/young person as well. It feels like it's stealing from you. It is. Don't let anyone tell you any different. Your feelings are justified.

As far as how I cope? Poorly, for a long time, but recently things have been looking up. I was seizure-free for about five years before a recent set of breakthrough seizures (I crashed my car too, lol what a time), so I'm relearning how to deal with the fear and paranoia.

Logistically, I've done a few things:

I was able to get my job to let me work from home 3/5 days of the week.

I sleep. A lot. I still hang out with people and I have a lot of friends, but I had to accept there are things I can't do.

I spend a lot of time in quiet. Overstimulation doesn't help. I found this out the long way - took me forever to realize shutting up one or a few of my senses cut down the brain activity (I'm dumb).

I don't drink. I used to drink - probably too much. Substance abuse and epilepsy don't mix. That wasn't the reason for my breakthroughs, but I do have a little sobriety app. Kinda fun, honestly.

I talk to my friends about it.

That last point is something that I'd never done before this year. It's hard, of course, but I think it's helped that my friends now know I'm having crises of sanity, faith, philosophy - whatever - every day of my goddamn life. It's impossible to live with this disease and not think about what's real, what's not, if I'm losing time, what exactly is a soul...you understand.

Also, seizures are impossible to describe, but I try. That helps as well. Horrifies my friends, but they've said it's ok to talk about.

Every seizure I've had (barring these last ones, or I'd have killed myself) has stolen my personhood from me. I'd wake up as a different person, and then I'd just...live in a stranger's apartment, wear a stranger's clothes, wake up in a stranger's bed. After about a week, the feeling starts to fade but nothing ever goes back to that first reality. That disorientation is, for me, one of the worst parts of epilepsy. It's fucking scary. And if you go through that, I am so, so sorry.

If you want to talk about this more, let me know. I'm much less serious than I seem, and I write like this because I'm overeducated after being scared shitless by my brain. So.

Anyway, feel free to publish this and I hope you feel better soon.

Also, tell your tattoo artist what happened - they'll thank you for not coming in, and they also need to know you're not a flake. Don't want to make them responsible for an unconscious body when they don't have to be! :)

thank you for talking to me more about this. you worded a lot of this really well and its reassuring to know its normal to feel that way that i do about it all. my family thinks im exaggerating it so sometimes i question if im blowing things out of proportion.

anyway, thats terrible that you crashed your car. thats such a huge fear of mine and i cant imagine going through that, im so sorry. its so unfortunate that you have to miss out on things, but im glad you figured out what works for you to keep you in better shape. im gonna try and be mindful about the things you mentioned and see if they make a difference for me, thank you

i dont have much of a support system, most of my friends stopped talking to me after college and i find it hard to meet new people where i live. its significantly harder to cope with shit like this when youre on your own. im sure you get it. and i totally understand what you mean by losing your sense of self. it feels like everything is foggy, all the time but even worse on days i have seizures. it almost makes me mad cause its not fair that after everything else that comes with it, i have to have a diluted watered down personality too.

again thank you for this. ill definitely reach out if the urge arises and you definitely can too. im always open to talk, about anything

[tickle-bugs]

Can we get directors commentary on not a house but a home and strange exhilaration please? They stories are so cute and so well written I’d love to hear your thoughts on them

Yes omg!! Sorry this took a bit to answer, I got sidetracked. Thank you for asking!!! Putting these under a cut so i can go ham LOL

Ask for more director's commentary here!

Not a House, But a Home

AHHHH ok ok this was SO fun to write because it's pre-musical Maitlands!! As someone with a deep love for technical theatre, it was fun trying to imagine what the house would be like before the events of the musical. Scenic design is a fun hobby of mine and I love what a set will say about the characters that interact with it!!

Okay so usually when I'm first encountering a prompt/idea, I get clear image of like...the center of the fic? or at least one very specific scene that I can sort of stretch like taffy and build on. The one for this fic was Barbara with the wallpaper! The very first decision I made was that they'd be fixing up the house a bit. It felt in character to me for the Maitlands to literally fix every goddamn thing they could think of instead of like...confronting their mortality LMAO so I wanted to go to a period of their life that felt new and fresh! Also I really love the pastel green wallpaper that they use on the set for the show and I thought it would be sweet if Barbara was the one to put that up. Something something she wears green the house is green something something good luck charm

Then of course the JOKES!! I'm a dad joke connoisseur myself, so it was really fun getting to pick ones for Adam to use. All the jokes in the fic are ones I've used myself, but I looked them up online for specific phrasing. It was really fun getting to play with Adam's delivery actually! To me, Adam has absolutely zero doubt that he's hilarious and will just keep on truckin' until he makes someone laugh. He's so fun to write! He's mischievous and loving and so very white, bless his heart.

I think the core of their relationship is 100% that Barbara and Adam are each other's best friends, y'know? They feel like high school or college sweethearts, or the result of a meet-cute--something sweet and forever-binding. They can't leave Target without buying a million useless things and they take turns either pretending the baby section isn't there or going in and cooing over the little onesies. They slow dance in the kitchen with no music. They have loud, dramatic sing-alongs in the minivan. I think part of that comes from being married/together, but a lot of it is just loving each other's quirks and company.

Also I wrote this in the tags of the og post but I kept making myself laugh writing it by imagining Beetlejuice like...in their walls commenting on the events and such. He's such a wretched little creature I love him dearly. During Ready Set, Not Yet when you see it live, he's bopping around and scatting with 3-D glasses and popcorn literally waiting for them to die it's so fucking funny

Strange Exhilaration

baby's first wicked fic! Wicked will always have a special place in my heart tbh and it was fun bringing back those memories.

This fic was a gift that I whipped up in a couple days, so I didn't sit with it as long as I do some of my other prompts. It was actually nice to do that. It forced me not to overthink what I was doing.

Writing Glinda was a challenge but a welcome one? She speaks in such a specific way but because the show's been running so long, it's basically a new role each time a new actress steps in. I've only ever seen it live once and that was four or five years ago? So it wasn't super fresh in my mind. It was fun trying to reconcile what I remember with what I needed from Glinda. Her vocabulary is everything to me. I stole 'seriosity' (which is a real word but hasn't been used in ages) from Newsies because I had literally just seen it, but the rest were sorta off the cuff!!

okay so first: girlies. jot that down. I love Glinda and Elphaba's friendship and all the tropes that they encompass both together and apart. Whether or not you actually ship it, I do think it's important to write them as if they're a little in love with each other...because they are! I approach the center of their dynamic like this (and I write a lot of deep friendships this way) and it really makes their intimate moments shine ;w;

Elphaba having ticklish hands and Glinda being a teasy sunshine ler were both happy accidents but so fun to write. RIP Elphaba, me too buddy. Hands are mean. But I think it speaks back to their friendship in a sweet way? Elphaba being startled and embarassed by her own softness and Glinda being genuinely 100% delighted by it is so wholesome and true to them, I think. Then of course the reverse of Elphaba allowing herself to be playful and mischievous and Glinda clearly having the time of her life. Ahhhh I love them!!!!

I was fighting for my LIFE not to use 'wicked' or 'bubbly' as adjectives in case it was corny...I think I only did it once or twice each though. I'm so brave.

[crazy-hand-official]

on hole

ok so this posts been a long time a comin’ but i finally feel like im drunk enough to talk about (and never shut the fuck up about) one of my favorite bands... Hole

hole’s music has meant a lot to me since i picked up Live Through This at some boring ass used cd store that also happened to sell erotic fantasy novels about good fathers. but anyway. holes music is for women with bad fathers. women who are kind of fucked up and angry about it, too. women who have trauma and scars and are kinda gross. women who were wronged but somehow by the grace of god empowered in the face of their horrible experiences. 

or at least it feels like that, dont it?

that was the main appeal of hole to me, anyway. i fell in love with this album around the second or third listen through. i was like, damn, shes pissed. it was so refreshing to hear a woman just screaming out her frustrations. how cathartic must it have been to be able to not only get it out, but also be taken somewhat seriously? of course hole never got the recognition they deserved. im of the unpopular opinion that they were waayyyy better than nirvana. without sounding kinda sappy... you know what fuck it im not apologizing to any of u. hole totally made me embrace womanhood. it influenced my own, much beloved way to just exist. 

but also i guess i just really love tunes. 

ps im not here for the courtney killed kurt debate lmfao!!

ok so heres the part where i write my onions about their four studio albums 

Pretty On the Inside

their first album and admittedly, my least favorite (that doesnt say much because i still really enjoy it). its sound is much more abrasive. love employs her most guttural screams in this one, but ill get to that. to its credit, its the most experimental but many interpret it as amateur guitar screeches and song bits just hashed together. and maybe theyre right! but what band doesnt have that not-quite-there-yet first album? its an unrefined, beautiful mess. A song title or two is spelled wrong. Garbadge man is one that comes to mind. and for some reason, its just... fitting. its an artistic mistake left in and its so dumb but thats the fun in it! thats the punk in it! they dont give a fuck so why should you? this album is a messy bitch. 

track im gonna nut about: mrs. jones

this song is apparently about a back alley abortion, and its just as brutal. love is screaming, just guttural sounds and expletives and nauseating lyrics. when i first heard it, i was absolutely entranced in the atrocity of it all. shes sweating, panting. i will follow you down the sick drain

other favorite tracks: teenage whore, good sister bad sister, pretty on the inside

Live Through This

their most popular album also happens to be my favorite! the start of it all...

i havent shut up about this album since day one because i just like it so much! she refines her skills and just comes out with a successful album that ties an array of horrible themes and wraps them up in a pretty pink bow. its soft aesthetic covers the dark, sickening themes that make the album. rape, anorexia, self harm, self hatred, violence, abuse... the list goes on. someone i one knew asked me why women with bipolar disorder and bpd love hole so much and i had to bite my tongue but to be brutally honest we probably like it because love had the nuts to scream about taboo themes that are so hurtfully common in our lives. just like how the depressed rally behind the smiths. oh that and the musics awesome. but anyway, the cover is a beauty queen the moment shes crowned. its supposed to represent someone who has fought, clawed, and fucked her way to the top. but look! shes the queen! shes the beauty queen! everyone will finally love her and treat her with respect! and all she had to do was sell her soul. all she had to do was get abused over and over to the point of breakdown. but she made it, didnt she? i mean, look how pretty the crown is!

favorite track im not gonna shut up about: i think i would die

im gonna be super lazy and just copy and paste what i wrote up one time when i talked about this song before:

wait nevermind i cant search for my post through my tag because tumblr is broken. something about breastmilk? ill update once i find it lmao. 

other favorite tracks: violet, softer softest, miss world

Celebrity Skin 

i dont have as many onions on this one. supposedly, love didnt want this album to become ‘the widow album’, but theres a song or two about kurt’s death snuck in there. this albums loud, but not nearly as angry as the first two. in fact, when shes not singing catchy pop tunes about how jaded she is, shes being sincere and heartfelt. all in all, its a fantastic album and my second favorite that hole has to offer. 

favorite track of the album: heaven tonight

ive heard two stories about what this songs supposedly about. on one hand, people say its about two lovers. the girl wants to lose her virginity to the guy, so she drives (recklessly) to his house and dies in an accident. she’ll never grow old, she’ll go to heaven tonight. on the other hand, i heard that love just wanted a fun song to sing to her daughter, frances bean. either way, it makes me want to dance. so idk if its about teenagers fucking or about a little girl who just needed a song, but its cool.

other favorite tracks: awful, celebrity skin, reasons to be beautiful

Nobody’s Daughter

years later, hole released their final album. when i first heard it, i was disappointed. the first track was great, but then.... i noticed her voice had deteriorated significantly due to her smoking and other vocal abuse. and i thought, damn, i really wish she released this when she was younger. she sounds normal when she screams, but i guess to compensate when singing softer parts, she does this kind of weird weird thing when enunciating that... ok i cant pinpoint or describe what exactly it is but it kinda sucks. ‘honey’ is the only hole song that i dont like very much, and its the best song to use as an example when trying to explain how her voice got all fucked. now, we cant all be bowie (whose singing voice only got better after years of smoking). but still. 

anyways, i listened to the album again, and i mean really listened to it. and actually! the smoker voice is the beauty of it! its a woman who is past jaded and past giving fucks about anyone or anything. its songs from a woman of experience. and she still sounds badass! her voice is so rough, she sounds like she could still fuck anyone up. its exciting. 

favorite track to get all sappy about: letter to god

i really found an appreciation for this song. this is a song about someone who cant be saved. and isnt that fucked up? youre so bad, so hated by all of those around you, but no one can hate you as much as yourself. and you try everything to pick yourself up but just nothing works. and everyone has their two cents in what they think will help you. but youve tried every med in the book and youve tried this and that and the other thing, and you come to the conclusion that you just cant be saved. youre drowning. so what do you do? you turn to god, a supernatural all-mighty being. but shit, i hope he can help you. because if he doesnt, fucking nothing ever will. so go write him that letter.

  i never wanted to be the person you see

other favorite tracks: nobodys daughter, skinny little bitch

and thats what i have to say about that!

[scarlett-vixen]

hmm you’ve fallen down a beel shaped hole you say? 👀 well i’m always having thoughts about beely boi so i have a little suggestion for u.

so we all know beel is the protector of the family, but it’s my personal hc that he likes to feel small and cute sometimes, so i’m imagining mc being the big spoon to beel while they call him all these sweet nicknames because he’s BABY goddamn it and he deserves to be GENTLY HELD and CHERISHED!! if you could write some hcs or a one shot about this (whichever you prefer lol) i would be forever in your debt :’3 i love your writing btw!!

Anon come here, I’m smooching you and giving you head pats this is so cute and he IS baby you’re right!!!

Beel being little spoon

• The first time it happened was a total accident. Beelzebub had asked you to stay with him again but somewhere in the night he had rolled over away from you. An unusual thing since he normally held you like his own personal stuffed animal.

• While still asleep you could feel the lack of warmth behind you and rolled over in search of it. Very soon your arm was draped over Beel and your smaller form was pressed against his back.

• Beel woke up in a slight panic because you weren’t in his arms but soon mellowed out when he felt your hand on his chest. Still half asleep it took him a minute to realize you were spooning him for once, but when he did he absolutely melted.

• Beel loves to be the little spoon now because he loves having your arms wrapped around him, you feel like a little backpack almost. It doesn’t matter what size you are Beel is still going to think you’re his “little human” and finds it absolutely adorable when you end up as the big spoon in your sleep.

• Ask him if you can be big spoon?? His face is so red. His brothers automatically expect him to be the big tough guy but forget that he’s just a little guy. A gentle giant. He wants to be babied like his brothers. I fully believe that even if he doesn’t show it Beel would be a little jealous of Belphie being babied all the time so if you ask to hold him and play with his hair while you sleep/nap?? He’s so smitten.

• If Beel comes to you for comfort after a bad nightmare or something it’s an unspoken rule that he is little spoon that night. Same goes for if you’re staying with him and he has a bad dream while holding you, you have to roll over and hold him while you whisper sweet words to help him fall back asleep.

• Beel also likes to lay in your lap a lot!!! His favorite way is if you’re slightly sitting up on the bed so he can lay his body between your legs and rest his head on your stomach <3 he’ll usually slide his arms underneath you so he’s still holding you in a way but in this position you can play with his hair while you do other things and he can leave little kisses on your tummy

• If you pull a reverse uno on him with this he glitches. He loves it because your kisses are so soft on his tummy :) but why are you so far away he wants to kiss you and love you :( so he’ll try his best to let you be but poor baby can’t take it and pulls you up closer to him and flips you over on your back so your head is on his chest and he can lean down and smooch you!

• In conclusion: Beelzebub is big boi and he protecc but he is also baby and most be treated like one occasionally!!

[unbridgeabledistances]

I love your last fic so much it got me thinking could you write something about like the gallaghers( +Kev and v and sandy etc) observing Ian and Mickey’s relationship? Like their perspectives of seeing them be soft with each other and just their dynamic? I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense lol <3

hiiiii anon!<3 okay i want to start off by saying that this got WAY too long, bc i loved this prompt a lot- so much that i think i might make this a multi-part thing on ao3! i started with sandy (since i am in love with her) but i’ll also go through the gallaghers/kev & v soon- lmk if u guys want me to continue, and who u would want me to write next if i do (or if u want me to continue with sandy lol i have lots of thoughts and feelings)

this ended up taking place in s10 when we first meet sandy, fyi:) also tw for brief mentions of abuse (as always, bc of terry 🙄) -- and there is a reference to the line in 10x07 that jokes about mickey and sandy for a brief moment

--

When Sandy heard her phone buzz on that Tuesday afternoon, sitting on the stained and lumpy couch in her shithead uncle’s living room while drinking a beer and arguing with Alek about what type of insurance fraud could make the biggest payout, she had no idea what to expect on the other end of the line. The phone kept ringing, the contact info lighting up the screen: MICKEY.

Mickey? Shit. It had been a long fucking time. Between her own various juvie stints as a kid and Mickey’s time behind bars overlapping just as she got released, Sandy hadn’t seen Mickey since… high school, maybe? Whenever it was, it was back when Mickey was a grimy kid with spikey hair and dirty fingernails, a kid with an obsession with guns and way too much time on his hands, back when they would hang out by the train tracks and drink beer and get way too high and do stupid shit; all in all, back when everything was a hell of a lot simpler. Sandy assumed Mickey had met Royal and been clued in about her shitshow of a life at some point while she’d been gone, and they’d possibly overlapped at a family party or two a few years ago when they both were in town— but other than hearing about the aftershocks of Mickey coming out and driving Terry up a goddamn wall, so much so that Terry broke his parole and was headed straight back to prison hours after his release, Sandy hadn’t seen Mickey in forever.

Which is why this call intrigued her so much— Mickey was supposed to be in prison for at least a couple more years, or at least that’s what his brothers had said, so why the fuck was he using a cell phone right now?

Sandy nodded her head towards the cellphone, cutting Alek off mid-sentence and sliding her thumb across the screen to pick up the call. Before saying anything, she rose off the creaky springs of the couch and speedwalked out to the front porch before answering— whatever the fuck Mickey wanted, she assumed he was calling her because this conversation wasn’t for the ears of any other Milkoviches. She lit a cigarette and leaned against the post of the front stoop, listening to the silence hanging heavy on her phone’s speaker.

“Mickey? You there?”

A low chuckle came from the other end of the line.

“Fuck. Been a long time.” Mickey’s voice sounded the same; punchy and snarky, maybe a little gruffer and raspier after years of cigarette smoke. Sandy waited a moment for Mickey to give more of a reply, or an explanation for his call, but it was clear that Mickey wasn’t going to give one right away— it was like he was testing the waters, like he was deciding if making this call was the right move. Soft static echoed on the phone line.

Sandy totally got it— reemerging from a life of cinderblock cell walls and barbed wire fences fucking sucked, especially when you were a Milkovich and the moment you got out you were faced with a choice, an opportunity: did you want to go back home, or did you want to start fresh, erase your own name, and forget this dysfunctional family ever existed? Sandy knew she felt the same way when she got out. Mickey deciding to call Sandy was a big fucking move, and she realized that— reclaiming your life as a Milkovich on the brink of a new beginning took guts.

“So, I take it you’re out of prison?” Sandy asked after a moment, inhaling another slow puff of her cigarette.

There was that laugh again— Sandy had weirdly missed it. Honestly, Mickey hadn’t ever been too bad to be around— they’d both felt like outsiders in the family, had both always had a strong head on their shoulders and a fucking moral compass, unlike the rest of Terry’s sheep who did his bidding and got swastikas tattooed on their chest. When he was younger Mickey used to follow Terry and his older brothers around like a lost puppy, and he even got those fucking knuckle tats—but later in high school, Sandy remembered seeing something deep snap inside him, bleeding out in “STAY THE FUCK OUT” and “FUCK LOVE” signs taped onto his bedroom walls. At the time she thought it was the fucked-up shit with Terry and Mandy driving him up a wall— but now she realized the constant bombardment of homophobia, coupled with the cuts and bruises blooming on his cheeks and the cigarette burn scars on his arms, must have been signs of Mickey realizing the rude awakening that was inevitably going to come if he wanted to be who he was. Sandy couldn’t even imagine— no one really gave a shit who she fucked, and her cousins didn’t know anything about her sex life—but she couldn’t fathom being Terry’s son, the pride and joy of the Milkovich clan, and needing to outwardly admit those deeper parts of herself.

“Yup, I’m free to join civilization as of this morning. Overcrowding or some shit.” Sandy could hear Mickey also taking a drag of a cigarette on the other end of the line. She smirked to herself. Guess we both didn’t break the Milkovich nicotine addiction.

“So, uh, listen,” Mickey continued, and Sandy immediately knew he was in deep shit if she was the one he was calling to ask for a favor. “I’m in a bit of a… situation. Don’t wanna go into too many specifics, but there might be a massive fucking Mexican cartel after me right now.”

Sandy barked out a laugh before she could help herself. Fucking Mickey. “Oh yeah? Sounds like you’re feeling thrilled to be a free man again.”

Mickey chuckled again. “Fuck you. But hey, d’you think you can bring my shit by to me, so I don’t have to stop by the house and get fucking killed? You don’t gotta rush or whatever, just didn’t wanna show my face quite yet.”

Sandy could feel all the unsaid things wrapped in the way Mickey’s sentence ended. Didn’t want to show his face quite yet because of this cartel bullshit, or because of Terry? She decided it didn’t really matter— Mickey was a good guy, she could spend an hour or so rounding up his shit and bringing it to him if that’s what he needed.

“Got it.” She blew out more smoke, watching it curl and drift over the wasteland of the front yard on a gust of summer air.

Mickey cleared his throat, like he was gearing up to say more. When he spoke, his voice was softer around the edges, more genuine than before.

“I’m, uh. I’m sure you heard everything about me while I was gone. About Terry flipping his shit. Probably not the best idea for me to come around the house quite yet—my brothers n’ I haven’t really talked much since then either.” He paused, inhaling another drag of his cigarette. “I figured you’d get it. And hey, if you can bring the stuff by, I’d love to hear all the badass shit you’ve been up to the past few years.”

Sandy nearly winced—yeah, if by “badass shit” you mean getting forcibly married to a douchebag and then couch surfing for months— but she tried to keep her shit together for Mickey’s sake. She stubbed out her cigarette on the railing of the porch, straightening from where she was leaning.

“I’ve got it Mickey, don’t worry about it. Where are you right now, anyways?”

She could hear the hint of relief bleeding into Mickey’s voice when he replied. “I’m at the Gallagher house? The grey one by the tracks.”

Sandy rolled her eyes. “I was in jail for a couple of years Mickey, not braindead. I know where the Gallagher house is.”

Mickey huffed out a breath, but there wasn’t any sharpness in it. “Excuse me for tryin’ to be helpful, smartass.”

“Why the fuck are you there, anyways?”

“I’m, uh, crashing with my partner for now. Ian?”

Holy shit, Mickey was still fucking Ian Gallagher? Sandy had pieced together that Ian was the reason Mickey came out months after getting married to some Russian bitch, and according to Iggy the whole reason Mickey went to jail in the first place was some love-crazed revenge plot on Ian’s behalf— but since getting locked up Mickey hadn’t kept in touch with anyone, other than a shady-as-fuck message to his brothers after he’d busted out of prison letting everyone know that he was in Mexico, despite getting thrown back into jail in Chicago a couple months later. Sandy didn’t really know the details, and she especially didn’t know anything about Mickey’s love life— but it was wild as fuck that someone as unsettled and ruthless and batshit crazy as Mickey could’ve been with the same person all this time, especially someone as seemingly bland as Ian Gallagher. Huh. Wonder if I’ll get to see Ian.

“Got it. I’ll round up your shit and bring it by the Gallagher house later today. And don’t worry, I won’t let anyone know you called til you’re ready.”

Mickey exhaled on the other end of the line. “There shouldn’t be much, just check the drawers or whatever. “

Sandy knew for a fact that most of Mickey’s lingering possessions had probably been taken, sold, or thrown out by a zealously homophobic Terry by now, but she wasn’t going to say as much to Mickey over the phone.

“I’m on it. See you in a couple hours.”

“Hey, Sandy?” Mickey blew out a long breath, and this time Sandy couldn’t tell if it was because he was still smoking or because he was riding a wave of relief, releasing the floodgates of anxiousness he’d been holding in the whole conversation. “Thanks. I fuckin’ owe you one.”

Sandy smirked. Maybe Mickey being let out of jail early was a good thing, despite how fucked his whole situation seemed— maybe, for once, someone in her family would be fun to be around, wouldn’t set her teeth on edge every two seconds by making a racist comment or forcing her to be something she wasn’t.

“I’ll text you when I’m almost at your love nest.”

She imagined Mickey’s grin as he replied. “Fuck you. See ya soon.”

**

After scraping through every rickety dresser drawer in Terry’s house for nearly an hour, Sandy could barely come up with anything that was reportedly Mickey’s: a couple of tattered shirts, an impressively overused-looking bong, and a single sneaker she’d left behind because she couldn’t find the other one. She threw it all in some shitty burlap rucksack she’d found on one of the bedroom floors, assuming no one would miss it— it dawned on her that maybe her cousins were lying, and some of the other stuff in the house was still Mickey’s, but she’d collected what she could based on the whispered directions Alek and Iggy had given her when Terry was out of the room.

Sandy unlocked her phone, and typed a quick message to Mickey. “Out front.”

Mickey’s reply came quickly, and Sandy noticed the front curtains rustling on the top floor of the Gallagher house.

“Coming down”

The front door creaked open, and Mickey walked out onto the front porch. He looked good; he looked cleaner, sure, but also like a fucking adult—like he’d grown into himself, like he actually carried himself with confidence instead of just pretending to. He nodded his chin up at Sandy in acknowledgement.

“Long time no see.” He smirked, leaning on the banister. “You make a good delivery service. All those hauls we did with Terry must’ve been good training.”

Sandy lazily walked up the front steps, reaching the bag out in front of her for Mickey to take. “Here’s all the shit I could find. It’s not much.”

Mickey jerked his head to the open door behind him. “You wanna come in for a sec?”

Sandy grinned. Why the fuck not. “Sure."

So that was how she found herself perched on what was presumably Ian Gallagher’s bed, watching Mickey ruffle through the burlap bag, his brows furrowed as he realized just how much of his shit was actually gone.

“This everything?”

“As much as I could find.”

They comfortably chatted back and forth about how everyone was— Sandy decided to divulge the fact that Mickey’s brothers were idiots who tried to crawl in bed with her every night, which is something that she had to joke about so she didn’t go fucking insane sleeping under the same roof as them.

“Fuck ‘em, chop their nuts off next time they try it.”

Sandy smirked. Finally, a decent fucking relative. She made some hollow joke about staying with Mickey, alluding to the extra-shitty night decades ago when their cousins had forced them to make out when they were way too high on something.

“Or I could stay here with you. Have fun like we did when we were kids.”

“You know that’s fucked up, right? We’re fucking cousins!”

“Plus he’s taken.” A voice came from around the corner.

Ian Gallagher looked bigger, taller, and more solid than Sandy remembered; he was definitely miles away from the scrawny kid with the bangs who worked at the Kash N Grab that Sandy and her cousins endlessly used to fuck with in middle school. Ian’s shoulders were wide, his body imposing in the tiny room; immediately, Mickey’s aggravated stance softened when Ian walked in, wrapped in a towel from the waist down.

“Oh right, you.” Sandy grinned as Ian hunched over the bed and grabbed his deodorant from the nightstand.

Mickey had turned back to the bag of clothes. “Hey, I had shampoo and shit, is there soap anywhere?”

Sandy rolled her eyes. “You’ve been gone for years, you think your brothers would save that shit for you?” she bit out— and okay, maybe she was a little pissed at Mickey’s brothers for the constant-sexual-assault thing.

Ian just applied his deodorant and leaned in close to Mickey as he passed by the bed towards the doorframe. “You can use mine. We’ll hit Costco later, I’m getting paid.”

It was stupid, but Sandy felt something soft pang in her chest at Ian’s words; it was just now that she was realizing it, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen someone take care of Mickey before, or so… automatically factor Mickey’s needs into a situation. Being a Milkovich was all about scrounging and scraping, and guarding what little you had; a Milkovich would never let someone use their fucking soap just because they cared about them, or not as an immediate reaction anyways.

“Nah, I can’t, man. PO texted me when you were in the shower, he’s got a job for me.”

Ian kept looking at Mickey from where he was leaning in the doorway. “Then give me a list of shit you need, and I’ll pick it up for you,” Ian said in an overly simple tone, like he was mocking the fact that Mickey didn’t realize Ian would run an errand for him.

Sandy smirked. Jesus, Gallagher is whipped.

“Isn’t that cute, little domestic bitches,” Sandy crooned before she could help herself.

Ian stepped into the room again and leaned in towards Mickey, pressing a kiss to Mickey’s cheek while Mickey aggressively tried to uncrumple one of the pile of shirts from the bag.

“Mm, thank you,” Ian said in reply, his voice muffling as he smushed his face closer to Mickey’s.

Mickey instantly smiled smugly as Ian’s lips pressed against his cheek—then he noticed Sandy was staring, so he flipped her off and smiled even wider. What the fuck? Sure, Mickey had flipped Sandy off, but he was practically fucking beaming in a way that Sandy had never seen. God, wonder if I’ll find this shit someday.

Ian detached himself from Mickey and walked out of the room, Mickey’s eyes lingering on his torso. Once Ian had turned the corner Mickey snapped back to attention, fixing his eyes back onto the small mountain of clothes spread on the bed in front of him. Mickey lifted the bong off the bedsheets, and met Sandy’s gaze. 

“You have to go, or d’you wanna hang for a bit? I don’t have to be at work for a couple hours, and it’s gonna suck enough that I should probably be high before I get there.”

Sandy grinned. “Hell yeah, I’m down.”

**

They sat on the rickety back steps of the Gallagher house, silently taking hits and passing the bong back and forth. It had been years since they’d been in the same space, but Sandy and Mickey easily sank into a comfortable silence, passively surrounded by the shrieks of kids playing across the alleyway and the bubbling of water as they inhaled. Mickey blew smoke out of his nose, then sat back so he was leaning against the banister and passed the glass pipe to Sandy.

“So,” Sandy started as she held the lighter to the bong and inhaled deeply. “Ian Gallagher.”

Mickey huffed out a laugh. “Yup. That’s some Romeo and Juliet shit for ya.”

Sandy smirked as she exhaled. “You really fucking love him, huh?”

Mickey eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly as he looked towards her. “Yeah. Guess I do.” He took the bong from Sandy’s outstretched hand. “Took me forever to get shit straight with him, though.”

Ah. So their road to domestic bliss wasn’t as straightforward as it seemed. Sandy’s curiosity was growing.

“Because of shit with Terry?”

Mickey stiffened, coughing a bit as he exhaled smoke, like Sandy’s question caught him off guard. “Shit. Yeah. That too. Let’s just say there were lots of fucking ups and downs, and we both had a lot of shit to unpack.”

Sandy snickered. “You sound like a fucking couples therapist.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “If you wanna see couples therapy, I should tell you about the months me and Ian were sharing a fucking cell. We nearly ripped each other’s heads off. We literally stabbed someone so one of us might get sent to fucking solitary.”

Sandy’s laughter grew. “Are you fucking serious?”

Mickey grinned, and passed the bong back to Sandy again. “Fuck. Yeah. I fucking love him, though. He’s fucking crazy, and I still can’t let him go.” Mickey looked off into the distance across the alleyway, and either the weed was really hitting him right now, or he was being a very sappy motherfucker.

Sandy nudged Mickey’s knee. “You guys are cute together.” Mickey’s eyebrows raised when he heard the word “cute,” and Sandy quickly tried to rephrase. “Not cute, but y’know. Good for each other. You seem happy. Happy is... good.”

Mickey nodded pensively. “How’re you doing, anyways?”

Sandy shrugged noncommittally. “Eh. We can talk about me another time. How the fuck did you and Ian end up sharing a jail cell, anyways?”

Mickey let out a throaty laugh. “I heard Gallagher was getting locked up when I was down south, so I essentially pulled some strings and fucking snitched on the cartel I was working for. Hauled my ass back up here so we could be together.”

Holy fuck. Sandy’s jaw nearly dropped. “Mickey, you’re batshit crazy.” She shoved him squarely in the chest this time. “Are you fucking serious?! You evaded the feds, were living in Mexico, and you came back for Ian Gallagher?”

Mickey rolled his eyes again, placing the bong on the steps. “I can’t explain it, man. I just didn’t wanna be anywhere else, I guess.”

Sandy leaned back onto the banister. “Shit.” She paused for a moment, wondering if she should ask the next question. “Do you… want me to tell anyone you’re back?”

Mickey glanced over at her, his eyes alert. “Nah. Not yet. That okay with you?”

Sandy nodded. “Of course.” Mickey pulled out his phone, checking the time and presumably looking for a distraction from tiptoeing around talking about Terry— but Sandy had to tell him, had to let him know one more thing.

“Hey, Mickey?”

Mickey looked up. “Yeah?”

“I don’t really know the details of what went down with Terry, or whatever— but I just wanted to let you know that… if you ever wanna come home, I’m on your side. No questions asked. And I think a lot of the others are, too.”

The corner of Mickey’s mouth ticked upward. “Thanks.”

Sandy stood, checking her phone and zipping her leather jacket. “Well, I’d probably let you sober up a bit before your big parolee first day of work.”

Mickey raised a middle finger up to her from where he was seated, but then rose to stand.

“Thanks for comin’ by. And hey—you’re free to crash here anytime. There’s a million fucking kids running around all the time, but there’s always a couch or something open if everyone at home’s giving you too much shit.”

Sandy felt something warm growing in her chest. It had been a long fucking time since someone offered to take care of her, just because they could, just because they wanted to— maybe being a Milkovich wasn’t half bad. Maybe there were some good ones.

Sandy nodded in acknowledgement, and turned to walk down the creaky back steps. Wow. If Sandy was sure of one thing right now, it was that Mickey really, really fucking loved Ian Gallagher.

[krreader]

untraditional.

pairing: gryffindor!kim namjoon x slytherin!reader fandom: bts ; harry potter warnings: non idol!au ; hogwarts!au ; mentions of sex  genre: crack ; fluff ; smut word count: 2.1k+

summary: after the battle of hogwarts, the school decided to bring the rivalry houses closer together. every year, you would get a partner from your rival house and this year, you really hit the jackpot.

a/n: hiiii @namucries​, idk how this idea formed, I literally just started writing and I am so happy with it. like I actually really love the plot? lol. anyways, I hope you enjoy it bb!!!

After the battle of Hogwarts, the school decided that they needed to make some changes. Not just in regards to fortification and the likes, but to how they ran the school.

This ever growing rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor couldn’t continue any longer. If it hadn’t been like this from the beginning, then maybe this whole Draco and Harry situation could have been avoided and then maybe things would have been different. 

And so the professors had decided that each year, you’d be assigned a partner from a “rivalry” house. That was true for Slytherin and Gryffindor, but not so much for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. They didn’t mind this nearly as much as you and your peers.

It was a huge deal every year. Who would be your rival partner that you were stuck with for the rest of the year? Would you be lucky and at least score some eye candy or would you be stuck with a wizard or witch that could barely hold their wand up straight? It was a surprise every year.

“I can’t believe this,” your best friend shook her head as she walked out of McGonagall’s office, “This is the fourth year in a row they’ve assigned another girl to me. I thought that now that I’m finally old enough..-“

You let out a snort, “You do know that there’s plenty of fish to catch in our own house, right?”

“Yeah, but where’s the thrill in that?” she let out a sigh and leaned against the wall, nudging her head to the door, “Fingers crossed you’re luckier than me.”

You didn’t care much about your partners. You’ve managed to avoid all previous ones on most occasions with lame excuses such as: “I’m sorry, I feel really bad today” or, “I’m so busy today, let’s study together some other time.” Most of them cared as little for you as you did for them, so it never caused an issue. Except for last year, when the guy that you were assigned to developed a crush on you and found out that you were spending your time with other Slytherin boys, rather than with him. He told on you, told the professors how you had been doing this for years - basically going against the rules - and so this year, you fully expected them to get back at you for that and assign you a partner that you’d suffer with for a year.

But the moment you entered the headmaster’s office and your eyes fell on the guy that was - apparently - your partner, you stopped walking.

“Hello there,” after a moment of staring, your confidence came back and you now smirked, “Did I just hit the jackpot?”

The guy furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the headmaster with raised eyebrows, “That’s her?!”

McGonagall let out a disapproving sigh and shook her head a little, looking at you over the rim over glasses, “Ms. (Y/L/N), do everyone in the room a favour and have a seat.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” you sat down right next to the guy and licked your lips, crossing one leg over the other while continuing to grin at him.

“This is Namjoon. Your designated partner for this year. And..-“ just as you wanted to say something, McGonagall quickly continued, “This is your punishment for this year. Namjoon has been assigned Gryffindor’s headboy and you will help him with anything that he needs and wants.”

This obviously meant errands and helping Gryffindor become a stronger house. That’s what everyone else would have heard in that sentence. But you took away only two things.

“Sure, anything he needs. I’m down for that punishment,” and when McGonagall got up with an annoyed huff, you whispered, “Quite literally.”

At this point, you would have assumed the guy to blush and become intimidated, but Namjoon just smiled at you, despite it not holding any humor to it: “Does that usually work on others of my gender?”

“Don’t worry, some men need a few hours to warm up to me. I’m sure you and I will get along well,” you got up and bounced on your heels, “Thanks for this, headmaster.”

“It’s not a..- just get out,” she had enough of you.

“So.. where are we going first?” this was day one of you being Namjoon’s partner. Unfortunately, it didn’t start with a tumble in his bed, but the day was still young, “How about we go for a butter beer and get to know each other better?”

“I have friends for that,” Namjoon retorted making you stop in your tracks for a moment, but then catch up to him with a laugh.

“Oh, this is going to be so good. I love it when men aren’t shy. Makes them so much more attractive, you know?”

Namjoon let out a snort and shook his head, “Not sure you’ll think of me that way after today.”

Suddenly you came to a stop at a willow. Normally, that’d be a nice sight. Nature, grass, the sun.. But it was not like the paintings hanging in the castle that you often admired, it wasn’t a willow full of magical creatures that you could be amazed by.

It was..-

“COWS?!”

“Yep,” Namjoon grinned and pushed a bucket into your hands, “Someone needs to clean the willow, since Hagrid is away for the month. Nobody was willing to do so and since you and I got paired up, I figured I have the perfect candidate for the job.”

“What, someone to clean?!”

“Someone who is used to shit. After all, that’s all that comes out of your mouth, isn’t it?” Namjoon wiggled his eyebrows at you and put his hands in the pockets of his pants, “I’ll be over there reading up for my next class if you need me.”

“Wh..- You’re not even helping me?“ but you had no option, because he was walking away and the cows were already approaching you, curious about who this new person was that had entered their willow, “Hey, stop that,” you tried to scurry away from them when they started nibbling on your shirt.

This was so not what you had hoped today to look like. Cleaning cow shit.. was Hagrid seriously the only taking care of this? Poor guy..

Still, all the while you were cleaning, you kept muttering curse words directed at Namjoon, even if he couldn’t hear them. They made you feel better. 

How dare he be so rude with you? You didn’t just talk shit, you were a great girl. Smart and well-read and.. stupid.

You straightened your back and furrowed your eyebrows, “What the hell am I doing?” you whispered to yourself.

I’m a freaking member of goddamn Slytherin. Slytherin’s don’t just clean like that, they’re too smart for that. Use your magic, you moron!

Whatever Namjoon wanted you to do, you’d bend the rules to your will as much as you wanted. What was important was that it was clean, right?

So you pulled out your wand and cast the spell that you figured would help you out most here. And indeed, after casting it for a few times, the willow looked as good as new. And with a final spell for a nice smell, you walked back to Namjoon with a smirk on your face. As in: HA, didn’t expect that one, huh?

“I’m impressed,” he smiled up at you from the ground, then got up and brushed over his pants, before saying in all honesty: “I knew there was talent slumbering somewhere within you. You shouldn’t hide it under that ‘cool kid’ facade, you know?”

“What?” you snorted, “I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do. It’s painfully obvious,” he shrugged, “It’s fine, you do you and all. I just think it’s a shame that you try to hide how smart you are in fear of it ruining your reputation. Because see, McGonagall didn’t just choose me as your partner because she knew I had enough errands I’d need help on, but because she knows there’s more to you than what you want everyone to believe. She thought I might be able to help you with that.”

And for the first time in forever, you had no words to that. No witty comeback and no flirty remark that you could say to that. He had seen through you on your first day of you two being together. That hasn’t happened before… ever.

“Anyways, we should go to class,” and to make you even more speechless, Namjoon took off his robe and placed it over your shoulders, since you had forgotten yours - or more likely simply opted not to wear it because you didn’t want to.

You were… so confused.

What were those feelings you were feeling right now?!

You had never cared about your rival partner in the years before, but that changed with you having been assigned to Namjoon. That first day on the willow spent together was the beginning of a, you dared to say, friendship.

He made you understand that being this sarcastic asshole wasn’t nearly as cool as you thought it was. He made you realise that you had a lot more talent than you even knew of yourself. He showed you that, even if you didn’t, he believed in you.

Your friends kept telling you how much you changed, and while some of them laughed about it at first, they all accepted you now. 

The real you that you’ve been trying to hide for so long. The girl that could be kind when need be and was incredibly smart on tests and in classes.. or in general.

But the sarcasm part? The flirty part? Your rival partner couldn’t quite get rid of that..

“Well, don’t you look dazzling,” you grinned as you spotted Namjoon at the Yule Ball. Both of you had come with different partners, but neither of these were anything more than friends.

“Right? The pants look great on me,” he complimented himself with a grin.

“True,” you pretended to think for a moment as you stared at them, then you looked at him from under your eyelashes, “But you’d look even better without them.”

Namjoon couldn’t help but let out a laugh. At this point, he had come to accept that this was just a part of you that he couldn’t change. And well.. maybe he didn’t even want it to.

“We’re here with other people, yet you’re flirting with me. Don’t you think that’s rude?”

“Not at all. And besides, I wanted you to ask me out, but you didn’t,” you pretended to be hurt by pouting your lips, “We could have had so much fun tonight.”

And see, the Namjoon that YOU knew - or at least thought you did-, would have laughed and turned around to walk away. But that man still surprised you every single day. He took a sip from his drink, then placed it on the table next to him and pushed his hands into the pockets of his dashing pants.

“We still could.”

Not the answer you had expected, same as that look that he threw you.

That look.

Before you could reply, he turned around and walked away. But instead of re-joining his date - that had since formed a little group of girlfriends around her, all laughing, thankfully - he left the ballroom.

And well… you couldn’t not follow, right?

He continued walking, even though you were sure that you knew you were only a few steps behind him, through several hallways and up several flights of stairs, until you were finally standing in front of the Gryffindor common room where he had waited for you.

“Hm.. I’m pretty sure I won’t be allowed in there,” you cocked your head to the side, “But whatever it is that you had in mind.. I’m sure it’s innocent enough for us to do right here?”

You licked your lips, then bit down on your lower lip with a grin.

Namjoon was leaning against the railing of the stairs, confidently so. He looked insanely good right there. So good that you wanted to jump on him this very moment. 

But he took the initiative.

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him, smashed his lips against yours and kissed you so deeply that he literally knocked the breath out of your lungs. It was a passionate kiss, tongues and teeth clashing against each other and hands already beginning to wander, despite the… not very private environment.

But this desperation only proved how much sexual attraction had been building between you two. Because as much as Namjoon had tried to hide it the first few months, he liked you as much as you liked him.. sexually at first, and then later, on a more deeper level. 

But that was another story. Right now, this was about what you needed in that moment.

“I want you,” Namjoon whispered against your lips.

“Then take me,” is what you whispered back without having to think twice about it.

And he would have. He would have pinned you against his mattress and would have pounded into you until you were screaming his name. And you would have let him. You would have begged him not to stop, because you were already sure that he was good. 

But goddamn it, the Fat Lady just had to ruin it, huh?

“Uhm, excuse me, young lads.. I tried to let you two enjoy yourselves for as long as I possibly could, but I just heard what you said and there is no way I can let you inside now.”

These stupid rules. What were the professors so scared about? Pregnancies? You were witches and wizards, you weren’t stupid enough not to know how to prevent that from happening.

You were almost certain that Namjoon would just call it a night with a heavy sigh and you’d be left horny for the rest of the night, but instead, he pushed himself off the railing and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, whispering: “Headboy’s have a lot of privileges these days, you know? The Prefects’ bathroom is open 24/7 for us to use. Us alone,” into your ear.

Well, well… there were so many things you did not know about this man and you couldn’t wait to find them all out.

[commander-coppercogg]

Commander’s Log: Cantha, part 4

Alright time for some story stuff! I was kind of doing one of these per story step but I think I got out of sync. Now I’m just ending these where it makes sense to my brain.

We grabbed a raptor taxi to the instance entrance and can I just say that I love the taxis so much! There’s such a fun way to move quickly but unlike waypoints I still get time to enjoy the scenery. And it give me time to like slow down and mentally process and take my time thinking about stuff. Anyway

Ah Gorrick’s special interest! Yes I will happily wait for you to make sure we don’t cause another extinction even- goddamn it Jory get back here!

God they really write him so well him snapping at Jory and then like consciously taking a moment to tone shift. I feel that.

Aw I didn’t have time to find the thing before Jory pointed it out.

Oh Gorrick’s a holosmith! I wouldn’t have guessed since he doesn’t use the sword and beyond that I’m not too familiar with it (despite being an engie main lol) but cool yes king tell me more about hard light

HmMmmmmm this is a trap

Ok I really like Ivan also at first I thought he was talking on comms with someone but it seems he was just talking to himself.

Ok big actually boss fight time!

Oh she is drunk as a skunk

Holy shit she’s a revenant!!! Oh my goooood this is so cool!

SXARLETT FUCKING BRIAR????????!!!!!

Ok ok ok so I honestly don’t have any strong feelings about season 1 or scarlet but oh my gosh that was the coolest boss fight I’ve done in forever! The music the pacing holy shit. And like it felt the way that first instance did. Fun and satisfying and it took a minute to get but then I got it and I didn’t feel frustrated I could just enjoy myself. The challenge level of this expansion has been so stable it’s really nice

Oh so we don’t kill Mai. Im honestly not surprised it’d be a little weird to bring her back just to get rid of her again. But I am bit surprised that this seems to be a recurring theme. For multiple of the events we ran last night, we fought people until they surrendered not died. I dunno that’s just a really interest shift I think

Also I really like that Kas is being the diplomat not just between Dragons Watch and the world but also within Dragons Watch

Lol Ivan thanks for breaking the tension

Hell yeah! Kaineng time!

Or not lol.

Oh my god they are LITerally sending me to the goddamn DMV!!!!! Anet you tops tier comedians how dare you lol

Also I’ve noticed that the Commander (or at least the male asura voice) has sounded unsure/caught off guard a fair bit. Like when Kas called us, Bertie went “oh Um uh sure yeah ok” and it’s very different from the usual tone of “I’ve got this”. I think it just goes to show that the Commander really only kind of knows how to be the Commander and if you take them out of that situation and put them in a different one they kinda don’t know what to do? Yeah

I’ve never had so much fun at the DMV in my LIFE. That was so funny. Listen Bertie absolutely brings a romance novel with him while he waits. I can’t believe they made me do paper work. I’m notoriously bad at paperwork and bureaucracy so This was really funny.

Bertie: wow and I thought Rata Sum had a lot of regulations.

Syrryl: oh you don’t know the half of it

Doing an event to fill up the bar and the woman were escorting has massive butch lesbian vibes truly excellent

Shit I just realized time is passing? Like the holo news is updating stories. Kas had the time to go and do an interview oh this is kind of jarring I’m so used to us being the one to move things along

That combined with the fact that like there’s not the tension and immediate goals of season 4 and icebrood saga really makes it feel like the Commander isn’t in charge it’s very different I’m interested to see where this goes. Cause like yknow end of dragons. What becomes of the Commander when their biggest live goal is over? I’m getting ahead of myself….

Boat time! For some reason I cannot get the skiff to drop anchor correctly but that’s ok whenever we have a multi person vehicle my bf always drives. He’s the can drive gay of this household

Don’t have the boat five minutes and I’m already on the Uber grind lol

Oh my god everyone else is already there what the hell?

I like Navan. She’s very calming.

To new Kaineng!!

[bkdk-writings-dump]

I'd love to see a short about Kacchan trying not to like Izuku (how he acts in the show), but can't help fall for him! I love your stories. Nearly cried myself to sleep at the end of 'For the Winter.' A big congrats on 12K! So excited to see what you write next!

Oof I kinda took this one and ran with it... thanks for the prompt though! I hope you like 4k words of Katsuki trying to ask Izuku out after realizing he’s helplessly in love with him lol

Come To Terms

Izuku makes Katsuki feel things. This, of course, is unacceptable because if there’s one thing Katsuki doesn’t have, it’s stupid, mushy, lovey-dovey feelings. Or, at least, he shouldn’t, except that when it comes to Izuku, sometimes, somehow, the nerd makes his heart squeeze up and stomach flip, even a warmth rise into his cheeks if he’s not careful. He doesn’t remember when the feelings started, and he certainly doesn’t understand why, but he does know that he needs them to stop.

He’s tried lots of things, of course. When crushing those feelings didn’t work, he tried crushing the nerd himself, snapping at him and degrading him, pushing him away and beating him into submission until either he got the message to stay away, or Katsuki’s stupid brain got the message that he doesn’t like him, despite what the stupid butterflies in his stomach might say. When this too seemed to be failing, he decided the only thing to do was cut himself off completely from Izuku and ensure that he never saw him again. Thus, he did everything in his power to stop him from applying to UA, and though it was frustrating that he did anyways, he spent the summer comfortably believing that he wouldn’t get in anyway, so he was in the clear. His Izuku-free life was going to start and he was never going to feel his heart skip a beat looking at green eyes and freckles ever again.

Except, that didn’t work either, because Izuku still somehow got into UA.

Katsuki was angry, so fucking angry when he saw Izuku sitting in his homeroom, just existing in his space like it was no big deal, like it was easy – obvious, even – that he would get into UA. And when the smug little shit revealed he had a quirk the whole goddamn time, had strung Katsuki along like a fucking puppet on a string? He was so pissed, he didn’t feel a single drop of warmth looking at him for nearly two months.

It was kind of great, in a way, that he finally had a reason to hate the nerd enough that his feelings calmed down, but unfortunately it couldn’t last forever.

Katsuki got used to Izuku having a quirk, stopped fixating on the feeling of betrayal and even forgot to be angry at him most days. And so, of course, the feelings came back. He watched Izuku get stronger, even started to respect him as a rival, and he found himself staring at bouncy green curls and a blindingly-bright smile with his jaw clenched to fight a blush from blooming on his cheeks.

And when he finally found out the source of Izuku’s new quirk, fought out their complicated feelings, and was let in on the secret with All Might, he realized he was toast. His feelings were not only there to stay, but he didn’t have a reason to ignore them anymore. Izuku wasn’t a quirkless loser unworthy of his time-of-day. No, he was All Might’s fucking successor and Katsuki should consider himself lucky he got to train alongside him and be considered his rival, much less his friend.

That’s how Katsuki found himself lying awake in bed one night, sprawled out and staring at the ceiling, thinking about Izuku.

After years of fighting it, he had to admit: he had a massive fucking crush on the nerd, and godamnit if he didn’t want to kiss his stupid face.

---

The next day, Katsuki got to class early like he always did, but was awfully tired from having stayed awake so long, drowning in the realization that he really did like Izuku, so he leaned his tired head in his hand and stared at his phone. He’d been searching up dumb shit like “how to get over a crush,” “how to ask someone out,” and “how to know if someone likes you” ever since he got up that morning, and his tired brain wasn’t moving fast enough for him to realize that continuing his fruitless internet searches in the presence of other people might not be a good idea. Thus, as he scrolled through the articles that came up after searching “how to tell someone you like them,” eyes staring bored and apathetic at the unhelpful answers, he didn’t notice that Kirishima and Kaminari had come up behind him until it was too late.

“Whatcha up to, Bakubro?” Kirishima asked, and Katsuki instantly turned red, slamming his phone face-down onto the desk and looking away.

“N-nothing. Go away,” he hissed.

“Oh my god, did you see what he was looking at?” Kaminari jostled Kirishima in his excitement.

“N-no? What was it?” Kirishima gave him a concerned look, and Katsuki snapped around with fire in his eyes.

“If you tell him, you are a dead man, Pikachu!” he barked, setting off a few warning explosions in his palm.

“Bakugou likes someone,” Kaminari sang in a mocking tone, and Katsuki lunged forward to wring his neck.

“You son of a bitch!” he growled, shaking him around just hard enough to prove his point but not hard enough to hurt him.

“Bakugou! Release him immediately,” Iida butted in from across the classroom, and Katsuki realized with a sinking in his gut that he’d only drawn more attention to the situation. “That’s no way to treat your classmates!”

“Oh fuck off,” Katsuki sneered at him, though he was actively trying to clam himself down as he slunk back into his seat. Behind him, Kirishima was whispering with Kaminari, no doubt trying to decipher just what he meant by saying Katsuki liked someone. Great. Katsuki rolled his eyes at the thought of those two dunces getting involved with this, but luckily they left him alone as the class filled up and Aizawa got there to start the day, so he hoped that his show of aggression was going to be enough to get them to lay off.

When he sat down with them at lunch and saw the evil glint in their eyes, however, he knew it had had the opposite effect.

“So… who is it, huh?” Kaminari asked, leaning forward and pumping his eyebrows ridiculously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Katsuki grumbled, stabbing his food with his fork like he was trying to kill it a second time.

“Oh, c’mon! I know you like someone, just dish! Maybe we can help you out?” Kaminari persisted, and Katsuki gave him his most threatening glare.

“I said. Fuck. Off,” he grit out.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Kirishima shook his head, shoving Kaminari out of the way to lean over the table in front of Katsuki himself. “You don’t have to tell us who it is, but we can still help you out!”

“Why would I need help from you idiots?” Katsuki questioned, although he almost punched himself when he realized he’d basically given away that they were right: he did like someone and he was trying to ask them out. Their faces lit up, betraying their own realizations, and Kirishima continued, even more giddy than before.

“You were looking up how to tell someone you like them, right? So… it sounds like you need some help asking someone out, no?” he did the same stupid eyebrow-pump thing as he siad it, and it made Katsuki want to throw up. This is exactly why he hated having feelings in the first place: everything about this exchange was downright disgusting.

“No. Now drop it,” he said, training his eyes down at his food in an attempt to ignore them.

“Ugh,” Kirishima deflated into his seat, and Katsuki repressed a victorious smirk, but then Kamianri picked it up again.

“Okay, okay, so you’re nervous, right? Well, if you tell us who it is, we can ask around and see if they like you too, and then no nerves! You’ve got your answer without even having to say anything to them!” he offered, and Katsuki looked at him like he was crazy.

“Who said anything about being nervous? Don’t jump to conclusions,” he chastised him, though he felt a warmth on his neck as he said it. He was nervous, actually. Very, very nervous.

“I don’t know… maybe because you don’t want to talk about it, don’t want our help, and probably aren’t going to work up the nerve to talk to them on your own, from the looks of it,” Kaminari shrugged smugly, and Kirishima’s jaw dropped open at his boldness.

“So you think I’m a fucking coward, then? Huh?” Katsuki snapped, standing up and pointing at him accusatorially.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Kaminari nodded, rising and crossing his arms to meet his challenge. “And if you wanna prove me wrong, then why don’t you just do it no, huh? Go on. Ask them out.”

Katsuki narrowed his eyes, his competitive side wanting to actually do it just to stick it to him, but then he realized that was exactly what Kaminari wanted.

“Fuck you. You think you can play me like that? You just want to find out who it is,” Katsuki rolled his eyes, taking his seat once more.

“Aw, man. I thought that was gonna work,” Kaminari whined, sitting back down and pouting like a child.

“Look, we get it Bakugou,” Kirishima started then, looking much more sincere than before. “It’s really nerve wracking to talk to your crush, and I, for one, think it’s pretty immature to tease your friends about having crushes in the first place,” he jabbed Kaminari in the side to prove his point. “But, what I’m saying is, it’s cool if you don’t want to talk about it, but if you do want help asking them out, or even just advice, let us know, okay? We’re here for you.”

Katsuki huffed, looking away.

“Yeah, whatever.”

---

Katsuki bit his lip, waiting impatiently by Izuku’s door for him to show up. He hadn’t made any arrangements with him, but he had to come back to his room eventually and it was the only spot Katsuki could think of where he might catch Izuku alone. He was determined not to be a coward like Kaminari said, and so he was going to confess to Izuku. Or ask him out. Or… something. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to say.

The realization that he had basically prepared nothing besides just blurting out that he couldn’t stop thinking about his stupid, pretty, freckled face quickly dawned on him, and his mind started to scramble to think of a proper sentence.

Before he could get any words in order, however, he heard Izuku’s tell-tale laughter from the stairwell and froze up, the moment finally at hand. A green head of hair came into sight from below, and Katsuki felt his lips silently trying to form some words, unsure even what greeting to give him, but then a few more people came into sight. Uraraka, then Iida, and finally Todoroki.

Shit. He wasn’t alone.

“That was a good one!” Izuku said when he stopped laughing, rubbing a tear from the corner of his eye. He turned to look at his door now that he was at the top of the stairs, and froze in place, blinking in surprise at seeing Katsuki just standing there.

“Oh! Um, Kacchan, do you need something?” Izuku asked, looking him over with both confusion and suspicion.

Katsuki opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, floundering for words. Izuku’s friends all stared at him, expecting an answer, and the only thing he could think was abort mission in blaring red letters.

“No. Why the fuck would I need something from you?” he scoffed, turning away and marching towards the elevator, since his path to the stairs was cut off. He pushed the down button, but felt them all staring holes into his back, and so snapped his head around to explain again. “I’m just waiting for the elevator. I went to the wrong floor,” he grit out, only to be met with more raised eyebrows.

“But you just clicked the button. You weren’t waiting,” Todoroki pointed out the obvious.

“Yeah, and? Mind your business, half-and-half,” Katsuki snapped at him.

“Well, h-he’s got a point,” Izuku stuttered out. “It kind of looked like you were, uh… waiting outside my door.”

“I was not,” Katsuki hissed, a noxious mixture of anger and embarrassment flooding his system and making it impossible to think clearly.

“No, you definitely were,” Uraraka pointed out, and thankfully, just then the elevator dinged and the doors opened in front of Katsuki.

“Like hell I was!” he snapped back and rushed inside the elevator for safety, slamming the close doors button until they slid shut, though he caught some speculatory mumbling from Izuku and his friends before he was finally free of their presence.

Sighing, he slumped against the wall of the elevator, catching his breath and calming himself down before he pressed the number for his floor. Replaying the absolute mess that had just occurred in his head a few times, he frowned as he came to the realization that it didn’t exactly matter if Izuku had been alone or not, that was never going to work.

Katsuki was just too damn nervous.

---

“Well, well, well, look who came crawling back,” Kirishima joked when Katsuki asked for his help.

“You know what, nevermind, this isn’t worth it,” he rolled his eyes and turned to leave, and Kirishima scrambled to grab his arm and beg him to stay.

“No, man, I’m sorry! I promise I won’t make fun of you – no more jokes, I swear!” he pleaded.

“Fine,” Katsuki grumbled, crossing his arms and plopping down in Kirishima’s desk chair. Kirishima sighed, relieved, and took a seat across from him on the edge of his bed.

“Okay. So you want help asking someone out, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess,” Katsuki shrugged, looking away as he already started to turn red in the face, once again demonstrating why he was so terrible at this.

“Right, well, can I start by asking if you think there’s a chance they like you back? Like, what’s your relationship like right now? Would it be coming out of nowhere?” Kirishima asked, trying to place his words delicately.

Katsuki bit his lip, thinking, and then sighed.

“I mean… I highly doubt they like me back,” he mumbled out. “Shit, this is pointless, isn’t it?” he groaned, putting his face in his hands.

“No, not necessarily!” Kirishima shook his head. “Why is it that you think they don’t like you?”

Katsuki opened his mouth to tell the truth, but just as quickly shut it. If he said it was because he’d been an asshole to him their whole lives, Kirishima would no doubt catch on to who it was, so he needed a more vague explanation.

“Cuz… nobody likes me. I’m not likeable,” he said.

“Oh, c’mon. That’s not true! I’m sure if you give it a shot you might be surprised,” Kirishima insisted.

“Mmmn… Fine. So how do I ask them out?” Katsuki asked.

“Well, really the best thing to do is just be honest and direct about it. Tell them how you feel and then ask if they feel the same. If they do, then great! If not, tell them it’s okay and try to make things go back to normal. It really doesn’t have to be a big deal,” Kirishima explained.

“But… fuck, how do I even start? I’m not exactly the best about… expressing myself,” Katsuki made an exasperated gesture, and Kirishima had to cover his mouth as he let out a little chuckle at his helplessness.

“That’s true… but I’m sure you can do it if you give it a try,” Kirishima encouraged him. “Why don’t you write down what you want to say and then practice it so you don’t have to worry about messing up?”

“Mm, maybe. Actually, yeah, that might work,” Katsuki nodded, then added under his breath as he got up to leave, “Thanks.”

“No problem bro,” Kirishima nodded, giving him a thumbs up as he left. “You got this!”

---

A few days later, Katsuki looked around the common room, shocked to see that it was nearly empty for once, save for Izuku walking slowly to the elevator, staring down distractedly at his phone. Realizing this was his chance, he quickly crossed the room to intercept him, clearing his throat to catch his attention.

“Ah, Kacchan?” Izuku looked up, surprised. Katsuki took a deep breath; he was just going to say exactly what he practiced. It wasn’t that hard.

“Um. Can we talk?” he asked.

“Sure!” Izuku nodded, shutting his phone off and fumbling to put it away, giving Katsuki his full attention.

“I just… well, first I, um, I want to apologize,” he started, and Izuku made a face like he instantly knew where this was going.

“Oh, Kacchan. If this is about the other day in the hall, it’s totally fine. You don’t have to explain what you were doing, I mean, the hallways are a public space,” he rambled, and Katsuki groaned, shaking his head.

“No, Deku, that’s not what–” Katsuki tried to cut him off, but Izuku quickly shifted tracks.

“Oh! So you were waiting for me, then? Ah, was it my friends that scared you off? It’s okay, there’s no need to apologize, they were a little intrusive, admittedly,” Izuku rambled on and something in Katsuki snapped.

“Fucking – I like you, Deku!” he yelled to shut him up, which, admittedly, did work.

“Oh,” was all Izuku said, his big green eyes blinking up at him in silent surprise.

“Fucking, damnit! You got me off script,” Katsuki complained, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Th-there was a script?” Izuku raised an eyebrow, and Katsuki quickly realized how bad that sounded. He did not want him to think this was a prank or something like that.

“Fuck. Well, I just... this shit is hard to talk about, so I… practiced,” he admitted with only a pinch of mortification.

“I s-see,” Izuku nodded, a bit of a blush growing on his cheeks. “I’m sorry I kept interrupting you, then. G-go ahead! I promise I’ll… shut up now,” he added sheepishly.

Katsuki sighed, running a hand through his hair to recollect his thoughts. He was not going to back down just because of a small hiccup. Not after how long he’s felt this way, and certainly not after how long it’s taken him to finally come to terms with feeling this way.

“Well, I wanted to start by saying that, um… I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry about how I treated you before. I – I know this isn’t any excuse for it, but I only treated you that way because…” he paused,  sucking in a breath to prepare himself for what he was going to say next. “Because I knew I liked you and it scared me. I didn’t… I didn’t want to feel that way, but I can’t deny it anymore. Deku, I… I like you. Alot. Romantically, I mean. I think I’m probably gay. And I don’t want to pretend that I don’t feel this way anymore.”

“Oh, Kacchan,” Izuku started to say, his eyes glassy and expression dripping in sympathy, but Katsuki shook his head, wanting to finish before he heard the answer.

“I-it’s okay if you don’t feel the same. In fact, I wouldn’t blame you… but I’m tired of running from my feelings, so, I had to tell you. Now you can, you know, reject me and whatever,” he trailed off, biting his lip and looking away to hide the fact that he was on the verge of tears, too.

“No, Kacchan, that’s… of course I like you. Aren’t I telling all the time how amazing I think you are?” Izuku asked, and Katsuki furrowed his brow in confusion.

“But–” Katsuki started to protest, only for Izuku to hold up a finger to his lips, cutting him off.

“Uh-uh! You had your speech, now it’s my turn to talk,” he asserted, and all Katsuki could do was nod weakly.

“Good,” Izuku put his finger down, relieved at Katsuki’s compliance, and then took a steadying breath before looking him in the eye and saying what he wanted to say. “Kacchan. I like you too. I have for a really long time and… while I’m glad you apologized for how things were before, I want you to know that I forgave you a long time ago, okay? And I’m so, so proud of you for telling me all of this and… I don’t know. I’m just so happy,” he sniffled, and then started to laugh at himself as he wiped his tears. “Sorry, sorry. I’m happy-crying, I swear!”

“I-It’s okay,” Katsuki nodded, still in shock. This was not how he expected this to go.

“Oh, Kacchan,” Izuku cooed, suddenly diving in to hug him tight, his arms wrapped tightly around Katsuki’s back.

“Uh–” Katsuki floundered for a second, his hands in the air, but slowly lowered them to hug Izuku back as the shock started to wear off. Izuku squeezed him tighter, making a happy hum, and it all started to become real. Izuku was hugging him. Izuku liked him. Izuku accepted his apology.

Izuku forgave him.

Suddenly the weight of countless years of denial and self-hatred, bottled up feelings and misdirected anger spilled over and he couldn’t help but start to cry, squeezing Izuku close to his chest.

“K-Kacchan?” Izuku questioned, looking up at him in concern.

“I’m so stupid. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe… I mean this whole time… I’m such a fucking idiot. I’m so lucky…” he mumbled incoherently as he cried into Izuku’s shoulder, and Izuku started to rub soothing circles onto his back.

“I know. It’s a lot, huh?” he asked sympathetically. Katsuki just nodded, sniffling to himself. Izuku sighed, and put one hand on Katsuki’s cheek to push his face up so he could look at him again.

“I’m so glad you told me, Kacchan. I really am. And I know how hard this must have been for you, so I want you to know I’m here for you, okay?” Izuku said, rubbing his cheek with his thumb. Katsuki nodded dumbly, his lower lip wobbling like a crying child. “Good,” Izuku said, and punctuated it with a little kiss to the cheek.

Katsuki startled involuntarily at that, and Izuku pulled back, concerned eyes scanning Katsuki’s face.

“S-sorry! Was that too much?” he asked.

“No!” Katsuki answered a tad too soon, and then looked away with his face red in shame. “N-no. I… could you, uh, do it again, actually?” he asked hesitantly, and Izuku couldn't help but smile at him.

“Of course Kacchan,” he said, pressing another peck to his cheek, followed shortly by another to the corner of his lips. They pulled back, looking at each other for a silent moment, until Katsuki licked his lips and Izuku took the cue, pulling him back down for a deeper, longer, proper kiss. Katsuki hummed appreciatively, his fingers tangling into the curls at the base of Izuku’s neck as his whole body felt soft and warm, so perfectly flush with Izuku’s like they had melded together to create their own perfect little world.

And then, just as quickly, his comfort shattered into a million little pieces.

“Oh, shit!” came Kaminari’s obnoxiously loud voice, followed promptly by a loud shushing sound from Kirishima. Katsuki practically threw Izuku off of himself, the realization that they were making out in a public place rushing back into his consciousness like he’d just been hit by a truck – a truck full of angry, red fire.

“I can’t believe it, it was Midoriya this whole time!” Kaminari said, and Katsuki spun around to face him, palms already ablaze with explosions.

“I swear to fuck, if either of you say another word I’m gonna–” he started to yell, but of course Kaminari was one step ahead of him, holding his phone up like he’d just taken a picture.

“The group chat is gonna lose their minds!” he said, completely unfazed by Katsuki’s threat.

“You little shit!” Katsuki screamed, propelling himself forwards and tackling him to the ground. “Give me that phone! I’m gonna blow it to bits – see if you can post your stupid picture then!” he said, fighting to get the phone, but Kaminari was too slippery, sliding out from under him and running for the hills.

“Get back here! I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Katsuki yelled, chasing after him, and leaving Kirishima and Izuku wide-eyed and pale-faced in the common room.

“Um. Congrats on the whole, you know, thing. With Bakugou,” Kirishima said awkwardly.

“Ah, uh, thanks!” Izuku rubbed behind his neck, but cringed when they heard a crashing sound in the other room.

“I should… probably make sure he doesn’t actually kill him,” Kirishima said, side-stepping slowly towards the exit.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Izuku nodded, and then there was another crash.

“Right. Well, um, see you around!” Kirishima waved, running towards the door this time, and leaving Izuku to let out an exasperated sigh now that he was alone.

“Some things never change, huh?” he whispered to himself, and despite the fact that the moment had been ruined and Katsuki might be about to murder their classmate, he couldn’t help smiling.

Kacchan had come to terms with his feelings, and there was nothing more in the world he could ask for.

[ibelongtowrath]

Come Find Me - Mammon x Reader

reuploading cause of tags lol let’s hope they work this time, also sorry i forgot to put the “read more” oop

Tags/Warnings: angst, lots of angst & mild cursing Word Count: 3.9k Notes: I tried switching perspectives, which are indicated by the dashed lines. I hope it doesn't make it too confusing! I was listening to “Give You Up” by Asking Alexandria, like really listening to the lyrics when I was smacked in the face struck by inspiration for some angsty Mammon. So, as I do, I dreamed up a scenario. This took me so long to write, and holy crap. Hope you love it!

Lyrics taken from 'Give You Up' by Asking Alexandria. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

11 months later.

“I wasted so much time on wasting time Made a million excuses, told myself I'm above it Now there's symphony where there used to be Nothing but silence, and I'm never gonna give you up”

Pulling open the closet door to find that one shirt you remember buying, but can’t for the life of you remember where it is, you wince. Clothes and shoes are strewn everywhere, organization severely neglected as of late. You hadn’t really been inspired to straighten out your mess, not since--

No. You shake your head, suppressing the memories. Not now, not for a long time...until it stops feeling like a hot knife is carving your heart in half whenever his name flashes across your mind.

Your eyes scan and assess the mess, landing on a black duffel bag shoved into the corner, emblazoned with an all-too-familiar gold badge. Your eyes close briefly, letting the familiar icy pain wash over you, as if you’ve been walking into the winter ocean until your entire body is submerged. You stare at the bag until your vision blurs, surprised to find yourself blinking away tears as you come back to reality.

You told yourself you wouldn’t leave the Devildom with any regrets, but you did.

“Okay. Well. We’re just going to deal with this now, and bury it,” you tell yourself, needing to hear yourself say it out loud as your own affirmation.

It was finally time to face the anguish head on, instead of compartmentalizing it, telling yourself you would process it eventually. Picking up the bag, you slowly back out of the closet, a torrent of emotions beginning to well up inside you, threatening to wreak havoc. You close your eyes. Breathe, Y/N, breathe. Step back, and lean against the wall, subdue the onslaught.

Tossing the bag onto your bed, you sit beside it, hand reaching slowly to grasp the zipper. Once undone, you reach inside and pull out your R.A.D uniform, skimming the small buttons embedded in the stitching. You smile softly as you remember Asmo pouting every time you complained about how ill-fitting it was. Your hand moves to the golden R.A.D. medallion, your fingers dancing over the hard, intricately grooved surface.

Folding the uniform and setting it aside, you reach into the bag once more, fingers brushing something hard and flat. Confused, you lift your hand, finding yourself grasping your D.D.D.. Your eyes study the yellow smart phone, remembering how he insisted...Fuck. The memories begin to crash into the forefront of your mind.

“Wait, Lucifer, ya gotta give her a yellow one! She’s gotta match with me! N-not that it’s all that important or anything...” Mammon blushed, looking down towards the floor.

“I-I just think...yellow’s a good color to have. That’s all. Symbolizes a lot ‘a different good things. Luck, lotsa Grimm...thank me later.”

You didn’t know it at the time, but that was the start of your undoing.

You came to the Devildom harboring resentment. Why the hell did you have to get uprooted from your life to serve someone else’s agenda? And not only that, but you had to live with seven fallen demon brothers, many of whom barely hesitated as they considered killing you. But...then there was Mammon.

It was always him, even when you refused to acknowledge it. The first demon you made a pact with. You slide your shirt down your arm, glancing at your now-bare shoulder, remembering the slight jolt of electricity as the sigil was emblazoned into your skin. You smile softly as you remember his persistent boasting, nearly on a daily basis:

“I’m Y/N’s first man! So get your paws off her!”

Mammon. Always so stand-offish about his feelings, but so were you. That resentment you bore dug deep into your core. Your heart was indifferent. You challenged Lucifer and the other demons without inhibition, consistently getting yourself nearly killed. You disobeyed the rules and expectations designated to you as one of the representatives of the human world. You did it all with no qualms about the potential consequences, even if it could have resulted in your death. You had given up. You didn’t give a fuck anymore, so bring it on.

They all gave a fuck about you, though, even if it was mostly because Lord Diavolo forbade the killing of the human students. But Mammon…

It was more than that for him. He grabbed your hand in the face of danger, thinking he could protect you. Despite his constant denial of how he felt for you, you could see it. Not only that, your feelings mirrored his; but you were so stubborn, you were headstrong. You were not going to let yourself fall, especially not for the Avatar of Greed. You had convinced yourself that he would be a selfish lover, always putting himself first. All he would do is take from you. After all, the demon was in love with his goddamn credit card.

You were so wrong.

Turning the phone over and over in your hands aimlessly, you remember it all. How easy it was for you to keep falling back into the darkness within you, the anger and resentment you bore deep in your heart. It was easy, it was familiar. Until...

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mammon remembers that night. He’s replayed so many times in his head, there isn’t a single detail he can’t remember.

As usual, his brothers teased him relentlessly; this time, they had gone too far.

“Oh! Y/N, I dropped my fork by your foot, would you mind being a dear and grabbing it for me?” Asmo asked, innocently enough.

Mammon had looked up upon hearing your name. He watched as you bent down and struggled to pick up the dropped fork, too far away to grab from your seat. His gaze remained on you as you stood, bending behind you to pick it up; then, Asmo lifting his hand to give you a playful slap on the ass. Then back to you, your beautiful lips upturned in a playful, flirty smile as you laughed and handed Asmo the fork.

Mammon’s anger blazed, his vision tinged red. It was like a knee-jerk reaction, the movements required no thought. He stood from his chair, nearly kicking it in, half-eaten plate of food abandoned. Wordlessly, he took his leave, the torrent of emotions welled up inside threatening to erupt. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to react, that it was only going to add more fuel to the fire for their teasing.

But he didn’t care. They took it too far, touching his human like that. He had laid his claim for you thousands of times, spelled it out, and everyone knew. Yet, it didn’t stop them. Mammon was forever the brother ridiculed and mocked most, despite being the second-oldest; his brothers’ contempt for him was never-ending. The constant jeers and derision about himself and his sin, he had put up with for millennia; but their taunting and blatant disregard of his feelings for you?

He couldn’t stand it any longer.

Mammon was on autopilot, barely feeling the movements as he walked swiftly throughout the halls of the House of Lamentation. He doesn’t even recall if he took a single breath on his journey back to his bedroom. He gripped the doorknob of his room, knuckles turning white as he nearly ripped it out while turning it. He stepped inside, slamming the door with a residual bang!, so loud that surely even Lord Diavolo could hear it in his castle.

His feet moved him to his bed, where he sat on the edge, head in his hands. He clenched his jaw, hard, in an attempt to subdue the anger pulsing within him. It wasn’t only anger, however, that was welled up inside. There was humiliation, resentment, and feelings of hopelessness; all directed at himself. Mammon clenched harder, hands beginning to shake as the emotions swelled furiously.

No matter what he did, he felt like he failed. He felt an overwhelming desire to protect what was his, and he had even failed at that. Mammon isn’t sure how long he stayed that way, caught in the middle of the emotional thunderstorm, staring at his hands but not actually seeing.

In his trance, he barely heard the knock on his door; three light taps, then one loud one. Your signature knock. It didn’t even register in his mind. He wishes he looked up to see you when you walked across his room to his bed. He only noticed when you grabbed his arm, gently, in that way your touch always was. He lifted his head slowly, the feelings of hopelessness finally starting to ebb when his melancholy gaze met your serene one.

There you stood, in all your beautiful glory. Your hair hung in glossy rivulets down your back, a stray piece hanging in front of your face; Mammon wanted nothing more than to reach up and tuck it behind your ear. Your face, your beautiful face, wore an expression that simultaneously made his heart race and feel peaceful.

“Mammon.”

You spoke his name, and in those two syllables, and he knew. He knew your soul shined so brightly in the darkness of the Devildom. He knew you were the light to all of his darkness within.

He knew he was irrevocably in love with you.

Mammon felt your grip tighten on his arm, ever so slightly. He stood before you, realizing your close proximity, and immediately felt the heat rush to his cheeks, tinting them with a rosy blush.

“Y-yeah? What do ya want, Y/N?” he asked, looking off to the side. He reached his arm up, rubbing the back of his head. “Sheesh, you didn’t even tell me you were comin’. A little advanced notice would be nice, ya know.”

You didn’t even answer. Before he could react, you had pulled Mammon into a hug, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

“Wha-?!” Mammon yelped. “Just what do you think you’re doin’, human?!”

He recoiled at first, arms hanging down at his sides, unfamiliar with the feeling of such affection...such love. Rarely was he ever shown such things, especially from his brothers. He hesitantly reached his arms up, wrapping them around your body, the soft texture of your hair under his fingers.

He leaned his head down, his cheek resting on the top of your head while he stroked your hair.

And then, you said it. You spoke the words that made him come undone completely.

“I love you, Mammon.”

Mammon’s body stilled for a moment. It felt as though his heart had stopped completely. The words caught in his throat, unable to speak, fingers threaded into your hair. He felt you squeeze him harder, turning your head to look up at him. His eyes met yours.

You had come here to the Devildom, and at first, Mammon was indifferent. He would have gladly sold your possessions for some extra cash with no hesitation. He insulted you, he acted like an arrogant fool. You did risky things, you talked back. And yet, you somehow were able to make your way into his ice-cold, tsundere heart.

He sunk back down to the edge of the bed, pulling you towards him. You sat upon his lap, legs on either side of his waist. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing you flush to him, fingers splayed across your back. He pushed your hair to the side, burying his head into your neck, lips against your soft skin. All he wanted in that moment was to breathe you in. He swallowed, pressing a kiss into your neck, hoping, praying that you wouldn’t react negatively.

It’s hard to remember the exact sequence that followed. The only thing Mammon knows is your lips pressed against his in a deep kiss, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. He pulled away, grinning, then kissed you again, and again, and again, his hands roaming under your shirt, across your back.

“Shit, Y/N. I guess you have me feeling some type-a way, too,” he whispered, kissing and biting the delicate skin of your neck, an overwhelming desire to leave his mark on you.

It hadn’t gone any further that night, and Mammon had been okay with it. He had walked you back to your room, grabbing you and kissing you deeply before you went in. He was sure the grin hadn’t left his face the entire rest of the night.

It was essentially the way you and Mammon had spent your final weeks in the Devildom. Stolen kisses here and there. Grabbing your hand in the hallways of R.A.D., lacing his fingers through yours. Spending the entire night together, not sleeping, watching movies on his projector or him teaching you how to play poker. Buying you little gifts using Goldie, much to Lucifer’s chagrin. He wanted to give you all that he could, to provide for you.

He held you close whenever he got the opportunity, stroking your hair, ingraining every feeling of your touch into his memory so he would never forget. He knew he was running out of time to be yours, to give you all of him. Mammon had never been so happy.

Then, that fateful day arrived. The day you were going back to the human world.

Mammon could hardly look at you when the time came, too afraid his emotions would well to the surface and tip over. He finally lifted his gaze to yours, thousands of unspoken words etched into the space between you, visible only to you and he. You had never spoken of a plan for the future, too painful to think about. He regretted all the time wasted, kicking himself for not telling you his feelings sooner.

Maybe then, you wouldn’t have left at all.

Mammon didn’t embrace you before the ceremony to transport you back began, knowing that once he did, he would never be able to let you go. He watched the light flash, as bright as your beautiful soul, taking you away with it, leaving nothing in its wake. The pain of losing you was like a knife plunged deep into his heart, twisting back and forth.

And then, you were gone.

Gone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gone.

And then, Mammon was gone.

“Mammon.”

You speak his name out loud, for the first time since you had arrived back. You still for a second, the unfamiliar syllables passing over your lips. You hope he’ll appear suddenly, as if summoned. But of course, he doesn’t.

And he never will, not again.

The tears fall freely now, a gut-wrenching sob wracking your body. The anguish crashes over you as all the emotions and pent-up grief finally break through the dam you had built deep inside. You fall to the side of your bed, gripping the D.D.D. tightly, knuckles turning white from the effort, as if the phone holds the power to bring Mammon back to you.

You’re unsure of how much time passes before the tears finally begin to subside, opening your eyes once more, adjusting to the sudden brightness; the feeling of it unwelcome, as you had learned to cherish the dark in the Devildom. The false sense of comforting dark you felt when you closed your eyes was erased each morning with the unrelenting rise of the sun.

You lift your hand, the yellow phone still gripped tightly within. And in a moment of hopefulness, or desperation (perhaps both), you press a button, gasping as the phone lights up. Though you shouldn’t be surprised; you remember Mammon telling you he put a spell on it so that it would hold a charge long after you took it off the charger, essentially always staying on.

So you could talk to him whenever you needed it.

Fingers moving faster than your brain can compute, you open your messages with Mammon, feeling the knife twist in your gut once more as you scroll through them. You shake your head furiously, willing yourself to stop, and focus. Your fingers dance across the digital keyboard as you compose a new message.

I love you, Mammon. Come find me.

Send. You hear the all-too-familiar whoosh sound of the message sending, watching it pop up onto the screen.You stare at the phone for God knows how long, willing a notification to sound off, unsure of why you’re feeling so hopeful.

The reply never comes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mammon stares at his phone in disbelief. He reads the message, then stands, beginning to pace around the room. He has to be seeing things. He has to be. He’s convinced.

There is no way he just received a message from you, in the human world. Especially not one telling him that you love him and to come find you.

His fingers fly across the screen, furiously typing a reply to you, pressing send.

Error! Retry?

“What?!” Mammon exclaims, pressing “retry” over and over and over again.

Error! Retry?

Error! Retry?

Error! Retry?

“This piece ‘a junk!” he yells, furious. The feeling of anguish washes over him as he realizes you won’t get a reply from him, picturing you sad yet hopeful, staring at your screen. He finds himself leaving his room, legs moving automatically as they bring him to the large double doors of the last place he ever wants to be.

“Oi! Lucifer! Open up right now! It’s an emergency!” Mammon yells, pounding on the door.

Hearing an exasperated sigh on the other side of the doors, Mammon continues to pound relentlessly.

“Lucifer! Open up-” Mammon’s words are cut off as Lucifer opens the door, a pained expression on his face.

“How can I help you, Mammon?” Lucifer asks, oozing contempt.

Mammon storms past him into the office, beginning to open up drawers, sorting through files of papers.

“Lucifer! Where the heck’s Y/N’s info? I need it. Where is it?!”

“Mammon,” Lucifer replies cooly, “what is this all about?”

“It’s Y/N! She texted me! She texted me from the human world. Can ya believe it?! She told me to come find her. I have to go to her, Lucifer, I have to!”

“Mammon, calm down. Explain everything to me.”

Mammon shoves the phone in Lucifer’s face, panic etched into his voice as he recounts the story, impatience creeping in to his demeanor. He has to get to you, and he has to get to you now.

Lucifer nods, holding his gloved hand under his chin as he thinks aloud.

“Mammon, you will have to be patient. I will speak to Diavolo, and see if he will grant you permission to leave the Devildom for a few days. Unfortunately, we do not have an exact location for Y/N. I can only give you the general area of where she lives. You will have to hope that she has remained living there, or close to the area.”

“What?! What are ya tryin’ to say, that I won’t be able to find her?!” Mammon yells in disbelief. “Of course I’ll find her. She told me to! And I can’t wait, I gotta get to her now! I can’t text her back, can’t let her know I got it…”

“I know how important she is to you, Mammon,” Lucifer says, nodding his head.

“Like hell ya do! Have you ever loved anyone that much? Or anything?”

“Mammon. I will speak to Diavolo immediately, and he will set everything in motion. It is still likely you will have to wait until at least tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning…,” Mammon repeats, trailing off. “Y/N, I’m comin’ to ya. Just hang on one more day. Please, babe…”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

You find yourself at your favorite mall the next day, hardly remembering the drive there, as if you were on autopilot.

As you enter, you stand still for a moment, closing your eyes and inhaling briefly, taking in the sounds: the tinny music filtering through the speakers, other shoppers exclaiming to one another over a new collection in a store, somebody sipping their iced coffee noisily.

You had told Mammon about coming here quite often during those last few weeks. One night in particular, the two of you had lain on his bed, holding one another close, telling each other everything. You hadn’t cared if it was trivial, you wanted to know everything there was to know. Often, you had imagined coming with him here; holding hands, dragging him into all your favorite stores, trying on clothes.

Now, that will never happen.

You shake the negative thought from your mind, fighting as you feel the corners of your lips begin to tug downwards. Turning yourself to the right, you decide to head to your favorite bubble tea stand, smiling softly to yourself. Another memory you had shared with Mammon. Rounding the corner, a figure hunched over on the soft bench near the bubble tea stand stops you dead in your tracks.

Tousled white hair, orange-tinted lenses in his glasses. A brown leather jacket, striped with white across and at the collar, a fitted black t-shirt underneath.

No. No way. Your mind is playing tricks on you, Y/N, you think to yourself.

You walk hesitantly up to him, stopping a few feet away, watching as he notices your shoes, then moves his head up to meet your gaze, that adorable lopsided grin tugging at his lips as he stands.

“Knew I’d find ya here, Y/N. Lucifer didn’t believe me, that jerk,” he drawls.

“M-...Mammon?!” you exclaim, not caring who hears. You barely feel the movements as you throw yourself into his embrace. “H-how?!”

“Ya told me to come find ya. So I found ya.”

Gripping the collar of his jacket tightly, you lay your head on his chest, tears streaming furiously down your face. Mammon lifts your head, cupping your cheeks, wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, hey. No tears ruinin’ that pretty face. Unless they’re happy tears. In which case, cry away, I guess. But your makeups’ runnin’ down your face,” Mammon tells you, and you grin through them.

“How did you know to find me here?” you ask him as you pull away, brushing more tears away as you swallow.

“I remembered you tellin’ me about it. How you liked to come here when you weren’t feelin’ all that great,” he answers, draping an arm over your shoulder. “I tried to answer ya back, but my stupid D.D.D. wouldn’t let me. I thought ya might be sad, so I figured I’d try ya here.”

You laugh, grin growing wider.

“I love you, Mammon.”

He pulls you into another tight embrace, pressing you flush to him, lips crashing against yours in a deep kiss. You close your eyes, savoring every second of it before pulling away, eyes wide. You laugh once more as he pulls you close to him again, gasping a bit in surprise as his tongue darts out to dance with yours.

“Mammon, we’re in public!” you hiss, though you’re smiling against his lips.

“Don’t care,” Mammon retorts, kissing you again. “I have ya here with me now. And I ain’t ever gonna give you up. Never again.”

“In my darkest of days I've got a light now to show me the way It's like I've found my place And the world doesn't feel the same”

[slasherbastard]

Hey! I just found your blog recently, but I want to quickly say that I really love your writing!! You’re so talented and good at eliciting emotions! Your work has inspired me to get back into writing as well and you seem super nice! Keep doing what you’re doing!! ❤️ I’m not sure if matchups are still open, feel free to ignore this if they’re closed! But I hope you’re having a good day today! I’ll put my matchup info below:

I’m a gay trans man and I’m like 5’0” lmaoo I love playing guitar, listening to rock/metal music, and drawing! I’m not sure if it’s relevant but I have Bipolar Disorder and PTSD, and I like collecting bones/dead things hahaha! As for my appearance, I like wearing colorful/weird stuff! Like heart shaped glasses, shirts with weird images/text on them, rainbow socks… I’m kind of a fashion disaster lmao but it makes me happy! I have short, dark, curly hair and tan skin and I kind of have a baby face lol! For personality, I’m mostly quiet, but I get very passionate about certain things, especially the things that I like! I love joking around and being lighthearted! I’m pretty chill, but I’ve been told I’m a little scary when I’m angry hahaha! I’m super physically affectionate and I struggle with separation anxiety with people I really care about! I can be kind of protective too! And uhh yeah! I think that’s it!! I hope this isn’t excessive! Thank you so much in advance! Again, I hope you’re having a good day today! ❤️❤️

First of all I nearly cried reading the note, ahh thank you so much you’re so nice! Sorry this took forever to write-

I pair you with 

Chop Top Sawyer!

(gif credit: classichorrorblog)

The two of you are a real team. You’re more laid back and chill while Choptop is loud and crazy, you both go together perfectly. Seriously, even your interests match up nicely. You like collecting bones and dead things? One of the perks of dating a cannibal and living in the middle of rural texas is that there’s bound to be bones just lying around somewhere. Expect Chop Top to bring you human bones from his family’s previous victims, but if you’re not cool with collecting human bones then he’ll take you out to look for animal carcasses. You like jokes? So does Chop! He’s probably really into really bad jokes as well as dad jokes - also a few dirty ones if you’re okay with that. 

Chop Top has PTSD too so he understands what it’s like but he doesn’t understand what you’ve specifically gone through. If you’re comfortable speaking about it with him then he’s all ears. He himself doesn’t really like to talk about the war, but he might if he’s feeling a bit vulnerable. He isn’t very educated on bipolar disorder so if you’re ever feeling overwhelmed or having a depressive episode, Chop Top is one of those people who cries when he sees other people cry so if you’re ever upset you may have to end up comforting him, but he’ll also try to get your mind off of those negative thoughts and try to tell you the dumb jokes that you told him that made him nearly fall over laughing. When you’re feeling more hyper he will keep a closer eye on you just to make sure you don’t get yourself hurt - he may be a sadist but he’s also a gentleman, sort of. Also he’s perfectly fine with you being trans! He doesn’t think any less of you and won’t let anyone treat you badly or misgender you . He is very supportive but he will need you to educate him more on the topic.

Chop Top loves your style since it’s close to his but a little move evolved and he will probably take inspiration from you and try to steal your clothes and if none of them fit him he will steal your sunglasses. Also he doesn’t understand half of your shirts but he still thinks they’re funny - you definitely would’ve had to make a lot of them yourself since this is the 70s, and Chop Top would 100% want to match with you. Your wardrobe is full of bright colours and shitposts (do you like those shirts with oddly specific texts on them? Because that’s all I can think about). Imagine Drayton trying to figure out what the hell your shirts mean. “Never underestimate a man who was born in July and plays the guitar and is terrified of their aunt, and does everything they can to avoid her at family gatherings- What in the goddamn hell is that supposed to mean? What’dya mean there’s worse ones?” Think about it, you and Chop Top laughing your asses off as you both show Drayton your shared collection of weird shirts, congratulations - you’ve broken Drayton. 

Another thing about this rat is that he craves your affection. He’s a very clingy man and that mixed with your physical affection? Heaven to him. The two of you will just lay in bed cuddling for as long as you possibly can before Chop Top needs to get up and deal with his family. Chop Top definitely hates leaving you alone - probably even more than you hate being away from him - but at the end of the day when you guys are reunited, it’s just endless kissing and cuddling until you fall asleep. On the topic of affection, Chop Top loves nicknames - he also likes it when you call him Bobby.

[multsicorn]

fandoms for a reason for a season for a lifetime

It’s funny how even spiralling into a new obsession I can tell - this isn’t one of the big ones, probably. Not unless it pulls out a whole lot more ~something~ in the last seven eps I have left.

Because when I look back at the fandoms I’ve been in here on tumblr over the last decade, there seems to be a sharp dichotomy.

[this got way too long? have a cut.]

There’s fandoms I think back on as ‘damn I love/d that. For so many reasons. Even if, for other reasons, good reasons, I am not in the fandom anymore - or not currently.’ Glee, Hamilton, Check, Please!, (where I never liked the canon much at all! but I loved my corner of fandom so much, I kept coming back to it for years.)

The Untamed. (Which I hope I may still come back to? In some form, if it’s still going, like, next year? I never quite managed to find myself a cozy corner, and wore myself out trying and failing, but I also never managed to really exorcise the feelings I wanted to there, so, I’m still like - I love it? I love a lot of things about it. But I cannot currently ~engage.)

Nirvana in Fire, which I am fully planning to watch for the third time, and hoping to create content for this next time round, … whenever I get tired of Word of Honor, probably in a few months from now.

And then there’s the fandoms where I just kinda needed - a fandom. To be in. Which does not mean I didn’t love them at the time! Hockey RPF (where I pretty much only read fic - and also wrote in my head a good handful of fic. based on fic. but I never cared much for the ‘canon’, lol.) Yuri!!! on Ice; Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812; Good Omens. There are things I remember with fondness about all those canons (… rpf fic, the way I look at it, is the canon) - but - like. They’re not *so* much, to me. Obviously, to other people, some of these fandoms are their very favorites!

There’s more or less stuff that I love in each fandom. Or, maybe, more accurately, if I think about the things that draw me to each - they mean more to me, or less.

I was fully immersed in Glee fandom for … almost four years. I’ve never had another experience like that, because for almost all of that time Glee was actively, um, happening to us ;). I joined in the middle of season three, I left the fall after season six ended - in part because I fell head over heels for Hamilton, but mostly just because. I’d spent almost four years reacting to the unfolding story (and spoilers for it etc.), writing fic and meta and so forth, having my enthusiasm refreshed every few months (at least) by injections of new canon. Of course half the time I was reacting against new canon info instead of in favor of it, lol, but in any case - I was kept interested! And so by five or six months after canon ended… I felt like I’d chewed it over enough. I still loved Glee, and I will always love Glee, but I’d had most of the thoughts I’ll ever have about it. I was ready to find something else to have new thoughts and fresh feelings about.

(I was in Hamilton fandom for about a year and my experience there ended because of the aftermath of a pile of pan-fandom-famous wank. Fuck Israa, I say, from the bottom of my heart. Although what got me to leave ultimately wasn’t the flames or dogpilers, but the fact that so much of the fandom at least passively agreed with and supported them, meaning that I never knew which of my fellow shippers I could try to befriend or interact with.) (And then, after Trump was elected, I became far less interested in writing any fic about any Founding Fathers than I was in 2015. Which was after I left the fandom, but not irrelevant to why I never went back.) (seriously tho, I will remember ‘i would hope that it is clear who i do and do not associate with’ 4ever.)

And then! I was obsessed with a fandom built out of a few strips out of a webcomic that I don’t even really like… on and off over four years!? Goddamn. When I needed something else cause I was frustrated with Hamilton, I fell into Check, Please! and Jack/Parse (<3 <3 <3), and, because (that segment of the) fandom was tiny, and (relevant to my interests) canon updates virtually nonexistent… I ran out of interest/excitement/engagement repeatedly, and took up - one after another - Hockey RPF, Yuri on Ice, Great Comet, and Good Omens - each for just two to six months, iirc. And then I boomeranged back to Jack/Parse.

(at some point I will finish the post in my drafts about why Jack/Parse had such a hold on me, ‘living in the wreckage of what you thought your life was going to be.’ But that is not this post.)

And THEN I fell in love the with The Untamed, (thanks, stulti! For turning me on to *two* of my all-time favorite fandoms), and it was just, like, amazing, for a while. I hadn’t loved a canon that much since Hamilton, which had been five or six years ago? Even though I’d been in a number of fandoms between the two. It was so nice to love something so very much!!! And I ended up kind of overdosing, I think, cause I was eating from the fandom buffet more-or-less indiscriminately… there were so many riches in that fandom! And so many that weren’t quite to my taste, lol, because there was (and is) SO MUCH STUFF in that canon for its fans to love. (there’s another post in my mental drafts about that.)

Anyway. My point is. I guess. That I hope to come back to The Untamed, sometime. I fully expect to come back to Nirvana In Fire. (It is, actually, so good? As a canon as well as a fandom.)

I don’t expect to come back to Check, Please! ever again, because, weirdly, I don’t think I need to. Of course my understanding of what it means to ~reconcile with one’s past~ etc. has changed in the last mumble-years, but more than that… I have Nirvana in Fire, now, to deal with almost the same issues. I don’t think I fully got the Extent of Mei Changsu’s (Lin Shu) identity issues until the end of the show? But in retrospect - now that I have -

Nirvana in Fire is a pretty perfect fandom/canon for coming back to with gaps between, lol. It’s small enough that I can read through all of my favorite AO3 tags and be left wanting more; it has enough of a strong but slowly-spreading appeal that new people do come and go between say, last summer when I consumed the canon for the first time, and this spring when I watched it again.

And maybe I won’t need to come back and back! Maybe a third watch will be enough for me to say the things in that I want to say. I certainly cannot guess ahead of time!

But - yeah. There are those fandoms I love ~forever,~ some of which I may not be done with…

And then there’s Word of Honor. Which I love right now. Even if it’s not as deep, or ~intense, or… whatever… as some of my other fandom loves; I still love it! Even if I can see ahead to six months from now when I bet I won’t, anymore. I still can’t believe that I spent the past hour-plus writing this post rather than dashing on to watch episode 30, which is what I was intending to do when I sat down.

It’s just - funny. That sort of double vision. How I know this fandom is Mx. Right Now, but that doesn’t make me squee any less.

[carriecutforth]

The Shit

Tumblr is telling me to go ahead, put anything...so here it goes

I haven't been public about this for reasons that will be apparent but gonna start this with all the trigger warnings. I'm writing it here cause I can't talk to the majority of people about it cause most people can't even grasp, and then questions start, putting me in the situation of feeling like my GIANT SWEATER of trauma is being unraveled answering questions that lead to more questions and gah PLEASE DO NOT RETUMBL-- I just need to scream in the void This is the shit: On the day my sister-in-law's mother died she had to call form-1 my baby brother because his psychosis (undiagnosed mental illness which I will get to) was terrorizing their family (three small kids). My mother WHO IS SCHIZOPHRENIC had him released into her and my ANTI-VAXXER ANTI-MASKER narcissist father's care, but NOT before they found out, incidentally due to the FORM 1, he is ALSO really sick with leukemia. I only found out because I decided to dip into the special folder for emails called MOM that I try to avoid reading as long as they can FOR REASONS. But I felt for some reason an urge to, and then I had to try to parse out what had happened from her ramblings that are A LOT. Then I had to confirm with my poor sil who is at her wits end and was in no position to tell me herself. My dad stopped talking to me back in November when I called him for his anti-vax rhetoric as being EUGENICS when he told me it is just the flu and only killing old people and the disabled. I reminded him I've been immuno-compromised my whole life (he KNOWS this) and got chronic fatigue after a flu in late 2016 (he knows this), and did he not care if I DIED? (apparently not) But I was like lol, fine, don't talk to me anymore. Die mad about it for all I care. A lot of people are like: 'oh, that's tough, losing a relationship with your father' and I'm like YOLO (it really isn't if you knew him). SO THEN I have to reach out to my dad: "Why isn't my brother in the hospital being treated by medical professionals for YOU KNOW, HIS LEUKEMIA." My dad responded that the doctors were JUST GOING TO PUMP HIM FULL OF DRUGS! And that HE is treating my brother's leukemia with I dunno baking soda (he told me before it is a cure for cancer). THEN HE GOES RADIO SILENT. I have no idea where my brother is cause they got him an apartment somewhere in Toronto. *though I do have a Machiavellian plan to try to find out. The reason my brother has untreated psychosis is that even though I've begged my parents since he was a TEEN to get him diagnosed, they refused. It's like they have the opposite of Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy in that their ABLEISM is soooo bad they refuse to see he has been very sick, and even if he was really sick, 'doctors are stupid' <--quoting my dad. This is the backstory. My dad was always on the road for his job. My mom had my baby brother AGAINST all wishes of her doctor to ever get pregnant again. I'm not talking aborting, she got PREGNANT on purpose again to SERVE GOD'S GREATER PURPOSE even though it might kill her and said future fetus. So he was born with a lot of issues because of the very bad pregnancy's complications on TOP of the very hereditary bipolar/schizophrenia, AND everything else we got going on besides. After he was born, my mom went into a very deep depression for years and then would vacillate between that and mania. Which meant me: THE ELEVEN year old was forced to raise a baby that wasn't hers and had no ultimate authority over. I was called by everyone his *BROTHER'S NAME* SECOND MOM. *More on this later Our relationship is very strained because of this, particularly when at 17 I had enough momming a child while being constantly undermined by my parents absolute shenanigans. So there was resentment when I quit being his 'second mom' and that he equally resented for things like, trying to put him into bed, when my mom would come in and say let him stay up all night or getting him to eat something other than candy for breakfast (you can guess the dynamic with my parents here). Even if my disabled ass could sue my parents for his

care, he doesn't WANT me to be in charge of his care.

And yet still, I tried to advocate for him for years fighting my parents TOOTH and NAIL to get him on disability and out from underneath their thumb so he could have a measure of independence and autonomy. They had every excuse in the book not to get him diagnosed including expense. It was so goddamned awful fighting with them on this cause in their mind: he was going to live with either them or me forever (they decided this for me and my ex-husband and kids with no consultation), so WHY bother set up his future for him??? So when he was 20?, I hatched a Machiavellian PLAN: I got him, against my parent's wishes, into college for the sole reason of getting the resources for him to get diagnosed so that he could get on disability. AND IT WORKED! (kinda) Except my parents twisted him so much into only talking about his autism spectrum symptoms and NONE of the psychosis because their ableism is sooooo entrenched. (but I did manage to get him on ODSP). And subsequent times I forced my dad to take him to a psychiatrist, he's like: 'oh, I forgot to talk about the psychosis we just talked about the aspergers. Besides people with psychosis are untreatable, you can't convince them otherwise' (see again, my mom). Over the years, I have begged my dad to take my brother to get properly diagnosed and treated (I'm not meaning forced, my brother is also agoraphobic, and won't leave his place UNLESS he is driven by my dad and was living in a city far away from me). I said, I was very concerned for his kids but my dad always gaslights me (and tells everyone I'm crazy -- the IRONY). So now my mom is writing me emails about how this is all my sil's fault because 'she is on drugs' (she is not), 'she is sleeping around' (she is not), 'her kids are scared of her not my brother' (it's the exact opposite). WHICH IS A HUGE TRIGGER FOR ME because She did the exact same thing to ME with my other brother (a diagnosed PSYCHOPATH) who used to beat me and the rest of us mercilessly when my parents weren't around (and they never believed me, and told everyone not to believe me because I was crazy), who pulled a KNIFE on me and threw a drawer at me when I was NINE MONTHS PREGNANT, and how absolutely awful I was AS HIS SISTER to kick him out of my house with no place to live or go (cause he was living with me and my ex-husband at the time because THEY KICKED HIM OUT OF THEIR PLACE and didn't want him back.) Are you beginning to get a sense of the dynamic of my family? Soooooooo the last few weeks my brain has just been in total trauma mode going processing, processing, processing, processing as the final total realization of how absolutely awful my family is finally laid bare (I mean I knew but at least I can stop feeling guilty about cutting them out of my life). So back to the 'second mom' shit, as relevant to my trauma brain processing the last few weeks. This whole shit above is just the tip of the iceberg. I was raised as a Joho in which a lot of my trauma comes from a pedophile left loose on three generations of girls in my family over a thirty year period, and if anyone came forward they were threatened with disfellowshipment and there is SO MUCH there it would take me several Tolkien novels to get how absolutely awful, extensive it was, and how the coverup went straight to the top. ANYHOO. So who was calling me my brother's 'second mom???' Well since, I wasn't allowed to have any association with non-witnesses, it was my congregation. No one questioned that I was being parentified and it was a deeply abusive situation. NO WHAT HAPPENED instead was, this sister in the congregation told everyone (when I was fifteen and 80 pounds soaking wet at the height of 5'10 1/2) that my brother WAS REALLY MY CHILD cause it was so obvious the way that I was the one who took care of him. And the elders of our congregation MARKED me as bad association for loose morals for having a supposed child out of wedlock when I was ELEVEN YEARS OLD. AND NO ONE in my congregation would talk to me, and I had NO IDEA why, cause they never told me that I HAD BEEN

MARKED. But the caveat was I was not allowed to talk to people outside of the faith. And we only found out about this a year an a half later when she said the same shit back in my hometown where he was born to a sister who was at the hospital where my brother was born. AND NO ONE thought, hey: maybe if we think she had a baby when she was eleven we should um CALL CHILD SERVICES or some shit? So i was like 16 1/2, not allowed to have any friends OUTSIDE OF MY PARENTS, find out THIS SHIT, and then people wonder why I had my first manic episode at 17??? Yeah, so this is where my brain has been stuck the last month, complicated that I knew I would be at risk for hypomania with things opening back up, and I'm supposed to be shooting a pilot for a potential series I'm the creator/co-shorunner of, so now I've had to go BACK on seroquel and it's the worst while i try to acclimatize myself to the drugs and stave off hypomania at the same time. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!

[pro-bee]

While we’re on the subject of “Family First” (lol were we?), watching it now for the first time since “She”/”Daughters”/Season 17, with part of the pain dulled knowing that the ship was righted, as it were, and that everyone is now safe and sound and together at last--

What is really striking, when you unpack the unbearable grief of it all, is just how palpable Tony’s love of Ziva is throughout the whole episode. 

From the moment in the previous episode that they figure out that Ziva is on Jacob Scott’s hit list, to the last scene in FF where Tony makes his exit forever, you see just how unbreakable that bond is.

At this point in the series, he hasn’t talked to Ziva in almost three years, has had no indication from her that she wants any contact, has ostensibly tried to “move on” for his own sake (even though it took him actual years to get to that point). But the second he realizes Ziva is in danger, he’s vaulted right back into her orbit. The guy who’s gone to the ends of the earth for her (twice) rears his head, and nothing is going to get in his way. It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t heard from her in years, could believe she wants nothing to do with him, could be protected by people closer to home. When he knows she might be in trouble, he’s the wild card.

[cut because this got waaaaay long]

And it’s even more revealing, because this isn’t like season 10, where they had a rift over Adam, but were still forced to be together and deal with their shit, as ugly as it was. So even if he was angry with her, it was still easy to tell Parsons that Ziva was his best friend and he would protect her at all costs, even when she hurt him. By season 13, they really may as well have been on different planets. We know he loved her, loves her, will always love her, but he’d resigned himself to the fact that she was gone and wasn’t coming back, and he was going to have to figure out a way to live without her. He wasn’t happy about it, and wasn’t doing a good job about it because even when he tried dating again, it was obvious how goddamn lonely he was. He didn’t make sense without her. And while he was trying his best to grow as a person and help himself heal, which was admirable, he was on his way to living with a wounded heart for the rest of his life. 

But then they see her name on that screen, and it’s like no time has passed, and they’re back on a mission to save her from the boogeyman yet again. Then Trent Kort comes in and pushes all the right buttons with the “girlfriend” crack, because he knows them, too, and again, it’s like we’ve been launched back into season 9-10, even without her physically there. 

It’s everything. From the way he goes after Kort in the bullpen (and no one tries to stop him) when he thinks he’s willfully putting Ziva’s life in danger (I mean, good call, Tony), to the way the pin drops at the end of “Dead Letter” when he sees the news about the fire at her farmhouse on TV and you see his vision tunnelling. From the way he says, “If that’s Ziva, I’ve gotta go” like nothing else exists in that moment, to the way Gibbs is already ahead of them and pushing him to go, and McGee already has his plane ticket ready for him because they know there isn’t a force in the world that’s going to stop Tony from going after Ziva. How he’s antsy at the apartment, packing for a trip that must feel way too familiar like he’s been thrown back three years, but can’t shake the feeling that she’s still out there, somewhere, because she always is. And when McGee and Abby break the news to him that she’s gone, his whole world shatters. And not in the big, dramatic breakdown (which comes next), but in the absolute shock that takes over his body that his worst nightmare is coming true.

Of course, there’s the “All hands on deck” scene, which wrecked us all, and is still probably one of the best moments of acting of Michael Weatherly’s career. (I go back and forth of my favourite moment of his being that scene or the orchard scene in PPF.) It’s not just the visceral pain of it all, the anger and the anguish. It’s that it’s so, so raw and primordial. Tony is running on pure id, all emotion and no rational thought at that moment. He’s drowning and he doesn’t want to come up; he wants to go down and be swallowed whole. You can see the absolute fear all over his face and in his whole body. This is his worst nightmare, has always been his worst nightmare since she came into his life. Somewhere you have to think that in the last three years, part of him has always worried that something would happen to her and he wouldn’t be there to help, or even worse, wouldn’t know about it until it was too late, and that has finally come to pass.

Tony isn’t a guy who loses control very often; he acts like a playboy or a class clown, but even that is often an act to hide who he really is. He keeps his emotions tightly wound, which is why the brief flashes we get occasionally (for instance, when he calls Ziva out on Adam) hit so hard, because he doesn’t usually get his feelings get the best of him, good or bad. But this scene throws that all out the window; Ziva is the one thing that makes him lose control, makes him follow his heart instead of lock it up tight. And the idea that she is gone forever unleashes every one of those feelings he’s repressed his entire life into the abyss. 

It’s in the way he slams his fists on his desk because he hurts and it’s in his warpath. it’s the way his eyes are absolutely wild like they’ve never been, unfocused and unhinged. It’s the way he will yell at anyone in the vicinity because every ounce of pain is begging to escape from his chest. It’s the way his voice hitches when he gets brought back down to earth, because the anguish constantly wrestles with the anger. And this time, I noticed that once Senior shows up and tells him to come home to catch his bearings, just for one night, he subtly shakes his head, almost like a child, because he cannot, absolutely cannot, believe what he is hearing. And going home, alone, is only going to bring it home that this is very, very real. It’s masterful. (Makes me wish MW had gotten more meat like this during his tenure on the show, because boy, can he bring it, when given the chance.)

Then, of course, there’s the Tali reveal, which is a while other post -- it’s bullshit and we all know it, but it happened and all’s well that ends well, now -- and again, we get all these subtle glimpses into their relationship, even through other people. The way nobody doubts that if Ziva had a daughter it could be anyone’s but Tony’s, because, of course they would have a baby. And it may be three years, but Tony knows Ziva and he knows that whatever they had, it was real, which is why he doesn’t doubt for a second that Tali is his. (I resent the fact that I have to write this sentence out because IT SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN THIS WAY SHOW but it is what it is) It’s been years, and if he’s moved on then maybe she has too, but he realizes how old she is and how the dates line up and he knows how Tali came to be. They may be fucked up, but they had something that summer and that fall and it was theirs alone.

There’s only a slight tinge of anger when he finds out; I’m sure there was a lot more of it later on, when the dust settled and the shock wore off. But his first reaction isn’t to lash out: his first reaction is to embrace Tali and devote himself to her wholeheartedly. (The first scene of them together after he introduction is the two of them playing like they’ve known each other her whole life. They could have played up the awkward new dad route until the photo scene, but instead kid-phobic Tony instantly bonded with Tali.) Even if Tali weren’t his, she was absolutely Ziva’s, and that alone would have been enough for him to love her and want to protect her. The fact that she was theirs, that made them two halves of a whole.

From that moment on, Tony no longer keeps his Ziva feelings inside anymore. To be fair, he’d actually been pretty open about them ever since he came back from Israel in season 11, from his discussion with Gibbs about feeling like he made the wrong choice coming back (only it wasn’t him who made the choice), to the one with Abby about missing Ziva but needing to move on, to every little moment in between where he refers to his healing and his terrible year without her and how he feels restless (the subtext meaning, without her). But whatever tenuous lock was on his Ziva-fault, her loss breaks it open, and every feeling bubbles to the surface. 

We see the unbearable grief at her death (or, “death” -- THANK YOU SEASON 16), absolutely played like that of a lover and not just a friend. (See the different reactions of McGee or Jimmy or Ducky or Abby, compared to Tony’s.) The shock and betrayal of finding out he’s a father and had no chance to be one, but still seeing the importance of stepping up and almost relief because at least he still has part of her to hold onto. The way he smells her scarf, an act of such intimacy you almost feel like a voyeur watching him breathe her in. The way he slowly comes to terms with it when he’s with McGee -- the reality setting in and the doubts creeping in about why Ziva kept Tali from him, how maybe she didn’t fully trust him, but that doesn’t matter, because he loved her. Goddamn, did he love her. McGee may be shocked about what Tony and Ziva were getting up to after hours, but one thing he does know is that they absolutely loved each other.

We see it in how tender he is with Tali; Tony is a good man and would do right by any orphaned child who needed protection in a scary time, but knowing Tali is his daughter and Ziva’s daughter makes her the most precious thing in the world to him from the get-go. From the moment he meets her, you can see that he vows to take care of her the way Ziva would have wanted. Because he loves her and while he just met Tali, he knows instantly that he loves her, too. And loving Tali is how her can honour his love of Ziva.

I absolutely hate the scene where they take down Trent Kort. I will always hate it. I may hate Trent Kort, but I hate unnecessary use of force even more, and always have, and this has always been a scene that horrifies me. That being said, the important part of it is when he declares that “[ZIva] was my family.” It’s important that he says it to Kort, because Kort has always needled both he and Ziva about their relationship since his first appearance, and he used that against Tony in the previous episode. He needed Kort to see just what he destroyed by (supposedly) killing her, that this was not at all a professional beef that was about to go down, but absolutely a personal one. 

And it’s finally an admission of what he and Ziva were to each other. They weren’t just colleagues, or partners, or even friends (although they were all of those things and they were all important). They were family; they became intertwined in a way that made them inextricable from each other. Season 10 showed us this in spades, and “PPF,” while a punch in the gut, was basically an hour-long tribute to it. (As much as I hate how Ziva left, the orchard scene and the tarmac scene are two of the most beautiful scenes of their relationship. They are acts of devotion.) They were everything to each other, and all Tali did was become a representation of it. Becoming parents didn’t make them a family, it only entrenched it. They were each other’s family long before that. By the time Abby implores him to understand, he’s realized that in his own way, he did know. It just got lost for awhile.

In a way, “Family First” is a bookend to “Past, Present and Future,” albeit not necessarily in the way want. In PPF, Tony was so desperate to commit to Ziva, to make a home with her and love her the way he knew was ready for, to make a life with her, but she wasn’t ready, and that was the tragedy of it all. In FF, he does finally get to make that commitment to her, by way of Tali. Like he tells Gibbs, he’s now everything to her, and by doing so he’s finally everything to Ziva, too. It’s all backwards, of course, but Tali is everything he wanted in that orchard: she is their family. All those moments where he doubted whether he made the right choice, whether he should go back and ask Ziva to give them another chance, if staying would have made them happier-- ultimately, Tali makes that choice for them, and he does go back to find their home. It’s not in the way he, or any of us, wanted, but she is his answer. And he knows how much Ziva loved Tali, and that must tell him that somewhere, she loved him, too. And while the weight of his grief must press on him like a boulder, another weight that had been on his shoulders since PPF lifts, because he knows, finally, that he is loved.

Of course, the infuriating thing is that it took MW’s exit for the show to finally acknowledge it. And it took them killing off Ziva for them to get ready to show it. I can’t help but think how much the show would have benefitted if they’d leaned into these feelings and developments years earlier, how much richer the story would have been, how many amazing performances we could have witnessed, when every dangerous situation would have even deeper layers by virtue of the added weight of Ziva and Tony’s love for each other. I’m not talking about them making out all the time (although I wouldn’t say no ngl), but every dangerous situation, every life-threatening mission, every near-miss or serious injury to unfold-- we could have gotten some grade-A performances from these actors. Imagine even a fraction of MW’s range in the “all hands on deck” scene in a situation where Ziva’s life is threatened? Imagine Ziva’s barely-contained rage if someone harmed Tony? Imagine episode codas where we get those quiet moments of love as an antidote to whatever horror happened in the case, how much the characters could expand from acknowledging the love and support they have, instead of dancing around the word?

So, in conclusion, it sucks that this is how we had to see it, but if they had to make MW’s final episode all about Ziva, I’m glad they at least acknowledged the elephant in the room, which was that Tony was hopelessly in love with Ziva and had been for ages, even when they were oceans apart. We saw the beginning of it in PPF where he begged her to come home, where she told him he was loved-- but finally we saw the words out of his mouth, not that we needed them. But what I’m saying is that the show finally let Tony say those words out loud, voice the emotions he was feeling and lay them out in the open for everyone to see. 

Luckily, now, we can watch the episode through a different lens. It still hurts, because this was not the way it should have been. There was no way Ziva should have been pregnant and alone and raised Tony’s child without him for nearly three years, and there was no way Tony should have been deprived of that and only found out after she died. But now we know that the show basically wrote its own fix-it fic on itself to try to salvage some of this story, and I’m grateful. None of this is the way we wanted it, but on the other hand, they could have let it be. They could have doubled-down on it and made her really, really dead and have Tony move on without her. Instead, it’s canon that they love each other and are finally together for their happy ever after, so I’ll take what I can get.

Because Tony really loves Ziva, and Ziva really loves Tony, and that is the thread that holds this whole thing together.