#i’m glad that i cared enough about somebody that i put in the effort to make something that i thought was meaningful

[2003hondacivic]

[hyuckswoman]

alumnusbf!mark helping you study

pairing: alumnus mark (who’s also your bf) x reader

genre: fluff

summary: you’re stressing over this one subject until your bf appears

“fucking hell” you mutter, your finals were in a week and you were currently studying the subject you have been dreading since the beginning of the study period. Studying for exams was not fun. Especially when you had this gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you that you were 100% going to fail.

markie

hey babe, you busy?

upon hearing the notification, you cursed at yourself as you swore you put your phone on do not disturb to avoid distractions .Yet here you were grabbing it to check the notification. turns out you did put your phone on do not disturb but since your boyfriend (who had to practically beg you to get removed off there texted you) was the origin of the notification, your phone still notified you.

being too lazy to write back, you just decided to call him

“hey, what’s up? I’m studying for my finals right now” you say after greeting him “oh really? I’m sorry to disturb then, how long have you been studying?” your boyfriend mark asks “hours. i literally had a full on mental breakdown studying the course because i suck at it and it feels like no matter how hard I study I just keep on failing” you say sighing “did you cry?” mark asks, maybe he knows you a little too well. “yea” you sigh yet again, it bothered you to see how big of a toll your academics were taking on you

“that’s a good thing then! wait no I don’t mean you crying is a good thing I meant it’s a good thing I’m on my way with food and stuff to give you a break” your boyfriend says making you laugh “mark, look I really truly appreciate it but I also really need to study” you say. honestly seeing how fucked you were because of this one course you couldn’t allow any distractions, and lord knows mark was a pretty big one

“no I know, we’ll just eat and then I’ll help you study. trust when I’ll leave you’ll be back in your academic weapon antics” mark says. after weighing your options (not that you had much of a choice seeing as though he was already on his way) you figured that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. you had the chance of having a boyfriend who already graduated which meant he already passed this course so maybe it’d actually help

“hi babe, i brought food” your boyfriend says, you were glad you had a boyfriend that supported your big backed antics. “i might make you my male wife at this point” you said as he hugged you. you guys then decided to turn on the tv and put a show none of you cared about for the sole purpose of having some background noise.

“okay, we’ve been slacking off for long enough, let’s get to studying now” your boyfriend says. you almost forgot about your finals for a second.

“okay, we’re done making the flash cards, quiz time” mark says quietly laughing upon seeing your face. “every right answer you get, i’ll kiss you” he says finding a way to motivate you as you looked like you were on the verge of dying. “I don’t think it helps, you distract me too much. i’ll probably only remember the kisses and not the actual class material” you reply. As much as it didn’t look like it you were seriously (for once) in the mood to study, you couldn’t let this pretty man distract you no more.

a short while after you were thrown over your desk defeated because what do you mean you only got like half the questions right???

“I don’t understand I’ve spent literal hours trying to memorize this shit I’m sick of it I just want it to be over” you sigh, this is the first time you’ve struggled this much over a school subject. usually being a bit above average doesn’t require you a lot of efforts so you never really tried that hard to pass your classes throughout the years. college beat the shit out of you tho!! you found yourself completely taken aback by the difficulty and you had to learn how to properly study throughout the years. if somebody asked you, you’d say you’ve got studying covered but seeing how this study session was going maybe you didn’t…

“I think you’re getting those wrong because you don’t understand this part” mark says patting your head as you mumble an ‘i know’. being the very considerate boyfriend he is, he then proceeded to explain the entirety of the material, dumbing it down whenever you looked up at him confused or when your eyebrows frowned a little too much. he also was so very patient, explaining the same things to you three different times as you had already forgotten what he said as soon as he moved on to another topic.

the dedication mark put into your academics was just too much for your heart to handle, you loved him so much and the fact he didn’t mind spending his evening studying with you instead of doing literally anything else warmed your heart. that’s why you didn’t have it in you to tell him you were getting gradually sleepier and were fighting your mind to stay awake because how could you when he looked so good concentrated trying to explain to you what you deem as the most incomprehensible subject ever.

“y/n? i feel like I’m losing your attention are you- oh.” mark says finally looking up from your study sheets seeing you asleep on your desk “pft, I didn’t know I was this boring damn” he laughs. since you were already in your pajamas and were in a position where the man could not carry you to bed he decided to gently shake you to wake you up “hm? I’m sorry I fell asleep markie, thank you for studying with me I love you. let me read the cards again to make sure I understand better” you say your voice a bit groggy “what? no go to sleep, nothing you read now will be effective just rest and sleep will take care of the memorizing for you” mark says preparing your bed for you “okay but only if you join me” you say already laying down under your covers “of course dude, let me put the things away and I’ll join you” mark says as he looks over to your half awake self that’s seemingly waiting for him

being in front of your final paper makes you realize even more how lucky you are to have mark in your life because you knew damn well that if the study session never happened you would have been shitting bricks internally crying over how much you don’t understand but now you got out of the final feeling confident you didn’t fail. you ran up to mark who was waiting for you to celebrate final period being over and he couldn’t help but mimic your immense grin as you told him how the final went better than what you had expected and thanked him for his help. He did refute by telling you it was all you and your mind but settled on taking a little bit of credit after you threatened him.

it was kinda crazy how mark made everything easy, every single thing without exception. looking at your boyfriend eating his meal you couldn’t help but smile thinking about how much you loved that man and how lucky you were to have him in your life.

[makur0]

“you’re perfect every way.”

synopsis — mika is noticing that you’re slowly distancing yourself from him. after finally pinning you down and getting an answer, he does his best to make you feel loved. [mika kagehira x AFAB! reader]

content warnings — nsfw, mndi. soft! dom mika, nicknames, mirror play, praising, self-praise, slight teasing, fingering; slight angst in beginning, fluff at end (possibly ooc mika?? i’m too tired to really look)

author notes — uh, hi! first oneshot here, hope you (nearly nonexistent readers lmao) guys enjoy!

word count — 1195

MIKA PRETTY MUCH HAD ENOUGH.

For the past week- no, two weeks, you’ve been drifting away from him. Even when he got home early enough to see you when you were awake, you would merely greet him then scuttle off into the bedroom. He didn’t think much about it before; you were also a busy person. But as it became more frequent...

Was it something he did before? Something that he possibly forgot about because of his huge workload? Although he didn’t want to blame his Valkyrie jobs on the relationship status, he was starting to worry that it was indeed the case.

But with his energy- and his patience- thinning, he couldn’t just let you sneak back into the shadows once again.

“[name]-”

His stomach twisted as you failed to even meet his eyes. A sick thought ran through his mind, his lips pursing.

Is it my eyes again? Do they now think that they’re terrible too...?

“[name],” He repeated again, a bit more forceful. He was glad that you didn’t resist when he tenderly grabbed your hands, but didn’t like the fact that you still weren’t looking at him. “Ah, geez, did I do something? I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to ya-”

His heterochromatic eyes drifted to the kitchen counter, and saw a familiar magazine lying open.

So that’s what it is.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your fingers twitching as if you didn’t know whether to pull away or tighten your grip. “I couldn’t help myself...”

Mika’s expression melted into a sympathetic one. “[name]...”

“You could’ve just told me that sustaining our relationship was hard for you,” you said, making your voice clearer. “I know it’s hard for idols like you to date... especially since you have so much work on your back. Why would you put in the extra effort for me?

“Why me? Why couldn’t you just choose somebody popular, they would certainly help the rise of your idol career. I’m just a person struggling to get my next paycheck. Mika-”

You stopped suddenly as he removed his hold on your hands, one of them lifting up to your chin and making you stare into his blue and yellow eyes. His gaze was hurt.

“Do ya really think that?” He whined, his childish persona still shining through. “[name], I seriously love ya. Even more than Valkyrie, my idol career. You mean so much to me.”

Huffing, he pulled you into a surprising hug, a pout on his lips. “I don’ care if it means more work for me. Yer the world to me.”

“Mika...”

You cut off as he suddenly pulled you in for a kiss, his eyebrows furrowing as he pressed your body closer to his. Heat exploded in your cheeks as you could only let your eyes drift close and accept it.

After a short second he broke away from you, a small puff coming out of his mouth. “I’m gonna make sure ya know how much I love you, and how beautiful you are to me.”

...

You really weren’t expecting Mika, out of all people, to be into this.

“Stop hiding yerself,” You shivered as the male breathed down the nape of your neck, unconsciously listening to him and spreading your legs wide open again.

He had you sitting in his lap, completely undressed, staring straight at your reflection. Reddening marks blossomed around your collarbone, Mika continuing to make more as he grew comfortable. You, on the other hand, was a blushing, embarrassed mess.

The said male frowned lazily, his gaze drifting downwards on your reflection. “See how beautiful ya are? Why are you tryna hide it?”

One of his hands drifted down to your heat, and your breath hitched as it grazed over your sex. But as soon as it came, he lifted his hand away from you, and you suppressed a whine.

“Already so needy~” Mika cooed lightheartedly, chuckling. “Don’tcha worry. I’ll give you exactly ya want once you do something for me.”

You bit your lip, meeting his gaze through the mirror. Taking it as a sign to continue, he opened his mouth again. “I want you to list off every single thing that’s beautiful about you. For everything listed...” He tapped a finger softly on your clit, and your legs twitched. “I’ll pleasure ya. How ‘bout that? [name]?”

“Y-yes...”

He grinned brightly, his sudden movement causing him to accidentally press on your clit. You bit your lip, your eyes narrowing.

“Go on ahead,” Mika mumbled against your skin, applying more love bites. “Let me hear you.”

“I- uh...” You weren’t really good at this- being put into the spotlight. But because it was your loved one, and you were rather needy for him, you really couldn’t just back off.

“Uhm... I- I think I’m intelligent oh-” You stifled a gasp, stiffening as Mika had suddenly slid two slender fingers into your heat. But that was it, he just stayed still and stared at you, urging you to continue.

“I’m talented,

“P-pretty...

“Ngh, kind~!”

As you continued to praise yourself, Mika stayed true to your word. He increased the pace he fingered you, his thumb reaching up to your forgotten clit. As the pleasure heightened, positive words bubbled in your head and flowed out of your mouth, almost too far gone. You really didn’t know what you were saying now- all you could focus on how good Mika was pleasuring you.

“Good girl, keep it going...” The male swallowed back a moan of his own as his other hand occupied his hard-on. “Make yerself realize why I love you so much, darling.”

More and more praises came out, broken with moans as Mika soon thrusted wildly into your heat, making you contort in pleasure. At one point he made you force your eyes open, and the sight in front of you was almost enough to make you go undone. Your slick decorating his fingers, sweat dotting your body like crystalline gems, and Mika biting into your shoulder as he too came close to his high.

One particular thrust to your sweet spot had you reeling, tightening on Mika’s fingers and arching your back. An almost wanton moan left your lips, your hands tightening around his thighs as he fingered you through your orgasm. A muffled whine from him signaled that he too came, his heterochromatic eyes rolling back as he stained his pants.

He stopped, resting his hand on your stomach, and the two of you caught your breath. Once Mika regained his senses, he lifted up his soaked fingers to your mouth, motioning you to open your mouth. Obeying him, you parted your lips, a rather sweet yet tangy taste covering your taste buds. He then brought you in for a kiss, his tongue exploring your own.

Even though it was a short session, exhaustion overcame you slowly. You couldn’t even bring yourself to stay awake to help Mika clean up because of the fact that he was now wrapping his arms around you, almost welcoming you to slumber.

Before you could fully drift into sleep, you heard one thing from him that made your heart flutter:

“You’re perfect in every way, love.”

[formulapisces]

okay sorry this is close to a day late 😭😭 today has been non-stop sport so I haven't been able to spare much attention for other things 🥺

I know the feeling about getting burned out and giving up. for me I think it is a combo of the adhd and the metaphorical ghost of my mother habitually criticising me and they're both really hard to shake off :/ I'm honestly not sure how to get past it, but I'm trying to have more fun with learning this time around and trying to not have so much pressure on myself. doing it the other way didn't get me anywhere :/

being unwell during an exam sounds awful :( anxiety is even worse :/ I'm glad it worked out in the end though 🥺🥺🥺

🦇🩷🫂 (bat anon who will keep cheering you on)

oh i’m sorry i didn’t see this because (ironically) i was distracted… again. this one is more personal and is mostly just me rambling for paragraphs about how much free time i have and how i’ve been spending it.

i go on tangents about art styles, little hedgehogs, exams, and waiting lists. enjoy. 😂

the exams i missed were all multiples: i had 3 history exams and missed one, 2 physics exams and missed one, and 2 english language exams and missed one - that’s why i was able to pass because they used my averages. nobody thought i was going to pass, and i completely broke down when i got home on results day because i was told for the whole summer that i didn’t try hard enough and if i really cared i would have showed up but it isn’t that easy and people don’t understand that. i used to say it was because of a miracle that i passed, but now i’m saying it was because of me, and the effort i put in to everything else which i was able to do. 🙂🫂

i go through almost the exact same thing, so i relate to that 🫂🫂🫂. i get burned out because of adhd and then feel guilty i’m burned out, which only leads me to feeling even worse. i’ve been trying to do things just because they make me happy and just focusing on myself recently. i’m just doing my paintings and going on my walks 😅🫂. it’s really difficult because (using those exams as an example) i was completely burned out and unmotivated but i didn’t get any help from anybody, i was just criticised for it which made the situation even worse. that seems to be a pattern now, whether it’s somebody else giving the criticism or myself, so that’s what i’m trying to stop.

i’m letting myself take breaks and giving myself permission to heal, whether that looks like going on a 3 hour walk, or staying in bed and watching whatever youtube video will distract me or make me smile until i’m ready to face everything again, and both are just as good as eachother :)

i’ve forgotten to mention that i’m meant to be having an autism assessment, but the waiting list is so long. i was assessed as a child but they would just say no because i was shy. because of the fact that i can’t even stand to look at anybody because of anxiety and being uncomfortable until they mention one of my few interests, we* decided to agree to go through with it again. right now i feel like i’m just waiting for so many things, and i have so much time to myself and so much time to think - and that’s been good and bad. if i was doing something else right now i actually think i’d be in a lot worse of a place and i don’t regret taking the path i took, quitting my job, not continuing education, it lead to me talking to you and picking up painting again and going outside more. when i was in work, i felt so trapped and it made my already bad mental health worse. (we* = me and my last therapist)

i realise i’m rambling and i think the running theme throughout me rambling has been time, and giving yourself the time and permission to just live, to take an hour rambling on tumblr because it makes me feel better.

i also realised from having so much time to myself, and this might sound stupid, but you don’t have to accept the criticism. it’s obviously not easy and a lot easier said than done but i don’t need to accept criticism, i can and will do things i enjoy for myself. for example: when i used to draw i would do really ‘impressive’ detailed realism, only for my families validation, but i didn’t like it, i just liked that my family were seeing something i drew and i felt accepted because of that. now that i get the validation from myself, i’m doing what i love, which turns out to be watercolour landscapes and (spoiler alert) it is not detailed or ‘impressive’ but i like it. i like drawing funny looking little hedgehogs and bees and robins or whatever stupid thing makes me giggle. i like how therapeutic it is and that’s what matters :) id much prefer to sit by my window while it’s raining drawing things i love, instead of going grey at 13 because i cant draw eyelashes. 😅

this was just me writing anything which came to mind so i’m sorry it was such a mess, a lot of thoughts came to me all at once and i wanted to write them all out. thank you for reading this far, i really appreciate you reading everything i write back even if it is paragraphs of something i could have said in 2 sentences.

i’m always cheering you on too!!! i have no idea what i’d do if i didn’t have somebody who is always there for me, you’ve helped me so much, more than you would ever imagine. you’re so helpful and kind, i feel the love and i’m sending lots back for you 🫂🤍💜

[jasperwritespoetry]

Why.

Why am I fighting so hard

To hold onto this

When it’s obvious

That it’s fizzling out

I want you so bad

I need you

But I don’t think you’re mine

Nor were you ever

I give all my care

All my support

And I don’t feel that it’s reciprocated

And that’s okay

I understand

I get it

I do

I just-

I want to be cared for

the way I care for others

I want goodmorning texts

And goodnight texts

So I know you’re thinking of me

So I know you care

I want “how are you doing”

And “are you okay”

And “I’m here for you”

And “you can always talk to me”

I don’t get it

And I know hinting is wrong

But if I ask how you’re doing

Why can’t you ask back

And if you’re not the type to ask back

If you’d rather I just give my answer

Then why, when I just offer up my answer

You ignore me

I can outright say

“I’m not doing good”

And you say “same”

Or just ignore me

I get that you’re not doing well either

But I support you when I’m not doing well

Why can’t u even attempt to do the same

Why can’t u return the effort

You talk about yourself a lot

And I love that

I love to hear about you

And how you’re doing

But when I talk about me

You shut down

and you shut me down

And I’m left to bottle it back up

I am so so lonely

And you can’t see that

You can’t see me

You won’t see me

You say you’re lonely too

As if I don’t exist

As if I’m not supporting u

In every way I can

Maybe you’re lonely

Bc we don’t have that connection anymore

Because you won’t talk with me

Only at me

Can you see me?

Do I exist to you

As a person

Or as a therapist

This is starting to feel one sided

This is starting to feel very familiar

Too familiar

I don’t want the same things to happen again

I thought you were different

I wanted you to be different

I needed you to be different

I don’t know if you’re different

Sometimes u seem to care

But I start to wonder If you actually do

Or if it’s putting in just enough effort

To get me to stay

You’re pulling away from me

And I don’t know if it’s something I did

Or didn’t do

Or if it’s you

Whatever the reason

Why not just talk to me

I’ve been open and understanding

And you won’t

And why don’t you care how I am

I can go days

Without telling u anything about how I am

And you won’t even think to ask

Better yet,

I can tell you exactly how I am

And you don’t seem to care

And you’ll brush me off or shut me down

Am I your partner

Or a rebound

That you didn’t mean to get stuck with

So now you’re slow ghosting

When we’re together

You won’t do things with me

We don’t go anywhere

We barely even touch

You don’t look at me the same

You don’t treat me the same

Was is a game to you

Am I a game to you

I’m glad you’re happy with him

I am

But you’re putting all of that effort

Into him and none into me

Do I not matter anymore

Have you found a rebound from your rebound

Was I just a stepping stone

Until you could find someone better

I am so alone

I am so lonely

I am so hurt

I am so disappointed

I thought I was falling in love

And maybe that’s why this hurts so bad

You don’t love me

Never will, never have

I just want to be special to somebody

I thought it was you

But you don’t seem to care about me anymore

And you’ve left me broken again

Why am I never good enough

Why is all I do never enough

Why am I so hurt

Why am I still trying

I can’t even talk to you about this

Bc I know exactly how it’ll go

Same way it has in the past

Same way it will in the future

I’ll bring it up

You’ll get defensive

Make excuses

And shut me down

If you do promise to change

It’ll only be a few days

Then things will go right back

To how it is now

Why am I doing this to myself again

Why am I letting this happen again

Why are you doing this to me

Do you even know

Do you even know????

If I told you

Would you listen

Would you care

[5/3/23]

[lorei-writes]

Emoji Prompts

Arthur x Reader Fluff

ARTY. I MISSED HIM SO SO SO MUCH.

Request: @nuttytani​ Prompt list

💓 How do they act when they realize they’re in love/have a crush?

Honestly, Arthur is terrified - and the giddiness he feels when looking at you does not make it any better! Listen, he tries to be nice and just the normal kind of polite, he tries to hold back with habitual flirting, he  r e a l l y  attempts to pretend before himself that you’re just that amazing and that anybody would feel the same if they got to know you just as well as he does!

However, he doesn’t lie to himself for long. After all,he knows that deep down, he’s just scared. For once, he actually feels something deeper towards somebody, and he truly believes for it to be genuine. Yet... People are fragile things. He knows that better than anybody, and him being a vampire hardly helps. He is not ready for another parting.

He... He hesitates a little. He tries to prove to you that the world is much more dangerous than you assume it is, that he is not this kind... Yet, the same way the rainfall cannot last forevermore, his anxiety eases too. With time, and some patience from your side.

(...) “Hmm? What is it? You have something you want to ask me about? I’m all ears then.” (...) “Haha, about that...” “Well, I am glad we made that bet.” (...) “What? Me? Sappy? Oh luv, how dare!”

🤧 How far will they go to take care of their sick s/o?

My, my, sickness came over you? You can bet Arthur is going to employ all of his knowledge - and mind you, he has a medical degree - to aid you. Rest assured, however, unless your condition is really dire, he will not panic. He will just... Make sure you can come back to health under optimal resting conditions.

Arthur has seen enough people suffer. He is more than aware that overexertion is not going to help you - as such, he will make sure you can focus on yourself without worrying about your work. If running some errands is what it takes for you to be able to relax? He doesn’t mind (and for that matter, neither do the other residents of the mansion).

However, if even that fails him... He will write and read stories, just for you. He will brew you tea, he will bring you breakfast to bed, and if the condition turned out to be of the persistent and exhausting type, he’d find time for you both to sit in the gardens, to catch some sun. If it was winter, he’d insist on short walks - and he’d always make sure to wrap the scarf around you, so that no frost could bite your skin.

“Good morning! You’re up early today.” (...) “Hah, I see. How’s the fever? Did you have shivers at night?” (...) “Oh, don’t look at me like that, love. I just have to know... Heavens, your forehead still feels hot.” [...] (...) “Huh? What was it?” “You don’t want for me to worry?” (...) “Please. It’s only natural I worry a little. But I trust you will be right as rain before I even know it.”

😎 How do they impress their s/o?

The sweetest thing about Arthur is that he doesn’t need to try to impress, as he is most impressive when he isn’t even trying. The way he treats children, the thought he puts into his stories, the effort he makes to use his abilities to help others, the way he can use logical reasoning to solve the most cryptic of mysteries - it all seems to come so effortlessly to him.

Arthur may be flirting with you, he may be using honeyed words, he may take you on the walks and make sure you enjoy yourself... Yet in doing all of this, he fails to realise that the most impressive thing about him is the person he himself is. So little, and so much.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

On Amber Bennett and her response to Mark's secret...

It's bizarre that people think Amber isn't justified in wanting the truth and/or to be trusted. Like, people summing up her frustrations in the months long situation she's been in with Mark as unreasonable doesn't sit well with me. Mark being a hero doesn't excuse not considering Amber's feelings with the optics of keeping his identity a secret.

Why is Mark not held to a standard of saying, "Sorry, I do like you, but I have too much going on in my life to date," in the beginning? That was his first mistake, which he's allowed, because this is a huge life change and a lot of responsibility and hard work. Responsibility and hard work that IF you're going to get involved with someone, you'll have to share or put work onto them that they haven't agreed to. That was his choice.

He thought about telling her and Eve told him that IF he was going to tell Amber, he had to be sure that he was serious about her, because there's no turning back from that. He made ANOTHER choice not to tell her (once again, his right), but also with these parameters - the decision shows that he wasn't sure if he was serious enough about Amber to tell her and relieve the strain that was already forming from his decision to get involved with someone when it wasn't a good time. It also brought another situation in which he could have explained, "I like you and I thought that I had time to try to begin a relationship. As it turns out, I'm not able to put as much energy into it as I initially thought or wanted."

Mark didn't make that choice. Mark decided that he wanted to keep the perks of seeing Amber without having to face the fact that he was being a disappointment and not fulfilling the needs of a partnership.

He decided to do that for months.

That's literally the definition of stringing someone along, whether or not he meant to do it. Whenever Amber figured out his secret weeks ago, she didn't automatically get mad and bounce. She waited and tried to continue - decisions she had been making at her own expense, as we saw, she wasn't getting reciprocated in the relationship with time and effort.

Then, the first chance that he had to be in a situation to tell her, he dashed away in secret and and came back with yet another lie, after asking her to come to college with him and her being (as a civilian) right in the middle of a life threatening situation.

It makes perfectly good sense for things to boil over from the months of secrets in the heat of almost dying and he STILL wasn't telling her the truth.

The fact that people seem to think that it's some small thing to expect honesty, especially in a matter of life or death, after several months of trying to give somebody the benefit of the doubt just seems to say more about what y'all think Black female characters *should* put up with than it does a reasonable expectation for her.

Because, I thought "Oh, she's putting up with this because she's young and doesn't know any better." I definitely would not have gone along with someone letting me down religiously for five months. Her standing up for herself was an act of self care that she had not granted herself not only in the months she was in the dark but the weeks that she was in the know and waiting on him to trust her.

Amber shouldn't HAVE to be willing to make things work in a situation that she didn't agree to. But, she DID try. Her efforts to continue to work things out that benefitted her in no way was met with yet another one of Mark's stale lies. No. Mark is not obligated to tell her his secret identity, but if he really respected her, he would have been honest about not being ready or able to be in a serious relationship. What he did instead was continue to promise to get better and do better - Yes, that IS stringing somebody along. Because he didn't get better or do better.

She had had enough, and while calling him a lying piece of shit might seem harsh, for her, having been lied to for months and then in a life threatening situation where he didn't confort her, he dashed off did his thing and literally came back with another lie. "Lying piece of shit" was mean, not inaccurate. Let Mark be held accountable for his mistakes and Amber have the autonomy to call his ass to task.

There's nothing wrong with writing a Black girl not taking shit from her boyfriend, whether or not you would. Amber didn't do nothing wrong. She stood up for herself. Being a hero is not a free for all card to have partners nor friends allow you to handle them in ways that a regular person would not. People expect Black girls to put up with everything and I'm so damn glad she didn't. Proud of her. Now, Mark can go work on being better at communicating things to people and not stringing them along.

He made some mistakes and he's a young man going through a lot, so it's understandable. But his mistakes don't get to weigh on her conscience for her to suffer in silence.

[itwoodbeprefect]

Inge! sorry I'm a little late to the party, but do you still take prompts? if yes, I'd like to request a friendship piece for either Rodney&Teyla or Rodney&Ronon (w/ or w/out a dash of McShep is good for me) pretty please? thanks! <3

Not that late at all, and what a lovely warm prompt! Thank you. :D

I went with Rodney & Ronon, but also kind of Rodney & Teyla and maybe Ronon & Teyla, and also John is around, and it’s almost teamfic? Also, Jeannie.

---

The door to John’s quarters slides open exactly like his own would, which he expects, but he stops cold after two hasty steps into the room anyway. He turns back to the door to check, and in the process has to look past the Johnny Cash poster above the bed and the surfboard leaning against the wall and the giant brick of a Tolstoy book on the nightstand, so yeah, he decides in the end, without stepping out to doublecheck - these are John’s quarters. There’s not a single thing out of place, except, well, the obvious.

“McKay,” Ronon grumbles. It sounds like a greeting. Like Ronon, sitting fully clothed on the edge of John’s made bed, is saying hi.

“What are you doing here?” Rodney asks, by way of saying hi back.

“Meeting Sheppard.” Ronon grins, in a way that looks a little dangerous. That’s a good sign with Ronon, who has no problem looking a lot dangerous, if he wants. “Unless you want to spar with me.”

Rodney does not. Rodney thinks that’s a little too predictable for him to say out loud; quite honestly, he thinks John is crazy for endangering his life that way voluntarily every week.

Rodney looks back at the door again, which has slid closed, and in front of which the person he’s been looking for has not suddenly materialized in the last ten seconds. “Where is John?”

“Not here.”

Rodney’s nerves make him skip the snappy comeback. “Any idea where he might be?”

“Why?” Ronon asks.

Which is more than enough to make Rodney spill his guts. He was barely holding it in, anyway. “I think Jeannie’s mad at me, and I’m not sure why.” He frowns and starts to pace back and forth and rub his hands together. He’s a multitasker. “I don’t think I did or said anything rude lately, but her emails are shorter than usual, and she didn’t even sign the last one. It’s really not like me to overthink these kinds of things, because I don’t care what people think of me anyway-” That’s a lie, he’s come to realize in recent years, but it’s a comforting one to repeat out loud, sometimes. “But, you know, I think I was the bad guy for not contacting Jeannie all those years and we’ve only just started being brother and sister again, so I’ve been trying to put in the effort, and now I think she’s mad at me.” He stops marching and gives the too long, didn’t read version. “So I need someone to tell me what I did wrong, so I can fix it.”

Ronon levels a look at him. “And you need John for this.”

The look says more than the words, and it has a point, of course. John’s not known for his exceptional social grace and skill. Rodney wags his head a little, considering how to justify his choice. John is his best friend, but he’d feel a little pathetic saying that to Ronon, who he’s pretty sure is also John’s best friend. “He had some surprisingly clever insights about my relationship with Jeannie last time she was here,” is what Rodney lands on, reluctantly. He spots John’s golf stuff in the corner, and wistfully thinks back to being able to just ramble at John without Ronon sitting there, judging him.

Ronon leans back, planting his hands behind him on the mattress. “I could help,” he offers, out of the blue.

Some deep, deep blue. Blue enough to make Rodney stare, hands stilling mid-wring. “You?” Rodney’s not trying to be offensively puzzled, but he thinks he’s allowed a little surprise. If John is dubious in his social grace, Ronon is a tripping hazard. “You could help?”

Ronon stares back like a challenge. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Rodney says. He waits and looks at Ronon expectantly, but nothing happens. Ronon just looks back at him mutely. “Please?”

“What would Teyla do?”

“Huh?” She’s not here, either - if Ronon’s help is just sending him to chase someone else around the city, that’s not very helpful at all.

“Ask yourself,” Ronon says. “What would Teyla do? And then do that thing.”

Rodney is right back to baffled. He’s not sure he ever left - he’s talking to Ronon Dex about feelings. “Is that how you handle a problem?”

“No.” Ronon leaves a pause there. Rodney finds himself unexpectedly distracted by the question if Ronon talks so little because he really just doesn’t have much to say, or because finding words takes effort. “I glare at it until it goes away.”

Rodney huffs a laugh out of pure surprise, because that almost sounds like a joke. It may not have been, but either way Ronon doesn’t glare at him, which Rodney takes as a sign that he hasn’t just become a problem.

“And if that doesn’t work-” Ronon continues, which Rodney feels is surprisingly talkative of him, until he lets that sentence hang unfinished.

But Rodney can do that, now. Finish Ronon’s sentence. “What would Teyla do?”

Ronon nods. He looks a little smug, like there’s a dead Wraith around here somewhere. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” Rodney says, both because he would have guessed that Ronon’s backup plan would involve a lot more knives (though it could, potentially, still involve knives sometimes - Teyla’s very good with those) and because that’s actually good advice. If there’s one person who would know how to get someone to tell them what’s wrong, it’s Teyla.

And if Teyla thought somebody she loved might be mad at her, but she wasn’t sure why, she would... ask. She wouldn’t go into a tailspin and try to guess at the answer while assuming it had to be her fault, she would ask why and listen and then talk it out.

“Oh my God,” Rodney says, feeling like a whole new world just opened up to him. “Words.”

Ronon pulls a face. It looks a little like a sympathy wince.

Rodney flings a hand out at him. “Thank you!”

“Thank Teyla,” Ronon says, which Rodney thinks is a little weirdly modest for the galaxy’s greatest Runner who just counseled him through a family emergency, but they can work on Ronon’s ability to accept gratitude later, over lunch or something.

For now, Rodney sweeps out of the room, because he needs his computer so he can type so he can get Jeannie to tell him what’s bothering her so he can be a good brother, and apologize only once he knows what he’s apologizing for. God, Teyla’s smart.

As luck would have it, John is just stepping out of the transporter when Rodney storms towards it. “Hey,” he says, slowing to a stop when Rodney doesn’t. “What are you doing here?”

“Asking you for help.” Rodney brushes right past him with a pat to his arm; no time.

“You’re going the wrong way,” John calls after him.

“I’m fine! Ronon helped me by making Teyla help me help myself with Jeannie.”

“What?”

The last thing Rodney sees before he steps into the transporter is John’s bewildered face. It’s clear John is left with some questions, but Rodney doesn’t need to hang around for that. Ronon can take over; that’s what Teyla would do.

Or, Rodney thinks, what a friend would do.

(Turns out, in the end, that Jeannie was never even mad at him to begin with - her next email is much longer, and details all the mundane little circumstances that piled up and left her very stressed last month but that she didn’t think Rodney had wanted to hear about (it involves a flu and lice and a car that wouldn’t start and visiting in-laws and school play preparations and a lost teddy bear and half a dozen other little things Rodney is glad he doesn’t have to deal with in Pegasus), and then she calls him very attentive for picking up on her mood and sweet for thinking to ask if everything is okay.

The next day Rodney bribes one of the botanists to cut a bouquet for him and gives it to Teyla, and he hoards one of the last pieces of pie at dinner until Ronon shows up. “What’s happening?” John asks, suspicious. Maybe Ronon’s explanation wasn’t all that comprehensive after all.

“Emotional intelligence,” Ronon says around a full mouth, spewing little pieces of pie across the table, and Rodney nods solemnly.

That’s not what Teyla would do, because she’s smiling at them both, but close enough.)

[dalekofchaos]

It wasn’t all Micah’s fault, Dutch is as much to blame.

A lot of people seem to think that Micah being the rat is what led to the fall of the Van der Linde gang. While it’s true that Micah is partly to blame. But Micah would not have an opportunity if it were not for Dutch’s vanity and pride.

Dutch is the classic delusional leader seen in many stories, novels. His fantasies become more real with each day, battle and somehow they think fortune is right around the corner. Like a gambler chasing the eternal big pot. No amount of money would ever be enough. It wasn't about money. It's was about the chase, the illusion of victory that never comes.

In Chapter 6 is when this all becomes more apparent. A switch went off in Dutch's mind, in Ch6. This wasn't the way HIS story was supposed to happen. Not to HIM. He's freaking Don Quixote, madman fighting knights in his mind and being a hero. It's fucking beautiful character writing and story arc for him.

Dutch has a discarded speech draft in horseshoe overlook that shows he’s always been a self-obsessed politician in context of the gang. He crosses out every line of humility and replaces it with narcissistic martyrdom, and avoids ever giving his audience a moment to question him or the path they’re on. He wants control over people so he can use them to realize his ambitions, and every book he reads in camp has a similar motif that explains why he thinks that way.

There are conversations between Lenny and Dutch, too. Lenny is not a fan of Evelyn Miller and tells Dutch why. Dutch is blind to the criticism. This speaks volumes about the two characters. This conversation made me realize that Dutch is used to peddling his philosophy to people who are not as well read as him; the moment he has to defend his ideas to someone more intelligent he gets defensive and angry. Because he isn't searching for a debate; he's searching for affirmation.

Everyone loves to paint Dutch and Hosea as the perfect partners and even ship them in a gay way. But Dutch doesn’t respect Hosea? Also Hosea was a happily married man. They're supposed to be partners, but he certainly doesn't treat him like one. He doesn't listen to him, he yells at him when he's doubting, coughing or in pain, and he makes him sleep on the cold, hard, dirty ground. He even openly ignores him in Colter, in front of the other men, and rides off when he tries to stop him from robbing Cornwall's train. I'm not saying they don't have a rich history or good moments, but it's a toxic relationship at best. Not exactly something worth praising. If you don't believe me, you can find unique dialogues as the game progresses, verifying he’s lost all faith in Dutch. To the point that he even starts telling other members to leave. Abigail, John, Arthur, Lenny, Tilly, Sadie -- he tells all of them to leave. During a dominoes game we played together he even said, "Maybe it's just me, but Dutch seems to be getting more and more unhinged." And as early as chapter one he told Arthur, "Try to stop Dutch getting all of you killed, because I'm about beginning to think he's finally lost his mind." There are also other conversations where Hosea’s disappointment with Dutch is far more blatant. He basically tells Arthur he’s been disillusioned for a while and wishes the gang would change, but when Arthur asks what they’d do instead of thieving, Hosea says, “I don’t know. I never knew. Guess I could never figure that out, neither.” By this point he’s just so dejected and defeatist because he knows Dutch won’t listen to him. He also goes on a whole tirade about how they’ve become “nothing but a bunch of killers”, which breaks his heart, and during a random campfire encounter he bares his soul and flat out tells the gang he no longer believes in Dutch’s “we’re above the law” philosophy. I feel like Dutch is glad Hosea was killed because the biggest doubter and thorn in his side was taken care of.

I mean this is what Hosea feels about the majority of Dutch’s plans

The moment John put his family as a priority, Dutch saw this as a threat and has been paranoid about John ever since. 

He tried to play the Grays, Braithewaites and Bronte  the same way he’s used Arthur, Hosea, John, Bill, Javier, and even his women like Molly, Susan and Annabelle. To Dutch, people are just set pieces in his life. He cares for them and wants them to love him, but it’s only because he’s a narcissist that needs their support to make himself stronger.

He never snapped or went crazy or turned. The Dutch that drowned Bronte is the same Dutch that had always been there. He was frustrated that he did not have the upper hand on somebody, that someone had played him the same way he plays others, and it’s probably the same reason he shot a girl in cold blood on the ferry and the same reason he shot the girl in the bank in rdr1. In that scene in rdr1, he said something like “you’re the master now John” before Dutch did what he did.

When Dutch isn’t in control, he rages against the world around him. Because as far as he’s concerned, he’s the smartest and most virtuous man around and anyone who opposes him is wrong. And anytime he loses or isn’t completely in control, somebody’s out to get him and play him like a fool. That’s why he turns on Arthur and John, and why Micah manipulates him so easily

Blackwater, going up against Cornwall, playing the inbred families and Bronte is what sealed the gang's fate.

Blackwater. If Dutch had just ignored the ferry job and let Hosea and Arthur handle their Blackwater real estate/tax scam, then they would have made it big with no one dying

If Dutch had just ignored the O'Driscolls and their train heist plans, then Cornwall would have went after Colm O'Driscoll while Dutch and the gang could have either went to Horseshoe without incident or gotten lost out West. Don’t forget it was Hosea who was against robbing that train back in chapter 1 that belonged to Leviticus Cornwall. It was after that robbery when he started sponsoring Pinkertons to find Dutch. If they stayed away from that train, they could’ve shaken off the Pinkertons easily. Hosea was right from the very start. Even before that he was saying that Blackwater robbery was a bad idea.

If Dutch or Hosea put their foot down and requested Herr Straus to stop loansharking desperate people or risk being banished from the gang, then maybe Arthur would still be alive

If they requested the aid of Trelwany to see if the rumor of Confederate gold is legit or not, then they could've realized playing one or the other family was a complete waste of time and not worth the effort.

The moment they got Jack from Bronte, they should have just left Lemoyne and never looked back.

The moment Arthur began helping the Wapiti tribe, he should have never went back to Dutch. Arthur, Charles, Sadie and John should have helped them and never looked back. John would’ve gotten Abigail and Jack out alive, while from some convincing from Arthur, Uncle and Susan would have helped Mary-Beth, Tilly and Pearson leave the gang. 

Even if everything turned out the way it did but Hosea, Lenny and Sean were alive, the gang would be split. Hosea, Susan, Lenny and Sean would have sided with Arthur. There would have been a chance that Hosea and Arthur could have talked sense into Dutch, but Dutch would not want to see that he fucked up royally and costed EVERYTHING, he would stand by the choices he made, even if it meant fighting his own brother and sons.

But no, Dutch needs to feel like this big and important leader. He needs one last take. It wasn't about money, it was wanting to prove that he won and just wanting to be the big man, like Evelyn Miller or all the outlaws that are romanticized. Micah saw him for what he was and was playing him like a fiddle and milking him for all he's worth. It was so easy for Micah to play Dutch and so easy for Arthur Hosea, Sean, Lenny, Susan, Davey, Mac and Jenny to die for the sake of Dutch proving that he is a winner and that he is right. It was never about getting lost out west or even the money or even Tahiti, it was about Dutch wanting to prove he is right and all the doubters are wrong.

Dutch Van der Linde’s pride and ego is what destroyed the gang. Even if Milton did not kill Hosea, there was no stopping Dutch’s path of self-destruction.

[radiosandrecordings]

Crossposting my @summer-in-the-archives-event fic here too. [AO3] [Accompanying beautiful art]

He’d never get used to the rolling fields of quiet.

Miles behind and miles to go, not that he could see any of it through the thick blanket of fog that clung to his ankles, and his wrists, and his eyes. Miles to go before I sleep…

It was hard to describe the rain that fell, because even ‘fell’ felt like too active a descriptor. It didn’t pour, it didn’t ‘beat down’, it didn’t pelt, because those all required a sense of agency that the landscape just felt too apathetic to muster. It simply existed, and just happened to be moving downwards by coincidence.

Jon wasn’t sure if he knew or Knew that it seeped into his clothes, coating his skin, but he couldn’t even feel the droplets landing, even pinpricks of touch creating too much of a sensation for this place. He briefly wondered that, if he still had need for his glasses, would the rain even make the effort to trickle down and cloud the lenses.

The last Lonely domain he’d passed through, he’d never seen the avatar that lorded over it. He didn’t have any real interest in finding out, not like the personal vendettas that lead him to seeking out Jude, or Jared. Because with Peter dead he wasn’t left with any Lonely avatars left to chase, save the vague notions of the Lukas extended family. He was simply going to keep his head down and keep trudging, hopefully emerging through the thick banks of mist before he lost his mind to the monotony. If there was ever something to make you miss muffled cries from beneath the earth…

“Why are you here?”

The sound was accusatory, and may as well have been a shotgun in the silence. The damped chill was nothing in comparison to the ice that shot up his spine. The voice had no clear origin, no figures even silhouetted in shadow against the overgrown grass, but it came in close, delivered on the gentle, numbing breeze. Despite this, though, never in a thousand domains could he forget the sound of it. Of course it was his. Of course. Of course. “Martin?”

“No! ”

The voice sounded… Angry. But hurt, like it flinched away from the word. Like something that had been left to sit in the dark too long, that recoiled back from a stinging source of light.

“... I’m going to assume no one has called you that in a long time.” He tried to keep his voice light, as much as the stifling atmosphere would allow it.

“No one is anything here. It’s easier that way. If you’re somebody, you can be hurt. If you have too much personality, too many little facets and cracks, things start to snag and catch on it, and it drags you down to where things ache. But if you’re nothing, then they don’t have anything to cling onto. You can just slip away unharmed.” The voice sounded like it was moving, curling around him and moving from ear to ear, forward and back as it droned on in that echoing monotone that Jon had hoped he would never hear again, and at the same time, had longed to.

“And what about the good things?”

“There isn’t anything good, not anymore. You saw to that.”

Jon snorted. “Low blow, but fair.” He hesitated for a moment, trying to summon the words.

He’d had time, after he left the Lonely, to consider his actions. Regret pooled like acid in his stomach at the memory, and somehow it hurt more than ending the world. He wouldn’t say it was more important. He knew whatever he felt, and moreso, knew that one human life, was not paramount to the suffering of every creature great and small, but it felt more tangible. When he walked through the hellscapes, they were dreamlike, hazy, information in such clarity but to an extreme where it still felt nonsensical to perceive it as reality. He knew the fundamental truths that surrounded him but it still felt hard to accept them even as he lived them.

Yet despite having lived without it for eight months prior, the space beside him that failed to solidify into Martin still stung with his absence. And Jon regretted it every not-day he spent walking the hellscape, both in knowing he doomed a good man to suffering, or worse, revelry, in this new world, and in the far more personal, and far more selfish, part of him that missed him so goddamn much.

“But- But Martin, I think I made a mistake.”

“Obviously.”

“Not- Not that. I mean, when we were in the Lonely. The- The first time. With Peter Lukas.” The silence droned on, and Jon took that as his cue to continue. “Do you remember what I said? That maybe you were safer here? And that’s… That’s why I let you stay. I didn’t push you to, to leave with me because I thought you wanted to be here, that you’d be safer here than you’d be with me. But I don’t think that was entirely true.”

“I am safe here.”

“Maybe so. It doesn’t mean it’s better though, does it. Martin, I saw those people, in the last Lonely domain. I know it’s different, they were victims and you’re… You’re an avatar, here, you’re feeding off of all of this, but I promise you they were not happy. They were so alone and it didn’t protect them, it just made it worse. Think about it, the logic of this world. There are threats out there of unimaginable horror, and yet they were still assigned here, it’s their worst nightmare. And you were assigned here too. You’re all suffering, just in different ways, but all calculated to be your personal worst.”

“The Martin Blackwood you thought you knew doesn’t exist anymore. He had to be filed down, too many breaks and tears in him that grew and grew, any time someone raised a harsh word. The best way for him to be protected, is for him to go away entirely. You cannot hurt something that doesn’t exist.”

“Are you sure about that? Because you just said ‘I’.”

“What? ” That anger reemerged again, and as staunched as it was it was beautiful, a return to form amongst the dull monotone, reminiscent of the few times Jon had been privileged enough to witness a truly pissed off Martin Blackwood.

Jon found himself grinning. “You said ‘I am safe here’. Emphasis on the ‘I’. Ergo, you still have some form of identity left, and thus I would wager that the part of you left is Martin. Unless I’ve wandered across some other avatar of the Lonely who sounds like him, of course.”

“You’re always so fucking smug, you know that?”

The voice is coming from behind him. Actually, physically, presently behind him and Jon spins around so fast he’s almost dizzy.

And as much as it made his heart soar, and much as he was glad to finally, finally , see him again when he’d thought he never would, Martin looked… Bad.

His skin had darkened, mottled and blotchy with large swathes of a bruise-like blue or sickly green cropping up across his face and neck, or the parts of his forearms visible where his cable knit sleeves rolled back. It was like frostbite from the cold, or some disturbing onset of trench-foot from the damp, corpselike and unsettling. What was worse, though, were the parts that simply ceased. His hair didn’t even reach the tips, simply fading out into a grey static that merged with the mist, and it consumed his eyes whole, tear tracks streaking down his face in patterns of fuzzy, crackling grey that snapped and popped in the silence, far too reminiscent of a tape.

The sight made Jon’s heart clench like a fist, the combination of relief and horror, and in that moment he understood Jane Prentiss more completely than he ever had before. It would’ve felt like a rude comparison to consciously make, the person he cared for most equated to a pulped and writhing mass that churned out creatures that made your skin crawl before tearing into it. But he knew what she had seen in it, that call towards the thing that fascinated you, despite the turning it causes in your stomach.

Despite this, however, Jon steeled himself. This was rapidly becoming a battle, and he couldn’t afford the cost of emotions. He had to keep Martin, well… Martin. Draw out the emotion. In short, be a bit of a bastard. So instead, he cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you liked that about me?”

He could see Martin’s fists clench, the colour of his extremities dyed black from frostbite. The irritation was still clear as he started into “Fucking hell J-” but they both appeared taken aback as he dissolved into a choking, hacking cough.

It took everything in him for Jon to tamp down the need to surge forward, put a hand on his back and ask if he was okay. It was a strangely mundane thing; the man was made out of static and fog and despite seeming to have an on-and-off-again relationship with his corporeal form, this was the first recognisably human thing to adversely affect him. Why, though? What had Martin done to trigger- Oh. Oh .

“That- That priest from the statement… 0113005? Father Burroughs. He couldn’t say the name of god. Anything related to it, really. And you… You couldn’t say my…”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Martin spat. “You’re not a god or thee god, whatever your new eye magic might imply. It’s just…” He let out a breath that turned into a grumble. While his eyes had always been cloudy, he was now refusing to meet Jon’s gaze.

Regardless, it still drew a breathy laugh out of him. “No, I’m not that far gone into my own self importance yet. But… It’s about the connection, isn’t it?” Something in the conversation had changed, it’s tone or it’s flow, that felt contradicting. Tension coiling up to spring, or they’re barrelling towards a culmination, but at the same time, Jon felt like the wind had been kicked right out of him. He lowered himself to the ground, slowly, settling among the grass and trying to ignore the unpleasant dampness under him. Hey, he could feel the damp again. That was something.

“That’s more flattering, actually, I would say… The Lonely, it thinks if you acknowledge me directly, that would loosen it’s hold on you.” Jon huffed out a breath. “You know I listened to all the tapes. What was it that Daisy said to you, when I was on the run? ‘People say you two are close’? Well, the Lonely appears to agree.” He took a minute before adding, “I would, as well. And, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was too… Too in my own head, before, to admit it. Too much of a coward to do it before that, even. But you need to know I love you. And I know that you… Cared for me, at least? Even if I stuck my head in the sand to ignore it. But the Lonely seems to think you do, still. So will you please come back to me? I know it’s not- I know it won’t be much better, travelling through the domains, but it’s all I can offer and it has to be better than this. I can’t promise anything kind will be waiting for us in London, but you’d be yourself again, and I can’t… Martin, I can’t lose you again. To leave here, again, without you, I’d be losing you. Please.”

“No.”

There wasn’t even a delay to his response, stating it in monotone the second Jon had finished speaking. It felt like ice, lancing through his heart.

“Martin. Martin, please -”

“I said no. I thought you would’ve learned by now; I’m not exactly amenable when you come crawling to me with half baked plans of escape. Because you don’t love me, you love the idea of me. You are quite literally the only free man left in the world and you’re lonely . So you’re looking for a familiar face. Kind Martin, caring Martin, always there with tea and taking your side in every argument. Defending you to Tim when you’d just as soon slag him off behind his back, or on tape. Pretty appealing when everyone else is trying to kill you. At least he treated you like a god before this even started.”

Each sentence felt like another dagger to the chest, and it took him a moment to compose himself, tears forming at the corner of his eyes. Eventually, though, Jon spoke. “That’s not true, though. I- Martin I can’t apologise enough that that’s what it’s felt like, for you. But I need you to know, that isn’t true. A-At the start, maybe, I can’t deny I was stupid and spiteful, but you didn’t deserve any of it. And after that… I didn’t do a one-eighty and decide you were a doormat. I liked you because you were secretly enough of a prick as well. Any time you’d pull me out for lunch when I dragged my heels, or argued back when I said something shitty, that was… It felt like I was seeing the real you. The one you didn’t want to let people think of you as, but the one you were, because despite wanting to appear like the picture of innocence, you are a bitch, Martin Blackwood. And that’s my favourite thing about you. Maybe time is sweetening my memory, slightly, but I truly don’t believe there’s rose coloured glasses here. If we walk out of here, I’m not under any sort of illusion that it’ll be a honeymoon. We will doubtless find something to argue over, if not several, but I want that. I want you at my side to, to disagree and point out all my blind spots. We’re both stubborn bastards but I’m stupidly fallible, and I need you to keep me balanced. I don’t want a yes-man, I want you, Martin, and I’m asking for that knowing full well what it entails.”

When the words stopped flowing, he found himself gasping for breath, sobs building in his chest and threatening to spill over. But Martin was standing closer.

“That’s- I don’t- Fuck.” As Jon looked up, wiping at his own eyes, he could see fog starting to trickle from Martin’s mouth, coming in short bursts as his nostrils flared and chest rose and fell noticeably for the first time that Jon had seen since he stepped foot onto the moors. This caused a conflict of emotion in Jon, because while it seemed to be another step towards humanity, Martin letting the Lonely fall to the wayside in favour of reclaiming himself, it also looked far too close to a panic attack to be something worth celebrating.

“I don’t understand,” he finally settled on, voice cracking on the words. He slowly let himself sink to the ground opposite Jon, knees pulled up to his chest. “I left you. Time and again I left you. I left you to work with Lukas, and I left you when you tried to get me to run away, and I left you when I stayed on the beach.” His palms were pressed into his eyes, mist seeping from between his knuckles as he dragged them across his face, though Jon couldn’t be sure if he was attempting to wipe the fog away, or if he was stalling while he faltered, trying to summon the words. Both, maybe. Jon took the silence from him.

“You didn’t really choose that, though. You didn’t feel like you even had a choice. So Martin if… If you’re worried that I think badly of you for that, I don’t. Martin, I’ve done so many terrible things, so to- No, no, actually I don’t mean it like that. I don’t mean that you’re a good person, compared with me. I think you’re a good person full stop. And I just want you to be able to see that. I know the Lonely is quite literally clouding your judgement right now but… Please, just, just make me a deal?”

Martin’s palms were resting on his chin now, cupping his cheeks and curving around his neck. He nodded once, wearily, for Jon to continue.

Jon drew in a breath “I think I’m in some sort of… Bubble. Like a miniature domain, when I’m travelling. I think, if you agree to come with me, even for a little bit, that might dissolve some of the Lonely’s more adverse effects. Make it easier to think, to, to be yourself without its influence. If that is what happens, and you want to return… I’ll bring you back. But please, just… Try? For me?”

Martin sighed, hands dropping from his face. “...Fine.”

“You- Really?”

“Yes. I… Look, J-” Martin bit back another coughing fit. “Look. I am… There is a lot of me right now that wants to leave. The fog is… It’s in my head, figuratively, probably even literally, but… I remember something Basira said. When she got back, from, from The Unknowing . Melanie wanted to know how she got out, when the other three… When you, and Daisy, and Tim, didn’t. She said she reasoned her way out. So I’m going to listen to reason for a minute, as much as it’s paining me.”

Despite those final words, Jon felt his face crack into a smile. “That’s… Yes, you’re right. Well that’s… That’s a very reasonable connection to make.”

And for the first time in a long time, Martin smiled.

“Uhm, so how does this work then?” He eventually said, hand coming up again to scratch the back of his neck in an old nervous habit Jon could not be more happy to see.

“Well”, Jon said, taking a moment to brush sodden grass from his trousers as he got to his feet, “I would say, based on the dream logic that everything here seems to run on here, it should be rather simple.” He held out a hand to tug Martin up after him.

Martin took it.

It was almost cliché, how the Lonely fell away from him. It only took a few seconds, all in all, for the bruising to fade, receding their colourful splotches until his skin lay clear again. His frostbitten fingers healing themselves, sewing broken skin back together and returning to a healthy colour. His face, too, was returning to its original pallor, the change creeping up his neck and across his cheeks and leaving rich brown in its wake. Dark eyes stared down at Jon from behind long lashes, blinking away the last of the fog. He was beautiful.

“Hi,” Jon managed to choke out.

“Hi,” Martin said, and pulled him into his arms.

Jon just let himself be held in the pressure of the embrace for a moment, before bringing a hand up to card his fingers through Martin’s hair. While it had solidified into soft curls, the colour had stayed the same, bleaching it white under his fingertips. He wasn’t sure if Martin had noticed or not, but that was a conversation for another time. They were both a little preoccupied for the moment.

“How do you feel?” Jon eventually said, words pressed into the side of Martin’s neck.

“Uhm. Strange?” Martin eventually settled on. “It’s… I can remember what my thought process was, what the Lonely was pushing me to believe, but it’s like… It’s like the camera panned out, and now I can see it all clearly, and it looks… It looks stupid. Thank you, Jon. For coming to get me.”

“Of course,” Jon whispered, “Of course.”

Another moment passed before Martin spoke up again. “...Did you mean what you said, though? Or was that… Was that just to try and get me to leave? I- I won’t be angry, if it was, that- that’s very clever, I just want to know.”

Jon furrowed his brow. “Which part do you mean?”

Martin let out an agitated sigh. “You- You know which one I mean, Jon. The- The part where that you said that you…”

“That I love you?” Jon said, picking up where Martin trailed off.

Martin’s face flushed, and just the sight of colour spreading across it made Jon’s heart soar, let alone the implications of why . “Of course I did. I- I’m sorry that you would think I would lie about that, even for something like this. No, Martin, I love you. So very much. And I know you might not feel that way anymore, in which case I am very much embarrassing myself here, but I know that you did at one stage so I hope it won’t make things too awkward between us.” “I do, Jon.”

“What?”

“I do. Still feel that way. I love you too, of course I do. My hero.”

It was Jon’s turn to feel his face flush, pleasant warmth bubbling to the surface. “Oh,” was all he managed to stutter out.

“Can I- Jon do you mind if I…” Martin trailed off again, and Jon began to think this might be a recurring theme between them. He’d make it work. He was pretty good at reading Martin, and the eyeline pointed directly at his lips made intentions quite clear.

“Is- Would just the cheek be okay?” He replied. It didn’t really feel like the time for a full run down on where boundaries lay, but he figured it was a start.

“More than,” Martin said, leaning down to press his lips softly against Jon’s cheek. He lingered for a few seconds, skin largely healed but still chapped from the cold, and it was one of the most beautiful things Jon had ever felt. He slipped one hand into Martin’s, and he felt their fingers twine together.

Martin leaned back, clearly trying to calm his grin into something more close-lipped and calm. “Where to now then?”

“Uhm. Forward, really, is just how I’ve been going. There isn’t any real sense of geography to it, we’ll just…. Get there when we get there.”

“Right. Because nothing can be simple these days.”

Jon missed this. He missed him. But he didn’t have to miss him anymore, did he? He was right there.

He squeezed his hand once, and started leading the way.

[iamdeku]

Positions: Prohero!Deku x Reader

I’ve been working on this little drabble for a while, haha. I just wanted to write something really cute and domestic. I hope you guys like this!

Warnings: nudity (non-sexual), mentions of kids/pregnancy

Dating a pro-hero could be taxing, to say the least. That was what everyone had told you when you and Izuku had first gotten together. They had warned you of the unpredictable hours, the nightmares, the trauma. They had said he would be physically unavailable at best, emotionally unavailable at worst. You had ignored all of that, though, and every day you were glad you did.

Dating Izuku had never been anything but a joy, a privilege even. He was one of the kindest souls you had ever met. His work only seemed to strengthen that side of him, accenting his willingness to help others, always with a smile on his face. He never made you feel second best to anything or anyone. In fact, you often felt like he did more for you than you did for him, which was what brought you here.

You’re pulling out all the stops tonight, spinning around your kitchen in your pretty pink over the knee socks that always made you glide across the floor, one of Izuku’s baby blue hoodies tossed over your head and falling far enough to be a dress, negating any need for pants. You had chicken katsu going on the stove, and you were making some tea to go with it. In the other room, you had made the bed with freshly washed sheets, still a little warm from the dryer, and an array of bath salts and bubble baths set up for selection.

Your entire body tenses when you hear the jangle of the keys in the lock, rising up onto your tiptoes in your excitement. You slip at least twice as you dash for the door and the man on his way through it, and you should have bit the dust once except for the arms wrapping around you now.

“Baby, you’re slipping all over the place. You know you can’t run in these.” His laughter hits your ear warm and sweet, body close from the way he’s holding you up. “What’s got you in such a hurry? We have all night.”

You pull back to look at him, smile spreading across your face. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

You hold his face between your hands, used to how fragile they looked compared to his broad strength. You brush your thumb across his cheekbone, where a bruise is painted, red at the center but blossoming out to a deep purple, nearly black. You lean forward and press a gentle kiss to it.

“You work too hard.” You sigh, letting your eyes close and lashes flutter over his stained skin. “Do you want dinner or a bath first?”

“Whatever you want.” The answer is immediate, instinctive.

You had seen this coming. You had prepared for it, in fact.

“Nope. Tonight is about you. That’s what I want, and I’m not letting you argue with me. C’mon, we should get you changed out of your costume.”

He lets you drag him back to the bedroom, hands laced together with his. Slowly, you peel him out of his hero costume, the movements routine and your hands gentle as you unveil new bruises. Most of the blood and gunk on him seems to be from other people, hopefully the villains, but you don’t ask. He’ll tell you if he wants to, and he does when he sees the way you pause on a patch of his uniform stuck to his skin from dried blood.

“It was a good night,” he reassures you. “We got them, and everybody is okay.”

“Good.” You nod. “You hungry?”

He smiles down at you. You’ve gently pushed him back onto the bed now that you’ve gotten the top half of his suit off, your navy blue sheets contrasting the green of his hair as he lays back to stretch while you finish undressing him.

“Yeah. It smells good. Chicken katsu?” He leans forward, resting his cheek in his palm.

“Yeah.” You pull his boots off his feet, then shuck of the rest of the costume.

You stand up, knees flushed from the coldness of the hardwood floor, already reaching for his favorite pair of sweats and an old, soft All Might shirt. You let him dress himself as you take his costume to the laundry room, although the damage done to it is likely beyond you. Straight to support team, then.

When you turn to leave the room, his body is stretched across the doorframe, filling it up. You take a moment to let yourself be breathless at the sight of him. It’s not that you forget how beautiful he is, but more that nothing could possibly prepare you for the sight of him, especially not just casually out of nowhere like this. 

“Dinner?” He asks.

“Thought you might want that before a bath.” 

That was a lie. You knew he would want dinner before a bath when you heard his stomach growl about 5 minutes after he walked in the door. Not that he would admit to that, silly boy.

You move to walk past him into the kitchen, but he catches you around the waist, nose skimming across the skin of your neck as he leans forward. He looks you up and down, bright green eyes soaking you up.

“You look so pretty,” he mumbles.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, leaning into his touch. He brushes his lips against your jaw, just beneath your ear.

“My pretty girl.” He pulls you flush against him, pushing a strand of your hair back. “Gonna drive me crazy.”

“I know what you’re doing,” you breathe, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Oh? What am I doing?”

He plays innocent, but you see the look in his eyes.

“You’re trying to distract me from taking care of you. Not going to happen, pretty boy.”

You slip out of his embrace, throwing a teasing glance his way over your shoulder as you head towards the kitchen, swaying your hips perhaps a little more than was strictly necessary.

“Maybe I just think you look really good in my clothes,” he suggests, following you. “Hard to resist.”

You hum mindlessly, a grin playing on your lips as you reach up into the cabinets to pull out an All Might themed bowl for him and a more traditional choice for yourself. You put rice in both of the bowls, doubling the portions for him, and serve the chicken.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” Izuku grows more serious from where he sits at your kitchen table, his chair scuffed and comfortable with age, face lit up and golden in the warmth of your kitchen.

“Well, somebody has to feed my big strong hero, and it better not be any other girl,” you respond lightheartedly.

“Wouldn’t want any other girl. Not when I have the best one in the world right here.”

You can’t help but blush as you start in on the food. Deku eats like a starving man, and he has for as long as you’ve known him, except when he’s upset. It gives you almost no time to admire him as you try to keep up, but you still try to get as much of him as you can, always afraid that he’s too good to be true. Worried of the moment he’ll disappear on you.

“I can feel you watching.” He says when he’s finished.

You just roll your eyes, still eating despite your best efforts. He’s called you out on it a million times before. You stopped being embarrassed a long time ago.

You two sit in silence until you finish, but it’s comfortable, the sort of silence that settles down when one of you is tired and the other is pleasantly content, or when maybe you’re both a little bit of each. He speaks up when you take the dishes to place them in the sink.

“You know, you would make a good Mom.” His eyes are glazed over in thought, obviously somewhere else.

“You think so?” You asked quietly, frozen at the kitchen sink.

“Yeah. We would have pretty babies too,” he muses.

“Yeah?” You turn around, leaning your back against the sink.

“Uh huh. Can see it now.” A distant smile pulls the corners of his mouth up. “Our little babies calling you Mommy.”

You cross the kitchen table, settling down into his lap. Your arms loop effortlessly over his broad shoulders, so used to the motion.

“Tell me about it,” you say.

“Wanna buy you a house,” he says, burying his face in the crook of your neck in the way he always does when he’s tired down to his bones. “And a ring. A ring as pretty as you are. I want to have so many babies with you. Have all these kids running around the house, and I want them to all look just as pretty as their Mommy.”

“That sounds perfect.” You run your fingers through his soft curls, body intertwined so closely with his you feel his lashes against your shoulder when he blinks sharply.

“Did you say something about a bath earlier, or did I imagine that?” He asks, voice confused with his exhaustion.

You giggle. “I did actually mention a bath.”

“That sounds nice.” 

He stands, picking you up even now, as tired as he is.

“Izuku!” You squeal. “Put me down!”

“Nope, sorry princess. We’re gonna go take a bath.”

He’s all business as he carries you to the bathroom, plopping you down on the edge of the tub. You beat him to the faucet though, determined to keep your hold on the night and keep taking care of him.

“What bath salts do you want?”

He sits down on the floor beside you, back leaning against the tub and cheek pressed to your thigh as he sighs deeply, eyes fluttering shut.

“Whatever you use. Wanna smell like you. You smell good.”

You follow his instructions, setting the bath up with all of your favorites as he peppers the outside of your thigh with kisses. Your hands never shake, the movements practiced from all the years you’ve spent making baths for yourself and later, yourself and Izuku. When you’re finished, you both slide into the bathtub.

You take your time, washing his hair gently. You’re just as careful with the washcloth, paying attention to every part of his body, making sure not to miss a speck of blood or a smudge of dirt. You’re dedicated to your work and unconcerned with your own cleanliness, though you do briefly wash up so you don’t get the sheets dirty.

You wrap him and yourself up in towels when you get out, the darkened water swirling down your drain.

“Somebody was messy today.”

“Sorry.” Izuku blushes, knowing you’ll have to clean the tub later.

“Don’t be. I’m proud of you. You work so hard to keep people safe.”

He smiles at you, and you can see in his eyes he’s woozy from tiredness. You pull him forward into you, holding him in your arms even as you drag him back into bed with you. He manages to crawl into his sweats before crawling under the covers, and you don’t bother to do anything but pop his sweater back on.

He rolls into you, already half asleep but still wrapping you up in his arms. “I meant all of that earlier, you know?”

“Hmm?” you ask, confused.

“I really do want to have a family with you. A home.” He presses a tired kiss to your temple.

“I know. I want that too, ‘Zuku,” you mumble, his tiredness contagious.

“I love you.” He wraps you up tighter if that’s at all possible. “To the moon. And to Saturn. And Pluto.”

You giggle a little, eyelids falling closed. “Love you too. To the moon and to Saturn and to Pluto.”

[pazumane-archive]

Closing Time - Asahi x Reader

Characters: Asahi Azumane, female reader, original female character, small Taichi cameo

Relationships: Asahi Azumane x Reader

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort if you squint, SFW but 16+ please

Warnings: Alcohol, general drunken shenanigans, emetophobia (mentions of vomit), bad language

WC: 6.4k

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is a totally self-indulgent bedtime-scenario-type story because there is simply not enough Asahi/Reader content out there and I adore him. It’s also my first time writing in 2nd person, so PLEASE feel free to send me any feedback, please just be kind :) I really don’t like to use y/n, so I only used it a couple times towards the end when I wasn’t sure what else to do lol

The preview begins with the bolded text below and fic continues after the cut :)

Reblogs appreciated! <3

You weren’t planning on getting this drunk. But by the time it got to be about 11:30, you didn’t know what else to do. You had put so much effort and energy into making yourself look nice just for your date not to show up. Your roommate was out of town, so instead of going home and pouting, you figured you might as well have some fun while you were out. But you’ve never been good at exercising restraint, and the fact that you were alone wasn’t doing you any favors. But by closing time had rolled around, you could hardly see straight. You needed help, so you call upon an old friend.

“Do you have anybody you can call for a ride?” Kawanishi asks.

Kawanishi’s the bartender at this izakaya, and over the course of the night, you spent most of the time talking his ear off. He’s nice enough, and held pleasant conversation for the last few hours. He says he used to be a volleyball player, and had even played on the same team as a one of the guys on the Japan National Team. You forget to ask him which school he attended, but he probably was tired of talking to your drunk ass anyway, so you don’t bother asking. “Yeah,” you say, digging in your purse for your phone. “Are you sure? I can call a cab for you if you need it,” he offers. “Nah,” you say, hiccupping between words. “I’ll call somebody. Thank you though.” “No problem,” he says. “Just try to make it quick.” You scroll through your phone, trying to figure out who to call. Your roommate’s out of town visiting her parents, so she’s a no-go. You could call Kokomi. Honestly, she would deserve the 2AM phone call for setting you up on this failed blind date in the first place. Ever since you moved to Tokyo last month, she was constantly trying to set you up with somebody, whether it was a friend, a coworker, or some rando that she had met on the train. Unfortunately, all of them were jerks. And this one was the biggest jerk of all. You silently curse yourself for going along with her antics again.

“He’s great, you’ll love him!” “You said that about the last three guys you tried to set me up with, Kokomi.” “Please!! You’ll never know if you don’t even give him a chance.”

Well, you gave him a chance. And it ended up with you all alone, drunk as hell in an unfamiliar part of the city. You dial Kokomi’s number, but it goes straight to voicemail. “Bitch,” you mutter. You unlock your phone again and look through to find somebody that might be able to take you home. You scroll back to the top of your contact list, and your eyes settle on another name. He lives just a few blocks away, and knowing him, he’s probably awake working on something anyway. You click on his contact and wait for him to answer.

*

The exhaustion’s starting to get to him. It’s the weekend and he can afford to stay up an extra couple of hours to finish this design, but the combination of fatigue and frustration are taking over. He sets down his pencil and moves towards his bed, until his cell starts to buzz. He glances over at the clock on the wall. 1:49 AM.

Who could possibly be calling at this hour?

Asahi picks up his phone, surprised to see your name on the screen. His heart skips a beat in his chest, both from excitement and nervousness. Aside from his teammates, you’re one of the only people he bothered to keep in contact with after high school. The two of you had even met up a few times since you moved to the city, but he never would have expected you to call at this hour unless… unless something is wrong. “Hey you, what’s up?” He says, choking back a yawn. “Hiiiii Asahiiii!  I tried to call Kokomi but she didn’t answer her phone… could you come pick me up?” Your voice is thick and your words are almost unintelligible as you speak. It’s obvious that you’re far from sober. “Where are you?” Asahi asks, failing to mask the anxiety in his voice. “Are you okay? Are you safe?” “M’fine,” you slur. “But I…” Suddenly the call drops. Asahi calls you back in a panic, his heart racing as he waited for you to answer. You could be in danger and he’d be powerless to help you. He doesn’t even know where you are. “Hello?” A man’s voice comes through the speaker. “Who are you? Where is she?” Asahi asks frantically. “Relax, man. I’m just the bartender,” he says. “Look, your friend’s next to me, but she’s on the verge of passing out. Can you come get her before she pukes all over my bar? She’s at Zoetrope. You know where that is?” “Of course, I’m on my way now! I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Asahi says, grabbing his apartment keys and putting on a pair of shoes. He’s out the door almost immediately.

*

Kawanishi presses your phone back into your hands. Your head is spinning so fast that you struggle to keep your eyes open. “Is he coming?” you ask. “Yeah, he’s on the way,” Kawanishi says. “He’ll be here soon. Now do me a favor, don’t get this drunk the next time you come into my izakaya or I’ll have to kick you out.” “You’re kicking me out???” “Only if you start throwing up,” he says under his breath. “I’m not going to throw up!” you exclaim, suddenly becoming very aware of the churning in your stomach. You grumble, slumping over the bar. You squeeze your eyes shut, the spinning in your head only getting worse with every breath you take. You feel like you’re going to die, and honestly, between the embarrassment of being stood up and the wave of nausea coming over you, you’re ready to welcome that death with open arms. “Hey!” Kawanishi says, smacking the bar next to your head. “Your friend’s going to be here soon, don’t fall asleep or I’ll throw you out on the street myself.” “I’m sorry, Kawanishi-san.” You sit up slowly and cradle your head in your hands once more, trying to make the world stop spinning.

Please get here soon, Asahi.

*

Asahi sprints down the street as fast as he can towards the izakaya. He’s sure that he looks suspicious running down the street alone at night, but he doesn’t care. You’re in trouble, and he’s the only person that can help you. He finally makes it to the bar and hastily pulls the door open. You’re dressed beautifully, and your makeup and hair are exquisitely done. Unfortunately, the way you’re slumped over the bar makes it obvious that something’s wrong. He’s not sure what happened, but whatever it was, it must have been rough. The bartender gently helps you out of your seat, and Asahi can’t help but think that he looks very familiar. You straighten up and as soon as you make eye contact with Asahi, you perk up. “Asahi-san!” you exclaim, rushing towards him and almost falling over. You crush him in an unexpectedly tight hug. “Long time no see, big guy!” “I saw you three days ago,” he says under his breath. You continue babbling unintelligibly, and Asahi looks up at the bartender. “Did she close out her tab?” Asahi asks. “I took care of it already,” the bartender replies. “Please just make sure she gets home okay. She’s had a rough night.” “Yeah, of course,” Asahi says. “Thanks for helping her out.” “No problem.” Asahi peels your arms off him and starts to nudge you towards the door. Just before the two of you leave, Asahi stops and turns back to the bartender. “Have we met before?” he asks. “I played for Shiratorizawa. Didn’t think I’d see you again, Karasuno Samurai.” Asahi frowns slightly. He hasn’t heard that nickname high school, and it’s weird hearing it again now. “Right,” he says. “Well, thanks again. Have a good night.” Asahi leads you out of the bar and down the sidewalk. You hold tightly to his arm, stumbling over yourself. He braces you against his side, and you take this opportunity to tease him a little bit. “Do you like my outfit, Asahi-san?” you ask, pressing into his side. “Yeah, it’s really nice!” he answers nervously, turning his head to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. He’s not lying – you look beautiful, both your top and your skirt accentuating your curves in all the right places. But it would be wrong to say anything more than that while you’re in this state. That wouldn’t be fair to either of you. He brusquely clears his throat and keeps walking as soon as the light signals that you can cross. “I dressed up extra nice tonight, but it didn’t even fucking matter,” you grumble, your voice breaking slightly. Asahi either doesn’t hear you, or does hear you and decides not to say anything. “I’m soooo glad you’re here,” you say, drawing out your words even longer than you were a minute ago. “I’m sorry, this is super embarrassing! I should’ve figured this out on my own.” “It’s okay,” Asahi says. “How long have you been in Tokyo again?” “A month? I think?” “Exactly,” he says. “You probably don’t know your way around that much. I’d feel terrible if I wasn’t able to help you find your way home.” “Meh,” you say. “I’ve had the worst night of my fucking life, so maybe it would be better if I passed out in a ditch somewhere.” “Do you want to talk about it?” Asahi asks. “No,” you answer quickly. “Okay.” You start blathering again and Asahi has to practically drag you down the street behind him. The station just past his apartment has a train that can drop you right by your building. He can just take a cab back after he gets you home. He considers inviting you stay the night at his place since it’s right there, but he’s afraid of being weird, so he doesn’t say anything. The two of you come to a stop at the train station… which is closed. “I’m sorry,” Asahi says remorsefully. “I guess the train stopped running at midnight. I’ll call you a cab.” He goes to pull his phone out of his pocket, but you grab his hand before he can. “Can I stay at your place tonight?” you ask sheepishly. “I… my roommate is out of town. And I’m really not doing good right now. I just really don’t want to be alone.” Despite how out of it you’ve been since he picked you up, Asahi sees nothing but complete sincerity in your eyes. Tonight must have been really rough. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I’ll just sleep on the couch- or a futon if you have one!” you say, nodding. “Okay.” Asahi turns back towards his apartment and you follow closely behind him, not letting go of his hand the entire time.

*

Asahi helps you across the threshold of his apartment and sits you down on a chair by the door. “Asahi-san, you’re so handsome with your hair down like that,” you say, reaching up to twirl a finger in his long chestnut tresses. “And you’re loopy,” Asahi mutters, disentangling your fingers from his hair. Once again, he finds himself hiding a blush. He’s not used to being showered with compliments, and he knows you wouldn’t be saying this stuff if you were sober. He kicks off his shoes and kneels down in front of you, helping you take yours off. “How are you feeling?” he asks you. “Can I get you some water or a some–” “Why didn’t you ask me out when we were in high school?” you ask suddenly. “I think I made it pretty obvious that I had a crush on you. It’s all I could think about when you were holding my hand back there.” “I – I, uh,” Asahi stammers. You burst out laughing, startling Asahi. It’s that same boisterous laugh you’ve had for as long as he could remember knowing you. You were always self-conscious about it in high school, but your laugh has always been one of Asahi’s favorite things about you. Despite the fact that it’s at his expense, he’s glad to see your mood improve. Asahi considers your question for a moment. He really liked you too back then, and everyone knew it. Suga and Daichi constantly teased him for it.

So why hadn’t he asked you out back then?

Well, for a number of reasons. He spent so much of his third year focused on volleyball that he didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity for much else. He hadn’t even planned on going back to school after graduation until Nishinoya helped convince him to pursue his passions. He felt directionless, and he didn’t want to burden anybody else with his indecision. But most importantly, he was scared you’d reject him. Suga was right. He really was a coward. He’d dated a few people since high school graduation, but none of them made him feel the way you did, and they didn’t treat him as well as you would have. Which begs the question – why hasn’t he asked you out since you moved to Tokyo? He pushes the thought to the back of his mind. This isn’t the kind of conversation to be having when you aren’t even able to form a coherent sentence. Asahi’s thoughts are interrupted by your hand on his shoulder and a loud hiccup. “I should wash my face. Can I wash my face?” “Sure,” Asahi says, helping you stand up. You stumble forward, but he catches you easily and pulls you back to your feet. He quietly leads you to the bathroom and sits you down on the edge of the bathtub. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m a mess.” “No, you’re not. Hold on a second,” he says, opening the drawer under the sink. He pulls out a small package of makeup wipes and takes one out. He kneels in front of you and begins wiping the makeup off your face. “I know they’re not great for your skin,” he says. “But it’s better than nothing, right?” “Why do you even have those?” you ask between hiccups. “Do you wear makeup? I mean, it’s obviously fine if you do, but it doesn’t really seem like your thing.” “I don’t, but you never know when they’ll come in handy! I do work with a lot of makeup artists,” he says, somewhat defensively. You get the sense that he’s lying about something, but Asahi changes the subject before you can probe him any further. “So what were you doing there by yourself?” he asks. “It’s not safe to be alone so late at night.” Clearly this was the wrong thing to ask. All the negative emotions and thoughts you were having all even spring to the forefront of your mind, and you start to cry. Asahi starts apologizing profusely, but you wave him off. “It’s fine,” you sniffle, wiping a tear away from your cheek. “Kokomi was trying to set me up with one of her friends, but he never showed up.” Asahi sits back on his heels. Kokomi is another girl from Karasuno that ended up in Tokyo. She wasn’t in the same class as him, but he remembers how loud she always was in the hallways. Honestly, both of you were always loud, but you’ve always been much more considerate of others than Kokomi ever was. “Shit,” he mumbles. “That really sucks. I’m sorry.” “Yeah. It does suck.” Asahi grabs another wipe and asks you to close your eyes. You do as he says, and he lightly wipes off your eye makeup. He’s worked with enough models to recognize that you’re wearing false eyelashes, so he gently pulls those off too. You feel yourself start to wobble on the edge of the tub, so you grip his arm to steady yourself. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t need to keep apologizing to me.” “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” you ask suddenly. “Wait, what?” “I just… this keeps happening to me. Everyone always says that it’s because they’re not the right person for me, but it’s starting to feel like there’s just something wrong with me instead,” you say, choking back a sob. “I know I just moved here, but I’m just so lonely. I hate feeling like I’m not good enough.” Asahi tenderly wipes a tear from your cheek and cups your face in both hands. “Hey, look at me. There is nothing wrong with you,” he says sincerely. “That guy is an idiot and a jerk. If he had any idea how extraordinary you are, he never would’ve done that to you.” You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You don’t feel like you deserve to be spoken to like this – with such genuine kindness and sincerity. Asahi makes you feel so good. So special. He always has. And he’s just so… tender, especially for somebody who looks as intimidating as he does. You wonder if those feelings from high school ever truly went away. You sit up straighter and try to smile at him, but your stomach flips unexpectedly and violently. “Asahi-san?” you ask, gripping his shoulder tightly. “Yeah?” he replies. “Toilet.” Asahi moves out of the way as fast as possible. You hunch over the rim and retch into the toilet bowl. Asahi quickly scoops up your hair and holds it behind your head as you throw up. “Please, just leave me,” you mutter. “I’m gonna fucking die here.” “I’m not going to leave you here and you’re not going to die,” Asahi says, gingerly picking up the last loose strands laying on your neck and holding them back with the rest of your hair. Your back tenses up again before you begin heaving once more. Asahi tucks his nose into the collar of his shirt, careful to make sure that he’s out of your field of vision. He wants to be there for you but he had a weak stomach himself and the sight and smell of somebody else’s vomit is something he knows he won’t be able to handle. You mumble weak apologies between hacks, but Asahi just ignores them and rubs your back gently. After what feels like an eternity, the churning in your stomach finally stops and you reach up towards the flush handle. The exhaustion in your body and heart finally begin to catch up with you, and your hand falls back to your side. “I got it. Do you think you’re done?” Asahi asks, coaxing you back up into a seated position. You nod, too tired to try to speak. Asahi quickly tugs his shirt back down from his face before you can see and closes the toilet lid. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “Don’t be,” Asahi says, flushing the toilet. “I’m your friend. I want to help you. And I’ve already told you that you don’t need to apologize to me.” Asahi helps you sit on the top of the toilet and rises to his feet. “Don’t go anywhere,” he says, scurrying out of the room. Although your eyes are closed, you still feel your body swaying. More than anything, you just want to go to sleep. Asahi pads back into the room and presses a wooden cup into your hands. “Drink this,” he says, turning on the faucet. Even though drinking something is the last thing you want to be doing right now, you go ahead and lift the cup to your open mouth. Cold water passes your lips and washes away some of the disgusting taste in your mouth. It feels gross, but you force yourself to drink all of it. Asahi takes the cup from your hand and turns the faucet back off. You flinch at the feeling of a damp washcloth on your face. “It’s okay,” Asahi says gently, cradling your chin with his free hand and angling your face up. “Just cleaning you up a little.” You murmur in acknowledgement and Asahi continues to wipe your face down. You almost fall asleep sitting on his toilet, but he gently shakes you to keep you awake. “Stay with me for another minute,” he says softly. “You can go to sleep soon. You’re gonna be just fine. I promise.” His words and his voice are so sweet that you want to cry. A couple rogue tears drip from your eyes and onto his hands. “I’m sorry,” you say once more. Asahi sets the washcloth on the counter and starts to pull you to your feet. You struggle to stay on your feet, so instead, he carefully scoops you into his arms and carries you out the bathroom. You don’t care where you go, you just need to sleep. Asahi’s pretty certain you’re asleep by the time he deposits you on his mattress. Your chest rises and falls slowly as he pulls his duvet over you. He begins to make his way to the couch, but stops when he feels you grab his hand. “Please don’t go, Asahi-san,” you whisper. “Please.” You tug harder at his fingers and he knows he can’t refuse you. He ends up sitting on the edge of the bed holding your hand until you fall asleep.

*

As soon as your quiet snores permeate the silence, Asahi untangles his fingers from yours. He brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face and he can’t help but let his eyes linger on your sleeping face for just a moment. The moonlight trickling through the window illuminates your hair and casts a silvery glow on your skin. Despite the awful night you’ve had, you look absolutely radiant. He feels himself blushing again, but he takes some comfort in the fact that he doesn’t have to try and hide it this time. Not while you’re fast asleep in his bed. He’s far too scared to admit it, even to himself, but he’s fantasized about falling asleep next to you many times before. But in those fantasies you weren’t drunk and crying over another man. Asahi sighs, stands up, and moves over to the dresser as quietly as he can. After setting a few things out for you, he goes into the bathroom, gets ready for bed and heads to the couch for the night.

*

By the time you wake up in the morning, you feel like you’re going to die. You can’t remember what exactly happened the previous night. The last thing you remember clearly was talking to the bartender about high school volleyball, of all things. Your head’s pounding, and your stomach aches painfully, screaming at you to please eat something. You don’t open your eyes, fearing that it would somehow trigger another round of vomiting. Eventually, you force yourself into a seated position and open your eyes. The bedroom you’re in is small, but pretty well-decorated. It’s decently tidy. The only mess is a few crumpled up clothing designs discarded on the floor next to the trash bin.

Designs? Did that mean?

You’re at Asahi’s apartment. In his bed. Your eyes widen in panic.

  What happened last night?

You’re still wearing the clothes that you wore to the bar last night. And there’s no evidence of him ever being in bed with you. You reach over towards your phone, which has been graciously plugged in for you and set on the bedside table. That’s when you notice the note along with a sleeve of crackers and a glass of ginger ale.

Good morning!

There’s a set of clothes you can wear at the foot of the bed and a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. Feel free to take a shower if you want. Extra towels are underneath the sink. Please have something to eat and drink too. You’ll feel better if you do.

-Asahi

P.S. Please don’t feel bad. It’s okay.

You grab a few of the crackers from the bedside table and eat them, washing them down with the ginger ale.

Why does Asahi have to be so damn considerate? The whole situation is so embarrassing.

You contemplate just grabbing your phone and getting the hell out of his apartment, but you’re not going to pass up the opportunity to shower. You finish the last of the crackers, chug down the ginger ale, and grab the spare clothes at the end of the bed. You turn the doorknob as silently as you can and awkwardly creep down the hall towards the bathroom, stopping briefly to peek in the living room. Asahi’s fast asleep on the couch, clad only in pajama pants and a pair of fuzzy socks. His hair is down and messily splayed across the throw pillow he’s resting his head on. Quiet snores pass his lips. He looks cute. Your eyes trail from his face and down to his stomach. Despite quitting volleyball after high school, he seems to have mostly maintained his athletic form, except for a tiny little layer of pudge on his lower stomach. The corners of your lips twitch up into a smile, until that little voice in the back of your mind reminds you of your place.

Quit staring, you perv! You need to get out of here!

You hurriedly continue down the hallway and jump into the shower as soon as you get into the bathroom. You think that maybe if you clean up fast enough, you can get out of Asahi’s apartment before he wakes up. However, as soon as you step into the shower, all worries about rushing out disappear into the back of your mind. You bask in the hot water, the steam clearing your sinuses and relieving some of the pain in your head. You silently thank the gods that Asahi actually uses conditioner, and not just 3-in-1 like most of the other men you were previously…. acquainted with. Although, it makes sense to you that somebody with hair like Asahi’s would have a strict haircare routine. As you shower, fragmented memories of last night start to come back to you.

Being stood up at the bar. Calling Asahi for help. Puking your guts out in his bathroom. Him carrying you into his room and laying you down on his bed. Him staying by your side until you fell asleep. You wishing he would’ve crawled into bed with you and held you through the night… Wait, what was that last part?

As soon as you’re done rinsing the conditioner from your hair, you step out of the shower and swiftly towel off. You find the spare toothbrush Asahi mentioned, take it out of the packaging, and brush your teeth with his toothpaste. The dry, gross feeling in your mouth is quickly replaced with a minty fresh taste. You slip on the sweatpants and t-shirt that Asahi left for you and dry your hair. Thankfully, Asahi isn’t as huge as most people make him out to be, so while the clothes he left out are a bit big on you, you’re not drowning in them. You’ll just bring them back some other day. You start combing through your hair, and that’s when you hear it – the sound of somebody padding around in the apartment. Shit. Once the footsteps quiet down, you rush out of the bathroom and towards the front door. Asahi eyes you as you scoop up your shoes, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Good morning!” he says kindly. “How are you feeling?” “I’m so sorry Azumane-san, it won’t happen again!” you say as you throw open the door and rush into the hallway. “Hold on, wait up!” he says as you pull the door closed behind you. You run all the way to the stairs at the end of the hallway and go to call Kokomi for a ride home. That’s when you realize that your phone is still plugged into the wall in Asahi’s room. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You turn around and trudge back towards his apartment. Before you can even knock, the door opens slowly. Asahi stands there in just his pajama pants, holding your phone out to you. “You shouldn’t leave without your phone,” he says. You thank him and take your phone, a blush creeping up your cheeks. You try not to stare at his bare chest, already feeling like a creep for ogling him while he was sleeping. “Your clothes are still in the bathroom, too,” he says. “I can go get them for you. Or I can just wash them and give them back to you another time if you want to leave.” “No, that’s okay,” you say, covering your flushing cheeks with the collar of his shirt. “I’ll get them. Can I come in?” “Of course.” Asahi steps out of your way and you head straight for the bathroom, avoiding looking in his eyes. Asahi never gets angry, and you know he wouldn’t be mad at you over something like this, but a lingering sense of shame still washes over you. You scoop up your clothes and leave the bathroom. As soon as you cross the threshold into the living room, the smell of coffee and frying fish washes over you. Asahi stands in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. In the time that you were in the bathroom, he put on a Black Jackals sweatshirt and threw his hair into a loose bun. “Do you want a cup of coffee?” he asks, smiling at you and pouring his own cup. “It’ll help with the hangover.” You stand there and ponder his offer for a moment. Sensing your hesitancy, Asahi suddenly turns back to the stove and mumbles something that you can’t quite make out. “What did you say?” you ask. Asahi rubs the back of his neck, a nervous habit he’s had since you were kids. “I don’t mean to pressure you to stay or anything! I just thought it might help for you to have something more than crackers and ginger ale.” “You’ve done plenty to help me since last night,” you say. “But I’ll take that coffee if the offer is still on the table.” “It is!” Asahi says a little too enthusiastically for his own good. You can’t help but smirk as you take your seat at the kitchen table. Asahi pours you a cup of coffee and slides you a bowl of the rice and fish he made. You thank him quietly and start to eat. He slides into the chair across from you and eats his own breakfast, eyeing you carefully. “What?” you ask after catching him staring. “Since when have you ever called me Azumane-san?” he asks. “I don’t know,” you mumble into your coffee mug. “I didn’t think we reverted back from first name basis,” he says. “I thought we knew each other better than that.” “I don’t know,” you say, a devilish smile crossing your face. “Care to explain why you actually had those makeup wipes in your bathroom drawer? I doubt your makeup artists are coming over to your apartment.” Now it’s Asahi’s turn to blush again. “My ex-girlfriend left them here,” he says. “Felt like a waste to just throw them out.” “Ex-girlfriend?!” you exclaim suddenly, startling Asahi and causing him to drop the wipe on the floor. “I didn’t know you were seeing somebody!” “Yeah,” he says, throwing the wipe in the trash and grabbing a fresh one. “We broke up a while before you moved to the city. She left a bunch of her stuff here and refused to come pick it up. I think she was just too embarrassed to see me again. I got rid of most of it a while ago, but I kept some of the more… uh, utilitarian things.” “I’m sorry,” you say sincerely. “Why did you break up?” Asahi feels a slight pang in his chest. He met his last girlfriend through his job. She was nice enough, and things seemed like they were going okay until he showed up at her apartment to surprise her for their 6 month anniversary, only to find another man in her bed. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you say. “It’s fine. She cheated on me with some other guy,” he says, his expression darkening. “I think they’re engaged now.” “Shit,” you say. “What a bitch.” “Woah, settle down, it’s okay –” “No, it’s not,” you say firmly. “You deserve someone way better than that. Somebody that treats you with the love and respect that you deserve.” Asahi knows you’re right, but he doesn’t really want to press it. That whole mess had done a number on his mental health, and he really doesn’t want to burden you with his emotional baggage. He adjusts his glasses again and forces a smile. “You know, you should really take your own advice,” he says. You try to think back on what you had said to him last night. The details are fuzzy, but you remember crying. A lot. Instead of answering him, you shovel down the last of the rice and fish. “Thank you for the meal,” you say. Asahi smiles and nods at you before beginning to clear the dishes away. You stand up and stop him, insisting that you clean up yourself. As you finish drying the bowls, your phone buzzes. You check it, only to see a handful of missed texts from Kokomi.

Ono Kokomi [8:32} Hey!! Sorry I missed your call. How was he?  (°◡°♡) [9:14] That good?  (^.~)☆ [9:18] Or that bad?! (;;;*_*) [9:57] HELLO?? (ﾉಥ益ಥ)ﾉ [10:32] ARE YOU ALIVE?!?!?!  〣( ºΔº )〣

You roll your eyes and quickly type out your response.

Y/N [10:33] Yeah, no thanks to you. (￢_￢;)

Ono Kokomi [10:34] Was it really that bad?

Y/N [10:34] He didn’t even show up. (╥_╥) [10:34] Azumane picked me up at 2 AM because I was too drunk to go home alone. I stayed the night at his place. [10:34] Speaking of which, can you come pick me up? Not really in a state to take the train and I think you owe me one.

Ono Kokomi [10:35] (⊙_⊙) [10:35] Spill. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Y/N [10:36] There’s nothing to spill. I threw up in his bathroom and he slept on the couch. Can you just answer my question please? (҂` ﾛ ´)凸

Ono Kokomi [10:36] Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m on my way, lovebird. (￣ε￣＠)

“Everything okay?” Asahi asks. “Yeah,” you say, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Kokomi’s going to come pick me up.” “Are you sure? I can take you if you want,” he offers. “Yeah, she’s already on her way,” you say, setting the bowl down and turning to face him. “Besides, you’ve done more than enough for me already over the last twelve hours.” You silently pick up your things and walk towards the door. Asahi rises from his chair and awkwardly clears his throat. “Do you have all your stuff?” You nod and smile. Before you open the door, you approach him and wrap your arms around his waist. He shyly hugs you back, hoping you can’t hear the rapid pounding in his chest. “Thank you, Asahi,” you whisper. “You’re amazing.” You let go first and leave his apartment quietly. As soon as the door closes, Asahi walks back into the living room and flops down on the couch. He covers his face with his hands and groans. This morning was almost too much for him – seeing you in his clothes, eating breakfast together, you hugging him before you left. It was all so painfully domestic, and he wishes it didn’t have to end. If only he wasn’t such a coward, he would’ve asked you to stay longer. He doesn’t know how long he lays there until he finally decides to get moving for the day and finish that piece he was working on when you called last night. He checks his phone and sees your name pop up on the screen.

Y/N [11:00] I’m home. Thanks again for babysitting me last night. Whatever did I do to deserve you as my guardian angel? ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚ [11:00] Or was that Noya-san? I forget. (^ω~)

Azumane Asahi [11:01] Lol. You’re welcome. And that was what we called Noya in our club days, but I don’t mind you calling me that too (* ^ ω ^)

Y/N [11:03] Let me make it up to you. [11:04] Come over for dinner tomorrow night?

Asahi almost drops his phone on his face. His fingers fumble as he types his response. He waits a moment before sending it, rereading it ten times to make sure he doesn’t come across as desperate.

Azumane Asahi [11:07] I’d love to. Do you want me to bring anything?

Y/N [11:08] That’s not necessary. I owe you a nice dinner. [11:09] You still like tonkotsu ramen?

Azumane Asahi [11:10] I do!

Y/N [11:11] It’s a date! See you tomorrow! (☞°ヮ°)☞ ☜(°ヮ°☜)

*

“You said nothing happened last night,” Kokomi says, staring over your shoulder at your phone. “Nothing happened, Kokomi. Now leave me alone,” you snap, tossing one of your throw pillows at her. She deftly catches it and plops down on the couch next to you. “Please,” she says, swatting you with the pillow. “The only reason you two haven’t gotten together is because you’re the densest people on the planet. I bet he’s flopped down on his couch right now thinking about how he doesn’t even want to wait that long to see you.” “Shut up,” you grumble. Kokomi’s phone rings and she quickly checks it. “Anyway, I have to go meet Kaito,” she says. “Got to go. Let me know how your date goes!” She waves and practically skips out the front door. You lay down and start making a shopping list for ingredients for tonkatsu ramen. As soon as you’re done, you set your phone down and cross your arms over your face.

“I bet he’s flopped down on his couch right now thinking about how he doesn’t even want to wait that long to see you.” No, Kokomi. That’s me.

[snowbearyy]

hi!!! could i request hcs where the brothers’ are dating a tall, chubby s/o ?? they’re really insecure about it and every now and then just break down about it. and can’t go shopping without breaking down either and it makes them upset to the core cause they just wanna express themselves too instead of hiding in baggy clothing. thank you so much!!!!

(they requested that this be f!MC)

Lucifer

He genuinely does not understand why you're insecure. He notices, however. This man will not let you wallow in self-hatred, so he confronts you about it. He takes you somewhere private and asks you to tell him how you feel. "You're beautiful, MC. And we all want you to be comfortable here. If somebody is making you feel insecure, you'd better tell me. I can take care of it." You let him know that's not the case. After he learns more about you, he does everything in his power to remind you that he thinks you're stunning. When you break down, he will grab you and take you away, somewhere you can be alone. It doesn't matter if you ask him to stop. He will repeat sweet words to you until you believe it. Slowly but surely, he will try to warm you up to the idea of finding clothes that make you feel confident. He'll buy random things for you, and if they don't work, they don't work. He won't force you to do anything, but he tries, in the hopes that one day you can express yourself freely.

Mammon

Shopping with Mammon is a common date for you two. After the first few times, he can tell you're uncomfortable, but he's not sure why. One day, he picks a nice sundress he thinks you'd look great in. He's insistent you try it on. In his eyes, it was just a beautiful dress for a beautiful lady. When he heard you crying in the dressing room, however, his heart dropped. He rushed in, not bothering to ask if you were decent or not. "What's the matter, babe?! Is the dress ugly? I can find a new one!" You shake your head, still sobbing. The dress was hanging up on the door, still zipped. Mammon kneels on the ground, looking up at you, rubbing your leg, trying to calm you. "Hey..." he whispers, "Talk to me. Why are you crying?" After you explain everything to him, he looks like he's about to cry. "I didn't know you felt that way... I'm sorry for dragging you out here." You let him know that you enjoy going on dates with him. You just wished you felt good enough to enjoy shopping. After you get home, you have a long talk in his room. There, he tells you exactly how much you mean to him. He tells you how perfect he thinks you are. And he works hard to remind you of this every day.

Leviathan

Levi knows a thing or two about feeling insecure. He never imaged that you, the most amazing and beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on, would feel that way, too. But he can tell. He picks up on your mannerisms, the way you talk about yourself, your expressions when someone compliments you. He knows. He's just not sure exactly what to do. You make an effort to put an end to Levi's self-deprecating talk. He's grateful for that, and he can't have you feeling uncomfortable in your own skin. He's nervous about confronting you, though, because he doesn't want to cross a line. One day, while you're playing video games in his room, he pauses the screen. He looks at you for a few moments, building up his courage. Even though you two had been dating for quite some time, expressing himself still took some work. "MC... You know I think you're amazing, right?" You laugh, unsure of what brought this on. "Thanks?" you reply. He's not done, though. "You're beautiful and you're so strong. Everything about you is perfect. I think of you all the time and I'm so glad you accepted me. I love you. I love you more than anything in the world-" He's interrupted by the sound of you crying. He decides to stop talking and holds you in his arms. He makes a silent vow to never let you feel insecure again. He's determined.

Satan

Satan is pretty comfortable with giving you compliments. He says flattering things to you often and without hesitation. Your reactions, however, make it quite obvious to him that you don't believe what he says. This troubles him. Immediately, he's looking for ways to boost your confidence in a way that will actually work. He does a lot of research and develops a plan. One day, he sits you down and hands you a notebook. Inside, there are dozens of affirmations. You read them, confused. "What's this?" you ask. "Homework," he states, simply. "After you wake up each morning, I want you to look in the mirror and repeat these statements to yourself." You're flabbergasted. "What? No!" He sits next to you and grabs your hand. "Listen. I know it's hard, but I want to help you. MC, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I'm grateful to have you by my side. I want you to love yourself as much as I love you." After that, sticky notes with words of affirmation decorate your walls and mirrors. Miraculously, before you wake up each morning, new notes are placed every day. He works with you to find ways to make you feel more confident.

Asmodeus

Being in a relationship with the most beautiful demon in the Devildom would be nerve-wracking for anybody. He's constantly painting your nails, doing your makeup, buying you new clothes to try on. It can be overwhelming. You tried your best to hide it because those things bring Asmodeus joy, but one day, he requested that you come to his room for a fashion show. You were under the impression that he'd be the one showing off his new outfits, but when you got there, he handed you a pile of clothes instead. "I picked these all out for you! I just know you'll look great. You're so tall and beautiful, you'd make the perfect model! Try them on!" Just the thought of it makes your throat burn. He sees your expression drop. "What's wrong?" he frowns. When you don't respond, he gently takes the clothes out of your hands and sets them on the ground. He leads you to the bed. "It's hard for me to imagine how you could be feeling. But I want you to know you have nothing to feel insecure about. You don't need to hide yourself. I'm telling you now, I won't give up. A beautiful woman needs to wear beautiful clothes!" He wraps his arms around you. "I remind you all the time how lovely you are. Do I need to show you more often? It's not just admiration I feel. It's desire." Through actions and words, he shows you how much he loves you.

Beelzebub

You see Beel eat constantly. It's nothing new. You're used to it. This particular day, however, something slips out. "You're so lucky," you mumble as Beelzebub eats his third lunch of the day. You're looking away, but you can feel his eyes on you. He stares for a while. "Sorry-" you start to whisper. Suddenly, he's at your side, wrapping you into a tight hug. "Why-" He doesn't answer. He just holds you tighter. You figured he would leave it at that, but he approaches you later that day. "MC, do you want to start going to the gym with me?" Before you can react, he continues. "I'm not saying you need to. I just know that when I work out, it helps me feel more confident. And I think maybe it can help you, too. I can be right there with you." You consider for a moment. You know he genuinely wants you to feel like your best self. He pulls you in for another hug. "You're perfect just the way you are. Everything about you is beautiful."

Belphegor

"MC..." he whines out, "Come lay on meee." You freeze. He's half-asleep in the attic, waiting for you to join him for a nap. "You mean next to you?" you ask, hopeful. "No, I don't" he grumbles. You silently approach, sitting next to where he lays on the bed. You don't move. He opens one eye, expectantly waiting for you to do what he asked. When he notices your expression, he sits up. "What's wrong? You're not tired?" The silence tells him all he needs to know. He grabs you by your waist and pulls you down to lay next to him. He wraps you up in a blanket and spoons you. "You know, you don't need to be so worried," he says softly, "I love you." After moments of silence, he props himself up on his elbow. "Did you hear me?" he asks. You look at him. "I love you," he repeats. Next thing you know, he's showering you in kisses. You can't help but laugh. In-between each peck, he repeats those same words. "I love you."

[ryoryeonggu]

I think the new characters of Elite could have done better and had more potential to be brought on the table, especially the Blanco family.

Ari: Instead of being pushed and pulled by two guys like a bloody trophy, I would love to see more interaction and connection between her and her family members. She as a role of a daddy girl, the perfect girl always making their father proud, the sister always taking care of her brother and sister and likely to be the job of her life. How everyone seemed to put so much high hopes on her, especially her father, expected her to be there all the time and good at everything, and how much stressful and frustrating must be for her. And I want her to find someone who really see her and love her for who she truly is, not just a flawless imagine that all of the people expect her to be (and I believe that’s why she caught up in the feeling for Samuel, except from his d*ck lol and his admirable devotion towards his friends, because he was there and comforted her when her guard had been weakest and she opened up about what she felt about her mother’s death)

Patrick: Although I was pleased with all the hot scenes (damn, this boy is the most nasty and sexiest gremlin ever), there’s more of his story that the show could have explored more than just fucking and sex. Like more of his feelings and thoughts during all the time he had been paralyzing on the bed for 2 years and how much efforts (along with all the depression) he put on to get back on his feet and be able to walk again. How he felt at the moment of the accident, like he experienced all the blood lost, the unbearable pain and thought he was going to die. How he felt when his mother was dying besides him and he wasn’t able to do anything to save her. How traumatized it for him with the loss of his mother and that disburbing event. And despite everything, that all of those things happened to him was partly Mencia’s fault, so it’s understandable that he hated her for that, but instead he cared deeply for his little sister and became the closest one and the only one that Mencia could trust in their family. I like the way he’s so supportive of her with almost everything, their little secret phone calls behind their father and sister’s back, the way Patrick was worried sick and absolutely in the edge of breaking down when his sister’s missing but when she came home, he just smiled brightly instead of yelling at her because he’s just glad that she’s safe (when he had every right to be mad at her since it almost killed him the last time she disappeared). Seriously they looks like twins more than Patrick and Ari has ever been and their “partners in crime” dynamic was so pure and could be developed more.

On the other hand, I’d love to see why he’s mostly so lonely and easily be touched by just a little affection from strangers. Why’s he so desperate to find love and somebody who has meaningful connection? Even though he seemed to not so be interested in spending time with Phillipe - who’s supposed to be his friend - only it’s necessary for his benefits. For a reason, no one in the Blanco seemed to like Phillipe and even despise him to some extend and I wonder if there’s any other reasons apart from his abuse records.

Mencia: I adored Rebeka & Mencia with all my heart, they’re so cute, but they could have added more depth to their relationship by letting Mencia opened herself more about her struggles in her family. I just feel that the reason why she was so eager to push them away only because she felt guilty about what she did to them. It clearly wounded her when Ari mentioned about how much she hurt her family, because she might feel responsible for all the loss, all the pain and all the broken things that had been caused (including her mother’s death). So she lied, she was self-destructive, she did all those annoying things and tried to walk away so her family finally was tired of her and gave up on her forever. Because she didn’t think she deserved love and care from them, that she had ruined them enough. The one she feel sorry the most probably was Patrick since he was the one who had been wasting 2 years of his life on his bed and scarred for life after on his way of searching for her, so she mostly turned soft just for him while being harsh and pushy to everyone else.

Phillipe: He confused the hell out of me because I don’t know what to think of him. It wasn’t comprehensive with the way they portrayed him, like he’s supposed to be an abuser (or r*pist, I’m not sure), but there’s barely an accurate hint because most of the time, he was being either sweet or a lost kicked puppy as the girl he loved rejected him and his “friends” used him to get what they wanted then immediately tossing him aside. Apart from the hidden camera and sexual assault scene, he constantly respected Cayetana and treated her like a queen, he only had eyes for her and didn’t care at all about her being a janitor or what she had done in the past, their love story looked like a dream, then the very next second they forced the whole shallow shit down our throat. Even I understand that abusers are usually charming and wasn’t be easy to be identified, but there are should have been clearer signs. I’m supposed to hate him? I’m supposed to feel bad for him? So is there any truth as he said there’s a girl false accused him of sexually assaulting her for money? What’s the backstory of him abusing girls which his mother had to cover for? I really want to know more about the side of him before having any proper opinion about his character.

[onecanonlife]

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 4,081)

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Part Five: Niki

She has no idea what to expect from this server. It makes her a bit nervous, if she’s being entirely honest. Dream is a man with a reputation stretching between worlds, and when the letter from Wilbur first arrived, she didn’t know what to think. But she does find it easy to believe that Wilbur would take one look at a man with a position of authority and decide to cause trouble. Founding an entire country is above and beyond, even for him, but picturing it comes naturally to her. For as long as she’s known him, Wilbur has never been one to do things halfway. That’s not always a good thing, but—

You should come to see it, the letter read. It’s really something, Niki. Everyone’s worked so hard, and I’d love to show it to you.

So here she is, letter folded neatly in her breast pocket as she wanders down the wooden paths that seem to function as the server’s main thoroughfares. There’s been no one to greet her just yet, even though she’s certain her entry pinged on everyone’s communicators, if they were looking. But perhaps that’s for the better; the letter told her that Dream wouldn’t harry her, but that doesn’t mean she’s particularly eager for a meeting.

And it’s simple enough to find the nation. L’Manberg. Just a little further down the path, and there it is, just like Wilbur described to her, blackstone walls raised around it and tipped with yellow. She can see over the top from this vantage point, can pick out a few structures, a flicker of fire, and perhaps a few people moving about, though from this distance, they look more like ants. There is also a tower under construction outside of the walls, already tall but still uneven, clearly not yet finished.

She grins and picks up the pace. The entrance stands wide open, and by the time she makes it there, she’s all but jogging, and then, coming to meet her—

“Niki!” Wilbur calls, a wide, beaming smile on his face, and she laughs, barreling into him for a hug.

“Wilbur!” she says in return. “It’s so good to see you!”

“It’s so good to see you!” Wilbur exclaims. He returns her embrace eagerly, though he steps back after only a moment, resting both of his hands on her shoulders. “I’m so glad you came, Niki, I’ve got so much to show you. We’re really doing something special here.”

“I can see that,” she says. “I could see the walls from far off. They’re very impressive.”

“Oh, I know,” Wilbur says, and his eyes shine. With pride, with joy. “They’re a symbol of our freedom, of our refusal to bend under tyranny. But that’s not even the half of it. We’ve done so much here. Please, let me show you around?”

He’s already taking her by the arm, so it’s clear that it’s not really a question. Or rather, that he’s presumed her answer. But in this case, he’s presumed correctly, and he’s obviously so excited to show her this place, this place that he’s worked so hard to create, so she lets him take her on a tour. He points out some of the structures that they have—“Much better than they were before, Niki, though we’ve got plans for plenty of others.”—and takes her around the walls, and then to the stage—“We’ll have public events and such here!”—and then outside of the walls, to the tower, where he introduces her to Eret, a lovely-seeming person who’s evidently responsible for much of the construction work here. She’s certain that she’ll get along with them wonderfully. And then, back inside the walls—

“I saved the best for last,” he says, and leads her to a structure that he skipped over, a van topped with what appears to be a shape like a—hot dog? A hot dog on fire? A flaming hot dog?

“Is it a hot dog van?” she can’t help but ask.

Wilbur laughs. “Not quite,” he says, “though it does look that way, doesn’t it? It’s the camarvan, Niki, the camarvan. It’s where all of this started.” He takes her up the stairs and inside, and the interior isn’t quite what she was expecting, judging from the outside. It’s a bit grimy, a bit smoky, though nothing too difficult to breathe through. And it’s full of brewing stands, some of which are actively at work. There’s a door toward the rear, too, apparently leading to a back room of some kind, and she thinks she can make out somebody’s shadow on the wall, bobbing in the haze.

“I will fully admit,” Wilbur says, in a conspiratorial tone, “that this nation started out as an effort to get a monopoly on potions here on the SMP. A drug van, if you will. We didn’t set out to start a country, but when Dream threatened us, well. We really had no choice but to declare independence, not if we wanted to stand up for our ideals.”

A drug van. Her lips twitch up into a smile.

“And what ideals are those?” she asks.

“Freedom, of course!” he replies. “Justice! The fight against tyranny! And also a good bit of sticking it to the man. The man, in this case, being Dream.”

He gestures as he speaks, hands tracing adamant patterns in the air, and she nods along, keeping half an eye on the back room. The shadow stills, and before too long, a face pokes around into the doorway. One that she recognizes, blue eyes wide and blond hair messy, and this face is followed by another, one that she doesn’t recognize.

“Holy shit!” Tommy says, and Wilbur jerks, head turning. “You didn’t say that Niki was coming today!”

She doesn’t know Tommy very well. She’s only had the chance to meet him a few times, this kid that Wilbur all but adopted as his younger brother. She knows that he is brash, that he is loud, that he has a way of bringing all eyes to him that is entirely different from Wilbur’s brand of smooth charisma, that once he decides he wants someone’s attention, he is as persistent as a gnat that’s found an ear to buzz around. Though perhaps that’s not the most flattering of comparisons. There is some truth to it, though; Tommy, from what she can tell, often doesn’t seem to care how he leaves an impression, only that he does.

Really, she hasn’t seen enough of him to judge. But he does seem like a good kid, and in any case, he looks at Wilbur like he hung the moon. Which Niki understands very well; it’s easy to be caught up in Wilbur’s orbit.

“I didn’t know when she’d get here,” Wilbur says with a laugh. “Here, come out, both of you. Niki, you’ve met Tommy before.”

Tommy grins at her, and she can’t help but grin back. He wears the same uniform that Wilbur does, an antiquated long blue coat and a tricorne hat, and it fits him well. He seems to be at ease in it, in an outfit clearly styled for a soldier. He’s only fifteen, he knows, but in this moment, she almost mistakes him for older.

“This is Fundy,” Wilbur continues, walking over to the boys and putting his hand on the other’s shoulder, the one that she’s never met. His uniform is different, pastel-colored, and compared to Wilbur and Tommy’s, not very well-made. “He’s my son.” He smiles. “My little champion.”

Something about that timeline has to be off—Wilbur is in his mid-twenties, and this boy looks to be about Tommy’s age, perhaps even a little older. So there’s something strange about that, but perhaps he’s adopted; Wilbur has a habit of adopting things, bringing people close. Or perhaps there’s something else at work. Either way, it seems rude to press at this second, so she smiles in greeting, noting the way that the boy’s ears are twitching—fox ears. A hybrid, or perhaps a shapeshifter? That might explain the incongruities.

“It’s nice to meet you, Fundy,” she says.

“Nice to meet you too,” Fundy says. His voice is resigned, perhaps a bit sullen, and she gets the impression that there’s definitely something going on that she’s not privy to. Whatever it is, though, Wilbur seems unaffected, as he keeps his hand on Fundy’s shoulder, still smiling.

“Fundy was the first citizen of L’Manberg,” he says. “He was born right here, inside the walls. A bit before they were constructed, of course, but it still counts.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve all heard the story,” Tommy jumps in, and she doesn’t think she mistakes the look of relief that flashes across Fundy’s face as Wilbur turns his attention elsewhere. She fidgets, shifting her weight between her feet.

“Well, Niki hasn’t—” Wil starts, but Fundy cuts in.

“And it was great to meet her,” Fundy says, looking between everyone. “Great to meet you! But I’ve actually got something to do elsewhere, so I’m just going to go and do that. Right now, actually. So, I’ll catch you later!” He ducks out from under Wilbur’s grasp, heading for the door. “You coming, Tommy?”

“Be there in a second,” Tommy says. “I’ll just tidy up in there and meet you in a bit, yeah?”

Fundy nods, and then he’s out the door. Wilbur stares after him fondly, and Tommy takes the opportunity to grin at her again—and is it just her, or does that smile seem strained, now?—and he ducks back into the room that he came out of. A second later, there is a clattering sound, glass clinking together repeatedly.

“It’s all for him, really,” Wilbur says, voice soft. “The walls, this country, all of it. Him and everyone, but—it’s all so they can be safe and free. That’s all I want.”

“It’s a good goal,” she says, and his attention finally turns back to her. “It looks to me like you’ve made a great start.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, and leans against one of the counters, between two of the brewing stands. “This means a lot to me. This nation, it’s like—a second child, sort of. I’ve got to give everything I can to make it as good as it can be. I really do mean it when I say that it stands for something. Something important.” He pauses, tilting his head. “I am thinking about holding an election, though. Just a little something to consolidate power, nothing big. But I need the authority to guide L’Manberg to its future. Because I’ll tell you, Niki, that future is looking bright.”

She tilts her head, too, mirroring him. “Would there even be anyone to run against you?” she asks. Consolidating power. That doesn’t sound like the sort of thing that an election would help very much with.

He chuckles. “Not that I can think of. That’s sort of the beauty of it,” he says, and then, suddenly, Tommy emerges from the room again. He’s got a couple of potions cradled under his arm, shimmering with a pink glow.

“Wilbur,” he says, and Niki blinks, because his tone is a far cry from a few moments ago, is low and serious in a way she’s not certain she’s ever heard from the boy. “If you’re serious about the election thing, you’ve got to be careful with it.”

It’s an odd response to an offhand comment, and obviously, Wilbur agrees, as he arches a brow, regarding Tommy with a bit of confusion. “What are you on about now?” he asks, gently exasperated.

“It’s easy for things like that to go wrong,” Tommy states. “It might not—it might not go how you’re expecting it to go, you know? So, I think you should open it up so that anyone can run, so that way, when you win, nobody doubts the results and all. But—but Wilbur, here’s the thing, you can’t—I need you to promise me that you won’t invite Schlatt to the server, alright? Don’t have him come and endorse you, don’t even let him step foot in L’Manberg. Don’t have him come here, okay?”

It’s not a name she recognizes. But Wilbur seems to, because he wrinkles his nose.

“Why the hell would I have Schlatt come here?” he says. “Dream banned him anyway, don’t you remember?”

“I know, I know, just, just don’t, okay?” Tommy takes another step closer. His shoulders are tense. “Wilbur, I’m serious about this.”

“Alright, I won’t, I promise,” Wil says, and immediately, Tommy relaxes. There is still a look in his eyes, though, a look of wariness, and the sample size she’s drawing from is small but she thinks it’s still safe to say that she’s never seen him direct that expression at Wilbur before. “Tommy, why—”

“I’m going to go catch up with Fundy now,” Tommy says. “See you later, Wilbur. And Niki, you too. It’s—really good to see you, Niki. I’m glad you’re here.”

The earnestness in his voice catches her off guard. He sounds completely genuine, genuine in a way that she doesn’t really expect from someone like TommyInnit. Because Tommy is loud and Tommy is brash, but she has never known him to be so open. But then again, she doesn’t know him that well. She needs to keep reminding herself of that, needs to keep reminding herself that everyone has depths to them, no matter how uncomplicated they might seem on the surface. She deals with people making snap judgments about her too often to do the same to someone else.

“I’m glad to be here, too,” she says, and then, Tommy is gone, the door to the camarvan swinging shut behind him. She can already hear him calling out for Fundy, and someone named Tubbo, his volume cranked back up to an eleven, like the previous minute or so never happened at all.

Wilbur sighs suddenly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He seems to sag a bit, his perfect posture deflating into something more casual, more—defeated doesn’t quite seem to be the right word, but weary, perhaps.

“He keeps doing this, Niki,” he all but moans. “He keeps saying things that don’t make any sense as if they’re the most important things in the universe.”

“Do you think he’s okay?” she asks, already struggling to find something to say that will help. But the problem is, she just doesn’t know Tommy all that well. She’d like that to change, especially if she decides that she’s here to stay. But right now, she doesn’t know enough to help, and she doesn’t like that.

“I think so,” Wil says. “I hope so. I wanted to tell you while he was still here—he gets all embarrassed whenever I bring it up, it’s hilarious, but Tommy’s the reason that we have our freedom at all. He traded a couple of his most valued possessions to Dream in exchange for L’Manberg’s autonomy. It was a real sacrifice play. I’m very proud of him. But he hasn’t been quite the same since then.” He sighs again. “I’m worried that he’s more hurt by it than he’s been letting on. I’m trying to be there for him, but it’s been—difficult, these past few weeks.” He smiles slightly, meeting her eyes. “Turns out that running a country is a lot of work. Who knew, right?”

“As long as you’re trying your best, I’m sure he appreciates that,” she says. “And I’m sure he’s got other friends as well that he can turn to, right?”

“He does,” Wil says, frustration leaking into his tone, “he does, I know he does, but—I’m supposed to be looking after him, right? We’re like family. Like brothers, pretty much. And the older brother is supposed to look out for the younger. That’s the job.” He leans back further, crossing one leg over the other, and Niki is struck, suddenly, with the idea that he looks very, very tired. There are bags under his eyes that she didn’t notice right away, but now that she’s seen them, she can’t unsee them. “But he’s being weird about it—and do you know, we’ve actually got a few new citizens because of him. There’s this guy, Quackity, and I wasn’t going to let him join, but Tommy kept at me until I gave in. And then just the other day, I went to a meeting, and when I get back, it turns out that he’s snuck in another guy right under my nose. Jack Manifold. Gave him a uniform and everything. And what am I supposed to do, say no?”

Throughout, his voice becomes more and more petulant, and she pushes down the urge to laugh.

“It just sounds to me like he’s making new friends,” she says, and once again, Wilbur sighs, this time much more dramatically.

“I suppose,” he says, sounding very put upon. “I wish he’d just come to me, though.”

“I’m sure he will in time,” she says. “I don’t know him that well yet, but from what I’ve seen, he thinks the world of you. I’m sure he’ll come talk to you when he’s ready.”

Thankfully, Wilbur perks up a bit at this.

“Thanks, Niki,” he says. “You’re probably right.” He shakes his head ruefully, and then smiles. “He beat me to the punch, but I am also very glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad to be here,” she repeats. “Really, I’m glad you sent me that letter.” And then, because she can’t resist, and because his posture still seems to scream tiredness, she asks, “Are you holding up alright? With all of this? I know you said it was a lot of work.”

For a fleeting moment, a fraction of a second, his eyes widen marginally, and the expression passes so quickly that in the murk of the room, she can’t even be sure that she saw it at all.

“Just fine,” he says brightly. “It’s all worth it. L’Manberg is going to be the pinnacle of freedom and prosperity of the Dream SMP. Which actually reminds me, I have a meeting that I need to be getting to. Dream’s been more generous than I expected with border agreements, but we still don’t have everything ironed out as far as trade goes. So I’m afraid that I’m going to have to leave you.”

“Of course, I understand,” she says, and squashes the little voices that starts to murmur disappointedly. She knew from the beginning, of course, that Wilbur would likely be very busy. Still, she supposes that she just hoped she would have more of an opportunity to catch up with an old friend.

Wilbur holds the door open for her as they exit the camarvan, and then one last smile and he’s striding off toward one of the far buildings, one that looks like it might conceivably be a good place for an office. She watches him go, his back straight and strides purposeful. And then, she looks around. There’s still plenty of things to do, after all, and plenty of people she hasn’t met. So she decides to do a bit of exploring on her own.

But it’s not even ten minutes before she runs into Fundy again. He’s crouched over a pool of water, staring at the fish, though he doesn’t seem to have a rod or anything of that sort. She hesitates a moment, wondering if he would rather be alone, before deciding that if he tells her so, she’ll leave without objection.

“Hello again,” she says. “It’s Fundy, right?”

He doesn’t seem surprised that she’s there, even though she made little noise on her approach, and when he looks up at her, she sees the probable reason why; his face is now that of a fox, snout and all. A shapeshifter, then. Behind him, his tail lashes back and forth.

“Oh,” he says. “Hi! That’s me! And you’re Niki, right?”

She nods. “I was hoping to get to get to know some of the people here,” she says. “I think I might be staying.”

She doesn’t know that she’s going to say it until she does, but as soon as the words leave her mouth, she realizes that it was her intention all along. She needed to see the country to finalize her decision, but really, there’s not much for her where she’s living now. A quiet life, some friendly acquaintances, an empty house. Here, there are friends and a cause to believe in, and she wants to be a part of it.

To her bemusement, though, Fundy seems to wilt a little bit.

“Did Wil have to go back to work, then?” he asks, turning his attention back to the pool. His tail swishes again, perhaps in agitation, though she doesn’t know enough about fox body language to be sure.

“He said he has a meeting,” she says, somewhat hesitantly.

“He says that a lot these days,” Fundy mutters. “And when it’s not a meeting, it’s paperwork. Or construction plans. Or just a vague, general thing that makes him super busy that I don’t need to worry about or help him with, so go find something to do, Fundy. But it’s fine.”

She’s stumbled into something that she’s not equipped to be in the middle of, she thinks.

“It does seem like he’s really busy,” she tries. Maybe Fundy just needs to get this off his chest. In that case, a listening ear is something she can provide.

“I know he’s really busy,” Fundy answers. “I just wish he’d let me do something. He keeps treating me like I’m some little kid. I’m not a little kid. I know I grew up quick, or whatever, but I’m not a kid. I fought in the revolution. I even made my own uniform!”

That explains—several things. Why the uniform looks so different, so haphazard. And also why Wilbur has a son who’s nearly fully grown, if he aged on a timeline more akin to that of the creature he shifts into.

“Well then, maybe you could help me make one, too,” she says. “I might want to have one of my own, if everyone else is wearing them.” She pauses. “Do you think you could show me around a little more? Wilbur gave me a tour, but I’d like to know if he left anything out. I’m sure he showed me everything he thought was important, but that might not be everything.” She shrugs, an exasperated, what-can-you-do sort of gesture, because while she’s sure that Wilbur did, indeed show her everything that he thought was important, Wilbur can be prone to tunnel vision when he has a grand plan in mind.

And even if he truly did show her everything, there’s no harm in seeing it again.

Fundy perks up, ears standing up straight. “Yeah, that sounds like Wil,” he says. “I could do that! I’ve been around from the start, so I know all the best places.” He stands, tail moving back and forth rapidly, and that, she is willing to bet, is excitement. She falls into step with him as he starts off, and that seems to be all the invitation he needs to talk, about everything and anything, and there’s just as much about the history of what he’s showing her as there are personal anecdotes, everything from what he had for breakfast this morning to plans for a prank he wants to play on Tommy. It’s endearing, and she finds herself very engaged in the way his words tumble out.

“What do you like to do, where you’re from?” he asks her at one point.

“I like to bake a lot,” she answers. “Maybe I’ll start a bakery here.”

“That would be awesome,” he says. “We don’t have any bakeries. Would you need any help with getting it started?”

And she smiles. “I think I would like that,” she tells him.

It sounds very nice. A nice little bakery, food and sweets for everyone, in a country that she can tell has already become near and dear to her heart somewhere between Wilbur meeting her at the doors and showing her around and now this, his son, showing off his home with obvious joy and pride, just as much enthusiasm as Wilbur showed her.

She thinks she’s going to like it here very much. She thinks she already does.

[cyberiade]

Tropetember day 3: Whump

Silence is much more terrifying than any noise

Genre: Angst: hurt/comfort, whump Warnings/Tags: Loki suffers and has his magic blocked, Odin's behavior resembles the behavior of an abusive parent, and he misgenders Loki. If you think this might trigger you, I think reading something else might be better! Summary: Loki is cursed by their father and cannot hear the people who pray to them anymore. Word count: 1197 A/n: Loki's pronouns there are they/them, if you have a problem with it, fight me!

Odin's voice boomed through palace corridors, making those who heard it curl in themselves (or wish they were able to) and feel pity for the person his rage is directed at. Everybody who has ever hear of the god knew how he could make anybody's heart halt just by frowning, how he could make the bravest warriors shake in fear. In the furthest corners of his kingdom, where people were half-sure he wouldn't hear them, there were whispers about his years of conquering other realms, passed by word of mouth for generations.

Loki knew it all - after they found out what the man did, they travelled around all nine realms, searching and helping the victims of his other crimes. Yet, they stood right before him, unwavering, facing the Allfather's fury with a deadpan, not allowing themself to quiver, even mentally (no matter how much they wanted to).

"-not to mention how irresponsible, dishonorable, reckless, foolish-" they tuned his tirade out, listening to the whispered prayers, coming in a steady flow of sound, surrounding him, guarding like a blanket, offering something to hold on to even in the darkest pits of prison cells they was thrown in, when the Mad Titan had them under his control it gave them a reason to believe there was good to protect in the world they were supposed to attack.

To some, it might been selfish to do good only because somebody asked them to, and because it made them feel better, but Loki didn't care. A good deed was good, no matter what the intentions were.

They lost the track of time, lost in warm thanks, asks and tales of mischief their followers done, until they felt somebody shake their shoulders, saliva splattering over their face. Loki's senses slowly caught up to reality, seeing the man's furious face up close made cold spikes of terror run through their whole body.

"-that's it! You're going to listen to me when I speak! I'm sick of your disrespect!" he stepped away, his anger morphing to dissapointment, "I expected better of my son," Loki barely stopped themself from flinching, "and now I need to punish you. Again. Didn't you learn from your previous punishments? Where did that smarts of yours go now, huh?" The man took a few steps back and outstretched his arms. A golden glow sprouted from his hands, morphing into chains that started wrapping around Loki's head, then their whole body.

"I didn't want to do this, but you give me no choice, son."

Loki shut their eyes, grimacing in pain, unable to hold up their calm facade any longer. The white, hot pain spread around their body, consuming their own power and using it to bind their abilities. Loki clenched their teeth, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of making them scream and beg.

After an hour (or was it five minutes) of this torture, it all stopped. Was it not for the weather outside, Loki would think the time was put to halt.

They laid on the palace floor, trembling from the effort and pain, silent tears running down their cheeks. The binds were clutching their body tightly, they were definitely going to leave bruises, and if they weren't careful, the chains would probably draw blood.

It wasn't what hurt the most, though.

It was the silence ringing in their ears, cold, merciless, and so, so lifeless. They tried to reach out for the whispers, but nothing came, not even an equivalent to what Midgardians called static.

They reached for their magic, but couldn't feel it.

No. Even their father wouldn't be as cruel-

"Your tricks won't work anymore, not until you learn your lesson." After that, the man walked away, leaving them alone.

Frankly, Loki was surprised that he didn't stay and watch them struggle, but they were glad the man left. Being in that position felt humiliating enough alone, but they were sure they wouldn't handle being watched.

When they were sure Odin was away, they broke down in ugly sobs, eyes letting out a flood of tears despite being tightly shut.

They made their way through the golden palace floor, half-crawling with the little movement space they had left before they heard somebody's steps. They closed their eyes, the shame they felt skyrocketing, only darkening the blush caused by crying.

"Loki?" their brother's voice was quiet and unsure, if they didn't know any better they would say Thor was worried or even scared.

Loki tried to keep the pitiful whimpers from escaping, but they failed miserably. Suddenly in their was their brother crouching, brows furrowed, empathy swirling in his eyes.

"Is it okay if I pick you up?" he asked, and when Loki nodded, he added "Can I carry you to your room?". The Trickster nodded again, thankful for Thor breaking the dead silence in their ears, even if it sounded a little bit like it was underwater.

Loki didn't even feel the binds digging in their flesh as Thor picked them up. The trip to their room was a blur, only changed by their brother's encouragements and promises they are near their destination. They closed their eyes, and when they opened them again, they were laying on their own bed.

"Loki, do you consent for Mother to tend your wounds after you fall asleep?" they nodded again, but then opened their mouth as to say something, but nothing came. Thor wordlessly put a cup of water to his sibling's lips, silently prompting them to drink.

"Talk... t' me." Loki's voice was still raspy after crying (why didn't they notice when the tears stopped flowing? It didn't matter now...). "No sil'nce." To them, it was humiliating how they could say anything more, but Thor somehow understood, immediately starting to tell a tale of what his costume party Midgard buddies were doing. Loki has dozed off barely twenty minutes into the story, but Thor kept talking, knowing they were sensitive to sound even asleep.

"And then Natasha- Oh, hello mother," the God of Thunder stepped away, letting Frigga work her magic. She hummed a calm song under her breath while she worked the chains open, checking her offspring's vitals. Suddenly she gasped.

"He repressed their seidr." She covered her mouth, feeling nothing but terror over her husband's doing. Thor's eyes widened in shock.

"Is there anything we can do to help them, Mother?"

"I'm unable to break it!" she almost cried out, her voice full of sorrow. Loss of magic was painful for any sorcerer, but for one as advanced as Loki it was life-changing. She never felt more helpless than now: unable to help her own child, or even offer them a source of comfort.

She finished healing them, and exited the chamber with the intention to try and coerce Odin into lifting the spell, or at least leaving Loki a part of their skill. Thor stayed with them, talking until his throat was so sore he wasn't able to make any different noise than a glorified hum. Soon after, he dozed off, his snores the only sound in the room.

Before long, they all would learn silence hurts much more than any sound.