#like I hear him talk and I just see anime teen.

[ourlastbastion]

Confession: this is actually my first time actually playing DA:I. Most of my knowledge beforehand came from playing DA2 so much and tumblr. And since I’ve been playing for a couple days, I just gotta say….

I think I’m growing to genuinely hate this game.

The approval rating is just “we’re gonna make it SEEM like it matters if they like you or not. No benefits if you max out friendship or rivalry, and you have no simple way to tell if you’re friends or if they just tolerate you because glowy hand needed.

The overwhelming fucking side quests. I wanna get to the plot shot but I cannot bring myself to further the plot when I’ve got an ungodly amount of side quests, but no matter what I do I somehow keep getting more.

Big scary hole in the sky is cool, but I honestly prefer Dragon Age 2s story where it’s about everyone’s personal story where they just end up involved in crucial things by chance, because they managed to garner attention and can’t say no. I liked the smaller map, even if it was constantly reusing dungeons, I liked that no matter what Hawke has a personality. A CONSISTENT personality that you could mold to be sarcastic, diplomatic, or mean.

My inquisitor feels like she’s got less personality than a stale piece of toast, and a lot of the flirting comments don’t even feel flirty?? It’s just (in monotone voice) “I’m glad you’re here”

I’m glad I can play other races, but I picked an an elf because I thought “Dalish mage sounds fun and like you’ll get good lore, and I can bond with the other elves over being elven” but even the other elves hate the dalish!!

The companions barely speak to each other while ruining across a map. I miss the constant banter between my motley group that we’re friends and rivals that respected each other. They don’t have those little lines if you click on them. Just random walking and maybe after 30 minutes of aimless walking you’ll get some banter if you’re lucky, one line comment about the location if you’re not.

I’m holding out hope that when I see my Hawke appear in game I might have some alleviation from this suffering. I was so happy to see Varric but he’s just… there. I feel like right now we could swap him out for some random dwarf and it wouldn’t make a difference beyond two cut scenes so far.

I hope it gets better but right now what doesn’t frustrate me just bores me. The more I play the more I just wanna be playing DA2 instead. Or Skyrim, because they did the open world concept so much better.

I also miss pretty much every conversation was a mini cutscene, even idle banter.

[orcelito]

the funny thing is everyone's like "oh yea a fic studying the senses of an inhuman character, that's pretty cool" but Little Do They Know i happened upon this idea by accident. Sentido started as me just messing around with the idea of hearing Life And Death, which REALLY started as a "Vash can hear dead people" kinda au lksdjfld

decided to go with less of a literal Hearing Dead People and went more of Hearing Death being the acute hearing of death-related sounds. i think this idea's pretty good tbh, even with how accidental it was

[packsvlog]

᭡ ★ ׁ ׅ 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐒 ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ᝰ gojo satoru used to be a lonely child, that was until you started to be there for him — to hear his complains, to run away from the clan for a few hours, and to decorate his hair with flowers. you are his most sacred person, he is your most loved one.

ᡴꪫ a/n: bring me back my man, gege!!! this was inspired by the confirmation he would sneak away from home and this, he would’ve been a mama’s boy. @emilyywhyy. using new tag, masterlist.

ᡴꪫ c/w: child!gojo, teen!gojo \\ child!reader, teen!reader \\ fluff and angst \\ bittersweet ending, but happy. \\ gender neutral!reader \\ 1.3k words.

They say the day Gojo Satoru was born, the balance of the world shifted. Everyone would stare at him with reverence, as if he was a a saint and the gift from the gods, when in fact he was a martyr, born to suffer. For you, though, he was just a boy — just your Satoru.

You had been by his side for a long time, being born in a world where his presence was constant, just a couple months older than you. You father was an experienced teacher for the clan, and your mother their most loyal historian. Both of them had been tasked with helping Gojo to understand his powers and control it, and you, always so curious, stayed by their side. Quietly and cautious, staring at him.

White hair, blue eyes, stoic face and strange ways. Sometimes, too rude, others, too playful. Inside of him there were two personalities in constant crash, one that longed to be just a child and other that was meant to be the strongest.

He envied you for many reasons. You could play with the other children, your tasks seemed less rough than his, and… Oh, he envied how loved you were by your parents. When you would accompany him in one of his classes, arriving in your messy hair and dirty kimono for playing too much, eyes filled with happiness and your parents would beam at you, they lovely child.

Would they have sold you, had you been the strongest of your family? Or would they have fought? How much money, status and power would it take for any good person in this world to be corrupted?

Satoru didn’t want to know the answer to those questions, he likes you and your parents that way — warm hugs and sweet kisses. Never would Satoru trade places with you, for him, you were so pure to deal with what he has been going through.

You were the one to approach him first, finding him hiding between the trees that surrounded the clan’s houses, tears guarded by his hands, and he was betrayed by his trembling shoulders.

“Why are you crying?” You stepped closer very slowly, as if approaching a scared animal.

“I want to go home.” Satoru answers, making your small child mind wander what he meant. Isn’t this the Gojo’s lands? “I want my mommy.”

Oh.

Even naive as you were, you understood right away. You have seen her before, one of the most beautiful woman you have ever met. Quiet, walking around the gardens, her pale skin in contrast with the roses, but everything about her and around seems dull. Maybe it’s the lack of her child that makes her like this. No money in the world could replace it, and she was only a woman in a world controlled by men. Her wishes and demands wouldn’t be heard, never.

“Sometimes, they let us see each other.” You are putting daffodils on Satoru’s hair when he starts talking again. “She pretends she is fine, and tells me how proud she is. Her hugs are longer each time, and the meetings are less as well.”

“And how about your dad?” You ask, when he is the one decorating your hair with trembling fingers.

“He…” Satoru sighs. “He is just there. Tells me to listen to the maesters, to your father. That one day I’ll make everyone proud, and be the strongest.”

“I’m proud of you.” You feel the need to say it, so you do. And maybe, it’s what you had to do, Satoru smiles slightly, before raising to his feet and grabbing you with him. He starts to run in a direction you have never been before. “Where are we going?”

“Trust me.” You do. That moment and every moment forward, you would trust Gojo.

You both arrived in the city after an hour of walking and running, babbling about your favorites everything.

His favorite animal is a dog, but he can’t have one. His favorite food is taiyaki, but he never tasted it. And, his favorite color, he stops to think and stare at you for a while, before going with the one you think looks exactly as your eyes. You tell him yours, and that you both can fix all his curiosities, right now.

With your little purses, coins clicking inside as you run through the streets, buying whatever he needs and has never experienced before, Satoru learns that he doesn’t like taiyaki, rather he finds his favorite being Kikufuku.

Sharing a strawberry ice cream, Gojo halts his movements, and you sense something coming from him — it’s what makes him being called the stronger one, the so long awaited hero. Like gravity has gone away, and the sky is falling on top of you, ready to crush everything.

“They are watching us. Let’s go home.” Had he been alone, that wouldn’t bother him, but you were still innocent, not yet developed your technique.

So, with daffodils still in your heads, you both return home to disapproving looks and a stomach filled with sugar.

Inside the groves, a tradition was born. If the weight of the world became too much to bear, Satoru would find you there. You always knew when he needed you the most, like a calling only you could sense. It burned in your chest until you reached him, and in front of Gojo, you would pick flowers and decorate his wild hair with it, or teach him how to make flower crowns or… rings.

“I wish I could burn this whole place to the ground.” He says once, while admiring the petals on your finger, he proudly made. Anger had been his friend for a while now, when he learned he would go to Jujutsu tech. He was happy and scared, and already missing you. “Except you, of course, and your parents, and my mom and… and this woods. This is ours, right?”

“Yes, ‘Toru. This is ours.” You hold his cold face with your other hand, while smiling calmly. “It will always be ours.” Closing the gap, you rest your head on his. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I’m not going away forever. It feels like it, but I’ll be back, every weekend, I promise. And… I could exchange to the Kyoto school.”

“No, Satoru. You need freedom.”

“I need you as well.” He counterparts. “I’ll never be free from the expectations of the world, we could, at least, be stuck together.” He is nearly crying again.

“They won’t accept me, my cursed technique is nothing too special.” You sigh, falling in the grass, and he goes behind.

“I disagree. You will see, they will come begging for you, and you will tell them to go fu…” You raise your hands to his mouth, giggling as if you were seven, and not a nearly fifteen years old girl. “I’ll make them come for you, and if they don’t, I will. I’ll always come to you, and our daffodils.”

And indeed, he does. He comes for you months later, accompanied by two other kids and round sunglasses you’ve never seen before. Gojo Satoru comes for you, to grab your hands, pack your clothes, kiss his mothers cheeks knowing that won’t ever happen again, even if he wants so much.

She tells she is proud of him, his father tell him he is nearly there. Gojo wonders what would be enough to be enough. He tries not to care, inside the car with you, hands interlocked, jokes being shared and daffodils, always them, on both your heads and fingers.

You’re proud of him, and he is nowhere near his freedom, but the responsibilities feel less strong, his sadness less real. You’re here, always will be.

﹙⠀ ᭡ ࣪˖ 🍋.⠀﹚ 20243008⠀─┈ ⭑⠀ ͏͏

[brucewaynehater101]

I think it would be really funny if Tim kept up one very specific connection he made during Young Justice. One that no one but Tim and his team know about. One of the most dangerous beings in all the Universe.

Lobo The Space Biker.

The Main Man Himself, who has either tied or beaten Superman in a number of different comics *and* shows. When he showed up during the Justice Leauge Animated show, the entire JL (minus Clark) had to work together to just *barely* keep him in line and even *then* they did not command full authority nor respect from him. He is a top tier threat almost everytime he is spotted.

And I can only think of one person who he canonically will do basically whatever they say.

Tim Drake.

Tim managed to reign Lobo in multiple times during their adventures together, and no I don't mean the weaker clone. I mean The Real Actual Lobo (who had been turned into a teen by Klarion at the start of their friendship but *still*) does what if asked of him by Tim Drake, up to and including *walking away from unfinished fights*. Evidence by the time Tim got him to not fight the Space Cops right before The Baseball Game and got him and Big Bear to stop fighting when both wanted to continue.

All this to say, some kind of all hands on deck happens and the JL needs some back up for some kind of invasion and Tim says, "I have someone who owes me a few favors and it pretty strong." And makes a phone call. All the JL can hear is Tim as he says, "hey, Lil- I'm cashing in a favor... Yeah there's an invasion about to happen... Yes, you are the first person I call for Cracking Skulls, of course.... yes well, with or without you it's happening in an hour. Get here sooner and after we can have an extra meeting... of course I'll make the usual tea, plus Lavender and Rose cookies~... yes I know you very well.... see you in 25 minuets Lil." And he hangs up.

30 minutes later, Lobo breaks into the Watch Tower and the whole JL is like "WE DONT HAVE TIME FOR THIS DAMN IT." until Tim walks past them saying, "Lil! I got some cookies, they're chocolate chunk." And Lobo simply replies, "you know me so fraggin well, Runt."

Tim gets placed on Lobo's shoulder and they start talking about where Lobo will be so he can Crack the most skulls.

I don't know enough about Lobo (so thank you for the explanations), but I am all for Tim's friendship powers.

I don't know how he does it, but he's constantly nestling himself into villainous or morally grey characters' soft spots. Is there a list out there of folks that, for all intents and purposes, shouldn't like Tim but got bedazzled by his friendship charm?

Anyways, I'd love a 5 plus one fic of Tim being like: "Oh? We've got this problem? Hold up. I know a guy." Then he just calls up someone he definitely shouldn't be friends with. They act like the best of buds, too.

[flamingpudding]

Cassiopea and Orion

Ellie had a plan. She promised she had one. This wasn't like when Clocky would sent her off on a mission through time with nothing more but a little note with a cryptic message on what to do.

Danny had given her clear instruction. Before one of her many travels to see the world, Danny, in his mid twenties and she in her late teens, had taken her aside once. Telling her about specific instruction she should follow, should she ever find herself in a moment of need, and Danny wasn't able to help her.

Well, now she was in that kind of situation. Amity Park was destroyed with no survivors. Vlads castle was no more. Both Dan and her got deaged, but Dan had to be put in a frozen state when he started to destabilize. And Danny, he had gotten captured by the GIW shoving her out of harms way and telling her to remember what he told her before.

Ellie was pretty sure Danny was telling her to follow the emergency instructions.

So here she was now. In Gotham. Keeping to the shadows and trying to find her way around.

No one ever bothered to tell her how hard it was to navigate through a city like Gotham. You would think it would be easy to find some guy running around at night in an armored spandex furry costume.

But no, here she was, in a random alley. In a city, Danny had specifically told her to avoid it unless the emergency instruction came into play. Maybe she should just steal a map.

She was contemplatingly staring at a gas station for that until she noticed a shadow jumping over the roof tops. It took her only a second to decide on her next action. Ellie was pressed on time after all.

"Hey you!" She shouted loudly flying up to follow that shadow. "Wait up!"

Thankfully, the shadow listened and stopped on the next rooftop toward her. She insanity noticed it tensing. Now, she noticed that the shadow was a kid. He looked small, and Ellie figured he was probably around 11 or 12.

"You are one of the Bees and Birds, right?" She questioned once she floated a bit closer. Also the kid tensed up.

"You mean Bats and Birds." The kid clicked his tongue at her, crossing their arms.

"Bees, Bats, who cares. My question is you know the big bad bee, right?" She waved the kid of, she had more pressing matter than getting their animals right. "I need to get a message to him."

The kid clicked their tongue once more, huffing and muttering something she couldn't hear. Probably talking to someone on a com. Either way, Ellie took his silence as a form of telling her to continue.

"Can you tell the big bad bee-" "Bat" "-the following?" She ignored the kid cutting in trying to get her message across and follow Danny's instructions to a T.

"Cassiopea is calling out to Orions Nursery before Rho dies to help her youngest."

There was long, drawn-out silence, and the kid was hissing something into coms. Ellie fidget with her finger nervously. Going through Danny's emergency instructions through her mind again until she hear a thud close to her and wirled around.

With wide blue glowing eyes, she looked up at the man dressed like a bat for a couple of seconds before taking on a defensive position. Eyes now narrowed at the man that was clearly studying her.

"I was under the impression that Phantom's youngest child was older. You appear to be no older than five."

"Yea well shit happened!" She shot back, still unsure if she could trust the man even if he mentioned Danny's hero alias. Her hands started to glow slightly as she prepared to attack in case things went back. But the man didn't appear to be phased by it. Not like the kid that was tensing up.

"You will be safe with us. But what happened to Phantom?"

Ellie eyes flicked over to the other kid that had now come closer to stand next to the bat guy before looking back to the big guy. She did not drop her stance yet. Still unsure of how much trust she can put here despite what Danny had told her, she had not yet heard the right response.

The man appeared to sense her distrust, as he kneeled to be on eye level with her. "Jupiter and Rho Cas will not be harmed. Orion gave Cassiopea his word."

Finally, Ellie relaxed, dropping her defensive stance but still watching the man with narrowed eyes. She hesitated a short moment before carefully saying her next words, hoping the man knew enough to k ow the grave meaning behind them.

"Phantom lost his haunt."

[dior-luxury]

Hi! Can I ask for part two for the ask "a new person came to NRC and catches the eyes of Y/n and makes the characters get jealous" with Jade, Idia, Vil and Malleus

A New Person Catches Their S/O Attention ! !

Part 1 ~

Note: Back in the role of things~ This post was so late I am so sorry 〒▽〒 . . . BUT- I hope you guys enjoy reading this! <3

CHARACTERS: Jade , Idia , Vil , & Malleus .

TW: Mentions of making out [Malleus] . possessiveness . (non-specified pronouns for reader~) . [If you find anything else dm/send me a chat!]

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Jade Leech :

He of course hates it. The feeling of the tightness in one's chest, the need for peace to be resolved. The utter feelings of jealousy are not a foreign one of his. Seeing your beautiful eyes wander away from him- and onto a brand new specimen.

Jade views this as competition, he aches for this new student to be gone. It gets even worse if he were to see you two talking. Though this whole ideal is frustrating... he can't help but chuckle. So this is the familiar jealousy that is seen in all of those teen dramas? Hilarious.

Jade seriously can't forgive himself for being this weak, but for you, he'll keep wearing a smile while you and the new student talk.

It was exactly when period 2 was going to end. You and the new kid were talking to each other since you both had a project for ELA that you both had to make up. As you both were getting ready to leave the classroom, you were then stopped as you noticed Jade walking inside the classroom.

He had a nice smile as he walked to you and the new kid. Jade then stood looking directly at the student with jealous eyes. "Hello, I'm Jade Leech. I have come to inform you that you'll no longer be working with Y/N-san." The students' face morph into confusion and annoyance.

"What do you exactly mean-... Jade-Senpai?" The students' questions with a dramatic sigh at the end. Jade's eyes then narrow as he looks down at the student, partly figuring out what to say as his excuse for this students’ persistence. Jade exhales dramatically as he continues to show this new student that he's not a spineless person.

"Trein-Sensei has made a mistake with the partner arrangements... Yes, I know he said them himself but we all make mistakes. It's proven. See? These are the list of names that he was reading off when he announced the partners." Jade says in a fake disappointed tone as he holds up a piece of paper in front of you and the new student.

Jade chuckles inside as he looks at the students' shocked and embarrassed face. And then watches as the student grabs his stuff and goes to look for his partner instead. You look at Jade confused, but not surprised. He chuckles evilly to himself as he smiles, "Now then- shall we go to your dorm to start our project, Y/N-Chan?"

Idia Shroud :

This introvert feels nothing but ick. He stares at the new student with disgust and jealousy. It's too embarrassing to go through this! Idia can't help but want to go up to his newly found rival and tell him to find his own waifu.

But of course, Idia is an introvert and curses himself for this. Especially for times like this. While you and the new student are talking, he's too busy making a plan for your attention to get off of the new student. Oh, how he just wishes that you weren't the main character.

He's lost in his own thoughts of jealousy and envy. Trying to make it not so obvious that he's staring daggers at the unknowing student. Comparing this whole scenario to one in an anime. Idia then gets an idea and grins evilly.

But then later as you and the new student are hanging out at lunch, in the corner of your eye you see Idia nervously walking towards the both of you. The student notices you staring at something and frowns. Idia then stands next to you and fidgets with his fingers.

"Y/N-Shi... D-Do you want to play this new game with me?..." Idia voices quietly, but enough for you to hear. You chuckle to yourself as you then nod. Meanwhile the new student pouts, "Y/N-Senpai...~ Aren't we supposed to study for Crewel-Sensei's new test together?"

The new student voices as they then pout while looking at you. Idia is taken aback and annoyed, did you not tell this new student that you two were dating? He's on the brink of his hair turning orange here. Idia groans and mutters to himself, "Seriously?..."

It seems like they both want your attention.

You then sigh and look at the new student, tired. "Sorry about this '(Student)'-kun, but we'll have to push our study sesh' later, okay? I barely get to hang out with my boyfriend anymore. You understand it right?"

Both Idia and the new students' eyes were surprised at your sudden bold move of calling Idia your boyfriend. Idia slightly smiles to himself as he looks at you lovingly in his burning yellow eyes. Finally feeling like he won the battle of being jealous.

The new student sighs disappointingly as he then backs off, looking at the table in defeat. Idia then puts his sleeves over his mouth as he looks at you, "You didn't have to go all out you know... you hurt the guys' ego." He mutters to you, ending with a chuckle at the end.

You shrug as you whisper to him, "It was going to happen either way," You say bluntly as Idia can't help but try to contain his smile after your display of bluntness. "Now what game was it that you wanted us to play together?" You then announce.

Vil Schoenheit :

Jealousy... What an ugly emotion. Vil knows the feeling and the description of jealousy all too well. It's one of his most common emotions in fact. He had feuds all of his life. Whether that'll be with a co-worker, fellow students, film directors, or even a certain someone.

Vil though is extremely blunt with his own jealousy. His mind is basically planning to make everyone in the whole room know that he is jealous. Though he can't exactly blame you for being interested in a new person, that's how he met you after all.

But it's just this new student that strikes a nerve with him. The way that you two look at each other... the way that the student looks at you... it's annoying. Vil feels too embarrassed to talk about this to anyone, except to anyone but Rook.

Vil rants on and on about this newfound drama about you and this new student during his one-on-one time with Rook in every Alchemy class. Telling Rook that this new student is stealing you away from him explaining everything dramatically.

"Roi du Poison... I never saw you so stressed before that time at the VDC. You need to calm down before you get wrinkles." Rook then explains to Vil, but it is to no avail because Vil is on his last straw. It has been only 3 days and Vil was already putting that new student on his watch-list.

"I have no idea what to do Rook, Y/N hasn't even complimented me on my new choice of makeup today. That new student is taking all of their attention away from me." Vil glares at Rook as he tightens his hand around the bottle of chemicals that he is holding.

"How is it fair that Y/N finds that new student more interesting than me? They're plain. Their hair, fashion, and don't even get me started on the monstrosity that they call their own makeup." Vil complains with his eyes full of rage, not even realizing how hard he is holding onto the bottle of chemicals.

Rook's eyes widen at the sudden interruption of Vil's thoughts, as his face shifts into worry. "Vil, please. I think you might be overthinking this." Vil then glares at Rook as he takes the bottle of chemicals away from his gloved hands. But it's just then that Vil suddenly gets an idea.

"That's it... I'll have to get Y/N to ignore that new student! Putting a simple spell on that new student- haha~ This is the best idea I've had in a while~~" Vil laughs to himself as Rook looks at him, confused and not surprised.

"Roi du Poison, I know you think this is a good idea to talk about this- but our classwork may be more important right now. We wouldn't want it exploding would we?" Rook sighs as he then smiles at Vil and puts his hands on his hips.

"Now if you could please, Roi du Poison- hand over the vial on the shelf so this potion doesn't explode everywhere. Ruining your hair and makeup." And with a swift motion- Vil then rushes gracefully and grabs the vile.

Malleus Draconia :

The one and only most possessive dragon that there is at NRC. He would have never known about this new student, but since he is a Dormleader Lilia has told him about it during lounge hours. It intrigued him, a new student? In the middle of a school year? He never knew that late registrations were a thing at NRC.

He smiled to himself as he asked for details from Lilia, wondering if this new student was going to be in his dorm. To which Lilia responded by saying that they weren't, and instead they were going to be in Ramshackles'.

His eyes widened in surprise as he wondered if you already met this student. Malleus then went back to drinking his tea as he walked to his dorm room. Moments later when Malleus was minding his own business reading a book in his chair by a window, Sebek suddenly burst through the door.

Malleus glances at Sebek from his book, slightly annoyed, and speaks up. "What is it, Sebek?" He says calmly, furrowing his brows at Sebek's scared face. Sebek tries to catch his breath as he puts his hands on his knees. "Young Master! I have some bad news!" Sebek shouted as loud as thunder, causing crows to leave their trees.

Malleus raises one of his eyebrows as he then shuts his book, placing it on his lap. "What is it, Sebek? I trust that it is something urgent this time. Otherwise, you'll have to report this to Lilia." As Malleus's eyes drift back to opening his book, Sebek then suddenly yells very loudly.

"Young Master! I have come to inform you that your... partner- Y/N has found interest in someone else! This is urgent!" Malleus' eyes are suddenly shot open by this bold statement, but before he can say anything he is interrupted by his own thoughts about whether Sebek was truly telling the truth.

"If you pardon me, Sebek," Malleus said as he closed his eyes, getting up from his chair and walking out of his room, and downstairs to the entrance of Diasomnia.

It was then exactly 9 p.m. You and the new student were studying in the lounge area when you both suddenly heard a knock. You then get up from your seat on the couch as you walk to the door. The new student watched the door open cautiously from his seat.

Once you open the door you see a disappointed Malleus, he frowns at you as he looks over to the open door to the lounge. His eyes widen as he glares at the new student then changes his stare back to you. "Child of man... If I may ask, are you cheating on me?" Malleus' normal face slowly turns back into a frown as he looks at you.

"Huh? No, of course not." You say bluntly as you look up at Malleus and smile. Even though Malleus wasn't buying it so much, he could tell you weren't doing anything like cheating based on your voice. Malleus then sighs and retreats his gloomy and slightly angered attitude.

"That's good to hear... I was afraid for once that Sebek was saying something true." Malleus then slightly smiles and laughs to himself. The new student looks over at the two of you confused, "Y/N?? Are you good?" You look back at the new student as you then turn to Malleus.

"Think that's my cue. I'll send you a letter later, okay?" You rush as you then wave and try to close the door. But instead, Malleus then holds the door open. "Malleus?" You question with your head tilted as you get interrupted suddenly by a fast grab at your hand. Before you could even say anything you felt Malleus press his lips against yours.

[voonroo]

Hell?

⌐‣Hazbin Hotel x teen reader (platonic)

Want more? Check out the masterlist↩︎

Hot.

Hot.

Hot.

Hot.

Hot.

Why the fuck is it so hot.

Damn.

Everything hurts.

I don't want to open my eyes…

You were met with the sounds of screeching tires, crackling fire, yelling, and many other chaotic noises. It was as if the world was falling apart at the seams.

Opening your eyes, you quickly notice that you could hardly see. This place you are in is so different from what you knew. Wait- what did you know?

Standing up and almost stumbling, you felt as if everything you had ever known was slipping from your fingers. From your brain. What was my name again?

God, everything’s blurry.

Why is it so loud?

My heart is beating. Very loud, loud.

I don't like how loud it is…

Your breathing was uneven, and the stress began to show on your face. You looked down at the clothes you were wearing. What?

You were wearing basic black and red plaid pajama pants. A black tank top with wide arm holes that reached almost down the whole shirt length. You could feel your undergarments touching your body under your clothes.

I don't like this.

Something about these clothes makes me feel insanely claustrophobic.

I need to change.

God, I can't see shit in front of me.

You began to stumble around. You felt so on balance but so off balance at the same time. It was fucking nauseating

You couldn't see for shit but you could hear everything going on around you. All the different noises clashing with each other to the point of being unable to distinguish the direction they're coming from.

You're frozen in place when you hear a voice call out to you in the chaos.

“Damn kid- you alright?”

The voice sounded like a man… but it was so hard to tell with everything around you. There were screams.

“Kid.” The voice sounded a lot closer.

Your eyes darted in front of you, wandering aimlessly in hopes of being able to clearly see who was talking to you.

“Wha—” You felt short of breath. “Who?” Your breathing and the sound of your thundering heart made it so hard to focus on what was happening around you.

“You ain't lookin’ too hot kid. You just roll in?” The voice sounded both worried and not at the same time, but then again it's not like you could really care. You were a bit more focused on trying to not have a meltdown if things didn't start clearing up.

“What? What do you mean?”

There was a beat of silence from the man.

“I mean are you new here? In hell?��

Hell?

“What do you mean hell?”

“Damn, kid! Are you blind? Look around and tell me this doesn't look like hell!”

Knowing you wouldn't be able to see, you swiveled your head around in hopes that, maybe, you'd be able to see clearly for the first time in what felt like forever, even if it's only been a few minutes. But to no one's surprise, you couldn't. Everything was still blurry. You could feel your anxiety spike.

“I can't see.” Your voice wobbled with uncertainty.

“Oh, so you are blind…” The voice sounded quiet now. There was silence from the man and from you as well. Hopefully staring at the man, you spoke in his direction. Your voice growing shaky due to stress.

“I can't see shit, what I can hear is so loud that I can't distinguish shit, my back hurts like shit, and apparently, I'm in hell!” You let out in a small outburst.

This situation is so… so entirely frustrating.

I still want to- no I need to change into something.

I feel so itchy in these clothes.

Subconsciously, you scratched at your arms, only to recoil in shock when you felt fur. Not skin. Fur. That must have been the final nail in the coffin for your nerves.

The poor voice (hopefully) in front of you, was not prepared for the following,

You, letting out a high-pitched animal-like shriek.

You, frantically looking around even if you couldn't see.

And lastly, you were fainting.

The voice felt so bad for what had just happened in front of him, even if he didn't contribute much to your shock, seeing someone as young-looking as you in hell and then passing out on the side of the streets. He did the only thing he could think of.

He brought back you to the hotel.

The only place he thought was safe enough for a kid to be in hell.

.

Word Count: 755

[alpaca-clouds]

Let me talk about Mizrak

Yeah, this with all the entire Nocturne brainrot is going to continue for a couple more days at least. But the show has so many interesting themes and characters and I just love it so much. And after getting all my friends to watch the show, I got surprised by one of them being super angry about Mizrak.

Why? Well, because of the last scene with him and Olrox in the season and his words of: "You are just an animal that lost its soul centuries ago." And the friend considered that "being an asshole" and "cruel".

To which I say: Cruel? Yes. Asshole? No.

Let me explain.

First, let me make one thing clear: No, Mizrak is not a templar. I have seen that one too many times. He is not a templar. He is a monk knight of the order of St. John, so the Knights Hospitaller. Like the templars they were very much tied to the crusades originally, but they are not the same thing. There were a lot of orders and types of knights associated with the crusades. Templars were just one of them. (Do you guys wanna hear more about the templars? I can talk more about them.)

We know from bits and pieces of dialogue that Mizrak originates in Jerusalem (which is also where the order was founded). This is a gentle reminder: Israel as we know it today was not a thing back then. But Jerusalem was always a place of religious conflict as it holds importance in all three Abrahamic religions. Which was, what the crusades were all about after all. Before the time of the French Revolution, though, there was mostly some a conflict between the Ottomans and some Arab forces over Palestine. There were some Christian orders accepted within the city though.

Now, the Knights Hospitaller, who were accepted in Jerusalem, had a strong connection to France. Which... lead to problems, when some of the Arabs and the French got into problems. Which let to the Knights Hospitaller leaving for Malta. This too is referenced in the dialogue. (If you guys cannot tell: I am very happy with the amount of historical research put into this show!)

Mizrak looks to be in his early 30s. So I assume he entered the order in his mid-teens (which was a usual age to enter an order like that) and then probably left for Malta within a couple of years after that when the political situation got more charged. And then from Malta to France.

The Knights Hospitaller back then for all intent and purposes lived as militarized monks. That means they made vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. And this very much shines through with his character in so many scenes.

Of course we see that the entire "chastity" thing does not work out that well for him. But that is also why he clearly is shown to be conflicted about that entire thing. What he tries to uphold, though, is the obedience aspect of his vows. And that is, what his entire conflict is about.

See, what I love about this character is that there is all this delicious conflict.

I will iterate again: I grew up in a very, very conservative, strict, catholic household. Other kids got read fairytales for bedtime. My mother read me the bible. Priests and monks were people we intermingled with a lot. (Heck, the last pope? I met him when he was still a bishop.) And hence I got to make one very clear experience: There are three types of Catholics: Those, who focus on all the horrible things. Those, who focus on the literal stuff written in the bible. And those, who focus on the positive stuff. You know, the stuff with helping people, and being poor, and sharing, and being in general a good person. (Though the three types are not always mutually exclusive.)

And it is pretty clear that Mizrak is of the latter kind. He believes in the good he can do through his faith in God and Christ. But he has also grown up in an Order and a Church that puts a lot of focus on the idea of sin, on the idea of obedience, and the idea of the "natural order".

But there he is, with his Abbot collaborating with demons and vampires to enforce that "natural order", which among other things goes against their own vow of poverty. This is so clearly against Mizrak's believes. Because in his very core, Mizrak is a good fucking man. He is one of the good guys. Who wants to do good through his faith in God. And this conflicts for him.

So by the end of episode 7 he reached the point to go against his vow of obedience, because his faith in doing good was stronger, than his dedication to his vows. He very actively broke his vows in the eyes of his order, standing against his order, to protect those darn kids. Because it was the right thing to do. He is absolutely willing to do the noble sacrifice if that is what it takes to save those kids. And in comes that weird dude and takes this chance from him.

And his entire thing with Olrox... It seems very much that Mizrak is indeed gay. As the series so helpfully points out: Yeah, priests, monks, other clergy, and their vows of chastity were always a thing that rarely worked out. Again, as someone who grew up with close ties to the church: The fact that everyone is secretly fucking is... well known. As well as the fact that yeah, there are a lot of gay clergy. Mostly for the reason that they are shamed for their sexuality and then take the vows to not be tempted into homosexuality. Only to find that a priest school with a lot of other queer supressed men is exactly the place you do not want to be to not be tempted. (And that is all without going into all the non-con, pedophilia and what not. Things that were also already happening back then, I guarantee you.)

So, try to imagine that entire thing from Mizrak's perspective. There he is, already ashamed and suppressed about all of that and in comes this very, very seductive vampire man, who kinda seems to align with some of his values, but not with others. And who is emotionally unavailable as fuck, outright telling him that he does not love our dear Mizrak. Someone, who clearly is not for the vampires and your abbot, but also clearly not willing to take the other side. The side that you in your heart (even though it means standing against your order) know to be right. And this man, who claims to not love you, then comes in and tries to stop you from doing what is right.

Yeah, no fuck, Mizrak is a bit pissed at him. Especially as in that moment Olrox very clearly goes against Mizrak's ideals, that are all about self-sacrificially doing the right thing.

And I do think that Mizrak is right in one regard: Olrox lost his soul. He lost a part of himself. Through the trauma of colonialism, but he lost it never the less.

So, once more: Thanks the team for giving us another interesting, well-rounded religious character! CV already did so well with Isaac and Mizrak is sofar extremely promising in that regard.

[laiiaaa]

LOVE WILL TEAR US APART — CARMEN BERZATTO (part 1)

summary You come back to Chicago for the first time since Christmas five years ago. Seeing Carmen might just split you wide open.

length 5.4k

contents angst, childhood friends to not friends not lovers but a secret third thing, very deeply requited love and everyone knows it except them, family troubles/fighting (giving y’all the Berzatto special), takes place the year of Mikey’s passing so everything is still fresh n rly painful, reader has the nickname ‘Birdie’, there's some fluff dw, happy endings are overrated we die like men

note this was originally going to be 1 part but seeing as the doc is reaching 13k words…here’s just the beginning :)

Wind comes from the pale gray sky and bites at your cheeks and the tip of your nose. Fingers go stiff, a chill runs from the nape of your neck down your spine. Maybe you should’ve worn more than just your jacket; Chicago’s always been a little colder than New York, anyway. You tend to forget the little things.

The windows of the Berzatto house glow yellow with company, and you can hear the bustle just by standing at the door, frosted glass animated by guests. You can picture it like it was yesterday: white yellow lights around every corner, the table set in full with porcelain and silver, hollow presents under the tree, too much talking to hear yourself think. You can still go home to at least save yourself the trouble. Can’t lose if you don’t try, right?

For once, it’s Richie who greets you—not like Mikey’s around to do it anymore, to pull you into a bear hug and tell you how much you’ve grown up, to ease you into the chaos he struggles to navigate himself. Struggled, you have to remind yourself. Past tense.

“Birdie!” he calls out to you, opening the door wide before you can knock, half-expecting you to walk yourself in before meeting you on the porch instead with a big smile.

You look up at him as he plants his warm hands on your shoulders. He’s taller than you remember, but five years time leaves a lot in the ruins. “Hey, Richie.” You lean into the hug and into his chest to at least try to catch your breath, to try and slow down your heart’s racing.

He rubs your back ever so slightly. “It’s good t’see you, kid. ‘S been a while, I missed you ‘n that smile ‘f yours.” He gives you two pats and pulls back to hold you by your arms as he gives you a good look. His brows twitch, subtle enough to nearly miss it, with a sympathetic curve to his mouth. “You doin’ alright?”

Since Mikey died is what he means to add to the end of the question. Maybe it’s Since you up an’ left us. Or Now that you’re finally free.

You stick with the first one and just nod. “I’m okay.” Your eyes flit back to his face before landing on the front door, unease pooling in your gut. “A little nervous to be back in so long.” You let your voice go quiet, and you look at your hands and with wet eyes while your fingers fidget like a tall child. “And I…I miss him, y’know?…I should’ve—” you’re getting choked up now, throat growing tight— “I should’ve been here, or—”

His brows really furrow this time, head tilting to the side before he looks to the sky to bite back any real sadness that could come through in his voice, to keep you from seeing it. Bringing you into a hug again, he mutters, “Shhh, don’t beat yourself up about it, sweetheart. I know you miss him, I know.” A gentle kiss to the top of your head. “We all do.”

Growing up across the street from the Berzattos led them to be a second family to you—and, by extension, Richie, for how inseparable he and Mikey were. Much of your memories as a kid were the two older boys, already teens by the time you came into the picture: Mikey and Richie taking you out to ice cream, Mikey and Richie pushing you on the swings down at the playground, Mikey and Richie teaching you to ride a bike. They might as well have been your older brothers by blood. They always cherished and doted on you, and while it changed in manner as you grew older—from piggy back rides to intimidating prom dates—it was always there. They always cared. Richie still does. Maybe double as much to make up for what’s been lost.

You don’t cry so much into his chest. A few tears fall, sure, but you use the time to just breathe, to close your eyes, to stall. Sniffling, you pull away, wipe your eyes, and straighten your clothes, smoothing creases. “Okay,” you huff. “I’m okay. I’m ready.”

A knowing look. “You sure?”

You nod. “Yeah, I’m good.” Another sniffle. “Promise.”

Richie turns to face the house with you, opening the door while the other hand stays hovering by your shoulder. With the smallest shift in the hinges, noise spills out the door. Small talk in the living room, clinking of glass against tabletops, boisterous laughter, timers ringing in the kitchen, Donna’s voice rolling in. It’s more than you remember. Heavier. Hotter. Richie motions to take your coat and you happily oblige, left to pick at the hems of your sleeves rather than buttons and pockets.

“So,” Richie starts, and with the way he says it you’d think you look like you’re about to pass out, “How’s New York treatin’ ya lately? You a hot-shot lawyer yet?”

You laugh softly, partly to be nice and partly to stave off the awkwardness you feel, like you’re being watched by the rest of the family. “I just passed the bar this year, Richie, I’m barely an associate—”

“Right, right, right—all that stuff goes over my head. Whatever, you’re a genius in my book.”

You smile sheepishly. “Yeah, well the people I work with are just—they’re incredible, how smart they are. I’m a baby compared to them.”

He waves it off as if to say Fuck ‘em. “How’s the livin’ situation, then? You affordin’ it okay, eatin’ good, all that?” He looks a little more stern, more brotherly when he asks it.

“I’m fine.” You look up at him and smile to let him know you’re honest, that you aren’t just saying it to get him off your back. “I really like it out there. I made decent enough money as a paralegal, and I have a roommate with a cushy job in finance. We’re pretty close, but we don’t see each other often with our hours ‘n stuff. Not the best,” you shrug, “But I’m doing pretty well, all things considered.”

He pauses, looks you over to see you’re genuine. “Alright,” he sighs, pulling you into his side and squeezing you tight because he knows you hate it. “I believe ya.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, fuck you.” You’re laughing a little harder for the first time since arriving in Chicago, and it reminds you that it can be close to normal, coming home. “Where’s Nat? I haven’t talked to her since I got off the plane.”

“She’s upstairs resting.” He lets go and starts drifting to the kitchen absentmindedly—why, you’re not sure. “The baby’s got her in a mood, kickin’ ‘n all that, the little fucker—but Pete ‘n Carm ‘r down here somewhere—”

Your heart stops, and for a moment you can’t hear anything but your own thoughts, fragments of his voice and his laughter from memory. Your chest goes tight, your throat runs dry. You knew from Nat and Richie that he’d come back to Chicago a while ago, after Mikey’s funeral, but never in a million years did you think he’d come to Christmas dinner. Richie doesn’t seem as shocked as you think he should be. “Carmen? He’s here?” You nearly whisper it, afraid to be heard if he’s nearby.

He stops walking. “In the kitchen, yeah, why? You talk to ‘im in a while? Figured he’d’ah told ya, me ‘n Nat had to convince ‘im. A real jagoff about it, by the way.” His tone doesn’t say anything more than his words do. Maybe he’s forgotten about everything, or he’s trying to spare you. Maybe he never knew all that much to begin with.

“No,” you answer, quiet with an ache in your chest you haven’t felt in years. “We don’t…we haven’t really talked since the last time I was here…” And I don’t want to change that at the moment is what you don’t say, bile in your throat at the thought of peeling back scabbed wounds.

Before Richie can comment, a loud voice comes to you from the front room: “Is that my little Birdie?”

Cicero. You missed him, honestly.

He huffs himself out of his seat in the living room and welcomes you in the foyer, bringing your attention away from Richie like you’d been hoping to. “Oh, I missed you,” he says, giving a brief kiss to your cheek.

You hug him in return, but really you’re just hoping to get away from the kitchen. “Missed you too.”

Resting his hands on your shoulders, he smiles and looks at your face. “You’ve only gotten more beautiful since the last time I saw you. Like an angel.” He doesn’t let you protest, he only peeks behind you to look at Richie, who leans against the wall with his arms crossed. “Ain’t she beautiful, Richie?”

“Yeah,” he deadpans, unamused. “A real treat she is.”

Cicero looks back to you and speaks lowly. “Ignore that son ‘f a bitch. He’s just jealous ‘cause you’re my favorite.” He winks, gestures to the living room, and takes a few steps while he brings his voice back to a normal volume. “C’mon, tell this ol’ geezer about New York—can’t even remember the last time I was there, musta been ‘83—”

If the rest of the night is like this, you think, Carmen might not be so much of an issue. He could be nothing at all, like he always wanted to be.

He promises himself that he’ll say something by the end of the night. He has to, he thinks, and if not to avoid being an asshole, then to avoid getting reamed by Richie. Carmen realizes he has the upper hand, too, whether he likes it or not: he at least expected you to be here. That doesn’t make it any less terrifying to hear your name. 

The first time is when he’s cutting onions as Richie opens the door, and he gets lucky enough to hear nothing else but the door shutting afterward. An afterthought, a mirage maybe. 

In between that and the second, his name slips by your lips. You whisper it, of course, because you hate him—you hate him for the way he treated you, and for the way he didn’t, and for the fact that he wasn’t man enough to ever speak to you about any of it, or speak to you at all. And despite the fact you try to hide it when you say it, he hears you; he doesn’t think anything could keep him from doing that much. Especially not when it sounds just like you did years ago on those half-broken steps to the back porch, after everything went to shit and there was a hole in the fucking house and you couldn’t stop crying if you tried. He was there for you like he always was: letting you lean your head on his shoulder as you wept, one arm holding you tight to keep you grounded while the other hand nursed a cigarette to keep himself sane. And his name sounded just like it does tonight when you turned to look at him with bleary eyes so many years ago, whispering Carmen? so sweet he wanted to taste the lip gloss that flavored it. That night he did, for a fleeting moment. Before he ruined it.

So of course, he hears you say his name, and he knows it’s you. He doesn’t think anything could keep him from knowing you.

The second time he hears your name it’s like a confirmation. A confirmation that it’s real, you’re real, and you’re here, and it isn’t his mind playing tricks on him like it does when it’s late at night and he’s walking the streets and thinks he sees a girl that looks like you. The rest of the dialogue after the fact goes blurry, the timers going off turn into a monotone buzz, all he hears is chopchopchop against the cutting board until Uncle Jimmy calls you beautiful. He’s sure you are, but he doesn’t want to see it and believe it even more. Your heels click against the hardwood a few times, and he’s not sure where Ma went, but Richie’s standing behind him saying something he can’t decipher and he wants to tell him to Fuck off but he can’t, not now, not tonight.

“Cousin!” Richie snaps, pushing his shoulder. “Did you hear a word I just said?”

He sighs and looks over his shoulder but stays gripping the knife. “No, sorry, say it again—‘m listenin’.”

“Right. So when’s the last time you talked t’her?”

His hand squeezes a little harder, the knife suffers for it. “Talk t’who?”

A quick bang of a hand to the counter top leaves the onions rattled. “Don’t play stupid with me right now, Cousin—” a harsh finger points in Carmen’s face— “or I swear t’God I will fuck you up once this dinner’s over.”

He pauses. He looks past Richie into the foyer where you once stood but quickly goes back to work. Chop. “Look, I dunno, it—it’s just been a while, I dunno the exact fuckin’ date, alright?” Oh, but how vividly he does.

“Yeah? How’s five years to the fuckin’ day sound? Pretty damn accurate, or what?”

No response. Chop.

“You’re a real piece’ah fuckin’ work, y’know that, right?” Richie sounds about as angry as he’s ever been, but it’s different this time: it’s quiet, it’s controlled, it crawls up Carmen’s spine.

“It’s not—it’s not like I meant to, to, uh—”

“ ‘To, to, uh’ what?” he mocks. “To pull the shit you did then go fuckin’ AWOL on ‘er?”

Another beat of silence. Laughter trails in from the living room, and he starts to wonder if it’s you who made it ring. He shakes his head, scrunches his nose. “H—…” Rethinking whether he wants the answer to his question, he puts the knife down and leans into his hands before looking over Richie’s shoulder again. “How, uh…how is she?” It’s muttered, ashamed, the way he asks it, brows furrowed with regret and slithers of hope. “ ‘S she doin’ alright?” He heard bits and pieces of the conversation from just a minute ago, but part of him needs this: to hear it crystal clear, to have it branded beneath his 773 tattoo you traced with an anxious finger, to have the pain be inadmissible such that he can’t forget it.

Without needing to look him in the eye Richie knows to soften his approach. Carmen’s eyes are wet, he’s got that solemn air to him that he gets when he’s thinking about something that forms lumps in his throat, he swipes his hand by his mouth like the words were bitter to say out loud. 

He turns over his shoulder like he’ll get caught and looks down at the chef. “She’s good, Carm,” he sighs, nodding his head slowly and with raised brows. “Real good…Like Cicero said, she—she’s beautiful, ‘n she’s gotta career lined up for ‘er. But—” he hesitates when Carmen looks up— “The look on ‘er face, man, it—it changed when she found out you’re here.”

Something indescribable flows through his veins. “Wh—what d’ya mean?” He shakes his head in denial. “Like, like, it—what’d she look like?” He waits expectantly, and part of him hopes something hard and fast’ll put him out of his misery.

Richie swallows. He smooths a hand over his hair, lets it fall to the nape of his neck while his eyes dance elsewhere. “Listen, she…she just looked like—” He kisses his teeth, unsure of how to phrase it, weary of the first thing to come to mind and whether the subject was worth mentioning at all. He should lay it to rest.

But Carmen is ever the stubborn boy at heart. “Cousin.” Fingers drum against granite. “Looked like what?”

“...Like I’d just stabbed ‘er in the gut.”

The rest of the family is enthralled by you, though whether it’s because they haven’t seen you in five years and miss you, or because it finally gives them an excuse to make Lee let someone else talk, you’re not sure. But by the time they let you get a breath in it feels like three hours have gone by, though when you peek at your watch, it’s barely been thirty minutes. You’d forgotten how exhausting the family is when they’re all together. Your head hurts. It’s too hot. You could use a nap.

Cicero looks at you a little softer from his chair. “Would you like a drink, hon? I should've asked ya before we sat you down for an interrogation.”

“Oh, well,” you start, pausing to let it seem like you aren’t dying for that opportunity, “I’ll have one. Is there wine?”

“Of course there is. I’ll grab a glass for ya—” he begins rising from his chair, but you stop him.

“It’s alright,” you insist. “I don’t mind getting it—in the kitchen?”

He nods, and you’re on your way. You pass by Richie and the Faks in the foyer and try to hide the deep breaths you’re focusing on, eyes shut and shoulders shrugging as Richie eyes the kitchen before you enter like you’ll be walking into a war zone.

It’s exactly what you’d expect: Donna with a glass in hand, Carmen assisting, an ashtray full nearby. Natalie has joined them, so you must have missed her on her way downstairs, and Pete hovers beside her as she speaks to him with a worried look on her face, disjointed from the other two Berzattos.

You’ve nearly psyched yourself up enough to interrupt when Donna notices you, almost instantly placing her glass on the counter. “Oh, Birdie, I—” She looks happy, you think, but with her it’s never been easy to tell. “C’mere, honey.” She opens her arms to you and gifts you a hug, patting your back as she says, “It’s been so long, my beautiful Bird—” she pulls away to get a better look at you and plants a kiss to your cheek, just like Cicero— “Oh gosh, you’re so beautiful, all grown up.” She smells thickly of tobacco.

“Thank you,” you laugh, dazed by so much affection from her, “Cicero said the same, it’s just been a while.”

“Well—” she picks up her glass promptly after her hands leave you— “It’s true, you’re practically glowing. He knows what he’s talking about.” She takes a hefty sip like she can’t get enough, and quickly looks to her son. “Isn’t that right, Carmen?”

From where he stands nudged into the corner, focused on the countertop with nothing to do but wring his hands, his attention perks up to his mother. “What was that, Ma?”

You can’t ignore the fact that she hasn’t acknowledged Natalie nor Pete since you arrived; you’re stuck, looped in with Donna and Carmen and somehow obligated to stay there until you’ve been dismissed. You know how she is. Carmen won’t look at you, either.

“Look at Birdie,” Donna coos, and she gestures to present you to him. Your stomach turns. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” She smiles coolly, looks to Natalie only for a brief moment to rub salt in the wound.

Carmen, reluctantly, looks at you. His golden brown curls are disheveled as always, made messier by anxious runs of his fingers every few minutes. His mouth seems caught in a persistent pout that he won’t let up, and if it were years ago, you’d stay by his side until he broke you just to keep someone in his corner. Beneath his eyes rest dark circles, and he wears a forest green sweater you’ve never seen before. There’s a split second of eye contact that has your breath caught in your throat. You haven’t been able to look at him in what feels like a lifetime, let alone hear his voice—not even over the phone. It’s different than you remember, a little huskier, more fatigued. You wish you couldn’t care.

He gives a shallow nod and a shrug to Donna’s question.  “Yeah.” His eyes meet yours accidentally again before looking back to his mother, apathy bordering on distaste. “She looks nice.”

You look nice. You don’t know what you thought he would say. Part of you wished he would’ve said exactly as Donna did, or that he’d use the word beautiful, or stunning, or pretty, even. But he’s never been one for words—his consolation offerings were limited to a shared cigarette and sitting beside you, and you’ve always resented that part of him since your last Christmas together. If he’d been better with words, it would’ve been just that; there wouldn’t have been the hand on your back turning into an arm wrapped around your shoulder, he never would’ve pressed his lips to your temple for the first time since you were in kindergarten, you would’ve never been close enough to smell tobacco on his breath. You never would’ve known what American Spirits taste like off of anxious lips or what it feels like to be worth everything and then nothing at all.

Donna kisses her teeth and gives you a sympathetic look as she cups her hand to your neck. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t listen to him. He’s just in a mood today.” She sips her wine again, which quickly turns into the rest of the glass.

That’s not a mood, you think. That’s just Carmen.

By the Berzatto standards, dinner preparation blows over without a hitch. The house smells divine, nothing is broken, no one has stormed out. Ma sits down with only five glasses of wine in her system. No one mentions the gaping hole in the seating arrangement at one head of the table—not even Lee.

Carmen feels the weight of it on his shoulders, and he thinks you feel it too. You sit for a few minutes as everyone settles with your head in your hands, eyes closed as you breathe. Every time you open your eyes they shoot to Mikey’s seat, only for your hands to cover them again with a sniffle. Richie keeps a good eye on you, even though they’re getting glassy from watching you, and he rests a soothing hand on your back before leaning down and whispering something Carmen doesn’t catch. You shake your head, perking back up again as you dab at your eyes with your sleeves, looking to Richie and mouthing the words I’m okay with a smile plastered on. Carmen’s skeptical.

Uncle Jimmy insists on saying grace as a way to honor both you and Carmen being in Chicago for the holiday, and instinctively he looks to you, looking for something to hold onto to let things feel normal with you, but you keep your eyes closed. Since you walked into the kitchen nearly an hour ago he hasn’t been able to get his mind off of the sweetheart neckline of your dress, or the locket pendant hanging close to your chest. Mikey gifted it to you, he remembers, when you earned your undergraduate degree—presented in a black velvet box when you saw him after the ceremony, you cried. Carmen wasn’t there; he was in Copenhagen, doing other things. He can’t quite remember what.

Grace gives way to a more quiet bustle of the dinner, where talking is more or less limited to passing plates and taking first bites, making sure everyone has said hello to everyone. He sits almost silent, taking a measly bite every few moments to avoid an excuse to talk. He notices you don’t navigate this dinner like you have the countless ones before: you’re engaged tonight, laughing with Richie beside you and looping Sugar and Pete into your banter; you’re no longer the teen you once were, who would sit at the end of the table with him to stay quiet and barely munch on dinner, the two youngest with Mikey to your sides, pestering the both of you to Eat, ‘fore Ma tells you to. And it’s not a bad thing, either. You always had that way about you like Mikey did, where you could make conversation with anyone, make them fall in love with you, make them think you’re their best friend. He’s always thought you were his, anyway. You look happier than he’s ever seen you. Ever since he could remember, he had a feeling you’d outshine him.

It’s like Ma said—you’re glowing.

It’s nearing fifteen minutes since the food being served when Sugar nudges him on his right. “You alright, Bear?” She keeps it quiet, under the radar. “You haven’t eaten much.”

He nods and takes a bite to cover his tracks. “Yeah, yeah—just not that hungry, ‘s all.” He hasn’t eaten today. It’s the nerves, really, of seeing everyone—of seeing Ma, seeing you. Brings him back to New York, where his morning ritual included huddling over the toilet and rinsing his mouth until he couldn’t taste stomach acid anymore. He’s hoping that with being in the kitchen all day, she doesn’t pry. “Thanks, Sug.”

She furrows her brows but drops the subject with a bit of a pout. “…Okay.”

“So,” Stevie starts, at the opposite corner of the table, leaning over his plate to smile at you from down the table. “Birdie—can I call you Birdie? Is that okay?”

You smile that smile you always do when you’re caught off-guard before shrugging lightheartedly and taking a bite. “Uh, sure. I mean, everyone here does.”

Richie makes eyes at you, weirded out, and Carmen tries to follow, but you only link with the older of the two. He’s shut out.

“Great. I’ve been wondering—why does everyone call you that? I mean, I know Sugar here’s got an origin story, so what’s yours?”

“Oh, this is such a sweet one,” Ma chimes in, hands over her heart. “They was so adorable, her ‘n Carmen.” The words have warmth blossoming in his chest and rising to his neck.

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I’m probably not the best person to tell you; I was really little.” You try to stifle a smile at the thought, and Carmen knows it’s the same thought as his: Mikey loved that story. “Richie’s probably man for the job.” You look up to the man on your left and pat him on the back to startle him. “Aren’t ya, Rich?”

“Uh, yeah, fuck that.” He nods to Carmen. “He can tell ya, Stevie, he was the one dancin’ with ‘er like an idiot, not me.” He shoves three bites’ worth of food into his mouth so he won’t have to talk anymore.

Sugar cuts in, “He was also five, he had nothin’ to do with picking that name.”

“Yeah?” he taunts, mouth still full because he can’t help but put up a fight, “Then you were eleven, missy, so you can tell it. You remember.”

The room starts spinning, there’s back and forth between Sugar and Richie, and Neil’s roped into it, and then Michelle’s convincing them to calm down, but Richie’s still going at it, starting to tell the story, but Ma says it’s not right, and Sugar cuts in again, and the room is still spinning and his head won’t stop pounding and there isn’t enough water in the world to clear his throat.

“Alright, alright!” It’s Uncle Jimmy now, almost shouting, waving his hands to simmer the room. Carmen would thank him if he could speak. “I’ll tell the damn story, you all settle down, eh?” He clears his throat, sips on his drink. “Our Birdie here, when she was real young, now she was a singer. All the time, some tune. Didn’t even have t’be a real song, she’d be hummin’ it anyway.”

You’re sheepish as Uncle Jimmy praises you, grinning to yourself and rolling your eyes at the embarrassment. Cute, Carmen thinks. He smiles and takes a bite of his food.

“An’ remember,” Uncle Jimmy continues, “This was late ‘90s, we didn’t have none’ah that YouTube, Spotify music bullshit, whatever’s popular with you people now—so anyway. We had this boombox for the longest time—”

“Yeah,” Richie interrupts, “Was a real piece a shit, that’s for damn sure.”

Cicero points to Richie while looking at Steve. “Correct. So one Christmas, many, many years ago—”

“Don’t make it sound so cryptic,” you giggle, and Carmen has a tiny fire lit in his chest, eyes trapped on your smile. He remembers that night—not so vividly, but enough.

“Right, right. I apologize, sweetheart.” Uncle Jimmy turns back to Stevie. “One Christmas the weather was especially bad—snow storm, crazy winds, Christmas lights flyin’ everywhere—and the power goes out. An’ our boombox ain’t workin’, got jammed or somethin’.” He shrugs, makes a face that’s unassuming. “So whatta ya do for the music, then? Everyone knows you need holiday music, eh?”

With you, Carmen laughs for the first time tonight. He likes it that way, uninterrupted by the noise of the other guests, who are all listening fondly and eating their meals. It’s like that special Christmas all over again. You’re so pretty when you’re laughing, part of him is a little jealous that anyone else gets to see you like this.

“So Mikey comes up with a great idea. We already got a singer, right? So we just need ‘er to do the holiday songs. So we get ‘er, ‘n we ask her to sing for us all—me, Donna, Mikey, Richie, Sugar, ‘n Carmen, that was it ‘cause ‘ah the storm—but she won’t do it.”

“They were tryin’ to force me, Stevie!” You smile up the table and back at Uncle Jimmy. Carmen beams back at you even though you’re not looking. Richie is.

“An’ she’s cryin’,” Uncle Jimmy continues, “An’ she’s all nervous, she can’t do it, whatever. Then our little Carmy Bear over there—” he shoots him a look with a smug and pointing finger, and Carmen flushes, grinning at his plate to hide from you— “Now he’s her knight in shinin’ armor.”

Everyone smiles at that—you, Richie, Sug, Ma, and Carmen, and everyone else—because that’s the truth. At least it was, for a while. You and Carmen keep your smiles downcast, hidden from the other, and Richie and Sugar make eyes at one another, looking between the two of you.

“He gets ‘er outta her hidin’ spot behind the couch where she was cryin’ an’ he brings ‘er a wooden spoon for a microphone, and he whispers somethin’ to ‘er—to this day I dunno what, coulda been anythin’ for all I care—and all of a sudden she wants to sing again. She sings Rudolph, Jingle Bells, Frosty the Snowman, all the stuff the kids knew, an’ she does it all with this wooden spoon, with our little Bear holdin’ ‘er hand the whole time.”

“An’ he didn’t even do anythin’!” Richie points out. “Just stood there, swingin’ ‘er arm like a jagoff—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Uncle Jimmy waves off, “But he did it for ‘er. And so,” he says, a finality in his tone, looking back at Stevie across the table, “Birdie is born. Our little Christmas song bird protected by the Big Bear. An’ the rest is history.”

Stevie smiles and nods his head. “That was sweet. Really, really sweet.”

“Oh,” Ma laments, “I just love that story. They were such babies then, so cute. It was always Birdie ‘n Carmy doin’ this, Carmy ‘n Birdie doin’ that. Always on their little adventures together. He took her everywhere.”

Carmen smiles to himself, head down as he eats his food. He doesn’t think of his childhood often, more so the teenage years if anything, when he was failing school. Hearing back such a memory brings up a sense of nostalgia—not necessarily for being a kid again, or doing those stupid things, but for how easy it was.

Ma is right: it was you and him together for the ride, up until it wasn’t. He never cared as much after reaching high school. You were in different buildings, and he saw you around but didn’t spend as much time with you anymore. He outgrew you, it seemed. Even in his early twenties when that fire rekindled, he devoted himself to his work. You were still close, closer than you were with anyone else in the family, and nothing would ever change that. But life ran its course.

And it ran pretty damn fast.

[princesssmars]

practical magick

a stiles stilinski x witch!reader

plot : just when stiles thought he had gotten used to the dramatics of the supernatual, he happens across you performing magic in the forest. when you fail to wipe his memory, his thursday afternoon gets a whole lot weirder.

wc : 4.678

contains : sfw. kissing at the end. the picture for look inspo is fair-skinned but the reader's skin color is not described! reader has hair! google translated latin sorry 😞i like my men loserish and obsessed sorry.

a/n : yasss a little halloween special. rewatching teen wolf for the third time bc idfk. is it obvious i love witch!reader's yet.

for the first time in over a decade, stiles stilinksi was bored out of his mind.

he had previously thought that given his adhd gave him a deep desire to be doing literally anything all the time that the word bored wouldn't enter his daily vocabulary until he died.

yet here he is, kicking his feet at the dead leaves on the ground as he searched for any hidden traces of wolfsbane. the only reasons this had even happened was because he had opened his big mouth too many times and was sent on a busy quest by deaton, to "make sure the surrounding areas were safe for werewolves."

just reminding himself of what led him here was enough to tick him off again. it wasn't like the past two years have been easy, being under the constant threat of werewolves, werewolf hunters, kanimas, etcetera etcetera. it was enough to stress out the most stable of adults, and stiles was the direct opposite of that, so of course he got nervous and started talking over people and pissing them off.

"stupid wolfsbane, stupid werewolves," he mumbles, kicking at more of the dead brown leaves on the forest floor, tearing a line of the familiar purple plant up from the ground and stuffing it into the brown sack in his other hand. once he was done it was likely it would either be tucked in jars in deaton's stash or burned. he wouldn't mind seeing the latter.

its another twenty moments of grumbling and scavenging before a sound in the distance stops him in his tracks. he stands still, making sure that he barely breathes before he relaxes, figuring his anger and memories are making him paranoid of the woods.

a minute later he wishes his mind was playing tricks on him, because he nears the noise again, but this this its louder.

"its closer," he thinks.

he barely even registers when his legs start running. he may have a bag full of wolfsbane, but there was no guarantee the threat was something the plant could harm. and he didn't feel like tempting fate today.

at this point he's slightly lost his direction, but when he passes the stunted redwood stump he and scott carved their names into during the fifth grade he starts to understand where he is, and as his heart beats in his hears he knows if he turns right here he'll come up onto the old willow tree-

in the span of ten seconds he smacks head on into a hard object, falling on his ass and gasping as the air is knocked from his lungs. he blinks quickly to try to rid of the black spots in his vision, and before he can comprehend it he's making eye contact with you.

he's slightly embarrassed that the first thought that races across his mind is how pretty you are. he knows he should be wary of you, but he can't help it. your hair is a rich (h/c), seeming to almost shine despite the sun being blocked by clouds. your skin is smooth and your eyes are gorgeous and big and still staring straight at him.

you both rush to stand up. he holds his hands out in a way that you would calm a wild animal, hoping it doesn't piss you off.

you continue to stare at him. which isn't helping calm down his racing pulse.

"uh, alright. look, i'm not gonna hurt you, alright? i'm just...looking for something..."

before he can finish his sentence, you raise your hands to cup the sides of his face. his words die in his mouth and he feels his cheeks warm up to the point he's surprised they haven't burned your palms. you look determined, and for a second he feels like he's gone to heaven

"convertere et perge quid agas. oblivisceris quid hic vidisti."

turn around and continue what you're doing. you will forget what you saw here.

his mouth opens and his brows scrunch in shock. he never thought those latin lessons he took online and with lydia would pay off, but he's really glad he did them now.

he considers doing what you said, just turning around and forgetting all about this encounter. but unfortunately his curiosity is getting the better of him, and if his suspicions are correct he needs to know more about you.

"i'm gonna guess you just tried to put a spell on me, right?"

your eyes widen so largely he's afraid they're going to pop out of your skull.

"i..i don't understand, that should have worked. are you a warlock? druid?"

"no, no. i'm just stiles." he tells. his guess that you were something supernatural is partially confirmed, since you know about druids and the whole tried to put a spell on him thing.

"well, stiles, unless you tell me why my spell didn't work on you i'm most likely going to have to kill you." you deadpan.

he thinks you're kidding so he eta out a strained laugh. you don't even twitch.

he wracks his brain for a good enough excuse that will save his life before his arm moves without command and thrusts the bag in your direction.

"well, i have a uh, a bag full of wolfsbane, if that matters at all. pretty sure it does since…yeah…wolfsbane”

yours eyes dart from him to the bag, most likely not trusting that their isn’t some insta-death powder that will pop out as soon as you open it, so he looses his thumbs grip and steps closer so you can see the purple herbs inside.

“hate to admit it but you’re right,” you sigh, pushing back some hair from your face. his eyes follow the movement before darting back to yours.“ that much wolfsbane would make most supernatural or magical doings wonky.”

"yes, yes! exactly. that makes sense. im sorry about that-"

"why would you even have that much wolfsbane anyway? are you a hunter?"

"what? no, no! im not, i swear to you im not a hunter. i can explain this, really i can." he nearly chokes on his words at the speed he speaks.

you stare at him for a few seconds more before crossing your arms over your chest, hopefully about to let him explain why he has a bag filled to the brim with a dangerous plant on a random afternoon.

when you start to walk directly past him into the forest he doesn’t think he’s ever been more confused.

"fine. you can explain it on the way back.”

he’s as still as a statue as he process your words. you just accused him of being a hunter and now you want him to follow you to whatever mysterious place your going? even for him this is weird, and he’s ten seconds from refusing-

“hurry up.”

he rushes to catch up behind you.

after around twenty minutes of stiles repeatedly asking where you were going followed by silence on your end, you finally reach a clearing in the woods filled by a large victorian-era house, fully black with large looming windows lit up by warm golden lighting coming from inside. there's a nearly fully glass sunroom/greenhouse on the right side, and he can see from here the varying flowers and plants that fill the room. he wants to ask how a house like this could be kept under wraps from the rest of the town, but then he remembers.

magic, duh.

you lead him through the threshold of the home and down a hallway until you arrive in what must be your living room, not giving him a chance to admire the room before you're pushing on his shoulders so he sits in a loveseat, taking your own seat across from him. your legs spread and you rest your elbows on your knees as you glare at him, causing him to shift in his seat.

"why are you carrying a bag full of wolfsbane?"

"my friend's boss, deaton. he asked me to pick up any wolfsbane in the woods to make it safer for them when they do the whole wolfing out thing."

"deaton's working with werewolves again? does he have a death wish?" your brow raises in confusion, he notes how the fingers on your right-hand scratch at the skin on your right.

"i'll be honest, you're kind of creeping me out."

"thank you. why is he doing it?"

"my friend, scott. he's a werewolf. and so are our friends erica and boyd. and derek and his weird uncle peter-"

"the fucking hale's are back? are you kidding?" a scoff leaves you and you get up out of your chair, starting to pace back and forth in front of his chair.

"yeah, it was this whole thing with peter being evil and killing his niece, and he turned scott but scott thought it was derek who turned him. it was a whole thing. not to mention how peter came back from the dead-"

you continue to walk around the room while occasionally pausing to pay attention as the boy details the events that have happened in the past year. despite you being a stranger it felt oddly cathartic to vent about everything that had happened to him. admitting to the countless times he felt scared out of his mind but had to stay strong lest his enemies take advantage of it.

"that's a lot for a normal human to go through in just a year with no prior knowledge of the supernatural. i'm surprised your brain didn't implode from the stress."

he blinks. "thanks. i guess."

"you're welcome. i'm going to make some tea. stay here," you say, moving from standing across from him to heading to a room near the side of the room, able to faintly see some dark counters and pots and herbs hanging from the ceiling, "not like you'd be able to leave anyway."

that's reassuring, stiles thinks to himself, bouncing his leg up and down where he sits. after a minute he figures you won’t kill him horrendously if hes looks around a bit, so he gets up and starts observing the countless pictures on the walls. some are old, like the people in them are wearing outfits from a few hundred years ago, while some are colored and recent. in most of the recent ones, you’re with three older women who look just as dark but ethereal as you do.

he continues looking at some pictures and hung-up trinkets when you come back into the room with two cups of tea, handing one with a smile to the wary boy with a halfhearted promise that it’s “totally not poisoned.”

“can i ask you a question?” he asks, sipping at his tea after he discovers it’s not poisoned and actually really good. he was never really fond of tea, always preferring coffee or energy drinks when he was in a low-energy period. he remembers his mom liked chamomile tea.

“you just did. but go ahead.”

“why would you let me in here? you could have just questioned me at the willow tree, you didn’t have to let me into your house. not that i don’t like your house. i like the whole victorian gothic vibe.”

you don’t answer for a solid minute, slowly drinking from your cup as you stare into the lite fireplace.

“witches pride ourselves on our knowledge. to be aware of our abilities and surroundings at all times to best stimulate our growth. and as much as i’d like to be this powerhouse who could take down any threat, i know i’m not. if you actually were powerful and i tried to take you on myself? who knows what would happen.”

“and i’m guessing that magical barrier around the house would protect you in case i really did try anything?” he gently asks, not wanting to talk too loudly to distract you from opening up to him.

“exactly. plus if you tried anything my aunts probably would have put a curse on you and your loved ones. something not too flashy to attract attention, but enough to cause great suffering.” he notices your soft sigh when you stop talking, almost like you’re disappointed you won’t get to see this suffering play out.

“plus it’s better to know where your talents excel,” you continue, setting your cup down on a skull patterned coaster on the coffee table in front of you. “i’ve always been better at using my magic to investigate my surroundings. helps to find materials or signs of psychos roaming around.”

something you two have in common. it makes his mouth quirk up.

“so, the werewolves and all the other things being back in town, that’s a problem for you and your aunts, right?”

“yup. if it was just werewolves it’d be normal for beacon hills, but kanimas and a whole pack of alphas? who knows how much that can disrupt the natural balance and what more they’ll bring.”

he thinks over his next words carefully. scott would likely be upset at first at him for trusting you, but he was also the nicest person stiles had ever met. if you could help them then it was worth the risk.

“then how about a trade. you help us with this alpha problem, and you get the experience you need to become a great and all powerful witch. pretty soon you'll be riding your broom to your heart's content."

you can’t help but scoff a laugh as you think it over. he starts to think you’re about to reject the offer as you stare him down before you get up and offer him a hand.

“you’ve got a deal.”

after shaking on it, you send the boy back with his bag of wolfsbane and a few more helpful weeds from your greenhouse, giving him a note to give to deaton so he won’t ask too many questions.

when he returns to the vets office he dumps the materials on the operating table, ignoring isaacs joke about how if he took any longer they’d all be alpha chow by now. he can tell deaton is concerned about where he got the vials of strange red and yellow herbs, but when he reads the note his eyes widen and he lets out a mix between a laugh and a sigh. scott asked insistently what was on the note but his boss refused to tell him what it said.

before he left to drive home, deaton pulled stiles to a corner and told him that he had been in close contact with one of your aunts before something happened a few years after the hale fire that caused them to go into hiding and cut contact with all supernaturals they had previously been helping, including him as the emissary of the hale family.

as he lay in bed that night staring up at his ceiling, all he could think about was you. you were a welcome distraction from the chaos of his current life, a pretty distraction at that. if not a bit scary. which he didn't mind all that much.

the both of you spent more time together in the following weeks. at first, it was just simple conversations by the willow tree talking about the werewolf situations and checking what materials deaton needed from your family. as time went on his curiosity got the best of him and he started to ask you more questions about your life.

"so hit me if this is stupid but did you have any family in salem? or can you like make a potion ina cauldron to see if I did because I could use that as massive bargaining power in fights with issac-ow! why'd you hit me?"

"you said i could."

"yeah but not so hard. jeez, ever thought of quitting this witch thing and trying boxing."

"never thought of it. maybe i should start now. with your face."

"really funny."

(your threats kind of reminded him of derek, but had less of an 'i'm about to rip your throat out and eat your esophagus vibe.' slightly.)

but as time went on it got deeper. as he told him more about himself you started to do the same, once even apologizing for "giving off psycho killer bitch vibes" and chalking it up to being so isolated from people for most of your life. he told you he didn't mind the vibes, assuring you he liked it maybe a little too excitedly.

he could really feel the shift when one day he came up to the willow tree and he saw you, standing with a frame photo in your hands and nearly on the brink of tears. he was so shocked at seeing you show such intense emotion he wasn't watching where he was going and stepped on a branch, alarming you as your head whipped to him like a deer in headlights.

"i...im sorry. i can leave if you want."

"no no, it's," you shook your head, looking down at the photo once again. "it's fine. it doesn't matter."

"well if it's enough to make you cry id say its world ending-"

"could you just shut up? for once in your life?"

it's quiet for a minute, the only sound in the air being the gentle breeze. even thought the comment stings stiles knows all too well you're just lashing out in anger and hurt.

"im sorry."

"don't apologize. i get it, i do." he moves closer until he's standing beside you, walking slowly so he doesn't make you lash out again.

he looks down at the photo and he gets it. its you, about six or seven with a bright smile on your face and standing with two people he can tell are your parents. he can see the resemblance. you have one of their smiles and hair color, the other's nose, and by their clothes, the same dark style.

"its been over ten years. since i lost them," you whisper, your voice sounding more weak than he's ever heard it. "itd be nice if I was staying with my aunts for some sabrina the teenage witch reason but no. i don't have a choice."

he gently puts a hand on your shoulder. "i get it, i do. i lost my mom. every day i remember things about her in things i do. it hurts but its better than forgetting."

you sniff and hes about to back up when you put your hand over his on your shoulder, gripping it tightly. it hurts a bit. he doesn't really care.

"its not fair."

"its not."

"...thank you."

"don't mention it."

you give him with the materials and he's about to leave when you stop him, your hand grasping his wrist. he wants to ask whats wrong but he stops. you're staring right at him, into his soul he thinks, and all he wants is to hold you and tell you any pain he's suffered the past few years is worth it because it led him to you, that even if you asked him to sacrifice himself on an alter for a spell that would make you happy for a minute he would do it-

"this bracelet. i want you to wear it and don't take it off no matter what, all right?"

hey, that works for him.

as soon as the bracelet was clasped around his wrist he felt different. like his nerves were tingling and his brain was warm. he felt like he was going to get the most powerful migraine in existence and reached to take it off when you took his hand again.

"please. just give it a minute."

and so he did.

only thirty seconds of dull pain later and he felt normal, if not better. like when you're a kid and have the best day of your life and return home to a good meal. a nice bath, and a great night's rest. he feels almost powerful.

"hey what is this thing? did you just give me powers? is this gonna make me your servant or something?"

"bye stiles."

he gives deaton the materials after telling scott where he was ignoring the weird look on his face before the boy goes back to examining an adorable beagle on the operating table.

deaton takes the bag and bottles with an appreciative smile, his eyebrows scrunching up when he notices the jewelry on stiles wrist.

"where'd you get that bracelet?"

"uhh, i found it. at a thrift shop. thought it looked cool. why?"

deaton clearly doesn't believe him but decides to entertain stiles anyway. "the band is a normal bracelet but the charms are what makes it special. they're pagan."

"could you explain them to me? just because you know."

the vet just shakes his head and laughs before pointing to each one.

"this one, the witchs knot. standard symbol for warding off evil. its mostly used as a protection charm."

stiles admires the charm, the metal silver with the symbol burned into it. it looks like a circle with a line roped in and out of four points of it.

"this, hecates wheel. a goddess of magic, as you probably already know. symbolizes the power of knowledge and life."

this charm is a bit heavier, the stone looking weathered with a scratched labyrinth engraved on it, a distinct 'x' in the middle of it.

"and this one is..." deaton starts before his words trail off. stiles looks at it. it looks like four combined circles, each with symbols inside them. the two across from each other on the side looking like two crescent moons, the one on the top holding a basic pentagram. but he doesn't recognize the one on the bottom-two perpendicular lines forming an 'x' with little swirly lines coming from the middle on the top and bottom.

"what? what does it mean? is it bad?"

"no, it's not bad at all, stiles. the crescents and pentagram are used in another basic protection spell. more protection for the user."

"and the one on the bottom?"

"well, i don't honestly know what it is. its most likely a personal sigil made by the person who made it. but by my guess, based on others I've seen before, it might mean whoever made it has a deep love and affection for whoever they gifted the bracelet to."

stiles thought he was keeping his cool, but scott made extra sure to remind him the following days and the dumbass look on his face when deaton explained the symbol to him.

he didnt know what to do. this had to mean you felt the same way he did about you, right? why else would you gift him a love sigil on a bracelet you insisted he wear? for a second he considered it was a love spell you tried to put on him, but he was feeling iffy about that. mostly about how he wouldn't care that much.

(he apparently admitted that in a sleepy haze when he was sleeping over at scotts, and he's never wanted to die more than when he woke up and realized issac of all people heard him.)

the next time he saw you he tried as hard as he could to act casual. you asked him about ten times if he was okay, and he eventually came up with a good enough 'just a slight stomach bug' lie and regretted it immensely when you invited him back to your house, telling him you'd been practicing making simple health remedies and you had the perfect thing to fix him.

the whole walk to your house he was on edge, his palms feeling sweaty for the first time in his life as he repeatedly wiped them off on his pants. just like the first meeting, you tell him to wait on the couch and he lets out a shaky breath when you leave into the kitchen.

what does he do? does he confess? does he need to? he was so scared that he was being too obvious and maybe that's why you put the sigil on the bracelet, to let him know you returned his affections. but what is he wasn't obvious? and he was basically telling you he only liked you because you liked him? what if-

"stop staring into space and drink this tea, dummy."

he laughs awkwardly and takes the ornate cup from your hand, sniffing the tea before he drinks it. it's sweet but savory, smelling like nutmeg and milk. he can see little flakes and leaves floating on the top. he takes a sip and hums at the taste.

"screw boxing, you should be a professional chef. i'm gonna need you to give me this recipe."

"yeah right. a witch never reveals her secrets." you scoff before sitting down next to him on the couch. you put your arm up on the back and rest your head on your wrist as you cross your legs, your foot brushing against his leg. he nearly spills the tea over his lap.

he can't help but admire you. he had given you a few magazines he'd gotten from stores and stuff to better show you how people were dressing these days, and while you'd hated most of it you took to some trends, wearing a pair of black ripped skinny jeans and a pair of combat boots. he tried to focus on the rips in your jeans as to not let his eyes wander up, where you were wearing a leather halter camisole with nothing underneath. he can't help but laugh in his head when he thinks of the word camisole. maybe he was spending too much time around lydia.

"stiles? seriously are you possessed or something? normally you'd be talking my ear off trying to guess exactly what ingredients i used for the tea."

he sets the cup down after taking another long sip and turns his body to you, your eyebrows raising in what he can tell is amusement. most people could easily get annoyed by his theatrics, but after your near trauma bonding at the willow tree, you had always made sure to welcome them with a smile.

"look, i have something to say. which you probably already know, but i need to say it to you anyway to make sure you really know, y'know?"

you blink. "go ahead."

he breathes in and out a few times, his previous confidence suddenly disappearing.

"let me guess, you saw the sigil and now you're going to confess your love to me?"

he goes into a near coughing fit.

"how, well thanks because now i dont have to actually say it, but if you had given me a minute-"

before he knows it you're scooting closer, your faces just a few inches apart. you're staring at him with that same look you had when you gave him the bracelet. his breath is picking up and he bites his bottom lip, your eyes darting to the motion.

"can i kiss you?"

"yes, god yes-"

your hand grips his chin and brings his lips to yours, the intensity and plushness of it nearly driving him insane. he doesn't really know what to do with his hands, settling to just keep them on his lap before your other hand brings them to your waist and squeezes them in place. at this point you're nearly on his lap and that combined with the kiss and the fact he swears he just felt your tongue poke his lip is going to be the death of him.

he pulls away from the kiss and kneads his hands on your hips, able to feel the softness of your skin on the places where the camisole lifts up.

"wow. i mean just...arent you a recluse? where'd you learn to kiss like that? have you like, conjured up clones to practice with or something."

"stiles?"

"yeah?"

"shut up and kiss me again."

"whatever you say, babe."

for the first time in his life, stiles stilinksi thinks everything is gonna work out.

ty for reading! had to tell myself to get up off my ass and write at 3am and wrote about half of this so sorry for any dialogue inconsistencies. love you bye bye.

[covetyou]

performance enhancement

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo & gn!reader rating: Teen (18+ only blog!) warnings: anxiety/stress, Dieter Bravo being a stubborn asshole, cute baby animals, vaguely fluffy word count: 1k summary: I couldn't stop thinking about that baby pygmy hippo and what Dieter would do if he saw it, so this fic was born. you're welcome.

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"I can't work in these fuckin' conditions!"

You hear him before you see him, sat scrolling through your phone as you wait the few hours still left until you have to pick him up. You'd got here early - as you usually did - even though Dieter was frustratingly late more often than not.

The door to the trailer is wrenched open a moment later, and you're raising your eyebrows in disapproval at the grumpy actor as he flings himself inside the trailer, slamming the door behind him.

"I can't do it," he huffs, turning anxiously in a circle, hands on his hips, running through his hair, balling into fists. "I can't fuckin' do it."

"Do what, Dee?" you say from your position curled up on the small bench seat in the trailer.

"This!" he yells, turning to face you gesturing in the vague direction of his face.

You make a face at him, still clueless as to what he's talking about. In a long line of things Dieter Bravo could be frustrated with "this" didn't really help to narrow it down.

"They want me to," he begins, fannining his eyes. "They want me to leak, and I can't."

"Cry?," you laugh. "Dee, it's in the script, of course they want you to. Have you tried the tear -"

The actor rounds on you, shaking his finger in your direction before you can even reach for your bag to see what you have to hand to help.

"No! I do not need performance aides."

"Dieter, it's just to help yo-"

"No!"

Dieter yanks off the thick knit sweater that makes part of his costume and dumps it uncermoniously onto a chair, shaking his arm in frustration as the sleeve just won't give up its hold on his wrist, growling at the garment when he's finally free. He rounds on you again when he's a little more bare, a little less claustrophobic, and flops down next to you.

"I'm not doing it," he says simply, as he tucks himself in beside you on the bench, and that's that, discussion over. You know better than to argue when he's like this so, with a roll of your eyes, you flip your phone back over and continue your aimless scrolling as Dieter's head finds its place on your shoulder.

He fidgets for a little while, the bench not really big enough for the two of you to curl up, until he's slumped down and half turned toward you, legs splayed out in front of him where yours are tucked beneath you.

"Can I watch?" he murmurs sadly a moment later, his face pressed into your arm and eyes screwed tight.

"Dieter, that's up to you. They're your rules, not mine."

Dieter didn't have a phone of his own. Not right now, anyway. That was locked away back at his house, awaiting the day it could be reunited with its owner. For now, all he had was an old send-texts-and-make-calls-only brick of a phone for emergencies, that he mostly used to bug you at all hours of the day. It was a rare day you weren't greeted with a "u up x" text in the morning, or a garbled jumble of letters as he forgot how to text with a number pad.

"I wanna watch," he mumbles into your arm, face pressed so tightly to you now you can feel his lips move against your skin.

"Then go ahead."

You watch then as he slowly opens one eye, peeking out shyly before opening the other and staring wide-eyed at your phone screen. You're only scrolling mindlessly, not really paying much attention to whatever the algorithm is throwing your way. Some stupid ads, spoilers for a show you're not even watching, the red carpet looks of a movie premiere Dieter was invited to, but couldn't make it, and endless shitty takes from random internet strangers. Just a normal day for the internet, but amazing for the man next to you who had kept himself away from the world of unsolicited advice and badly shot paparazzi pictures for weeks.

"Wait," he says suddenly, sitting up and scooting closer to you. "Go back, what was that?"

You scroll a little slower as you move back through the endless monotony on your phone, until Dieter goes stiff by your side and grips your arm.

"That," he says. "What's that? Is it fake?"

Something in you swells, oddly proud at the man for knowing to question something he'd never seen before rather than taking it at face value. More than once he'd come to you gushing over an image only for you to take one look, see the 8 fingers, and have to break the disappointing news to your employer.

"She's real," you say, opening the video for Dieter to take a look. "She's been everywhere the last few days."

"She's beautiful," he murmurs, transfixed on your phone screen. "Look at her. Get that girl an Oscar. Is there more?"

"Yeah, Dee, there's more."

"Can I see?"

You move to hand him your phone, but he refuses to take it, instead choosing to snuggle into your side as you search for the baby hippo that had taken his attention. A few minutes in you almost expect him to be sleeping by your side, but a small sniffle and the swipe of his hand tells you otherwise. Crying over baby animals wasn't new for Dieter, and each time he did it, you found it unbearably sweet. Eventually, he shifts by your side and squares off his shoulders, before standing, grabbing up his ugly sweater, and pulls open his trailer door with a determination to rival his earlier resignation.

"I think I can go back now."

You don't look up at him, transfixed on the tiny hippo staring back at you from your hands. A 180 flip like this wasn't unusual for Dieter. It probably wasn't even his first for today. Either way, you'd still be here when he got back from filming the last scenes of the day, ready to cart him back to the apartment he insisted you stay with him in.

"Do you need the tear stick? Drops? I've got some in-"

"No," he says with certainty. "No, I've got this. Just... just gonna think of that fuckin' hippo."

[sunoorintarou]

Catharsis: Christmas Special

Phos!Reader x Teen!Gojo Satoru and Teen!Geto Suguru

Warnings: Gojo - centric, usual angst, fluff if you squint, major character death, dead bodies, set in 2006, lots of talks of politics, death, murder, trauma, morals, etc, borderline bullying? (Satoru is a jerk), self - blaming, grief, and all it's stages, trouble processing and understanding emotions, Gojo is seriously just his own warning

Notes: Merry Christmas!!!

"You're weak. Why do you bother being a sorceror?"

Satoru's words make you freeze, eyes widening at their bluntness. He doesn't react, however, because in his mind, he's simply telling you the truth.

You're weak. He's known that from the moment you set foot in this classroom almost three months ago.

He doesn't understand why Suguru and Shoko seem so fond of you. All you do is get into trouble, injure yourself, and make it everyone's problem to save you. You can't fight, your Cursed Technique is subpar, not to mention that you're annoying.

Stepping into battle like some sort of self-righteous hero knowing full well that if a curse so much as touches you, you'll crumble. Literally. That's another thing he finds annoying about you. How easily your skin chips and cracks like porcelain revealing an ocean of Phosphophyllite underneath.

You can't lift anything heavy, you can't fight, you can't help out without injuring yourself, you're clumsy, you're annoying, and the list could go on.

What he finds the most annoying about you, however, is your soft voice going, "Gojo - san, are you alright? You look tired", "Gojo - san, you should rest, you don't need to use your technique so often", "Gojo - san, you haven't eaten yet, so I brought you this, I hope you don't mind".

Gojo - san this, Gojo - san that, God. You drive him crazy. How do you manage to see through every front he puts up? Every act? Even Shoko and Suguru can't see through it, and yet you have the audacity to call him out.

You're a liability in battle, and you're practically useless, more like the team's overglorified mascot. So, for the life of him, Satoru doesn't understand why everyone likes you so much. Even Nanami, his grouchy underclassman, doesn't seem to mind you.

What annoys Satoru the most, however, is the tug his heart feels when he looks at you. Because no matter how he tries to deny it, you're growing on him like a parasite, and a part of him wishes he was as close to you as they were.

"I am weak." You agree, seemingly taking no offence to Satoru's question. It's just you and him in the classroom. You're standing at your desk, bag still in hand, and he's sitting a desk, two desks behind yours. Shoko and Suguru are still on their way, and he's taken this opportunity to ask you what he's been dying to.

Satoru's eyes widen at your response.

"If you know you're weak, why do you try so hard? It's kind of pathetic, you know." His brows furrow, glasses sliding down his nose bridge as he tilts his head.

"I- because, I'm selfish, I guess." You say softly.

There it is again. That annoying soft tone of voice that makes his chest hurt whenever he hears it.

"I know I'm weak, but I want to keep trying. I want to fight. One day, I want to be able to repay everyone for everything they've done for me. Yaga - sensei, Shoko, Suguru, Ken, Yuu. Even you, Gojo - san. I want you to be able to rely on me. I want to be able to protect innocent people like you guys do. So I hope you can bear with me for a little more, Gojo - san. I'm sorry for being such a burden, but I promise I'll pay you back." You say earnestly, looking Gojo in the eye.

Satoru's eyes widen, and he's silent for a moment. Before he bursts out laughing.

You suddenly feel embarrassed. You were being serious and heartfelt, and all Gojo does in response is laugh.

"What's with that? Did you quote that from an anime?" He cackles, hitting the desk with one hand and holding his stomach with the other.

"I- I did not! I was being honest!" You defend, feeling the heat tinting your cheeks.

"If- if you really want to repay me, buy me something sweet from the vending machine." Satoru stutters between fits of giggles.

"OK, I'm on it." You nod, turning on your tail to leave the class. A hand grabs your shoulder, stopping you.

"Where are you going?" Satoru asks, leaning down to look you in the eye.

"The vending machine?" You reply, brows furrowed in confusion.

"You're going now?"

"Yeah? I'll be back really quickly."

Satoru scoffs, but there's a smile on his face nonetheless.

"Really? I'll time you then. You have 5 minutes." He challenges, smirking as he tilts his head at you.

"5- 5 minutes?" You stutter, eyes wide. The vending machine was on the other side of the school. There's no way you'd make it back in 5 minutes.

"Yeah. The clock is ticking. Didn't you say you'd pay me for saving your butt all those times?" He mocks.

Satoru's eyes widen as you put down your bag, determination clear on your face.

"I did. I might not be back in 5 minutes, but I'll be back in less than 10!"

"Hey, wait-"

And with that, you've rushed out the classroom, leaving Satoru absolutely bewildered. As he sticks his head out the door, watching you run and almost slip multiple times, Satoru thinks he's figured it out. He understands why Shoko and Suguru keep you around.

You're amusing. And he wants to get closer to you.

Unfortunately, things never go as planned. And if Satoru had known the outcome before, he would have tried to get to know you much sooner.

Things change quickly when you're a Jujutsu Sorceror. People come and go, live, and die. They change, they evolve. People grow apart, and people grow closer.

Regardless, it's not a pleasant feeling when you lose someone close to you. 

Gojo Satoru had never thought the day would come when he'd feel regret. He was the strongest, after all. Everything he wanted he got. The world was his oyster. Money, power, good looks, everything. So it's safe to say that loss was also a new concept to him.

A feeling he decided he'd prefer to live without.

It hurt in a way he couldn't explain. He felt as if he couldn't breathe, as if there were something heavy on his chest. Almost as if he were having an out of body experience but could feel whatever the stranger he saw when he looked in the mirror felt. Pain. Anger. Despair.

Cold and light. That's how your body felt in his arms. He couldn't bear to look at the white cloth covering it. This, this couldn't be you. This body in his arms, the broken shards of its head cutting into the cloth.

Yet it was still vivid. Amanai Riko running out and finding him, letting him know that you had died saving her. A bullet straight to the head. Pushing her into Suguru's arms and telling him to run with your last breath. Riko's tear filled face as she begged for him to help Suguru because she couldn't bear to have anyone else die because of her.

Since then, he's felt numb. It hasn't faded. The coldness in his skin, the haze of his reality, brain clouded as it was forced to process the events that had taken place.

"Suguru... should we kill them all? I probably wouldn't feel anything right now."

Did he say something? The words don't register in his mind. Was that his voice? Raw and soft.

Them. The higher-ups. If only he had known earlier that they were supportive of your death. That there was a bounty for your head somewhere.

He didn't know why. He didn't know anything. You had kept so much to yourself. Just what were you dealing with alone? All this time, smiling wide, eyes always sparkling, hiding everything behind your carefree, happy - go - lucky persona.

You didn't deserve this. You of all people. You weren't weak. You were sweet, kind, caring, and selfless to a fault.

This was not you. Lifeless in his arms. You were never this cold.

He remembered it, how warm your hands were all those time your fingers brushed his forehead to check if he was well, when your fingers brushed his whenever you handed him something, how warm they were when you held his face in your hands and scolded him for being reckless. He remembered it vividly.

What would you say if you saw him now? The exhaustion in his face, the blankness in his eyes, the way his- his hands were... trembling?

He could hear your voice, clear as day.

"Gojo - san! What happened to you!"

"You should really take care of yourself more, what were you thinking?"

"I don't care if you're one of the strongest! You're a teenager. Right now, you're just Satoru, and you're going to learn to be kinder to yourself. You- you don't deserve this."

What did Satoru deserve? Was it really kindness? Care? Gentleness? Love? He had messed up. If he had been stronger, he could have saved you. If he had been stronger, you wouldn't be dead in his arms.

What was the point of awakening his powers when they weren't there when it mattered? What was the point of being the strongest if he couldn't protect the people he cared about? The people he loved?

What made matters worse was finding out the higher-ups were happy you were gone. The people that had singlehandedly been the cause for his suffering. His. Suguru's. Shoko's. Yours. Those filthy old bags who only thought of themselves.

What would really happened if he killed them all? Would it really be such a bad thing? Weren't they supposed to be the pillars of the Jujutsu world? The elders for people to look up to and learn from. A symbol of hope, something, anything even remotely positive, beneficial to the future of the young next generation of Jujutsu Sorcerors?

All they had done was applaud the death of someone innocent. A teenager. A child. How dare these self-righteous ba-

Your hand falls from the covers of the white sheet, hanging limply.

Satoru's brain goes blank. A pale arm, an empty hand, and familiar phosphophyllite fingernails.

"No need. It's meaningless." Suguru's voice is low, as if the reality that you're gone hasn't hit him yet. His eyes linger on your hand. The palm that patted his back, the fingers that ran through his hair, the hand that was so warm in his.

Before he can stop himself, he finds his own hand grasping it. It's cold. He drops it like the contact physically hurt him.

"Without the higher-ups, the Jujutsu world will go up in flames. And even if they die, there's the possibility even worse people will come into power. Killing them won't bring her back either."

His words don't make sense, even to him, but Suguru utters them nonetheless. The look in Satoru's eye is enough to tell him that if he doesn't do anything, today will mark the beginning of a massacre. And although he feels the same anger Satoru does, Suguru's moral compass, as well as his understanding of the type of person you are... stops him.

"Meaning... huh?" Satoru repeats.

The Satoru in front of him is not the Satoru Suguru knows. The playful, snarky, overburdened boy replaced by something else. Something unfamiliar. Something... cold.

"Do we need that?"

Suguru hesitates for a split second. The girl in Satoru's arms is just as unfamiliar. A bubbly, bright, kind girl replaced by something else. Something unfamiliar. Something... almost sinful. A shell. An empty shell. The existence it harboured long gone. A disgrace to the being it had once been.

"Yeah. It's very important... for sorcerors."

Your corpse wouldn't decompose. The crystallisation forming a perfect seal to your body, and perhaps that's why they can't bring themselves to immediately bury you.

Clinging onto the false hope that perhaps you'd wake up, bounce back like always. Familiar head of teal hair poking over Suguru's shoulder, a second softer set of footsteps padding behind Satoru's, a warm hand flinching at the touch of Shoko's cold ones.

It's sickening. How quiet everything has become in your absence. How the shadows seem darker due to the absence of your light.

Perhaps you wouldn't know it, but your death was beneficial in a way. Suguru spiralled into depression but your words of the past kept him strong, and somehow, he managed to graduate with Satoru and Shoko.

They left an empty seat between them at graduation. Your certificate is still in Shoko's office to this day.

Your warnings and nagging that reminded everyone of their mother saved Haibara's life. You had always told them to never accept missions alone, and it was thanks to your words ringing in his head that Nanami became paranoid while Haibara was out on a mission. This led to him going out to check on Haibara and ended in him saving his life.

It was almost idealistic how almost everyone graduated that year. A rare thing in the Jujutsu World to have so many young people survive.

Satoru jokes its because you took on the unwanted burden and closed the gates of Heaven yourself. You always did. Eating the bitter parts of his food that he didn't like, letting everyone choose first when Yaga gave you rewards, not touching your food until everyone had started eating. You always took on the unpleasantries so that everyone else could live without knowing suffering.

Why did everyone deserve happiness except for you?

Why did everyone deserve to live except for you?

"Gojo - Sensei."

"So even Sensei sleeps, huh?"

"Of course he does. What kind of nonsense is that?"

Satoru's eyelids flutter. He pulls up his blindfold, his vision coming into focus as he sees a blurry image of his students.

For a split moment, he's in high school again. He's in his second year, and he's sleeping before class. He hears soft footsteps approach him. Feels someone lean down near him, but he's not scared. Not even annoyed.

Rather, he plays dumb and waits in anticipation. There's butterflies bursting in his chest, a smile pulling at his face that's hidden in his arms. Smirking at the familiar scent of yuzu and caramel engulfing his senses. He'd chosen it, after all.

"Gojo - san? Wake up, class is about to start."

"Gojo - sensei!"

But when his visions focuses fully, he realises it's been 12 years and his beloved students have visited his office.

"Oh, he's awake!"

There's a red rim to Satoru's eyes, but it's almost unnoticeable. He smiles before pulling his blindfold back down.

"Please don't fall asleep after summoning us all here." Megumi states.

Satoru stands up, and Yuji and Nobara are quick to fight over who gets to sit on his chair.

"What are you smiling about?"

It's today. By 4 that morning, Satoru had found himself sat in front of a familiar grave. He was always the first to visit. He brings a bouquet of white heliotrope and places it on the grave. He crouches in front of it, his blindfold tucked away in his pocket.

"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy Birthday, dear Y/n. Happy Birthday to you."

If there's one thing Satoru wishes, it's that he was able to tell you his feelings truthfully while you were still alive. It's unhealthy, but he finds himself uttering the same three words on every occasion to a stone in the ground.

If only he could have seen your pretty face while he uttered them in person.

Satoru doesn't know if he believes in the afterlife, but he hopes you're listening. And maybe, just maybe, you're screaming at the top of your lungs, repeating the words in hopes he'd somehow hear.

"It's nothing."

A lie. Because deep down, Satoru knows he's thinking about a certain place, a certain person.

Maybe in his next life, he can finally go home to you.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

im so tired of sterek fics where derek is like really mean or just aloof to stiles until they get together. do you have an recs where derek is just a sweetheart who's always soft on stiles even before they get together?

Here's softboi!derek.

let me take care of you by honestlydarkprincess

(1/1 I 1,1311 I Teen)

Stiles couldn’t do anything but stare at the alpha werewolf as he rambled while unloading the aforementioned supplies from the grocery bag to Stiles’ counter.

Nothing Stiles was seeing made sense.

Why was Derek here, in his apartment, with cold medicine and fucking soup?

Or, the one where Derek comes over to take care of a sick Stiles. They talk about their moms and confess some feelings. It's all very soft.

An Anchor for the Storm by andthwip

(1/1 I 3,246 I Mature)

Derek's the only person Stiles can turn to.

Give Me Shelter by WonderWolf

(1/1 I 8,295 I Teen)

I don’t make a good impression, I know,” Derek grumbles. “It’s fine. I get it.”

“Noooo,” Stiles groans in frustration, “but it isn’t fair because you’re not that guy, you’re not an asshole and you give cats punny names so they have a better chance at being adopted.”

“Who told you I named the cats?” Derek asks, his brows scrunching together in confusion.

“Scott,” Stiles smirks. “My favorite so far was Purrsephone.”

(Or the one in which Derek and Stiles both volunteer at an animal shelter, Derek works with cats and gives them punny names, Stiles works with the dogs, and misunderstandings ensue).

If It Means a Lot to You by Nier

(1/1 I 9,356 I Teen)

His mom had told him about mates in the past. Derek would often come home and just hear stories about how his parents had met and fallen for each other, how they had gotten together after learning about what they truly meant to one another.

He was a kid when she told him all this, so it didn't really make much sense to him at the time. All he could do was sit there on the edge of her bed, listening as his mother talked about how love is an act of courage. If you don't take that first step, then everything else is impossible too.

Set a Song for Me by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) 

(1/1 I 11,573 i Teen)

“You did a favour for a stranger?” the sheriff asked, surprised. “You won’t even do a favour for me.”

“Your favours involve chocolate and salty snacks, damn straight I won’t do you any favours,” Stiles insisted, pointing an accusatory finger at his dad while leaning back against the counter, taking another large sip of coffee. “Some guy lost his phone and was calling it hoping someone would answer. That someone was me. He said he’d had some drinks and couldn’t come grab it right then, so we agreed to meet at the station this morning. I didn’t realize ‘this morning’ meant the ass crack of dawn.”

“It’s not the ass crack of dawn, that was at five thirty-seven, according to the weather app on my phone.”

Stiles let out a sarcastic laugh and flipped his dad off. The sheriff gave him a look, but he didn’t reprimand him, clearly able to tell Stiles was miserable.

Love At It's Purest by AbsolutelyNot2801

(12/? I 24,218 I Mature)

Sometimes Derek does things that makes Stiles think his crush is not completely one-sided, like gentle touches, soothing words and embraces like the one they were in that morning. And then he goes and does something stupid like getting a stupid girlfriend like Jennifer. It’s not because of Jennifer at all really. She’s lovely. But Stiles can’t help the hint of jealousy when he sees the loving gazes and soft, shy smiles.

And this is his step-brother he’s talking about. His step-brother! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Or a fic in which Stiles and Derek can’t help falling in love with each other. But there's a problem, they're step brothers. A fic with angst, feels and a happy ending.

The Spaz and the Sourwolf by TheRealDanniX

(9/9 I 24,674 I Teen)

When Stiles comes across something he shouldn't in the Preserve he ends up on four legs. Not that anyone in the Pack knows it's him. He's just hoping they can figure it out before anything else bad happens.

This Is Not Who I'm Supposed to Be by Anonymous

(11/11 I 24,932 I Teen)

After Stiles' friends get shot, the fox runs away from his home. He runs far enough that the white snow changes into green gras, and his white fur feels heavier than ever underneath the shining sun. Talia Hale and her family find him and she helps him turn back into human, something he hasn't been in years, and he has to learn how to be human again with the help from Derek. He realizes that life isn't easy. Not as human and not as a supernatural creature. Especially not when hunters are back in town.

shatter like glass, come apart in my hands by cosmicayan

(15/? I 47,107 I Mature)

The one in which Stiles goes missing for three months and then suddenly, out of nowhere, he turns up at the door of the Hale House, confusing himself, Derek, and literally everyone else.

Oh, yeah, and he has no memory of what happened to him (or, at least, no conscious memory).

[gatitties]

Can I request a strawhats with a teen reader with water powers but has ADHD like she could be wiping some villans out and then luffy breaks your focus and you guys are just being goofy in battle and then the crew is trying to cover both there asses but just headcannons on that ty pls remember to dribk water have a great day 💗

─Strawhats x teen!reader (Platonic)

─Summary: Your brain tends to wander to the deepest corners of your mind, your captain doesn't help you concentrate much, but luckily the rest of the crew does.

─Warnings: none

─ Everyone knows how to deal with your occasional lack of attention, it's not something that bothers them and they even help you if you have some difficulties.

─ Robin will make sure that you follow a list of things to do in order, without trying to do everything at once or leaving one task halfway and starting another.

─ And you're pretty good at that, of course sometimes your concentration streak breaks, but you always try to beat your personal record, Usopp will time you.

─ Jinbe will be in charge of helping you in your training, since he himself is an expert in manipulating water currents, you will not only train physically but mentally due to your deficit.

─ It's a shame that you can't swim with your water control at will, but at least your power allowed you to communicate with aquatic animals, sometimes you and Chopper talk to the fish that swim near the boat.

─ Although it's also a great power if you fight against devil fruit users, simply control the water to bathe your enemy and leave them weakened in just a moment.

─ That is if you manage to concentrate enough to move a large amount of water…

─ The normal thing is that thanks to training your control improves, however your mind turns off when you hear someone encouraging you, like a puppy looking for cuddles.

─ Which Sanji discovered once when he complimented you for helping him make a complicated dish, you almost sliced your finger for being distracted by his compliment, if it weren't for Franky coming in and stopping you in time.

─ Luffy really is a danger when you fight, he loves to see you control the water and use your skills, if he is not very focused on his own fight you will be able to hear him cheering when he sees you fight, which will completely unconcentrate you.

─ Nami is working on it! She knows that it's hard for you sometimes to focus your attention on just one thing, she will give you some advice on how to do it, but above all she will scold Luffy to let you do your thing.

─ Although that is the best case scenario, the vast majority you and him will start doing stupid things, without taking the battle seriously, which leads to Zoro having to cover your back.

─ If they are tired of the fight because you are not helping, Brook will push you aside, so that you can refocus while Zoro hits Luffy to bring him back to reality and end the battle once and for all, don't worry, the fault will go to your captain 100% of the time!

[fluff-n-cookies]

hey, can I ask the reader to be Aizawa's daughter, but she lives with her mother in another country, so when the reader gets into a fight, her mother sends her to live with Aizawa, but she forgets to tell him, so y/ n arrives and says "hey dad, surprise?"

I'm so sorry for responding late, I just been so caught up with school, but sure! (p.s. I'm not sure if you wanted oneshots or headcanons so I did headcanons. sorry about that. and I'm also heacanoning this reader as socially awkward, sorry about that too.) reader is a teen in this!

WARNINGS MENTION OF BOOBS NOTHING GRAPHIC JUST MINETA.

first off, reader is besties with Present Mic and definitely told Mic to tell Aizawa she was coming, but did Mic Do that? NO!

he probably drove you back to UA from the airport and just barged in yelling "BITCH (Aizawa) GUESS WHAT" "what do you want Mic?" "no, guess!"

okay parting away from the crack, Aizawa and you are both dying of embarrassment since Aizawa is teaching a CLASS RIGHT NOW.

So Aizawa is Infuriated since first he knows you hate being put on in the spotlight so he does scold Mic about it while all might handle class 1A's training.

eventually you two do get to talk one on one and the moment after you say "hey dad, surprise?" he just collapses on the closest surface and replies "goddamn it you're too cute to be mad at."

please tell him about every single detail of your trip it makes him so happy. he wants to know you trust him with this information and it makes him feel like he's getting just a bit closer to you. even the bad things that make you cry like a bad break up or an argument with your mom, it just makes him want to comfort you more.

tries to get you some of your favorite snacks from your country so you feel at home.

if you feel out of place in Japan since the majority of us are probably not Japanese and probably do not meet beauty expectations, he encourages you to keep being yourself instead of trying to fit in like everyone else.

1A GIRL SQUAD MAKEOVER! 1A GIRL SQUAD MAKEOVER!

these girls are doing your nails and practically interrogating you about your life in your country.

Momo wants to know ALL the customs and ALL the history, HECK TEACH HER YOUR WHOLE LANGUGE.

Mina DEMANDS TO KNOW YOUR LOVE LIFE AND ALLLLL THE DRAMA.

Tsu, Ochako, and Hagakure are just happy to be there, and Jiro is incharge of music.

they are also the ones protecting you from Mineta so try and stick with them.

now here, Shoto and Tenya are in a silent battle over your love and Mineta and Kaminari are fighting over your Boobs.

Shoto helps control the temperature in your room so it seems more like the climate your used to in your country.

while Iida is purposely taking a languge class that you speak and having you translate it for him so he knows he's doing it correctly. (he knows he is but he just wants to hear your voice.)

OH DON"T GET ME STARTED ON AIZAWA FAM

shinsou automatically switches to brother mode, please let him show you his cat plushes and favorite animes, it just makes him so happy.

Eri HAS to have a sleep over with you at one point, you're like an older sister to her (MOVE ASIDE HADO-)

speaking with Toshinori in english if you come from an english speaking country.

Thank you for requesting and I hope to see you in my inbox again soon!

[lilacgaby]

day five

~2.2k

chapter select!

he feels her rest in his chest as he picks her up and walks towards the medics.

the sight of her wound makes him cringe, it wasn't that horrific of a wound, but it'd definitely done some damage.

as he walked by, he was congratulated and praised by the small crowd that had gathered outside the alleyway.

he was thanked profusely by genie, as were mirko and jeanist, because they had assumed they'd just saved their life, and not that they were bait the entire time.

the victory didn't feel as glory filled as it would have normally, not when she was injured on her arm, and not because they could've got another hero seriously injured in the process.

not when it wasn't him who finished the fight. not when he just out of reach. again.

he set her down gently in the ambulance, and followed mirko and jeanist as they went back to the agency to file their reports.  he was normally pretty quiet, but anyone could tell he was preoccupied with [name]'s absence.

"cheer up loser, she'll be okay by the time you two lovers get back to the dorms later tomorrow." mirko comforted.

"you fought as best as you could, so don't worry about things that were out of your control. she fought, she won, she got hurt, but she saved people. that's what it means to be a hero."

"you can't save them all, dynamight."

jeanist finally said.

katsuki pondered the words in his head. he knew it was impossible for him to save everyone but..

it's what he expected of himself.

he grunted in acknowledgment of the two's words,

the words that were stuck in his head as he went to sleep that night.

a lot of stuff that had happened recently was still being processed in his head.

mostly the fact that he heard on the phone when mirko let her crush on him slip, that she herself had accidentally confirmed it,

and that she promised to talk about it after the quirk wore off on sunday.

he hated staying up and thinking, he loved to sleep, but he honestly couldn't fall asleep.

he was busy thinking of her.

he finally got enough comfort to close his eyes with the promise that he'd go and see her as soon as he woke up.

he'd ask her to ride the train back to musutafu together.

and on sunday,

he'd be the one to confess.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

she woke up to the sight of uncomfortable, white lights.

she was in a hospital.

she sat up and eyed the place around her.

it offered her no comfort, but since it looked to be like a hospital meant for kids and teens, there were cute butterfly decals that scattered the walls.

there was a bunny stuffed animal on the side of her bed, with a bouquet of [name]'s favorite flowers accompanying it.

she figured that all her stuff from the hotel was in the suitcase that laid against the wall, with a sticky note attached to the front.

[name] groaned a bit as she sat up, her arm wasn't as bad as she thought, the wound was actually quite small, but it was sore.

it was bandaged well, but blood was already seeping through. she'd need to get it wrapped again before leaving.

as she slowly got up and walked over to pick up the note, she looked up at the time.

it was noon, if she wanted to make it back to the dorms early she'd have to set out soon.

she looked down and read the note:

'see you soon partner! i had to run so i couldn't stay and watch over you :(

i left you a train card with funds in the left pocket,

so text me when you get to the dorms!

- rumi <3'

she smiled at the note, and mentally noted that she had a working card.

as she slowly stretched out her legs, being mindful of her arm, a nurse knocked before coming in.

"good morning ms. [name], how are you feeling this afternoon?"

"sore, but surprisingly not that bad."

"that's good to hear! the doctor asked me to relay a message on your arms condition for you.

while your arm itself will heal just fine, you'll need to get check-ups every month to make sure no nerve damage has been done. you see, that quirk worked by canceling any signal recieved by your receptors in your arm, but since you can move it slightly, i'd be hopeful for a full recovery.

on another note, you have a visitor. would you like me to ask them to wait until you've changed?"

"yes, i hate this gown."

"oh, well alright! i'll call them up in thirty minutes. also, i'll arrange someone to come and wrap your arm again."

"thank you."

her mind wandered as the implications of what she'd just been told set in.

there was a real possibility she could've been left without an arm.

oh well. can't worry about things that didn't happen.

but, the thing she was most happy about was that the oversharing nature of the quirk was something she'd be happy to lose, and all left was one full day.

she changed into civilian wear she found in her bag, and chose something that'd cover the wound on her arm. the hospital lights weren't doing her any favors, but she'd be gone soon anyways.

a knock at the door and an entry took her attention.

it was a nurse, who came to change her arm's casting.

"you can look away if you don't want so see this." the nurse advised, as she slowly took off the cast.

"no, i'm okay."

the wound wasn't pretty. it was stitched closed but it was pretty obvious that they had to use a graft from some other part of the body, because a bit of her internals were showing through.

as fast as she saw it, it left, expertly wrapped once again.

"take a visit to recovery girl once you get back on campus, it'll speed up your recovery and get your arm back to normal."

"okay, thank you."

the nurse bowed as she walked out. just as she was going to shut the door behind her, she eyed someone and held the door open for them.

inside came bakugo, who walked in with a single rose in his hand, and his bag of belongings slung around his back.

"hey."

"oh, hey katsuki. thought you'd already be at the dorms by now."

he held out the rose as he said, "couldn't leave, i was thinking about you."

she flushed, grabbing the rose appreciately. "aw, you didn't have to."

"you were, really cool yesterday. you were the reason we won so, i had to."

"thanks katsuki, but you did great too! i couldnt really focus.. but i saw you handling those other guys like they were nothing."

she praised as she decided to put the rose in with the bouquet mirko had gifted her, it was placed smack in the middle, contrasting with the others.

he was glad she turned away, as she missed the pink tint of his face.

"yeah, obviously i was gonna do great. it was just surprising to see someone rise on my level, that's all."

"aww katsuki!"

"be quiet."

she smiled as she finished putting everything away. katsuki scratched the back of his head as he finally just came out and said it.

"so, uh.. let's go on the train together."

"hm? okay, sounds cool."

"just take the damn bunny and shit, i got your bag."

"huh? i got it--"

"you're injured. let me do this for you."

he didn't hear another word before he walked out, waiting for her in the hallway.

she shrugged and turned back, finishing gathering her things, grabbing the bunny and bouquet, before putting on her shoes, and stepping out.

"let's go."

she nodded, and they walked to the train station together.

before katsuki could tell her not to, she paid for both their tickets using the funds from mirko.

he angrily muttered that she beat him to the punch.

the train to musutafu was empty again, besides the two of them.

they sat next to eachother, eyeing the scenery of the city.

"thanks katsuki."

"for what?"

"i was so scared. so nervous, i really needed you back there. and you came through."

"it's okay to be scared, but you don't have to be.

especially when im around. i'm number one, so i'll protect you. and don't forget that you're strong enough to protect yourself too."

she laid her head on his shoulder, after a few moments he laid his on hers.

the bunny was sat in a seat next to them, holding the flowers she was gifted.

he took the initiative to hold her hand on his lap.

she let out a soft smile, and tightened her hold on his hand.

she let out a yawn as she fell asleep on his shoulder.

"wake me up when we get there."

after he was safely sure she was fast asleep, he sighed heavily, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

"[name],

hey [name], wake up."

she stirred awake, the sun was setting outside the window, and she was still laying on his shoulder and her hand was still in his.

"oh, g'morning katsuki." she said, still half asleep.

"it's six, dumbass."

"oh, good afternoon then." she gently let go of his hand, stood up, and stretched,

"you ready to be back with our gang of idiots katsuki?"

"yeah, i just wanna go to my dorm."

"oh yeah, you didn't get to borrow my manga last time! i'll sneak to your room later and give it to you."

"what if you get caught idiot?"

"well, i almost died yesterday so, i think ill get sympathy points or something."

"you're insane."

the intercom overhead announced their arrival, bakugo grabbed her suitcase and his own bag, as she grabbed her bunny and flowers.

she stuck out her hand and intertwined it with his.

they walked hand-in-hand back to the dorms where suprisingly,

no one else was.

"guess we're early huh?"

"why are none of those other idiots here?!"

"i think that maybe their missions were extended or they're just coming late. if you're really so interested, just text them!"

"i'd rather die."

"oh.. uh- anyway, this is better! i'll give your manga and then you can head to bed.

he thought it over, before the ghost of a smile came onto his face,

"yeah, that sounds good [name]."

katsuki carried her luggage up to her dorms, she set the bouquet and bunny onto her bed, and grabbed the bag of manga that he'd left behind that one day.

she grabbed his hand and dragged him over to his room.

"okay, since you're taking so many of mine, i'll treat myself to your library, k?"

"uh- fine i guess."

"okay!"

she handed him the bag full of manga, and he laid down, starting to read the next volume of maid-sama.

meanwhile, she pulled the cubby of his shoujo manga he hoarded under his bed. she grabbed the first volume of 'nana' and held it up.

"is this any good?"

"is this any good- it's peak. you better like it."

she laid next to him, starting to read.

the two read for literal hours, [name] groaning when she had to go back to his cubby and grab the next volume.

in all. katsuki blazed through the manga she brought, finishing all but two volumes of maid sama before he'd need to go back to her collection.

[name] read four volumes of nana, the exhaustion from her mission and being on a train setting in.

katsuki noticed her slowing down. she was flipping through pages slower, her head fighting to stay up on the uninjured arm holding it up.

eventually, she fell asleep again.

katsuki, who didn't have the heart, or will, to kick his crush out his bed, laid a respectable distance away from her.

what he didn't expect though, was for her to cling to the closest thing to her, which was him.

with her at his side, her arms slung around his body with surprising strength, he accepted his fate and wrapped his arm around her as he used the other one to cover them with a blanket.

he was about to go to sleep, when he felt his phone start blowing up.

he was suddenly added to a group called..

'OPERATION [NAME] x BAKUGO'

he clicked on the notification.

9:36

flowered[name] was kicked out the group

redrioter109

no way bakubro actually responds dude

altspiderman

that's what i'm sayin

alienqueenslime

he won't respond but he can read

BAKUGO I SEE YOU

read 9:39

shit, he left read receipts on.

redrioter109

bro confess to [name] on sunday

she likes u so just do it

alienqueenslime

DO IT

YOU WONT

el3ctrifying

hes too chicken

he rlly wont

                                                      allmightsolos01

                                                                        fuck you

                                                                        yes i will

                                                                      delivered

he turned off his phone and muted the conversation.

he looked at [name] in his arms and felt his heart explode.

figuratively.

he closed his eyes and fell asleep, their soft, sleepy breaths a lullaby that lulled him into a calm, deep sleep.

he'd confess,

he'd make sure of it.

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