#like there's just something very unsettling to me about him from his general demeanor

[drawbudd]

Okay but Miguel O'hara had no business being as harrowingly intimidating as he is

[theautotrophic]

Veer!!! My other radiostatic kid, his sister is here if ur curious (I've edited hers a bit since I first posted it cause I figured out what exactly I want both their powers to be)

His lore dump under the cut :]

Veer is just as similar to Violette as he is different

He, too, is fucking insane, he just hides it a lot better. As an adult, he looks up to Alastor a lot and tries to mimic his demeanor, he tries to put on the constant unsettling smile and the unbothered attitude (he's got like Alastor's personality but colder and more manipulative). He likes acting detached and aloof, but he can be pretty quick to anger and have his facade broken if a person knows the right buttons to push (something Violette LOVES doing and is very good at because ✨siblings✨).

Basically, he lays on his, "idgaf I'm better than you" attitude a lot more thick and more coldly than Alastor, but it breaks more easily when confronted by those who know him well

He runs his and Vi's company and has to put on his facade constantly to keep up their image, they're both on their way to becoming Overlords

Whereas Violette has Vox's obsessive personality and propensity for being a girlfailure combined with Alastor's chaos loving nature, Veer has Vox's obsession with perfecting his image and appearing in control combined with Alastor's performatively detached demeanor

His powers include:

He can traverse across reflective surfaces (ei. glass, water, mirrors) (he wears glasses so that he can jump use this ability whenever he wants - and also he has bad eyesight in one eye that he got from Alastor)

Can summon tentacles made of electricity

Can control electricity in general

Connection to radio waves 

Can traverse the internet (but can't control it or connect to it without being in direct contact with a device like a phone or something)

Can breathe underwater

He gets annoyed a lot at Violette for wasting her potential with her shadow-control abilities and wishes she would take things more seriously

Anyway I'm trying think up a name for my AUs, for the one for where they're kids when Alastor returns I think I've got a good idea for it, but I can't think of one for the AU where they're adults

As with Violette, feel free to ask me about Veer :3

[medjaichieftain]

Of Power Unknown || closed with weariedwight

@weariedwight​

One of Ardeth’s warriors had reported seeing a suspicious chest for sale in a bustling market in Cairo. He was a young one, well along in his battle training yet still learning of the various threats to the world that ancient artifacts and nefarious individuals could potentially pose. As such, he was not certain the chest was something of import, but noted that the writing etched upon it was neither Egyptian nor Arabic, and not even English. In fact, the young man could not identify the language of the chest’s inscriptions at all. That... was unusual, and Ardeth would have to investigate it.

Making his way through the market and to the specified shop, Ardeth looked around for the chest his warrior had described. He found it quickly, as it stood out among the other newer and decidedly less expensive items for sale on display in front of the shop. Ardeth did not recognize the writing carved into chest’s top either, and when he tried to lift it, he found that it was extremely heavy, likely made of iron. It certainly smelled like iron.

“Ohhhhh, no! No you don’t!” the merchant said, coming over to Ardeth and yanking the chest away. “You medjai are always coming here and taking people’s things! Not today!”

“What is inside this chest? Where did you acquire it?” Ardeth asked, ignoring the man’s assessment of him.

“Go away,” the man said, putting the chest back where it had been.

“All I want is information,” Ardeth said.

“Right now that is all you want,” the man insisted. “But if I tell you something you don’t like, then you’ll whisk it away and won’t pay me anything!”

“I am sorry if that has ever happened to you, but if the contents of this chest are dangerous, they must be properly handled. Do you not wish mankind to be kept safe?” Ardeth asked.

“You worry about the world ending if you want to. I have mouths to feed,” the man said. “Besides, it is not dangerous. It is just a nice-looking chest.”

“I can neither agree nor disagree, since you are refusing to answer my questions,” Ardeth pressed. “And if I cannot make a determination here, then I must take the chest with me to examine it further.”

The man sighed dejectedly, knowing that not only was Ardeth not going to drop the subject, but that he really ought to tell him what he wanted to know. After all, the medjai were only trying to protect the general public. “Fine,” he relented. “There is a very expensive jewel inside.” He opened the chest so Ardeth could see the large gem. It seemed to have its own dynamic light inside it. “It is not to be touched with bare hands.”

“Why is that?” Ardeth asked, even as his gaze lingered on the stone. There was something unsettling about it, but he could not place what it was.

“I don’t know,” the man said, shrugging. “That was just what I was told by the one who sold it to me.”

It was enough to raise suspicion, and Ardeth knew he would have to take the chest with him. “Alright, thank you for your help and your time...” Ardeth said, closing the chest, retrieving a pouch from his belt, and producing several gold coins from it. “The medjai always pay for what they take. If someone claiming to be a medjai does not, you know they are not legitimate,” he said, leaving the coins on the table and lifting the chest.

The man blinked in disbelief at the gold pieces.

“Is that adequate compensation for you?” Ardeth asked, knowing that it was.

“Yes! Yes, yes!” the man said excitedly, suddenly coming alive and scooping up the coins. “Thank you very much, good sir!”

Ardeth smirked at how the man’s demeanor had changed so suddenly. Nevertheless, he was off with this... well, whatever it was. The chest seemed like a bit much simply to house a gemstone, even one as large and beautiful as this one was. It was heavy, solid, and overly elaborate. The strange writing concerned Ardeth, as did the way the gem seemed to glow on its own, and the way he’d felt when he laid eyes on it. His instincts had yet to steer him wrong in life, and so he trusted them now. The long process of researching the writing and the stone would begin now, and Ardeth had a feeling he would need some of his contacts at the local museum to help get him started.

However, as he made his way back to Amir through the crowded streets, Ardeth had the unshakeable feeling that he was being watched. He stopped for a moment, scanning the crowd, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Was he being followed? If so, he would need to be careful, for if this stone was powerful, and Allah forbid, it was something evil and dangerous, then there may be others after it...

[rawwkfingers]

The Ambassadors of Death

I've heard of course about the wonky timeline that the Classic era brings up, that we're just not sure when the UNIT stories are meant to take place, but I always assumed that was more of a nerdy fan thing but no, they make it very clear in this serial that the story doesn't take place in "modern" times considering they'd already been to Mars several times.

This was the first serial where I really had no idea what the alien menace was going to be, and they kept that mystery for so long! It's been awhile since I felt completely in the dark about Doctor Who and I loved it and I loved the final reveal that they were actually good guys. The "twist" that it was the general made no sense for me because they'd already established that he was in on it very early on in the serial, so I'm not sure why it was treated like a big reveal

Its so interesting how different the sonic screwdriver is in Classic Who vs New Who. There were many times in this serial I thought "why doesn't the Doctor just use the screwdriver" before remembering that initially, they didn't want it to be the magic wand that it is today. I understand both sides of the argument tbh. In the serial format of Classic, it makes sense for it to be a more grounded device, whereas in the more modern style of television that New Who takes, having the screwdriver be a catch-all device is something of a necessity

The editing so far in Pertwee's era has been, weird. A lot of direct cuts with little transition between scenes, literally the Doctor would make a comment and then an immediate cut to a different scene, and the cliffhangers are all extremely sudden. It's not something I ever notice unless it's done badly so I'm not quite sure what exactly is being done differently now compared to this but it's a jarring change, though not necessarily a bad one

You can definitely see the James Bond influence this serial. The political intrigue, the car chase scenes, the way the mystery takes several episodes to develop. I didn't think I was going to enjoy that aspect of the Pertwee era tbh but I'm actually really loving it. Though because of it, and the stuck-on-earth plot, Pertwee's Doctor feels a very different character from any other Doctor (even if he shares a fashion sense with 12.) He's much more concerned with things from a UNIT perspective

I don't like his response to Liz being threatened though. At first I thought his cool demeanor was him staying calm to unsettle the bad guys but he never seems to get too upset about it, which is such a marked difference from how other regenerations react, both 1-2 and 9-12

[starsdies]

How about an Obikin prompt where Obi-Wan has been on a mission too long and Anakin misses him a lot he just stops acting "normally" because he feels lost without Obi-Wan and everyone starts noticing (even the council) and they seem forced to bring Obi-Wan back earlier than expected????

(Sorry, I know this is very long 😅 but I needed somewhere to dump all my Obikin ideas that I have stored collecting dust in my brain)

hello anon! first, thank you so much for this prompt. i have so many thoughts on anakin and separation anxiety - which is kind of how i interpreted this. the drabble got alot longer than i anticipated, and i'm far too lazy to edit it, but i hope you enjoy this little drabble with some character analysis! now, here is 2k of obikin!

Obi-wan was not sure why, in the middle of an incredibly important diplomatic mission, he was called back under the strict orders of Mace Windu.

There was an air about the contact with his old friend that left him unsettled, especially when Mace’s voice was all but dripping with annoyance he has only ever attributed to his relationship with Anakin. He’d left as quickly as possible, leaving his senator counterpart, Bail Organa, to continue with his inquiry within the Banking Clan.

The whole ordeal left him feeling somewhat restless since he was not able to see a mission to completion, though the familiar ease of Coruscant was still infinitely better than listening to political exchange. Immediately, his presence was requested by the council for a break-down of the mission and…

“We must bring up something concerning to you,” Mace said after his brief explanation, his demeanor one of curiosity and discomfort. Obi-wan despised standing in the middle of this circle, feeling almost apprehensive now that the Force surrounding him felt so disturbed. “Your former Padawan… has behaved in a way with your absence that many of us have begun to suspect may be because of your unsevered bond.” 

A ripple of shock sound waves through Obi-wan. “What has Anakin—what's happened, Master Windu?” 

“Separation anxiety, your former Padawan has,” Yoda supplies gravely. “Feel it, did you not?”

Obi-wan’s mission extended well over the expected date he told Anakin, and of course he was nearly always attuned to his presence no matter how much he suppressed it. How could he not be, when he shone so bright the suns in their galaxy felt dim in comparison? Anakin was the power of two, like Tatooine’s binary suns, but Obi-wan has also grown used to building shields high enough to not let his former Padawan’s emotions affect his own duty. It was necessary. It was…

“More reason to sever your old bond,” Mace says, though Obi-wan is well aware of their disapproval to keep he and Anakin’s training bond intact. It leads to attachment, he’s been told, though countless times he only nodded in understanding. How could he admit that he is well beyond it now, their bond his only reprieve from the endless bloodshed, the loss, the pain? When Obi-wan Kenobi was not Master, or High Jedi General—he was Anakin’s best friend. Their bond was a bacta tank soothing open, festering wounds.

“I understand the severity of the situation, Masters,” he says slowly, sighing. He knows that if he did not comply, they would know how deep his own attachment has rooted. Still, he will try. “I fear severing the training bond will only worsen this separation anxiety you speak of. Time… time is what Anakin needs first.” 

Mace’s eyes squint. “He should have applied for severance when he was Knighted, yet the mention of it seems to unsettle you.” 

Of course it does, he huffs to himself. Duty in war was lonely, and loneliness was a path that even greater men have walked and succumbed to. Obi-wan had a brief walk down that path when Qui-gon died, never so close to darkness than those agonizing months. He didn’t want to be there again, but most importantly, he couldn’t push Anakin there. Not after his last visit to Tatooine. “I admit the idea leads me to worry it will bring more harm than good. At least in this war, where Anakin and I’s bond has proved beneficial in battle.” 

Silence falls, Obi-wan keeping his shields tightly enforced. And then, when he thinks it can’t possibly go on longer, Yoda hums. 

“A matter to look more into, we will, at a later time.” 

Obi-wan bows towards Yoda, his gimmick stick tapping against the floor with finality. Mace frowns, unsatisfied, but seems to accept the decision to put back the discussion, saying, “See to young Skywalker, then.” 

💫

Their shared quarters were never quite clean, but stepping into them now is reminiscent of a battlefield. Obi-wan stares in horror at the mess of old robes and casual wear tossed across the couches and tables, droid parts in the kitchen even after countless chiding lectures of Anakin, please do not use the kitchenette as your storage unit, Force’s sake—

He sighs, dreading what the rest of the apartment will look like. Obi-wan shoves a pair of sparring shoes away, feeling Anakin’s presence nearby. 

Of course, he finds him tucked into the spacious closet that was remodeled into Anakin’s personal tinkering room, his apprentice slumped over the table with his head in his arms, fast asleep. He didn’t ask what the Council deemed as inappropriate behaviour from Anakin, but he sees now why he was called back. The mess, the disorder signature radiating from Anakin, his schedule in disarray. When he reaches forward with the Force, allowing his shields to slide away, the bond shimmers with discontent, worry, a longing sadness that shakes Obi-wan to the core.

The reemergence of his signature, however, serves as a personal alarm, too, as Anakin stirs. 

He rests a comforting hand on Anakin’s back, and it causes Anakin to jerk back, a hand falling to his saber. War has hardened them both. 

“Anakin, it’s—it’s me,” he says, unsure of what will meet him. A pair of eyes slide over him, surging with life. 

“Master!” A pair of arms envelop him in a flurry of movements, Obi-wan’s breath knocked from his throat. “Sith’s hell, I almost stormed the Council when your signature dropped. I thought you’d… I thought you were in trouble and no one would tell me anything.” A pause, a taste of anger. “I almost went after you. I was this close, and you can thank Ahsoka for that.” 

Oh. Oh, Force. 

“I’m here. The mission was just extended much longer than I anticipated.” The arms around him squeeze once and slide away, a hint of bashfulness when Anakin realizes what he’s done. “You know how political talks go,” he finishes with a smile.

Anakin’s face, although undeniably warm with his return, is twisted with exhaustion. Dark circles beneath his eyes, lips dry, the smile not reaching his eyes. Obi-wan wonders how he could have missed this. How, despite their bond expanding across the entirety of the galaxy, he did not feel what his absence was doing. He’s heard of separation anxiety in bonds, but most of them were easily adjusted after Knighthood. Jedi Knights kept away from their Masters to build their independence, fulfilling the needs of the Council and Republic in farther missions. 

The two of them, however, were so whisked up in war that they were never offered that. A gift, truly, but not one without drawbacks. 

“Anakin,” he says carefully, hesitant. “The mission was not complete. I was ordered to immediately return.” A pause, Anakin’s brows pinching with worry. 

“For what? Is everything okay?” 

“I was ordered to return… because of you, dear one.” 

At this, Anakin’s open body language withers and hardens. He stands up straighter, jaw in place and eyes calculating. “Explain, Master, please.” 

Ah, yes. Obi-wan nods, tucking his hands into the folds of his robes so that Anakin cannot see the jittered movement there. Afterwards, he will need to meditate. His emotions will do him no good stuck inside him, especially with this new information. “The Council–”

“Oh, wonderful, my biggest fans,” the words fall in a half-growl, Anakin rolling his eyes. “Let's hear what they think of me this time.” 

“The Council thinks we should sever our training bond.” 

“What?” The surge of anger that follows is a tidal wave, Obi-wan’s signature tainted with the bitter and violent aftershocks. As much as Anakin was as warm as binary suns, his heat could also be blistering. “That’s completely–a nonissue. Who cares? Our bond is the reason we are alive on that battlefield most of the time, Obi-wan, tell me you told them as such.” 

“I did,” a nod, a sigh, Force, Obi-wan was tired. “I felt this coming, truthfully. After our bond was left intact and discovered, it was only a matter of time. These sort of things leave the Council wary… and I admit if it were anyone else and I were on the Council decision, it would worry me too.” His words seem to wound Anakin, but before he can voice his own thoughts, Obi-wan continues. “These things lead to attachment, Anakin. The bond has served its purpose in allowing me to help guide you. That being said, I will continue to ease their worry as long as possible.”

Anakin stares at him for a moment, features cloudy. His former Padawan steps forward, an arm around Obi-wan’s forearm. “It’s been too long, Master,” he bites his lip, a nervous habit that must attribute to the sore, chapped lips he sees now. Just how terribly did his absence affect Anakin? “I can’t - I don’t want to sever our bond.”

“I do not wish to either, dear one.” 

“We’ve - we’ve learned how to exist with it just fine. It will alter everything. All our decisions on the battlefield, our ability to communicate. It’s not fair.” 

“Anakin, it’s less the bond and more the way you have reacted when it’s not there.” 

His eyes slide across the mess of electronics, droid parts both crushed and intact, more of a mess than usual. Anakin only worked this diligently on his projects when he was bothered, when his moving meditations could not quell his brooding emotions. Ever since he was a boy, Obi-wan would watch him sulk to his closet and remain there for hours, the signature radiating from the room one dark and cloudy, but ebbing slowly away with his droid part companions. Tentatively, a hand reaches to press against Anakin’s cheek, his body much thinner than before Obi-wan left Coruscant. 

“My shields were too high, weren’t they?” 

His beautiful boy, he thinks, as Anakin leans into the palm. He noses into Obi-wan’s palm, almost a nuzzle, before grasping his wrist with his mechno-fingers. Obi-wan’s breath short circuits when the prosthetic brings his fingers to Anakin’s lips, not kissing but pressing, feeling. Breathing him in as if he’s not real. 

“It’s like being disconnected to the Force,” he explains quietly, hot breath against Obi-wan’s fingertips. “You’re always there. Even when it feels too much, you’re there, solid, a–a rock, of sorts. And then you weren't and it didn’t feel good. Didn’t feel right. I couldn’t spar with Ahsoka. I couldn't eat. I walked out on Council meetings. I don’t know what was wrong with me.” 

A thumb presses down on Anakin’s bottom lip, chest fluttering when his mouth just drops open and– “Children and animals,” he clears his throat, breaking the moment and pulling his hand away. Chills creep over where Anakin’s mouth was, where his tongue almost touched. “often experience separation anxiety when someone they are close with is gone. It seems the most plausible explanation.”

“Separation anxiety,” Anakin repeats, rolling it around on his tongue. 

“Yes. You aren’t the first person to experience such feelings for their Master.” 

“I’m not like the other cases,” Anakin says adamantly, Obi-wan’s meant to comfort only seeming to agitate his former Padawan. He figured it would soothe his worries to know it was a feeling many understood, but Anakin only frowns. “Padawan…” 

“I’m not your Padawan anymore,” Anakin sighs, defeated. “I’m sorry. For ruining your mission and causing issue. I just— I’m not used to this yet. We’ve always been a team.” 

“And we always will, dear one, I swear it.” 

Anakin’s eyes meet his, not quite believing him. “It won’t be the same if we’re severed, Obi-wan.” 

“I will make them hear my case. I swear that too,” and this time Obi-wan smiles, jerking his head towards the kitchenette. “Now lets clean your mess and we’ll have a meal. You and I, alright?” 

“I’d like that, Master.” 

[shima-draws]

THIS IS SEVERAL DAYS (WEEKS?) LATE BUT I LOVE YOU ALL thanks for enabling me

-The AU begins with a casual city patrol. Izuku, Todoroki, Uraraka and Ojiro are teamed up. Things are seemingly normal until they accidentally bump into Shigaraki and Kurogiri—a completely unplanned encounter. Despite Kurogiri’s warnings, Shigaraki charges into battle against the students. Kurogiri jumps in to back him up by using his warps

-There’s a close call where Izuku’s about to get the jump on Shiggy—but Kurogiri manages to open a warp right before Izuku can reach him. This is where things get...funky.

-Izuku activates One For All as he disappears into the warp. Kurogiri opens a gate somewhere nearby. Todoroki and the others wait for Izuku to reappear...but he doesn’t.

-Todoroki, Uraraka and Ojiro gang up on Kurogiri and demand their friend back. Kurogiri doesn’t know what to do, this has never happened before, and he doesn’t know how to bring Izuku back. Apparently his warp malfunctioned, and Izuku seemed to get lost between dimensions.

-Finally, several minutes later, Izuku reappears. In the ensuing chaos Kurogiri and Shigaraki make their escape. Izuku is weak and shaking from the distorted warp, so Todoroki calls Aizawa and takes him back to campus.

-Izuku explains that it felt like he was falling, and almost like his entire body was trying to rip itself apart molecule by molecule—but then he fell back into the warp and came out on the other side like he was supposed to. Recovery Girl checks on him and just says that he’s in shock, no other injuries besides that. Izuku tries telling her about the strange feeling of pain he had, but she just says it might be a side effect of Kurogiri’s quirk, and that it might be some sort of delayed reaction. Izuku accepts that and things go back to normal

Rest is under the cut because she is looooooong lmao

-Except they don’t. Izuku starts to have strange dreams about somebody calling out to him. They leave him feeling unsettled and shaky in the mornings, almost like how he felt right after the warp. The dreams don’t go away—they keep coming back almost every night, and while they seem to get clearer, he still can’t figure out what they mean.

-Things start to get worse when the dreams transition over into the waking world, and Izuku starts to see flashes of someone with white hair and sad eyes in the corners of his vision. He easily gets distracted during training, and can’t seem to shake the worried feeling he has about this being important. 

-It all comes to a head when Izuku suddenly finds himself in that weird place between dimensions during a training drill. He’s only there for a few seconds, but he’s finally able to catch a glimpse of what that world is like, because the last time he was there he was falling and spiraling and was too panicked to pay attention to his surroundings. After he snaps back to himself, he wonders if it was just in his head, but when it happens again and his friends have to shake him out of it, he realizes that his mind keeps transporting to that world...it seems like his place in reality is faltering.

-The “visions” slowly continue to get longer and longer each time, with Izuku slipping into that world more often. It’s getting harder to hide it from his classmates and teachers, and finally, there’s a time where it happens and Izuku is unresponsive for over 15 minutes. The person with the white hair keeps showing up, and Izuku is desperate to find out who they are

-During another training session, Izuku feels the lapse coming on, and decides to hide away for a bit to let it pass. Except this time he doesn’t just slip into the nether dimension with just his mind—this time his whole body transports there...and he finally figures out the truth.

-Izuku searches through the new world. Everything is distorted and gravity is all topsy turvy, and when he finally catches sight of the person reaching out to him in his dreams, he follows them. At long last he discovers just who has been communicating with him...and it’s himself!!

-The mystery ghost is finally revealed: an older Izuku, from another timeline. He explains to Izuku that the place they’re in now is a world between time and space that acts as a stabilizer and general overseer of other timelines and worlds. He refers to it as the Beyond, or by its more technical name, the nexus. Apparently the other Izuku has been here for a long time, keeping watch over all of his alternate selves and keeping the timelines in balance.

-Izuku questions just why he was brought there, and his alternate self tells him that when he activated One For All in Kurogiri’s warp, it ripped open a hole in space and he was able to make a connection to the Beyond, primarily because of his alternate self’s already existing presence there. That connection is unfortunately unstable so it kept pulling Izuku back in over time. The other Izuku has been trying to fix that connection but wasn’t able to do so without full contact, which is why he’d been reaching out to Izuku in his dreams.

-To make things easier, the other Izuku asks to be called Nexus. Izuku peppers him with questions, but Nexus is reluctant to answer. He decides to send Izuku back while he researches about his connection there to try and fix it—and then he makes Izuku swear that he won’t tell anybody about their interaction, mostly because outsiders shouldn’t be aware of the Beyond’s existence in the first place.

-Izuku arrives back in his world and realizes that several hours have passed since he vanished into the Beyond. His classmates and teachers swarm him when he returns, saying that they were about to send out pros to go find him. Toshinori questions Izuku about what’s been going on with him lately, but due to the promise he made Izuku can’t answer.

-As the days pass, Izuku continuously visits Nexus (mostly because he has no choice in the matter, being dragged there by the distortion lol) and tries to pry more answers out of him. Nexus is shockingly tight lipped and Izuku knows that something bad must have happened in his timeline for him to be here. Being older isn’t the only factor tying into Nexus’ general quiet demeanor and more serious attitude. Meanwhile, Toshinori and the Dekusquad are hurt by Izuku’s silence on what’s going on with him, and Izuku has an internal struggle over what matters more: the promise he made, or the trust of his friends and family. It’s a rough time.

-Izuku breaks down and Nexus realizes that maybe it’s time he starts being more forthcoming—he knows what the burden of secrets does to Izuku, being Izuku himself. Nexus finally reveals that his timeline had been completely wiped from existence centuries ago, due to an epic, climactic battle with AFO who was attempting to figure out how to access the Beyond and gain control over it in order to rule over all possible timelines. Apparently there was a backlash when AFO tried to access the Beyond and it caused the timeline to be erased. Izuku is absolutely horrified by the truth, realizing that billions of people existing in that timeline are just...gone now. Including everyone he loves. 

-Izuku asks if AFO is gone too. Nexus looks haunted by that, but says he’s sure that he’s gone for good...leaving himself as the only proof that his world even existed at all. After Izuku leaves, Nexus decides to do a bit of digging, just to make sure that the AFO from his world truly is dead. And what he finds is not comforting.

-Apparently, after the timeline had been wiped from existence, Nexus wasn’t the only one who was tossed out before it happened. He discovers that AFO is still around, and that he’s been skulking between timelines, gathering new quirks and more power. Terrified, Nexus summons Izuku and tells him of his findings, and says that if AFO were to come after him in the Beyond, or any of them from any timeline, there’s no way they would survive the battle.

-Izuku convinces Nexus to come to his timeline to explain everything, because clearly this is no longer a one man job and something Nexus can’t handle by himself. The issue with that is that the Beyond has a strict no interference policy, at least on the basis of entering the timelines and tampering with them, so Nexus has been stuck there for centuries because he’s literally not allowed to go timeline hopping lol

-However, since Izuku was able to make a connection there and can travel between the two worlds freely (for the most part…) he’s able to utilize that connection to allow Nexus to enter his dimension. Nexus sees the sky for the first time in hundreds of years and is shaken into complete silence.

-The rest of the Dekusquad happen to be there when Izuku arrives with his alternate self and immediately bombard him with questions, but Izuku tells them the first thing they need to do is go see All Might and the other teachers to explain what’s going on.

-Upon seeing All Might again for the first time in centuries, Nexus bursts into tears (and this is a MONUMENTAL moment because Izuku hasn’t seen him cry once since meeting him, even when he told him that everyone he loved no longer exists). There’s a lot of fluffy family bonding and it’s very soft. Toshi holds onto both his boys and cries and I’M EMO LISTEN

-Nexus prepares to tell all the staff what’s going on, but first he reveals to Izuku that he didn’t...exactly tell him everything about what happened to his timeline. A quirk user is brought in who can read memories and project them on a movie screen, and the teachers and Izuku watch in horrified silence as they experience the last night of terror and heartbreak Nexus went through before his timeline was erased forever.

-The memories play back. Izuku is awoken in the middle of the night to find that the entire city is burning. The screams and pleas for help echo all around, and he finds that he can’t get into contact with any of his friends. Racing outside, Izuku looks up to see AFO silhouetted against the red sky, floating among the ashes and smoke. As Izuku hurries to catch up to him, he witnesses the sheer horror of a mass body count and hundreds dead along the way, including lots of minor and pro heroes that he knows.

-Izuku finally reaches AFO and immediately leaps into the fight. He doesn’t stand a chance. AFO has gathered too many quirks, and explains his plan to escape this dimension and gain access to the Beyond in order to spread his control further. Izuku is joined by his friends, but does not get to enjoy their help for long, because each of them are struck down, one by one. Fueled by rage and grief, Izuku ramps up OFA all the way and completely lets loose, chipping away at AFO while he cries over the deaths of his friends. Yeah this is gruesome and dark as shit and I’m not sorry

-AFO is about to get one final attack in—but Bakugou arrives at the last second and takes the blow for him. Bakugou dies in Izuku’s arms and that’s the last straw—OFA goes out of control right as AFO is preparing to open a warp to the Beyond, and the power spark causes a backlash that distorts everything, making the world glitch out.

-When Izuku wakes up, he finds himself in the Beyond with the blood of his friends on his hands. Information starts flooding into his brain about the Beyond and all of the timelines it’s tied to, and Izuku realizes what has happened. His home is gone...his friends, his family, the entire world...all wiped from existence. Now he is the only one left, tasked with taking care of the Beyond and mourning his losses for the rest of eternity.

-Needless to say, everyone watching the memories play are extremely emotional, and Izuku (our Izuku) is overcome with so much grief for his alternate self that they end up in an embrace, sharing a feeling that only they know between each other.

-Nezu and the other teachers agree to help Nexus defeat AFO once and for all. Nexus tells them that bringing in Class 1-A would be smart as well, and that he won’t make the same mistake twice and let them die. They decide to battle it out in the Beyond, it being the safest place to go wild without any risk of casualties or property destruction. And so!! Izuku introduces Nexus to the rest of the class, they all take a trip to the Beyond together, and so begins their grand training arc.

-Nexus preps each member of Class 1-A individually and on teams. They take turns going up against him and all get their asses thoroughly handed to them :) Nexus is hella strong and has had centuries to practice. He teaches them how to use the terrain of the Beyond, how to deal with the gravity and use it to their advantage. He tells them how to look for AFO’s tells and quirks so they can deal with his multipurpose battle style. Overall it’s a very fun yet stressful time with lots of bonding, sleepovers in the Beyond, and everybody getting a huge ass crush on Nexus because 1. He pretty, 2. He stronk, 3. He’s literally an eldritch being at this point, and 4. It’s Izuku. How can they not.

-There’s a time where Nexus takes Izuku to a special corner of the Beyond, and Izuku sees it’s covered for miles and miles and miles with gravestones. Izuku realizes that Nexus had spent years crafting as many as he could for all of the people that were erased from his timeline, even those he didn’t know, and at this point he’s lost count with how many there are. There’s a separated section with all of his family members and friends, and each of the stones are carved with special memorials. The rest of the class shows up and gets to look at their own gravestones and it’s fucked up as shit!! It’s very emotional and then everybody smothers Nexus with hugs and hgnhhhgh 🥺

Obviously there’s a lot that happens after this and the whole battle and everything but like. I don’t have all that planned out yet. But this is the general idea for the most part!! I’ve had a lot of fun brainstorming for this AU, I would do anything for Nexus period, and I’m super excited to start making content for it >:D

THANK YOU FOR READING and thanks for letting me infodump oh my god this is so long

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Petty Pair (Raymond/F!Reader)

Summary: Reader wants to fuck Raymond to spite his father. Raymond thinks that’s really hot, actually.

A/N: This idea came into my head and literally never left. It lives rent free in my head, and I hope you feel it now, too. Couple: Raymond/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW) Content Warning: Fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex, mild exhibitionism, getting caught Word Count: 5k

MASTERLIST

——————

There was a grand total of one functioning bar in this town at this hour of night. This drastic and unforgivable shortage of places for me to buy alcohol was also the only reason I found myself frequenting said bar.

After about an hour of swatting off a group of men that were objectively disgusting, I resigned myself to fate and the realization that the night would turn out no better than it would have if I hadn’t tried to get drunk on cheap liquor. I was ready to pack up, close out, and fuck off back home when it happened.

A familiar face walked through the door. Familiar, I suppose, was a stretch. I’d only seen his face in one picture ­– a picture I’m pretty sure was meant to be thrown away. It stuck out to me because it was the first indication that I got that Donald Wadsworth had a son. And a cute son, much less.

My brain scanned through buried memories to try and find the one where his recently divorced mother had told me his name. I knew the memory existed somewhere, surrounded under a mountain of bullshit, but it was so hard to focus when I was watching the poor kid shuffle over to the bar and plop himself down against the counter.

It had taken me that long to realize that he was wearing pajamas. Cute.

His fashion choices and bedhead paired nicely with the pout he wore when he shyly scanned the room. Altogether, everything about him assured me that he literally couldn’t have been less intimidating if he tried. That theory was further solidified by the way he shrunk against the counter when he saw me approach. By the time I sat down next to him, he’d all but disappeared under his jacket.

“Hey, you’re... Raymond, right?” The name came to me at the same time his eyes locked with mine. The dark hazel color shone almost gold in the orange hue of the bar.

“You’re Donald’s son?” I asked as warmly as possible while using his father’s name. Which is to say, not warm at all.  

“Unfortunately,” Raymond droned with a similar disdain.

“I’ll say,” I chuckled as I leaned forward to match his slouch over the bar. “I work with your dad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That alone seemed to cause a shift in his entire demeanor. It didn’t surprise me. Most of the women in this town were brainwashed into thinking that if a guy didn’t outright assault you at first glance, he was probably a solid dude.

And Donald Wadsworth was not a solid dude.

“He’s like, a giant fucking asshole,” I said.

Raymond’s eyes lit up.

“Right?!” he shouted back, practically falling from his seat in his enthusiasm as he continued to yell, “I know!”

There was no keeping it together with this caricature of a man, but I didn’t really want to, either. In the few seconds I’d interacted with him, everything about him changed from defensive to relaxed. Like all he needed was someone to tell him that it wasn’t all in his head.

Unfortunately, I was going to need to ask something of him. But I figured he wouldn’t mind what I was going to request.

“But hey, that’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. I have a favor to ask you.” I kept my tone even and nonchalant, trying to avoid coming off as parental.

He eyed me as warily as I expected, tugging his drink a little bit closer as he started to shrink in on himself again.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he mumbled, “there’s not really anything I can do to hurt him that I haven’t already tried.”

There was no need for self-degradation. Raymond might have thought he tried everything, but from his body language around a woman, it was safe to assume he’d never tried my plan.

“Wanna bet?”

Raymond sighed in surrender before he shrugged, “Sure. What’s the favor?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

It wasn’t my intention to wait until the drink was in his mouth before I spoke, but it was how it ended up happening. And almost instantaneously, he spat the drink out over the bar before calmly squeaking, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I want to have sex with you,” I repeated like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then I sought confirmation that was only a little important in the grand scheme of things. “You’re staying at his place, right?”

“Just for tonight, yeah—" he started, but all I heard was the ding of a checkmark on my mental list that meant we were cleared for the next step.

“Great. We should do it there, then. Tonight.”

Raymond’s tongue stuck out from between his teeth, the visual of restraint matching his narrowed, shifty eyes and fidgety legs.

“I feel like I’m missing something...” he muttered.

I heard him, but I didn’t really care. The clock was running, and I was ready to get something good out of this night. Possibly even two good things, if he ended up being as helpful as his cute, submissive demeanor implied.

“I’ll drive. You want to go now?”

“I— I mean, sure, yeah,” he stumbled over the words and his own feet as he left the bar. “We can… go have sex.”

I laughed at how cool he tried to sound because he definitely failed. I reached past him to drop cash on the bar and grabbed his hand on the way back. The amount of warmth stormed it in was shocking, considering all the blood seemed to be in his face, ears, and the tent in his pants. But the comfort of his fingers interlocking with mine on instinct did more for me than he knew.

“Great. Let’s go.”

Raymond was silent on the way out and into the car, which was about what I expected from him. Every glance his way would show the gears slowly turning in his head, like he was still trying to grasp whether my proposition was serious. Like I was trying to murder him or something.

When the car started, so did some sliver of confidence in him, although he still cleared his throat before he asked, “Do you need directions, or…?”

“No, I’ve been to his place before.”

That caution and suspicion returned and multiplied, and before I even pulled out of the parking lot he had shrugged down in the seat and buried his face in his hands.

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck my dad,” he whined in the most dramatic manner possible.

I couldn’t blame him for the theatrics, although the implication was not at all appreciated.

“Absolutely the fuck not,” I spat, my face curling into a pure expression of disgust. At least we both felt similarly on that note.

“Thank god.” The relief flowed through him, allowing him to sit back up to his previously half-straight position. I decided that it was probably best to cut him some slack for assuming I would ever fuck that devil of a man, because I got the sinking suspicion that he might have known a couple girls his age that had done exactly that.

That thought led me back to the very reason I was there at all, and a chill ran down my spine as I muttered without thinking, “Wasn’t for a lack of his trying, though.”

The whole tone in the car shifted in seconds. One glance over at Raymond confirmed the repressed rage and sadness rolling off of him in waves that were more accurately described as a tsunami.

It was just unsettling enough that I snapped my eyes back to the road, giving a nervous chuckle to tell him that it wasn’t that serious. I didn’t need him to defend my honor, or anything. It did enough to quell most of the rage, but that self-pitying sadness was still there when he let out a shy, quiet plea.

“I don’t want to pry but… Will you tell me what this is about?”

“You really want to know?”

It was one thing to know the vague generalities of how much his father sucked, but another thing entirely to paint him a vivid depiction of what he was willing to do.

“Yeah,” he said with fiddling hands, “I think.”

I think he was trying to do me a favor. I think listening to my story was meant to be a sign to me that there were people who would care — people who would believe me. He clearly didn’t actually want to hear the story, but I appreciated his willingness to experience some discomfort to make up just a small part of his father’s misdeeds.

“So, I’m new at the school, right? It’s awkward. It’s a small town and everyone knows everyone,” I started, trying to look over at Raymond whenever I could to show him that I was doing alright. The poor thing looked like he needed the reassurance more than I did.

“Your dad very quickly tried to take me under his wing, despite my very obvious discomfort.”

“Sounds like him,” he interrupted with a pissed-off murmur.

“Yeah. I just kind of accepted his help because I was too scared to say no, but then one day he…” My voice trailed off, the words getting clogged in my throat and muddled on my tongue. It wasn’t that bad of a story; it should have been easier to explain. But something about Raymond being there, him listening to me so intently and with such a strong desire to make it better, that made it hard to speak. Eventually, I managed to start again. “He cornered me in the damn teacher’s lounge and—“

“Please don’t give me a reason to kill him. I’ve been toeing that line my whole life, and I will definitely do it.”

That time when Raymond cut me off, it was very clear to me that he was not kidding. He enunciated the words so clearly, venom dripping from his tongue and his chest heaving with a determination coming through clear, despite his best efforts to hide it.

He was a sweet kid.

“He didn’t try to touch me or anything. It wasn’t like that,” I said with an awkward smile, reaching over to pat his thigh. The action alone seemed to calm him, almost like a dog that was being told to stand down.

He was a really cute kid.

But I had to finish this stupid story. I had to give him all the information so that he would know exactly why I’d invited myself into his bed. Sex is sort of a big deal, you know? I mean, not always, but the other party in spite sex should probably know who exactly the target is.

“He just made it very clear that he felt I owed him something, and I kindly told him to fuck off,” I concluded just as we pulled up the dirt drive. The bumps in the road seemed to shake some other memories in Raymond, and he just shook his head to rid himself of those, along with the story he’d just heard.

He looked over at me with a new understanding and something else.

“So that’s what this is about?”

“Yep,” I said with a pop of my lips to match the sound of my car door opening. He clambered out of the car much less gracefully, which was funny considering he’d had significantly less to drink.

But I figured I would have the decency not to laugh, instead just joining him on the passenger side of the car to finish our conversation before we went inside. I wanted to give him the chance to change his mind. I wouldn’t have blamed him. Although I was the one who would have to deal with the brunt of the downfall, Donald wasn’t my family. Like, I wouldn’t be at his holiday dinners. Then again, I’m not sure Raymond would be, either.

When I looked up from the thought, Raymond was staring at me. It wasn’t like before, though. There was nothing suspicious or any sign of concern in his eyes. No, they were filled with a very different feeling.

“You want to fuck me just to spite my dad?” he asked with a deadly seriousness.

I thought about it for exactly one second before I shrugged at the extremely accurate summary.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“God,” Raymond practically groaned, throwing himself on me and pinning me against the car with his hips before he growled, “that’s so fucking hot.”

Those same lips that produced the words quickly covered mine with the same force he’d used to pin me against the metal. I didn’t fight him at first because, well, I didn’t want to. It was the first clear sign he’d given that he really wanted to do this, and who was I to argue with how he expressed his consent?

Also, he was like, a really, really good kisser. The desperation he felt came through in his tongue as it tangled with mine, drawing a quiet, muffled moan from me that alerted me to how quickly this would escalate if I didn’t shove the boy off me.

Which, I did.

“Raymond— inside,” I ordered with the little breath I had left.

He was confused for a second, almost like he’d blacked out in the meantime. But then his tongue swept over his lips, his hands digging through his pockets for his keys before he hastily answered, “Right. Let’s go.”

It made sense to be quiet then, as the two of us tip-toed through the much too large house. Our occasional giggles were louder than our feet, and the whole experience was seriously reminiscent of sneaking into your boyfriend’s house as a teenager. And when we walked through his bedroom door, the sight stirred up even older memories. From the UFO poster and alien sheets to the boxes filled with dinosaur toys and action figures, I felt like I’d walked straight through a time machine into Raymond’s childhood.

“Sorry about… all of this,” he said with an overly apologetic tone, like this scene didn’t perfectly suit what I was planning. Like it wouldn’t be salt in the wound for Donald to see me fucking his son in the most juvenile room I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Ugh, it’s perfect. You are literally a man-child.”

I didn’t mean it as an insult, but his nervous shifting told me he took it that way. But when I kicked off my shoes and started to disrobe my outer layers, it was becoming obvious to him again just how serious I was about this whole thing.

“Sorry, but—“

“Stop saying sorry, Raymond.”

“Sorry,” he squeaked back, doing the exact thing I’d just told him not to do. I shot him a warning glance and watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in return. Then, still worrying the hem of his pajama shirt between his fingers, he looked away as he asked, “Are you sure you actually want to have sex with me?”

I was a little too busy at first to answer him. I was already rustling through the bedside table to find a condom that I was absolutely positive would be there. When I finally found it, I turned my attention back to the blushing boy.

“Why are you asking? Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Yes!” he answered with a clear excitement, only to lose it immediately. “But I would have wanted to have sex with you even if my dad wasn’t a pervert.”

“Awww, thanks,” I cooed with feigned sincerity. Raymond was still just pouting, though. I was learning more each second just how starved of affirmation this boy had been. But it wasn’t like I could just start praising him; the poor thing would have whiplash if I wasn’t careful. There was no worse mood-killer than crying, either, so I settled for a joke.

“I’d probably have sex with you, too.”

“Probably?” he responded with a smile and a seat next to me.

“It’s pretty likely, depending on how much we talked first,” I explained as I helped him out of his coat. I even managed to start undoing his pajama top buttons before he realized it was happening.

He didn’t stop me when he did.

“I don’t know if that’s an insult or not,” he said, instead.

With a coquettish grin, I leaned in to whisper against his lips, “And you never will.”

There was absolutely no resistance from Raymond when I grabbed hold of his collar, tugging him on top of me as I laid down on the tiny twin bed. Despite all of his insecurity, he didn’t hesitate to kiss me again, either. This time it was somehow even more heated, like he was trying to pour all of his heart into it.

I almost warned him that he had better cool it if he didn’t want to risk getting me hooked, but I was too late. He was already busy undoing the buttons on my own top and gently kneading my chest through the fabric of my bra, and I was quickly losing track of which of us was more into what was happening.

It didn’t really matter, but just in case he was still worried that I might not want to be there, I snuck my hand down and under the waistband of his pajamas.

“Fuck!” he cursed in a hushed whisper, his body buckling forward far enough that he almost dropped all his weight on me. It was so damn cute that I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t be too loud or we’ll never get to the fun part,” I warned, my voice barely a whisper in his ear.

His very eloquent response was a breathless, “Shit.” I couldn’t blame him, though. It was honestly more than I expected him to be able to enunciate when I grabbed hold of his dick and began making soft strokes.

It was obvious that he was trying very hard to stay quiet, but the whimpers and whines were falling from his mouth so quickly that I was forced to kiss him just to muffle the noise. Thankfully, Raymond took the hint that he needed to be quiet and decided to redirect the attention from himself back to me. He accomplished that task by pulling away from me just far enough that he could grab hold of my pants and underwear and roughly pull them down my thighs. The speed and force lit a fire deep in my gut, my whole body breaking out in goosebumps as I allowed myself to enjoy just how badly he wanted me. I’m sure the spite thing had a lot to do with it, too, but it had been a long time since a man was so clearly into me. It was an unavoidable conclusion in every touch from him.

A much-too-loud moan caught in my throat when he returned, slipping his fingers into my heat as he laid another feverish kiss against my lips. But it broke almost immediately with his own choked moan, followed by a low, breathy observation.

“You weren’t kidding about wanting this.”

“Nope,” I replied quickly, trying to control the noises coming out of my mouth by replacing them with words. It only sort of worked when I keened, “Fuck, you’re better at this than I thought.”

Raymond didn’t even stop, continuing to curl his fingers inside of me with each thrust. He did smile, though. A cheeky, borderline annoying smile that told me he knew what a bastard he was being.

“Again, I can’t tell if that is a compliment,” he said with an overwhelming amount of sarcasm as he watched me squirm under him.

I chose to ignore the taunt, opting to grab the condom from the bedside table and throw it directly at his face instead. “Put the fucking condom on, Raymond.”

There was less commentary from the peanut gallery from that point on. I did enjoy the show, though. As I removed my bra, I watched with rapt fascination as he stripped himself of his clothes. My desire grew at an exponential rate at the sight of him slipping the condom on. I’d gotten some idea of the size of him with my hand, but to see something so lewd in such an innocent room and on his shy little figure was something else.

Raymond shrunk a little under my gaze, only regaining his confidence when he saw the way my teeth dragged over my bottom lip. I ran my hands over my body that was still on display for him, thoroughly enjoying the way I could make his eyes go wherever I wanted with such a simple motion.

“Fuck me, Raymond.”

I heard his breath catch and watched the shiver flow through him at the order. Sure enough, he started to follow my instructions and lined himself up at my entrance with adorably shaky hands. But then, right before I got what I came for, he paused.

“Are you su—“

I was tired of waiting. Hooking my leg around his waist, I forced Raymond to thrust forward. My assistance didn’t take any of the pleasure out of it when he was finally, fully inside of me. I couldn’t stop the way my back arched, pressing my chest against his with a wanton cry.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbled into my hair, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he adjusted to the new set of sensations.

I only gave him a few seconds to get used to it, fully ready to get the release that already felt so close.

“Fuck me,” I whined, already starting to roll my hips against the boy blubbering curses into my skin.

“O-Okay,” he muttered in the most adorable fashion.

That shyness was contrasted strongly by what followed. For all his whimpers and trembling, Raymond didn’t seem to mind the way the bed would creak under us. In fact, it seemed that he was playing his own game, trying to elicit as many noises from me as he could get from the bed.

On instinct, my hands rose to try to still the headboard. But to my surprise, they never made it. The man above me had grabbed hold of one wrist, pinning it against the pillow to stop me. That simple, thoughtful act was enough to almost send me over the edge right then, but I held on for what I knew would come.

My moans were another story. They seemed so inevitable, with Raymond slamming into me with a progressively rougher force until I rode that line between pain and pleasure. I could see it on his face, too, that we were barreling full speed to the inevitable.

So, it was as good a time as any for me to set the next step in motion. With full volume and a pitch nearly an octave higher than usual, I screamed, “Yes, Raymond!”

That cheeky little bastard laughed. That noise was such music to my ears, that I couldn’t just stop there.

“God, yes! Fuck me harder!” I cried dramatically while drawing out the words. In a way, I was over exaggerating for effect, but I was also actually having a great time. In fact, it was the best sex I’d had in a long time.  

Raymond, catching on to the plan that I’d never explicitly explained, joined in with his own chant of my name, mixed with deep moans rumbling in his chest. I ran my nails down his back, seeking to elicit the higher pitched sounds I knew he was capable of when I realized just how much fun I was having with him.

It was also, of course, super fucking hot. But how often do you get to have this much fun with a random one night stand you found at the bar? Not often enough, I decided.

“Please, Raymond! Harder!” I begged, both in accordance with my previous moans and also because it was what I needed.

I couldn’t decide on a word to describe that wild look on his face, but Raymond had no problem following through with my request. Releasing my wrist, he sat up on his knees, grabbing hold of my hips and lifting them so that he could come down between them at a new angle.

That angle, it seemed, left him bottoming out inside of me with each brutal thrust. My legs were actually shaking around him, my back barely touching the bed as I threw my head back on that damn alien pillowcase.

The clacking of the headboard against the plaster shook the hung UFO picture, which ended up clattering behind it with about as much grace and subtlety as Raymond and I shared in that moment.

But that crashing also masked the sound of the door slamming open, just as I’d been waiting for. And for a long moment, neither of us even looked over to the light filtering in from the hallway. Instead, we locked eyes with each other as the two of us simultaneously reached our peak.

I was so, so glad that I didn’t look away. I kept my eyes firmly on Raymond as he threw his head back, forcing himself as deep in me as he could and holding me against him as I nursed him through his orgasm with my own. His mouth, though dropped open, was curved in a satisfied smile, one last moan tearing through the two of us before he promptly collapsed on top of me.

Then, it finally came. Donald’s voice bellowing, “What the fuck is going on in here?!”

 —

 As Raymond and I sat in my car that night, there was a much more relaxed atmosphere. Whether the catharsis was from the sex or the big fuck you to his father, the two of us were just basking in the afterglow of the overall experience.  

Of course, he was also laughing at the fact I was currently wrapped up in his alien bedsheet.

“We could’ve gotten your clothes, you know.”

“There was no way in hell I was going to drop this sheet in front of that man,” I said through my laughter, my mind replaying the chaos of the last few minutes over again in my head.

“Probably a good call,” Raymond answered.  

But then another thought occurred to me, which caused my face to contort into a disgusted grimace.

“You’d better go get my underwear and bra later, though. He cannot keep those.”

“Will do. Promise,” he said with a little nod that ended with him staring at me with an absolutely smitten look plastered on his face.

“You can keep them, though,” I offered, reaching over and pretending like I could actually fix the birds nest on his head.

“Thanks. I’m flattered,” he said while chasing after my hand that eventually settled on his cheek. His face was still flushed, his eyes still only half opened as he nearly fell asleep against my palm. I wondered if it was from the orgasm, or if it was just the first time in a while he’d felt safe enough to do it. He must’ve seen the worry in my eyes, because he interrupted the thought with another question.

“Did you accomplish your goal?”

I thought about it for a second, dragging my fingers down his face before I pulled back with a sigh. “I feel satisfied,” I decided. “What about you?”

Raymond also took the chance to think about it before he nodded with more enthusiasm than before.

“I feel pretty good,” he said proudly.

“That’s all? Just pretty good?” I replied with an annoyed click of my tongue. I mean, I was wrapped in his bedsheets after just helping him achieve one of the most satisfying catharses of his life, and all he had to say was ‘pretty good?’

But then I saw it, that little sparkle in his eyes that showed me he just wanted to rile me up before he gave his real answer.  

“It was fucking glorious.”

It wasn’t even the words that filled my heart with pride, but the way his whole expression softened as he said it. He obviously meant it with every fiber of his being, and I couldn’t help but fall in love a little bit at the sight.

“Sorry I got you kicked out,” I said to distract myself from that dangerous line of thought.

“Not the first time. Hopefully the last,” he nonchalantly shrugged as I turned the key in the ignition. We hadn’t actually planned on what to do from this point, but I certainly had some ideas.  

“You can stay at my place,” I slurred through my exhaustion, “I have a guest bedroom if you feel weird staying in mine.”

But Raymond didn’t answer. He just laughed, shaking his head and rubbing a heavy hand over his tired eyes.

“What?” I asked, a little worried I’d made a mistake.

“Nothing,” he reassured with that stupid fucking grin that was soon aimed straight at me, “it’s just… You’re asking me if I want to sleep with you. Again.”

“Yeah, what about it?” I laughed, turning to pull out of the driveway. The bumps didn’t bother Raymond that time.

“I’d love to,” he said as we turned onto the main road, his hand finding mine on the gear shift.

“Great.” Allowing the relief to flow through his hand and into me, I realized that the reason I’d had so much fun with this random one night stand was because a large part of me knew it was never going to be just that.

“You know, my bed’s not a twin, and it doesn’t creak, so…” I trailed off, hoping that he would be clever enough to put it together.

“So what?”

He was not. But that was okay, because I realized that was exactly what I loved about him.

“Never mind,” I sighed, “I’ll show you in the morning.”

——————————————————

(Tell me what you thought of this piece here!)

[spiritshaydra]

Looks like I haven’t posted art here in months and this is my fourth time trying to add a description to this because it keeps getting purged whenever I switch tabs >:( 

Anywho, here’s some Pokémon gijinkas I finished earlier in the week ^^

Additional info stolen from my amino post down below c:

Howdy!

This took me WAY longer than I thought it would. I started this group back in December, and only now just completed it ^^

I’ll be showing them off in the order I finished them along with some info on each character c:

✨Here they are!✨

🏙 Reshiram 🏙

She’s not as complex as the rest of the batch because she started off as just a headshot test and practice for drawing humans ^^’ then everything else kinda just got more complex. Her design is more of a work in progress than the rest.

She’s a living lie detector :)

🎆 Palkia 🎆

[

She took a LONG time to draw and is probably the most complex. Sorta. She’s also probably one of the first gijinkas I’ve designed so her design is pretty solid for now. She’s based off of Roman gladiators and Valkyries. Palkia is also a total jock with a short fuse that constantly gets in fights with her brother, Dialga. She’s kinda a loud idiot but that’s okay. She’s also very rash and tends to act before thinking. Will kick down doors and attempt to put brother in a headlock. Probably chugs sport drinks and punches drywall. Will challenge poor unfortunate souls into doing arm wrestling matches. Has very strong opinions on science fiction. (Stuff with space is superior!) Curses like a sailor and likes to get creative with insults. Cannot organize things at all. Room probably looks like a bomb went off. Has the worst handwriting in her family. Middle child and the shortest out of her siblings. Is uncomfortable around Giratina but feels bad about it.

🌄 Giratina 🌄

Giratina’s another one that I’ve had designed for a while and am pretty happy about it! I tried to give her a more inhuman and unsettling appearance (gaunt features, pale skin, sunken eyes, long limbs, digitigrade legs, four arms, etc) She’s pale from the lack of sunlight and her hair is borderline uncontrollable. It’s in a constant state of poofy rat’s nest.

Believe it or not, she’s probably the friendliest out of her family despite her off putting demeanor. She completely lacks social skills and is still trying to learn how to speak normally after being locked away for eons. She’s best friends with a Shaymin and has gardening as a hobby. She just really wants friends :( She likes stupid paranormal shows and animated movies. Not violent at all unless provoked. Absolutely fascinated by car windows and toasters. She’s the second tallest and the “baby” out of her family. She wishes to have better relations with her siblings and parent but struggles :(

🌺 Shaymin 🌺

Shaymin. Oh boy Shaymin. So with her I was wanting to do something completely different from the usual Lolita and cutesy based gijinkas. So I made her a punk :) Shay acts like she eats nails for breakfast and isn’t afraid to fight god. She’s short but by god, she’s going to go for the kneecaps. She has a nasty temper and is very protective of her strange noodly demon bestie. Taught her how to garden. She’s loud, argumentative, and ‘Tina’s siblings are probably more scared of her than the Terror of The Distortion World. Does not do well in cold weather. She rides a motorbike, and is the one who generally drags ‘Tina around to get her used to the normal world. Big fan of slasher films and loud aggressive music. Loves nature and is generally enthusiastic about funky plants.

Very short. Very aggressive. Wears stud covered platform boots.

🪐 Arceus 🪐

Oh boy. Arceus.

He was VERY hard to design but I think I’m happy with the results. For now. I wanted him to look somewhat regal and nasty, and not exactly human.

He’s a major asshole, prick, and elitist, and is petty to the highest degree. Got offended whenever someone suggests that he should go to an anger management class. Probably a Karen. He’s the type to wear a fluffy bathrobe while drinking box wine on a lawn chair on the porch to look scornfully at the neighbors whenever they get too close. Not a great parent. (Loves his gaggle of goblins in his own strange way) Kinda hates everyone. Rude. VERY VERY short temper. VERY stubborn. He’s short and is going to make it everyone else’s problem. (Refuses to just... change his height himself. ‘Cause he’s some primordial creation entity. He just... doesn’t) He woke up one morning and just chose violence. takes great pride in his creations. Awful taste in music. No sense of style. Cant dance. He’s offputting and unsettling to be around because he has a very “off” feeling about him. Really really likes to get the upper hand on others. There are a f e w times when he actually acts like a decent person. Likes to put an air of regality onto him even though he’s a total train wreck. Wears three to four inch heels.

🌌 Dialga 🌌

DIALGA. I also wanted to do something different with him! So I made him a nerd. He likes to take things apart and put them back together. Especially clocks. He’s more level headed than his sisters and has a longer fuse than Palkia. But he’s also very stubborn. He’s a total workaholic and perfectionist. He doesn’t sleep much and can be a nervous wreck whenever he’s behind on whatever schedule he runs on. He gets into fights with his younger sister a LOT and will often try to use her as a lab rat. They’re sorta like Yzma and Kronk. But he’s less diabolical and Palkia’s more aggressive. Like Palkia, He also has very strong opinions on science fiction (Stuff with time travel is WAY better!) he’s also very organized if not organized chaos. He wears a heavy pair of boots that one could hear from a mile away. Think large goth boots with metal in the soles somewhere. Also a metal head. He will blast loud metal or rock music (sometimes more classic rock. Depends on the mood) as he works on whatever insane project he decided to tinker on. He has a large collection of very cursed socks. Somewhat poor eyesight. Generally easier to get along with than Palkia who’s more abrasive. He tends to think more before acting upon things. Probably runs on entirely coffee and energy drinks. B A D taste in fashion. But not worse than Palkia. Likes to read. Not very good handwriting. Tends to bump his head on doorframes. Will walk into things if lost in thought. The tallest out of his family and the oldest out of his sisters. He’s somewhat afraid of ‘Tina.

Approximate Time Taken: About 27 hours

Program Used: Procreate

[tuffduff]

More Than Okay (Izzy Stradlin x Reader)

Pairing: Izzy Stradlin x Reader

Words: 1,537

Request: @that-80s-chick​ :Hi I was wondering if you could please write something with Izzy Stradlin where maybe he’s self conscious about himself (maybe his nose idk) and he doesn’t think he’s good enough for you but you assure him that he’s perfect and you love him just the way he is 😊 also I love your writing so much!!

A/N: Thank you for requesting love!! As Elton John once said, the bitch is back. Hello friends, if you write you know inspiration strikes at random. I’m so happy I could get this out to you guys because I really loved the prompt and Izzy is just such a cutie. Sorry for the long wait for this one, I really do appreciate every request y’all send and I’m working on others now. 🖤🖤🖤

Taglist: @ubernoxa​ @the--blackdahlia​ @reigns420​ @stradlin-cold-heartbreaker​ 🤍

“Izzy, c’mon, what’s the deal, man? We’re gonna be late.” Axl called from where you stood next to him by the front door of the band’s shared apartment. You were there because, well, when were you not by their side? But also, your extra car came in handy.

“I’m coming, alright? Chill.” Izzy replied, coming from around the corner with his head down. “Since when do you care about being late, anyways?”

“We’ve got a lot of shit to do today.” Axl retorted back. You figured the general crabbiness had something to do with the fact that it was 9 am.

“How many photoshoots have we done anyways; don’t they have enough shit of us...” you heard Izzy mutter. You waited for him to follow behind Axl but he gestured for you to go first, still keeping his head down low and not even looking at you. That wasn’t normal, but you decided not to make too much of an observation about it.

“Alright, who’s riding with me and who’s riding with Duff?” You asked, now standing with all of them outside.

“I call shotgun with Duff!” Slash declared. Steven hit his arm and latched onto Slash as he jetted towards Duff’s vehicle, getting dragged all the way.

“No, hey—you got shotgun last time!” Steven whined, the both of them now shoving at each other outside the passenger door.

“Get in the back, Steven,” Axl ordered, already opening the back door to Duff’s car. Steven was still whining while Slash triumphantly grinned and took his spot. “Sorry, Izzy, we’re all full over here.” Axl said, glancing at Izzy who was trailing behind him.

“Uh, guys? I’ve got a whole car.” You pointed out.

“I’d rather ride with you.” Duff said, his eyes locked on Slash swatting at Steven in the backseat. “Hey, Izzy, I thought you said you were riding with Y/N?” You sent Duff a look. He was the only one in the group that had picked up on your fondness for the rhythm guitarist and would often subtly try and get the two of you together.

For some reason, Izzy froze and appeared almost panicked. “No, I didn’t.” He argued. Ouch. It felt like a piece of your heart shattered, along with your self-esteem.

“C’mon, you’re gonna hurt her feelings.” Duff insisted. Now, he abandoned Duff’s car and almost reluctantly walked over to yours. You frowned quizzically at him when he reached for the back door.

“You know I don’t bite, right?” You joked lightly. He hesitated and ducked his head low again.

“I just, uh, like the extra room.” He replied, but climbed in next to you in the front.

Izzy continued to remain silent once you got on the road behind Duff. It was completely and entirely out of the norm; Izzy always preferred being around you, even out of all of his bandmates. At restaurants, he’d sit next to you. Watching movies together, he’d be next to you on the couch, or even on the floor. He’d share lyrics he had written with you, or a drink of his coke. Sometimes, you’d find him at your door when he wanted to get away from the band.

Yet now, you were getting a cold shoulder out of left field. The longer the silence grew, the more you felt crushed by Izzy’s apparent disdain at being stuck with you. With every mile, you glanced over at him, hoping for some kind of spark of conversation, but he remained glued to the window.

“You can pick what we listen to,” you tried offering cheerfully. Izzy didn’t move. You wondered if he even heard you before realizing you could have heard a pen drop in the stony silence between you. No, he was practically ignoring you.

“No, it’s cool.” He muttered. You adjusted your grip on the steering wheel uncomfortably.

“Izzy, is everything alright?” You finally asked at the next stoplight, turning to stare at him. He repositioned himself in the seat, as though he were uncomfortable with your gaze. “Can you maybe act like I exist?” You caught the sight of a frown on his face.

“Everything’s fine, Y/N.” He replied, his voice strained. “Really.”

“You’re lying.”

“The light’s green.” The car honking behind you confirmed just as much. You turned back forward, the obvious tension in the air unsettling you to no end.

When you pulled up the photoshoot location, a brick building downtown, you turned to Izzy determinedly.

“I’m sorry if...maybe did something to upset you. I just hope you know I’m here if you need someone to talk to.” You told him, trying not to allow your own hurt to leak into your voice.

“What? No, no, Y/N...” Izzy said quickly, his voice softening immediately. The shift in his demeanor made you feel a little better and now you waited patiently as he sighed and leaned his head back against the seat. “It’s just...these photoshoots, you know? I hate ‘em.”

“Well, I can understand that.” You soothed, your heart pounding as you considered your next words. “But I mean, I’m sure you make it easy on these photographers.” He glanced over at you in confusion.

“What do you mean?” You felt your face growing hot and you were already regretting the path you steered the conversation.

“Just that...well, I mean, look at you.” He snorted a little at your words and pulled down the mirror on the visor.

“Yeah, fucking tell me about it.” He muttered quietly, before proceeding to pull more of his hair over his eyes and face. “I just feel uncomfortable the whole time. It’s easy for Axl or the other guys, but...”

“Why do you feel uncomfortable?” Izzy’s eyes flashed at your question and had him once again turning to stare out the window.

“It’s dumb. I just remember the last time we did one of these and looking at the pictures afterwards and noticing, just, how much I hate my nose, and just, the expressions I make…”

“What?” You demanded.

“…and having your here today makes things worse...”

“Worse?” You asked, now almost growing offended.

“Well, yeah, because now you’re gonna be there and watching and I already feel uncomfortable as it is, but having you there in front of me...”

“But I think you’re perfect.” You blurted out before you could catch yourself. Izzy whipped his head towards you and it was now your turn to avoid his gaze and study the fabric of your jeans instead. After a long moment, you heard him scoff. Instantly your stomach dropped and you waited for the rejection.

“Are you...was that a joke?” He asked.

“No.” You said, feeling your eyebrows pull together as you looked up. For the first time the whole car ride, the both of you shared the same gaze, unguarded and vulnerable. “I mean, I do think that. I don’t think there’s a single thing wrong with you.” Izzy continued to stare at you for a long moment, unmoving and just blinking, lost in thought.

“I thought Duff was joking.” You felt your mouth drop.

“He told?” Izzy chuckled a little.

“All this time I thought there was no way you could be interested in me.” Summoning up just about every last bit of your courage, you reached out to brush the back of your fingers against his cheek, swiping the hair from his eyes. He even let you tuck some of the strands behind his ears.

“I’ve always been very interested in you.” You murmured, smiling. “I really care about you Izzy, and I mean it. I love everything about you.”

“I love you.” Izzy blurted out, taking you by surprise. A gentle blush colored his cheeks and his eyes grew wide. “Shit—I mean, I meant to say I-I love everything about you too...”

“Well, now that you said it first, I’m pretty sure I love you too.” you teased him, making him chuckle. Izzy reached his hand up to grab the hand you still had resting against his cheek and hold in his own. He pressed his lips against your fingers, but the moment was interrupted at the sound of knocking on your window. The rest of the band was peering in.

“Aww! Yes!” Steven cooed, making a heart with his hands together.

“Did you tell him?” Duff asked, sounding like a nosy mom more than ever.

“Are you guys about to fuck?” Slash asked even more obnoxiously, peering into the car. You threw open the door, causing them all to stumble backwards and Izzy to laugh.

“Yes, and no.” You said, sending a look to Slash in particular.

“Yeah, of course not; they’re just gonna do it ten minutes from now in the bathroom.” Axl teased. You rolled your eyes and shook your head as they began laughing and felt an arm go around your shoulder as Izzy came up beside you.

“You guys never know when to shut up.” He told his bandmates, before looking down at you as if to check. His eyes, now clearly visible, were asking you silently, is this okay? You grinned up at him and kissed his cheek before you snuck your arm behind his back to confirm, yes. It was more than okay.

[yslkook]

#onboarding (1)

#corporate

summary: seokjin delivers some news to you that you were not ready to receive. or, jeon jungkook joins the company and you’re suddenly facing a part of your past that you hadn’t really wanted to.

word count: 1701

warnings: cursing, parental death

***

7:47 AM. Like clockwork, you always arrive in the parking lot at exactly 7:47 AM. It gives you enough time to brew yourself coffee in the lounge, set up your desk exactly the way you want it, and check your emails quickly.

It’s a ritual that you refuse to let go of, even after four years. You’ve been at the same company for the last four years, in the same position. You work in your company’s research and development organization, a group with thousands of individuals globally.

You are only a speck in the machine that was capitalism. As long as they were paying you, you didn’t mind. You had loans, bills, and your grandma to take care of.

Too bad they weren’t paying you enough. You had given nearly half a decade of your blood, sweat, tears, and time to this company and they had hardly raised your pay, hadn’t given you a promotion and had only just given you a portion of the bonus you deserved.

Without you, your boss and his boss would be six feet under and it’s a fact you never failed to complain to Seokjin about.

Which is what you were currently doing in the lounge.

Seokjin is your closest friend, outside of work and in work. Quite possibly, he’s your only friend. You had graduated in the same year from university, with the same major, the only difference was that he had finished graduate school and you hadn’t. 

Seokjin is an associate director in the regulatory area within the company. You work closely with his team and his peers on projects. Regulatory and clinical science goes hand in hand- they’re often the people who tell you and your teams to take it down a notch when you get too excited about something that may not be feasible.

You call him a stickler, and he tells you that your head is in the clouds. It’s all in good fun.

You were three rankings below Seokjin. It was something that you tried your best not to get upset about- you both had started at the same time and he has risen far faster than you had within the company. While you were stagnant. That might be in part due to your management. But still, you tried your best to remain happy for your closest friend. You can be happy for him and still wish death upon the antiquated patriarchal expectations that still thrived in capitalist culture, after all.

11:58 AM. You ping Seokjin, asking if he wants to have lunch with you so that you’re spared the annoyance of eating at your desk. Or even worse, of eating with your direct boss. 

Jin agrees quickly and you meet him at the top of the stairs to head down to the cafeteria together.

He stays in the cafeteria for a little longer than you- he ran into a few acquaintances and is chatting with them. You don’t wait up for him, instead paying for your food and finding a table to sit at.

You scroll on your phone for a few minutes, adjusting your glasses on the bridge of your nose as you wait for him to join you. He’s always been more keen than you to converse with people at work when he didn’t need to. It’s something he chastised you about frequently, about how you refused to network with the people around you.

You would always reply- “They can get to know me through my work. I’m not gonna blow air up their asses just so these fuckin’ airheads can feel good about themselves.”

He’d only look at you with that look, the look that stated that you’ve aged him a thousand years with one interaction. 

“Hey,” Seokjin says, sliding into his seat across from you, “I’m so hungry.”

“Surprised you didn’t bring lunch today,” You observe after you chew some rice and chicken.

“I forgot it at home,” He says sheepishly, “I meal prepped yesterday. God, now I want my actual lunch and not this.”

“Careful, someone might hear you and get upset.”

“Oh, I didn’t know how concerned you were over lunch today,” Seokjin scoffs.

“They might get upset that they don’t have Jin’s seal of approval.”

“They have Jin’s seal of approval, but my actual lunch does, too-”

“Don’t refer to yourself in the third person, weirdo,” You roll your eyes.

You both eat in silence for a few minutes, the call of hunger too intense to ignore. The food is good- the cafeteria at your company has been known for its tasty hot food and plentiful options. 

“Do you remember that kid from college? Jeon Jungkook?” Seokjin asks after a few minutes.

“Who?” You reply instantly, without baring the name a second thought.

The name sounds very familiar, and suddenly you recall where you know the name from. He was a sweet, smart kid. Maybe a little naive, but smart nonetheless. 

“Really? Your memory is that shitty?” Seokjin rolls his eyes, “He was your mentee in grad school, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember him. I was only his mentee for like seven months, that hardly counts. Before I left, I mean,” You murmur, picking at your food.

Jin notices your immediate change in demeanor, the way your face falls slightly at the mention of graduate school. You always get like this when talking about college in general, but Jin can’t blame you. He’s been trying to get you to open up about it, even though it had been nearly six years since you had to leave school abruptly.

He knows that there are layers of scar tissue below the surface. But he doesn’t know if you’re ready to face all of it.

“Jeon is starting here tomorrow. In regulatory,” Jin says breezily.

“You gonna be the kid’s boss?” You ask after a bite of chicken.

“Not directly. Namjoon will be, so you’ll be seeing him around often,” Jin says, “Think of it like a blast from the past.”

“Yeah,” You mutter, “That’s a blast from the past, alright.”

***

You feel unsettled the rest of the day, knowing that a sudden, unwelcome intrusion is about to become routine. Sudden change does not bode well with you and that’s a fact you’re willing to admit.

Jeon Jungkook.

You resist memories of him, of sitting with him in your favorite coffee shop for your biweekly mentoring sessions, of school, of classes, presentations, studying in the library, studying at home, home, home, home. You resist all of them, resisting the urge to succumb to any of it.

You can’t blame Jin for springing this on you. You know he wants you to try to move on. But you’ve been stuck. You’ve always been stuck. For five years, all you’ve done is be stuck.

All you’ve done is be running in place, going nowhere, with the memory of your father’s death haunting you behind your eyelids. 

It’s been five years, and somehow you’ve been living as a ghost for all of those years.

It doesn’t matter. Even if Jeon Jungkook was the representation of everything you had unsuccessfully run away from, it doesn’t matter.

***

Cold fury washes over you when you finally learn two days later that Jeon Jungkook is a fresh graduate who somehow landed a job that was two positions higher than you.

Sure, he had actually completed graduate school. He has the fuckin’ degree to prove his worth. And what do you have? Loans from a program you hadn’t even completed, a boss who seems to hate every fiber of your being, and shoulder pains. Lots and lots of shoulder pains.

You could scream. In fact you want to. Jin had avoided telling you what he was coming into the company as, knowing it would only incense you to this degree.

At the moment, you want to throttle Jin, too. You want to throttle every and any man who works at this company who had dared stepped on you in an attempt to gain the spotlight for themselves.

Someday, you’ll get back at them. Someday, you’ll be their superior and you’ll make them regret it. But today is not that day.

You dread running into Jeon Jungkook. You are so unbelievably envious of him, for being four or five years younger than you and securing his spot here at the company when you were still struggling. Namjoon had lots of connections, it was part of the reason that Jin had fought so hard to bring him into the company. Namjoon and Jin have the same boss and often work together. Truthfully, you work with Namjoon more than you work with Jin.

Namjoon had lots of connections, meaning that Jungkook would, too. 

When you finally do run into Jeon Jungkook, it’s by complete chance. You had been passing the regulatory area of your floor, since that’s where the printer was closest to. And you needed the walk, your muscles were screaming for it.

He’s standing tall, outside of Namjoon’s office as they both chat quietly amongst themselves. Namjoon suddenly excuses himself and disappears around the corner for a minute, and you wince, debating whether you should turn around or continue walking. Before you can turn your heel and avoid Jeon Jungkook, he turns his head and meets your eyes with a surprised look on his face.

You bite back your bark- “What? Are you surprised someone like me works here?”

But you reel it in.

He calls your name with a wave and you know you’re trapped. You give him a crisp smile and approach him warily, tightening your hold on the folders in your arms.

Jeon Jungkook looks exactly the same, and yet he looks worlds different.

“I didn’t know you worked here!” He chirps, “It’s been so long, how are you?”

“Yeah. Been here for four years. Five year anniversary is soon,” You reply, voice even and struggling to keep venom out of it, “Good. I’m good.”

Before he can ask you anymore questions, before you can see his bright, bunny smile dim with your cold response, you mutter an excuse and turn your heel to walk away from him.

You’ll just find a printer somewhere else, you suppose.

[bubonickitten]

Relistening to TMA yet again (new hyperfixation, what can I say), and I can’t emphasize enough how much these early episodes kill me.

Because for a long time, Jon doesn’t realize what he’s becoming. And yeah, that’s obvious -- but it’s even more heartbreaking on a relisten, because he senses that something is off, but from his perspective the changes are so incremental that he doesn’t realize how much he’s changing until he’s in too deep. 

He finds himself getting attached to this tape recorder (even when he initially hated it), but tries not to think too hard about that. He’s becoming obsessed with recording everything, and tells himself that he’s doing it for posterity’s sake. Jon is adept at using outward denial to hide his inner, nonstop, overthinking doubt. (Eventually it escalates to full-blown paranoid information gathering, which I think is where the Eye’s influence really starts to show, but more on that later.)

At first, it’s a safe half-lie (or at least not full-truth) to tell himself. He’s an academic, a researcher. He no doubt has a deep appreciation for the preservation of history, for the documentation of human experience -- that part is probably true. It’s how he makes sense of the world (and that started when he was a child, when the main way he interacted with the world was through books). And let’s be honest, the man is a nerd, and (I say this lovingly and with a tendency to infodump myself) he was probably prone to infodumping long before he became the Archivist. (Giving a Wikipedia summary of emulsifiers at a coworker’s birthday party, anyone?)

But beneath all that, Jon is just... scared. And Jonathan Sims comes to fear a lot of things, but one of his first fears was being forgotten. So it’s no wonder he takes so well to the compulsion to record, document, archive. 

Makes sense; he was, by his own admission, emotionally neglected as a child. And sometimes harassed. He chalked it up to being “a deeply annoying child,” which -- oof, no wonder he acts like an ass sometimes. Even if he was adept at social interaction (which he’s not), keeping people at arm’s length can feel a lot safer than letting them close and risking rejection when they decide you’re too much to handle. 

Point is, being ignored or ostracized was already painful, but it became his normal. Being forgotten, though, would be a existentially terrifying step beyond that. 

All of this is put into even starker relief after “A Guest For Mr. Spider.” At 8 years old he witnessed someone get snatched from the world without a trace – someone ten years his senior, who died because he made the choice to torment Jon and just did so at the exact wrong moment (or perhaps right? Maybe the Web decided that early that Jon was more useful alive). But despite the fact that it was his bully, Jon has survivor’s guilt over it. He feels responsible. He admits that it’s illogical for him to think he could have done anything  differently—he was eight—but he still comes out of that experience with the fundamental belief that being forgotten would be a unique kind of punishment that he believes even his bully didn’t deserve.

It’s such a raw, vulnerable moment when he finally admits it out loud: “Because I’m scared, Martin!” All that denial was external, and so fragile that it took one panicked moment for him to drop the veneer. But internally? Jokes about his obliviousness aside -- and, yes, in a lot of ways, Jon is that smart dumbass -- he’s got some self-awareness. He’s put two and two together, realized that the “real” statements don’t record digitally. He’s seen the artifact storage. He’s had a Leitner-based trauma, like so many statement givers. He’s just scared and he Does. Not. Want. To. Talk. About. It. 

He tries to hide it early on behind a cold, stoic academic demeanor, but that… doesn’t last long, and once that veneer drops, he absolutely spirals into open paranoia and fear. And going forward, he really doesn’t hide his terror much. When he’s threatened, we hear him beg for his life. Even when he thinks the world might be better off without him, he still doesn’t want to die. He’s afraid of death, and after S1, he doesn’t try to pretend otherwise. (I really appreciate a horror protagonist who shows fear even when they’re trying to be brave.) 

So, by the end of S1, we get to see him start to admit that his new obsessive behavior is not just a detached academic interest, or his workaholic urge to do his job well. It’s because he’s scared. But beyond that, through S2 and into S3, he starts to admit that beneath that, there’s something else going on. His rapidly escalating paranoia spiral is due to trauma, as well as the realization that Gertrude was murdered, as well as the general sense of uneasiness and distrusts that permeates the Institute (the Eye loves that shit), but also, honestly?? I think this is where the Eye starts to really get a grip on him. The Ceaseless Watcher, the fear of, in Gerry’s words, “needing to know, even if your discoveries might destroy you. The feeling that something, somewhere, is letting you suffer, just so it can watch.”

Beyond the tape recorder obsession, Jon doesn’t seem to notice early on that when he reads statements, it’s almost like he’s in a trance. (I think one of the first episodes where he starts to notice this is actually in MAG 32, when he’s reading Jane Prentiss’ statement. His introduction to the statement is shaky, stilted, like he’s dreading it; when he’s reading Jane Prentiss’ words, it’s like he’s channeling her tone and delivery in a far more extreme way than he has before; and when he’s done, he’s clearly unsettled by the experience.) 

(Another thing that stands out to me on a relisten is his tone shift when talking to Elias in MAG 40 -- he has an almost dreamy, trancelike delivery of the line: “Tens of thousands of... things without mouths screaming as one.” Like he’s reliving a flashback, yes, but there’s something else in his delivery of that line that continues to show up in his later spooky-Archivist-powers moments. And Elias pauses, and I can only imagine him thinking in that moment, all smug and conniving, Good. Jon is starting to become The Archivist.)

And, of course, Jon also doesn’t notice when he starts being able to compel statements--which is kind of funny, because my first thought when listening to early statements was, “How are all these statements so detailed and coherent? Did all these statement givers take creative writing classes or something?” But Jon doesn’t really seem to question that at first. It becomes more clear when the archive assistants try to take statements -- the statement givers can’t stay on topic, can’t remember details, can’t relive the moment in the same way they can if they’re forced to through compulsion. Adelard Dekker mentions that in one of his letters to Gertrude, too. It’s also sad, though, because he kept getting accused of forcing people to answer questions when he didn’t realize he was doing it (e.g. his interviews with Basira, Daisy, and Jude). 

It’s just... such a gradual downward spiral. And yeah, there’s something tragic about that--and it isn’t going to end well; this is a horror-tragedy story after all--but one of the things I like about Jon is that he works so, so hard to change and become a better person in spite of what the Beholding is trying to turn him into. 

I’m getting way off-topic. Basically, Jonny Sims is... very good at character development, and it’s fun to relisten and start to pick out the moments when things start to go wrong, the little details that maybe didn’t stand out so much on my first listen. Admittedly I, much like Jon Sims, have my own little conspiracy corkboard flavor of overthinking, so some of this might just be me reading too far into it. But still, I like all the layers going on here. 

[gallavictorious]

Fic: This Time (We’ll Be Fine)

Ian's bipolar was always bound to make itself known again sooner or later, so Lip's not exactly shocked when Mickey swings by to break the news. Well, he's a little surprised at first, when he opens the door to find his brother-in-law and not, say, any of his siblings or Kev waiting outside. While Mickey's joined Ian in helping out with the renovations a few times, him dropping by out of the blue and all by his lonesome is still a bit of an occasion.

”Hey,” Lip says, pulling off his work glows. He's spent the last hour removing the old counter tops from the kitchen, hoping to get it done before Tami returns with Freddie from a visit to her parents.

”Hey.” There's an awkward pause, but before Lip can ask what's up, Mickey plows on: ”So, Ian's been a little off for a few days, and we're pretty sure it's early signs of a manic episode.”

Something about the way he says it has Lip momentarily flashing back to the day many years ago, when Mickey and his brothers had confronted him about Ian allegedly messing with Mandy. He almost braces himself, because while he's been over that whole thing for years and years, his body still remembers the pain.

Then the actual words sink in and ah, fuck. It not being a surprise doesn't mean it doesn't hit like a punch to the gut.

With the worry comes a pinch of guilt: the house he rented is actually liveable now and he and Tami moved into it a month or so ago, but there's still a lot of work to be done and Lip's been spending every waking hour not devoted to his job or Freddie trying to get it fixed. It hasn't left him a lot of time for checking in with the rest of his familly.

”Is he okay?” he asks.

”Yeah. Well, no, he's a fucking mess, but he will be, you know. Fine. Upped his downers and booked an appointment down at the clinic on Monday, so they'll sort this shit out, get his pills adjusted or whatever. He's in bed now, sleeping it off.” Mickey lets out a sigh, distractedly reaching for a pack of cigarettes in his pocket. Lip doesn't protest when he lights up, even though he knows that Tami will say something snide about the smell when she comes home.

Let her; man looks like he can use a smoke. Lip wouldn't mind one himself, but bites back the urge to ask.

”Anyway,” Mickey continues, ”I just wanted to let you guys know, and, uh, I was thinking that maybe you'd come by someday next week. For dinner or whatever?”

Lip blinks. Sure, they ate together all the time when they were all staying at the Gallagher house, and they've shared a few meals since Lip moved his little family across the alley, so having dinner in and of itself isn't really weird – but getting an official invitation to one, and from Mickey of all people? Yeah, that's new.

His surprise must show, because Mickey makes a face. ”Yeah, I know,” he mutters. ”It's just... He hates it, you know? He's got it under control and he'll be fine but it's...  he hates it. He'll be fucking dejected and shit for weeks, even after the new meds kick in. And you guys always cheer him up, so I figured... ” He shrugs, not finishing the sentence.

It occurs to Lip that maybe it isn't easy for Mickey to come here and ask for this – to ask Lip for anything. There was a time when Lip thought Ian an absolute idiot for falling for Mickey Milkovich, and he's pretty sure Mickey knows as much, because Lip sure as hell didn't try to keep it a secret. But that was a long time ago, and as far as Lip's concerned, they've been good for years now. He's not sure if Mickey knows that, though, or feels the same way; they've never really talked about it.

So yeah, maybe it's not easy for Mickey to come here. He does it anyway; for Ian, he always will.

Lip loves him a little for that.

”Yeah, yeah, sure, man,” he says quickly, realizing that he's been silent for too long, lost in thought, and that Mickey is looking at him with something quite close to barely concealed anxiety. ”Of course we'll come.”

Mickey's shoulders drop just a fraction of an inch at that. He givs a curt nod. ”Okay. It'll probably take a few days before his, I don't know, levels are adjusted or whatever. But maybe you can keep your evenings open and I'll call you? And don't let him know I talked to you, right?” he adds, giving Lip a decidedly threatening look. ”He fucking hates it when people make a fuss.”

”Yeah, no, I know. I won't say anything. Thanks for letting me know.”

Mickey nods again, tossing his cigarette butt to the ground. Lip makes a mental note to pick it up before Tami gets back.

As Mickey makes to take off, Lip calls out, on an impulse: ”Hey, Mick.”

Mickey stops. ”What?”

”You ever hesitate?” Off Mickey's blank stare, he adds: ”Getting back together. Dealing with this for the rest of your life. You know how crazy it can get.” Knows it only all too well; Mickey had been there when Ian first fell ill and in spite of doing as well, and way better, than could possibly have been expected of him, it had not ended very well for Mickey.

That shit's gotta hurt. Looking at Mickey now, Lip thinks he can see the strain lurking under his mostly calm demeanor. See the fear, maybe.

And still Mickey glares at Lip like he's an idiot. ”Fuck no, I didn't hesitate,” he says, sounding affronted. ”It's just a fucking disease, man. We'll deal. Think I'm gonna ditch him because he has a few off days every now and then? Who the fuck doesn't have off days?”

It's more than a few off days every now and then, and they both know that – but Lip knows, too, that to Mickey, to some degree, it really is that simple. It's a disease. It's serious and it sucks, but it's not the sum total of Ian; it doesn't define him. And sure, Lip knows this on an intellectual level, as does the rest of his siblings, but he thinks that maybe Mickey is the only one who truly, fully gets it on an emotional one.

With that in mind, Lip meets Mickey's glare, unflinching. ”Still. It can get pretty rough. I guess what I'm saying is... if you, like, ever needed to talk or just, you know, take a break and hang out, I'm here.” He might not always have been great about Mickey, or great about being there for people in general, but he's been doing a lot better with the latter lately and maybe he can use whatever supportive skills he picked up at AA to do better at the former, too.

He's half convinced that Mickey will roll his eyes and walk off with an insult thrown over his shoulder, and he's fully convinced that Mickey's actually considering just that before opting to just nod again. ”Yeah,” he mutters. ”Thanks.”

”You're welcome.” Lip pauses, hesitating. But fuck it: ”I'm glad, you know. That he has you?”

And apparently that pushes the conversation too far into sentimentality because now Mickey does roll his eyes, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. ”Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll call you.”

He walks off. Lips pick up the cigarette butt and heads inside.

---

The call comes on Thursday morning, and a little past five in the afternoon Lip carries Freddie through the kitchen door with Tami in tow.

Liam's doing homework by the table and Mickey is stood by the stove, staring down an enormous pot of boiling water.

”Hey,” he says, sounding for all the world like he's surprised to see them, but he gives them a quick, grateful look, before jerking his head in the direction of the living room, where Ian's chilling with Debbie, Franny, and Carl in front of the TV.

Ian looks tired, and maybe even paler than normally, but he smiles readily enough when he catches sight of them. His smile widens further when Lip hands Freddie over for him to hold. ”Hey, buddy,” he coos.

”You guys staying for dinner?” Mickey calls from the kitchen. ”Made a shit ton of pasta, so there's plenty to go around.”

Lip makes a show of looking at Tami for confirmation.

”Yeah sure, why not?” she says, playing along. ”Saves me having to cook in a kitchen that's only half-existent.” She raises her voice: ”Thanks, Mickey, we'd love to.”

They chat for a while, and then Debbie and Tami starts comparing notes on child development, which for some reason is slightly unsettling – maybe because there's part of him that still thinks of Debbie as his little baby sister and hearing her talk to his baby mama like an equal is fucking strange – and eventually he, Ian and Carl move into the kitchen, leaving Freddie with Tami.

Liam puts away his homework; Ian grabs them drinks from the fridge; it's familiar and comfortable and, yeah, Lip's missed this.

He looks up and catches Ian watching him. ”So, you guys just decided to stop by, huh?” Ian asks casually.

Lips shrugs, deliberatedly not glancing toward Mickey chopping lettuce by the sink. ”Yeah, you know. Been a while since we all got together, figured it'd be nice to just drop by.”

”Uh-huh.” Ian does glance over his shoulder at Mickey, who is doing a very good job of pretending to be entirely engrossed in his salad-making and not at all listening in on any conversations. Lip keeps his face carefully blank as Ian turns back to him with a knowing look on his face. There's a hint of annoyance there; maybe a hint of resignation too, and something else that Lip can't quite decipher –

For a moment, he thinks that Ian is going to say something, but then his brother rises abruptly instead. A few long strides and he's right behind Mickey, grabbing hold of his wrist and spinning him around, which is hell of a bold move, considering that Mickey is Mickey and holding a fucking knife.

”What the – ” Mickey begins, but is quickly silenced as Ian claims his lips for a kiss.

Claims really is the right word, Lip thinks, feeling as if he should avert his eyes, but not quite managing to. It's a thorough kiss; rough; demanding. Ian's got his arms wrapped around Mickey's neck, his body pinning Mickey against the kitchen counter, and there's something possessive about it, something that – yes – speaks of claim and want and need.

Mickey's still holding the knife in one hand, half a lettuce in the other, and he can't really do much but stand there and let Ian kiss him. Not that he seems to mind in the slightest, Lip notes, and fuck it, but he never thought he'd see the day when Mickey Milkovich would just melt into Ian's arms, his kiss, so easily and so happily; so entirely without reservation, in spite of being surrounded by inlaws.

Eventually Ian lets go and steps away, walking back to the table with studied nonchalance, as if he's not, in fact, leaving his husband flushed and with swollen lips and a dazed grin. The look on Ian's face gives lie to his casual attitude, however: there's something fierce there and a hint of a satisfied smirk lurking in the corner of his mouth.

Then he sits down and blinks and is just plain old Ian again, Lip's little brother grinning easily. ”How's it going with the counter tops?” he asks. ”You convince Tami to go with the concrete ones?”

”Hell no,” Lip says, taking a sip from his coke to hide his smile. ”Apparently anything but marble or at least granite is out. She's saying we should invite Aunt Opie over, have her get so shocked over our living conditions that she offers to pay for the whole thing, but... ”

Over by the stove, Mickey returns to his salad. He's still smiling. So is Ian, as he listen to Lip detail the horrors of home renovation, and Lip thinks that maybe this time they're all going to be just fine.

[godkilller]

✵ YOUR TURN BITCH

send ✵ and my muse will answer the following.

Their first impression of your muse:

GIN’S FIRST IMPRESSION OF AIZEN was swift and resolute: he’s the one in charge, he’s the one I want to kill. Little Gin was able to assess that Aizen was not simply some higher-up grunt in the gang of Shinigami he saw out in the woods whilst out collecting firewood. No, he could tell by Aizen’s demeanor, his presence, and the way the others essentially cowered while bowing to him that this guy meant fucking business, so Gin returned that sentiment in kind: it was on sight for Gin, a vow of betrayal and murder was born within the bushes that night. The first time they exchange words -- roughly a year later -- it’s under a similar moonlit night, and Gin has blood and a grin on his face. Aizen awakened within Gin a murderous thing, a boy who once offered food and shelter and kindness  ( then the day we met’ll be your birthday, how’s that sound, Rangiku? )  became Hypponzashi, already had a bodycount by the time he picked up an actual zanpakuto, ripping through the Academy, youngest Shinigami to enter the Gotei 13  ( younger than Hiyori, technically )  and ripping through that Third Seat Aizen threw his way like it was nothing.

Are you proud of what you created, Aizen?

Current impression:  

Gin respects Aizen, when you untangle that sentiment away from the hatred, the hyperawareness of Aizen’s every harm, every misstep, every word toiling away in Gin’s mind as he seeks to understand the most misunderstood and isolated Shinigami of his generation -- bridge the gap, be different than how Shinji tried to understand Aizen, delve into his motives, and how Urahara for all of his wit and foresight couldn’t bear to presume Aizen’s intent ---- and to not fall into the doe-eyed admiration and adoration of Hinamori Momo, oh no, Gin mustn’t bow down akin to Tousen nor quiver in submission like the Espada. HE MUST BE MORE, HE MUST KNOW AIZEN MORE. Understanding what Aizen was lacking from the people surrounding him, picking at what the man yearned for; by showcasing this attention to detail, it presents the undeniable truth that Gin and Aizen are compatible, they’re similar because Gin molded himself to that. And oh, did Gin truly dive right the fuck in, and intertwined himself like a serpent coiling lovingly around their prey -- the murderous intent -- there are thorns of respect, a different brand of love even, all woven into the way Gin views Aizen. Gin isn’t always seething with rage at the man, after all. They’re equals, in many cases, or Aizen’s his captain again and he’s watching his back  ( or lurking at it )  and they’re partners in crime, it’s very much an ‘us vs. them’ light with them at times ---- and Gin has to admit that IT’S FUN ---- his humor’s rubbed off on Aizen, and they’ll make each other chuckle and smile and it’s so utterly exciting to have someone as intelligent as Aizen to bounce off of, Gin’s genius is thriving; AIZEN NEVER BORES HIM.

Gin can be at the top of the world, swept away into the facade and consumed by the banter and bickering, the bloodshed and the long nights spent scheming about other’s lives akin to pieces on a chess board. Gin wouldn’t have gotten as close as he got to Aizen without thinking alike, and understanding Aizen’s point of view. Gin’s absorbed so much of Aizen, quietly, observations and adjustments made to his act until he felt it was natural. Gin faked it till he made it. Gin doesn’t know who he would’ve been without Aizen in his life, and ultimately can’t even begin to comprehend a guess. It’s easier this way, it’s easier to just keep submerging than try to swim to the surface. He’s gotten so good at holding his breath.

Gin’s tether in this hurricane, however, always remained Rangiku. He can’t fall all the way, even if he believes he has, even if he thinks he’s sunken so fucking low and gone too far for too long with Aizen, AIZEN WILL NEVER HAVE ALL OF GIN THANKS TO HER.

Are they attracted to your muse?:  

Have you seen Aizen? Gin isn’t blind. But he’ll play the part; we don’t want Aizen’s ego getting any bigger, do we? Or maybe he could play that angle, swoon just a little -- in that case Gin’ll shoot for his head, it’ll be so enlarged and impossible to miss.

Something they find frightening about your muse:

IT’S COMPLICATED. Gin acknowledges that Aizen’s scary, he’s not dumb; a wise fighter knows when to nod to their enemy when they’re a strong one. Gin’s unsettled when Aizen begins the evolutionary process against Urahara and co. and is visibly shaken when Aizen doesn’t heed his warnings and destroys the sweeper with a fucking look. That’s one of the two moments Gin ever looks afraid. And it’s not necessarily out of self-preservation, it’s not like Gin’s going ‘aw fuck I’m screwed’ it’s more of a ‘what have you become?’ sentiment at Aizen. Gin makes commentary about how ‘Aizen snuck that thing into his chest when I wasn’t lookin’, can’t be helped’ and it’s... remorseful, and anxiously spoken -- in Gin-speak -- of course it’s not blatantly said in such a way, but in a throwaway manner of ‘casually not worried about it’ because Gin’ll be damned if he says such a vulnerable thing to Ichigo.

Gin admits to those worries when he’s about to activate Shinso’s poison in Aizen’s heart.

In my post-Winter War canon divergent verses, Gin does have nightmares about Aizen’s deformations, the way he writhed and became so far from what Gin had become so attuned to. This was not the Aizen which Gin had meticulously memorized, learned, since he was a boy. This was not the Aizen he knew, marching through an insignificant town, hunting insignificant kids, wanting to slaughter them and hang their bodies for Ichigo to find? At least with destroying Momo, it could have been argued as necessary to shatter Hitsugaya Toshiro’s heart, render a captain of the Gotei 13 useless or too emotionally charged to properly fight. Which is what happened anyways, but if Aizen had actually ‘sliced her into pieces’ it still would have served a purpose. Aizen was going to destroy Karakura Town anyways, why hunt a few human teenagers to specifically kill only to nuke the town their bodies are hanging in moments later?

Aizen could be a cruel man, yes, but that was wrathful. Gin feared Aizen the moment he began wildly and carelessly throwing his power around, the sweeper, the random passerby whom died when they got too close to him, the Karakura kids... Aizen was becoming the same indifferent and heartless man that he loathed the Soul King for being.

Something they find adorable about your muse:  

You wore fake fucking glasses you fucking nerd lmfao. Lookit me I’m cap’n Aizen I’m not like OTHER captains, I got hipster glasses ‘n messy hair, I am utterly unique! One of a kind!!!

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:  

I mean, canonly that’s certainly an angle. Gin’s death symbolizes Aizen’s ascension into a higher being, the final step he needed to reach that indescribable power. Without it, Aizen would have died to Ichigo’s Final Getsuga Tenshou, among other things perhaps, etc. etc. ...

Would my muse go on a date with yours?  platonic/romantic:  

Buy me fUCKING dinner. Okay, but I can see Gin humoring outings with the guy, platonic or otherwise no-named endeavors. He’ll coo and bat his eyes; if Aizen wants to play this card, Gin won’t back down. As always, he’ll meet it halfway or more. Oh, y’wanna take me out? I’m glad that you’re finally seein’ the light with how irresistible I am, go on, pamper me. I ain’t easy, though. YOU CAN LOOK BUT NOT TOUCH. Try anythin’ on the first night ‘n I’ll gut ya. <3333

One word my muse would use to describe yours:  

Asshole. Arrogant. Self-Absorbed. Hypocrite. Selfish. Pathetic. Sad. Desolate.

Would my muse slap yours if they could?:

A left hook sounds much more enticing, but sure, Gin can slap too -- unless Aizen’s into that, then Gin’s kicking between the legs at full force.

Would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

Gin’s not the hugging type, but he’ll drape himself onto Aizen’s shoulder or in general invade the man’s personal space  ( oh, I’m sorry, am I makin’ you uncomfortable? )  among other things. Gin’s like a cat, he’ll do as he pleases and seemingly be open to any and all contact when it’s lowkey inconvenient for Aizen at the time, or at least a little distracting. And the moment Aizen wraps his arms around Gin or goes for a kiss when Gin isn’t interested, it’s claws and teeth --

[saffronwritings]

Be There

warnings: Parental in Hospital due to health, cursing

pairing: katsuki bakugou x reader 

A/N: I get very nervous thinking about posting my work on tumblr but I figured I'd give a whirl. Please be nice :)  Also I do not own the banner and if you want me to credit you let me know!!

Bakugou had noticed that you had been off from the moment you stepped into class this morning. Your normal cheerful demeanor had been shifted into one that was just complacent. Something about the way you forced yourself to talk to the rest of your classmates had bothered him immensely.

Although he would never admit it, he cared deeply for you. He had fallen for you little charms and even thought that you quirk was rather handy, being able to manipulate others with your hypnotic voice. There had been times where he thought you were using your powers against him, but plenty of times you had reassured the hot head that you only use it when necessary.

You had quickly found your way into the Bakusquad, as you had quickly bonded with Jirou and Mina. Not only that, but you seemed to not mind how ill-tempered Bakugou was. Even with his outbursts towards you at times, you seemed to just smile and act as if he had not hurt your feelings. He had noticed the times he had and made sure to apologize in solitude because he dared not show his soft side to the rest of his friend group. You personally enjoyed seeing these softer sides of the angry boy as you felt like he could confide in you. ‘

However, today was so much different. How could you have changed so quickly overnight and what was the cause of it? Did someone from another class say something to upset you once again? Those general studies students tended to say that your quirk was cheating and that you did not deserve your spot in class 1-A. Bakugou had time and time again scared away those sidekicks into submission. You had not said anything that was bothering you, and although the rest of the Bakusquad seemingly had not noticed, Bakugou did.

He stalked after you once class had let out and he had grabbed your wrist while in passing, dragging you into a vacant classroom. This had startled you enough to let out an embarrassed squeak. He closed the door behind him so no wondering eyes could disturb the two of you. “What’s going on Bakugou?” You asked confused, still seemingly dazed. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He bluntly stated, cutting straight to what was bothering him.

Your gaze suddenly shifted from confusion to acknowledgement. Of course, he was going to notice something was wrong. He was scarily perceptive. You waved your hand in front of you and attempted to fake laugh at his question. “Silly, Katsuki.” You teased, attempted to brush past him back out into the hallway. “Just tired from studying last night is all. We have a lot of our final tests coming up.” You lied, hand on the sliding door. He just scoffed and you could feel his eye roll even without looking at the blonde boy.

He watched you carefully as you stalked out of the classroom, avoiding the confrontation he was attempting to have. However, he was not going to force you to tell him anything you did not feel comfortable with. It was not his place to demand information from you. The last thing he needed was you pushing him as to why he wanted to know what was wrong. The thought alone almost set off tiny explosions in his hands. He wanted to squash whatever was bothering you to bring that smile of yours back onto your lovely face.

Kirishima had bothered him from time and time again about asking you out for a date. No matter how many times the explosive boy tried to correct him, Kirishima knew Bakugou was smitten for you. He kept it to himself, as much as he wanted to tell the rest of the squad. Bakugou scoffed and walked out of the classroom moments after you. He caught up with you and the rest of his classmates in the lunchroom. His apatite was gone though, watching you go about your day in a lackadaisical manner. Watching miserably from the sidelines had affected his own attitude.

“Jeez Bakugou, if you’re not hungry today, I’ll gladly take your food for you.” Kaminari perked up, staring at his uneaten lunch. “Piss off, Sparky.” Bakugou barked back immediately. “You’ve been so crabby today, so much so more than usual.” Kaminari replied, backing away from the blonde. He hated to admit it, but the stupid lightning bolt was right. Was he really going to let your bad day also affect him? Frustrated, he attempted to try and eat part of his lunch. When you gave him a concerning look, he just turned away and ate in silence.

Things really took a turn for the worse during your hero training. The two of you had been paired up together in a simulation fight. You had to retrieve a citizen from a collapsing building and fight off your other classmates. You were up against Momo and Ojiro. This normally would have been a cinch for the two of you, especially with how well you worked together. Even though your quirk relied on consciousness and influence, your combat skills were above the rest. Well, aside from Izuku and Katsuki that is. However, with your mind out of focus, you were easily overtaken by that Creation quirk of Momo’s. Aizawa had called the match and suddenly you heard multiple explosions go off.

“Bakugou, you need to chill.” Kirishima said, trying to lighten the mood up. “No! We lost because the Siren girl can’t get her head together!” He shouted, staring daggers over to you. You flinched back at his outburst. “Why can’t you just get over whatever it is you’re upset about and do your damned job as a hero! You can’t be this out of focus in the field or no agency is going to take you!” He barked more. There was silence throughout the entire class. You turned away to head towards the changing rooms when Present Mic had arrived at the simulation grounds, calling your name. The look of concern only etched itself further on your face seeing the look in Present Mic’s face. Everyone’s attention then turned from Bakugou to you. Watching as Mic whispered something to and watching your face change from upset to distraught.

Immediately you were quickly following Present Mic out of the training arena. The class erupted in questions, wondering what was going on. Aizawa quieted the class and tried to get the rest of his students back in order. “Listen, we need to finish this lesson. Unless you all want extra homework.” He threatened. The class quieted and returned to the lesson. However, something was not sitting right with Bakugou. Almost instantly he was regretting taking his anger out on you. “What do you think Y/N was taken away for?” Jirou asked quietly while watching Todoroki and Ochaco go against Hagakure and Iida. “I don’t know, it looked serious though.” Kirishima noted, with Kaminari nodding along to his statement. “I hope she’s okay.” Mina whispered. “She will be. At least I hope she will be.” Bakugou thought.

The next morning was even worse. Bakugou had barely slept a wink. He had texted you after school apologizing for exploding on you, and that he was just worried about you. You did not respond to his message. Even worse, the text message was not even opened. When he arrived in class, you were missing from your usual spot. If there was anyone who was almost as stubborn as Iida about getting to class early, it was you. “Is Y/N not here yet?” Kirishima asked from behind Bakugou. He had not even noticed he was standing and staring idly at your desk. “No.” He answered before going over and sitting down at his own desk.

The rest of the squad had arrived and found themselves gathering around Bakugou’s desk like they did every morning. Usually he hated this, but when you were around, he did not mind it as much. Your presence was clearly missing, and it was obvious that it bothered him. “Had no one heard from Y/N? I tried texting her last night, however, she didn’t answer me.” Mina had asked, looking at her phone once again. “Nothing on my end, I sent her a text as soon as we got out of school.” Jirou interjected. “Same here.” Kirishima chimed in. Bakugou stayed quiet, only getting more worried. He had tuned out their continuing conversation until Aizawa had entered the room. The Bakusquad had quickly dispersed and sat in their assigned seats.

There was a grim look on Aizawa’s face, and it had sent an unsettling feeling into Bakugou’s stomach. Once the class had quieted down, Aizawa had taken in a deep breath before addressing the classroom. “Y/N will not be attending school for the rest of the week. Yesterday her mother was admitted into the hospital and is in critical condition. She will be staying by her side in the hospital.” He stated, making the class gasp in surprise. Bakugou’s heart could have leap out of his throat. You could hear a pin drop from the class being so quiet. “We will write a condolence card for her and send it to her address by the end of the week.” He continued to speak but all Bakugou could hear was ringing in his ears. Had he heard his teacher correctly? Your mother was extremely ill. You had to have seen her health declining and had not said a word to anyone. Up until yesterday, you had played it off as if everything in your homelife was okay.

Aizawa had changed the subject back to what he was teaching yesterday. He was reviewing the material that was covered the day before. However, Bakugou could not stop the crackling in his hands. He slammed his hands on his desk and stood up. The eruptions in his hands going off, burning a spot on his desk. A few students jumped, however, most of them were used to Bakugou’s outbursts. Except, this time he was dead quiet. Everyone turned around to look at him, but before Aizawa could say a word, Bakugou was walking out of the classroom. “Bakugou! Where are you going?” Kirishima yelled after him. However, Bakugou tuned him out. His pace quickened as he traveled through the school. He did not bother to stop at his locker or change into his normal shoes. As soon as he stepped foot outside of the school gates, he broke into a sprint.

You had invited him over to your house once. Asking him if he could help you study for one of your exams. He found his feet doing all the work as he raced towards where he knew you lived. He was not sure what he was going to do once he arrived, but he knew he had to be there. Before he knew it, he noticed the street coming to an end and he knew around the corner was your house. Suddenly, he got extremely nervous, just leaving school to go comfort you. Would you even let him after yelling at you yesterday? He had to try. He slowed his pace as he approached your house.

You were sitting on your front step, weeping quietly with your head in your hands. His heart broke in half seeing you in such a state. You were just beyond the gate, but he was so hesitant to push the gate open. When he heard your soft crying turn into full on sobs, that is when he found the courage to push the gate open and was by your side in the matter of seconds. Before you could even process what was happening, he had pulled you into his embrace and held onto you tightly. “Katsuki??” You asked in surprise. “I’m sorry. I should not have yelled at you yesterday. You needed me to be there for you. So, now I am. And I want you to cry. I want you to feel safe around me. I’m never going to let you feel that way again.” He explained, holding onto you as if he was afraid to lose you too.

You started to cry harder and gripped onto him tightly. The two of you had stayed like that for a while. He just let you cry because that is what you needed. He dares not judge you for feeling the way you did right now. He was going to be there for you from now on. “Thank you.” You finally whispered once you had caught your breath from heavily crying. “Don’t thank me, dummy.” He answered back, “It’s what I should have done from the get-go. When Aizawa told the class what happened, I flung myself out of my chair to get my ass here.”.

“But why?” You asked, almost bewildered. You had pulled away from his embrace to wipe your wet eyes. You felt his calloused hand carefully caress your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen from your bloodshot eyes. “Do I have to spell it out to you?” He huffed. In that moment, you had noticed his face turn a bright red. Even though you had just lost your mother and your heart yearned for her, for just a moment you had felt it flutter. “This has to be the shittiest timing, Y/N. I don’t want to take away from your pain, in any way…” He started to say, tripping over his words. You immediately pulled him into another embrace, throwing him off guard.

“You will never take anything away from me. Thank you for being here for me. Thank you for always caring about me, Katsuki.” You whispered, making the boy even more flustered. He huffed in protest, but he knew he enjoyed the attention. The two of you separated from the embrace and Katsuki felt bold enough to lean in to kiss you, softly but a bit forcefully on the lips. This action truly shocked you for a moment. He quickly pulled back realizing what he had just done. “I shouldn’t have done that. I should go.” He said quickly, standing up from his seated position. Before he could bolt out the gate, he heard you say his name. He turned around only to find your face inches from his, making him blush immensely. You pecked him on the cheek and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go inside, yeah?” You asked. And although your eyes had been puffy and bloodshot from crying, snot was dripping down your nose, and it looked like you had not slept in days, he still found you so incredibly beautiful.

“Tch. Fine.” He grumbled, following in your lead, but not letting go of your hand.

[1littleshippergirl1]

I Really, Really Don't Care Where You Go

Summary: Flint's have been in Slytherin for generations. Until suddenly....they weren't. Single dad!Marcus

--

Marcus sensed there was something amiss with his daughter the second she'd stepped off the train, heading toward him with a strained smile and an emotion akin to fear flickering in her eyes. Instanciously, concern pooled in the pit of his stomach, a frown came onto his lips and he fought to keep those protective parental instincts at bay.

She was returning from her first year of Hogwarts and, already a nonstop chatterbox-the likes of which she most definitely did not inherit from him-he'd expected her to lunge toward him, erupting with happiness as she would inform him in very fine detail, the events that took place during the months she'd been away.

But that hadn't happened at all. She came over as if her legs were moving despite her wishing they would not, struggling to plaster on a lovely facial expression and gave a half-hearted hug, pulling back quicker than to be considered normal for her.

He'd frowned, opened his mouth to ask her if she was okay but decided against it, incase it was a matter she'd rather discuss in private instead of a busy train station.

Now, that he thought about it, she hadn't been fairly talkative during the school year and those excruciatingly long letters he'd assumed would come-didn't. They were always short, with a hello, minimal talk about classes, and an I love you at the end.

He wondered if she made any friends, dreading to think that-because of him-that some of the children had been warned not to associate with her. Amelia was the slightest bit sensitive, and while she wouldn't make it known to many that she was upset, Marcus saw it. He could see the change in her eyes, they were always so expressive.

Merlin, he didn't know how to approach the subject. Comforting had never been a skill of his and had not gotten much better, admittedly, since the birth of his daughter. That was Adrian's area of expertise; bloody Puff, if Marcus ever saw one.

He was hoping, for both of their sake's, that Amelia would have enough of whatever was bothering her and spill it as soon as they got home. It would be far easier than to wonder what was going on amidst the awfully thick silence, with her glancing at him every so often, then quickly lowering her gaze.

However, even when they apparated inside, she refused to divulge anything. She'd barely said anything, only responding with one or two words if she was asked a question directly. It absolutely baffled Marcus and he really wasn't sure what to do, having not encountered this sort of situation before.

He invited her to the living room to sit with him. That was their thing, of which he'd missed while she was away. He would be busy looking at files-sometimes speaking to Adrian if he came over-and she would be there, silently reading a book or playing with her dolls when she'd been younger. It was a special time where they could be together; he'd thought, if anything, that would get her to spill.

But she'd declined.

She declined and that really made him confused. She never said no to that. It didn't make sense, first the ice cream and now this?

She wanted to go upstairs to her room, to lay down for a bit. Marcus reasoned with himself that she must not have gotten much sleep the night before and that after a nap, she would feel better. So, he let her, watching as she trailed up the stairs glumly.

It was about four hours later when Marcus had enough. If she wasn't going to say anything, he would have to get it out of her, himself.

Her door was halfway open, he knocked on it anyway. "Can I come in?" he asked, softly.

She was sitting on her bed, leaning back against the headboard, hugging a pillow to her chest. It was when she met his eyes, that he noticed hers were red and puffy. She'd been crying and was now hurriedly trying to wipe away the evidence. "Sure," she sniffled.

He sat on the edge of the bed, facing her. Besides absolutely mucking at comforting, he was never particularly good at handling crying girls, but this was his daughter so he'd manage. "Is something wrong?"

She bit down on her bottom lip. "I'm fine," she denied, voice hoarse.

"Princess, you know you can tell me anything."

"I know." But he wasn't convinced. She didn't look convinced. It was, quite frankly, a bit unsettling. "But I'm fine, really."

"You don't look fine," he reached over to brush away a stray tear with his thumb. Her lips trembled, looking as though she were going to burst into a fresh wave of tears. "You're sure?' he probed.

She nodded, grasping the pillow tighter until her knuckles turned a sickly white. "Yeah."

"Alright," he felt a bit blindsided, truth be told. Amelia didn't have her overly cheerful mood dampened often and he idly wondered if something or someone had been the cause of it; or if it was just hormones-Merlin help him. Adrian had taken to teasing him on account of the fact that he was going to be raising a teenager soon, which meant plenty of hormones and boys.

He swore in his mind. If it was a boy that Amelia had taken a fancy to, only for him to end up breaking her heart, he might have to find out where he lived so they could have a little chat.

"What about school?" He tried again. "Hmm? Tell me, how's that going?"

And there it was.

It most definitely had something to do with school. That look, it flashed over her face again and it made him want to gather her into his arms. And it stung, to know that she believed for some odd reason that she couldn't speak to him about the matter. They'd been close for as long as he could remember, she just clung to him more than anyone else and he loathed to think of it being different, especially because of a reason that he couldn't figure out.

"Amelia," he made sure he had her attention, placing his hands on the side of her face so she would meet his eyes, so he could reiterate it to her, "you don't have to tell me now, but remember that you can talk to me about anything. You know that."

It was nearly three minutes before she responded, shaking her head vigorously, a wrenching sob escaping her. "That's not true," she kept shaking her head, sniffling again, "you're wrong."

"What?" he was genuinely confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She picked at a loose strand from her pillow as he wiped away a tear that rolled down her cheek. "You're going to be mad," she whispered.

"No, I won't," he promised, though he did wonder, warily, what she'd done-if anything.

"You mean it?" And oh Merlin she sounded so upset, so childlike.

"Have I ever broken a promise to you, before?" he raised his eyebrows.

"No," she eventually conceded.

"Alright, then. Now what is it that's got you so worked up?"

She glanced over at him, her eyes darting back down.

"Remember what grandfather said about Flints being in Slytherin for generations?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"And that it was really important because you'd be a disgrace if you weren't?"

"Yes," he said, slowly. "But I don't understand what-"

Oh.

Oh.

He trailed off, observing how she visibly stiffened, as if terrified of his reaction.

"You didn't get into Slytherin...did you?"

Her breathing quickened and the tears were brimming in the corner of her eyes. "No," she admitted, shame-faced. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

Marcus pulled his daughter into his arms, resting his cheek on the top of her head. She had her face buried in his chest, weeping. He closed his eyes, cursing his dad to hell and back for the damage he'd done.

It all made sense now; the lack of letters, her desolate demeanor and avoidance of talking about her house and friends. He'd been thinking along the lines of a bully or becoming distracted by a boy or even just her growing up and not wanting to be as close anymore. But that wasn't it at all.

She'd been afraid.

Scared out of her wits that he would become angry with her, perhaps even disherit her like his Father said they would have done to him if he hadn't gone to Slytherin. But he never thought she would take any of that to heart, otherwise he would have put a stop to all that nonsense. He'd let it go on, rolling his eyes when his Father's head was turned, and thinking no more of it.

He hadn't known that his daughter was absorbing all that, filling into her head and taking that as a warning that, he, too, would react that way.

And bloody hell he didn't want to let her go now, not when she'd been terrified for the whole bloody year!

"I'm sorry," her voice was muffled, her face not yet lifted. "I'm so sorry, Daddy. I'm sorry!"

She was slowly becoming more and more frantic, he reckoned, by him not saying anything. He only squeezed her gently, kissing the top of her head. "Shh," he murmured. "It's alright, Princess. No need to get so upset."

She didn't loosen her grip any, her hands had grabbed a fistful of his shirt and trying to pry it out from her was surprisingly difficult.

Where was Adrian when he needed him? He sighed. He would only muck this up, it would be better if-

He paused. That sort of excuse making might have worked for his father, albeit a different kind of excuse making-his father wouldn't have cared if he hurt his son's feelings, not even if his life depended on it-but he'd told himself he would be different. He wouldn't put his daughter through what his father had done to him.

Once the war was over, he'd decided he wasn't going to follow in his father's footsteps and that also meant the blood purity nonsense that had been instilled into him from as far back as he could remember.

He wouldn't be the same father that Anthony Flint had been to him.

"I don't care what house you got into, Love. I really don't," he spoke earnestly. "I know your grandfather put all kinds of nonsense into your head but I want you to listen to me: I never cared about you being in Slytherin or not and I'm not about to make a fuss because you didn't get in. It's not important to me and I'm so sorry that you thought it was."

She shifted, moving her face out of his chest but her head was laying on it, still grasping his shirt as if holding for dear life. "Really?" There was a tinge of hopefulness in her voice.

"Really," he confirmed. "Lots of us had to go into Slytherin-me, your Uncle Adrian and Uncle Terrence. We didn't have a choice. Your grandfather was right about one thing; he would have disowned me if I went anywhere else."

He hid back a snort at imagining his father getting a letter, stating that his son-his only heir-had been put somewhere else. The man would have had early heart failure.

Which, Marcus, unabashedly, would have loved to hear.

"I thought you wouldn't love me anymore," Amelia said, shakily. "Prunella Parkinson said I shouldn't bother going home because you wouldn't let once you found out."

"That isn't true," Marcus kept his anger in check, when all he really wanted to do was send a rather unpleasant letter to Parkinson to keep her devil spawn away from his daughter. "She's just trying to get a rise out of you, don't let her. Tell a teacher, if you must."

She nodded against him.

"And Amelia." She peered up at him. "Don't ever think I won't love you," he kissed her forehead. "There's nothing that you could ever do to make that happen."

"I love you, too, Daddy," she said with a watery smile.

The tension had slowly left her shoulders, but he still didn't let her go. He maneuvered them around so he was leaning against the headboard with her snuggled up against him. He wasn't sure how many more years of this he would get, so he'd treasure all these sweet little moments for now.

"So," he said after a couple minutes of silence. "What house did you get into?"

She bit her lip. "Gryffindor."

Even after that, she was still anticipating on him overreacting, creating some sort of scene and storming out of the room, leaving her to cry. He continued to run his fingers with his free hand through her hair. "And have you made any friends in your house?"

"Yes," she said with a bit of caution. "Lydia Wood and Lucy Weasley. They're in my dorm."

Oh, the bloody irony.

"Really?" he said, interestedly.

"Yes," she repeated. "Lydia's dad likes quidditch like you do. But Lydia says he's kind of obsessed."

That was a severe understatement but Marcus didn't interrupt.

"Mr. Weasley is really nice. He said I could come over anytime. So did Mr. Wood."

That Marcus wasn't so sure about. He was thoroughly glad that, despite the lingering issues that came from having his name, she was able to make friends; but he didn't know if allowing her to be within the presence of Wood and whichever Weasley Lucy belonged to, was worth it.

"That's great, Princess," he managed to say. "Do you know who Lucy's dad is?"

She thought for a second. "I dunno, but he works at the Ministry."

That would be Percy Weasley; the stuck up Head-Boy that had a permanent stick up his bum. Back in his school days, Marcus had an equally distributed dislike for both Wood and Weasley.

"Ah," was all he said.

"Can I go, Daddy? Please?"

He wanted to groan. Parenthood had made him so bloody soft.

"I...I don't see why not."

It wasn't exactly the circumstances that he ever thought he'd find himself in but if it would make his daughter happy, he'd deal with Wood and Weasley as much as he needed to.

Amelia beamed. She sat up somewhat, throwing her arms around his neck.

His parents wouldn't take the news well; his father especially. And he knew now that he would be interacting with more Gryffindor's than ever before and surely along the line, someone would say something because it wasn't everyday that a Flint went to a different house-let alone Gryffindor.

But Marcus would be ready to tackle them all.

And the people of Diagon Alley would be thrown into a state of shock when they noticed that Marcus Flint was wearing a red and gold striped scarf in support of his daughter.

I'm gonna post another chapter where Amelia (and Marcus) goes over to Percy's house (with Oliver and Lydia there as well) and Marcus and Percy/Oliver come to an understanding

[modestlyabsurd]

Breaking Bread (Loki x Reader)

"Mm."

A ... grunt? Growl? A hum? A noise. A deep noise, and it came from Loki's bed. "Where are you going?" he asks, heavy sleep in his voice.

Damn. You really tried not to wake him up.

"I was just gonna go look for a vending machine or something."

"A what?"

You shift on your feet, "Y'know, a vending machine or a drink machine. You put in some money, you pick what you want to eat and it pops it out for you."

Loki stretches his arms, "Sounds very Midgardian." He slouches back against the headboard. "And you're going to go search for one of these machines by yourself?"

"Well, yeah."

"Really? On this foreign garbage planet, in the middle of the night, dressed in your sleep wear?"

"I'm hungry, okay?" you whine, now feeling stupid about the whole thing. "I didn't eat dinner earlier."

"You wasted the Grandmaster's kind, generous, complementary food service?" Loki chides.

"Oh, well excuse me for liking my food to not be wiggling around and staring at me while I eat it!"

He shakes his head. In the dark, your eyes have adjusted and you can see him more clearly; a smirk on his face and the most ridiculously perfect bed head you've ever seen. He's sitting upright, his lower half covered by the blue sheets and you avert your eyes upon seeing his upper half exposed.

"When's the last time you've eaten?" Loki asks, after putting together that every meal the two of you have been provided has been of a similar nature - very much alive, and that he hasn't actually seen you eat anything either.

All you wanted to do was go find a fucking vending machine. Not get the third degree.

A snarky reply is centimeters away from falling from your mouth, but then you consider how different Loki sounds. He's ... concerned. And not just because you woke him up; he's genuinely concerned.

You decide to answer honestly, even though it takes a moment to remember the last thing you consumed. "Do you remember those little bowls of fruit - at least I think it was fruit - but it was served as a side with those blue, tubular creatures that you said tasted like fermented meat?"

Loki's eyes widen, before he drops his face into his hand. That was yesterday morning.

Now he's alarmed. Humans can't go long periods of time without food or water before their bodies begin the grueling process of dehydration and starvation. He's seen what can happen to those unfortunate and impoverished enough to experience it - Asgardians, at least. Never a Midgardian. He can't let that happen. Not since ... well, not since he made that promise.

The silence from Loki makes you fidget. You try to break it, "It was good, anyway. Tasted like berries but was shaped like a garlic bulb. I was gonna try to find more of it if I can't find a vending machine."

He sighs. "You're not wandering these hallways and sectors alone." It wasn't a charming, lighthearted question. It was a statement.

And it was also a relief.

"You'll come with me?" you ask, picking at your fingernails in anticipation.

Loki bites his tongue, rolls his eyes. It's as if you're a child begging for sweets, with your big innocent eyes and hopeful little voice. He feels guilt tripped, even though he can tell that's not what you're doing; it's just you. The innocence, the hope. The excitement.

"Yes - " you inhale sharply before he can finish, "I'll assist on your hunt for food suitable enough for your needs."

You exhale, a huge smile coming with it, and have to control yourself from jumping for joy. "Thank you! ... Ah, are you decent under there?"

He smirks at you. "I'm wearing trousers, if that's what you mean."

~

The hallways of this Sakaarian palace are a flamboyant shade of drab. The architectural effort is visible in the abstract door frames and corridors, painted in bright contrasting colors. These halls in particular are an artificial sunny yellow with dark blue accents - a seemingly modern appealing design. And it would be, if not for the green and brown bloodstains obviously from the mutilated victims of the Grandmaster.

They're all around. On the golden ceilings, the blue diamond patterned floors, on the chandeliers and sconces. A faint stench lingers in the air of these hallways; the best way you've found to describe it is burnt. Pair that with the stains and it's almost enough to kill your appetite.

Not quite enough, though. And it's not like Loki would let you turn back now that you've interrupted his sleep.

In the distance you hear the thumping bass music and constant hustle of Sakaar, but in these hallways, it's dead quiet. Your footsteps achingly echo with every step the two of you make. They remind you of just how big and unfamiliar this place is. How alone you are, in that you're the only living human on this planet.

Of the few people - or, beings that you've walked past so far, none have been friendly. They all seem to detest your existence, as if you smell bad or look horrifying. For the most part you keep your eyes on your little slippers padding across the glittery floor.

You must admit, though, having Loki with you takes away some of the fear about walking around this place late at night.

Unbeknownst to you, you hadn't actually woken Loki up. He knows better than to sleep in a place like this; rest will do just fine. But that doesn't mean he was prepared to drop everything and go blindly walking the palace in search for a "vending machine".

As he walks now, after putting on some more appropriate attire - lightweight boots, proper leather trousers and a skin-tight blue tunic, all courtesy of and chosen by the Grandmaster himself - he glances down at you. He notices your inward demeanor. You're taking small steps, you're breathing shortly, and he can't even see your face with your head hanging so low.

Isn't this what you wanted? he wonders. He's doing as you asked for Norn's sake.

You near two civilians congregating near a corridor to another sector. Wearing typical skimpy Sakaarian wear, both were as tall if not taller than Loki. One was frighteningly thin and the other was frighteningly large. They appeared similarly built as you and Loki, save for their bleached white skin and black gums surrounding animalistic fangs.

With eyes an unsettling shade of gold, they widen and they immediately lock onto you - not you and Loki, but you - like cats watching a mouse. The tiny hairs on Loki's neck stand on end. He immediately narrows his own eyes at the creatures, daring them to do anything further. They don't even as much as glance away from you.

Loki claims ownership. His right hand brushes your right shoulder guiding you closer to him, once again daring the aliens to make a move. The two of you pass the corridor and Loki cranes his neck to watch the creatures, long after you've passed them. His arm stays around you, connecting you at the hips the entire time.

Monsters...

"They didn't look very nice, did they?" you laugh nervously from below him. Loki looks down at you and notices you ever so slightly, probably unconsciously, leaning into him.

His face feels hot. Quickly he retracts his arm.

"Ah, no. No, they didn't."

You on the other hand, were coming down from being fucking terrified. Those people looked at you like their next meal; at any minute you thought they may step closer and say something or do something or attack ... Relief, when Loki pulled you close and hid you away, is a huge understatement.

"Thank you. For protecting me and all." You lightly elbow Loki in the arm - for emphasis, of course - sending him shuffling a foot or so outward.

He dramatically collects himself and says, "Don't get used to it. I could sense your fear from a millennia away."

Straightening his tunic and looking forward, he doesn't look at you again. He was too annoyed with everything, including himself.

But you glanced at him as you walked. He had to be tired and was definitely a little on-edge, which wasn't completely unusual. He's taking the whole trapped-on-Sakaar thing much more gracefully than you, but that isn't saying much. Yet somehow he remains composed and in control. Reserved.

Except when you elbowed him. You really caught him off guard and you haven't stopped grinning since you did it.

Seeing his ever so serious eyes locked in front of him, his clenched jaw and tight mouth. Ridiculously long, dark eyelashes, fluttering in his stupid little frustrated way. That may have played a part in your grinning also.

His intense green eyes meet yours while you're watching him. "What?" he snaps.

"Oh, nothing," you chirp. I could get used to this, you think to yourself.

Loki's face twists up in offense. "If you think that I - "

"Look!" you grab his forearm and run to a sign on the wall. It had an arrow, with an image that vaguely resembled a plate of food. Vaguely. It also had some lines that could possibly mean something if you were to understand Sakaarian, or whatever. "Wonder what it says."

"It says 'Food, this way.'"

You scoff. "Not funny, Loki."

"I'm telling the truth! It says 'Food, this way.'"

"How can you read that?!"

Loki sighs. "Have I given you a reason not to trust me?"

You think of what happened moments ago. "No," you say timidly.

"Very well. The sign is a directory sign to the eatery. I think my duties here are finished. Good night." With that Loki starts to walk back down the hallway.

"Wait!" you call, a bit louder than you meant to. He's already a few feet ahead of you now, but groans and stops to give you an unnerving glare. "You can't just leave me here, you said it yourself!"

"What I said was you can't wander these hallways alone," he corrects. "I've brought you right to your destination. What more? Would you like me to hold your hand all the way through the eatery as well?"

... Yes?

"Now if you'll excuse - "

"Loki," you plead, trying to think of a convincing reason for him to stay - something to do with him, maybe - but you think of nothing, and now if looks could kill you'd be a bloodstain with all the others.

With no other choice, you desperately explain yourself. "Look, the truth is I don't stand a chance in this place alone. I mean, did you see how those things looked at me? By the looks of it I'm probably gonna be mauled in cold blood in the middle of this floor and they'll all gather to watch! No one would bat a eye. No one - " you shove his chest sending him backwards, "no one but you. Maybe. I don't know," you hiss.

Loki licks his teeth. Sorting through conflicting thoughts; mostly from the fact that someone just laid hands on him, and that that someone was you. All else aside he's rather impressed with the nerve you do possess. You unknowingly could survive here, perhaps, if not for your innate earthliness.

He sucks on his bottom lip while eyeing your ironic fluffy slippers. "Fine," he nods, looking up. "if that's what you want. I'll be your personal chaperone."

Finally, a bit of understanding! Your arms outstretch for a gracious hug - until the cold blade of his voice, as well as a silencing pointed finger stop you dead in your tracks.

"But if you give me one reason - one reason, to believe that you'd betray me, you will be all alone to fend for yourself in this wasteland. Do you understand?"

You nod. Dry mouthed.

"Good. I don't wish to repeat myself."

And, what a perfect time for your stomach to growl perhaps the most obnoxiously it ever has, in your life. A reminder as to why you're here in the first place.

You squirm and fidget with the hem of your sleep shirt, "Sorry."

For the millionth time and counting, Loki sighs and rolls his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

~

"Why does everything have to be alive?"

"Shh! Keep your voice down, for Heaven's sake. And don't be so disrespectful to the culture of these people."

You look blandly at your plate. It appears nearly full with it being so small, since apparently Sakaar cares greatly about portion control.

The food court, eatery, cafeteria - whateverthefuck, was displayed in a ring formation with patrons on the inside and servers on the outside. Surprisingly you weren't the only patrons at such an hour; a handful of people stood around eating and drinking cocktails - minding their own business, thankfully.

You find Loki contemplating the mixing bar to the left serving drinks, but he ended up staying with you. He translated the description of each food from the charming little labels standing near them. Charming, indeed, compared to the elaborate display of every item. At first glance to you, they appear to be expensive delicacies, until Loki read the labels.

And while the water-centipede noodle soup looked very appetizing at first, that ended when you approached and the bugs begun to stir.

Throughout the menu you're left with few alternatives that weren't moving. Your plate currently consisted of a tiny loaf of stale bread and a blue jam made of the same fruit from the other morning (which you couldn't begin to pronounce the name of). It won't sustain you for too long, but you've already gone this far on way less.

That's of no comfort to Loki, though.

Though he won't say it, he relates to your disgust and is still plotting on a way to escape this place. He hasn't forgotten about the obedience disk implanted in your skin - quite the opposite, as he continues to recast his Seidr on it every night, while you sleep. To keep you from complaining about it. But if it's not one thing, it's the next ...

Like now. You can't possibly survive long on a mere bit of bread and jam. He can't even do that. Oh, but it's the only thing that isn't alive. Death? You'll face death with a mighty fist! Unless death is alive, of course.

Loki does have a conscience, so he can't just abandon you here. But Gods, you're making him want to.

"Come on, there's a few more courses to choose from," he urges you forward.

The last two items looked promising. One was a pyramid display of small black eggs, which were in fact not eggs at all. "What are they?" you ask Loki.

"They're called 'eyes of the dead'. It consists of - "

"Nope."

Loki scoffs, "Would you let me finish?"

"No, I'm not eating something that has eyes."

"You are insufferably prejudiced."

When you say nothing in return, Loki feels a pang of regret. After all, the eyes are rather unsettling. He likely wouldn't eat them either. Especially now that they can't seem to look away from him, following his every move.

"I guess this is my last choice," you sigh. "Looks promising, at least."

He finally musters the courage to look away from the nasty creatures. You're standing somberly by the end of the court; he leans over your shoulder to read the label and is astonished.

You look up and find Loki's jaw dropped, his face close enough that you can see the green ocean swirling in his eyes. "You okay?"

Loki glances down at you, still in shock. "This is from Asgard."

"Really?" you blink. "What is it?"

He shudders. "They're calling it 'Tastes of Asgard', but it's just mutton chops, sheep's cheese and honey cake."

That sounds like heaven. Or Asgard, apparently.

But before your stomach takes over your mind, the answer to Loki's distress hits you. "How do they know what you eat in Asgard? Unless you've told them?"

Loki eyes you wordlessly, but says enough.

You hiss, "You don't think there's more Asgardians here, do you?"

"We'll talk about it privately. For now, do you want to try this or not?"

Your minds still running a mile a minute. How could anyone else from Asgard end up here? This place is for bottom feeders! You and Loki stick out like sore thumbs in this landfill with Loki practically being royalty and you - well. You being with him. You begin to shift on your feet anxiously when your eyes land on the mutton again.

Another opportunity to try food from Asgard may never arise again. Of course you want to!

"On one condition."

Loki huffs and rolls his eyes. "What?"

"Will you try some with me?"

~

Those emotional nights when cheese and crackers are more satisfying than the most elaborate Thanksgiving dinner; that's what you thought of. Somehow you were reminded of home. The Sakaarian bread was stale, but had a pleasant sourness that complimented the sweet, blue fruit jam and the sharp sheep's cheese. It was a means of comfort.

And when you and Loki played rock paper scissors to see who would try the "mutton" first, he indeed informed you that it wasn't authentic sheep from Asgard, but rather it was from Midgard. You tried it next and were pleased.

It didn't cross your mind how little manners you were using - wiping the grease and jam from your mouth ravenously - until you looked across the balcony and noticed that Loki had barely eaten any of his food. Instead, he gazed into the empty, colorful Sakaar sky. Something was bothering him.

"Why aren't you eating?" you slur, covering a mouthful of honey cake with your hand.

Your voice breaks Loki away from his thoughts briefly. He cringes. "You've killed what little appetite I'd acquired."

"I told you I was hungry," you defend yourself. A moment of silence passes as Loki looks back to the sky. It was easy to stare at, as it seemed to lure you in. As if it were trying to hypnotize you into believing there was some kind of beauty here. But the real beauty sat beside you.

"Do you think there's more of your people here?" you mutter.

Loki nearly bites back something about his true heritage, but chooses not to. He senses your honesty, your naivety. He absently cuts his honey cake with his fork. "I think there's one person in particular here."

"Who?"

He smirks despite himself. "Well, this meal is the true indicator. It isn't the same as I recall, but it's a cheap attempt to replicate it."

You stay quiet, confused as hell. You take another bite of the delicious honey cake that tastes anything but cheap.

"I knew this would happen eventually. It always does."

"What?" you ask urgently, not wanting him to veer away.

"This is Thor's favorite meal."

~

another tale from Sakaar! I love these. And to those who read the whole thing, I seriously applaud you. I don't know what happened. It started as one little sentence/idea and it just kept going and going and going and going and

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