#sending all best wishes to Michael of course

[ingravinoveritas]

Just wanted to drop a line to say that I know folks are concerned about Michael unexpectedly not appearing in Nye tonight, but there is a good chance that all of this is related to technical issues/preparing for the live filming of the show that is set to be broadcast into cinemas tomorrow night. Michael also doesn't strike me as the type of person to miss work unless he absolutely can't help it, so the best thing at this point is to stay calm until we know more, rather than getting worked up for potentially no reason...

[bosbas]

Epilogue: quiet my fears with the touch of your hand

series masterlist previous part || alt ending

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 2.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love (except not really anymore), alluding to sex, benedict being so down bad for this woman (like down horrendous), this woman being so down bad for benedict, pregnancy and discussions around pregnancy

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: i am so sad to let these bbs go i love them so much!! i will simply have to write drabbles because they are so dear to me oh my

January 3, 1819 – Y/N

A happy new year indeed! I missed you all terribly during the holiday season this year, but John and I had a wonderful time here in Scotland with Michael. It snowed beautifully on Christmas Day, and it made me think of all of you and our often violent snowball fights on your birthday.

In fact, I believe this letter should reach you at around that time, so I am sending you the brightest of birthday wishes as well! While I won’t be able to attend your celebration this year, seeing how we’ll still be at Kilmartin House, I am sending you a wonderfully tight hug and hoping your day is incredibly special. Hit one of my siblings with a snowball for me, please! Preferably one of the boys, but really anyone will do. 

Love from your sister, Francesca

You squinted your eyes in your dimly candlelit bedroom, unsuccessfully attempting to undo the tiny buttons on your dress. Perhaps it was the undercurrent of nervousness that had been moving through you the whole day, but you found your fingers were shaking so much that you couldn’t hold them still for long enough to unclasp the buttons on your back. A deep sigh escaped your lips as you accepted that you were simply not going to be able to do this by yourself, and you gripped the edge of the chest of drawers in front of you as you willed your voice to come out sounding more carefree than you were feeling at the moment.

“Ben, darling, are you still upset about earlier?” you called across the room.

A small huff escaped his lips as he shifted on an armchair in the corner, murmuring something about betrayal and honor without looking up from his book. You smiled and held back a laugh, anxieties momentarily soothed. Per Francesca’s request, you had hit Benedict less-than-gently in the chest with a tightly packed snowball during your annual snowball fight earlier today, and he had taken it quite to heart. Well, that and the fact that you had sneakily teamed up with Hyacinth and Gregory without telling him. It really wasn’t your fault, you reasoned. Benedict had thought you would go easy on him simply because you were married to him, which, of course, was a foolish thing to think. Though he wasn’t as competitive as you were, evident in your much more successful Pall Mall record, you knew today’s loss still stung.

“Well, do you think could find it in you to help me with my dress?” you raised your eyebrows pointedly. “Or are you still feeling too betrayed?”

He immediately looked to meet your eyes, grudge completely forgotten as he nodded excitedly and rushed over to you from the armchair he had previously been sitting in. It was rather endearing that Ben was still giddy every time you asked for his help undressing, even after four years of marriage. 

After a few moments of Benedict concentrating intensely on the buttons on your back, you teased, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

He hummed in assent and smiled at you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “Oh, immensely. It certainly makes up for earlier, I think,” he winked as he fiddled with the buttons. 

Honestly, you were inclined to think that Benedict had been secretly asking your seamstress to make the buttons smaller on each new dress she made you so you would have no option but to ask for his help. Even so, you wouldn’t have minded. You, too, enjoyed his sturdy hands on your back, his deft fingers fiddling with your dress and his lips softly kissing your shoulders as you told him about your day.

“A well-deserved win today, Mrs Bridgerton,” he said, never quite growing tired of how sweet the title sounded coming from his mouth. “And on your birthday no less. A stellar performance. I suppose I’ll have to start recruiting Simon and Daphne’s children to help me against the lot of you from now on. And then when we have ones of our own I can form a small army and I will never lose again.”

Your heartbeat sped up a fraction, but you were saved from having to answer when he undid the last button and your dress fell to the floor. Benedict placed his hands on your shoulders and gingerly turned you around to face him, drawing in a sharp breath as he took in your figure covered by nothing but your chemise, completely mesmerized by you. But he was quickly drawn out of his awe when he noticed your nervous eyes shifting around the room. 

“Darling, what’s wrong?” he asked, placing a gentle hand on your elbow and drawing you closer. “I wasn’t truly upset about today, I promise. I rather enjoyed seeing you, Gregory, and Hyacinth absolutely obliterate everyone else. It was only a slight inconvenience that I was one of the people you were obliterating.”

You shook your head, sending him a small smile. “No, no don’t worry, Ben. It’s not that at all,” you said, laying your head on his shoulder tiredly, an entire day of worrying having taken a toll on you.

“But it is something, then,” he prodded, desperate to find out what was making you so anxious. 

You said nothing, fiddling nervously with the hem of his waistcoat instead. Benedict, on his part, was growing increasingly alarmed. Usually, he could instantly tell exactly what was plaguing you, but you were being oddly evasive, and he was at a loss. Perhaps the best thing to do was to let you rest and broach the subject tomorrow morning, so he tugged on your hand and sat you down on the bed.

“It’s alright, darling,” he said, softly kissing your forehead. “I’ll ring for some tea, and we can get ready for bed.”

“I think I’m pregnant,” you blurted out before he could let go of your hand to go ask for some tea from the kitchen. Your shoulders sagged in relief, and you immediately felt a weight lifted off your shoulders as you said the words aloud.

“What?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Pregnant. With child.” 

“With my child?”

“Well, I certainly hope so,” you responded, laughing.

He instantly relaxed, rolling his eyes and engulfing you in a tight hug. “Oh, shut up, woman! I was merely trying to process the news,” he laughed, ecstatic that there would soon be a tiny version of one of you running around the house. He looked at you, eyes shining, and shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe it. 

“So, you’re happy?” you asked, anxiety still lingering in the back of your mind. It had been four years, after all. Your marriage had happened rather hastily, considering the years the two of you had spent pining after one another, and you had decided to revel in your romance for a while before having children. And eventually, you had wanted them. It was just slightly frightening to know that the time had actually come. You were excited, of course. You couldn’t imagine a better life than one where you raised children alongside your best friend, but you couldn’t help the nervousness you felt as you locked eyes with Ben.

“Happy? I’m over the moon, darling,” he said giddily and pushed you back on the bed so he could plant kisses all over your face. 

“If I knew it would be like this I would’ve gotten pregnant earlier,” you joked as Benedict moved on to kiss your neck and your breathing got heavier. 

---

You awoke quite suddenly, sitting up in bed so abruptly that Ben’s arm, which had previously been wrapped around you with his hand placed on your stomach, fell away from your body entirely.

Benedict grumbled in protest, noticing your absence even in his sleep. Typically, you slept on your side, with Benedict wrapped around you until the moment you woke up. Despite your racing heart, you smiled down at him, placing a soft kiss on his temple and sliding yourself back into his arms. 

But your attempts to fall back asleep were futile. You had stopped tossing and turning but found yourself lying on your side, staring at the wall opposite you while you felt Benedict’s chest rising and falling against your back as he breathed. 

“S’wrong?” Benedict asked sleepily, sensing that you were still awake.

Not wanting to disturb his sleep more than you had already, you whispered, “No, it’s nothing, Ben. You can go back to sleep.”

But Benedict was having none of it. He rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times, turning you around to face him. “That’s alright. I was awake anyway,” he lied, voice husky with sleep. “What’s wrong? I’m incredibly awake. Awake. I am awake.” 

“Sounds like it,” you said, laughing at him softly. You leaned up and pecked him on the lips, secretly thankful for his unrelenting line of questioning. 

Blinking the sleep from his eyes and leaning on his arm to face you, Ben looked at you and smiled fondly. “I am! Promise.” Then, tracing his fingertips on your arm, he pressed you a bit more. “It’s just me, darling. What’s on your mind?”

“I’m a bit scared,” you whispered. “Actually, I’m terrified. Terrified of becoming a mother, and of having to take care of an entire other human being, and of what it might change between us. Is this what you really want? Having a child?”

Benedict’s fingers never stopped moving as he thought of how to best address your fears, knowing the motion calmed you down. “Having a child with you,” he corrected. “Of course it’s what I want! I get to see a little bit of you in an entirely different person. And you’re my favorite person. So, I don’t really see a downside.”

You hummed thoughtfully, feeling slightly calmer. “But what if I’m a bad mother? What if our child is unhappy?” you cried, tears brimming your eyes as you thought of the endless scenarios in which you failed as a mother.

“What if you’re a great mother? And our child is happy?” Ben countered. “Look at how you are with Gregory and Hyacinth. How you’ve always been with them. You’re going to be a wonderful mother, Y/N. Besides, we’ll learn how to be parents at the same time and it’ll be something we do together.”

Nodding thoughtfully, you interlocked your fingers with Benedict’s. “I suppose you’re right,” you conceded. “It will certainly be a hell of an adventure.”

Sensing that you had calmed down significantly, Ben added cheekily, “Don’t forget you’ll finally have someone else you can force to listen to your ramblings about literature.”

You smacked Benedict playfully. “You enjoy the ramblings, might I remind you,” you replied airily. 

Kissing the top of your nose, he tucked your hair behind your ear and winked. ”Mm, I believe I did admit to this, yes.” Then, after a few moments of comfortable silence, he spoke up gently, “What about you?”

“What about me?” you asked.

“Is having a child what you really want?”

Your heart melted a bit. Even after he woke up in the middle of the night to have a chat with you and was clearly exhausted, he was still making sure you were alright. “Well, obviously. I’m thrilled! Especially now you’ve brought up the fact that I can have a book club of my own. If it’s a boy, I bet he’ll be just like you. A tiny Benedict running around the house ruining our expensive furniture with acrylic paint.”

“And if it’s a girl we’ll name her Daisy, right? Flower names and all that,” he replied sleepily, relieved you were finally easing into the idea of motherhood. “She’ll be just as smart as you are, I bet. I’ll give her the flower encyclopedia as well so she can know where her name came from. I think the one I gave you is still at Bridgerton House. I’m sure we could find it if we look.”

You gasped, having forgotten about your childhood plans to name your daughter after a flower. “Oh, that would be so darling!”

Benedict laughed softly, kissing you and pulling you back into his arms. “It would, wouldn’t it? Do you want to go back to sleep?” he asked, burying his nose in your hair as his eyes fluttered shut. You nodded, squeezing the hand that was nearest to you and interlocking your fingers. 

Ben was fast asleep soon after, but you spent a few moments looking at his sleeping form, chest rising and falling as his breathing deepened. Your heart swelled with love for this silly boy you had fallen in love with all those years ago. He was your husband now! Even after four years, you couldn’t quite believe how lucky you’d gotten. And you would get to raise a child together now. You really couldn't imagine anything better.

—

previous part || alt ending || buy me a ko-fi!

Tag List (lmk if you want to be added!): @bellahadidnt16 @like-gabriel-and-castiel @riverraingrayworld @5sos-calm @elissanatok @titanicnerd-blog @noonenuts @moonwayne @lilasblogg @mmontgomeryb @fulltacoparadise @joyfullymulti @sopanngon @fanfiction-she-wrote @aureolinb @ambitionspassionscoffee @bbubbllejisoo @marvelspogue @avengersgirlloriannaa @loliakeoghan23 @cierrajhilll @sadprose-auroras @merlieve @khaylin27 @cherrytop02 @little-duck @angerpearl @shondlenoodle @lyssamay52 @bags10 @angerpearl

[harunayuuka2060]

Diavolo: MC? Where are you going? *has seen them leaving their room*

Kid MC: I'm going to send this letter to Uncle Luke!

Diavolo: A letter? Hm. But it's already late. Can't you just send it tomorrow morning?

Kid MC: Yes. But Uncle said I need to send it tonight!

Diavolo: Just you alone?

Kid MC: *nods*

Diavolo: ...

Diavolo: I'll accompany you. Is that okay?

Kid MC: Yes! And Lord Diavolo? Can you check my letter too? To see if I have written it right.

Diavolo: Of course.

Kid MC: *gives the letter to him*

Diavolo: *reads it*

Diavolo: ...

Kid MC: How is it, Lord Diavolo?

Diavolo: *smiles* You've got the skills of your father. You're quite eloquent.

Kid MC: *giggles* I used a dictionary!

Diavolo: *chuckles* That's great! Here. I'm sure Luke will be happy to receive your reply.

Luke: *smiles as he reads the letter of MC*

"Dear Uncle Luke,

Thank you for inviting me to go on a vacation with you. But I need to ask Papa first.

Instead, why don't you stay and have a vacation here? Lord Diavolo can give you a room in the castle! Oh! And in the House Of Lamentation too!

I can't wait for you to join us, Uncle!

Sincerely,

MC"

Luke: *then reads Simeon's note next*

"Luke, I really appreciate you updating me on the situation. I must say, I'd feel much better if you didn't get involved any further. It's probably best if you head back to the Celestial Realm. MC and I are doing fine, just as you wished for us. Please take care, and rest assured, we'll meet again soon. Don't worry too much, and I sincerely hope you're doing well. — Simeon"

Luke: ...

Michael: It seems you have no luck either.

Luke: ...

Michael: Have you mentioned about the consequences?

Luke: Yes.

Luke: Simeon is... willing to take the risk.

Michael: ...

Michael: However, you felt relieved reading the child's letter. Why is that?

Luke: MC... They have a pure soul. They may look like a demon, but I would say that they have the heart of an angel.

Michael: ...

Luke: *looks at him* Michael, is there no way for father to reconsider?

Michael: ...

Michael: I'm afraid not. Unless if Simeon becomes honest and confess.

Luke: ...

Simeon: MC, there's something Papa would like to ask you.

Kid MC: What is it, Papa?

Simeon: ...

Simeon: Would you still love Papa if I became a human?

Kid MC: What's a human?

Simeon: *smiles* They're neither angel nor demon. You can say that they're someone that stands in the middle.

Kid MC: Okay? But why do you ask if I would still love you if you were a human?

Simeon: You know how Papa writes stories, right? I want to know your opinion.

Kid MC: Hmmmmmm... Papa? To be honest, that's a dumb question.

Simeon: *chuckles* How so?

Kid MC: Because I will love Papa no matter what. You can be a demon, an angel, a human, a bird, a worm—

Simeon: Worm?

Kid MC: I added that just in case.

Simeon: *smiles*

Kid MC: Anyway, I'm saying that you can be anything or anyone but you will still remain my Papa! So of course, I will forever love you!

Simeon: ...

Simeon: *hugs them* Do you know that humans have short lives? What will you do if Papa really did turn into a human?

Kid MC: Another dumb question, Papa! Then I'll turn into a human too!

Simeon: *hugs them tight* Oh... How did I deserve to have a child like you?

Kid MC: What's wrong, Papa? You're acting weird!

Simeon: Nothing. *chuckles* Papa loves you so much.

Kid MC: I love you so much too, Papa!

Raphael: Simeon, you finally agreed to meet us.

Simeon: Yes. After all, I need to give you an answer.

Michael: Then, I would like to remind you of the consequences. Since you refused to entrust your child to us, father has decided to turn you into a human and that would be your punishment for disobeying him.

Michael: However, if you choose to tell us the truth—

Simeon: I'm sorry. But I accept his punishment.

Raphael and Michael: ...

Raphael: Why? He's giving you a chance!

Simeon: *smiles* I'm just protecting my child, Raphael. If the truth comes out, that will ruin them.

Simeon: I will never do anything to ruin my child.

Raphael: ...

Michael: If that's what you've decided.

Kid MC: Papa?

Simeon: Hm?

Kid MC: *looks into his eyes*

Kid MC: Did you become a human, Papa?

Simeon: ...

Simeon: *smiles* Yes.

Kid MC: ...

Kid MC: *pouts* Why just you?

Simeon: *chuckles* *lifts them up*

Simeon: *smiles softly at them* Papa wants to see you grow up as a demon.

Kid MC: But you are a human so I want to be human too!

Simeon: We'll get into that, okay? Once you're old enough to make decisions. *kisses their forehead*

[cloveroctobers]

DECEMBER PROMPTS 🧊 — 3. MICHAEL “MIKEY” BERZATTO

A/N: I want to attempt to make this a bit lighter but with the way the bear is set up? Happiness is a process. 🥂 Also this takes place BEFORE 7 fishes? Maybe a year or two prior, so thats probably six or seven years ago from now? The timeline isn’t overly important with this show so whatever your brain feels is cool with me! Also decided to do this in headcanon/note form this time around because things are definitely about to get hectic for me. Merry Christmas Eve or Happy Holidays to you all! 🫶🏽 hope its filled with nothing but greatness + all things that are lovely and not chaos.

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE + I’m using: SCENARIO — 4.) Decorating the tree + DIALOGUE — 2.) “You know what they say, don’t eat yellow snow.”

<- read my previous December anthology prompt here.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊

Michael Berzatto always loved cold weather and sure his birthday happened to always fall on a brutal cold day… he always put more effort into everyone else’s.

It’s something he’s always done and maybe it had to do with his childhood where most birthdays his own parents forgot about it, treating it as any other day because that’s simply how they viewed their own and wouldn’t even get him a card at least.

He grew up fast and pushed those terrible feelings as far down as they could go and focused on caring for everyone else.

Lucky for him, he had his younger siblings that always managed to put a smile on his face, showing him that they wouldn’t ever forget

and a shit eating grin would also appear thanks to his best friend Richie who always showed up with packs of beer and encouragement to head out to a strip joint but somehow Tiffany always figured out that plan!

a gallon of warmth poured into his chest when you would call him at midnight or the break of dawn, wanting to be the first to send him well wishes for another year.

You were always something special to Michael.

Which is why on the morning of November 15th, he showed up to your place, just to tell you later that you were going tree hunting while he went down to Chicagoland to get the rest of his hours in.

He heard how bummed out you were about your boyfriend not being in town (yet again) to go get a tree for the place you moved into back in July.

Michael didn’t particularly hate the guy but he also felt like he didnt care enough as much as he should with someone like you.

He was always elsewhere and Michael was just praying that he didn’t ask you to marry him and call it selfish but he didn’t see a glimmer in your eyes when you looked at the guy.

Michael felt like you two were just dating out of convenience—until you both found better, which YOU would but you didn’t seem to see that.

Which of course sparked arguments and the guy walked in on that argument, demanding to know what was going on and you didn’t want to escalate the situation so you sent a warning glance for Michael not to take it there.

He never listened.

A ban from the house was laughable to Michael because who tf did this guy think he was to tell him to stay away from his best friend’s house? He maybe “the man,” of the house but he wasn’t man enough to love you. You have to show you care in a relationship and put in the work and this guy wasn’t it. You were an after thought and that pissed Michael off.

and he didn’t give a shit if the guy was 6’6 and built like a linebacker, it was fair game in mike’s eyes! Michael would say what he felt and he was super protective over you—which you appreciated but not in that moment.

Before hands could ever go flying and out of the respect he has for you, he said his peace and left the home—since thats what you wanted…with the both of you not speaking for a week—which was painful.

And also painful to Richie’s ears because Mikey wouldn’t shut up about it!

You as a topic? Was never on the low.

“Are you finally gonna admit to the audience that you’re sweet on them, Mikey Boy!?” The amusement was clear in Richie’s piercing blues and Michael was tempted to smack it right off.

“Shut your mouth and get back to work, ya bastard!”

Michael knew the guy talked shit about him behind his back but regardless Michael was in your life WAAAY before this guy was even a factor! He wasn’t going anywhere,, unless you told him to but he hoped that never happened.

Your boyfriend didn’t like how you kept Michael around but he knew how to put on a mask too, being a FBI agent and all that, which means he was hardly around anyway so…that gave Michael more time with you in the end, which definitely made your boyfriend more irritated when he bothered to check in from work!

Michael found it funny that your boyfriend thought he was doing something by flying back to Indiana with you to spend (the controversial holiday) thanksgiving with your dad, step-mother, and half-siblings just to disappear again into his work as soon as the both of you returned to chicago.

While he was off on a case, Michael was there taking on the failed promises, which included: tree shopping.

Having a hybrid schedule, working as a publisher and just starting a meeting with a client, you were caught off guard the morning Michael greeted you on your front steps on HIS birthday.

He was all grins and barely in the appropriate wear for the approaching winter but fr! a hoe never gets cold you know? “You asked what i feel like doing for my birthday, right sweetheart? Spending it with you doll face and gettin’ us a tree, how’s that sound?”

You can can barely get any words out due to being on a call but a sweet smile that actually matched your eyes was enough confirmation—although it was on the tip of your tongue to argue, Michael took that to his advantage that you couldn’t in that moment.

Which didn’t mean you wouldn’t hammer him with texts a little later—but Michael sucked at texting so your attempts would probably go unseen anyway.

It was around six, you just got off thirty minutes ago and went to freshen up, ready to text Michael when he’s already at your door, keys in hand, shining teeth of a smile, your favorite sandwich in hand: a wrapped Porchetta, chicken parm, or a caprese sandwich (if you don’t eat meat) ready for you to eat on the go, since the farm closes at eight-thirty and the drives about thirty to forty-five minutes depending on the traffic…

Michael’s got terrible road rage and hates traffic but you’re not the best driver when the sky falls so you have no choice this evening but…he’s at ease with you on the passenger side.

He’s telling you entertaining stories as you eat and when you’re done, he’s asking for your review—although it’s your favorite sandwich so of course it’s going to be highly rated! but he just likes to hear you talk about the things you enjoy

he’s interested in your day since your work days are completely different and he’s not afraid to give his opinions if the author you’re working with sounds like an asshole.

Shopping with you can sometimes take forever but Michael doesn’t seem to mind. If you’re looking for the perfect tree, even if it’s ugly as hell, you’re gonna get the damn tree.

He’s used to artificial trees because the real one his family had after he just turned fifteen, his ma threw a lit cigarette at once, unbeknownst to the rest of the berzatto family, almost burning it to a crisp as she whipped around to yell at a seven year old Sugar about something, so his dad swore off “spending his hard earned money for Donna to ruin,” leaving Michael to stop looking forward to Christmas trees

Yet he was here on his birthday with you, happy to be here and help you find whatever you needed.

“What about that one?” You pointed at what would probably be the eighth one, if Michael thought to keep count.

He can’t help it—

He glances over his shoulders and scowls, “looks like uncle Lee, fucking balding in the middle.”

“Michael!”

“Wha? Am I wrong?! I’m just sayin, sweetheart…if you love that one, I’ll like it.” Michael raised his hands in surrender while you huffed, rolled your eyes and spun on your flats, diving in between a row of fully stocked trees.

Eventually you find a wide white spruce tree that the both you felt strongly about to bring back home

and the man is willing to throw his back out for you, getting it up your steep front steps, not allowing you to help him one bit, which is frustrating for you ofc.

Once positioned in your living room, just the way you want it, Michael wipes the back of his hand against his forehead dramatically.

“What would you like to drink?”

“I’m fine. Just gonna get some air, then when I get back we’ll discuss when you want to decorate it, yeah?”

You shake your head at Michael while he heads back to the front of the house through the screened in entrance before entering November’s air.

When he’s taking longer than expected, you go hunting for him just to flail around on some black ice after stepping down from the last step but manage to somewhat catch yourself on the railing.

Thankful for a bruise rather than a broken tailbone, you curse to yourself as the throbbing pain shoots down your femur.

And surely, Michael fucking berzatto appears from the shadows to assist you, “hey! whatcha doin’ down there?”

“I slipped on some stupid black ice…where were you?”

“You sure it wasn’t the yellow snow?”

“The what?” You exasperate as Michael guides you to your feet.

Michael points at the spot to the right of your front lawn and you scowl as he says, “you know what they say, don’t eat yellow snow!”

He laughs but stops short as you cut your eyes at him, “did you come out here to piss on my lawn when there’s two bathroom’s inside?”

Michael scoffs, “don’t go pointin’ fingers at me because you busted your ass. That ain’t my fault babe and you know I wouldn’t do that! I told you that was Richie’s drunk ass.”

Sighing you rub at your sore thigh, “I still owe him a kick in the ass for that.”

“Yeah you do,” Michael smirks as the both of you move to head back inside, “despite that, it was good house warming.”

You nod as you’re back inside the warmth of your new home and rest against the couch while Michael’s back to analyzing the tree you picked. “Hey, I’ve got you something.”

Michael shakes his head although a twitch of a grin is there,“I told you that you didn’t need to get me anything.”

“Shush,” you held up your hand at the man who raised his brows at you, “it’s nothing crazy but it’s in the fridge.”

He sighs at you but goes to your bright yellow kitchen nonetheless. Michael always gets caught up standing in your kitchen, just imagining all the meals he could get up to in here since it seems so bright and welcoming yet empty.

You were more of a breakfast person which is why he was always down to go to diners because of you, whereas he was more a lunch person because of his old man, hence why Chicagoland was a deli spot but Michael was okay with shifting his ways for you.

When he opens your fridge, he scans through it, easily picking up on what items belongs to your macho boyfriend and scoffs to himself before spotting a medium sized box tucked in the back of the fridge.

“Did you find it, Mikey?” You call out to your friend who latches onto the box, kneeing the fridge closed before making his way back into the living room.

He plops down on the couch next to you, eyeing you while you smile over at him patiently waiting.

“Here goes nothing,” Michael quietly says before pulling the top back to eye the mold of the zuccotto, “…you fucking didn’t.”

“I did,” you nod before explaining, “I thought about making one but I also didn’t want to disappoint you and then I remembered you’ve been wanting to try that bakery that’s here on my side of town, so I made a call and hope you like it.”

Michael swallows the lump in his throat at the gesture. He can’t remember the last time someone’s got him a cake but this wasn’t just some simple task. This was important because this means you listened.

You listened to how he told you that his nonna used to call him, “pumpkin bear,” because he was chunky and the shade of a Orange left in the sunlight fresh out the womb and that she made the best zuccotto he’s ever had and never tried anyone else’s since she’s passed.

Not even his ma could touch his nonna’s but he would never tell the woman that!

“The bakery’s a combined Italian-French place which they don’t really advertise until you’re actually inside but the little elderly lady who made it was the cutest thing and I thought you’d probably trust her.”

“I wanna kiss you on the mouth, you’re so good to me, you have no idea!” Michael pointed at you, voice thick with emotion.

This may seem small to any other but it really meant a lot and you could sense that as Michael gripped your hand to squeeze and press kisses to. “Happy birthday, Mikey.” You whisper.

Michael groans as he pinched the corners of his wet eyes for a moment, “I love you, you know?”

“I love you back,” you smile, “now can we try!?”

“Hell yeah we can but I get first bite this time.”

“I guess…it is your birthday after all.” You wink.

The taste test was so worth it, to the point Michael made it his mission to go meet the elderly woman down at her bakery during one of his breaks from the restaurant.

He shared kind words and got to know Giuseppina or “Josy,” up until the point they actually became friendly with Josy sending her husband Charles over to try what Chicagoland had to offer as well.

He had you to thank for that, reminding him of the good in his life, even what once was.

It isnt until the first week of December when Michael comes around again to decorate your tree.

“What the hell happened?” Michael quizzes you when he spots you with a brace taking up a huge portion of your thigh.

Guess that makes sense why you took so long to get the door.

You sigh, “hello to you too, Mike. Care to come in?”

“Yeah, yeah. Hi.” Michael greets, gripping your hip and pressing a kiss to your cheek before stepping into the too warm house.

You tell him you slipped again and that resulted into a bruised bone, which is less severe than a fracture and something you can heal at home with ice, and meds you wouldn’t be taking—so you’re just taking it easy.

“Why hasn’t inspector gadget put down any salt yet?” Michael commented as he shoved his thin jacket into the small closet tucked in the corner of the living room.

You have your oddly placed fireplace lit and boxes everywhere to dig through.

Sighing you plop back on the couch, “He’s busy but he brought up the decorations from the basement and I can do the salt myself.”

“Oh yeah? Why haven’t you?”

“…it’s cold.”

Michael fans his hands at you, “newsflash babe, we’re in Chicago not Kansas or wherever the hell he’s from and after we’re done tackling this tree, I’m gonna fix it.”

“Mikey—

“Did you hear what I said?”

The look he sent you with his dark eyes made you mold your lips together and cross your arms before you pushed off the couch to head over to a few of the boxes.

Michael does the honors of playing some Motown Christmas music on your tv to fill the tension, but he wouldn’t apologize for looking out for you.

The bare minimum when it comes to your boyfriend doesn’t impress him, not one bit and although you didn’t like and told Michael that you didn’t like him dragging your man, you couldn’t change Michael’s mind about him at all!

He was gonna hurt you and Michael was waiting for the asshole to just rip the band aid off or when you woke up and dumped him yourself.

Michael knew you had it in you and knew you deserved better than to just settle for what looks good on paper.

The smooth deep growl of Marvin Gaye singing, “I want to come home for Christmas,” (I heavily stand on the fact that Marvin Gaye is one of Michael’s favorite singers!) filled your home as the both of you went through the boxes, picking out your decor that brought all sorts of feelings to your frame.

You reminisced about what your life was and if your dad still had any of your old ornaments you made as a child, knowing your mother would have and what your life could be as you took your side of the tree, placing ornaments up as Michael hummed to the music.

The both of you worked in silence which wasn’t the usual although Michael was much louder than you, being quiet wasn’t the norm of your friendship.

And it wasn’t because of what Michael said to you, you weren’t that sensitive—it was you getting in your head about the holidays.

About your dad, step-mom, and siblings deciding not to speed Christmas with you like originally planned because they were going on a cruise and the possibility of your boyfriend traveling to freaking Europe around that time for work made you think about the upcoming loneliness

Yes you had another friend outside of Michael but it was just this odd feeling that you didn’t particularly want to define or gave much thought about until now…

“Hey, stop thinkin’ so hard and just be here with me, huh? Your favorite person on the planet.” Michael calls over the music, after catching you staring up at the length of the tree with one ornament still in your hand.

When your eyes meet his and that famous grin stretched over his features, you roll your eyes once you realized what he said, bringing you back into the spirit and moved around the living room in search of your stool.

Michael holds the stool until your comfortably on it before moving one hand to the small of your back to keep you stable.

When you glance back at him you state, “how do you know?”

“Know what?”

“You’re my favorite person when there’s a billion people in this place?”

“Ah, It’s all over your face! You know how they say heart on your sleeve? Well in your case, it’s on your face.” Michael comments as he holds your stare before you slowly get down to be face to face with him, “and don’t you worry, you’re mine too.” 🥹🥹🥹

You pat his jaw, “damn straight, baby. And don’t you forget it.”

“Never will,” Michael chuckles, “do I get to do the honors of putting up the star?”

You plop down on the couch, digging through what’s left in the box you were working on, “we don’t have a star.”

“…Run that by me again?” Michael turns to you.

You nod, “we wanted to do something…less traditional and it was between either a bow or what he went for…a stag.”

Michael eyes the topper and scowls as he reaches for the cream deer head, “im gonna keep my mouth shut on this one.”

“Thank you.”

“welcome.”

after awhile, Michael finds his way collapsed next to you eyeing the tree as the both of you sip at some cranberry punch you made the other day, eyeing some rosemary you had floating through it.

“It actually turned out pretty, no?” You ask, shoulder to shoulder with the bearded man.

Michael sips from the mason jar and savors the earthy tangy flavor, “best lookin’ tree I’ve ever seen!”

Resting your head against Michael’s shoulder you take in the scenery, feeling a little less alone as Michael’s lips peck your brow, reminding you that it’s best to hold onto what you have, rather than what you don’t. 

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆𐙚 ⋆⁺₊

read my final ~5 days of Xmas~ anthology prompt here.

[teagballs]

"how can i make it up to you?" | michael bluth x reader fluff

authors note: HEYYYY it's me again. another request whoop whoop: "a michael fic where the reader is sulky bc michael has been neglecting her and he makes it up?"

love this idea tysm for the request i hope i did it justice 👍

cw: a little angst the reader is lonely :( michael makes it up to them tho, gender neutral, pet names, short n sweet!!

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

Michael was a busy man. You knew this, of course you did. From the day you started dating he had been sending flowers as an apology for missing date night. Usually his absence was the result of having to stay late in the office, but he had always been quick to reschedule plans. He always wanted to spend as much time with you as his cramped schedule would allow. But lately he had fallen under his massive workload. You had hardly seen him, only when he left for work in the morning and finally returned late in the evening. This and really put a damper on your mood. It was the same day in day out, never seeing your boyfriend.

You groaned at the sight of your empty apartment. It was days like this - when your boss had been a nightmare, when customers were particularly demanding, when you wanted to relax - when you wished your boyfriend was home. You plopped yourself down on the sofa, shedding your shoes and jacket and curling up in a blanket. Exhausted from the day, you decided a nap was the best thing to do. You dozed off.

You eventually stirred once you heard the door open. 'Was that.. Michael?' You questioned to yourself in your dozed state. Michael set his briefcase and jacket on the counter, conscious not to make too much noise, assuming you were still asleep. You made a light groaning noise as you sat up. "Shit, sorry baby did I wake you?" He apologised. "Yeah but it's fine, suppose I'll just go to bed now." You replied, tone upset. You knew it wasn't Michael's fault that he had to work so late. You were sure he was trying his best to come home as soon as possible. But that thought alone didn't make the loneliness of being so separated from your boyfriend disappear. Michael noticed your dejection. He made his way over to you on the sofa, sitting down next to you. "Are you alright?" He questioned. "Yeah I'm OK." You quickly replied. "You don't have to lie Y/N, you're sulking, why?" Michael asked, but he knew the answer. He knew he had been far too focused on work, prioritises his job over his partner.

"It's just," you began, "you're never home. I get lonely," You admitted. Now you avoided looking at him, turning your head away, "I miss you." Michael felt the guilt well in his chest at the sound of your voice, small and sad. "I know darlin', I'm sorry it's just-," Michael stopped himself from giving the same explanation again. He knew you understood why he was away so often. "Hey look at me." Michael spoke softly. You turned your head to meet his gaze. He held you face with his strong hand, looking deep into your eyes. You could melt just from the way he looked at you. "I'm sorry I'm away so often. I hate it too. I wish I could be home with you instead," He spoke. "What can I do to make it up?" He gave you a goofy smile, an earnest smile that made your heart swell.

He had put you on the spot. What could he do? All you wanted right now was to spend some time wrapped in his arms. "Can you stay up a little tonight? Watch a movie, eat some takeout? "Is that all?" Michael teased. "..Cuddle..?" I mumbled. Michael chuckled, "Of course I can." He took your face in his hands and kissed you delicately, full of love.

Michael grabbed the blanket you had previously been wrapped up in and draped it over the pair of you. You shuffled close to him and he wrapped his arm around you. You leaned into his body. It felt like forever since you had been so intimate. Michael placed another gentle kiss on your head as you turned the TV on to watch whatever was on, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that you were spending quality time with the adoring man you loved so much.

[wazabii]

Haitani Rindou- lovin ain't easy when you were never loved

Rindou, the younger haitani brother. The lesser sibling. The one who's bitchless, and it's not his fault, his brother is just more appealing to women. The sibling, only known as 'Ran's younger brother'.

Rindou haitani, who used to only watch his crush of 3 years, (y/n) Gojo, walking around without a care in the world while stepping on ants. The boy could only hope, hoping that she'll one day look his way.

Rindou who found it unfair that no matter what, he will always be inferior, the second choice compared to his dear older brother.

The younger has always had thoughts.

Sometimes he wishes he was the older brother. Maybe women like that better. Sometimes he wishes he has his brother's carefree personality and words. But no, he just had to have this stubborn, unlovable, stoic attitude. Sometimes he wishes he was standing right next to his brother, not above nor below. Sometimes he wishes he wasn't 'Ran's younger brother' or 'Ran's sibling'. Sometimes he wishes he was never in the haitani family.

He didn't want to be compared with his brother Ran, as much as he adores his older brother, he just wanted to be...... Rindou haitani.

Sometimes he wishes to be.....loved.

Rindo who on the day he found the courage to confess, was so shaky his knees buckled. He was way worse than having to face the blue afro male, Kawata Souya at their brawl. The poor boy came prepared for rejection, ready to leave hear something along the lines of 'i like your brother more' or 'you're brother's more my type'. I mean it would make sense that his brother is more suitable for you. Rindou is only 172 cm (5'8) while (y/n) was 180 cm (5'11). His brother was 183 cm (6'0) which obviously is more comfortable with her height.

He who heard laughing and turned around muttering an apology while getting ready to sprint, basically accepting your mockery, only to be shocked when he was shoved ot your big,soft chest.

It took him a while to comprehend what you said, but once he did it was waterworks. A simple 'of course!' was enough to send him bawling. He wrapped his arms around you with a bone crushing hug while sobbing into your chest.

'Rin is me being your girlfriend making you that happy?' 'You choosing me over my brother makes me the happiest man alive!'

"I promise you will never regret me being your boyfriend! I'll make you the centre of my life and love like no other. I'll do this so you won't have to go through what I did. I might not be the best lover at first but I'll prove that I can do better for you! But do give me time, as after all

Lovin ain't easy when you were never loved '

Likes, reblogs, comments and shares are appreciated<333

[freyjawriter24]

AO3 is down, so I'll have to post this there later and backdate it, but...

Today's 10th July, which means there's only 18 days left until Season 2 of Good Omens!

To commemorate this momentus point in the @gomenseveryday countdown, please enjoy the little fic below the cut...

August 2008: 11 years until Armageddon

Aziraphale was trying desperately not to think about it too much. He was failing, of course. But really, how could he be expected to just forget? This was, quite literally, the end of the world. And even if it was still eleven years away, well, that really wasn't long at all, if you thought about it. Which, despite his best efforts, Aziraphale certainly was.

He'd tried putting on some music to distract himself, but that had failed dismally, too. What a Wonderful World, Louis sang, and the angel couldn't help but picture it as a mourning song, covering everything Aziraphale would be heartbroken to lose when the war destroyed it all.

He'd quickly changed the record, but for some reason the next, usually upbeat track suddenly sounded sinister.

Everyday it's a-gettin' closer,

Goin' faster than a roller coaster...

Oh dear. Eleven years really wasn't much at all, was it? He wished Crowley were here. Why had he only agreed to meet with him the following morning? That was hours away. And in the meantime, he had to sit with memories of destruction and the echo of Buddy's words circling around in his head.

Everyday it's a-gettin' closer...

August 2009: 10 years until the Apocalypse

A decade left, now. Only a decade. Crowley had slept through more than one of those by accident, and now it was all the time they had remaining until either the Earth was annihilated or they, impossibly, miraculously, succeeded. Ten years.

You wouldn't think it, looking at him. Warlock Dowling, the Antichrist. It didn't feel real, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. He was still so small. One year old, and so much potential held within him. He looked like any other human child.

Still, ten years. Just a drop in the ocean in Crowley's lifetime, but for a human – a human child in particular – that was aeons. They had time. Time to guide him, time to encourage him, time to carefully balance the good and bad impulses in him so that Hell would fail and Heaven would be denied their war. They could do this. They still had time.

August 2010: 9 years until the End of the World

"It's admirable, really," Michael mused, only half sincere.

"Naïve, is what it is," Gabriel grumbled. "And now we're getting yearly check-ins, as if anything at all is going to change."

Michael nodded sympathetically, and shuffled some paperwork on her desk. She wouldn't have minded Aziraphale's visits really – it often made for an entertaining change of pace, watching him attempt to make his busywork sound important – except that they always seemed to leave Gabriel in a bad mood.

"Well, at least you've got less than a decade left of that to go."

"Yes!" Gabriel said, brightening. "Only nine years left, and then war. What a delightful thought."

Michael smiled. "Glorious indeed."

August 2011: 8 years until the End Times

"I don't get it," Beelzebub muttered.

"He always did like going above and beyond," Dagon reasoned.

"Yeah, but yearly check-ins? It's just pointless. We know the child is going to be evil, he's the Antichrist, for Satan's sake. We don't need constant updates just to state the obvious. Certainly not every year."

Dagon shrugged. "I think he just likes showing off. Fair enough, really. He's been doing some outstanding work up there. It's only demonic that he come and gloat." The Lord of the Files rifled through a damp-looking cabinet, and pulled out a mouldy-looking folder. "Have you seen what he did with the global economy the other year? I'm thinking of sending him another commendation for that."

Beelzebub hadn't, but didn't want to let on in case Dagon launched into an explanation. "Why doesn't he come and give us presentations on that, then, rather than some snivelling child?"

Dagon raised an eyebrow. "Because you'd hate that too, and understand it even less. He's not stupid. Don't you remember the M25?"

Beelzebub groaned. "Okay, yeah, fair enough." There was silence for a moment, broken only by the steady drip of yet another broken pipe. Then: "Do you trust him, though?"

Dagon snorted. "No. Of course not."

"Good. Just checking."

"Like I said, he's doing it for his own benefit, not ours. Self-obsessed little prick, prancing his pet project in front of us every year. But at least it's only for another handful."

"Mmm. Suppose so."

Beelzebub looked gloomily into a corner, lost in thought.

Dagon sighed and slammed the filing cabinet shut. "Want to go torture someone for a bit?"

"Fuck yes. I thought you'd never ask."

August 2012: 7 years until the Destruction of Earth.

Everyone was so happy this year. London was buzzing with the energy of it all, the weather seemed determined to echo the mood, and Warlock was picking up on the collective indulgence in the simple joy of living.

You wouldn't think there was only seven years left of all this.

They took him to the Olympic Stadium, and the O2, and the Velodrome, even though he was probably still too young to understand all the rules and nuances of the sports they were watching. He loved clapping and cheering, though, and would do so regardless of who won, calling out with pride when Kenya got gold, when France did, when China did.

Thaddeus was getting more and more red in the face with each passing win for another country, but Nanny Ashtoreth's sharp gaze stopped him from doing anything about it. She'd had the forethought to warn him in advance that there would be no stifling of Warlock's joy this summer, as he was far too young to be trying to understand the nuances of the geopolitical landscape his father occupied.

Harriet sat fairly quietly the whole time, trying not to look bored, and clapping politely whenever either the USA or UK did well.

When it came to his birthday towards the end of the month, Warlock's parents got him a bike. A simple gesture, but one surprisingly aware of their son's interests.

Nanny carefully fitted a pair of stabilisers to it, and Brother Francis gifted Warlock a set of knee pads and elbow pads, alongside a helmet printed with an illustration of grass and ladybirds.

Warlock learned quickly, and took great joy in shouting out garbled imitations of Olympic commentary as he cycled around the garden.

"And Warlock Dowling cwruches his enemies under his heel, shooting stwaight into first place and winning five hundred gold medals for Team GB. And, uh, America."

Nanny watched with pride, and ignored the flutter of nerves that whispered that she might be doing a better job at influencing the child than her counterpart, and all that would mean.

August 2013: 6 years until the start of the Second Angelic War

Brother Francis tried not to think too hard about it all while he neatened up the flowerbeds for the garden party that afternoon. Warlock was turning five, and miraculously the weather had speckled the garden with enough rain overnight to keep everything looking green and vibrant without threatening any ruination to the outdoor celebration that was to come.

Five years old. Six years left.

He tried not to think about flaming swords and burning wings. Tried not to consider what might become of this garden in a few short years if they failed. Tried not to imagine what would happen to the Antichrist himself if he accepted all his inborn power.

"Brovver Francis!" came a high-pitched call, and the gardener turned to see Warlock – still tiny, really, barely more than a toddler – running across the grass towards him, Nanny following protectively just behind.

"Hello young Master Warlock. And happiest of birthdays to you! How old are you now?"

"Four," Warlock said, a little uncertainly.

"Ah, you were four, weren't you my little Prince of Darkness," Nanny said, crouching down. "But today is your birthday, and that means you get to add one year to your age! So how old are you now?"

"Five!" Warlock said brightly.

"Yes, you clever little cherub!" Brother Francis beamed.

Cherub? Nanny mouthed over Warlock's head.

Francis raised his eyebrows and shrugged slightly. Ashtoreth rolled her eyes.

"Almost halfway to conquering the world, aren't you, my little charcoal dove?"

The gardener gave Nanny a look then, too, but she just smiled, a touch wickedly.

"Come on then, Warlock, let's let Brother Francis finish his work so everything's ready for your party."

"Okay Nanny! Bye Brovver Francis!"

"Goodbye, Warlock!"

Only six years left.

August 2014: 5 years until the End of Humanity

Warlock was turning six this year. He was very excited.

Six was bigger than five, and four, and three, and two, and one. It was much bigger than zero. Not quite as big as seven, true, but six was a very good number. It did lots of clever things with factors and division, which Warlock liked, and it had a special sort of meaning when three of them were next to each other, which Nanny liked. And three was half of six, too, so even better. Warlock liked maths a lot.

Six was also over halfway to eleven, which Nanny said was going to be important. That was when he'd come into his powers and rule the world. Mummy said it was when he'd go to big school, too, so maybe that was what Nanny meant. But either way, he was over halfway there now. Six was a very good number.

August 2015: 4 years until the Events of Revelations Come to Pass

Warlock had been looking forward to his birthday, as usual, until he'd learnt from his father that seven-year-olds don't have nannies, they have tutors, and that meant Ashtoreth would be leaving him soon. The child was heartbroken, and even Nanny couldn't console him for several days.

He seemed to cheer up a bit, though, when he met the first of his two new tutors – Mr Harrison, it appeared to Thaddeus and Harriet, was exactly the sort of no-nonsense teacher that little Warlock needed to get over his childish attachment to his Nanny. Warlock looked up at his new tutor in awe, and chose not to suggest otherwise to his parents.

The changeover day was to be his birthday, when neither Nanny nor tutors would be required, and it thus marked a turning point in young Warlock's life. But he knew he would be safe. Growing up wasn't all that scary when you had trusted people there to protect you. And, as it turned out, Mr Cortese looked rather familiar too. Maybe the future was going to be okay after all.

August 2016: 3 years until the End of Days

"Maths! Why did it have to be maths?"

"I don't know. I can't imagine where he gets it from."

"Makes no sense at all."

Warlock was thriving in his lessons, but that was the one thing Mr Harrison really couldn't get over. Maths.

"I mean, if it had been anything else..."

"Well, perhaps it's our fault. We really should have learnt enough by now to keep up with him on it."

"Yes, but..." Mr Harrison spluttered for a moment, unable to articulate his thoughts. "It's maths."

"Point taken."

The only maths Mr Harrison was capable of doing at the moment was subtraction. Specifically, counting down from eleven. And he was getting shockingly close to zero now...

August 2017: 2 years until the Day of Reckoning

Mr Cortese was getting rather into this teaching lark. He hadn't done much of it for centuries, but the knack hadn't left him, and he was rather enjoying things. Pity about the maths, but he was less distraught about that than his counterpart.

He just had to remember that this wasn't forever. It was a temporary measure, designed to prevent the end of the human race and all life on earth.

He didn't like reminding himself of that. But needs must. He shouldn't lose sight of the goal.

Not that Buddy was letting him forget any time soon.

August 2018: 1 year until Judgement Day

The tutors both got Warlock's birthday off, and so Crowley and Aziraphale were holed up in the bookshop, celebrating dismally the one-year-left anniversary.

"It will be fine, won't it?"

"We've done all we can."

"Not quite yet. Still a year left."

"Yes. A year."

They sat in silence for a long while. Well, the outside world was silent – Aziraphale could still hear the echoes of an earworm he'd had for the last decade, insistent and unrelenting. He began to tap his foot absentmindedly.

"What's that you've got there, angel?" Crowley asked after a few moments.

"Hmm?"

"What's in your head? You're tapping."

"Oh. Yes." He sighed. "Buddy Holly."

"...Buddy Holly?"

The angel sighed again, then got up and put the offending record on. The upbeat music filled the bookshop, and the demon winced.

"Ah. Buddy Holly."

Everyday it's a-gettin' closer...

August 2019: Adam Young's 11th Birthday

Adam opened his eyes. Yes. Today was the day. Eleven years old. He he grinned up at the ceiling, then scrambled out of bed, still grinning, and headed downstairs.

Today was going to be a brilliant day.

[epickiya722]

Can I suggest Iida from My Hero Academia?

My first impression: I thought he was funny as hell. I didn't see the first season until after my watching of season 2 and midway of season 3. So I caught his more comedic moments like the battle between him and Mei.

My impression now: Tenya is great, I like him! He's a good kid and means well.

Favorite thing about that character: I'll say this later, but I like that Tenya isn't too serious of a character. Instead, as the story goes on, he does loosen up, even though he can still be a little too much at times. At best, he just doesn't want the class to get too out of hand, but still have fun.

Least favorite thing: Watching season 1's first couple of episodes I was like "he is so serious..." I didn't exactly hate it and honestly, I didn't think I would care much for Tenya. Of course, my mind has changed since.

Favorite line/scene: There's a couple, but to choose... in season 4, Tenya actually mocks Izuku saying something like "in just one day, I have been completely left behind" and then called him "house arrest". I wasn't expecting that at all!

Favorite interaction that character has with another: I love how he interacts with Izuku, but I especially love the moments he has with Ochako. Kinda hate how some of the fandom forgets that Izuku isn't the only boy Ochako hangs out with. My favorite interaction with Tenya and Ochako is back in season 1 during their first team battles. Their exchange during that was funny as hell.

A character that I wish that character would interact with more: I know we got some flashbacks, but I would love to have seen more Iida Brothers scenes. (For those who don't know, Tensei is my favorite big brother of BNHA... and honestly, the best one, tied with Rody.) Scratch that, not even just them, but more scenes with them and their parents, too. Probably a spin-off of the Iida Family and how they became one of the top hero families.

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character: It's been years since I actually watched Free, but Iida reminds me of Rei. Blue haired, glasses wearing tall teens with serious, but not so serious personalities and voiced by J. Michael Tatum? Twinsies.

A headcanon about that character: I headcanon that Iida does have a couple of glasses that are in funky colors and/or have designs on them. Some even being different lenses shapes.

A song that reminds of that character: Ever heard of the Sonic X's theme song?

An unpopular opinion about that character: I don't think Iida is that much of a "stick in the mud" as some of the fandom thinks. Especially since sometimes he's just as silly as the rest of the cast and sometimes he's the one breaking the rules.

Favorite picture: I really like this one sketch Horikoshi drew and of course, I get a chuckle out of Iida's funny poses.

Send Me a Character...✨️

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Homebodies

An artfight attack on @bellygunnr! Knight Rider but make them lesbians. Takes place after the episode "Halloween Knight". Also on ao3

-

Devon had been quite upset that Bonnie was so keen on staying at the apartment after the murder had come to light. In some ways it made sense, why stay in an apartment that had so many bad memories? Why stay where she was unsure of herself? 

The same question was why she needed distance from the Knight Foundation. She needed space, to think, to breathe, to consider her next step. It was her choice. He didn’t push after their conversation but she could see how his eyes examined the bags under hers – hear the strain in her voice. Bonnie was tired of it all. Tired of the nightmares, tired of the Foundation getting its claws into her work. Tired of the strange guilt of watching Michael –resurrected and sent out again and again with KITT– only for them both to limp back to their broken home to lick their wounds. And have her fix them up to send them back out into danger.

So Bonnie left. 

The apartment slowly became more like a home. Her effects scattered about in what one could describe as on purpose or fashionable – if they only had half working eyes. She was an engineer, so order came in the form of controlled chaos. Only her tools were organized by job, size, and color on what in most places would be a dining table. Hers was littered with fine tweezers, a wrench and oil stained cloth, and magnified glasses for the intricate work of creating a mind from metal.

The more personal belongings she owned were in her room, which was still incredibly spartan. Her degrees, some books, an old blanket, and her clothes still half unpacked. Her apartment walls were blank and sounds echoed eerily sometimes, but she was still settling in. There was a postcard Michael had insisted was KITT's idea on her fridge. Next to it was a shopping list in Michael’s messy scrawl as well, from the last time she dropped by to play house and check up on Bonnie.

Michael Knight had gasped at the state of her fridge as all 6'4 of her gangly frame squeezed into Bonnie’s tiny kitchen and rummaged through her barren shelves. She was so upset by her pantry that she called KITT on her watch as a witness. KITT was kind enough to side with Bonnie for a moment before Michael went on a tirade and uttered an aggressive “okay pal!” into her wrist.

So sue her! She'd gotten busy and hadn't been shopping in a week! Bonnie had heavier things weighing on her mind, and didn’t need Michael swaggering in, oozing saccharine charm and worrying about her with her voice all low and quiet. Genuine concern coming from Michael rankled her, and she wished the older woman didn’t get under her skin so much. Still, it was a sight to see her back in her apartment. Michael had nearly smacked her head as she emerged from the fridge and part of her almost wished she would.

She appeared alien in Bonnie’s apartment, bringing too much movement and life into her empty, haunted space. Out of place and on her nerves, Michael would only temporarily be cowed by her expression. Bonnie had gotten annoyed at her latest escapades and how damaged she'd gotten KITT on the Foundation's business. Then she had the nerve to look hurt and started whining about how she'd done his best. Bonnie fixed her with a look when she had set her hands on her hips and glared back at her for all of two seconds before she turned tail and scampered off back into the kitchen. 

KITT’s voice carried from Michael’s watch, but all Bonnie could make out was “-a tactical retreat, yes, of course, Michael.”

There had been a quiet cacophony of noise from the tiny galley kitchen and the whispered mutterings of scheming going on, but Bonnie was too tired to investigate or play host to the spectacle that was Michael Knight. She had made her comments and left sometime after Bonnie resettled at the table and gotten busy with her work. 

The apartment had quieted again and Bonnie tried not to hate herself for hating it. 

She failed then, and she failed at not hating herself for the joy she felt when Michael returned with her arms full of brown paper bags overflowing with groceries. Bonnie hadn’t been able to react beyond a startled look as Michael stumbled in like a wounded gazelle with a wild look in her eyes. Her hair was wild and the lines on her face crinkled as she beamed at Bonnie. Some inane one-liner was on her lips and Bonnie’s only saving grace was that the bottom of the bags were giving out so Michael had to flee into the kitchen instead of delivering it. And Bonnie hated that she missed the sound of her voice.

It wouldn't do to dwell on it. Michael was a stray cat coming to her for attention and affection in the form of their spats while Bonnie patched up her or KITT. Lanky, scarred, and overly friendly, one might think she didn’t know any better, but Michael was fiercely loyal once she decided you were worth her time.

That thought caused a tightness in Bonnie’s chest and she decided to ignore it and get back to her latest project. It was still one that benefited Michael, but at least she could turn her thoughts toward KITT instead. She lost herself in her work quickly enough at her table-turned-workstation when she was once again interrupted by Michael.

Bonnie had noticed her swagger in with something in her hands out of the corner of her eye, but ignored her. She knew to wait or ignore Michael. If she needed something, she’d make it known – one way or another. Then, proving Bonnie right, in typical Michael Knight fashion, she cleared her throat and waited for Bonnie’s response as she looked all too pleased with herself. It was only then that Bonnie realized she smelled something delicious and that her stomach realized too and roared its anger at her ignorance of her own needs.

Michael just stood there, grin on her face, hip cocked to the side, and a kitchen towel over her shoulder as plates of food steamed in his hands. Her hair was haloed by the fluorescents on the ceiling and her eyes crinkled as her smile broadened. The tightness returned and Bonnie’s throat had to remember how words worked.

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what?’ You're a rocket scientist, can't you put it together?” Michael sauntered closer with the plates. Bonnie could tell the towel on her shoulder was new. How much had she gotten at the store?

Bonnie had glared up at her and the smug bastard had just continued grinning with only the tiniest crack in her cool facade. She set the food down a polite distance from Bonnie’s work and straddled the chair opposite her in the most inelegant way. It was like watching a deer slide on ice and not fall, but only barely. Her focus shifted when she aggressively stabbed at the food, breaking her reverie.

“I didn't have any sausage.” She said intelligently as she stared down at the food. Bonnie didn't have the energy or mental processing power to pick at her.

“You didn't have any milk, eggs, or bread either, but me and KITT fixed that.” Michael shook her head as she talked. Grinning at her, egging her on. The same song and dance they would play at the Foundation’s workshop except now in the sterile fluorescent of her half-empty apartment. An apartment that was warmed by the mere thought of Michael stopping by to crash on the couch.

A smile nearly formed on Bonnie’s face, but she tamped down the urge. “I’m not a rocket scientist. I’m an engineer.”

“Apologies.” Michael responded, in what was a terrible impression of KITT’s accent. “I do hope breakfast for dinner is suitable for you as an engineer. Us regular folks eat at 24 hour diners and miss the grease sometimes.”

At the mention of grease, Bonnie remembered to wipe her hands on a rag on the table before she grabbed the cutlery. The food was good, she thought. She was not impressed. It was just a nice, if overblown gesture for Michael to make eggs, sausage, pancakes, and hashbrowns.

“You got a lil–” Michael reached for her, and to both of their surprise, Bonnie let her. 

Let her warm fingertips wipe the smudge of grease off her cheek, right below her eye. Let the small moment pass with a lingering touch that felt like a brand. 

“Thank you.” Bonnie said, much too quietly.

Michael sat back and grinned again. She never seemed to stop smiling when Bonnie was looking at her. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Both of them hungrier than they realized. The sun had long since set. Bonnie eyed Michael’s bag by the door, sitting there like a dog unsure if it was welcome. She cleared her throat and sipped some water to buy herself some time.

Michael had whipped her head up at the sound of Bonnie’s voice. Her eyes wide and eager. Her whole body tense in faux nonchalance.

“I want to work on KITT tomorrow.” Bonnie started.

Michael deflated ever so slightly, but hid it well as she leaned her chin on her hand.

“Are you staying the night or will I need to find you at some motel?” Bonnie asked, less heat than she wanted. The barb slid harmlessly off Michael as her grin grew and she stood to clear their dishes from the table.

“I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome–” Bonnie snorted a laugh “--but if you want me to stay…”

“Watch it, Knight.” Bonnie said as she watched Michael slink into the kitchen again. It was becoming a familiar sight. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Michael saluted from around the corner, “Wouldn’t dream of any funny business. Not in front of Dr. Barstow.”

Bonnie groaned and threw a screwdriver in her direction. Michael laughed as she ducked and it clattered harmlessly on the linoleum. 

“I do so enjoy your sleepovers, but please keep it down. Some of us are trying to get some sleep.” KITT called from Michael’s watch.

[ranebowstitches]

*taps mic* hello I was going through my old Google docs and I found this Ghostface/Michael Myers story idea that I never used and probably will never find the energy to fully write so if anyone else wants to please do so and please send me a link so I can read it and credit me and all that what not

..

A concept that I’ve thought of while disassociating work:

Michael and Ghostface lost in the woods (why? Idk) and it starts to snow, now it’s Michael and ghostface caught in a snowstorm ok

(And yes this is a ghostface who is obsessed with Michael and Michael is RZ!Michael)

So they’re making their way through, ghostface chatting through shivering clicking teeth Michael trudging through like he doesn’t know the snow or ghostface is even there

Once they’re completely soaked and ghostface is like maybe ready to just lay down and give up they happen upon a cabin in the woods (ghostface like ‘I’ve seen this movie’) and they bust in there

GF goes into survival mode and heads right to the fireplace, finding some matches and striking up a fire with shivering shaking fingers. He stands there for a moment watching the fire grow and trying to warm his hands before he realizes his clothes are soaked and he’s like okay time to take these off and wastes no time in stripping down including taking his mask off

He’s hanging his clothes over the backs of some chairs or something when he looks over and sees Michael just standing there sorta in front of the fire just kinda melting onto the floor and he’s like “Michael you have to get your clothes off you’ll never warm up with them on” and Michael might kinda tilt his head at him but doesn’t really do anything and GF like huffs and comes near to help but Michael pushes him away with a big cold hand against his chest and GF is like “if you won’t let me help you then do what I say!”

And there’s like a staring contest for a moment before GF huffs and sits down in front of the fire knees to his chest like “fine. Freeze then. See if I care.”

There’s a another few minutes of gf just staring into the fire trying to warm up before there’s a rustle and Michael sits down next to him sans clothes but still has his mask on and gf is like Wellp that’s probably the best I’ll get and he’s kinda like 👀👀 naked Michael but also like I just want to be alive

But then he notices that Michael’s mask is still dripping water onto Michael who keeps shivering from it and he’s like “dude your mask is soaked too. Just take it off it’s fine.” And Michael doesn’t move and gf maybe kinda reaches for it but Michael grabs his wrist and pushes him away and gf is like “I’m just trying to help!” But Michael just sits there wishing he had a knife to stick into gf to make him shut up

But of course he realizes gf is right and pulls his mask off a moment later, letting it flop to the floor in front of the fire. His long hair is dry at least as is falls over his face and shoulders and gf is like trying to look respectfully but is very like 👀👀

So they sit there in front of the fire trying to warm up as the storm rages outside and gf just keeps shivering he’s skinny so he’s probably got no fat on him so even sitting in front of the fire his teeth chatter softly and eventually Michael gets tired of hearing it and reaches over, just tugging gf over to sit in his lap, gf back to Michael’s chest, Michael’s legs on either side of him and his arms wrapping around gfs body

And gf just dies right there

He’s like hhoolllyyyy shiiittttt

Michael is warm and big and all around him and he’s trying not to like freak out or fanboy out or anything and for once in his life he just stays quiet and leans back into Michael letting his head tip back over Michael’s shoulder (a dangerous move around a killer he knows but even the thought of Michael wrapping his hand around his throat to kill him is pleasant) and his eyes close and he sighs. Michael eventually rests his cheek down on gfs shoulder, blonde hair falling over his shoulder now and they both kinda fall asleep in front of the fire like that

End it there and it can be cute

Continue and it can be horny

Cause they’re only like half asleep and like as they warm up gf can feel something hard poking his lower back and he’s like huh? And shifts against it making Michael grunt and tighten his hold on gf to keep him from moving and gf immediately is like 😳😳 and freezes and is like “do you want me to leave you alone I can” but Michael doesn’t let gf go nor does he seem to want gf to do anything about the situation and gf is like ok ok ok it’s probably just a bodily reaction from being pressed together it’s fine

And so gf closes his eyes tries to sleep tries not to think about how *big* Michael is but *oohhh it’s so hard not to when it’s pressed against him*

And I can’t decide if gf should just be a slut and be like I can keep that cock warm for you wink wink and Michael let’s him or if he’s like wink wink and Michael just gives him a death glare and doesn’t let him

May I also present, gf grinding himself off against Michael and Michael just watching him the whole time and that working gf up even more.

And then once he's all worked up and warm, Michael pulls him close like a heated blanket

Also, Michael fucks ghostface later that night, once they're both properly warm. Michael's like a snake and has gotta wait 'til he's warm to really give it all he's got. Lmao

Also I want Michael biting gf as a way to express both “yes” and “no” so gf is just like ?????? The yes bites are gentler, but only Michael knows that

And gf calling Michael a “brute” and also “big guy” at least once

[ingravinoveritas]

Hi Amy, I'm the cursed anon who asked Neil lol (and I guess I'll stay anon for all my life after what happened today). I just wanted to thank you for what you wrote. I was sure my ask would have reached your blog somehow, alas. I don't know what to say, I'm mortified, it's been a rather hard day for me, since I felt completely misunderstood and belittled by someone I looked up to. I'm sorry because I must have phrased my ask in a weird way, an even "creepy" one, it seems.. By the way, I'm so glad you didn't find anything creepy in that, because I don't know for the life of me what I said that was perceived that way. I spent the entire day thinking about it and, at the same time, I tried to distract myself from shame. I don't know how to describe it, but this answer made me question so many things, about my mental health too, and I definitely didn't need that. He could have just said that he didn't quite understand what I meant, instead he only made me feel stupid and fed me to the lions. I mean, of course I know that season 2 is wrapped for example, I just wanted to tell him that maybe this sort of casting might be a future problem for season 3, and that I hope it won't be an issue for season 2, even though I saw many people turning up their nose already. (As I also bloody know that David Tennant and Michael Sheen are actors playing a part, evidently this is not what my concerns were!) I really don't know how to better explain it, English is a hard language to convey things sometimes. Neil doesn't speak any other language than it, and it shows honestly, because he doesn't know how hard it is for someone who is not native; me asking that might have been an impulsive decision, but I really tried to do my best with the language, it was hard, and it's like he pretended he didn't understand nevertheless. I don't know, I'm so disappointed by such a response. I thought it was more likely that he just read and didn't answer, but that condescending response? I didn't expect that. I'm sorry that I made him so sour/sharp/harsh (I don't know which adjective is the more appropriate in this case, and it drives me crazy that it can take so little to be misinterpreted, that's what I was referring to) because evidently I must have offended him or hit a nerve, which was not my intention. I might have been stupid to ask that, but if the ask was so annoying to him, it's not like he was obliged to answer it and being so cruel at the point to completely distort its meaning. Do I regret it? I do, but maybe without all of this, I wouldn't have ever seen this side of him, and I'm for the truth, even if it always tastes bittersweet, so.. Good to know, I guess. 

Sorry for ranting! Oh my god, I didn't realise, it's just that it's still an open wound to me. Coming back to you, I wanted to tell you that even if you might not agree with me (you have all the right not to), your response is actually the kind I expected from a man of power who is twice my age (just saying). Thank you for always being so considerate and tactful, you really did made me feel a little better. I wish there were more people like you in the world, I mean it.

(Sorry for the disappeared ask, I deleted the account after sending it, thinking that it would have stayed in your inbox once it was there.. Well, I was wrong haha. I'm going to delete it after you answer then, I had reactivated it just because you turned the anons off and I wanted to thank you instantly <3)

Hi, Anon. Oh, I am so sorry for what you went through yesterday. I'm also floored to have you reach out to me, as I didn't even realize you were aware of my blog, but I thank you for doing so and sharing your thoughts/feelings with me.

It saddens me so greatly to know how much Neil's response has hurt you, and how it has affected your mental health. If the comments on my post about what happened are indication, however, you are definitely not the only one who felt that his response was not okay. What you said about feeding you to the lions was something one of my followers also mentioned, and whether Neil intended it or not, I would have to agree with that assessment.

The fact is, Neil is a writer. He knows how powerful words can be, and how suggestive. So by calling your question "creepy" in that first sentence, he is creating the lens through which the reader is going to view your question. And so what I would say is that two things can be true here, which is that 1) You have every right to feel the concerns you do, but trying to engage Neil about it was probably not the best idea; and 2) Neil has the right to feel/say what he wants, but deciding to answer your question the way he did instead of simply ignoring it was also probably not the best idea.

I don't know if you've been on his blog at all today, but Neil actually went into a bit more detail about his rationale, re: the use of the word "creepy" in the comments on this post, as part of a back-and-forth exchange with another fan who again brought up the issue of nepotism. I thought I would highlight these two comments in particular:

What I was struck by in the comment on the left was two specific things: 1) Neil's mention of the "undertones" to your question. Going by what you wrote, Anon, as well as the message that you've written here, I do not think there were any undertones to your Ask--with the possible exception of calling Neil's character into question (which, if he was hoping to squash that, it is now beyond ironic that his response to you has achieved the exact opposite); and 2) That someone who has been described as "so Tumblr" and "Neil gets it" would somehow be oblivious to how venomous people can be on social media, especially when encouraged by the creators of their favorite works, and why someone would therefore not want to make themselves a potential target. In just the first sentence of his response to you, however, Neil proved exactly why you were right to use a burner account.

In terms of the comment on the right, we see Neil draw a false equivalence between your question and people criticizing him for casting POC actors in Sandman. This was (in my opinion) Neil doing this fan what he did to you, which is twist around what they were saying as a means of deflection and avoiding answering the question that was actually being asked, which was about nepotism. The other irony for me is him talking about people accusing him of having a secret agenda, while he was the one doing the same thing to you. The only difference is that his assumption ended up having serious consequences, as we are now seeing.

I think you did hit a nerve, Anon, but--as strange as it may sound--I don't think it had anything to do with you. My feeling is that there is something going on with Neil and he is using Tumblr as an outlet--much in the same way that Michael used Twitter as an outlet in 2019/2020. So I do not think you are "cursed" or "made" Neil be salty/harsh--I think he was already this way and took whatever is happening with him out on you. Because if everything was absolutely fine--if what you were mentioning in your question was totally ridiculous and Neil was entirely unbothered by it--I do not think he would have answered it, nor would he still have been engaging this fan about it for hours afterward.

I know this probably won't be of much comfort, and I am sorry. English is not my second language, but I am autistic, and I relate very deeply to what you described about searching so hard for the right words (which is probably why it takes me forever to answer my Anons) because of not wanting to be misunderstood. And I know very well what it's like to have someone you so greatly admired turn out to be not at all what you expected, especially when everyone else's perception of that person is so wildly different.

It is for that reason that I can understand fans on here and Twitter rushing to defend Neil, not wanting to feel that someone they love could possibly do anything wrong. "Neil is a human being" is a comment I've seen frequently...but if we are going to say that Neil is human, then that means he is imperfect. It means he makes mistakes. And it should not be controversial to say this. I've also seen people in the aftermath of this saying how kind Neil is to the fans...but his response to you was unkind. Setting someone up to be a target is not kind. Neil has so many people who write into him who are dealing with mental health issues and concerns, and at best his response to you was thoughtless...but at worst, it sends a message to other fans that they, too, could become targets for absolutely no reason. And while I do not believe that Neil owes the fans anything, having an awareness of the power he wields and a sense of basic human decency does not seem like much to ask.

You do not ever have to apologize for ranting to me, Anon. I'm so glad that what I wrote in my other post helped you to feel better, even if just a little. I am by no means perfect--far from it--but I've been in enough fandoms and had enough heartaches to know that I would want to do anything I could to spare someone else from going through the things I went through. The shame here is not yours for asking a question that yielded a disproportionate overreaction from Neil--the shame belongs to the people who piled onto you because of it.

I want you to know that I was truly touched by your compliments, and that you felt comfortable enough to be so vulnerable with me here. I'm sending you lots of love, as well as the hope that we can continue to have honest discussions about these subjects. A lot of people are with you, and believe me when I again tell you that you are not alone. xx

[smp-live]

"Hey, Wil."

The few candles scattered around the shrine flickered in the breeze, their unsteady light sending shadows dancing across the lapis and gold. Moonlight from the near-full moon almost drowned them out, bright enough to read by and casting the potion bottles resting upon their stands in a silvery sheen.

Tommy stood, head bowed, with his hands stuffed in his jeans' pockets. They'd been shaking, earlier. Now they held still.

"Day, what, fifty-two, now? Something like that. Not like it fucking matters, does it." He kicked at a stray pebble. It scattered away, towards L'Manberg. "I won't be coming back here, anymore. Sorry. For leaving you alone."

"But I guess this was more for me than for you. 'S not like you can hear me, huh? Because you fuckin' left. That was smart of you. To get out while you still could."

"Don't worry. I don't blame you. Not anymore. We'll call it even, 'kay? You left me, and now I'm leaving you." He shuffled closer to the shrine with a weak smile that was quick to die, a light shrouded by a veil.

"I'm dying tomorrow, Wil," he said, and his voice cracked even though he'd already grown used to the thought. "I'm not- Fuck." And he let himself slide down to sit with his back resting against the lapis. It was cool, in the autumn evening air. Soon there would be snow on the ground.

And he wouldn't get to see it.

"It's not fucking fair," Tommy said, suddenly angry. He was still so, so angry. "It's not fucking fair! Why did it have to be us? Why couldn't we have just been normal? Been happy?"

"I just wanted to live, man. To not, I dunno, feel like this all of the time. I was so scared, Wil. I don't- And I'm not, anymore. And I thought that was a good thing, but I don't- I don't know anymore."

He tipped his head up to the sky, trying to soak in all the moonlight he could. This was the last time he would ever see it. The last time he would ever see the stars. Yesterday had been his last sunset, and in a few hours, his last sunrise, and he didn't know if it was worse when you knew it was coming or when it was horribly unexpected.

"At least it'll be over. It'll finally be over."

A pause. Silence, punctuated by soft breaths.

"I'm gonna be dying in the prison again. Not even somewhere new." He huffed out a dry laugh. "That fucking prison."

"And then... I'll be dead. Forever. Tubbo said it'll be like static, dying, so at least it won't hurt like last time, but... The after, Wil, that's what I'm- I'm dreading."

"But Tubbo can't know that. I'm the one who dragged him into this mess, and I... I feel so guilty. He could just be living like normal, taking care of Michael, and instead... he's wrapped up in all this." He buried his head in his arms.

"How did you do it?" It came out as barely a rasp. "How did you not- I think I understand, now, how you felt. In Pogtopia. This would drive me insane too, living with this."

"At least I won't have to. Think on the bright side, right?" A hoarse laugh. "That's what Tubbo wants to do. And it was so... frustrating, Wil, yeah? Because we're fucked. We're absolutely fucked, and he keeps insisting there's another way but I can't think about that, I just can't."

"I don't want to die. And... I know I've been in Limbo before, but fuck, man, I-"

"I miss you."

A sob tore its way out, tears running down his cheeks, and for the second time that day, he let himself cry.

"I miss you so much. It hurts. It was so bad in Limbo the first time and you just fucking- made it worse but I don't wanna be alone there-"

"And I know if you were here you'd tell me it was for the best or some bullshit like that but fuck, man, you'd know what to do. Or at least, you'd be a bossy little bitch and tell us what to do and I wouldn't have to fucking argue with Tubbo about the plan."

"It's the only way. You get that, right? I'm not being- being stupid, or short-sighted, or anything? Because I really wish this was one of those times."

Of course, there was no answer.

"Yeah, no. You're right. I have to do this."

He wiped at his tears with the palms of his hands. "Gods. They're fucking Gods, Wil. TommyInnit, God-killer, that's what they'll call me." He chuckled wetly.

"I lost your book, by the way. And the Discs. I'm sorry about that. I know you got them for me and I really do appreciate it, and I tried to keep them, but..." An inhale. "I couldn't do it."

"At least the Discs saved our lives, though. And- and you got them! You got them for me! So I guess that means you saved us one last time, huh? Thanks for that. Bitch."

"You probably wanna hear how they helped, but I- I shouldn't say that. I shouldn't be here at all, actually." He glanced warily around. "Someone could be listening."

But the only sound was grass in the wind, and howling stone from the caverns deep in the crater below. Even the creatures of the night were quiet, silenced by the oncoming winter and, perhaps, a sense of anticipation for the day to come. Or, if the universe had any sense of justice, in mourning.

"After all, I'm supposed to be in the prison right now. Or that's what they need to think." He picked at the frayed threads of his jeans. "And people talk. You know how it is - you're the one who taught me that."

A sigh. "I just wanted one last night."

He sat in silence for a while. Time enough for the moon to disappear behind a cliff and the constellations to turn their paths in the sky. Just a boy, eighteen in age but feeling much older, and a monument to his long-gone brother.

Eventually, he tapped his knees. "Well, I should get going. Long day tomorrow, and all." And he got to his feet.

He turned to face the shrine but all words died in his throat, so he simply rested his forehead against the cool gemstone the way he'd seen Wilbur do in a small stone room with a button in this very same location, what felt like an eternity ago.

"I- Goodbye, Wil. We said this already, but... I guess I didn't really move on. I kinda have to now, though, I guess." A laugh.

"Thank you for everything. I really, really wish it could've been different." A deep breath. "For what it's worth, it was fun while it lasted."

"I love you."

And then he turned away and stepped into the shadows, not letting himself glance back.

[wolfiemcwolferson]

I’m in my feels about Charles’ having a Seb helmet and also in my Maxiel feels because of a conversation with a friend so here is a thing.

Maxiel: The Helmet

Most of Daniel’s friends aren’t here and that’s ok. There’s a party waiting for him in 6 different countries and he plans on hitting them all like some kind of fan service retirement thing so no one worries too much.

But he’s looking forward to Christmas - where he plans on turning off his phone and forgetting about everyone and everything.

He’s currently staring at the Lance DTS meme that another acquaintance has sent him because they think it’s funny. “You love the sport but it just don’t love ya back.” Sure, Danny had made that joke himself, but he was allowed to do that. It hurt coming from other people.

There was no F1 fanfare for him either - the sport he bled for, the one that kept him from his family for two years, the one he’s missed birthdays and funerals and weddings and time for.

Of course, Seb was getting a proper fucking send-off. Daniel was getting a reserve seat and he knew he’d never see the inside of a car at lights out again unless something bad happened, and no matter what, he couldn’t wish that on anyone - not any of these guys.

It’s Charles’ helmet that breaks him though. The helmet for Seb. You love the sport and sometimes it just don’t love ya back.

And the worst part is he had told them all not to do anything. He was a reserve driver. He’d still be around. Don’t worry about making a big deal about it, I’ll be back.

He didn’t expect anyone to actually take him seriously…he expected something.

Danny is tired now, counting the hours until he can bolt. Ready to drink a bottle of wine on a flight and not have Michael glare at him passive aggressively.

Danny’s helmet isn’t special - the same design he’s had all season - because he didn’t want to remember this. But maybe he did and maybe he’s bitter and maybe he doesn’t deserve a full time seat ever and -

He’s tugged sideways suddenly and he nearly loses his balance but then Max is righting him with that gentle smile on his face that he gets for people he actually considers friends. Danny hadn’t seen it this week after everything, but there it is.

“Hiya, Maxy. What’s up?”

Max beams and whispers, “come with me.” And then he’s waving at people in the RBR garage as they walk past them and towards Max’s driver room.

Daniel feels like he should leave. Even if he has a contract with these guys that technically starts in two days - he’s in McLaren Orange and he sticks out, but Max doesn’t let go and they keep walking.

“I, of course, did not change anything. It is still gold, and my lion is the same as always, but -“ Max pulls Daniel through the door of his driver’s room and slams it shut behind him. Daniel has flashbacks of - well, not the time for that.

“Max, what?” Daniel asks, confused and a little tired.

“I know it is not your last race ever, but it felt important to me,” Max is still rambling - quick and nervous like he does when he’s unsure if he did something wrong, and then he picks up his helmet, the gold one with two stars on the back. “You will have a seat in 24, but I wanted to -“

Max turns the helmet around and taps on the place underneath the two gold stars. The number 3.

Max put a - a 3 on his helmet for Daniel.

For Daniel’s last race.

“I know things have been hard for us, since-“ Max waves a hand between them, and it’s met to encompass everything between them. “But you are still one of my best friends and you helped make me the driver I am today and -“

He shrugs and Daniel pulls the helmet from his hands with shaky fingers, placing it back down on the table.

“Thank you,” Daniel says, before he hugs Max, winding his arms around his waist and squeezing him close. “Thank you.”

Max puts his chin directly on top of Daniel’s head somehow and says, “Yes, well you are important to me. And I am glad you are coming home.”

Daniel squeezes Max tighter. Maybe he was right. Maybe he was coming home in more than one way.

[thekatebridgerton]

Today on another episode of... oh you know the drill, I'm sleep deprived, I write aus at 3am, fall asleep without energy enough to keep writing, only to do it all over again next weekend. So for this week's episode:

Benophie meet the Robinsons au

So this kid Charlie suddenly lands in 12 year old orphaned Sophie's backyard, right around the time her father married Araminta, and for some reason Charlie claims that she is the only person who can help him fix the time machine that brought him there in the first place else his parents are going to kill him. And some evil villain is out to get him. So of course science kiddo Sophie agrees to help.

Except that while she tries fixing it, the time machine malfunctions again and sends 12 year old Sophie and 11 yo Charlie into the future.

The thing is that Charlie Bridgerton's entire family is currently all in his grandmother's estate for their annual game of pall mall.

And his family is... a lot to take in

Sophie's new friend has 7 eccentric aunts and uncles, plus their spouses, around 20 cousins ( Sophie really keeps loosing count of how many cousins Charlie has), then there's the unexpected visits from the sisters of his uncle's wives, with their respective husbands. Sophie counted one two, five Grandmothers having tea in the solar. And of course, Charlie's father, the artist Benedict Bridgerton, (who has got to be the most handsome man little Sophie has ever seen and Charlie's three younger siblings. )

They all think Sophie is some kind of school mate that Charlie has brought home and treat her so well that cute orphan Sophie starts wishing she could have a family like the Bridgertons, no matter how much Charlie says that's a bad idea because his mom definitely wouldn't like it, but once the Bridgertons find out that Charlie's friend is an orphan, of course they want to take her in.

Until Charlie's mom comes back home ready to scold her son for damaging her time machine and... little Sophie Beckett finds herself face to face with genius British scientist Sophie Bridgerton. Cue the chaos from the family realizing that Charlie brought his little mom to the future.

In the end when the evil corporation is defeated and the future time continuum is saved Sophie goes back to the past, ready to endure under Araminta until she can get an early emancipation and a scholarship to put all her effort into science and create a time Machine... and then she bumps into some slacker teenager painting the walls with graffiti and calling it art. Young Benedict is far from the wonderful man Sophie met in the future, but... she wants to stick to him and figure out how they ended up married in the future, worse, as her life keeps progressing and her friendship/ on and off art trade offs, with Ben keeps getting stronger trough the years, how can she hide the knowledge of who exactly is her in-laws future spouse.

Take for example Penelope from the journalism club, when Colin Bridgerton said he'd never date her, Sophie wanted to punch him and tell him he'd regret those words soon enough. She literally saw his adult version missing his wife just because Penelope went outside for air. And let's not mention Benedict's pompous older brother who always thinks he knows best, making plans to date Kate's sister right Infront of Sophie and Benedict. At that point Sophie was just opening a betting pool with grandma Danbury and calling it a day. Simon showing up one day and pretending to date Daphne was honestly the least weird part of Sophie's college years. When they got married, she was the least surprised, she knew!!

Francesca getting married to Michael's cousin? Since when? Sophie was convinced Michael was Fran's husband in the future, she didn't know about any John...wait ..wait oh no

And let's not get started with super feminist ' I don't need a man I'll never get married afraid of children ' Eloise, little Sophie was almost adopted into the Bridgerton family because adult Eloise was an avid children's rights advocate with a husband who believed in adopting orphans left and right. To find out that Eloise, the star step mom who was all about healing Sophie's trauma, used to be some surly angry highschool rebel, really had Sophie wondering if Eloise had a nicer secret twin.

And all the while in which Sophie is going with the flow keeping up with the Bridgertons and helping them out into becoming the happily weird and chaotic family she knows they can be. She ends up not noticing that ex graffiti artist, turned gallery owner Benedict is really into her. Mostly because Sophie knows herself as his wife or rather his future wife. And he keeps asking her to be his friend with benefits so she automatically thinks he's joking and doesn't pay him attention whenever he DMs her a horny come hither.

Benedict's family on the other hand who already love Sophie, keep telling him that a genius inventor like Sophie will never take him seriously unless he's ready to give her something solid to rely on. Instead of being a shameless tease, he should be a man and ask her out for real. But Benedict hesitates because Sophie already looks like she's been inlove with someone since forever. What he doesn't know is that he's actually jealous of himself, or rather, jealous of the man he'll be in the future, who Sophie met when she was 12.

What a complicated mess.

[scythemichaelfaraday]

So now that my partner has read all of the Arc of the Scythe books I can post my fanfic / one-shot ideas. (PLEASE DO NOT READ FURTHER IF YOU HAVENT FINISHED THE MAIN SERIES)

It’s established that extended and successful space travel is possible and we are to believe that civilization will go on and has the best of the best amongst the first interstellar colonies (as evidenced by the excerpts by the Tonists throughout The Toll and Cirrus).

So why not propose that… however many years, decades, centuries down the line, trans-celestial communication could be a thing.

We are to believe that Scythe Faraday goes on to live however long until one of the plagues takes him as it did High Blade Tarsila and Hammerstein. Let’s say he lives until those space colonists… particularly the ones of Anastasia/TRAPPIST-1e is able to create some form of trans-celestial communication.

Imagine if one day he gets a call on his phone, which of course is unusual because he doesn’t really give that information out and there’s nobody besides Munira that he talks to enough to warrant a phone call.

And on the other line is Citra Terranova and Rowan Damisch.

Now I’m thinking it could go one of two ways- it could be a one way communication where they basically send him a video message and tell him all about what they’ve done and how their lives are going. They could introduce him to their kid if they have one (maybe the kid’s name/middle name is Michael haha).

They could finally say the goodbyes that they were never able to say that day that the rockets took off. They could say everything they wish they got to say while still with him. And that would be it, but at least Faraday knows that they’re okay and they’re thriving better than they ever would have on Earth.

The other way it could go, is of course a two-way conversation where he can actual talk back. But he’s just so shocked and overjoyed to see them after so long that he just listens to them talk and talk and talk and he has that warm paternal smile on his face.

He could briefly tell them about what’s going on: the plagues, the sympathy gleanings, updates on Munira and Greyson and Jeri (if they’re still alive, which maybe who knows).

And even after they’ve talked about everything under the sun, they just don’t want to hang up, but they eventually do because its getting late or there’s something they have to do, but now they have the ability to talk with each other until the day that they no longer can.

Maybe one day they’ll try to call him, but he won’t answer, and he always answers, whether he can talk or not, he’ll at least tell them he’ll call back. And they’ll know that their dad and mentor has finally been reunited with his dear Marie.

[henrybly]

There had been a number of times when he’d climbed these stairs for other reasons, fueled by a desire to slip his tongue into a certain lead singer’s mouth. With, you know, other appendages also slipping into other orifices to put it crudely. Those times, he’d flirted with the notion that it was a bad idea, which was a sentiment that, right now, he wished he’d given more attention to. Maybe if he had, they would never have been in this situation, Henry pounding up stairwell after stairwell to Diego Rodriguez’s high rise apartment with no idea what he would find on the other side of the door. 

There was a sick feeling weighing heavily in his gut when he realised he could be too late. Not only because the flight here had taken about four hours, but because Diego had definitely got the jump on him and had created about a two hour window separating them both. Two whole hours before Henry had even known he’d gone. 

Breathing heavily, as he rounded the corner and began sprinting up yet another flight, he could still picture the way Poppy’s features had twisted in concern as she tilted her head at Henry and gently told him, “He flew back home.”

Poppy hadn’t seen reason to worry, but maybe she hadn’t heard Diego properly. What he’d said to them. She’d been there though, during sound check when Henry and Diego had been awkwardly sitting at opposite ends of the room, Henry sending furtive glances over to the other man then quickly letting his eyes dart away whenever he looked back. That wasn’t like him at all; Henry was usually direct and to the point, never coy. But he was avoiding Diego, or perhaps Diego was avoiding him. The specifics didn't actually matter, because Harper had of course decided to increase the awkwardness by tenfold and make yet another one of her snide remarks. Truthfully, Henry couldn’t even remember exactly what she’d said, but he remembered watching Diego flinch and Poppy tense up and Michael start laughing as if the whole thing was amusing to him. What had followed had been an argument that Henry had tried his best to stay out of, energy reserves drained to the point of him receiving confused looks from Poppy when he refused to step in and play the mediator as usual. He regretted that now, especially with the image of Diego’s hurt face still playing in his mind, as their frontman stared at all of them - not Poppy, never Poppy - and informed them, “Guess you’d all be better off without me then.”

The words had prompted Henry’s own breath to catch in his throat but all he could do was sit uselessly at his keyboard, frozen, as Poppy sprang into action and chased after Diego. Eventually, he’d had the wherewithal to turn to a cackling Harper and Michael and narrow his eyes at them. 

“You guys are assholes,” he’d said, simply, before getting up and leaving. At least that had shut them up for the time being and he could see the shock registering on their faces as he passed them by. Quiet, placid Henry did not call his bandmates assholes. 

After two hours of pacing in his hotel room and drafting text after unsent text to Diego, trying as best as he could to not think too hard about the other man’s words, he’d gone to find Poppy. 

“How is he?” he’d asked her, expecting her to sweetly reassure him, because he’d managed to convince himself that his worry had been misplaced. That was he was overreacting in an uncharacteristic display of illogical behaviour. All that calm flew out the window when Poppy winced and gently informed Henry that Diego had flown back home. 

At once, Henry’s blood ran cold. He could feel the colour draining from his face as he stumbled backwards, knowing it must have alarmed Poppy when he barely reacted after his back slammed into the wall behind him. Heart racing, he allowed Diego’s last words to play over in his memory again. 

Guess you’d all be better off without me then. 

Diego’s voice shifted a little in his mind. 

You’d be better off without me, Hen. 

He hadn’t said anything to Poppy after that, had turned away from her in a way he’d never have before. And so transpired the next single most anxiety-inducing four hours of Henry Bly’s life. He’d sat on the flight back to New York, picturing Diego alone in his apartment and thinking of all the things he could be doing right now as a man who thought the rest of the world would be better off without him. As he jiggled his leg on the flight, erratic little twitches coursing through his body and probably alarming the pretty air stewardess who evidently recognised him if the way she batted her lashes at him were anything to go by, all Henry could think was that he might be the one to find him. He’d have to be the one to tell Poppy, wouldn’t he? And Diego’s parents?

He’d thrown up in the airport bathroom as soon as the plane touched down at JFK, which was a five minute affair that ate into his time even more. His taxi driver apparently wanted to talk about their music but Henry bluntly ignored him, instead choosing to let his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands until they broke through the skin in bloody, crescent-shaped marks. Remembering how to breathe seemed like an inane thought at that moment, but he tried to focus on that anyway, whole body trembling as he forced himself to reckon with the idea that he’d caused this. Harper and Michael hadn’t. They’d just been pulling their usual shit, but Henry had been the one to push Diego away after the other man had opened up to him, been vulnerable with him. 

Henry had been too wrapped up in not wanting Diego to turn out like Stefan that he’d inadvertently pushed him to, what? Be just that?

Nausea warred with him again. Thankfully, the cab had pulled up outside Diego’s apartment so he didn’t have to fork out extra cash for throwing up over the leather upholstery. Throwing more bills than necessary into the front seat, he climbed out and raced inside, bringing him to the present moment of reaching Diego’s door and hammering frantically on it. 

“Diego?” he shouted, voice cracking. When his knocks subsided, he stood back and waited, unable to keep track of what was seconds and what was minutes, only able to acknowledge that Diego was not opening the door. 

“No,” he whispered, terror clutching at his chest. He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone, unsure who to call first, an ambulance or his own father, when the door swung open and revealed Diego Rodriguez on the other side of it, bowl of half-eaten ramen in hand. 

Distantly, Henry could hear the clattering sound of his phone hitting the ground as it slipped from his fingers. He stared at the other man, blinking rapidly as if to make sense of the fact that he was standing in front of Henry, seemingly okay. Instinctively, his gaze dipped down to Diego’s wrists and there they were, clean and unmarked, albeit adorned with numerous leather and beaded bracelets. But not… cut. Broken. 

A wounded noise left Henry as he took a step back, dangerously close to the stairwell. 

“You asshole,” he managed, voice hoarse.