#was gonna give the grace of vague blogging but you did NOT give that grace to grey

[cuntblackulas]

ngl i think forcing people to choose sides and making drama over a discord server public is really immature especially after how you reacted in private but ok. ESPECIALLY when your partners are in almost exactly the same boat as grey's. over them not wanting to hand over? control of gss? real indicative of the type of person you are .... ok vampibur

[harryspet]

butterfly kisses | p.parker

[Warnings] dark!grey!peter parker x reader, innocent!little!reader, daddy!caregiver!peter, dominant x submissive, blackwidow!reader, avengers compound/young avengers au, ddlg, age regression, oral sex (female recieving), dubcon!! sex, mental manipulation, reader has ptsd, grooming?, unprotected sex, little editing

A/N: [model in banner is @/enchanted_noir, gif credit to @/defendingwarrior]

In which Peter finds out your little secret and takes advantage. 

word count: 5.3k

taglist:  @cherienymphe @lovelynerdytraveler @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayonegg-blog @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes  @watercoolerpaint @disaster-rose @slutforsebstan @doozywoozy  @oneoftheprettynerds @xoxonotme @winterbuckystan1917​ @simpformarvelmenandwoman​ @hallecarey1​

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Yelena was practically unstoppable, giving both Bucky and Sam a run for their money. She was faster than them, leaving them spinning whenever she rushed past them. They thought they had her at one point, Bucky’s vibranium arm wrapping around her neck. She was quick to bring her elbow back into his chest and then her fist to his groin. Bucky doubled over but Sam quickly approached with fists raised. She seemed to land all her punches but also take each one that Sam landed with the most grace you’d ever witnessed. 

She tried to trip him, kicking her legs behind his own, but he brought her down with him. They rolled together before he had her pinned beneath him. She thrusted her lower body up, weakening his stance, before grabbing his own arm, pushing it against his chest and pushing him into the mat. As Sam’s head hit the ground hard, he’d clearly accepted defeat. 

“The groin shots are cheap, Belova!” Bucky was still reeling in pain. She eyed you, a tired smirk on her face, as she took in her victory. 

“It’s only fair. You’ve got a hundred pounds on me and I’ve got the ability to kick you in the balls,” You smiled at her words, watching as Yelena helped Sam off the ground. 

You heard footsteps beside you and soon you were looking to your left as Peter Parker claimed the space beside you, “Did you see that?” The question became rhetorical as you noticed his wide eyes and the way he was staring at Yelena, “That was just the third round. So far Yelena’s in the lead.”

“Damn,” Peter cursed though it wasn’t very intimidating on his lips. You only really saw him as the kind, sweet guy who charitably helped you and Yelena adjust after moving to the new compound, “Are you gonna go next?”

You instantly shook your head although you realized your answer might seem strange considering the sports bra and leggings you were wearing. You’d put on workout clothes but hadn’t quite gotten the courage up to train yet, “Yelena is way better hand to hand than me,” It wasn’t a lie but you’d spent your entire life training hand to hand. You grew up in The Red Rom just like she had and were trained by the exact same people. You’d gone toe to toe with Yelena as well and you used to be able to hold your own with her. 

The look on Peter’s face was curious, like he wanted to know more, but he didn’t press the specific topic, “I was gonna box and I’m in need of a sparring partner if you’d like to help me out,” That didn’t give you much room to turn him down so you nodded hesitantly. 

You hadn’t told anyone, only Yelena vaguely knew how much you were frightened of the training room. This place wasn’t at all like the Red Room, you weren’t being beaten or mind controlled into submission. Despite all that, you were afraid of going into survival mode and never being able to escape it again. 

“It’ll be low pressure, I’m way less intense than those guys,” Peter continued, placing a hand on your shoulder, as if he sensed your unease, “Plus, I need way more practice fighting without the webs. I get so used to being in the air sometimes that I forget how to manage on my feet.”

You followed him to the wall on the far right that held all the equipment. You eyed a set of white, 12 ounce fighting gloves but Peter stopped you before you could grab them, “First, jump rope,” He held two sets of jump rope in his hand. One set black and the other green, “What color?”

“I like green,” You admitted and that seemed to amuse him. 

“Y/N!” You heard your name shouted across the room. You turned to see Yelena wrapping a towel around her neck, water bottle in hand, “I’m gonna go pass out but movie night later with Kate?”

You raised your thumb, “Enjoy your nap, I’ll see you later!”

“Enjoy Peter, I’ll see you later,” She winked very badly before she turned on her heel. 

You turned back to Peter, your face warm with embarrassment, “She’s funny,” Peter commented. 

“When she’s not being annoying,” You responded, taking both handles of the rope and stretching it out before you, “Annoyingly clever and annoyingly good at everything.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, “I heard Miss Nat recommended you both for positions in the new Avengers initiative.”

You shrugged, “So?”

“So, that means you’re probably annoyingly clever and good at everything too. You just haven’t shown everyone yet.”

“Maybe so,” Those words were all you’d give up to him. He probably had a point but this environment didn’t really allow for deep thinking for you. You thought you might turn around at any moment and see rows and rows of brainwashed agents behind you. 

You followed his lead and his pace as he began to skip the rope. You weren’t in your best shape, you could feel it already, but you were keeping up. At first, you regretted choosing to stand directly in front of him but the eye contact slowly became less awkward, “This is kinda easy, Peter” You admitted. 

“How. Are you. Speaking. So Easily?” Peter spoke through gasping breaths. Soon, you were increasing your pace as you felt you could go faster. You ended up going way faster than Peter, spinning in circles, as you tried cool tricks.

Peter was trying to keep up with your pace but eventually he had to stop, holding on to his knees as he tried to catch his breath. You slowed down soon after, not wanting to be any more of a show off, “So I was right,” He decided, “You’re good at that.”

You hated the work you used to do but you were reminded of how much you liked the adrenaline rush that came with being physically active. You were far from how you used to be but perhaps the world didn’t need another trained killer, just someone trying her best. 

After your warm up, you and Peter went on to actual boxing. You went back and forth with one person holding the punching mitts while the other practiced combinations. This exercise reminded you of the time you lost to one of the other widows in a sparring match. You were taught the importance of being fast on your feet so your opponents blows can’t land effective blows as well as how to land an effective blow despite having a short reach. She made you chase her around the mat, exhausting you, so she could overtake you. 

The punishment for the loser was always for every other widow to form a line and one by one land a punch to the loser’s stomach. You remembered the different colors of bruises that your stomach turned and how your mouth tasted like blood for days. The times when you were forced to hurt someone else were even more imprinted in your mind. 

Peter realized you weren’t giving it your all, your mind clearly having gone elsewhere, “Hey, hey,” He put down his hands, closing the gap between you. As he came closer, and despite the kind look on his face, your anxiety went through your roof, “What’s wrong? That was good!”

You nodded, “Yeah, I-I just got distracted . . . sorry.”

“That’s okay. You wanna take a break?” You were already taking off your gloves. 

“I think that’s enough for me today,” You spoke curtly, stepping away from him. You knew you’d start hyperventilating soon and you didn’t want anyone to see the person you turned into when you were stressed, “Thanks for this, P-Peter!”

His concerned eyes were on you as you walked, a little too fast, away from him. 

“Yelena! I told you I didn’t want to watch this!” You pushed her shoulder as she maniacally giggled. After a jumpscare, you’d completely spilled your bowl of pretzels and M&M’s which Kate was now on the floor cleaning up. 

“What? That wasn’t even scary!” 

You didn’t understand how a movie about a party clown killing a bunch of school aged children wasn’t nightmare material. Kate clearly didn’t like the movie either but she wasn’t nearly as skittish as you, “I’m picking next time,” Kate announced, “Something we would all actually like.”

“No fun,” Yelena pouted, rolling herself off of your bed. You all rotated who would host movie nights and tonight it took place in your room. You were always an accommodating host, having crochet each of the girls their own special blankets, and lined your dresser with bowls of their favorite snacks. Fairly lights flicker above your bed but the cozy nature of your room served as a sharp contrast to the movie you watched on the screen mounted across the room.

“I want something romantic,” You argued, “Maybe a rom com or a historical romance like Pride and Prejudice.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. 

“How about a romantic thriller?” Kate asked you, ignoring the blonde assassin’s usual behavior. You nodded eagerly, “Okay, cool. I’ll do some research!” 

“I think it’s time for me to turn in,” Yelena faked a yawn. 

Kate grabbed her arm, dragging her towards the door, “C’mon grumpy. Night, Y/N!”

You waved her goodbye, hearing Yelena shout as she was dragged out of the room, suddenly chipper again, “Night, Y/N!” 

You enjoyed spending time with your friends especially now that you and Yelena had become so close to Kate. When they were gone, you missed their company but you knew you needed your nights to yourself. You began your nightly routine, switching the TV from the credits of a horror movie to the Disney logo. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Lock bedroom door, please,” After hearing the click of the lock, you released a deep breath, “And run a bath, please.” 

You cleaned up any remnants of your friends, folding up their blankets and placing them inside the ottoman near your couch. You kept all the tools for your regression in a secret compartment of your closet. You knew it was unlikely that someone would go rummaging through your personal belongings but you liked the security of F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s system. 

Picking out pajamas for yourself, you chose a pink, care bear onesie and pink socks. You laid it out on your bed before getting undressed. When you finally got to sink into the bath, you felt the stresses of the day melt away. It was a bubble bath, of course, and you loved the mindless task of constructing figures with them and giving yourself mustaches and crowns. 

You were already slipping into your headspace. You’d desperately wanted to be here especially after training with Peter. 

After your bath, you were now trying to practice your skin care in front of the mirror. For years, you barely looked at yourself in the mirror, thinking it would be easier to live with yourself if you dehumanized yourself as much as possible. It was rare that you’d let your eyes wander to your lower stomach where you could see the straight incision scar that traveled from beneath your belly button to your public area. Your own exposure therapy didn’t seem to be working as tears sprung in your eyes everytime. 

You left the bathroom, deciding that you’d braid your hair into a protective style without a mirror. You dressed in your pajamas, grabbing your favorite stuffed animal, a green frog, and burrowing yourself into your sheets. Tinkerbell was playing on the television and at the end of the movie, when Tinkerbell helps bring spring to the mainland, almost always helped sink you into your headspace even deeper. 

It was the middle of the night and you should’ve been sleeping but you had a craving for ice cream. You’d set a rule that you’d always stay in your room when you were in little space but little you often had a mind of her own. You padded to the door, softly asking Friday to open the door, before you checked if the coast was clear. In your pink socks, you tiptoed to the kitchen, holding Prince Naveen close to your chest. 

The compound was quiet and you assumed each of the other Avengers were either fast asleep or keeping to themselves. You never knew Tony Stark but you were quite grateful for his technology … and his money. You weren’t sure what kind of life you’d be able to make for yourself if you didn’t have this opportunity. 

You rummaged through the freezer, finding a half-eaten container of sherbert ice cream. The color was pink like your onesie so it was a no brainer that you’d choose this to dig into. You shut the freezer before finding a big spoon in one of the drawers. You climbed onto the kitchen counter, making yourself comfortable, as you began to dig in. 

“Y/N?” You perked up to see a brown eyed boy staring at you from across the kitchen. He was dressed in a compression shirt and sweatpants, the former highlighting an extremely muscular chest and arms. His figure was even more exaggerated as he crossed his arms. He grinned at you, taking in your appearance, “Is this something Yelena made you wear?”

You frowned, confused, “I’m Love-a-lot Bear.”

Peter looked even more confused than you, “Oh . . . and who’s this guy?” He came closer and you felt a bit annoyed that he was interrupting your ice cream eating. You scooped a bite into your mouth, kicking your legs in happiness as you tasted the deliciousness. 

You looked down at the frog stuffie sitting beside you, “Prince Naveen. He got turned into a frog but I’m taking care of him.”

“Like in that movie …” He raised an eyebrow. 

You nodded, “Princess and the Frog. Have you seen it?”

“Once, I think.”

“I’ve seen it about …” You calculated it in your mind, “Fifty-four times. I can quote it word by word. Do you want to hear? The Evening Star is shining bright, so make a wish and hold on tight, there's magic in the air tonight-” You began to sing but Peter shushed you as your voice got louder. 

“You’re gonna wake everyone up,” He whispered and you looked down, cross eyed at the finger that was now pressed against your lips. You nodded and he slowly removed it. 

“Oops,” You whispered, “Why is everyone sleeping when there’s ice cream to eat?”

“Y/N … did something happen to you?”

You shrugged, other more pressing things occupying your thoughts, “I don’t think so … I just wanted ice cream. I better get going because I left all my other stuffies and they can get into trouble when I’m not watching them. Plus, I’m watching all the Tinker Bell movies.”

You hopped off the counter, “Do you want to come?” You felt like you could trust him and that’s why you wrapped one of your hands in his. He didn’t answer with words but he followed you, grabbing your frog that you almost left behind, as you led him to your room, “What’s your name?”

“You don’t remember?” You looked at him with innocent eyes, “Peter, my name’s Peter.”

“Like Peter Pan?” You smiled.

“Yeah, like Peter Pan.”

Peter paid close attention as you introduced him to each one of your stuffed animals. Each one had a name and a short backstory. You told him how you liked to get a new one every time you were in the city. Before he saw your room, Peter never would’ve guessed you’d like any of this stuff.  You were quieter and more humble than Yelena but Peter knew you were just as strong. He wasn’t sure why you were acting this way but he wouldn’t deny a chance to get closer to you. 

You also explained the entire Tinker Bell franchise to him, introducing him to every character and the politics of Pixie Hollow, “Did you grow up watching these movies?”

You shook your head, yawning, before you rested your head on his shoulder. The two of you sat closely on the couch, your legs sprawled over Peter’s lap, “I didn’t get to be smaller… for a long time. I like being like this, Peter.” Of course you weren’t watching Disney movies growing up as a little girl in the Red Room, Peter suddenly realized. Peter’s mind was reeling, not truly understanding how you seemed to be a completely different person. 

You fell asleep soon and Peter knew he couldn’t spend the night here. He couldn’t risk someone seeing him coming out of your room and he certainly didn’t want the other version of you waking up with him in the bed. This version of you didn’t seem to recognize him so would you even remember he was here?

Peter carried you to your bed, tucking you in, and placing your favorite frog in your arms. He held your cheek in his hands, feeling the soft skin there, and admired the features on your face. He liked you before he’d known just how innocent you could be. He imagined your hand in his again, he could still feel the softness of your hands and the warmness in his heart. 

Peter wanted to grow to love you. 

The next morning, Peter was working in the lab with Bruce. He’d skipped breakfast, not sure if he was ready to face you after what happened last night. You’d gone from sparring partners to cuddle buddies so quickly that Peter was worried he’d imagined the entire thing last night, “Mr. Banner, sir?”

The man looked up from his laptop, “Yeah, Peter?”

“What do you know about trauma responses?”

“I’m not a psychologist, Peter,” He folded his arms, his eyebrows scrunched on his forehead. 

“But you’re a genius, right?”

Bruce gave him an amused look, “Why are you thinking about trauma responses?”

“Well … would it make sense for someone who went through a traumatic event … or had a traumatic life, for them to sort of revert back to a younger age.”

“Age regression?” Peter nodded as Bruce caught on, “I’d consider it a coping mechanism maybe for illnesses like PTSD. I’ve seen it used as a therapy technique. It allows the person to go back to an earlier state that may have been less traumatizing for them. I imagine this could be voluntary or involuntary depending on the case.”

Peter sat with his words for a moment, “And how do you think someone could . . . help another person that’s age regressing.”

“If it’s a good coping mechanism that’s working for them, I imagine any kind of support would be good. Being there for that person, however they need. Hopefully they get outside support from a mental health specialist for whatever is causing the regression,” Peter nodded, “You’ve met someone like this.”

“Uhm . . . yeah,” Peter answered, “Someone I met in the city while playing Spiderman. It’s not a big deal. I’m just curious.”

Bruce didn’t push the subject further. 

Your work was interrupted by Kate knocking on the glass door that led into the room. Both you and Yelena were standing behind her and you seemed to be laughing and talking together, “Pete, we’re going to the city! You coming?” Kate shouted through the glass. 

“You all have got a big mission tomorrow,” Bruce warned, not looking up from his laptop. 

“We’ll probably be back before late,” Peter stood from his seat, a mischievous look on his face, “No worries.”

Bruce hummed as if he wasn’t sure that he believed the young Avenger. 

“I’m sorry I ran out of training so fast,” Peter was shocked to hear you say. You were sitting beside each other on the train, an awkward situation that Yelena and Kate had arranged themselves, “I get overwhelmed sometimes.”

“Right,” Peter nodded nervously, “It’s okay. I get overwhelmed sometimes too, you know.”

“Really?” 

It really seemed that you hadn’t remembered him being with you last night. Peter half expected to see you in a onesie again, chatting away about Disney movies and desserts again. Instead, you were dressed like a normal, twenty-something who was going to the city with her friends. 

“Yeah, sometimes I’ll see something or hear something that reminds me of my Aunt … or Mr. Stark, and it doesn’t matter what I’m doing, I just feel like I’m gonna hyperventilate. Like I can’t get air properly into my lungs and I start sweating … and I just get irritable and not fun to be around. And when it’s over, I just feel embarrassed.”

Something flickered in your eyes, something like understanding, “I get embarrassed too. I suppose it’s just a chemical thing. Fight or flight, I mean. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“You’re probably right,” Peter’s smile was weak, “It’s just hard losing people.”

You nodded in agreement, “It’s hard not having anyone to lose.”

Peter wondered if you remembered the family that you were taken from. Peter even wondered if you considered looking for them, “Friends are just as important as family sometimes. It’s good that you have Yelena and Kate.”

“That’s true. Maybe we should be better friends, Peter,” Peter’s eyes turned to you quickly, a bit of wonderment on his face, “If you want, I mean.”

“Hell yeah,” Peter spoke a little quickly but he was encouraged by the warm smile that grew on your face, “I have places around Queens I want to show you guys.”

Peter showed you all where he grew up and the four of you enjoyed sandwiches from Delmar’s for lunch. Next, Peter wanted to show you guys his favorite part of Queens. The museums. Initially, Yelena took a hard stance that going to museums would be boring but even she was entertained by the cool exhibits at the science museum Peter showed you around. 

You and Peter talked so much. Much more than either of you expected. You were practically glued to his lip just the same way Kate was always glued to Yelena. 

You went to an art museum next, joining an already established tour group in the middle of their own tour. Peter watched you walking around the gift shop in wonderment at all the handmade knick knacks that were for sale in order to support the museum. Peter approached you, a gift bag in hand, “I got you something.”

“What?” You blurted out, confusion evident in your features, “You don’t need to-”

“Just look,” Peter pulled out the miniature figurine he’d just purchased. It was of a small green frog sitting underneath a red mushroom for shade. 

Your eyes widened, “Oh, Peter!” You took the figurine carefully in your hands, your voice going up several octaves as excitement filled you, “It’s so beautiful! Look at the little mushroom! How did you know I loved frogs?”

Peter lied, “I just thought you’d like it.”

“You really didn’t have to. I don’t deserve-”

“You do,” Peter assured you, “Keep it, please. It’s for you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as you hugged him, “Thank you,” The way his hand pressed into your back sent shivers through you. 

“Are you gonna take good care of it?” Peter knew his words came out slightly patronizing and he could tell he might’ve embarrassed you slightly but you nodded shyly in response. 

“I will, I promise.”

When Peter knocked on your door a few nights later, the compound was quiet. All that he could see in the dark hallway were sparkling lights shining beneath your doorway. When the door opened, he was glad to see Smaller you, “Peter Pan,” You greeted him, your voice soft and sleepy, “Hi.”

“Hello, little one,” You looked pleased with the nickname, “Or should I call you princess?”

Peter closed the door behind him, taking in the fact that you were only in a white t-shirt, pale blue panties and fuzzy socks, “Both,” You angled your head at him, “But I’d like to be a fairy princess.” 

“I should’ve known.” There was something so alluring about being with you in this state. It was like being with you at your most vulnerable state and Peter liked being the only one who knew about Smaller you, “What have you been doing up so late?”

There was no Disney movie playing tonight but F.R.I.D.A.Y. was playing a soft melody of classical music. Peter wondered why you’d made that choice. You grabbed his hand, bringing him over to your own desk to show him what you’d been working on, “Drawing,” You answered, showing him the array of papers, pushing the scatter crayons out of the way, “Look at these, Petey. Look.”

Two of the photos were quite familiar. One was a drawing of a small frog sitting beneath a mushroom and the other was two people standing together near what he assumed was an art exhibit. The girl was wearing a plaid shirt just like she had the other day and the boy was wearing a black jacket. 

“It’s me and you,” Peter said.

“It is?” Your doe eyes looking up at him threatened to make him melt there on the spot, “Will you take me there?”

“Of course,” Peter agreed, “We’d look so cute together.”

“Yeah,” You beamed, “But I’d wear a pretty dress.”

“And I’d look like a frog in comparison. It would be perfect.”

“Don’t say that, Petey,” You squeezed his hand, “You look like . . . can I tell you a secret?”

Peter nodded and you motioned for him to lean down so you could whisper in his ear, “I think you like a handsome Prince.”

Peter chuckled at that, “Do you?” You nodded and Peter whispered into your ear next, “I won’t tell anyone your secret.”

You looked away shyly. You showed him the rest of the pictures and Peter encouraged you to put all the crayons back in the proper spot back in the carton. 

“Are you ready for bed yet?” Peter asked you, “It’s getting really late.”

You frowned, “I don’t like sleep. Can we stay up? Maybe we can play pretend?”

“Why don’t you like to sleep?”

You just shook your head, letting go of Peter’s hand, so you could rummage through your closet and find something else to do, “We could play a card game!”

Peter faked a yawn, walking over to your bed, “I’m really tired, Y/N. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Or a board game!”

“I’ll just sleep and you can play a game. I have some special sleepy dust I got from a fairy friend of mine. It’s gonna help me sleep,” Peter climbed into the fluffy white sheets of your bed, knowing your words had definitely caught your attention, “I guess you won’t need any, princess.”

Peter heard your feet pad over to the bed, “You have a fairy friend?”

“Yeah. I went to outer space once and I met one,” Peter shrugged, “On their planet, lots of princesses and princes have trouble sleeping because they have nightmares.”

“Oh,” The look on your face was doleful, “I get bad dreams like all the time. Would it work on me?”

“C’mere and I’ll show you,” Peter patted the spot next to you. You were hesitant as you climbed in the bed with him, “Lay down on your back for me.”

You did as he said, laying on your back with your head resting against a pillow, “And close your eyes for me, little one.”

“But I’m scared-” Peter pressed his hand to your waist, looking up and down your body. Being so close to you with so little clothing … Peter’s idea turned darker than he originally intended it to be. He was helping you, that meant he could help himself a little too. 

“I’m here, don’t worry,” As you slowly close your eyes, Peter took the opportunity to let his hands wander even further, “I’m going to sprinkle the dust over you now. Keep your eyes closed.”

Peter could feel you growing slightly impatient, “Petey, I don’t feel anything yet-”

“Of course you can’t feel anything yet, silly. I haven’t activated it yet,” Peter parted your legs, climbing over your body and settling between your legs, “I want you to call me something, okay? To help the fairy dust work.”

“What is it?”

“Call me Daddy.”

“But you’re not-”

“I am, I’m taking care of you, right?” You nodded, “Then that’s what you have to call me. Especially for the dust to work. Understand?”

“Okay … okay, Daddy,” The word couldn’t have sounded any better on your lips. Peter’s hard-on was already pressing against the fabric of his boxers. His fingers travel beneath your panties, softly feeling your folds. Before you could say another word, Peter’s lips were pressed to yours, swallowing your concerns and then eventually your whimpers.

Peter made his way down to your breasts, pulling your shirt up so they were exposed. He attacked the sensitive buds with his tongue, which seemed to bring you even more pleasure than the gentle fingering of your clit. He could feel you growing wetter, leading him to his fingers traveling to your sensitive hole. 

“You’re so beautiful, princess,” Peter said as he kissed over your stomach, including the scar that brought you so much anguish, “Daddy’s gonna take care of you. Make you real sleepy.”

When Peter first slid your panties to the side and pressed his mouth to your hole, your eyes shot open, “Stay still, little one,” Peter spoke with his mouthful. You tried your best not to squirm as the touch brought you an overwhelming new feeling of pleasure. 

You wanted to smile, to laugh, and to scream all the same time. It was his softness and wetness pressed against your own softness and wetness. He kissed you down there in a way that was difficult to describe but you could feel a slow build starting in your toes till it all completely rushed to your head. Your body was experiencing waves of pleasure and you were glad when he removed his mouth so you weren’t tortured further. 

Peter watched you ride at the orgasm. He pulled down his sweatpants and boxers with urgencies before grabbing your arms and pinning them above your head. He pressed his tip against your interest, his eyes looking darkly into yours as he slowly pushed inside, “Daddy,” You winced, “P-Peter – Daddy, it hurts!”

“I know, princess,” Peter grunted, “You can take it all, I know you can.”

Peter was right, you somehow stretched around him and that feeling of tearing soon subsided. Now, all you felt was completely full and completely at his mercy. You were trapped beneath him which meant he could set the pace for how fast he wanted to go. You started to only think of him inside you, of that primal pleasure that he was unlocking and the complete warmness that filled your skin. 

“Oh, you feel fucking amazing,” Peter pressed his forehead to yours so he was as close to your as possible. You felt his own eyelashes fluttering against yours, “You feel so good. Tell Daddy you love it.”

“I–” A hard thrust, “Love it, Daddy. I-I love it.”

You were so tight. Impossibly tight. He had to remind himself to not spill over to fast and he slowed his pace but fucked you even harder. When he felt you tightening around him, he felt safe in releasing inside of you. 

Your eyes closed as you tried to catch your breath. Peter fell beside you, and just like he’d promised, you felt like you could sleep for the next few days. Peter pulled the comforter over your body, pressing himself into your tired figure. He admired you closely, his nose rubbing against yours as his lips hovered above your own. 

“I sleepy … Daddy …”

“Goodnight, little one.”

Peter laid there until dawn and all he could think about was how pretty you looked when you came. 

[bbz27]

The Mysterious Adepti of Wangshu Inn

Authors Notes:

hello everyone! this is my first time publishing something on this blog, so sorry if i do anything wrong. This is gonna be a multiple - parter so get ready for lots of spelling mistakes. Feel free to give constructive criticism, and i hope you enjoy! :D

Part One

The mysterious Adepti of Wangshu Inn. 

Is that what the mortals are calling him now?

How foolish. No respect for the ways of the Adepti. 

Xiao watched on from his place in the shadows as you leaned over the balcony, admiring the view of the marshes and rocky mountain tops. He had planned to spend some time up there, but now that you occupied the space, he was resigned to wait for you to leave. 

You muttered something utterly ridiculous about wanting to talk to him while bearing an offering of almond tofu, but with the recent incident involving Osial and the Jade Chamber, word of his existence and dedicated heroism had spread, and this kind of spectacle was nothing new.

Thinking you were just another inhabitant of Liyue (or some distant traveler) looking to ask for his blessing or protection, he brushed you off when you spoke his name, you seemed perfectly safe to him. You sighed and left the plate near the railings, walking back inside to talk to Verr Goldet.

With the balcony finally empty, Xiao allowed himself to perch on the wooden platform, and inspect the plate you’d left for him.

Most people he’d encountered would leave after realising he wouldn’t show up for trivial matters such as these and wouldn’t return again, so he quickly forgot about your face. It was only when you came back the next night did he vaguely recall that you were one of Verr’s friends, and were staying in Liyue for some sightseeing. He was, however, slightly annoyed when he discovered the boss lady herself was the one who told you about him, and promised himself that he would give her a talking to about it later.

After the 6th night in a row that you came to offer him company, he had committed your little routine to memory. 

You would come out to the highest balcony at around midnight, call his name to ask if he was there and wait patiently for a response. When none came, you would ask him again if he’d like to talk which, likewise, was met with silence. After proceeding to ramble on about your day, and trivial human matters that he did not care to hear, you’d place the freshly made plate of almond tofu on the railings and hesitantly amble back inside, waiting for him to take the bait; so to speak.

Buried deep underneath Xiao’s distaste for mortals, was an ounce of pity and empathy within him, And one particularly clear night he decided to grace you with his presence. Leaping down to face you when you called his name, he took an opportunity to get a closer look at your features. Although he was not well versed in any means on the subject of human beauty standards, even he could tell that you were pretty.

After so many nights of being met with radio silence, you were not at all prepared to be met with the sight of a scowling adeptus staring down at you. You scrambled to remember the speech you had prepared for when you finally got to meet him, but the only word you could seem to dig up was:

“Xiao.”

He quirked an eyebrow. He’d assumed after all of your efforts to meet him you’d at least have somewhat of a coherent sentence prepared; a plea, begging for safety or wealth, an exclamation of thanks for his service to all of Liyue, even questions about the adepti and yakshas, but what he certainly did not expect was for your mouth to fall open in an obvious manner of surprise or for you to call him… beautiful? 

The hand you had slapped over your mouth was firmly kept in place when your realised what you just said to him. Running back inside with a heated face, a very confused conqueror of demons (who had been left outside with little to no explanation), decided to take an express interest in you.

And so, after watching you for a while, Xiao was able to figure out a few things. 

1: You did not have a vision. Even this simple fact put him on edge, for he had grown a little fond of you, and knowing that the limitations in the ways you could protect yourself worried him a little (not that he would ever admit this to anyone, let alone himself.)

2: You were from Sumeru, a scholar at an academy there it seemed. You were able to hold your ground in a conversation, even with the most irritating of guests. Xiao appreciated somebody knowledgeable - though he found your utter embarrassment around him to be quite amusing.

3: You were incredibly persistent. He supposed it’s how you were able to get so far in the nation of wisdom. Xiao was somewhat self-aware; he was much better at slaying demons and evil spirits than holding conversations. He knew if your roles were reversed a few nights ago he wouldn’t of made such a quick recovery.

After wallowing in a pool of self pity for a few nights after the incident, you decided that you’ve done your worse; it couldn’t hurt to approach him once more, right? 

You tried to sneak out of your room as best you could without disturbing the other guests, and eventually took your first few tentative steps onto the third floor balcony. 

You remind yourself that there’s no guarantee he would even be out here tonight, let alone want to talk to you after what happened- but the butterflies and your stomach and the pounding of your heart told you that your hopes were already up. While you tried to stick to your usual timings and routines, it become harder to stay composed as more time went on with no sign of him.

You thought that maybe this would be a good time to go back inside and leave him a note- after all you were much more adept in your writings then you were face to face, clearly. But as you turned to leave you felt a gush of wind run behind the back of your neck, and you realised that it’s either a very random turn of weathering events on an otherwise calm day, or it’s just the person(?) you were hoping to see.

[ahgasescenarios]

Rough Night- Yuta

Word count: 1.6k

Genre: smutt

Plot summary: One day, you find yourself more attracted to Yuta than ever before. You call your best friend to help calm you down, but what if Yuta were to overhear the entire conversation?

 You weren’t unfamiliar to this scenario. You had been here multiple times before, watching the boys practice because sometimes it was the only time you had to spend in their company. But it was the first time that your eyes trailed over Yuta’s body as though you were ready to devour him. Everything about him that day, the glint in his eyes, the facial expressions and oh god, the damn new belly ring all did things to you like never before. You were completely mesmerized by his every move and while you had always found Yuta attractive, who wouldn’t, today felt different somehow. Maybe you were just horny and your hormones were deciding to make Yuta the victim. Whatever it was, you had a hard time concentrating.

 “(Y/N), hello? This is like the fifth time I’ve asked.” Mark was staring sternly at you.

“I’m sorry, what was the question?” You forced your eyes away from Yuta.

“Seriously? I was asking you how this move looked,” and he demonstrated. As a dancer yourself, you provided objective feedback from time to time which came in handy when they were preparing for promotions. You stood up and walked over to Mark, showing him the right angle for the move. Vague “5,6,7,8” were heard in the distance, but your mind felt a thousand miles away.

You hadn’t dared speak to Yuta ever since you got there. He joined you on the floor, taking a much-deserved break from the non-stop dancing.

 “What’s up with you?” You whipped your head in his direction. Too obvious.

“What… what do you mean?” Your voice betrayed your attempt at sounding calm. 

“You’ve been staring at me for the past hour, am I that bad?” He was holding back his smirk; you could just feel it. He knew.

“No, um, actually you just do the choreography so well that my eye was focused on you! Good job!” A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you tried to come up with a plausible excuse. His eyes narrowed at you slightly, but he decided to let it go for now. With a shrug, he was back into position.

 At this point, you needed some fresh air of some kind. And you needed to vent. That was one thing that helped you calm down when someone reasoned with you. With this in mind, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom and quickly dialed the number you had memorized by heart, your best friend’s.

“Hi, I need your help, can you talk right now?” With a half-assed “yeah” from the other end, you began.

“I don’t know what it is with me today, but Yuta is making me feel some type of way and I can’t-“ You stopped yourself, “like I want him to dick me down so bad it’s not even funny.” You facepalmed, realizing what you were saying.

“Look, if you want to fuck him- why don’t you?” No, no, no. She was supposed to talk you out of doing something stupid, not talk you into it.

 Yuta had felt this weird vibe from you, unlike he had felt before.

“Who wants a food break?” Taeyong inquired. Everyone was in favor.

As he placed the order, Yuta decided to chase after you. When you excused yourself to go to the bathroom with an expression on your face that told of how bothered you were feeling, he knew he had to get to the bottom of this. What he did not expect was to overhear that.

You were so engrossed in your conversation that you almost didn’t hear the doorknob turning, only to reveal the author of these fantasies of yours. Your jaw dropped in shock, praying this wasn’t happening or at the very least, that he hadn’t heard anything.

“Hey, I’m gonna have to call you back.” You put your phone back into your pocket and waited for Yuta to say something. Anything.

“Hey, are you okay? I feel like something’s off with you today.” You heaved a huge sigh of relief. Oh thank god, he hadn’t heard. You were safe.

“Yeah sorry, I had a rough night and I guess I’m just feeling tired.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. (Y/N), you don’t know what a rough night is.” He leaned in to whisper the last words in your ear, “Not yet.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Was he saying what you thought what he was saying? Seeing the confusion scattered on your face, he continued.

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue? Funny, you didn’t seem to have a problem with me “dicking you down” just a second ago.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He had heard. He had heard everything. You pieced two and two together and your cheeks took on the color of a ripe beet, you were embarrassed to your core.

“Yuta, I didn’t-“

A single finger was pressed to your lips, silencing you. He stepped closer to you and you could now feel his breath on your face. His hand grabbed your throat and you were ashamed at how much that aroused you.

“I didn’t say I was against it, did I?”

Before you could question the weight behind those words, his lips were on yours, trapping you into the roughest kiss. His hand was still on your throat as his tongue explored your mouth, ruining you in the best way. He separated your legs with his thigh, close enough that you could ride his thigh and the thought brought nasty scenarios into your imagination.

His lips found your neck and he attacked your sweet spots, love bites and hickeys guaranteed when you walked out. But it felt so good, you couldn’t care less.

“Yuta, please.”

“It’s sir to you.” You moaned out “sir” this time and he seemed satisfied with your obedience, kissing you again until you were left dizzy, Yuta the only thing on your mind.

“Strip for me, (Y/N).” Under any other circumstances, you would’ve protested. But this was straight out of a fantasy, so you wasted no time in obeying. His eyes traced your figure, biting his lips once you were completely naked.

“So beautiful.” He spun you around so your back was facing him, still fully clothed. His hand traveled down your neck, to your breasts and he couldn’t help himself to give them a squeeze, pinching your nipples so you moaned for him again. It was music to his ears and he wanted more, so much more. Next was your toned stomach, down to where you wanted him most. An ecstatic gasp left your mouth when he slipped a digit inside you easily.

“This wet just for me?” You nodded eagerly, practically begging for him to fuck you know.

“Please, sir. I want you.”

“You’re gonna have to be clearer than that, princess. What do you want?”

Your head rested on his shoulder, you were at his mercy and you weren’t even ashamed.

“I want all of you inside me, sir, please.”

A smirk appeared on his lips and he took off his clothes too. The moment was over too soon, you would’ve stared at him naked for hours. He pushed you against the wall which felt cold on your back, pressing himself into your thigh while he kissed you hungrily. You were extremely grateful that this was a single bathroom at that particular moment.

“Up.” He motioned to your legs and you got where he was going with this, wrapping your legs around him. He aligned himself with your entrance and with one swift motion, he was inside you. You yelped in surprise, expecting him to go slower than he had. But you weren’t one to complain.

“You like that don’t you, babygirl?”

“Yes sir, please, don’t stop” you let out in between thrusts. He was merciless, his thrusts more powerful than the previous so you were bouncing on his dick. One hand gripped your hip as he found the spot that made you a moaning mess beneath him. A shit-eating grin graced his handsome face and another idea popped into his head, his hand covering your nose and mouth as he continually hit that spot.

As he repeatedly thrust into you, you started to feel your stomach tighten and the lack of oxygen was only accelerating the process. Before long, your walls clenched around him and he kept his grip on your face so you were seeing stars. Yuta didn’t last long after that, cursing under his breath as he released his hot load in you. When you came to, Yuta was standing before you with the most innocent look you’d ever seen on him.

“Are you okay? Did I take it too far?” His eyes had worry written all over them. You laughed at how cute (and ironic) he was.

“Yuta, I’m more than okay. That was amazing.” Your eyelids were drooping, but you felt properly fucked out- you didn’t even remember the last time you had felt this way. You barely noticed when he started cleaning you up, his cum dripping down your thighs.

“In that case, maybe we can do it again sometime?” He scratched the back of his neck. Was he nervous?

“Well, you did promise me a rough night.” You winked at him.

“It’s a date, then.” He looked over at you. “We should probably get back.”

You hadn’t even thought about where you were. Shit. How were you not going to make this obvious? You agreed to have Yuta go out first and wait five minutes before you followed, which ended up useless.

“Was about time.” Taeyong shook his head at the both of you, seeing right through you.

“Now that that’s out of the way, come here we have work to do.”

You sat back down at your original spot, practically in a daze. Maybe it hadn’t been so bad that he had overheard after all. Because now all you could think about was what this “rough night” would look like. And you couldn’t be more excited to find out.

a/n: hi lovelies! Hope you’re all doing well, staying home/safe. I wanted to take the time to properly thank you for all the love this blog has been receiving lately, it rlly means the world to me so thank you!! And here’s a little smut as a reward haha enjoy 😊

 masterlist

[dandelionflower]

Felinette Month Day 22

Trust

“Did I tell him about the chew toy for Fang!?” Marinette bolted up, startling Tikki who was fretting over her.

“Yes, you told him seven times.” Tikki patted her head. “Now go to sleep.”

“But... what if...”

“He’s coming back in ten minutes, that’s enough time for a nap.”

“Okay...” Marinette turned over and closed her eyes, her consciousness fading.

—

She woke up to her phone buzzing, an Instagram notification.

Marinette glanced at it, a picture of Jagged Stone and a vaguely blurry blond.

She grinned as her trap door opened, the vaguely blurry blond poking his head into the room.

“Hello, Netta.”

“Hey, how was meeting Jagged Stone?”

“Odd, to say the least. He called me “rock and roll” when I am clearly a symphonic metal if anything.”

She giggled, fluffing his hair from her bed.

“He says he hopes you get well soon.”

“I’ll tell him thanks, next time I see him.”

They stared at each other for a moment before an enormous crash sounded from the street.

Marinette reacted instantly, pulling off her earrings and clipping them to Felix’s sleeves.

“Spots on.”

“Why?”

“I trusted you with Jagged’s commissions, Felix, I can trust you with Paris. Now say spots on.”

He did and after a kiss, Crimson Bug swung out the window to save Paris.

Marinette smiled fondly and, without Tikki’s prompting, went back to sleep.

——

“Welcome class, to trust week!” Miss Bustier clapped, gesturing to the gym. “You’ll all split up into pairs and go through the stations, and hopefully, you’ll learn how much you trust your friend.”

Marinette felt her favorite hand wrap around hers.

“After delivering commissions for you, this will be a piece of cake.” He whispered.

“Agreed.”

“Okay!” A friendly looking man clapped his hands. “First off, do we have any couples here?”

Multiple hands raised.

“Good! We usually do at these kinds of things. So couples on this side, everyone else over here.”

Marinette and Felix shuffled to the left side of the gym.

“So, couples, what I want you to do is unlock your phone and give it to your partner. Non-couples, Miss Busiter will instruct you.”

“What?” Alya shouted.

“I’m not gonna do anything to your phone.” Nino placed a hand to her shoulder. “I have one of my own, you know.”

“Yeah,” she murmured softly, passing him the phone, “okay.”

Marinette passed her phone to Felix without a second thought, grabbing his at the same time.

“Excuse me, you two,” the man looked at them, “you need to unlock your phones.”

Felix gave him an unimpressed glance and swept his finger against the screen, Marinette’s apps coming into view.

Marinette did the same, going onto the messaging app and texting herself.

Fe💙: Aw, you have a heart on my name?

Netta💝: You have the same for me, so I wouldn’t talk.

“Aw! These pictures are so cute, Juleka! Can you send them to me!”

“You better not have touched my blog.” Alya growled.

“You mean that thing I just deleted?”

“What!”

“I’m joking, relax.”

She snickered, casting a glance at Felix who was doing the same.

“Next exercise, an old classic, the trust fall. But with a twist. You can choose to fall back, with your arms out, but from this platform, or fall forwards while blindfolded from the ground.”

“We’ll go first!”

Mylene climbed to the top of the platform and plummeted with her arms out. Ivan caught her easily, holding her close until she was back on the ground.

As soon as they had cleared, Marinette accepted the blindfold from the man and climbed up the platform. She tied it around her eyes swiftly and fell forwards into a somersault. She was caught by Felix easily and was placed on her feet with all the grace of a gymnast.

“Okay, you two can sit the rest of this out.” The man pointed them to a bench. “You obviously trust each other very much.”

They grinned at each other and Marinette pulled him to the bench, leaning on his shoulder as they watched the rest of the class do the activity.

“Oh! Right!” She pulled out a small pot with a just slightly blooming flower. “Here’s your entry. It was doing pretty well on my balcony.”

“Ah, thank you. Now that it’s almost blooming I can do my part of the job.” He placed it in a special pocket of his bag.

“Hey, Felix?”

“Yes angel?”

“Thanks for trusting me with something that important to you.”

“You trusted me first.”

[kaiunkaiku]

Could you do some Todoroki sickfic (emeto if you can) where he just kind of pushes through and tries not to let anyone know because he’s only ever been treated like he’s weak and useless when sick. And when the other students in the dorms find out they fuss over him and he doesn’t know how to take being taken care of like that. Also I just found your blog tonight and I love it!

I have discovered that writing Todoroki is exhausting and writing Midoriya is plain weird and doesn’t feel right, but I enjoyed writing this nonetheless. Emeto isn’t really my niche and I find writing it hella difficult, so here’s an attempt.

This is like vaguely 2nd/3rd year, Tododeku and Kiribaku are established, and even though it’s not mentioned Mineta has been kicked out. Content warnings include referenced canonical child abuse, emeto, implied panic attack, and vague discussion of trauma left by mentioned child abuse

Now on Ao3!

Enjoy!

He wakes up feeling… off. That’s the only way he can really put it – he’s not in pain, his head isn’t swirling with unpleasant thoughts, he’s not reeling from a nightmare, he doesn’t feel ill. Just off. 

So he tries his best to shake it off. 

By the time lunch rolls around, there’s a persistent hum in his head. It’s distracting, and leaves him just a touch woozy, but he’s worked through much, much worse. It’s no big deal. He’s lagging maybe half a second behind everybody else today, but no one has commented on it, or asked about it, so he assumes he’s doing a good enough job at hiding it. 

By the time Kirishima ropes him into a video game tournament, Shouto feels like he’s going to puke. There’s a churning pit in his stomach that makes him regret eating lunch, makes him regret eating breakfast, makes him regret last night’s dinner. Definitely makes him regret waking up. 

It’s a well-known fact that video games are the one thing he’s genuinely terrible at, and no amount of Kirishima trying to teach him has improved his skills, so no one questions it when he surrenders his controller to Shinsou after three consecutive losses. 

The room gets loud as Jirou gives her controller to Kaminari, like it always does as soon as someone gets the insane idea to pit couples against each other. Shouto retreats to the far corner of the big couch, decides to tough it out for a game or two. Leaving immediately would look suspicious, and someone might notice, so he sits quietly with his knees pulled to his chest and hopes no one will look at him twice. 

Bakugou is staring at him from the other end of the couch. 

It’s fine, Shouto tells himself even as a cold wave of anxiety washes through him. Bakugou continues to stare, face completely blank, and Shouto knows this is the one person in the class who genuinely does not care, but there’s something unnerving about his eyes. Maybe it's just the hollow bruises under them – Shouto knows for a fact Bakugou didn't sleep last night, because he woke up to explosions sometime around three in the morning, and Kirishima has been hovering worriedly all day – but the blankness of his expression seems very deliberately arranged. Observant. Shouto swallows thickly and tries to find something else to look at. 

The motion on the screen makes his nausea worse. The shouting of his classmates makes his headache worse. He can’t concentrate on his phone. Bakugou keeps staring at him. 

Shouto finally excuses himself quietly when he’s fairly sure he’s about to start smoking soon, because he can feel his control of his powers slipping. It's fine. He can let that happen once nobody can see him. 

They can't see him weak. They can’t. He knows it’s irrational, because these are his friends and they care about him and he cares about them, but the thought of it sends him into a spiral straight down to such a dark place he throws it away before he can do more than scratch its surface. So he escapes into the stairs, not wanting to stand in the elevator, he can’t be still right now, and tries to look as casual as he possibly can. 

He doesn’t even make it to the second floor before he hears his name from behind him. His heart jumps to his throat and his stomach drops, and it takes him a second to sort out that it’s his last name and not his first, and there’s no threat, no anger, no fire in the voice. He can’t help but freeze on his tracks anyway. 

“Hey, man, you okay?” Shouto comes face to face with wide red eyes as he turns around; feels he can’t breathe with the rush of relief when it’s not piercing turquoise that greets him. Some of it must show on his face, because Kirishima takes a step back immediately and raises his hands up, concern clear in his expression. Bakugou is standing a few paces behind him, leaning on the wall and staring at his phone. “Because you don’t look like you are.” 

Shouto feels sick. He doesn’t want to be here, he wants to be in his room, alone, so that nobody can see him like this, so that he can take the time he needs to pull himself together. He swallows and takes a breath. 

“I’m fine,” he manages. He thinks his voice is steady. 

“You sure?” Kirishima looks suspicious. Shouto knows he means well, really, he does, he does, but he just… God, he can’t do this. Even thinking about admitting weakness, let alone showing it, sends alarm bells in his head ringing, makes him see the floor of his home through tears, has his father’s voice in his head yelling at him for being useless, and his scar burns all over again, scalding water running down his face and the tears in his mother’s eyes– 

His breathing is picking up pace. He’s gonna start crying. He’s gonna be sick. He’s gonna have a panic attack. His body is hot and cold on the wrong sides. He’s gonna– he can’t– he doesn’t– he can’t– 

“Todoroki, shit, Todoroki, hey, come on, sit down, okay?” Something touches his arms, but it doesn’t feel like human touch so it doesn’t make everything worse. By the time he realizes it’s Kirishima’s hands with his quirk activated Shouto has already catalogued the touch as non-threatening, so he lets Kirishima guide him to sit down and push his head between his knees. 

It takes him too long to notice that there’s steam coming off his skin. 

“That’s it, man, just listen to me and breathe. You want me to get Midoriya?” 

That sends a new wave of conflicting feelings through him – yes, he wants Izuku, yes, please, Izuku is good, would be great right now, but Izuku would just worry and fuss and worry and Shouto doesn’t want to make Izuku worry, doesn’t want to bother him, and besides, isn’t Izuku out training with Uraraka? Or was it Tokoyami? Why can’t he remember? Uraraka and Tokoyami are two totally different people who hang out with totally different groups and have totally different quirks and Shouto can’t remember which one of them his goddamn boyfriend is training with– did Izuku even say? He can’t remember that either.

“N-no,” he forces out. Realizes he’s been gritting his teeth. “He’s, he’s training, don’t bother him, it’s–”

“Okay, no,” Kirishima interrupts him. “I asked if you want him here. It’s about you. You’re the one that’s not okay, yeah? So do you want him here?” 

It… makes sense, what Kirishima is saying. But it doesn’t. It does; he feels terrible and he would like to have his boyfriend here, and it’s what other people do, too, even in their class. It doesn’t; things like this can’t be about him, he can’t want or need things, how horribly selfish would that be of him. 

In the end, he nods. He has to force the motion, to force himself to allow it. He’s still got his head between his knees, but he swears he can almost feel the way Kirishima grins at his response despite not looking. 

“You gonna be okay if I step into the hallway for just a sec?” Kirishima asks. He hasn’t stopped touching Shouto’s arms, and the touch is somewhat grounding. He still has to put conscious effort into breathing, and he’s just a tad afraid he’s going to lose the focus he needs to keep it up if Kirishima lets go and leaves him alone with Bakugou. 

There’s a steady tapping sound, almost background noise but not quite; a persistent, consistent tapping, volume just enough to be clearly audible even without concentrating. Just a bit louder than a clock. Not as sharp. Shouto is not entirely sure how long it’s been there.

Without even meaning to, he starts counting it. Pacing his breath to it. It’s easy; almost natural. Maybe he’ll stay on track even if Kirishima steps off for a moment. 

Tap, tap, tap, tap. Breathe in four, hold four, breathe out four. Every exhale feels like he’s going to throw up, but it’s almost a background thought. He makes an affirming noise to tell Kirishima that he probably won’t spiral down if he lets go, so Kirishima pats his shoulder and tells him that he’s okay. 

He’s not okay, but he also doesn’t start panicking again. He risks a look around him to see Kirishima take two steps up and disappear into the second floor hallway, and notices something that damn near messes up his newly-found breathing rhythm all over again. 

Bakugou is still standing several stairs below, leaning on the wall. He’s typing something on his phone, and he doesn’t look quite as murderous as he usually does – tired, still, but his frown is considerably less deep than usual. He’s probably texting Camie, then, since it’s likely not Kirishima. 

But the thing that really catches Shouto off-guard is the fact that he’s steadily tapping his right foot on the stair he’s standing on. 

The rhythm sounds very purposeful. 

Shouto is not going to chase that thought.

He keeps breathing. 

XxX

Izuku is going to apologize to Uraraka later. He doesn’t make it a habit to just ditch his friends, really, but Kirishima sounded worried over the phone and he has barely seen Shouto all day, so he takes off running the moment he hangs up, leaves most of his stuff behind along with Uraraka as he puts his quirk to work. 

He dashes straight through the common room and into the staircase, and almost collides with Kacchan, who graces him with a glare and turns his attention back to his phone. Normally, Izuku would say something to him, even just a greeting, or an attempt at placating his temper, but before he can say anything he spots Shouto sitting a few stairs higher. Kirishima is sitting next to him, close but not touching. 

“Shouto.” The name escapes from his lips in a whisper before he can even think it. Shouto’s head snaps up, and Izuku has to restrain himself from launching at him with One for All activated; Shouto’s face is pale, almost white, and the fleeting look of terror that flashes in his eyes before recognition makes something clench in Izuku’s chest. Shouto’s breathing is labored; controlled. 

Kirishima moves away as Izuku hurries forward, knees hitting the stairs so he can get his hands to Shouto’s face. Faintly he registers Kacchan moving past them to join Kirishima, and the two continue their way up the stairs. He’ll thank Kirishima later. 

“Hey,” he begins, thumb coming to trace the edge of Shouto’s scar. Shouto shivers. “Talk to me, what’s going on?  Kirishima sounded worried so I came as fast as I could, I need to apologize to Uraraka about that later, it was kind of rude of me to leave her there like that but you’re not okay, are you? She’ll understand, she’ll probably bring my stuff back too, I should probably text her, though, just to let her know, I probably won’t be going back anyway…”

“You’re rambling,” Shouto says, voice faint but a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Izuku snaps his mouth shut and feels heat on his cheeks. Then Shouto shivers again, and Izuku manages to see him swallow thickly before he ducks his head back down. He frowns. 

“Sorry,” Izuku offers. “But really, what’s going on? You don’t look good.” Shouto doesn’t feel good, either – his skin is clammy, and just by touching him Izuku can tell he’s not in full control of his quirk. There’s steam coming through his now-damp clothes.

Until now, Shouto has been somewhat curled into himself, hunched over and hugging himself. Now, though, his grip on his biceps tightens and and he curls up some more, like he’s trying to make himself smaller. It pains Izuku, how Shouto always seems to try and make himself disappear when he’s feeling bad. 

One day, once he’s graduated and established himself as a reputable and reliable hero, he’s going to punch Endeavor as hard as he can, and then he’s going to bring flowers to Shouto’s mom. 

“I’m not him,” Izuku reminds gently, still tracing the scar. “Nobody here is. It’s okay.” It breaks his heart to even have to say the words, but Shouto takes a shuddering breath and lets it out slowly, so at least it’s a useful reminder. Shouto tends to forget, sometimes. And sometimes Izuku tends to forget that it’s all too easy for Shouto to follow that train of thought. So they’re kind of even, however that balance works.

“I don’t feel good,” Shouto finally whispers. He sounds almost scared. Izuku is about to start prodding further, ready for a guessing game, when he sees that same swallow-shiver combination he saw earlier. 

“You’re sick?” 

A shrug. A still moment. A hesitant nod. 

“Okay.”

It takes some convincing, and some coaxing, and some help, but Izuku manages to get Shouto up and into the hallway. His room is closer, as opposed to Shouto’s which is located in the fifth floor, so Shouto agrees to relocate there. 

By the time they make it into the room, Shouto is shaking, and also swallowing repeatedly. He hasn’t stopped hugging himself and he’s still hunched over. Izuku keeps a steadying hand on his back, but he doubts it does much.  

He leads Shouto straight into the bathroom with little resistance. Shouto sits down against a wall next to the toilet, draws his knees to his chest and rests his head on them. His breathing is picking up again, and Izuku doesn’t know whether it’s anxiety or nausea or both. 

Minutes tick by as Izuku draws patterns on Shouto’s arm and shoulder and rubs his neck, and Shouto’s swallowing becomes convulsive and he keeps shaking. One particularly harsh shudder runs through him and causes a patch of frost to spread on the wall. His breathing is becoming shallow.

Izuku doesn’t know how much time has passed when something finally happens. One moment they’re leaning on the wall and the next, Shouto is scrambling to get the toilet lid open. A sick-sounding belch makes Izuku wince, and is immediately followed by a retch. Shouto clutches the rim with white knuckles, and Izuku moves to hold him. 

Shouto shivers against him and heaves, but brings nothing up. Izuku wraps his arms around him for support, both emotional and physical, and gently shushes him at the probably involuntary whimper that follows. Presses a kiss to his shoulder. 

“Just let it happen,” Izuku mutters. “You’re okay, just let it out.” It’s like being in a sauna, holding Shouto like this when he’s not in full control of his quirk, but Izuku brushes it aside – it doesn’t matter how uncomfortable it is. Shouto is definitely far more uncomfortable. 

Shouto shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, but the following attempt at a deeper breath is interrupted by a gag. Izuku resists the urge to sigh, and instead continues muttering reassurances as he rubs Shouto’s back. Keeping him grounded in the present is important; vital, almost, Izuku would say. He’s witnessed too many times how things like this – feeling bad, vulnerable, not in control – tend to throw Shouto right back to his childhood. 

He’s not profusely apologizing and promising he’ll do better next time, so what Izuku is doing must be working. 

It takes a couple more minutes of heaving and retching before Shouto brings up anything, but when he finally does, it’s like he can’t stop. Izuku very deliberately does not look, instead focusing on trying to calm Shouto down. He runs his fingers through Shouto’s hair, down his spine, and eventually brings one hand to rub his stomach. Shouto whimpers at the contact but doesn’t reject it. 

Izuku loses track of time. Shouto keeps dry-heaving for a good while after it’s clear there’s nothing in him to throw up anymore, and he’s shaking like a leaf. Izuku can’t tell whether he’s feverish or not; one of the few drawbacks of his quirk – even medical professionals have hard time with that, since Shouto’s temperatures tend to go haywire when he’s not in full control, which is almost every time he’s not feeling well. 

When even the dry-heaving eventually tapers off, Shouto slumps lifelessly against Izuku. His eyes slide shut and his breath slowly evens out, and the shaking dies down. An occasional shiver still runs through him, as if as a reminder, but otherwise every sign of what just happened melts into exhaustion. 

They sit on the floor until Izuku decides a cold, hard bathroom floor is no place for anything. Shouto is not asleep, not quite, but he’s well on his way there, so Izuku nudges him alert from his exhausted not-quite-slumber gently. 

“Shouto, hey,” he almost-whispers, smiling a little as Shouto’s eyelashes flutter against his skin. “How are you feeling? Any better?”

Shouto makes a sleepy noise that could mean literally anything, and it sounds absolutely adorable; there’s just not much Izuku can do with that. Shouto’s eyes open more, left one somewhat droopy, and he maneuvers himself so that his face is against Izuku’s shoulder. “I’m tired,” he replies. It’s not really what Izuku was looking for, as far as responses go, but it’s something. 

“Then how about a bed? Some sleep?” 

Shouto makes another sleepy noise, though this one sounds distinctly approving. He makes no attempt to move, however. Izuku lets him be for a moment.

“That means we have to get up, Shouto,” he tells him. 

It takes some effort, but not as much as Izuku feared or suspected it would. He could technically just lift Shouto up – he’s strong enough to carry him and has done so in the past – but he doubts the swift change in position and altitude would be of any benefit. So he helps Shouto up from the floor slowly, makes sure he doesn’t go suddenly white again now that some color has returned to his face, and carefully walks them out of the bathroom. He gets Shouto a soft, oversized shirt to change into (it’s probably Shouto’s own shirt that’s been left in Izuku’s room at some point, actually). Manages to convince him to drink some water. 

Shouto seems to fall asleep the moment Izuku lets him do so, looking completely drained. Izuku likes the sight of him surrounded the All Might themed bedsheets – it looks right, like he should be right there. Like he belongs in Izuku’s bed.

Izuku texts Uraraka and Kirishima, and picks up a book. 

[thevampirediariesdiary]

I was pretty out of sorts with Stefan this episode.  he’s been nervously aware of the fact of his being positioned in a love triangle before, of course; he’s been jealous and insecure and resentful, but I’ve never been quite so angry at the way he handled it as I was during “Dangerous Liaisons”.

so, naturally, I did a casual scroll through some old episode recaps, which turned into a not-so-casual scan of a handful of episode transcripts, and what I ended up with was a non-exhaustive collection of conversations demonstrating the development of the Salvatore brothers’ relationship, especially as regards their mutual love of specifically Elena.  the emphasis is strongly on Stefan’s side of the triangle, because if you wanted to read about Damon pining longingly for Elena while she was clinging to Stefan, you could just read *waves hand vaguely and expansively* the entire rest of my blog.

the first real sparks of jealousy begin to appear after Damon and Elena’s trip to Atlanta in “Bloodlines”.  

we get various exchanges in “Unpleasantville” as Damon’s presence in Stefan’s life, near Stefan’s girlfriend grates on Stefan:

S: Putting Elena in harm’s way, that is my concern. D: What are you talking about? S: I’m talking about Atlanta. D: Oh yeah. Elena and I had a blast. S: I get it, you’re just bitter that one of us gets to be with the person they love, and poor Katherine’s just out of reach.   

D: Why should I trust you? S: Because I’m your brother. D: No, that’s not gonna cut it. S: Because I want you gone.

S: It was a lie.  I let him believe he could trust me. E: Why would you be worried about telling me? S: Because he can be persuasive, and you two have…bonded…lately.  E: That doesn’t mean I trust him.  It’s gonna take a lot more than just a road trip and a rescue for me to forget who Damon is and everything he’s done.  

which leads to the infamous-to-me “you and I will have a vampire girlfriend” exchange one episode later in “Children of the Damned”:

D: Course I was gonna do it by myself, because the only one I can count on is me.  You made sure of that years ago, Stefan.  But you [Elena]...you had me fooled.  So what are you gonna do now?  Because if you try to destroy that I’ll rip her heart out. S: You won’t kill her. D: I can do one better.  Give me the book, Stefan, or I’m snapping her neck, and you and I will have a vampire girlfriend. S: Let her go first. D: The book.  S: I’m not gonna give this to you until she’s standing next to me. D: The problem is I no longer trust that you’ll give it back! S: You just did the one thing that ensures that I will.  

then Elena crosses the picket line to help Damon in “Fool Me Once”, Damon again calls her “our girlfriend” in “A Few Good Men”, and subsequently ends up back in the doghouse for killing Isobel and then gloating about it.

so for this whole first era of the show, the tension between these three characters is pretty straightforward.  Stefan doesn’t like Damon hanging around Elena - but that’s (at least ostensibly) because he’s dangerous, because he’s unpredictable, because he puts her in bad situations.  he tries to compel her.  he tries to kill her friends.  he grabs her and threatens to turn her vampiric.  Damon might already love Elena, on some level, at this point - but it’s still not exactly a love triangle, because neither Stefan nor Elena seems to suspect - or, even if they suspect there’s something, they’d never call it love.  there is no way in which Elena’s torn, no way in which she has to make a choice.  her connection with both brothers is an asset.

this starts to change in the second era of the show, after the watershed moment of “Miss Mystic Falls”.  Stefan falls from grace, Damon’s perspective on vampirism and on Stefan’s relationship with it is validated, and Damon and Elena waltz and then shack up together.  when Stefan comes back to himself, it’s to a brave new world, and to Isobel’s bombshell, “because he’s in love with you”, which gives us the first real jealous boyfriend speech in “Isobel”:

S: Well, I know that you and Elena have bonded, and I know that she cares about you. And, uh, I know that you care about her. D: Well, this is going in an interesting direction. S: I’m just concerned about Elena getting hurt. She considers you a friend.  D: Same here, Elena’s a very good friend. Actually, she might qualify as my only friend. Is that a problem? S: So, at the risk of sounding like a jealous boyfriend... D: Oh there’s no risk. You do.  S: History will not be repeating itself where Elena is concerned. 

Stefan lays it down like a proclamation, like an order - as if by telling Damon what he wants he can control the whole picture, because if history were to repeat itself, it would invariably be Damon’s fault.  so much so, in fact, that he doesn’t approach Elena with his worries at all.  Elena has to bring them up herself in “Founders Day”:

S: I try so hard to hate him. I guess it’s just pointless.  E: You care about him. So do it. But I love you Stefan. And I know that you’re worried about that.  S: Nah, I just, I know my brother.  E: But I love you, Stefan.  S: I know the trouble he can cause.  E: I love you, Stefan, you. You have nothing to worry about. 

and that may be true, on Elena’s side, but we find it absolutely isn’t on Damon’s.  he tries to kiss Elena, and now we get a whole new flavor of jealousy from Stefan - one which Stefan is, to his credit, actively trying to fight against.  he knows that he and Damon have to present a unified front against all the forces of evil if they’re ever going to be able to protect Elena. 

S: Katherine’s gonna try to play us against each other, you know that right?  So yes, as much as I would like to kill you, I’m not gonna fight you.  D: I kissed Elena.  S: Because you feel something for her. Because you actually care. And I’m not going to let Katherine come in here and destroy that part of you that after all this time is finally willing to feel something. 

Stefan chooses to allow Damon’s love for his girlfriend in the hopes that it will have positive effects: Elena’s safety, brotherly agreement, Damon’s regained humanity.  this attitude persists through "The Return” into the latter half of the season when the non-Katherine threat is looming, though the choice is perhaps made a little simpler by Damon having screwed things up so spectacularly with Elena.  what does it matter if Damon loves Elena, when Elena hates him?  there is no threat there.  thus, Stefan’s much more casual approach to the subject in “Rose”:

S: We both know you being in this car has absolutely nothing to do with me anyway. D: And the elephant in the room lets out a mighty roar. S: Well, it doesn’t have to be an elephant!  You know, let’s talk about it! D: Nothing to talk about. S: That’s not true, sure there is.  Let’s get it out: are you in this car because you want to help your little brother save the girl he loves, or is it…is it because you love her too? Come on, express yourself!  I happen to like road trip bonding. D: Keep it up, Stefan. I could step out of helping as easily as I stepped in. S: Nope, that's the beauty of it.  You can't.

even when Stefan is trapped with Katherine in “The Sacrifice”, he gracefully hands over Elena’s protection to Damon:

S: Promise me whatever happens you'll protect her. D: Promise.

Katherine’s response to this, of course, is to tell Stefan, “That right there was the biggest mistake you’ve ever made.”  and yet, it’s a choice he keeps making.  Damon is on Elena duty.  there’s that excellent moment in “The Last Dance” wherein Stefan, dancing with Elena, signals to Damon and then twirls Elena into his brother’s arms, and leaves.  he places Elena into Damon’s care, again and again, and he never seems to regret it - until after the dance Damon verbalizes for him what that means:

S: Don’t you understand what you put her through? D: See, that’s why I didn’t tell you.  Because you’d never have been able to do it.  Don’t get me wrong, Stefan, I don’t mind being the bad guy.  I’ll make all the life and death decisions, while you’re busy worrying about collateral damage.  I’ll even let her hate me for it.  But at the end of the day, I’ll be the one to keep her alive.

Damon puts words to their roles: Stefan wrings his hands and keeps his hands clean, so that he can stay in Elena’s good graces, and Damon protects her, whether she likes him for it or not.  Stefan’s role is largely passive, Damon’s is active.  the only thing he’s wrong about is that actually, Elena doesn’t hate him for it.  they’re maybe closer than ever.

for the rest of the season, Stefan resists Damon’s interpretation of their triangular dynamic as hard as he can.  in “Klaus” Stefan tries to pretend control by reminding Damon that he’s the one benevolently granting permission for Damon to protect Elena:

D: You should be thankful [Andi]'s here, it keeps me from going for what I really want. S: You’re right, thank you…for being in love with my girlfriend. D: And there it is. S: There it is.  You know, you can be in love with Elena all you want, if it means that you’ll protect her.  But I have the one thing that you never will. D: Oh yeah?  What’s that? S: Her respect.

the “respect” comment is a bit of a non sequitur - as if Elena’s undeniable fondness for Damon is like the affection you feel for a pet who’s too stupid to listen to you.  it misses the mark - Damon knows, by now, that Elena thinks he’s capable of being the better man.  she holds him to a standard, and that is more respect than anyone has ever shown him.  she respects Damon and she gratefully accepts his protection.  the only thing Damon doesn’t have is her romantic love.

this is briefly easier for Stefan to bear once Damon digs himself into another hole.  Stefan is able to admit to Elena in “The Last Day” that Damon’s horrible actions were motivated by love: Damon’s trying to keep her alive, the only way he knows how, even if he forgot for a moment that vampirism isn’t really life.  Elena is too angry to see this, but Stefan, who’s thought about it before, is a big enough person to tell her.

and then in “The Sun Also Rises”, Stefan tries to switch their roles: he sends Damon to carry Elena away to wring his hands over collateral damage, so Stefan can keep watch over the life and death choices: 

S: I need you to get her out of here. D: What about you? S: I'm not leaving until he's dead.

Damon’s still protecting her, of course, but he also gets to cup her face in his hands and ask how she feels - which would normally be Stefan’s job. 

and then, after this last switch, there’s no place for jealousy anymore.  because Damon is dying: 

S: He told me not to tell you [that he's dying], but I figured if you wanted to talk to him...I wouldn't wait.  ....Go talk to him.  Just tell him that there's still hope.

I do wonder if Stefan knew what he was doing when he left with Klaus - if he thought about Elena at all, and what would happen with her, or if he could only think about his brother’s life.  but at least by the time season three opens, Stefan seems to be trying to set aside any possessiveness of Elena.  while Stefan is still in possession of his humanity, we see something like a repeat of the same brotherly dynamic from when Stefan was trapped in the tomb with Katherine.  when he sees Damon, all he says is to keep Elena away, so she’ll be safe.  he figuratively spins Elena away from him and lets Damon pull her into his arms, and when he walks away he tries very very hard not to look back, he tries not to think about the fact that he left them both behind, together.  note that when we do see Stefan and Elena encounter each other - in the closet in Chicago, in the school on senior prank night - Damon isn’t there.  Stefan doesn’t see the dynamic they’ve developed without him until his humanity is gone.

and Stefan-sans-humanity has a very different reaction than he would under different circumstances.  he walks in on Damon knelt in front of a weeping Elena, promising that he’ll never leave her, and Stefan says “Well, isn’t this cozy...by all means, carry on.”  he notices that Elena’s staring at Damon hitting on Rebekah, and says, “My brother’s got his flirt on, and you’re jealous...It’s alright, be jealous, by all means. I’m sure Damon will be thrilled.”

so we don’t start to see Stefan really react to how much closer Damon and Elena have grown in his absence until his humanity is creeping closer to the surface.  you could argue that’s what he’s referring to in “Our Town” when he says, “I lost you the minute I left town with [Klaus], you just haven’t let yourself admit that yet,” as if he was saying “I lost you to Damon.”  but I think the more interesting interpretation there is that Stefan’s talking about his own actions, “I lost you the minute I left town and started killing.”  so that makes Stefan’s first reaction to Damon and Elena’s season 3 relationship “The Ties That Bind” and Elena’s confession:

E: There's something I need to tell you, and it's not because I feel guilty that it happened, it's because I feel guilty you don't know.  I kissed Damon.

Stefan is laid bare, and we see for the first time how much of his apathy is now a mask he puts on consciously and purposefully.  as much as he’s talked a big game about pushing her away, and despite all the moments of casual intimacy he saw while his switch was flipped, he didn’t see this coming.  either because he didn’t think this new relatively-responsible Damon would actually make a move on his brother’s girl, or because he didn’t think Elena would allow it.  but Elena doesn’t even give him the dubious comfort of saying that Damon kissed her and she just kissed him back.  all she says is she didn’t plan it.  it was a surprise for her, just like it was for Stefan, but it did happen and she doesn’t feel guilty about it.  when Stefan finally responds, all he says is:

S: You're better than him, Elena.  You're better than both of us.

the words go along with what Stefan’s been saying and doing all season long: pushing Elena away, letting her go, so she can be free and happy somewhere without him - but now also without Damon. she’s better than both of them, she should let them both go.  but later that night Damon asks if Elena is okay, and Stefan punches him - kissing Elena was an offense against Stefan, because Elena’s still off-limits for Damon, she’s still Stefan’s.  and so he retaliates.  

Stefan’s feeling of vengeful possessiveness starts to shift into something else in "Bringing Out The Dead”:

S: I love her, Damon. D: So do I.

this is Stefan letting Damon know that Damon’s not going to “take” Elena without a fight.  Damon responds in kind, because he’s not going to cede to Stefan’s prior claim.  they both love her.  neither of them currently “has” her.  may the best man win.

which brings us, at long last, to "Dangerous Liaisons”.  both brothers have declared their love for Elena - but both of them aren’t completely all-in on showing it.  for Damon, “it is right, but not right now”; for Stefan, his humanity is still only partially on, and, we soon discover, when he lets himself care, all he feels is pain.  

the episode begins with this exchange:

D: Can we go back in time where the old Stefan cared if Elena lived or died? S: What for? It's your job now.

this is neither brother at his best, a definite dick move on both of their parts.  but the real meat of their conflict in this episode is here:

S: You know, maybe you should stop being such a controlling dick, Damon. D: Wait, hang on, I’m the problem here? S: You’re a liability, brother. D: I’m trying to keep her alive, Stefan. S: Yeah, well, your emotions are getting in the way of our plan. D: Wh - my emotions?  How is this even happening right now? S: Maybe because you care too damn much.

the crazy thing is, “you may be trying to keep her alive but your emotions are getting in the way of our plan because you care too damn much” is, in essentials, almost exactly the same as “you can be in love with Elena all you want, if it means you’ll protect her.”  Stefan takes the very thing that Damon has always had going for him - “at the end of the day, I’ll be the one to keep her alive” - and turns it into a weakness, a fault.  and it’s not explicitly because Damon will keep Elena safe without consulting her wishes, i.e. feed her vampire blood rather than risk losing her.  it’s not about his not respecting Elena’s freedom enough to let her be protected the way she wants.  it’s not about some harm or injustice to Elena at all.  it’s about the big picture, the big picture that Damon is incapable of seeing because all he sees is Elena.  Damon will never care more about defeating Klaus than he cares about Elena.  and somehow, Stefan twists words around, hints and implies and accuses, and makes that look like a bad thing, and Elena buys it, and then Damon does too.

but there’s something just absolutely nonsensical and a little insidious about that framing of things.  if Damon didn’t care more about Elena than the big picture battle between the good guys and the bad guys, then he might as well have let her hand herself over to Klaus in “The Sacrifice”.  but he didn’t - he stepped in, and saved her against her own wishes, risking himself in the process.  and he was right to do so - his actions weren’t motivated by nebulous “emotions”, code for “selfishness”, but love, real love, which looks out for the true good of the beloved.  the fact that Damon’s love for Elena is a preferential love, a love that has always put her first, is exactly what makes it a romantic love.  he doesn’t care too much, he’s not crazy impulsive, being driven by blind feelings.  he’s doing what love does: prefer the good of the other.  and Stefan understood that, before - he was the one who told Elena, in “The Last Day”, “he did it because he loves you”.  but now that Damon hasn’t done anything truly heinous in a while, now that he’s holding himself together so well that he’s starting to be a romantic threat, Stefan suddenly isn’t so gracious with him anymore.

so yeah, I think Stefan's not playing fair.  rather than facing Damon honorably on the field of love-triangle-battle, his strengths and love against Damon’s strengths and love, he tries to paint Damon’s strength as a weakness so that maybe Damon will forsake it.  if Damon doesn’t have “I’ll be the one to keep her alive”, if he has to be ashamed of that, what does he have?  it’s underhanded and manipulative, and I do not like it.

[letteredlettered]

Did someone leave a comment on your fic? Or is it something you saw in other fic?

I assume what you’re asking is whether this post: https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/i%27m-gonna-use-the-word (about how some people seem to think Harry is “being mean” if he calls Draco a Death Eater) is in response to something. I should not have used quotes around “being mean”, because that makes it sound like I was vague blogging about a very specific comment.

In fact, I was explicit blogging about a general concept, which I’ve seen reflected in comments to my fic, comments on other fic, fic in general, posts on social media, and in the fandom in general.

Look, I thought we knew and understood that Death Eaters were a very unsubtle analogue for Nazis, and I thought we also knew that Nazis were bad. I thought we knew that Draco Malfoy was a bully and a liar and a cheat, as well as a Nazi, and I thought we knew that Harry was deeply good--a person who gives up himself to defend those who are weaker in a only-slightly-more-subtle Christ analogue.

Given that we know these things from canon, I think it’s interesting to explore Harry’s flaws and Draco’s humanity. Canon did this a little, but because it hit so hard on Harry’s virtues and Draco’s flaws, it feels like a world where there are Good People and Bad, instead of the reality in which we are all people who all have the capacity to be Good or Bad given the choices we make. I wanted to show that constantly sacrificing yourself, when you have already been abused and mistreated, as Harry has, can leave you imperfect. I wanted to show that even if you do terrible things as a child, as Draco has, you can grow and change and learn, and become someone who can fight against those circumstances that influenced the choices of your past. I also wanted to write about a society that is struggling with these things, how to perceive and punish people who have done wrong--how it is is not always just or useful; I wanted to write about the struggle to recognize people who are special and have done good things--how it is not always kind or healthy.

I assumed that if I explored these shades of gray, we’d all still remember the canon in which Harry is essentially good and Draco is a bigoted bully, but I think I was wrong. I think perhaps the original Good and Evil of the source text has been explored so deeply and so thoroughly over such an expanse of canon, that for some people these concepts are entirely turned inside out, such that Draco is the character whose flaws can be overlooked, because he is entirely sympathetic. Meanwhile, somehow Harry has become the one who is held to task for even the whiff of unkindness--particularly to Draco--because Harry is the one who is essentially an asshole, because Harry is the one who deserved to be punished somehow, because Harry is Wrong, and Draco is Right.

And you know, people have the right to read this way and write this way. I’m fine with stories in which Death Eaters are “just misunderstood.” I’m fine with stories in which pure-bloods are fetishized. I’m fine with stories that suggest that magical people are in fact superior to Muggles, because this is fiction. Muggles do not, in fact, correlate to minorities. Fiction is, in fact, a healthy way to explore taboo desire. The characters you like and identify with are personal; you are accountable to no one in this regard. Write and read what makes you feel good.

Furthermore, everyone has a different interpretation of canon. We think of fanfic as deriving from the same source, but I get it: everyone has read that source differently. We are not, in fact, coming from the same place.

But I gotta say I find it disheartening to see a careful exploration of Harry’s faults, in light of him having been abused and manipulated and given up his life for others, and for the response to be “lol yeah Harry, what a dick,” or to see Draco struggle for a redemption that he cannot earn, only be given by the grace or forgiveness of others, and see the response be “oh poor Draco, if Harry had only taken his hand, none of this would have happened.”

Large swathes of the fandom are not like this. In particular, lots of people who read and comment on my fic seem to understand the premise. I treasure that, and yet because large portions of the fandom are coming from another place entirely, I find myself now wanting to write, and remember, Death Eaters are bad, or please understand I do not agree with this point of view, even though I’ve written it, or remember as you read this that Draco tried to kill Dumbledore and Harry died to save everyone. And. I shouldn’t write those things. My fics aren’t here to moralize. I’m not here to force people to understand the things I write in the way I want them to understand them. The glory of fiction is the different interpretations you can bring to it.

But there is a sense, in life, of discovering a team and feeling a part of something, only to eventually learn you’re all just individuals and weren’t coming from the same place at all. It’s all right to mourn that, even if it was a little bit unreasonable to forget you were all individuals in the first place.

[in-tua-deep]

I saw your other ask and I do wonder if an actual 13 yr old Five will pop up after they stop the apocalypse. It’s so interesting to have both Fives in the same place! And to see the stark contrast between what he was without the apocalypse. How does his older self feel (and does he still look 13 too?!). And how do his siblings react realizing how much the apocalypse and the Commission took from their brother! I love this idea and your blog!!

okay a solid half of me is like “wow there’s so much potential for angst and having Five confront the fact that he lowkey hates himself and what he’s become alone with feeling redundant alongside a younger version of himself that does match up to what his siblings remember instead of being the broken old assassin he actually is”

and the other half is like “but also consider the CHAOTIC GOOD TIMES” and at heart I’m a not so secret softie so that is the louder side at the moment

SO they stop the apocalypse. They’re all trying to figure out what happens now. Five is home alone (Allison flew home for a week to see Claire/figure out her situation, Vanya is at her apartment packing some things up to move back into the mansion for a while, Diego took Grace out shopping, Luther and Klaus went to grab groceries and are probably going to come back with so much sugar because Luther is still being a pushover trying to make up for his whole ‘locked Vanya away’ debacle) 

Five is sitting on the front steps of the house (it’s too empty and too quiet inside and he may or may not be coming down from a panic attack) and that’s when there’s a blue flash down the street and Five freezes. Because down the street there’s a boy turning with a puzzled look and they both catch one another’s eye and it’s like looking in a mirror because they’re the same person

So of course they go inside to figure out what the fuck and Five has no patience left for baby Five and pretty much gives it to him straight: he time traveled to April 3rd, 2019, where there was supposed to be an apocalypse. They may or may not fight when baby Five doesn’t believe him and he is convinced when Five beats him easy - thank you assassin training. There’s an hour more of incredulity and explanations as they both loudly theorize about the potential world breaking-ness of them both existing in a paradox

but hey it doesn’t seem like the world is ending and they already touched each other during the fight and nothing weird happened so,, they just both exist?

They’re sitting there quietly contemplating what next and waiting for the others to come back when baby Five, with his wonderful childish sense of mischief, looks at Five and asks a simple question: “Hey, how long do you think it would take for the others to realize there’s two of us?”

(they already had the breakdown where baby Five tried to go back in time and failed and Five smacked him because he worked really damn hard for this version of reality to exist thank you and basically informs baby Five that if he goes back the world could literally end and that’s kind of that. baby five is stuck.)

and look,,, Five is a grumpy old man assassin but he never did lose his sense of mischief - though it’s been somewhat buried over the years and especially so the last week or so. So he may or may not perk up at the suggestion with intrigue, and baby Five knows himself and knows that means he’s in so - 

(Baby Five kind of feels guilty for being a little relieved he doesn’t have to go back in time actually. He wants his siblings desperately, but Reginald is dead here. No more training. No more private lessons. Freedom. And - and technically his siblings are right here, right? They’re free as well? If he jumped back in time wouldn’t that be putting them all back under Reginald’s thumb? He isn’t sure if he could do that to them... but is that just a justification to himself?)

and cue the absolute shenanigans that exist as Five and baby Five pretend that there is only one (1) of them in this timeline. 

also cue some very confused siblings because there are some serious differences between the two Five’s.

Vanya is confused when she offers ‘Five’ some coffee and he wrinkles his nose and declines like he thinks coffee is gross. Which can’t be right, right? She literally saw Five chugging coffee straight from the pot yesterday?

Luther wonders if there’s something off with Five when he doesn’t seem to remember the conversation they had earlier about going to the local history museum with the rest of the family. He seemed excited earlier but now just looks put out?

(”We can’t both go to the history museum!” Five hisses at baby Five, who is rolling his eyes.

“Dude, you’re practically a dinosaur why would you even want to go to a history museum?” Baby Five points out, “Didn’t you see enough history with your little assassin job?”

Five scowls, “Maybe I just think it’s interesting considering my ‘little assassin job’ you sanctimonious child. Maybe I like museums.”

“You’re so transparent! You just want to spend time with our family.” Baby Five teases, fully aware that he’s probably going to have to dodge a knife in a second but continuing to push buttons anyway. It’s what he does. “Or - if it’s really just about all the wonderful history then we can always go again without the rest of the family.”

Five scowls as baby Five bats his eyelashes but doesn’t say anything, which means baby Five totally won the conversation, ha!)

the brilliant thing is that thanks to Five’s powers, no one thinks anything of it when they see Five downstairs and then head upstairs and see him doing something up there so even though a lot of the siblings get suspicious they probably attribute anything really off to Five’s glaring PTSD and trauma

the first one to catch on is Klaus. Well. Not really. Actually Ben is the first one to realize that he’s seeing double and tells Klaus

(”Well well well.” Klaus interrupts, making both boys on the bed jump where they had their heads bent over some mathematical textbook. Klaus is going full drama, draping himself in the open doorway like he’s a bad movie villain. “It looks like someone has been keeping secrets from your darling family.”

“Don’t tell the others!” One of them blurts, while at the same time the other growls out, “Tell the others and I kill you.”

Klaus claps his hands together, absolutely delighted. “So you aren’t the same person! Well, go on, introduce me. Is this your slightly less evil twin?”

They both exchange glances. There’s an short nonverbal conversation consisting of vague gestures and shrugs before one Five rolls his eyes and turns away, clearly done with this whole situation. The remaining Five smiles brightly and waves, “Hey Klaus! Long time no see, almost seventeen years now right?”

There’s a second of processing before Klaus gets it - or maybe Ben gets it and relays the information it’s unclear - and his hands fly to his face as he gasps loudly. “You’re a baby! A child! Under our rooftop!”

“I’m thirteen.” Baby Five protests while Five snickers under his breath. Age is a point of contention between the duo.

“What which one of you did I offer alcohol to the other day?” Klaus demands.

Baby Five raises his hand.

“I knew there was something off about you saying no to booze!” Klaus declared, pointing dramatically. Then he blinked. “Wait I offered alcohol to a minor!”

“You’re such a hypocrite.” Baby Five rolls his eyes again, “Like a week before I came here I had to half carry you to your room you were so wasted and you were thirteen.”

“He has a point.” Klaus muses to the air, probably commenting to Ben. “But I’m still not seeing a way that you two aren’t gonna get your butts totally whupped by the others when they find out about this little charade.” He says charade with a fancy french accent that hopelessly mangles the word.

The two share a look again, and again it’s baby Five who takes the lead. It may or may not be that he’s the better of the two with people considering he didn’t spend forty some years in isolation. 

He grins at Klaus with bright eyes, “Aw, c’mon Klaus. It’s just a game! Besides, isn’t it more fun to be in on it?”

“Hmm.” Klaus hums, making a show of thinking it over. All three of them know exactly what the outcome is going to be, though.

“Please Klaus!” Baby Five demands, still grinning, and he suddenly looks so young and unburdened that there isn’t even a question about whether Klaus is going to be in on it or not.)

It’s not that the two don’t fight. They do. Because Five doesn’t understand how he could ever be so naive and reckless and impulsive (even though he really should expect it considering he jumped through time in the first place) and Five doesn’t understand how he got so grouchy and old and weird about so many things

but they usually solve it by shoving it down and getting along through bribery basically

(”...want to learn how to use a sniper rifle?” Five offers into the tense silence.

There’s a solid pause where baby Five is clearly mulling that over before he finally turns in the chair to face his twin. “...Griddy’s on the way home?”

“Deal.”)

It takes an alarmingly long time for the ruse to fall apart, and it 100% happens because both Five’s show up at the same time due to a miscommunication where they immediately devolve into a yelling match about how it was totally their turn downstairs and the other is an idiot and they’re literally spatial jumping after one another around the room before Diego throws two knives and manages to pin both of the arms of their uniforms to the wall and make both stop

“What the fuck is this?” Diego demands, gesturing between the two Five’s wildly. 

“It’s his fault!” Both Five’s point at the other

but the ruse is up and the duo are able to hop down whenever they like and torment the family. 

This au is full of healing and baby Five teaching old Five how to be a kid again and more of less rubbing off on Five and dragging him into games and appealing to his sense of mischief and drama and also making the rest of the family go to like,, the zoo or laser tag or a water park

baby Five is still holding out for disney world, personally

and they are a ferocious team up,, like literal terror twins they are fully capable of terrifying the pants off of the rest of the family and then turning around and laughing and looking innocent enough that it was difficult to say no because they’re kids and are fully capable of bringing out the rest of the family’s protective instincts

even if they know intellectually that one of that duo is an assassin who could kill them in the same breath it took to tell them what idiots they were being because he could protect himself

I dunno I just want actual kid!Five dragging grumpy old man!Five into shenanigans that Five complains about but secretly likes going along with them because lets be real who doesn’t like doing impulsive childish shit from time to time and he has an excuse because he has to stop baby Five from getting himself killed, right?

after all, as Five will defend himself, he isn’t sure if his younger self’s untimely death will also kill him, right? As a future version? Kind of like the whole “you can’t kill your grandmother” argument or whatever, right? Time is weird shush

(even though they’re both pretty sure that old Five is actually from an alternate dimension vs. time travel and that this is actually baby Five’s universe, but their worlds didn’t diverge until old Five popped in eight days before the apocalypse so technically baby Five’s death probably wouldn’t have any effect on old man Five but

hey, better safe than sorry, right?)

Baby Five feels kind of indebted to old Five for,, you know,,, saving his siblings by preventing the apocalypse and preventing him from a fate worse than death with not having to deal with isolation and the apocalypse?? so he’s more patient than old Five probably deserves

and old Five feels kind of responsible for baby Five because they both know baby Five can’t go back in time and unravel everything with how delicate it is and so baby Five still lost the equivalent of his entire family since he doesn’t exactly know these older version anymore and

hey, who knows the other better than themselves, right? Baby Five understands old Five’s motivations and shares history, knows exactly how far he would go for his family when pushed

so yes now they’re essentially twins and 100% pretend to be one another constantly and get on the others nerves and help each other heal and that’s the tea on that

[boredofcinder]

Hi I’m moving blogs soon (to a main blog, not a sideblog) & I’m gonna be more active!  *throws a mini fic (part 1 of ??) at you like im throwing a french fry at a flock of seagulls*  (pls don’t reblog!)

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“I truly do not know how they have done it,” Lothric is saying, using his fork to emphasize talking points.  It hasn’t touched his plate in about twenty minutes.  “Perhaps it is to do with time and space breaking down… perhaps they have not done it, so much as found it, exploring through the bonfires, as undead can.  Perhaps it is not even our Firelink Shrine...perhaps there is a you and a me in that world!  Do you suppose that loyal remainder of the soldiers could find that out? How does one meet oneself?”  He barks a few clear peals of laughter, looking down at the tattered robe he’s had since childhood. “What does one wear!”

A smile finds its way to Lorian’s face, at that, but his attention is clearly elsewhere.  He keeps watching the door, leaning against the side of the bed with his head turned to the side.

“I suppose it does not matter, really,” Lothric sighs, seeming to notice his plate for the first time.  He uses the fork to poke something dried out that looks like meat.  He pokes a few thin vegetables.  A scrap of, generously, food, almost ends up on his bedsheets.  He doesn’t end up eating anything.  “It is no concern of mine how they have set up an altar of death.  It is disquieting to think about, and I am not going there anyway.”

Lorian nods, still looking at the door.

“Do you know anything about him?” Lothric asks, bravely skewering something that might once have been asparagus.  

Lorian shakes his head.

“He has linked the Fire, of course...” Lothric muses, inspecting the stringy green-brown object on the end of his fork.  “Died, and come back to heed the bell.  Do you need to eat?  If you come back?”

Lorian turns to look look up in Lothric’s direction like how could I possibly know that, then goes back to his watchful attention.  The plate next to him on the floor is clean, and has been for about an hour.  

“I wonder what it is like to eat souls like a hollow,” Lothric grumbles, with a good-natured smile at his asparagus-like selection. “Well… it sounds a ghastly and violent business, to be sure. Most unpleasant.  I suppose I am mainly wondering if souls taste good, or feel good, or whatever the equivalent might be.”

If Lorian finds the indirect complaint about the food immature, he doesn’t dwell on it.  He sends across their soul connection that he’ll eat anything Lothric doesn’t want.

“We will not impress Ludleth with any of this,” Lothric says sadly, through a mouthful of plant fibers and regret.  “If I could trade half the splendor of our castle for one single slice of cake...”

A building commotion outside the door catches both of their attention. Clanking armor, marching feet.  Lothric shoves his fork and plate under the covers of his bed (Lorian does a double-take) and sits up straighter.  A change comes over him, a metamorphosis from a talkative younger sibling to something like a king.  Lorian, too, stops leaning against the bed and watches intently, with authority.

A knock on the door.  Lorian can feel Lothric’s heart beat faster, at the disruption of their sanctuary, though they both know there’s no danger.  

“Come in,” Lothric says in a clear, emotionless voice.

Six knights and soldiers, in varying stages of hollowing, enter the room. They’re purposeful, but they don’t move with quite the precision Oceiros would have required of them.  Or the fear.  Two of them are supporting a figure about their size with a bag over his head.  

“Close the door, if you would,” Lothric orders politely.  Lorian has given up telling him about how the military works.  Nonetheless, two of the soldiers break from the group right away and close the door.

Once the yellow rectangle of evening sunlight disappears and the door settles closed, Lothric teleports himself and Lorian to the lowest level of their room, quite close to the group.  

The commander has a report for Lorian.  Lothric listens too, but he’s only half-listening.  He catches something about a surprisingly easy mission with no casualties; that has to be good.  But he has more important matters to address.  He teleports closer to the two soldiers with the captive, and they carefully lower the captive to the ground as if on cue.  

Suddenly, Lothric sucks in his breath and puts a hand to his mouth.  A lot of his face is hidden by his hood, but it’s still clear enough that the kinglike mantle he took up at the sound of the party approaching has been almost entirely replaced by empathy, and perhaps horror.  He almost says something, then he doesn’t, then he does.

“Did you do this,” he says sharply, looking from soldier to nervous soldier.  Lorian and the commander stop talking and give him their full attention.

“Sire?” the commander says.

“His legs,” Lothric says with dangerous patience glittering in his eyes.

The prisoner shifts uncomfortably, seeming to want to speak.  Lothric holds eye contact with the commander.

“No sire, on my honor,” the commander says quickly, realization finding her aspect right away.  “That wasn’t us.  We found him like that.”

Lothric thinks she looks more relieved than guilty, which tells him he can believe her.  On closer inspection, the wounds don’t look fresh, either.  He nods, slowly.  Lorian scrunches his brow and tries to get a better look.  The prisoner keeps making little uncomfortable, alert movements.  He’d perhaps like to speak.

“Did that crowd at Firelink...” Lothric almost whispers, his face a maze of confusion and repulsion.  “So he couldn’t get away…”

The prisoner makes a noise in his throat, and one of the soldiers immediately gives him a light warning kick.

“Oh! Oh dear, my manners,” Lothric says quickly, looking down at the prisoner and the soldiers.  “No, no, that will not do, please do not hurt him, he’s every right to say his piece… would you do me the kindness of removing that bag from his head?”

“Ludleth, I presume,” Lothric says, with worried compassion, as the pygmy’s unsettled scowl comes into view.  Ludleth’s eyes go wide as soon as he realizes who he’s talking to.  He gives the soldiers another look, with fresh eyes, taking in the Lothric red and gold of their tattered uniforms.

“The gag.  Please,” Lothric tells the soldiers, with distaste.  

“I did not expect to meet a runaway king this morning,” Ludleth says evenly, shifting his jaw uncomfortably as a soldier pulls the cloth away.  

By now, everyone is looking at Lothric and Ludleth.

“How I have always understood it, I am either a king, or I have run away,” Lothric says, irritated reflexively but not invested.  He moves through the emotion quickly, especially with so many bigger emotions competing. “Ludleth of Courland. It is an honor to meet you, at long last.”  He turns to the nearest soldier and holds up his hands like they’re tied together.  The soldier reaches to undo Ludleth’s bonds.  “I apologize for the troubling manner in which you were brought to me.”

Ludleth almost says something.  He studies Lothric’s face.  There’s that hood in the way.  But he actually does sound sorry.  

“First there was the matter of keeping you safe, and then I desperately wanted to greet you in person, as your host, and I haven’t the courage to so much as leave my room,” Lothric laughs sadly, almost talking to himself.  “These constant threats of death are quite the weight on my mind… but I am one to talk, here in a safe place, with my brother to look out for me.” He shakes his head, with a flop of his hood and a little clatter of jewelry.  “I cannot imagine the fear that must have gripped you daily, caught like a trapped rat these many days on a ghastly throne of death.”

Ludleth’s jaw drops a little.

“I cannot ask for your forgiveness in not acting so soon as I heard that you were there,” Lothric continues sadly.  “I do not like to involve myself in… anything, really, it simply is not safe… I have not been going out of my way much for anybody… we do not know each other… the stories that reached my brother and I were so vague and contradictory it was hard at times to tell if there was any truth to them at all…I am weary, to depths I can hardly describe… I could never have come personally… I could never have spared my brother… I could have organized these here soldiers more quickly, and I must accept full responsibility for my lateness…”

Ludleths’ confusion looks like actual pain.  Is he crying?

“What have they done to you,” Lothric whispers, with pain-like confusion of his own.  “Have you a caster’s gift?  You must have some gift or other, if you are a Lord of Cinder…I could teach you a miracle which would allow you to teleport… p-please do not take this as pressure to convert to my faith, of course!  Our archives are vast, I am certain we will be able to find a spell to your liking.  Do you have a catalyst?  Y-you may, of course, borrow any from the archives which take your fancy. Oh, but here I go, explaining your life to you… surely you have plenty of your own ideas of how best I might attend to –“

“Your Grace?” Ludleth says.

“P-please. Call me Lothric.”

Ludleth takes in Lothric’s tear-streaked, dirty face.  He takes in the attentive soldiers, and… well, that must be Lorian.  He’s bigger than Ludleth imagined, bigger than he has any right to be.  If the stories are to be believed, he’s utterly ruthless on the battlefield.  But even he’s much more quietly compassionate than looming.  

“Have you truly sent these soldiers to rescue me?” Ludleth asks carefully, turning back to Lothric.

“Yes,” Lothric cries into his hands.  “I am sorry we did not manage it sooner!”

And Ludleth watches Lorian, the demon killer, come around on his hands and knees and put a large, gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder.

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 50

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,921

Warnings: nsfw, swearing

Masterlist links are in the header at the top of my blog.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Author’s Note:  I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since I updated this story, but we finally made it to chapter 50 (holy crap)! I apologize to y’all for making it seem like I had abandoned this fic; I always promised myself I’d finish this, even if it took 50 years, and I’m holding to that. The past year was full of many ups and downs, and I really just needed a break from writing and to take a step back and focus on other things. Now, I’m hoping this update marks the start of a refocus on writing and this story, because I really really want to be able to mark it as completed at some point lol. It’s been such a journey (I started this over 3 years ago!!!), and I want to personally thank each and every one of you who is still hanging around and interested in the story. I seriously think I have the best group of readers a fanfiction writer could ever ask for. I know it’s been forever since the last update, so you might need to go back and refresh your memory of the last chapter, since this one is jumping right back in where we left off. Enjoy! <3

Semi-Rational Adults

Your ability to speak had momentarily left the building, as you stared back at Negan with what was sure to be a deer in headlights expression for a long, drawn-out moment. Mind whirling with how to respond to his accusation without also throwing Trixie under the bus, you finally stammered out a shaky, yet truthful, denial.

 “I don’t know what you were told, but the test wasn’t for me.”

 A muscle started ticking in the side of Negan’s jaw, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line. He looked as though it was taking all of his physical effort not to start yelling, for which you were grateful, since him losing control of his temper usually meant there was slim-to-none chance of reasoning with him.

 Continuing hesitantly, you added, “I asked for one from Carson, but it was for someone else.”

 At this point, you realized that it must’ve been the doctor who told him about the test. Your subconscious suggested that perhaps it was Amber, since she had probably been in here not long ago with his dinner tray. However, your brain insisted that Trixie had been truthful when she said she was done with Amber. Besides, Carson was terrified of Negan and would probably rat out anyone in the compound, especially if he thought it meant getting on the leader’s good side.

 “You really expect me to fucking believe that?” he growled through gritted teeth, hands leaving the desk as he straightened to his full, imposing height. “Fucking think again.”

 A spark of anger ignited in your gut at his immediate dismissal of your words. Part of you wanted to give some snarky reply or go off on him for his lack of trust in your honesty. How dare he jump to his own conclusions and refuse to consider that they were wrong! He wouldn’t be satisfied unless you gave the answer he was expecting, the only answer he currently saw as truth. The helpless realization hit that he’d rather you admit to fucking someone else behind his back instead of getting off his high horse and realizing that perhaps his assumptions about the situation were incorrect.

 You didn’t want to go down this rocky path again, thinking back to your last fight a week and a half ago, out in the gardens. Both of you had thrown words like knives without stopping to consider the repercussions, and you had come away from the experience emotionally bloody. You didn’t have the mental capacity to go through that again, and if every hurdle with Negan was going to lead to an all-out brawl that set your relationship back multiple paces...then was it even worth it?

 Shoulders sagging in defeat, all angry retorts died before they had a chance to leave your lips. If, despite the last few days, he could still think so lowly of you, then why even try to argue? He’d jumped to anger and accusations, rather than rationally asking for your side of the story, and that hurt. God, you were so sick of situations with him leading to you feeling hurt. No one deserved to feel unheard and misunderstood by someone they cared about, and you’d be damned if you fell into his trap by even continuing this conversation.

 Looking him square in the eye, with what was hopefully a neutral expression, you deadpanned, “I told you the truth. Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you.”

 Turning for the door, you made it two steps before his voice barked out your name.

 “I didn’t fucking say you could leave!”

 Twisting your upper body so that you could glance at him over your shoulder, it took everything in you to stay calm, to not fight fire with more fire. Instead, you wanted to douse the flames of the fight before they could truly be ignited.

 With a wave of your hand towards the box on the desk, you said, “If that’s what you really think of me, then we’re done here.”

 And with that, you turned and walked out the door. Half expecting him to say something else or come out in the hall and demand you turn back around, you weren’t sure if it was relief or despair that cause a loud sigh to leave your lips, when all that came from behind was silence.

 ~  ~ ~  ~  ~

 Focused on getting back to your room, which was a safe space away from any prying eyes and ears, you speed-walked down to the third floor. You vaguely acknowledged passing Maria in the hall; she said your name as you walked by, as if she wanted to stop and have a conversation, but you ignored her and just kept walking. You didn’t have the energy to deal with anyone right now and just wanted to be alone. Your silent dismissal was probably rude, but you didn’t overly care at the moment, instead making a mental note to apologize to her later.

 When you were inside the small bedroom, with the door closed and locked, it felt as though you were finally able to breathe. This tiny space had become your own personal sanctuary within the Sanctuary, and for the umpteenth time since your interactions with Negan first began, you were beyond glad to be assigned a single room with no bunk mates.

 Refusing to just sit and dwell on the situation until you worked yourself into a panic or flood of tears, you instead grabbed your notepad and flopped down on the bed. Laying on your stomach with chin propped on the pillow, you tried to focus on the meal plan and kitchen job assignments you had started organizing for next week. However, you barely made it through Monday before the words turned blurry on the page and you were blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. When one of the bastards escaped, rolling down your cheek and plopping onto the lumpy pillow, you cursed before throwing the pencil and notepad onto the floor and turning over onto your back on the mattress.

 Staring up at the ceiling, you started counting the tiles, noting a tiny crack in one that was two rows down and three columns over from the door. After you finished tallying up all of them, you did so again, and again. You were on your fourth round, the simple task just mundane and simple enough to calm your mind, when you were startled by a light knock on the door.

 Rather than respond, you kept counting, hoping that whoever it was would take the hint and leave. You had just started the exciting game of Tile Count for the fifth time when the knock came again, this time a bit more insistent. The hair raising on the back of your neck at the first light tapping had already given away who was on the other side, and you refused to fight anymore with the probably still pissed-off man standing outside your room.

 “Go away!” you called, irritated that the noise had caused you to lose your place, and starting back at the corner from zero.

 There was a long silence, so long that you started to think perhaps he had actually listened, when his voice came, deep and slightly muffled by the door.

“We need to talk, doll.”

 The locked door as a barrier made you brave enough to flippantly reply, just loud enough for him to hear, “Why? You apparently think you know everything already.”

 Another long silence. You had to admit, that was surprising. You had expected his reaction to a comment like that to be anger and a demand for you to open the door immediately. In fact, you could almost feel him struggling to keep his cool, which gave you a small zing of satisfaction.

 “Doll, are you gonna let me in or…”

 Sitting up on the bed, the tile game forgotten, you fired back, “Or what?”

 You ignored your brain and subconscious, both of whom were looking at you with exasperated expressions. This might not be the most productive of interactions, but hey, you had tried to explain things to him in his office, and he hadn’t wanted to listen. Why should you want to listen now?

 “If you don’t open the door, then we’ll just have to talk about it like this,” he replied, voice still surprisingly calm and collected.

 You paused and thought about that for a moment. Would he really discuss something like that out in the hall, where anyone could hear? Your brain and subconscious quickly answered at the same time with, Of course he would!

 Giving a heavy sigh, you got up off the bed and walked across the room, dragging your feet with every step. You really would’ve preferred he give up and leave, because letting him in this room would give him a chance to either hurt you further or get back in your good graces. At this point, you didn’t know which was preferable. Did you want him to push you further away or bring you in closer? And what the fuck did it say about this “relationship” that you didn’t know the answer to that question?

 Unfortunately, you knew that Negan wasn’t going anywhere, stubborn as he was, so with a deep breath for courage, you threw open the door and tried to give him your best neutral stare. It was a bit difficult, once you saw the look on his face. The heat you had expected to see in his eyes wasn’t there; instead, his face looked drawn and, dare you say it, almost ashamed. No, that couldn’t be right. It must just be the glare from the overhead lights and your own buried hope that was causing you to see things that weren’t there.

 “What do you want?” you asked, trying to mimic his cool and collected tone.

 “I want to talk, doll,” he replied, staring back and waiting patiently for you to decide what would happen next.

 Holding eye contact in silence for a long moment, you finally gave a sigh and stepped back, letting him in. He was dressed in a simple, navy blue t-shirt and dark grey pants, and you got a lungful of his unique cedar and spice smell as he walked past. Once the door was firmly closed, you turned and leaned back against the smooth wood, putting both hands on your hips and lifting an eyebrow at him expectantly.

 When all you got in response was him looking everywhere in the room but at you, impatience caused your foot to tap and your mouth to give a slightly sarcastic, “I thought you wanted to talk?”

 Finally looking over at you, he took in your body posture and facial expression, mouth tightening as he ran a gloveless hand down over his beard. Seeing his bare skin made you realize that he also hadn’t brought Lucille with him, which caused a jolt of surprise. He took that bat everywhere, and you had to wonder how distracted he must’ve been, to forget something so important.

 “Damnit, doll. I’m trying to fucking apologize!” he growled, hands now stuffed in his pants pockets.

 Both eyebrows raised this time, as you gave him a quick look of surprise before schooling your features. “Well, then do it.”

 While part of you was floored that he hadn’t come here to continue fighting, another part of you wasn’t ready to dole out brownie points just because he was trying to apologize. After the things he had just accused you of in his office, trying wasn’t going to be good enough.

 He gave a sigh and gestured nervously with his hands, before saying, “Perhaps I was...a little hasty with my judgments...regarding the situation.”

 You huffed out a humorless laugh at his stumbling efforts to say that he was wrong. “A little hasty?”

 He chewed on his lower lip while looking at you with a gaze dulled by discomfort and guilt. When you didn’t offer any more support, just crossed your arms over your chest and stared back expectantly, his eyes dropped to the floor.

 “I’m sorry, doll. I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he mumbled in a voice so low that you strained to hear. You opened your mouth to respond, but he beat you to the punch by adding, “I don’t want this to be a repeat of last time. I don’t want to almost fucking lose you again.”

 His words were like a punch to the gut, and you were glad he was still looking downwards and so didn’t see your mouth hanging open as you stared at him with wide-eyed shock. While his words didn’t totally wipe the slate clean, you knew what they had cost him to say. A straightforward apology from a man such as Negan was about as common as a walker turning vegetarian. You took a tentative step towards him, then another. Reaching out, you laid a gentle hand on his bicep, causing his gaze to finally rise and lock onto yours.

 Giving a tentative smile, you whispered, “Apology accepted.”

 The tight lines around his mouth visibly relaxed, as his jaw unclenched and shoulders slightly dropped some of their previous tension. You stared at one another, both seemingly uncertain what to say or do next. Trying to lighten the mood a bit, you joked, “Did we actually just make some progress and communicate like semi-rational adults?”

 He gave a light chuckle and raised his hand to cup your jaw, the calloused thumb rubbing back and forth across your lower lip. “I’d say we did, doll. I’m about as fucking surprised as you are.”

 His eyes became a bit more focused and intense, as if he was trying to read your mind. You had a split second to think oh no before he added, “I still need to know what happened though, and what you were doing with that pregnancy test. I’m willing to hear your side of the story and forget what Carson told me, but I need you to be fucking honest with me.”

 Shit. You didn’t want to backtrack, not after how well things were going and the steps forward that were being made between the two of you. But you also couldn’t break your promise to Trixie, not when she had placed her trust in you.

 You knew Negan saw the conflicting emotions and panic written all over your face, because his hand dropped and he gave a warning growl of, “Doll...”

 Muttering a curse that made his eyebrows raise in surprise at your vehemence, you dropped your hand from his arm and took a couple steps back, needing space to get your thoughts together. Gazing at him imploringly, you replied, “I want to tell you, but I made a promise.”

 You could see the first sparks of anger in that tawny gaze, and so hurried on. “Someone came to me, in confidence, and asked for my help. I can’t tell you who she is, but I will say that it wasn’t one of your wives. She thought she might be pregnant and didn’t want to cause a fuss if it wasn’t true. She didn’t even want the potential father to know unless she was certain.”

 You took a breath and analyzed Negan’s reactions to your words so far. His head was cocked slightly to the side and he remained silent. Satisfied that you had his attention, and that he was still calm and willing to listen, at least for now, you continued.

 “I wanted to help, so I asked Carson for a test, that way he wouldn’t know who it was really for. I told him it was for someone else, but it was obvious he didn’t believe me. Not that I cared much at the time-” your eyes rolled upwards in annoyance, “-though I should’ve guessed he’d run to you the first chance he got. But the test was negative, thank god. And it wasn’t that she was being unsafe; she assured me that they were using condoms, and it was probably just stress that messed up her cycle and caused her to panic. The situation is handled, Negan, I promise. I was there when she took the test, and I even saw the negative results. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

 He studied you, searching your face as if looking for clues to fill in the gaps you had left. You knew that he didn’t appreciate having information withheld, and hoped he wouldn’t take your unwillingness to reveal Trixie’s identity as a personal offense.

 “I hope you’re fucking sure about that. Because if it becomes an issue for me down the line, I’m gonna be fucking pissed, doll.”

 Bringing up your chin and using your no-nonsense voice, you replied, “I said it’s handled. Which means it’s handled.”

 Hazel eyes widened in surprise. “When did you get so damn authoritative?”

 “When I started hanging around you too much.”

 Giving a smirk and genuine laugh that let you know he wasn’t upset, Negan started towards you. You wanted to smirk in return, but instead backed up, maintaining the gap between your bodies.

 “I’m still mad at you,” you warned.

 “Why, doll? I fucking apologized, didn’t I?”

 Just when he was about to reach out and wrap his arm around your waist, you sidestepped and scurried past him, stopping on the opposite side of the room, near the bed. “I want to know why you automatically assumed the pregnancy test was mine.”

 The playful smirk that had been on his face dimmed, as he realized he wasn’t totally out of the clear. “I was being stupid, doll.”

 “Stupid how?” You knew the intelligent thing to do would be to let the topic go. He had apologized and admitted to being wrong, but you still felt the zing of hurt from earlier, when he had believed you were sleeping with someone else behind his back.

 He sighed and grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “persistent woman,” before saying, “When Carson told me you wanted a pregnancy test, my mind automatically jumped to the other day in the kitchen. Benny boy was being awfully fucking protective of you, and I’ll admit my thoughts went in a direction that had me stewing by the time you came to my office.”

 Not this again, you thought. You didn’t expect Negan and Ben to ever be the best of buds, but the pissing contest Negan had with someone who had been nothing but a supportive friend to you needed to stop. The easiest response would be to tell him that it wasn’t you he had to worry about Ben getting too close to, but knew it wasn’t your place to discuss Ben’s potential love life. Negan needed to trust you, because you weren’t going to keep defending against something that wasn’t even close to the truth.

 This time it was you who moved forward, coming to a stop right in front of the tense man who was awaiting your reaction. Reaching up, you took his face between your hands, the scratch of his beard against your palms as you locked eyes with him from a distance of mere inches.

 “I’m only gonna tell you this once more, so I need you to really hear me. Ben and I are friends. We’ve never been more than that, nor will we ever be more than that. My love for him is 100% platonic, and vice versa.”

 His brows furrowed, and he reminded you of a petulant child, though you’d never say that aloud, as he questioned, “You love him?”

 You’d swear his voice held a note of jealousy at the idea of you loving someone. No, that couldn’t be right...could it? Sure, you and him were taking steps towards what might be some form of a relationship, but that topic was nowhere on the agenda for him. You were too busy watching Negan’s face to see the exasperated look your subconscious and brain shared, as if they both wanted to throttle you for being in denial.

 “As a friend, yes. I love him emotionally and platonically, but not romantically or sexually. And Ben has never given me cause to believe it’s any different for him. He cares about me, so of course he’s protective...just as I’m protective of him. And he’s not going anywhere, so I need you to accept that he’s a part of my life, and that his friendship makes me happy.”

 Your hands dropped from his face to rub along his shoulders; you could see the wheels spinning as he processed this information, and hoped that the words were finally sinking in. You didn’t want two people who you cared deeply about to be at odds with one another, and you refused to be put in a position where you felt like you had to choose your friendship with Ben versus your...whatever this was...with Negan.

 He finally gave a nod of affirmation, which caused you to exhale the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. His large hands rubbed up and down your sides, and you weren’t sure if his actions were meant to soothe you or himself.

 “You’re right, doll, I misread the situation. I saw that test and lost my shit without even fucking considering there was another possible explanation. And when I thought of you being with someone else, I…” his words dropped off into silence.

 You made a shushing noise and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, standing up on tiptoes and tilting your head to brush his lips with your own. He took the hint and pulled you in close, so that the length of your body was pressed against his.

 “You still mad at me, doll?” he murmured into your mouth.

 You pulled back and gave a saucy smile. “Only if you don’t use that bed to show me how sorry you really are.”

 The look he gave in response caused a flutter of butterflies in your stomach, which quickly shot lower and became a deep, pulsing flutter of an entirely different nature. He caught your mouth in a deep kiss and pushed forward, causing you to walk backwards the couple steps needed before the edge of the mattress bumped into the back of your thighs. You were breathing heavily by the time he lifted his head, and it took a couple seconds for the hazy cloud of lust to lift enough for you to realize his gaze was distracted by something off to the side.

 Glancing in the same direction, you saw the pile of condoms laying on your bedside table. They were the ones you had stolen out of the drawer in his bedroom this morning, and suddenly you were patting yourself on the back for thinking ahead.

 This time his lips landed on the side of your neck, goosebumps erupting along your arms as he sucked gently at where the sensitive flesh sloped down to meet your shoulder. “First you take coconut oil out of the kitchen, now you’re stealing condoms from my bedroom,” he said between kisses and nips to your flesh. “You’re outta line, doll.”

 His hand came up to cup a breast through your shirt, at the same time he whispered in your ear, “Now, how do you think I should punish this insubordination?”

 You could only moan in response and gasp out his name, before falling back onto the bed and pulling him down with you.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Tag List will be posted separately and in three chunks, to hopefully keep tumblr from doing anything wonky to this post. If you do not want to be on the tag list anymore, PLEASE send me a message and let me know. I won’t be upset because I don’t want to bother anyone with tag notifications who is no longer interested in ID updates. It’s been forever since I updated, so I totally get it if you’ve moved on lol.

[kitten1618x]

GoT Afterthoughts ep. 08x01 ‘Winterfell’ (Part 1)

Whew! I’m sorry this has taken so long. I’ve got two munchkins home from school with a stomach bug, and they’ve been cutting into my rewatch and write-up.

~

So, a few things before we kick this bad boy off... I have not read or interacted much with anyone (except writing up that post yesterday about the opening creds) and I have avoided the discord server (even though I’m DYING to gush) as to not skew my own perception of the episode. Those of you who follow my blog know that I am partial to political!jon, but here’s your heads up for anyone else that just stumbled onto this recap. And with that...

~

We begin the journey of our last season similarly to the way we began our very first: An excited Winter Town boy frantically scrambling to find a better view of the royal retinue marching on Winterfell—complete with the same musical score. Let’s call that strike one against Jon and Dany, as we all know what a farce that first royal couples’ relationship was.

~

This boy, as he shimmies up a nearby tree, very much reminds me of a combination of both Arya and Bran in the pilot — Arya even spies him and smiles, as she stands watching with the smallfolk (a nice book nod). Her face at initially seeing her big brother Jon makes my heart skip a few beats, and I kind of got the feeling she was going to call out for him, but changed her mind. She looks down then, and I’m honestly so worried for their reunion because they have both changed so much, and Arya isn’t the same little girl he remembers.

~

Her smile fades as Jon and Dany pass her by, and the Hound comes into view. Her feelings with Sandor have always been complicated, but we don’t have much time to dwell on that, because Gendry rounds the corner and there’s a different kind of smile lighting up Arya’s face now—and I’m so stoked for their reunion, because it’s what I deserve. WE ALL DESERVE THIS OKAY?!?!?!

~

And what do we have here? Ahhhh yes, the typical D&D ‘cock’ and/or (in this case) ‘balls’ banter via Varys and Tyrion as they once again travel together in another wooden box. You know, we damn well better get the payoff to the jackass/honeycomb/brothel joke this season, or I swear by the old gods and the new that I’m blowing up the Sept of Baelor... oh wait.

~

Missandei looks visibly uncomfortable at the impassive stares of the Northerners as they ride by. However, Jon did warn them about the North—which he reiterates to a rather annoyed looking Dany, who no doubt expected a much more warmer welcoming for coming to “save the North”—but it’s pretty clear there will be no Myhsa crowd-surfing here.

~

A screeching overhead sends the Northerners frantically running for cover as a smug-looking Daenerys smirks proudly at the fear her dragon children instill when they split the skies above. Let’s be real here — that was no coincidence. Remember this?

Dany is in complete control of Drogon, and let’s call a spade a spade: this was a cheap intimidation tactic driven by spite. And I honestly can’t even say I blame the girl, but it’s probably not the best way to make new friends, either—especially when they are all of the mindset that “a Targaryen cannot be trusted”. Just sayin’, Dany girl.

~

And we have Arya’s reaction to seeing Dragons for the first time as they soar high up over Winterfell and Sansa, who watches from the ramparts. Sansa’s reaction is quite similar to Cersei’s—as in, she really doesn’t have one. Someone please cue My Chick Bad by Ludacris!!

Jon and Dany enter the courtyard and Jon springs from his horse to bring Bran in for a signature Stark squeeze and a forehead kiss (another season one callback). He proudly admires how Bran has grown and is now a man, only for Bran to answer with some vague and emotionless three-eyed raven shit, before staring down Daenerys while Jon moves to Sansa’s open arms.

~

*Perhaps no one informed Jon about Bran going all sentient-being?

~

I’m sure most of you already noticed that while this is supposed to be the same hug scene we were shown in the HBO teaser, it’s not the same shot, nor the same angle. In the teaser, Jon makes this soft face and goes straight to Sansa’s arms...

But in the actual episode, Jon goes straight to Bran’s arms, and his expression is quite different...

And in the teaser the hug is much longer in duration, and Sansa doesn’t look up at Dany until the end—still not relinquishing her hold on Jon.

However, in the episode, we get a shorter version and a different angle, while Bran and Sansa simultaneously stink-eye Dany the entire time.

*please note Jon’s expression isn’t the same as it is in the hbo teaser—which begs to differ WHY they chose such a romantic shot of these siblings to hype the final season? I mean, I know why... do you? 😉

~

Annnnnnd moving right along. Jon asks where his darling baby sister Arya has gotten to, as to which Sansa replies “lurking somewhere” — which is an odd response, but I’m not gonna lie, it did make me chuckle a little. If I had to make a guess on this odd dialogue (other than the D’s just suck at dialogue sometimes), I imagine it serves the purpose of leading Jon to assume that the girls still have the same strained relationship of their youth.

~

Not one to stand by idle while getting eye-fucked from all directions (and not in a good way), Dany sashays over to be introduced to the stunning redhead Jon was hugging on, to learn she is (only) his sister (whew!), and the Lady of Winterfell. And with that said, I need to take a moment to address something to all the antis who will probably hop on this post (cuz I know y’all are there): Jon is NOT the Lord of Winterfell. Winterfell does NOT belong to him, not even as warden of the North, not even a little bit. He has no say, no ownership, no NOTHING on Winterfell. The only way he becomes the Lord of Winterfell is if he marries his cousin, Sansa Stark — which is just ONE of the many reasons WHY a marriage between them is advantageous. Tell your friends.

~

The tension kicks up a notch as the introductions proceed and Dany feeds Sansa platitudes of how beautiful she and the North are. Perhaps her words are meant to be kind, but after all she’s been through, Sansa is not here for the bullshit — remember how nice Miranda was in the beginning too? Besides, my girl’s jealousy is so thick, she’s almost GREEN. So, giving Dany a full-bodied once over, she haughtily replies “Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.”

~

Annnnnnd...

Before a full-blown catfight ensues, Bran throws some ice on the situation—and by ice, I mean ice dragon (harr harr harrrr). The wall has come down, and your dragon is one of them now, he informs Dany—whom of course is horrified by the news. (And probably by Bran too, as I assume she, like Jon, did not get the Bran is the 3ER memo).

~

We move into the Great Hall where we learn that Sansa has already made the intelligent decision to call all their banners to retreat to Winterfell as soon as they knew that the wall had fallen. Little Ned Umber isn’t really sure whom he’s supposed to address or how (bless his little heart), but in any event, he’s getting the horses and carts he needs to safely bring the rest of his people back to Winterfell. Jon tells the maester to summon the Nights Watch as well.

~

And of course you know little Lady Mormont has some shit to say. She’s not pleased with the turn of events and wastes no time voicing her opinion and stirring the ire of the Northerners. But hey,

(Sorry, I couldn’t help myself).

But more on that later, because Jon looks really nervous as little Lyanna throws shade — and his first instinct is to turn and share a look with his sister, errr wife, cousin!, Sansa.

~

I feel like he was looking to her for support, but she’s got none to offer at the moment. So, he pulls himself together and tries to calm the dissent by giving another rousing ‘we need allies and I brought them’ speech, and he actually says something VERY interesting here: “I had a choice: keep my crown or protect the north. I chose the north.” I mean, he ain’t lying, and the best place to hide something is right in plain sight, after all—and of course nothing about that statement sounds political or off at all, does it? I mean, because the Dany stans/jonerii insist that Dany agreed and was FULLY onboard to come north before Jon bent the knee, so why would he say that, then? Go on, tell me...

~

Tyrion decides to throw in his unwanted .02 — simultaneously backing up Jon and feeding Dany’s savior complex (the greatest army blah blah blah — gods, I cannot wait until everyone sees how useless the dragons will be against the NK, especially when using them to roast the wights puts their own soldiers at risk). His words aren’t met with any gratitude when he also drops the bomb that another enemy house of the North is also on its way to Winterfell.

~

Sansa is taken aback but recovers quickly. Armed with her signature snark, she asks how they’re expected to feed the ‘worlds greatest army’ — something she did not prepare for — chased by a sassy, “what do dragons eat, anyway?”

But wa-wa-wait, HOLD UP. Did Dany just— Did she just throw down the gauntlet?

~

Why, I believe she did, my friends! jskslkdlsksjsklslsljsllsl 😂😂😂😂

~

I can’t even with this episode, guys. It’s like I’m watching a medieval version of Melrose Place (google it, youngin’s) with Jane and Sydney throwing shots by the poolside!

Okay, okay, but all joking and snark aside, Sansa has got a valid point. She isn’t prepared to feed all these extra mouths PLUS two fucken huge dragons. I mean, winter is here, and where could they possibly find enough food to sustain everyone? It’s almost as if the show is making it a point to remind us about the lack of food and where did we last see wagons loaded with food? Oh right, I remember...

Put this one behind Northern Independence on the list of ‘Petty Things That Won’t Matter Because the AotD is Coming’ — you know, because who needs food to survive? And who the hell wants independence, anyway?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

~

Moving right along, and holy mother, maiden and crone, this is getting long and I’ve barely scratched the first 15 minutes of the show!

~

You know what? Nevermind, I’m just gonna go ahead and publish this, and post the rest tomorow when I finish it — I know y’all are thirsty anyway. lol Forgive the sloppiness, as I did this ALL on mobile, and my paragraph breaks kept disappearing and arrrrrghh tumblr!

~

*Some gifs/images mine. The others were taken from google. Thanks if it’s yours!!

[dyaz-stories]

The Maid and the Bodyguard - Chapter five

First - Previous - Next — Also available on fanfiction.net

Tagging: @noviceotakus-blog, @theartsygamerrebel, @eternalnight8806-3, @pantheraqueen

Summary: Inuyasha is princess Kikyo’s bodyguard, but one day, he fails to his duty and the princess is abducted. Kagome is a maidservant who works in the castle, and who has had an interest in Inuyasha for a long time. They are sent together to retrieve the Princess. On their way there, things may become a lot more complicated than they had anticipated. AU, Inukag.

Inuyasha paused to sniff the air more as they approached the inn, and rose a hand to signal Kagome to stop. She managed to do so with some difficulties.

”Is everything okay?” she asked worriedly.

”Should be fine,” Inuyasha answered. ”Let’s approach them calmly, princess,” he added with a joyless grin. ”Wouldn’t want them to lose their shit and try to kill us, hm?”

Definitely not.

”They shouldn’t ask you any question, since they’ll probably think they know who you are, but if they do, keep your answers short, okay? Don’t go blabbing like you always do.”

Blabbing? She didn’t blab. And, wait, did that mean that he actually listened to her when she tried to speak to him?

”It’s a good thing it’s not nightfall yet,” Inuyasha commented. ”Wouldn’t have stood a chance then.”

She wasn’t sure she enjoyed his dark sense of humor, but what frightened her the most was probably what everything he said actually meant — about him, about what he had gone through, about the way people viewed him. The more she was around him, the more she understood how unusual her mother’s opinions on demons had been, and she couldn’t help but wonder why. Where did it all come from?

There was nothing she could do to answer this question for now, so she left it unresolved, and gently prompted her horse to start walking by gently patting his neck. She was starting to understand that she didn’t need to be as rough as she had been so far, because the stallion had obviously been very well trained.

”Anything else?” she asked Inuyasha as he settled his pace to walk next to her.

”Don’t get me killed.”

Great. If it was starting this way, it most definitely couldn’t go wrong.

As they approached the inn, slowly, like Inuyasha had recommended, Kagome saw a young child who was playing in front of the house look at them and rush in. He soon came out again, followed by a man wearing a dark kimono. Probably the innkeeper and his son. Inuyasha watched them wearily, ready to run for his life if needed. If there were some royal soldiers inside or just some monk, priestess or demon slayer, they could decide to just open fire without warning.

But then, the man hit the young boy on the head, and Inuyasha was pretty sure that meant he had identified them, or thought he had. By the time he and Kagome arrived in front of them, he was wearing his most obsequious smile. He bowed deeply when Kagome jumped to the ground as gracefully as possible, we meant he, luckily, didn’t see her stumble in a not-at-all graceful way, nor Inuyasha grabbing her by the elbow and steadying her with a familiarity that was absolutely not appropriate.

His son looked at them suspiciously, but soon his father was pulling him down too, mumbling something about how he had been raised.

”It is an honor to have you here,” he said. ”I have given orders so we can prepare our best room—”

”Don’t say any name,” Inuyasha growled. ”No attention’s wanted here.” At least, he held back his remark about how the best room of this hovel couldn’t be much good.

The man shot him a dirty glance, but didn’t say anything. It was no secret that, for some reason, the Princess seemed to care about her… half-demon pet. It was also pretty common that noble women didn’t take care of things themselves, which meant that their servants would do it themselves.

”Everything for you, my Lady,” the man said, his hateful expression disappearing in a second. ”Dinner is getting prepared, and…”

”Serve it in her room,” Inuyasha ordered once more. The less she was noticed, the better.

”Of course, of course,” the man said, again bowing deeply. ”As for your, erm, companion, such customers generally sleep in the barn.”

Inuyasha had expected that. It was usual for inns, for the rare cases when there were demons around, following their humans masters, but that almost never happened. Demons would rather die than submit. Plus, it was probably the dude’s way to getting back at him for him basically insulting him. Just talking to him was probably considered demeaning.

Keh. Humans. He was about to answer when Kagome’s voice rung out.

”I’m sorry, what?”

The ‘I’m sorry’ part was probably not such a good idea, since, as a Princess, she had no reasons to ever excuse herself, and even less in such a situation, but for the rest, her cold tone was actually a pretty good imitation of Kikyo. Inuyasha didn’t consider any of that when he turned to look at her in disbelief. She was glaring at the innkeeper who was just blinking at her dumbly.

”Why couldn’t he have a room like everybody else?” she asked, anger starting to rise in her voice and tainting her cheeks as well.

The innkeeper and Inuyasha both gaped at her. What was she even talking about? Inuyasha had never been to an inn before, as Kikyo never wandered too far from the castle and always made sure they were back at nightfall, but he knew that causing a scandal was not the way to deal with that stuff. Had her role already gotten to her head? Just because she supposedly had power didn’t mean she could just do anything, dammit!

”W-well,” the man stuttered, ”the other customers would never accept being treated the same way as a half-breed and they would probably refuse to come to my inn again, if they knew!”

There was panic in his voice, but it only made Kagome’s fists ball up in anger. She wanted to scream in frustration.

”Maybe we could, like, put another bed in the princess’ room?” the man’s son offered, which earned him a new slap on the back of his head. ”Ow!” he protested. ”I mean he’s like a dog or something, right? What’s he gonna do?”

”How dare you insult her like that?” the innkeeper shouted. ”I’m so sorry, I…”

”Are you insinuating that I can’t defend myself?” Kagome retorted, crossing her arms, obviously not willing to let him off the hook so easily. The dog comment had particularly disgusted her, but the boy was just a kid. She couldn’t hold him responsible for his education.

The man didn’t know who to turn to now. On the one hand, he just couldn’t put the half-breed in the same room as the princess, and surely that was not what she had meant, it was way too shameful, but on the other hand, he decently could not give him a room either, and finally, the princess didn’t seem happy with the thought that he would be sleeping in the barn. His salvation came from where he expected it the least.

”I’ll sleep in the damn barn,” Inuyasha growled. He shot Kagome a furious look that surprised her, but bowed lightly. ”Do not worry about me,” he said with a deference she knew to be completely faked.

With that, he grabbed the horse’s reins and stormed off, leaving Kagome completely confused. What the hell was wrong with him? What had she done wrong this time?

”If you will follow me,” the innkeeper said, gesturing towards his establishment’s house. Kagome nodded, and went after him with a nervous smile.

She was soon settled. Inuyasha had come in for just a few seconds to drop one of the bags that was tied on the back of the horse, but the innkeeper’s son was still there, and he had resolutely ignored the glances she had thrown her way.

The room wasn’t big, but it looked like the blankets were clean. When left alone, Kagome vaguely thought that no matter what Inuyasha could say, the princess wouldn’t have been too pleased with the situation. With a sigh, she undid her hair, letting them fall freely on her shoulders. She knew that her hairstyle wasn’t necessarily one of a noble woman, but she had tried to make it more sophisticated than it was back when she worked in the castle.

She looked at the bag, hesitating to go through it. Did Inuyasha expect her to change? She guessed there was some sort of nightwear in there, but she would have to wait until—

There was a soft knock on the door, and the innkeeper’s son walked in, carrying a tray with a bowl of rice, what she guessed was tea, and fish as well. Just smelling it made her salivate, but also appreciate that such a meal was probably a lot in such a small and poor inn. She would have to make sure to pay them accordingly. She gave a nod to the kid, which only earned her a confused look.

”Oh, and, could you make sure to bring food to my, erm, travel companion too?” she asked.

”Sure,” the boy mumbled, although he didn’t really manage to hide that he thought that such a request was completely ridiculous. As far as he was concerned, demons could hunt for themselves. That woman’d rather pay them real well.

Kagome ate silently once he had closed the door behind him, and put the tray back outside of the room once she was finished. She then carefully removed her kimono. The feeling of silk against her skin was very different from cotton, and she had to admit part of her appreciated what it meant and the beauty of it. The other part was terrified of damaging it or ripping it and would have given anything to get back her usual cotton clothes. At least, it wasn’t a too expensive one. It sent the message that she wasn’t just anyone, but she could still travel with it.

She put on a night gown that she guessed belonged to the princess, and felt slightly uncomfortable when she saw how well it fitted her. Her and the princess were really alike, weren’t they?

She slipped under the covers, wondering how many people exactly had noticed the similarities. She sighed with satisfaction in the bed, blowed the candles that still provided light in the small bedroom and closed her eyes, only to open them again when she heard some noise. She sat up and looked around her, worried.

That was when she met golden eyes, opened her mouth to scream and—

And her scream was silenced as a hand clasped against her mouth while and angry yet familiar voice whispered ”Shut up, you idiot, it’s me!”

”I-Inuyasha? What…”

”Lower, woman! Can’t have them thinkin’ I’m in your room!”

Kagome obeyed and shut her mouth, listening in the silent of the night to see if anyone would come in. After a few seconds, she looked back to Inuyasha, only to find his golden eyes glaring at her, furious.

Oh, great. Fantastic. What had she done this time?

”The hell did you think you were doing back then?” he hissed through gritted teeth.

”Back when?” she answered on the same tone.

”Ask for a room for me? Who in their right mind would do that? Thought you could force them to do whatever you wanted just because you’re the princess? Wanted to test your power, maybe?”

With every suggestion, pronounced with hatred and with Inuyasha gradually leaning towards her, Kagome’s eyes widened and she got paler and paler. It was the first time that it hit her that this was what he thought of her, and the idea almost made her sick. It wasn’t so much what he was saying that got to her, because she knew none of that was right. She was way too spontaneous to do or even consider doing something like that. She did what felt right at the moment, and, it was true, didn’t necessarily think of the consequences.

However, if Inuyasha said that, it had to mean that this was what he thought of her. This was how he pictured her. Like someone who would try to test her power at his expense, using him as a simple pawn. And that was what hurt her.

”Of course not,” she practically growled. ”Now get out of my room!”

Inuyasha seemed taken aback by her reaction, but he was most definitely not going to be scared by that little girl.

”Yeah? Then what did you think you were doing?”

He shouldn’t be pushing the issue like that, he knew it. He shouldn’t ask for a truth he didn’t want to hear, but he thought it was better to rip off that band-aid now.

”What I was doing was trying to get you a room, you moron!” Kagome snapped. Inuyasha didn’t have the time to retort anything before she continued, now furious. ”Also, my name is not bitch, wench, nor woman! It’s Ka-go-me! Now could you get out?”

Anger was always a better thing than pain, and she would not let him see that she was hurt by the way he thought of her. She was not going to give him that pleasure. He already thought she was dumb and useless, and that was more than enough.

”Feh! And who’s gonna make sure you don’t get robbed during the night, huh? Bet you didn’t even think to hide the money.”

Kagome’s anger partly melted when she realized that he was very much right, but that didn’t mean she was going to let him off just like that.

”I haven’t,” she mumbled, annoyed at herself for giving him an opening.

She waited for the nagging remark that she expected to follow, but Inuyasha didn’t say anything. Instead, he stood up and walked towards the window, through which he had probably gotten in. She expected him to just jump out, but instead he let himself drop back onto the ground. Under the moon’s light, she saw him leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

”Just sleep,” he ordered. ”I’ll make sure nothing happens.”

She had not expected that. She was in too much of a bad mood now to just do as he said, so she rolled her eyes, sighed loudly, before getting back under her covers. She eyed him for a second, wondering if he needed any, but decided that she was not going to worry about him anymore. He could take care of himself and he obviously didn’t like it when she tried to do the same. She turned her back on him and closed her eyes, resolutely decided to find sleep and get away from that asshole.

She was unaware of Inuyasha’s stare on her. Many thoughts were going through his mind, and he was unable to find peace. He had no idea whether or not she was saying the truth, if she was actually just trying to have a room for him. If she had, though wouldn’t she have retorted something on the dog comment? She had obviously not cared for that.

At the same time, he was convinced that no woman in the castle where they came from would be fine with him spending the night in the same room as them. Except, of course, for Kikyo. Not that it had ever happened, because he would never have imposed himself like that on her, but he was sure she wouldn’t have said anything. And Kagome hadn’t even said anything about it. Was it the comment on the money that was making her react like that?

Although… Now that he thought about it…

”Hey,” he called, ”are you the one who asked the kid to bring me my food?”

Silence.

”Yes,” she finally answered, obviously annoyed. ”What, think I was also doing that to ‘test my power’ on them?”

She waited for a response for a while, but it never came. As discreetly as she could, she turned to look behind her shoulder at Inuyasha. In the obscurity, he was hard to make out, and he looked more like a demon than she had ever seen him with the moon catching in his white hair and one of his fang visible at the corner of his mouth. Meeting his eyes made her breath catch in her throat, and she swiftly turned back, trying to calm down the beating of her heart.

Dammit, Kagome. He has been nothing but an asshole to you. Get a grip, girl!

She shut her eyes tight, calling for sleep to take her. According to what Inuyasha had told her earlier, they would probably have to leave really early on the next day, so she needed every moment of sleep she could get.

It took a long time before she finally drifted into a dreamless sleep.

.

She was woken up by a soft knock on her door, and she immediately jerked up. She checked the room quickly to find out Inuyasha was gone.

”Come on in,” she called with the most princess-like voice she could muster.

A young woman came in, who she guessed was probably the innkeeper’s daughter. She bowed deeply, before asking, a bit clumsily ”May I help you get dressed, pr- Hm, my Lady?”

”I would really appreciate that,” Kagome answered with a soft smile. The girl was obviously terrified of messing it up, a feeling with which she was very familiar, and she wanted to make it as easy on her as possible.

Being dressed by someone other than herself was something she could have passed on though, and something she hoped she wouldn’t have to do again for the rest of the journey. She ate in her room once more, enjoying a more conventional breakfast than she had had the day before, then went out to meet with Inuyasha. On her way, she discovered that the innkeeper’s family was there to bid her goodbye, which made her really uncomfortable. Despite that, she paid them generously, even though part of her was still annoyed that Inuyasha hadn’t gotten a room.

By the time she got out after thanking them with their hospitality, Inuyasha was literally stamping his feet in front of the door. He could have woken her up if this was too late for him, she thought, deciding not to apologize.

”Finally,” he growled, his voice low so he wouldn’t be heard inside the inn. ”Didn’t I tell you we needed to leave early today? Don’t want to spend too much time on that lord’s lands.”

”It is early,” she hissed back.

He rolled his eyes and watched her climb on the horse, without trying to help her this morning. She wasn’t getting much better at that. Her muscles still hurt, and she wondered if it would ever stop, but she didn’t comment on it.

”Shall we?” she asked.

He nodded.

”We already wasted way too much time. Let’s move.”

Kagome sighed and prompted her house to start moving. Would all of their departures be like this, with him being annoyed at her and leaving her behind? Because she was already getting real tired of it.

”So, what are the rumors you mentioned on this lord?” she questioned.

He eyed her as she stabilized herself next to him and shook his head like this should have been obvious, and really, how dumb was she.

”They say he kidnaps pretty women. In other words, you’re not at risk, but you never know, some half-blind guy may want to try something.”

He heard Kagome’s offended gasp, and next thing he knew, she had pushed her horse a little faster, and this time, he was the one behind. He grinned. Maybe he was having at least a little fun with that girl.

[fadewalking]

Solas and Relationships (AKA: Why He Wouldn’t Have Sex With Spirits, And Who He Would Have Sex With)

So I’ve been getting a lot of asks about Solas having sex with spirits, and if he’s ever done it. A lot of people assume that it’s canon that he has had sexual relations with spirits because of this in-game banter (this is gonna be a ridiculously long post so buckle up):

Many people understandably take his lack of a straightforward answer as an admission, which I don’t entirely disagree with but, like Solas says, I do not think it’s so simple. Since this is a rp blog, a lot of the following will be my own personal headcanons for him, which may divert from canon, but I do have reasons for everything I believe about him and I will make a case for them.

Firstly, I do not think Solas has ever had a sexual or romantic relationship with a spirit ever at any point. I feel particularly strongly about this as I would argue spirits cannot give true consent, and as I feel that Solas is a very consent-centric character, he would respect this. Spirits are often single minded, they care about the trait that they reflect and embody and little more beyond that (think of the spirit of Command you run into in Old Crestwood). Spirits lack true and total autonomy, as they are willed by dreamers and the waking world to reflect back whatever they are given. Solas never debates this, what he does say about this is in response to the Herald saying “Spirits are bound by their nature. You said it yourself. They’re shaped by contact with real people.” To which he replies “Just as Leliana was shaped by contact with Divine Justinia, as those who serve the Inquisition are shaped by you. If I change your mind in this conversation, does that mean you’re no more real than a spirit?”

A good argument, and I agree with him, but the fact remains that spirits are so much bound to their nature that it affects their ability to act with 100% autonomy and free will, and thus it affects their ability to consent in either a romantic or sexual relationship. Of course even so, I agree with Solas that spirits are people too, even bound as they are to their nature. The ability to consent does not a person make.

Consent matters, as I’m sure we can all agree, even in nonsexual, romantic relationships. So, why do I say that I still think the above banter is some kind of admission? My personal headcanon is that he once fell in love with a Spirit of Purpose. Nothing ever came of it, because he never expressed it, because of the above rationale. But this would explain why spirits and relationships are such a complicated matter, as Solas claims they are (why a spirit of Purpose? Idk, just sounds good).

Now, who would he have sex with? Would he have sex at all? How does he identify in terms of sexual orientation?

Let me start off by saying that I headcanon him as bisexual (or perhaps biromantic/demiromantic). I know what you’re thinking “but it’s canon that he’s not!” Yes. True, but consider the following: Not only will I always jump at the chance to create more LGBTQA+ representation whenever possible, but I disagree with Bioware’s reason for not making him bisexual in the first place. Which they claim was in order to avoid making their “Villain” part of the LGBTQA+ community. Which, while understandable, I feel is misguided at best. As someone who identifies as both pansexual and transgender, I could write an essay over why I feel Bioware dropped the ball on this, but that would take too long and if you want to discuss that with me, let’s do it somewhere else, for the sake of not making this post any longer than it has to be. Suffice it to say, I feel Bioware made the wrong choice when they decided not to make Solas bisexual. With this is mind, my personal interpretation of his character is that he is bisexual. If you are of the mind that this is heterosexual erasure, and just as offensive as the notion of making Sera or Dorian straight, then kindly never speak to me because quite frankly I cannot believe we are still debating this, as a fandom.

Anyway…  

I also appreciate headcanons that he is asexual biromatic. He does not have a sex scene in canon, and for the most part it is thought that it was intentionally left vague so that we can imagine whatever we’d like. Thus I choose to believe that while he is interested in sex (perhaps very interested) it is highly unlikely to happen during the Inquisition timeline since he’s very concerned about his idea of consensual sex. There’s dialogue in Trespasser that goes as follows:  

Solas: What is the old Dalish curse? May the Dread Wolf Take you ..

Lavellan: And so he did…

Solas: I did not, I would not lay with you under false pretenses.

Of course, we can argue, as Lavellan does, that this rationale is complete and utter bullshit. One does not need to have sex to be taken, so to speak. It is not more right to pursue a deeply intimately romantic relationship under false pretenses than it is a sexual one. It is not worse, but it’s not right.

He very well could be asexual, or maybe grey-asexual and biromantic/demiromantic. There are a of different ways we could label him, I don’t wanna get too caught up in that. But inline with my personal interpretation, he either doesn’t have sex with Lavellan or it’s highly unlikely that he would, but that does not necessarily mean he isn’t interested.

Now we gotta talk about race gates.

Solas is racist and prejudice. There’s no getting around that. He’s prejudice toward Humans, and toward even other Elves, and bizarrely racist against Qunari and Dwarves.  He calls Qunari savage beasts, kept in check only by the rigor of the Qun. He accuses Dwarves of being too practical, too logical, perhaps even unfeeling or uncreative in their disconnection from the Fade and magic. He calls Humans shortsighted, brutish, blind to beauty and trapped in a duality of black and white, with no room for grey areas. And of course he thinks the Dalish are narrow minded, and proud to the point of arrogance.  There is dialogue on each of these during the Balcony Scenes with the various races, and to every race except the Elves, when you try to argue that Solas is wrong in his preconception of the people, he simply says something to the effect of “No. I am not.” but for and Elven inquisitor, if you argue that what he thought of the Dalish was wrong, he only says “That is it then, I suppose it must be.” He concedes that he may have been wrong.

Given his unwillingness to believe that any besides an Elf is capable of change from what he perceives in his racial stereotypes, and simply the intensity of his racism and prejudice, I would argue it highly unlikely, that Solas would ever be in a relationship with anyone that was not Elvhen. In particular, a human. I think his biggest problem, racially and culturally is with the Qun, but a tal vashoth who hated the Qun would likely have a better chance at getting with Solas than any human. And my reasoning for that is simple: Humans are the majority oppressors of Elves in current-day Thedas. Tevinter enslaves them, Orlais and Ferelden keep them as servants, and force them in alienage slums or to be nomadic and out of touch. Humans ordered the exalted march, and refused to allow Elves even the promised land Andraste gave to them. And while Solas claims not to see modern day Elves as his people (though he seems fickle about this and does call them his people, when it suits his conversation) he certainly shows empathy to their plight and blatant disapproval of how Humans treat them. We all know if there’s one thing Solas hates more than anything else, it’s slavery, and I think you would be hard pressed to get around his feelings toward Humans all being the same brutish oppressors.

If he did have sex or a romantic relationship it would be with a female, male, or nonbinary Elf, and I do not think it would particularly matter if they were a City Elf or Dalish. He has his prejudices against both groups, and just so happens to be more vocals about it with the Dalish.

Now for something a bit more personal to me: the topic of transgender Elves. How would Solas feel about a trans elf? Would knowing someone is trans effect his willingness to be in a romantic or sexual relationship?

The short answers are: He doesn’t really care what someone identifies as, and no, respectively. This is not a new concept. While he may be a cis man himself (or he may not be, quite frankly we do not, and cannot know) he is no stranger to  nonbinary or transgender people. This is because being nonbinary or transgender is not a modern phenomenon. Surely they existed numerously enough in his time, and he has been alive long enough (and has had enough sex via my own headcanons) that he is most definitely both familiar and unperturbed by trans or nonbinary people. I believe despite his enormous racism, that prejudice does not carry to gender or sexual orientation. He would therefore always use whatever pronouns were asked of him, and speak with his usual amount of grace and sensitivity and delicacy about his partner’s gender. And I like to imagine, if it became sexual, he would be very doting about making sure they were comfortable with whatever he was doing.

As I stated at the beginning of this post, these are entirely my headcanons and personal interpretations of his character. You may feel free to disagree, but do not be rude about it. If you’d like to discuss or dispute anything I’ve said here, I would encourage you to come to my askbox and do so politely, off anon, so that we may converse privately and I will not have to flood everyone’s dash with discourse. Thanks for reading, and sorry this was so long.

[babyleclerc]

Mimi’s 1K+ story a day! {Challenge}

For those of you that are newer to me & my blog - I’ve had this blog for seven years (!!!), but just began bringing it back a few weeks ago. Since I began posting Tom/Seb fics over the past few weeks, I’ve gained over 700+ of you, breaking me well into the thousand follower mark, and I would like to say THANK YOU!

As a way of thanks, and also for some more inspiration :), I’d like to give back to you guys by posting one fanfiction a day during the week of Christmas. I’m starting this now because I want enough time to both accept requests & also to write!

Details are below, hit up my askbox or this post with questions!!

DETAILS:

From December 19th through December 25th, I will be posting one fanfic story a day, totaling in seven stories for the week.

The last day for requests is Friday, December 15th.

This is seriously all for YOU GUYS! My wonderful followers. :) Please, please make requests, as I’m doing this for you! Don’t be shy!

For examples of my previous fics and/or to get ideas, see my masterlist here. (Honesty Hour part II is already in the making, so no need to request that).

RULES:

You can make as many requests as you like.

The last day to make a request is Friday, December 15th.

All requests MUST be made through my ask box. Do not comment on this post or another one of my fics with a request, it will be too hard to track and will not be counted.

I will not confirm or deny your fic request once you have made it, so don’t think I’m ignoring you! I want it to be a surprise which prompts I take - plus, it’ll be more fun that way. :)

I, under no circumstances, write fics with themes of rape.

I do write smut, but do not participate in writing dom/sub relationships. I think that those relationships are very unique and take a lot of love, respect, and care, that, as a writer, I don’t feel like I would be able to do justice. There are lots of amazing other writers on this site that do that if that’s what you’re looking for!

Given that it’s the week of Christmas, I would like some wintery/Christmas themes & prompts! I know they’re cliche, but they’re so fun. :) So don’t be surprised if the 24th is a Christmas Eve fic and the 25th is a Christmas Day fic ;). I’ll still need prompts for them, though, so check out the masterlist below!

Mimi (me!) must write seven stories, and they must be from requests. All other inspiration will just be considered extra content ;) Otherwise all of the seven fics must come from your requests!

Obviously there are many of you, and only one of me. :) So it will be naturally impossible for me to complete every single request that I get. BUT, if your request doesn’t get completed during my challenge week, just please message me or follow-up with me and I will do my best to write it afterwards!

PAIRINGS (x Reader):

Tom Hiddleston (lol obviously)

Chris Evans

Sebastian Stan

(I’m also open to writing all of the MCU folks in a group setting, but those three are the ones that I will write specific x reader/imagine stories for.)

THEMES:

Fluff/Angst/Smut/Best!Friends/Enemies. You name it, I’ll take a stab at writing it. :)

PROMPTS & WRITING IDEAS:

See below for a massive list of prompts and writing ideas. Of course, these are just suggestions - if you have a different request, send away! If you do pick a prompt, just please be specific as to which one.

Holiday Prompts (not mine, these belong to @theo-stilinski!):

“It’s almost midnight!”

“Yeah, uh, alcohol doesn’t go in hot chocolate.”

“FINE. You can put the topper on the tree.”

“It’s snowing!”

“That’s not how Santa Claus works…”

“Christmas doesn’t have to be about family, ya know?”

“Awwww look at my little elf.”

“You can be Santa’s helper.”

“How did you manage to the burn the cookies?”

“Why does the house smell like a cinnamon roll threw up?”

“Okay, but hear me out, these ornaments are way better.” -“They don’t even match.”

“You’re covered in flour.”

“Ho ho ho, bitch.”

“My gingerbread house is prettier than yours.”

“If you throw a snowball at my face so help me.”

“Christmas is lame.” -“You’re lame! You, you, you grinch!” -“Oh. Ow.”

“Open your present!”

“Wanna get shit-faced instead?”

“Why is there mistletoe everywhere?”

“So, I didn’t actually get you anything.”

“I’m still sad you won’t be home for Christmas.”

“Holy shit, you know Santa!”

“Aren’t you afraid of setting the house on fire with all the lights?”

“I hope you break your ass on that ice.”

“Wait, no one got you anything?”

“Oh, were those cookies for Santa?” -“Yes!” -“Well, what’re you gonna do about it?”

“Are you trying to find your present?”

“Oh my gosh, actual reindeer!”

“Not on Christmas.”

“We’re kind of tangled in lights.”

“So, we’re kind of snowed in.”

“I thought candy canes were supposed to be hung on trees? Not popcorn…”

“Don’t make me pour my hot chocolate over your head.”

“How much tape did you use?!”

“It looks like the North Pole threw up.”

“Are you sure it’s illegal to kill carolers?”

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?”

“Why is the floor covered in tinsel?”

“Wait. We’re really doing Secret Santa?”

“I told you you were going to get sick if you stayed in the snow all day.”

“Does that stocking have my name on it?”

“And now the power’s out.”

“Hey, um, why is the bottom of the tree decorated and not the top?”

“You’ve never had a New Year’s kiss?”

“You’re kind of cute when you look like Rudolph.” -“The reindeer?” -“No, my dentist. Yes, the reindeer.”

More Prompts (courtesy of @writersblockbecomesunblocked):

“Would You stop eating all the popcorn? It’s supposed to go on the tree!” “But I’m hungry!”

“So….. you wanna….hot chocolate and chill?” “If you ask me that one more time, I will dump hot chocolate on you.”

“How much eggnog have you had tonight?” “A f-few glassesss, why?” “Because I’m prettyyyy sure it’s spiked.”

“My mom got me that ornament! Stop breaking them!” “It’s not like I’m trying to break them.”

“We aren’t going to have anything left to build the house with if you keep eating all the gingerbread.”

“You’re making a mess.” “Shut up and pass me the tape.” “There’s more tape on that present than wrapping paper.”

“Why doesn’t our place look as good as that?” “Do you know how high our electricity bill would be? Christmas lights are expensive.”

“Can we please watch something else? This is the 4th time today we’ve watched elf. And it’s November 1st.”

“Are you sure your family can eat that many cookies?” “What? No. These are just for us!”

“You know, the idea of Santa Claus is pretty messed up. It’s a fat man who breaks into your house with presents made by tiny people who know if you’re bad or good. How do they know?” “You’re ruining Christmas for me. Stop.”

More Holiday AUs (credit to @berrybird):

we’re going ice skating for the first time this year and it’s pretty obvious that you’re secretly an olympic figure skater or something how the hell are you so graceful you’re literally twirling around on one foot on a frictionless surface and i can barely make a left turn

what no i totally have no idea how mistletoe got under every doorway in our house… *cough cough* …but since it’s there we should really honor the tradition right

STOP TRYING TO PUT CANDLES ON THE CHRISTMAS TREE YOU DUMB FUCK, I DON’T CARE ABOUT HOW AESTHETICALLY PLEASING IT IS TREES ARE FLAMMABLE

we’ve been just cuddling here watching movies for like six hours and this is officially the most cozy and comfortable we’ve ever been so we’re not getting up until new year’s

yes you look like a movie star with your tinsel boa but the i think it suits me better so ha

i love you but your christmas ornaments are weird we’re not putting those on the tree

you put a santa hat on my head this morning and i thought i took it off but it turns out i didn’t so i’ve been walking around all day wearing a santa hat i hate you

yes i know it’s almost christmas no that doesn’t mean you should watch every movie with snow in it seriously i can hear you singing along to love is an open door in front of my room and this needs to stop

i didn’t know that this holiday party was a dress-up thing and when i came to get you, you answered the door in your full-on GRINCH COSTUME and i almost had a fucking heart attack

you’re jewish so we’re celebrating hanukkah and most of this stuff is really new to me so you’re teaching me how to say the names of everything and so far all i can pronounc is menorah

you’re gonna fall off the roof if you try hanging lights with that ladder

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE’S EIGHT DAYS OF HANUKKAH yeah i know we have the 12 days of christmas song BUT IT’S JUST A SONG

come cuddle with me there’s this movie called “love actually” and it looks really cute i wanna watch it (a few hours later) W H Y

you asked me what i wanted for christmas and i was feeling really sarcastic so i said “a unicorn” and you actually went out and got me a stuffed unicorn i hate you so much but actually it’s really cute and i might sort of love it

i already told you i don’t like ugly christmas sweater parties because everyone just wears one that’s vaguely cute anyways so what’s the point and wHAT THE FUCK IS THAT I’VE ACTUALLY NEVER SEEN A SWEATER THAT UGLY WAIT WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S PART OF A MATCHING SET

we spent christmas with my family and now we’re going to spend kwanzaa with your family we’re gonna need a vacation after all this

let’s go walk around and look at all the lights and stuff

stop eating the popcorn you little shit, i can’t make caramel popcorn balls with just caramel

i’m making christmas cookies sTOP SNEAKING IN HERE TO EAT THE DOUGH OR I’LL SMACK YOU WITH A SPOON

if you try stealing the whipped cream off of my hot chocolate again i swear i will stab you with a candy cane

it’s new years’ eve and i am so determined to kiss you when the ball drops

you know i think getting engaged on chrismas it’s the most cliche thing ever but you fucking proposed anyway

^ but you proposed in the most amazing unexpected way and i’m actually getting really emotional about it aND I’M NOT CRYING YOU’RE CRYING SHUT UP)

[sickdaysofficial]

Sickdays 4.0: The Good Samaritan

So, I am a tad bit late on this, but I hope it’s still okay!

This is my first time writing a real sickfic (and with OCs) and I am nervous.These OCs literally just came to me today and I’m not sure how good this is? But it’s the first time these characters meet each other, since they’re brand new.

(Also, since I can only make submissions with my main blog, please just sorta, ignore it? i just mean there’s no sickfic content on there. all of my sickfic related content is on @all-the-hurt which is my sideblog)

  WARNING: anxiety and descriptions of vomiting!

Cassian isn’t stupid.

He isn’t. He isn’t.

But the test he received back this Monday morning with a bold red sixty-three at the top of the page had thrown him for a real loop.

Sixty three.

There’s no way he could have gotten an F, not on the first test, not on what the professor had already said was going to be the easiest material all semester.

The number still haunts him, the bold red image dancing around in his brain every day since, and making it feel dizzy. Because he’s never gotten a grade so low in his life. He is probably overreacting and aware of it, but that acknowledgement doesn’t make it easier. He’s anxious enough on a daily basis as it is and he immediately began to panic at the prospect of failing out of a class. He’d be humiliated, devastated, and most importantly, his parents would be furious. What would they do to him if he failed his first semester?

Well, that’s something that Cassian can’t even entertain the thought of happening. Which is why, despite the panic and anxiety that it gives him, he signed up right away for tutoring that afternoon. He tried to ignore the fact that he was the only one on the sign-up sheet and told himself he isn’t stupid. He couldn’t be the only one who didn’t get this stuff, right?

The day of the session rolled around, and he woke up already in a panic when he started the day with an awful headache and an upset feeling in pit of his stomach. He hadn’t had anxiety this bad since he was seventeen, where it manifested into physical symptoms. But he recognized the familiar not-quite-pukey but consistent rolling nausea and sharp headache that sat just behind his right eye. Several doses of ibuprofen did nothing for the pain and his attempt at breakfast only made him feel more sick to his stomach. He spent the majority of the day in his dorm room tossing and turning with his head buried under pillows, until the time rolled around to drag himself to the library for the tutoring. He didn’t feel like he would even be able to focus–he could barely see straight–but there was no choice. The next exam was on Monday.

  Now, sitting markedly alone in one of the tiny glass study rooms–they resemble giant fish tanks a little too much–he feels stupid. It’s nearly eight o’clock on a Friday evening. Most everyone has left, and he’s sitting in a fluorescent-lit glass box, surrounded in piles of messily scrawled notes, three textbooks, and half-eaten snacks.

He’s been here for a little over thirty minutes, waiting for the tutor that was supposed to show up at 7:20, and as minutes pass by, the anxiety is building a lump in his throat and the notes he’s been pouring over to pass the time are making less sense.

He’s 99% sure the tutor isn’t showing up.

“Hey, do you have an appointment?” A deep, clear voice suddenly appear and calls. “Or are you waiting on someone?”

Cassian’s so startled by the sudden intrusion that the textbook slides off his lap and hits the floor with a resounding thump. Stray papers flutter out everywhere, and then in a sudden panicked attempt to lean over and grab them up, he knocks his pencil case off the table too. In a panic, he slides down to the carpet and starts trying to gather things up, sparing a sheepish glance up at the doorway where a tall, broad-shouldered man stands, looking honestly intimidating lingering there in the doorway. He’s got a black studded jacket and choppy black hair that casts his expression in shadow, first looking curious and then frowning down at the mess on the floor.

“Oh, yikes,” he says with a small chuckle, and suddenly he’s not alone under the table.

Cassian startles and then locks eyes with a pair of dark grey ones.

He opens his mouth and succeeds in floundering like a dying fish, some sort of vague “uh” sound tumbling out, and then looks immediately back down. He has no idea what to do, so he just gathers up his pens. The stranger starts collecting the pages of his messy notes and he’s ashamed someone’s seeing them.

The man stands to place the papers back on the table, then swipes up the textbook too, before Cassian can get to it. He feels himself blushing–or maybe that’s just a fever–and scrambles to get out from under the table with any grace.

He half stands and rams his head into the edge of the tabletop with an audible crack. It makes his teeth clash together and sends pain exploding from his head to halfway down his spine. He drops all his pens again.

“Oh god, are you okay?” the stranger says. “That sounded like it hurt.”

It does hurt. It hurts a lot, what with how his head was already pounding and now it’s screaming.

“I… I’m…” he tries to speak, but his words are immediately lost a lump that’s grown suddenly in his throat.

He can’t seriously be about to cry right now. He absolutely cannot be doing this.

“Hey,” the guy speaks again, much more softly and closer to him now. “Oh, god. Are you really hurt? You’re not like, bleeding, are you?” His tone starts to take on an edge of panic. “Do I need to get help or, uh ice or, um…”

“No, no,” Cassian shakes his head roughly, grinding fists into the carpet but it’s useless. The words break open his careful control and he coughs to cover up the sob as tears leak out.

He whisks one hand up rub his eyes roughly, and the other clutches his head at any attempt at comfort.

He’s humiliated himself. He’s a failure, he got stood up by his tutor, his head is throbbing, his hands are shaking, his stomach hurts, and now he’s crying about it under a table in front of a tall, intimidating stranger. He’s pathetic.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the man says to him, very softly, which is even more humiliating. He thinks he’s crouching right in front of him, but Cassian’s too afraid to open his eyes.

It’s not okay, Cassian thinks, and then all at once, there’s a hot and horrible feeling rising up in his throat. He’s scrambling out from under the table, shifting to hold his hands tightly over his mouth. He pushes past the stranger who was in fact sitting on the floor in front of him. He nearly trips on the guy as he stands and makes a mad dash for the bathroom.

He tears into one of the stalls mere seconds before he loses it. Remnants of his breakfast from nearly twelve hours ago and copious amounts of stomach acid and water come up violently. It burns and he’s breathing heavily through the anxiety and pain, coughing and sending the next gush of liquid up and out of his nose too. He crashes to his knees on the floor despite how disgusting that is, as heaves wrack his body.

When the retching stops, he regains some awareness just long enough for the pain and mortification to catch up with him. If he was able to fight off the tears before, he certainly can’t anymore. His head hurts impossibly worse and now his throat and his nose burn too. He curls up against the stall wall and cries, fruitlessly mops his face with a wad of toilet paper.

He lets himself have five minutes or so of that pathetic display, and then remembers the stranger and all of his textbooks and stuff in the tutoring room. He’d left everything, even his wallet and phone behind in there.

He makes his way to the sinks and mops his face with wet paper towels and scrubs his hands roughly. He rinses out his mouth but it still burns, and he thinks there might be vomit on his shirt because he can’t stop smelling the sour scent. Gross.

He still looks like hell–his face is blotchy and red, god he’s always been a gross crier–but he can’t just leave everything back there in disarray. He’ll be lucky if the stranger guy didn’t take some of his stuff, or if someone else didn’t once he went away. He takes a deep breath that still shakes a little, and leaves. He’s lucky the library is deserted and he’s unlikely to run into anybody else on his way out and he can forget this happened.

He half-jogs back to the glass box only to find the guy still in the room, seated in one of the chairs. All of Cassian’s things are picked up and gathered up neatly on the tabletop, and the guy’s sitting with his head braced on his elbows and his expression drawn with a melodramatic looking worry.

That wasn’t what he was expecting. The embarrassment rises all over again and he truly does not want to walk back into the room.

He does, and he saunters up to the chair he’d left his bag hanging on, and looks pointedly down at it rather than at the man. He sees out of his peripheral vision when he perks up at the sight of Cassian and he starts speaking again in that flustered, worried tone.

“Hey, are you okay? You freaked me out there for a second; I wasn’t sure if you were coming back. Do you need me to get some help, or like, something else?”

“I’m okay,” he manages, lowly. “I’m sorry about that. You didn’t have to stay here. I’m fine.”

“Well… I couldn’t just leave your things here…?” he answers, not trying to disguise the fabricated tone of his excuse. “Ya know, textbooks and phone and all that.”

“There’s no one else here so late,” Cassian replies, beginning to feel a bit woozy on his feet.

“Okay, so maybe I was also concerned and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, and his face heats up. He tells himself he’s maybe feverish. “Thanks for that. I…I’m gonna go home and sleep now.” He makes to grab up his bag, but once he slings it over his shoulder, he’s hit with overwhelming waves of no way and his legs start to quake as his stomach does a flip. He clambers into the chair and slumps forward.

“You don’t seem very fine,” the man says to him, fixing curious grey eyes on him. Cassian returns his gaze with a deadpan look, even as he pillows his head in his arms.

“Really,” he goes on, running a hand through his choppy black hair like suddenly he’s the one that’s embarrassed. “Are you going to be alright to get yourself back home?”

“Yeah,” Cassian says. It… might be a lie, actually, but what is he supposed to say, honestly? This guy is honestly kind of scary looking and it’s sort of abnormal how much concern he’s showing for some scrawny crying freshman he met in the library. Not that… well, the guy has been very nice, considering, but if there’s something Cassian knows a lot about, it’s ulterior motives.

“You sure? I could walk you at least in the general direction.”

“No, it’s alright, really.”

“Sorry, that was probably pretty weird of me, huh?” the embarrassed tone is back in his voice and he laughs awkwardly. The sound takes some of the intimidating edge away from his demeanor. “I probably sound like I want something, but, uh, I promise I don’t. I just… I don’t know, I’m silly and I worry.”

“I… it… I wasn’t thinking that,” Cassian tells him, because what else is he supposed to say?

“I’m Takeshi, by the way,” the guy says then, conversationally, like they’d casually run into each other in the hall.

Despite feeling wary and still shaky and sick, Cassian almost smiles at that. This guy is sort of awkward, he thinks, which makes him feel a little better. He sits up a little. “I’m Cassian,” he replies.

“Well, I’m glad to meet you, no matter how unfortunate the situation may have been,” Takeshi smiles at him. He hesitates for a moment, looking him over. His eyes are… pretty, admittedly. Cassian tries to be wary, but he knows he’s probably still blotchy and pale, and he isn’t sure he can even stand. “If you don’t want me to accompany you out of here, then I’ll head out. As long as you’re alright.”

“I’m alright,” he confirms. He hopes he isn’t lying.

So Takeshi stands, fixing his jacket and picking up a backpack. Something small, deep in Cassian’s chest stirs and tells him that he doesn’t really want the guy to go. He stamps it down.

“I hope you feel better,” Takeshi says. “And don’t worry, stats gets easier after the first couple chapters.” Before he turns his back on Cassian, he slides a bottle of water toward him with a small grin. “Get some rest.”

Cassian can’t think of anything to say in return before he’s disappeared down the hall, but he settles back down into his arms, breathing deep. He thinks that the nausea’s settled and he should be able to make the trek back. He still feels too warm with chagrin, but the exhaustion and nagging ache of his entire body have overpowered those feelings.

His eyes wander to where Takeshi had stacked up his notes and pens neatly, to find his notebook open and something scrawled on the top of an otherwise empty page.

It’s a note. Hey, this might be awkward and if you think it’s weird, feel free to completely ignore me! But if you ever need a stats tutor again, I took it last semester and I could help. I hope your head feels better :) Takeshi. And at the very bottom is a phone number.

He isn’t. He isn’t.

But the test he received back this Monday morning with a bold red sixty-three at the top of the page had thrown him for a real loop.

Sixty three.

There’s no way he could have gotten an F, not on the first test, not on what the professor had already said was going to be the easiest material all semester.

The number still haunts him, the bold red image dancing around in his brain every day since, and making it feel dizzy. Because he’s never gotten a grade so low in his life. He is probably overreacting and aware of it, but that acknowledgement doesn’t make it easier. He’s anxious enough on a daily basis as it is and he immediately began to panic at the prospect of failing out of a class. He’d be humiliated, devastated, and most importantly, his parents would be furious. What would they do to him if he failed his first semester?

Well, that’s something that Cassian can’t even entertain the thought of happening. Which is why, despite the panic and anxiety that it gives him, he signed up right away for tutoring that afternoon. He tried to ignore the fact that he was the only one on the sign-up sheet and told himself he isn’t stupid. He couldn’t be the only one who didn’t get this stuff, right?

The day of the session rolled around, and he woke up already in a panic when he started the day with an awful headache and an upset feeling in pit of his stomach. He hadn’t had anxiety this bad since he was seventeen, where it manifested into physical symptoms. But he recognized the familiar not-quite-pukey but consistent rolling nausea and sharp headache that sat just behind his right eye. Several doses of ibuprofen did nothing for the pain and his attempt at breakfast only made him feel more sick to his stomach. He spent the majority of the day in his dorm room tossing and turning with his head buried under pillows, until the time rolled around to drag himself to the library for the tutoring. He didn’t feel like he would even be able to focus–he could barely see straight–but there was no choice. The next exam was on Monday.

  Now, sitting markedly alone in one of the tiny glass study rooms–they resemble giant fish tanks a little too much–he feels stupid. It’s nearly eight o’clock on a Friday evening. Most everyone has left, and he’s sitting in a fluorescent-lit glass box, surrounded in piles of messily scrawled notes, three textbooks, and half-eaten snacks.

He’s been here for a little over thirty minutes, waiting for the tutor that was supposed to show up at 7:20, and as minutes pass by, the anxiety is building a lump in his throat and the notes he’s been pouring over to pass the time are making less sense.

He’s 99% sure the tutor isn’t showing up.

“Hey, do you have an appointment?” A deep, clear voice suddenly appear and calls. “Or are you waiting on someone?”

Cassian’s so startled by the sudden intrusion that the textbook slides off his lap and hits the floor with a resounding thump. Stray papers flutter out everywhere, and then in a sudden panicked attempt to lean over and grab them up, he knocks his pencil case off the table too. In a panic, he slides down to the carpet and starts trying to gather things up, sparing a sheepish glance up at the doorway where a tall, broad-shouldered man stands, looking honestly intimidating lingering there in the doorway. He’s got a black studded jacket and choppy black hair that casts his expression in shadow, first looking curious and then frowning down at the mess on the floor.

“Oh, yikes,” he says with a small chuckle, and suddenly he’s not alone under the table.

Cassian startles and then locks eyes with a pair of dark grey ones.

He opens his mouth and succeeds in floundering like a dying fish, some sort of vague “uh” sound tumbling out, and then looks immediately back down. He has no idea what to do, so he just gathers up his pens. The stranger starts collecting the pages of his messy notes and he’s ashamed someone’s seeing them.

The man stands to place the papers back on the table, then swipes up the textbook too, before Cassian can get to it. He feels himself blushing–or maybe that’s just a fever–and scrambles to get out from under the table with any grace.

He half stands and rams his head into the edge of the tabletop with an audible crack. It makes his teeth clash together and sends pain exploding from his head to halfway down his spine. He drops all his pens again.

“Oh god, are you okay?” the stranger says. “That sounded like it hurt.”

It does hurt. It hurts a lot, what with how his head was already pounding and now it’s screaming.

“I… I’m…” he tries to speak, but his words are immediately lost a lump that’s grown suddenly in his throat.

He can’t seriously be about to cry right now. He absolutely cannot be doing this.

“Hey,” the guy speaks again, much more softly and closer to him now. “Oh, god. Are you really hurt? You’re not like, bleeding, are you?” His tone starts to take on an edge of panic. “Do I need to get help or, uh ice or, um…”

“No, no,” Cassian shakes his head roughly, grinding fists into the carpet but it’s useless. The words break open his careful control and he coughs to cover up the sob as tears leak out.

He whisks one hand up rub his eyes roughly, and the other clutches his head at any attempt at comfort.

He’s humiliated himself. He’s a failure, he got stood up by his tutor, his head is throbbing, his hands are shaking, his stomach hurts, and now he’s crying about it under a table in front of a tall, intimidating stranger. He’s pathetic.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the man says to him, very softly, which is even more humiliating. He thinks he’s crouching right in front of him, but Cassian’s too afraid to open his eyes.

It’s not okay, Cassian thinks, and then all at once, there’s a hot and horrible feeling rising up in his throat. He’s scrambling out from under the table, shifting to hold his hands tightly over his mouth. He pushes past the stranger who was in fact sitting on the floor in front of him. He nearly trips on the guy as he stands and makes a mad dash for the bathroom.

He tears into one of the stalls mere seconds before he loses it. Remnants of his breakfast from nearly twelve hours ago and copious amounts of stomach acid and water come up violently. It burns and he’s breathing heavily through the anxiety and pain, coughing and sending the next gush of liquid up and out of his nose too. He crashes to his knees on the floor despite how disgusting that is, as heaves wrack his body.

When the retching stops, he regains some awareness just long enough for the pain and mortification to catch up with him. If he was able to fight off the tears before, he certainly can’t anymore. His head hurts impossibly worse and now his throat and his nose burn too. He curls up against the stall wall and cries, fruitlessly mops his face with a wad of toilet paper.

He lets himself have five minutes or so of that pathetic display, and then remembers the stranger and all of his textbooks and stuff in the tutoring room. He’d left everything, even his wallet and phone behind in there.

He makes his way to the sinks and mops his face with wet paper towels and scrubs his hands roughly. He rinses out his mouth but it still burns, and he thinks there might be vomit on his shirt because he can’t stop smelling the sour scent. Gross.

He still looks like hell–his face is blotchy and red, god he’s always been a gross crier–but he can’t just leave everything back there in disarray. He’ll be lucky if the stranger guy didn’t take some of his stuff, or if someone else didn’t once he went away. He takes a deep breath that still shakes a little, and leaves. He’s lucky the library is deserted and he’s unlikely to run into anybody else on his way out and he can forget this happened.

He half-jogs back to the glass box only to find the guy still in the room, seated in one of the chairs. All of Cassian’s things are picked up and gathered up neatly on the tabletop, and the guy’s sitting with his head braced on his elbows and his expression drawn with a melodramatic looking worry.

That wasn’t what he was expecting. The embarrassment rises all over again and he truly does not want to walk back into the room.

He does, and he saunters up to the chair he’d left his bag hanging on, and looks pointedly down at it rather than at the man. He sees out of his peripheral vision when he perks up at the sight of Cassian and he starts speaking again in that flustered, worried tone.

“Hey, are you okay? You freaked me out there for a second; I wasn’t sure if you were coming back. Do you need me to get some help, or like, something else?”

“I’m okay,” he manages, lowly. “I’m sorry about that. You didn’t have to stay here. I’m fine.”

“Well… I couldn’t just leave your things here…?” he answers, not trying to disguise the fabricated tone of his excuse. “Ya know, textbooks and phone and all that.”

“There’s no one else here so late,” Cassian replies, beginning to feel a bit woozy on his feet.

“Okay, so maybe I was also concerned and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, and his face heats up. He tells himself he’s maybe feverish. “Thanks for that. I…I’m gonna go home and sleep now.” He makes to grab up his bag, but once he slings it over his shoulder, he’s hit with overwhelming waves of no way and his legs start to quake as his stomach does a flip. He clambers into the chair and slumps forward.

“You don’t seem very fine,” the man says to him, fixing curious grey eyes on him. Cassian returns his gaze with a deadpan look, even as he pillows his head in his arms.

“Really,” he goes on, running a hand through his choppy black hair like suddenly he’s the one that’s embarrassed. “Are you going to be alright to get yourself back home?”

“Yeah,” Cassian says. It… might be a lie, actually, but what is he supposed to say, honestly? This guy is honestly kind of scary looking and it’s sort of abnormal how much concern he’s showing for some scrawny crying freshman he met in the library. Not that… well, the guy has been very nice, considering, but if there’s something Cassian knows a lot about, it’s ulterior motives.

“You sure? I could walk you at least in the general direction.”

“No, it’s alright, really.”

“Sorry, that was probably pretty weird of me, huh?” the embarrassed tone is back in his voice and he laughs awkwardly. The sound takes some of the intimidating edge away from his demeanor. “I probably sound like I want something, but, uh, I promise I don’t. I just… I don’t know, I’m silly and I worry.”

“I… it… I wasn’t thinking that,” Cassian tells him, because what else is he supposed to say?

“I’m Takeshi, by the way,” the guy says then, conversationally, like they’d casually run into each other in the hall.

Despite feeling wary and still shaky and sick, Cassian almost smiles at that. This guy is sort of awkward, he thinks, which makes him feel a little better. He sits up a little. “I’m Cassian,” he replies.

“Well, I’m glad to meet you, no matter how unfortunate the situation may have been,” Takeshi smiles at him. He hesitates for a moment, looking him over. His eyes are… pretty, admittedly. Cassian tries to be wary, but he knows he’s probably still blotchy and pale, and he isn’t sure he can even stand. “If you don’t want me to accompany you out of here, then I’ll head out. As long as you’re alright.”

“I’m alright,” he confirms. He hopes he isn’t lying.

So Takeshi stands, fixing his jacket and picking up a backpack. Something small, deep in Cassian’s chest stirs and tells him that he doesn’t really want the guy to go. He stamps it down.

“I hope you feel better,” Takeshi says. “And don’t worry, stats gets easier after the first couple chapters.” Before he turns his back on Cassian, he slides a bottle of water toward him with a small grin. “Get some rest.”

Cassian can’t think of anything to say in return before he’s disappeared down the hall, but he settles back down into his arms, breathing deep. He thinks that the nausea’s settled and he should be able to make the trek back. He still feels too warm with chagrin, but the exhaustion and nagging ache of his entire body have overpowered those feelings.

His eyes wander to where Takeshi had stacked up his notes and pens neatly, to find his notebook open and something scrawled on the top of an otherwise empty page.

It’s a note. Hey, this might be awkward and if you think it’s weird, feel free to completely ignore me! But if you ever need a stats tutor again, I took it last semester and I could help. I hope your head feels better :) Takeshi. And at the very bottom is a phone number.