#I can admit that okay? I'm self aware.

[maraguanabana]

as a Ferrari fan since 1996, an italian woman, and former professional Ferrari delusional apologist, I think the way to proceed after Las V*gas includes a visit to one of my homeland's most famous places, a lighter, a get away car, a plane ticket and a new fake identity. who's with me. I'll give you a cookie and a caprisun.

[tealvenetianmask]

I want to think a little about Blitz's self-perception with regard to his lack of education/sophistication. In my opinion, HB gives us a very accurate portrayal of what it feels like to navigate relationships when you're a person with a long history of feeling like you're never good enough ("I can always do better").

Let's start with his friendship with Moxxie, though like a lot of my posts, it will find its way back to stolitz.

Moxxie doesn't necessarily have more formal education than Blitz. I mean . . . he likely had the economic resources growing up, but I don't think Crimson seems like the kind of parent to prioritize education. Besides an education in violence. I assume that both Blitz and Moxxie had some basic education as kids, but the difference is that Moxxie likes "high culture(ish)" things like musicals and bow ties, enjoys knowing details about history, and probably reads for fun. He's also the kind of ". . . um actually . . ." friend who can make even a secure person feel a little stupid. Not that Blitz doesn't sometimes need to be called out, but Moxxie does seem to take some joy in correcting him.

And yes, Blitz bullies Moxx and calls his junk tiny and tells him to eat a salad, but like . . . it's pretty obvious that to some extent, Blitz is covering up for feeling inferior to Moxxie on some level.

We see how Blitz really feels about this in Truth Seekers.

Borrowed observation from excellent reaction youtuber Omn1media: When Blitz hallucinates Moxxie lecturing him, Moxxie goes really hard specifically on the insults to Blitz's intelligence. Moxxie's speech is also much more rambly/laced with figurative language than it is in their real (non-imagined) interactions.

We can see from Blitz's face in these scenes that these comments really get to him. Of course they do- he's making them up in his own nightmare.

"Foolish flights of fancy" is the rest of the caption there . . ."

He's very upset by the idea that he's really inferior to Moxxie- under all of the bravado, he's deeply insecure. It probably doesn't help that the truth gas made him admit that he didn't like the musical that Moxx recommended. Yes, I know that was a Cats joke, but also, Blitz bothered to lie, and he doesn't seem allergic to hurting Moxxie's feelings, so I think he wanted to pretend to "get" the "higher art" that Moxxie likes.

Okay so if Moxxie (with an essentially equivalent status and education) manages to unintentionally make Blitz feel stupid and uncultured, how does this translate when Blitz falls in love with Stolas, who IS objectively very high status and very well educated and DOES speak in "fancy rich people" language?

Oh. Right. The pedestal, the impossibility, and all of that.

I'm not saying that Hell's strict hierarchy doesn't have a lot to do with how Blitz perceives a real relationship between himself and Stolas as impossible- it absolutely does. And so does his history of failed relationships and heaping backpack of trauma. But also, the education/sophistication piece is there, and it's major.

I'm on the fence about whether Blitz actually sees himself as stupid or is just worried about being perceived that way by others. He obviously knows he's very good at the work he does, and that takes both a certain level of strategic thinking AND some very brilliant improvisation. I think he knows this. But he also knows he'll never . . . let's say, be the best read person in the room (if you want to know my thoughts on Blitz and literacy, click here- but short answer, I think he's quite literate but also dyslexic).

I think that like many real people who are kind of out of the box in this way (disrupted education and/or neurodivergence) he's simultaneously aware that he's very intelligent AND deeply insecure about being stupid or having others devalue his kind of intelligence.

[eightstarr]

what's mine — ellie williams.

summary: the day you left for this assignment, ellie remembers thinking it would be okay— or maybe it was you who said it, your hands over her tense shoulders, her fingers tugging at your shirt, “you’ll be okay.” she goes home and knows it to be true, like words from a god. she’ll be okay and you’ll be back. what’s left to do but count the hours?

warnings: descriptions of violence (not very detailed), suggestive content near the end!

notes: uhhh i love being dramatic and i think it shows here. all i think about is the action of coming home to someone who loves you and how it is as meaningful now as it was a thousand years ago and as it will be in a hundred years but whatever haha sorry about that guys. if you read this i love you btw

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・。.・゜✧・. ────

Being without Ellie is disorienting. The first week feels like walking alone in a dark room, feeling the walls for a light switch, running into sharp corners that stab your sides. You miss her like it's a sickness, less a longing and more a threat to whatever you’re made of.

There's a small community way outside of Jackson offering a trade. Maria makes it sound simple, like everything else. “They know us, it’ll be quick. You pick up the supplies, drop off our part of the deal, and come back.”

It takes 26 days. The exchange is simple but the journey less so, you and three others have to carry home the much needed medical supplies through herds of infected and a heavy storm that slows you down and cuts off your communication for three terrifying nights.

Ellie wanders the house and feels like a stranger, sickly, a sleepless corpse searching for living blood. The light coming through the windows feels too bright and her skin abnormally cold. She knows, or thinks, that if she’s not careful she could get lost in it— merge every wall together until there’s nothing left to see but a stark flatness, an unfamiliar box. The space is not huge. It's not a tall castle or a manor in the countryside or anything fitting to the theatricality of loneliness, but it’s your home. So much of you is in it. Ellie finds herself focusing on a different thing each passing day, clinging to them with a nauseating desperation, a hundred random pieces of you scattered like breadcrumbs to keep her sane. A book with a folded corner somewhere along the first half of the story, your favorite mug next to the sink, an old pair of jeans ripped at the knee on your side of the drawer. Too many things for you not to come back.

“Do you think I'm losing my mind?” she asks, a soft wrinkle between her furrowed brows, her eyes focused on a random spot ahead. “I mean, it’s been two weeks,” she’s trying to sound like it's not as bad as it looks, like she finds any of it funny or interesting instead of plainly horrifying. The sole of her shoes hits the floor in an anxious rhythm, mocking her— tap, tap, tap, tap. “Isn’t that fucked up?”

Dina curses at the lighter until it flickers back to life with a weak orange flame, holding it near the end of the half finished blunt. She inhales and passes it over, breathing out, “You’re not crazy.”

A pause. Ellie lets the comment comfort her for a single second before it flies right through her head, sounding more quiet than usual when she admits, “...I have this feeling like someone took something from me.”

Dina raises her eyebrows, her chuckle cut off by a short cough, smoke itching her throat. “You mean, like… what’s her name?” she squints her eyes and tries to remember. 

The name worms around Ellie’s head like it has been for days, bold letters, clear as day. She makes no attempt to let it pass through her lips, self aware and unrelenting at the same time, maybe finding some indefensible satisfaction in the fact that it can be forgotten. Cruel, you'd tease, and Ellie would smirk a lot like she tries not to now.

Dina gives up a second later, “Whatever— the girl that volunteered to go with them before you could. You're blaming her?”

“I guess.”

“Hm. That’s a little…”

“Don’t say crazy—”

“Crazy.”

“Fuck you,” she rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“So you’re not jealous?”

Ellie scoffs, tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek. Dina argues unlike anyone else. She’s confident, her goal clear and her strategy already lined up before you get a word in, loaded like a gun. But her strongest contender, perhaps the only one, might be Ellie’s simple stubbornness. “I’m concerned. She got picked over me even though I've studied that route a hundred fucking times. I could've done a better job,” she says, steady and tireless like bulletproof glass.

“At getting the supplies or at taking care of your girlfriend?”

“You’re starting to sound like Maria.”

Dina pauses for a short moment before she shrugs. “Maria makes good points.”

Ellie takes one last hit of the blunt and flicks it across the room to die out somewhere on the permanently damp floor. She tries to believe it. No one took you, she thinks, you left dutifully like anyone else in Jackson would've, like Ellie would've. It’s a dangerous trip but a job like any other, the same risk of deadly infection that comes with any of them. She should be used to it by now. Does it not also exist every other day of the year?

Still, she can't remember the last time she didn't see your face for this long. You’ve been dating for a little over three years, living together for half of that— it's a terrifyingly meaningful chunk of your young lives, months and months of seeing you everyday, of falling asleep with her face on the crook of your neck and waking up with your fingers pressing into her waist. You've built a world where things like this don’t happen, where all Ellie can think about as she leaves home is the way you hum in the mornings, soft and sleepy and so fucking cute, when you wake up to her back against your chest and her hair on your face. She thinks about her own laugh, how shy it sounds, how your lips press to her head before she turns around to claim a proper kiss.

But now you’re not here, and she’s too terrified to even utter the words out loud, and there's a hole in her chest where you should be that makes her feel insane everywhere she goes. It's an open wound leaving a hazardous trail of shame and memories, humming in her ears like a boiling kettle, who took what's mine?

Ellie has never considered herself to be the jealous type, but she never was the type to sleep with her back turned to someone this comfortably, either. It’s different with you. It's theatricality, it’s the coldness of that bed at night, it’s your legs tangled with hers like growing roots now disjointed. It’s a thing, breathing and alive, screaming at nothing— I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

Is that girl you went with hanging from your every word in that way she always does? Is that a shameful thought to have? Ellie wipes it clean in a second and finds it immediately there again, at the front of her mind like a message on a cloudy mirror. She can't think about anything else. Is the storm keeping the two of you awake? Does a part of you find the girl brave for volunteering? Is she turning to look at you and asking, just loud enough, are you asleep? That fall earlier was rough, how are you feeling? Is she looking at your wounds like they matter more than doing a good job? Is your blood, warm and red and yours, on her hands now?

The last of the smoke spills past her lips in a sigh. Ellie pulls her knees closer to her chest and tugs at the loose thread on your ripped jeans.

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

There’s a comfortable weight that keeps you under, the loving press of her arm resting over your chest, her thumb brushing your chin. The sun feels warm where it’s draped across Ellie’s back, white tank top wrinkled slightly up her waist.

She watches you until you let out a little sigh, squint one eye open and then slowly the next, a smile stretching your lips as soon as your sight focuses on her. She looks beautiful. She looks just like she did before you left, your girl.

It’s weird— you’ve showered, scrubbed your hands clean and raw, changed clothes. And still you feel like you’ve brought in something dirty, like it’ll be stuck on you for a while, the grime, the guns, the storm. Your muddy shoes must still be sitting by the front door. Something in your head screams that you should get rid of them, burn them like an evidence of guilt. Do you look anything like you did before you left? You feel like a worn version of yourself, sticky and darkened. It’s a ridiculous worry to have, but the thought comes hand in hand with embarrassment and you can feel it crawling up your neck. You cover your face with your hands and groan tiredly, shy.

Ellie laughs, warm like musk, salve on a wound.

"Are you watching me sleep?" you mutter, voice ridden with exhaustion and joy all at once. The thing, love, obsession, both— breathes along with you. "Freak."

"Yeah, I was,” she shifts to sit on your lap, one knee on either side of you, spilling her confession easily. Ellie leans over to push your hands away from your face and press her lips to yours, passionate but short lived, still softly brushing against each other when she says, "I missed this face."

You chuckle, eyes tracing over her freckled cheeks, hands squeezing her thighs, feeling strangely like you’re being washed clean. “I missed you.”

Ellie closes her eyes and rests her forehead against yours, her fingers caressing your cheeks, looking at you again when her thumb brushes against the ridge of a scar. It’s a warped line that almost follows the shape of your cheekbone, from your hairline to somewhere near the corner of your lips. She'd seen it last night, nauseous with worry and relief to have you back, her vision clouded. The morning reveals it in a different, heartbreaking light. It’s okay, you’d said during the night, your hands on either side of her face much like hers are on you now, didn't even need stitches. Ellie tries to let that sink in, make the guilt feel any better. But it can't. Maybe you’d been saved the prick of a needle, but she knows it still hurt, she knows it bled and stung. It feels like a betrayal. If I can't save you the pain, she thinks, I owe you the witnessing, the chance to clean its wry edges, pat it dry. "How'd you get this one?" she asks, as softly as she can.

You’d been prepared for the question but not the devastation in her eyes. It falls over you like a ton of bricks, her love making your chest ache and sinking you back into the memory.

There was an empty house, or what looked like one. Pieces of broken glass scattered over the rotting wood of an old, wobbly table. A man's hand placed forcefully on your head. The side of your face rammed into the table with a thud when he pushed you down, the faint pain of something slicing into your cheek made worse by your struggle to get free. A kick and he stumbled back. A slice of your knife and he fell dead. You don't think the fact will do much to comfort Ellie. So, in hopes of sparing her, you hum and shake your head. "Come here," you say, or beg, a hand on the back of her neck like fond guidance. "Let me kiss your pretty face."

She feels soft like satin on your lips, tastes like honey and black tea. Ellie kisses like she argues, experienced and unruly all at once, with a point to make— I need you and I want you to know it. Her tongue slips past your parted lips and brings a muffled sound from your throat that almost makes her pull slightly away, if it weren't for the feeling of your fingers tightening on her neck to have her closer. A faint thought crosses Ellie’s mind, a feeling like pity for the person she was before you, whoever that was, an old self who couldn't know what it's like to be devoured so caringly.

She brushes her nose against yours and you let out a sigh that sounds painfully like a prayer, her short hair a dark veil over your eyes when she turns her head to press kisses on your cheek. "You can't leave me like that again," she breathes out.

You swallow her words, a confused wrinkle between your eyebrows. “Ellie—”

A kiss cuts you off. You slide your hands up her thighs to her waist, a surprised hum vibrating against her lips when she wraps her fingers around your wrists and squeezes, as if to keep them there. She leans back and stares into you, and for the first time since you’ve known Ellie, you can't tell if she's commanding you or begging. “I won’t let you.”

It’s a gesture. It goes beyond the reality of your lives, the fact that any day either one of you could be made to leave again, that any day either one of you could die. It means I missed you. It means I need it to be me who looks after you. It means I love you.

Your stomach flutters, hungry with an urgent craving. And like you have every day since you’ve known Ellie, you find yourself unable to deny her love or the indulging promise of a different world— but maybe those mean the same thing. "I'm not leaving you," you say, breathless, and it might as well be true.

Ellie makes a sound in response that feels painfully close to a moan, a soft mmhm that clouds your head of anything that may or may not exist outside of this room. The tip of her nose brushes against your neck and then continues its way down, her fingers sneaking inside your shirt, pulling up the fabric and pressing kisses over the skin that’s revealed. "I love you," she says, almost near the band of your underwear, her blushed lips parted. You feel her breath against the burning fire in your lower stomach, reaching out to cradle her cheek against your hand. She feels hot, flushed pink under her freckles, and you’re not sure if she hears you say I love you, Ellie as much as she watches you mouth the words. She presses her face further into your hand, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, begging as if she’d ever have to, “Baby, I need— please.”

You don't hear yourself say yes, but the look in her eyes says you must have.

[umeqii]

-⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀YOU'RE FUCKING CRAZY ⠀⠀⠀. . . ⠀⠀⠀but you're lowkey cool .

fandom ; class of 09

character ; nicole

gender ; female reader (lesbian nicole real)

creator ; umeqii

QUICK A/N - so like idk i'm a nicole kinnie and so like i might (i will) self project but yk ^_^ and uh idk i js wanted to post smth abt co09 bc like all i saw was mf jeffery ones and no one likes jeffery he's a fucking wierdo anyways!!

TW - like it's co09, so mentions of pedophilia, drugs, dark humor, sh, suicide jokes, things like that :P

─── WHAT IT'S LIKE DATING NICOLE !!

okay so it's quite clear that nicole is a sociopath, and she's aware of it and she payed VERY little attention to you at first

i guess you were just like, that one girl who just sits in class n minds her business and overhears alot of weirdass drama like that one blonde bitch kelly being inlove with her cousin or something

but you had a new student, and you gotta admit, she was really pretty ≥∇≤ !!

her personality; not so much (real though)

anyways, you grew up to read people really easily from the way you were raised n shit so when you first spoke to nicole in class, you realised she was faking to smile; or just faking to be nice in general

so you kept that in mind, but didn't say anything because you were loekwy afraid :P

one time, you guys had science together n this kid jeffery kept tryna talk to nicole and it's not like you were mad at her for tryna make new friends, it was jeffery you were mad at

he didn't even acknowledge you one bit ☠️☠️

so you just end up standing next to them saying nothing and looking like a random stranger

when nicole sat in her seat, with jeffery rambling about anime girls or something, you saw how she looked REAALLLYYY pissed so you were gonna sit in your seat (which was opposite hers) and ask her

UNTIL THAT BITCH JEFFERY LIKE SAT IN IT ☠️☠️😭😭

you just ended up staring at him with a slightly open mouth when he ignored your soft askings of "can you please move?"

that's when our favourite toxic lesbian said something!! (i'm delusional)

" oh my FUCKING god, next time i hear anything about your stupidass anime cat girls, i will actually hang myself from this light. like who the fuck even asked?? i know damn fuckin' well i didn't. and get your greasy and filthy ass out of y/n's seat, you bitch. "

😨

that was jeffery's face (and lowkey yours' too)

he got out of your seat and mumbled an apology to you and sat somewhere else leaving you and an annoyed nicole sitting in silence

" oh uh...are you? "

" do you have any meth. "

" ah fuck sorry, i don't do.. uh yeah "

" you look like you do, you seem fucking crazy "

" oh. "

so like after that, and you, being the sapphic you are, ended up falling inlove with nicole !!

she was lowkey a bitch and you won't lie, toxic as fuck but she was your only friend and she stuck up for you so that's good??

she treats everyone with no respect at all, but for you, you can see the SLIGHT change in attitude

like you see her with jeffery, then people like jecka and emily, and you!!

she would always say things about you guys making out or having sex in the bathrooms and you couldn't tell if they were jokes or not

but like i lowkey cba to say how ym got together so all ik is that yu asked her out, she made out with yu and yh

so like now HEADCANONS time

nicole is an insecure girl deep, deep down so that's why she acts the way she does.

but yeah, those insecurities make her REALLY jealous 😭😭

it's sometimes concerning .

like one time you were approached by emily and she was asking you if you wanted some drugs or something, which you declined, and you ended up complimenting her hair and saying how it brings out her eyes and she ended up hugging you

then nicole stormed over and started going fucking crazy mode at emily saying how " don't you have like a 30 year old boyfriend you can give head right now? so fuck off and let me give this bitch head instead, you cokewhore!! "

something along the lines of that

like i guess showing affection makes her pretty vulnerable, so when ym are in public she's a bitch

she's really controlling or whatever the word is (toxic)

"y/n, you know how much of a fucking pathetic loser you are? just think how fucked up you would be without me, then. like no offense babe, but you're really fucking deranged in the head but i guess that's something that makes you hot."

okay that's all i can think of but yeah i also hate parental controls like why are only 5 of my apps unlocked like let me go on discord ://

you guys should add me on discord, my user is umeqii yiu bitches /affectionately /nf

[perfinn]

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

aegon ii targaryen x reader

wc: 3.3k

summary: you have a tendency to pick up strays, but when you pick up the king of westeros (who was supposed to have died hundreds of years ago), things begin to get a little complicated

cw: NSFW, f!reader, aegon being a creep (shocker), aegon being deeply pathetic (also shocker), aegon is drunk or possibly hung over, attempted sex (aegon begs for a handjob but doesn't get one)

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

You’ve always been too nice. You’re aware of this unfortunate fact, though you staunchly refuse to admit it’s a weakness. Has this trait left you without necessities from time to time because you gave them to someone who needed them more? Yes, but you sleep better at night knowing that that homeless girl had sturdy new shoes, even if you had to walk home barefoot. You can always handle a bit of discomfort if it means improving someone’s day marginally. It’s not as though you’re without any sense of self preservation– you know when to say no, or when to walk away. When someone is out for their own self interest, or just plain dangerous. 

You’re smart about it. Mostly. Sometimes, though, your sympathy gene takes over, and you approach the danger because you feel there’s more beneath the surface. So far, it hasn’t put you in any troubling positions. Still, first time for everything. And as you stand on the edge of the pavement, toes of your shoes swinging down into the gutter as you sway back and forth, you wonder if you’re about to break your successful streak.

There’s a man in the busy city street, raving and desperately trying to get someone’s attention. Usually, he’s the type you’d regretfully ignore for your own safety, but he seems different. He doesn’t seem like the usual King’s Landing crackheads. He’s dressed too nice, for starters. Strange, yes, but still nice. In fact, it looks to be better quality than anything you own. And he’s young– which isn't uncommon in this situation, but it always makes your heart ache when they’re young. 

He looks desperate, terrified, and as another person ducks their head and walks past him, you feel yourself moving toward him. You don't know why. Maybe because you know if you leave now, you’ll not sleep tonight for the sheer guilt of passing him by. He spots you making your way over and turns to you, seeming to hope against hope that you’re going to acknowledge him. 

“Hi,” you say in a calm, even voice. It's a tone you’ve gotten quite good at. You’re not professionally trained by any means, but these things generally come with the territory. “Let's get you out of the road, okay? You could get hurt.”

“What the fuck are those things?” He demands of you as a car stops to let you take him across. You wave your thanks to the driver, who looks mildly disgruntled, and take the young man gently by the arms to get him onto the pavement. “Where are the horses?”

You know he must be confused, so you’re gentle with him. “There's no horses,” you say, still holding his arms as he finally looks away from the disappearing car and into your eyes. He looks so deeply afraid, but you notice he does take a moment to look you over. You let him, trying to see the best in him and hoping it's just curiosity. It doesn't matter right now anyway, you tell yourself. “Are you okay?”

“No!” He snaps. “Course I’m not bloody okay! Where am I?!”

“You’re in King’s Landing,” you say. “Let's get you somewhere quiet, okay? Are you hungry?”

“This,” he laughs in disbelief, looking around. “Is not King’s Landing, I know what King’s Landing looks like!”

“Okay,” you nod. “I believe you. Let's go sit down, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

The man looks at you with what you think is an offended scowl, but the offer of food does seem to intrigue him. “And wine?”

“No,” you say, and he deflates. 

He scratches at his chin, but nods in agreement. “Yes, fine.”

You smile, a bit of relief easing the worry in your ribs. Sometimes people won't cooperate, or they’ll turn you away when you say you won't buy them booze or give them money outright. This young man seems to be content enough without wine, so you wave your hand and lead him down the road toward the nearest fast food joint. 

He follows behind you, panicked eyes still looking around as though he's never seen the world before. It's not wonder, but something close to anger, indignation maybe. You make it to a diner you like, opening the door for him. He's clearly astounded by the ugly cacophony of colours inside, but you can't blame him. You don't come here for the aesthetics. 

“Go sit down?” You tell him gently, framing it like a suggestion as you point to your favourite booth. He scowls, but does as bid. 

The teen behind the counter takes little notice of your strange company. It's King’s Landing, he's probably seen something ten times as strange already today. Once you’ve paid, you join your new stray, sitting down across from him and folding your hands on the table. 

“So, what's your name?” You ask him, and he looks away from the bustling street outside the window to stare at you in what you assume is disbelief. 

“What’s my name?” He echoes, leaning slightly over the table. “Are you serious?”

You blink. That’s… not a question anyone’s ever been mad at you for. You learned quickly which questions to steer clear of to avoid pissing people off.

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat and tapping a dirtied fingernail against the peeling surface of the table. “Aegon,” he says, almost experimentally. Like he's testing the waters. 

You nod politely, and tell him yours.

He stares at you. “Nothing? Aegon? You’ve not heard the name Aegon?”

“Well, of course I have,” you say, confused smile pulling at your lips. “It's a common enough name. I think I knew a guy in school named Aegon–”

“You have been to school?” Aegon asks, eyebrows shooting up and a laugh spilling from his mouth. He leans back, dragging his hands over his clammy face. “Have I been drugged?!”

You’d put serious money on that being a resounding yes. 

“This is crazy,” he says, leaning forward again. He says your name slowly, glancing around before his eyes land on you. “Can you tell me what's going on?”

You bite your lip, thankful when the cashier calls out your order number. You rush to get up and get it, fearing you may be way out of your depth this time. He talks like he’s never seen the world before, and his comment about you having gone to school… none of it makes any sense. You’ve never even had the thought of dropping someone off with someone who’s better equipped to handle problems of this magnitude, but Aegon has you really considering it. When you return with the tray of food and set it down, Aegon has the specials menu in hand and is squinting at it. 

“I got you what I usually get,” you say, setting the tray down and placing his wrapped burger in front of him, leaving the fries on the tray. “Aegon, I want to help you, but I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“That certainly makes two of us,” Aegon says, unwrapping the burger curiously. “What meat is this?”

“It’s beef,” you tell him, unwrapping your own. He watches as you take a bite of yours, and he nods as though in satisfaction before taking a hefty bite of his. “Aegon, I want to understand what’s going on in your head. Can you just…”

You’re not sure how to say it, really. It’s invasive, and you don’t want him to feel like you believe he’s crazy, or lying.

“What’s your deal?”

He chews slowly on his burger, eyeing you suspiciously. “My deal,” he echoes, lips turned down in a scowl. “Is that I’m the King of Westeros.”

You nod slowly, biting into your burger so you don’t have to answer right away. You hope if you stay silent long enough, he’ll feel compelled to keep talking. 

“King Aegon,” he says slowly, like you’re the deluded one. “Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Protector of the Realm, all the rest. Are you serious?”

You swallow your mouthful and nod. You’re not particularly well versed in history, but the titles ring a bell. It’s some sort of messiah complex, you’d wager. Trying your best not to seem dismissive, you pull out your phone. “Let me see,” you say. 

“What’s that?” He asks, leaning forward and trying to snatch it from you. You move it out of his way, yelping softly in contrition. 

“My phone!” You say. “I’m just looking you up, Aegon.”

“You’re what?” He says, looking horrified. “Give me that!”

“Dude, no! Let me just–” You stand up from your seat to be out of his reach, hurriedly typing the name he’d told you into the search bar. “Look, I know the name Targaryen, that’s the Conqueror's name!”

“Yes! Aegon the Conqueror!” He cries. “You’re finally making sense!”

“What? No, I mean Daenerys!”

“Who!?”

“Aegon, sit back down!” You snap, and he pauses in his pursuit of your phone, stunned into silence by your firm tone. Slowly, he returns to his seat, picking up a fry to eat it. 

“Only because I want to,” he says childishly. 

You frown at him, shaking your head before looking back at your phone as it pulls up the results for your search. 

‘Aegon II Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Elder, was the sixth Targaryen king to sit the Iron Throne, succeeding his father, Viserys I Targaryen, as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.’

The search pulls up a picture as well, one of those terribly done paintings from the dark ages. It’s hard to say whether the Aegon in front of you looks much like the one in the painting, but he does have the same pale blonde hair and violet eyes. He’s a lot more pathetic than the portrait, too. He has the qualities of a wet cat, and you hate that it’s somewhat endearing. When you keep scrolling, you find a painting that can’t have been contemporary. This is a more detailed portrait, likely from half a century ago, where Aegon is covered in burns and lies dead in a carriage. 

You look up, meeting the wary eyes of the confused but un-burned man before you, and slowly sit back down. You know that he isn’t actually the king from nearly a millennium ago, but there’s an uncanny quality about him that makes you want to doubt the logical truth. His clothes, for one. You don’t know many homeless guys with such fine embroidery on their clothes. And there’s his features… you know them to be Valyrian, but rarely does anyone still pop up with the stark blond and violet irises. You remember well enough from your high school history classes that the Targaryen dynasty had those features.

“What does your little brick do?”

You blink, looking down at it and pulling up the contemporary portrait – part of you tells you not to show him the other. He scowls at it, but nods. “Seven hells, that’s not flattering. Where did you get this miniature? You have this and yet claim not to know me? What game do you play?”

You sigh. He truly doesn’t understand, does he? 

“Aegon, what year do you think it is?”

He rears back and regards you with more suspicion. “129 AC,” he says.

“And what were you doing before this?” 

“I will not tell you that,” he says. “You’re one of Rhaenyra’s spies, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know who Rhaenyra is,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, Aegon, I’m not a history buff.”

“History–” He stops, and goes deathly silent for a long moment, as though the whole situation is finally processing for him. You wonder if it’s the stench of wine that hangs off him explains his slow processing. “What year do you think it is?”

You tell him the year, even tack today’s date on for him. He stares are you, and you can see his brain buffering yet again. 

“Seven hells,” he murmurs. You find you share a similar sentiment. 

He picks up his burger and begins to eat it slowly. He’s silent for a long while, eyes seeming far away as he contemplates. You try not to stare at him, but it's no easy task. 

“This is going to sound crazy,” he says after a long while. “But I believe I may have travelled… through time.”

“I’d say so, yeah,” you respond. At this point, it's the only explanation. You’d usually say something about eliminating all the impossible options, but that just doesn't work here. Time travel is impossible, or it should be. And it's possible Aegon is just suffering from a deeply intense messiah complex. But that doesn't seem right. Your instincts haven't led you wrong before, you’re not about to ignore them now. 

“What am I going to do?” asks Aegon.

You want to tell him you’re going to try to find a way to get him back to his own time, but you’re struck once more with the image of him burned and twisted, dead in a carriage. How can you send him back to his fate knowing his grisly end?

You take in the man in front of you, this historical figure you’d never heard of until five minutes ago, and bite your lip. “We’ll figure it out,” you promise him. “You… can stay with me until we do.”

That’s probably dumb, and you’ll probably regret it. But not more than you would regret leaving him out on the streets.

“I suppose,” sighs Aegon like he’s spoiled for choice. You get up to ask for a bag for your food, glancing back as Aegon chews sadly on his burger. 

You get Aegon back to your place, and he wanders into the flat ahead of you. You watch him go with a soft huff, rolling your eyes. If everything else hadn’t convinced you, his attitude is proof positive that he’s from the past. He has all the entitlement of a prince and none of the consideration of those around him that modern men have (sometimes) gained. 

Your flat isn't much, two bedrooms and mostly paid for by your university. You had a flatmate for a time, but their sudden withdrawal left you without anyone and the school doesn’t seem to have noticed. Aegon can stay in the empty room until you figure him out. 

Aegon’s standing in your living room, staring in wonder at the decor you’ve collected over the course of your degree, at your television, maybe he’s just looking at all of it. He’s turning in a slow circle, eyes narrowed. 

“This is very nice for a commoner. Very strange, but it is not… disgusting.” He pauses in his assessing, looking between you and the ridiculous tapestry you purchased one night after far too many drinks. “Who is this man?”

“Oh, he’s this guy from a movie,” you say, not really processing that he won’t understand what a movie is. He stands there, dumbstruck, while you go to put your leftover food in the fridge. 

“A what?”

“Just… don’t worry about it. There’s going to be a lot for you to take in, but with any luck you won’t be here too long.” You come back over to him, taking him in. He looks out of place standing here in his king’s threads. “Let me get you something to wear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he says, shifting and taking in your clothes. “Where is your father? Your husband?”

“My father is in my hometown, and I don’t have a husband.”

“You live without a man?” He eyes you suspiciously. “A whore?”

“Okay,” you say, gently grabbing him by the shoulders and walking him over to the sofa. “Sit here, I have some men’s clothes lying around. Do not move.”

Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes and sitting back with folded arms. You wonder, as you go into your room to find something for him, if he’s heard the word ‘no’ very much in his life. It wouldn’t seem that way, but sometimes the way he reacts to you telling him off leaves you thinking otherwise. He’s a bigger mystery than you’ve ever faced, but something tells you he’s worth it.

You emerge after a while to see him flicking through the book you’d left on your coffee table, frowning. He looks up when you enter, setting the book down. “Your home is peculiar,” he informs you. 

“I know,” you say, handing him the soft clothes you’d found. “Student housing is kind of a lottery. You can get changed in the spare room, if you want. I’m going to go shower. If you get hungry, your leftovers are in that big white box there, okay?”

“Yes, yes, whatever.” 

You watch him enter the near-empty bedroom and shut the door, heaving a heavy sigh before you go off to your own room. You don't shower. Instead, you pull out your computer and set out to learn all that you possibly can about Aegon. 

What you learn twists your stomach into knots so tight you feel that they would trap the nausea that grips your throat from escaping. Aegon was no saint, no, but what you find is that his life is steeped in tragedy. If he believes himself to be king now but remains unburned by his cousin’s dragon, he must be near the end of his life; but the worst of his troubles have yet to begin. 

It is strange to think of the pathetic and bratty man in your flat as growing into the role of a king, if one could say he ever did. He seems nothing but a lost young man, unloved but for the power he afforded his Hightower family. 

The reports on him are so extensive and exhaustive that an hour has passed before you realise you haven’t been disturbed. You get up from your desk, wondering if Aegon has somehow wandered out of your flat and back onto the street.

When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of your kitchen cabinets strewn open, and your cheap bottle of vodka now empty on the counter. Aegon is sprawled on your sofa, cradling a novelty ceramic beer mug you won in a pub quiz in your first year. 

“Seven hells,” you mumble, going over to him and snatching the cup from him to be met with his whining protests. You sniff the cup, nose scrunching in disgust at the acetone-y smell. “Not even a mixer…”

Aegon looks up at you, trying to reach for the cup and whining your name. At least he changed into the sweats. The King’s Landing University jumper rather suits him, actually. 

“Please,” he says, looking even more closely akin to a wet cat. He seems on the verge of tears. “You’re pretty, do you know?”

“I’ve heard,” you say, setting the cup down on the coffee table and turning to him.

He grabs your wrist, tugging you closer with surprising strength considering how sloshed he is. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. He almost sings your name. “Will you get me off?”

“Wh- Aegon!” You snap, tearing your wrist away. “No!”

“Please! Just your hand, you’ve got such soft hands!”

“Aegon,” you hiss. “No. You’re drunk. Even if I wanted to, that wouldn't be okay. You don't know what you're saying.”

Aegon pouts at you, falling back against the sofa and letting out a soft hiccup. “That doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe not in your time,” you say, grabbing him a blanket and laying it over him. “Gods- just- just try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning when you're fully sober.”

“I’ll die before that,” he says, snuggling up to the soft blanket with a ridiculous cartoon of a wolf on it. Another of your decor purchases you thought would be hilarious in the moment. You grab his cup and pour what’s left of the vodka into the sink before gathering up your remaining bottles and vowing to take them to the cabinet in your room with a lock. 

“Maybe. But if you vomit on my carpet, you’ll be paying the cleaning bill, your grace.”

part ii

[funkynumaki]

Could I request something for Naib and Norton? Maybe them expecting they'll be the dom during their first time with you (just because they're seen as tough/manly and that's the role they usually took when it comes to sex before they met you) but then you turn the tables on them and top them and them surprisingly loving it?

Turning table

Summary; they're usually the one who's in charge or take the lead in sex, so what happen if they have a partner who's more dominant than them?

Characters included: Norton Campbell and Naib Subedar

Warning: Dom!reader x Sub: character(s), handjob (G), slight blood mentioned in Norton's (like just one line).

A/N: sorry for not posting, something caught up and I lost motivation. But I'm back! I can't really promise if I'll be back long though. For now I'm trying to clear my draft <3.

(NOT PROOFREAD)

_________________________________________

_________________________________________

|| Norton Campbell

- when you both start dating Norton always thought that he'll be the one who'll take in charge of intimate moment, credit to him it was an almost logical thinking of his. I mean, he's way bigger than you, so in his mind it's supposed to be him who's in charge, right?

- so it was a bit surprising to him when you prove him wrong. And more surprising that he ironically enjoy being in that position, even as much as sometimes he'd not like to admit.

"How is it?" You ask, looking at the man underneath you. Watching as groan and breathy moan slipped from his throat. "Fuckin-nh good..-" He manage to answer your question with little or no self control, especially in the state he's currently in. Your fingers move instinctively, teasing the tip of his dick, Tracing your nail slightly on it. "O-ohh shit-!Pl-ngh..!" His words barely coherent anymore. The prospector's back arched slighty at the sudden pace. "What's that..? You doesn't look like someone who's usually in charge right now.." You cooe in his ear, which he answer with a strangled moan. Your finger stop stimulating his tip, changing its main focus on the base. "Fuck! Ga-ahh..!" He throw his head back from the sudden pleasure that is now mainly on the base of his dick. His hand nails digging your back almost hard enough to drew blood. "Sensitive much, hm?" You chuckle as he try to suppress his noise by nipping on your neck, though it's a bit useless since his breathing is still labored. "Answer me, love. Let me hear how much you love it." You said, slightly threatening him by slowing your pace.

"Mnh..hh-! N-no-dont-fhuck!pl-ease..! I need it..-please-Ahngh! I love it-lo..veit so-much..!"

_________________________________________

_________________________________________

|| Naib Subedar

- being a mercenary he is used to bring in charge, well mostly because he usually hold more power in the relationship. Trust is something important in naib's relationship, so even if he's already aware that you can switch and take in charge, he still needs sometimes to think. He trust you, just not sure at first about the idea.

- when the time arrives, it's best to be gentle with him. And let him get comfortable with being the one's bottoming. At first he thinks it feels a bit weird, but gradually enjoy it with each passing second.

You notice how he hides his slightly flushed face on the crook of your neck, trying to prevent any noise slipping out of his throat. "You okay..?" You ask, waiting for him to confirm that he's okay. Since the least that you want is accidentally hurting him when he finally show you his vulnerable side. ".. Yes.. J.. Just continue..-" Nodding at his confirmation, your hand slightly fasten its pace. "Ng-ahh-" A choked moan slipped down his tongue, his eyes trying to focus on your fingers as they wrapped around his throbbing dick. "No need to hold it, love. I want to hear you moan" You whisper in his ear, brushing a strand of his hair back. Naib let out a groan, eyes still focused on your fingers. His face still slightly flushed. Your nail trace the tip of his dick, he trashes his head back at the sudden stimulation against his tip. "Doing so good..." You cooe.

"A-ahh! Fuc-hh..please. S'good.."

_____________________________

I might post my art in this acc :0

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

jason trying to flirt and reader freaking out gives me life. (dw jason i bet she wants to kiss you too (if she doesnt i might))

When you hesitated to name a book, afraid of being mocked maybe. Or afraid to be vulnerable, Jason took a shot in the dark. Looking up at the shelves. Looking for something well loved. Something you'd keep where you could reach it whenever you wanted comfort. Something you held close to your heart. That you'd read and reread. Worn but not destroyed. Venerated. It would almost feel like something sacred.

Every lonely kid had that book.

And when he locked eyes on it, he smiled. He got up off the floor and walked across the room, aware that he was being watched. He could feel a prickle of warning. A crackle of anxiety tugging at him. And he forced himself to breathe. Yeah, it was a kiddie book. A whole set of them. But, you liked books with happy endings.

"Convert me?" Jason hummed, "I never really liked fairy tales."

"No?"

"It's kinda hard to worry about chivalry when you live like I did," he said sitting back down- suppressing a pang with difficulty. He hadn't thought about his mom and dad in a long time. He kept them buried. It was easier. To not remember the way cancer had a smell. And the way that without insurance drugs just managed the pain. And his dad drank because it hurt. And because it hurt and he drank he couldn't hold a job. And because he couldn't hold a job he just kept doing crimes.

Books had to have a point. Fairy tales and delicate little "girl books" felt ephemeral and frivolous. Austen. Shelley. Poe. Homer. Christie. All that had a point.

"I'm sorry-"

"It's alright," he said exhaling roughly. It wasn't about him. And when he felt you try to pull back, trembling from the strain he shook his head and sank to the floor. "Don't worry about me, okay. Not right now anyway."

"It hurts-"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "But if I read this for a while maybe I'll forget-"

"You can borrow-"

"I was going to read it to you," he mumbled, cheeks heating. He meant to just come in and start doing it. He'd hoped you'd just curl up with him and doze off.

"Oh."

"Is that okay?" he asked, not sure what to make of your reaction. Or your feelings. They're still a snarl- and mostly self-hatred.

"Yeah," you murmur. "Your voice is nice when you're not being mean."

[simp4konig]

Snores. REALLY loud. 😬 ONLY when you are in his arms 🙄 — when he sleeps alone, he is eerily silent.

I'm taking this and assuming it means that he's relaxed enough to snore because he knows you won't hurt him, and especially if he's sleeping during the day, he knows you've got his back. He wouldn't admit it but maybe he subconsciously knows that his lover is just as protective of him as he is of them. He knows they'd never let anyone hurt him, so his body finally leaves fight or flight mode when resting next to them

Idk if I'm just reading too much into that but it's what I'm taking from it. Nikto trusts his lover so so much

I'm rambling now but imagine his lover got accused of being a rat and there was sizable evidence against them and he just doesn't believe it. He just goes "no" and helps his lover hide because he's not an idiot, he knows they'll be tortured for information they don't have if they stay, and if they got tortured, he'd have to kill everyone involved and then punish himself for, in his eyes, allowing it to happen.

Meanwhile he works to find out who the actual traitor is, and when he finds out they intentionally framed his lover?

Not good things

🪼

YES, 🪼 ANON!!! YOU GET IT!!! 🥰🥰🥰❤️❤️❤️

Because being on high alert is exhausting. Being hyperaware of every noise — inside and outside —, every gust of wind, every breath, rise and fall in temperature, every movement... it's exhausting.

Personally, I headcanon Nikto to be a light sleeper when he's on active duty — so light that rarely truly sleeps* (or, better put: it's rare for him to get any sleep. Sleep deprivation could be the cause of those permanently red eyes of his?), as he can still recognise the sounds around him and is ready to engage with any enemy planning to stab him in his "sleep".

Before Zakhaev, he was cautious. After Zakhaev, he's paranoid.

Any noise could signal an enemy's stealthy approach: a creak in the floorboard? a passing car? footsteps echoing along the wrong? voices whispering in the night? a tusle of his bedsheets, easily to be mistaken for rustle of someone's combat gear as they adjust their pistol to aim it at his forehead? Man gets no sleep... ☹️

That's why he's eerily silent — because a.) he has to be aware of any and all dangers and b.) if he can neither be seen nor heard, no enemy can capture him, can they?

*LITERALLY as I was writing this (little by little since you sent the ask in), this headcanon showed up on my feed, and Nikto stating this is SO fitting: "We do not sleep, we only fall into darkness until the sun brings us back". PLS ITS LITERSLLT HIM? +++?? +++? @??

However, I imagine him as a deep sleeper at heart, and when he has finally no rational reasons to be paranoid, he can relax. Somewhat.

He's still as stiff as a board: lays flat on his back, arms by his sides, legs straight, and all that; however, it's with his partner only when he can actually relax, as 1.) with them laying on his chest/by his side, they are safe, they aren't in any danger, they are okay 2.), their presence brings him solace and peace like no other 3.), he isn't alone anymore, he doesn't have to protect himself and focus on his survival, since he can now just... live, as opposed to survive,

and 4.), because (like you said! 🤭❤️), his partner would be just as protective of him as they are of them. <3

To ease his stress and alleviate the paranoia at least a little, they vow to care for him and take care of him, and to demonstrate through small but meaningful acts that he doesn't have to be fiercly independent and self-reliant, but can depend on and trust his partner, too. 🥹

Maybe the relationship that he has with his partner has no one person depending on the other, but a codependent one — Nikto can provide safety, security, shelter, and protection in a physical sense, while his partner can provide all of those aforementioned in the emotional sense (but physical probably too because I would scratch whoever the FUCK had the balls to pick on my man??????,, HISSING and SCREECHING and CLAWING like a fucking cat!!!!!! 😠😠😾😾😠😾

//Also bro you can't apologise for rambling then give the BEST writing prompt EVER??? KISS KISS MUAHM MUAHHH 💋💋,, NEED TO WRITE A DRABBLE FOR THIS!!! 🤭🤭

pls bear w me tho... 😞,, hope u don't mind that im a slow writer 🥲

[melodic-haze]

Personally how touched starved do you think Arlecchino and Furina are? Like one has been alone for 500 years and the other killed her best friend and probably doesn’t think she deserves love.

☆ — DEMO TRACK: Arlecchino x Reader, Furina x Reader

☆ — TYPE: SFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

Oh I think they'd be VERY fucking touch starved, except the two are like. On two different sides of the scale

On one end, you've got Furina. On the other end, you've got Arlecchino. What they're on a scale of? How "vocal" they would be in terms of it

Furina would be on the VERY vocal side, and by that I mean she WILL monologue to you about how she needs your touch or else she will PERISH from a lack of you-contact

Furina puts the back of her hand on her forehead, "My beloved wants to leave me be! Oh, you torture me..."

"Babe, I'm literally only going to get a glass of water."

"You forget my domain over the element!" She moves to throw herself onto you, wrapping her arms around your neck and causing you to laugh as you caught her, "I can satisfy your needs easily!"

"At that rate I'll be better off taking a shower!"

"It gets the job done!"

But she's not vocal for no reason :((( 500 years spent in self-isolation in order to save her people takes a HUGE toll on you so the moment Furina had realised that she doesn't have to do the whole song and dance all over again, she just can't help the want—the need—to basically be attached to you

It's not just because she wants to make up for lost time after FINALLY being able to do so, but also because she's scared that one day it'll all just go poof and disappear in a distant dream. She doesn't speak of her troubles until either she decides it herself that she should or one of the members of her Salon Solitaire (Crabaletta lol) decides to conk her for it

Sometimes she'll ask if she's being a pain in the ass bc she IS aware that she's constantly wanting for you to at LEAST be near her which. If you say she is then I need to sit you down personally and slap you in NOT a fun way

Meanwhile, Arlecchino on the other hand, is VERY quiet about it. She won't say anything, nevermind doing anything. She'd restrict herself from clinging onto you as much as she'd like to

You were a vision to her, a lovely sight to see and a lovely voice to hear as you recounted your day's events. Even when you did something so mundane, something that isn't necessarily something special, Arlecchino still looked at you with such adoration.

She almost didn't notice her hand inching closer towards yours from her warm daze.

Almost.

Before she could draw it back unnoticed, however, you turned your head at just the right (or wrong) time.

"Arlecchino? Is there.. something wrong?"

..She shakes her head instead of admitting her desires, "No, my apologies, darling. I was rather captivated by your tale. Do tell me more about your friend's predicament."

And so you do, but you couldn't help but notice the longing look in her eyes.

It takes a while before she starts warming up to the idea of letting herself actually do SOMETHING. And that'll take a lot of time, patience and encouragement from her❗️❗️❗️ But trust when I say it's worth it bc she practically treats you with so much more affection and devotion than the literal archon she serves HAHA

She doesn't thinks she deserves to show physical affection, to touch you, to truly worship you and your body in every way she can—not when she has the power to hurt you, not when she's killed off the person she had cherished the most all those years ago :(

You gotta reassure her that everything's okay and that you won't disappear bc once you've done that? She's SO TOUCHY she will NOT go through the day without havign some form of contact with you

She won't do it as much in work though she has a reputation she wants to keep lmao

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

If Logan heard that Bubbly was being sent out on a mission, what would he do?

Glimmer of Doubt

Sequel to this, this, and this

"What do you think you're doing?" Logan stomps into the room, cutting a line between the mutants in their flightsuits and gear.

He sees her. Bubbly plays with the tab of her zipper as she turns. She blanched as he marched toward her, but he doesn't address her.

"Orora, what're ya doin' taking her off?" He growls.

"Huh? Logan? Jean's fine. She says the baby doesn't slow her down."

"Jean?" He snips, "she's none of my business. I'm talking about--" he stops himself and looks at Bubbly. The shock is clear in her face. He looks around, self-aware, and lowers his voice, "Storm," he steps closer, "she's not really... made for it."

"You know everyone has to go once. She's just on observation--"

"Not made for it?" Bubbly comes closer. "I can do it, Mr. Wolverine. Just like anyone else."

"I'm not saying ya can't but... it's not for everyone," he rubs his neck.

"Standard flyover," Storm assures him. "I'll keep her close."

"No! I don't want special treatment," Bubbly whines. "I..." she blinks past Logan, "everyone's watching. They must all think--" her voice cracks. "I want to go with everyone else!"

Bubbles rise around her, they smell like cinder as they pop and fizzle hotly. Logan hesitates. He's never seen her angry. Her eyes are almost black and steam radiates off of her.

"Logan, you're welcome to join the senior team but all the new comers are to accompany," Orora declares.

Bubbly nods in agreement then glares at Logan, "don't come."

She struts past him and head for the jet ramp. He turns to watch her then looks back at Storm. She's almost smiling.

"Don't," he warns.

"Well, are you coming?" She asks.

He grumbles and stalks off. He'll stay and wait in penance. He didn't mean anything by it. He knows Bubbly is tougher than she looks but why didn't he know first?

He watches the jet fly off from the east den. He'll wait there. It's a listless torture. He doesn't know what to do with himself. Usually she's there, yapping or bubbling or making him watch something he's never heard of.

He hears their return. He's too uptight to look out the window. It's dark.

He waits. He wonders if he should go to her room. Is she still mad? Is she okay?

He goes to the door but she's there first. She enters in a cluster of bubbles. She sweeps past him and falls onto the couch with a yawn. He's quiet. Nervous.

"You embarrassed me... you're the only person I never expected to do so," she says at last.

"I didn't mean to--"

"But you did," her bubbles swirl around erratically.

"I did," he admits.

"You don't think I'm tough enough."

"That's not it," he inches closer. Her bubbles cling to him, annoyingly so.

"Then what do you think? I'm defective? I don't have fire or ice or mind control so I'm useless?" She accuses.

"Now bub--" he pauses as he feels the shell forming around him. Her bubbles join together, covering him to his chin. "Bub--" he extends his claws but her bubbles don't pop. Instead, the gloss coccoon encases him and he's taken off his feet. "What--"

He spins, the room smearing beyond the bubble's walls and he's left dizzy as she lets him drop. He lands on his knees. She is casually reclined on the couch, eyes closed.

"I'm not as soft as I look. Neither are my bubbles." She turns rolls her back to him as she stretches across the couch, "I thought you knew that."

[laswells-ashtray]

Soooo because I can't write this properly, so I'm entrusting you with this.

Nik hurt Price comfort.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

Nikolai knows he isn't a young man anymore.

He hears men in their twenties make internet references that go over his head, they all sound like gibberish but apparently, they're humorous to surrounding 20-something year old men.

There are specks of grey starting to appear when he lets his stubble grow out and one stubborn steel strand behind his left ear that he can't seem to hide when he tucks his hair back.

But the excruciating sharp pain that spreads throughout his knee more often than not when he gets out of bed in the morning is a slap in the face to the man he once was.

Realistically he'd always known that the work he does would catch up with him but something about taking that extra minute in the morning just so that he can move without his right knee going out from under him is humiliating.

It isn't just his age, old injuries have a way of making themselves known but it would seem that the older he gets, the longer the list of pains that ail him.

Nikolai is a grown man, he can admit that it awakens an insecurity inside of him that he thought buried. Is he still good enough for John? He had proven himself many years ago but he no longer has the same vitality and agility that he had so often taken for granted.

John is a man in his prime. When did he pass his?

There are many things that a man can ponder whilst waiting to regain the full use of his right knee and yet Nikolai always seems to fall back into that swirling pool of shame and self-doubt. He has yet to find a way out of the water without letting himself drown, choking back into awareness.

One hand rests on the edge of his nightstand, holding him steady as he keeps his weight on his left leg. It's a practised routine by now.

Curling his toes into the carpeted floor beneath him acts as a source of amusement, it is one of few actions that can offer him a distraction as he waits out the aching.

John's string of curses as he batters his pinky off of the doorway is as close to a greeting as he'll receive, he believes that the phrase Sergeant MacTavish would use to describe his partner's ordeal is Fucked It.

The captain somehow manages to overcome his anguish as he approaches Nikolai, stopping in front of him and offering his knee a look of contempt as if the joint had assaulted him personally.

When will it become an inconvenience to him? A flaw that he just can't see past.

"Still playing up?"

He offers John a reluctant nod, there's no use in denying the obvious.

"Why not sit down? It's clearly worse than usual and you're only doing yourself more harm standing, give it a bit of time as you sit down then try to walk around again later."

John's suggestion is deliberately gentle and by the look on his face, Nikolai knows that he's expecting a fight. Maybe he expects the pilot to blow up at him like he has before on one of his worst days, a memory that causes guilt to hack away at what little parts he has that remain undamaged.

Instead, he lowers himself onto the edge of their bed and pretends to miss John's obvious relief.

The other man is quick to park himself beside Nikolai only to fall back until he's sprawled on top of the duvet, fingers hooked on the edge of the mattress as he stares up at their ceiling.

"Back's fucked today. Was thinking of staying in for a bit but if neither of us are up to it then we could go for a lazy day. Bed and Bond, best way to go."

He glances down at his partner, catching the faint grimace on his face as he tries to shift his weight off of the lower left side of his back.

"Okay."

For both of their sakes, he can succumb to his desire for laziness in the name of pain relief.

"C'mere, lie down with me. Can get a catnap in if I've got a good-looking man in my bed and he'll let me use him as a pillow."

The sincerity in John's tone is almost sickening, as is the warm look as he lifts his head just to admire Nikolai. There's an undeniable honesty about the devotion that the other man dedicates to him, his very existence even in its worst state is something that John cherishes. It almost makes him feel bad for doubting them both.

So, he nudges John's shoulder and waits for the other man to settle back onto the side of the bed that he had abandoned only an hour ago before he makes the move to lie down. The pain in his knee is no longer torturous, throbbing lessened to a mere irritation.

The pilot feigns exasperation almost as well as the captain often hides it. "Flattery will gain you nothing."

In lieu of responding, John just plants his face on one of his tits and nuzzles into his chest hair.

[copperbadge]

Hi Sam! I wanted to ask if you feel lately like you've been getting anything positive out of your therapy, because a lot of your initial thoughts about it kind of mirror mine. I'm very logical (except when I'm upset at myself) and very skeptical, so I feel like a therapist either isn't going to tell me anything new, or that I'm going to just disregard it because I can't trick myself into believing things that I just plain don't believe.

But I'm also starting to come to a realization, two years after my ADHD diagnosis and letting go (without therapy!) of most of the executive dysfunction-fueled self worth issues I was having, that I'm kind of Not Okay in other ways. I'm safe —going to work every day and doing my job so I won't lose my livelihood and have never had a self harm urge in my life— But I'm not really okay. I'm having major self esteem issues related to my personality separate from the executive dysfunction that are putting me in a bad place. I don't want to take antidepressants for reasons I won't go into but that means my other option is therapy and... I don't know if I'm a person that therapy will actually work on. I found a lot of validation in some of your perspectives, about affirmations being bullshit and "mindfulness" exercises feeling impossible and useless, about not having an inner monologue and how that might be causing issues with traditional methods. So I was just wondering, do you feel like therapy is working now that you've been in it longer?

I've wasted a lot of money on "elective" (and ultimately useless, back to square one) medical nonsense this year and I'm not eager to waste more, but I've also met my insurance deductible so it's the best time to try it if I'm going to.

I mean, it depends on the modality a little but I don't think trying basic talk therapy can hurt, as long as you find a decent therapist. And it's better to try it now when you're feeling Mostly Okay than waiting until you are Really Not Okay. But this entire paragraph comes with a lot of context so....

A lot of what I talked about in terms of struggling with mindfulness, etc. was less related to the therapy I am still in than it was to the DBT class I took at Therapist's suggestion. We were both aware that she was basically throwing stuff at the wall to see what stuck, and while it was an interesting class I don't think for me it was helpful. As you mention, I struggled with affirmations and visualization since neurologically I'm not really set up for those; I don't think they're objectively bullshit but I do think there's an assumption within the mental health industry that they will have function for everyone and that's simply untrue, and the expectation that it will is very damaging. I also struggled with the physical-intervention aspects (called TIPP usually) which didn't work at all for me and felt frankly like doctor-approved self harm. DBT can get very culty, which set off a ton of red flags for me -- possibly false flags, but they still waved real big.

And that's because I also have a lot of trust issues surrounding therapy. To the point where, the minute one of the people running the DBT class made actually quite gentle fun of me for asking a question he couldn't answer, I checked out on anything he said. We were learning about a DBT concept called Wise Mind and I asked, "If wise mind is an identifiable mental state, how do we know if we're in it?" and when he couldn't quite answer beyond "It's different for everyone" I said, "But if we know it's real there must be some kind of common denominator, a measurable data point," and he said "Well, Sam, you're not going to levitate" and the rest of the class laughed. Sorry bud, this is almost certainly an over-reaction, but I'm me and you lost me when you came at me instead of just admitting you didn't know. (Also it turns out I just live in Wise Mind like 80% of the time which is one reason I couldn't tell.)

But basic talk therapy outside of DBT is just...you talk at someone about your problems and come up with ways to try and solve them, which is a lot more straightforward and way less frustrating. You have to be an active participant, you have to both have a goal and be willing to discuss reaching it, but that goal can be as simple as just "figure out what my mental health goals should be" at first. You don't have to learn like, vocabulary for it.

The thing is, while I have seen some improvement in regulation issues, I also struggle with basic talk therapy. Most people, and this blew my mind, see measurable improvement in nine to eighteen therapy sessions. A lot of people don't go long-term, they just are having a moment and get help getting through the moment and then can disengage, with their therapist's approval.

I was in therapy consistently from the age of nine to eighteen and only stopped because I reached legal majority and physically refused to go.

Not one minute of those nine years did I want to be there. And, because none of the three therapists I saw across those years actually explained to me why I was there or how therapy worked, for me it felt like "Your punishment for having feelings is to speedrun every feeling you had this week in an hour, to a stranger." There was also what my current therapist believes to be some extremely unethical behavior going on, which didn't help.

So it has taken actually a lot of time to get to a place where I would even allow her to understand what help I need. I've been in therapy for about a year (generally weekly but there have been some gaps) and it has only recently gotten deeper than very basic interpersonal problem-solving.

Like, two weeks ago I told her, "I had a thought this week that I couldn't tell you about something I was doing because then you'd have material on me" (meaning blackmail material) "and that's a fucked-up thing to think." And once I'd actually identified it as fucked up I had zero issue telling her about it, wasn't even nervous as I did so. Who's she going to tell? She's literally legally constrained from telling.

I think well over half of what she does is either validate that whatever emotion I'm having is normal, affirm my reactions so I don't keep believing I behaved weirdly, or praise something I've done that was a positive act. Does this work? Not always, because I'm unfortunately very aware that it's part of her job to do those things. But yeah, sometimes. Even if you don't fully believe it, "Hey that was a really smart move" is nice to hear. Sometimes she helps me come up with a plan for stressful future events or (rarely) behavior modification, and sometimes she either provides me with research or points me towards research I can do on my own. We don't do meditation or affirmations or stuff like that.

Like, last week I brought up the fact that I hadn't really ever thought about how if I have a disability that causes emotional dysregulation and I got it from my parents, they also likely had undiagnosed emotional dysregulation when raising me. So she said I should look into research on children with emotionally dysregulated parents. I was pretty annoyed by what I found (the ONE TIME adults are the focus instead of the kids is the ONE TIME I needed to learn about the kids, really?) but it led to something that was both informative and upsetting, so we discussed that. And when I was stumped about how to move forward with the information, she suggested that my general coping mechanism of writing about it was probably a good plan.

(At which point I just silently advanced my powerpoint presentation to the next slide, where I had a series of quotes from the Shivadh novels where Michaelis, acting as a parent, repeatedly does the exact opposite of the upsetting thing, because I realized even before the meeting that it's an ongoing theme in my work whenever I deal with people being parents. It's a good thing she has a sense of humor and also that I do.)

So yeah. Going into therapy you have to be ready to reject a therapist if you don't like them or if they get weird and pushy, you have to be ready to be a self-advocate, but you are the client; it shouldn't be super difficult to find someone who can at least walk you through what you want from it and agree not to do the stuff you don't want, and if you want to stop going you just...stop going.

Good luck, in any case! I hope you get what you need, whether or not that ends up being therapy.

[jerreeeeeee]

i don't think taako's voice is really all that high most of the time. it's higher than justin's normal voice a little, but idk, the defining quality of it isn't its pitch to me, there's something else that i don't really have the words for. but anyway i do notice that his voice gets lower and less exaggerated when he's being serious. which is interesting bc it sort of implies that the usual "taako voice" is something he puts on.

i don't really think of taako as a habitual performer. his charisma modifier is a -1, he's not this ultra smooth charming actor, and although he does tend to hide behind humor and is slow to build connections, he's also very frank with what he's about and what he wants. he goes on an entire tirade about wanting to talk about his feelings (he's multidimensional!), he never acts embarrassed or hesitant about big moments of vulnerability and caring for others (arms outstretched, "i'm not going fucking anywhere," admitting a deep fear to kravitz on their first date, spilling his tragic backstory to angus, not to mention several serious moments with lup) (and not all of these can be chalked up to "forgotten connections," either. he does have a foundation of growth with magnus and merle, even forgotten, and his conversations with lup are of course all with memories intact, but he does not have that with kravitz and angus). he's just slow to reveal all of his hidden depths, because of (understandable) trust issues. but all in all he's not nearly as closed off as i think fandom tends to portray him (which is not to say he's open, either), nor is he someone who wears a lot of masks and obscures himself. i don't think he hides his "true self."

sizzle it up was successful because of his intelligence, not his charisma. he's a natural teacher who's knowledgeable and passionate, and that was what made the show great, not his personality or performance (though i don't think those were bad. just not the primary appeal of the show. the only fan we see is ren, and she loved sizzle it up because it inspired her and taught her to cook, not because she thought taako was awesome or whatever). bc that's the thing, he's not a performer, but he is extremely adaptable. so when he's set up with a stagecoach and a show lined up, sure, he'll have a TV persona, he'll learn to be charming, he'll learn to be showy, when he's on stage. when he gets famous, he learns to like being famous, but i don't think it was really a dream of his before then. or at least not in the way people think of it. i don't think he ever wanted to be a celebrity as much as a celebrity chef or celebrity wizard. he doesn't care if people think he's pretty. he doesn't want people to adore him (before the voidfish, anyway. afterwards is a different story. there's a void where love used to be that he's desperate to fill, and adoration almost feels like it works). really what he wants is for people to appreciate his skill and intelligence and depth (and he's also very afraid of actually displaying those things. he's multidimensional).

but most of the time, when he's not literally performing for an audience, i just don't think he's putting on a show, desperate for people to like him and think he's charming. he'll do what he needs to do, say what he needs to say, be who he needs to be in any given circumstance, with strangers and antagonists, but he also drops the act when it's not necessary. or at least his performance is subtler. he performs stupidity, he performs nonchalance, he makes efforts to be funny (because he is always funny, but that's something you have to work for and always be thinking about, even when the humor is dry), he carefully does just enough to be useful, but not enough to raise expectations. he's very aware of how other people view him, but he's also perfectly okay with people thinking negatively about him—as long as they're the negative traits he wants people to see. but, he only does all those things in the beginning of the show; after a little while with magnus and merle, after a little while with the bob, he drops the act. so i guess that's the difference to me. he's adaptable out of necessity, it doesn't bleed into his entire life. i don't even really think i'd qualify it as a performance. it's more of an invisibility. he's not performing charisma to get people to like him, he's trying to lay low. but then when he actually wants people to like him, he's himself, fairly unapologetically. with the people who matter, lup, magnus and merle, kravitz, the other bob members, the other ipre crew, he's pretty comfortable with himself.

one last interesting point is that while he doesn’t seem to hesitate when it comes to actions, he does shy away from verbal displays of affection, trust, vulnerability. and the best two scenes to show that play out almost exactly the same: lup’s best day ever dinner, and dropping his disguise self with kravitz. in each, taako does something meaningful for both npcs, who then verbalize their affection for him, which taako immediately deflects with a joke.

taako drops his disguise spell for kravitz, totally honest with him, (although… i don’t tend to think the beauty sacrifice was as meaningful to taako as fandom tends to portray, i think most of his vanity is an exaggeration he intentionally cultivates, but still, it’s a vulnerable moment, he clearly cares what kravitz thinks), and kravitz tells him he loves him. to which taako replies with a joke. he does not return the words.

taako doesn’t hesitate to construct the best day ever for lup, never even questions why she’d ask. he puts it all together, cooks for her, shows her he knows her, he loves her—and then when she bears her heart to him, tells him he is her heart, all he says is, “i know,” and pulls out a bottle of vodka. of course lup knows he loves her, the whole day was an elaborate demonstration of it, but he doesn’t say anything. to be fair, it’s not exactly a typical interaction between them, taako is textually scared shitless, lup did just tell him she’s going to turn herself into an undead abomination, so he’s not exactly at his best here. but anyway.

i don’t really have anything to add to this observation, it’s just very consistent and interesting to me. taako is fairly comfortable with grand gestures, but sidesteps around words. which ties in perfectly with his identity as a chef, to me. cooking is an action, work, intention, cooking for people is an act of love, an act of connection, an act of caring, and taako’s character doesn’t fit the bill for that—except, he kinda really does.

[stayteezdreams]

Christmas Comfort

Plot: You expected to be spending this Christmas alone, left with your own thoughts and loneliness. But your boyfriend and best friends have a surprise for you.

Pairing: Han Jisung x Gn!Reader (est. relationship) + Reader & Stray Kids

A/n's: I'm gonna be real with you, this fic is entirely self serving and a comfort fic for myself. I lost both of my parents this year and they were the only close family I had left. So I will be alone for Christmas for the first time. So I wanted to write something to give myself a little comfort, and help anyone else who might be in a similar situation. I did not give any particulars for why the reader is alone, so hopefully more people can relate if they are alone this Christmas too.

Warnings: Mentions of loneliness, general sadness. Angsty but comforting.

Words: 2k

It felt odd, being alone for Christmas. Before, you would be celebrating with family or friends, enjoying the usual traditions, foods, and movies. You'd have fun decorating the house and the tree. But it was all different this year.

The traditions became memories. The foods unmade; the movies unwatched. Aside from a few decorations you set around your apartment, nothing in your home told you it was Christmas at all. No lights. No tree. No presents. Nothing.

You never really expected that it would end just like that.

If you had known last Christmas would have been the last one you had the way you were used to, you would have cherished it more.

It wasn’t that you hated Christmas now, or didn’t want to celebrate, you just didn’t see the point. Not when you were alone.

You enjoyed talking to your boyfriend Han about all the things he was doing with his family, the group chat between you and the boys was lively. You didn’t tell them how you were feeling, or that you were completely alone. They knew things were different this year, but you had hidden a lot of it from them.

You didn’t want to take away their joy of celebrating with their families after working so hard. They had all been gone for about a week now, and you admittedly did miss them. Their presence made it a lot easier for you to escape the threatening emotions lingering beneath. Now that they were gone, it was getting harder.  

It was three days before Christmas, and you could feel it slowly getting harder to feel nothing.

When the boys asked you what you were doing, you never really lied, but you didn’t tell them the whole truth. Yes, you did bake Christmas cookies, but they were for your neighbors you barely even knew. You did decorate, by putting a wreath on your door, and setting out a couple cute pillows.

You weren’t necessarily sad or disappointed in not having a real Christmas this year. But you had to admit, it felt…empty. Nothing would feel the same again and you knew that. But next year, it will be different. It won’t be as difficult to find the familiar Christmas joy. But this year, you would have to grow comfortable with your own company for now. And just hope that the lingering feeling deep in your gut won’t become too unbearable.

You could do this. You can do it. It will be okay. You may be lonely now, but you aren’t alone.

Looking at the group chat as an array of messages came through, you smiled and scoffed at the jokes and playful insults. Something clenched in your chest, and you took a deep breath.

You had such a good handle on your emotions. You were doing okay. You’re okay.

“I’m okay.” You mumbled to yourself, trying to settle your quivering heart.

Setting aside your phone, you went back to reading your book, forgetting about the group chat, and missing the slow awareness by the others that you were slowly talking less and less over the last few days.

You were also unaware of the conversations going on in the group chat you weren’t a part of. The discussions of a plan nearly finished.

Did you think they wouldn’t notice? How you would slowly drop from the conversations that centered around Christmas. That you would be excited for everyone but give vague replies when it came to yourself. Did you think they didn’t know you were alone? That you were hurting in ways you were too afraid to worry them with?

You were family. Even if you convinced yourself, you weren’t as important as that to them.

Han tried to bring you back to visit his family with him, but you had to work. But he also knew it was because it would be difficult for you to adjust right now, to being in the middle of someone else’s Christmas, someone else’s traditions, you wanted familiarity. But you no longer had that.

It was Han’s plan originally, to go home as early as he could, celebrate with his family, and return to you. When the others heard this, they wanted to join too. They all knew how hard this year was for you. And how hard you were trying to hide it. They wanted you to know you weren’t alone, they didn’t want you to wallow in your own pain.

“Hello?” You asked with a smile as you answered Han’s call.

“Babbyyyy.” He said loudly, making you chuckle.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“I just went on a walk remember. Oh, then I stopped at a little café, but I’, heading back home now. How about you? Did you go to the market with your mom?”

“Nope!”

“Oh, then what?”

“I was preparing a secret Christmas surprise.”

“Uh oh.”

“Uh-oh? What do you mean uh-oh?!” His sassy tone made you laugh. “I’ll have you know it’s the best surprise I’ve ever pulled off!”

“Oh really? What is this surprise then?”

“I’m not telling you now!”

You laughed, “Oh come on! I wanna know!”

“You really wanna know?”

“Yes.”

“Let me ask you something first.”

“Okay?”

“Are you okay?”

Your heart jumped a bit, and you let out a soft laugh, though it was forced. “What?”

“You haven’t been responding to the group chat, and your texts with me are always vague. I wanted to know if you were lying about being okay.”

Your heart was pounding a bit now, “Why are you suddenly asking that?”

“Because I want you to know I noticed. That I didn’t miss it. That none of us did.”

You stopped in your tracks for a moment, how could you expect Han to not notice you weren’t okay? He noticed everything about you, even when he wasn’t there. It was one of the reasons you loved him so much. He saw you, in ways no one else did.

The boys too. They were always there when you needed them, even when you didn’t ask. They always noticed when you went quiet for a little too long. They noticed when you seemed withdrawn or evasive. And then they wouldn’t leave you alone until you told them everything.  

Halfway through your walk today, you spent a little too long thinking about the things you no longer had. You cried. For the first time in a while. You had always stopped the tears before they fell, but today you couldn’t.

It was Christmas and you were so sad.

But Han made you smile, and you loved him for that. And now he was telling you he knew, somehow, that you weren’t okay anymore. That you failed at keeping it together.

“You knew this Christmas was going to be a hard one for me.” You said softly.

He asked if you wanted him to stay, to not go home, but you refused. You would not take that from him, no matter what was going on with you. So, he left, reluctantly, but he left.

“Of course I knew.”

You felt tears brimming in your eyes again as you reached your door. “I was just hoping I was wrong.” You finished softly.

“Hey baby?” Han’s voice was suddenly quiet.

“Hmm?” You unlocked your door, waiting for his response.

“Merry Christmas.”

As the door swung open, you came face to face with not only Han, phone still to his ear, but all of the boys, sitting around your living room. Their faces held smiles, as they anxiously waited for your reaction to them being here.

Your house was covered in Christmas lights and decorations. And in the previously empty corner, was a large Christmas tree. On the wall, a line of stockings filled with what you assumed was candy.

Littering the tables and floor were various loose decorations, tinsel and boxes. You assumed while you had gone out, Han, having his own key, snuck all of them in and they decorated your house as much as they could before you returned.

“Wh- how-“you hesitated as you looked around at them in surprise.

“Surprise!” They all cheered out, Changbin tossing tinsel in the air as Lee Know twirled around some ribbon.

Your eyes locked with Han’s as he slowly put down the phone with a grin. Unable to stop the sudden emotions that came over you, tears became obvious as you stared at them all, still in shock, but overcome with emotions you had been repressing.

Their faces changed from bright smiles to looks of concern mixed with relief. This is what they wanted, but they hated it at the same time. You needed to let everything out that you had been holding in. And now it was happening.

Han rushed forward and pulled you into a hug, the others stood around, allowing him the moment as you cried into his shoulder.

He gently swayed you as he hushed you and gently rubbed his hands down your back. “I know baby. But I’m here now, okay?”

Slowly, the others surrounded you, hugging you and patting your head, giving you comforting words and reassurance.

After a few moments you stepped away from Han and looked around at them before letting out a strangled laugh, knowing you must look terrible now. “Why did you all come here?”

“Because you’re our family Y/n.” Chris said as if it was obvious. “And we never leave our family alone.”

“We’re sorry we didn’t tell you we were going to come back.” Felix added in, “Originally it was just Han’s idea, then we all decided we wanted to surprise you too.”

“We hated that you were suffering alone without telling us.” Hyunjin broke in, a frown on his face.

You looked at Han, “You were always planning on coming back early?”

He nodded, “You told me I had to go see my family, I did.”

“But it’s Christmas.”

“Exactly!” Lee Know said with a somewhat harsh, but at the same time caring, tone, “And you were alone. That’s unacceptable.”

“We got to spend time with our families.” Chris started, “And now we are doing it again, here, with you.”

You sniffled again as another wave of emotions threatened to spill out. You wanted to protest some more, but you knew there was no point. They were here now, and even if part of you wished they hadn’t left their families for you, you were relieved, and so grateful that they cared enough for you to come back.

“Thank you.” You mumbled out as you repressed the urge to cry again.

Seungmin ruffled your hair, “Don’t cry anymore Y/n, you’re ugly when you cry!”

Turning, you smacked him, making him laugh, which in return made you smile. Changbin grabbed at him while jokingly cursing at him for what he said.

Han grabbed you and pulled you back into his chest as he playfully pointed threateningly at Seungmin before he wrapped his arms protectively around you.

After everyone settled down, and you had finished crying, for the most part. You sat down on the couches as the boys decided to surprise you with presents.

“What are all these?”

“We got you presents, duh!” Seungmin said as he waved one in front of your face.

“Oh, wait!” You said as you rose before sprinting off to another room. When you came back, you had a large box in your hand full of wrapped presents. “I planned to give these to you when you came back.”

There was a chorus of ‘awes’ and gasps as you set down the box of their presents.

“Gift exchange!” Han said happily as he pulled you into his lap.

As everyone playfully argued about who should open something first, you looked around at them with a grateful smile.

Yes, the heartache of change still sat heavy in your chest. But one thing that would never change was this. Your found family. The ones who knew you inside and out.

Han, who loved every part of you and accepted you. Who always made you smile and feel wanted.

And your friends, your brothers, who took care of you in ways you never had before.

Yes, things were different now, and the pain of that would still linger for a long time. But you had them. You weren’t alone. Not anymore, and never again.

xx End xx

And that's it for the 12 Days of Christmas 2024!

I know if sort of ended on an angsty note, but I hope you all enjoyed the fics!

((Taglist Form))

12 Days of Christmas Taglist: @multi-fandommaniac, @mbruben-stein

General Taglist:  @charmsprout, @brattybunfornct, @bahng-chrizz, @otakutrash669,

@tinyelfperson, @pinievsev, @teenyfinds, @everythingboutkpop,

@shymexican, @stillwjk-channie-lixie, @alexxavicry

Stray Kids Taglist: @laylasbunbunny, @skz1-4-3, @prettymiye0n, @thunderous-wolf, @thedistractedwriter,

@briqnne, @dinossaurz, @carattinymoa, @stay3096,

@vnessalau, @3rachasninja, @life-is-a-game-of-thrones

Han: @dear-dreamie

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Alright while we're on the topic. A huge pet peeve of mine is when Ed's arc in s2 is described as a "redemption arc" because I think that MASSIVELY misses the point.

Ed did not need a redemption arc. That implies that he'd need to learn that his behavior was wrong. The huge misread in this take is that Ed is perfectly aware how shitty his behavior is, and that's the point. Ed knows that his actions during the kraken spiral are wrong, and he's doing them explicitly as a form of self-harm because he believes he's only capable of that kind of behavior; that there is something fundamentally broken in him that means this kind of behavior is innate to him and defines him.

Also - it's such a cruel take, I think. Ed isn't a badly-behaving child who needs to learn he's been bad. He was a deeply traumatized man in the middle of an intense suicidal ideation spiral that culminated in a suicide attempt that Ed has framed as needing to be put down, like the wild dog Izzy says he is. I'm not saying that this is an excuse; the crew are justified in being fucking pissed with Ed, but you just can't judge it in the same way as if he'd been acting like that for fun. OFMD dares to offer up the apparently scorching hot take that people who hurt others during an active suicide attempt still deserve compassion, healing, and community.

There's a reason why the crew forgive Ed so quickly. There's a reason that the Kraken crew, who are not blind, watched Ed sail the ship directly into a storm minutes after they can probably only assume, having only heard the noises, that he's shot Izzy, and they're still debating if he's getting better unti the mutiny. There's a reason Jim takes so fucking long to do anything, even with Ed stalling and stalling. There's a reason why we're shown the crew's guilt - they're right to be angry with Ed, of course, but Ed is also someone who they care about who was hurting so, so badly, and they weren't able to get through to him and help him. It's complicated and nuanced and there's a reason that Jim gives Ed a hard time to his face during his YouTuber apology but then is immediately saying afterwards they're fine and they thought his apology was pretty good.

Within the context of OFMD, up until the mutiny, Ed's behavior is "a bit much." Archie's there specifically to show us that, and of course Ed never lays a hand on any crew member (Izzy, who admitted on his deathbed that he's been emotionally abusing Ed knowingly for years, is an outlier adn should not be counted). And the crew all know that Ed's just...not like that normally. Throughout s1, Ed's shown to be supportive, easy and genuine with praise, genuinely caring about the crew's safety...the crew never even mention mutiny until Ed forces their hand because they know what he's like when he's okay, and they know he's not okay.

Ed didn't need redemption. He needed support to heal and to get to see himself for who he is outside of the caricature he felt forced into.

[shadowshrike]

Interfering with Halsin's Portal

It's pretty well known that there are a few situations you can get in where Halsin is well and truly angry rather than disappointed or worried, but I don't think a lot of folks know one of those situations is if you mess with his portal to the Shadowfell. It's a heartwrenching bit of acting. It's also fundamental to the plot of my in-progress fic Girdled Roots, so I figured I might share it with the other Halsin-lovers out there who have never seen it.

EDIT: Please be aware this is datamined dialog and may not be visible in game. It appears to be intended to trigger if the player attempts to enter the portal, which I don't believe is possible in the final game, or at least I couldn't find a way in the most recent version. Sharing this is simply to enjoy the incredible acting and get some plot bunnies moving, not to make any commentary about the game's canon.

Halsin's Initial Reaction

Halsin: No! Stop! Halsin: It's gone... that was our one chance. You've doomed this place to darkness! Halsin: I warned you - told you this was my burden to carry. Why didn't you listen?

The pure rage and despair is visceral. Prior to this, Halsin mentions this portal has been a century in the making, but he's so calm and measured (even upon success) that it is easy to dismiss just how much agony has plagued him as he hoped to make things right. This chance is everything to him. It has guided his every action for a century. It is a hundred years of work, prayer, and guilt to rectify the horrific fate of both land and people that came to nothing because a stranger he trusted refused to listen to him.

The portal breaking is the only time we hear Halsin speak the truth of its importance to him without a hint of emotional regulation. He is wild with pain. This man who is always thoughtful and slow to anger in the face of horror with the wisdom of age and suffering to guide him has become too overwhelmed to show any kindness.

Player response

The player is given several different ways to respond, and Halsin's reaction varies a surprising amount depending on how understandable their reason is. In most cases, he states that he needs to be alone afterward.

Option 1: I'm sorry - I acted on instinct. Halsin: Words won't repair what's been done to this land. Nothing will... I need to be alone.

You can hear the ache in Halsin's voice, but he's somewhat understanding of this response. He projects more sadness than unchecked rage. The player has admitted to making a mistake, and Halsin isn't the type of person who hold onto vengeance when an apology has been made, but he's not naive or people-pleasing enough to say "it's okay" or offer comfort either. The safest thing for everyone is for him to step away to grieve when there is nothing more to be done.

Option 2: I did all the work here - I couldn't just let you take the glory. Halsin: Glory?! There's no glory here. Now there's nothing here - only shadows and the total absence of hope. Halsin:  There is nothing more to be said... I need to be alone.

Pure fury radiates from Halsin's response if the player focuses on the idea of being some grand hero rather than actually caring for the outcome. What the player did was an unforgiveable act, dooming everything that Halsin holds dear, and you have the audacity to complain about not getting glory from it. Again, he steps away, but this feels more like he's doing it because he believes you're worthless to reason with rather than because he needs a moment.

Option 3: I saved your grove - I figured it'd be best if I handled this as well. Halsin: We were this close to healing these lands. Now your arrogance has torn open the wounds once more. Halsin:  There is nothing more to be said... I need to be alone.

Halsin is still frustrated with this response and unmistakably angry, but it's significantly toned down from the idea of wanting to go through the portal for glory. More like he thinks you're a self-important idiot than a truly terrible person.

Specialized player responses

There are also three special responses you can give if you have a particular class or diety.

Druid: I thought my powers were equal to yours. Halsin: It wasn't just power this needed - it was wisdom, understanding. I suffered along with this place for years trying to understand the curse... and it seems I will continue to do so. Halsin:  There is nothing more to be said... I need to be alone.

Interestingly, he responds much more intensely to a druid than some of the other player choices. It might be in part because he feels like a druid should know better. He lectures the player like an Archdruid would initiates in his Grove, alternating between angry and explanatory, trying to get the player to understand why they were wrong and the sheer magnitude of their error. He ultimately ends in a much more resigned place here rather than personally resentful. Like a father-figure being forced through further life trials because of a child's foolish indiscretion. Frustrating, but inevitable.

Selunite: I trusted in Selûne to guide me through the shadows. Halsin: My friend - I wish you had trusted in me.

This is probably Halsin's most simple response with the least vitriol. He fully understands this answer, even if he's disappointed by it. The fact he calls the player 'friend' suggests a certain tired acceptance of this being a natural behavior for a Selunite trying to do good. We don't see this calm in other responses where Halsin was surprised by the player's choice.

Sharran: The Shadowfell is no place for non-believers - I couldn't allow you to soil it. Halsin: I should never have trusted an ally of the Dark Lady.

If you've ever taken Halsin along with Shadowheart in Act 2, then you know he is absolutely scathing toward her and her faith. He likely isn't as angry if a Sharran breaks the portal because it is utterly predictable. It merely confirms a truth he already knew and talked himself out of. That Sharrans cannot be fully trusted in matters of their goddess, even if one was good enough to rescue his people from the goblins.