#I need to draw them or something like that

[liloinkoink]

the planned monthly update rate for ddvau is fucking insane and i wanna tell you why bc i feel like doody and maruu need more recognition for the shit they’re pulling off to bring ddvau to you guys

so first off. hi. if you do not know me. i am a webcomic fiend. i am not an artist nor have i ever drawn a comic, web or otherwise, but i have been an avid webcomic reader for a very long time. i’ve been reading and following, without exaggeration, hundreds of webcomics consistently for about a decade. at my last count i am currently actively following around 200 ongoing, still-updating, non-hiatus comics in a week across a few sites. i’ve also been following most of my favorite comic’s artists on other social media and reading about the process of webcomic making from them. these are my credentials for Knowing Things About Comics—no personal experience, but a decade of observation

that in mind. ddvau is a page format webcomic (as opposed to a scrolling format webcomic, like the sort of thing you generally see on webtoon). both comic formats have their own norms and rules, so we’re just gonna compare ddvau to other page format comics, bc comparing page and scrolling format is comparing different animals

most if not all page format webcomics update at a rate of one or two pages a week. i’d say loosely i’ve observed that hobbyists or people with busy full time jobs tend to update once weekly, while people making some income off the comic or with more time to dedicate to the comic might update twice, tho this isn’t a rule.

this means you generally see roughly 4-8 pages a month for most page format webcomics

the most recent two monthly chapters of ddvau were 18 and 16 pages. both of them were double the rate that’s standard for the medium and has been standard for the last decade i’ve been reading webcomics

genuinely i don’t know how else to get across how insane that rate is. like. if they were updating at a "one-page-per-update, x many updates a week" rate like most page format comics do, they’d be updating four days a week. they would be releasing a page on at least half of the days of month. do you have any idea how absolutely fucking crazy that is? double the pace of the average artist in their medium. i haven’t been able to get over it since i realized it

and this is double the normal workload/rate of a page format webcomic artist on top of weekly art on doody’s kofi! a bunch of extra sketches or even full color illustrations! i happen to know one of the next weekly kofi arts that is coming out will be a bunch of full color, which is, and i cannot stress this enough, a fucking insane choice and doody is crazy. and doody also draws the merch that they make! i know for a fact those two are planning to do several merch drops this year with unique new designs in every one

(and like, i didn’t even touch on the extra work maruu is also doing, like helping manage the fan discord or coordinating the merch drops and running the shop with their merch and shipping companies, as well as maruu’s work as a writer and her color work on the comic itself, simply bc i don’t understand much of anything maruu is doing there enough to talk about it in depth. what i DO know is that those two rlly are lucky to have each other, bc someone could not to all the shit they’re doing at the rate they’re doing it alone)

which… kind of points me to the whole point of making this post. doody and maruu are doing something absolutely fucking phenomenal and delivering wayyyy more shit to you guys than is standard or like. honestly more than what is reasonable i think you two are crazy. the amount of work that is going into ddvau behind the scenes is fucking unbelievable, like, “the longer i think about it the less i can wrap my head around it” level of unbelievable to me. especially with how consistently high quality ddvau is, especially these last few episodes

i guess my point is. the work these guys are doing is crazy and way above the standard pace, so much higher than anythign ive personally seen from any hobbyist webcomic makers. i'm sure that's lost on a lotta readers who aren't otherwise familiar w the medium, but i dont want it lost how crazy impressive and kind of unprecedented it is for a webcomic, esp one without any professional publishing backing. doody and maruu are something else for even attempting this tbqh.

so like. keep that in mind when you engage w the comics, esp in the next few months while doody and maruu try out this "full chapter every month" update pace, and def make sure to give em the support and grace they've earned w this sorta workload/pace they're setting just to bring you the story you love

[g1rld1ary]

well kept secret - spencer reid x hotch's daughter!reader

wc: 1420

cw: none!

me: back on my criminal minds grind... also im not gonna lie to u guys i just got back from a hosue party and im extremely drunk, so if u see any mistakes don't be afraid to lmk. also if u have any requests for hotch!daughter pls send them thru bc im heavy into reid rn i just adore him <3

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“Who is that?” JJ asked, pointing subtly over to the figure walking cautiously out of the elevator doors. The figure, of course, being you, nervously trying to find your way around the glitzy BAU offices.

“God knows we needed a new pretty face around here — no offence, ladies,” Morgan laughed, drawing well-humoured insults from the women of the office.

“I for one don’t take any offence, her shoes are so cute!” Garcia gushed from over Morgan’s shoulder, eyes locked on your sleek black heels.

“Oh my god, they look just like the ones in that window we passed on the way to dinner, don’t you remember? Even Hotch said they were nice!” Kate wheeled her way into the conversation on her swivel chair.

It was a slow day around the office, not something that went unappreciated, so each agent was eagerly amenable to conversation.

“Reid, come over here,” Morgan beckoned, “Has she ever been here before?”

“Me?” He spluttered, eyes searching frantically, “Why would you ask me? Hundreds of people come into this building every day, let alone the thousands we see on the street every day, on cases—”

“And you have an eidetic memory kid, are you thinking straight or is the pretty girl messing up Boy Genius?”

Reid would drop dead before admitting that Morgan’s words had any truth to them, but his usually overactive speech pattern was halted by the vision of you entering the office’s glass double doors. His mouth dried out as you looked around, obviously unsure of where you were headed.

“No,” He finally answered, “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

“She looks lost. Kind of scared, even?” JJ was giving her signature maternal look, concern etched into her face and Garcia was up before anyone could tell her it might not have been a good idea.

The gang watched from afar as your expression brightened from worried to delighted as Garcia began to chat with you, eyes gleaming as you pointed down to your heels. Clearly she’d repeated the earlier compliment.

“Hi! I’m Penelope Garcia, technical analyst, and you are gorgeous. I’m in love with your shoes!” The introduction and compliment took you by surprise but you were by no means disappointed, replying with equal giddiness.

“Thank you so much, my Dad bought them for me!” You extended your right leg slightly to show off the heel more holistically, “And I just love your outfit, the glasses are everything.”

Garcia gushed her own appreciation as the two of you became fast friends, so you chanced a request for help.

“I’m looking for SSA Aaron Hotchner’s office? I know it’s one of the big fancy ones but I’m not sure exactly which.”

“Up those stairs and second door! You can’t miss it, the big boss energy radiates as soon as you go near.” You both laughed and you made sure to thank Garcia profusely.

Reid watched as you pointed up to the private offices, evidently searching for a specific office. He wondered who you could be looking for. He didn’t have to wonder for long as Garcia rushed back, talking a million miles an hour as she explained that you were looking for Hotch. That brought more questions than answers, and the BAU were quick to place bets on what you could possibly want from him.

“Well, she’s certainly too young to be his girlfriend,” Morgan laughed, “Unless Hotch gets down more than we thought.”

“Could be a young woman looking for a mentor? She looks about college age, maybe just graduated?” Kate suggested and JJ nodded in agreement, neither even pretending to be working anymore.

Meanwhile, you’d made your way up to Hotch’s office, knocking softly on the oak door.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, eyebrows raising only slightly, an extreme show of emotion for the man.

“Check your watch, Agent Hotchner,” You smiled, unsurprised that he’d gotten totally consumed by his work.

“Damn,” He huffed under his breath, “I’m sorry, should we go now, then? And what did I tell you about calling me that?”

“Sorry, Dad,” You emphasised the title, “And yeah, let’s head. I’m starving.”

Down in the bullpen, even Rossi had been roped into the shenanigans.

“You’re the closest with Hotch, if anyone would know who she is it’s you!” JJ said, the rest of the group agreeing.

“Why don’t you just, I don’t know, ask him?” Rossi shook his head like he was dealing with small children. Sometimes he was convinced he was.

You took Hotch’s offered arm and the two of you left his office, making quiet smalltalk. The office fell eerily quiet as you two emerged from the behind the closed door, and you got the distinct impression that the BAU had all been talking about you.

Obviously Hotch noticed the team very unsuccessfully playing it cool and muttered a curse, signalling to you to head over to them. You supposed you were going to finally get your formal introductions.

“This is Rossi, Derek Morgan, JJ, Kate Cunningham, Penelope Garcia, and Doctor Spencer Reid. Guys, this is my daughter.”

If you thought there was silence before, it was nothing compared to when Hotch dropped that bomb. You could hear a pin drop.

“Um, it’s really nice to meet you all! I’ve heard so many stories about your work.”

“And we’ve never heard anything about you, pretty girl.”

“Morgan,” Hotch warned with hardly any bite as you laughed off Morgan’s playful flirting.

“Derek Morgan you are exactly like I was told. You too, Penelope, my father was not exaggerating about your outfits.”

“I thought you were starving?” Hotch changed the subject to tease you, nudging you to get moving.

“Alright, alright, I get it. You don’t want me taking all your friends,” You grinned, getting moving nonetheless. The BAU laughed, both charmed and confused by you. It wasn’t unbelievable you were Hotch’s daughter — your quiet confidence and posture was the same, but your friendliness and more easily understandable humour set you two apart.

“Bye everyone!” You called over your shoulder as Hotch rushed you out the doors, clearly keen for you to stop making friends with his coworkers.

“She seems nice,” JJ commented, sitting back down in her swivel chair.

“Can we all talk about how Pretty Boy didn’t say a word that whole conversation?” Morgan asked, a hand clamping deviously on Reid’s shoulder.

“Spencer!” Kate laughed, “You don’t have a crush, do you?”

Reid could feel his cheeks heating up of their own accord, his usually genius brain useless to counteract it.

“No!” He blurted out, “I just didn’t want to say something wrong or bore her with facts like I do with you guys.”

“So you do want to impress her?” Garcia teased with a toothy grin as Reid rushed to shake his head no.

“She’s our boss’ daughter, guys. I think all of us should want to impress her, right?”

“I dunno, Reid, I don’t see Morgan or JJ blushing right now,” Rossi chimed in with a laugh before heading back to his office.

You stepped into the elevator with Hotch, chatting happily about your day so far. Your father stuck his hand out to hold the door open with such speed it scared you a little, jumping in your own body. You relaxed when you saw it was just Penelope Garcia, hurrying towards you with a few files in her hands.

“Thank you, sir,” She breathed as the doors closed behind her, “I forgot Rossi wanted these scanned and digitised from the last case!” She punched the button for the third floor. “It was really nice to meet you, by the way. Even if Hotch has kept you a secret all these years.”

“To be totally fair to him, I wouldn’t say he exactly kept me a secret if he only found out I existed a few years ago. It was nice to finally meet you all too, though. I’ve heard so many work stories.”

You bid Garcia goodbye as the doors opened once again. Just as she was almost down the hall she heard your voice whisper, “Why didn’t you tell me doctor Reid was hot and smart?”

Penelope hardly concealed her gasp, delighted at the newfound revelation. This would be fun for her.

[tou-dai]

There are people who keep doing fucked up things

Like rape, abuse, being a nazi etc

If you want them to live among people "like normal", I totally respect that

I think everyone should be safe, healthy, and free

I don't remember what quote it was tho. Something like, "your freedom ends where mine begins"?

I've had 8 concussions so you'll have to excuse me (one of them being from my abusive ex wife, a relationship in which i was .. damn. Only a victim of a crime/series of crimes)

Anyway

Point is i think people saying "separate these people from us in a humane a way as possible" is very reasonable

Considering some of these people do not want to be reformed

I think anyone who is compassionate and considerate of the consequences -- one way or another -- would much rather these people (no matter their demographic) be treated kindly

To be given what they need

But also: do not allow them to hurt others!!!

This is harm reduction!

I think the issue people have

Why they clutch their pearls

Is because we've all done fucked up things

Perhaps for extended periods, knowing, being in our emotions or whatever

Maybe just being ignorant and/or unwell

So we don't want to be exiled or put in jail!

And no one should have their safety, health, and freedom fucked with!!!

But now what?? It's 2025 and you have some of the worst human beings to have existed to be at the helm

Why?

Not only that: but there are people who support and relate to them, no matter what evil shit they do!!

Yall

We need to have a truly real conversation about our acceptance of intolerance and fucked up behavior in various forms

And where we draw the line

Because humanity is going to keep having this happen until we do

Edit bc I think this needs to be said, too:

There are people who want to abuse and people who want to be abused

Just like that old song (which i love ngl)

And i think everyone has a place or inherent worth

It's just our world is not designed to bring the best out of people or nurture them well

But people are also disingenuous about stuff -- they lie to themselves and others about things

Like how good or bad they are. Whether there is such a thing. Where the bar is. When it's appropriate to talk about it etc

Like many many people would say Elon/Trump need to just die

But there are many others who support them and fascism

Exactly what do you propose we do with such people?

With their votes?

How can we help them?

There are disabled minorities, like myself, who are seen as degenerates or useless

But we have many talents and ideas which are amazing

We are not afforded the opportunity to be who and what we are

Yet these assholes are at the helm

What to make of this?

We are fighting.

Who is fighting and how hard? Doesn't that depend on circumstances and constitution?

If you gave me 1 million dollars, I'd keep 100k and give the rest away.

How many could say that?

But people would judge those like me, who have destroyed themselves, body mind and soul

Just to survive

Or to be seen as human

..

I guess we'll have to see how this goes

venmo: @torchport

cashapp: $onepeaceman

"so youre saying we should just allow rapists and abusers to remain in society?" where else would they go ⁉️😭🙏 so confused can you show me this place outside of society

[ivoraic]

JJK Men when they're OBSESSED with You.

featuring: Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Choso, Sukuna, Toji

a/n: just some fluffy (and not so fluffy) headcanons of the jjk men being smitten for you. enjoy ♡

Nanami Kento

Pretends he’s not obsessed, but it’s so obvious in the way he adjusts his entire schedule around you. (You’re the one thing in his life that doesn’t follow a schedule, but he can always make time for you.)

Knows things about you that you don't even remember telling him. Your childhood pet’s name? Your favorite snack from five years ago? The exact way your face twitches when you try not to laugh? He doesn’t just notice, he catalogs it in his mind.

Fixes problems before you even notice them. Something at work stressing you out? Magically resolved. Bills piling up? Suddenly paid. Annoying guy won’t stop texting you? He handled it. (Should you be worried...?)

“I wouldn’t call it obsession. I’d call it making sure you’re taken care of.”

Geto Suguru

The smoothest obsession. He’s calm, calculated, and charming, but know that everything he does is meant to draw you deeper into his orbit.

Lowkey stalks you… but in a way that seems completely normal. Oh, you’re going to that cafe? He just happens to be there too. Oh, you’re walking home? Well, what a coincidence, so is he.

Has a way of making you feel like you’re the only person who understands him, like you’re his one exception in a world full of disappointments. Always treats you like you’re a rare, delicate thing.

“I wouldn’t say I’m obsessed. But I would say that I’ve considered every possible way to make sure you never leave my side.”

Choso

The softest obsession. Absolutely no self-awareness about how deep it runs. He just thinks it’s normal to want to be with you all the time, to always position himself within arm’s reach, to instinctively follow you whenever you leave a room.

Textbook definition of loyalty. If someone so much as raises their voice at you, he’s already on his feet, ready to throw hands.

Physically incapable of ignoring you. You call his name? He’s already looking at you. You text him? His reply is lighting up your phone screen within seconds.

“I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t I want to be around you all the time?”

Sukuna

Denial, denial, denial. “I don’t give a shit about you.” Meanwhile, he’s threatening to level entire cities if someone so much as looks at you wrong.

Unhinged protectiveness. If you get hurt, he takes it personally. Like, seething about it for days, going on a rampage, killing everyone in his way until he finds who it was that hurt you.  (Nobody gets to touch what belongs to the King of Curses and expect to keep their lives.)

Leaves marks on your body - bite marks, handprints, anything to make sure you know you belong to him.

“Be grateful. You’re the only human I’ve ever tolerated this much.”

Toji Fushiguro

Possessive as hell, but in a lazy, confident way, because he knows you’re his. No need to fight for you when he’s already won.

“Where do you think you’re going?” said with a smirk, as he hooks an arm around your waist and yanks you onto his lap.

Teases you constantly but never lets anyone else get away with it. Someone makes a joke at your expense? He’s already cracking his knuckles.

Doesn’t say he’s obsessed, but you can tell from the way his touch is always on you. A hand at the back of your neck, his fingers brushing against yours, his lips grazing your ear when he talks.

“You’re mine. End of story.”

Gojo Satoru

He memorizes everything about you, down to the way your voice sounds when you’re tired, the exact scent of your shampoo, and the way your heartbeat changes when you’re nervous.

Throws his money around just to keep you comfortable. "It’s not spoiling you, it’s basic human decency," he insists as he books an entire first-class cabin just so you can nap peacefully.

Acts ridiculously nonchalant, but the moment someone else shows interest in you, he gets so petty it’s unbelievable. (Flashing his six eyes while standing behind you just to glare at the person, making you wonder why every stranger you talk to always hastily ends the conversation and runs away.)

“Obsession? That’s a strong word. I just happen to think about you every waking moment of my day.”

(Psst by the way, if you liked this there are more gojo fics and drabbles waiting for you on my blog! 🤭)

[sabrondabrainrot]

Recent Art Dump!

Sorry for not consistently posting! I try to keep up on wips etc but it gets easy to be lost and forget to post or I don't have finished art ready and just lose the will because I didn't draw a back ground or something like that.

I hope people like my random wips and doodles and some of my recent finished arts. I love Charlie-Puppet so much I just needed to do another artwork symbolizing how puppet literally died and through the ashes of a fire puppet Charlie was born from her sacrifice. It was so sad but Charlie is such a joy. Her powers developing slowly over time is just so much fun to watch.

I also had to draw Sun comforting Earth, I just love their brother sister bond and I feel like they hold each other and cry. Earth dealing with life long pain is so difficult and i like to imagine Sun is with her every walk of life.

I also had to draw my version/idea for masm sun and moon (want to line and color them soon!) and also Killer Sun my beloved!!!!!!!! I want to draw all the funky variants and I haven't even drawn Eclipse of Solar in a line up!!! A crime!!!!!!

One of my Aus is a Magical Girl au, and Ballora is one of the magical girls in the au I'm going to write and I'm just really happy with her design so I wanted to share it.

So I've been super into the new chapter of poppy playtime and I've been making Aus on Aus, I'm trying to make notes and draw art to post about them but it takes so much dang time!!! I also want to do fanart of other people's AUs if they're ok with it!

[revelboo]

i don't really send in asks often because im much more of a lurker than an interactor, but i think its important that you know how much your work is appreciated. like im reading Everything you put out just because your work is that good and im engaged with characters i barely even Know. you've made me love characters i didn't even give a second glance to. ALSO THE MINI FIGURES. you make me crave them so bad. Everything Is Alright tugs so badly at my heart and i Eagerly await every time you update that one, it's so good and so long and definitely worthy if reread after reread

Thank you! I have a lot of fun writing these stories!

Everything Is Alright Pt 134

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• “You realize Starscream is likely to take you sparking our mate without warning poorly,” Megatron adds and Soundwave vents softly. Watching as Soundwave shifts over you and slides a hand under your middle to make you whimper a sleepy protest at being moved. Hates that the soft noise lifts through him. That he likes it. And then Soundwave is mass shifting back, head sagging forward as his hands tremble faintly cupping you. Needing energon. Your head sleepily lifts before you spot him and then just groan, pressing your face against Soundwave’s palm. ‘Always when I’m naked,’ you mutter. Laughing softly, Megatron ignores that you’re not happy to see him. Pretends that it doesn’t bother him. That even though this is his habsuite, he feels like the intruder as Soundwave fixes his plating to hide away his spike and Megatron reaches to nudge your head until you shoot him a sullen look.

• Swallowing a growl and surprised that he even has the urge to growl at Megatron, Soundwave doesn’t pull you away from Megatron’s reach as the warlord smirks at your attempts to slap at his servo. Lazily toying with you. And he knows the Seeker is likely to throw a tantrum as soon as he finds out, but he can’t even bring himself to care if he upsets Starscream after what the mech had done to him and you both. “What happened to not molesting me?” You ask, smacking Megatron when he uses a servo to roll you onto your back. Growling softly, Soundwave moves you away from the warlord and Megatron shoots him a knowing look, but relents.

• Scowling and desperately wanting a shower, you try to draw your legs up against yourself so everything isn’t just on display even if you can feel Soundwave’s slick between your thighs, too used to all three of them not caring about embarrassing you to even muster the energy to care yourself. Much anyway. And eventually, Megatron is probably going to want more than spark bonding from you. “I wonder which of you is going to tell Starscream you’re sparked. Or will you just let him figure it out on his own?” Megatron asks, grinning wickedly like your misery is the funniest thing ever. Sparked? That’s right. Paling, you remember Soundwave asking and you’d pretty much begged him to. Was that what that coaxing feeling was after you fully bonded with him? Star had done something like that when he’d sparked you now that you’re thinking of it. There had been a sense of a question there like when they’d bonded you fully. Like there was a choice before that coaxing pull. Both times you’d given in to that request without a thought. Why can’t any of them ask important things when you’re not a needy mess during sex? “Of course, I could tell him,” Megatron adds. Enjoying this far too much.

• “Don’t you dare,” you hiss, little face reddening and Megatron chuckles. Ferocious little thing even though you have no way to back up the unspoken threat in your voice. And that anger of yours sparks through him. Goes straight to his spike in a flush of need. Reminding him that even though he’s fully bonded to you and carrying your new spark, he’s yet to physically claim you. Smile faltering at that, he clears his vents in a loud huff. “You blurt it out to him and I’ll never forgive you.” Chin lifting, you glare at him and he can’t understand what it is about you that makes your pitiful little threat actually matter to him.

• Star. Not looking forward to his reaction to finding out you’re fully bonded and sparked again, even though he seemed resigned to it happening. It still feels like a betrayal. Shoulders hunching, you look pleadingly up at Soundwave. Because you have to be the one to tell him. Gently. “I need a shower. And I’d kill for coffee,” you whine, not about to have this conversation with Star while Soundwave’s excess trails down your thighs. Head tipping at you, Soundwave just stares, but it’s not like he has a clue what coffee even is. ‘The shower part I can help with,’ Megatron says, gesturing toward his desk and you register the plastic draped shape tucked in a corner there. ‘The Constructicons had a few ideas.’ Watching him curiously as he gets up and reaches to tug the plastic away, you just stare. It’s a dollhouse. A human sized dollhouse. “There’s a working shower?” Because nothing else matters beyond a shower and some semblance of privacy. “I could kiss you,” you add and he hesitates like you’d just said something weird. Offended him somehow. Aliens.

Previous

Next

[legalinthevoid]

One of the most important lessons I learned from leaving my cult-like upbringing is that the greatest evil is perpetrated by people who believe they are right and have forgotten that they can cause harm. By classifying bad people as inhuman monsters, deserving whatever they get, you convince yourself that you and your people are right and good and so the actions you take must be right and good. GOOD PEOPLE STILL HURT PEOPLE.

I hurt people when I was still Catholic, driven by my belief that I was Good and that blinded me to the harm I was causing. As I've recovered from growing up like that, I have hurt people bevause I fell into the my old pattern of believing that my new beliefs were Good and I have had to check myself and adjust my approach to be compassion driven first and foremost. My beliefs are not Good, they are kind. My most hurtful actions were not Bad, they were harmful. Good and Bad are convenient shorthand we use but they are also traps that make us loose sight of why something is good or bad. Without the why, good and bad become Good and Evil. Anytime someone tries to define what is Good, they also create an Evil. Love, kindness, and compassion exist without needing either. Being kind does not make you Good, it makes you kind, that's it and that's enough.

Remember that you have hurt people. Remember that your closest friends have hurt people. Remember that the kindest, most thoughtful person to have ever lived has hurt people. None of that makes any of us Evil.

When people call my fellow trans people and I pedophiles, they are drawing a line, designating themselves as Good and us as Evil monsters. It is very alluring to respond by deepening that line they drew, claim it as our own, and go "no you" to define ourselves and our allies as Good actually and them as Evil monsters but in so doing, you're agreeing that that line is real. That there is a Good and Evil on either side of the line. The revolutionary, compassionate, effective response is to reject the line entirely. Placing other people as monsters and us as the superior Good is just an inversion of the oppression. Liberation does not come from the right people being the oppressors. None of us are free until all of us are free.

To be clear, bastards like trump and musk are horrible, horrible people. But they are people. I would celebrate their death by natural causes or human hands but I hope their death is swift with minimal pain. There is no glory or valor in suffering or inflicting pain. I also embrace the total rejection of intolerance in tolerant spaces. If a nazi comes in to a punk bar and doesn't make a fuss, the people in the bar should take him outside and beat the shit out of him so the space doesn't slowly turn into a nazi bar (this is a real thing that nazi groups did/do to carve out space for themselves and punks learned to violently expell "peaceful" nazis to keep their spaces safe). Radical intolerance needs to be met with radical acceptance and sometime radically accepting queer people looks like kicking the teeth in of an extremist. There is no glory or value inherent in the pain that is caused, instead, the value is in the safety it brings.

In an ideal world, violet extremists could be met with purely rehabilitating acts but our world is far from ideal. Regardless though, if someone is violating another person's rights, they do not loose their own. That's how rights work. They cannot be bought or sold, lost or found, taken or given, they just are. The lie that lets Republicans dehumanize us is that we have relinquished our rights by choosing to embrace who we are but no action, even the most horrid, is ever capable of removing anyone's rights.

All that to say, remember that you are capable of causing great harm, especially if you're motived by Good and that people who cause great harm are doing so in pursuit of what they perceive as good (either selfish gains or moral Good). Nobody is the villain of their own story.

We are all people. Reject any line that tries to change that.

I thought it was fairly normal to feel empathy for bad people.

I thought it was common, even.

But after my Elon/Grimes post... now I'm wondering if I was mistaken about that.

I wrote a post about Trump being traumatized after his assassination attempt and a post about his poor adaptation to aging. I expressed sympathy for him in both cases. But I still maintain my white hot hatred of him and wish for him to face consequences.

Elon was abused by his father. Some of the stories are incredibly tragic. Hearing those stories triggers an involuntary response in my emotional systems that I can't stop no matter how much I despise present-day Elon. I also wonder if that abuse never occurred maybe we wouldn't be dealing with this current clusterfuck.

I have never held so much anger towards a single person as I do my brother. But I also see him as a victim of abuse. I know he was once a really good person and he was slowly corrupted. I feel sorry for him. I mourn the amazing person he used to be. And I still love him.

But that doesn't make me any less angry.

[kunareads]

heavy angst not a lot of comfort!! + wc: 0.7k

masterlist

choso hasn’t breathed right in months.

he tries sometimes. draws in a deep breath, holds it, waits for his ribs to expand the way they used to when you were curled up beside him, murmuring something soft in your sleep.

but every inhale is shallow, every exhale unfinished. he can’t get enough air in his lungs without you.

he thinks about the phone call often. shoko’s trembling voice on the other end. the way his blood turned to ice when she said they found a body.

they never let him see it. too much damage, they said. better to remember you as you were. so he had nothing to hold, nothing to bury. just a handful of ashes and the suffocating knowledge that you were gone.

he never got rid of your things. your shoes are still by the door. your toothbrush still sits next to his. your clothes still take up too much space in the closet. your blanket—your favorite, the one you used to throw over him when you thought he looked cold—still rests on the couch, untouched. he picked it up once, buried his face in it to see if it still smelled like you. it didn’t. it just smelled like dust.

and now—

now you’re standing in front of him.

but it can’t be you.

his body locks up, frozen in place, because this can’t be real. it’s another cruel trick of his exhausted mind, another dream that will end the moment he dares to reach for you.

he should know. he’s had so many of those dreams, where you’re warm in his arms again, where he gets to say all the things he never did. sometimes, you forget your keys at home and come back for them. sometimes, you whisper his name from the other side of the bed, voice so soft he almost believes it. sometimes, you just look at him, silent and hollow-eyed, before fading into nothing. he wakes up gasping every time, drenched in sweat, grief choking him like a curse he can’t break.

this is just another dream. another hallucination.

but you take a step forward, and he sees the way you move—slow, hesitant, your hands shaking. there’s an old cut on your cheek, bruises along your jaw, faint lines on your wrists like you were bound. your clothes are torn, dirt and dried blood staining the fabric. your lips are cracked, your eyes hollowed by exhaustion.

you look like you fought your way back to him.

“…choso.” your voice is hoarse. he barely hears you, but it devastates him.

he doesn’t realize he’s moving until his legs give out beneath him. his knees hit the floor hard, but he barely feels it. his breath stutters out in a sharp, broken sound, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s crying.

you walk forward, kneeling in front of him, hands ghosting over his shoulders, his face, his hair. “i’m here,” you whisper. “i—i tried—“ your voice cracks, and something snaps.

“where the fuck were you?”

it rips out of him, raw and jagged. his hands clutch at your arms, desperate, terrified, fingers digging in like he’s afraid you’ll slip through them again.

“do you have any idea—“ his voice breaks, and his grip moves to cup your face like he needs proof. “i scattered your ashes. i mourned you. i—i—“ his breath falters, his forehead pressing against yours, a sob rattling through his chest. “i thought i lost you.”

your hands slide up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “i know,” you whisper. “i know, i—“

a short inhale, your fingers curling against his skin. “i thought i was gonna die there.”

choso swallows hard, his throat thick with grief and relief and something darker, something furious. his fingers hover, barely grazing your bruises, as he presses his palm to your ribs to physically confirm you’re real.

who did this to you?

the question burns in his mind, but he can’t bring himself to ask you that yet. not when you’re here, not when he’s barely holding himself together.

he pulls you in, arms locking so tightly around you that you gasp. but you don’t pull away. you clutch at his back, holding him just as desperately, needing this just as much.

his breaths are uneven, shaky, but for the first time in months, he actually breathes.

[moonstruckme]

hi, how are you?

really move your writing, it has def helped me through tough times, so thank you for that so much, I cannot tell you how much appreciation I carry for you

I was wondering, since you are okay with writing about self harm scars (I think, if I understand your list or off-limit request stuff correctly, if not, sorry, then just ignore this) if you would maybe write something with Sirius x reader, where maybe r isn’t feeling all that great abt her scars (preferably on her thighs, but if not also totally fine) and Sirius draws on them and reassures her and all that stuff

Hope you have a great day, sending you lots of love

Sending love back angel <3

cw: past self harm, discussion of scars

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 922 words

“What’s that supposed to be?”

“Gorgeous, you can cut the shit. We both know I’m a modern Poussin.” 

You smile, radiant in the sunlight spilling into your sitting room. You came here to read, but Sirius was hellbent on distracting you, and as always he’s succeeded. Your book has been long since closed, the two of you lazing the day away with kisses and go-nowhere conversations while Sirius draws on your skin in black ink. 

“You’ve just said some obscure artist to show off,” you accuse. “You know I don’t know who that is.” 

“Yes, well, two can play at the game of belittlement.” 

Sirius is quite obviously drawing clouds. They live in the crook of your elbow, and they’re perfectly nebulous. You’re only pretending not to know because you enjoy playing with him. Luckily for you, Sirius enjoys letting you. 

“Is there going to be a sun?” you ask after a while. 

“Don’t need one. That’s you already, sunshine.” 

You make a phony groaning sound, clearly delighted. “You’re so cheesy.” 

“I know. See what you’ve done to me?” Sirius grins, tilting his head up for a kiss. 

You indulge him. You’re in an indulgent mood, all sun-warmed and languorous, reclining against the cushions like a goddess. You wouldn’t likely let him doodle all over you otherwise. Sirius is taking advantage of a rare opportunity. 

He goes back to work, adding some raindrops and then stars trailing up your arm. He thinks you’re dozing, but when Sirius turns to look at you again your expression has gone solemn. You’re looking down at your own lap like it’s a piece of gum stuck to your shoe. 

Your scars bother you, sometimes. Sirius can never really predict when those times will be—it depends on your mood, how often you’ve been thinking about them, and a slew of other things inside that lovely head of yours—but here in the sunlight he can see how you got hung up. They’re showier than usual, light and shimmery in the crease of your thighs. Faded, but there. 

Sirius puts his hand over them. Not to cover, but to caress. 

You seem to snap out of your reverie. “Sorry,” you say. 

“What for?” he asks. 

It’s a trick question and you know it. You’re silent for a time. Silence is not usually Sirius’ favorite thing, but he lets it lie, stroking his index finger over your leg. 

“I’m just,” you admit in a soft voice, “not liking them very much lately.” 

“Yeah?” He looks up at you, seeking. “Have you been feeling okay?” 

“Yeah. I have, really.” 

“You’d tell me if not?” 

You nod. Not quite looking at him, but Sirius knows that’s more evidence of shame than dishonesty. You trust him, and he trusts you. 

“I don’t think you have to like them, baby.” He kisses gently beside your chin. “I’d like it if you didn’t hate them, but I know you can’t always help it.” 

“I don’t know if I hate them.” Your eyes seem glued to where Sirius is rubbing your leg. Your voice is small. “I just…sometimes I don’t care if people see them, but other times they feel so embarrassing.” 

Sirius scoffs. “Well, that’s silly.” 

You frown. “Why?” 

“Because,” he says, uncapping his pen again. You don’t stop him when he starts drawing small flowers over and in between your lines. “I—look, you’re allowed to feel any way you want about them, okay? Obviously. But the way I see it, they’re just something that happened to you.”

Admittedly, Sirius didn’t always feel that way. When he first saw them, he’d been angry—at you, at your brain, at anyone and anything that had ever made you feel awful enough to do this to yourself—but it hadn’t taken long for that initial wrath to deliquesce into a wet, formless sorrow. Sirius doesn’t like not having anyone to blame. He likes thinking of the people he loves hurting even less. But it was a reality for you at one time, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it now. All Sirius wants now is to keep enough light in your present that maybe someday it washes out the past. It may never happen, but he can hope. And he can hold your hand no matter what.

He twines the fingers of his free hand loosely with yours, making looping lines for petals on your leg. 

“I don’t like that they did happen,” he admits, “but I don’t like that I broke my arm in fourth year either.” He senses your eyes going to the scar on his forearm. Once large and long, but now faded. “Nothing we can really do about them, though.” 

You hum. “Yours was an accident.” 

“I know,” Sirius murmurs. He looks at you. “I know they’re not the same thing, baby. But I don’t think you wanted your scars any more than I wanted mine, right?” 

You hold his eyes this time, your gaze tentative but full of love. “No.” 

“Right.” He kisses you. Lingers until you soften into it, your lips parting for him. Sirius pecks the corner of your mouth once he’s done. “So, you just keep talking to me, and I’ll tell you when you have something to be embarrassed about. Okay?” 

Your smile comes almost unwillingly, your eyes slipping from his to look at the blooming garden covering your legs. “Okay,” you say. 

“There’s my girl. Now, do you think it would tickle terribly if I drew a circus on the bottom of your foot?” 

“Yes.” 

“Perfect.”

[mikkomacko]

Him and I - Tender Heart

Nico Hischier x Reader, Mob Boss Nico

Warnings: None x

Previous Chapter

____________________________________________

The red spot on the white floors is tormenting.

It’s more of a coppery color now, old and rusty looking, and you wonder why no one has cleaned it up yet, even if it seems to be fading on its own. You can still see it clear as day though, blurred and fuzzy around the edges but bright and nauseating as it pooled on the floor.

The sight makes your head spin, stomach turning like it did that day you saw it fresh, seeping from the gunshot wound in Lena’s thigh. And there’s no adrenaline, no anger to keep you cool like last time when you fixed Lena up and kicked her to the curb.

No the house is just you and the boys now, the heavy foot fall of Alex, Jack and Luke echoing down from the upper level. They’re patrolling, guarding the weak spots like you told them too. That was where Timo got in to rescue you, a chink in the armor in the upper window that’s broken.

“You ok?”

It’s Timo, gun strapped across his chest and shoulders back as he stands beside you. You nod, eyes following Luke’s pacing figure.

“I saw you first,” you explain, nodding towards the balcony. “Barely, couldn’t really make out your face but I knew it was you.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, smiling just the slightest bit. “You have a certain walk. And your build. You’re a little bit bigger than Nico.”

“Ouch,” comes from behind you, Nico’s hand announcing his presence when it finds the small of your back. “That’s not good to hear.”

Timo snickers, and your own smile grows with amusement. Nico’s grinning when he leans over your shoulder to press a kiss into the apple of your cheek.

“Out of context,” you comment, “obviously you’re b-“

“Whoa don’t insult me to my face, I beg.” Timo interrupts, nudging you with the butt of his gun. He doesn’t look wounded when you turn to him, a bittersweet purse to his lips like he’s just happy you’re not having a breakdown in this place.

Your best friend slowly trails away, returning to his post of guarding your back as Nico instructed. Nico’s hand sweeps your hair over your shoulder, rough fingertips trailing along the gold chain on your neck. He takes your pendant and ring between his fingers, that knowing look in his eyes.

“Feeling ok?” It’s like he can see into you. Not through you, not just you, but everything you are. It’s not something you’ll ever get tired of, being seen and known so well.

“Mhm,” you assure, “just ready to go home, I guess.”

Nico’s face droops into a frown, his hand dropping your necklace in exchange for wrapping around your neck. He draws you into him, body thick and warm, and his lips find your forehead.

“I know baby,” he murmurs, “we’ll be back before ya know it.”

You press into his hold, the blood stained floor and the emptiness of his grandfathers old house forgotten now that he’s got you. “I miss Moose,” you complain, and Nico laughs softly “my poor baby. He doesn’t even know what time is, it’s probably felt so long.”

“Next time we travel you can bring him,” he cups the back of your head, thumb stroking your hair. “Lesson learned, I promise.”

Triumphantly, you smile up at him. Nico had insisted it’d be too hard to bring Moose on such a short trip, that the dog would survive a week without you and that’s it’s just mean to make him get on a plane again. After all, the last time he was on one was when he was being taken from his litter.

The guilt trip had worked and you’d left him at home. It however won’t work next time, no matter what Nico tries to pull. This time you’ve got the reminder of this trip from hell on your side.

“Break it up lovebirds, we’ve got company.”

Mercer is marching towards you from the front door, riffle hanging from his shoulder and combat boots thumping on the hardwood floor. A bulky black vest hangs from his fingertips. Before you can even ask he’s holding it out to you.

“Dawson, I don’t need tha-“

“Don’t care, put it on.”

The usual polite, Canadian tone of his gone completely. He’s serious, face hardened and closed off as he stares you down. Confused, you look to Nico.

“Merc, the vest is a bit much.”

“She bruised and beat up,” Dawson says, raising an eyebrow at Nico. “I’d rather her not add bullet holes to the list.”

Nico stares back, expressionless for a moment before he’s nudging you with a pat to your hip. “Put it on baby.”

They’re being dramatic, you think. Nico’s family wouldn’t openly try to kill you in front of him. But you supposed you’d rather be safe than sorry so you take the vest from a smirking Mercer, pulling it over your head and grumbling when your hair tangles in front of your face.

Nico is the one to brush it away, fingertips gentle as he smoothes it down and tucks the loose strands behind yours ears.

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, a half smile on his lips. You roll your eyes at his flattery, adjusting the bulky vest and glaring at Mercer.

“You better hope I get shot at or I’m gonna kill you for shoving me in this thing.”

He doesn’t bat an eye at your threatening tone, scoffing and then jabbing a finger at Nico. “If someone so much as reaches for their hip, you better be protecting her head.”

It’s sweet, despite how serious he sounds. Like he’s genuinely concerned for your safety. He did witness Rino first hand though, and he saw the fallout with Nico after. How much it hurt you to have to tell Nico the truth. It hurt Mercer too, enough that he doesn’t trust them anymore.

“Dawson,” Nico calls, tone gentle. “I promise I’m always looking out for her, yeah? Especially her head, but all of her too.”

Comically, Mercer looks Nico up and down, eyes squinted with judgment and he lets out an unimpressed hum. “Yet to be seen,” he says casually, glancing at you. You have to bite back your laugh, entertained by Mercer scolding him.

Offended, Nico scoffs. Eyebrows pulled together in a frown, your fiancé glares at Mercer. “Just get to your fucking post.” Nico hisses, dismissing Mercer with a wave of his hand. The other boy looks to you, and not wanting to escalate Nico any further, you silently nod.

“What the fuck was that?” He grumbles under his breath, shaking his head in annoyance. You catch the strand of hair that slips in front of his eyes, pushing it back over his forehead.

“You always told him he doesn’t take stuff seriously enough,” you whisper, “maybe this is him trying.”

Before he can respond, the sound of the front door opening creaks throughout the empty house. Nico’s body stiffens, his frame immediately moving to stand in front of you and you fall back, reaching for the hem of his hoodie. Timo and Mercer form around you, a protective triangle.

Upstairs, the other three have gone silent, no doubt having moved into their spots as well. You don’t see when Nico’s family enters the large living room, but you hear their footfall, how it grows louder and clearer before suddenly halting.

“Nico,” Luca calls, confused. “What the hell is going on?”

The sound of his brother’s voice sends a dollop of ease down your spine. You weren’t exactly expecting Rino to still be around let alone show up here, but you wouldn’t put it past him.

You glance over to Timo, see the way his clenched shoulders ease just the slightest bit and you find yourself rising to your toes to peak over Nico’s shoulder.

“You tell me,” Nico answers coolly, shifting as he crosses his arms over his chest. His family is gathered in the entryway still, frozen and caught off guard by the presence of weapons. The unspoken standoff.

Nina’s gaze falls to you and you quickly cower behind Nico, mentally cursing yourself for being such a busy body.

“I don’t know,” Luca huffs, “I got notice in the middle of the night that father was missing, then a huge withdrawal from the business account, and you were silent until this morning. Then I get a cryptic text saying to come here and you’ve got a fucking gun pointed at me!”

Luca’s voice rises as his frustration grows with each spoken word, booming throughout the empty room and echoing off the pristine walls. Both Mercer and Timo squeeze in closer to you, as if expecting Luca to bite at any moment.

“I know father is gone,” Nico confirms, calm and collected. Like always. “And going off of that, I’m not surprised you’re suddenly missing funds. But the boys and the guns and me are here to find out what you really know.”

You can’t see it, but it feels like that last part is pointed more at his mother than the others. The urge to look over his shoulder again burns in your gut, but you stay put, knowing that the last time you forgot protocols you ended up in this exact room.

“You know about dad?”

It’s Nina, her voice small, unlike you’ve ever heard her in the brief time since you’ve met her. You can’t tell if she sounds more scared or sad, unable to read her from here. Nico has a lot in common with his siblings. His openness with you isn’t one of them.

“Nico,” Luca says quietly, hesitantly. “What did you do? Where’s father?”

Your fiancé doesn’t so much as flinch. He doesn’t say anything, unable and unwilling to take credit for your handiwork with Rino. From the outside, it looks like Nico is simply waiting, his silence urging them to start speaking. From your view, you know he’s trying to decide what to say, if he should reveal the truth and risk losing them.

That’s not something you’re going to let happen.

Releasing the hem of his hoodie, you step around Nico to be by his side. Your movement makes him shift, dropping his arms out to the side and it looks like he’s about to sling them around you, shield you again. Before he can, you take a hold of his hand in both of yours, meeting his concerned gaze with a subtle nod of your head.

Understanding seeps into his eyes, his whole body relaxing as he accepts the comfort of holding your hand. The gesture does nothing for the other boys though, and you feel as much as you hear them shift closer.

“He didn’t do anything,” you answer, still looking at Nico for a moment longer. His fingers squeeze just once, in thanks, and then you level his brother with a confident stare. “I did.”

Luca looks just as confused as before, helplessly running a hand through his hair in frustration. You feel a little guilty for the eldest son. It’s not his fault he got stuck with the task of running the business, of keeping his father in check and managing the money and legacy his grandfather left behind. Trying to keep Rino from ruining it.

But then again, he never took a second to think about what it all means. He never decided to change like Nico has. And you don’t feel bad for him about that.

Nina is watching you sadly, her eyes big and droopy like Nico’s get when his feelings are hurt. That kicked puppy look, growing even more down trodden when she notices the cut on your lip, the protective gear on your torso.

“Y/n,” she breathes, taking a step towards you with her arm out. “you don’t have to be afraid of u-“

In perfect sync Nico yanks you back by the hand, half stepping in front of you just as Timo and Mercer close in beside you, guns digging into their shoulders and aimed at Nina. The safety never clicks off, but the effect is the same.

“If anyone is this god damn family touches her again I swear to god,” Nico warns gruffly, as Nina quickly retreats.

“Neeky, what are you talking about?” She begs, holding her hands up to show Mercer and Timo she means no harm. “The rifles, the guards, what is going on?”

Still half behind Nico’s arm, you finally look to Katja. She’s already watching you, an inquisitive but knowing look on her face. She’s waiting for you to make the move, and you know why. She took a risk warning you that day in the car, went against her husband and her powerful family for the first time in her life. And until you’ve admitted that you done what needed to be done, that’s she’s safe now too, she won’t utter another word about it.

“The car ride,” you address her, “it took me a bit, but I got it. I-we know everything.”

A proud smirk tugs at the corners of her lips, brief and tiny but still noticeable. You note the way her shoulders seem to lift, chin tilting up in admiration.

“Rino wanted you out Luca,” you continue, “and he wanted Nico back and punished for leaving. The only way to do that was to get his influence back, his loyal subjects.

“And Lena was his top recruit.”

Nina is the first to react, her hands shooting up to cover her mouth in disbelief. It’s a positive sign at the least. It means she didn’t know before, she wasn’t in on it with Reno.

“He planned it all from the day we got here. The texts and everything were on Lena’s phone-“

“We checked her phone,” Luca cuts in, not very much in denial but more so lost. Like he can’t fathom that this would happen. It gives you a little more hope.

“You missed her deleted albums,” you say pointedly, shooting Luca a scolding glare. Head of a business and he’s not even smart enough to snoop right. “She was working with Rino to earn her place back in the business by getting rid of me and dragging Nico home.”

Luca looks at you, eyebrow lifted in a fascinated way. It’s the same way he looked at you when you went against Nico and showed up here with the boys. “What did you do?”

“Mercer put a gun to the back of his head and I told him if he ever came near Nico or my family again we’d kill him.”

“And he ran,” Mercer adds gruffly, venom dripping from his tongue. “Like a fucking coward he took off.”

Briefly, you wonder why some people would even both having kids if they didn’t really want to love them. It’s clear from Luca and Nina’s downtrodden gazes that they’re not surprised. Whatever Rino has done in the past, it’s made it clear that his kids expect nothing great from him.

“We don’t know where he went or what he’ll do. I just know it’ll never involve Nico again.” You look to Katja again, a warm feeling swelling in your chest when you find her watching you with wet eyes. “And it won’t involve you either, as long as you don’t want it to.”

Nina and Luca whip around to stare at their mother, jaws dropped. “You knew?” Nina demands, meanly.

“I know everything Rino does.” She admits, devoid of her usual tone of privilege. “I’ve just never had the means to stop him.”

Nico’s other hand finds the back of your neck, fingers strong as he squeezes. You melt into his touch, a heavy breath falling from your lips. Katja nods at you.

“Until now, at least.”

“A little too fucking late!” Comes from upstairs, Jack you think might’ve said it but from here, him and Luke sound awfully similar.

You can’t help it. You laugh, small and quietly but enough to make Timo snicker too from the other side of Nico.

“Alright,” Nico sighs, amused. “We gotta stop you before they start a riot or something up there.”

His hand finds your neck again, heavy and sturdy, and you look up at him. His other fingers find your necklace, drawing the pendant out and laying it across the vest, the gold glinting on the black. For just a brief moment you two share a silent exchange, unsure of what you’re really looking to him for, but then his fingers are holding your chin high and confident, and he tilts his head just slightly, and you know. You did good, you made him proud, you did exactly what you were supposed to do here.

Timid, you give him a small smile and the moment is over though it’s not fleeting. Even after he releases your chin, and any fondness that had been in his eyes before fades as he turns to his family, you can still feel it.

“Nico I promise I didn’t know,” Luca says earnestly, “about Lena or any of it. You know how father is, I was so stuck on the business that I didn’t even notice him stirring things up.”

Stiffly, Nico nods and his gaze falls to Nina. “You really thought I knew Nico?”

“You came all the way from France for something,” he responds, accusingly. “And you didn’t think to tell me about running into Lena.”

Nina makes an affronted face, like her brother’s words have just broken her heart in two. “I did that for you,” she swears, “I came home because I wanted to see you. And everything with Lena, I thought it was harmless. You and y/n were so happy that night. It was a side of you I have never seen before and I thought telling you about Lena would scare you into not asking her to be your prinzessin.”

Lena harmless. You could almost laugh. She may have been helpless but that seemed to make her even more harmful. Though you supposed if Nico had asked you about her that night in the bar you would’ve thought the same thing. Just a jealous ex.

“I would never hurt you, Nico. I’d never hurt y/n either,” pleading eyes fall on you, their expression so like Nico it makes your heart jump. “I love you guys.”

Nico takes a deep breath, his shoulders shift with it and you settle your hand on the curve of his spine, hoping the touch is calming. After a beat he looks over his shoulder to Timo, waving them off. The air in the room seems to shift now that the weapons are hanging neutrally by the boys’ sides.

The collective sighs of relief from the three of them have you biting back a laugh, hiding your smile in Nico’s side. The hand on your neck slides down to grab at the straps of the bulky vest.

“Let’s get this off,” he suggests, lightly tugging on it. Eager and happy to get rid of the stupid thing, you step back and help him maneuver the Kevlar off. “Mercer take this back, yeah?”

Dawson takes it from him, eyeing Nico’s family as he moves around them to head towards the car. Nico takes a hold of your face, and you reach up to help him smooth your hair back down-

“Oh my god,” Nina’s gasp makes you freeze, both you and Nico wide eyed as you turn to her. “The ring, Nico oh my god.”

At her words Luca and Katja notice too, their gazes falling to your left hand and Nico easily catches your palm in his. The mention of it makes you smile, heat crawling up your neck and you practically drag Nico over to his family.

He’s still holding your hand as you stretch it out to Nina, the light catching the diamond on your finger and twinkling elegantly.

“Oh it’s beautiful,” Nina murmurs, blinking up at you. “Can I…” she motions to hug you. Nico only hesitates a moment before letting you go and you engulf Nina in a hug.

Katja manages to get Nico into one, a bit awkward looking when you glance over at him but he’s speaking quietly with her, and you wonder if it’s about the other ring. The last thing you want is her to be offended that he didn’t use it. Wait, where is that ring?

“Congrats,” Luca tells you, a nervous smile on his lips. You hug him too, thinking of how he had helped you the last time you were in this house. You’re glad that wasn’t just a ploy for him.

“Thank you,” you murmur thoughtfully, and he knows it’s for more than you’re actually saying. He squeezes you again briefly before letting you go, you swapping places with Nico.

“It is a beautiful ring,” Katja says, approaching you slowly. “I should’ve known he’d come prepared.”

Shocked, you blink at her. “You knew?”

A coy smile takes over her face. “Like I said, I know my son. He wouldn’t come home for no reason, unfortunately. And while he may like to rewrite rules, the prinzessin rules are tradition.”

“He needs approval.” You realize, a bit confused. Nico’s never followed any of their rules before. Of course the traditions of the Devs are mirrored of the ones here, but you can’t imagine him asking his mother permission.

“In his case no,” she explains, then cautiously reaches out for your hand. You let her take it between both of hers, squeezing slightly just like Nico does. “Nico has never needed or wanted permission from us for anything. But he wanted a chance for us to meet you first.”

“He cares what you guys think,” you tell her, “even if it doesn’t seem like it. And he talks about you all a lot.”

Katja smiles, grateful and emotional. “Thank you,” she whispers thickly, “for everything. For saving him, making him better than I ever could’ve.”

“He did that all himself,” you admit. “I might’ve been inspiration but Nico never needed to be fixed by anyone. He’s too stubborn.”

She laughs. “And thank you for trusting me, saving me.”

You can’t help it. You shake your hand out of hers, throwing your arms around her shoulders and hugging her. Katja squeezes you back, her hands cautious and gentle on your back but she still feels warm, relaxed. Somewhere in your head, you think she feels motherly. Not quite like Timo’s mother, but similar enough.

“If you ever need anything,” you begin but she shushes you.

“I know.”

Finally, you take a deep breath, closing your eyes and basking in the feeling of doing something right. You kept Nico safe from Rino, and he gets to keep the rest of his family.

Parting from Katja, you meet back up with Nico who tucks you under his arm protectively, kissing the top of your head.

“What do you have planned for the rest of the day?” Luca asks, tucking his hands into the front pocket of his jeans. Mercer comes back sans bulletproof vest, still watching Luca through narrowed eyes.

You give him a warning look. “Finish packing, probably nap for a bit. We were up early, uh and then we’ve got our flight home.”

Nina’s face falls at the mention of your departure tonight, frowning with those big moony eyes.

“You’ll still come see us, won’t you?” She asks, hopeful.

You and Nico exchange a look. It’s not that you haven’t enjoyed Switzerland. There was a lot of fun but there was also a lot of bad, and sometime the bad sticks longer than the good. You’re not saying you won’t come back ever, but for now you want to be home with Nico and Moose.

Nico sucks in a breath, shrugging as he turns to his sister. “Yeah, but not for a while.” He says, and Nina has barely had anytime to slump in defeat before you continue.

“But we’ve got lots of room in Jersey, and a wedding to plan soon, so…”

Nico squeezes your bicep. “So you’re always welcome to come visit.” It’s sweet how they all seem light up with happiness at the invite.

They may need a little work still, but that doesn’t mean they’re not family.

~~~~

Nico wonders a lot of things.

He wonders how people come up with plot lines for books, how they can concoct entire universes in their heads and execute effortlessly. Like that lady that wrote The Hunger Games. Where did that idea come from and how did it come out so well (he’s never read the book but you’ve told him about them).

He wonders how Bluetooth connection works. How did someone figure out that if you put a stupid little signal in one device and another signal in another device, they can talk to each other? It kind of works like magic but not really because magic isn’t real. Whose brain decided it would be cool to make this stuff interface with each other?

He wonders how vinyls work and why it makes music sound different. The little groves aren’t just spirals carved into the disc? How does a song get engraved? He wants to put two different ones under a microscope and see what the fuck is the difference on them that makes them play different songs.

What he wonders the most though, is how he managed to make you love him. He doesn’t question it often, tries not to test his luck but sometimes he can’t help it. In those moments where you’re looking at him like he’s the reason for life. When your eyes are big and full of awe, gazing into him as if you’re looking at heaven itself (if heaven is real). When you move in sync with him, fit under his arm like he’s the center of your gravity.

How did that happen? How did he become someone so deserving of being the center of your world?

“You’ve got a million thoughts behind those eyes.”

Nico smiles, a smug little curl of his lips and shrugs. You raise a single eyebrow, curiously looking up at him through your eyelashes before focusing back on the task at hand.

“Am I gonna get to know them any time soon?” You hold up the black Kith hoodie he loves, the one that’s got that cute dog embroidered on it, squinting as you picture what it would look like on him with the dark sweats you put to the side for him earlier.

“Think you already know them,” he teases, and you subtly shake your head before tossing the hoodie to the bed. “Know everything don’t you?”

“This marriage thing is gonna work out great,” you say dreamily, “you already know the most important rule.”

Nico laughs, holding still as best he can as you hold up a quarter zip to his torso. It’s red and fleece, incredibly warm and soft if he recalls correctly. It’s not something he wears often but it’s the perfect shade of devils red and you always touch his biceps and chest when he wears it, feeling how fluffy it is.

He already knows it’s the one you’re going to choose by the way your eyes light up, a pleased smirk on your face. So he’s not at all surprised when you take it off the hanger, folding it to go alongside his sweats with a cute little, “perfect!”

“Are you gonna dress me everyday now?”

Snaking his arms around your waist, he presses his face into the crook of your neck. “Maybe,” you laugh, “especially if I’m gonna be the one holding you on the plane tonight when you’re crying.”

“I don’t cry,” he argues, nibbling on the soft skin and you jump, startled by his blunt teeth nipping at you. “I whine, s’different.” Nico’s arms keep you still, held tight to the front of him as you squirm away from his teasing nips.

“Tomato, tomato,” you rebuttal, “either way I’m the one holding your fidgeting butt still.”

That makes him laugh, tossing his head back and you, pleased with his reaction, giggle alongside him. It wasn’t that funny a joke, but maybe he’s just that happy. He loves you that much.

“I appreciate it.” He compliments, kissing the back of your head. His hands fall to rest on your hips, fingertips lingering as you move away from him to finish collecting the things you need to pack.

Nico sits on the edge of the bed, heart full. His eyes follow you around the room, stars practically twinkling in his pupils. You’re so beautiful, so wonderful, so amazingly perfect for him.

“I can do that, ya know?” He calls, amused but grateful that you’re taking over the tedious task for him.

Approaching the suitcases laid out beside him, you tuck the stack of shirts into the little crevices and corners of the case. Funnily, Nico notices that he no longer has his own suitcase. No, you’ve just mixed all your stuff in with his and his with yours. There’s no apparent rhyme or reason either.

“I know,” you utter, “maybe sometimes I just like doing things for you.”

Nico’s heart swells, erratically vibrating under his skin and he feels the urge to tackle to you to the bed, lay himself on top of you and just squeeze you until you pop. Instead he chuckles.

“Maybe sometimes?” He asks casually, “not all the time?”

“No,” you giggle, a hand on your hip as you smile at him. Then something curious settles over your features, confusion in your gaze. “What happened to the other ring?”

He pauses, gaze flittering to the ensuite bathroom before settling back on you. It was long enough for you to catch though, your eyes shifting up to look at the open door and then you're taking off. Scrambling away from his grabbing hands with a giggle, Nico chases after you with a lighthearted "wait!"

You're already in the bathroom though, tearing through the drawers and shifting around whatever left over junk he abandoned in there years ago. "Nico, where?" You beg, still pawing around.

Sighing, he shifts onto his knees and pulls open the cabinet door beneath his sink. You crowd behind him, shifting impatiently as he shoves boxes of cleaning supplies and extra shampoos to the side. Behind the drain pipe, his finger brush against the velvet box and he grabs it. Then, with a blank look on his face, he holds it up to you.

"Ooh," you squeal, taking it and flipping the top open. Knees cracking, he returns to his full height, nudging the cabinet shut with his foot. Propped up against the counter, Nico watches you with bated breath as you examine the ring from his mother.

He's not stupid. It's obvious you think the ring is beautiful, that it impressed you the first moment you saw it out on the front steps. Maybe he was a little worried you'd be upset he didn't give you that ring, but it's obvious now that he made the right choice. Your eyes shift over to your left hand and something seems to sparkle in them, as if the diamond and pearls themselves live inside your irises. Yeah, his mother's ring is beautiful, but you love the one on your finger.

"Right choice?" He asks anyway, still a bit hesitant.

You bite your lip, nodding happily. "Perfect choice," you assure. Gently, you close the box and hold it out to him.

“S’yours,” Nico shoos it away, not interested in taking it back from you.

“Katja gave it to you,” you tell him, shaking your hand as if that knock enough sense into him to take it back. What are you going to do with two rings?

“For you,” he presses, “it’s yours baby. You get to decide what to do with it.”

It’s a lot of pressure. This family heirloom that he never thought he’d get, a token of acceptance from his mother and he doesn’t even want it. He wants you to have it.

The thing is, you don’t really want it either. You don’t need his mother’s acceptance or the tradition of this business. You and Nico are not a part of it. You have your own family and life and traditions you want to set up, ones that have real meaning behind them. You have a ring that was given out of love, not out of contract or obligation.

It means nothing to you.

But you’d imagine it doesn’t mean nothing to his siblings, the ones still here and trying to redefine the organization their father built. Maybe the ring should be redefined, given a new purpose.

Maybe it’s time the ring goes to a Hischier daughter. Someone who will know what to do with it. And will know what it has meant for the women before her.

“Ok,” you murmur, reminding yourself to leave it on the outside pocket of your carry on. “Thank you, Nico.”

He takes a hold of your hips in his large hands, guiding you to stand between his thighs. You go pliantly, melting into his broad chest with a soft sound of contentment.

“Thank you,” he whispers, tone heavy with what he’s not willing to say right now. You get it all the same, and the feeling of pride from earlier swarms up in your chest again. You did good, you won, you did it all for Nico. And sure you’ll have to still keep an ear to the ground for Rino, but Nico is safe and happy.

You press a kiss to his chest through his shirt. “I’m tired, Schao.”

He runs a hand up your back, nose pressing into your forehead sweetly. “Let’s go nap baby.” He pats at the outside of your thigh, moving to guide you back to the room. “We’ve had a busy day.”

Starting the day with an early morning proposal and then the chat with his family, and now a long trip home. It has been a busy day.

You wiggle out of your jeans, kicking them towards your suitcase to be packed later before climbing into the bed that’s still unmade. Nico kicks off his own jeans, working his shirt over his head and you’re reminded of how he’d celebrated your engagement in these very sheets just this morning.

Blushing, you watch as Nico slips under his side of the blankets. Like two magnet ends, you slide into his side, laying your cheek on his bicep and throwing your leg over his middle. Smiling, his free hand drops under the blankets to hold the meatiest part of your thigh, the pads of his fingers lovingly rubbing little circles into your skin.

“We’ll be home soon,” you whisper, excited. He makes an agreeable humming noise and you peak up to find his eyes already closed, dark eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheeks.

Laying your left hand over his heart, you admire the pretty diamond for a bit longer. Feeling his heart beat, listening to his breath even out, entranced by the pretty pearls until your eyes slip shut on their own accord.

~~~~

Nico is having a dream.

Or something like a dream, he thinks. He’s been here a million times, knows the exact shade of the walls and the thread count of the bed sheets and the smell of the candle on the nightstand. It is his favorite place after all; The bedroom he shares with you at home.

For a moment he thinks it’s a memory. There’s something about the air in the room, it feels so familiar and certain. Like he already knows what’s gonna happen and he’s just patiently waiting for it. He shuffles in the bed, blinking through the dark air as he realizes you’re awake too and quietly speaking.

Nico thinks you’re speaking to him, sits up higher on the pillows and moves to fully look at you. But you’re not looking at him. Instead, you’re turned away from him, sitting up with the bedding bunched around your hips. His shirt is draped over your shoulders and hangs loosely around your neck, the collar stretched out from the countless times he yanked and pulled it to kiss down the column of your throat and collarbones.

His mind tells him to reach out, to brush his fingers over the back of your neck to get your attention. His hands stay still though, muscles not making any effort to comply with his brain. Helpless, Nico watches your shoulders and back move as you speak quietly, the words unintelligible to him.

Moving on its own accord, Nico’s body sits up on the mattress and tucks into the curve of your back, his chin pressing into your shoulder blade. The sight in front of him makes his heart skip, confusion turning to panic, and he’s so grateful that your hand reaches back to rest on his thigh, as if comforting him.

A dream, it has to be a dream. Because it’d be impossible of him to have the memory of a child standing at your bedside in the middle of the night.

It’s a boy, maybe eight or nine years old. It’s funny, Nico thinks, how dark the room is but the features of the boy are crystal clear. Dark brown eyes, red rimmed and full of tears, innocently framed by equally dark eyelashes. It’s startling to see, to be looking at the same eyes he sees in the mirror.

Nico’s breath catches in his chest. He’s looking at himself he think, examining the boys dark and messy hair. Why is he looking at himself?

Except he’s not, he realizes a beat later. The soft shape of the boys face, the fullness of his mouth, the roundness of his nose. They’re features he’d recognize anywhere because they’re yours.

This boy, a perfect blend of you and him, isn’t a younger, dream version of himself. It’s a child he shares with you, it’s your son.

He doesn’t blink an eye at Nico’s sudden presence over your shoulder, his gaze desperately locked on you and if his eyes weren’t enough to prove this kid is Nico’s too, that simple action certainly is.

A teddy bear is clutched in the boys hands, little fingers tangled around the neck of the stuffed animal. Deja vu stirs Nico’s brain, memories of him as a child holding his bear the same way suddenly surfacing. Maybe that kid is supposed to be Nico when he was younger because the more he notices, the more he realizes he’s lived this night before.

The boy is hiccuping, fighting back blubbery cries and squeezing at that teddy bear as he retells the nightmare he woke up from. A once dream of him out in the yard, running and giggling through a game of tag with ‘the family’. It’s fun and he’s so excited to be with everyone.

Until suddenly it’s not fun and he doesn’t want anyone there. They’ve all turned into monsters, twisted faces of the people he loves, their eyes now black and menacing, chasing him with a dangerous desperation. It feels like they want to kill him.

The boy doesn’t say that, but Nico knows. It’s the same nightmare he used to have as a child. Luca and Nina, chasing him with evil eyes and death grips. His parents, following behind with the same look, not pursuing really but not helping either. It was the dream that plagued him for years, forced him from his bed and into his parent’s room until he was old enough to realize he was better off soothing himself back to sleep.

The air in the room has gone cold, Nico’s own breath shuddering against the skin of your shoulder and he wants to move, needs to move. He needs to reach around you, reach for the crying boy because Nico knows what comes next.

It’s the part where his mother blinks back at him, tired and annoyed, mumbling dismissively that it was a dream and he’s too old to be doing this. He has his own bed and room, he knows how to put himself back to bed. Time to grow up and get over it, or if really necessary, wake the nanny next time. His father has work tomorrow and can’t be disturbed. Nico knows that, he’s reminded and then sent back out of the room with his teddy bear squeezed so tightly in his hands he thinks the seams might rip.

He still can’t move however, can’t get his body to cooperate with the signals he’s screaming at it. Someone needs to get to the boy, needs to pick him up and hug him, needs to wipe those tears off his puffy cheeks and tell him that would never happen, that his family loves him and he’s got nothing to be scared of.

To his horror, Nico blinks and realizes it would be you. You’d be his mother in this dream, dismissing the boy with a cold shoulder before making sure he himself hasn’t been bother by the intrusion. The same as his mother used to do for his father. Even worse, Nico realizes he’s his father in this stupid dream, this stupid nightmare.

You pull away from Nico and his heart seizes, his own eyes stinging with tears as he waits for you to dismiss the crying child. He’s a marble statue on the bed, watching you reach for the blankets with bated breath.

He expects you to pull them back over your shoulder and lay down. Except you don’t, your hands pushing them further down your thighs and you’re getting up from the bed.

Like its instinct, the boys stretches his little arms out to you and you lean down to meet him halfway. Wrapping him up in your arms, you lift him onto your hip and the boy curls into you, hugging his bear tightly and laying his head on your chest. You hold him protectively, a hand soothing the hair on the nape of his neck and rocking him steadily until his cries are just sniffles into the fabric of your shirt. It’s then that Nico can finally move again, the invisible hold on his limbs easing to nothing.

“He’s ok,” he hears himself saying, “he’s ok now.”

Like you’re seeing him for the first time, not noticing until now that Nico is in the dream, you turn to him. Your eyes shine, tired but warm and with a loving smile you approach the bed. Nico reaches out, eager now that he can get his body to cooperate and gestures for you to get back in bed. Softly, you lay the boy down in bed, his head on your pillow and wet eyes blinking at Nico.

“Daddy?” He asks and Nico can’t breathe, can’t speak. His mouth opens, unsure of what to even say but nothing comes out anyway. It feels like his vocal cords have been taken, silenced.

But then you lay down too, settling into the mattress besides the young boy and Nico lets out a quiet breath. Nervously, Nico draws the teary eyed boy into his chest, hands tender and uncertain but the boy goes easily, snuggling into Nico’s hold like he’s been there a million times before. Laying back into the pillows, Nico watches you move closer, laying your head on his bicep and your hand comes up to play with the boys hair. You throw your leg over Nico’s, touch your foot to his calf and he melts into the bed.

It feels safe, being here. In his bed, his home with you. The weight of you and the son he shares with you on his chest. Knowing that he’s ok, Nico’s ok and the boy is too.

Nico wakes up with a start, the light of the setting sun harsh on his eyes and he has to blink rapidly to get the white spots to clear up. Heart thumping painfully loud in his chest and ears, he forces himself to take deep breaths.

He’s in his room, well the room you two now share, just not the one from his dream. This house and room have been left at the bare minimum, abandoned after he left to the United States. The cleaning crew comes every other week to keep it fresh and tidy, and the grounds crew every few weeks to care for the lawn. Nico’s never cared about this house. It was given to him by his grandfather, part of his inheritance. They all got a house within ten miles of grandfathers house. For security and safety reasons.

Nico almost sold it when he first got to Jersey. Thought of using the money to speed up the process of getting the Devs going, but he actually enjoyed living in the cramped apartment with Timo and Jonas and Jesper and the girls. It felt like a real home with a real family.

And his siblings would never forgive him if he got rid of the family gift from his grandfather.

Now, he’s glad he didn’t. It’s still not home to him, but he’s shared too many moments in this house with you already. He can’t imagine anyone else but you in the kitchen, drinking tea with him in the morning. Chasing you around the piles of snow outback in the middle of the night. The sheets have already begun to smell like you and him, a perfect mix of his cologne and your perfume, just like the sheets back in Jersey.

And as much as he hated his grandfather, the old kook was right about one thing. Being this close is safe. If anything were to happen to him, to the Devs, you’d have this home. A safe place for you and Moose and probably Alex too at the very least. Near his family, his mother who he can shockingly trust to make sure you’re taken care of.

Nico’s pulse and breath even out, and he drags a hand down his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. They still feel heavy and groggy, begging to return to sleep. He blinks, lets the image of the dream float fuzzily into his mind again.

A kid. Nico had a kid. Somewhere in his subconscious, he’s ok with that. The thought brings a lump to front of his throat, but not one big enough to choke on. Improvement, he thinks happily. He’s easing into this family thing, spurred by the image of you. You’ve always been so sweet with Nico, so patient of his faults and the time he needed to grow up and heal.

He can be patient too, he thinks. And kind, and loving, and protective, and providing. And present. Everything a good dad should be.

Tears sting at the back of his throat, blurring his vision and he sniffles quietly.

Nico doesn’t want to wake you, but the arm you’re using as a pillow is stinging with pins and needles, fingertips cold and numb. And even though you’re plastered to his side, he wants more.

Hesitant and a bit embarrassed, he rolls onto his side to face you, wincing as he attempts to wiggle his arm out from under you. The movement makes you stir, a sharp inhale of air cutting through the silent room and then your blinking your eyes open, coming face to face with Nico.

“Sorry,” he whispers, pathetically, his voice cracking. That stupid burning feeling in his throat grows and Nico’s not even sure what he wants, what’s going on. He can feel himself panicking again as you sit up a bit and free his arm. He’s about to start babbling his dream to you in defense for the tears but you don’t even give him a chance.

Sleepily, you move up the pillows and onto your side, still facing him. But your arm is pushing at his shoulder and he molds like putty in your hands. Nudging him to move onto his side, his back now facing you, Nico inhales shakily. He can feel you shuffling behind him, rustling the blankets like you’re searching for something and he opens his mouth to ask what you’re doing.

You shush him by throwing your arm around his chest and your leg over his hip, pulling yourself tight to his back. Soft and worn fabric tickles the skin of his chest and he cranes his neck down, blinking at the sight of his teddy bear. He’d grabbed it from his childhood bedroom for you in the hospital and ever since it’s slept by your head or in the crook of your elbow.

Nico takes the bear from your hand, laying it against his chest and bicep, and you curl your arm tighter around him, fingers pressing over his heart in a welcome weight. It’s a nice feeling, the pressure and warmth of your body wrapped around him like this, and he can kinda see why you like when he holds you like this.

He feels so…safe and shielded. He closes his eyes, ignores the wet feeling of a few tears slipping down his cheeks.

“S’ok,” you whisper quietly into his ear, your face pressed into the back of his neck. “I’ve got you Neeky, s’ok.”

He drifts back off again, faintly realizing that that’s the first time you’ve called him that.

~~~~

The jet looms off to the side of the runway, the windows glowing with the cabin light and bulbs on the wings blinking. The car rolls to a stop next to a familiar black SUV, Timo putting it in park and killing the engine. Through the tinted window you can make out the other three Hischiers leaning against the front of it, bundled up in their coats. Luca’s got his arm tucked around a small, huddling figure.

“Maja,” you tell Nico, pressing your finger to the glass and looking back at him with a smile. He follows your gesture, laughing softly.

“You like Maja huh?

“She’s sweet,” you answer, moving to release your seatbelt just as the other vehicle pulls up next to you. Mercer, eager to get home, practically leaps out of the drivers seat.

Timo is the first to get out, quickly dashing around the front of the car to open the passenger door for Amelia and you and Nico giggle quietly to yourself. You’ve never seen Timo so romantic before.

Pulling Nico’s beaning further over his ears and checking his zipper, you give him another little grin before opening the door. The air is cold and biting, stings your cheeks as you shuffle out and Nico follows, staying close to your back.

The other boys have all gotten out of the car too, lined up groggily by the back of your SUV and Timo leaves Amelia standing with you, moving towards the trunk.

“Timo,” Nico stops him, nodding to Amelia. “They’ve got it.”

Luke, Alex, and Mercer don’t even so much as grumble when Nico gestures for them to load the bags on the jet. Jack however, rolls his eyes, stomping his feet like a child as he joins them.

The Hischiers have come over to help now, not that Nico would ever let them so they all just stand in front of you, waiting and expectant.

“You have everything you need?” Nina asks you first, faux cheeriness in her voice and you know how upset she is to see her baby brother go.

Nico laughs under his breath, moving around you and pulling his sister into a hug. It’s enough of an answer for her, Nina greedily accepting the affection and snuggling into his hold.

“Come on you,” Maja calls, pulling herself out of her hiding spot under Luca’s arm. Simultaneously, they stretch out their arms to you and you laugh, moving to accept the double hug from them. Their puffer jackets make it a bit of a tight fit but you don’t mind, squeezing them as tight as you can.

“It was so nice to meet you, y/n.” Maja tells you, “you know if you ever need anything at all we’re here. Luca loves long flights.”

He makes a noise of complaint, something between a scoff and a snort, and you almost laugh imagining him just as restless on planes as Nico is.

“You and Nico both, huh?” You tease, pulling back to smile at him. He chuckles, snaking a cold hand up to ruffle your hair.

“You take care of him, ok kid?” He tells you, and even though it’s said softly, you can hear the underlying concern in his tone.

“Always,” you promise, then narrow your eyes at him in a stern frown. “You take care of Maja and Katja, ok kid?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Not Nina?”

“Nah I think she can handle herself and her Frenchies.”

That makes both Luca and Maja laugh, him giving you one final squeeze before letting you go. “I will.” He assures, a fond look in his eyes as he awkwardly pats at the top of your head again. Maja presses a sisterly kiss to your cheek, grinning sadly as she returns to hiding under Luca’s arm.

Nico, now parted from his sister, moves to swap places with you, his hand briefly finding the small of your back. Nina is already crying when you get to her, cheeks red from the cold and glistening.

“Aww don’t do that.” You beg, bundling her up in a hug. She laughs wetly, pressing her face into your shoulder.

“I got the emotions for all three of us it seems,” she jokes, referencing the lack of tears coming from her brothers. You don’t tell her that Nico can actually be the world’s biggest softy. And you don’t think about waking up to him crying earlier, because if it were something he wanted you to be concerned about, he’d tell you.

It was him healing, you tell yourself, and then shake the memory away for now.

“A blessing and a curse,” you say, pulling back to hold her at arms length. She swipes at her cheeks, sniffling.

“Thank you for everything this trip,” she says earnestly. “You make him so happy, it’s like a brand new Nico. He hasn’t been like this since he was a baby.”

Your heart squeezes, a bittersweet feeling seeping into your veins. Sometimes it’s hard to picture Nico being a happy baby. He’s so neutral and solid now, confident but tense. Like he’s always waiting for something. But when you picture him singing in the car or wrestling Moose for toys and hanging out at the bar with the boys, you can see it.

Nico was born happy and bright, warm like the sun. Sometimes he hides it, but eventually he’ll show himself.

“You fixed him.” Nina shrugs, sniffling with fresh tears in her eyes again.

“That was all him,” you tell her, repeating your words to Katja from earlier “I may have been inspiration but he never really needed fixing. He just needed to know that we love him.”

The tears roll down her cheeks, a blubbering cry escaping her and you laugh, pulling her into another hug. After a moment of sniffling, she pulls back.

“I’m ok,” she says more to herself, laughing again. “I’m sorry he grew up like this, that we grew up like this.”

It’s not her fault, though you can’t really imagine having a baby brother and not protecting him. Maybe it’s just who you are though. Still, you wave off the apology. “It made him strong, it made you all strong.”

Releasing her, you dig in your pocket for the box you’d set aside earlier. Nina blinks rapidly, trying to dry her eyes and you hold it out to her.

“I think this belongs to you now.”

She gapes, recognizing the box immediately just as Nico had. “Y/n,” she gasps, “what? No that’s, she gave it to you and Nico-“

“Actually she gave it to Nico, and Nico gave it to me, and well I already have one so I figured it should go to someone who can make it mean something worthwhile.”

Nina shakes her head. “What about Luca? It’s meant for marriage?”

“I was told it stood more contractual obligation, but it should stand for love. It’s a wedding ring, after all. It should have ties to love.”

You press the box into her trembling hand. “Nico and I love you Nina. You’re the big sister I never had and well, this should dazzle on your finger while you woo every pretty French boy that struts by…”

She laughs wetly.

“And then maybe one day you’ll give it to your kids, kids you love, and they’ll give it to someone else they love.”

Her fingers wrap so tightly around the box her knuckles turn white. “I used to steal it from my mother’s jewelry box,” she says with awe. “After father got her an anniversary one and this one wasn’t worn anymore. I’d put it on my hand and imagine my grandmother had given it to me because it went so well with my eyes.”

Startling, you think it does. She’s got little flecks of green in them, more brown than anything else but they’re there. The same shade as the ring.

“It does,” you agree, letting her hug you again.

“I love you both too,” she murmurs, “and I’m gonna be a better sister, ok?”

Squeezing her, you nod. You don’t have a doubt that she won’t at least try, and that’s all you can really ask for. Maybe with Rino gone they’ll all find what they’ve been looking for.

Nina lets you go, tucking her hands into her coat pocket and sniffling through a smile. Nico finds his place next to you again, his hand falling to your lower back protectively and you subconsciously press closer into his side. Over her shoulder, the boys are carrying the last of the bags onto the jet.

Katja is fidgeting as she comes to say goodbye, anxiously picking at the strings of a gift bag in her gloved hand. It’s the most unkempt and normal looking you’ve ever seen her. It’s refreshing.

“My turn?” She says with a weak laugh.

She’s close enough for you to reach out and touch her, so you carefully cup your hands around the fist holding the gift bag.

“Thank you,” you say earnestly, “for warning us, for trusting me. I’m sorry it took me a bit to realize it.”

Katja shakes her head softly. “Don’t thank me. It was the right thing to do,” she looks at Nico, blinks sadly. “I should’ve done a lot of things differently and I should’ve done them a lot sooner,

“I’m sorry that I didn’t fight for my autonomy Nico, and I’m even more sorry that I didn’t fight for yours either.”

His body stiffens behind you, and you quickly let go of Katja’s hands in favor of slipping your arm around his waist and resting the other on his stomach, grounding him.

From here you can only see his side profile, stoic and intense in a way that’s strictly his resting face. But you can feel it in him, see it in his eyes that are always so telling. Something raw and tender.

“You fought for my girl,” he says quietly, “that’s apology enough mother.”

It’s not exactly forgiveness, but it is acceptance, and that’s good for now. You can’t expect Nico to let everything go after one apology. After all, he was just a kid, a young boy with a big heart who tried to please everyone, tried to make them love him, and in return he only got hurt.

That’ll probably stay with him for the rest of his life.

Katja smiles, a little amused as if she were expecting him to say that. Again, you think of Nico waking you earlier, how desperate and upset he looked, lost in whatever dream he had. You wonder if she ever saw him like that, ever held him and let him know he was safe. After all, his favorite thing in the world to tell you is that you’re safe with him. Maybe he picked it up from her.

You have a feeling, though that it might just be strictly a Nico thing.

“This is for you,” Katja clears her throat uncomfortably. “I figured you’d want it for the wedding maybe or to just have.”

She holds the bag out to Nico, his fingers trembling as he pulls the handles apart. You tip toe to look inside with him, chest aching painfully when you see the baby blue book printed with bears and rattles. It’s a baby book, you realize, and tucked against it are thin stacks of photographs and old, crumbled drawings, all placed in a protective plastic sleeve.

It’s his childhood all tucked into one gift bag. The good parts of it at least. Rino did all he could to silence Katja, to make her just a figure in the background but at the end of the day she’s still a mother and Nico is still her baby boy.

You were wrong about her being unfazed by Nico’s indifference to her. This whole time she’s been secretly holding on to any parts of him she could get her hands on, no matter how tiny.

Nico, a bit dazed, hands the bag to you. You accept it, letting it hang from your fingertips carefully while he stares back at his mother.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “I-I was always trying to get photos from Nina to show her and yeah.”

It’s clear he doesn’t know what to say, overwhelmed with the gift but still appreciative. Katja must know that too, because she nods at him.

Nico coughs, clearing his throat. “We should get going. Don’t want to get in too late.”

Katja doesn’t say anything, just looks at you knowingly before you and Nico turn to gather Timo. He’s still saying goodbye Amelia, large arms wrapped around her and his face hidden in her hair. You and Nico already said your goodbyes to her in the car, knowing her and Timo would want this time together.

Leaving them to their moment, you look up at the jet, find the younger boys already seated inside and watching you both through the windows. You laugh softly, bumping Nico and gesturing for him to look.

“Dramatic,” he mutters with a roll of his eyes.

The Hischiers all look to you, one last parting smile on their lips. “Let us know when you land,” Nina requests and you happily oblige.

Nico takes your hand, starts to lead you towards the jet but you pause, waving to them one more time. “We’ll see you guys soon, yeah?”

Nina and Luca laugh. “We’ll talk after the holidays!” She calls, because you’re still slowly trailing away with Nico.

“Maja?”

You can’t see her smile, but you can hear it. “I’ll be there!”

Hopeful, you look to the slowly shrinking outline of Katja. She smiles, in a pristine but motherly way. “Soon,” she agrees simply, and you accept the answer, letting Nico easily guide you up the steps and into the jet.

~~~~

Nico’s foot fell asleep 20 minutes ago, his toes prickling uncomfortably with needles but he doesn’t dare move. After two hours of him attempting to act normal on the flight, sitting as still as possible and forcing himself to breathe evenly so he’s not huffing out sighs every five minutes, he’d given up.

Timo, a bittersweet look on his face, had collapsed into his seat and shut his eyes before the jet door was even shut. Nico doesn’t know if he’s asleep or just pretending, but no one dares disturb a tender-hearted Timo.

Jack and Luke had pulled out their switches as soon as the jet reached cruising altitude, bickering with each other over Fortnite and some other tractor game in the seats across from Timo.

Alex and Mercer sat across from Nico and you, shifting through the goody bags you’d left at all their seats. A little wooden mind puzzle game had kept Mercer occupied for about an hour, while Alex consumed almost every snack in his bag before curling up under a blanket and going to sleep.

It was at that point that Nico decided he’d had enough of acting like flying isn’t the bane of his fucking existence. It’s uncomfortable, it takes forever, there’s no breaks, and food options suck.

“Baby,” he’d pouted, looking to you all snug under your blanket with his teddy bear. You were half asleep too, eyes heavy and low as you just watched him and he wondered if you were waiting for him to fall asleep first.

At his beckoning, you’d gotten up from your seat and slipped easily between his parted thighs, settling into his lap like you belonged there. Then you’d slid his laptop over from in front of your seat, putting the volume on low and pressing play on Casablanca. Nico thinks you maybe watched five minutes of it before you fell asleep on his shoulder, your hand tucked under the hem of his quarter zip to warm your cold fingers.

Nico hasn’t moved since, except to switch movies and then pull the blanket over your shoulders. Even though he really wants to slip his stupid shoes off and he should probably get feeling back to his foot. Instead he just holds you, enjoying the feeling of your back steadily rising and falling as you breathe.

Just over the screen of the laptop, broody brown eyes watch him, swollen and tired but refusing to shut. Nico was hoping the further away from Switzerland you got, the more relaxed Mercer would be. Instead he looks like he’s got cyanide between his teeth.

Nico gently cups his hand over your ear, not wanting to wake you. “Merc,” he calls quietly, “she’s fine now buddy. I swear.”

“I know,” he says, blinking lazily “but it was scary Nico. Her asking me to do that was scary and seeing him hit her…”

Dawson adjusts himself in his seat, making a face like just the memory of it makes him sick. “I remember her after Philly. And I remember you both disappearing. And I know she’s got you and you’ve got her, but maybe I’ve got both of you too, ya know?”

In all this time since Philly, Nico never thought what happened really changed the boys. Sure they were upset and protective over her, but that comes with the territory. He never imagined that it scared them or still haunted them to this day too. Enough so that even a cut to your lip could make Mercer get like this.

Nico’s proud. Mercer has always kind of skated by, goofed off and put in minimal effort. Most of the time it feels like the boy just gets by on luck. Yet he’s spent this whole trip being your guy, your second hand, your Robin basically. And he’s done it better than Nico could’ve asked him to.

“Yeah,” he agrees, quietly because he does understand. Mercer doesn’t want this to set them back, to become something you hide from.

“I’m sorry,” Mercer suddenly mumbles, frowning with this far away look in his eyes. “About Rino and your family. And I’m sorry we always called you grumpy and stuff. If my family were like that I don’t think I’d even be half as nice as you are.”

Nico chuckles. “Nice isn’t typically used to describe me Merc.”

“Well you are nice,” he insists, gaze returning to Nico now. “I mean, you took a bunch of us in and made us a family. Taught us how to grow up. I was big ol’ baby before I got here. Never had to do anything for myself. And Alex was gonna spend his life in prison. And she didn’t have anyone anymore.

“You gave us a good home, Boss.”

It’s a little too much to take in. Nico feels like his nerves have been stripped raw and exposed to the winter winds all day, relentless and invisible fingers picking at them like strings. First his family, now this. He’s not sure what else he can take.

He clears his throat, nodding stiffly in thanks and the faintest hint of a smie flashes on Mercer's face. "Get some rest Dawson, we're ok now." Finally, he closes his eyes, leaning back into his seat. Nico waits for the sounds of Dawson's breath to even out before he too closes his eyes.

Nico doesn’t want to come back to Switzerland for a long time, especially not without knowing where Rino ran off too. But he thinks of the gift bag from his mother, the engagement ring sitting prettily on your finger, the image of you engulfed in tearful hugs with Luca, Maja, and Nina, and he thinks maybe it wasn’t all so bad.

He’s coming home feeling more loved and accepted than he’s ever felt in his life. And it’s all thanks to you, his fiancée, his girl. His family, he thinks warmly, drifting off to join you in sleep.

[averagepossumenjoyer]

"Tag nine people you want to get to know better" thing. (I'm not against such things, on the contrary, I would like more of them, I don't know, for some reason I've been very sociable lately.)

Tagged by: @macaron-jester

Favorite Color: Purple. It's always been purple. Idk why.

Currently Reading: "Five books of the lives, heroic deeds and sayings of Gargantua and his son Pantagruel". We are currently studying medieval literature in lectures, and I decided to start with this one from the whole list. But I like it and I didn't regret this decision at all. I think I'm going to be obsessed with medieval literature in the near future anyway, I think I'm going to be too interested in this topic the more I start studying it.

Last Song: Hush -- Deep Purple. It's been about an hour since I listened that song on my playlist, lol.

Last Movie: I watched a lot of movies during the holidays, but I remember that the last ones were "The Mask" and "Shrek the Third".

Last Series: Honestly, I'm not a fan of series just because I'm too lazy to watch them, although sometimes I really want to. But at the same time, I've often felt gusts of nostalgia lately and I've been watching some animated series because of the memories and the fact that they sometimes inspire me. "Adventure Time" was one of them.

Sweet, Savoury, Spicy: Sweet things can't be without savoury things, just as savoury things can't be without sweet things. They are complete opposites, but at the same time they exist in harmony. I can't choose one thing, I need this damn balance every day, sorry.

Craving: I usually don't eat for half a day, so when I get home, I'm ready to eat anything. But sometimes I think about cinnamon bun, garlic bread, or ciabatta. Or schnitzel with pickled cucumbers. Or about cranberries in sugar. I'm not picky about food.

Tea/Coffee: Once upon a time, I couldn't live without tea. Now I can't live without coffee.

Currently working on: That's where the fun begins. A comic that I plan to release either on October 31st or November 24th (I even thought about rescheduling it to December.). It's actually a long story, because I want to do it probably from 2021 or 2022, (I even have some kind of storyboard of some moments from then and one concept art or something like that. Actually, that's not all, there are more such things, it's just what I have access to now) but then I lacked the skills, 2023 was a big shock and disappointment for me, which caused me to be in a kind of stagnation for a long time, and in 2024 I may have recovered from that year, but I was just exhausted. I think this year I will finally create what I wanted and I will have to start in the near future to make it.

I'm currently making concepts for the main characters, and so far 3/8 of the main and minor ones are coming out. There are a lot more secondary characters as well as the main ones, but I can't show some of them in the way I would like. I can't post the finished part now because I want to show them all together.

Sometimes I open FL Studio, but for this I definitely need to catch the moment when some annoying melody starts playing in my head. A couple of days ago, I didn't have time to save that kind of the melody. But maybe I'll recreate it someday if I remember. I used to have a guitar and I could play the first half of "Killer Queen" before the chorus according to some tutorial. Basically, I'm just drawing, rather than doing music thing.

Beware of this, y'all, more than half of my subscribers! But I'm not insisting, I'm just suggesting.

@flowuraa @c00kietin @artsandstoriesandstuff @bvannn @owlthatnestslow @hyperiinked @lavendercheesecake @ridiculouslyaverageguy @tobyfoxfacts

rules: tag nine people you want to get to know better

Tagged by @indrid-hot - thanks a bunch!

Favorite Color: A nice, warm, sunny orange - but also honestly most other colors of the rainbow and then some.

Currently Reading: The Tevinter Nights Dragon Age short story collection.

Last Song: L'appuntamento - Ornella Vanoni

Last Movie: Ah, gosh. HM. I haven't watched anything that's not a TV show in a while. I semi-voluntarily caught the last fifteen minutes of Scrooged over the winter holidays I guess?

Last Series: Last series I watched any part of is, as always, "Emergency!" because I will never not be stuck in 70's paramedic hell. If we're talking new-to-me shows, a friend's making me watch Grey's Anatomy (early seasons) once a week, probably because observing my growing despair about the characters' poor life choices is fun. I don't even normally watch medical shows, and yet here we are lol

Sweet, Savoury, Spicy: Savory if I had to pick

Craving: Some good spaghetti with olive oil and obscene amounts of lightly toasted garlic.

Tea/Coffee: Yes please, lol

Currently working on: OH BOY WHAT A QUESTION.

Spinning: Gotland on my spindles (4-ply, one single per spindle, for funsies - except I accidentally mixed up which bits of fiber go with which single on which spindle, so that'll be fun to sort out...), 7oz/200g of red Merino on the wheel (for a crochet hat, followed by 9.5 oz of red and black Merino for a woven scarf). But also 24.5oz/700g of grey Merino. And cotton on the supported spindle. And I've got some laceweight viscose on the mini turkish spindle that I should really work on...

Crocheting: Half a dozen things, including a lacy collar that needs buttons and blocking, a gigantic star-shaped wrap-around shawl, an incredibly boring granny square top for my little sister, and too many others to count.

Art: The Emergency! tarot as the eternal never-ending WIP; I also have some Dragon Age Veilguard related plans revolving around the Grand Necropolis and irl Catacomb Saints and I'd love to get some DA-style tarot cards done for all my player characters.

Writing: I still have a couple unfinished fanfics that need another chapter, as well as two deeply self-indulgent OC/Emergency! crossovers that friends are making me write, and I also have some Dragon Age stuff in the works - though if anyone will ever see that is another question entirely.

Music: Practicing various stuff for LARP; also slowly chipping away at Hozier's Work Song because my partner asked nicely.

With no pressure, I will tag: @geminyde, @caseyscraftycorner, @swords-n-spindles, @alpacazappa, @rosesonneptune, @rose-of-pollux, @zooarchaeologyatdinner, @kalikatze aaaaand I can't decide on a 9th person to tag so whoever wants to do this: You're It!

[gliphyartfan]

Scenario where we stray a little to close and die in battle. Everyone is grieving, only for Time to grab all his boys and play the Ocarina of Time, bringing them back in time to like that morning well before the battle. Everyone is gushing and relived out of their mind all while we’re super confused and panicking because “why does everyone look like they went through HELL?! You all looked fine a second ago why are half of you injured?!?!”

I tried to make this a hint funny but quite frankly, those boys wouldn’t make even the slightest effort to smile after such a tragedy.

Anywho~ let’s begin!

——-

The battle had been dragging on too long.

They were too close to camp, too close to where (y/n) was supposed to be safe. The usual chaos of fighting monsters had turned into something coordinated, attacks coming in waves, blocking off paths, forcing them to keep moving rather than pushing back.

Something wasn’t right.

Then they heard it.

A scream.

(Y/n)’s scream.

Wild and Legend ran.

They didn’t hesitate, didn’t call out to the others, didn’t stop to think. Their feet moved before their minds could catch up, hearts slamming against their ribs like they were already too late.

(Y/n) should be safe. They should be fine. That scream shouldn’t have happened.

Please be safe.

Please be okay.

Please—

A monstrous roar cut through the air, deep and furious, shaking the ground beneath them.

The camp was in sight.

It was wrecked.

Torn fabric from their tents flapped uselessly in the wind, supplies were scattered and broken, blood smeared the dirt like something had been dragged—

And standing in the middle of it all was a Lynel.

(How. HOW did they not notice such a beast?! to think it got so CLOSE to camp!!)

Huge. Breathing heavy. Sword dripping red.

Wild and Legend didn’t need to search for (y/n).

They were there.

Collapsed. Motionless.

Blood pooling beneath them.

Their hair was covering most of their face, but from here—Wild could still see their eyes.

Wide. Unmoving.

No.

No.

No, no, no, NO—

Wild’s body reacted before his mind did, a sound ripping from his throat, something raw and enraged and desperate. He charged, drawing his weapons as he moved, his body running on instinct, on muscle memory, on rage.

Lynels. He knew how to kill them. He knew their movements, their patterns, their weaknesses.

And he was going to tear this one apart.

Legend barely noticed.

He was already on his knees beside (y/n), hands shaking as he scrambled for whatever potions he had left, pouring them onto their wounds, pressing down with trembling fingers.

Too much blood.

Too deep.

Too still.

“(Y/n)?” His voice cracked. “Hey, hey, come on. Stay with me.” His hands pressed harder, his magic flickering between his fingers as he tried, tried, tried to heal them. “You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine. You have to be fine.”

No response.

Their chest wasn’t moving.

He wasn’t losing them.

He wasn’t.

“Please, please, don’t do this.” he whispered, his fingers gripping too tight, as if he could physically keep them here.

As if he could stop them from slipping away.

Wild was still fighting, hacking, killing. The Lynel barely had time to react before he was tearing it apart, his strikes vocious, his movements fueled by something beyond anger.

But Legend didn’t look up.

His entire world had narrowed down to (y/n).

And those unseeing eyes.

——-

——

The battlefield behind them was eerily quiet, the last of the monsters taken care of. But there was no relief. No victory. Just a sick feeling crawling up their spines, twisting their stomachs.

They quickly followed the path Wild and Legend had taken, weapons still drawn, bodies tense. They felt something was wrong before they even saw it.

Then they reached the camp.

And the world stopped.

Wild was still hunched over his blade, tbe Lynel collapsing from the final stroke through it’s head, Wild’s breath ragged, blood, his or its, no one knew, dripping from his blade.

His eyes were wild, teeth bared, the rage that had driven him still bubbling beneath the surface. But he wasn’t moving.

Legend was crouched beside (y/n, arms clutching them close, his expression twisted with desperation.

And then there was (y/n).

Still. Too still.

The blood around them was so much.

No one spoke. The air was thick with a suffocating silence, as if even breathing too loud would make this, this awful, sickening nightmare, more real.

Hyrule was the first to move.

A single step. Then another.

Then he was running.

He dropped to his knees beside them, his hands already glowing with the familiar light of his Life Spell, fingers trembling as he pressed his hands to their skin.

The magic flared.

Then sputtered.

Didn’t take.

His breath hitched.

“No-” His voice cracked as he pushed more, pleading with the magic, with them. ‘Nonononono…”

The others started moving, drawn in like gravity itself was pulling them toward the only one that mattered to them. Slowly, cautiously, terrified.

One by one, they gathered around, forming a tight circle, as if their presence alone could keep you here.

No one said anything at first. There was nothing to say.

Twilight hovered close, hands clenching and unclenching, like he was barely holding himself together. Sky was shaking, his entire body rigid, fists curled so tight they were white. Warriors swallowed thickly, his usual composure gone, replaced with something raw and unreadable.

Wind’s lips were pressed together, his expression tight, angry in the way one locke in denial and grief often is. Four’s fingers twitched at his sid, his eyes locked onto (y/n)’s like looking away would make this worse.

Time was silent, his face unreadable but his hands shaking at his sides.

Someone, maybe Sky, let out a quiet, broken sound.

Then Warriors knelt beside (y/n), one hand gripping their shoulder, his voice hoarse. “Hey. Hey, come on.”

Like he was expecting them to just open their eyes and tell everyone this was all some cruel joke.

Like they’d wake up if he just held on tight enough.

Legend had stopped speaking altogether, his shoulders shaking as he bit down on his lip so hard it nearly bled.

Hyrule’s magic flared again, fighting to work, his breathing harsh.

“Please…” he whispered.

The others stayed so still, the air around them too fragile, as if any wrong move would send it all shattering into something worse.

They couldn’t lose them.

They…they simply couldn’t.

—-

—-

Time stood frozen, staring down at their still body. The world around him felt distant, the sounds muffled, like he was underwater, like he was drowning.

His breath came fast, shallow, the rush of blood roaring in his ears, drowning out everything else. His heart slammed against his ribs, a relentless pounding that rattled through his chest.

It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in so long.

Like he was a child again.

Like he was powerless.

He had spent his entire life fighting against fate, defying it, clawing his way through trials no one should have to endure.

He had walked through time itself, lived two lifetimes, shouldered the burden of Hyrule’s expectations. He had worn a mask that turned him into something beyond mortal, something that should have made him strong enough to protect what mattered.

And then that Sorcerersss had dragged him and many others into that war, he had fought alongside other legends, both old and new, had witnessed firsthand what it meant to lead, to command, to win.

He had survived all of it.

And yet here he was, standing over their body, feeling helpless.

His hands clenched at his sides, trembling.

No.

No, this wasn’t happening.

This couldn’t be happening.

They were supposed to be safe.

He had watched over them, he had promised.

His vision blurred, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

It wasn’t supposed to be them.

He should have been faster.

Should have been stronger.

Should have-

He took a step forward, his foot landing in the pool of blood. Their blood.

His stomach twisted violently, bile rising in his throat.

He couldn’t do this again.

Not another person. Not them.

The others had gathered around now, their grief tangible, suffocating. Hyrule was desperately pushing his magic into them, his hands glowing too bright, his breaths too fast.

Time felt himself sway slightly, like the weight of it all was pressing down on him, crushing him.

A quiet voice, from somewhere deep inside, from the child he had buried long ago, whispered, Not again. Not again. Not again.

And yet—

They weren’t moving.

The world felt too small, like it was closing in, like his ribs were collapsing in on themselves.

He could hear Sky muttering something under his breath, Warriors pressing down harder on their shoulder, like he could just shake them back awake.

Wild was still kneeling beside the Lynel’s corpse, his body hunched over, his entire frame shaking with something between rage and despair.

And Legend was curled over them, his head bowed, his shoulders trembling.

Time forced himself to breathe, forcing back the panic, the nausea.

He couldn’t afford to break down.

Not now.

Not here.

Because if he let himself slip, if he let himself grieve, it would be admitting that they were already gone.

Time barely noticed when his hands started to shake.

His breathing was uneven, shallow, like he couldn’t get enough air. His heart hammered in his chest, erratic and painful. His mind was slipping, too many thoughts at once, too many emotions clashing and screaming inside him.

His fingers curled, nails digging into his palms, his hands trembling so violently that he could barely control them. He needed to do something, needed to act, needed to fix this-

His hand brushed against something within one of his pouches.

Smooth. Familiar.

His breath hitched. His fingers twitched, hesitant, before reaching in and slowly pulling it free.

He held it with both hands, staring down at it like it was something foreign, something he didn’t recognize. But he did. Of course, he did. (Was this disassociation?)

This was his.

This was a power he desperately needed.

His vision blurred, he wasn’t sure if it was from grief, from desperation, from the pressure crushing down on him. But his mind… his mind was erratic, scattered, racing in a dozen different directions.

To undo.

To change.

His breath came faster, harsher.

What if he could undo this?

His grip tightened on the ocarina, knuckles going white, his entire body trembling.

He could fix this.

He could make it right.

He could bring them back.

His heartbeat pounded so loud it drowned out everything else.

He lifted the ocarina to his lips, fingers poised, ready to play.

Only for a hand to grab his arm and yank it away.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Twilight’s voice was raw, edged with something frantic and desperate. His grip on Time’s arm was bruising, fingers digging in as though physically stopping him would undo the sheer horror of the moment.

Time barely turned his head, the motion sluggish, his mind still caught in a haze of grief and erratic thoughts.

Twilight’s chest heaved, his breath ragged, eyes wild. “You-You can’t just-” He choked, his voice catching like the words physically fought him to leave his throat.

Warriors was there too, stepping in, his face tense, unreadablex but there was a sharpness in his gaze as he stared down at the instrument in Time’s hands.

Twilight’s grip on Time tightened. “You don’t—You don’t get to play that song! You don’t get to—” He cut himself off, his breath hitching as he visibly struggled to get his words under control. “That song—it means—”

He stopped again, shaking his head furiously, his grip still locked on Time like he was terrified of letting go.

Time exhaled, slow, measured. “This is the only way..”

His voice was steady, but it wasn’t him. It wasn’t the leader of the Chain speaking, it was something worn. Something dangerously close to the child he had long since buried.

But Twilight barely heard him.

“You don’t get to just—You don’t get to—!”

His hands curled into fists, his breathing was shallow, his body was locked so tight he looked like he was on the verge of breaking into pieces.

He couldn’t say it.

Couldn’t say the word.

Because if he said it, it would be real.

And he didn’t want it to be real.

Twilight was unraveling. He felt himself unraveling, his body too tight, too tense, like if he let go for even a second, he’d completely fall apart. His breath was coming in short, panicked bursts, his throat tight with something raw and unbearable. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, gripping Time’s tunic like it was the only thing keeping him standing.

“You—” Twilight’s voice cracked, his words slipping out, desperate and broken. “You can’t just—You don’t get to do this, Time!”

Time remained still. His expression unreadable. His hands, tight around the ocarina, steady in a way Twilight’s weren’t.

“Twilight.”

It was calm. Too calm. Like he was trying to soothe a cornered animal.

It only made Twilight’s breathing worse.

“No! Don’t—don’t say my name like that! Like you—like you know something I don’t! Like you’ve already decided—” His chest was heaving, his grip tightening before loosening again, his body betraying him, caught between fight and collapse. “You think you can just play that song and..and—” His voice broke, “They’re NOT gone, Time, you can’t just act like their soul needs peace! T…They’re just—” He shook his head, “they aren’t gone, they..they need help! ..w-we need to find a healer! A fairy! S-someone who can…can...”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Time exhaled and looked properly at Twilight.

And Twilight froze.

His whole body locked up, something primal inside of him screaming run but keeping him rooted in place at the same time.

He’d seen that gaze before. Seen it on him, when the moon was full and seemingly burning and the weight of something much older, much more terrifying, resting against his shoulders. White. Cold. Empty.

Not human.

Twilight’s breath hitched. His grip on Time’s arm vanished, hands falling away, shaking as he stumbled a step back.

Time’s voice didn’t waver.

“I will fix this.”

The words settled over them like a death sentence.

Final. Unwavering.

Twilight couldn’t move. He felt paralyzed, his whole body fighting between panic and something almost instinctual, something telling him that this wasn’t his mentor, this wasn’t the man he knew.

The air was thick with something they couldn’t name.

Then—

“How can you fix THIS?”

Legend.

His voice was sharp but quiet, words slow, careful, as if afraid of the answer.

His bloodied hands were still on (y/n), fingers curled, knuckles white. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, his face pale, his body unmoving.

And he was staring at Time.

So were the others now. Minus Wild who remained on his knees where he was.

Time’s grip on the ocarina never wavered.

He was looking ahead, staring at something they couldn’t see.

Then—

“What are you about to do?” Legend asked.

“..The Song of Time.”

The words left Warrior’s lips before he could even think to stop them.

And then everyone was looking at him now, including Wild.

every single one of them turned to Time in a split second.

Because they knew what that meant.

Time’s fingers tightened around the ocarina.

“You—” Warriors took a step forward, “You were going to play the Song of Time?”

Time said nothing. He just looked at him.

And that was enough.

Hyrule’s breath hitched. “Wait—wait, could he—”

“Twilight jerked like he’d been hit, his mind finally catching up to the weight of what was happening.

“You—” his voice cracked, “You were going to undo this? You weren’t…?”

Time finally blinked. The weight in his gaze lessened just enough for Twilight to suck in a sharp, shuddering breath.

But Time still didn’t waver.

“I will fix this.” He said it again.

Warriors’ breath was uneven, his mind racing, hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to rip that damn ocarina from Time’s grasp.

But he didn’t.

Because deep down, some part of him wanted to believe.

He swallowed hard. “Will it work?”

Time’s fingers curled tighter around the ocarina. His jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he exhaled slow. “It will.”

And that was it.

That was all he said.

That shouldn’t have been enough.

But the way he said it, steady, certain, absolute,’like the sky was blue, like fire was hot, like the sun would rise tomorrow-

It made the air heavy.

It made belief an inevitability.

Sky’s breath hitched. “But—”

“How do you know?!” Wind cut in, shaking, desperate.. “How do you know it’ll be far enough?!”

“What if it only sends us back before the battle?” Wild snapped, voice raw. “We’d be dragging the beasts right to them! What if it doesn’t change anything? What if we just—” He broke off, his whole body trembling, his fingers digging into his arms like he was holding himself together with sheer force of will.

Time’s gaze flicked to him.

Then to Wind.

Then to Warriors.

To Twilight.

To everyone.

“It will.”

Like this wasn’t a question.

Like it was already decided.

Legend exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “And if you’re wrong?”

Time didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t.

Because the idea that he could be was never an option.

Not when it came to (y/n).

Never when it came to that one person.

“Time-“ Twilight’s voice cracked, his whole body tensed, barely keeping himself from shaking apart. “Do you even know how far it’ll—”

“I do.”

Twilight flinched.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t forceful.

But it was final.

It was a fact.

Like the way he breathed. Like the way he fought.

Like the way he had always been the Hero of Time.

This would work.

Because it had to.

“Now gather close, or you will be left behind.”

Time didn’t wait for another argument.

Didn’t give them another second to question him, to hesitate.

He just pressed the ocarina to his lips and played.

The first note rang out, trembling through the air, and the world shifted.

The melody poured from him like second nature, each note pulling at something unseen, unraveling the fabric of reality, tugging at the very threads of time itself.

The air around him hummed, thick with power, and he barely noticed when the others moved closer. Whether it was instinct or trust or sheer desperation, he didn’t know. Didn’t care.

All that mattered was the song.

All that mattered was fixing this.

The ground beneath him vanished. The sky unraveled like ink spilling across parchment. He was falling, weightless, the notes still lingering in the air as time itself bent.

And he knew this feeling.

Had lived this feeling.

He was used to it, the way time peeled away like layers of an old tapestry, the way the past reached up to swallow him whole.

But the others-

Some of them gasped, sharp and breathless, the weight of the shift hitting them like a punch to the gut. Some gritted their teeth, held onto each other, held onto him.

But Time didn’t focus on them.

Didn’t let himself get distracted.

Because there was only the song.

Only the pull of time wrenching them backward, dragging them through the currents of the past, demanding they return to where they were supposed to be.

He felt the moment it worked.

The moment the world clicked back into place.

And when his boots hit solid ground againc when the weight of his body settled into the morning light, into the world that had not yet seen blood,

He exhaled.

And opened his eyes.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

The morning sun filtered through the trees, golden and warm, birds chirping in the distance like nothing had changed—like everything hadn’t changed.

The smell of cooking drifted through the air, something light and familiar, the scent of simmering stew bubbling away in the pot that Wild—the past Wild—had left unattended just moments ago.

The camp was… whole.

No shattered remains of their tents, no bloodstains in the dirt, no lingering stench of burnt wood and monster corpses.

No… (y/n) lying broken on the ground.

Time let out a slow breath, calm and steady, as if this was exactly what he’d expected. And it was.

He knew it would work.

The others, though…

They were stiff, wary, shifting in place like the ground might give out beneath them at any second.

Legend was rubbing at his face, as if trying to wipe away the exhaustion that still clung to him. Wild was staring at the bubbling stew like it was some kind of hallucination.

Twilight stood a little ways off, staring at his hands, clenching and unclenching them like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Warriors was the first to speak. His voice was hoarse, his throat raw from all the shouting and grief of before, of a future that no longer existed.

“…We actually did it…” he muttered, like he barely believed it.

Wind swallowed hard. He looked down at his boots, scuffed and dirty from the battle that technically hadn’t happened yet. “We’re still—” He hesitated, gesturing at himself. At all of them. “Like this.”

Blood. Dirt. Scrapes and bruises from a fight that hadn’t even started. Evidence of what they’d just lived through, proof that it had been real.

That (y/n) had been-

Time exhaled slowly.

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice was even, firm. Grounding. “We’re here.”

He didn’t need to say why.

Didn’t need to remind them of what they needed to do next.

Because their heads all turned, almost in unison, toward the only tent still closed up for the morning.

The one where (y/n) was still asleep.

Still safe.

Still alive.

For a long, long moment, no one moved.

They just stood there, frozen in place, staring at the closed tent.

The urge to rush forward was almost unbearable, like a rope yanking at their chests, but no one made the first move.

It was too much.

The blood was still fresh in their memories. The sight of (y/n) lying there, unmoving, unbreathing—

They couldn’t go through that again.

So they stood there, tense and waiting, barely breathing.

And then—

Soft murmurs. A sleepy sigh. Rustling blankets.

The sounds hit them, sharp and painful in a way they couldn’t describe, their hearts all slamming against their ribs as the tent flaps finally shifted—

And (y/n) crawled out, rubbing their eyes, hair a mess, voice groggy as they blinked up at the group.

“…Mornin’,” they mumbled, completely oblivious to the way everyone stared.

No blood. No pain. No lifeless eyes staring up at them.

Just… sleepy, alive (y/n), squinting at them like they were the weird ones.

They yawned. “You guys okay?”

No one answered.

Because no one could breathe.

It was Hyrule who moved first.

Slow, cautious, like he was afraid to startle them. His hands trembled as he reached out, fingers barely ghosting over (y/n)’s arms, their shoulders, their face—checking for wounds that weren’t there anymore.

It was like his body was working faster than his mind, the overwhelming need to confirm pushing him forward before he could even think about it.

And then, as if his movement snapped a thread holding everyone back, the others surged forward.

They were on (y/n) in seconds, surrounding them, crowding close, hands reaching and grasping, pulling them into checks and touches that were both frantic and careful.

(Y/n) barely had time to react before they were trapped in a wall of bodies, everyone brushing over their arms, their back, their face—looking for injuries that didn’t exist.

“What— guys, what the hell—?” (Y/n) yelped, blinking fast as they suddenly registered how dirty everyone was.

Blood. Scrapes. Dirt smeared over their clothes and skin, like they’d been through something.

Like they’d just come back from a war.

(Y/n)’s breath hitched, their drowsiness vanishing.

“What happened to you guys?” Their voice was cautious now, eyes darting between the wild, desperate looks on their faces.

No one answered right away.

They were too busy touching them, reassuring themselves, trying to make sure this wasn’t some cruel trick—

That (y/n) was here. Alive. Whole.

Time, standing back from the chaos, finally let out a breath.

It worked.

——

——

It took a while for things to settle down.

At first, (y/n) was just confused,rightfully so. One minute they were crawling out of the tent, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, and the next, they were practically being smothered by the Chain.

And not in the usual overprotective way.

This was different.

It was desperate.

It took a lot of reassurance,(y/n) reluctantly eating breakfast while Wild kept glancing up like they’d disappear if he looked away, Warriors and Legend hovering nearby, and Twilight sticking close as if physically shielding them from something,before the group finally got moving.

Time made the call.

They weren’t staying here.

(Y/n) didn’t get why,nothing seemed wrong, their camp was fine, their usual routine untouched,but there was no arguing with him. He wasn’t going to change his mind.

So they packed up and left.

They moved far,not stopping until the area around them was completely unfamiliar, setting up camp in a much safer place, where there were no signs of monster dens, no ruins where enemies could be lurking, nothing.

And still, the paranoia remained.

No one relaxed.

Even after the fire was lit, even after dinner was done, even after everyone was settled in for the night, there was an edge to the air. Like the whole group was waiting for something.

(Y/n) had questions. So many questions.

But the longer they stared at the exhausted, shaken faces around them, the more they decided they didn’t want the answers just yet.

Eventually, one by one, the others turned in for the night. Even if they wouldn’t truly rest, they at least tried to pretend to.

(Y/n) was in their tent, laying down, half-expecting Twilight or Wild to come and insist on sharing their bedroll like they sometimes did when they got particularly clingy—

But instead, it was Time.

They blinked as the tent flap shifted, his tall form stepping inside. He moved slow, deliberate, like he was testing the space between them.

(Y/n) sat up, eyebrows raising.

“Uh… hey?” They greeted cautiously. “Something wrong?”

Time didn’t answer right away.

He just looked at them.

Really looked at them.

Like he was memorizing them all over again.

(Y/n) shifted under the weight of it, that unsettled feeling creeping back into their gut.

“… Time?”

Time sat down next to them without a word.

Not across from them, not a small distance away—right next to them, close enough that (y/n) could feel the slight shift in the bedroll beneath them.

He was silent.

Not just the usual quiet, the comfortable, thoughtful kind of silence Time carried.

This was heavy.

Thick.

Suffocating.

(Y/n) shifted awkwardly, the unease crawling up their spine. The others had been acting strange all day, but Time’s presence right now felt even worse. Like the weight of a storm about to break, something pressing down on them, making their stomach churn.

They hesitated.

Then, quietly, “Time… what’s going on?”

Still, he didn’t speak.

Didn’t even move.

Just sat there, shoulders stiff, hands clasped loosely together.

(Y/n) swallowed, forcing a nervous chuckle.

“Okay, you’re really starting to freak me out, old man. Did something happen?”

Finally, Time exhaled, slow and steady.

“…Something happened.”

(Y/n) perked up a little. “Yeah?”

Time nodded.

“I fixed it.”

(Y/n) blinked.

“…What?”

Another pause.

(Y/n) narrowed their eyes, the hairs on the back of their neck standing on end.

“Fixed what? What—”

“Don’t.”

The firm edge in Time’s voice startled them into silence.

It wasn’t a command.

It wasn’t an order.

It was a plea.

Time turned his head slightly, his jaw clenched, his good eye dark in the dim light of the tent.

“If you keep asking me…” he said, voice low, slow, measured, “I will tell you.”

(Y/n) stared.

He swallowed, his hands tightening into fists against his knees.

“And I don’t want to tell you…” He admitted, not wanting to te them how they all failed in protecting them. How their blood pooled beneath their cold body.. “So please… don’t ask me.”

(Y/n) felt their pulse in their throat.

Something was wrong.

The others had been acting strange, paranoid. Wild had barely let them breathe all morning. The whole group had been on edge, even after they had moved camp.

And now Time was sitting beside them, heavy and tired and quietly begging them not to dig any further.

(Y/n) licked their lips, their voice small.

“…Was it that bad?”

Time inhaled sharply.

His fingers twitched.

His mind flickered back-

The torn camp.

The blood.

(Y/n), limp and still, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing.

Time closed his eye.

“…Yes.”

(Y/n) barely had time to process the answer before they found themselves moving.

Their body acted before their mind, before they even realized what they were doing, reaching out, wrapping their arms around Time, holding onto him firmly, as if trying to ground them both.

For a moment, there was nothing.

Time sat stiffly beneath their hold, unresponsive.

Then his shoulders shook.

A breath hitched.

A sharp inhale, one that he tried to keep quiet, but (y/n) felt it against their shoulder, the way his body trembled, the weight of his grief pushing against them, too much to fully contain but held back just enough.

(Y/n) held him tighter.

They didn’t understand what happened.

They didn’t know what Time had done.

But whatever it was…

It had hurt him. Hurt them all. badly.

(Y/n) pulled back slightly, hands still resting on Time’s shoulders as they looked up at him.

His head was bowed, breath uneven, his expression twisted with something too heavy to name. The dim light of the tent only made it worse, casting shadows over the worn lines of his face.

Without thinking, (y/n) reached up, cupping his face gently and tilting it so he’d look at them.

Time’s good eye met theirs, surprise flickering through the grief.

(Y/n) gave him a determined look before brushing their thumb over his cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

“I won’t ask again.” they murmured.

Time exhaled shakily, the tension in his shoulders softening ever so slightly.

(Y/n) let their expression ease, giving him a tired little smile.

“But,” they continued, tilting their head, “I at least hope you and the others got revenge before you fixed it.”

A weak chuckle left Time, his voice rough.

“I think…Wild handled that part.”

(Y/n) huffed a laugh.

“Figures.” They let their hands fall from his face, nodding in satisfaction. “That’s all I need to know.”

Silence settled between them, but it was more relaxed now. The weight in the air wasn’t as suffocating, no longer pressing down so hard it was unbearable.

(Y/n) shifted, glancing towards the tent entrance, then back to Time.

“…I kinda don’t wanna sleep alone tonight.”

Time turned to look at them fully, his eye scanning their face.

(Y/n) rubbed the back of their neck awkwardly.

“Would you… stay?”

Time blinked.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

A small smile grew on his lips, the kind that carried warmth despite the exhaustion in his gaze.

(Y/n) returned it, letting out a breath of relief.

“…Good.”

Without another word, they shifted to make room, patting the spot beside them.

Time followed, moving to lay down beside them, a bit nervously but eagerly.

And as (y/n) settled next to him, still for a moment before arms wrapped around Time, he tensed before slowly wrapping his own arms around them.

Eventually, Time let out a deep sigh, his whole body relaxing as he feels their heart beat (alive, strong, such a wonderful rhythm) feeling their presence close, steady and real.

It was exactly what he needed. (He had a feeling the others will also get their own nights with their darling soon enough. (y/n) was just like that to be so considerate.)

It took no time at all for him to sleep.

[ninikrumbs]

Invisible strings

Suguru Geto x fem!reader.

"Need something, baby?"

The tone of his voice light and indulgent as it always was, not minding the happy distraction your presence brings.

Your head peaks from the doorway, a hesitant smile on your face as you watch you boyfriend work in his home office.

Shaking your head at his questioning haze, your cross the distance between you. He smiles fondly, realizing your intention, twisting his rolling chair a bit to the side to make space for you.

"Come here, pretty girl." He says when you draw near, pulling you down to plop down on his lap, arms immediately finding a home on your waist.

His familiar warmth and smell envelopes your senses imbuing your body with the affection and comfort you always craved from him. The contented noises you let out as you snuggle in the crook of his neck makes him chuckle in amusement, his gentle fingers tracing slow comforting circles down your back. "So my girl's just needy for me?"

You hum in response, looking absolutely cozy with your eyes closed, nose nuzzling his neck as you breath him in, hands resting on his chest.

His hands teasingly wander down your back to give your bum a light squeeze, not enough to startle you from you perfect position but enough to make you grumble, "Not that kind of needy, Sugu."

With you lips right next to his neck, your breath tickles his skin. He huffs a laugh, "Oh, my bad. "

Not a hint of remorse in his voice though. His hands changes it course up to you hair, gently threading through it, making your eyes droop. You feel him press a kiss on the top of your head before resting his chin on it.

This is where you belong, you thought. At peace in his arms, away from the cruel horrors of the world even for just a moment. And your sure he shares you sentiment with how constantly he tries to shield you from the sometimes brutal realities he has to face.

If he could create a world where you would only know joy and happiness, he would. But Alas the monsters in this world constantly grow like weeds. The best he could do was to make sure they could never get to you. Not in this life or the next.

He hears you whisper his name and mumbling something he incoherent.

"What was that?"

"I said I feel bad for a version of me out there who doesn't have you."

He pulls away just a bit to look at your face, he wonders where you get such sudden and weird ideas yet he humors you regardless, "You don't have to worry your pretty little head about it."

"Why not?"

"Because," He raises your palm to his lips, placing a kiss filled with devotion, "I refuse to believe that there's a world where I don't have you. Any version of me won't allow it."

He says it with such conviction that it sounded like a fact, not an opinion or a thought and it makes you want to believe him.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, you press youself flush against him once more, finding solace in his words and the beating heart underneath your hands.

"Now sleep, I'll wake you up once im done working some we can eat dinner together."

Your eyes flutter shut again and you fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart.

The next time you open your eyes it was to the dark cold ceiling of your room. Your hands reach to the side -searching, hpong, wishing-heart dropping as you merely felt the bitter emptiness of your comforter.

Sitting up on your bed, you look out of your window. The city lights blurred as hot tears clouded you vision. They fall rapidly down your cheeks, faster than you could wipe them away with your fists. Your throat clogging up with such gut wrenching emotion, barely holding back you sobs.

Your lips tremble, smiling bitterly, memories of another life running at back of your head, "Youre such a liar, Suguru.."

Happy Part 2?

AN : To those who have read this, yes this is a repost. Im just doing an experiment. :)

[everyonewooeverywhere]

MORE DOM YUNHO HEADCANNONS

pairing: dom!yunho x gn!reader

rating: 18+

notes: send me your dom!yunho hard thoughts i beg 😞

NSFW 18+ | MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

despite what you might think, yunho's not really big into restraints. if it's something you really want, he's absolutely comfortably indulging in that experience, but it's not his go to. instead, he prefers to let his body and his words do the work. he's absolutely not above holding you down on his own–pining your wrists above your head, holding you over his lap, griping your hair.

but he also really enjoys the aspect of just telling you what to do. there just something he finds so fucking appealing about a submissive who's hanging off his every word and will listen to every little thing that comes out of his mouth. he'll tell you to keep your hands above your head and, despite how badly you wanna reach for him and hold onto him, you keep them there because your yuyu told you so.

he loves nicknames and pet names. you're his "baby" or, better yet, his "kitty." and he thinks it's so sweet when you swoon at the sound of him calling you that special name. and he'll absolutely use it to appeal to that praise kink of yours. always pressing his lips to your ear and whispering, "you're so good for me, kitty" "i'm so fucking proud of you, baby." "takin' my cock so well."

if things are a bit more casual, or he notices that you're in need of some comfort, he's a big fan of "sweetheart" or "sweet thing" and maybe even "pretty." and he'll usually use it in the context of holding you close and giving you reassurance on top of lots of hugs and cuddles. "had a long day, sweetheart?" "let me take care of you, okay sweet thing?" he'll say with a little pout.

the absolute king of aftercare. he's very aware of how necessary it his to maintain this healthy relationship with you, so no matter how hard or soft he went on you, he will treat you like royalty when he's done. will draw a nice warm bath for you. sitting at the opposite end of the tub and rubbing your thighs and calves while you relax in the warm bubbles. and maybe he gives you a foot rub that he enjoys probably a bit too much.

will get out of the bath before you so that he can change the sheets and fluff the pillows and just clean up the mess before helping you out of the bathroom. lets you pull him into the bed so that you can lay on his bare chest while he plays with your hair with one hand while he scrolls on his phone with the other. and if he comes across something he thinks you'll find funny he'll show it to you and giggle along with you before kissing the top of your head and whispering about how beautiful you are.

always open to your dom!yunho thoughts...always 🤧

general taglist: 

@swimmingkpopblog @oddracha @drinkingrumandcocacola @minaateez @funnyvxlentine 

@sunnysidesins @skzdust @princelingperfect @seomisaho @bigboymoozz

@fireseo @atzlordz @sunwoosbaby @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @kierraperkins3

@my-atiny-kookie-rkive @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @yunhoish @yoongiigolden @ateez-atiny380

@applez98 @hodgepodge-musings

ateez taglist: 

@certifiedmoa @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @curiousgworge @hyukssunflower @hotteokisms 

@sushiinmidnight @atiny-dime-p1ece @mismatchfluffysocks @vic0921 @vampzity 

@breadpuddingboys @woolysium @desirehorizon @im-ovulation @pommelex 

@dancingwithdeities @maidens-world @jycas @kirbrary @aftertherain-atr 

@staytinyinmybpack @m4n4-s4m4 @jjcanwrite @yvnhoos @uninterested-ghost 

@yizhou-time @shinyj3lly @kyeos4ng @prettygirlslietoo @miriamxsworld 

@tiny2018 @ttdogsworld @kejingken @fandom-freak-geek @minkioswoo 

@bkimrose @strawbshrtcks @dwcljh @linearities @tiredlittlevirgo

@kwoncheesecake @sillycataround @togazzo @hwxbibi @kyeos4ng

@oceanside-view97 @sunlight120902

[glitter-stained]

The thing you need to remember about comics ages and timelines is that yeah it's messy there are retcons at stuff and it will never be clear and perfect. But also, DC has an interest portraying age the way they do. They have an interest in aging Barbara down so she can be Dick's pretty girlfriend with whom he raises a cute dog (and maybe a cute little family next perhaps?). They have an interest in trying to keep Tim young and draw him younger than he looks so they can milk his Robin's popularity for as long as possible. They have an interest in drawing Jason to make him look 40 when Bruce slits his throat, to make him look like a grown man fighting a teenager when fighting Mia even though they're the same age (though i mantain that mia is a little bit older), in having him call Tim kid even though they're the same age, in having him offer Tim a drink and Tim pointing out he's not legal when Jason isn't either. They have an interest in Jason looking older in Jim Aparo's art style in ADITF than he looked in precrisis or in 308. They have an interest in Steph magically looking older in War Games, where she gets tortured and brutally murdered, than the fun colourful round and much more youthful art from her Robin run. There are probably many more examples but bottom line it's not fucking innocent. DC knows how to hire artists that know how to draw children it's really not that hard. Characters who look young, characters who remind you that they are young, create more empathy; which is good when you want the public to continue to root for them, and bad when those characters challenge the status quo or that excess of empathy might create pushback after you decide to have them brutally murdered. DC can't have Batman grievously wounding and causing the death of his underage son, but if he looks as old as Batman? DC can't have Jason making a valid point about vigilantism being unsafe for Mia and relating with her with childhood sexual abuse subtext because it makes the heroes (and especially Batman) look bad, but if it looks like this is a grown ass man harassing a teenage girl, then it's clear who is the villain, it's okay, no problem. DC needs Barbara to be younger so the power dynamic between her and Dick fits their idea of a perfect little nuclear family much better and they can shove Barbara back into the role of Batgirl even though she is very much a girl rather than a woman. DC needs Steph to look older when she's tortured so they can be edgy without people being too horrified at them doing something horrifying, DC needs Jason and Steph to look older on the day they die because young looking= innocent which makes it so much harder to victim-blame. DC needs Mia to look younger than Jason so they can make it look like the good old "good victim/bad victim" dichotomy and even though that's not what the story is actually about, regardless of how much it disrespects Mia's character to do so. DC needs Jason to look ugly because it's harder to empathize with ugly people and it makes it so much clearer who is the bad guy and who is the good one, and it's a much easier dichotomy, so much more comfortable than challenging the whole mythos around which Batman is built. DC needs Barbara to be sexy in their traditional male-gaze way, because this is the audience they're trying to appeal to.

So like, I know that I'm nit-picking when I say "actually according to any and all logic Jason is younger than Tim by a couple of months and than Mia by around three years". Or when I say "they should bring back Dickbabs' old age difference" or even interact with Dickbabs as if they still have that difference and refuse to interact with Tom Taylor's version of the ship. I know comics are incoherent and the timeline is messy; but just because it's messy, just because it's always been, doesn't mean it's innocent. So I'm gonna keep nitpicking, and I'm gonna stay an annoying bitch, because I refuse to allow comics to manipulate me out of my empathy. And because I don't see everything and am very aware of how easy it is to be manipulated even when you're careful, I encourage you to add to this with things you've noticed whether it's in portrayal or in art about character age, appearance, or any other device they might use to manipulate our perception of the characters -and what narrative these resorts serve.

[cent-scratchnsniff]

my pain