#I've never understood the expression “being seen” until now

[at4-raxia]

Mark Grayson x ladybug!reader

I've seen a couple of people doing this and I couldn't stop thinking about it, English is not my first language and this is my first story on Tumblr, nevertheless I hope you enjoy!

Before you read: reader is not weak (I don't really give a shit about power scaling even if it's ladybug), possessive/protective Mark (headcanon: viltrumites are a rational species but they have an irrational subconscious part that chooses a 'mate' which they will love until either they die or their partner does. In the second case, it's not out of the question that they might have other partners, but they will never truly love them because their heart belongs to the partner their subconscious has chosen for them. That's one of the reason why Viltrumites focus more on reproduction than love, since it's an irrational weakness they can't control), mostly narration and monologues, they both want eachother but are too dumb, I tried to not make anyone ooc (if I did, sorryyy), childhood friends to lovers, there is not smut but there are some things you could consider suggestive I guess, lastly but not least, violence and blood.

Synopsis: you and Mark have been childhood friends for as long as you can remember, you have known each other since you were in diapers! Your families were as close as they can be. With all of this said, you never understood why he grew distant to the point where you were strangers. Now you're back from Paris, you're a superhero, you have faced countless foes, yet, you don't think you're truly ready to face Mark. Lucky for you, he doesn't know who's under the mask of your alter ego.

There's a fine line between wanting to smash his head on the sideways and hug him breathless, a fine line dividing the most jaw dropping beating and the most passionate of kisses. You can't believe that someone like Mark Grayson, your dear beloved Mark, is causing so much turmoil inside your mind.

You can't really remember a life before Mark, because there was never one. Your parents had become friends after one tired nurse had brought you in Debbie's arms, who had been so tired that she didn't recognise that who she was holding was not her newborn. Of course, after not even half an hour, you were returned to your parents safe and sound. This experience made your mothers bond and therefore the path to your blooming friendship was created.

Needless to say, the both of you were attached to the hip.

Oh? Mark was at the park? Boom! You were also at the park, playing with him whatever game he had in mind. You were doing some extra curricular activity at school? Bam! Now so was Mark. The both of you knew everything about eachother: from your favourite color to your most embarrassing secret, from one peculiar preference to every little habit.

You had always been an an introverted child, awkward and not really sociable. Yet, with Mark at least, you never had to worry about anything, because why worry when he knew everything and had seen nearly everything about you? Why worry when you had such a caring person as your support? You didn't consider yourself clingy, more like affectionate.

Everytime you found a new recipe you went to his house to bake it with him and sometimes his mum, every time he had to go to the comic book store you were with him listening to his rantings about Science dog. Every single time you were somewhere, everyone knew that Mark wasn't far behind.

Your friendship while cute and wholesome to people who actually knew you (even if it took so much mental strength to not bash you and Mark's oblivious head with a baseball bat), it looked to be on the border of something more to outsiders. You had never been uncomfortable expressing your love to Mark: hugs? Kisses on the cheeks? Being all over him and at least touching him in some sort of way? They were daily occurrences. Why would it be weird? Why were they necessarily romantic gestures?

It's not like your touch lingered far more each time, as if you couldn't get enough. It's not as if when you went back home you smelled so much like him that people asked if you used cologne. At some point you couldn't argue with the fact that you were constantly craving his presence, his touch and maybe even something more.

(His lips had always looked so pretty when he ranted passionately about the comics he was so obsessed with, how would it feel if he was just as obsessed with you? You wondered how it would feel to be the only object of his attentions, just like he was yours.)

Mark wasn't really any better. Maybe on some degree he was worse.

His parents, even his father, were really, extremely, supportive of a possible relationship between you and him. New people he met genuinely thought that the both of you were together, and were left speechless when you said otherwise:

"we're not together" you'd say with laughter between each word, giggling at the silliness of it all. You had always had such a pretty laugh, so mesmerising. "Mark wishes we were together! Right, Mark?" The joke would make him laugh because of the irony of it all, because of the fact that if you hadn't been there he wouldn't have bothered to correct them at all.

Why would he exactly? With the way you two were constantly at each others necks, the only thing that needed to be done was to make it official. ( He doesn't want to think that if he was less scared of ruining your friendship, he would do that in a heartbeat.)

Sometimes he did feel bad about not being clear about your relationship, since he just blatantly ignored the question, leaving it unanswered. Yet, when you pressed your chest and forehead against his back, hugging him from behind, and he could feel the heat radiating from your soft and pliable body, he forgot all the shame and guilt. Why would he leave the person that was destined from birth to be with him to someone else?

Why would he not touch you in public? The both of you hugged frequently, you kissed his cheek, on public transportation or in general he always had a hand on your waist, when walking your hands were always holding (unless he was carrying something for you), on the couch and on the bed you were a tangled mess of limbs with his head resting on your stomach as you stroked his hair. The nights in which you both had fallen asleep like this in the arms of the other were so many to keep track, there had been so many mornings with you waking him up softly while caressing his cheek and whispering in his ear.

(he can't shake off how good it felt to wake up with you by his side, he wished all mornings were like this.)

How had you not kissed yet?

That was a question that kept him awake and a question that left his parents confused. Whenever they came home the both of you were always together doing various activities, and whenever Debbie came home late from work and there was no sound of Mark, her husband would smile knowingly and point upstairs and she would find him cuddled with you, soundly asleep. The hold he had on you was so tight that Debbie believed that not even her husband's viltrumite strength could pull Mark away from you.

Yet, the chokehold you had on him was even tighter.

Nolan had realized this not from the moment Mark had forced them to recreate a matrimony due to the fact that he had professed his love with a candy ring, not even when he had caught him reciting in front of a mirror the part of the prince, that he absolutely needed to have in the fifth grade school play since you were chosen as the princess.

No, no, what had made him realise it was the fact that Mark seemed stronger, faster, better, when around you, even if he didn't have any powers yet. It was not a massive noticeable boost, but just enough to make a difference under the keen eye of Nolan Grayson. It was in the way his boy couldn't seem to stay away from you for more than five minutes, it was in the way Mark couldn't keep his hands to himself when around you and how he seemed to preen proudly just like a peacock whenever you either reciprocated his touches or initiated them.

For Debbie it was a normal crush, but her husband would beg to differ.

Like all viltrumites, Mark was not exempt from the instincts that drove his cilization, so different and yet so compatible with humans. Mark, like all viltrumites, just like him, was love sick and possessive because of the unknown instincts that plagued the viltrumites' rationality. Undoubtedly, Mark's subconscious had claimed you and it pushed Mark to protect you and be all over you. To give in to one's irrational half was a mistake, a weakness, yet Nolan couldn't bring himself to separate the two of you when it was just because of this that Nolan had seen at least a glimpse of his heritage in Mark.

And it had been all thanks to you.

Nolan genuinely liked you, you were a good and smart kid after all. Yet, what he appreciated the most was the fact that you were the confirmation that his son was just a late bloomer. If not for this he might have been against his son's silly behaviour and crush, after all he would have preferred someone more powerful (viltrumite), but this fact and your intelligent mind made up for it. So in his books the only human worth his time, was you.

Therefore everytime his wife came home late from work and asked where his son was, he just smiled and pointed upstairs.

Your predicament was damning, because why was Mark avoiding you? Giving you the cold shoulder? Acting as if you were mere acquaintances? Every time you tried to hug him or kiss his cheek he would move, not in a noticeable way to make it embarrassing for you, but he still moved to make sure he avoided your touch. Every single time you tried to talk to him he would respond to you in short sentences and with quick strained smiles, to then go back to what he was doing. Each damned time you tried to go to his house and spend time with him, for some reason, he wasn't home.

The former you could understand, maybe you were just unlucky, but the latter? No, no.

Mark was plainly avoiding you and now it was even more noticeable: why did he walk away each time you approached him? Why did he not walk home with you anymore? Why was he sitting so far away from you in class? You were going crazy, but you would eat shit before not finding out the reason why.

Since you were a kid, you had been granted an incredible intelligent and observant mind: not even one single tiny detail could go unnoticed by you, not even one subtle change. You were awkward and socially inept, sure, but your problem solving skills were top tier. Being in a group with you in school was like a blessing in disguise, it didn't matter that you were that clumsy unatlethic girl that couldn't form a coherent sentence without Mark as support, from the moment you were assigned in the group all the members would breathe a sigh of relief. No matter how hard a problem, how hard a test, how difficult a situation: you always seemed to find a solution.

Superstitious people would say your ancestors had done really great deeds to grant you this blessing, others would say that you were just extremely lucky, but deep down everyone knew you were just one of a kind, the unstoppable kind.

You can't think of one time you had given up, you were just an unstoppable force that hadn't found it's immovable object yet (and surely Mark's change in behaviour was not going to be it).

You had noticed Mark's change in behaviour months ago, but they were slight differences not really worth focusing on or mentioning, at least when you had noticed them. (At least when he wasn't avoiding you yet).

His hands had become calloused, bruises had begun to appear over his whole body, and sometimes on his face, and while you had been really worried at first, he always had some sort of excuse to justify his beaten up body, which, by the way, had changed drastically. Mark had never been fat nor too skinny, so you wondered when he was pressed against you so nicely why you could feel toned abs, your mind travelled miles to find out why your Mark was now ripped with a marvelous back and strong shoulders.

"Mark!" You had screamed out his name when out of nowhere on the way home he had grabbed you with so much ease and thrown you over his shoulder. You don't really remember what you were talking about, but you had been teasing him about something and then you had sprinted in a run while laughing. In just a second you were hanging from his body like a sack of potatoes, gaping and with rosy cheeks from what had happened. Sure, you were unathletic, sure, you didn't have the strength of a man, but there was no way, simply no way, that your Mark, the same Mark who read comics everyday, had just grabbed you and put you over his shoulder in matters of seconds with only one hand. Back home you could still feel his hands on your lower back and thighs, and remembering how easy he had manhandled you made you weak in the knees. (Oh, how you wished his hands had travelled further).

His touches were rougher, his hold was more firm and unescapable, and it excited you. (You don't want to entertain the possibility that you liked this change so much to just completely have dismissed the causes of it. God, you were so enamored with this nerd it was crazy.)

Just now you realize that the problems might have started when he had begun to treat you like you were made of glass, as if even with one gentle hold you would crumble under him. It was subtle, almost undetectable, but it was there: the constant feeling that you would shatter and pulverize in his hands if he even so slightly grazed your skin.

You can't even seem to shake the fact that you couldn't surprise him anymore, it was as if he could feel your presence before you could even try to spook him (or just touch him like usual). There were so many things that were wrong, how could you just brush off how tired he was? How busy he always seemed to be? What was happening in his life for him to always look beat up?

You knew that people out there had superpowers, but it was just so difficult to say that Mark had them too. It was difficult to accept the possibility that Mark could be a superhero until his father slipped. (Yet, why did that new superhero, "Invincible", coincidentally appeared when your dear Mark disappeared?)

"Are you alone? Where is Mark?" You were used to going to the Grayson's house, it was like your second home and nobody minded, especially when you brought fresh pastries with you. "I thought you could tell me that Nolan", there was no point in calling him 'Mr.Grayson', this man was almost like a father to you. (You'd prefer to say in-law, but life is so unfair sometimes).

"I think it's time we have the talk, Y/n"

You were a bit taken a back by how serious he was, in his eyes there was...pity? Sadness? You didn't really know. Were you about to receive a sexual education talk? Did he think you and Mark had sex? (Some part of you wouldn't be surprised if he truly believed it).

"Mark...you know since he is a viltrumite.. he might not seek human company, or the company of non powered people—"

"—viltrumite??"

"—I know the both of you have never been separated, I hope you won't take it too badly, I mean it's a lot to take in—"

"sir, what do you mean 'viltrumite'??"

If he was honest, Nolan thought that by now you knew that two thirds of the Grayson's family was not exactly human, due to the fact that Mark had always told you everything (he had been so excited to have manifested his powers that in Nolan's mind you had probably known about them even before him). He knew you had never seen him come in the house with his costume on, since you were too busy focusing all your attention on Mark, but he couldn't believe that his son had never talked to you about this. It took about an hour for the man to explain the situation, and while it didn't exactly hurt that Mark was not 100% human, you were really rethinking your friendship.

You obviously didn't expect him to hide this big of a secret, especially when the two of you had been so close. It was just that your judgement was now clouded by a million of different self deprecating thoughts: were you not enough for Mark anymore now that he had powers? Had you been too clingy to the point were he had to keep something to himself, because you knew too much? Was the fact that you were a mere human the reason why he was avoiding you? If so, why was he not avoiding his other friends, like William for example?

Had you become unbearable?

Maybe now with all the stuff on his plate, he needed someone who set him free. Not someone that caged him with her clinginess and obnoxious presence.

"kid, are you okay?"

Someone like Amber maybe. (You wish it could go unnoticed by you how his gaze always seems to go to her now that you're out of the picture. Not standing beside him, but far away, has made you see just to who his attention goes to, and it's to everyone but you).

"Breathe, you're with me, it's okay let it all out", was Nolan hugging you? (Nolan doesn't know what came over him, he doesn't know why him, a viltrumite, had felt the urge to comfort you. It's not because he loves you like a daughter surely).

You think you need some fresh air, you think you need new lungs actually, because why were you so sad? Your chest was feeling so heavy, the world was so blurry and why was your makeup coming off?

You don't think you had ever left house Grayson feeling so ashamed.

Mark didn't know if being distant had been the best course of actions, he saw how much it hurt you but this was better than the suffering you would face by being with him. It wasn't just the thought of someone using his love for you against him, it was more a whole series of things that made him realize how fragile you were, so painfully fragile to the point were he himself was a danger to you.

(For him you might as well have hung the stars from how ethereal you looked, you were unreal. He doesn't think he could forgive himself if he ever so slightly hurt you unintentionally, you just get him so worked up that it's nearly impossible to control his strength. You make it so difficult to be delicate when he would just like to melt and become one with your body.)

This was a momentarily solution badly executed, at the end of the day you didn't know about his second identity, so you were safe from the horrors he had to face. Yet, that didn't mean you could escape the possibility of him causing you pain if he sticked close to you. William had argued with him about this, saying that he at least should have talked about this with you, since communication was key (but it's not like William knew about his second identity, yet).

But how could he do it?

There was a lot to unpack, and revealing his identity meant making you face more risks. Why couldn't it be so easy? He really missed you, but the fear of hurting you was stronger. If it meant that he had to stay away for a little while, than it was fine, it was okayish.(It was not).

His father had petrified him with his gaze after he had asked if Y/n had stopped by, since there were freshly baked pastries on the counter (you always smelled like baked goods, he just wishes he could eat you up). He didn't say anything afterwards but it was clear that he wasn't particularly happy about something. His mother had tried to dissipate the tension but it was clear that the family dinner was not going to run smoothly that night.

"Why didn't you tell [name] you are a viltrumite?" There was something in his voice, he doesn't know what it was, but it wasn't reassuring.

"I just didn't think it was important" then he saw his father's expression falter and he clenched his fists tightly.

"You didn't think it was important to tell her about your heritage? This is your future we're talking about!" He screamed. (Nolan was still set on conquering earth with Mark, so obviously you needed to at least know that his son was not human if he wanted you around in the big picture).

"It's not a big deal! You said that less people know, the better!"

"But we're not talking about anyone, are we, Mark? Just like it's not a big deal the fact that everyone can see from a mile away how smitten you are, you went from not being able to keep your hands off her to keep your distance with her!" His mom then yelled his father's name from the shock, but it was late.

"What?" He was now looking at Debbie, anger still in his face. "It's not like they were being subtle about it, you know that you were afraid of finding them in a compromising position one of these days! Don't lie!" His mom was looking elsewhere and was unresponsive, yet it was clear that what his father had said was not a lie.

"She's not my girlfriend, we would have never done anything like that!"

"Mark, first of all,don't lie to us and yourself. Second of all, she might not be your girlfriend but she is your friend. Don't you understand that you might destroy whatever kind of relationship you have with her if you keep this up?" (Didn't his son understand that out of 8 billion humans they would enslave, he was giving him the chance to keep close the one that truly mattered?)

"It's better like this for her, it's much safer". The gears in his father's head had slowly started to move at his son's answer.

"Are you serious right now, Mark? Are you so weak that you can't control your strength? Is this what it is? I can't believe it—", his father had closed his eyes and brought two fingers to massage his nose bridge.

"why do you care? Whatever I do with my friends is none of your business".

"Don't lie to yourself Mark, 'friends'? Don't make me laugh". His mom had long gotten up from the table, fed up with that nonsense. Nolan had also gotten up and followed her, he could hear mom arguing with his father about how harsh he had been, but not about what he had said.

Now he was left alone contemplating his choices and the entire evening with a cold plate of food at the table, his head was resting on his crossed forearms and his eyes were shut tightly.

(Why did he decide to leave you again? Ah, he was scared.)

You had never travelled much, but you weren't kidding when you had realized you needed fresh air. Next thing you knew, you were on an airplane to one of Paris's best cooking schools. (You don't think that after this revelation you could have handled seeing Mark, so you were lucky when you came home that night and found the acceptance latter on the table with your joyous parents to cheer you up. You had applied to other cooking schools nearby, but this one was your dream).

You weren't there for when William discovered his identity, for when he got demolished by his father and killed tons of people, you weren't there when Mark realized just how weak he was when he got beat up the second time by another viltrumite, you weren't there when he acquired a purple baby brother.

You weren't there for a lot of things, but for him you were everywhere.

One part of you was in every thing he did, the other was in the girls he had dated after you had left. Amber and Eve shared so many similarities with you, and while they were beautiful and special in their own way, his true desire was to actually be with you. (He remembers the meeting with his father and Amber, he remembers the words he had said to him about you when beating him to a pulp, about how he would have never accepted any other human but you and how stupid he had been to have just given you up. "And for what reason?" His father had said with bloodied fists "because you are afraid and weak".)

William had told him that you had decided to go to France and stay in your aunt's apartment for a while. Your dream was to open a bakery, possibly here in the city, and make freshly baked goods everyday. What better place to learn how than Paris?

He shouldn't feel bitter about you leaving without saying goodbye, but it's not like he had given you any choice. He doesn't want to mull over the fact that you had actually left, that his wish for you to be safe from him had manifested itself to reality. To be frank, Mark can only dream about what your years had been for you in the city of love, since you had nearly cut all contact with William too from how busy you were apparently.

In fact he can only dream of you mixing batter and piping vanilla cream inside croissants or macarons, he doesn't dream of you fighting crime in a red and black polkadot costume. (He actually dreams of you hugging him close, caressing his hair and playing with his locks like you always did, he dreams of being able to lose himself in your touch, to show you how much he loves you, he dreams of worshipping every little mole, scar and curve on your body. He wouldn't leave any piece of skin unmarked, he swears it).

Because why would he even imagine you fighting crime? In what world his dear [name] would have to face battles to save the world in a skin tight costume? (He has imagined you wearing his costume, or one similar to Eve's, and he has had a hard on one two many times because of said thought.)

Life in Paris hadn't really been easy, to put it simply it had drastically changed you. You felt like a new person if you were honest, without Mark around, without the people you had shielded yourself with, you had learned to face the world headstrong overcoming any kind of social anxiety. Your future required social skills and cooperation, not only creativity and following the recipes to a tee.

Yet, sometimes you wish this had been the only change.

Your Aunt's friend, Marinette Dupain Chang, a famous parisinian fashion designer known worldwide (you still don't know how your aunt could be friends with someone like that, but you're glad), almost everyday participated in the baking classes for a couple of minutes.

"it's so nostalgic" she would say while mixing the dough and reminiscing about her parents own bakery, while also giving some tips. She wasn't a teacher, no, no, she was better. You think you'd learned more by spending that one day with her at her house than in a week at the prestigious school.

She was magnetic, her dark blue hair, nearly black, shone in the light just like her eyes did. Those eyes were mature, gentle and caring but they held something, some kind of pain you didn't know about, until, of course, Marinette herself revealed this to you on the day of her wedding anniversary.

Her husband had been dead for a couple of years now, and she couldn't be Ladybug anymore (you remember being speechless when a tiny ladybug like creature flew in front of your face to greet you), due to the fact that not only did Paris not really need her anymore, but she couldn't bring herself to fight without her dear Chat by her side. (You shed a few tears with her thinking about what you would do if one day Mark died fighting a villain, what would you do in that situation?)

You were skeptical to accept the proposal and you could see how hard it was for the kwami and Marinette to separate, but ultimately the 40 year old woman didn't back down and pushed the box in your hands, saying that nobody would be better than you to fill her place. (You want to disagree since she probably wouldn't let the world burn if it meant keeping safe the people you love).

So from then on you had to juggle both school and superhero duty and training. You weren't really fighting what Mark was fighting (you don't want to remember your fight with the cat miraculous owner), but thanks to being able to experiment with your powers, you had realized that even if you weren't athletic, when transforming your body felt 50 times stronger and faster, to the point were even holding a collapsing building with a yo-yo didn't make you break a sweat.

The critique had been harsh with you (especially after what had happened with your supposed "partner"), in fact the media kept comparing your feats with the ones of the previous miraculous owner. It's not like you minded, but sometimes it did sting you a little that no matter what incredibly creative strategy you pulled out of your ass with your lucky charm, you were still second. (Apparently you had to get used to being second, or even third, since you had heard from William that Mark had got together with Amber after you left and was now with Eve. But how could you be angry? Those girls were literally perfect, it was unfair, sure, but you couldn't be angry at Mark for choosing a girl who made him happy instead of his childhood friend.)

You could have stayed more, you could have opened a bakery right in the middle of Paris, but you were tired of Paris (you can never truly repair everything, can you? You can never wash the blood from your costume, from his clothes, from his unmoving body). You really missed home, you missed your family (you missed Mark).

"Sir, we are out of cinnamon rolls right now. You can buy something else or wait until a fresh batch is ready". When you said you wanted to work in a bakery, you weren't really thinking about facing rude customers. All these social interactions were draining you out and in the mean time Tikki was giggling in the pocket of your apron while munching on the 10th cookie of the day. She was in heaven to say the least, and sadly you couldn't say the same for you.

"[name]?" You could recognise this voice everywhere.

"Mark?" You almost couldn't believe you were finally face to face with him, after two eventful years you were back where you started: fearful. Due to the fact that seeing Mark was inevitable, you thought that after all you went through that seeing an old friend, your long time best friend (ex-best friend?), was going to be a breeze. You really wanted to talk to Mark, but not the boring conversations you have with strangers, no, you wanted to go back to how things were before, even if some part of you screamed that maybe, just maybe, you deserved better. To have that, you needed to address all the baggage of stuff that you didn't really want to open, why would you really? Why would you want to go back to how things were before? When you were an awkward social reject who had nobody else but Mark.

(You're contradicting yourself, do you or do you not want to go back to how things were? Now you have anyone but Mark and your heart cries, because why do you miss those times so much? Why do you miss him so much?)

"You're looking good" the compliment is like a breath of fresh air, because to Mark you are indeed one. It's not just because he is ecstatic to see you (if the place had been empty he would have jumped across the counter), but because you're literally glowing. You were already really gorgeous before, now though, having grown in your features, you are shining.

He should order but he really doesn't want to move his gaze away, were you always this captivating?

"thanks, you look great too! So, have you decided yet your order?" Mark looked good, yet your gaze seemed to fall on the red-head at the small pink table. She was focused on her phone and while you had seen photos of her, the selfies William had sent you didn't do her justice.

"I haven't decided yet, how have you been?" Mark doesn't think you noticed his little love struck gaze as you put a couple of croissants in a small bag for a sweet old lady, but he wouldn't have minded if you had.

(He just can't help but have some shred of hope that maybe he didn't ruin everything).

"Not much, honestly. What about you loverboy? Are you going to keep your lady waiting?" Your brows wiggled as you spoke with a joking tone. As you said the joke, your giggles didn't really reach your eyes, giving away partially how you kind of felt about the couple. You couldn't give up Mark but at the same time you couldn't accept the reality that you hadn't been enough.

His brows furrowed slightly as he took notice of your devoid laughter, suddenly remembering that you two were now mere acquaintances and not those two kids that were attached to the hip.

"Well, she was my girlfriend..."

"trouble in paradise, Grayson?" This was awkward, but joking had kind of become a coping mechanism at this point.

"No, no" he laughed, his eyes twinkling with mirth, believing that your joking nature was maybe you releasing some tension. "More like we just didn't work out, we just need different things, you know?" You didn't really know, because, unlike Mark, your dating repertoire had been devoid of men, or in general devoid of people as a whole. You had just been so busy that romance had practically flown over your head!

"Yeah, I get it... Anywaysss, what are you getting? Honestly I recommend the chocolate muffins or the strawberry cheesecake", you are actually smiling now, not because the air was less awkward, it was just that talking about your passion really got you going.

(You vaguely remember your first attempts at cooking, and they were done with dirt, sand and water. As decorations you used some grass or some rocks you found in the garden, then you proceeded to serve it to Mark on your little pink plastic toy plate. It was funny to think that your younger self genuinely thought he ate it, while instead he was throwing the brown goo on the ground whenever you were distracted.)

Mark was almost tempted to ask if he could just buy you instead, since you were the pastry he was craving. But he opted to keep his thoughts to himself since the joke would probably make you cringe so hard to the point where you wouldn't look at him for a while.

"I'll take two chocolate muffins", then with a nod you picked up the small brown bag with the bakery logo and you put two piping hot muffins inside it, then you focused on packing the goods and you stated the price after going to the register.

"Have a nice day, Mark" you said with the smile you give to all your clients, the one you give out of courtesy. Some might say one of relief after a painfully draining interaction (you don't recall a time when Mark had ever drained your social battery like this).

"Have a nice day too". It all went too fast in Mark's opinion, weren't your conversations supposed to last hours? Why hadn't he asked at least if you would have liked to hang out?

(Looking at you felt exactly like looking at those love interests that appeared in slow motion, with a pink background and with sparkles all around you. You can't blame him for getting enchanted by your beauty, just like you can't blame someone for having their jaw on the floor when looking at a incredible painting.)

Eve was waiting for him with a smile, immediately going for her muffins and giving hers a generous bite before walking out of the glass door.

"oh my god, they taste so good! Did they always make them this delicious?" Obviously not, since only your pastries could be this delicious and, while he hadn't eaten one in a long time, he still recognized the differences with the sweets made by other people.

"I know right? She's fantastic at baking", with that it was like a little lamp turned on on top of Eve's head and she asked him the fatal question:

"mm! Do you know her? You two seemed pretty close", in the tone of her voice her curiosity was made apparent, especially since she distantly remembered seeing you in school.

"She's an old friend" answered Mark while not looking at her in the eyes.

"You don't need to lie, you know. We're not together anymore, I don't care that much about who she is to you"

"She's a childhood friend but we drove apart after I got my powers.."

"That sucks I guess", in all honesty it also sucked that Mark hadn't bought more of those addicting muffins.

"yeah, it does..."

Staring at Eve and Mark had made you nostalgic. You might or might not have tried nearly every bakery in the zone with him, you said "it's to perfect a recipe" each time, and while it was partially true, at some point it was just to spend even more time with Mark. Now, after retracing the events that occurred in the last fifteen minutes, you can't help but feel guilty about how you had handled it. It was Mark after all, why were you so closed off? So awkward?

(Didn't he know everything about you? Wasn't he the person who had seen nearly everything?)

With a sad look in your face you continued your shift alternating with your coworker between the kitchen and the counter, hoping that at least this was going to be a one time thing.

Except it wasn't.

Not only was Mark everywhere and trying to spark a conversation and following you throughout your errands ( you can't forget that time when you almost shit your pants after seeing his smiling face on the other side of the shelf with the canned beans after grabbing one). Not to mention that he had made it a daily occurrence to just drop at your workplace, he bought something and then sparked a conversation with you while laying with his arms on top of the glass counter that displayed your work. It's not like you truly minded his presence, but you still couldn't shake that feeling deep in your gut that made it difficult to look at him in the eyes. (The constant reminder of what had happened kind of made it impossible for you to act like you used to).

Mark was not entirely happy either about the arrangement (why weren't you hugging him? Touching him?)

Especially when you moved before he could even put a hand on your shoulder, when he could close the distance that kept you separated.

It was better than nothing anyway, considering your two year absence.

It was fun now that people once again, from the fact that Mark once again was everywhere in your life, mistook you for a couple. You never corrected them with a laugh, you were always uncomfortable by the supposition that the both of you could be more than old friends.

While his gaze had been only dazed and love sick when looking at you, he couldn't really say the same for you. Yes, he was a guy looking at you through pink coloured glasses, but that didn't mean that he didn't know when you were uncomfortable (a two year change was nothing compared to the fact he had known you your entire life). The worst was when you acted just like you did years ago to strangers, awkward and shy, not really knowing what to say, not even looking at him in the eyes sometimes.

It was just too much to bear.

He should have expected something like this, but it still hurt. It was frustrating, especially when he could have had it all now. So it's no wonder that he was a tiny bit more aggressive when fighting, it was not a surprise when he came out of battles a little bit more bloody than usual.

It wasn't a surprise when he answered coldly or in a passive aggressive way to the new hero who was clinging on to him all the time.

She called herself "Ladybug": she paraded around in a red and black polkadot skintight costume that was fitting due to her name, her (h/c) hair was half up in two small high pigtails while the rest was let loose, shaping her face in a cute way. Her eyes were as playful as the 'weapon' she used, which, by the way, was an indestructible yo-yo that also worked as a cellphone.

From the moment you had defeated a tricky villain with just a hair clip and then you had repaired all the damage and healed all the hurt civilians with your "miraculous ladybug", the GDA and all the heroes were sold. Cecil was so happy to have someone in his team like this that he let you have many privileges, including keeping your identity a secret, and even if each battle made him respect you even more, he was so jealous of you.

He had trained for so long and then you had dared to come along and defeat villains with freaking utensils, but not only that, no, you also fixed and healed everything and then you got the praise he wishes he had got when he had started.

It's selfish, really, especially when it's your fellow new coworker that you should support no matter what since being a hero was no easy task.

Nobody knew who you were under the mask, but each one of his hero friends/coworkers adored you. It felt oddly reminiscing to the times when everyone used to want [name] for group projects and he would laugh internally when you rejected each of their offers shily, saying that you were partnering with him to do the work. He remembers how smug he would look at the frowning faces of his previous classmates.

"I'm going to patrol with Mark tonight" you say, even if he never really agreed to it. (He never agreed with you and the GDA deciding that the both of you were now a package deal.)

At this, He always turned his head ever so slowly and found you looking at him with such heart melting devotion, it was almost sickening. (You're a really nice girl, but in his mind he is already married to his little soft baker. He is a loyal husband who doesn't need.. what do they call it? Ah, a "work-wife".)

He never really said no but you should have got the hint at this point, because why were you always all over him so casually? Your hands always found a place on his body, either straight up massaging his shoulders when you saw he was too tense or carding through his hair as you explained how you were going to handle the villains.

When you fought with gymnast like movements, swinging your yo-yo left and right, you always at some point ended up using his solid figure as some sort of rest from your acrobatics. One time you sat on his shoulders, another you used his extended arm as a surface to jump, other times you just kicked and punched villains while moving on his body. Your agility and fighting style was respectable, but this was crazy.

Fans, FANS, had started shipping the both of you, and the funniest thing? You laughed and showed him compromising fanart while just hugging his arm and pressing yourself against him.

He couldn't lie and say that the two of you didn't look good together, but him and [name] just looked so much better. (Is it too much to ask for his girl to stop avoiding him and sit on his lap? Why the hell are you doing that instead? The first time you had done it he had briefly froze and then he had pushed you off. Mind you, it was a freaking skyscraper.)

He didn't know how to handle you without blushing and snapping at you, he didn't know how to properly interact with your bold self without his pungent remarks and comments laced with frustration. The worst part? You responded to his attitude with your sassy one and then clung to him even harder, as if this could have magically changed the way he felt about you.

You were attractive and smart, and you reminded him an awful lot of [name], especially in your mannerism, but he was sick of settling for people who were similar to [name], and not [name]. (First Amber, then Eve and now you? No, no, he wanted the real deal to himself, not someone who just reminded him of [name].)

You never looked disappointed when he blatantly rejected your advances, no, you smiled and tried again. You never really got tired of playing around with him, of touching, nagging and pulling at his strings.

Because you liked a good chase and if you couldn't have Mark for yourself due to your pressing fears, at least you'd have his alter ego. (You had seen videos of Invincible on TubeYou, but seeing him in front of you with his chiselled body wrapped in latex made you weak in the knees.)

You got bolder and bolder each time, you were each time more shameless both in gestures and remarks. The battles were fun as long as you were assigned Invincible as your partner. (You try to avoid the desperate look in his eyes as you make your way to him, opting to avoid feeling bad from the fact that not even your superhero alter ego was able to woo him.)

You didn't care if he didn't like you yet, because you knew him. You knew that one day he would crumble and not push you away so roughly, but instead pull you in and give you the kiss of your life. (You're kind of scared of that day actually, because what if things get serious and he wants to know who you are? What do you do then? Run? Move to another country?)

("Aren't you forgetting something?" The blood from the weird creature was sticking all over him, his hair was disheveled and he just really needed to see you with that little short skirt and that cute apron. In your equally bloody suit, you were staring at him as he combed his fingers through his hair, with a light sheen of sweat on his face and a light, almost unnoticeable, blush on his face due to the intense physical performance. The way he had said the words was laced with irritation and impatience, but you didn't care as you hazily laid your hungry eyes on his figure.

"A kiss goodbye?" Your honey-like voice, which just so happened to sound like his [name] at times, caught him off guard.

"Are you brain-damaged? Your "miraculous ladybug!"

"oh, right! Yeah, I almost forgot", you pouted before throwing the item in the sky and saying the so famous words.)

Bye <3

I hope you guys enjoyed it, this will most likely have a part 2, especially if you guys would like it. Anyway, I'd really appreciate it if you gave your opinion or support on the fanfic, don't be shy to ask about the au, or about giving constructive criticism or signalling spelling mistakes. Honestly I just can't wait to write more for the Tumblr Invincible girlies since there's a criminally underrated amount of fanfics both here and on ao3 especially.

Update: part 2 is now available!

[cece693]

Secretary (Hannibal Lecter x GN! Reader)

Summary: Hannibal told Crawford that his secretary was 'pre-dispositioned by romantic whims' and traveled to the United Kingdom. However, it's rarely as simple as that.

tags: reader is Hannibal's ex-secretary, possible Stockholm syndrome, no established relationship, Hannibal being himself, kidnapping

You've been doing everything right—not disturbing Dr. Lecter unless absolutely necessary, keeping his records meticulously filed, and, with much reluctance, keeping Mr. Chilton occupied whenever he threatened to storm into Dr. Lecter’s current session to demand more of his time. Your job wasn’t easy, but you excelled at it, surpassing even Dr. Lecter’s expectations. Perhaps that should have been your cue to quit.

But you didn’t. And now, standing in the center of this impeccably furnished home—with its locked doors and an alarm system ready to blare at the slightest escape attempt—you understood the truth. Dr. Lecter would never truly let you go. He might grant you the illusion of freedom, but he would always keep tabs on you. Because, at the end of the day, he found you interesting. So much so that he didn’t kill you outright when you finally saw him for who he really was.

It had been an accident. You weren’t like the other secretaries who snooped and whispered about his peculiarities. You didn’t eavesdrop. You were just…there at the wrong moment. Gathering your belongings after a late evening at the office, you opened the door to leave, only to be greeted by Dr. Lecter standing outside. He was composed, as always. But then you noticed it—the splatter of blood decorating the bottom of his suit sleeve. Your eyes weren't quick enough to look away, and in that split second, you saw his expression change, just the barest flicker as he crossed his arms behind his back and straightened his posture.

"Ah," he had said, tilting his head slightly as if you were a particularly intriguing puzzle piece that had just fallen into place. "It appears I've caught you at an inopportune moment. I trust you’ll keep what you've seen to yourself?" His eyes were not asking. They were demanding. You swallowed hard, barely managing to nod.

"Yes, Dr. Lecter," you stammered. "Of course." He smiled then, a small curve of his lips that made your stomach drop.

"Good," he replied smoothly, stepping closer until you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "It's always refreshing to know who values their… position."

That had been the end of it. Or so you thought. Days turned into weeks, and you convinced yourself you had been imagining things, that perhaps you had misread the situation. But then came the gradual transition: the dinners you were "invited" to, the unspoken requirement to be available whenever Dr. Lecter saw fit. And finally, the inevitable—this place. His home.

Back to the present, you hear the front door click open, the soft thud of polished shoes on the wooden floor. Your heart jumps to your throat, but you force yourself to remain still as Dr. Lecter enters, his eyes immediately locking onto you with an unsettling intensity.

“There you are,” he greets, as if he were a husband returning to his spouse after a long day. “I trust you’ve been keeping yourself entertained?”

You manage a small nod, not trusting your voice to remain steady. "Yes," you reply, clearing your throat. "I…tidied up."

"Wonderful." He removes his coat with precise movements, placing it on the coat rack before turning to you, his gaze predatory yet casual. "Today was most eventful," he begins conversationally, crossing the room toward you with a grace that should make you feel comforted, but instead sets every nerve on edge. "One of my patients had quite the breakthrough. It’s fascinating, really, how easily one can guide a mind to certain���realizations."

He pauses just in front of you, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear in an unsettlingly intimate gesture. "You’ve always had such a strong mind," he murmurs. "That’s why I like you. And why I believe our arrangement will work out perfectly. Don't you agree?"

You swallow, searching for words that will appease him without sealing your fate even tighter. "Of course." you say carefully, hoping the neutrality of your response will satisfy him. He smiles again, that chillingly serene smile that never quite reaches his eyes.

"Good," he purrs. "Now, why don't you join me in the kitchen? I believe a little conversation over dinner would do us both well. After all," he pauses, his gaze darkening, "what's a home without a bit of warmth and companionship?" With a gesture, he beckons you toward the hallway, and you follow, each step a reminder of the delicate balance you must now maintain in this life you never chose.

[alchemistc]

Based on this post by @beefcakekinard because I couldn't flesh it out enough in the tags

read on ao3

could be with you

"Didn't you have a date on Saturday?"

Tommy's eyes dart up. Galway is staring at him, hand on hip, brow raised, and Tommy sighs. "Never said it was a date."

"Yeah, but you had a moony look in your eye. Been a while since I've seen it, but I know your date face."

Tommy does his best to keep things neutral on his face. Clearly that doesn't work, because Galway's expression goes sympathetic immediately.

"Oh, bad date. Damn, Kinard, tough luck."

Tommy's had to get used to the fact that everyone at Harbor always wants in each other's business. It's pretty superficial shit, most of the time, but they always want to know the scoop, anyway.

He feels the flash of disappointment, followed immediately by a lick of defensiveness. Damnit. "Wasn't even a bad date, right up until the end."

Galway looks intrigued, but Tommy's not quite ready to entertain it. He's still stewing, a bit. Annoyed with himself for the way he'd reacted in the moment -- a beat too far because he'd given Evan an easy out and he'd grabbed it and flung it in the opposite direction.

Right, Evan?

God. What a dick thing to say. He'd -- panicked, a little. They both had, in their own ways.

If he'd known, going into it, exactly how new this was to him, maybe he'd have --

Lowered his expectations.

"Wrong place, wrong time," Tommy says, to get Galway off his back about it, and rolls his arms back to tug his flight suit the rest of the way up. And that's the crux of it, really. Tommy's spent too much of his life hiding away, and Evan hadn't even known he had something to hide until -- until what, the moment he realized other people could see them? He hadn't panicked in the moment -- that first moment, Tommy guessed, now that he knew a little more -- when their lips had met. Hadn't panicked in the days between, when the flirting had bordered on ridiculous in their texts back and forth. Hadn't panicked when Tommy picked him up, hand settling at the small of his back to guide him to the passenger side of his truck, or when Tommy complimented his shirt, or on the drive to the restaurant, Tommy nervously tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel while Evan rattled on about beekeeping. They'd both been nervous.

Nerves, he understood. Nerves had settled under his skin the moment he closed the door to Evan's apartment, nerves like he hadn't felt in a good long while because he couldn't remember being so immediately charmed by someone in... a while.

Even through most of the date he'd been able to chalk it up to maybe being in a more public setting than he'd realized. They were both in a field that didn't immediately feel inclusive. Both big, manly looking men, and maybe Evan just hadn't done a lot of that before. Maybe Tommy wasn't his usual type. (Hindsight, as they say.)

He could have rolled with the first date with a dude thing -- awkward as it was, surprising as it was, considering the first time a man had come on to Tommy he'd nearly punched him about it. He'd had to reset some expectations, reevaluate some of his preconceived notions on the fly. That wasn't exactly a deal breaker. He liked Evan. Likes him still, in the light of day with a little time to dig into why exactly it had hurt so much to be sidelined in front of a mutual friend.

And he's still a little embarrassed he'd let it get to him enough to make a snide comment that could have outed him when he was clearly not ready to be out.

But it was one date. A good first date, even, until they'd been a bit blindsided by Eddie Diaz.

Which -- he'd walked himself in circles in his own mind about the Eddie Diaz of it all, anyway, half convinced he was slamming headfirst into the middle of some weird co-parents with benefits scenario. The fishing he'd had to do to even attempt to figure out that situation. He's fairly convinced, at this point, that neither one of them has any hidden latent romantic notions, about the other, but that hadn't really helped the situation, either.

"So no second date in the cards, huh?"

Tommy blinks. Swallows. "Nah," he says, but --

But maybe. If the timing was right.

Christ, Tommy, it was one disappointing date with an admittedly sweet, and kind, and fucking gorgeous guy. A guy with a devastating smile and a wide breadth of useless facts and a great ass and enough heart to fill the Greater Los Angeles area.

The text, later that evening, should surprise him more than it does.

Evan 9:34 PM: Hey, could I give you a call later, if you're not on shift?

Tommy stares at it for ten whole minutes, tucked behind a shelf laden with cleaning supplies while the rest of the crew is huddled around a Kings game in the downtime between calls.

I'm on until 8AM, he shoots back, and then stares at it until he gets a read receipt. Up above Evan's latest text there's a full thread he hadn't had the heart to delete, quite yet, and he can still see the image of the chicken Evan had taken his not great hand at drawing blades on the talons of. Call around half past?

It's a bad idea. He's had worse ones, but.

He gets another read receipt before he can flip away from the conversation, and three little dots that appear and disappear four times before another message pops through.

Evan 9:47 PM: Talk to you in the morning!

And then.

Evan 9:47 PM: Have a good shift. Be safe!

Shit.

--------

He's played out the phone call all the way through about twelve times in his head. Evan's a good guy. Sweet, kind, a little sassy but never mean. He's expecting a thank you, maybe an apology, although he doesn't need it.

He pulls the truck into the closest parking lot when Evan's name flashes across the screen.

"Hey," he says, once he's parked and prepared for the softest let down he's had in years.

"Uh - hey, hi. Hi, Tommy."

Evan Buckley says his name like a benediction. He's never really noticed the way it sounds, until Evan Buckley started saying it. God, this one might sting.

"Hi," he says. They drift into silence.

"Hi. Sorry. Hey. I called you. So. I should. I should say what I wanted to say."

"I'm all ears," Tommy tells him, charmed despite himself, wishing he could see his face.

"I --." The pause is...long. Awkward. Tommy wonders if he's running over a script on his head. "Actually, could we -- do you have any time this morning? Could we talk in person? If -- I mean obviously if you have plans, or, hell, you just got a shift, I'm sure you're tired, we don't have to --."

"I'm about thirty minutes out from home. Let me take a shower, run a few errands. We could meet around noon?" Bad idea. Still. But there's a small, tiny piece of him that thinks Evan might work through his shit at a much quicker speed than Tommy could ever manage. At the very least, he owes it to a younger, angrier Tommy to play this out.

"That -- yeah, that'd be..." He pauses. "You're sure?"

"I'll send you a pin. There's a coffee shop near where I'll be."

"Okay. Okay yeah. I -- just let me know if you're running late, or anything. I'll. I'll be there."

"I'll see you in a few hours, Evan."

"Okay. Yeah. See you in a bit."

Neither one of them hangs up.

Evan's nervous laugh fills the cab, and Tommy presses his head back until he can feel the headrest pressing into his skull. "Bye, Tommy. See you soon."

----

He'd slept where he could, the night before, actually feels pretty well rested, for working an overnight, for spending every free moment wondering what the hell Evan wanted to call him about, for trying real damn hard to temper his fucking expectations. His two wolves are disappointed expectations and romantic notions, constantly warring with each other.

Evan shoots him a text as he's leaving the barber two doors down.

Evan 11:49 AM: Headed out to the patio, see you in a few

Tommy is absolutely not drawing conclusions about him showing up early. None.

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and ducks into the walkway that leads to the courtyard around back.

He'd chosen this place for a few specific reasons -- proximity to his haircut appointment, proximity to Evan's apartment, his knowledge of the lobby of the coffee shop and all it's private little nooks tucked away in corners. Something to ease Evan's mind, a little.

Yet when Tommy finally spots him, he's in the middle of a crowded courtyard, already seated, wearing a light, airy looking polo that stretches tight across his shoulders, and his smile when he spots Tommy burns brighter than the sun on Tommy's newly-shorn scalp.

Tempered expectations.

He doesn't sit, right away. Maybe this had just been an easier way to find each other in the midday crowds. Maybe this conversation won't be long enough to merit sitting.

Evan gestures at the coffee he'd apparently gambled on, and Tommy finds himself sitting before he can talk himself out of it. His posture is a mess, he knows it, but he can't quite help curling in on himself, feeling small as Evan studies him, as the white noise of the people all around them fills his ears. The coffee is terrible. The company is dangerously enchanting.

Evan Buckley goes from zero to sixty in under a second.

-----

Tommy is good at keeping a lid on the part of himself that longs to be romanced, to do some romancing of his own. He's had enough flops to be hyper aware that the reality of dating never follows a soppy script.

Evan says I think that something could be with you and reality takes a rain check, for a minute. Tommy shifts. Tommy flounders. Tommy had prepared for an easy let down, a promise to stay friends and a few awkward encounters in the Diaz living room. Tommy fights the smile, takes a deep breath, admits what he's been trying to deny since he cut things short.

"You already know that I'm interested." It's an easy out -- he's good at catching the ball and tossing it back immediately. It's a risk, but he thinks he and Evan are on the same page about what Tommy's willing to sacrifice, and what he isn't. Evan had made it a point to be out here in the open for this conversation, after all.

Evan takes the shot from half-court.

It catches the rim. Wobbles. Spins.

"Evan," he says, and he means it to sound stern, a hint of incredulity. He's not entirely sure it hits the mark.

And then he's doing that thing he does -- bright-eyed optimism, body language open, a smile curling at his mouth, pressing, pushing, digging into the rocky crevices of Tommy's skepticism and wiping them smooth. It's an insane idea. He's been to...two, three weddings with a date of his own? All long term relationships, because there's something about witnessing eternal vows next to someone that means something to you, something that makes it all a little more real.

But Evan is persistent. And dropping very loaded clues, hinting that he's talked to his sister about him -- them. Tommy doesn't know much, but his relationship with his sister had come up in conversation, he knows they're close. Hinting that he's well aware an invite means he's pulling the lid off 'picking up hot chicks' secrecy.

He doesn't even get all the way through "Are you absolutely sure about this?" before Evan is grinning, leaning in to meet Tommy's gaze, an emphatic confirmation escaping him, and suddenly it's intimate.

Tommy can't think of a reason to say no.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Between the Pages

Summary: grappling with his violent past, Ettore is unexpectedly challenged by the silence of his unassuming cellmate | Word Count: 3.4k~ | warnings: mentions of noncon as a crime, violence

A/N: I've been wanting to kind of do a character heavy fic for a while since I read the interview about Ettore coming of age aboard the ship, so enjoy my take on it 😘

The darkness nibbled at the edges of him. From his feet and fingers, to his ankles and wrists, up his arms and legs. 

It curled deep in his gut, sliding around like oil inside, slick with a morbid curiosity that had lingered there for years. It crept up, weaving through his arteries and veins like vines, choking what purity there used to be, an innocent ignorance, and tainting it, into a sort of murky, sunless void.

He thought that once, he was capable of feeling anything else. Perhaps once, he was capable of love. Of some kind of affection. Maybe even deserved it.

After all, the ones you loved unconditionally, were supposed to give that same love back.

Right?

The day that darkness reached his heart, sucking the soul out of it like the way tendons and fat stick to meat as it’s torn up into chunks, was the day that Ettore understood this truth. Nobody was entitled to love. Not even him. And those people who were supposed to care, supposed to protect him, had abandoned him. What use was there in hoping for it now? He thought so often to himself. 

His body felt so heavy, felt so fucking heavy. The hatred marinated inside. Festered. What was there to do, but simply let it stay and rot? To allow it to become you.

How foolish of him to think that those who participated in making him, who chose to bring him into existence, would be able to give him the nourishment and support he wanted. That he needed. It was a story so often heard. That caregivers cared not about the people they assisted in bringing into this world. Their own children. At first, he admitted, he brushed it off.

It’s just the way my family is. Every family has different dynamics.

Until he couldn’t remember the last time his father had ever spoken to him. And then he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him. And then finally, his face. How he spoke. How he rolled up his cigarettes. He only remembered the smell of him. Fusty and deep. Like how old pubs smell. And the stench of whisky on his breath and yellowed teeth. 

He remembered being on the end of his fist most often. 

And when he was gone, though it was softer, he remembered then the palm of his mother’s. She didn’t have the strength of his father’s, but all the bite.

Trying to stay out of her way proved difficult most days. More often than not, he’d be out, even in the midst of winter as the wind nipped at his bones and the chill sank into his skin, he didn’t want to see the hysterical, screaming mess of a woman that was once his mother to be the first thing he came across when he got home. God forbid she ever spotted him.

He thought she must have thought he looked too similar to his father or something like that. Perhaps it was the eyes, the temperament or the expression. He hoped, somewhere deep, that it was perhaps the crime. Then there may have been some explanation for the way he was.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t figure it out for the life of him, so it was often easiest, to be out of her eyeline altogether. He wasn’t much better at staying out of trouble outside the confines of his home. Out there, in the big, wide world that he was so underprepared for, it was still difficult to be accepted. People had to want to be his friend, after all.

Eventually, he just didn’t even try. Though there was still a desire for acceptance, one he didn’t get by befriending men of a similar age and temperament to him. 

It felt only right, that he used the only things he felt he had, to his advantage. Looks. Talk. Confidence. Three things he was never short on.

And also the three things that fed easily into how he coped and how he eventually morphed into the person he was today. The looks got him into women’s beds, and in between their thighs too. The talk got them to stop fighting, to stay still and let him have his way. The confidence was the one thing in the end that worked to his disadvantage, thinking that the ones who he’d let get away wouldn’t say anything, and the ones he kept quiet by clamping his hands around her tiny, little necks, would inevitably fade away into non-existence. 

He still remembers the way their blood roared against his palms, how their breaths stuttered in his grip, and that addictive wide-eyed look, and the slow, blinking fade of life from their eyes. He thought there was nothing more powerful than holding someone’s very life-blood in his grip, and that was when he knew the rot had taken hold inside him. 

If he could, he would have wiped every judgemental glare off everyone in the courtroom that day. What use was there in pretending to be remorseful, as if he didn’t savour the memory of choking the hell out of those women with his dick so deep inside them still he could feel the way their bodies tried to reject him. Those are the memories he thinks of in those lonely nights in the Box. Those are the cold dark hands that drag him further and further. Until perhaps there is nowhere further to go.

Which is why she confuses him. His cellmate sleeps above him, a woman who he has strangely paid little attention to and can’t for the life of him figure out why. The narrow confines of their shared cell, with its cold, steel surfaces and harsh fluorescent lights, force a proximity that is usually unbearable for him. Yet, with her, there is an unspoken truce that puzzles him further.

There is a suffocating silence in the cell at night. Ettore’s usual trigger lay dormant for a while, an uneasy peace reigning in the small, padded space he shares with her. Unlike the other women aboard the ship, callous, loud and obnoxious, this woman keeps to herself, hovering just beyond the reach of his understanding.

Each day that goes by, he tries to solve the puzzle that she is. Why doesn’t she flinch at his gaze? Why doesn’t she cower? It’s as if she moves through a different realm, her demeanour calm, almost detached, unaffected by the chaos that typically surrounded him and the others alike, or the violence he is known for. 

She is a question without an answer, unsettling him more with each passing day. He sometimes imagines her figure from his bottom bunk, and how she would look while she sleeps, often with her eyes glued to the pages of a book. And he knows from the gentle thud of her tired hand and the half-opened novel on the mattress, that she has likely exhausted herself to sleep from reading and straining in the dark.

So he starts to look for signs, any clue that might explain her indifference, her silence. But she gives nothing away, her routine meticulous and quiet. When she reads, she never looks up. He supposes there is no reason for her to. Does anyone even know her name? Or do they do what he used to do, and just pretend she never existed in the first place? Perhaps that’s where she feels most comfortable.

It gnaws at him more than any confrontation could. His history with women was fraught with aggression, violence and brutality, but it provides no playbook for this experience. There is no anger in her silence, no fear. She merely exists in a state of complete neutrality, leaving him to wonder why she is even in prison in the first place. This indifference to life itself, it seems, is more disarming than any verbal or physical challenge. 

He hopes for a flicker of annoyance when he makes too much noise coming back to their shared cell some nights. But nothing. He hopes for the one day she glances up from her book, eyes clear and calm, as if nothing is wrong. 

She was like a candle unlit. A sheet of snow upon the ground without a fault or a footstep to taint it. Like a notebook you kept but didn't have the heart to write in for the first time, for the fear of ruining the very first page.

So it is that night, he lays with his hands behind his head, ever kept in a state of wide-eyed curiosity, when he hears the familiar thud of her tired hand dropping her novel. She never seems annoyed when she loses her place in her story, she simply gets up in the morning, and places something flat where she thinks she was, and is more than happy to start all over again. 

Despite the silence, his mind races, thoughts swirling and colliding in the shadows. He’s grown accustomed to the rhythms of their cohabitation, the sound of her breathing, the slight shifts of her body in the bunk above him, the soft rustle of pages turning. These sounds punctuate his nights, a constant reminder of her presence.

And yet, tonight, there’s a different kind of awareness, a curiosity that edges toward something he can’t quite name. It’s not desire, not the kind he’s known before, which was always tangled with aggression and control. This is something else, something quieter, more invasive. He wants to see her as she sleeps, to witness her in a moment of unguarded vulnerability, not to disturb or dominate, but to understand.

This thought, this need to see her face relaxed in sleep, strikes him with a pang of guilt. Even in the dim light of self-awareness, he recognises that this impulse feels like a violation, an intrusion into her silent world. He’s used to taking space, not just physically but emotionally, imposing his will on others as a way to affirm his existence. But with her, the dynamics are different. She offers nothing to conquer, only a silence to be filled, and in that silence, his own reflections become too loud, too clear.

Lying there, Ettore wrestles with the pull of his curiosity and the weight of his past. He knows too well the darkness that lives within him, the ease with which he could turn a moment of curiosity into something far more sinister. The battle within him is a quiet one, but intense. The thought of crossing the boundary, even just to see her in her sleep, stirs a deep-seated fear that he might revert to the man he was, the man he still is, underneath the surface of this uneasy peace.

His limbs move as if detached from his will. He places one hand on the cold metal of the ladder, then another, his movements slow, deliberate. Every rung of the ladder creaks softly under his weight, a grim soundtrack to his betrayal of self-promises. His heart pounds in his ears, not with excitement, but with a dread that feels both foreign and familiar.

As he ascends, each step feels heavier, burdened not by physical weight but by the gravity of his intentions. He pauses halfway, his body tensed, his mind screaming for him to retreat. But the pull is too strong, the need to see her, to understand why she affects him so profoundly, why she can exist so close to him yet remain a world apart.

Reaching the top, Ettore pauses, barely breathing. He is close enough now to hear her gentle breaths, the soft exhale of sleep that seems so at odds with the storm raging in his soul. She is a portrait of peace, her eyelids fluttering slightly with dreams he cannot begin to fathom. He yearns to understand her not because she is an enigma, but because in her quiet resilience, he sees a reflection of what he might have been, what he still could be. It's a longing not only to understand but also to be understood, to be seen not as the sum of his past actions but as the person he struggles to become.

He approaches her bunk with a reverence that surprises him. As he lays down gently beside her, he is acutely aware of the sanctity of the moment, of her trust not to be breached and of his own resolve not to revert to the man he knows he really is deep down. 

But there is a vulnerability that is roused in him when he watches her like this, and he doesn't recognise or like it one bit. It'd be so easy to just wrap his hands around her neck, like he had done before so instinctively, and be rid of her. Maybe then he wouldn't question this side of himself that has bubbled to the surface.

The mere idea of putting his fingers around her throat has adrenaline soaring in his veins.

But Ettore pulls back from the precipice of this dark impulse almost as quickly as it arises. The primal, instinctual urge to eliminate what confuses him, to destroy rather than confront, surges within him, his hands tensing at his sides. Yet, as he watches her, her chest gently rising and falling with each breath, he finds himself caught in a storm of conflicting emotions.

It's horrifying, the ease with which violence still beckons to him. The quiet, once a cloak she wrapped around herself, now envelops him too. The battle is not with her, not even with the world outside, but inside. But this realisation does not bring peace. Far from it.

Feeling as if his heart in his throat, his palm hovers above her body, starting from her legs. He is trembling, leaving an inch of space that feels like a chasm. And yet he can feel the heat of her form, as if radiating from her skin and pulsing into his.

He passes over her hips, his eyes zeroed in on a slither of skin that has become visible beneath her sleeping shirt. It beckons to him like a test of his will. If she were anyone else, one hand would hold her down, while the other would rip her sweatpants off and-

He clenches his fist tight, his eyes mirroring the struggle. Every moment he chooses restraint, he is redefining himself.

And yet as he descends the steps down from her bunk, she hadn't moved an inch and the prospect of her being a deep sleeper makes the intrusive desire to do this again ever more prevalent. It doesn’t reassure him at this point, rather it feeds into the dangerous allure of doing it again, and again, and again.

And each time in the days following, what he does becomes more bold, skirting around the edges of darkness he knows full well lurks beneath. He waits every night for the thud of her book on the bed, for her quiet breathing to let him know that it is safe to venture into what feels like dangerous territory.

Hovered hands become soft brushes against her flesh. Initially, these contacts are mere brushes, fleeting and barely there, against her arms, perhaps unintentionally grazing her leg, or the slope of her shoulder. With each night, his touches grow slightly more deliberate, and when he has straddled that line too closely and she stirs or readjusts, he feels his heart quicken and chest tighten. Sometimes he almost wants her to wake up, just to see what he would instinctively do.

This dangerous game continues, each touch a test of his self-control. His fingers linger a moment too long on the soft skin of her cheek one night, the warmth of her breath against his hand, and the next day he struggles to even glance in her direction alongside the torrent of emotions within him. The fear that he is becoming the monster he dreads appears more real than ever. The very act of touching her in her sleep, though innocent, yet an invasion of her privacy and autonomy, is a stark reminder of the control he once wielded without thought.

He understands now that this cannot continue. The path he is on, though it started with a quest for understanding and connection, is veering dangerously close to old patterns that had once felt familiar. And yet with her of which he cannot even envision.

He knows the only way to break this cycle, to truly change, is to confront the situation directly and honestly. No more silent, uninvited intrusions in the dark; he needs to face her in the light, to speak to her and gauge her response, to decide his next steps based on a genuine interaction rather than his own conjectures and impulses.

All the scenarios run rampant in his mind, stealing every quiet moment in his day to day life seemingly without effort. 

He is desperate to hear her voice, just for him, a sound to anchor the whirlwind inside.

If he speaks and she glances up from between her precious pages, with a look of fear, judgement, anger…there just might still be violence screaming in his gut. He imagines, with a chilling clarity, how he might react. To watch those eyes that have never landed upon him, wide-eyed and panicked with fear, her hands that would usually hold those delicate covers as if they were sentient, thrashing and scratching at his skin for escape.

However, if her eyes meet his with calmness, a soft but unyielding clarity, it might signal a different path. Such a look could secure him, pull him back from the brink, offering a glimpse of a different kind of interaction, one rooted in mutual respect rather than fear.

Throughout the day, Ettore wrestles with the decision to approach her at an unusual time, a moment outside their routine interactions, which are typically defined by the unspoken boundaries and silent acknowledgements of shared space. The weight of this choice, loaded with the potential for a shift in their dynamic, presses on him.

Finally, as the day bleeds into evening, he steels himself and walks towards their cell, a path he has traversed countless times yet now feels distinctly different. His footsteps echo slightly in the empty corridor, a hollow sound that seems to beat in rhythm with his anxious heart. He pauses at the doorway, his hand resting against the cold metal frame for a moment. He had never been short on confidence, until right this moment.

She is there, as always, perched on her bed with a book cradled in her lap, her attention fully absorbed by the pages. The familiar sight of her, so engrossed in her literary world, momentarily steadies him. "Hey," he calls out softly, his voice slightly rough around the edges from the turmoil inside him.

At the sound of his voice, she looks up, her expression shifting from concentrated reading to mild surprise. Her eyes meet his, clear and calm, carrying none of the fear or judgement he had feared. "Hey," she responds simply, her voice a quiet echo to his own.

In that brief exchange, just a single word spoken by each, there's a palpable shift. It's not a definitive answer to all his internal questions, but it grants him a moment of reprieve from his fears of eliciting a negative reaction. So he stands there, momentarily rooted to the spot by the simplicity and normalcy of her response. And it is this moment where her eyes are piercing right into him that he is offered his first real glimpse into her as well. Features he had usually seen undisturbed by the quiet of sleep felt familiar and yet uncharted now, such as the flutter of her eyelashes and the decorating of freckles across her cheeks, and the small, curious pupils looking between his eyes as if for an answer.

Realising he's been standing silent for too long, Ettore scrambles mentally for something to say, to break the growing awkwardness that feels almost like a first encounter. His lips part, ready to forge some semblance of normal conversation.

No sooner are his lips parted that he is rendered into silence he once would have expected from her. She dog-eared the page, closed her book off her lap and brushed her hair from her face, and spoke with a soft tone laden with genuine concern. It feels like an invitation, a door opening to endless possibilities where she has seen past the facade of toughness to the raw, uncertain man beneath. She invites him into a space where he can be vulnerable, and yet he is still unsure if he even wants to be there. Can those raging, endless violent impulses ever be quieted by just a couple of words?

“You okay?”

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[not-poignant]

Hi,

I'm not sure how to approach this without sounding like an ignorant asshole, but I'll give it a go.

I'm from a country where the Trans movement isn’t very visible, and most of what I know about it comes from the internet. I’ve never truly understood gender dysphoria. I’ve tried to listen and put myself in others' shoes, but I struggled to be genuinely empathetic. Instead, I just tried to be supportive because it was expected of me, without really getting it.

It might sound silly, but reading Underline the Black made me stop and think… Wait, is this what I think it is? Reading Efnisien’s internal monologues and introspection made me feel something—maybe not from the same circumstances, but in a way that something inside my brain clicked, and I finally saw where the pain was coming from.

I guess what I really want to say is thank you. Thank you for helping me begin to understand and for broadening my perspective. It might sound small, but it’s something I deeply appreciate. I’ve been trying for a long time.

I do feel a bit foolish realizing that it took an ABO fanfic for me to get it… but at the same time, I was also reading about your real-life experiences. Or at least, that’s how it seemed to me. Forgive me if I’m wrong.

You have an incredible talent for expression.

Anon, until you know otherwise, everyone has to start somewhere. This applies to unlearning our biases and prejudices, which we all have for something, or many things, until we unlearn them. The fact that you've even tried to be supportive of something you don't really understand is still important, and still matters. It's a step into understanding, even if you don't have it yet.

I don't think it's foolish that it took you a story to realise what you've realised! This is actually exactly why representation of diversity (in gender, sexuality, culture, race, etc.) is so important in fiction. Because it's in fiction we can be free to explore concepts that are different to our own, or that challenge us, or make us see the world differently. This is why it's so important to know it's possible to identify with a trans character, or a POC character, or a character from a different culture to ours etc. Because that's when we humanise what we previously saw as like, different, Other, hard to understand. We go 'oh that's...really relatable actually, I think I'd feel the same way if that was my experience of life' or 'I don't know if I'd feel the same way but I really understand where that person is coming from.'

Gender dysphoria is complex, and different for different people. Being able to write it metaphorically through Efnisien's journey has been really interesting for me personally, because I've been able to depict both the inner conflict of knowing that your being is not...automatically going to be accepted as normal no matter what, unless you stifle or suffocate yourself, alongside the true euphoria and joy that can come with living as your best life, or your very self.

I have once seen a good analogy which is simply: Imagine from tomorrow onwards, everyone uses the pronouns you don't associate with yourself. You are bullied and mocked unless you wear clothing that is opposite to how you want to appear to others. You are put down and treated as psychologically abnormal for finding joy in true expression, even when that expression doesn't actually hurt anyone else at all. And now tell yourself that even your loved ones, when you desperately try to explain how wrong it all feels to be treated as so different to your true self, they explain that it's just mental illness, or that you're just confused, or that you don't understand yourself, and condescend to you, and treat you like they somehow have always known you better than you know yourself. And that's when you realise you might have to choose between your true self, and your family and loved ones who don't understand, or worse, hate you.

And then imagine that's the rest of your life, but it could change in an instant, if all of society just accepted that you are who you say you are! That all of your depression, and oppression, and suffocation could literally just vanish, if everyone was like 'oh sure actually, you want those pronouns? Cool! You want to wear this clothing? I like it!!'

And that journey is very tough in the real world, even in more accepting places (the US is clear evidence of this). In Underline the Black, I get to put Efnisien in a very specific space, and show the journey in a kind of specific way that isolates it and speaks through metaphor.

My experiences are different to Efnisien's, though I am trans, I never actually started out wanting to write a 1:1 trans narrative. Like, in this universe, "conventionally" trans people exist too. Efnisien's experience is a new thing, and a separate thing, but still - as we can see - a very good metaphor as well. I like telling parts of my story, but only small parts. I am more interested in...telling healing stories where I can watch a character heal and go 'oh I would like more of that for myself, as well.'

(Also, it's better to just say omegaverse, or AOB, etc. because a/b/o without the dashes is a slur in Australia, and while I know most people don't live here! We try to avoid slurs from other countries when we can. And we can only know to do that once someone tells us!)

But yeah, no, you don't sound like an ignorant asshole at all. You sound like someone who has learned something, and has gained more understanding, and was open to doing that, and honestly anon if more people came to something they didn't understand from your perspective, acceptance and love would be a lot easier to teach people.

It's so important to read stories about characters who aren't quite like us, or aren't like us at all, because that's when we realise just how much we actually do share so many similarities, and why our differences matter too.

Anyway thank you for sharing your message with me! I really appreciated it.

[alicentsgf]

hi, i might just be a touch too young have other things keeping me from getting this - but i've never really understood how the baby becoming a sacrifice (despite already being a stillborn; like ive always seen what happened as best case for the baby so it just really confuses me) is on the same like level as what she had to do to javi. you just explain shaunas brain really well and i was curious if you would be able to go into that / explain it a little ?

yeah of course! i mean i can only say how i interpret it and i think its impossible to really quantify trauma but for shauna losing her child and everything that came with it was the most deeply traumatic experience she endured imo, especially with how closely connected it was to jackies fate. javi's death and shaunas role in it was more the straw that broke the camels back, in terms of changing her irrevocably.

having witnessed someone close to me experience it, its hard to describe how deeply traumatic losing a child is, even one you never really knew or wanted to begin with. just the act of holding a dead baby is an impossibly awful experience, and shauna did it for days. and im sure if she'd dared to think about it she would have known logically how bad the chances were for the baby, but that wouldnt have stopped her hoping. even when you actually know someones going to die, the loss doesnt truly hit you until afterwards. and then you have to consider all the additional stress as well. she had everyone piling their hopes on her, excited for the baby, assuming it would change things for the better. it must have felt like such a huge burden. this child is the result of a decision that led to her best friends death. led to shauna eating her to stay alive. if the baby dies... what the hell was that all for. what does she have left to show for it. not to mention she had lottie growing strangely attached, making shauna fear what she had planned. we see this represented in shaunas nightmare, where lottie inserts herself to the extent of breastfeeding. then shauna sees her friends covered in her childs blood - they'd ripped him apart and consumed him, and maybe that was what she'd feared all along, except not so literally; that her child would never truly be hers, because this strange hierarchy might give someone like lottie the power to rip him away. its a lot to process, as if a traumatic stillbirth without pain relief at 18 isnt enough to be getting on with.

and in the end that nightmare shauna had does kinda comes true. because lottie does steal her baby, and the others do consume him. they're cannibalising his memory, cannibalising shaunas grief. hes not a person, hes not hers, hes some kind of totem or diety for a religion shauna doesnt believe in. she cant even go to his grave and grieve peacefully, hes public property and so is she by association. its why akilah's headdress pissed her off so much, because yet again what she wants or needs isnt considered, when really in this scenario they should all be deferring to her. she doesnt even have anyone to lean on in her grief because to the others her son isnt a baby who would grown up to be someone someday, hes just a sacrifice. worst of all shes told he had to be sacrificed to keep HER alive. nobody even thinks about how guilty this must make shauna feel. how heartbreaking it must be to be told 'your child needed to die for you to live because we need you more'. its a callous, selfish thing to express, even if they didnt mean any harm by it and even if it makes logical sense. shauna doesnt believe in the wilderness, but she knows the others at least believe they chose for her. whether their ritual worked or not, it was not their place to do that. she didnt want to die, but any decision made should have been hers alone. so now it feels like shes surrounded every day by people who see her like a tool to be used. shes necessary, they needed her, so her baby had to die.

ultimately this means that in the end shaunas trauma isnt just centered on the event itself - the pain and loss of a stillbirth, but all the other circumstances surrounding it that make shaunas experience so desperately isolating and painful. trauma doesnt just happen in moments, and for shauna this is an ongoing traumatic experience thats lasted at least a year at this point, since the moment she realised she was pregnant. and its happening on top of the already extremely traumatic circumstances they're all enduring.

so whilst the night she butchered javi is of course deeply traumatic, its more of a transformative garnish on top of the mountain of other stuff shauna was already experiencing. i think its more that something clicked in her brain that night, carving him up, exposing herself to something so deeply harrowing, and then not getting chosen to lead. she feels that shes not respected, shes just a means to an end. that they all see the knife in her hand, even when shes not holding it. its why they needed her alive, and not her child. and so in feeling that fuel a rage in her, she became compelled to find some type of power in the role she has. and when all you have is a knife, theres really only one way to grasp at power.

[official-impravidus]

"Dont touch her/him" with jealous parkner please ;)

I was clearing out my inbox and I thought it would be funny to reply to this prompt from like 2019 but I accidentally wrote a good fic and also may have gotten myself back into Parkner??? @peachy-keener 👀

Peter never considered himself a jealous person. He was protective, sure. He cared about the ones he loves deeply but he’s secure in the knowledge that they love him too, enough to not abandon him just because they make other connections.

(That’s a lie. There’s a festering fear that bubbles beneath the surface of his skin at every given moment that he will lose someone he loves again. And though the losses he has had were through death, out of his control no matter how much he blames himself for it, he can’t help but fear that the next time he is left again will be completely and utterly his fault.)

When he met Harley, he didn’t expect to love him the way he does.

It’s different for his love for Ned. His love for Ned is fierce and all consuming, the feeling of being known so deep that you are not a separate two but intrinsically combined, merged together through time, influencing the way the other grew and evolved as he grew and evolved with him.

His love for MJ is something steady, something that he considered to be romantic love but didn't quite understand as he felt it. A love that was all butterflies and fireworks yet also a moment of reprieve from his crazy life, a steadying silence and a moment to breathe. Something that didn't necessarily dim or dull but dissipated into something less like a passionate infatuation and more like contentment. A love for a moment, not a love forever.

Harley is… indescribable. What he feels for Harley isn't what he ever understood love to be and that's why he wasn't able to tell what it was. Fleeting moments shared in passing that slowly lingered until the two needed to pry each other apart. The need to listen, to know everything about him, to learn everything that makes him Harley but also the need to be heard and seen and listened to in a way you can't even listen to yourself.

It's a certainty. An unspoken trust built on respect and communication and painstakingly chipping away at the walls that they had built into themselves.

It's warmth and it's safety and it's good and nice and right.

Love for Peter has always been something so big. Love that he would lay down his life for. Love that was expressed in grand gestures and grander words just to prove even a sliver of the sentiment. Because he loves so big and the love he feels is inexplicable, not because he doesn't understand how he feels it, but because there is no way to explain it.

But with Harley, there is no need to address it. It is just known. And somehow, without clarification, he knows that he is loved too.

It's easy. It's simple. It's good, nice, right.

So, when Peter feels a pool of fire in his gut, the sort of burning roaring passion that he had once felt with his first love, for a moment he thinks that what he had adjusted to believe love could be was not all what love is at all.

But it's not the kind of overwhelming emotion, a maelstrom of feeling that pulses and pushes like how he had felt for his first love. It's not kind or love-like at all.

It's an ugly kind of passion. One that he attributes more to fistfights in the moonlit streets, bloody knuckles and bruised ribs, the ache that pulls for him to take a step to far that he can't quite cross.

Peter has never been one whose first resort is violence.

But right now, he wants to punch someone so hard that their stupid face with their stupid smirk caves in.

He and Harley are out at the park both in desperate need of fresh air and sunlight on their faces after holing themselves in the lab for far too long.

Harley had stepped away to get them a treat from an ice cream truck — "They made popsicles of you! They've got gumballs for eyes and there's a less than one percent chance they're in the right place, but I've think I've got good odds." — leaving Peter behind to pet the swarm of dogs that fight to have a spot in his lap.

When Peter hears Harley chuckle uncomfortably, his head immediately snaps up, eyes zeroing in on Harley who stands across the park.

A guy has a hand on Harley's arm, looking him up and down with hungry eyes and smirk that looks more like a snarl. Harley, polite as always, does his best to not engage but considering their positions in the line, there is nowhere for him to escape.

Peter is moving before he realizes he is, legs moving without him, a magnet pulled to Harley, but this time in a way that feels more like a planet being pulled into the gravitational field of a blinding sun.

"Don't touch him."

The guy doesn't move his hand. He just cocks a brow, shooting Harley an annoyed look as if Peter is the one who is unwanted there. "There's a line, buddy."

"I was actually saving him a spot," Harley says, finally ripping his hand from the guy's grasp as his fingers slacken at the statement. Harley wraps an arm around Peter's waist and presses a kiss to his temple. "Remind me what you wanted again, darlin?"

"Whatever you want," Peter says, the double meaning clear in the words.

"Well, I want a Spider-Man popsicle. And I want to be the lucky guy who gets the one with the eyes in the right place."

The guy, now realizing that his attempts at pursuits are futile, huffing petulantly, steps out of line and storms away.

Harley leans his lips down to Peter's ear. "You jealous?"

"No," Peter says quickly.

"Well, I wasn't lyin' when I said all I want is your eyes in the right place." Harley pulls away and looks into Peter's eyes. "On me."

[andreal831]

TVDU and forced parenthood

I don't know if it is because Julie Plec didn't understand parenthood or just didn't care, but almost every character has a messed up relationship with the idea of parenthood.

Starting with Rebekah, whose entire identity becomes about being a mother. When she is first introduced, she behaves like an immature teenager with almost no maternal instincts or desires. But it quickly shifts in TO to focus on her desire to have a child. I am completely fine with a woman wanting to have children, but she never gave a real reason to want it. Just this general idea that she had always desired it. I get she likely would have been thinking about it when she was human since, during their human period, women tended to have children in their teen years and it was what all women did. But throughout her 1,000 years, we never see her seek that relationship with anyone. She briefly develops a protective relationship with April and then Davina, but they are easily pushed aside. She even abandons her relationship with Hope multiple times. It never seemed to me that she wanted to be a parent, rather wanted a baby.

This is even more obvious by the fact that Klaus 'adopts' Marcel. Rebekah could have adopted a child, or taken in someone throughout her long life. Now, it could have been that she feared Klaus would be angry and jealous, but this story is never shown. In fact, Klaus seems fine with Rebekah training Marcel, even after he was jealous of Elijah teaching him.

Speaking of Marcel, this whole storyline was problematic. The Mikaelsons take in this boy and then make him feel indebted to them. I've seen people argue that they didn't adopt Marcel, but rather took him in as a ward. Either way you look at it, Marcel was a child and deserved to be treated like one and not some trophy (a lot of white saviorism happening). I do think Elijah wanted to raise Marcel as a son but Klaus wouldn't let him. So instead, Klaus raises him as a friend which created a complicated relationship. I also hate how you can clearly see the difference in how Hope is protected versus how Marcel was raised. Whether it's sexist or racist or just based on him not being their biological family, it's problematic.

And then there is Hope. Hayley will always be my favorite parent in TVDU. Even when she was young and overwhelmed, you could tell her thoughts and actions were all about protecting Hope. Yes, some things she did weren't the smartest plan, but she was also a scared 20-something-year-old trying to survive against enemies that were 1000x her age. She risked her life repeatedly for her daughter and would sacrifice anything for Hope to be safe and happy. She was the one character I felt truly understood what it meant to be a parent.

I always get in trouble when I criticize Klaus as a parent, but he was a narcissistic parent for 90% of the show and that honestly needs its own post.

It's not surprising the Mikaelsons don't know how to be parents. Mikael wanted to train them to be warriors and Esther had a similar feel to Rebekah, that she wanted babies but didn't know how to be a mother. I know Esther and Mikael likely had their own childhood traumas, but that's another conversation.

I liked that Kol and Davina never discussed children. Davina was young and Kol never expressed desires to be a father. Not everyone needs to want to have children. To me, Elijah was the only Mikaelson sibling who expressed a deeper interest in being a parent. Yet, he still didn't understand the full extent. He essentially acted like a parent to his siblings but ended up just having messed up relationships with each of them. He wanted to step in with Marcel and even Hope. I like to think he learned his lesson from Marcel and fought harder for Hope, but again, the whole family just fought harder for Hope.

I also think Freya having a child makes sense, but Vincent being the father had me baffled. He hated Elijah for what he did to Davina until Elijah died, but forgave Freya for her role? Not only forgave her but decided to help continue the Mikaelson line. I just find it hard to believe that he would have agreed to help. But Julie wanted to expand the Mikaelsons and then do nothing with it I guess.

Even in TVD, this idea that everyone wants to be a parent is pushed. Again, yes some people do, but not everyone needs to want children.

I understood Jo, Alaric, and even Stefan's desire to have children. This need to protect and care for others was built into them. We see Alaric (before his character sucked) basically adopt Elena and Jeremy. Jo was always protective of her siblings and loved caring for others so much she became a doctor. Stefan just always had this paternal need to take care of others in my opinion. I even see this with Elena and Bonnie. (Also the fact that Bonnie's future is never mentioned -- we hear about everyone else but what was Bonnie up to in Legacies??)

But Caroline and Damon having children made no sense to me. Caroline had dreams of a career and seemed adventurous, but then was forced into pregnancy at what 23 years old while she was still in school? Yes, we see she gets to become a journalist, but in Legacies we don't hear anything about her life or career. She isn't even there as a mother. Caroline's character basically disappears.

Damon never expressed a desire for children that I can remember. He enjoyed his vampire life and I can't see him giving it up to be a mortal, stay-at-home dad.

There are a lot of problems with the show, Friends, but one thing I've always loved is how they show the different pathways to parenthood. Pheobe is a surrogate for her brother, Monica adopts, and Rachel is a single mother. There isn't one way to be a parent, as long as you always put the children's safety and happiness first.

TVDU could have learned a thing about it. For a show that loved to randomly have a found family trope, it was also ready to throw it out the window the second biological family showed up. That's not how found families work, they are family through and through.

Also, and I cannot say this enough, not everyone needs to want to have children. Even women.

[sinner-sunflower]

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 5/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 14.5, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22, PART 23, PART 24, PART 25, PART 26

Notes below!

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Ever since his redemption (a perplexing event he still couldn't fathom), Sir Pentious had never left Emily's side at all. Well, more like he wasn't allowed to leave the young Seraph's side at all. That tall lady, Sera, proved to be stricter than dear Vagatha.

Confined to a single floor among Heaven's bright buildings, he shared quarters with the Seraphs. Sera had instructed him to remain there until she could resolve the issue at hand.

He has no idea what the other means by that. Wasn't his redemption already the resolution they needed?

The snake demon- nope, angel now- felt an urge to consult Emily about it, as she reminded him greatly of Charlie. Yet, he never got the opportunity, when one day he was abruptly awoken and whisked away before he could even really wake up.

Sir Pentious: Emily, dear, where exactly are we going?

Emily: Last time, Sera said she had a meeting with the Heavenly Virtues, so I told her to tell them about you being a redeemed soul from Hell.

Sir Pentious: And who, pray tell, are thesssssse.. Virtuesssssss?

Emily: The Archangels of Heaven. They're the highest authority here just under the Lord.

Sir Pentious: Miss Charlie didn't mention any Archangels during her trial.

Emily: They weren't there. They put all their trust in Sera to handle those kinds of matters but... After the last extermination, there was no hiding Sera can do anymore. And when she was called for that meeting, I begged her to tell them about you.

Sir Pentious: I will guess that she hasssssn't?

Emily: She didn't! I can't believe her. She came back and she's refusing to see me or even go back to tell them! So, I'm making an executive decision to tell them myself.

Sir Pentious: Do I really have to be there?

Emily: Of course! You're living- uhh- dead? proof that a soul can be redeemed! Now come on!

Sir Pentious: Are you ssssssure we're allowed here, dear?

Emily had been noticeably fidgety—a trait Sir Pentious recognized all too well. From past experience, he understood that such behavior either means discomfort, fear, or guilt. He isn't sure what she's thinking right now.

Emily: Um- yep!

Sir Pentious: Then why are we sneaking in?

The angel's expression confirmed his suspicions. Right on the money.

Emily: Well- I- just follow me!

Emily continued to open random doors while dragging Sir Pentious along, seemingly determined to find a specific room among them. Despite their covert mission, they managed to evade any detection so far. Yet, the newly redeemed soul couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't alone in the building.

Emily: One of these rooms has to belong to one of them.

As Emily expressed her determination, a fleeting glimpse of familiar red and white caught Sir Pentious' attention.

He instinctively turned his head towards the direction, only to find the hallway empty. There's a nagging sensation compelling him to investigate further.

Emily intervened, grabbing his arm before he could even move away.

Emily: Sir Pentious! What are you doing?

Sir Pentious: I think I sssssaw ssssssomething, deary.

Emily's sudden burst of excitement propelled them both towards the direction where Sir Pentious claimed to have seen the figure vanished.

Emily: Do you think it's an Archangel? I hope so. We might get in trouble if it's anyone other than them. Then again, I've never been in this building before and I'm not really allowed but I'm technically acting Seraphim right now so-

Her words trailed off into rambling, but Sir Pentious paid her no mind, his focus is entirely on tracking the elusive figure. However, they couldn't catch up as they lost it amidst the labyrinth of corridors.

Sir Pentious: Hmmm. Perhaps it was no one-

The building suddenly shook so hard causing them to fall on the floor. It stopped just as quickly as it happened.

Emily: What was that?!

Sir Pentious: Emily, doesssss Heaven get earthquakessssss?

Emily: I don't even know what those are!

As Sir Pentious and Emily cautiously approached the door from which the sound of bickering emanated, they exchanged a knowing glance. With silent agreement, they inched closer, their curiosity piqued by the faint golden glow seeping through a suspiciously well-placed crack on the door just perfect for their eyes.

Sir Pentious chose to say nothing about it.

Peeking through the cracks, they find themselves shocked at who was at the other side of the door.

Michael: You don't understand! I- it was such a hard decision! It was the best option! I'm Heaven's protector and- Lucifer: You were my protector too!

Emily: Archangel Michael?! / Sir Pentious: His Majesty?!

Emily: His- wait. What do you mean?

Sir Pentious: That'ssssss His Majessssty, Lucifer!

Gasping a little too loudly, Emily's hands flew to cover her mouth.

A part of her wants to go back to the Archangel's words. Where did she hear that before?

Emily: Charlie's dad?? As in the King of-

Michael: -on their knees in front of people other than our Lord. It took so many meetings for them to relent. That's why you and Lilith spent a long time held in the Garden. Lucifer: Shut up. Michael: So, I'm really sorry that we let you down. Lucifer: Shut up, Michael! Michael: But if I had the chance to go back, I would do it all over again.

As Emily listened to the heated exchange between the Archangels, a pang of empathy tugged at her heart. She couldn't help but wonder if someone could truly utter such hurtful words even in the midst of apologies. She doesn't blame Charlie's dad one bit if she were in his shoes. If Sera hurt her like that...

Ah. But Sera did hurt her. She lied to her.

Amidst the confusing emotions swirling within her, Emily's acute senses picked up something else from within the room—voices that didn't belong to the two arguing Archangels. The threads are-

Lucifer: You should've killed me when you had the chance. And now you think you can beat me at my own game?

Wait a second. Where had she heard about golden thread before? What did Sera say? That every soul's destiny, human or not, was already determined by the-

Emily: Oh no. No no no no! Sir Pentious we have to get out here before they see us!

Sir Pentious: Young miss, the Archangel you need is beyond that door plus His Majesty! We can relay the news faster to Charlie this way!

There's manic laughter now but Emily is far too panicked think of it.

Lucifer: Divine move? Divine move? You think you have any moves at all?!

She's pulling him with all her might but the winner is stubborn.

Emily: This room- We aren't allowed here! We're not even allowed to see it! Sera said this is the room of The F-

Lucifer: Maybe then, Heaven could've killed that weak, naive angel. But me? ME?! Ì̶̢̤̉'̵͙͕͑M̷̱͋̀ ̵̬͌T̴̥͠͝H̸̫́̑E̶̳̠̐̎ ̴̠̣̎̐D̷̼̕E̵̢̳͆V̶̳̩̉̋Ì̶̬L̴̥̗̾ ̴̮͝F̸̝̓̀Ų̸̠͗̑C̵͚͗K̷̺̚̚I̵̠̋̕Ň̸͎͈G̵̘̔ ̵̤͛I̸̩͐N̷̥̰̋C̸͓̒̍A̴̙̓R̵͍͛N̴̤͎͠A̵͇̟̓Ṯ̴̯͊Ḙ̴͑̇,̴̰͆̑ ̵̤́ͅÝ̴̙̫̈́O̵͚͐͒U̵̙͂ ̷̱̆͜͝Ċ̸͍̌Á̷̰́N̸͉̈'̶͇̎͂T̵̠̒ ̶͖́K̶̛̲̮̆I̸͎̘͐̃L̴̟̙̔̿L̴̜̾͊ ̶̱̥̌M̵̳̕E̵͈̯͋́!

For the 2nd time that day, they fell as the ground shook with the screams inside.

They scrambled to their feet just in time to witness a terrifying sight—the manifestation of Lucifer's wrath in all its terrifying glory.

Emily's blood ran cold as she saw the scene unfolding before her, mind struggling to comprehend the Devil. The air crackled with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine, and her heart pounded with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Michael: Lucifer—what? Why do you look like that? What did you-

She refuses to believe this is Charlie's dad.

Emily: T-t-that's the K-king of Hell?

She doesn't know why she expected Sir Pentious to be smug or even be proud that this scary being was his former King. But he wasn't. In fact, he looks just as afraid as she is.

Sir Pentious: No. It isssss not.

Lucifer: Don't worry, Mika. I won't die that easily because I'll be there to watch Heaven fall.

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

Even after the King of Hell departed and the Archangel Michael fell silent, Sir Pentious and Emily remained rooted to the spot, hesitant to leave yet also unwilling to enter the room. The lingering tension in the air held them in its grip.

It was the former sinner who spoke up first.

Sir Pentious: Thissss isss our chance, Emily.

Emily: Sir Pentious, maybe we should find another person we could talk to.

Sir Pentious: Come now, little missy. We've already missed His Majesty, and we barely could find a single soul in this building! An Archangel is right there and we must seize this opportunity!

Emily: Shhhhhh! If Sir Michael hears us even near this room, I don't know how I'll tell this to Sera.

Sir Pentious: Do not shush me, young lady! I'll have you know I-

The sudden swing of the door startled both Sir Pentious and Emily, freezing them in place like deer caught in headlights. Before them stood the champion of Heaven, the head of the Archangels, the protector of her home, wearing an expression that Emily could only describe as surprised—though she was on the verge of a full-blown meltdown to really be sure.

Emily: Archangel Michael! We-uh- we can explain!

Sir Pentious: Your Heavenly Grace!

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

short my ass, aldjlakla the day had been busy so sorry for the late upload!

I had help from chatgpt again to avoid any redundant words cos I am no English native haha

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Something about the way people talk about Solomon's dismissal of his vulnerability rubs me the wrong way. (I don't have any specific examples, I'm just gonna hope you know what I'm talking about lol.)

I've never seen anything inherently mean, but I have seen comments that seemingly take offense to his "just kiddings" when he expresses his feelings, whether it's romantically or talking about past hardships... And I couldn't pinpoint what it was that confused me about the fandom's responses to that until now.

What Solomon is going through in moments like those is a trauma response. And yes, while trauma responses aren't always beneficial and can sometimes be hurtful to others or the person responding that way themselves, reacting with "negativity" to said responses just makes it worse.

Solomon has an avoidant attachment style, which means he struggles with opening up and being genuine in his feelings even if he wants to. I, myself, am the same way. More often than not, I also follow up a heavier topic with "I'm sorries" or "just kiddings." The thing about this, is it's not meant to be malicious. So, when I see people taking Solomon's comments as if it's a slight to them, I just...??

I can almost guarantee that if those comments where said to him right after he'd attempted to open up, even if it had good intentions, it'd probably make him want to close back up completely. Because there's no patience to his avoidance, no acceptance to why he behaves that way. There's just this perception of not being understood or that his feelings/thoughts aren't safe. It just feels like he's not allowed any grace.

[tusks-and-claws]

Miguel being depressed and picking up an anomaly who notices and is sweet and understanding with him.

Okay I'll write some feelings just this once because I like this. Reader is the anomaly in question. SFW angst/feelings under the cut

And it arrived in the unlikely form of a hulking figure in red and blue. He leaped through the darkness in near silence, binding you up with neon red webs as you struggled to break free. Was this Spider-Man? He didn't look like the Spidey from your dimension. And you, apparently, didn't look like any anomaly he'd ever seen. You looked so scared, so confused. Utterly helpless. When he finally realized that something was amiss, his mask retracted into his suit, revealing his face. It was angular and strong, but there was such weakness in his eyes. It struck you, and you stopped struggling.

-

You didn't know what an anomaly was until you became one, falling out of your dimension and into another. The experience was far more painful than you ever would have been able to predict. You looked out of place, you felt it, your body knew it. The longer you were there, the more it hurt. Until help arrived.

He approached you slowly, his hands up, showing you he didn't mean any harm. "I don't know what's going on," he said, his voice low and level. "But I do know that we need to get you out of here." Apologetically, he released you from his webbing and lifted you up into his capable arms. He carried you through a new portal that he created, bringing you to his headquarters.

There, he placed you in an orange containment device of some kind, and the light of it made you squint. "To keep you from glitching," he had said. "Wish I could give you a day pass, but I don't want to set a bad example. At the very least, I'm expediting the process to get you home. But there are some dangerous characters that need to be prioritized." You nodded. You understood as best you could. He asked you about yourself. And you both learned that there was a version of you from a different dimension that became some kind of villain. Your matching DNA confused whatever presence or influence transported you, and so there you had been, traveling through space and time without a single inkling as to why. A completely regular person in your own world, but a villain in another.

You were in a line, now, a line to eventually go home. The man who saved you seemed to feel terrible about you being there. It wasn't your fault that your interdimensional counterpart was evil. He brought you food and drink from the cafeteria. Empanadas, burgers, all sorts of things. One day, he sheepishly brought you a burger with a bun that looked like his mask. It made you laugh, and that seemed to soften him like nothing else had.

"What about you?" You eventually asked him from inside of your cage. He told you his name, Miguel, but not much else. "It's just that... you look so sad." You admitted.

"I know what it's like to feel so out of place."

"No," you said. "It's more than that." He picked his head up at that, suddenly on guard. "You don't have to tell me anything. I'm sorry. You do so much good. Surely, it outweighs whatever is hanging over you."

"Nothing will ever outweigh it...." He finally said, his expression tortured. "I do all of this because I know what happens when someone doesn't do it. I've made that mistake, and I can never take it back."

You shared a moment of silence with him before saying, "I hope you can at least rest knowing that you saved me. You're my hero because of that. Your past and your mistakes don't matter to me. You'll always be the man that saved my life."

He actually smiled at that. It was small but genuine.

The day came when it was finally your turn to go home. He brought you another burger with his mask on it. A goodbye gift. The sentiment tasted better than the burger ever could. He watched from the platform below as the machine detected your DNA signature and started to weave an enclosure around you. When the portal opened, Miguel's face was the last thing you saw before finally going home.

[sky-fire-forever]

Responding to your line that you put in the water for izzyxreader asks —

Maybe reader is super tough all the time, and so they and Izzy bond over repressing feelings and everything, and then Izzy goes through his transformation and healing era and the reader feels abandoned because everyone on this crew is touchy-feely and now they’re all alone in putting mind over emotion

But then they find out some really bad news (maybe they lost a loved one or something) and fall apart at the seams, and Izzy is there to pick up the pieces

Idk

[AN: I try to leave it vague as to what the bad news actually is, so I'll leave it to your imagination! This is my first time writing X Reader fic, so I hope it's any good! Also, I am posting this on mobile, so I apologize for any formatting errors]

FALLING APART [IZZY HANDS X GENDER NEUTRAL READER]

Izzy Hands is the only one on the ship who understands you. Or so you thought.

These days, it doesn't seem like anyone understands you at all. Izzy included.

It used to be you and Izzy against the world. The two of you understood what it means to be pirates: It means bottling up the fear and the sadness and the… all of it. It means facing the world with a brave face despite how you might feel inside.

You both understood that. Once.

Izzy seems to have forgotten. He wears his emotions on his face now. He talks about them. He wears the title of Unicorn with pride. Things that Izzy wouldn't have been caught dead doing once upon a time.

It seems so easy for him now. He sits with the crew, smiles with them, congratulates them on a job well done. He belongs with them.

And all you can do is watch.

You're almost envious of his ability to change, to grow. It was less lonely being an outsider when Izzy was on the outside with you. Now, you just have to look in and watch as he builds this fantasy family. You wonder how much it will hurt him when it comes tumbling down.

"You could join us, you know," Izzy tells you one night as the crew huddles together by the light and you stand on your own. "No point in you drinking all alone."

You scoff and wave him off. "I don't do well with people." It's an old excuse, one you've used for years.

Just as he always has, Izzy sees through it. "You don't need to push them away. They're... not what we thought they were."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Just because you've gone soft doesn't mean we all will."

Izzy looks at you with something like sadness in his eyes. "The invitation's open."

But it wasn't an invitation you could accept.

Not until later, when a letter comes for you.

As you read it, your hands begin to shake. Your vision gets blurry as your eyes fill with tears. Before you know it, your entire body is trembling.

"Fuck," you whisper. "Fuck!" You shout it at the sea, crumpling the letter in your fist and hurling it at the ocean.

You can never catch a break, can you? The world loves punishing you no matter what you do. People like you don't get a happy ending.

That's something you've always known. You're a pirate and pirates' lives are full of bloodshed and misery and death. A happy ending has never been in the cards for you. Hell, you never even expected a happy middle.

You've never seen the point in crying over the shitty hand you've been dealt. Expressing emotions changes nothing, fixes nothing. So what's the point?

But in this moment, you can't hold it all in. You fall to your knees as tears hit your cheeks. You sob so hard you can hardly breathe. The world around you becomes a blur as you begin to cry.

Strong hands come to wrap around you. Your first instinct is to fight, to shove away whoever is offering you comfort. But you're just too tired and weak to bother.

"I've got ya. I've got you, love." Izzy's soothing voice washes over you as he pulls you into his lap. "I'm here."

Not long ago, the idea of Izzy Hands gently holding you as you fall apart would have been laughable. But here you sit, curled up against his chest as he rubs circles into your back.

You hiccup, trying desperately to regain some control over your breathing. "H-Hurts," you whimper through the tears. "Fuck, it hurts."

"I know," Izzy says softly. "I know, love. I know it hurts. Just let it all out, yeah?"

He presses a kiss to your temple and you squeeze your eyes shut. Sob after sob wrecks through you and you're powerless to stop it.

There's a reason you keep your emotions to yourself. Crying is painful and it's weakness and it fucking sucks. Why would you choose it if you could lock it all away instead?

But somehow crying in Izzy's arms doesn't feel quite as bad as you feared. It still fucking hurts, but he holds you through it, whispering gentle assurances all the while.

And when you've finally cried yourself out, a part of you feels… lighter. Like a great burden has been lifted from your shoulders and all it took was falling apart.

"Shit. I'm sorry," you mutter as you wipe your eyes on the back of your sleeve.

"Nothing to apologize for," Izzy says. "How are you feelin'?"

You hesitate before answering. "Better," you admit somewhat grumpily.

He smiles like he knows how much it pains you to admit that crying helped. "It's easier to fall apart when someone will help pick up the pieces." He reaches up to cup your cheek, brushing away a few stray tears with his thumb.

You swallow and if you had any tears left to shed, you're certain you'd start crying all over again.

Instead, you just wrap your arms around Izzy and hold him close, burying your face in his neck.

"Thank you," you whisper.

He holds you close like it's easy to do it. Like being there for you isn't the burden you know it must be. "Always, love."

And you believe him.

[hoonzluv]

HEART’S ECHOES - NISHIMURA RIKI

chapter 5: goody-two-WHAT?

yn sat alone in the study room, surrounded by books, papers, and notes. she had reserved the room for the tutoring session but felt a bit nervous. even though she had told her teacher she was happy to take on the task, she wasn't entirely sure how it would go.

suddenly, the door opened, and ni-ki walked in, his backpack slung over one shoulder and a carefree expression on his face.

"hey," he said with a light smile.

"hey," yn replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "how are you?"

"i'm good, i guess. a bit tired from classes, but good. you?"

"i'm good too, thanks. so, what do you want to study today?" yn tried to keep a professional tone, wanting the session to be as productive as possible. "i have these papers for us to go over." she pointed to a stack of neatly organized notes. "these are my class notes. i also have my personal notes if you need something more specific."

ni-ki sat down across from her, pulling out a notebook and a pen from his backpack. he seemed a bit lost, like he didn't know where to start. "uhm, well, i think what i'm struggling with the most is math. i don't get any of the stuff from the last unit."

"perfect, let's start with that," yn said, sifting through her papers until she found the math notes. "i've got everything we've covered so far right here. if you point out what you don't understand, i can help you better."

as yn spoke, ni-ki found himself staring at her for a moment. he'd never really paid much attention to her before, but a few days ago, when they were texting about the session, he had seen her profile picture and realized how pretty she was. now, seeing her in person, he confirmed it. yn was strict and structured, sometimes a bit stubborn, but she had a dedication and passion that he was starting to admire.

ni-ki flipped through his notebook, showing a page full of equations and messy notes.

"it's this part about derivatives. i don't get when to use which rule, and i always mess up the steps."

yn looked at the page and nodded. "okay, let's start with the basics." she grabbed a marker and began writing on a whiteboard mounted on the wall. "there are three main rules you need to know: the power rule, the product rule, and the chain rule. i’m going to explain each one, and then we'll do some exercises together."

“wow, you’re such a goody-two-shoes, ynki teased, grinning at her. “always so prepared and organized. how do you do it?”

“oh, it’s easy,” she replied with a hint of sarcasm, “just years of practice being responsible while others slack off playing with balls.”

ni-ki’s grin faltered for a moment, feeling slightly offended by her comment. “yeah, well, not all of us are perfect,” he muttered, trying to brush it off.

as yn explained, ni-ki paid attention, though he occasionally scratched his head in confusion. she made sure to go step by step, pausing to check that he understood each concept before moving on.

"does that make sense so far?" yn asked after explaining the first rule.

"kind of, but i still feel a bit lost," ni-ki admitted.

"that's okay, it's normal at first. let's practice some examples together." yn wrote an equation on the whiteboard and asked ni-ki to try solving it using the rule they had just reviewed.

ni-ki took the marker and started writing, hesitant at first but growing more confident as yn gave him little nudges of encouragement.

"exactly, that's correct." yn smiled when ni-ki finished the equation. "now let's do another one, but this time using the product rule. remember, the key is to identify the parts of the function and apply the rule correctly."

the session continued this way, with yn patiently guiding ni-ki through different problems. after a while, she noticed that he was starting to grasp the concepts better.

"how do you feel now?" she asked after they solved several exercises together.

"better, definitely. i think i'm starting to get it," ni-ki said, smiling slightly.

"i'm glad to hear that." yn returned the smile. "we can review this as many times as needed. i also have notes on other units if you need help with something else."

"for now, i think this is enough. but i'll definitely need more help with math and maybe with chemistry too."

"perfect, i'm here to help with whatever you need." yn gathered her papers and organized them again. "next time, we can focus on chemistry if that works for you."

“yeah, that sounds good. thanks, yn."

"you're welcome, ni-ki. see you at the next session."

as ni-ki left, yn felt an unexpected relief. he first session had gone better than she expected, and although there was still a lot of work to do, she was confident they could achieve good results together and so she will be able to have one more thing in her extensive school record.

prev - m.list - next

note from now on the chapters will be based on different weeks because i need the story to progress... this stressful to do but i enjoy it XD

©  hoonzluv all rights reserved. 2024.

[bluespring864]

do you really believe novak is right to say the sinner and swiatek cases are examples of the system failing tennis players because they got preferential treatment? if anything the amount of scrutiny that both received for being current/former no.1 seems to indicate they got shafted BECAUSE they were top players. wada appealing the sinner case in particular is egregious.

his own ptpa director was roundly criticising wada and itia just a few days ago, clearly laying out how the broken system has disadvantaged sinner. then as soon as the settlement news comes out ptpa is giving an official statement insinuating that sinner got preferential treatment. it should be obvious who this second opinion is coming from: djokovic, who's on record spreading doubts about the validity of the initial itia findings in sinner's case.

this tracks with djokovic's record of doubting medical science in vaccines, in surgeries, in the fact that his wife is a big supporter of medical magical thinking charlatans who have killed god knows how many people through misinformation. if that's not anti-intellectual and conspiracist thinking, what would you call it?

Hello anon! I am choosing to answer this ask because it contains several things I was itching to talk about anyway, although I do not entirely appreciate the tone with which you have come into my inbox.

Your rhetorical questions on what you suppose I believe say much more about what you do or don't believe on a number of questions than about what I do or don't believe.

I will start by the last part of your ask and play devil's advocate for a second by taking a page out of your book and asking: how anti-intellectual can someone really be if they are personally funding education research at Harvard University of all places? Does it get much more intellectual establishment than that?

If you're now asking yourself what that has to do with his opinion on the doping cases, I would just point out that his wife's (and his own) wacky health beliefs are perhaps not particularly relevant in that regard either. On vaccines I would like to clarify that I have never seen Novak Djokovic express hesitancy to take any other vaccine but the Covid one (if there's something I've missed here, please let me know!) and I have also not necessarily seen him question medical science on the Covid vaccine. From what I understood, he decided not to take the vaccine, but I don't think he ever said he believes that the vaccine doesn't work or is harmful for the general population and I certainly haven't seen him recommend that other people should not take it. Again, if I am misinformed on that point (I may well be) please let me know, preferably by citing a source. You also mentioned surgeries. Considering the man has had several surgeries, most recently on his knee, I doubt that he is calling into question whether they work. He just seems to try to avoid them if at all possible (and by saying that I am not pronouncing any value judgement on whether that is a good idea or not, no need to send in another "do you really believe?" question on that part.)

(As a sidenote, people often mention the negative impact of Novak not taking the Covid vaccine - which as I would also like to point out he did not reveal until circumstances forced him to reveal it - but what I see mentioned much less often is the fact that through his foundation he has donated millions to Covid relief, see here and here. But I digress.)

Now, before I finally discuss his opinion on Iga's and Jannik's doping cases one last thing, which I will address more in detail in a separate post in the near future. I do fully agree that Novak is prone to conspiratorial thinking and has some very strange beliefs when it comes to what is often labelled as alternative medicine and also when it comes to certain aspects of history. But I cannot stress enough - and this was something that bothered me extremely about some of the things I have seen said on tennisblr recently - that this does not say a lot about his intelligence, because intelligence does not fundamentally protect you from conspiratorial thinking. Quite the contrary in some cases! This is a complicated and delicate matter to explain clearly though, so I will do so in a separate post.

Okay, now onto the doping cases. I personally agree that WADA appealing Jannik's case was likely politically motivated. The fact is, however, that WADA has appealed and you can look at how that appeal was resolved separately to the fact that the appeal happened in the first place. The question that Novak seems to be asking (and a question I am certainly asking myself) is whether, in case WADA appeals and asks for a 2 year suspension they will then strike a deal with other, lower ranked players, in much less mediatised cases, too, or whether this option is only available to a highly ranked player with excellent legal representation.

The other issue that Novak has been talking about is transparency, by which he refers, as far as I understand it, to the fact that both Iga's and Jannik's cases weren't initially made public. Now as we have heard over the past months there are legitimate reasons for why this happened, but once again the question is whether lower ranked players have the resources and the people around them to give them the correct advice in these situations so they too can benefit from the provisions that ensure that their cases don't immediately become public.

Why am I mentioning lower ranked players so much here? Well, their fate has long been something Novak has professed to care about and considering he has often put his money where his mouth is by supporting lower ranked players directly and by setting up the PTPA, I think it is safe to say he is quite serious about it. So whenever you see him talk about the doping cases, he is talking about them through this lense.

Whether that's fundamentally a good thing or not, whether it makes him have blind spots on other aspects of these cases or not, is another matter that I won't be discussing here because this answer has already gotten long enough. I hope I expressed myself clearly and remain open to further asks on the subject matter if necessary :)

As usually I would like to state that I am in no way a spokesperson for Novak Djokovic, nor do I wish to be. The job seems far too stressful for my taste :D Also as usual I would like to point out that while I may be a fan of this particular tennis player, that doesn't mean that I agree with the things he says or does. Except for the parts where I have explicitly stated that they reflect my personal opinion, I may or may not agree.

[billys-pretty-babe]

SFW Alphabet

Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Warnings : A few mentions of Neil and his abuse and two mentions of Karen.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

At first, he's not very affectionate, maybe a brush of his hands against yours, quick kiss in public but as he gets more comfortable, he gets more affectionate, hand always in your back pocket or you waist.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Billy's a protective best friend, he hates seeing you get into trouble. Friendship would most likely start at school.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Billy loves to cuddle, he's a big spoon, it gives him a chance to protect you, especially when you guys are at his house for the night.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Billy was against settling down, he saw how his parents ended up and it scares him but when he sees a future with you, he's more than ready to leave Hawkins and settle down in California. He cooks, he used to cook for Max when Susan and Neil would leave them alone for a few days but he sucks at cleaning, leaves his clothes everywhere and forgets to clean the kitchen after he uses it.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He'd be straightforward, nothing to soften the blow. I don't think he'd place blame on anyone (unless there is reason to) but blame it on growing apart.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Depending on the circumstance. I truly believe he had no girlfriends before you, or serious ones at least, he had hook ups but no one to give his love to. As soon as the two of you graduate and leave Hawkins, you guys get eloped at the courthouse in Santa Barbara.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Growing up with Neil, Billy had to have his walls up and show no emotion. Six months into your relationship, Billy understood that he was safe to show emotion, especially excitement. I feel like he may be a little rough at first with physical affection but in no way does he hurt you, he's just so excited to show you he loves you.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Billy's a hugger, he likes when you sit in his lap and cling to him as he talks about his day, his hands under the back of your shirt as he gently rubs the skin. He's hugging you multiple times a day, no matter what.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

About six months in, he realizes he's in love with you but doesn't say it until about eight months.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Oh, Billy's jealous. He sees someone flirting with you at a party and he walks over with a red cup in his hand and places his other arm around your shoulders and you know it's him just by his cologne.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are fast paced at first, that's what he's used to. He likes to kiss your pulse point on your neck, just simple little kisses to show affection if he can't express himself properly. He likes being kissed anywhere

(BONUS : after the mindflayer, he wears shirts more often so you kiss the fabric, knowing exactly where his scars lay on his torso and chest).

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

"I've seen you, teaching lessons. Swimming lessons" This shows Billy's a good teacher to the kids, and while we never get to see him with them, I feel like he's gentle with children because he never got that with his father.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

He's not a morning person so it's spent in bed, talking about how you hope the day goes.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Dinner together, always, Billy hates eating alone now that you guys are together. He does his routine with you and everything.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

About four or five months in, his walls begin to break and he reveals just enough about his home life that you understand why he has the marks and bruises on some days that you get to see him. I feel like he doesn't give too much away at first, he doesn't want to scare you off.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

At first, he was ready to blow up at every little thing, he had anger issues. Now, he has a lot more patience and knows to step away from anything whether it be fixing something or an argument with you, before he gets angry.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Billy remembers everything you've ever told him. Let's say you guys have been together for five years, he still remembers what you said about your senior prom dress.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He truly doesn't have a favorite moment, everything is his favorite, he's just happy he found someone to put up with him and his flaws, you helped him heal.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Extremely protective, he hates when you leave the house alone especially if it's the weekend because everyone is out and he knows you hate crowds and it makes you nervous but errands have to be ran. In public, he's standing in front of you, if you're walking down the sidewalk, he's closest to the road. He doesn't like to be protected, it hurts his ego.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

You're Billy's first girlfriend so he puts his all into everything and it truly surprises you each time he does it.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He pulls his hair until the roots break when he's stressed, sometimes, he forgets he's smoking and burns himself or the furniture.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

This is Billy Hargrove that we're talking about, the same guy we watched get ready for a date that he never got to go on. Curls are always styled to perfection, shirts are always unbuttoned and jeans are the tightest they can be. He makes sure to keep a good skin care routine and to shave his beard when it begins to grow but he leaves the stache.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes, this poor boy only knew love from his mother so when you come into his life and you showered him with love, he hates, absolutely hates when he can't see you for a few days. He swears he's dying because his chest hurts.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Billy's shy, we saw him practice his lines in the car before going to meet with Karen, he needs to know what he'll say so he won't mess anything up. He exudes confidence but in reality, he's an introvert except when he's under the influence, then he'll talk anyone's ear off if they're willing to listen to him.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

According to Billy, he hates everything but you. He doesn't like when you leave a mess in his Camaro but doesn't mind you leaving chap stick or your jewelry in the car, sometimes he'll hang your necklace on his rear-view mirror.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He snores, loudly. He likes to press against you so his mouth is near your ear and it wakes you up. He also takes all of the blanket, claims all the warmth you need, you'll get from cuddling with him, you guys sleep with separate blankets now and he pouts until you slide under the large comforter with him, your throw blanket over you just in case.

[aeferkssr]

serendipitous encounters. ━ if the stranger never meddled into your personal affairs, archons know where you would be right now.

‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎i. charas. lyney x gn!reader

ii. an. double uploads!?!!? thats crazy!!?! anyways i kinda rushed the end i hope its still okay tho ><

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏g ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎iii. cw. su!cide attempt, hum4n trafficin (mentioned vaguely), reader wears a dress, ooc lyney (???), hurt/comfort, angst. please tell me if there are more!

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏

the air on the balcony was cool, cool enough to calm you from the several interactions.

the breeze danced around the delicate fabrics of your dress, shoes being long disregarded as you stood on the railings. you whisper faint and final farewells to the very stars that keep you company on your lowest nights, the garden that you would hide away in when you needed some time alone, and to the very life that you have been blessed with.

you doubt you'd be able to live as lavishly in your next life, (you doubt you'll even remember this one, much less make a comparison) but you decided to let fate take the lead.

"you can feel the midnight air just fine from down here, i don't think the need for elevation is mandatory."

fate has got to be fucking with you right now. you didn't even look at him. you respond:

"you needn't worry about me, i'll be careful."

"really?" you could hear the skepticism in his tone. he leans over on the railing and looks up to the stars.

out the corner of your eye you could see the top hat atop his head, intricate designs softly illuminated by the light of the gala and the moon's luminescent rays. a black and maroon ribbon covers the base and is tied in an extravagant bow.

you huff as you look back to the sky, closing your eyes and slowly leaning forward.

well, since he was here, clearly he's entertained by your misery. might as well give him a show.

"what bring you to a fatui ball, stranger?"

archons be damned...

slightly annoyed, you look down to be met with violet eyes and a facial expression you couldn't describe. honest, but sly? guarded, yet vulnerable? who exactly was this guy?

without an answer, he continues:

"clearly you have to have some sort of authority, why lose it all here?"

you take a deep breathe, exhaling every ounce of courage you would of have to climb up in the first place. gently, you make your way down with the help of the stranger, or your savior in this matter.

he takes your hand in both of his as you steady yourself on the floor, he looks worried? interested? whoever this guy is, he's definitely hard to read.

he finally asks,

"excuse my prying, but, what would make someone like you give up?"

you sigh, "very trivial matters, i'm afraid. i'm just a coward running away from my problems"

"a matter worth taking your life over isn't trivial to me."

you stare at him, someone you met for the first time is more worried about you than he was. he's been with you all this time, yet you feel more understood by a total stranger.

you try to not meet his eyes as you told your story, holding his hand a little tighter.

"count blanchett of poisson, he's have many wives in his years. there has been rumors of the women he weds only serving as countess for a few months... until never being seen again."

you sniffle as you try to blink away the upcoming tears, you shouldn't be weak right now, you can't be weak right now.

"...i've told father about the rumors but he tells me i'm being dramatic, that there was nothing to worry about and that his past wives were just incompetent, and to never be like them..."

you can hear his stern voice boom throughout his office:

"all of those women simply went back to their homes. to add, they came back disastrous, unfulfilled, disappointments. that will not be you, understand?"

"the stress of the eldest always goes to the weakest" your voice starts to crack as tears flow down your face. "all of my other siblings are just lap dogs, only there as trophies of his blood..."

you finally look him in the eye,

"why did i have to be the disposable one?"

his mouth hands agape, he didn't know what to say, there was nothing he could say. you pour out your heart and soul through you tears, your hand tries to wipe them away but fail as the sheer amount of sadness that flows out.

he couldn't comfort you, but he could distract you. even if it was for a moment.

he takes your other hand and slowly walks into the grand ballroom. it glows with the warmth of chandeliers casting a soft, golden hue over the polished marble floor. the room is alive with the sounds of a live orchestra playing a mesmerizing waltz.

he brings you to the center of the floor and the music swells. he extends his hand towards you as you sniffle,

"don't be shy. you do know how to dance, right?" he teases as you take his hand with a small smile.

you two begin, moving in perfect harmony to the lilting rhythm of the waltz. the stranger leads with finesse, guiding you across the floor with effortless precision.

your bodies sway in sync, a mesmerizing spectacle of fluidity and grace. with every twirl and dip, you two seem to float on air, lost in the timeless allure of the dance. the world around you fades into a blur, leaving only the two of them in their own enchanting universe.

you can faintly see your silhouette through his eyes as he looks directly into yours.

"you're a good dancer." he speaks, breaking the silence between you both.

"i learnt from the best."

he pulls you closer to him, your chest flush against his as he whispers into your ear:

"lyney."

aeferkssr.