#SELF PROMO. — ❪ I will make my mistakes. ❫

[pridesung]

#𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑼𝑵𝑮. ⸻  independent and private Lucifer Morningstar of Hazbin Hotel. est April 2024. as adored by Zayne. *

[wordscarred]

I was brought up as a southern belle, I grew into the queen of hell. you were just a little stowaway that stabbed her way to save herself.

[radiosrequiem]

tag drop : ooc

[dismalflo]

picture perfect

Rugby!James potter x Photographer!reader who meet for the first time while they're both working ✩ 3.2k words

summary: when Lily calls asking you to fill in for the team photographer, you agree. you meet a very nice and slightly flirty team captain - James Potter.

cw: just fluff, James is a sweetheart,

When Lily called you to ask if you could photograph the promo shots for the rugby team's social media, you should’ve said no. But, despite knowing her for years, saying no to Lily Evans is a skill you’ve never quite mastered, and lord knows, you’ve tried.

“I’m sorry, Lily, it’s just not the kind of photography I do,” you’d said, hoping she’d back off.

“I know that, but our team photographer quit out of nowhere to go ‘find himself,’ and it’s just this one time. You’d be my hero if you could help.”

“...Fine.”

So yes, you tried, but to no avail.

Now, as you drive onto the grounds, the nerves start to creep in. Lily’s request meant they were desperate, but that only ramps up the pressure. You have to get the shots right. Perfect. No room for mistakes. Because of this, your car’s boot is packed with a variety of lenses, camera bodies, and a couple of tripods. At least no one could accuse you of being underprepared.

Once you park, you allow yourself a moment to breathe. You’re not sure what you’re walking into, and the unknown is always unnerving. Hands still firmly planted on the steering wheel and eyes staring unseeingly at the dash. This is silly, you haven't felt this panicked once in the lead up to this job, but it seems to have hit you like a brick all at once at the worst possible time.

Just as your mind starts to spiral, a gentle tap on your window pulls you back to reality. You glance up to find one of the biggest men you’ve ever seen, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, dressed in joggers and a jacket with the team’s logo emblazoned on it. His face is calm, his smile warm and relaxed. If sunshine were a person It’d be him. You try to shake off the wave of nerves and return an awkward grin, fumbling to get out of the car.

“You alright?” he asks, his voice steady and easy.

“Yeah, I’m, uh… I’m here to do the promo photos for the team,” you say, your tone hesitant, unsure of your place here.

“Oh, great. Lily mentioned you'd be coming,” he says with a nod. Then, with a casual gesture toward your car, he adds, “Need a hand bringing your stuff in?”

You're taken aback by his immediate kindness. You'd half-expected to be ignored by a bunch of burly men all day, but this tall, curly-haired guy is completely throwing you off. It's a relief, though—one you didn’t even realise you needed.

“That would be great, actually,” you say, voice softer now, but still nervous as you rush to add, “If—if that’s alright.”

As you round the car to pop open the boot, you can't help but feel a little self-conscious. Not only have you just managed to act like a bumbling fool, but there's also this man—who looks like he's been sculpted by the gods—following right behind you.

When the boot clicks open, he lets out a low whistle. “Wow, one of my mates is really into film photography,” he says, his face lighting up as he speaks. “Not sure he’s got a kit as impressive as yours, though. So, what do you need me to carry?”

You can’t help but chuckle at his comment. He’s kind, but rugby players aren’t exactly known for their gentle touch. As charming as this one is, you’re not about to risk it. You point toward the tripod bags. “Those, if you don’t mind,” you say.

He nods with an easy grin, effortlessly lifting one of the heavy tripod bags. “No problem. I’ve got it.” His muscles shift under his jacket as he adjusts the weight, and you try not to let your gaze linger too long on the way his jacket clings to his broad shoulders.

You grab a camera body, a little flustered by the close proximity of this boy, but you make an effort to steady yourself. “Thanks” you mutter, looking up at him, a little rushed.

“No worries,” he says with a chuckle, then adds, “They're all nice lads, you’ll be fine.”

The reassurance is exactly what you needed, even if it doesn’t quite settle the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “I hope so,” you reply with a faint smile, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

As you both start walking toward the stadium, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet morning air, he turns his head slightly, keeping his tone casual. “So, is this your usual kind of job?” he asks, clearly trying to get a conversation going as you both make your way through the car park.

You’re grateful for the distraction, even if the question catches you a little off guard. “I mean, I mostly do portraits and landscapes,” you answer, trying to sound like you have it all together. “I don’t usually do team sports, but Lily called in a favour.”

He gives you a sideways glance, his smile widening just a bit as he lets out a low chuckle. “Well, if it makes you feel better, the team’s not as scary as they look. And, if you need a bit of help with that, I’m more than happy to make sure they stay in line.”

You both reach the entrance of the stadium, and he holds the door open for you, his smile still warm. “After you, photographer,” he says with a playful wink.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to maintain your composure. “Are you always this charming?” you can’t help but ask, a little teasing of your own slipping into your voice.

He grins even wider, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Only when I’m trying to get someone to stop being nervous,” he says easily, then adds with a shrug, “Seems like it’s working, though, doesn’t it?”

You can't help but laugh, the tension easing slightly as you step into the stadium, the vast space unfolding before you. The first thing your eyes catch is the bright red hair of Lily Evans, making her way toward you, a grin spreading across her face.

"Thank you so much for this," she says, pulling you into a quick hug. "I mean it, you're a lifesaver." As she pulls away, you nod enthusiastically, your words failing you. Her gaze flicks over to the man standing behind you.

"I see you've met James," she says, reaching for the Tripod bag from him. "He's the team captain—and apparently not where he’s supposed to be."

James scoffs, indignant. "I was making sure this lovely thing got in here in one piece. Didn't see you rushing to help them." Lily doesn’t respond, merely shoos him away. To his credit, James takes it in stride, backing off with his hands raised in mock surrender.

Just as he turns to leave, you remember yourself and call out, "Thanks for the help!" But James doesn’t seem to hear you, already heading toward the changing rooms.

Lily gives you a soft, amused look and gestures toward a nearby hallway. "Come on, I'll show you where we'll be shooting." Her familiarity with the space is evident, and it's reassuring in a way—this is her turf, a fancy social media manager, and you’re just trying to find your footing.

She leads you down the hallway, her steps confident as she continues to chat. “Alright, so we’ll do individual portraits first. Each player will come up, and you can get the posed shots. Nothing too fancy—just something clean and simple for the social media pages.” She glances over her shoulder at you, offering a quick smile.

You nod, trying to lock that information into place. Individual portraits? You can do that. You’ve done countless shoots for portraits before, even if these players are a bit more... intimidating than your usual subjects.

Lily pauses at the edge of the room and gestures to a clear space by a set of large windows. The natural light coming in looks ideal. “We’ll set up here for the portraits. Nothing too wild. Just enough to show who they are, you know?”

“Got it,” you say, trying to steady your breath. You adjust the strap on your camera, mentally preparing for the first round of shots.

She gives you a thumbs-up before stepping away, her voice carrying back over her shoulder. “After the portraits, we’ll move to the pitch for the action shots. I’m thinking some training photos, maybe a few of them in motion, running drills.”

She turns the corner into the locker room, calling over her shoulder, “Let me know if you need anything. I’m not far!”

As you begin setting up your gear, arranging the tripod and adjusting your lenses, you steal a glance at the team members trickling out of the locker room. Their voices blend in a hum of casual chatter, punctuated by the occasional laugh. A few of them catch sight of you, offering quick nods or polite smiles as they take their positions.

But then your heart skips a beat. James emerges from the locker room, flashing you that cheeky grin of his as he surveys the space. Your hands freeze, nearly losing grip on the camera. He stands there—broad shoulders, relaxed posture—exuding a quiet confidence. His eyes lock with yours, and he winks, that familiar teasing energy lighting up the air between you.

You shake off the brief moment of distraction, focusing back on your task. You work through the shots with precision, photographing each player quickly but methodically. The room feels less overwhelming now as the others drift off, their photos already taken. Just as you finish capturing a man with dark hair and tattoos snaking up his forearms, you look up and realize there's only one player left. James.

He steps up to the backdrop, flashing you that grin again. “You’re impressive, y’know.”

You blink, taken aback. “How do you mean?” you ask, your face flushing at the unexpected compliment.

James shrugs casually, his posture still relaxed but with an edge of warmth in his eyes. “I mean, you’ve got this whole calm, collected photographer thing down. And you’re, like, making it look easy.” His voice holds a playful lilt, like he’s genuinely impressed but also enjoying how much he can throw you off with a few words.

You laugh, trying to shake the sudden flutter of nerves that surge through you again. “Well, I’ve had a bit of practice,” you say, focusing on adjusting your camera settings to avoid his teasing gaze. “And it’s only a little intimidating being surrounded by a team of professional athletes.” You glance up briefly, catching his gaze again. There’s something about him that makes your hands a little shaky, but you try not to let it show.

James doesn’t seem fazed, though. If anything, he looks even more comfortable, his hands resting on his hips as he gives you an easy smile. “I wouldn’t say intimidating. More like... impressive, right? We’re a bunch of big, tough guys who can knock each other out on the field, but off it? Pretty harmless.” He tilts his head, studying you as if trying to gauge how you’re doing with all the attention. “Plus, I’ve been told I’m easy to work with.” He winks again, and the teasing energy returns.

You roll your eyes playfully, setting up the shot. “Oh, I’m sure you are. I’m just worried I might accidentally photograph your ego instead of your face.” You smile as you say it, hoping it comes off as light-hearted, but internally, you’re wondering how you keep managing to get caught up in this back-and-forth with him.

James laughs, the sound easy and rich, like he's genuinely enjoying himself. “That wouldn't be a good look for me but you're the photographer, angel, do what you want.”

You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure as you adjust your camera settings again, focusing more on the equipment than the man in front of you. His teasing grin hasn't faltered, and it's making it harder to concentrate. You need to get the shot—simple, clean, just like Lily said. But somehow, with James standing there, the task feels a little more complicated.

“Alright,” you say, trying to steady your hands as you bring the camera to your eye. “Just relax and look natural, okay?”

He nods with exaggerated seriousness, then steps back, looking you dead in the eye as if he's about to pull off some grand dramatic pose. But instead, he just stands tall, hands in his pockets, eyes soft, looking completely unbothered. And somehow, it’s perfect.

After a few shots, you pause, studying the pictures on your camera’s screen. They’re good. No, they’re better than good. The natural light falls perfectly on his face, and there’s something in his eyes—something that isn’t quite the usual mischief, but maybe a little more... real.

“Not bad, huh?” James’s voice interrupts your thoughts, and you look up to find him still standing there, this time a little more relaxed than before.

You nod slowly, doing your best to mask just how much you’re replaying the image of him in that moment. “Yeah, these are great. You’ve got a good... um, 'look.'” You immediately cringe, realizing how awkward that sounded, but he just flashes a smile, unfazed.

“Of course I do,” he says, winking again, and you roll your eyes, trying to shake off the embarrassment.

A brief silence settles between you both as you both focus on the photos. Clearing your throat, you turn to James. “Thank you for–” but you're interrupted when the door swings open, and in walks the man with dark hair and tattoos.

“Prongs, stop flirting with the pretty photographer,” he says with a teasing grin, throwing an apologetic look your way. “We’ve got work to do.”

Suddenly, you feel heat rush to your cheeks, realizing you’ve held James up for longer than you should have. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you rush out. But when you look at James, his soft gaze is fixed on you, his smile still warm and genuine.

He shakes his head slightly. “It was really nice talking to you.” His voice is calm, steady, and there’s no teasing in sight. Then, with one last glance, he turns to follow his teammate out the door, leaving you to ponder the sincerity behind his words.

The rest of the day is very uneventful. Aside from the fact your gaze kept wandering back to James, the fact that he kept making eye contact with you as if he’d already been looking, and one rogue comment from Lily.

“What have you done to James?” she asks, smirking.

“I– nothing… what?” you reply, confused and a furrow to your brows.

“He’s usually very focused,” she gives you a pointed look before leaning it, “He doesn't seem to be today.” her tone teasing.

You decided at the time not to dwell on those words. But now, as you make your way back to the car with the equipment, they echo in your mind, replaying over and over. What did she mean? You can’t help but wonder if you’ve done something to make James uncomfortable. A small—no, a rather large—part of you hopes he might actually like you.

Fumbling with your keys, your hands full and your mind racing, you hear a voice call from a distance. “Hey!”

You look up to see none other than James, jogging toward you with that effortless smile.

“Let me help,” he says, reaching for the strap of your bag and gently lifting it off your shoulder.

“Oh, thanks, James,” you reply, a shy smile tugging at your lips as your heart skips a beat.

"Anything for the best and prettiest photographer around." The compliment makes you fluster as he loads the bags into the car. "I can't wait to see the final results." His grin is the biggest you've seen all day, and you return it automatically, lost for words.

"Listen…" James straightens up to face you, rocking on the balls of his feet. "I was wondering if I could get your number?"

Your mind races through a million possibilities, but you quickly dismiss the idea that he's interested in you personally. Instead, you settle on the thought that he probably wants it for professional reasons.

"I—uh, I did this as a one-off. I'm not a sports photographer."

He chuckles softly, glancing down at the floor before raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "I know," he says, meeting your eyes. "But I meant it more like... I was hoping to take you on a date." He pauses, then adds, "If you'd like to."

"Oh." You're stunned into silence, and James immediately takes it as rejection.

"You should say no if you don't want to," he says quickly, looking away. "I can handle it."

"No, I—I'd really like that," you respond, nodding more to yourself than to him, but your smile betrays the nervous excitement bubbling up inside.

James’s face breaks into a grin that nearly lights up the entire car park, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice suddenly softer, as though trying to gauge whether this is really happening.

You nod, suddenly shy, your heart doing a strange flip in your chest. “Yeah,” you repeat, giving him a small, tentative smile.

“Good,” he says with a relaxed chuckle, almost like he didn’t expect this to go as smoothly as it has. “So, uh… I’ll text you, then?”

“Yeah. Definitely,” you say, finally letting yourself exhale, feeling the tension leave your shoulders.

He doesn’t hesitate, pulling out his phone and typing something quickly before showing it to you, waiting for you to type in your number. As you do, you can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t mind it. This doesn’t feel weird or awkward, it feels—well, kind of exciting.

“Alright,” he says, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “I’ll let you get going.” He turns toward the building, but not before looking back over his shoulder with a smirk. “I’ll be in touch, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, watching him walk away with a mix of amusement and disbelief. Once he’s out of sight, you take a deep breath, your hands feeling lighter now, a strange warmth spreading through you.

By the time you get into your car and start driving away, your mind is a whirlwind. You keep replaying the moments—his smile, his words, the way he looked at you.

Once home, your heart is still racing, the adrenaline from the shoot finally starting to settle, replaced by a warm, giddy feeling you didn’t expect.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to find a message from James: “Had a great time today. Can’t wait to see you again. ;)”

You laugh, your fingers hovering over the screen as you try to think of the perfect response. Maybe something casual, something cool... But who are you kidding? You quickly type back: “Same here. Looking forward to it.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! <3

[playstation-dreamcast]

Loved your hc's on the residents evil boys! Since your requests are open could you perhaps make headcanons on Wesker's flirting game? I bet he's good at it y'know to get people on his side but when he ACTUALLY likes someone? Man got no game. He's probably going full autism mode and tells about his special interest and shit <- I see it but that's my opinion though LOL

Oooo, we have different takes here actually. I love yours, and I can see it! But, here's my take!

Wesker Headcanons: Flirting Edition!

Gif is by @digitalangel777 btw!!!

Okay so first of all, I don’t really think Wesker flirts to be honest. At least, not intentionally. This is mostly because I don’t see Wesker as the type of guy to develop, nor clock his attraction to someone immediately. It takes time!

Wesker flirting is him remembering your coffee order and leaving it on your desk. It’s him not completely tearing you to shreds when you make an obvious mistake. It’s him praising your work when you actually do a good job, beyond just “Well done.” Wesker flirting is him being able to speak with you casually about something, rather than being so damn professional and wound up all the time, ya feel me?

He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until it's too late. Until he’s in his car and Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears comes on and he catches himself daydreaming about you. You could the quick, sharp “Fuck!” He let out from the next car over. 

I think after that he’s kinda in cringefail mode ngl. Like, he’s trying to avoid you, but he’s integrated himself so much into your life and you so much into his that it is neigh on impossible, and he can’t stop giving you special treatment now, cause that makes you sad and he genuinely can’t stand when you get that glossy, upset look in your eyes

He’s not flustered. I think he’s a little too well composed for that. But he did, in fact, catch himself rambling to you for like, 45 minutes about the different strains of Flu after you told him you had just gotten your flu shot. And while you were a good sport and humored him the entire time, that was genuinely a mortifying experience for him. Had him staring at himself in the bathroom mirror at the RPD like:

“Get It Together Albert.”

He starts to actively look into you. Not necessarily in a “I have your official government docs” kinda way, but more in a “I’ve spoken to your friends and now know your favorite type of candy. Here, I got some for you.” Kind of way. More of a “You said you liked this movie. I watched it so we can talk about it. I liked Neo.” type of way, ya know? He’s going beyond the bare minimum office cordiality to actually try to connect

This is incredibly hard for him- you have to understand. The only other person he’s connected with on a human level bonded with him over unethical experiments and medical malpractice- give him time

He flirts by building a snowman with you. (This is my shameless self promo)

Oh, he also flirts by sharing his snacks. I think Wesker is genuinely really possessive of food for lack of a better word. I headcanon that he probably faced some food insecurity growing up (the boys home withholding food as punishment type deal), so he’s not big on sharing. Typically. For you though? Of course you can have the other half of his Twix. Here, don’t tell the others he hides suckers in his desk, but take one. Do you want to try this new weird chip flavor he found with him?

This is him taking care of you btw. Look at him, he’s such a good provider. He’d be so good at taking care of any potential offspring you have. Surely you want him, he is displaying so many Desirable Traits ™

This is how humans think, right? Like this is how it works? Of course it is, he’s an expert in human psychology. 

I think he eventually gets tired of beating around the bush honestly. And when that happens, a scene not unlike this one plays out

Aaaanyway- in conclusion, I think that Wesker is really good at flirting when the job calls for it and he needs to get people on his side. In that sense, he’s very good at it. But, outside of that context, he sucks at flirting. Mostly because it feels a lot like manipulation. So he doesn’t actually “flirt” to show his attraction. But there will be signs. (It’s the cup of coffee exactly the way you  like it on your desk btw. That’s the sign)

[theonottsbxtch]

HOPELESS | PO5

an: first time writing pato and i know i've written him less cocky and flirty than i wold have personally expected him being depicted. but i think for this request it worked in my favour.

wc: 3.3k

Pato had never been particularly good with words, but that didn’t matter much in motorsport. Out on the track, skill spoke louder than conversation, and for the most part, he was fine with that.

But with her, it was different.

She was the first-ever Indy champion, a driver who had carved her name into history with raw talent and relentless determination. Everyone knew her, everyone respected her—himself included. The other drivers had stories about her, moments shared in garages and on podiums, inside jokes and easy camaraderie. He had none of that.

For some reason, he simply didn’t exist in her world.

It wasn’t that she disliked him. There were no grudges, no bad blood. She treated him with the same polite professionalism she extended to reporters or engineers she barely knew. And yet, when he spoke, her responses were clipped, transactional. If she laughed at a joke in the paddock, it was never one of his. If she scanned a room, her gaze slid past him like he was a shadow against the wall.

It shouldn't have bothered him. It did.

Because Pato had been nursing a hopeless, ridiculous crush on her for as long as he could remember.

It wasn’t immediate, this thing he had for her. It crept up on him, slow and insidious, like the way tyre wear set in over a long stint—barely noticeable at first, until suddenly, it was all he could think about.

Maybe it started the first time he saw her race, years ago, before he even had a seat in IndyCar. He remembered watching from the pit wall, the way she danced through traffic, fearless and calculated, wringing every ounce of speed from a car that should’ve been struggling. He told himself back then that it was admiration, the kind any driver would have for another at the top of their game. But admiration didn’t tie knots in his stomach when she brushed past him in the paddock, nor did it make him hyper-aware of every offhand comment she made.

No, this was something worse.

And she had no idea.

Pato had tried to make an impression—nothing over the top, just little things. A comment here, a question there, something to make him more than just another driver in the field. It never landed. She’d acknowledge him, sure, but only in the way she acknowledged anyone she wasn’t particularly close with. There was no spark of recognition, no shift in her tone when she spoke to him.

Everyone else had that with her. Everyone but him.

And the worst part? He had no idea why.

It wasn’t arrogance; he knew his place in the pecking order. He wasn’t naïve enough to think he deserved her attention just because he wanted it. But it wasn’t as if they’d ever clashed, either. He’d never taken her out of a race, never bad-mouthed her, never done anything that might explain why she skimmed over him like he was background noise.

He’d never mattered to her.

And yet, she was all that mattered to him.

He knew he needed to get rid of his hopeless crush on her.

It was stupid. Pointless. Self-inflicted torture.

He told himself that constantly, especially when she breezed past him in the paddock without a second glance, or when she laughed—really laughed—at something another driver said, like they were in on some joke he would never be part of.

He needed to move on.

Until they were paired for pre-season media.

For a whole week.

Pato stared at the email in his inbox, half-convinced it was a mistake. Media obligations were a necessary evil in racing, but they were usually spread out, different drivers rotating in and out for interviews, photoshoots, sponsor promos. This, however, was something else.

A full week of interviews, press events, and behind-the-scenes content. Together.

The logic made sense. She was the reigning champion, the face of the sport. He was coming off a strong season, a title contender in his own right. Pairing them up created a compelling narrative—two of the top drivers, side by side, setting the tone for the year ahead.

For everyone else, it was great marketing.

For Pato, it was a disaster waiting to happen.

Because how was he supposed to pretend she didn’t affect him when he’d be stuck with her for seven straight days? When he’d have to sit next to her, answer questions about their "rivalry" (which didn’t exist, considering she barely registered his presence), and—God help him—probably pose for staged social media content where they’d be forced to look like they were actually friends?

He could already see it: a carefully curated clip of them laughing at some scripted joke, the kind of moment fans would eat up. She’d be effortless, charming as ever. And him? He’d be struggling to act like he wasn’t hanging onto every word she said.

It was going to be the longest week of his life.

The first day of pre-season media started early. Too early for Pato to be dealing with this.

He arrived at the studio ahead of schedule, hoping that being early would give him time to settle in. It didn’t. The place was already a whirlwind of activity—PR reps barking orders, camera crews setting up lights, stylists buzzing around like it was the Met Gala instead of a bunch of racing drivers doing press.

And she was already there.

He spotted her near one of the backdrops, talking to a producer, nodding along as they ran through the schedule. Effortlessly composed, like she’d done this a thousand times before. Which, of course, she had.

She was dressed in team gear, but even the plain polo and branded jacket looked good on her, like she belonged on the cover of a motorsport magazine. He forced himself to look away before his brain could start romanticising something as stupid as the way she stood—like she owned the room without even trying.

She hadn’t noticed him yet.

Good.

Maybe he could get through this week by staying in the background, doing his job, keeping things professional. He just had to ignore the fact that every time she looked through him, it twisted something in his gut.

“Ah, Pato! You’re here.”

Too late.

One of the PR reps clapped him on the shoulder before steering him forward, right into her line of sight. She turned at the sound of his name, her expression shifting from polite focus to something neutral. Not cold, not unkind—just nothing.

“Morning,” she said, like it was an afterthought.

“Morning.” His voice came out steadier than he expected, which was a miracle in itself.

She gave a small nod, then looked back at the producer, clearly expecting the conversation to move on without him.

Of course.

The PR rep cleared their throat. “Right! So, you two are paired for the day, and we’ve got a packed schedule. First up—some quickfire Q&A for the socials, then a sit-down interview for the pre-season documentary.”

Pato nodded, determined to act like this was just another media obligation. Nothing unusual. Nothing worth overthinking.

Until the PR rep added, far too casually—

“And after lunch, we’ll be doing some fun challenges—bit of a ‘getting to know each other’ vibe. Teamwork exercises, that sort of thing.”

He froze.

So did she.

Her brows pulled together, just slightly. It wasn’t irritation, more like mild confusion—like she couldn’t understand why they had been chosen for something like that.

“Right,” she said eventually. “Sounds… fun.”

It didn’t sound fun. Not to her. Definitely not to him.

Pato had wanted her to acknowledge him. To notice him.

Now, for the first time in his career, they were going to be forced to interact properly.

And he had no idea if he was ready for it.

The first part of the day went about as well as Pato had expected—awkwardly, painfully, and with absolutely no shift in how she saw him.

The quickfire Q&A session was fine. Standard questions, standard answers. They sat side by side while an off-camera producer fired prompts at them. Who had the better qualifying record? (Her.) Who was most likely to be late to a team meeting? (Him.) Who had the worst taste in music? (Also him, apparently, judging by the way she scrunched her nose when he admitted to liking 80s rock.)

She didn’t laugh at him, but she didn’t laugh with him either. The same easy, effortless energy she had with other drivers wasn’t there. It was all business, like she was just getting through another obligation.

The sit-down interview wasn’t much better.

“Describe each other in three words.”

Pato hesitated. Three words. Just three? He could name 100 if she asked.

“Fast,” he said eventually, because obviously. “Consistent. And… competitive.”

She gave a small nod, acknowledging the answer, but there was nothing behind it.

When it was her turn, she barely hesitated. “Skilled. Focused.” A pause. “Quiet.”

Quiet.

It wasn’t wrong, exactly. He was quieter than most of the grid, more measured with his words. But coming from her, it felt less like an observation and more like confirmation—of what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe that she still didn’t really see him.

By the time lunch rolled around, he was convinced nothing about their dynamic was going to change.

And then, the afternoon happened.

The "fun challenges," as the PR rep had so kindly put it, turned out to be a mix of stupid icebreaker games and team-building exercises.

The first was a trust exercise.

“Okay, you know how this works,” the producer explained, gesturing between them. “Pato, stand behind her. She’s going to fall, and you’re going to catch her.”

Pato’s brain short-circuited.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, looking more amused than anything. “Try not to drop me, yeah?”

It was the first remotely casual thing she’d said to him all day.

He managed a smirk. “No promises.”

A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of her lips. Not a full smile. Not even close. But it was something.

She turned back around, took a breath, and let herself fall.

For a split second, he almost forgot to catch her. Not on purpose—he just wasn’t used to her being this close, trusting him with something as simple as this.

His arms wrapped around her waist just in time, stopping her before she hit the ground. For the briefest moment, she was right there, weight pressed against him, her head tilting slightly as if she was about to glance back.

And then it was over.

She straightened up, stepping away, brushing her hands over her jacket like nothing had happened.

“Not bad,” she admitted.

Pato exhaled, forcing his brain back into normal function. “Told you I wouldn’t drop you.”

She hummed, considering. “I thought you said no promises.”

He blinked. Was she—was she teasing him?

Before he could figure out how to respond, the producer clapped their hands together. “Great! Next challenge—answering questions for each other. Let’s see how well you really know your gridmate.”

Her brow lifted slightly as she looked at Pato.

Gridmates.

They weren’t. Not really.

But for this week, maybe they had to be.

The rest of the week blurred into a cycle of press obligations, staged interactions, and an ever-present awareness that, for the first time in his career, she actually had to acknowledge him.

It wasn’t much—small, incremental shifts that barely felt like progress. But Pato noticed everything.

The way she started looking at him when he spoke, instead of through him. The way she started responding to his jokes—not always with laughter, but with a twitch of her lips, like she was holding something back. The way she started actually engaging with him, even if it was just subtle, throwaway comments between takes.

By the time they reached the final stretch of media duties, it was easier. Almost natural.

Almost.

The moment that stuck with him, though—the one that lodged itself in his brain like an unshakable thought—came on the second-to-last day, during lunch.

He hadn’t even realised she was nearby until she was standing in front of him, hand extended. A cereal bar. Nothing fancy. Just one of those standard protein bars the teams kept stocked for quick energy.

Pato frowned, looking between the bar and her face, like there was some hidden meaning he wasn’t catching. “What’s this?”

She tilted her head slightly, like he was the one being strange. “You haven’t eaten yet.”

He blinked. “How do you—”

“You always wait until the last second, and then you grab something just before the next shoot.” She shrugged. “Figured I’d save you the trouble.”

Pato stared. Not because it was a grand gesture—if anything, it was small. Thoughtless, even. Like she’d noticed, made a decision, and moved on without thinking too much about it.

And maybe that’s what got to him.

She noticed.

She noticed.

Before he could say anything, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him standing there, cereal bar in hand, trying very hard not to read into something that probably meant nothing.

Probably.

That night, Pato was actively losing his mind.

The cereal bar was still sitting on his hotel nightstand, untouched. He didn’t even like that flavour. That wasn’t the point.

She had noticed him. Noticed him. And not in the usual, fleeting, empty way where he barely registered in her head. She had paid attention. To his habits. To the fact that he was terrible at remembering to eat on time. She had walked over, handed it to him, and left before he could so much as process the fact that it had even happened.

What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

There was only one person he trusted to make sense of this for him.

His mother.

He pressed the phone to his ear, pacing his hotel room like an idiot, waiting for her to pick up.

“¿Mijo?” came her warm, familiar voice. “¿Qué pasó? It’s late where you are, are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay,” he said, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m losing my mind.”

She sighed, the kind of exasperated sound that only a mother could perfect. “Ay, Dios. ¿Qué hiciste ahora?”

“Nothing! That’s the problem!”

A pause. “… Es por una chica, no?”

Pato groaned. “Of course you immediately know it’s about a girl.”

“Because you sound like your father when he was being tonto about me,” she said, unimpressed. “Who is she?”

He exhaled. “It’s—ugh. It’s her.”

His mother knew exactly who he meant. He had never explicitly told her about his hopeless crush, but she wasn’t stupid. The one time she’d come to a race and met his fellow drivers, she had taken one look at him watching her across the paddock and raised a knowing eyebrow.

“Ah,” she said, like that explained everything. “And what has she done to make you so dramatic?”

“She gave me a cereal bar.”

A long silence. Then—

“… Perdón?”

“A cereal bar! At lunch! She just—she noticed that I wasn’t eating on time and handed me one and walked away like it was nothing.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And I know it’s stupid, but she’s never noticed me before. Not really. And now she’s—she’s just—”

“Being nice?” his mother finished dryly.

Pato groaned. “Yes. No. Maybe?”

Another sigh. “Mijo, listen to me. You have been in love with this girl for—what? A year? More? And you’ve done nothing because you convinced yourself she doesn’t care. And now that she’s proving you wrong, you’re still doing nothing?”

“I—”

“Ay, Patricio.” When she used his full name, he knew he was in trouble. “What do you want? Honestly.”

Pato sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

“I want her to see me the way I see her,” he admitted, quiet.

His mother’s voice softened. “Then haz algo, hijo. Do something. Say something. Stop standing in the background of your own story.”

Pato closed his eyes.

She made it sound so simple.

It wasn’t.

But maybe… maybe it didn’t have to be impossible, either.

Pato barely slept.

His mother’s words looped in his head all night. Do something. Say something. As if it were that easy. As if he could just shake off a year of being invisible and suddenly be someone that mattered to her.

By the time 5 a.m. rolled around and his brain still refused to shut up, he gave up on sleep entirely. He pulled on a hoodie, grabbed his keycard, and made his way downstairs to the hotel’s outdoor pool, hoping that the quiet would clear his head.

And then he saw her.

She was sitting at the edge of the pool, feet dipped in the water, arms braced behind her as she stared out at the city lights reflecting off the still surface.

Pato froze.

His body screamed at him to turn around before she noticed him. But then she shifted slightly, head tilting at the sound of footsteps. Her gaze landed on him.

Too late.

He had two options: pretend he had some other reason to be here, or…

Do something.

Taking a slow breath, he stepped forward, pulling off his hoodie and tossing it onto a nearby lounger before sitting down a few feet away from her.

“You do realise this isn’t a race,” he said, nudging his chin towards the water. “No need to be this dedicated to aerodynamics.”

She huffed a quiet laugh through her nose, shaking her head. “It’s peaceful. And I couldn’t sleep.”

“Same,” he admitted, nudging his bare feet into the water. It was cool, not freezing, but enough to shock his system awake.

A beat of silence stretched between them. Not awkward, but not entirely comfortable either.

Talk, his mother’s voice nagged in his head. Say something.

“So,” Pato started, searching for anything to keep the moment from slipping away. “Since we’re stuck doing media together, I feel like I should get some information. Y’know, for survival.”

She raised a brow. “Survival?”

“Yeah. Like, what’s your go-to pre-race meal? Most important question, obviously.”

That earned him an actual smirk. “Pasta. Always.”

“Solid choice,” he mused. “Okay, follow-up: if you weren’t a driver, what would you be doing?”

She hummed, tilting her head in thought. “Something adrenaline-based. Maybe skydiving. Or stunt driving.”

Pato snorted. “I can definitely see that.”

“What about you?” she asked, glancing at him.

He blinked, caught off guard. Not just by the question—but by the fact that she was asking in the first place.

“Probably something quiet,” he admitted. “Maybe a mechanic. Or a watchmaker.”

That made her actually turn towards him, brows raised. “A watchmaker?”

He shrugged. “I like precision. Small moving parts. Everything fitting together perfectly.”

She studied him for a moment, like she was seeing him properly for the first time.

Before Pato could think too hard about that, he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, last question.”

She arched a brow. “Go on.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

She hesitated, glancing away. “Extra media obligations. All day.”

Pato nodded, swallowing the mild disappointment that settled in his chest. “Right. Of course.”

But then—she paused.

“… But I’m free after eight. Why?”

His pulse kicked up, and before he could overthink it, the words tumbled out.

“Dinner,” he said. “Just as grid mates.”

She looked at him. Really looked at him. Then—her lips quirked slightly.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

Pato’s brain immediately short-circuited.

“N—no,” he said too quickly, scrambling to backpedal. “I mean, it’s not—obviously not—”

“That’s a shame,” she interrupted, standing up and stepping out of the pool. She grabbed a towel, casually drying off her legs. “Because I would have said yes.”

Pato forgot how to breathe.By the time he managed to reboot his brain and form a response, she was already walking away, leaving him sitting there—staring after her, heart pounding, and officially, completely doomed.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

[sixlane]

there’s been a lot of bartylily discourse (i feel like) recently so i wanted to add my two cents to the conversation. and to preface, people can do whatever they want with these characters, these are just my personal opinions.

i think that bartylily is the most interesting when they’re equals. it’s kind of a subversion of the expectation for both of them. barty as this domineering evil psychosexual disaster is pulled down to earth and made soft and curious by his relationship with lily, and lily as the perfect background mother/wife/student/best friend is made confident and adventurous and independent by barty. if you allow them to exist in their predetermined roles within the ship, i think it falls flat. sub lily x dom barty is boring because it’s expected. if you want that, you need to board the toxic jily train and let james be the shitty person he is. <- that dynamic is way more interesting to me (in fact i’m writing a fic about it. shameless self promo).

bartylily is about acceptance and personal agency and breaking the cycle and letting go. it’s about finding a mirror in another person you would’ve never expected. it’s about making choices. i’ve been saying this but barty is not a rebellion, he’s the first thing lily decides she can have. barty doesn’t make lily feel small. he makes her feel like the possibilities for her life are endless. he also gives her permission to suck sometimes, to be selfish and make mistakes. he just allows her to be a person. and she gives that right back to him. she defines his edges a little bit because he sees parts of himself in her (temper, lack of direction, forced confinement). it’s surprisingly balanced and beautifully finite. they’re both meant to eventually be elsewhere. but that doesn’t mean this isn’t important.

[aetherdoesthings]

hanahaki!reader x arlecchino

forethoughts: omg aether finally uploads?!?!? apologies for the long break; i was getting my life together, because there's a lot going on in my life right now all at once. nevertheless, this was inspired by my previous work of hanahaki!reader x nico robin, but with arlecchino because of @edgeray's idea! thanks buddy, couldn't have revived my blog without you. also i'm sorry if there are grammatical mistakes or errors, i wrote this at 2am at a sudden burst of inspiration and motivation.

notes: modern setting, y/n and arlecchino are famous actresses, fem!reader, gentle!arlecchino, hanahaki au

“And how long will filming take?” You sighed, biting down on a hateful tone as you looked at your assistant.

“Roughly a year, Ms. Y/N.” Your assistant replied, clicking a few buttons on her tablet.

“How much is Furina offering to have me star in it with her?”

“$10,000,000 Mora, Ms. Y/N.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, despite your makeup artist’s ‘friendly reminder’. That amount could be worth the turmoil and agony to have to be in a constant space with… her.

“Arlecchino has already signed on board to the project. Ms. Furina is waiting to hear from you.” Your assistant looks up at you. “Surely you would not pass up a deal like that just because she is in it?”

“Shut it, Navia.” You scowl.

Navia laughs. “I jest, Ms. Y/N. What about Arlecchino do you dislike anyways? I heard she is kind and respectful.”

“Yeah, like that gives you a golden star.” You rolled your eyes, finishing your glass of wine. It wasn’t that you disliked or loathed the actress. You respected her upbringing and career and found honor in being in the same tier as her. But something about her rubbed you the wrong way. Every time you watched one of her press interviews or promo videos, your stomach would feel ill, hollowing itself out and making your legs kick in the air like a kid on Christmas. Simply sickening and rotten. And now you were to do an entire movie with her. 

“Hmn, fine. I’ll take it.” You sighed, leaning back on your couch. All for the Mora. All of the Mora. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s just one year. You survived with lousy and inadequate ‘colleagues’. Certainly you’d be able to survive the bane of your existence.

“Y/N. I’ve heard so much about you. It is a pleasure to finally meet and talk to you in person.” A familiar voice you only heard from behind the screen was now playing behind you. You turned your body, a curt smile on your face as you faced the disgustingly tall and surprisingly built woman (that looked so much bigger than what you saw on a screen), a dumb, cute and sweet grin plastered on her face. You acquiesced her offer, shaking her hand.

“And I share the same sentiment as you do, Arlecchino.” You smiled as politely as you could muster, suppressing your inner self and pummeling it for the sake of face. “I look…forward to working with you.”

Arlecchino’s lips turned into a thin line, her crimson eyes boring into yours, as if peering into your body to find that soul she tortured with just her appearance. You kept your smile, withdrawing your hand. “How was your flight here?”

Shock and surprise pierced that air tight smile of yours, allowing it to falter for a second. “I beg your pardon?”

“How was your flight?” Arlecchino repeated her question, an amused smile on her stupidly perfect and gorgeous face.

“It was… good.” You stammered, folding your arms.

Arlecchino chuckled. “Vague but straight to the point.”

“I prefer things to be like that.”

Arlecchino grinned, placing a hand on your shoulder. You had to bite back a shriek or gasp, nails digging into your palm as you tried to remain a smile. “Let us go to rehearsal, hmn? I’m certain Furina is eagerly waiting for us.”

A blockade started to emerge in your throat, your nails drawing blood as you nodded your head. “Sure, yeah, yeah. You go on ahead. I need to do something real quick.” You said, hoping Arlecchino would buy it.

“Alright then.” And she did, that lovely gullible soul. The minute Arlecchino walked out of earshot, a violent cough erupted from your throat, causing you to double over until it subsided. Looking down, you noticed a lone cherry blossom petal right by your feet. You massaged your throat, hoping to alleviate the sudden pain. Had that petal been there all along? But you were standing on open land without a tree in sight. Furina’s movie synopsis did not mention any cherry blossom trees. Surely, you couldn't have coughed up a petal. No, you did not cough up a petal. That stuff was out of the movies, not in reality. Your mind recalled back to an old movie you shot once, about the protagonist suffering from something called hanahaki disease, where the victim would cough up petals because of their love for someone. The protagonist was lovesick and had their eyes set on the other character, but died because the other person did not return their feelings. This wasn’t happening to you. Yes, the movie was based off of a true story, but certainly not. You were certain you were hallucinating. 

“Y/N!” You heard Arlecchino’s voice call your name from afar. 

“C-Coming!” No. You had to get yourself together. Come on, this was Arlecchino. That… elegant, beautiful, eloquent asshole who you always watched from afar but never had the chance to be with up close. But now you could. And this was how you reacted? Your stomach churned, as you swallowed anymore nonexistent petals down into your vat of acid before making your way to everyone.

Filming wasn’t too bad in the first few weeks. You and Arlecchino were to play star crossed lovers, and all that was scheduled was basic exposition. No petals came up, which supported your case that you were just hallucinating and definitely not a fictional disease. Until it came to the more intimate scenes.

“Alright, and action!” Furina exclaimed. Arlecchino’s character was pinning you to the wall, her finger on your chin.

“Did you really think you could hide it from me?” Arlecchino’s character sneered, her eyes boring into yours, her lips getting dangerously close.

“I-” You ducked your head in time to not cough into Arlecchino’s face, bringing a hand over your mouth as you coughed loudly, the air escaping your body as you wheezed. 

“Cut! Everyone, take ten!” Furina yelled, and the crew murmured and resetted everything because of your sudden cough.

“Are you alright?” Arlecchino placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing small circles in an effort to comfort you, her voice soft and gentle. A complete contrast of her character she portrayed. That did not comfort you at all, rather stir up a bubbling feeling in your lower parts, warmth rushing to your face.

You balled your fist, nodding your head as you forced yourself to meet Arlecchino’s eyes. 

“I…” You stammered, words suddenly disappearing from your brain, as if Arlecchino was sucking it out with that crimson glow, radiating with warmth and concern, the grin on her face dissipating the moment she saw your soul momentarily leave your body.

“I-I’m alright. I-I’m so sorry.” You regurgitated. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“That’s alright. Do you need some water?” 

“That’ll… That’ll be good.”

Arlecchino nodded her head, patting your shoulder as she asked a staff member to grab you some water. “I’ll go talk to Furina for you. You just rest and recover, got it? I don’t want my acting partner to be ill.”

Oh, your acting partner already is ill. A voice inside of you replied back. 

“Right, yeah. Thank you so much, Arlecchino.” You exclaimed, smiling back.

"Always, Y/N." Arlecchino walked away, waving her hand. "Get well soon."

The crew was busy packing everything up and preparing everything for tomorrow. Arlecchino was talking to Furina, most likely going over tomorrow’s shoot and your cough. As everyone around you was moving and busy, you were escorted away into a car, which drove you back to the makeup trailer. Alone in the backseat, you opened your fist, staring at the item in the dead center of your palm.

A goddamn cherry blossom petal.

No. This can’t be happening. What the heck is happening?! You forced yourself to breathe, staring at the curled petal. Why was this happening? All you did was be in close proximity with that damn Arlecchino, which made your heart flutter and start to drum, your stomach churn and mind go fuzzy, legs limp and-

No.

No.

You did not have a crush on Arlecchino.

You could not have a crush on Arlecchino.

You were colleagues. Workers. She was the winner of multiple awards, she was the one who the paparazzi could never get a picture of, she was everything and you… you were…nothing. Nothing compared to what Arlecchino had done. 

Yet you were here, forced to work together with her and even have to do intimate scenes with-

God strike me here and now. Or make me go into a fatal accident. You silently prayed to anyone who was listening. 

Arlecchino would not be the reason you coughed and hacked up flower petals.

You refused to believe those soft crimson glow in her eyes she always had with you, those thin lips that always curled into a smile when you walked in the room, and those fingers that found a way to your shoulder, or cheek, or your waist would be the reason why you were coughing up petals, just like-

Hanahaki. The word taunted you. No. That couldn’t be. 

You refused to believe you had fallen in love with Arlecchino, let alone die because of it. No. As long as you could breathe, you would not let yourself be a victim of love that you will never receive and have. 

Arlecchino was going to be the reason the newspaper headline would read ‘Y/N FOUND DEAD IN HER BEDROOM FROM HANAHAKI DISEASE’ and lead numerous people to speculate who your Romeo was. 

But in that ill state you were, a tiny part of you was at ease with that scenario.

[pridesung]

tag drop : ooc

[eciiipsed]

kaz brekker / jesper fahey fic recs

yall omg i know this is like a month late but i forgot i was making it.... ANYWAYS here it is !!!! feel free to add more in the tags and i will edit

**if your fic is on here and u want it removed let me know**!!!!

slash (may contain mature content so be mindful)

that peace like a river

Jesper's weird classical-music playing neighbour with no concept of a sleep schedule goes silent, and then he runs into him in a coffee shop, and everything gets gayer from there.

it's a bad idea right? (fuck it, it's fine)

The one where Jesper and Kaz are technically broken up, but nobody knows so they have no choice but to pretend like they're still together for Inej and Nina's wedding.

everything melted in less than a week

Jesper Fahey is the Capitol’s most prized possession. Kaz Brekker has nothing to lose

this is a shameless self promo im sorry; the hunger games au, mostly takes place after they are already victors.

sometimes love feels like a noun in some new foreign language

“You’re both dead to me,” Kaz says. It’s the first time he’s said more than two words to Jesper since he left. I still remember how your lips feel against mine, Jesper wants to say and forces himself to laugh instead.

kazper exes to lovers, literally my favourite fic of all time

how the light gets in

Kaz Brekker, teenage Sun Summoner, loses the battle of wills and and manipulation against the Darkling. This is what happens afterwards.

series of two fics; kaz is the sun summoner and jesper goes to rescue him

no thing defines a man like love that makes him soft

Soft domestic kaz/jesper for the soul

love your masks and adore your failures

Whenever someone brings it up, Jesper tells them he's in on the joke. Yes, his clothes have too many colours and patterns. Yes, they clash hideously. That’s the point. He’s not going to admit he just thinks they’re pretty.

this is the time of our great undoing

“Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?” Jesper whispers, more to distract Inej from what’s on the screen than anything else, but still—the idea won’t leave Kaz alone.

a private sunrise

Ever since Jesper found out he’s the Sun Summoner, he’s been on the run. Well, sort of. He got side-tracked in Ketterdam, but now that Kaz is talking to Grisha of the Second Army, his five-year reprieve is over. Or is it?

pre slash / can be read as gen

noble occupations

After Jesper nearly costs the Dregs supplies, Per Haskell goes too far in punishing him. Kaz prefers his sharpshooter in working order.

gun it while i'm holding on

Jesper gets shot, and Kaz is the one to find him bleeding all over the cobblestones. A fair bit of grumbling ensues — followed by a race to find help before it's too late.

jesper injured; hurt comfort

eyes and hands (sometimes bullets)

After a confrontation gone wrong, Jesper and Kaz retreat to a safehouse to patch up their wounds. Things soon get much harder than anticipated.

kaz injured; hurt comfort

masks

And now Jesper thought he had the right to give up? Here, in a warm room, with a full stomach and friends who would fight and die for him? With Wylan Van Eck waiting to sweep him into a life of luxury the moment he got his shit together, and Kaz working to keep him from being buried in his own mistakes until then?

homoerotic fistfighting

we owe it to disaster

A spy should be prepared to get caught.

washed up on the beaches

Jesper has no reason to panic. He pulled off yesterday's betrayal with aplomb: fucked over the Dime Lions, saved the enemy's life, got the enemy to promise to buy back Da’s farm, did not get caught. He shouldn’t be panicking now. Why is he panicking.

pre canon

kaz/jesper/inej as a treat

to me you're all i am

He thinks about it often. His arms around Inej’s waist. His fingers in Kaz’s hair. His lips on their shoulder blades. He wants to be close enough to feel them breathing.

kanejesper MY BELOVED!!! modern setting one shot

perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table

Jesper’s spent his life following Kaz and Inej from one mysterious job to the next. He will follow them into bed, too.

this is RLY good, and its mostly kazper (inej is there but not as important). has some explicit themes so read at ur own risk.

[tavyliasin]

Lia silly mode activated~

An easy mistake...

Let me preface this with "I don't judge anyone for typos, mistakes that got stuck in their brains, or dyslexia. This is purely fun and silliness!

It is interesting though to see how common it is for Haarlep to be written as Harleep, despite how they say their name in the game and how it is written in the game's subtitles.

It's also always fun to see new people realising the name is an anagram of Raphael, which is something I utterly adore about the lore and will be exploring the implications of further in fanfiction (of course you could read the first 2 chapters of Scent of Cinnamon on my AO3 to see that now if you like, as it's a prequel about these 2 fiends and how they first met).

Anyway shameless self promo aside, I know many of us still find it a little odd to see "Harleep" written in posts, fics, and tags. A few have mentioned it makes them think of a sheep type pokemon. Then I started to see Raph-eel...

So, here, have some terrible LiArt and a wonderful day~

[strawberrystepmom]

to forgive is divine & to err is human

pairing: Natsuo Todoroki x F!Reader (romantic), Touya Todoroki x F!Reader (familial)

word count: 7.5k

about: when Touya is released to Natsuo’s care following his 8 year prison stay, the fragility of the dynamic between the three of you threatens to derail everyone involved.

contents: cw: contains descriptions of depression, trauma, smoking, bad coping mechanisms, alcoholism, Touya dyes his hair black in a white sink (ugh). angst with a happy ending, set in canon universe but not canon compliant, established relationship between Natsuo and reader (married), Touya and reader are both assholes at certain points.

notes: tbh I've been meaning to repost this and since I'm currently in my "yes girl give us nothing" era, the time has come. Thank you to everyone (then and now) that has read this baby bc I did indeed put my ol' Kendussy into it so I didn't really change anything about it other than fixing grammar and I'm sure there are still mistakes. This is is how I wrote a year ago and that's okay and I'm proud of how far I've come.

Posting this as a double feature bc it feels too idk self promo-y to split them up again so enjoy my creature feature with my beloved Natsuo and his stinky brother. chain divider thanks to @/cafekitsune ♡

The large, red letters across the paperwork make your eyes hurt by simply gazing at them. 

“RELEASED” stamped with what you can tell was a mostly dried out ink pad, the red darker at the beginning of the word than at the end. You wish you could close the growing pit in your stomach knowing Natsuo will soon arrive back to your home, rehabilitated brother in tow, but the uncertainty makes it hard to settle as you re-stack the documents given to you by the Hero Public Safety Commission when they formally announced they would permit Touya’s release so long as someone would be responsible for him.

When the conversation came up, Natsuo volunteered without a second thought. It hurt at first that he did not ask you before making the decision but after having spent nearly a decade at his side, you trusted his judgment. Six months after the initial inquiry, you still do. Touya is a practical stranger, someone you have only met through grainy video chats, but you have been briefed by many HPSC coordinators. They have conducted home visits, interviewed both of you as if you were the criminals, combed through every bank account and piece of mail to ensure that they are putting their inmate into good hands. A good word from Endeavor, something your husband reluctantly accepted, sealed the decision. Your eyes scan over the handwritten letter from Enji, tucked in the stack of documents. 

“No one is more qualified to care for his brother Touya than my son Natsuo. He is a licensed medical professional, specializing in psychology and mental health services and has experience in dealing with traumatized children. I ask that the Commission consider no other placement for Touya.”

A tired sigh escapes as you flip through a few more pages, squinting through descriptions of you and Natsuo. Your personalities, your hobbies, where you work, who you associate with - all vital information, the panel assured you. The final page of the documents has the official ruling, the top left corner of the page curled in from how many times the pair of you have read over it.

“Todoroki Touya, thirty two years of age, is to be released to the custody of his brother Todoroki Natsuo, twenty eight years of age. Todoroki will be required to wear a location monitoring device at all times per the agreed upon terms of release. He is not permitted to be in contact with any of his prior associates. If contact is initiated, he will be required to return to the custody of the HPSC immediately and will no longer be eligible for release.”

Your eyes scan the document again and again, searching for some kind of strange loophole that could prevent all of this from happening. Guilt crawls up your spine and makes you shudder at the thought. How could you not want this for your husband? He has spent years dreaming of having a second chance to love his brother differently, to help him heal. It makes you feel vile to even entertain negative thoughts about Touya. 

Touya. You know little about the man aside from his name, or names, rather. His time as Dabi concluded, he was sentenced to 8 years of rehabilitation instead of prison. A victim of child abuse needed recovery, the commission reasoned, and they were willing to give him the space to do so within reason. The entire Todoroki family agreed with and supported the commission and their decision, his siblings and parents being granted permission to visit him if they chose to do so. 

Natsuo went as frequently as possible, excitedly telling you how much his brother has improved after every visit, eagerness infectious. You listened to his every word, rapt, as he talked about how different Touya looked now that he was eating well, how far he had come, how he seemed emotionally stable for the first time in his life. Genuine excitement danced in his eyes at the thought of having his brother back, not a shell of a boy or a man. Not Dabi but Touya, someone who was cruelly taken from him when he was too young to fully understand why. 

The true agony was seeing the metaphorical stitches ripped open, cruelly and callously. The entire country was witness to the explosive truth - Touya Todoroki was alive. Even Fuyumi with her limitless poise gnawed her lower lip hoping it would ground her enough that she could stay strong for everyone else. “I can handle this,” she assured you as you wrapped your arms around her shoulders the day after the video aired. She knew the person who would need you the most was her brother. Looks were deceiving - Natsuo was big and strong, a grown man, but his feelings were delicate. She trusted no one but you to look after him.

Natsuo had only asked you to be his girlfriend weeks before his brother revealed his true identity publicly. You will never forget the way grief was etched into all of his features, his strong brow downturned for weeks; retraumatized. It took every ounce of strength in his body to muster a smile, much less anything else, but he did it. For Fuyumi and Shouto, for his mother. 

You can remember every moment of the years following Touya revealing himself. The nights when Natsuo woke up sobbing, burying his face into your chest and balling the fabric of your shirt up between his fists as if it would keep him from losing touch with reality completely. He stopped eating for days at a time, depression sinking him into depths he didn’t know existed. You were always there with a soothing touch and okayu, a rice porridge Fuyumi taught you to make for him. 

“When Touya died, it’s all he would eat,” she explained. Your heart crumbled at the thought of a 13 year old version of your beloved future sister in law having to keep her 9 year old brother moving through the pain of loss. How did they keep themselves together?, you wondered more than once as she breezed through the difficult times with a tight smile. 

The more you watched the man you love sink, the more conflicted you felt about Touya. Those feelings lingered even into today. Natsuo is healing, therapy and love and compassion all coming together to create a whole man instead of pieces of a hurt child in a big body, but you can’t help the simmering anger you feel when you think about watching him experience the hurt in real time. Some memories stay etched forever. 

Natsuo continued to live despite the difficult times. You helped him study and make his way through medical school - a feat that he often credited you wholly for. It wasn’t true but the praise always feels good. Three years after Touya was sentenced, Natsuo opened his clinic that offers a variety of therapeutic services for children with difficult quirks or those who have suffered because of them. A year after that the two of you were married. 

“I knew you were the one when you gave me a reason to keep trying,” he tearfully admitted as you exchanged vows during your small wedding ceremony. The details weren’t for everyone else to know, but the pair of you knew exactly what he was talking about and the admission still makes you feel weepy if you start to think about it for too long.

Love feels like too shallow of a word to explain how you feel about him which is why you agreed to this in the first place - your love for Natsuo is stronger than your distaste toward Touya. You remind yourself of the mantra as you hear voices outside of your front doorstep, one immediately recognizable as belonging to Natsuo. You stand and take a deep breath, composing yourself and closing the file folder on the table as the door opens and the two white haired men crowd into the small genkan, talking amongst each other. 

“We’re here!”

A practiced, measured smile is what you can manage as you watch the situation carefully. Touya scratches the back of his head and offers a small and impersonal wave and you’re surprised by how different he looks. Thin but healthy, his skin grafts have been properly secured, his lashes are the same white as the ones that frame your husband's kind, gray eyes. The similarities between the two are striking but so are the differences - Natsuo greets you with a smile and a peck on your forehead and Touya glowers from the doorway. 

“Welcome home, Touya,”

He looks around, eyes narrowed as he takes in the sights of your well lived in home. It reminded you eerily of the way the representatives from the commission sullied your safe place away slowly, searching every corner to make sure you would not enable any more bad behavior from the man standing in the doorway. Your home had only just begun to feel like yours again.

“Nice place. Guess that’s what being married to a doctor gets you.”

His crass comment made you feel stricken, flinching slightly as your practiced smile wavers. You aren’t Fuyumi, full of endless grace and forgiveness - you can’t fake it. You aren’t Natsuo who believes in the potential of people more than anyone you’ve ever met. You are you and right now you are angry. Clenching your fists in a way you hope is imperceptible, you fake a laugh and your husband looks at you with wide eyes, noticing your change in demeanor.

“Well, it’s your place too now. Guess that’s what being a doctor's brother gets you.”

Touya purses his lips and nods, arms folded across his chest. You look over his scars, his healed skin, his cold eyes. “Do you want to show him to his room, babe?” Natsuo asks, voice shaky, as if he’s anxious for your response. “I can find it myself,” Touya answers for you, heavy boots in his hands as he pads through your home toward where his room lies. You spent weeks helping Natsuo prepare it for him, filling it with photos and books to help him gain back the time he lost while he was away. The taste in your mouth is nothing short of bitter and sour as you think about it.

“I don’t know what that was about, I asked him no-,” you raise your hand, cutting your husband off mid sentence as your fake smile finally falls and gives way to a slight frown, corners of your mouth downturned. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Touya has always felt suspicious of you. Your intentions, your affections for his brother, your involvement with his family - it’s hard not to be uncertain about someone who fits so flawlessly in the dysfunctional outline created by being a Todoroki. What are you hiding? What do you want? 

He tosses his boots down on the floor of the room at the end of the hallway. Instinctually, he knows this is his space. Covered with childhood photos of the Todoroki family, a quilt he received as a child covering the bed, he wants to be impressed with the effort put in but instead he feels hollow. This life never fit him in the first place, happy smiles for photos and dinners and whatever the fuck was expected of him, and now he had no choice but to live it. 

It is a hell of a lot nicer than the four white walls that housed him for eight long years. The bed looks a lot more comfortable, he thinks as he settles down on the edge of it, lying back with his arms behind his head. Fixing his gaze on the ceiling, he takes a moment to think in the silence of the space. The entire car ride his brother talked about you and your life together. Touya eventually began to tune him out, watching the trees pass by the window with the occasional red light flashing on his monitoring anklet catching his attention.

Rehabilitated. The connotations of the word weighed heavily on Touya - one fuck up and it would be so easy for you to convice Natsuo to send him back. You could never understand him the way that his family does. You couldn’t forgive him the way they had either, something both of you would never communicate to each other. 

“Hey,” Natsuo’s voice rasps from the doorway and Touya sits up slightly, grunting his response. “You like it alright?”

“It’s fine.” 

Natsuo sighs, carefully entering the room and shutting the door behind him as he slumps down on the bed next to his brother, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of the huge change that has come over his otherwise peaceful life. “You don’t have to lie, Touya.”

Touya sits up, using his elbows to support his weight, and offers a half smile toward his brother. “I’m not lyin’, it’s fine. Just feels like too much.”

Natsuo nods, trying to tamp down his urge to play therapist instead of brother. It was something he did all too often growing up and probably why he has made fixing people his mission in life. Touya was no exception.

“It’s the least we can do. You’ve been through a lot.”

We, Touya thinks to himself. Always we. He wonders how much Natsuo has surrendered of himself for your sake. Does he have any hobbies besides being a doting husband? Is his world filled with anything besides this little bubble the two of you live in?

“Don’t act like she had anything to do with all of this, Natsu. I was released to you.”

Touya slips a hand in his jacket pocket and fishes around for his pack of cigarettes, popping one out of the packaging with expert precision and sticking it between his lips as his brother sits next to him silently. “Lemme guess, need to do this outside?” 

Natsuo nods and Touya sighs, sliding off of the bed and leaving a rumpled quilt behind him. Heavy footsteps trail down the hallway as he peers into the kitchen and notices the backdoor, quietly slipping through it only to be met with a glowing red cherry on the other side, smoke streaming from your mouth as you stand with a cigarette between your fingers.

“Didn’t take you for the type,” he starts, pulling his lighter from his pocket and clicking it until a bright flame catches the cigarette dangling from between his lips. Once upon a time he would’ve just used his quirk but the prescription blockers he was given by court order prevented that. “All he ever talks about is how perfect you are.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” you shoot back, flicking your cigarette ashes onto the ground below before taking another drag. 

The mutual distrust permeated the air between the two of you. Touya reminded you so much of your father in law it was like looking at another version of him. You reminded Touya of everything he hated about this world - false pretense and unattainable perfection. He doubts you have ever walked around without a hair out of place, a Todoroki would never.

“Any other deep dark secrets I should know before being trapped inside of this house with you 24 hours a day?”

You chuckle, dropping your cigarette on the ground and stomping it out, bending to pick up the butt once you’re done. 

“Your brother won't let me drink anymore,” you start, hoping the vulnerability warms your brother in law. His steely gaze convinces you otherwise and you begin to walk away, arms folded over your chest with a cigarette butt in your fist. “Just another fun part of the aftermath of your little warpath.”

Touya knows he fired the first shots but he’s taken aback at your accusatory tone. 

“Anything else you want to question me about? Figured the commission briefed you on all of my dirty laundry.”

He shakes his head and exhales smoke through the corner of his mouth, the plumes drifting in your direction. “Good chat, Touya.”

The back door slams as you enter your home through it, windows rattling slightly. Your first instinct is to pour a drink but the reminder of your rock bottom lingers on your mind as you instead toss your cigarette in the trash and turn down the hall and head to your bedroom, Natsuo sitting on the bed.

“Why does he hate me so much?”

You hate how hysterical your voice sounds, anxiety rising like bile. Rising to his feet, your husband gathers you against his chest and presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Give him time, he’ll warm up.”

You don’t share your husband’s boundless optimism as you hear the back door slam and hear footsteps heading to the bedroom opposite yours. Natsuo plants another soft kiss atop your hair and squeezes your hand gently as he walks back over to Touya’s room. 

“You alright?” Natsuo asks and Touya rolls his eyes, shrugging off his jacket and draping it across a hook on the back of the door. “Fine. Thanks for the concern.”

Natsuo slips through the door completely and closes it softly behind him, leaning against the solid wood.

“What happened out there?” 

Touya chuckles and shrugs, sitting on the bed in the same place he had left. “Nothing worth mentioning. I’ll make sure I keep my bottles hidden from her though.”

His eyes widened, Touya’s antagonistic tone nothing new, his shock coming from the fact you told him about your struggles with substance abuse in the first place. It wasn’t a secret but it certainly wasn’t a fun fact you gave out at trivia night. 

“Uh, yeah, thank you.” Natsuo fumbles through his words, unsure of the right thing to say. “That would be great. She has come a long way but there are still times that are difficult, especially when big changes occur.”

Your substance abuse issues began about a year after your marriage. Blissful happiness wasn’t enough to numb the intense pain of the years prior but copious amounts of whiskey while Natsuo was busy with work were good enough. Blind confidence convinced you he didn’t notice a thing, not your sunken eyes or decreased appetite, but he did and he confronted you as gently as he could.

The next day you started therapy of your own and have continued to go to meetings for others struggling with addiction since then. Nothing drastic has happened in your life since you quit drinking, calm falling over the Todoroki household, making it easier for you to maintain your wits.

He would never say it but Natsuo truly worried about your sobriety. Every time he left for a trip or wine was passed around at family dinner, he wondered if it would be the day you changed your mind. Sticking with you was easy, though. You did the same for him at his low point and he would never stop doing it for you.

“She smokes, you know that?”

Natsuo nods, Touya’s raspy voice breaking the silence caused by his brother’s overthinking. “Have to let her have one vice, you know?” 

“I think you forget that you weren’t the only person who had to live through that fucking horrifying life! It didn’t just go away when you did.”

Your voice cracks as you raise it at your brother in law, his turquoise eyes wide as he watches you yell with an intensity that leaves your hands shaking. He has never looked more like your husband than he does now, the same white hair sticking up on top of his head, his fingers carding through it and yanking the strands as he paces your living room floor. 

“There are times I don’t think you realize that your actions have always had consequences because you’ve truly faced so few of them,” you feel your face flame as Touya’s expression turns from surprised to angry. “You didn’t have to clean up the messes. I did.”

Seeing the similarities makes something inside of you crack, a piece of your heart perhaps, your chest heaving. Regret consumes your mind; you’ve gone too far. You struggle to catch your breath, rubbing your fingers over your cheeks to hide evidence of your tears. Silence blankets the room like a dense fog.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Your voice sounds meek and thin even to your own ears, the screaming match you have been engaged in rendering your throat raw. Painfully, you swallow what little spit you can and shut your eyes tightly as you listen to Touya’s rhythmic footfalls. Taking a deep breath, you sink into an armchair and dab at your eyes with the back of your hands, opening them long enough to see Touya staring intently at you. You drop your hands and sigh. 

“I can’t imagine what you have been through,” you hiccup, warm tears sliding down your cheek and dripping onto your wrists where they sit in your lap. “But you weren’t the only one going through it and I hope your brother can forgive me for saying all of this to you.”

The white haired man remains silent as you rise from your chair, hands balled into fists at your sides. Your gaze turns directly to him and you sniffle, tears subsiding. 

“He has always loved you despite everything you’ve done, exactly as you are. Please remember that.”

The words feel cathartic to say aloud, astute eyes narrowing to watch you as you turn on your heel and begin to walk away. Your tense posture tells him exactly how you feel about the entire situation and you reason that giving Touya space seems like the best option to end the strange battle of wills the two of you have found yourselves in. 

The gravelly sound of Touya’s voice from over your shoulder stops you in your tracks. 

“Then I owe it to him to try.”

There is no apology to be found in the words but you swear you can feel it as he says them, looking over your shoulder. For the first time you don’t see Dabi or Touya, you see someone completely new - your brother in law. A blank canvas, someone you could perhaps get to know under better circumstances. 

“We both owe it to him,” you respond as you turn around and make your way back to the chair you were sitting in moments ago, sitting stiffly against the back of the chair, shoulders still held tensely by your ears. “But how do we begin?”

Touya sighs and sits opposite you, rubbing his hands over his face as he rests his elbows on his knees.

“Hi, I’m Touya.” You laugh for the first time in a week and he can’t hide the half smile that comes across his face. “I did some fucked up things and spent eight years paying for them but I fucking love my family.” He stomps his foot, emphasizing his point. “That includes you now so we better get our shit together, yeah?”

Another tear falls as you nod, a watery smile settling over your features.

“Yeah, we should.”

A year later, when you think of your brother in law Touya, a memory from your childhood comes to your mind.

You are six, maybe seven and at the zoo. Your parents hold both of your hands dutifully to make sure you don’t run off, squeezing your tiny palms between theirs as you excitedly gasp and croon at birds, snakes, and butterflies. A flamingo makes you shout, a duck makes you quack.

Steps slow down as the three of you approach a large glass enclosure. “Black panther - panthera pardus” says the sign extending from the ground in front of the glass. You don’t know that, of course, until your dad reads it aloud to you, asking you to repeat the name.

“Panthera,” you repeat, a tiny voice bouncing back at you off of the glass.

As if you summoned the cat itself, it appears and you flinch. Black, lithe, wild eyed with muscles wound so tightly you can see the shape and size of each of them. You wonder if the panther knows how to relax, the same way your mom tells you to when you cry too hard. Maybe he needs to take a deep breath. 

“Why does he look so nervous?” 

In your young mind, the question surfaced before you had time to think about it. Of course he’s nervous, you reason, all of these people are staring at him like the attraction that he is. A dazzling thing to see locked between four glass walls. 

“He isn’t nervous honey, he’s probably just thinking about what he would do if he were outside with us.”

Pondering your mom's polite whisper, you nod and accept the answer. Grown ups always know best anyway. 

As a keeper enters the enclosure and carefully stalks toward the cat, your eyes widen in surprise. How can he let someone so close? You wonder if you could ever get that close to him. To see the sunlight in his fur just enough to reveal the spots under the dark of his coat or to watch his ears twitch as he listens for sounds of danger. Would he ever trust you? Could you trust him?

The crowd around the glass increases in size, delighted whoops as the keeper dangles the cleaned carcass of a large bird above the panther. You drink in the way he crouches and springs, tight muscles unwinding for a moment as large paws capture the food between them. 

A sight you’ll never forget.

A sight you see as Touya stalks through the living room of your home, tightly running his fingers through his hair. Muscles taut, standing and walking but trying to simultaneously fold in on himself.

“What the fuck would they even want to talk about?”

You sigh, shrugging at his words. The “they'' in question is the Commission and one year after his monitored release, he has been asked to return before the panel and answer some questions. Natsuo sits next to you on the floor in front of the chabudai, sorting through the papers sent to him to review ahead of Touya’s scheduled meeting. The three of you only found out about the date today.

“I dunno, Touya,” your husband shoots a bit impatiently toward his brother. “Let me read this and then I’ll tell you.”

Silently, you watch as he scans the documents, flipping them between his fingers. You hear the heavy pounding of Touya’s footsteps across the floor, reverberating through the otherwise silent room. Your house is too quiet. There is no crowd to filter out the silence.

“Potential restoration of privileges,” you hear Natsuo mutter from beside you. He continues to read to himself and you wonder what that truly entails. Would Touya be released from his supervised period completely? Would he be allowed to wander more than 50 feet away from his guardians? 

“God Natsu, read faster.”

Natsuo’s eyes shoot a frosty glance toward Touya from over the top of the papers in his hands. Placing them on the table, your husband sighs.

“They want to see your progress and maybe give you a little more freedom.”

Touya freezes in place for a mere second before turning on his heel and rushing to the edge of the table to snatch the documents and look over them, brows furrowed in concern that this is some evil trick the two of you have decided to pull on him. Revenge for the last twelve months of him and his fits, his angry words, his snarling. 

You’ve realized during the months he’s more meow than he is hiss.

“But,” Natsuo starts, clearing his throat, Touya tossing the papers back on the table and interrupting his brother with a clear as day “fuck!”, beginning to pace once again. “We have to give testimony.”

The royal we is something Touya has hated since the day he moved into your home. It always makes him feel as if it’s two against one, no separation between yourself and Natsuo and how you feel about the situation. He assumes if you’re mad at him, his brother is too. If you’re frustrated with Touya drinking the last of your nice matcha, Natsuo must be too. If you’re angry at Touya for dying his hair black in your bathtub and staining the shiny white tiles, Natsuo must be too.

He’s wrong about that, of course, his brother never holding any of his minor blunders against him. You don’t either but it would be tougher to convince Touya to believe that than it would be to build a house by hand, despite the tentative peace that exists between the two of you. You’ve allowed him into your home, your world, your once peaceful little family and have found that you are better for it. Natsuo is better for it. But there will always be a level of distrust. 

Like that panther you think of so often, Touya must wonder what it would be like to be free and trusted. 

“Touya, I don’t know how to say this,” Natsuo says, trying to keep his tone even and calm despite how anxious you know he must be feeling. You feel your stomach drop as well, balling the fabric of your linen pants between your palms to keep your hands from shaking. You looked at the date on the documents and noticed that it was a day you knew he’d be unavailable, working on a particularly tough case with multiple children from one family. “I can’t do it.”

Touya chuckles, a bitter and hollow sound that makes you flinch. “Of course not.”

“She can, though.”

Unexpectedly, Touya’s bitter chuckle turns into a belly laugh. You wonder if he’ll double over from the strength of it, scarred hands clutching his middle. Natsuo stands, approaching his brother carefully.

“Her?” He points at you and you feel like the one being questioned. Despite the grasp on the thighs of your pants, your hands do shake and your fingers slip. “She probably wishes I would have died every single day despite the little “play nice” bullshit she does for your sake.”

Gasping at the accusation, you hope he can’t see the way your eyes glance downward. You had assumed the two of you were past this, arguments coming to a halt around six months ago when you told him you simply didn’t have the energy for them anymore. 

You then began taking him to pick up cigarettes every other day, riding in your car together silently but comfortably. His fingers always drum against his thighs impatiently and you clear your throat, mouth dry until you arrive. You have to be close to him the entire time but you linger on the edges of the small shop in your neighborhood, giving the elderly shopkeeper time to fuss over Touya the way he needs. 

The two of you then silently ride back to your home.

“How could you say that, Touya?”

Much like the smaller version of you felt compelled to speak outside of the gleaming panther exhibit, you do the same now. Your voice sounds weak, thin, defeated. Natsuo rushes to your side, kneeling back down and placing one of his large arms around your shoulder.

“Oh here we go, gotta rush to defen -” 

Touya’s words are cut off by a sharp glance from his brother, a look he has never seen before. Smothering all of the fire inside of him, hurting the one person who has endlessly forgiven him, he is doused by humility.

“I don’t hate you,” you look up and see Touya’s turquoise eyes that are narrowed and hard staring directly at you. “I don’t wish you were dead,” you continue as you shrug your husband’s arm off of you and begin to stand. “In fact, I was stupid and thought we were finally fucking past all of this!”

Punctuating your shout with a frustrated grunt, you stomp off down the hallway and leave the brothers to figure it out amongst themselves. Natsuo would simply have to find a way to make the date work for him because you couldn’t bring yourself to beg the Commission to be merciful toward someone who detests you so much. You aren’t a big enough person for that, lacking the careful compassion of your husband.

“Are you fucking serious, Touya?”

Natsuo cursing at his brother makes his steely gaze falter, eyes glancing downward toward the floor. Touya remembers a time you went too far, not long after he first moved into your home, and he feels guilty knowing he has done the same.

“Whatever,” Touya responds dismissively as he stomps off. 

Natsuo hears the back door slam and rubs his hand over his face, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. He’s transported back to 12 long months ago when he didn’t even want to be in the same room as the two of you, the tension making him incapable of dealing with his own uncertainty about the ability to rehabilitate his brother. 

As Touya steps outside into the cool air, far less suffocating than the inside of the house, he fishes around in his pockets for his lighter and mutters obscenities as he realizes it is inside. Of course, he still can’t use his quirk thanks to the very strong suppressants he has to take daily as part of his release, so he flings the door back open and stomps inside. 

Hearing hushed muttering from the living room, he closes the door quietly and creeps to the doorway of the kitchen. He shoves himself against the wall, trying to hide from view as he hears your voice.

“I don’t understand why he won’t give me a chance, Natsu.”

His brother sighs and Touya sinks further against the wall. He knows the sound - fed up, frustrated, struggling. Natsuo is the last person he ever wanted to create those feelings in and shame, a bit of an unfamiliar feeling for him, creeps up his spine and makes his stomach turn. 

“You didn’t exactly make the best first impression, of course he doesn’t completely trust you.”

Natsuo’s words make you blow out air in frustration. Touya can’t see you, but he imagines you look as downtrodden as you always have after these little battles. His brother’s defense of his behavior is surprising, though, and he idly rubs his thumb across one of the graft scars on his hands.

“I know,” you relent with a sniff. “I know.”

Your words shift Touya’s perspective, precious humility trickling over him and making his left eye twitch - a stress reflex he tried to hide for years. 

You were the first person who noticed it and on your usual trip to the small store to pick up his cigarettes after, you passed him a box of anti-inflammatory medication and a bottle of eyedrops wordlessly as you buckled into your seat. He hasn’t twitched since.

Acknowledging the hurt you’ve caused is the first step of atonement, he remembers reading in a book Natsuo brought him while he was still locked up.

He peeks from around the wall, stretching his arms over his head and locking his fingers on the back of his skull, buried in poorly dyed black hair. Natsuo looks up through his light eyelashes at his brother who approaches carefully, settling on the opposite side of the table from where the pair of you sit.

“You can do it.”

The words are simple and cause both you and Natsuo to look up. Touya refuses to meet your puffy eyes and rises back to standing as quickly as he sat, slapping the tabletop once before skulking down the hallway to grab his lighter.

You and Natsuo resolve not to ask questions, with only two weeks until the panel meets time is of the essence and your testimony will be key to helping Touya if you choose to help him. 

Sitting in front of the panel is more nerve-wracking than you expected. A group of five familiar faces all staring at you with discerning eyes as you shuffle the hand-written pages of your testimony between your fingers.

These people have rummaged through your home on more than one occasion, interviewed all of your close friends and family, sifted through every piece of your dirty laundry and you’re at their mercy once again but this time you’re more willing.

“You may begin as you wish, Todoroki-san.”

Nodding respectfully toward the head of the panel, you clear your throat and exhale as you look down at the papers in your hands. You can feel Touya looking at you from across the room, Fuyumi and Shouto seated beside him and Rei on the other side of his sister, but refuse to look up at them for fear it’ll make the little courage you’ve summoned disappear.

“When Touya first moved into our home, I was uncertain of his ability to be rehabilitated.”

You spent the last two weeks reading this exact same speech to Natsuo, rehearsing it in your bedroom while pacing across the floor. The ink on the page is smeared in places from wet tears that dripped down onto the paper, black bleeding into blue and drying into rippled and raised spots. Those spots remind you of Touya, the way he has woven his way into part of your everyday existence. 

“The process of allowing him into our lives felt very invasive. Respectfully, our lives were torn apart in preparation for him. Our home was combed through, our mail was intercepted, my husband was followed by a member of this committee on his way home from the clinic he tirelessly uses as a means to help others on more than one occasion.”

You keep your tone even to avoid sounding accusatory. These are all facts the Commission themselves have confirmed via their own documentation but standing in the face of the very force that can decide your future as well as Touya’s is more intimidating than you expected.

“The day Touya moved in, our lives shifted in a way that no amount of preparation could have made us anticipate. Difficult interpersonal dynamics forced us to take a good hard look at the future of our family and the future of what we desired for Touya. How did we want his rehabilitation to look?”

Taking a breath, you look up from the sheet of paper for a moment to meet Touya’s gaze and it strikes you as odd to see something almost tender. You sniff, nose twitching, vowing to hold yourself together until you’re alone or with Fuyumi or anywhere but sitting in front of people who have made their living off of judging, doling out punishment, changing lives for better or worse.

“While we’ve had many difficult times, I am not here to talk about the difficulty I caused Touya with my inability to coexist for the first several months. Rehabilitation takes a team and I was not a team player,” you pause and hear shuffling from the seats across the room. “Despite this, Touya has dedicated himself to improvement and has continually adhered to every request the commission put forth in the original terms of his release.”

While you don’t want to continue to air out your dirty laundry, there is a therapeutic feeling in knowing you’re publicly admitting to handling things wrong. In front of Natsuo’s family, nonetheless. Touya’s family. Your family. 

At the end of this lies the fact that you are all a family and forgiveness is inherently woven through the relationships and bonds you share.

“It is the recommendation of both my husband and I that Touya’s privileges of release be expanded upon, including reduction of supervision and permission to travel to the homes of his mother and siblings independently if he chooses.”

Rising to your feet, you bow before the panel once more before walking toward the back of the room and quietly exiting as they take time to deliberate and make their decision. 

Touya rises and comes to the front of the room, standing before them. He hates the way he feels, like a caged animal with his muscles tensed, in a suit that doesn’t even belong to him because why the fuck would he ever own a suit? The sleeves are too long, it is Shouto’s after all, and he pulls the cuffs over his hands with his thumbs.

The panel head speaks and the room is so quiet you’re even unnerved from the other side of the door. Pressing your ear to the wood, you listen.

“Our decision will not be immediate. You can expect further communication from the panel in the coming weeks. As of right now, your terms of release remain the same until you are otherwise notified. Thank you for your time today, Todoroki-san.”

Touya bows and joins his family, missing the member he wishes to see the most.

You back away from the door as you hear the knob turn and rest against the wall, arms over your chest as you greet your in-law’s with a subdued smile. 

“Natsu will be so proud of you!” Fuyumi beams, rubbing your bicep in a comforting gesture. You just shrug, unable to speak. You exchange a few additional pleasantries with Shouto and Rei, wishing them goodbye as they leave you and Touya standing on opposite sides of the hallway.

“It’s okay, you know.”

Touya’s voice is a rasp, as always, and you look up through your eyelashes at him. Fiddling uncomfortably with the cuff of your shirt in the same way he’s been fiddling with his own cuffs all day, it just further emphasizes the similarities you share. It isn’t just love for Natsuo you have in common anymore.

“None of this shit has been easy and you’ve done your best. I’m not exactly a fuckin’ easy person to get along with.”

You chuckle, tension diffusing.

“I think you’re going soft, Touya.”

He chuckles back and your eyes meet, the two of you walking toward the center of the hallway to leave the building together and walk back to your car. Your footsteps are quiet and so are his, both of you slumping as you saunter out of the door and into the bright midday sun.

“Nah, just tired of being an asshole all the time.”

The news comes as you stand at your kitchen sink, Touya bent over as you help him rinse black hair dye down the drain. Your hands are wet, his shirt is soaked, but you agreed to help him after noticing a huge white patch still at the back of his head from his attempts to do it himself. 

“I dunno why you want it to be black so bad, don’t you want to look like Natsu?”

Touya snorts and the sound echoes through the steel basin. “I have to keep a little edge. Let me live.” You shut off the clean running water, allowing the dark droplets to work their way out of your sink. There was more rinsing to do but you wanted to be sure of how much more.

“It’s here!” Natsuo shouts from the doorway and you hear his hurried, large footsteps trek into the room, ripping of paper ringing in your ears.

You want to leave Touya’s side and go to Natsuo, to read over his arm, to see for yourself but you resolve to be patient and continue to lightly massage Touya’s scalp. He needs comfort right now, you can tell.

“Expansion of privileges,” Natsuo mutters to himself, scanning the page as quickly as he can. “Unsupervised access to other family homes! Holy shit!” 

Tossing the papers onto the counter, your husband bolts toward you and wraps his arms around your waist. “No, no, no,” you chant as he picks you up and you accidentally pull Touya’s wet strands of hair. He yelps and you let go, hissing apologetically.

“God Natsuo, down boy.”

Your snarky brother-in-law draws a giggle from you as your husband presses a kiss against your cheek and reaches down to slap him on the back. “Do you wanna tell mom or should I?” Touya looks up, head still dripping, and rolls his eyes at his brother. “I could just show up at her house, that’d have more impact.”

Wiggling away from Natsuo, you reach for the towel on the counter and wrap it around Touya’s neck so he can sit up and not drip black water all over your floor. He gives silent thanks in the form of a tight half smile and you smile back, stepping away to let the brothers converse about how they’re going to break the news to their siblings.

As you watch the two of them, the panther and his handler once again come back to your mind. 

The reason that the handler was able to come so close to the cat is because he trusted him. The cat could learn to trust others, to let people in, to let them be on his side. You won’t have to wonder if you could have gained the panther’s trust any longer and he won’t have to wonder what it’s like to be on the outside with the rest of us. 

[who-suffered-more]

Welcome to WHO SUFFERED MORE?

Please submit your sufferers [HERE]

Current biggest sweep: Anthy Himemiya vs Jesus with an incredible 96.3%

Current biggest nonjesus sweep: Doofenschmirtz vs 2nd Dimension Doofenschmirtz, 94.9%

Current closest tie: Angel Gabby vs Jesus, 52.1%

Spreadsheet of already submitted characters and their results [HERE] <- you will get spoilers for scheduled posts in here.

I will make a poll that is “Who suffered more? [CHARACTER] or [CHARACTER, defaulting to Jesus of Nazareth but others can be requested]” these polls will go for a week, be tagged [#who suffered more] alongside their character(s) but I won’t tag Jesus for probably obvious reasons. If I make a mistake please let me know. Polls might also be self reblogged on the last 24 hours as a last chance thing [#last call]

If you submit via the askbox I will explode you with my mind. I will also post it, however, just default to “vs Jesus”, and you’ll get an askbox submission shame tag. [#askbox shame]. You can also submit through DMs if you like, but the google form is anonymous.

The askbox is for propaganda and character artwork submissions, and for just chatting too I suppose. DM me about posting fanart! Whether if it’s propaganda or as your poll’s image, I want to make sure I do it right and that requires a bit more consultation than just going to the source. Renaissance artwork does not count as fanart even if it should (but should be credited correctly anyway). Submit some renaissance Jesuses for me. I don’t often look at renaissance Jesuses but I have a feeling I will need some for this blog. Show me your favourite Jesuses.

I will do a [#propaganda roundup] when i feel like it.

RULES AND DNI: I can’t tell you what to do. You can’t tell me what to do. I have the right to decline submissions. Don’t talk to me about Jesus or any religion in general I’m an atheist. Related, don’t take my theology too seriously I am Very Rusty on this stuff. RPF is fine. I’m bad at being an impartial judge and that’s also fine.

Pfp is the statue of Lady Justice in Frankfurt, Germany (taken from Wikipedia), edited to have a yellow-red gradient background.

Header is from DOOM Eternal’s promo image of the hellscape. I’ve never played it.

[only-by-the-stars]

Fic Promo: Song of a Champion

Now that @spacelemon has put up that amazing promo vid of the Mipha's Grace mod, it feels like a good time to do a little self-promo of my own, for something that I promise is related (otherwise I wouldn't be mentioning the vid; I am doing so in hopes of helping to get more eyeballs on it): a fic I've been writing since 2022, that is both inspired by and based on the mod. I've been lucky enough to have been allowed to play early versions of it, and was inspired to write a fic that retells BOTW with Mipha as the lead, taking cues from many plot points and armor redesigns present in the mod. If that's not enough to entice you, then please read on for my list of things that you might enjoy about this fic!

It's about Mipha Judging by the results of my poll, a lot of you like reading about Mipha! I've written a LOT about her over the past few years, but this is my most in-depth exploration of her yet. It's entirely centered on her, delving deep into her thoughts and feelings and exploring the myriad aspects of her personality as we follow her journey. Instead of Link waking up on the Great Plateau without his memories and being handed the responsibility of saving Hyrule, it's Mipha who must walk this path; unlike in the base game, she's not a fridged love interest for Link to be sad about, she's an active heroine in her own right with a monumental task ahead of her from the moment she wakes up, not to mention a lot of questions. How did she get there? Can she do this? What--and who--has she forgotten in her century-long slumber? How will she find her way in this strange new world she awakens to? What kind of bonds will she forge with the people she meets along her way? All these and more are tackled in great depth as she goes on her adventure, setting out with, initially, little more than her own courage, determination, and compassion. I've been told by many people that I write their favorite Mipha, and though this isn't my first time giving her a starring role, I fully believe this is my best character work for her so far. I've given her so much to do and act on and react to, exploring her rich inner life and personality and character FAR beyond just shipping stuff, and developed a lot of really fun friendships for her and gone heavy on her familial relationships as well. There is miphlink, but it's only one aspect, and Mipha herself is the shining star at the heart of everything.

2. It takes inspiration from Wind Waker Mainly, the concept of a character who is not the chosen one stepping up and proving themselves worthy and going on to save Hyrule. If you, like me, enjoyed that aspect of Wind Waker, then you'll like this story!

3. It plays with the lore in fun ways Do you like the older bits of lore from pre-Skyward Sword games? Like the Golden Goddesses and other deities? Then you'll like the bits of it I've weaved in!

4. It treats the NPCs with care, love, and nuance One of the things I'm proudest of about this story, that I've gotten praise from others for, is how the various NPCs are written. I've treated them all like people in their own right, who all have their own rich inner lives, schedules, interests, priorities, and feelings that don't revolve around the protagonist. Mipha befriends most of them, yes, but that's because she treats them with compassion and kindness too. Nobody is shallow here, I've gone to great pains to illustrate a world filled with people all living their own lives that intersect with Mipha's journey in various ways, and allowed people to just be human and make mistakes and have doubts but ultimately just be people. There's a lot of emphasis on Mipha's relationships with her family, and I've certainly won praise for my depiction of these dynamics, but also a ton of friendships being formed and explored, and people have told me that I made certain characters interesting and likable to them where the game failed to do so.

5. It has awesome fight scenes BOTW is a game with a lot of combat, so anyone novelizing it better be good at writing that kind of scene. Fortunately, I am! This is an action-packed story, not just for its own sake, but to show the dangerous world Mipha is traveling through and the challenges she has to face as she ventures into each Divine Beast and cleanses them of their respective Blights. I write really fast-paced action that also shows the characters' mindsets while fighting, and strikes a balance between showing off their strengths and that they're up to the challenge, while also respecting their opponents and demonstrating why the Champions of a hundred years ago fell to these things, why NPCs fear certain monsters. And speaking of respecting opponents, I've taken stuff from Age of Calamity as well as some of my own inventions, to beef up the boss fights, a certain area, and make every Divine Beast threatening (we all know how scary Medoh wasn't in-game).

6. It has beautiful prose/descriptions But you don't have to just take my word for it! Here's a sample from the rough draft of chapter 42!

Shards of light drifted across her floor, leaves caught in the current of clouds flowing over the moon. Mipha took a moment to watch them before closing the door behind herself. The water in her sleeping pool murmured a melody of rest and relaxation after a long day, calling her to it, but she ignored it for now. She’d done all her preparations for tomorrow, downed a warm elixir crafted from a few hearty lizards, and now only one thing remained to do before going to bed. It wasn’t a need, as the other tasks had been, but a want. Nothing wrong with that. She crossed the room to the old chest that lay tucked beneath her window, opening the lid with a whining creak from the aged hinges. A folded length of fabric the color of spilt starlight lay atop the item she sought; Mipha moved it aside. Her breath catching, she withdrew the armor beneath and held it up to the softly swaying illumination of the moon outside and the luminous stone lamps within.

All in all, I think this fic is some of my best work, and shouldn't be missed if you're a Mipha fan like I am (she is my favorite Zora, so if it's okay I'd like to use this as a belated submission for that Zora May prompt). She truly is the star of the show, with so much to offer as a lead character, moving through a world treated with depth and care. If you're in the market for a BOTW retelling that does something different, something no other retelling has done, and does it really well, then give it a chance! You can read it here on AO3. :3

[larasraj]

It's kinda messed up to see the SVT change in real-time. Imagine trying to tell your younger self that Woozi of all people would be sharing AI memes. Or that SVT in general would be using AI for song promo (see Maestro. Yeah I know the argument is ''but they're saying it's bad'' but in that case, just don't use it! Get a person who can mimic that AI uncanniness). And that's not even getting into all the anti-palestine stuff! That's a whole other can of worms (multiple cans now, between the specific type of AI meme involved, and that DJ guy).

It leads to various questions. Is this a consequence of new management (now being under hybe)? Or overwork making them make bad choices? Or other stuff? And do they ever get into discussions or arguments about it behind the scenes? Is there ever a moment where one or a couple of the guys is like ''hey, that's kind of a bad idea'' ?

But in the end, regardless of all those questions, it's just. Disappointing.

it’s pretty heartbreaking. i would’ve laughed in your face id you told me woozi was kekeing over gen ai a few years ago. hell he just took a whole stand against it months ago when he was accused of using it for his music so consider my flabbers gasted

as for hypothesizing if they disagree on these things in their personal lives, i would expect some of the members (particularly vernon or joshua) to talk some sense into the offending member on some of these situations honestly but idk. i think they respect one another enough that if someone encouraged them to apologize, they would, so who knows if those conversations are happening bc there hasn’t been an apology for a single incident. i’ve heard the ‘they’re not allowed’ argument but idk if i made fun of little kids in gaza dying even inadvertently nothing would stop me from apologizing lmfao. and it doesn’t help their case that a lot of time they do the opposite of apologize and double down so 😵‍💫

i think being under hybe plays a part. a lot of hybe groups seem to view themselves as almost invincible. they hide behind their big powerful company and their smothering fandom when they make mistakes. i do believe some of that has gotten to seventeen, as much as i would like to believe it wouldn’t. i just don’t think they care unfortunately. we do know they’re chronically online and we know they’re seeing this stuff… and im unconvinced that they’re ’not allowed’ to apologize or publicize certain things so. between that + them never making any effort to better themselves or educate themselves to avoid making these mistakes…… i don’t see how there’s any other reason for them to behave this way outside of a downright lack of care

[thatthingilovewith]

i’m begging u to tell me about the facet mizzen beef

Ok so the Facet Mizzen beef is actually starts the Facet Hilarius beef. Ok so the tributes are planning on escaping from the zoo and we know from a promo that people from district one are almost mistakable for members of the capitol. Mizzen sees Hilarius and thinks “wow him and facet look sorta similar” (this is based on my sister thinking they look similar) they do not, so Mizzen idea is kidnap Hilarius and have Facet take his place so they can escape, “hopefully these people are so self centered they won’t notice”. Facet obviously does not like being mistake for a member of the capitol and it only gets worse when Wovey tells Hilarius they look similar and Livia over hears and starts telling everyone about how “Hilarius could be mistaken for her tribute” in an attempt to get him sponsors cause obviously that a,es him better than the other. After that him and Hilarius hate each other, and he hates Mizzen for starting the whole thing. I just want to make clear both of these beefs are extremely stupid and childish, but none of them will just let it go. Also Mizzen stole part of facets sandwich while they were at the zoo and never apologized.

In a modern au both Facet and Hilarius develop a crush on Reaper and start competing for his attention. Unfortunately, Reaper only becomes aware of their affections when Ma Ash asks him if he has any idea why “two skinny white boys are fist fighting on the front lawn”.

Sorry @ylvisruinedmylife and Lily for taking so long to respond to your original asks