#also the people who respond do not seem trained half of the time

[quicksilversquared]

Since my health insurance is through the state (because being a grad student doesn't get me health insurance and also doesn't pay enough), I have to report any change in income when it happens, which as of the last time (at the start of the summer contract), has become even more stupidly difficult, because I have to call it in instead of them having a functional website that can do things like that (which is how it has been), but they've gone from hours of (I think?) 8-5 to instead 9-3, and every. single. fucking. time. I call in, I get a message of "I'm sorry, we're experiencing an unusually high call volume right now" followed by automatic hang-up.

YEAH NO SHIT YOU'RE EXPERIENCING UNUSUALLY HIGH CALL VOLUME DESPITE IT BEING NOT RENEWAL SEASON, YOU'VE CHOPPED YOUR FUCKING HOURS AND I WOULDN'T BE SURPRISED IF YOU CUT YOUR STAFF, TOO.

anyway, got through that, figured that I was done with that until late August, when the school-year contract kicks in, and then they sent me a letter wanting me to submit proof of income. Submitted copies of my previous school year's contract along with the summer contract. Got another letter, dated after I already submitted my fucking documents. They still want documents. Now I'm trying to call again to force them to admit that my contracts are perfectly fucking valid forms of proofs, and I am once again getting the "unusually high call volume" message.

IT'S NOT UNUSUALLY HIGH CALL VOLUME IF THE CALL VOLUME IS ALWAYS THIS FUCKING HIGH-

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Anger - A Joel Miller Drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E (is there anything else with him?????) Truly this is the least crazy thing I've written in days. Unprotected p in v. Word Count: 1155 a/n: Sometimes I spend all afternoon trying to write Joel and get nothing and other times I write 1000 words in less than 30 minutes. There is no in-between. Written for TLOU Sundays!

"You've really gotta do something about him," Ellie tells you from where she's sitting at the kitchen table.

You're barely through the door, coat still covered in a layer of snow from outside. "Well hello to you, too, Ellie," you respond, pulling off your boots before you track any more water into the house. It's strange, how something like keeping the floors dry didn't matter for twenty years and now suddenly again it does. "You're the fourth person to say that to me today though, so I assume you also are talking about Joel?"

She's flipping through the pages of a comic, barely paying you any attention. "Yes, Joel," she emphasizes, not that you need any further confirmation. Maria had cornered you at the saloon, the other half of your patrol had been on your case, and you had a run-in with Jackson's resident grandma first thing in the morning, who gave you an earful about how you needed to learn how to satisfy your man so he would stop torturing the entire town with his bad mood.

You sigh, shucking your coat and flexing your toes in your thick socks as you make your way into the kitchen. "Any idea what's wrong with him? He seemed fine this morning."

Ellie shrugs, still engrossed in the pages in front of her. "I don't know, Dina just told me he was being a real fucking asshole. You know how he gets."

That you do. You're well aware of the way Joel Miller can make or break an entire day based on his mood, especially since you've been at his side to witness it longer than anyone else.

Before you can contemplate further, the man in question storms through the door, a grumble on his lips before it's even closed behind him. Ellie meets your gaze, glancing over at him before turning back to you and then quickly rising. "I've gotta get going," she says quickly, sneaking past Joel to grab her jacket.

She's out the door before he can even say a word.

"Where the fuck is she going?" he questions, ignoring the way his boots squeak on the floorboards as he makes his way to the couch, collapsing into it. A part of you wants to scold him for the wet spots now littered all over the floor, but based on the furrow in his brow, there's no use, and you simply follow him instead, swinging a leg over his thigh to climb into his lap and settle there.

Only he has the audacity to grumble. Again.

"Joel," you say sternly, "don't do that."

"Don't do what?" he fires back, and now you know exactly what everyone had been warning you about. "I didn't do anything."

"What's up with you today?" It's a simple question, an inquiry that he should have no problem answering, but he doesn't, so you continue with a follow-up request, "Just tell me why I had four separate people tell me that I needed to figure out who you're so angry today."

"I'm not angry."

You frown. "Bullshit, Miller. Tell me what the fuck is wrong."

His answer is to seal his lips to yours, his rough grip dragging your hips against his so you can feel the hard press of him between your thighs. This felt familiar, especially since he'd been in an equally shit mood the day you first met, something you'd promptly fucked out of him later that night. And usually, that did the trick, but there was always something else lingering beneath the surface.

Not that you have time to contemplate what it might be because he pushes any thought of his mental well-being from your head when he rips your shirt from your body and latches onto one of your breasts. Likewise, any train of thought is gone just as quickly as the remainder of your clothing.

It's a good thing Ellie left quickly, because within minutes he has you spread out on the couch beneath him, one of your legs hitched around his hip as he pounds into you. There's little space left between you, the moment feeling intimate even with the intensity of the way he's pressing you down, grunting with each thrust until he has you clenching around him.

His fingers are on your clit before you come down from your climax, already drawing you higher a second time. "Joel, fuck, I can't," you whine, gripping at his hand.

"You can," he emphasizes, "you're gonna take every fucking inch of me."

And then you can see it. The rage behind his gaze, the emotion that has his eyes glassed over. The anger he has to unleash somehow. It scared you when you first met him, the first time he had you like this back in Boston, pressed up against the door, the first time you watched his fist collide with a FEDRA officer who tried to touch you, and the first time you saw him have to kill someone who definitely wasn't infected.

But now, you know better. You know that he won't hurt you, but he still needs a way to release the pent-up emotion that boils beneath the surface. You don't know what happened to get him here today, but you do know how to fix it.

Joel groans when you shift to wrap your legs fully around his waist, pulling him down so the soft expanse of his stomach presses against your own, increasing the pressure of your walls wrapped around him. It's all he can do to rut into you, your back slowly snaking up the arm of the couch as he fucks you. The angle changes the higher you move, guiding his lips to yours so he can catch the scream that rips from your throat when you clench around him a second time.

He follows you into the abyss, pulling out seconds before he spills against your center, jerking himself off until the last drops drip down onto the fabric.

When he regains his breath he stands, cock softening as he moves to grab a cloth to wipe his spend from your core. And then he's pressing you into the couch again, settled in the safety of your thighs as his head rests on your chest.

"Do you wanna know what Mrs. Davis told me today?" you ask softly, fingers curling through his hair.

Joel rests his chin on your breast as he looks at you, eyes softer now, more playful. "Fuck, what did she say?"

You smile. "She saw me at the store and pulled me into the corner to tell me that I needed to get you home and ride your cock because she was sick of your shit."

His laugh is rough, but he says nothing else as he settles back against you.

"Was she right?" you ask, your own laughter threatening to bubble up.

He doesn't answer, but he doesn't deny it either.

[heliosunny]

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Dan Feng x Reader

You stood before the Lucky Egg Dispenser. One pull. One egg. People swore by it, miraculous companions, rare creatures with mystical abilities. Some even whispered about something more. You hadn’t believed it. Not until you got one.

At first, it was just an egg, smooth, cool to the touch, its deep azure surface streaked with faint golden veins. For three days, it sat in your apartment, resting on a pillow beneath the soft glow of a bedside lamp.

Then, it hatched.

And the first thing you saw were cyan eyes, glowing like captured starlight. Most people received small, harmless creatures: foxlike beings, glowing fish, even tiny floating wisps of light. Instead, curled amidst the shattered remnants of the shell, was a man.

His long, dark hair cascaded down his back in flowing silken strands. His pale jade antler-like horns gleamed under the soft light, an ethereal contrast to his sharp, almost inhuman pointed ears. His robes, a pristine blend of white, silver, and intricate teal embroidery, draped over his lean yet powerful frame, giving him an air of royalty, as if he had stepped out of some long-forgotten legend. A single red earring dangled from his right ear, swaying gently.

But what held you frozen were his cyan eyes, sharp and penetrating, gleaming with something unreadable. Something ancient. Something dangerous.

He moved towards you. His grip was gentle yet unyielding as his hand cupped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze fully.

"You are the first thing I have seen." he murmured.

His thumb brushed over your lips. "That means you are mine."

Finally, you got him to sit. You sat opposite him, keeping a cautious distance. The man studied his surroundings with the quiet grace of someone who had seen worlds beyond this one.

"You may call me Dan Feng" he said smoothly, his voice carrying an old-world elegance.

You hesitated before responding with your own name, unsure of what to make of him.

"Do you... have hobbies? Things you enjoy?" you asked, attempting to keep the conversation light.

Dan Feng tilted his head slightly, contemplating the question. "Reading ancient texts. Chess. Refining my abilities. Battle."

That last word made you tense slightly.

Before you could respond, you got up to fetch him a drink, only to trip over your own feet.

Time seemed to slow. A surge of energy crackled through the air, and before you could hit the ground, you found yourself suspended midair, a soft glowing force wrapped around you.

Dan Feng hadn’t moved an inch. Yet, his magic had caught you effortlessly.

"You have magic?" you asked in awe, as he gently set you upright.

His lips curled into an amused smile. "Of course. Did you expect otherwise?"

The moment left you shaken but also intrigued. You had to know the extent of his abilities. So you took him to a weapon shop.

In this world, people trained to farm levels and increase their stats through dungeons. Power meant survival, and you needed to understand exactly what he was capable of. Dan Feng examined the weapons with idle curiosity before selecting a blade—a long, ornate spear. The moment he lifted it, the air around you shifted. With a single, precise swing, the spear cleaved the reinforced training dummy clean in half.

The shopkeeper gaped. You swallowed hard.

Dan Feng lowered the weapon, looking wholly unimpressed by his own strength. As if it was trivial.

He turned to you, eyes glowing softly. "Satisfied? I can use pretty much any weapon in this place."

You weren’t sure whether to be impressed or terrified.

From the moment he hatched, he never left your side. At first, you assumed it was natural. A newly born creature clinging to its first bond. But this was no ordinary attachment. He was always there.

A silent, watchful presence in your home. In your dreams. When you awoke, he was there, seated gracefully by your bedside, watching with an unreadable gaze. When you left for work, his figure lingered just outside, eyes never straying from you.

Your phone? Constantly buzzing. Unread messages. Missed calls.

Dan Feng. Dan Feng. Dan Feng.

You started locking your doors.

They always unlocked themselves.

One night, you tried sneaking out, he found you before you reached the next street.

"Why do you run?"

His voice was calm, almost amused. Yet the air around him grew heavy, pressing against your lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his robes barely stirring.

"You called me into existence" he murmured, lifting your chin once more. "You do not abandon what you have created."

The next day, you searched for someone skilled enough to play chess with him. A strategic game like that might hold his attention. As he sat, moving his pieces with unnerving precision, you stood behind him, studying his every move, intrigued by his intelligence. His plays were ruthless, methodical. He was brilliant.

When you turned to leave after his next match, you felt his fingers encircle your wrist again. You swore he had been fully focused on the board.

“Where are you going?” he asked smoothly.

You forced a smile. “Just getting you something to drink.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before releasing you.

You returned not just with food and drink, but with a friend you had met at the dungeon.

Dan Feng finished his match earlier than expected.

Before you could react, he was by your side, his hand resting lightly on your back as he steered you away from the others. “It’s late” he murmured. “I will lead you home.”

The next morning, you noticed something was off. Dan Feng's usual poised demeanor was replaced with a subtle lethargy, his forehead warm to the touch. A fever?

You immediately took it upon yourself to care for him, dampening a cloth to press against his forehead and making him herbal tea. Though he allowed your ministrations, there was an unreadable expression in his eyes, as if he were watching you, studying you, but unwilling to say something. His breathing grew steadier under your care, but exhaustion eventually took its toll on you. As night fell, you drifted into sleep beside him.

By the time you awoke, he was gone.

Panic surged through you. The idea of someone taking advantage of him or worse, attempting to capture and sell him due to his rare nature propelled you into action. You traced his presence back to a nearby dungeon, where an eerie sight awaited you.

The creatures inside weren’t attacking him. They were bowing. Dan Feng stood among them, his form partially transformed. His antlers glowed brightly, his once-hidden dragon-like tail illuminated by an ethereal light. Power radiated from him in waves, his presence commanding absolute authority. Whatever he was doing, it was deliberate—perhaps an attempt to regulate his strength, to return to his usual form without alarming you.

You confronted him, your voice sharp with concern. “What are you doing?”

He turned to you, unbothered by your presence. “Releasing excess energy. I did not wish to frighten you.”

His nonchalance infuriated you. “You disappeared without a word. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

Something flickered in his gaze, amusement, perhaps. Then, to your utter disbelief, he chuckled.

“You followed me,” he mused, stepping closer. “Because you were worried.”

You clenched your fists. “Of course, I was! You were feverish, and then you vanished!”

Instead of acknowledging your frustration, he merely brushed his fingers against your cheek, the heat of his touch lingering. “How endearing,” he murmured. “But unnecessary.”

You glared at him, unamused. “You don’t get to decide that.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you, then let out a low, indulgent sigh. “Very well” he said, as if entertaining a fleeting whim. “Next time, I shall wake you.”

You were relieved when Dan Feng eventually returned to his normal form, but curiosity still lingered in your mind. While he was cooking, or at least attempting to, since you had been teaching him—you found yourself watching him closely. His movements were precise, yet slightly hesitant, as if he were still adjusting to the task. The soft glow of the kitchen lanterns reflected in his eyes, making him appear even more ethereal than usual.

Acting on impulse, you suddenly reached out and touched his antler-like horns. The texture was smoother than you expected, but before you could fully process the sensation, his entire body jolted as if struck by lightning. His hands fumbled with the kitchen knife, and a sharp inhale escaped his lips.

“Ah—!” His voice was higher than usual, laced with genuine surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. His ears twitched violently, and his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. He turned sharply, swatting your hand away as his tail flicked behind him with a barely contained shudder.

You blinked, taken aback by the uncharacteristic reaction. "I—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you," you quickly stammered, raising both hands in surrender. "I won’t do that again."

Danfeng cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. His eyes remained averted, but the pink dusting his face lingered stubbornly. "Good." His tone was firm, but the way he slightly shifted away from you spoke volumes.

Deciding not to push further, you allowed the moment to pass, though the curiosity still gnawed at you. On a more positive note, Dan Feng had started gaining friends through chess matches, and you were relieved to see him socializing beyond just clinging to you. Still, something about his past lingered in your thoughts, the way he had spoken about ‘battles’ when you first met.

Your suspicions solidified when you both realized you were running low on points for trading. A dungeon run was the most efficient way to replenish them, so you ventured inside together. That was when you finally understood the depth of his strength. The dungeon was teeming with creatures—some of them towering behemoths with godlike power, but none of them stood a chance.

Dan Feng didn’t just defeat them—he annihilated them with terrifying precision. His water magic twisted into elegant but deadly formations, cutting through enemies with almost artistic grace. Massive hydra-like beings fell within seconds, their roars of defiance silenced as waves crushed them into the ground. The air became thick with mist, swirling around him like a deity descending upon a battlefield.

Watching him fight was both mesmerizing and unsettling. His expression never wavered, calm, composed, and yet, there was something disturbingly natural about the way he wielded destruction. It was then you realized Dan Feng wasn't just powerful. He was something beyond that.

As the dungeon’s final enemy fell, the air shimmered, and a chest materialized before you. It was rare to see such a reward, so both you and Dan Feng approached with caution. You hesitated for a moment before lifting the lid together. Inside, nestled within the chest’s velvet-lined interior, were two items: a gleaming sword and an ornate ring.

You both examined the sword first. It was well-crafted, its blade humming faintly with residual energy, but neither of you used swords. After a brief discussion, you decided to sell it to the weapon merchant upon returning to town. However, when you reached for the ring, Danfeng’s hand moved faster, snatching it up before you could inspect it properly.

“I’ll keep this” he stated firmly, slipping it into his sleeve before you could protest.

You let it go for the moment, though curiosity gnawed at you. Dan Feng was not one to act so possessively over mere trinkets, and yet there was a glint in his eyes that you had never seen before.

Later that evening, while he busied himself with something in the kitchen, you caught sight of him turning the ring over in his hands, his thumb brushing over the intricate engravings with something close to reverence. When he noticed your gaze, he merely smirked and pocketed it once more, offering no explanation.

It wasn’t until much later, when the ring’s magic revealed itself—that you understood exactly why he had insisted on keeping it. When you woke up one morning, your wrist felt oddly warm, a faint golden glow emanating from it. You gasped as you realized a faint, ethereal chain connected you to Danfeng, who stood at the doorway watching you with an unreadable expression.

“You belong to me now” he murmured, his voice calm but firm. “This ring binds us together. No more sneaking away, no more hiding.”

The weight of his words settled in your chest as you stared at him, realization dawning. The ring wasn’t just a trinket, it was a claim. And you had unknowingly let him seal your fate.

[starcurtain]

A Closer Look at the Phaidei Memory

I've seen so many people talking about this scene with Phainon and Mydei and making fun of how blatantly obvious Phainon is about his... respect for Mydei's... conspicuous body, but one thing I feel like a lot of people missed (or at least I haven't seen anyone discussing) is that this memory seems to come from very early on in their acquaintance.

Looking at it closely, it's clear that the two aren't particularly familiar with each other yet in this memory sequence. For one, Phainon questions things that he should easily know if he was well-acquainted with Mydei already.

First, very comically: "Do you even bathe, bro?"

And second, Phainon questions why Mydei isn't immune to the black tide:

This suggests that, up to the point of this memory, Phainon had not been in enough battles with Mydei (or at least close enough to Mydei) to see him be affected by the black tide. Apparently, this memory-Phainon-and-Mydei don't have years of rushing into battle side-by-side to defend Okhema yet.

It's also hilariously clear that the Phainon in this memory has absolutely no idea how to talk to Mydei.

Breaking this scene down, it's literally Phainon just trying really hard to strike up conversation, doing his best to try to crack the tough exterior and get Mydei to actually interact with him. He jumps around through topics rapidly--the baths, the black tide, their personal sparring--looking for anything that will catch Mydei's attention.

Meanwhile, we can tell that Mydei is not particularly familiar or comfortable with Phainon yet because his dialogue is so different from any of his other scenes in the game. Although Mydei is obviously not the game's biggest yapper, he does always have full sentences to contribute to other conversations and banters readily with Phainon whenever he's baited into it.

In this memory, he instead starts off polite but also completely aloof:

This is the exact sort of response you'd have to a vague acquaintance coming up and trying to talk to you like you're best friends. Phainon skipped at least four steps of familiarity here, and Mydei is obviously at a loss for why the conversation is even happening.

He responds by blatantly stonewalling, answering Phainon's (slightly pathetic) attempts to start an actual conversation in nothing but single word answers:

You can even see Phainon recognize how bad he's failing half way through the conversation, which prompts him to vocally declare that he's going to make a complete topic switch:

And this time, it works!

When Phainon brings up their personal duel or spar, whichever it was, finally, finally Mydei caves and engages in the conversation with him:

Which prompts Phainon to laugh (in relief? lol) and flat out crow about how he's finally cracked the code and figured out how to get Mydei to notice him:

Poor Mydei, however, did not seem to realize his slight display of interest was going to lead him into a full conversation, and he responds to Phainon's blatant invitation to keep talking with a confused:

Witness Mydei accidentally turning down Phainon's request for a date in real time.

The only thing that complicates the situation is what Phainon says late in the memory: that they've battled "all this time." However, looking at his earlier comments, this last statement may just be in a general sense, as in "two Chrysos Heirs who have been fighting the titans for years," especially as the rest of the line "How do you train? Would you consider teaching me?" once again indicates a lack of close familiarity.

(It's also possible this line is just poorly translated in English, and was actually meant to refer to their legendary ten-day-long duel: "We battled all that time, yet I never saw you fatigued." Given the rest of the lines in the memory, I think "dodgy translation" honestly makes the most sense here, and would also just have really funny implications: Phainon and Mydei didn't fall in love at first sight; they fell in comically-long-duel at first sight. Okay, maybe for Phainon it was both.)

Phainon's earlier statements in the memory make it clear that he isn't very experienced with fighting Mydei specifically, with the overall implication of the dialogue being that they've just had their first duel against each other recently:

So anyway, where I am going with all this?

I know a lot of people got distracted by Phainon's (accidental?) pass at Mydei in the first line, but I think taking a step back and looking at the scene as a whole, in context, makes it even more hilarious and off-the-cuff:

Phainon and Mydei aren't well-acquainted in this scene.

Phainon literally walked up on a guy he barely knows and the first words that fell out of his mouth were "Dan Nicky your bobbies." "I would know that body anywhere."

Even Mydei was weirded out at first!

Like, Phainon has absolute foot-in-mouth syndrome around his new "friend." He spends the whole conversation narrating his own attempts to communicate ("Ah, I see I am unwanted. Instead of leaving, I shall try another tactic. Is it working yet?" and "Yes, yes, yes, it worked!") like this is a remotely normal thing to do around a person you're not even close with yet.

You can see his puppy tail wagging. He wants to be friends with Mydei so bad.

He is actively making up excuses to try to get Mydei to spend time with him here--first the comment about "Yay, you're here!" at the baths like he expects them to bathe together, then the whole "Why don't we go somewhere and have a long conversation about the insights we gained from rolling around in the dirt together?" to finally just flat out asking Mydei to train with him.

It's so charmingly earnest, straightforward, and even a bit awkward that I think this scene is really under-rated by the fans. It's not just another example of Phainon commenting on Mydei's muscles--it's a glimpse into what they were like before they were close and just how much Phainon wanted to connect to Mydei, how willing he was to explore to discover exactly what Mydei would be interested in so that he could seize that common ground between them.

Really a masterclass in showing us fans characterization right on the cusp of changing, and for showcasing both Phainon's charming audacity and Mydei's surprisingly-reserved-around-strangers behavior.

And, since we know the future that memory-Phainon-and-Mydei are headed toward... we also know it worked! Mydei is smiling by the end of the conversation! He and Phainon are going to become vitriolic best buds--er, rivals--and Phainon is going to get all the spars he wants.

Persistence pays off!

[theroundbartable]

Arthur is stuck in a time loop.

At first, he doesn't really notice it, since every day feels the same anyway. It's Merlin's good morning that irks him, however, because Merlin tends to switch up the routine a lot. When then the topic of the court meeting is the same, Arthur knows what's up.

In loop three, he asks Gaius for help and the man explains that only a powerful sorcerer could do such a thing and that he'd need strong magic to break it.

The next morning, everything is forgotten. And Arthur researches on his own what's happening. He spends days at the library until one day, he's just really tired.

And so, he stays in bed for a couple days, and lets Merlin complain for hours. It's soozing in an odd way. As days go by, Arthur gets bolder. He approaches Merlin in broad sunlight, hands him food or flowers in front of people and receiving odd stares.

Arthur waits for Merlin's reactions and they seem rather hesitant if also positive. Yet, when Arthur finally gathers up the courage to confess, Merlin rejects him.

Arthur spends another few loops in bed, while Merlin no longer carries any memories of the incident. Arthur then asks Gaius dejectedly who the most powerful sorcerer is he knows.

And Gaius says Emrys and tells him the man lives in the woods, a two day march from Camelot. Arthur loses hope. One loop equals a day. He'd never make it. That is IF the man is even there.

On loop xy, Arthur asks Gaius again, during a different time of day, where Emrys lives. And Gaius answers: about half a day ride north, Sire.

Arthur is confused. That doesn't make sense. Why would Gaius say something different than last time? Gaius was clearly part of the loop! Unless he's lying. And each time he lied he just said the first thing that came to mind.

Arthur stops avoiding Merlin at one point and accepts that Merlin won't respond to his feelings. So, he approaches him and tries to discuss magic issues with him. While Merlin warns him of magic like read from a script, Arthur argues positive aspects. Because he's trying to talk himself into turning to magic to maybe manage to save himself if he trained himself in the arts. Even if it takes years of the timeloop.

Unprompted, Merlin hugs him tight and looks at him with so much affection that Arthur is sure Merlin likes him.

Needless to day, Arthur is more than confused. And Arthur notices another thing. Both Merlin and Gaius react differently to him, depending on how he talks. If he's positive about magic, they are eager to help. Merlin looks most carefree then. And almost like he wants to ... Well, what exactly?

One loop, Arthur tests the theorie: Merlin, I'm going to lift the magic ban.

Merlin stops in his tracks and stares at Arthur. Arthur repeats himself, nervous of the response. Almost more nervous than he was when he got rejected.

Arthur: merlin?

Merlin: why

Arthur: because magic isn't as evil as my father had me believe.

Merlin: is this a trick?

Arthur: a trick? No. I just understand now that sometimes magic is needed. And I need magic right now. *Explains situation*

Merlin: ... arthur, i don't know how many timeloops you've been through

Arthur: you believe me? Uhhhh... 200, probably

Merlin: ... I can help you

Arthur: how?

Merlin: because I'm emrys

[heartzfromel]

undercover

detective!agnes x fem!model reader

summary; the nypd has been tasked with protecting a murder target in a high profile case. with detective o’connor being the most attractive in the department, she must ditch her rough around the edges look for girly glamour as she goes undercover. but what happens when agnes falls for the young model? will she love her for who she truly is under all that makeup?

tags; suggestive, depiction/mentions of murder and injury, violence, age gap, touchy agnes, sexist jokes, rio as a meddling side character as always

a/n; i love writing this!! also fyp i imagine tony to look like howard stark

chapter 1 | chapter 2

agnes was late for work this morning. she’d had what was most likely her worst experience yet on the metro, with some couple arguing loudly next to her at half past six, left her keys on said train and wasted twenty minutes trying to find them, and then missed her second train. safe to say that she wasn’t in the best mood.

her mood was made worse by the teasing from her co-workers as soon as she got in, but they shut up quick after she gave them a warning look. she might’ve got on well with them all, but that didn’t stop then from being scared of her. by the time agnes got into her office, it was near enough nine o’clock. she pulled her chair out to sit, and what couldn’t have been ten seconds later, her office door burst open.

“o’connor!”

oh great. agnes thought to herself, as the chief barged in.

“chief vidal.” she nodded, trying to sound somewhat happy to see her. the look on vidal’s face told her it didn’t work very well.

“what time do you call this?” she snapped, pacing around agnes’ office, “i have been calling you for an hour!”

“listen, chief, i had a rough morning, okay? won’t happen again.” agnes replied. she realised she didn’t sound very professional.

“oh it better not, or else theres a job back on ticket duty with your name on it. now come on, i’ve got a case for you.”

agnes wanted to respond, to snap back in some quick witted way, but she knew vidal wasn’t joking about those parking tickets, so she kept her mouth shut.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

“so,” vidal began, pacing around the room once again, showing off a case file, “three murders so far, all highly paid models, all y/h/c, all around the same age, all with the same associates. all the victims were killed by a single shot to the head, and each victim had the next ones initials carved into their wrists. they were all also killed during big fashion and beauty events, and obviously the miss u.s.a. pageant is coming up this week. we believe that our killer is going to strike again at some point in the week of the pageant, so we crosschecked the initials carved on the wrist of our third victim with the names of the girls competing in the pageant. three names were flagged, but we took a look at their photos, and only one of the girls matches the description pf our previous victims. her name is y/n y/l/n, she is 27 years old, and is currently miss texas. our unit have been tasked with keeping an eye on miss y/l/n, and ensuring that she is safe until our killer is caught. any questions about that?”

“yeah, uh, cheif vidal?” agnes’ partner, tony, asked, “how exactly are we gonna keep an eye on her?”

“ah, yes, thank you accardi, i was just getting to that.” vidal replied, “someone’s going undercover. we need someone who could win miss new york. she’s gotta be pretty, but also strong and can keep her cool. so who’s up for it?”

the room seemed to have gone silent. it was painfully obvious that none of the people in the room were overly keen on going undercover, and it was made worse by the fact that there were only three women, excluding vidal, in the whole unit.

“well i vote o’connor,” one of the men said, “i mean, if she wasn’t for the ladies i’d totally hit that.”

agnes shifted uncomfortably in her seat, eyes confused, wondering whether or not to take that as a compliment.

“jones.” vidal warned, before turning back to the group.

“i’m with jones on this one, chief. she could win miss new york, easy.” another officer agreed.

“i could see that.” another agreed.

“you are really pretty, agnes.” one of the female officers added.

agnes was stunned to say the least. she had never ever thought of herself as pretty, though it had never seemed to bother her.

“right then, it’s settled,” vidal confirmed, looking agnes up and down quickly, “you’re going to need a bit of a makeover.”

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

“you know, hon, you really should consider going blonde.” your agent remarked, grimacing at your current hair colour.

“thanks marv, but my current hair colour seems to be making me enough money right now.” you replied, rolling your eyes.

you were currently sat in your hotel room, your agent, marvin, sat on the bed, whilst you were at the vanity, hair in rollers as your nail tech finished up your manicure.

“just a suggestion.” he replied. the sound of emails on his computer was irritating you.

“do you have to type so loudly?” you snapped, frustration painting your features.

“well excuse me for trying to book you another vogue cover for next month!” he replied, slamming the laptop closed.

“you know, marv, it’s getting late maybe you should go.” you sighed, feigning tiredness.

“alright. fine.” he mumbled, the nail tech leaving behind him.

you leapt onto your bed and sighed peacefully. you wanted nothing more than a morning to yourself, with a lie in and no marvin yelling in your ear about what to wear and what not to wear. it’s not that you didn’t like your job, you did. it was everything that came with it. the agent, the fame, the scandals, the staged relationships with men you despised, doing anything just to make the front page.

you wondered if you’d ever be in a relationship and fall in love. out of all the relationships you’ve been in, albeit they were all fake, the men always seemed to fall for you. what you couldn’t fathom is that you couldn’t find it within yourself to love them back. all you wanted in life was love, yet you seemed to have everything but it.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

agnes didn’t recognise herself when she looked in that mirror. tony’s jaw had dropped, and vidal smirked, knowing now that agnes was the perfect choice. she looked like a supermodel. tony let out a wolf whistle and agnes rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head.

“who even is that?” she asked, eyes finding her reflection once again. her hair was down and curled for the first time in what must have been 15 years, and contained so many extensions that she thought there must be more of them than her own hair. her lips were painted a deep shade of red, complimenting her pale skin perfectly. her eyes now sported a flirty set of falsies and a shimmery dark shadow, and she was currently showing more skin than she had ever shown before, the deep purple dress showing off her collarbones and cleavage, but stopping just above her ankle. she looked beautiful, but she wasn’t agnes.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

the flight felt longer than it was, and agnes was increasingly uncomfortable in the dress. she wondered how people wore things like this on a daily basis, it was so itchy. the flight seemed to last longer for tony and vidal, who had to come along, vidal because she’s nosy, and tony to be agnes’ fabulous assistant. they were quite the trio, both tony and rio threatening to throw themselves out of the jet if agnes complained one more time.

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

the hotel was stunning, agnes had to agree. her bag was heavy, and she wondered what could possibly be in here. she had no idea. vidal had just sort of thrown it at her, and wished her luck, before disappearing to the bar. tony had walked her to the room.

“oh my god, what is im this bag?” he whined, throwing one onto agnes’ bed. agnes threw the other up.

“i don’t know, and i’m afraid to find out.” she replied, grimacing at the thought.

she flipped the bag over as she unzipped it, “oh my god!” she exclaimed as she saw the inside. there wasn’t a pair of pants in sight. the thing was full of short dresses and revealing shirts, bottles of perfume, makeup, and what looked like 8000 dollars worth of heels.

“welcome to washington, agatha harkness.”

•☽༻¨:·. ──── ₊☽◯☾₊ ──── .·:¨༺☾•

taglist; @hannah-0730 @m1vfs comment to be added !

[0-shutdown-0]

Hi! I wanted to create a collaboration of notes I had on Steb and his contribution to the plot of Arcane, also posted this on reddit, so here is everything from stuff I saw to things I hypothesized -

This is Steb:

You can look on his little fandom wiki tag for stuff that I don't touch BUT ESSENTIALLY

1 He appears in episode 1 as the silent officer who pokes Loris while Maddie talks to Vi. And from what I get from the conversation is that Steb had to have worked on the force long enough to be given Maddie as a junior officer that shadows him. An interesting combo considering he turned out to be reserved care and Maddie ended up being false cheer.

2 He's well trained in close combat and seems to prefer it on multiple occasions.

At the very beginning he holds a collapsible baton that seems to be geared more into disarming people or incapacitating them. During the attack on the memorial where he's not only the first to act but later when he reunites with Maddie and their surrounded by Shimmer mutants she seems to have given him a blade that Steb wasted no time in stabbing into the closest mutant. And it develops into him using dual single hand batons when he's enlisted on the strike team.

(We later see all mutants have spears in their head so I can't tell if he killed or not. But I do think he accidently killed the man that shot the flare because there was blood coming out, the mouth was parted open, and both Mel and Steb looked shocked.)

It isn't until episode 9 during the finale we see him shooting a gun that I think it resembles his decision that now he really doesn't have a choice other than to kill the enemy and save the platoon he was given to command (NOTE: I believe everyone he was given to command all ended up surviving) or die trying to knock people out and reduce casualties. I find it interesting especially since he's a medic in addition to being an enforcer.

3 HE IS SO AWARE OF EVERY LITTLE THING

Complete distrust to the Noxus when they arrive? Check. Wide eyed and stunned at Maddie and Caitlyn's decision to join the Noxus then literally checks out like Loris for a long while? Check. He's literally the person to see everything go down and just decides to assumably remove himself from the equation for the next few episodes before being called upon again AND I WISH I KNEW WHERE HE WENT (which has now led to me writing a fic but anyways)

4 Interesting things that I need to point out

-In the end of episode 1 where the strike team is introduced, Steb is the only one to not get a Hextech upgrade to his weaponry,

I assume this is from some type of moral code he continues to have where he refuses extreme force. Additionally, and its probably a stretch, the screen glitches over Maddie and Loris but focuses on him symbolizing he's the only one out of the three of them to live.

-His ears and his little cheek fin frills respond to EVERYTHING. Kind of reminding me of a fish's lateral line when it responds to vibrations in the water and stuff but anyways-

Considering he's some type of Vastya fishfolk, or half of cuz he has eyebrows and hair, it's interesting. I saw someone comment that the fishfolk had a connection to the Arcane and it's magic AND THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN SO COOL TO EXPAND ON BECAUSE IT MAKES SENSE. That could have been the reason why he averted to using Hextech advancements. And the more in tune senses helping him stay alive.

As well as explain why he was the first to act like in E1 and E3 when the strike team meets Heenox.

- Speaking of E3, you can literally see him not even look up at the murder dolls which includes everyone's death or injury but his coming true. And when he does treat Heenox not only does he see the effects of the Grey but when Caitlyn loads her gun to shoot the man Steb is turning to Vi like a "Get your woman???" 

He seemed to loose trust in Caitlyn there, as I noted he was the only one to look back when their group split as Vi and Caitlyn went off to face Jinx alone.

I can one hundred percent imagine Steb getting angry as a medic when he realizes he was kept in the dark about the use of the Grey as well, because he's not only the one who has to treat it but also has to live with the realization they did more harm to innocents and Jinx was in the right for rerouting all the vents they opened to release it.

- It appears that he is selectively mute, I assume that is has something to do with his biology since Jericho, the street vendor showed in S1 and later in S2, doesn't speak either but is seen being able to laugh and yell just like Steb. Personally think Steb doesn't speak much because its hard to do/hurts.

Which would have been so interesting to have been explored or at least acknowledged because it would have hit so much harder when in E9 we presumably hear him shout for his unit to get up and move when his leadership was needed most. 

-Maddie's betrayal had to have hurt so bad for him. She was his shadow, the one he was suppose to teach and in the end her ambition for power took hold of her and was the reason for her end. And for him to be someone so observant and careful and let that go right past him must have killed a part of him because he probably excused some of her behaviors. Like how Maddie had called Vi "one of the good ones" when referencing her origin from the Undercity. OR even when they were leaving and when Steb motioned for her to follow him Maddie only went when she heard another officer in the distance call for her.

It definitely could have been expanded on if the Arcane team was given a bigger budget for him to sign and Maddie to mistranslate or even ignore his authority because of his disability. Like, she cares for him but not enough to respect him.

I feel like when Caitlyn woke up to see Steb sitting there that pain was shown heavily but not enough. 

Anyways!

If you made it to the end of my rant, yay, this is all the deep diving I'm using for a fic and I hope it helps, if you have any thoughts to add please do!

[gemissleeping]

Sea Foam | Chapter Three

Theodore Nott x Siren!Reader

Read the other Chapters here.

Summary: It’s been three weeks since Theo found you by the Black Lake, and he’s tried his best to respect your wishes. But it hasn’t done anything to help either of you, and all of your efforts come crashing down in the bathroom at a Slytherin party.

Length: 2.1k

Notes: More of a Theo POV than the usual. Angry Theo. Teenage boys being teenage boys (foul and icky, nsfw language). Overbearing best friend Blaise. Smoking Theo. Slightly intoxicated reader. Soft Theo. Tears. I did not proofread this at all you have been warned, pls do tell me if there are any errors. Listen to Cinnamon Girl by Lana if you’d like to go through it. ily enjoy!

“You’re staring again,” Blaise grumbled under his breath from beside Theo in Divination. It had been three weeks since Theo had found you on the shoreline. Dressed only in your nightgown in the height of the winter frost. That crestfallen look on your face while the wind had bitten at you both. He’d tried his best to respect your wishes since then; making sure to steer clear of you whenever he could, to stop flitting through your mind like it was his favourite novel. He’d tried his best and still he’d failed, over and over.

He knew it was wrong, but he was beyond help. Slipping into your mind was unbearably easy. So much so, that he’d found himself doing it purely by accident on a few occasions, and he couldn’t quite figure out why. He knew you could practice occlumency, had even witnessed you obliterate Malfoy’s attempt at invading your mind in a Defence Against the Dark Arts class last year. Yet you barely even seemed to notice when he did it. Your apparent lack of awareness only made it harder for Theo to stop himself.

“Sorry,” Theo mumbled, blinking his trance away as he glanced over to Blaise with a dull apology. Blaise and Theo had become fast friends in First Year. After Cormack had made a comment about Theo’s Mother on the train, and Blaise had responded by hitting him right between the eyes. Blaise and Theo were close. Though not as close as you, Milli and Blaise were. Everyone knew that the three of you were utterly inseparable. Having met long before the rest of them at Hogwarts.

Unfortunately, it also meant that Blaise had adopted a tendency towards being irritatingly over-protective of you. Likely for good reason; Theo hadn’t made the best of impressions when it came to his relationships with women. They were often fleeting, borne of convenience and nothing more.

Which was exactly why Blaise was currently pissed with him. Blaise spent an awful lot of his time watching people. Regrettably, for Theo that included him, and these days he spent most of his time firmly stuck on you. To say Blaise wasn’t pleased would have been an understatement.

At this point, he may as well have been your damn guard dog, and Theo was tiring of the act quickly. He’d spent years wanting to know you, outside of the occasional class project. Years of pretending you didn’t exist for Blaise’s sake. When really, you were a large part of the reason that he had never settled on anyone to begin with.

Theo turned back to his parchment, huffing as he saw the ink stain leaking across the page. That, along with several half-finished notes, provided rather damning evidence of his distraction.

He stole a glance over at you again, keeping his head low in the hopes Blaise wouldn’t catch him. You were sitting beneath the window, stuck in a daydream of your own as Trelawney prattled on. Eyes misted over, one hand woven through your hair as you rested on it.

You were lovely.

Theo wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had resumed his staring. But as Trelawney brought the lesson to a close, the dull edge of a textbook collided with the side of his head in a singular, harsh thud. Breaking his focus on you as he looked up in bewilderment to Blaise, who stood with his edition of Astrology for the Ungifted raised.

“Git.” He hissed, lowering the book with scathing eyes.

Theo didn’t see you for the rest of the afternoon, not with Blaise practically escorting him to their dorm as soon as Divination concluded. Enzo was already there, lazily slung across his desk chair. Brow raised as Blaise entered in a huff, Theo trailing behind him in defeat. There was supposed to be a party in the Common Room tonight. But right now it wasn’t looking like Theo would be in for a particularly enjoyable evening.

“I know what you’re trying to do. You want to fuck her.”

“I don’t want to fuck her,” Theo winced at his friend’s choice of words.

“You don’t want to fuck her? You don’t want to fuck her?” Blaise rounded, textbook jabbing at Theo’s chest incredulously. Theo groaned, knowing Blaise wouldn’t rest until he knew Theo was being honest with him.

“No, I- fuck, fine. Yes, I want to. Of course I do, but that’s not-”

“Not what? Forgive me for my utter faith in your fucking abysmal track record. But she is my best fucking friend Theo.” Blaise snapped, turning from the boy’s dead-eyed stare and viciously tugging at his tie as he stalked towards his bed. Whipping it from his neck in a surge of anger.

Enzo rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. Watching the display unfold with anxious eyes as Matt cracked the bathroom door open, lighting up with sadistic intrigue. The pair exchanged a glance, the former silently begging the latter not to stick his foot in.

Theo felt his chest tighten at Blaise’s words. His hand running roughly along his jaw, trying to soothe his irritation. Gazing at the ornate wooden panels on the ceiling with a sigh before he attempted to break through to him again. It was out in the open now at least, it likely couldn’t get worse.

“You don’t understand, she-”

“Please, Nott. Tell me what I don’t understand about the girl I’ve known since she was three years old.” Blaise bellowed, reigniting as he swung back to the taller boy. The click of the door interrupted them.

“What’s with all the shouting? I can hear you fools from the hall,” Malfoy droned, bored as he kicked the door shut behind him. Flicking his wand to cast some sort of muffling charm across it.

“Fuck off, Malfoy.” Blaise sneered, not even glancing over to acknowledge his friend’s arrival. The words feeling far more aimed towards Theo than the blonde. Draco only sighed, moving past the both of them.

“None of you ever thank me for anything that I do for you,” He grumbled in response. Throwing a stack of books onto his bed before going to shove Matt out of the bathroom.

“If you even think about fucking touching her-” Blaise continued, steam practically rising from his skin as he narrowed in on Theo again.

“Oh, he has.” Matt interrupted, leaning back against Enzo’s desk with folded arms. Theo shooting him a heavy glare as Matt only smirked back knowingly. An expression Enzo swiftly answered by scolding him with a kick to the shin.

“Look at me, Nott,” Blaise demanded. His voice low, lip curling back in a sneer, “I’ll skin you, understand?”

“Listen, I-” Theo started, his own voice rising as his attention shifted back to Blaise, irritation swelling. But he was impossible to reason with when he was like this, everyone knew it.

“You don’t fuck with her,” Blaise cut in, his voice soaked with finality. Standing before Theo while his chest heaved with anger, book still clutched in his accusatory palm. Theo could feel his own restraint unwrapping. The other’s eyes on them only pushing him further into that corner of himself. He needed air, now. Or else he was going to do something he couldn’t undo. Then you were certain to never speak to him again.

Hands raised in silent surrender, he backed away from Blaise. Jaw set as he plucked his jacket from the end of his bed, turning for the door. Enzo’s tired sigh leaked through the dorm as he pulled it open harshly, likely readying himself to chastise Blaise. Something he’d also likely do to Theo when he caught him later. Though if he had any luck today, maybe Enzo and the others would already be drunk by the time he got back.

He made for the edge of the forest. Rolling a cigarette as he went, trying not to bite down on the filter between his teeth from residual disdain. The icy air was a small mercy, quenching the heat running through him almost immediately. For hours he stood out there, letting the smoke in to empty out all of the things he didn’t want to feel. Watching as the moon chased the sun down to the horizon.

The party would be well underway. God willing you hopefully had yourself tangled in someone else by now. At least then Theo might have been able to give himself a proper reason to stop, smooth things over with Blaise. Though he had begun to doubt if even that would work.

Theo made his way through the tangle of writhing bodies in the heat of the Common Room. No desire to taint himself further with the desperate need to forget that rolled off of the sweaty air. Matt was by the stairs, where the crowd thinned out at its edges. More enticed by the girl whose cigarette he was lighting than by any questions he might’ve had for Theo, as he continued his path to the dorms.

He had meant to go straight there. To take off his jacket, untie his shoelaces. Instead he found himself headed past his door, down to one of the communal bathrooms that lined the dormitory halls. He wasn’t sure why, until something tugged at him. Drawing him to push open the bathroom door; and there you were.

Gaze flitting to his hazily in the mirror. Eyeliner smudged, haloing your eyes. You stilled where you had been standing, as if he had walked straight out of your thoughts. Softening as you took in his wind kissed hair, and he the tremble of your fingers on the countertop. Theo pushed himself away, against the pull of his chest, away from what he wanted. He made for the door again, unsure of why he had allowed himself to be led to you to begin with.

“You weren’t at Dinner,” you called softly, not daring to turn and look at him without a reflection between you. He stilled, one hand on the door as his heart hammered at his ribs.

“You told me to stay away,” he answered simply. Afraid to turn around in case what he saw laying in your eyes only salted the wound some more.

“Not that far.”

You breathed, turning to face him. Eyes aching to touch his cheek, graze across his thoughts, his desires. Theo’s hand dropped from the door, chest swelling from your proclamation. He could feel his breathing falter, hear the force of it. He turned hesitantly, a rasp collecting in his throat.

“Well how far would you like me?”

He saw your breath hitch, didn’t even have to scratch at your mind. You seemed to be leaking into his on your own accord. He could hear just how far you wanted him, and it wasn’t far at all.

Your lips parted, so he made sure to be the first to speak. To save you both the trouble.

“You’re drunk.”

You shook your head, eyes growing glassy with the salt of tears as you moved towards where he leant against the door.

“I’ve been getting your little messages. The ones you keep leaving for me to find,” he murmured. Suddenly enraptured by his hands as his voice creased over his words.

“Theo-”

“It’s unbearable for me. Is it like that for you too?” He cracked, eyes flashing up to yours. Entirely afraid before you, before the possible weight of your answer. Because the truth was he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell which words were real and which you fed him to keep him at arm’s length. He searched you, begging for any kind of answer, but hoping only for one.

“Yes.”

Your tears spilled in an instant, and maybe you were a little drunk, but you were also sure that it didn’t change any of it. He knew as much, taking a tender step towards you to grasp your cheek. Running his thumb along the soft skin to collect your tears.

“This trance you seem to think I’m under,” Theo clarified, eyes lingering on yours as his thumb continued its path. Despite no longer having any need to do so. “It’s lasted five years already,” he breathed, “it’s not going to pass any time soon.”

You paused, smudged eyes widening as you gazed up at him. His confession sucking the air out of your lungs until you could no longer doubt that you needed him. You simply watched him for a moment, as though debating whether to say something you wouldn’t be able to swallow. The one thing that was still holding you back.

“I don’t know how to stop myself.”

“Then don’t,” he whispered, leaning closer to brush a strand of hair from your eyes. “You don’t need to be scared of wanting this.”

Theo drew back slightly, letting his fingertips linger. Brushing through the strands of your hair, behind your ear. His voice gentle, certain, “I’ll be here, whenever you’re ready.”

Keep an eye out for Chapter Four here, or comment to be added to the tag list for future updates <3

Taglist: @hemlockmuncher @hoeforvinniehackerrr @moonlightttfae @thecraziestcrayon @itssomeonereading @leona-hawthorne @liaaanie @not-so-bad-ass @wildestdreamslover @slytherinboysappreciation @nat1221 @melllinaa @aykxz98 @chgrch if i missed anyone please let me know!

[everythingacotarbxm1012]

They're Mates - w/ Y/N Pt 5

Notes - Pt. 4 from Feyre's POV; 1.9k words; as always, lines/plotpoints/characters/situations directly from the books

Series Masterlist

✨💫

Feyre stood behind Rhys in the threshold to the sitting room of the town house, her mind still reeling from the events of that morning. The amulet from Amren, Y/N and Azriel’s history, the Prison, the Bone Carver.The chill she still felt in her body was probably the only thing keeping Feyre awake at this point. She could see Azriel and Y/N lingering by the window where someone could watch the world being dusted with snow. The emissary’s eyes were trained on the shadowsinger, something like fondness mixed with desire in them. 

“Amren’s right,” Rhys drawled from where he stood. “You are like dogs, waiting for me to return home. I ought to buy treats for the lot of you.” 

Cassian flipped his high lord off with ease. Feyre noted a coiled up tension in his body, more in his jaw than anywhere else. He sat next to Mor who had decided for a practical outfit of black pants and a thick blue sweater. Just as Cassian’s hand was returning to his lap the emissary stepped forward and smacked the general in the shoulder. He gave Y/N a withering look.

Rhys gave the pair a look that said behave, before Y/N stepped back towards her mate who remained as unreadable as ever. Noticing the free armchair across the couch, Feyre strode over to it, dropping down and stifling a groan as she stretched. Gods that felt good, the heat of the fire warming her numb limbs. She contemplated for only a moment if Az chose the window to be further from the fire. What might have become of the shadowsinger without the emissary? What kind of messages did they— 

“How’d it go?” Mor said from beside Cassian.

Feyre looked over to Rhys who hadn’t moved from where he stood. “The Bone Carver,” Rhys started with a sigh, “has too much time on his hands considering how often he likes to pry into other people’s business.”

Feyre noticed Y/N reach for her mate’s hand as his shadows twisted up to encircle their wrists. 500 years and they never seemed to have an urge to be away from each other. Feyre realized the farthest she had found the pair from each other was moments ago when the emissary had smacked the Cassian upside the shoulder.

The Night Court’s general broke through the silence, his hands falling to his knees. “But?” The tension had reached his voice.

“But, the busybody can be useful, when he so chooses,” Rhys replied with another sigh. 

Feyre flexed her slowly warming fingers, happy to take a few moments while Rhys explained what the Bone Carver had shared. She preferred to try shutting out what she’d revealed to the Bone Carver. Rhys’s explanation didn’t go without the occasional swear, all the while Azriel’s shadows grew thicker around him.

“The mortal queens have one part of the Book, Tarquin the other,” Rhys finished.

The spymaster stepped forward, his mate remaining by the window. “I will contact my sources in the Summer Court about the other half of the Book of Breathings on where it is hidden. I can also fly to the human world. See if I can locate their half before we ask them for it.”

The High Lord of Night shook his head. “I don’t trust this information, even with your sources, Azriel. Not anyone outside this room, except for Amren.”

“They can be trusted, Rhysand,” Y/N said, quickly stepping forward.

The shadowsinger’s scarred hands clenched at his sides, eyes narrowing slightly in his high lord's direction.

“I, we, we are not taking risks where the Cauldron or the Book is concerned,” Rhys responded calmly. He returned the spymaster’s stare.

Feyre watched as the emissary gently reached for her mate’s hand, and his fingers slowly uncurled. His eyes drifted away from Rhysand and back to Y/N. Their fingers gently intertwined as most of the tension from Azriel’s body eased up. A single gesture from his mate and his body already loosened up. More proof for the power of their bond.

“So what do you have planned,” Mor asked.

“Well,” Rhys responded as he picked at an invisible piece of dirt on his fighting leathers. “The King of Hybern sacked one of our temples for a piece of the Cauldron, which, as far as I am concerned, is an act of war.”

“Of course he wants war,” The emissary interjected more strongly than she had anticipated. Feyre wondered what Y/N might look like in a meeting, negotiating for the Night Court. “For the Mother’s sake, we were an ally to the humans during the War. He would never dare sway you at risk of revealing his plans.”

Cassian nodded in agreement before adding, “Amarantha’s…cronies likely reported to him Under the Mountain.”

“Hybern and his forces successfully infiltrated our lands, without detection. I have every intention of returning the favor.” Rhys said as he straightened himself up slightly.

Mother above!

“How?” Mor asked. There was a delight, a feral delight in her eyes. The same look was painted on Cassian whose fingers had loosened slightly over his knees.

“We go to Hybern to bring the Cauldron back. Or to nullify it.” 

Y/N looked like she was biting back a comment and instead said, “Hybern would already have countless wards to protect it.” 

Feyre watched Azriel’s thumb gently rubbing over his mate’s hand. “She’s right. We would need to find a way to get through them, undetected,” the shadowsinger added. He glanced at Y/N with a look that said I literally cannot live without you.

“Then we start, now while we hunt down the Book. We do it swiftly, so by the time we have both halves we can get through without word spreading quickly,” Rhys said like it was the simplest solution possible—the simplest task possible.

“And how are you planning to retrieve the Book?” Cassian added.

“These objects are spelled to each high lord and can only be found using their power.”

Feyre caught the almost apologetic look the emissary sent her way. “You don’t know that it will work,” Y/N said to Rhys. Her hand remained in Az’s the entire time.

Rhys smiled slightly. “True—but there is a way to test it.”

“Mother’s tits! Here we go again,” Cassian grumbled from his place besides Mor. 

Feyre, still not entirely understanding, leaned back in the armchair.She was perfectly happy to let the High Lord of the Night Court and his Inner Circle have their battle wills until Rhys said, “With your abilities, Feyre, you might just might be able to find the half of the Book in the Summer Court. To be certain, to make sure when it counts, when we need it, when we need you, we’re going on another trip…see if you can find an object that I’ve been missing for quite some time.”

The cluster of grumbles from the others did not go unnoticed by Feyre.

Y/N loosed a breath.

“Shit,” Mor groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“Where,” Feyre asked tremulously.

“The Weaver,” Azriel responded. His thumb stopped rubbing his mate’s hand. 

“Who is the Weaver?”

“An ancient and wicked creature,” Azriel responded with a sharp exhale that tickled the back of Y/N’s ear. “Who should remain unbothered,” the spymaster shot in Rhysand’s direction.

Rhys couldn’t seem to be bothered. “I want to see if Feyre can identify the object amongst the Weaver’s trove.”

“Oh! By the Cauldron!!” Mor exclaimed. 

Feyre chewed her lower lip, weighing the risks of it all in her mind, still exhausted from earlier that day. “The Weaver,” Feyre began to press, “the Bone Carver. Can you just call someone by a name?”

Everyone but Rhysand and Azriel let out a laugh. Though something in Azriel’s face changed upon Y/N’s laugh. Something that ran deeper than a child-like fondness.

“What about adding another name to that list?” Rhysand asked Feyre who had finally seemed to warm up.

A few grumbles sounded about the space.

“Emissary,” Rhys said, ignoring the room. “For the human realm,” Rhys clarified, looking to Y/N as if to say Feyre is not replacing you.

Azriel said, “Rhysand. There hasn’t been one since our births.”

“And there hasn’t been a human-turned-mortal since then,” Rhys added with an almost shrug before looking in Feyre’s direction. “The human world needs to be prepared...especially if Hybern plans to destroy that wall and let his forces free.”

A pause.

“We need the other half of the Book from the mortal queens and we need them to bring it to us because we can’t use magic to influence them.”

More silence. Feyre noted the snow coming down outside still, the way the general’s fingers were gripping at his knees again. The look in Y/N’s eyes—something Feyre recognized but couldn’t quite place. 

“You, Feyre, are an immortal faerie,” Rhys began, “with a human heart. There is a very real possibility that the moment you step onto the continent you are...hunted...for it. So we set up a base in a place where humans might just trust us. Trust you.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Feyre, but all she saw was the spymaster’s hand that went to rest on his mate’s back, the Emissary of the Night Court’s back.

“A place where other humans would risk going to meet with you, Feyre,” Rhys added. 

Feyre again looked to Y/N. There was a moment of pause Feyre thought, that perhaps by looking at Rhysand’s current emissary she might think of an answer. There was one. Nesta wanted nothing to do with the fae and Elain was far too sweet to be brought into this mess. “My family’s estate,” Feyre said before she could stop herself.

“Mother’s tits!” Cassian said as his wings flared. “You believe we could ask that of your family? Demand that of them?”

No .

“Cassian, regardless of what we do or do not do with her family, blood will be spilled,” Mor said. 

In an emissary-like fashion, Y/N added, “It is a matter of how much blood we can save, where it will flow and how many humans we can...save.”

Feyre let out a nervous, shaky breath. “The Spring Court, it borders the wall.”

Rhys went to say something, but Y/N got to it first. “We can fly there offshore.” The emissary stepping forward, as if sensing Feyre’s nervousness, offered a hug to the new fae. Feyre gladly accepted it. It was that same kindness she had recognized the night Feyre had met the rest of the Inner Circle at dinner. A kindness that had kept the shadowsinger company for so long. Y/N returned to her mate’s side and he unashamedly placed his arm around her lower back.

“I wouldn’t risk discovery from any court by flying over Prythian,” Rhys added as he watched Y/N return to Azriel’s side. “I know it won’t be easy. But if you could, if there is any way you could convince those queens to—”

“I’ll do it. They won’t be happy about it, but I’ll make Elain and Nesta do it,” Feyre said. She thought of Amarantha, what she did to Clare, how much worse Hybern might be. She looked to the emissary as Rhysand spoke, as if asking to teach her how to do it. To use her wits and charm, to be Emissary of the Night Court for the human realms.

In all of her intelligence and kindness, Y/N nodded.

Feyre considered for a moment if Rhys could use magic to make her family agree, to help if they refused. She wondered if it would work.

“Then it’s settled,” Rhys said. Nobody in the room looked particularly thrilled. “Once Feyre darling here returns from the Weaver,” his voice dropped slightly, “we bring Hybern to its knees.”

🌌 ✨

Taglist : @5onedirection5 @emryb @lilah-asteria @azrielrot @scatteredstardustt @mis-lil-red @bxm-1012

[rwi-writes]

A little bit of privacy

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial! This is my first piece of writing in a long time so I may be a bit rusty.

Fandom: Arcane Pairing: Silco x male!Reader (could be also read as gender neutral) Warnings: some tiny sexual innuendos, but nothing actually happens (even if it may seem like it will) Synopsis: Silco cannot stand being bothered unannounced, but nobody really questions it why. A man like him maybe just needs some alone time to de-stress from the hardships of being in control of an entire city.

Despite being a leader of quite a big faction within the Undercity, Silco fancied himself as a person who liked his privacy and alone time. Not that he got a lot of it, but even the evillest of men needed a break from controlling an entire city. So it was an unspoken rule among his people that, unless it was an emergency, all requests to see him must be transmitted through Silvika, and she will give them a time and day. But not everyone was up-to-date with this, and sometimes people would randomly burst into his office, unannounced and uninvited.

Such event happened on a pretty normal day during the golden age of Silco's control over the Undercity. Shimmer was flowing plentifully to and from the city through the newly constructed Hexgates. Every other random homeless person in the Undercity was addicted to the stuff. Other faction leaders made alliances just to get their hands on some of that shimmer. Everything was going good.

Silco was in his office, taking a well deserved break. When suddenly, the door opened wide to reveal two large men who looked like they had muscles instead of brains. The two meatheads walked in and started complaining about some people at the bar drinking too much and causing a scene. Silco didn't let them finish talking.

"Why are you telling me this? Do I look like the all-controlling force of the bar? Talk to someone who actually has time to deal with such mundane tasks." His tone was sharp and strict. It sent shivers down the two men's spines. Even they knew they fucked up by coming here, so they couldn't wait to leave and hope that their boss will forget about this.

He spoke a few words to dismiss them from his office.  As the door closed behind the two meatheads, Silco sighed. "I cannot stand these people sometimes." He groaned, moving his chair away from the desk. "Why can't they just let me be alone for two fucking seconds?"

A chuckle broke his train of thought. You got up from the confined space under the desk, stretching your muscles, hoping to get rid of the ache and pain. "A better question is why do I have to keep hiding from everyone?" You walked in front of Silco, taking your gun out of its holster and bringing it to your temple. "As your most trusted hitman, I could blow their brains out and leave no trace behind." You said, half seductively, knowing Silco enjoyed your little shows of power.

"Darling, if I let you kill every man that came in your path, I will be out of people to do my bidding." He responded in a low, steady voice. "Plus I like keeping my personal life private, away from the eyes of people who would rather want me dead than happy."

"All I am offering you is a solution to your problems..." You point the gun towards the door. "Just say the word and boom!" You say as you motion taking a shot at someone. But of course, you wouldn't do anything without your boss' permission. You put the gun back and turn to face Silco again.

Your eyes meet in a staring contest that last just enough for the both of you to burst into small laughter. Silco gently grabs your hand and gives it a kiss. Your hand caresses his scarred face. Your time together has resumed, and it won't be interrupted for another couple of hours. Life is good, even for the evil.

[libraryraccoon]

How Amusing : Liyue P1

P1 <- P2 -> P3 (coming soon)

TW : Bad english, english isn't my first language.

Gender : GN

Pronouns used : They/Them

Other Infos : The people in Teyvat think they are an 'he'; No proofread; I was thinking of publish it on Quotev too.

The imposter had arrived in Liyue. Some citizens had seen him with Aether, walking quietly to the other side of the Wangshu Inn. They immediately told Keqing who told Ningguang, and just like that the news was spread : the impostor is in Liyue, and Aether is accompanying him, having betrayed them.

Many did not believe that Aether had betrayed them, Xiao was one of them. After all, why would Aether, so intelligent and wise, side with the imposter ?

But as he watched them, talked and walked around, he had to resign himself to the fact that yes, it was true, Aether had betrayed them.

“What ? Girl name ? Name have gender now ?!” ask the imposter.

“You will be surprised.” Said Aether, the traitor. “The mortals like to give a gender to everything that moves, even clothes.”

“CLOTHES TOO ?!” The impostor seemed shocked by this fact.

Xiao was in charge of espionage, he had to follow them and look for some kind of weakness in this impostor, without being noticed.

He must have followed them for hours - they never stopped walking except for the evening, when only there they made a small camp.

“I still don't understand why we have to stop.” admitted the impostor.

“Because compared to you, to have energy, I need to sleep and eat and drink.” Aether said, he seemed a little amused as the imposter huffed dramatically.

“But sleeping and resting is no fun !” the h/c haired man complained. “You know what is ? Chaos. Fire. Explosions.”

So the impostor don’t need to sleep and don’t like it ? And he also don’t like to rest ? Another proof that he wasn’t the real creator. Their creator love to sleep and rest, he say that it help him to think.

But, that also meant that the thing, this impostor, was not sleeping, so any easy capture - which was capturing him while sleeping - is impossible.

Aether ate and went to bed; the imposter had talked with him throughout the meal about visiting one of their old friends, unfortunately they did not say any names. The imposter hadn't eaten or drunk, and he watched Aether fall asleep, promising to keep watch that night - to which the blond responded with 'you always keep watch.  Just try not to kill anyone this time'.

After a few minutes, the impostor moved away a little. Xiao followed him, but at a turn, he just disappeared. Xiao looked around a bit, but couldn't find him - he had just vanished.

<----->

The Creator knew they were being followed, and so did Aether. Shortly after they arrived in Liyue, an adepti arrived to watch them from afar, to spy on them. The Creator did nothing and asked Aether to do the same. They wanted to see how far the adepti would go, what he would do.

But, after half a whole day and after they had understood that he would stay the night watching them; They lost their patience and decided to ask him directly why he was spying on them. Aether had told him that the Adepti were fighters, stopping at nothing, not that they were spies. Plus, he was bad at spy work, really 2/10, easily noticeable if you look up.

“You were spying on us.” Said the Creator for behind the Adepti – Xiao, Aether call him Xiao.

Xiao quickly turned around, brandishing his spear. The Creator blocked it pretty quickly, catching it before it hit them.

“Good reflexes.” admitted the Creator. “You're better at that than spying, that's for sure.”

The adepti gave what mortals call a glare. “How long have you known?” he asked - stupidly in the eyes of the Creator, they saw everything.

“The beginning. You're not very discreet.” says the eternal one. “Just look up to see you... Pretty disappointing if I'm honest.”

They had known many spies, the best, they had even trained some on Gallifrey a short time ago - a short time for them, a long time ago for those on the planet -.

“A beginner, right ?” they ask. “First time spying ?”

“That doesn’t matter.” The adepti didn't seem to really want to answer their question - not that they needed to, they already knew the answer just by looking at him. “What have you done ? To Aether.”

“Huh ? Aether ? What about him ?” ask confused the Creator. What was Aether doing here ? They know Teyvat saw him like a hero, but why asking that ?

“Aether. You have done something to him, this is the only explanation.”

“Of what ?”

“Him thinking you are the real creator, and not the impostor that you are.”

Oh- right, they are an impostor for the mortals of Teyvat, yeah, right. Oh ! How amusing their reactions will be when they will realize that they were wrong all along ! The Creator could not wait for this moment !

“They did nothing, and I always was on their side.” Said a voice from behind them. The Creator turned around to see their blond child - yes, their child, they adopted him - who seemed tired and angry at the same time. A very bad mix if you want their opinions.

“No, you’re smarter than that, Aether. He’s an impostor.” Xiao said, The Creator dropped the spear and moved away a little, wanting to give them some privacy.

“They are not.” Aether pressed a little on the pronouns - even after a month, they still didn't understand why pronouns were so important for mortals, they accept all pronouns- “They are the real Creator.”

And it was at this moment that The Creator slipped away without a sound, disappearing into thin air. The two seemed to know each other, to have a history between them, and they (The Creator) didn't want to get involved. They liked chaos and drama, not problems problems.

They appeared in the camp, and waited.

Aether returned 5 minutes, 43 seconds and 12 thousand seconds later, saying that they had to leave as quickly as possible.

“Don’t you need to sleep ?” asked the Creator.

“That don’t have any importance, we have to move before they get you.” Aether said, taking his stuff.

The Creator sighed before touching Aether's forehead, using a crumb of their magic to remove all the fatigue in the blond's body, replacing it with energy.

“I don’t want you to collapse from fatigue in the middle of walking.” is the only explanation they provided before starting to walk, Aether following them.

Tag list : @moosieman12345 @angelofdarkness2 @ash1

[ekat-fandom-blog]

Jazz found a magical artifact that bound itself to her. Asking Danny and his friends in the GZ made it clear that the artifact wasn't related to ghosts. When she brought it up around Dani, the young girl suggested they ask this friendly(ish) half demon girl that she met while on her travels.

So they left Amity to find Raven.

As soon as they stepped into Jump City, though, they found themselves pulled into some dangerous bs involving being sacrificed to some demon. Everything they had on them was taken by the cultists. Including the artifact.

The artifact started to glow as it got further and further from Jazz until, at 10 feet away, it spun out of the cultist's hands and went straight into Jazz's chest. She'd started freaking out, until she realized she was being surrounded by a very bright light and floating.

By the time she dropped back to the ground, only stumbling slightly, she noticed that she was in a different outfit. It wasn't what she'd normally wear, but it surprisingly suited her. It was a mostly light blue dress with black accents. She also noticed that the rope that was tying her hands together was gone. There was also a really pretty blue and black bat with a bow on its handle in her hands.

"Who are you? Where'd the other girl go?" one of the cultists asked, gaining her attention.

Jazz was confused. She didn't change that much.

Then the jerks started attacking her. She was able to dodge their attacks due to their sloppiness and landed a few herself. They started using broken pipes and chairs as weapons but she'd been trained by two hyper competent scientists in self defense. They weren't going to stand a chance against a Fenton, much less one with their preferred weapon.

After she won the fight, the door was busted down by a black haired kid wearing green, red, yellow, and black leading four other teens. They seemed ready to fight until they noticed Jazz untying her sister and most of the cultists passed out from head trauma related injuries.

Before the 5 teens could ask questions though, Dani asked her where she went. She'd returned to normal after the fight, and didn't know what to make of it.

"What do you mean where did I go? I was right here?" Jazz replied.

"No?" Dani replied confused. "You disappeared and a girl in a blue and white dress appeared."

"That was me," Jazz said, starting to become drained. "The stupid artifact went into my chest and there was a flash of light then I was in that dress."

The group had snuck up on the two girls during their brief conversation. Raven spoke first. "Can I see the artifact?"

Jazz jumped and spun around. "Oh! Sure." and then handed it to Raven.

Raven floated away from the group to let Robin take over asking the two questions. She turned the artifact over in her hands a few times before summoning a book and searching through it until she found the page she was looking for. The description matched.

She rejoined the group and told them what she found out. "It's a rather new artifact as far as artifacts go. It was created as a set of three in the early 1990s. They were meant to find people who were "pure of heart" or had "strong senses of justice" that didn't feel like they were able to help and bind themselves to those people. According to the book, the person that created them wanted to create their own set of "magical girls" and spelled the artifacts to be able to give their hosts a set of powers, outfits, and weapons based on the host's personalities."

It took a few moments for it to sink in, but when it did Cyborg, Beast Boy, and Dani started snickering. Starfire was confused but happy. Robin and Jazz had very similar reactions, responding with a nearly perfectly timed "What?"

Here are some magical girl associated powers, if you were curious.

[wlntrsldler]

hi!! i hope you’re doing well :). can i please request either “and you're telling me you wanna kiss me but we shouldn't cause we're just friends." or “when you found me i was a train wreck” with sam obisanya? i’m not picky either way i just thought they’d both be good and couldn’t decide hehe. thanks!!

kissing in swimming pools | sam obisanya

based on the song kissing in swimming pools by holly humberstone: "when you found me i was a train wreck."

description: the first "i love you" f!reader (she/her)

warnings: language-- it's ted lasso, what did ya expect? fluff! sam in loveeee.

word count: 1356 words

ted lasso requests are open | main masterlist

There were only three things that Sam Obisanya was sure of. 

The first is that his father will be proud of him no matter what he ends up accomplishing in his life. He was sure that if life didn’t pan out the way that it did and he wasn’t a famous footballer, his father would still be as proud as he is of him. He was lucky in that sense– that he had a father who never once made him doubt whether he loved his son or not. Sam knew that he wouldn’t be half the man that he is if his father wasn’t his father. And in his opinion, he thinks he ended up pretty decent. 

The second thing he is sure of is that Ted Lasso was put on this earth to be AFC Richmond’s coach, even if it was just for the short time that he did. Some pretty spectacular people had coached Sam, Roy Kent being one of them, but Ted was something special. Not only did he make Sam a better player on the pitch, he also made him a better man. Whenever he does something wrong, he always repeats the words, “Be a goldfish,” in his head, over and over again. When he’s having a bad day, where everything seems to be going wrong, he closes his eyes and the word “Believe,” on that bright yellow paper is the image in his head. 

The third and final thing Sam Obisanya is sure of is that if he was asked who was the love of his life, he would say you with no hesitation. 

He watched you dance with Keeley to some random 2000s pop song on the dance floor. Beard and Jane were engaged in some weird dance routine that had people raising their eyebrows, but Sam figured they were able to act however they wanted since it was their wedding night. He couldn’t help but smile as you threw your head back in laughter as Keeley tried to do the shuffle in her heels. 

“Oi,” Jamie nudged his arm, “You reckon Y/N will still be your date at Jane and Beard’s 25th wedding anniversary?” 

“Absolutely,” Sam replied before Jamie even finished his question, “I love her. There’s no one else for me, Jamie. I don’t think anyone can ever compare.” 

Jamie let out a breath, eyes widening as he took a sip from his bottle, “Sheesh, bold claim, man.”

“Honestly, I know she’s the love of my life.” 

“This is cute and all,” Colin interrupted, leaning across the table to meddle in Sam and Jamie’s conversation, “But have you told her that?” 

Sam shook his head, a goofy smile on his face, “No, not yet. I don’t know how I should tell her or what she’d say. I don’t even know if she feels the same way about me.” 

“You won’t know ‘til you tell her,” Jamie said, “And for what it’s worth, I think it’ll be a good response.” 

Sam took a sip of his own beer and then placed the bottle on the table. He cleared his throat, dusting off his dress pants. As the song transitioned to a slow song, he walked over to where you stood with Keeley on the dance floor. He tried to ignore the sounds of cheering from the table of footballers he just left, but he couldn’t help but bite his bottom lip to control his smile. 

Keeley was facing Sam so she noticed him before you did. She shot him a wink and bid you goodbye by squeezing your arm. As Keeley walked away, you turned around to find Sam with an outstretched hand. 

“May I have this dance?” He asked though he was already pulling you into him. 

“Always,” you responded, draping your arms around his neck while his hands found their way to your hips. You swayed slowly to the sound of the music, staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. You knew that there were others on the dance floor, hell, you knew that the newlyweds were right beside you, but somehow at that moment, you felt like it was just you and Sam. “Y’know, before I met you, I always thought that people were lying when they said that when they’re with their partner the whole world disappears.” 

“What do you think now?” he asked, spinning you around elegantly, “Do you feel that way with me?” 

“Mhm,” you answered. You let your right-hand cup his face. He nuzzled his cheek against your palm, a sigh of contentment leaving his lips. You rubbed his skin with the pad of your thumb, cherishing the way he melted under your touch. “When I met you, I was a train wreck. I was always working. I never took time to take care of myself and for a while, I really did forget how to take care of myself. Then you came along…” 

His smile turned shy as if he couldn’t believe that you were giving him the credit he deserved, “Then I came along…”

“Then you came along and reminded me how beautiful life could be if I just slowed down and took some time to breathe, to experience life, to smile,” you trailed off, not sure how you were going to word the next part. You took a deep breath, halting your movements before saying, “Sam, I lov-”

“No!” He exclaimed, a bit too loudly. He made a face of embarrassment, looking around the dancefloor to see couples staring at him oddly. Keeley, who was dancing with Roy, gave him a questioning look, “Apologies, everyone.” 

You chuckled quietly, moving his face to look at you again, “No?” 

“No- I mean- yes!” He babbled, “I mean, I don’t want you to say it first. I need to say it first. But I do, too. I do. I do love you.” 

You placed a soft kiss on his lips, giggling as you pulled away, “I love you, Sam Obisanya.” 

Sam chased your lips, unable to contain the smile on his face, “I like how that sounds.” 

“What?” you teased, “You like it when I say I love you?” 

“Can’t get enough of it,” he mumbled against your lips, “You’re gonna have to say it at least fifty times a day. Texts don’t count because I don’t get to hear your pretty voice say it. Phone calls are okay and voice memos are the last resort. I would prefer it if you were in front of me when you said it, though. ‘Cause then I will get to kiss you.” 

“You don’t ever need an excuse to kiss me, Sam.” 

“Thank God for that,” Sam said, spinning you one last time as the music came to a stop. 

As you fell back into his arms, he couldn’t help but imagine you at your wedding; how beautiful of a bride you’d be, how the lads would be cheering for Mr. and Mrs. Obisanya when the two of you walk into the reception, how in his vows, he’ll recount the moment he realized that he was going to marry you. 

You walked back to the table with Sam, hand in hand, with a glow that all of the boys noticed. Dani and Richard were fawning over something on Isaac’s phone, calling you and Sam over to take a look at it. When you saw the picture, tears pooled in your eyes. In the photo, you were staring up at Sam, laughing a bit as he stumbled over his words. Isaac managed to capture the exact moment Sam told you he loved you for the first time. Sam draped an arm over you, kissing the crown of your head, as he chuckled at how stupid he looked in the picture. 

Throughout your relationship, there were many “I love you’s” that followed, many photos that were taken and shared, and many other weddings you attended. But that photo, imperfect, silly, and a bit grainy, was your favorite moment– your favorite “I love you,” your favorite photo of the both of you, but it was taken at your second favorite wedding. Your favorite wedding was your own.

[jisokai]

Out of the Old World

It’s a beautiful day in the garden, the peonies in full bloom and the sky a sea of swirling clouds, when a man falls from your roof. You’d think he’s cute—if he wasn’t convinced he’s from a different world.

sero hanta x gn reader 5.7k words | oneshot, complete reverse isekai, mutual pining, some angst, strangers to lovers

read on ao3

semi-important note: if you weren't already aware, sero's name is derived from the japanese pronunciation of "cellophane tape" (serohantapu -> sero hanta). i reference it a couple times so that's just for your own understanding lol

+ obligatory mention of these two fics because they are by my favoritest fic authors ever and these in particular are both isekai fics that at least partially inspired mine: Into the New World (also inspired the title teehee), The Butterfly Variant

You’re clipping peonies in your mother’s garden, buried beneath the crystal blue sky, when a yelp and a thud sound behind you, followed by the frantic rustling of bushes. You frown, turning with your scissors brandished like a gun. There’s a man sprawled half on the ground and half in the hedges, taking heavy breaths as he scrambles to stand.

“What the hell?”

He grunts before he finally rights himself. He’s tall and lean, blinking dark eyes rapidly when they land on your weapon. He frowns, looking left and right. “Sorry, we’re dealing with a messy attack. Can you point me to Ginza?”

“Ginza?” you guffaw, gripping the scissors tighter. The man reaches for his ear before frowning, frantically running his hands over his head. “You’re in the suburbs of Sendai. It’s a three hour train to Tokyo. What were you doing on my roof?”

He doesn’t seem to be listening, hands clutching his head. “I’m not in my suit.”

You frown, eyes trailing his simple t-shirt and pants. Is he trying to distract you? Is he… not well? “By suit do you mean straightjacket?”

His eyes dart to his arms, gasping, “My elbows!” He lifts one, yanking it upwards before freezing.

You think they’re a little pointy. “Yeah… those are your elbows,” you try to comfort him.

“They aren’t!”

You don’t respond. What the hell are you supposed to say?

“Do you—What happened to my quirk?” 

Who the hell is this man? Some sort of pick me—someone not like other boys? “I think you’re plenty quirky as you are. Now tell me why you were on my roof before I call the cops.” 

“I wasn’t!” he insists. “I was chasing a guy down Ginza with Dynamight, someone tearing up the street—God, I need to help! But I can’t do anything without my quirk!” His hands slap around his pockets. “Fuck, I don’t have my comm or anything. Do you have your phone?”

Your scissors still sit between you two, pointed defensively. “Are you trying to rob me?”

“What? I’m a hero!”

Your eyebrows nearly fly off your forehead from your disbelief. This guy is definitely insane.

After a series of bickering, you relent and let him take your phone, swayed by the desperation on his face. Even if he’s crazy, he’s concerned enough for you to cave. You lower your weapon, but still hold it firmly while he stands next to you and frantically scrolls through the news. Your body tenses while he types into the search bar, hoping nothing weird pops up in your history.

It’s the first quiet moment between you, enough to let you get a proper look at him—his wide eyes and shaggy hair, the slight stubble that grazes his lip. He’s cute, in a wet dog sort of way.

“W—” he starts, interrupting your thoughts. “Where are we?”

“Sendai,” you repeat. “By Tōshōgū station.”

He stares at you bewildered, now a sad, surprised puppy. “Is this Earth?”

Not cute. He’s not cute; he’s crazy.

“Are you okay?” you have to ask.

He asks for the date, then for you to specify the year. His face twists at the answer. Next comes a frantic slew of questions about current events, wars you’ve never heard of, if the world is quirkless.

“Everyone’s weird in some way,” you try, not understanding what he means.

“No just—do people have powers? Are there heroes? Do you know All Might?”

“… Like heroes in movies?”

His lips press into a firm line.

Crazy or not, you invite him in for tea and snacks, hoping that food in his system will put him at ease. Your mother is out, thankfully, and you instruct him to sit at the table. He doesn’t, instead awkwardly pacing around the room.

“It’s possible I got sent to a different world—universe, or whatever. Back home there are things called quirks—innate abilities. Most people have them. I can shoot tape out of my elbows, for example—”

You gasp. “You’re Spiderman?”

“Spiderman?” he frowns.

Your jaw drops. “You come from a world of superheroes that doesn’t have Spiderman?” You can’t tell if it sounds more or less believable.

“I’m from a world with heroes—ones who need my help right now!” He pauses, looking towards the window. 

“And you’re one of them?”

He nods, finger tucked under his chin. He continues to pace while you pour the tea. You urge him over to sit, setting the mugs on the table with a plate of grapes and crackers. He sighs, restlessly pulling out the chair. His leg bounces.

His world sounds unreal, like an American comic franchise, or a shonen manga you’d mindlessly open at the bookstore. This whole situation feels like a novel in its own right. Isn’t it a trope these days, stories where characters get pulled into another world? You recall lengthy titles, suggestions by the streaming services you're subscribed to. But those stories are the opposite of this scenario—ones where the boring, real life character gets pulled into a fantasyland. Not vice versa.

You remind yourself of the very real possibility that he’s lying. Should you take him to the police? Why did you invite him inside? What if he’s some criminal on the run and you’ve been sitting here making him tea?

“Maybe we should go to the police,” you blurt abruptly.

Sero blinks in surprise. “What? Do you really think they can help?”

You’re not sure, but at the very least they can confirm his identity—and whether or not he’s a criminal. You pause. What would happen if they couldn’t identify him? What if all of this is true, and you make it harder for him to return.

An idea comes to mind. You open the camera on your phone and snap a picture of him without warning. He freezes before protesting, a ruckus of background noise while you quickly upload the picture into the search engine, scrolling to see if there are any matches.

“Hey! What the hell—”

Nothing comes up. You bite your lip. What should you do?

“There’s a chance you’re just some weird guy lying with malicious intentions,” you say. He quiets. “But you don’t exist on the internet. If you were some escaped criminal I’m sure at least one article would pop up.” You frown again, now typing criminal on the run in sendai. Nothing.

He watches you from across the table, eyes relaxing with realization. “I’m not lying, or dangerous. I’ll go with you to the police if it makes you feel better. Ultimately I just need to find a way home.”

You relax more than you should at his reaction. If he’s willing to go to face authorities, surely he’s not an escaped convict. Maybe he can stay with you for a little while—at least until the two of you can sort out next steps to return him.

“Maybe the police aren’t a good idea,” you say carefully. “If you really aren’t from this world, and you don’t have any documentation… I’m not sure what might happen to you.” Would he get sent somewhere? Would that mess with his chances to go back home?

He nods with a sigh. “That makes sense. Shit, I’m not sure what to do other than wait.”

“You…” The invitation pours out, “I’ll talk with my mom, but I’m sure we can host you for a little while.” Is this a bad idea? Are you going to get yourself and your mother murdered tonight?

His eyes brighten, a smile overtaking his features for the first time since meeting. It radiates, and your attraction is suddenly apparent again. You swallow and try not to stare.

“Would you really? That’d be incredible, thank you. I can help out in return—anything you need.”

You could really do without the warmth taking over your chest. Averting your eyes is the only reprieve you can find, and you huff, “It’s fine. Just hope my mom will be cool with it.”

He hums affirmatively. An awkwards silence falls afterwards.

“What’s your name, by the way?” You eventually ask, eyes returning to his figure.

He picks out a grape, rolling it between slender fingers. “Sero Hanta, or Cellophane when I’m on duty. And you?”

You nearly laugh, choking on the tea. “Your name is Sero Hanta and you shoot tape from your arms?”

He rolls his eyes, another smile tugging against his cheek. “I know.”

Again you recall the show in your suggested tab. Titles like: Oh No! I’ve Been Transported to Another World, and it's Magic!?

You bite your lip, failing to smother an idiotic grin. Mister serohantapu might be from a gag manga.

Convincing your mother is hardly a challenge. You tell her Sero’s a friend going through a transition and in need of emergency support—namely a place to stay. She takes one long look at him, then you, and grumbles in agreement before going to bed. You scoff when he tries to take the couch, instead ushering him to the guest room. 

Sleeping is the real challenge. You lay with your eyes closed for nearly an hour, but you begrudgingly remain awake. As you begin to deliberate getting up and doing something productive with your energy, you hear a door down the hall open.

It’s the door of the guestroom. Your eyes blow open, heart racing with fear. Did you make a horrible mistake after all? Should you prepare yourself in case Sero does in fact try to kill you?

He walks past your door.

His footsteps continue until they reach the kitchen. A cupboard opens and the tap runs quietly. He’s only getting himself a glass of water. Your heart calms.

Several silent minutes pass. After you gauge it’s been ten, you huff and sit up, tossing off the blankets as you make for the kitchen.

The scene you find is not one you imagined. A lamp in the living room is glowing softly, the one next to the couch. Sero sits beside it, curled up with a volume of one of your manga from the shelf—the ones you don't mind leaving in shared spaces. He’s facing you, alerted by your footsteps.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says somewhat sheepishly.

You shake your head. “Can’t sleep?”

He mirrors you, shaking his head in return.

“Me neither,” you answer, filling your own glass. You make a point to use the filtered water machine instead of the tap, and then you join him on the other end of the couch. “I lay awake in fear that I’m going to get murdered by a stranger in my home.”

You thought it’d be funny, provoke a laugh from him. Instead his face twists in a grimace. You regret the joke.

“Sorry,” you mutter with shame. “I want to trust you. And as impossible as your story sounds, I want to believe you.”

He nods curtly. “I get it. I can’t imagine I would believe me either.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

Sero turns out to be harmless. He also happens to be very handy and useful around the house. In return for housing and feeding him, he assumes the role of a sort of live-in maid. You feel awkward having someone doing your dishes and sweeping the living room for you, but you can’t deny that the help is nice—especially when you’re rushing to work.

He asks to help with the garden, to give him something else to do, so you pull him outside with a pair of shears and show him how you cut the flowers. He looks sheepishly at the hedge near the front door, sporting several broken and twisted branches. You haven’t had the chance to prune it after the incident, so you walk him through that too.

You give him the instructions for watering and point out the ripened radishes that he can harvest. He follows them with ease, eager for purpose. You can’t help the giddiness you feel, having someone with their hands in the dirt beside you.

Sero doesn’t talk much about his home, but he asks questions about yours. You have questions you want to ask in return, about his day to day, who Dynamight is, if he misses his friends.

The faraway look that sometimes shines in his black irises is enough of a confirmation.

After a few days of this you finally ask him something in return. It’s after dinner, when your mother retires to bed. The sun is still setting but she’s early to lay and early to rise. You sit at the table and watch Sero scrub dishes. You offer to dry them, but he refuses.

“What do you miss most about home?” Your eyes widen despite being the one who asked. You meant to start with something easier.

He catches your look and huffs a laugh, eyes dipping back to the suds in the sink. “My friends,” he answers without hesitation. “And my quirk. I guess I don’t really need it in a quirkless world… but it’s a big part of our identities back home. Having normal elbows—small elbows—is strange.”

You squint at his arms, trying to imagine how his elbows might look if tape could shoot from them. What would be different?

When he finishes the dishes he attempts to draw it for you. You make a face—tied between disbelief and maybe even disgust, admittedly. Immediately you try to morph back to neutrality, humming in attempted thoughtfulness. Sero laughs beside you; you were never a good actor.

Your hand comes to your own elbow, trying to imagine how it’d feel to have an additional amalgamation of bone, cylinders of dispensers beneath your skin. The only difference you can imagine is how many glasses you would knock over.

But Sero’s world is different from yours at a core level—a fundamental level that you can’t wholly fathom. He tries to explain it to you, the way life is shaped around these supposed quirks. Society functions at an entirely different level because of them, and subsequently there’s an onslaught of new complexities that come with it. Mostly complexities that arise from an additional category of discrimination.

It’s a difference that hangs over him, one that sits thickly in the air between you two. It’s embedded in his life, in the history he’s lived through.

“You fought a war as a teenager?”

He huffs. “Someone had to, when all the pros started retiring.” 

Huh? 

“You’re saying that grown adults who signed up to protect the country backed out so that kids could stand on the front lines.” What kind of world is this?

His face twists in a grimace. You ignore how cute you think he looks. “Well… yeah. I don’t think it’s as bad as it sounds though. Things are always worse without context.”

You roll your eyes. “I just had to be there, huh?”

He pauses, smiling solemnly before he eventually answers. “I think it would be better for everyone, to have lived in a world like yours instead.”

You want to bring up the crises you think about on a daily basis: the economy, the climate, your horrible working hours and the pay you should be making. You want to talk about the villains of your world, CEOs and war criminals. Instead you say nothing.

Maybe he isn’t from a gag manga, after all.

He laughs, eyes darting from the wall as if an amusing thought occurred to him. “I say all that, and yet I’m waiting anxiously for someone to come by and take me back.”

You scowl. “Your world might suck but your friends are there,” you remind him. “Anyone can understand that. Besides, it’s what you know. You just want to be home.”

Weeks pass. He’s still in your home.

Your mother doesn’t say anything. Sometimes she gives you a look you wish you could decipher, but she remains quiet. You think she likes Sero’s company.

You can admit you enjoy having him around, more than just his services as a housekeeper. He’s good company, easy to joke with—so much so that you forget his intelligence, and the somberness that seems to sweep over his mind on sleepless nights.

Your own restlessness is in tune with his, synchronized unease. It becomes routine to take a night time walk around the neighborhood when you meet him in the kitchen—he says it reminds him of “patrol”—and then plop down on the sofa to read manga, or sometimes watch a movie. 

Eventually you show him spiderman. 

“This feels like watching footage of my own battles,” he mumbles while Peter Parker swings himself through the cityscape.

You grin with delighted amusement. “Really? Shit, maybe you’re inspired by him.” If he’s a character from your world, that is.

You pause after saying it, straightening with realization. Is it insensitive to make comments like that? To see him as a character instead of an actual person?

But he doesn’t say anything. You wonder if he heard you in the first place, with how attentive he watches the film, eyes saucers as he drinks in the bluelight. Your own are glued to his face, entranced by his reactions. Everytime he laughs, your lips quirk. When he’s uneasy you find your own heart racing.

He feels real at this moment. Another living, breathing human that you get to share space with—a couch and snacks and a movie. 

His eyes sometimes dart to yours, and you look away as fast as you can.

Each time you do, you miss his giddy grin.

One morning after a night of popcorn and hero movies, your alarm blares in the living room. You wake with a jolt, heart racing as you scramble to turn it off. The time on the screen shocks you into panic; it's a whole half hour after you normally start getting ready. Did you hit snooze three times without realizing it? Why didn’t your mother wake you?

You scramble to stand from the couch, frowning when you realize the position you’re in—back facing Sero’s front with his arms around you. He stirs while you tear yourself from his grip with a curt shout of apology.

With less than half an hour to spare, you rush through washing yourself and dressing. Your heart races but you can’t tell if it’s from the panic of being late or an entirely different tingling in your chest. (A Sero sort of tingling.) When you finish you run through the kitchen, swiping fruit from the counter before haphazardly slipping on your shoes. You rush through the door with a curt “See you later,” not sparing a glance back.

(And therefore missing the sight of Sero: sprawled on the couch with his face—beet red—smothered in the cushions.)

You manage to catch the bus with a sigh, swiping your card before snatching the last open seat. A man grumbles two steps away, but he looks younger than you—he can manage. With the newfound security you pull out your phone to double check the time. You exhale with relief; you’ll only be five minutes late.

When you arrive at your office and tug at the door you freeze and then scowl, hand retracting with the temptation to claw out your hair.

It’s a Saturday.

“It’s a Saturday,” you announce when you walk back through the front door. You weren’t sure if anyone would be there to receive you, but the smell of proper breakfast food is a pleasant ambush.

“It’s a Saturday,” Sero responds with a grin. He’s drying a pan by the sink, and gestures to two plates on the table.

You fling your shoes off and drop your bag, greedily shuffling towards the food. He sets down the pan to join you.

“Thank you so much,” you say hastily before eating with equal vigor.

He grins before digging in for himself.

Neither of you mention how you woke up together.

(It happens again and again and again, the now assumed conclusion to late night movies.

You still don’t talk about it.)

There’s a certain somberness that settles over Sero when the two month mark passes. Nobody says a word, not even your mother. You start to think that she knows something else is going on, that she’s known from the beginning. 

The air is warmer than it was in April, when Sero first fell from your roof in the middle of the day. Now it’s night time, and the two of you are walking through the quiet streets, the buzzing of cicadas your third presence on the road.

What are you supposed to say at a time like this? Do you tell him to trust his friends, people you’ve never met, to bring him home? Do you tell him that your home can be his, if they fail? How do you comfort someone from another world, whose life is equivalent to words on paper?

You wish you had his story in your hands, a neatly bound stack of black and white that you could read and reread, to understand every piece of him he won’t say. You wish you knew him like a character, had the sort of grasp that would allow you to continue his story for him, to put pen to paper and secure his happy ending. The one where he gets to be happy. Happy and home and with everyone he loves.

That last piece makes your heart hurt.

You don’t know what to say, so in the end you say nothing. You can only offer a void, the emptiness of space to consume whatever feelings he radiates. Maybe you can catch them and hold them, feel them for him so he can take a break.

You wish you could tell him these things, but a boundary sits between you. It’s a heavy thing, refusing to move. The kind of wall that you know you could never pass—too strong to break, too tall to climb, too long to traverse.

He thanks you when you two return through the front door.

You frown in confusion. “What for?”

The moon casts a light behind him, a rim that halos his hair, reflecting as crescents in his eyes. When he answers you can catch the white of his teeth. “Just for being there for me throughout all this. Dealing with my vagueness… Letting me crash with you.”

“Of course,” you say plainly.

You suppress a scowl. Of course? What do you mean of course? Saying it like it’s a given, or the obvious answer.

But Sero smiles, a soft and loving look this time. You flush from witnessing it. Is this really meant for you?

A hand cradles your cheek. Fire erupts from the press of his skin against yours and you can’t help but lean into it. His head ducks as he leans closer and you close your eyes.

The kiss is tender, emotional. Complicated. It’s soft and breathy and his voice shakes when he parts, whispering, “Goodnight.”

You return the phrase by instinct, standing dumbly when he stalks off to the spare room—his room by now. The door clicks shut and you’re still at the front of the house, swallowing as your heart hammers in your chest under the spotlight of the moon.

When you finally lay in bed, sleep doesn’t come. You think it’s a restless night for Sero too, but his door never opens. His footsteps never track their way to the kitchen.

So you sprawl across your futon and stare at the ceiling, later shifting to your stomach so you can shove your face into the pillow when tears start to rain down your cheeks. You muffle your sobs and sniffles, confining them to the growing damp spot on your pillowcase. Your head hurts from the dehydration, and your heart hurts from the circumstances.

Was this your fate? Loving someone from another world—someone who isn’t real, and who doesn’t want to exist with you?

A choked cry releases from your throat, muted by the plushness of your sheets. Your heart pangs deeper when you imagine how Sero feels—

Loving someone from a world he wants to leave.

A week later, the two of you are setting the table for lunch. Sero has a yellow chrysanthemum tucked behind his ear, fresh from the garden.

A sudden thud sounds from the ceiling, then another in the front yard, followed by a string of curses.

You rush to open the door, pulling out your phone to have emergency services ready as you step outside.

There’s a man laying on the garden path.

A rush of déjà vu floods your body as you watch him push himself on his knees, rearing on his haunches before standing straight—or mostly straight, with a slight hunch. He’s beautiful, with glaring red eyes, skin as clear as the sky, and hair like threads of sunlight.

“Bakugou?” Sero’s voice calls from behind your shoulder. Your stomach drops at the hope in his voice.

The Bakugou in question twists his face into a scowl as he marches forwards. Your chest tightens at his approach, but he only nudges you out of the way. His hand aggressively clamps around Sero’s wrist, and the taller immediately wraps the blond in a hug.

You watch the scene intently. Bakugou’s face squishes into the crook of Sero’s neck and while his eyes avert in a display of contempt, his free arm lifts to wrap around Sero’s back, squeezing for a moment at his shoulder before dropping. When the black haired man relents, his eyes shine as he stares at his friend with disbelief.

“Took me fuckin’ long enough,” Bakugou grumbles. His eyes trace the living room before eventually narrowing at you.

You don’t know what to say.

The blond doesn’t give you a chance to think of anything, grabbing Sero by the wrist again and tugging him out the doorway. “C’mon.”

Your heart falls and your eyes widen as Sero stumbles in pursuit. Is this it? Your unceremonious goodbye, after countless late night walks and movies, falling asleep on the couch together, sharing meals?

(Somber kisses in this very doorway…)

The lunch on the table looms like a haunting presence behind you.

Bakugou pauses along the path, fiddling with some sort of gadget in his hand. Sero takes the opportunity to turn back towards you, but his wrist is still his friend’s captive.

“Thank you,” he says, voice sturdy. “For everything.”

You blink. Is this really how this ends?

Every thought and question you’ve ever had for him bubbles up your throat: questions of home, of his friends, of his sorrows and his joys. You want to ask about his family and his day to day, what his favorite manga is, what he does on his off days. You want to probe about his childhood, that world he comes from and the way it’s shaped him. You want to ask about his hopes for the future.

“Yeah,” you say instead. Your voice wavers.

“I…” Sero watches you somberly. “I’ll remember this.”

You nod. You won’t forget him for as long as you live, and even then some more. How could you? You’ll be haunted by your memory for the rest of eternity, the ghost of his presence lingering beside you on late nights.

Bakugou stops fiddling. He turns to Sero with a sharp look. It’s unreadable to you, but Sero seems to know exactly what it means.

He waves at you. Your eyes widen, heart thrumming when it dawns on you that this is it. For real.

Forever.

You raise your hand as the call to wait rises in your throat. Red eyes peer back at you before the blond steps forward and the pair vanish from your sight.

You stand there stupidly at your front door, reaching into the wind as a protest dies in your throat. A single yellow chrysanthemum falls to the ground. Your eyes blur with tears, the dot of gold smearing into the sea of grass beneath it.

“Where’s Sero?” your mother asks when she sits down for lunch. There are three plates on the table.

You swallow thickly, eyelashes fluttering to keep the tears from welling. “He… he got sorted and doesn’t need to stay anymore.”

She grunts, reaching for the bowl of rice in the center. “He couldn’t even stay for lunch?”

You close your eyes and exhale. She’s only playing into the ignorance for your sake.

“Guess not.”

When darkness settles and you toss under the covers, you are isolated in your restlessness. No click of the door sounds down the hall. There are no footsteps leading to the kitchen.

You’re forced through your routine the next morning, mindlessly flowing through the motions while you make breakfast. Nausea grips at your stomach when you stand to wash the dishes.

Exiting the house brings a grimace to your face, too powerful to swallow when you shut the door and walk down the path—where Sero last stood. Next to it sits the hedge he fell on when you first met. There are no traces of that encounter. The branches have stretched past where you pruned them; the leaves have multiplied to fill in the gaps.

Hot anger flashes through your body and you kick the thing before you realize what you’re doing. One of the lower twigs snaps from the impact.

You storm to the bus stop and then sprint to a seat when it arrives. As soon as you sit, the tears flood. You throw your hands over your eyes and cry on the commute to work.

Months pass without Sero, longer than the time you spent with him. You slip back into routine but nothing is entirely normal again. It’s what you promised, quietly and to yourself that day: that you won’t forget him.

Does he remember you like he promised? Are those memories somber—longing aches to have said more, asked more, to soak in the short time you had together? Why weren’t you bolder with him? Why didn’t you summon the bravery to ask and take from him what you wanted?

You return to your daily life, but he haunts the space between yourself and reality. The manga on the shelf are dusted with his fingerprints. You can see them on the cover when you angle it under the glare of the lamp. A faint smell lingers on the pillow he slept with, moved to your bed instead of washed with the other sheets in the guest room. During your evening walks you stare at the sky and wonder if the constellations are the same in his world.

He’s not real, ultimately. He never was to begin with. It’s the sort of situation you can't share with anyone, can’t process with your friends because they won’t believe you. Despite his fictionality, Sero’s isolation from the other facets of your life is part of the reason you can’t forget him—the reason he feels incredibly real.

Your mother knows. It’s a slim comfort because neither of you are willing to talk about it. If she’s worried about you, it shows in carefully sliced fruit and sneaky side eyes, not confrontational questions. 

One day she comes home with a bag, white with blue ink displaying the name of a nearby bookstore. She slides it to you across the counter.

“Saw one of those manga I thought you might like. It’s a new one.”

You hum with curiosity and slide the book from the crinkling plastic. You try not to let your disdain show. It’s one with superheroes on the front, their flashy colors. Shonen isn’t your type, and especially not something that’s going to remind you of Sero.

Despite the presentation and the pristine cover, there’s a fold in the spine. Your mother read it before gifting it to you.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

It takes a week for you to open. You do so begrudgingly, sighing in preparation to read long descriptions of worldbuilding and complicated rules for fake powers.

Instead you frown at the word quirk.

Your stomach tightens when a boy with spiky hair and a twisted scowl appears. The name Bakugou stares at you from the page.

You inhale the book, poring over the panels with rapt attention. Your heart is practically punching your chest as you read anxiously. The world is Sero’s, undeniably. You realize this All Might guy is one that Sero mentioned briefly when you first met. Your fingers shake as you turn the page—with some spite, wishing you could read from Sero’s perspective.

Your heart drops when you start the last chapter. Tucked in the corner of the first page are a pair of boys, one heart wrenchingly familiar. He’s a scrawny kid with shaggy black hair. You bring the book closer to your face, exhaling when you catch the bumps around his elbows.

You wonder if this is the life you’ve succumbed to: stuck wistfully thinking about a background character in the first volume of a manga, for a genre you don’t care to read in the first place.

The rest of the chapter is excruciating. You catch Sero's name listed towards the bottom of the quirk apprehension test results, a glimpse of the back of his head, a small side profile where he looks adorable. 

You stare blankly at the back cover when you finish the chapter. It's the end of the volume. 

This is Sero's story—or at least part of it, a glimpse of his childhood from the perspective of this crybaby main character. Your mind is once again a torrent of all the things you wish you asked him. Instead you’ll be forced to read your answers in fragments, one page at a time, one chapter each week. The book sits heavy in your hands. Your mother said it’s new, but you hope there are more volumes published.

You turn to the bookshelf in your bedroom and shuffle some of the paraphernalia around to make an open spot. You slide the first volume of Boku no Hero Academia right against the edge, sandwiched by a carefully pressed flower.

(That yellow chrysanthemum that Sero left behind—

The only proof you have of his brief existence, other than the rapidly fading scent of oranges on his pillow.)

idk what this fic is don't look at me please.thx

bonus: musings on sero's perspective

[torturedblue]

Part 2 of endless Disaster Twin parallels, the not so fun version

Part 1, the fun version

Considering the series shows Donnie coming off as autistic, he’s portrayed that way much more in fan art and fanfics, etc. We often see it in fan portrayals through an aversion to touch or his senses getting overwhelmed, etc. In the show I noticed Leo actually has a consistent aversion to anything with a gross texture too: like in the first episode when they’re all sliding down Draxum’s vines and he’s tripping over himself, the only one bothered by them “I hate this!”

He also starts flailing in a panic after a worm jumps on his face (and do I even need to bring up how the texture of worms ain’t all that enjoyable let alone on your face), recoils when that evil Hidden City massage guy pours hair serum all over his head, and he’s the most visibly repulsed when Raph gets trash all over them in the beginning of Battle Nexus: New York. So on multiple occasions he comes off as pretty texture or germ averse as well

Both also have insecurity issues about their role to the team: “If mystics can do everything I can but better then why would you guys even need me?” “I’m nothing without them!”

Ironically, in Many Unhappy Returns, Splinter thinks Leo doesn’t know what he’s doing and isn’t taking the mission seriously, saying he should’ve brought Purple. But in the same episode during fights with Shredder Donnie’s seen texting on his phone half of the time. Which is also very parallel to Leo making quips in the beginning instead of helping fight like Donnie and the others

In that same fashion, Donnie’s also goofiest when everyone’s acting serious in Insane in the Mama Train, while Leo’s the unserious one in the following episodes. Another role reversal from their norm

The show also portrays these two as feeling the most affected by Splinter’s history of emotionally distant parenting. Donnie constantly talks about his unmet need for parent-aged-adult approval/validation, and Leo shows his struggle in a more Leo-like way, constantly finding father figure connections in other people like Jupiter Jim and The Dunk. He also rejects/roasts Splinter a lot too, which seems more like a form of overcompensation; acting like he doesn’t totally need or crave Splinter’s attention. The exact opposite of Donnie’s methods. “No! I’m not going back to what’s-his-rat.”

“He’s my all-time favorite actor/role model/father figure!”

“That eccentric billionaire, who was kind of a surrogate father figure to me, has shown me a version of myself I don’t like.”

Leo acts like he doesn’t pine for his affection. I’m sure he sees the way Donnie openly, desperately goes after it when it’s offered and then gets crushed even harder with disappointment (ahem Turtle-dega Nights). No way Leo’s opening himself up to that. I mean come on how sad is the moment when Splinter says they should do something together and Mikey is so eager to jump on the opportunity before it gets taken away, only for Donnie to have to pull him aside and remind him it’s usually some kind of trick or he’s likely possessed? Just for Mikey to immediately respond, “You’re right, I always fall for this!” Ouch. Honestly considering Mikey’s empathy and emotional maturity in mind, the reason both he and Raph seem to handle Splinter’s lack of attention so well is probably also because in addition Raph became a second parent himself, and taking on that role like Splinter, he knows from his own experience that even though their dad doesn’t show it in the ways they wish he would, of course he loves them and what he does do to take care of them as a parent proves that

I think the parallels and direct contrasts between how Leo and Donnie show their dissatisfaction in their relationship with Splinter is probably the most developed and interesting one to me 💔

I mean Leo’s the only one who would actually say something like this to Splinter and you can’t tell me there’s not some deep-seated resentment in the way he looks and the way he says it…

So yeah. There’s the sad edition of Disaster Twins parallels. Let’s all cry together 😃

[phasesgurl]

another sonic 3 idea

There's some sort of commotion. the Wachowskis go to check it out. A lot of stuff is smashed, there's burn marks on the road. Someone must have been going way over the speed limit. Tom asks around to try to find out what happened. Sonic notices that people are looking at him weird--whispering to each other. He can't quite make out what. Then, he turns and gasps when he sees Commander Walters.

Tom also notices him there, walking over. "Olive Garden Guy? What's going on?" Tails comes over as well. "I don't know what happened here, but it seems like -" Noticing Commander Walter, he said, "Oh no, not that guy again." Noticing Knuckles' confused expression, he explained, "he kidnapped me and Sonic one time."

Walters said, "Don't worry, I'm only here to shed a little light on this case." He pulled out a tablet and brought up a video, turning it to show Tom.

The video showed something zipping around in the building that was robbed, smashing into guards, pausing only for a second half off-screen to pick up something small and green. Then, it jumped out a window.

Sonic rewound and paused to when it stopped. He could see a form sort of like his, but the quills were brushed up instead of down. "That guy looks sort of like--" he was interrupted by a hand being placed on his shoulder. He looked up to see another G.U.N. guy in police armor. He was about to ask what was going on when he got an answer.

"Sonic the Hedgehog, you are under arrest."

"What?!" Exclaimed Maddie. Walters remained calm. "You saw the video." Tails jumped in. "Sonic would never do that!" "I agree," said Wade's voice. The family turned to see the honorary uncle emerge from the crowd. "Sonic wouldn't steal something. At the very least, he'd leave some money for it after breaking in."

But someone in the crowd shouted, "It has to be him, what are the odds of there being two alien hedgehog that can run at the speed of sound?" Tails yelled back at her, "Me and Knuckles got here, didn't we?"

Then everybody started shouting at each other all at once. Half the people thought Sonic was too nice to do something like this, half thought it had to be him. Who else could it be?

Finally, Commander Walter yelled, "Enough of that!" The crowd fell silent. "Come on, Sonic." He said, putting a hand on Sonic's back to direct him to a black car behind him.

But Sonic turned back to his family "You can't just let him do this!" he exclaimed desperately. His eyes darted around the scene. He turned to Tom. "Dad, you don't actually think I'd do something like this, right?"

Sonic wasn't sure what he expected his adoptive father to say. What came out of his mouth definitely wasn't it.

"I...I don't know."

Tom actually didn't know. It couldn't have been Sonic...but at the same time, it couldn't have not been him. The look on the hedgehog's face that followed his statement--a combination of shock, hurt, and hopelessness broke Tom's heart. But before he could say anything else, Walters was pushing Sonic toward the car.

Sonic cast one hopeless look back to the Wachowskis. He saw Tails staring in disbelief, Knuckles simply confused, and Tom turning away, while Maddie put her arm around him, trying to comfort him.

Tails, Knuckles, and Wade couldn't pull their eyes away as the black car drove away.

***

That night, Tails and Knuckles walked into their attic bedroom

"You mean you actually think Sonic robbed that place?!"

Knuckles explained, "I saw no evidence otherwise."

Tails didn't let up. "The guy in the video wasn't even the same color as Sonic! They were black, glowing orangish!"

"Could have been a poor quality camera." Knuckles positioned himself in front of a punching bag Maddie has bought when he moved in, deciding he needed a better way to "train" than turning the living room into a gladiator pit. Pow.

"I thought we knew Sonic better than this!" Tails continued. Knuckles didn't respond, other than unleashing another punch.

Pow.

"It couldn't have been him, Knuckles! What makes you think he would want to do this?"

Pow Pow.

"I can't believe that even though you know Sonic would do anything to protect this town and the people who live here, you still think-"

"OF COURSE I DON'T!"

POW!

And with one mighty swing, the bag came free of its pole and flew across the room.

Maddie was in the room shortly later. "Did someone get hurt, or did Knuckles just break his punching bag again?!" Tails pointed to the bag on the other side of the room. Maddie sighed. "I'll fix that in the morning. Or get one more Knuckles-proof." She climbed down the ladder.

Knuckles waited until she was out of earshot before saying, "I don't want to believe Sonic is a criminal, Tails. But with the information we have now, my honor will not let me believe otherwise. Nobody who knows Sonic would want to think he's bad."

Tails nodded. Most of the people against him were people who didn't know Sonic very well. But something Knuckles had said gave him an idea.

"Let's get some sleep. We can figure this out in the morning."

Tails hopped into his bed. He liked the way that the beds themselves had the color of the brother one to right, except Knuckles, since he was the furthest right, and the blankets were the color of the mobian sleeping under them. But it wasn't really the same looking to his right and not seeing the blue hedgehog sleeping on his side.

Of course, he didn't actually plan on falling asleep. He waited until he was reasonably sure Knuckles was asleep, then, quietly as he could, he gathered some gadgets in his yellow backpack. Camera? Good idea. Electronic notepad? Definitely. Laser gun? He paused on that one, but decided to bring it just in case he ran into the real culprit.

Now the hard part.

Tails wasn't sure weather flying or walking to the door would be quieter. He put one foot forward and--creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak. Oops. Flying it was.

He spun his tails and lifted off. It did make a faint whippa-whippa-whippa-whippa noise, but it seemed quieter than the creaky floor. he landed in front of the door and reached out to turn the handle--

"What are you doing?"

Crap. Knuckles was awake.

Tails turned around. "I was just, uh..."

"Save it. I know you want to go and collect evidence to prove Sonic's innocence, but you're not--"

"Knuckles, it's not like I'm trying to bust him out of jail or something!"

Knuckles gave him a look. "Let me finish. You're not going, without me."

This surprised Tails. "Wait, really?"

Knuckles grinned. "I said I don't want to believe Sonic is a criminal. This is my chance not to."

Tails was so happy he could hug Knuckles. "Let's go." He reached for the handle again--

"Hold on, Tails."

The fox turned around. "What now?"

Knuckles was dead serious. "If we go that way, we risk waking the Donut Lord and Lady of Pretzels. I suggest an alternate way out of the house."

"How? The room only has one door."

Knuckles looked up at the ceiling, Tails' eyes followed. When he saw the skylight, he knew exactly what Knuckles was thinking of.

"I see what you're getting at..." he announced. He flew upward, pushing it open before going back down to pick up Knuckles.

They touched down in the yard. "Whew," breathed Tails. "You're still heavy."

"Irrelevant," proclaimed Knuckles. "We must prove the hedgehog innocent!"

Having caught his breath, Tails nodded. The two ran off into town.

***

Sonic was sitting in a cell. There were no bars, but there was a large blue force field across the entrance preventing him from leaving. The feeling that spawned when Tom said he didn't know hadn't left yet.

Sonic tried not to get mad at Tom. It wasn't his fault. He saw something out of context. But Sonic had a lot of anger inside right now, and it needed to go somewhere.

He was torn between giving it to G.U.N. and the doppelganger in the video, but before he could make a conclusion, someone was knocking on the cell.

Well, the wall just beside the force field. Sonic could still hear it.

"What." he said, still rather angry.

"Commander Walters would like a word with you."

Sonic turned away. "I don't think we have anything to say to each other."

"It's not something you have a say in," said the guy, putting in a code to disable the force field.

Sonic got up and followed the agent. What was the Olive garden guy going to say? Sonic was pretty sure he was just going to be terminated or something.

After what felt like forever, he arrived at a room with a table that had two chairs opposite each other. One was occupied by Walters, the other was empty.

"Have a seat."

Sonic sat down.

"In the chair."

He got up from the floor. A year or two ago, he would have made that mistake due to not understanding Earth customs. This time it was more an act of resistance.

Once Sonic was seated in the correct place, Walter began talking. "Now, I know we've-"

"You're going to terminate me, aren't you?"

There were a few moments of silence between the hedgehog and the human. Sonic was sure it was because he'd called his bluff.

"Actually, no."

Sonic raised his eyebrow. Was this a lie?

"I know we've had minor disagreements in the past-"

"You threw an electric net on me!"

"Okay, not so minor. the point is, I need your help."

Sonic continued to stare. "You, a commander of a secret government organization, need help from me, a 13 year old child."

"With super-speed and lightning powers. Any more interruptions before I go on?"

Sonic's expression didn't change. "I wasn't the one who robbed that place."

"I know."

"I guess I can se--wait. You know?"

"Yes"

"Did...did you know from the start?"

"Yes."

"And..." Sonic felt his fury coming to the surface. "And you arrested me anyway!?!"

"I understand why-"

Sonic stood up. "Everybody in my hometown thinks I'm a criminal! I'm a wanted hog, and-and my own dad thinks I'm a thief!" Sonic could feel tears seeping into the corner of his eyes, and lighting began to coarse over his body. "My life just got totally uprooted, and you mean to tell me it was all because of something YOU KNEW WAS A LIE THE ENTIRE TIME!?!?"

Pant, pant.

Throughout Sonic's little speech, Walters stayed calm. "Do you think you have it out of your system yet?"

Sonic sat back down. "I think I'm good."

"The thing is, this isn't the only time that this thief has struck." He turned to the wall, which had a screen that now had a map of the world with red dots on it, presumably where this other hedgehog had been spotted. "He's been all over the world, causing chaos. The public was beginning to get angry, they needed to hear something good so they'd know we're protecting them."

Sonic shook his head. "So when they think you've solved the problem, but this guy goes at it again, what then? You've just made it worse for yourself."

"He's not going to," said Commander Walters. "Because of you."

Sonic looked surprised.

"See, he's related to an abandoned program called Project Shadow, the quest to create the ultimate weapon. However, the scientist in charge went off the plan. It became too dangerous and too hard to control. We had to shut down the program and seal the project away."

"Woah."

"However, your acquaintance Robotnik has attempted to get the weapon for himself. In the wrong hands it could be extremely dangerous. Hell, It could be devastating in the right hands." He turned back to Sonic. "That's why we need you to get Project Shadow and bring to us so we can destroy it once and for all."

Sonic thought about it. "I'm usually don't help people who frame me for robbery and destroy my father's trust in me."

Walters said, "We didn't expect you to do this for free, of course. We expected you to be angry at our methods of getting you here. So, we do have compensation for helping us."

Sonic said nothing, but his face showed he was interested in the reward.

"We'll give you ID and adoption certificates. You and your friends live here on Earth legally, and Gardian Units of Nations won't be able to bother you."

Sonic turned away, thinking. Being able to not have to hide from the world, because no one would bother him about being there illegally. The Wachowskis weren't able to use things like commercial airlines right now because the kids didn't have ID. Tom probably was still mad because he thought Sonic was a robber, but would making himself and his brothers safe ease that? Tom wouldn't be sticking his neck out to take care of them any longer...

"Well?"

Sonic turned back to the commander. "Deal."