#and different ways that effects them. but the sheer horror of. not ONLY no longer being able to trust ur memories

[time-is-restored]

im so emotional abt q!baghera's response to finding her room btw... she wasn't physically trapped anywhere (at least, not that ive been able to gather) she just.. couldn't move. couldn't think. doesn't remember any of it, completely blacked out.

it's like. even beyond the horror of realising you have this entire past that you don't recall, and that your previous escape just ended up with you trapped in the same place again. that sense of a lack of control must be SO amplified by suddenly discovering you have a stress response so intense you lose entire days. weeks, even, iirc?

would she have ever remembered any of that if whoever left her those co-ords hadn't decided to lead her back? one of the books she found mentioned a 'severely outdated' profile - did they do this to her just so they could update her file??? like! holy shit!

[book-place]

Promotion Rejections

Warnings: violence, mentions of weapons/ gasses, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x reader platonic

Request: Bat family x friend! reader! S/O is a newbie GCPD officer who’s also a meta human, possessing the powers of force fields and healing. She can protect civilians and/or officers from attacks or property damage, heal them up, trap enemies inside fields, and more,like sealing up Joker gas. She doesn’t care about fame or promotions, doesn’t want to be a secret hero, and will happily stay a low-ranking officer her whole life, wanting to use her powers to help. Side effects may be nausea and tiredness

Request by: Anon

*not my gif*

Summary: There is a sense of respect

between you and Batman

A/N: Another short one for y’all

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

Your hands were shaking from the amount of sheer strength it took to hold it up.

If this fight went on for longer than another minute, you didn’t think you would be able to keep it up. You would collapse from the exhaustion alone.

Luckily though, Batman got the upper hand against a hoard of Joker's goons, taking them down one by one. Though, it was a painfully slow process.

With one last sickening thud, the last goon fell into an ungracious heap on the ground, just in time for the last of the Joker gas to simmer out.

You dropped your hands, breathing loudly and allowing the force field you had placed around the deadly substance to fall along with them.

Nearby civilians that had been watched in horror at the sight before them burst into cheers and applause all at once, a couple of the nearby officers in your unit even joining along as well.

Your entire figure was shaking as you let your body lean against a nearby brick wall and you allowed your eyes to flutter shut for a moment as you tried to catch your breath.

“Are you alright?” A deep voice startled you, making your eyes fly open.

Batman stood a mere couple of feet away, looking at you with that emotionless expression of his, though you knew he of all people wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t actually want to know.

The two of you had worked together on many different occasions. And- dare you say- you very well might have earned his trust and respect over time. And along with that, seemed to come his- rarely ever shown- care.

“I’m alright,” You confirmed, breathing the words out in a way that gave you away to still being tired.

He nodded once and opened his mouth, as if to say more, but was cut off by a different voice.

“Officer L/n!” The deputy of your department called boisterously, striding over and clapping you on the shoulder, “Well done as always!”

You cringed a bit, “Thanks,” You mumbled.

Being the only metahuman in your division- let alone on the whole force- you came in handy many times- whenever a force field was needed, that is. Which was often. And because of this, there were always lots of cameras around, trying to snap the latest shot of the officer that always saved the day.

Promotions were quick to line up as soon as you started working, but you declined every single time. You always hated the spotlight. The only reason you became a police officer was to help people, not for the fame that was dragged along with it.

“Now, about that promotion-“ He spoke again with a wide grin.

Batman was quick to cut him off, clearing his throat, “Deputy. We have some things to discuss about the case at hand.” His tone was final and left no room for argument.

The man hesitated for a moment, grin faltering, before he nodded and tried to redeem himself, “Yes, of course.”

You threw the vigilante a grateful smile, to which he responded with a single nod once more, moving to lead the deputy away.

Maybe not much words were spoken between the two of you, but you could tell he had your back, just like you had his. Even if it came to rejecting promotions.

The Superior Robin ❤️- @ineedmorefanfics2 @sambucky8 @spidyyparker @i-writes-things @ladyagagaslefttoe @xbergiex

[haggishlyhagging]

We have to face the fact that pieces have been cut out of us to make us fit into this society. We have to try to imagine what we could have been if we hadn't been taught from birth that we are stupid, unable to analyze anything, "intuitive," passive, physically weak, hysterical, overemotional, dependent by nature, incapable of defending ourselves against any attack, fit only to be the housekeeper, sex object, and emotional service center for some man, or men, and children. And that only if we're lucky—otherwise we must act out a commercial mockery of even these roles as someone's secretary!

We didn't get this way by heredity or by accident. We have been molded into these deformed postures, pushed into these service jobs, made to apologize for existing, taught to be unable to do anything requiring any strength at all, like opening doors or bottles. We have been told to be stupid, to be silly. We have had our mental and emotional feet bound for thousands of years. And the fact that some of the pieces that have been cut out of us are ones we can never replace or reconstruct—an ego, self-confidence, an ability to make choices—is the most difficult of all to deal with.

All of the women I know who have done things, jumped hurdles, and stepped even a pace outside of the charmed circle of the bourgeois family, have had to face the damage that has been done to them, and struggle with the rules they have internalized. To some of us, this process has taken the form of a "nervous breakdown"; for others, a long period of sheer personal horror; to others, a more drawn-out process of repeatedly sinking under despair, and rising again. I think that for some of my generation, caught in the kind of double binds we have all been caught in, it is impossible to achieve revolutionary consciousness without some sort of confrontation with the self. Politically, this is both a weakness and a strength. It is an asset to come to political understanding through personal pain: it makes possible a gut understanding of how society works as a system dependent on the personal suffering and deprivation of each of us. Such understanding is a help in building a revolutionary movement. Only by realizing what we might have been, can we imagine how different women in a post-revolutionary society might be able to be. But knowing that we cannot achieve this ourselves, that no matter how we struggle we are still in some part of ourselves "damaged goods" (to use the appropriate capitalist terminology), that we can see what has gone wrong within ourselves, and still be unable to put it permanently right—this is very painful and discouraging. But it is necessary: it is this realization that makes it evident that there really are no individual solutions to woman's oppression, no way that one can float free of our society and its conditioning. The pain of it is what makes us search so urgently for new forms of social organization that can help us, and others, change and transcend our limitations. This pain is what makes us realize, in our everyday lives, that social change is absolutely necessary. As Lucy Stone put it almost a century ago:

“In education, in marriage, in everything, disappointment is the lot of women. It shall be the business of my life to deepen this disappointment in every woman's heart until she bows down to it no longer.”

The things that mess us up are so built into the structure of society that only the most radical of social changes—one far more radical in its attack on the basic institutions of this society that traps us, and far more drastic in the changes it effects on human consciousness, than previous revolutions—has a chance of doing the job, of freeing us and freeing those who will be born out of our lives.

-Meredith Tax, ‘Woman and Her Mind: The Story of Everyday Life’ in Radical Feminism, Koedt et al (eds.)

[football-writing]

Jack Grealish - real smooth

Note: I haven't seen the david and liza vid that this request was based on, and I have the attention span of fresh gravy so I didn't watch it either lmao. But I had a bit of an idea in mind for this more like Mason's fifa forfeit vid with Chunkz (let's be honest that vid was hilarious I still watch it sometimes for laughs lmao) anyway I hope that's okay. Also this features other players too bc why not

Warnings: contains some curse words probably, slight mentions of sexy times at the end, also I have no idea how waxing actually works as my only knowledge comes from that Mason vid so,, this is probably not accurate sorry xoxo

Hope you enjoy babes x

It wasn't unusual for Jack to invite some of his friends over whenever he had a day off. In fact, his days off were usually spend either with you or with his friends, most often opting for eating out with you before getting back and playing fifa with the boys for well past midnight. Today was no different. You had occupied yourself with a book and and cup of tea in your shared bedroom, while Jack was downstairs with his friends playing fifa. Their yelling and laughter could be heard even from behind the closed bedroom door. Not that it bothered you too much: as long as they were having fun and cleaning up after themselves once they left, it was fine by you.

However, it surprised you to hear footsteps coming up to the stairs, then down the hallway to your room. They had everything they needed downstairs, and never before had they bothered you upstairs, so why would they now?

A knock sounded on your bedroom door and you yelled out a quick 'yeah' as you closed your book and sat up on the bed, curious as to what it was they needed.

"Hey angel." Jack said as his head popped through the door before making his way into your bedroom, sitting down defeatedly onto the edge of your bed. He had a slight pout on his face, and bit his bottom lip nervously as he looked at you.

"What's wrong, baby? Please tell me you didn't break anything down there." You said, a stern look plastered on your face.

"No, no, it's nothing like that. It's just- uhm." He hesitated as he looked down, playing with the hem of his shirt instead of maintaining eye contact with you. Worry took over your features. What was he up to now?

"We were playing fifa forfeit, right. And Ben said I had to wax my legs if I lost-"

"Oh my god, Jack!" A releaved sigh left her lips. It was never gonna be anything serious with these boys anyway. She should've known better. "Did you lose, though? Please tell me you did."

He only nodded in response, and she let out a squeel as she fell back on the bed.

"That's hilarious, I was worried there for a second, but this is great."

"Don't get too excited. The boys asked if I'd ask you if you had any wax. But I just came up here to chat for a bit and then I'll go back down saying you didn't."

"Now, why would you do that?" She said as she looked at him with raised brows, challenging him.

"You know, I actually do have some strips left, I'd be more than happy to wax your legs. Besides, a bet is a bet, Jack. You can't just back down now." She smiled thriumphantly and he groaned in response.

"Why won't you just have my back with this?"

"Oh, I can wax your back too, no problem."

"Not what I meant sweetheart."

"I know." She smiled cheekily as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek, before telling him she'd be downstairs in a bit with all the necessities to wax his legs.

"Hey boys!" She hollered as she rushed down the stairs with her wax kit, the boys looking up at her. Jack was already sitting on the chaise longue with his legs up. His shorts ridden up a bit more than usual to expose his muscular thighs. The others sitting next to him on the couch, ready for the action that was about to unfold.

"Ready, babe?" She wiggled her eyebrows at him as she sat down her kit.

"Oh I sure am!" Ben replied with a big boyish smile on his face.

"I'm sure you are, Ben." She chuckled as she ruffled his hair. He'd usually have it gelled back whenever he had a game, but kept it natural and curly when he came around theirs. It was her favourite look of his, perhaps partly because she could mess with his hair more easily.

"I remember when I had this done, hurts like hell. Good luck bro!" Mason interjected, patting Jack's shoulder in mock-sympathy.

"Yeah, I cannot wait to see you cry like a baby. I love you for coming up with this, Ben."

"Babe!" He whined. "You're supposed to support me here."

"Well I am supporting you, I'm the one waxing you. Trust me, you do not want to have this done by someone who has no idea what they're doing." You said as you warmed up a few strips of wax between your hands.

"Seconded." Declan replied with a serious face. Everyone looked at him in confusion; he had never told them about getting waxed before, but it sounded like an intriguing story.

"I'm not even gonna ask, mate." Jack said. Horror stories would not make this experience any more bearable for him. It left Dec pretending to be upset, eager to tell the - no doubt ridiculous - story.

"Alright, I'm gonna get these on." You interrupted their banter, tearing the strip to reveal the sticky substance underneath.

She put the strips on his leg as the boys chatted away. Just as she was putting the fourth strip on, Jack swatted her hand away.

"You have to put all those on?" He questioned her.

"Well the forfeit did say 'legs'. As in, both legs. Completely." Declan argued.

"I did say that. But that's a bit too harsh innit?"

"Yeah, there's already three strips on now, let's see how he gets through those first." Mason offered.

"Will hurt like hell with that much hair." Declan hit Jack's leg for emphasis.

"No doubt." You laughed as you smoothed out the strips once more.

"Ready, Jack?" You asked as you hold the edge of one of the strips, ready to pull it off.

"Wait, wait I gotta film this!" Declan was quick to exclaim as he took out his phone, much to Jack's dismay, who had his hands in front of his face as he waits for the inevitable pain of ripping off the strips.

"Alright, 3. 2. 1!" The boys count down in unison as you rip off the first strip.

"Jesus, Y/N!" An array of curses leave Jack's mouth as he yelps, gripping his leg in pain, his eyes wide with shock. Clearly he had underestimated how much this was really going to hurt, which has all of you rolling over with laughter. Mason is gripping his stomach as he's sitting on the floor, barely able to breathe between his giggles. You're trying to ease Jack's mind and soothingly rub the sensitive skin on his leg, but you're shaking too much from the laughter leaving your lips.

"Oh my lord, and look at the hair that's come off!" Declan hollers as he takes a step closer to properly film the strip that was, indeed, covered in Jack's leg hair. You held it up for the camera as you shrieked at the sheer amount of hair. It's like a lion's mane got glued on the strip.

"Jeez, Jack, you hairy lad." Declan laughs, which earns a grumble from dissatisfied boy. You're pretty sure if Dec wasn't responsible for filming the whole ordeal, he'd be on the ground just as Mason was.

"Oi, what are you crying for, mate? I'm the one in pain here." Jack points a finger accusingly at Ben, and when you turn around you see he has tears in his eyes, breathing coming out in desperate gasps as he shakes his head no, signalling he can't take any more of this banter. It seemed like everyone had at least slightly calmed down, but looking at Ben made everyone burst out in laughter yet again. Mason had tears streaming down his face now too, and you're sure he might piss his pants if he laughs any louder. It even makes Jack chuckle.

"Just get it over with, alright. I don't wanna be in pain any longer." Jack asks you nonetheless, guiding your hand to one of the other strips.

"It can't be that bad." Ben's voice is higher than usual from his earlier laughing fit, but he's wiping the tears from his eyes as he seems to have calmed down considerably. Mason can only nod in confirmation, still unable to form words without giggling.

"I have no problem waxing you lot too, babes." You smile up cheekily at them, which results in loud protests from the boys.

"Now that I would love to see." Jack replies, before looking down at his leg and rubbing the spot that was now rid of any hairs. "Perhaps this would be funnier if there weren't two other strips on me leg." He sighed in despair, staring at his leg with sad eyes. It made you chuckle, but seeing Jack's stern look dericted at you, you quickly focused on the task at hand.

"Alright, next one Jack."

"Lord have mercy."

The next strips don't have any other effect than the first one. It sends all of you rolling on the floor laughing, and Jack with tears in his eyes and red skin on his leg. Dec leaves the room at one point because he genuinely can't breathe, and Mason has to sprint to the bathroom, like you predicted. Meanwhile your hands get shakier and shakier from laughing, and you can barely see what you're doing due to the tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. Jack's decided to rip the last strip off himself, and you're shrieking with laughter as he pulls at it but chickens out from the pain, resulting in it only coming off halfway. When it is finally off, and all the hairy strips are disposed of, everyone slowly but certainly calms down. You're getting some lotion from upstairs to soothe the stinging, and when Ben orders pizza, it all seems long gone.

Yet when you're watching tv, and Mason steals a sneaky glance at Dec, the both can't help but try - and fail - to surpress their giggles.

It's how the rest of the night continued until the three other boys finally left in the late hours of the night.

"I'll clean, love. Get in bed and I'll see you in a bit, yeah?" Jack's offering once they're gone, and you're accepting gratefully as you kiss his cheek. The night was fun, but the laughing fits had you beyond tired.

So when Jack slips into bed next to you, you're already in bed with your eyes closed, dozing off.

"Hey, babe."

"Hm?" You mumble as you open your eyes at Jack's whisper.

"Wanna feel my leg?" He asks, but he's already draping his freshly waxed leg over your legs, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You've known the guy long enough to know that he won't stop bothering you if you decline, and the request makes you think of the many times you've asked him to feel your legs after - finally - shaving them again.

So you decide to humour him and softly carress his smooth leg.

"Feels pretty good, huh?" His voice cocky as he questions you.

"Sure, real smooth Jack."

"Wanna have sex with a sexy smooth beast like that?"

You snort loudly at his inappropriate request, shoving his leg off of you in a joking manner.

"Oh come on, don't tell me I went through all that for nothing!" He exclaims in agony.

"No, you went through all that because you suck at Fifa." You deadpan as you grin at him.

His eyes are darker as he watches you intently, and the knowing smirk on your face makes you apprehensive of what he's up to now. He's moving closer, hovering over you and effectively trapping you as his muscular arms hold himself up on either side of you. And next thing you know, he's placing a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth, before trailing down to your jaw. A gasp involuntarily leaves your lips as he nibbles at your earlobe.

"You know with how soft my leg is and all." He starts to whisper in your ear. His voice is husky and smooth - and normally you know what it means. But you have no clue where he's going with this sentence. "Would you mind if I-" And he's pausing again for dramatic effect as his lips graze over your hot skin. "Slitherin." He finally whispers in your ear, accentuating the 's'.

And just like that, you're back rolling over with laughter just like you had been that very afternoon.

[theodora3022]

Playing tricks with the trickster

Summary: Failed escape attempt from yandere Childe. He lets you play your cards, even playing along, just for his own amusement.

Notes: My first genshin piece yay... I had a sweet and terrible dream of me running from Childe in the woods. Also some inspiration was drawn from @cinnamonest‘s this post, one big virtual hug to her! I hope I did Childe justice, what can I say I love manipulative smiling boys. It has become a pattern as I dash from one fandom to another. This is had turned out to be longer then I expected...Ginger boy demands my time and energy too much omg. Mind the warnings, although there is nothing extreme in this.

Fun fact, I was looping to Nintendo game by Alessia Cara when writing this down. I believe it fits the theme of this fic quite well.

Tagging: @akutaguagua a great friend who patiently beta-read this mess of a horror dream and gave me lots of kind praises! 

(Offical art belongs to miHoYo! This is a cover page of this video, if there is any issues, contact me and I will remove it at once)

Warnings: Implied past abduction,dub-con touching, mild degradation, drugging(not on reader), implied non-con/dub-con at the end, this is not healthy love and I do not condone this irl.

It has been nearly a month since the youngest Fatui Harbinger had “taken you in”. After a few tries, you were too horrified by the punishments to continuously fight him. You learned on the first day that Childe’s smiling, the friendly mask would come off towards you. Your behaviour would decide if that is a curse or a “blessing”.

So you had quieted down, struggling to restrain yourself from yelling or screaming, carefully not to provoke his anger. Despite being compliant to his orders, you never truly showed him any affection either. Sure, you would sit on his lap if he asked, but you never initiated anything intimate with him. No matter how much Tartaglia spoiled you with clothes, books, jewelry or other luxuries, he is still the one who holds the commanding end of your shackles. It’s the best not to get used to all of that when your sight is set on the door.

Although he has taken your freedom away, you are not kept in a windowless room. On the contrary, you have too many outings now. Wherever he goes, you have to be present in a 2m radius, including meetings. Being a Harbinger is no easy job, so he prefers not having to worry about your safetly during buisness hours. The best way to do that is never let you out of his sight.

“Love, no one should witness our little problems. Well, no one alive that is.” Of course you wouldn’t want to put innocent people's lives at stake. You never dared to act out when you two are in public, and no one would bat an eye if a Fatui had taken a lover. 

You had taken an emotionless approach towards him. If Childe wants a kiss on the cheek, you’ll give him a quick light peck. If he wants breakfast, you’ll go make some pancakes with the topping he likes. Luckily, Childe had not done anything too extreme yet. If cuddling to sleep does not count as extreme that is. The only time you slipped up is when he suddenly hugs you from behind when you’re cooking.  

You thought maybe, just maybe, by being as boring and dull as you could, this bastard might just get tired of you and let you go. Childe only loves the fun of it right? Or maybe it could lower his guard.

Oh, how naive you are. You should have known better than to underestimate a Fatui harbinger. See, this is exactly why he needs to keep you around. Yes, unfortunately for you, Childe loves you, so very much. Speaking to him with a monotone voice isn’t going to alter that fact.

You have been devoid of emotions as of late. While Childe does appreciate fewer screams for the sake of his eardrums, this schemer can sense you are up to something. Perhaps this is the peace before your “storm”(he thought of it more like a drizzle)

You want to play a game? Okay, why not? Childe cannot wait to see what tricks you got on those sleeves. Are you ever getting away? Does an amateur ever win when they play a game with a professional trickster? Never.

Still, nothing bites like a cornered rat. You are no airhead, and he is fully aware of that. Just not as cunning and observent as him, that’s all.

The way you just kept your emotions sealed up is impressive, even to someone like him. Even when he got hansy, you did not flinch and just stared at the corner. Childe can only catch faint glimpses of anger when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Hm, when are you pulling your trigger? Tonight, or tomorrow night? Not that Childe is impatient, anything from you is worth waiting. But he would need to dismiss his patrolling underlings in the nearby woods beforehand. No extras would be allowed to disturb this game.

There is no chance during the day, a somewhat mutual understanding for you two. Night time in comparison, is a different story. 

Anyone’s sleeping hours is their most vulnerable time of the day, Childe is no exception. You do not plan to harm him, not that you don’t want to. But you are willing to swallow the pent up frustration towards him if you would never see his face again after this. Maybe beating up some slimes would help with the release?

You somehow managed to slip a mixture of herbs into his tea. Since he would buy cooking ingredients for you from time to time, you had requested a bunch of herbs along with the ingredients of a sleep inducing medicine you remembered. Although Childe does all he can to keep you near him, there are inevitable hours that he needs to be somewhere without you. He cannot jeopardize your safety with troublesome monsters. On a side note, he loves showing you off to anyone, his colleagues, acquaintances, business partners, anyone he does not deem a threat.

Enough time for you to make those herbs into powder and cover it up with a few spoons of milk. Tea with milk has become quite popular in Liyue as of late. Childe has grown to love them, so you have learned how to mix it up. He always let you handle his food and drinks, saying that he “trusts you”. What you do not know is this is one of the openings he exposed on purpose. It’s not like you can aquire anything deadly under his suffocating supervision.

Your plan will work, or so you think. Childe will not wake up when you wiggle out of his grasp, because dreamland will keep him occupied. All you need is a glider and a usable sword from Liyue and you’ll get your life back. Bottling up extreme emotions has certainly taken a toll on your mind, but it will be worth it if that is the prerequisite of being free.

Something about this being so easy sits ill with you. Have you really been with the youngest Fatui Harbinger this whole time? But that was brushed off your shoulders by the sheer excitement of regaining your long lost freedom. You know Liyue is in walking distance, all you need to do is cross these woods and-

The moment you dive into the forest, you think you heard an amused chuckle. 

That smooth voice terrifies you to no end, the same voice you took orders from for the past month.

Oh, how Childe loves seeing you happy. It’s priceless, both literally and figuratively. No matter how many things he buys you, you had not shown him even one small smile. Enjoy your sweet freedom, because it ain’t going to last. You certainly will know your place after this right? If not you are just dumber then he give you credit for.

That glow of relief in your eyes is worth every last bit of this intense dizzying feeling to Childe. To make sure your plan go through, he had drunk the tea without hesitation, quick enough to catch the momentarily excitement you expressed. He knows the game is on, therefore he had given the night patrol guards the entire evening off. Forcing himself to stay concious by digging his nails into his palms, Childe followed you into the woods.

Your potion is quite strong. Excellent, you’ll have to give him the recipe for informational purposes later. Especially how you managed to achieve such effects with a few herbs you had. He never took you to be anything less than a smart girl, but this has exceeded his expectations. Where’s the fun in a game without challenges?

How you storm through the forest wearing that cute terrified expression looks so endearing, it’s surely not his fault if he wants to enjoy this sight to be longer right.

So, each time you feel the slightest at ease due to whatever reason, expect Childe to make some sound to send you running like your life depends on it again. The sadistic man is hunting you down playfully, like a cat chasing a stray mouse to the inevitable corner.

You know he is toying with you. There is nothing you can do to make him shut up though.

“Love, you had scratched your leg. Must hurts by the looks of it.”

“Liyue is that way, you know.”

“Are you tired? If you want to jog in the middle of the night, you should have called me to come along!”

How can he say those things nonchalantly while you are trying to escape from him?  Here he is, daunting you with that signature smile he wears so very often. That is when reality slaps you right in the face. No matter how hard you plan, no matter how fast you run, there is no getting rid of him.

When your stamina runs out, a simple pull and push on your left wrist is enough to let you fall onto the ground panting. Even now, you still refuse to beg for mercy. You would take the cold grounds to the warmth of Childe’s embrace anyday. 

“Aw, burnt out already? Pathetic. Looks like we need to work on your stamina more. But this is not the place for exercise.”

“Look at me.” His slender but forceful fingers tilt your head up, making you look into those ocean blue orbs. There is anger present in his eyes, but those emotions are more a mixture of delight and that. His smile had also been replaced by a mocking smirk. “You, trying to leave me? Your sense of humor is...well, let’s just call it unique. Lucky for you, you amused me nonetheless.”

“I know what you’re thinking. How I’m a selfish jerk and you hate me. Why be so ungrateful? You get to live in luxury thanks to me, you know. I am selfish, yes, but look how stupid you are. I know you added something extra in my evening tea, my beloved.”

“Come now, we are going to do some exercises suited for a night like this once we’re back home. It is our one month milestone, after all. You had already given me your gift, it is only fair for you that I do the same.”

Childe is not making a sarcastic remark. The thrill of that chase was the best fun he had in months. And you are going to love his gift too, maybe not right away, but surely sometimes after. 

You have to mentally prepare yourself for the worst as he dragged you back to the prison, hopefully you’ll still be able to walk properly after whatever Childe got in store.

[slytherinsnekxvii]

i've been thinking about sirius black and grimmauld place and how much he hates it. so, here have this little fic i wrote about my take on that, just to get myself back into the swing of things now that real life has let up a little bit. warning for awful parenting that might hit a little too close to home before it goes off the rails, walburga and orion saying some really horrible things, and a stinging hex:

By the time Sirius gets his Hogwarts letter, Regulus has mastered the art of performing. He's much better than Sirius was—is—and Sirius wonders how much of that comes from Regulus seeing him make the simplest of mistakes and face the consequences. He wonders when he realised that he's being made an example.

He draws a knee up to his chest, idly twirling a quill between his fingers as his stomach grumbles. He ignores it. He's been sent to bed without supper enough times now that it hardly matters. He scratches two more lines of I will be obedient into the parchment and he thinks about Regulus some more.

He doesn't like the kid, sometimes. Envies him, even. There are things he does that Sirius finds maddening. Regulus has never spoken an original thought his life, follows every instruction given to him, willingly backs himself into corners and he refuses to put up a fight, unless he's the one who started it and knows he can finish it. What makes it worse is that these are lessons that Sirius taught him and couldn't learn himself.

Keep your innermost thoughts close to your chest and if you must speak them, do it aside, address no one but yourself.

Follow orders. Let yourself be manhandled and coerced into position by those who can see the bigger picture.

Never turn your back to your audience.

Turn the other cheek and follow through.

It's bothersome. They have a perfect little heir right there, but they ignore him just to try and force Sirius to be what they want him to be. It's a waste of everyone's time, since they all know that round pegs do not fit into triangular holes. It's suffocating, since they try to do it anyway, shaving away at the bits and pieces that won't fit, hacking at the parts of him that don't mold to fit the shape that they've carved for everyone carrying the Black name. It's unfair, that he's stuck here like this, going to bed without supper, writing lines, of all things, and riding out the effects of a nasty session of "Occlumency training", which he is certain is just an excuse to rifle through his mind and give him a headache.

I will be obedient. I will be obedient. I will be obedient.

His hand moves on its own, the letters appearing on the page ever-so-slightly wobbly as he writes without bothering to look at the words. It's infuriating, the way they echo in his head over and over, and over, again.

He lifts his head when Kreacher appears before him with a crack, his horrid little house-elf face twisted into that familiar, ever-present cross between a grimace and a scowl. "What?" he asks, and somehow, the elf's expression sours even more.

"Mistress wants her lines," Kreacher says. "Mistress says Kreacher is to collect them from Master Sirius."

"I'm not done yet," Sirius snaps, and bites his tongue when the house-elf turns up his mouth in disapproval. He takes his time carving the last few sentences into the parchment, and while his penmanship is probably the greatest it's ever been, he still scowls at the paper even after it's been handed over.

Kreacher scowls back at him and disappears. Sirius rubs his ears and wonders if the elf Apparates that loudly on purpose.

I will be obedient. I will be obedient. I will be obedient. The stupid words spin around in his head, and he scowls harder as he considers that he could probably fill an entire sheaf of parchment in his sleep.

See if I ever turn out like the bloody show dog you want, he thinks, vehemently, and shoves aside the bits of stationery on his desk so he can collapse face-first and not think. There's another crack, and he startles, forcing himself upright as Kreacher stands before him, with his little, twisted house-elf face and little, twig-like house-elf arms crossed.

"What?" he bites, again, and when the elf's expression takes a turn for the worse, he leans back in his chair and doesn't bother shaking off the vindictive satisfaction that crawls up his spine.

"Mistress wants to see Master Sirius in Master Orion's study. Master Sirius is a bad boy," Kreacher tells him, and he fights the urge to slam his fist on the desk, or worse, into Kreacher.

"Why?" Sirius asks, and he knows exactly why, they only ever want him for one reason, they never call on him for anything else, at all, ever, but he still asks. He's not actually expecting anything different, but he does it, just to be difficult.

"Master Sirius has been a bad boy," Kreacher says.

"Right, yeah. Thought as much, really," Sirius tells him, and makes no move to get up from his seat.

"Mistress wants to see Master Sirius in Master Orion's study," Kreacher repeats, and Sirius scoffs at him.

"And what are you going to do about it?" he taunts, and the elf Disapparates. Sirius sneers a bit at the wall, sticks out his tongue as he mocks, "Master Sirius has been a bad boy." He scoffs, idly kicks at the leg of his desk. "Master Sirius has been Sirius. Master Sirius isn't Regulus."

He collapses onto the desk again, lets out a quiet, frustrated scream as his leg picks up the speed and kicks even harder. He takes a deep breath as the woods shudders beneath him and eventually gets his limbs back under control. "Master Sirius doesn't want to be told what to do," he mumbles into the wood. "Master Sirius is a person. Master Sirius doesn't want to be controlled," he continues, quiet, and is glad that his moping is drowned out by the sound of Kreacher Apparating into his bedroom once again.

"Mistress says Master Sirius is being difficult. Maater Sirius must come to the study at once," the elf says, and Sirius doesn't even bother to lift his head. "Master Sirius must come! Mistress insists!"

"Or what?" Sirius asks, tone as bitter and spiteful as his little eleven-year-old tongue can manage.

"Mistress says that Master Sirius must come to the study at once! Master Sirius is being a very bad boy! Horrible boy! Spiteful child!"

Sirius feels his eye twitch as he listens to the elf slowly dissolve into histrionics, wonders if he's listening to Kreacher, or his mother. "Master Sirius is just fine!" he says. "Master Sirius doesn't have to listen to you or be obedient or anything!"

"Master Sirius must go to the study!"

"No!" Sirius exclaims, and he does bang his fist on the desk, noticing far too late that Kreacher has gone silent. The realisation strikes him when his hand leaves the desk and a hand circles his wrist, grip ice-cold. "No..." he says, quiet, and horror takes him as he involuntarily tries to tear away from the hold. If anything, it tightens.

"You would disobey your parents, Sirius Orion?"

"I—" Sirius gasps, and forces himself to be as still as possible, as steady as he can manage even though he still finds himself shaking by the time he finds it in himself to continue. "No, Father, I—"

He won't hit you, Sirius thinks. He would never stoop so low, and he isn't holding his wand. He wouldn't hit you. He wouldn't. He would never. Not with his bare hands. Not without his wand.

His trembling ceases a little, and he starts to speak again. "No, Father, I—"

"Quiet. Your mother is calling for you, you wretched child. Why have you not attended to her?"

"I'm sorry—"

"Apologies mean nothing without action, young man. Do better," Orion stresses, and Sirius bends, head bowing as he prepares to reiterate his apology.

"I—"

"That was not an invitation to speak, Sirius Orion."

"Yes, Father. S—" he bites his tongue and tries not to listen to his heart slowly beating its way out of his chest.

"This is no behaviour to be exhibited by my heir. You will get up, and you will come with me to attend to your mother."

"Yes, Father," Sirius says, and swallows the fire building behind his tongue and under his fear.

The grip around his wrist loosens, and he moves it a little, just to make sure it's still there, still attached, still working and prepares to get up even as he hates himself for listening and his father for making him.

"Quickly, Sirius Orion. Your mother is waiting."

"Yes, Father," he says, and in his mind, he kicks himself for the meekness in his tone.

When he stands up on marginally less shaky legs, Orion moves to clap a hand on his shoulder to steady him and the sheer anticipation of the touch forces Sirius to stand at attention. He straightens his spine until it can go no further without snapping, and when Orion's hand actually lands on his shoulder, he has to concentrate to avoid flinching under the touch.

Orion taps his shoulder once, twice, and then grips it with the same force he'd used on Sirius' wrist. "Go on, then."

Sirius starts to move. Orion does not let up, steel grip still locked in place as it directs Sirius throughout the house. They pass Regulus' door, and Sirius fights the urge to sneer at it, with its stupid, pretentious sign protecting his stupid, pretentious baby brother who's probably asleep with a full belly and not a care in the world with Kreacher at his bedside to bend to his every whim. Stupid, lucky performer sticking to his script... poor little contest crup doing tricks for the judges.

Orion's grip on his shoulder tightens and Sirius hisses as he bends under the pressure. "I said, quickly, Sirius Orion. You would make your mother wait even longer for you than you already have?"

"No, I—" Sirius continues, tripping over his own feet as the his own movement ceases while his father continues to push.

"She's been patient all this time and you would leave her to sit alone and unattended to?"

"Father—"

"Ungrateful child," Orion rebukes and Sirius chokes.

"Yes, Father."

They enter the study quietly, Sirius standing at attention once more while Orion rounds the large desk to take his seat. Walburga crosses and uncrosses her legs in her nearby armchair, and clears her throat. She sits up, handa placed carefully atop each other in her lap and it's an image he's familiar with. She elegantly rolls her wand between her fingers and Sirius reminds himself to tread carefully, don't make a mistake, she's armed, even if this the most demure he's ever seen her.

"Siri."

"Yes, Mother," he answers.

"Why did you not come when I called?"

I didn't want to, I hate you, I hate you both, he thinks. I was scared, he thinks. "I don't know, Mother," he says.

"That isn't an answer, Sirius Orion. If you didn't know, you could have done as I asked of you and inquired it of me when you arrived."

You didn't bother to ask. You ordered, he thinks. "Yes, Mother," he says.

"Why did you not come when I called?"

I'm here, anyways, aren't I? "Kreacher was annoying me," he lies, or well, sort of. Kreacher had been annoying him, but that wasn't why he'd disobeyed. He bites his tongue when he watches their expressions shift.

"Kreacher... was annoying you," Walburga asks, tone flat.

"Yes, Mother," Sirius says.

"So, rather than banish him and do as you were told, you chose... to disobey me?" The uptick in her voice is dangerous, but her position remains the same and Sirius falls into the trap.

"I—sorry, Moth—agh!" The Stinging Hex hits his hand and he shakes it the appendage rapidly as he waits for the pain to abate. "Yes, Mother," he croaks, when his hand graduates from acute pain to slight numbness.

"Do better next time," Walburga tells him, rolling her thirteen inches of elm between her fingers. "Apologies are worthless, I know your father would have told you that much."

"Yes, Mother. I won't keep you waiting again, Mother," Sirius forces. You'll drag me kicking and screaming next time, he thinks.

"Words, again. Powerful, yes. Useful, yes... but that's only in the hands of those whose actions are able to prove it. You've not done so, Siri," Walburga continues, quiet, and this is how Sirius knows he's gone and done it.

His hands move to clench on their own, and his aching left convinces him to clasp them behind his back instead. His legs itch to move, to run away, to go anywhere but here. He wishes he had his broom.

"You disobey. You refuse to listen. You ignore our teachings. You blunder and stumble and do all manner of upsetting things, Siri. We feed you and clothe you and we provide a bed for you to rest your head when the night comes, and yet... you continue to act so horribly. You speak out of turn, you do everything in the exact wrong manner. If I didn't know better, I would think you were doing such awful things on purpose. To spite your father and I." Her eyes meet his and Sirius can't help it, he looks away. His father's lip curls and still, he refuses to look at her.

"You are a horrible child, Siri. Wicked and ungrateful and awful. You aren't worthless, though. You're the product of your father and I, after all. And you aren't incompetent or stupid. You can be taught, Siri. All you must do is listen, and obey. You can be trained and we will make you the wizard you were meant to be as our heir. You need not do anything but obey."

Sirius takes a breath, the cool air sticking in the back of his throat as he feels the hackles on the back of his neck raise. "I—You don't—"

"Don't... what, Sirius Orion?" his father asks.

Nothing, he thinks. "It's—I'm a person! You want an heir that you can teach and train and make, have Regulus! I don't—" he starts, and his eyes widen as he listens to the words spilling out of his mouth with no permission of his and no control over them at all.

"You are a wretched, horrible creature! Awful boy! Spiteful child! How dare you?" Walburga screeches, and Sirius winces, his own mouth clamping shut. "We are your family, your parents. You would disgrace your own blood in such a way? Horrible, awful child! Incompetent! Lazy! Stupid! Never learns! You are an awful creature! Terrible boy! Unworthy! I can hardly believe you came of my loins! We have been nothing but good to you! Awful child, waste of blood, Sirius Orion, how dare you?"

She's sprung out of her chair, elm wand held high in her hand as a weapon, and Sirius ducks even as he shouts.

"I didn't mean it! I didn't, I didn't, I was only angry," he pleads. "I won't do it again," he tells them, quietly, and as his mouth quivers, he tastes salt.

"See to it that you don't," Orion says, frigid even as he rests a hand on his wife's waist to steady her and glares at his firstborn. "I'll not have such an outburst taking place again."

Tell that to your wife, Sirius thinks bitterly, sniffing as quietly and unnoticeably as possible to stave off the rest of the tears he hadn't realised he was crying.

"Yes, Father," Sirius says.

"Get out," Orion tells him.

"Yes, Father," Sirius says, and with that, he turns around and leaves. Quietly, with some sort of dignity so they don't have another thing to hold over his head.

He passes Regulus' stupid door again, kicks it and watches as not even the sign shakes.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," he cries, quietly, as he continues down the hallway, with his voice warbling and his fist pounding against the wall as he goes. Regulus' face flashes through his mind, and then his mother's, his father's, his own. Coward, he spits, inaudible, and the word is coated in every bit of venom he's capable of. "I hate you," he says to the empty air, and not even he can tell who he's trying to address.

[omniscientoranges]

Advanced Reader Copy

Dean gives Cas a book to read. Or, well, a passage from a book.

(basically, Cas reads a part of Lost and Found)

1.5k

read on ao3

"Hey, Cas, can I talk to you?" 

Cas stops in place at Dean's voice, a few feet in front him. They're standing in the middle of the library, where Cas had just been trying to stealthy avoid Dean noticing him walking by. 

It's been a little over a week since Dean (with some help from their friends) had pulled Cas out of the Empty. Since then, they've been not-so-obviously/obviously avoiding each other. 

The reason being that, basically, they haven't talked about what Cas said. Yet. Maybe they wouldn't ever talk about it. Honestly, Cas would be absolutely fine with that, if it meant he got to keep Dean as a friend. That would be absolutely fine and not at all painfully heartbreaking in any way. Not at all. 

Cas nods. "Of course, Dean. What is it?" 

Dean shifts on his feet. "It's, well, it's kinda important." 

"Okay," Cas says, smiling slightly even though his heart has started to beat erratically in his chest. 

"Look, I- shit. This is-" Dean stops himself, and shakes his head as his eyes dart back and forth across the concrete floor. Then he pauses, eyes fallen on one of the shelves, and looks back up at Cas. 

"Just gimme a minute, I'll be right back." 

Cas squints, "Alright, I'll just-" he starts to say, but Dean's already ran off to some far-flung corner of the bunker — taking whatever he wanted to say and whatever idea he's suddenly had with him. 

Cas stares after him, but stays rooted to the spot. 

Time passes. It is — possibly — the longest string of minutes Castiel, former Angel of the Lord and current Angel of Absolutely No One (Except, Maybe, the Winchesters), has ever experienced. 

After an eternity passes in 10 minutes, Dean walks back into the library. He's carrying a beat-up cardboard box, with a single book resting on top of where the box has been folded closed. 

Dean drops the box onto a nearby table, and the old wood creaks under the new weight. Before Cas can see it, Dean quickly grabs the single book off the top and holds it tight to his chest. It's angled in a way that Cas can only make out that it is, in fact, a book; but not anything else about it. 

"What are these?" Cas asks, moving the cardboard flaps out of the way to peer into the box. 

"Books." Dean answers. 

Cas rolls his eyes, "I know they're books, Dean, I mean what-" and Cas finally catches sight of one of the covers. 

Carver Edlund.

"Oh," Cas says. "They're, um. Our books, I suppose." 

Dean rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah. I guess, uh, I guess Chuck kept writing. Sammy found them when he went to check out Chuck's old place a few weeks back. Looks like the rest of his books never made it into circulation though. I think he just mojo-ed up some printed copies for himself when he finished with 'em, pompous bastard." 

Dean's mouth forms a thin line at the thought of Chuck, but wipes it away as quickly as it came. "But anyways, here," Dean holds out the book he was carrying between them. "Take it." 

Cas reaches out apprehensively, and pulls the book from Dean's grasp. 

"I promise it'll all make sense," Dean insists. "Just, um, flip to the page I have marked." 

Cas takes a moment to look over the book before opening it. The paperback is a stark black, contrasted by a stylized funeral pyre adorning the front, which is set at a distance so the majority is taken up but a long trail of smoke curling up until it disappears beyond the edge of the cover. 3 figures are silhouetted by the flames, and they stand apart from each other. Separate. The title reads Lost and Found by Carver Edlund.

Cas opens to where Dean has dog-eared the book only a handful of pages before the end, and reads. 

Dean held the lighter close to his chest, almost like he was holding a candle at a vigil. In a way, he was. 

Dean had been to a lot of funerals, built a lot of funeral pyres, but something about this one had broken him in a way he wasn't expecting. It broke him in a way he had spent years — decades, really — fighting against. 

You see, Dean wasn't the kind of guy. He was a red-blooded, beer-drinking, pool-hustling, bacon-cheeseburger-eating, classic-car-driving, skin-mag-reading American male. Guys like that don't have game-changing feelings for other guys. They just don't. 

At least, that's what Dean always told himself. 

But standing in front of that pyre, watching the smoke rise, he told himself something different for once. Dean told himself it was all a bunch of bullshit, because he was still all those things he was before, and he wouldn't ever stop being those things no matter what. He was just something else extra, too. 

Because Dean would have traded anything in that moment to get Cass back. Would have traded all the cheeseburgers and beer in the world. Would have traded his life. Hell, he would have traded his car if it meant he'd get another chance at this. Another chance with Cass. Just one chance to finally tell him what he'd been too scared all these years to say. Because Cass had always been around, even when he didn't need to be — he was there. But now he wasn't. And Dean wanted more than anything else in the world for him to be there so he could finally say— 

"Dean," Cas says, voice wavering. The paragraph cuts off mid-sentence; if he wants to read the rest of it, he'll have to flip to the next page to see. "What is this?" 

"Your funeral, after Lucifer killed you." 

Cas shakes his head, not quite believing Dean's words, or Chuck's for that matter. Surely this couldn't be, he couldn't really mean—

Dean interrupts Cas' swirling thoughts. "It's Chuck's words, but it's- it's all me. He writes it more flowery than it really was, ya know, up here," Dean taps two fingers to the side of his head, "but it's the truth." He laughs to break the tension, but there's an edge of nerves there. Cas can almost hear his heartbeat across the room. "Don't tell Baby this, but I really would've given her up if it meant getting you back." 

Cas shakes his head harder, tears springing loose and dropping onto the page, smudging the ink. 

"Dean-" 

"Turn the page." 

"What's on the next page, Dean?" 

"You know what." 

"I-" 

"Cas, just turn the page." 

Cas turns the page with an unsteady hand. It's blank, likely formatted that way for dramatic effect, save for 3 words in the top left corner. 

I love you.

Cas makes a choked sound and breathes out in disbelief, in sheer amazement. He runs his fingertips over the letters, traces the shape of them, feels their weight and knows it's heavier in his hands than any cheap paperback ever could be. It feels too much all of a sudden. Like something so remarkable shouldn't be confined to print — like 3 typeset and faded little words shouldn't be enough to shift the core of him so intensely that it makes his whole body ache. 

Then, the feeling of hands brushing over his pulls him out of his own head, and he looks up to see Dean (Dean, of course it's Dean, who else would it be? Who else could it ever be but Dean). Dean shifts one hand over Cas' around the spine of the book, and uses the other to push Cas' fingers away from where they rest on the page. He gently pulls the book out of his grip, and sets it on the table next to them. They both stare at it for a long moment, and then Dean is moving his hands back onto Cas, bringing both of them up to cup his face. 

Dean looks at him, eyes shining. "I meant it, I mean it. I know I'm not the best at showing it all the time, and I know I should've told you a million times before this, but I really do mean it." 

"I know you do." Cas wraps one hand loosely around Dean's wrist, and lets the other dig into his hip; anchoring both of them in place. "I- I mean it too." 

"Yeah?" 

"Of course." 

They smile at each other and rest their foreheads together, just standing there breathing the same air like it's the first time they've let themselves breathe for months. 

When they kiss, it's not a storybook. It's not bargain bin horror fiction. It's not a bestseller. It's not scripted, or planned out, or lighted particularly well. It's a kiss. It's a little awkward, a little unpracticed, a little gross through the tears. 

What it is, is the promise of another. And another after, and after that, and after and after and after. As many as they want for as long as they want. 

Their life isn't a story anymore, not in the way that they're used to. And it's no longer getting written down to be conveniently handed to each other to read whenever they have a hard time expressing their feelings. But, for a time, it was a story. It was their story. 

And it was a hell of a story, all things considered.

[unecoccinellenoire]

Hi! I don’t know if you’re still doing the prompts but could I suggest maybe an au of Freaky Friday where maybe it was Nathalie and Gabriel that swapped please?

Nathalie and Gabriel?

Now that would be a mess. But maybe actually one I can work with so let have a speedrun of that scenario 

Gabriel stared up at his own face, “Why would it be an akuma?”

“I don’t know,” Nathalie hissed back at him, and from the disgruntlement that passed over her face when she spoke she was as thrown at how weird she sounded as him as he was, “but there aren’t exactly many other sources of random magical powers in Paris are there?”

“There’s Ladybug.”

“This doesn't fit in with any of the Miraculous we know about.”

“Well it wasn't an akuma.”

“What was it then?”

“Us!” Duusu trilled suddenly appearing from wherever the Kwami had been.

“Duusu,” Nooroo whimpered from behind his head, and really what was it about Nathalie’s hair that made it a magnet for Kwami’s.

Though his irritation gave way to anger as he realised, “wait, was this you?”

Then a knock at the door froze all of them, “Father? Um, I haven't seen Nathalie this morning so I'm just going to go to school.”

He opened his mouth to talk but Nathalie spoke first calling out to the door, “She's not feeling well. She’ll email you your schedule later.”

……......

“An act of selfless love?” Nathalie said, “Alright. I can work with that, Duusu spread my feathers.”

He couldn’t help but be distracted by the sight of himself blue and pink-eyed, and reached out to his face as if to check it was real. He wasn't sure the hair was a fantastic look but at least, “I'm thankful I'm not in your dress. I don’t think I’d pull it off.”

Nathalie flushed, and looked down, “I hadn’t even really thought. We’ll have to thank Duusu I guess.”

“I think you contributed,” he ran his eye over the tailcoat and slim trousers, “I can see Mayura in it. And your elegance.”

“My,” she blinked, “Thank you sir.”

“So what's your plan then?”

“The same as it's always been.”

“We can't make waste the Wish on fixing this,” and if they were using their original plan then as distracting as the image of Emilie and Nathalie together was, he could hardly just explain to his wife than he and his assistant had switched bodies and expect her to be ok with that, “we need it for Emilie.”

“I know,” Nathalie said, “which is why we get Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculous, and then I make the wish to sacrifice myself for Emilie. That should work shouldn’t it? I know it wouldn’t be completely selfless but,”

“What?” The room felt suffocating and hot, and he thought he might faint and he hoped this wasn’t what Nathalie felt like all the time because of damage from the Peacock Miraculous. “That’s, how, what about that wouldn’t be selfless.”

“I wouldn’t be in pain.” Nathalie said, and didn’t seem to realise how her words felt like stab wounds, “and you’d be the one dealing with all the mess afterward; explaining my death, explaining it all to Emilie, explaining it all to Adrien. And I’d know you were happy and I wouldn’t have to,” she stopped herself, “it doesn’t matter. I think it would still work.”

“We’re not doing that. I’m not killing you because our blasted Kwamis have betrayed us.”

“We are forcing them to work against their natures.”

“You really think Duusu has a problem with what we’re doing?” He should have seen Nooroo’s treachery coming but Duusu’s did surprise him.

“No,” she exhaled, “I don’t think that’s where Duusu’s actions are coming from. Duusu has a,” she bit her lip in thought, “different way of looking at the world. I wouldn’t advise asking for my kwami’s reasons. But it doesn’t matter. This doesn’t change anything.”

She looked as if what she meant was obvious when it very much was not. “It does. This was never the plan.”

“I thought you were willing to do anything for her?”

“Not that.” He pressed his fingers to his temples, “Nathalie if I was willing to throw your life away I’d have commanded you to wear that Miraculous from day one. I have never wanted to hurt you, and I can’t lose you too, you’re the only thing that gets me through each day.”

“You wouldn’t be losing me too, you’d have her back.”

“It’s too heavy a price,” Nathalie was, she was his friend and his certainty and he didn’t know how he could look himself in the mirror, could look Emilie in the eyes, if he killed her, “We not doing that.”

“It wouldn’t work anyway,” Nooroo said, “it has to be the elder of you that performs the selfless act of love.”

He’d never seen what horror looked like on his own face, and even blue it was his own face, until that moment.

…......

“I’ve got it,” Gabriel reached forward and pulled the Miraculous off her, “You’re never using this again.”

He waited for this nightmare to be over, but apart from her transformation falling from him-as-Mayura to him-as-himself nothing happened.

It should have worked. He’d put Nathalie ahead of his goals. Ahead of Emilie. Shouldn’t that have solved the whole thing?

“You’re said that before sir,” Nathalie said.

If he wasn’t in her body, and overly aware of how he could damage it, then he’d have punched a wall. Stupid past him screwing it up for all of them. And he’d always known letting Nathalie use that Miraculous was a mistake.

……….

“We’re probably going to have to get dressed at some point,” Nathalie said, looking as if she’d stepped in something distasteful, “you’ve a zoom meeting later. I guess it’s lucky we were swapped with each other, so we can keep the business going.”

Lucky was not what Gabriel would call the situation at all especially when, “I can’t just undress you.”

She was his assistant. It was wrong for him to know what she looked like under her clothes in any more exactness than her measurements. And the longer he was in her body the harder it was going to be not to ever look.

His body must have blushed more today than it ever had before, as Nathalie said, “Maybe just. Don’t shower today.”

“I wasn’t going to,” otherwise he’d actually be touching her and that was wrong wrong wrong, “I will try and respect your privacy Nathalie.”

“I know you would,” she said looking at him with a trust he wasn’t sure he’d earnt, “you dress models all the time, this isn’t any different. OK, I admit I’m not model but I trust you to be professional about this.”

“You’re pretty enough to model,”

She blinked, “I don’t think I can agree but thank you. And, I’ll do my best to give you your privacy too.”

“I never expected otherwise,” Nathalie was always professional, “I know I can trust you.”

“Thank you sir,” she said before a look of sheer horror crossed her face, “oh god, I’m going to have to go to the loo as you.”

He felt a funny warmth in his stomach. “We’ll have to fix this quickly then.”

“Yes,” said Nathalie but she didn’t look any more convinced than before.

………

“I’ve another idea,” he said, and reached up to cup his own face, and tried to ignore how disconcerting the whole situation was he pressed his lips to hers or his depending on how one considered it.

Nathalie pulled away immediately, stumbling a few steps back, “What on earth was that?”

From the look of her she seemed to think he had some weird obsession with himself so he rushed to clarify. “I thought, you know, it worked for the heroes before to break the effects of akumas?”

“Sir,” she was speaking to him very slowly like he was a child, and it sounded more condescending in his own voice, “You’re not in love with me. So that wouldn’t work.”

Her dismissal of him yet again annoyed him. He was going to fix this. And he was going to get Nathalie’s respect back.

…………

“I’m going to Adrien’s fencing match,” Nathalie announced.

“What? Why?”

“I promised him I would. It’s in the schedule.”

“For Nathalie.”

“I cleared yours too sir. You can come with us if you want.”

“I need to work out how to solve this not waste time placating Adrien. You go if you want.”

“I will.”

As he watched Adrien’s joyful smile on seeing what he thought was his father he realised uncomfortably that Adrien hadn’t smiled like that at him in he didn’t know how long.

Perhaps he could spare Adrien some more time.

……….

“I’ve come to a decision,” Gabriel announced.

“Yes?” Nathalie asked with a raised eyebrow, “Have you found a way to fix this sir?”

“What? No. I’m going to invent a better bra. I never realised it but there’s so many issues with current designs, the straps keep falling down, and the underwire is uncomfortable and,”

“Have you somehow got it on wrong? It’s never bothered me.”

“How would I have got it on wrong? I’m not stupid.” Although admittedly Nathalie probably adjusted herself more than Gabriel felt comfortable doing with his assistant’s body.

Nathalie frowned, and he almost mirrored her, he hadn’t realised he always looked this severe. “Maybe you just have a lower discomfort threshold than me sir.”

“That does seem to be the case yes,” because he’s struggling to get through the door past the aches and exhaustion that Nathalie has apparently been lying about not feeling.

…………

“I just don’t know what we’re going to do Nathalie,” he said as he relaxed back against her after she caught him after another coughing fit. He’d always felt utterly insufficient for what he could do for her afterwards and no seeing it he felt almost more so.

“We’ll fix this somehow sir,” she said, “I’m sorry it was me. I know if it had been Adrien or someone else you cared for this would have been much easier.”

He turned around, “What are you talking about? I can’t see how that would be easier at all.”

Because there was an obvious thing he could do to fix this at least and he couldn’t think what would be obvious in Adrien’s case.

Not that he could do the obvious thing so knowing it didn’t really help but….

…………..

Because he can’t pretend the toll this is taking on her isn’t obvious now. Not when he’s the one feeling it.

And the thing is. It’s not all the Peacock Miraculous either. If either of them could break this spell then Nathalie would have already done it a hundred times over.

She’s ready to lay down her life for him. She’s already risked her health and her freedom. This isn’t her job.

This is him being unfair.

And he’s never cared much for fairness. After all. Life isn’t. But it feels different with Nathalie. It rankles. He doesn’t want to be the one hurting her.

……………

“Are you going to send out an akuma sir?” Nathalie asked.

He shook his head, “Not like this.”

……………

He reached out to Emilie’s coffin and tried to ignore how much higher it was.

“I’m sorry Em,” he said, “I think I might be a very selfish man. Can you forgive me?”

Are you alive?

Is this a betrayal?

Or is it just recognising reality?

…………

“Adrien,” he said and his son looks up with worry for whatever Nathalie’s going to say he’s forgotten but there’s affection too, and there’s nothing he can say actually. Not as Nathalie. Not when he knows the opinions on the matter he’s wrongly allowed his son to have. “Don’t worry.”

Though if he does this then it’s not so wrongly.

………..

He still doesn’t like Adrien’s friends but as Nathalie he sees them more often and as he sees how his son changes as he sees how he becomes more like Emilie at her very best he has to revaluate some of the choices they’re made, and whether they’ve been stifling certain talents of Adrien’s.

………..

Nathalie didn’t say anything when he sees him transformed, but her eyes say it all.

“I thought it was quite striking,” he said of the Butterfly wing dress, wrapped around her body he was wearing.

“No,” she said, “it is sir, I’m just not sure it looks very suitable for fighting.”

“It’s not.” He agreed, but I’m not planning to fight. Give me your Miraculous Nathalie. I’m going to akumatise myself again.”

“With both of them?”

“No,” he laughed, “but I’ll want it after and I don’t want to fight you.”

“Sir,” Nathalie asked, “What are you doing?”

“Trust me.”

And she does.

………..

He felt it the moment the spell breaks. True his akumatised form is androgynous compared to his transformation under the Butterfly Miraculous’ powers but he’d known it has changed nonetheless.

And then Ladybug purified his akuma and he could see it has.

“M.Agreste?” Ladybug asked, “How did you get Hawk Moth and Mayura’s Miraculous?”

“I don’t know,” he said giving thanks for the effects of his akumas, “I don’t remember anything.”

Chat Noir was looking at him oddly, “did you fight Hawk Moth?”

“I think,” he said deciding he could afford this much to avoid the embarrassment of apparently losing to himself, “this was what Hawk Moth wanted me to do.”

……….

Nathalie greeted him at the door, “Are you alright?”

“Never better.” He confirmed.

She pulled him in shutting the door behind him, “You gave up.”

“I did.”

“It fixed us.”

“It did.”

“Then,” she still looked shell-shocked, “that means, you gave up for me?”

“It wasn’t entirely selfless,” he said, “I’m rather glad it worked despite that but Nooroo thought it would. But, I’m not sure I’m ready to confront what all of that means. Not while Emilie’s still,”

“I’ll be here when you are,” she said with a grounding clasp of her hand around his arm.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 46

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You try to find your way back.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Angst, anxiety, mild body horror

AO3

You woke up coughing and gagging, pulling your jacket out from under your head to wrap it around your face. For there to be so much dust in the air, another dust storm must have kicked up outside.

Just as predicted, when you looked out one of the air holes of the cave system, you saw the wall of dust that cut off all sight after a few feet.

You sighed and sat back in the deepest part of the cave, making sure to keep the jacket wrapped around your head. It was much different being here as a physical entity instead of just living in someone’s head. You knew which one you preferred.

Still coughing frequently, you picked up a stone tool, no bigger than a piece of chalk, and added another tick to the rows of marks Bucky had started. Tenth day in the demon realm, with no sign of rescue.

It had been sheer luck that you’d woken up in a place with landmarks you actually recognized. You weren’t far from Bucky’s old territory, and after hours of walking barefoot through the sand, socks stuffed into your pockets, you made it to the cave system he’d used as a home base.

Seeing the same walls, the edible fungus, the dried “bamboo” strips as bedding, even the old journal Bucky had left behind, it had been the most relieving and the most painful thing you’d felt in a while. That was saying a lot, considering you’d been murdered just a few hours prior.

Your shelter and source of food and water secured, you’d done nothing but decompress, going over everything that had happened.

Bucky falling into Zemo’s trap. Forced to be a weapon once more and ordered to kill Rogers. He probably would have if you hadn’t managed to pull on the thin thread that had remained of your bond.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. The bond you’d both wanted to get rid of had been the thing to save Bucky’s life. The cursed book had been right; the only thing that could break your bond was Bucky’s death… or yours. It hadn’t said the death would result in you being banished to the demon realm, but it wasn’t like the damn book had been trying to be helpful to begin with.

No, if anything, the ancient sorcerer whose words it had quoted had been more insightful. Especially the part where he’d witnessed a human slave die in his master’s place, and his body had burned to ashes.

Is that what had happened to you? Had Bucky been forced to watch as you’d crumpled to dust in his hands? God, you hoped not.

At least it explained how you ended up here and that corpse you’d seen through Bucky’s eyes. A human with a demon sigil, it could only mean one thing. This was where all human slaves ended up, eventually.

You just hoped you wouldn’t meet the same fate.

Thoughts turned back to Bucky as they usually were, you couldn’t begin to imagine how Bucky was dealing with your death. All you could hope was that he realized it hadn’t been permanent, and that he would find a way to the demon realm without dying himself. Knowing him, Bucky would take that route if he had to.

But here it was, day ten, and you were beginning to have doubts. You knew time flowed differently here and you would have to be patient, but it was impossibly difficult. You just prayed you wouldn’t have to wait another fifty years. Unlike Bucky, you doubted you would remain ageless in this place.

Day ten became day eleven. And then twelve. And then you’d been in the demon realm for two weeks with no sign of Bucky or the wizards.

At day fifteen, you decided it was time to stop waiting, and time to start being proactive. If your rescuers couldn’t come to you, perhaps you could bring yourselves to them. You’d glimpsed the truth in Bucky’s memories after him coming through the portal. Your younger self had practically bragged about opening a portal, and you’d been ten years old.

Surely you could still do it, even if you didn’t remember how… and even though you’d never shown a spark of magic while training under Wong.

But what else was there to do? It wasn’t as if there was anyone else around to embarrass yourself in front of.

Only… that turned out not to be the case.

You had managed to create a spark in the air. It was orange and sputtered after a few seconds, but it was the most you’d ever accomplished before. After a few more hours, you got a glowing circle the size of a hula-hoop.

But it was the wrong color, orange and not blue, and the image you could see through it was just more red sand. You didn’t need to travel across the planet; you needed to get away from it.

Frustrated, you weren’t as aware of your surroundings as you should have been, and that was when the demon attacked. Drooling and growling, it charged at you from over the sands and chased you into the cave system. You recognized it from before; a large beast that looked like it was part-bear, part-bull, and it was pissed.

Terrified and without thought, you made a jerky circular motion just as the demon launched itself at you.

The portal fizzled to life and vanished just as quickly, and the bottom half of a demon body landed on top of you. It was still smoking from where the portal had sliced through it like a hot blade.

It was the first and last time you tried to make a portal.

The days continued to crawl by until a month had passed, or at least, the best you could guess as days and months when the sunlight never changed or faded.

Until it finally did. And that’s when things truly started to take a turn for the worst.

You’d managed to keep your spirits up by reading the journal Bucky had left behind, reliving the time you’d spent together in a weird, symbiotic partnership, but when the rare night came and shrouded everything in cold darkness, you didn’t even have Bucky’s words to comfort you. The jacket was no longer a breathing mask and went back on your shoulders, barely keeping the chill at bay.

Through the dim starlight that came through the overhead holes in the ceiling, you could see your breath fogging up before you. You huddled into a tighter ball, tried to keep your emotions in check, and eventually gave up. You turned your head and sobbed quietly into your arms, letting the despair and fear pour out of you like a flooded dam.

And still it grew colder. You couldn’t remember Bucky being this cold, but then again, he wasn’t fully human. Plus, even though you’d been an observer in his head, you’d been able to raise his body temperature and keep him warm.

Now, all you could do was shiver and stay huddled against the wall that still retained heat from the day. You didn’t want to think about what you’d do when it faded.

Somehow in the night, you’d managed to fall asleep, or maybe fall unconscious. When you stirred, something was… wrong. You shifted your arms and legs and your skin tingled oddly, goosebumps breaking out along your flesh as the sensations felt off, both muffled and heightened at the same time.

You opened your eyes and wished you hadn’t. Instead of the bare skin of your arms… they were covered with grey-blue fur. Smooth, short, and thick, like a cat’s.

The panicked sound you made wasn’t human, and that just made the panic worse. You scrambled across the cave floor and ran to the nearby underground stream. There would be enough light now that the sun had risen for you to see…

Horns.

The face staring back at you was barely your own. Thin fur covered your face entirely, your pupils were no longer round but narrowed into slits, and the horns. They curved from either side of your forehead, several inches in length and grey, like ashy bone.

That wasn’t the only oddity. You turned your head and gasped at the long, pointed ears sticking out from under your hair.

You looked like a strange mixture of part-human, part-demon, part-cat.

This can’t be real. I’m hallucinating. Exposed to the cold, this is just the effect of a dying mind.

Expect, it didn’t go away. Your shock continued to mount as you took stock of the rest of yourself. The same blue-grey fur covered every inch of you. When you flexed your fingers, sharp nails slide outward from the nailbed, strange but natural at the same time.

You weren’t completely cat-like. There were the horns, of course, but when you stretched and felt along the back of your neck, scaly ridges continued all the way down your spine to your—

You jumped when something moved inside your pant leg, and you earned yourself a flare of pain when you slapped it to discover it was a long, puffed up, furry tail.

You startled giggling. The giggling devolved into hysterical laughter, and when that faded, it turned into breathless crying.

Now you knew why you hadn’t frozen to death in the night.

Your curiosity as to what you had become waned along with the days. The anxiety and fear was gone too. Something important had slipped your mind, like a half-forgotten dream, but there was nothing to remember. You had your cave system, your food source, and your territory to defend. There was nothing else you could possibly want.

Even the scorching sunlight no longer bothered you and instead filled you with strength. Your fur protected you from the worse of the sandy wind, and a third eyelid, transparent and able to cover your eye, allowed you to see even in the worst of dust storms. And there was a power that seemed to sustain you, an energy from this place that kept you strong and brimming with a power you didn’t quite understand.

Your body was perfectly suited for this world, and after a while, you couldn’t remember a time when it’d been any different.

Sometimes, you had dreams. Confusing ones, because they were of both a man and a demon. You always woke from these with your chest aching and your vision blurred, but you blinked the moisture away and soon, those were also forgotten.

Most demons knew better than to encroach on your territory, and in turn, you left them to theirs. Any demons foolish enough to ignore your boundaries were easily chased away with your outstretched talons and ripping claws. Once, when a demon that stood twice your size and had the head of a skeletal horse (how did you know that word?) tried to push you out, you conjured a rope of fiery orange. Striking at the beast, you’d left a burn across its back, and it hadn’t returned since.

You were comfortable in your solitude. Barring the strange dreams and the moments when you would wake up, confused into believing something was missing, you were content.

Until the day when a new, strange demon encroached on your territory. Worse than that, he’d wandered into your cave system. You were grooming yourself, tongue licking across the fur on your forearm, when you heard the telltale sounds of feet moving against the stone floor.

You hid in the shadows, eyes narrowed into slits as you waited. It didn’t take long for the intruder to walk directly into your cave, and you were taken aback at its appearance.

It—no, he, the demon was definitely masculine, with broad shoulders and prominent facial features. He seemed human, but the rest of him was not, with a demonic arm, wings, horns, and a tail.

He raised his head and flared his nostrils, testing the air at the same moment you caught a whiff of his scent. It was almost overpowering, heady and male, and your fur puffed up in response. This demon would try to take your home from you, and you wouldn’t allow it. You’d defeated bigger threats than him.

When he turned toward your makeshift nest and bent down to open the journal you no longer took interest in, you crept from your hidden nook. The demon was still crouched, his tail lying flat against the ground, but the tip flicked back and forth.

You drew closer, closer still, completely silent and pointed teeth bared. Bunching your muscles into a tight coil you leapt, claws outstretched.

The demon turned just before you landed.

He grabbed you around the throat, spun in one fluid motion, and slammed you against the cave wall.

You released a yowl and dug your claws into him, but they merely skidded off the shifting plates of his arm, leaving him unmarked.

Pinned with your back to the wall, you were trapped with his claws around your neck. The demon bared his teeth in his own impressive growl, inches from your face. His eyes were a cold sort of fury that made you doubt your chances of survival.

“Where is she!”

He spoke a language you somehow understood. The words had meaning, but you didn’t know what they were, so you remained silent.

When you didn’t answer he leaned forward, fangs sharp and ready to tear open your throat.

“You reek of her, and these are her clothes. Did you—did you kill her?”

You gave him nothing but a growl in your throat. When he squeezed tighter around your neck, you bared your teeth and snarled in hatred.

Just as quickly as it had arrived, his deadly glare vanished. He blinked rapidly, brows furrowed as if trying to put together a puzzle. And then his grip relaxed as something very different crossed over his face.

“No…”

He was distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere, and you wiggled out of his grip and tried to dart past him. The demon immediately seized you from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around you so you couldn’t escape.

You screamed and fought, your feet shoving against the ground for purchase, but with your arms pinned to your sides you couldn’t even conjure the fiery rope to defend yourself.

“Stop, stop, it’s me!” he cried. “It’s Bucky!”

His words were simply noise, and you swiveled your head to bite into his shoulder, this time making sure it was the fleshy one. But he still wouldn’t release you, even as the coppery taste of blood touched your tongue.

He gripped you tighter, and you let go of his shoulder and continued to struggle. He was much larger and stronger than you, and he didn’t move an inch. Instead, something soft touched your hair, and you realized it was one of his hands.

Gathering your strength for one last attempt, you twisted violently in his arms, pulled back your lips and sank your teeth into the junction between neck and shoulder, biting down. You were about to take out a chunk of his flesh when the concentrated aroma of his scent slammed into you.

You released him, licking the blood off your lips, and carefully sniffed higher up his neck. Something pulled at you, something familiar but lost, and you gave a curious lick just below his jawline.

Pine trees, earth, warm stone. He smelled like…

He smelled like…

Home.

You pulled back, staring in horror as blood continued to trickle down his neck.

You knew him. You knew him, how could you forget him, how could you forget—

You tried to say his name, but no words came out. You couldn’t speak. When had you lost the ability to talk?

When had you forgotten Bucky?

“Sweetheart?”

You whimpered at the cautious hope in his voice, at the pet name, at him being here.

Bucky wrapped his arms tighter around you, and you began to lick at the wound you’d caused, an apology and a way to prove he was real and you weren’t imagining this. To force yourself to remember everything you’d almost lost, even as the pain and grief grew worse every second.

Bucky had finally found you.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he apologized, voice choked with tears. “I came as soon as I could… I thought I was too late.”

But he was too late, wasn’t he?

You stopped mid-lick. Your tongue had done a decent job of cleaning his wound, because it wasn’t a human tongue anymore. It was dry and barbed, like a cat’s.

You buried your face into his shoulder, giving another miserable noise. How could you go back home now? You were a monster. A thing made of the demon realm. How could Bucky stand to even look at you, let alone touch you?

When you tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let you. Even his tail was stubbornly wound around your leg now.

“We’re going home,” he said, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. You tried to jerk away, not wanting him to look at you, but he didn’t let you budge an inch. “We are going home.”

His image blurred as your eyes stung. How could he say that when you were… when you…

“It’s okay,” he said when the tears slipped down your furred cheeks. He brushed them away and pressed his lips against your forehead. You sighed and closed your eyes. “You’re okay. I’m not leaving you. This time, for good.”

You wanted to believe him, but how could you when you had the face of the very thing he hated about himself?

As if knowing your thoughts and afraid you would bolt, Bucky kept one arm firmly around your waist. He turned you toward the cave exit that would lead into the tunnels, but you resisted, pointing down to the nest when he looked at you.

Seeing what you were pointing at, a brief flash of fondness and pain crossed his face. He picked up the book, Bucky’s old journal that had documented his days and adventures with the “mysterious voice,” and you grabbed it and held it to your chest. You’d forgotten before, but now you remembered how this book had been your lifeline, and you couldn’t bear to leave it behind.

“Ready?” he asked, voice soft, eyes even softer.

You nodded, leaning into him when he tucked you against his side. Now that you remembered who he was, the thought of not touching him for even a second was unthinkable.

Bucky led you outside, and you spared a single glance backwards at the series of mounds, hills, and boulders that signified there was an underground cave system. It had saved your life, and before that, Bucky’s. It had been your temporary shelter, but it wasn’t where you belonged.

Spreading his wings, Bucky lifted you easily into his arms and leapt into the air. You curled protectively around the journal, but you felt safer now than you had since being captured by Zemo. As the hot, dry air ruffled your hair and fur, a deep rumbling came from inside your chest. It took you a moment to realize you were purring. Indicating he could hear it too, Bucky kissed the top of your head, making your purring even louder.

You kept your eyes closed and pressed to Bucky’s tactical vest until he said, “There it is.”

You turned to look, eyes widening at the sight of a shimmering blue portal near the ground. It looked tiny from this distance, and your stomach churned with nerves.

“Hold on!”

Taking Bucky’s advice, you gripped onto him tightly as he dived. Just before he went through, you shut your eyes tight.

The difference between the demon realm and Earth was a lot more extreme than you remembered filtered through Bucky’s memories. You immediately started shivering, buffeted by the cold air, taking shallow breaths because each one felt like you were breathing ice water.

The colors assaulted your vision—bluebluegreenblue—leaving you whimpering into Bucky’s shoulder, painful after you’d seen nothing but red for so long.

And the smells. No longer diluted with dry air constantly in motion, the salty and perfumed scent of multiple humans, of mildew and stone and ozone that made the tip of your tongue tingle—

It was too much. As soon as Bucky slightly relaxed his hold, you dropped the journal and scrambled behind him, hiding between his wings as you buried your face in the back of his neck.

It was toomuchtoomuchtoomuch—

“Sergeant Barnes, is that… who I think it is?”

The smooth, commanding voice was familiar, but you couldn’t place it. Unlike your recognition of Bucky, everything else was a struggle to recall. You didn’t even know where you were, the domed room unfamiliar and intimidating.

“Yes,” Bucky responded in a low tone.

“Ah, well, that is… unfortunate.” The man who had originally spoken cleared his throat. “We will need to do a thorough examination—“

You had peeked over Bucky’s shoulder to get a better look at the others in the room—they were wizards, weren’t they?—but as soon as one of them drew forward, you gave a spitting snarl.

“Or not,” the man said, raising his hands. He had a goatee and a ridiculous red cape. Your ruffled fur went flat against your skin. Was that… Strange? And next to him, concerned but not without pity, your mentor, Wong.

How could you have forgotten so much? How long had you been gone?

You hid behind Bucky’s shoulder blades, misery forcing your ears to fold back and curl your tail between your legs.

“I’m taking her home,” Bucky said quietly.

“But—“

“No,” he said, more firmly this time. “I’ve been where she is and I know what she needs. She needs to feel safe, somewhere quiet and familiar.”

He waited a beat.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“No.” Strange’s tone was weary but surprisingly relenting. “I’m not. Just make sure you take your next doses with you.”

“I know,” Bucky muttered and then bent down to pick up the journal you’d dropped.

He did it slowly and carefully so as not to dislodge you, because you still half-clung to his back like a lost duckling. It would have been funny if you weren’t already knee-deep in the urge to bolt. Your fur was puffed again, as far as it would go, heart hammering in your chest, and all of your senses were in overdrive as you struggled and failed to adjust to your new environment.

When Bucky straightened up again, you retreated into the sanctum of his folded wings and refused to let go. You couldn’t bear to look around, not when you could sense the wizard’s peering at you, at the freakish thing you’d become. Just the thought of it provoked a whine from your throat.

“One of you mind making a portal?” Bucky said dryly. “The sun’s still up and we’re obviously not taking a cab.”

You heard footsteps shuffling against the stones, and you clung tighter to Bucky. He reached back and put a hand on your leg, reassuring you he wasn’t leaving. Your trembling subsided slightly, but every muscle of your body was still taut enough to snap.

When he stepped forward, you went with him, keeping your eyes shut until you felt the familiar but unsettling shift of space as you stepped through a portal. Only when it fizzled out behind you and you caught the comforting scent of Bucky’s penthouse did you open your eyes.

You thought by “home” he would take you back to your room at the Sanctum. Instead, you were standing in the middle of Bucky’s loft.

Before Bucky could say or do anything, you buried your face in his jacket and released everything you’d kept buried, your soft keening echoing inside the old clock tower.

Next Chapter

[sapphos-darlings]

Is it true that lesbian couples are the most likely to get divorced? If yes, then why?

You know - when I first ran into this claim, I was 17. Gay marriage wasn’t a thing back then, yet a girl close to me had just entered a relationship with another girl, and they were both despairing over the way they felt their relationship was doomed from the beginning because of this rumour that lesbian relationships don’t last. They were trying their hardest to find older lesbians in long-term relationships to convince them that they, too, could last. I don’t know if they ever found any.

Now, for the question itself. Before we go into it any deeper, let’s face up with two facts: firstly, and most importantly, depending on your location two women have been able to marry anywhere from never to a couple years at best. The very first country to allow marriage between same-sex partners was the Netherlands in 2001. Here’s a timeline to illustrate:

This is a remarkably minimal timeline to be working analytics from. Especially universally. This is not every country in the world. In fact, it is at best a tiny fraction of all countries of the world. Which leads us to the next point we must observe,

we don’t have this kind of statistics. There is no way to compare homosexual divorce rate with heterosexual divorce rates objectively, because heterosexual marriage has existed pretty much throughout the history of civilization, whereas homosexual marriage started 19 years ago. Similarly, it is impossible to objectively compare divorce and marriage length between gay, lesbian and straight couples simply due to the effect of cultural factors, especially in terms of homophobia and oppression faced by gay and lesbian couples in comparison to straight couples, and the differences in the kinds of struggles and pressures that gay and lesbian couples face in comparison with each other.

So, it might be impossible to answer your question with the data we have, due to the nonexistent history from which to measure from, and because in order to examine divorce in same-sex relationships in general, I feel that we absolutely should take into account the environments and conditions these marriages happened, and only compare them amongst marriages in similar environments and conditions, especially culturally speaking. This just isn’t possible.

Now, for the actual answer?

Shortly put, the studies we have right now say yes. Same-sex marriages between two women have about twice the divorce rate from marriages between two men, and range from about the same divorce rate as heterosexual marriages to having a higher divorce rate than heterosexual marriages depending on the study and country in question.

In a study conducted in Denmark, the divorce rate for lesbian couples over a decade was 30%, against 18% for opposite-sex couples and 15% for gay couples. This is the longest term study I can find.

Let’s look into the why.

First, it’s important to once more remember that same-sex marriage is a novelty. In every country that has so far legalized gay marriage, it has been a major victory and a huge milestone in the struggle for our rights. To celebrate it, a lot of couples got married. A lot of couples. That involves couples who perhaps shouldn’t have gotten married, and so, you have divorces happening at a faster rate than they normally would if there had been nothing to celebrate. Some evidence points to the very first wave of gay marriages trending towards a longer survival rate than the waves following them, but this first wave would similarly include the couples who had already been together for decades, and for whom marrying was just making official what had already been their lives for years and years before - nothing changed for them. For the following couples, there may well have been some hurry to marry, both out of the sheer joy of being able to do so, and for the fear that it would be taken away.

Secondly, there are multiple other factors straining same-sex couples. Oppression is a very harsh reality in our lives, and oppression leads to difficult life situations, and difficult life situations do not favour marriages and commitment. It is extremely difficult to stay in a stable relationship when nothing else in your life is stable - it’s like building a house on an earthquake.

Some of the cited reasons for divorce by homosexual couples, gay and lesbian, include societal attitudes and family pressures. We don’t need a reminder of how difficult it is to be gay in this world, but it is absolutely crucial to remember when speaking of gay divorce. Marriage may provide the legal status of equality to a gay couple, but it is also just about the equivalent of a visible stamp on your forehead. A lifetime of homophobia, internalized and external, clashes with a homosexual couple marrying. It’s like coming out over and over again, or hiding the biggest of secrets from everyone around you. It’s the realisation you still aren’t equal, you still can’t proudly call your wife your wife without the fear of what’ll follow. It’s the shame and the doubt that has always followed you turning to diamonds under the pressure you feel under scrutiny. It’s the knowledge that now you and your relationship are examples set to everyone who is watching, and they are watching - if you don’t succeed, you will be judged for it. What if your family disowns you for it? What if your relatives don’t even attend your wedding? It is so easy to be ashamed and afraid even of the best thing in your life under the prejudiced observation of everyone and everything around you.

Woman couples suffer both these difficulties together with the added unique oppression of misogyny, and a higher overall rate of trauma, mental illness and addiction. Is it any wonder we have a harder time keeping our marriages stable? Look at it from an objective perspective and it’s impossible to miss that many of us live in a cesspool of horrors.

But it’s not all bad. See that the highest divorce percentage over a ten year period was 30%? That means that 70% of all same-sex marriages between two women survived that decade. 70% of those couples are still together. That’s not just half of them, that’s well over a half. Seven out of ten couples stayed together. Furthermore, homosexual couples overall report higher satisfaction, happiness and intimacy in their relationships than heterosexual couples do. This includes female couples! If you look at those reports and match them with the success rate of marriages over the period of a decade... you could just about read between the lines that the majority of our long-term relationships are stable, happy and committed.

The world may be dealing us its worst, but it hasn’t broken us, and it can’t separate us all, or even the majority of us. Our relationships are strong. The fact that we often hurt and that this hurt and pressure may prove to be too much for some doesn’t mean that we’re doomed to an eternity of loneliness. The very fact that most of our marriages do survive means that we are fighters and we are winning, and that our love is well worth the struggle, and that our fears are conquerable.

Oh, and that couple I knew when I was 17, who were scared that they’d never make it? It’s been 12 years, and they’re still together.

So that’s something, isn’t it?

[insane-control-room]

Poison

[check out the gif vers on twitter :)]

Ao3 Link

The moment after Spy put his cigarette to his lips, Engineer stepped forward and wrapped him into a hug, holding onto him as though his life depended on it.

"Never do that again."

tws: temp death, minor violence, broken bone

Scout’s hearing was a little messed up as he was trying to wake up. That was relatively normal for him. What was not normal was the fact that he could hear other voices that he did not recognize in the slightest. The first few weeks at Teufort had a similar effect, and negatively impacted his performance more than he would have liked, but that made for a colossal swingback once he was able to get some proper sleep.

So hearing new voices that he was certain should not be there set off alarm bells in his head.

“Kid’s still asleep, I guess.”

Part of Scout was indignant at being called a kid, but the other part agreed with that gruff, low voice. Pretending to be asleep in a hostile situation could be pretty beneficial to him.

“Well, it doesn’t matter too much,” another voice hissed. “Grab him and go. We’ve already got his y factor, and that’s what does matter. The brat doesn’t matter at all, really, but we need him to get to what we want.”

Scout stiffened, but tried not to let it show, as he had been picked up by someone who might have been just a little smaller than Heavy. They carried him out of the hall, and he squinted at his desk to catch a glimpse of the time from his golden baseball themed alarm clock. He had received it anonymously on his birthday, and while none of his teammates admitted it, Engineer did inform him that the compound was actual gold, and not just painted. He felt a warm glow every time he saw the time on it, and this time, though stressful, was no different as he beheld the yellowish 3:41.

Too damn early for this, in other words.

Scout knew he was taken outside when he felt the cool air on his face. He immediately recognized the buzzing, spaztic sounds of sapped sentries. That in turn made him wonder where Engineer was, questioning why he had not fixed the problem, and decided firmly that he did not want to think about that too much.

“Good, you brought him,” a high pitched voice that Scout very much disliked giggled. “Now the real fun can start.”

Scout was unceremoniously dropped onto the floor, and he popped right back up, folding his arms and giving a dissatisfied scowl.

“Ey, careful with the merchandise, Mann,” he snapped at Olivia. She only smiled wider, contrasted by the green uniforms of her miniature militia. “I don’t need any of this crap right now. What the hell do you want with me?”

“Oh, I don’t want anything with you,” she clarified, unnerving Scout all the more. Something was dead wrong with that kid. She did not act like a child in the slightest. “I want something from him, and he’s being very stubborn and not talking!”

As she spoke, Scout’s blue eyes followed the general motion of her hands and felt horror bubbling up in him at the sight of Spy. His suit was torn and bloodied, one of his eyes certainly swollen, and his arms were bound behind his back, his ankles added by another length of material that Scout did not recognize at all.

Olivia followed his gaze and smiled again.

“That’s a special type of rope I had made just for him,” she giggled again. “Frank was such a sweetheart to create it to my specifications. The more he struggles, the tighter it gets. He learned his lesson, now, didn’t you Mr. Spy?”

Spy spat some blood in her general direction instead of answering, but Scout winced nonetheless, knowing the truth behind the silent reply. Olivia snapped her fingers, and one of her grunts kicked Spy in the stomach.

“No, no,” Olivia shook her head. “Enough of torturing poor Mr. Spy. We’ve got a new playmate!”

Scout, who had been backing away to run for help, spun on his heel and booked it. A grapple grabbed his back, and at least five Gs of pressure exerted on his spine as he was snapped back. It made him scream out. Spy stared down at the ground in front of himself, not trusting himself to keep his resolve if he watched. They both were aware that Scout yelled about every minor injury, but neither wanted to see him hurt any more than that.

“Now, we all know that your precious respawn is down,” Olivia booped Scout on the nose. “And I really don’t want to kill you. Neither of you. But you, running man, have a lot less keeping your string going.”

“Merde, he’s just a child!” Spy struggled to speak with his cut lips. “He has a whole life ahead of him!”

“Will you talk, then?” Olivia challenged, stepping over towards Spy. Scout was firmly held between two of her cronies. “I would really appreciate knowing where that Austrailium is.”

Scout’s eyes went wide. Spy’s functional one met his, and Scout shook his head slightly, agreeing with the older man. If Olivia got access to any of that rare mineral, then they might as well kiss their lives goodbye regardless of killer robots or not.

Spy went quiet again.

“Break his wrist.” Olivia casually tossed the instructions over her shoulder, and Scout barely had a moment to think before the men grabbed his arm and hand, then twisted. He screamed the whole way through and peaked at the snap, yet could not even press his injured hand to his stomach as he had been grabbed again. Sure, he had broken his wrist before, what the hell did you think the guards were for, just punching? but this was deliberately slow and painful. “Talk, please. Tell me where the Australium is, and then I’ll leave you both alone. If you don’t… well, I wonder what kind of running career a man with broken femurs and spine could have.”

Spy howled in frustration, the tears that had been in his eyes from pain rising up with the torrent.

“This is not-” he struggled to compose himself, accidentally tightening the ropes on him as he tried to get into a more honorable position. “Leave him out of this.”

“Well, you, no matter how hard you hurt, aren’t talking!” Olivia barked, making both lanky men wince with the sheer adultness in her voice, yet at least the words she said were a little childish. “And I need my answers! So I’ll hurt the ones you love most! I know how much money and effort you spend and struggle with this one. A few DNA tests helped a bit too, but you practically admitted it yourself a couple of times.”

Scout tried his best not to listen to the treacherous words coming from the mouth of a child. He and Spy were… complicated. Spy did care about him, in his awkward way, and did dote on him compared to the other members of the team (well, they all doted on him in their own ways), but Scout, he knew that there was an iceberg between them that neither wanted to address, especially not in this way.

“Just leave him alone,” Spy begged. “His mother would kill me.”

Olivia shrugged.

“Then you’d both be dead.”

Spy swore under his breath, shifting uncomfortably. Scout gave him a look, telling him through a puffed chest and slight smirk that he could handle this, no matter what. If Spy could handle getting his ass handed to him on the dirt, then Scout could too. Hell, he even died before. This would be an easy game in comparison.

“I will not tell you where the Australium is.”

“That’s a pity,” Olivia sighed, pouting. “Well, then break the little runner’s leg.”

“Whoa, whoa, settle down there, little Miss Mann,” Spy and Scout almost cried out of relief, Engineer, coming in without a single weapon aside a fancy looking wrench. His overalls had been hastily pulled over his t-shirt pajamas, and the bit of grease on his face told of a man who had repaired his machines before going on out. “Let’s talk this out like civilized folk.”

“Hmph, hello Dr. Conagher,” Olivia nodded as politely as she could. “I guess I could try doing that.”

“Well, if you ask me, none of us would be in any of this mess had people just opened their hearts and mouths a bit more,” Engineer smiled, though it was impossible to see where he was looking. Olivia sat down at a solid looking table, and pointed to the chair beside her. Engineer cautiously made his way to sit down, running on a wish and a prayer. “Don’t you agree, ma’am?”

She blushed, clearly not used to southern charm nor being spoken to so sweetly, and she tampered down her confused emotions by drawing the knife from under the table and swiftly stabbing Engineer’s hand right through onto the table, and a sapper went just as neatly onto his Gunslinger.

“Engie!” Scout shouted at the same time Spy gasped, “Ingénieur!”

Said man had no reaction to their concern. Instead, he stared at the wound for a moment, then at his no longer functional prosthetic.

“Well, shucks.” he commented, as if the situation was as mundane as finding out your trashcan had been toppled in the night by Soldier’s raccoon. “I walked right into that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” she sniffed arrogantly. “And now, I can get back to the point.”

She punctuated the last word with a spin and slap to Spy’s already tender face.

“Hey, hey, don’t hurt ‘im,” Engineer protested. A bit of his blood started dripping down the table from his elbow. “He gave you his answer, he doesn’t want to talk. I dunno what you want, but it’s not worth killing two defenseless men.”

“Oh, you’d disagree if you knew what I was looking for,” Olivia sneered. “It’s only the most important thing in the world.”

“Love?” Engineer asked with absolute befuddlement. Spy, Scout, and Olivia all laughed at his bewilderment, making him flush with a touch of embarrassment. “Well, it was worth a shot….”

“It was cute,” Olivia smiled. “But no cigar. Just like that one’s wishes that you were his father.”

Spy’s eyes flicked to Scout and then down to the ground in shame. He knew that Engineer was a better father figure towards Scout than he ever had been; though with said man’s encouragement, he was doing a little better.

“Come now, it’s actually really funny!” Olivia insisted through giggles. “Scout doesn’t look anything like Dr. Conagher, and he’s not even a quarter as smart!”

“Miss, that’s just plain rude,” Dell scolded. “Scout’s brilliant in his own ways. If I was in a situation that needed quick thinkin’, I’d ask Scoot for help.”

Scout glowed at the praise. Spy smiled at the sight.

“Well, he’s also a quarter as ugly as you,” Olivia sputtered, confused by his parental nature. Engineer’s eyebrows shot up, and Spy felt a little bad for him as he noticed the slight tinge growing on his cheeks. “It’s a wonder that he’s got a fancy for you at all! After all, his tastes are much more… fabulous and expensive than you.”

It took a moment for all three of them to process what she was saying. The little blush that was on Engineer’s cheeks grew tenfold. Scout stared at Spy, who seemed so shocked that he lost the ability to close his mouth at all.

Then he closed it with a resolve so strong they heard it crack.

Or rather, his new cyanide tooth.

“Spah, no!” Engineer yelped, panic audible in his voice for the first time that night. “No, spit that out right now!”

Spy gave him a smile that struggled to hold in the froth that built in his mouth, and swallowed. Scout heard screaming that he did not know was his own until Engineer snapped him out of it with a hoarse shout of his own.

“Damnit Spy!”

Olivia was just as miffed, with all due honesty. With a viciously sharp scowl, she pressed hard onto Spy’s throat with the bottom of her dainty shoe, and when she was sure he was dead, spat on his body. Engineer muttered a curse, pale and with water building up on the inside of his goggles.

“He’s useless now. Let the others go, we’re leaving,” she huffed, getting into her limousine. She threw at Engineer his wrench, no longer caring.

“Damnit, damn, goddamnit,” he whispered, shaking. The two men holding Scout let him go on Olivia’s signal, and he ran over to Engineer, his own vision blurring from sheer emotion that he tuned right out of. Before he or Engineer even realized, the group of their assailants had left. “Pull out the knife, Scout, swift and smooth.”

Scout, not trusting his voice, nodded and did as he was asked. Engineer let out a shaky sigh as he flexed his sore blue fingers, wrapping them around his wrench.

“Grab onto me.”

Again, Scout listened. Engineer gave a last glance to Spy’s corpse and there was a bright flash of light, whisking them to home respawn. No one else was there to greet them.

“He’s dead, isn't he?” Scout asked quietly. The tears he had been holding in slowly started to drip down his face.

“He ain’t dead ‘til three coroners say he is,” Engineer tried his best not to snap, but those words scared him more than he ever wanted to admit. Respawn was a quick little trick to immortality, but only as long as it was working, and as long as the body was able to handle it. “I’m going ta try an overwrite. I need ya to spit on this.”

“Wh- spit? On that panel?” Scout’s sadness shifted suddenly to confusion. “Why?”

“Just do it, boy,” Engineer pleaded. “Do it and hope with all your might that I can get this ta work.”

Scout did.

Heaven help him, he hoped.

Engineer pressed buttons, shifted knobs, and slid the panel back into place.

A minute passed.

Then another.

Engineer slammed his fist onto the mainframe, yanking off his goggles, the tears that had accumulated splashing onto the floor.

“Damnit!” he sobbed. “No!”

Scout hesitantly patted his shoulder, and Engineer swooped around to hug him, crying into the young man’s chest.

“‘M so sorry, Jeremy,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

A warm glow hit them, and Spy groaned, rushing to rinse his mouth.

“Disgusting,” he huffed, and then Scout punched him, hugging him immediately after. Spy hugged him back gently. “Thank you for the warm reception.”

He stepped away to light a cigarette, and looked up to see Engineer’s stare.

The moment after Spy put his cigarette to his lips, Engineer stepped forward and wrapped him into a hug, holding onto him as though his life depended on it.

"Never do that again." Engineer whispered against his neck and shoulder. He was trembling badly, hands gripping tightly onto Spy’s suit.

Spy slowly hugged him back, ignoring the smoldering cigarette.

“I won’t.”

[ssaalexblake]

You know, I remember before s12 aired I was talking about how I liked how they’d managed to say something with the casting of Jodie as the doctor Without forgetting the doctor’s socialisation. As in, 13’s anger has been Very feminine in that it deals with repression and hiding it behind 8 layers of denial and not letting people See she’s not a perfect happy go lucky joy machine who just helps people all the time. It made sense plot wise because of what 12’s last wishes were, he didn’t want the bad. He hoped for a future of laughter and kindness, not the kind of things the doctor has ended up with.

The doctors dedication to their own last wishes has unknowingly pushed 13 into somewhat typical feminine reactions in s11, she is being passive aggressive (this doesn’t actually stop, to be fair, she’s definitely being this in her calmer moments in s12), she’s only letting those around her see her positive attributes, hiding her questionable past by avoiding questions. She cornering bad guys alone so only They see her darker side. She’s using them as a pressure valve to vent her anger and disdain openly, because she knows she can’t do so to the fam without violating her own vow to herself.

So while 13’s ways of displaying anger aren’t stemming from being present in a society that socialises women that way, she has effectively ended up in the same place without her behaviour stemming from said same socialisation. Because this regeneration just Suddenly appearing like they’ve been perceived as a woman and socialised as such when they’ve been taken and treated as a man for thousands of years would not have worked.

And I personally quite enjoy this, might as well Say something with the casting, right? And I said this waaaay back when, and I got push back (rudely, but W/e) because why would I enjoy something that’s not a power fantasy of her acting in an entirely socialised male way, and that this whole thing was remarkably lacking in self awareness but like... I actually am thinking as time goes on that it is Very self aware and is serving as a bit of a lesson on toxic femininity.

I... have no idea if this is an arc that was self aware from the get go, but 12′s last wishes could have vastly different connotations depending on whom you say them to. From seeing two seasons of 13′s behaviour in an effort to fulfil them, i think it’s pretty evident that hearing them sent her down a pathway of very unhealthy emotional expressions that i clocked when watching Very early in the eleventh series as a very feminine type of anger repression. 

And in s11, she’s sailing on that. She Kind of slips up in the first new year’s special with the dalek, but other than that life is Good for her. She’s managing to find effective therapeutic venting villains to release the pressure of having to be perfect all the time and it’s not even having too much of a negative mental effect on her. 

Of course, this only holds for as long as life is going well for her, literally the first thing that happens in s12 is the Worst thing that ever could for her. The Master shows up, drudging up trauma related to Bill, relating to hoping against all hope they could be friends again but ending up dying in the dirt alone. He destroys Gallifrey, commits genocide, which would have been traumatizing enough but it would have drudged up all the trauma from when they thought They’d destroyed it and ruined the win they got when they’d actually saved it. The fam whom she loves are now Also in mortal danger and want answers. This all just goes to prove that 13 Only pulled that off in s11 because it was to a level that she could handle it. Once her stress and trauma and anger and hurt reaches a certain level, she can no longer function in the way she wished to and the true toxicity of that behaviour becomes apparent. 

And through all of this, while the 13 hasn’t arrived at these behaviour patterns through female socialisation, she is Presenting in the same way so it functions as a criticism of toxic femininity. 

In Orphan 55 she latches onto Kane Before she knows she’s done anything bad and treats her like dirt to vent the anger, the fam had Already noted she’s in a foul mood and it’s kind of evident she did Not want to take it out on them and used Kane to do it. Then the Skithra happens and she is Brutal and she is so in front of the fam. Fugitive of the Judoon happens and her instinct to hide all of her trauma and not talk and just be Happy is shown from the opening scenes to be causing division amongst the fam and her, she is moody and short and angry At them because she can no longer contain it. By the end of the episode she actually even verbally slams Ryan. That is how far gone she is with all of this. 

fotj is also when the fam Kind of manage to get through to her and show support, she actually is shown to be in a slightly better place in the next two episodes, so we also see that when she functions honestly and Doesn’t lean into toxic femininity her life Improves. 

Of course, then villa diodati happens and it all once again goes to utter Hell and she totally Blows. He screaming at the fam was a total and utter breakdown and it was a Snap. It was a Snap like the other doctors have had, it was like ten at his worst except instead of it being a boatload of ugly toxic masculinity she is portraying this through a lens of toxic Femininity. And people are still on my posts on a weekly basis wondering when 13 will Finally Snap. 

13′s anger Isn’t like the other doctors’ in presentation because her unhealthy coping mechanisms are displaying a totally different side of toxicity in society. 13′s repression and her absolute Need to only display positive traits led her down a road in s12 where she was unable to find help, unable to say there was anything wrong, unable to display negativity in a healthy way, unable to keep the sheer supernova of emotions she was feeling down anymore and it exploded, and it was ugly. She blamed the fam for not knowing things she was deliberately hiding from them. She did Nasty things. Her inability to think straight and her disinclination to Deal with her own trauma and just repress it ultimately led her to give up the cyberium to the lone cyberman which led to Countless trillions, probably, of humans to die in the worst way possible (that’s the doctors Own opinion on that btw, she Knowingly did something that caused this) because her crutches are ignoring the bad and using the fam and earth itself as a second home in place of the old one, for her, the possibility of losing them or the earth is so traumatic and disturbing that she knowingly causes a horror. 

13′s poor mental health, the poor mental health stemming from toxicly feminine ways of dealing with anger and trauma and depression led, directly, to the terrors in the last 3 episodes in s12. It is not healthy! 13 may not have been led to acting in these ways by female socialization, But giving us a justified and logical reason to be acting in the same way women are Expected to act in society to ours (and, everybody’s) detriment Is a commentary on how toxic that type of feminine anger actually Is. 

So no, i don’t think they went ‘power fantasy’ as a route with jodie’s casting as the doctor, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t self aware, instead they chose to say something that wouldn’t have been as poignant a story had they cast a man to play 13, because chronologically and visually... A man told her to do this. It is more complicated, yes, but this Definitely says something.  

13 is a cautionary tale against the toxicity in the anger women are socialised into... A wild one, but since when was the doctor ever subtle. 

[nonsensical-twistedriddles]

Hello hello~ I see that you decide to write yandere request! So, for a nice start, maybe some hcs for yandere!Octavinelle boys ( yes I know I'm obsessed with them– ) that has a crush on fem!reader? If my request are too much you could reduce the characters down too, thank you in advance!! *send tons of ❤*

hello hello ! i also love the octavinelle boys but i have to admit that it physically hurt me to write all this octavinelle babies my heart ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚ salute to all of the yandere writers out there, my admiration to you after writing this knows no bounds. this was fun though so thank you for this ! i also want to thank @beheadedruler for helping me out when i was stuck with writing about jade ! listened to kk bubblegum all throughout the writing process to calm my weak rabbit heart

【yandere octavinelle headcanons ; warnings : abuse, non-consensual, self-harm, you may hear remnants of me sobbing in the background】

Azul Ashengrotto

He knew that he liked you the moment you turned down his contract.

He had politely offered you one after seeing you in such “desperate need of his assistance”. When you declined, the way you flitted away the contract in his hands and looked at him in pure disgust sent sparks all throughout his body until the tips of his very fingers tingled with an electrifying excitement.

Since then, he’s thought of nothing but you and how he wanted you to become his.

He tries to make himself look more and more “irresistible” as days pass on, to the point of unnatural perfection. Nothing but the best if he’s going to be your future partner (which he believes is an irrefutable fact).

He’s no Pomefiore student but he does what he can; scrubbing down his body with a special foam that leaves him swollen and raw for a couple of hours but keeps his skin clear and polished, putting on cream to his face that burns but makes it seem as if he were glowing and bringing out the warmth in his natural flush, applying a putrid oil into his scalp and combing his hair until the strands turn silky and styled, and even touching his eyelids and lashes with a charm-spelled shimmering powder that for a while irritates his eyes but leaves a lasting allure effect for good measure.

He goes to great lengths just to get your approval.  If you didn’t like anything about him, his dorm or his business, he’d get an answer out of you in the most roundabout manner and fix it immediately.

He’d easily get a hold of your schedule every week. The tricky part is to constantly have to convince anyone who has plans with you to “suddenly cancel on the last second”. Sure, it was nothing a good old deal could fix but the Monstrolounge can only handle so many injured unpaid workers. 

Almost magically, he’ll be there to substitute, deliberately putting on a show just to make it seem like a coincidence. Say you’d be walking out of your classroom, disappointed at one of your friends who had left you alone and excused themselves from hanging out with you. He’d be there passing by, claiming to be doing his “dorm leader rounds” and casually asking you about your day or the troubled look in your eyes. You’d let yourself be brought about by his caring nature and soon, he gets you to invite him to hang out with you.

He likes to help you out whenever he can, though of course, everything has a price. He’ll offer you a deal for anything you want in exchange for something simple like working at the Montrolounge for a few hours or a study session with him, Floyd and Jade. If you had your doubts, he’d read to you every bit of the information written on the contract. He’d even point out all the fine prints and let you negotiate on a few terms. None of it really mattered so long as he gets to see you sign it, willingly.

Somehow, he ropes you into having lunch with him at the cafeteria every Monday. The Leech twins always escort you to his table, like a meal prepared especially for him. He finds your discomfort delectable but tries to hold back whenever he notices you getting too worked up.

floyd leech

You were someone he thought was interesting enough to keep an eye on.

When he realizes you’ve managed to worm your way into his heart, he’ll explode into boisterous laughter thinking, “How fun~! How fun this is going to be~!” He hadn’t exactly expected it, thinking of you as a mere plaything he could mess around with from time to time.

Now, everyday is a game to him. 

Whenever he sees you near, he’ll come up to you and give you a hug! For every time he sees you in a day, the tighter his hugs get. It takes a great deal for him to not gobble you up after seeing you so uncomfortable in his arms, squirming to be released from his hold like a little worm caught on a hook. This is a game after all and he’s gotta play fair or else you won’t have any fun.

Usually, you’re an instant cure to one of his moods but when he’s really not feeling it, he gets a little clingy. He’ll snuggle up to you quietly and force you to take care of him. Not with words, oh no, but by following you around all day and moping until he gets what he wants; getting in your way whenever you trying to speak to anyone about important matters, constantly sighing and whining loudly whenever you’re doing your schoolwork or wanted to have some peace and quiet and leaving his weight on you so that you’ll be forced to either drag him around or fall under the pressure of his heaviness. He’ll do all this and more until you’re forced to pull him aside and angrily ask him what he needed you to do to get him to stop.

He’d always ask you for things he knows will make you feel uncomfortable like giving him a kiss on the cheek or walking down to the Monstrolounge with him everyday while holding hands or making you feed to him his lunch or letting him watch you sleep or take a nap on your lap (y’all get the gist). There are rare times where his requests get a little strange (though pray that you don’t experience this a lot). He’ll ask you to cut your hair into weird jagged styles or write/ draw something embarrassing on your face with a permanent marker or ask you to do a bird’s mating dance at History class or pull a prank on the infamous Malleus Draconia.

Seeing your face transform from annoyance to an expression of sheer horror and regret always makes him laugh and give you a sharp toothy grin. Losers always have to suck it up! You’d be reluctant but do it anyways so long as he leaves you alone for the rest of the day. 

Anyone who he catches trying to look at you for longer than a second gets to play with him too but instead of the game that you two always play, they’ll have something a little different that involves a lot of crunching bones and screaming. They’ll be too scared to even approach you after he’s done with them. Toys like them break too easily anyways!

He likes seeing you get hurt and will sometimes try to get you into small accidents like jinxing your broom or hexing you with clumsiness or making you use the wrong vial while brewing up potions.

jade leech

When compared to Azul and Floyd, Jade is a lot subtler.

Unlike the raging storms they carried with them, he was a light drizzle— his approach unnoticeable and quiet that you won’t even realize he’s etching his way into your very heart.

You came into his life as a pleasant surprise, much like the feelings he held for you now. He’s cautious around you, making sure that everything he does and says is nothing out of the norm since the last thing he wants is to give away his feelings to you and ruin his plan of making you fall for him.

He’ll gradually try to get closer to you until he’s able to excuse his actions as what “friends normally do” like hanging out after school or walking together to class or eating lunch at the same table.

Most of the time, he’s too friendly and polite for you to argue with him on anything. If you had even the slightest bit of uncertainty, he’d already be by your side reassuring you. He’ll whisk your thoughts away with sweet undertones and saccharine smiles, leaving you completely unaware of the mischief glinting in his eyes.

He doesn’t mind it when you spend time with your other friends, he encourages you to do so! Your social life is important and he somewhat enjoys keeping good relationships with them but when he grows to dislike one of them or sees them becoming a negative influence to you, he’ll immediately cut them out of your life. Friends are expendable. Why bother keeping them around if they’re no longer assets to the system.

[five-rivers]

Long Night in the Valley chapter 7

Oof, this chapter kept getting longer.

.

It was times like this that really drove home the fact that Eri had been raised by yakuza.  

Normally, it was easy to forget.  Eri was an angel, almost too well behaved at times, and Mirio loved spending time with her.  Being asked to look after her while her foster parents were away was a privilege, not a chore.

Right now, though?

Now, Eri was in the middle of total meltdown and screaming threats at the news anchor who had just… reported something totally unbelievable and, if he was being honest, incredibly aggravating, even for him.  

Mirio hoped Eri didn’t know the meanings of half the words she was shouting but, Chisaki Kai being the utter horror that he was, she’d probably seen at least some of them done to people in front of her.  

Once again, Mirio was filled with the totally reasonable, if unheroic, desire to punch Chisaki until his legs came off like his arms did. As this was not, in the moment, a helpful impulse, he pushed it aside.  

“I’m gonna kill you!” screamed Eri, throwing another marker at the TV screen, tears streaming down her face and horn sparking dangerously.

On one hand, it was great that Eri felt safe enough here at UA and around Mirio to have this outburst.  On the other, Mirio really, really did not want to get de-aged out of existence.  

It would be really great to have his quirk right now. Or Tamaki.  If only he and Hado hadn’t been at their internships today, maybe they could have solved this together.

He was currently alternating between trying to verbally calm Eri down and serially dialing every teacher involved in Eri’s care.  

Aizawa-sensei’s phone just rang and rang.  

Yamada-sensei’s went straight to a completely unhelpful voicemail.  

Kayama-sensei’s went to an even less helpful voicemail that also had the side-effect of making Mirio feel incredibly embarrassed.  

All Might-sensei was supposedly “kidnapped.”

Recovery Girl had her ‘medical emergency’ message on.  

This left a single, terrifying recourse.  

Nezu.  

With shaking hands, he pressed the call button and prepared to pray to the Rat God.

“Hi, Principal Nezu!” he said, loudly and brightly as soon as he heard the phone pick up.

“Hello, Togata-kun!  I take it that Eri-chan has seen the news?”

“I’m going to tear out your eyes and sew them to your a—”

Hoooo, boy.  

“Yeah,” said Mirio, “and she’s not taking it well.  I’m really sorry, but I need help.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for!” chirped Nezu.  “Knowing when to call for backup is something we try to instill in all our students.  I’ll be over right away.”

There was a beep as the line went dead.  Mirio put his phone back in his pocket and winced as Eri took a deep breath and let out another round of invective.  

“Eri,” he said, deciding to make one more attempt to calm her down before Nezu came, “don’t you think that’s a bit much?  She’s probably only saying what she’s been told.”

Eri whirled, incensed.  “But that’sa lie!  Deku isn’t a villain!”

“I know, but—”

“It’s the news!” she said, stomping her foot.  “They’re not supposed to say things that aren’t true! That’s what Yagi-san says!”

“She might not know it isn’t true,” said Mirio, smiling consolingly (he knew this particular smile was consoling, because he’d practiced extensively).  “Sometimes, people believe lies.  Even good people.”

This was something Eri knew well, so Mirio hoped this reasoning got through to her.  

It did not.  

“But,” said Eri, incredulously, “it’s Deku.”

Mirio agreed with that sentiment, he really did.  But the sheer level of fury currently concentrated into Eri’s tiny body was too much for him to handle.  

Still, she seemed to be thinking instead of yelling or crying, so that was good.  

“I’m going to bite them,” she said, dreadfully calm.  

“Who?” asked Mirio, dreading the answer and knowing the storm had only stopped momentarily.  

“The people who come to interrogate me,” said Eri, as if it were a given that she’d be interrogated.  He was impressed she knew the word, right up until how she must have known it hit him.

“Why are you going to bite them?”

“Deku said that if a stranger tried to make me go with them or do something I didn’t want I should bite them and scream.  And also…”  She proceeded to describe a series of actions that would probably have the average assailant lying on the ground in a fetal position, defeated.  “And you, and Amajiki-san, and Hado-san said I should…”  Mirio vaguely recalled being consulted for and contributing certain portions of this but combined with Midoriya’s contributions and Eri’s anger it became significantly more sinister.  “And ‘Zawa agreed and he told me I should…”  Ah.  That was worse.  Much worse. And knowing Aizawa, he’d probably taught her how to do at least some of it.

Mirio abruptly realized that, out of all the people Eri knew, he was most likely the second sanest.  He, as a person who saw no issue with appearing nude on national television multiple times, was not used to having such a position.  

If the commission were wise, they wouldn’t send any of their people anywhere near Eri.  They’d die.  

The door burst open.  “Am I a dog, a mouse, or a bear?  One thing’s for sure, I’m the principal!”

Mirio now understood why Tamaki spent so much time hiding in corners.

.

His students screamed alongside him as he fell.  He twisted, surprised and uncontrolled, in the air, flashes of skyscraper windows passing in and out of his vision.  Above him, the woman, Nana, stood on the air, looking down.  

Uraraka had reflexively stopped herself fairly quickly with her quirk, but she was now too far away to reach himself, Iida, or Todoroki. Todoroki was trying to copy one of his father’s moves and fly with the flames produced by his left side, but obviously trying to do something like that with no practice wasn’t going to work well.

Suzuki was there, too, but Aizawa’s first responsibility was to his kids, not the idiot that got them into this mess.  

He swung his capture weapon upwards, trying to reach Uraraka, but the tumbling threw his aim off.  

Green lightning flashed in the corner of his eye, and he found himself wrapped in black tentacles and moving sideways at great speed.  They crashed through one of the windows into an oddly blurry and muted office space.  

Midoriya released Aizawa and set down his classmates carefully. “Can you get Ochako down?  Blackwhip is still… difficult.”

Aizawa looked Midoriya over quickly.  He was wearing his hero costume.  It had the same tears in it as it did after the aerial battle with Chisaki Kai.  

There was a pattern here.  

He nodded and walked to the window.  Now that they were no longer falling, his aim was true, and Uraraka, who had been inching closer by deactivating then reactivating her quirk, caught the end of the capture weapon easily.  He reeled her in.  

“Izuku!” she said bouncing over to him and hugging him.  “You’re okay!”

“Haha,” said Midoriya, “yep.”

“You let Suzuki fall,” said Aizawa, who had been contemplating much the same thing.  

“I would have done something different,” said Midoriya, “but it wasn’t entirely up to me.  Nana would just drop him again.  It’s a dream, besides.  Worst that will happen is that he’ll wake up and then we can use that to wake you guys up.” He turned away.  “Come on, Six is this way.”

“Six, not seven?”

“Nana’s taking care of,” he waved his hand in the direction of the broken window, “that.”

Uraraka glanced that way.  “I wasn’t sure before, but that’s Skyrunner, isn’t it?  I didn’t think she was still alive.”

“She isn’t,” said Midoriya, shortly, before beginning to stride across the room.  “We really don’t have time to stand around.  Six will explain things better than me.”

“Who’s Skyrunner?” asked Todoroki.

Aizawa kept his eyes on Midoriya.  He seemed distracted, his movements were lower energy than usual, as if his mind was miles away.

“She was a hero ages ago.  She’d be in her eighties, I think, but that was her.  I found her when I was doing research on quirks similar to mine.”

“They aren’t really the same,” said Midoriya.  “Float is an at-will telekinetic type quirk with a personal range.  Yours is a five-point touch physical property alteration quirk.”

“Application-wise,” said Uraraka.  “But how can we be in her head if she’s dead?  You said before, we were in All Might’s head, so…”

“Wait, what?”  How the heck were they supposed to have gotten into Yagi’s head?  Was this something Midoriya’s dreaming subconscious came up with?  Or was there a massive problem about to smack him in the face as soon as he woke up?

More massive than the Hero Commission feeling justified in running a quirk-assisted interrogation on a minor.   A minor who was unconscious and may have been moved to another facility, away from any adults who might be on their side.  

Midoriya had stopped to lean against a doorway, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m not completely here.  I can’t—I’m busy, it’s hard to process.”

“Busy doing what?” asked Todoroki.  

“Being awake,” said Midoriya.

“You’re awake?” repeated Aizawa.

“Halfway.  It’s just—Unexpected quirk interaction.  When I was shot—” He broke off and shuddered.  “Six will be able to explain it better.  I’m on the run, sensei, I’m sorry.”

“You’re awake and on the run from the Hero Commission.”

“Mhm,” said Midoriya.  “Six will explain.  Probably. I haven’t directly met Six yet.”

There were so many concerning things about that statement that Aizawa didn’t know where to start.  Midoriya pushed off the doorway and kept walking.  

“We need a contact point,” he said, “so we can cross over to Six.  I don’t know where they’d be for Nana and Six, though.”

As they walked, the building slowly changed from a generic office space to something that, at least to Aizawa, resembled a hero agency.  An old, dated hero agency.  

“Does this have something to do with ‘first contact?’”

“It doesn’t need to be first contact,” said Midoriya, waving over his shoulder.  “Just contact.  The rules are weird, apparently?  I think they’re different, normally.  I’m not sure where to go…”

“I’ll show you.”

Aizawa was incredibly tired of people showing up out of nowhere. And Nana really had shown up out of nowhere, suddenly materializing in the hallway, not even having the courtesy to step out of a doorway or from around a corner and pretend this world operated on anything approaching hard and fast rules.

“Hey, hey,” said Nana, “you guys are all really tense, aren’t you?”

“You did drop us from fifty stories up.”

“Haha, yeah, I did,” said Nana, grinning and ruffling Midoriya’s hair.  “I’m still dropping that jerkface back there.  Hopefully, he’ll decide to nope out before too long and we can get the rest of you out of here without the whole Journey to the West reenactment.”

Midoriya squinted up at her, listing slightly to one side. “Every time you use slang it’s so weird.”  

“Come on, kid, I’m not that old.”  She sighed.  “I’d give you Float now, but given present circumstances, you’ll probably want Six’s or Two’s.”

Midoriya straightened—And was it just Aizawa or did his outline become clearer?

“You can do that?” he asked.  He brought his hand up to his chin, index finger resting beneath his lower lip.  “It could be possible, depending on the mechanism,” he mumbled.  “But then would getting out be…?  No, it can’t be something like that, or it wouldn’t even be mentioned, and it didn’t work with Suzuki…  But it’s worth testing—Aizawa-sensei, can you use your quirk on Todoroki? Todoroki, think really hard about waking up while you do it.”

They tried this.  Nothing happened, other than Todoroki not being able to use his quirk. Aizawa had the sinking suspicion that this conversation was about Midoriya’s quirk gaining yet another, bizarre manifestation.  Did his quirk have something to do with split personalities?  Loading other peoples’ personalities and quirks into his head?

“It isn’t that, then,” said Midoriya.  “Saito’s quirk could still have a mechanism like that.”

“Or it could be the interaction between your quirk and hers,” said Nana.

Midoriya was silent for a moment.  “I guess,” he said finally.  “But we have to test—”

“We don’t want to overload you.  Like I said, I think you’ll want Six’s or Two’s more than mine.  Or even Four’s.”

Midoriya shook his head.  “No, considering what we’re up against, Float would be very useful.  Can we try?”

Nana nodded, put her hands on his shoulders, and bent at the waist to whisper something in Midoriya’s ear.  The room briefly flickered into sky, a sunset or sunrise throwing brilliant color from horizon to horizon.  The sound of wings presaged a flock of birds.  Aizawa braced for a fall.  Nana stood back up.  The room returned.  “Did you get it?”

Aizawa checked to make sure all of his (shaken) students were still there.

“I think so,” said Midoriya.   He took a deep breath.  “Yes.  I have it.” He looked back at Aizawa.  “I’m sorry, I really have to go, now.”

Aizawa was also getting really tired of people disappearing, he decided.

Nana sighed.  “Anyway, come on, we have to get going.”

They all looked to Aizawa before following.  Aizawa sighed.  They didn’t have any other leads on what to do, and if they didn’t, they might get dragged along anyway.  “Might as well,” he said.  “This had better be a great explanation.  And I’d like it before we get to this ‘Six.’”

“Yes,” said Todoroki.  “Does Midoriya have multiple personality disorder?”

“It’s Dissociative Identity Disorder, and no,” said Nana.  “Not as such.  For now…  We’re part of Nine’s—Izuku’s—quirk.”

“Funnily enough, I had put that together.  Why you?”

“I used to ask myself that, you know.  Six is the one who can answer.  In the meantime… consider this a quirk history field trip.  Here we are.”  They stepped into a conference room, a projector springing to life along with the faint murmur of phantom voices.  “I was just a sidekick back then,” she said.  “Not his, though.  It’s funny. Toshinori was mine, you know. Before his debut.  He didn’t even go by All Might back then.”  The room glitched.  

Aizawa managed to get the impression of a surreal, almost Lovecraftian, landscape, rubble, and the words ‘You’re next.’

Aizawa could have gone his entire life without knowing that All Might had cribbed his last words as a hero from his teacher.  

Nana laughed.  “To be fair,” she said, patting his arm (patting his arm), “he’s not the only one. Come on, I want you four worlds away from Suzuki.  Let’s get this show on the road.”

The lighting in the room shifted, and it filled with ghosts much like in Izuku’s school.  Another, younger, version of Nana sat among them, looking up at the projector.  

The underground hero Fidelity is here today to discuss a possible smuggling ring based out of Musutafu…

As the young man walked in, the whispers arrived… But there seemed to be fewer whisperers.

First contact.  

.

Izuku managed to levitate a centimeter off the ground before settling himself again.  Enough not to be noticed by anyone but Toshinori.  

Toshinori who was close to tears.  Izuku blinked back a few of his own.  

This was good.  With Float and the right planning, they could possibly break their trail even without the more complicated maze-path he and Toshinori had planned out. Some of the words in Trace’s file seemed to indicate her quirk only worked over solid objects, and she didn’t work with the Coast Guard, even though her quirk would, otherwise, be quite useful there.  The conclusion couldn’t be trusted, of course, but if he could manage to stay floating, and get Toshinori to float as well, it would be well worth it.  

He almost laughed at himself.  Mastering a quirk in so little time, worth it.

“If anyone could do it,” said Toshinori, “it would be you, my boy.”

Izuku’s heart filled with warmth as the others agreed. He could almost feel Nana ruffle his hair again.  

.

In theory, the plan to acquire the keys to the testing center’s off-limits areas was very simple.  

In practice…  It was also very simple, shockingly enough.  Maybe it was because the human explosive and the deceptively destructive sunshine child weren’t involved.  No, that couldn’t be it.  

Hitoshi walked up to a security guard, said excuse me, used his quirk, and asked for the keys.  Then he handed them to Yaoyorozu so she could make copies.  She gave the guard back the keys, and Hitoshi told the guard to forget him.  That order didn’t always work, but they weren’t having the guard move, and the whole operation had taken under five minutes.  There wasn’t much to remember in the first place.

“What now?” asked Hitoshi.  

“Now,” said Yaoyorozu, making more copies of keys.  “We get lost.”

.

The benefit to having a blunt and straightforward demeanor was that people rarely thought Tsuyu was lying.  

Well.  The UA uniform helped, too.  Even among heroes, UA was known to take only the best of the best.  The most trustworthy.

“Excuse me, kero,” Tsuyu said, sidling up to a young hero in civilian clothing.  “I was told to tell everyone to go into the back—They want us to spread out, for when the police arrive to question us?  The doors are already unlocked.”  She pointed.  “But our teachers have come to pick us up, and we’re going with them, so can you help?”

“Oh, of course.  That’s what heroes do, right?”  Bubble Girl shot her a pair of finger guns.  “Hey, you’re one of Deku-kun’s friends, right?  This is so weird.  Have you seen the news?”

“Yes, kero.”  

“Sorry, sorry, I know that’s probably not something you want to talk about.  I hope everything works out for him.”

So did Tsuyu.

.

The plan to flood the relatively empty back hallways with people and unleash a dance of chaos the Hero Commission, false warriors of light, could not hope to contain, went… Interestingly, in Fumikage’s opinion.  

There were several different entrances to the back that people were directed to, and, predictably, some of them were turned back, even though they had unlocked the doors.  There were commission people back there, albeit relatively few of them.  

The class slipped in among the others.  He led the way, as the sneakiest person after Hagakure.  Well.  Sort of.

It was hard to figure out who was in the lead with all these people everywhere.  

Plus, he got… Ahem.  

He was swept away on the tide of darkness, with no beacon to guide his way.  

Dark Shadow cackled in his ear.  “Just admit you’re lost, Fumi,” she said.  

“I am not!” he hissed back.

“Besides there are fire escape maps over there.”

Oh, that was helpful.

.

When Chiyo woke up this morning, she had not expected to face the fact that Toshinori had finally lost his mind, and the entirely baseless accusation that Midoriya of all people had kidnapped him (the reverse was much more likely, in her opinion).  And yet.

When Chiyo had been asked to organize and accompany the fleet of ambulances to pick up their unconscious students and staff members (something she had done many times) she had not expected to be point blank refused by the Hero Commission.  And yet.

When Hizashi and Nemuri had asked the fleet to pull around to the back of the testing center, near a loading dock ‘to make room for other traffic,’ she had not expected her coworkers and eleven students to slam up the rolling overhead door of the loading dock and run out at full tilt while carrying ten unconscious bodies.  

And yet.

Maybe, after everything, she should have.  

She grabbed the radio from the dash and started rolling down the window.  “Open the doors!”

The students knew what they were doing, at least with regards to casualty transport.  They should.  They’d passed the licensing test.  Hizashi and Nemuri had better hope this nonsense didn’t get any of those licenses stripped, or, oh, she’d have words with them.

“Hey!” shouted a hero with a prominent commission badge pinned to his costume.  He extended his arm and delicate rays of light shot forth.  He was aiming mostly at Hizashi and Nemuri.  Typical.  One of the rays of light hit Hizashi’s heel, and his shoe turned to stone, causing him to stumble.  

Chiyo calmly stuck the end of her syringe-shaped cane out the window and depressed the well-hidden trigger.  A small sedative filled dart his the hero in the neck, where he was not protected by his costume.  He dropped.

One or two of the students did a double take.  Chiyo rolled her eyes.  

Really.  She was a licensed Pro Hero.  Pros had to be able to act, regardless of how many of their expectations were being subverted.  

The students could stand to learn that.  

.

Large public TV screen at the intersection caught Izuku’s attention, despite how he was keeping his gaze on his feet, the better to monitor his use of Float.  

But, then, Izuku had practically trained himself to notice any screen with All Might on it.  That this one also had his picture on it was just frosting on the cake.  

They’re moving fast.  

Of course they are.  We’re a threat.  

We weren’t!

We’ve always been.  Do you remember—?

They aren’t putting quirk users into concentration camps.

No, just training camps.

Not the time.  We’ll have to deal with the Hawks problem later.

… We were hoping for more time.

“The Hawks problem?” asked Toshinori.

“I have no idea,” said Izuku.  “Come on, we have to keep going.”

.

Trace was very good at what she did, and Hawks was genuinely hoping that she would be the one to find Midoriya and All Might, not him.  He didn’t want to be responsible for what was going to happen to the kid, spy or no. He didn’t want to get on All Might’s bad side, either, retired or not.  

Really.  The commission should have taken the hint when All Might left of his own accord. Hawks didn’t know how he’d found out about the commission’s plan to psychically interrogate Midoriya, but obviously he did.  And he objected.  Strenuously.

It might have been better for him to go public, though, rather than spirit the kid away.  

On the other hand…  It had only been a couple hours at this point.  Maybe he hadn’t had the chance.  Getting the kid out of commission hands might have been his priority, depending on how much he heard.  

What Hawks had heard…  Yeah.  Not great. One guy in particular had seemed overly enthusiastic about Midoriya’s possible rehabilitation.  

He sighed and took off his goggles, so he had a better view of the city below him.  Hawks had lucked out in the color receptor department.  Like most birds, he had four, as opposed to the baseline human three. If anyone could pick out Midoriya’s green mop and All Might’s eye-watering blonde in these crowds, it would be him.  

And if they had changed their appearances?

Well.  Their heights were distinctive enough on their own, especially when paired.  

Hawks genuinely hoped Trace would find them first.  But he wasn’t counting on it.  

Well.  This was far from the worst thing the commission had asked him to do.  

.

Samson and Delilah were a relatively new duo. Samson had a gorilla mutation. Delilah had a ‘conditional status ailment’ quirk that doubled as a boost to herself.  Kind of annoying to activate, though, honestly.  Who else had a quirk that made them eat hair?

Anyway, this was their first assignment from the commission. All they had to do was pick up a potential witness.  

“Or colluder,” said Samson.  

“Come on, have you seen her face?”  Delilah gestured with the photo in her hand.  

“She’s his mother.  Mothers know everything.”

“Your mom, maybe,” said Delilah.  “I think this is it.”  She checked the door number.  Yep.  “You knock.”

Samson’s knock was loud and intimidating.  It got no response.  

“Again?” suggested Delilah.

But no matter how many times Samson knocked, he would get no answer.  Midoriya Inko was not home.  

.

Inko checked the piece of paper with Dr. Tsubasa’s current address on it again.  Hisashi had always told her that if anything happened, and he couldn’t be there, she should go to Dr. Tsubasa.  She never had.  The wound he had given her son when he was five had never completely faded, and she couldn’t help but hate him for that.  

But Hisashi wasn’t picking up his phone, and this, this was bigger than she could hope to deal with.  

Dr. Tsubasa had better be able to.  Or else.  

(Inko did not know if the ‘or else’ was for herself, Izuku, Hisashi, or Dr. Tsubasa himself, but it was most certainly there.)

(Incidentally, Hisashi was going to get a lot of ‘else’ from her regardless, for not picking up his phone.)

.

Once, when he was young and stupid, Tomura had thought of life as a single-player game.  First person. A shooter, maybe.  First person RPG.  

Before he’d turned twenty, though, he’d realized that to get anywhere, he’d need a party.  Obviously, he was still the only player, other than Sensei, and Sensei didn’t count.  Sensei was different.  Everyone else was NPCs.  Interesting ones, maybe.  But just look at Twice!  He could turn everyone into infinitely respawning mobs.  As things were meant to be.  

But the USJ, Hosu, and everything that happened that summer had taught him better.  This was a co-op, and when someone got a permanent game over, when they were logged off forever… It made something burn inside him because those were his party members.  

He’d found Magne annoying.  But when she declared herself everyone’s big sis…

Even so, he’d hung on to the notion that they were fighting the CPU.  No intelligence on the other side.  Just violence, power, and an assortment of unfair, programmed-in cheat codes.  

This, too, was a false impression of the world.  This revelation hadn’t come as quickly as the last. In fact, if he were to be honest with himself (a despicable practice) he’d have to admit the realization had been building, percolating, since the USJ.  It was something he’d acknowledged, even, although he hadn’t realized it at the time.  

This game had a Player 2.  And the noob had just finished the tutorial.  

He smiled wide enough to make his lips crack and sting in the dusty air of the current hideout.  The pinging news alerts on his phone faded into the background as he made his plans.  

Tomura was supposed to be following the main questline, gathering party members, and powering up, but what was multiplayer without griefing?  What was an open sandbox without distractions?

“Hey, guys,” said Tomura, lazily, not even looking over his shoulder.  “You up for a side quest?”

[aros001]

Read through light novel vol. 8. Random thoughts.

It's funny that what's made me the angriest thus far in this series is Priestess getting her clothes stolen. Closest was Wizard Boy's arrogant ignorance. With the goblins I feel horror and disgust and yeah there's anger there too, but for whatever reason I had just such a strong reaction of "That bitch!" when the girl stole the mail from Priestess and made her cry.

The news that the first princess had been kidnapped by goblins was enough to make the king stand up from his throne.

Okay, I was mad but not that mad!

“About, that...” Witch, who had produced her pipe from nowhere, gave Priestess a heavy-lidded look. Erk... Priestess felt her heart skip a beat; she put a hand to her chest. Would she be able to have this effect on people someday? It was going to be a long time coming...

That does make me wonder, has there ever been a design for Priestess as an adult, be it official or fan-art? She is only 16, so even if she doesn't get much bustier she should still reasonably grow a bit. It's interesting to imagine her and Goblin Slayer anywhere near a similar height.

Also, this is me probably looking too deep into things, but between Witch, Sword Maiden and even a lot of her interactions with Noble Fencer, does anyone else ever get the feeling Priestess might be bisexual? I hesitate to say that because usually I dislike how often I see people insist that a deep friendship/connection/admiration immediately equals love, but how the narration sometimes describes how Priestess is thinking about some other women makes it sound a lot more like attraction than just envy over body proportions. I say bi and not just gay because she does seem to have at least some romantic feelings for Goblin Slayer, even if it is just a desire for his attention and approval.

That aside, I do really like that she wants to be more like Witch, or at least how she perceives Witch. Cool, powerful, knowledgeable, elegant, stacked. I've always had a soft spot for characters who have another person they admire as their goal to be like and are so humble that they don't quite see the positive effect they already have on those around them. The person who admires someone for their positive qualities not yet seeing that they too are admired for similar qualities.

The skin her vestments revealed was perfectly white, almost translucent, as if untouched by the sun. It meant that the tinge of rose in her cheeks was probably not just from the light. She almost seemed like a harlot—and there were temples that kept sacred prostitutes.

What the f**k is a sacred prostitute?

Given that we know High Elf Archer sleeps in the nude, that's twice in this book Goblin Slayer just barges into a woman's room while she's not dressed, first with Cow Girl and then with her to wake her up.

“I know it’s hard,” Goblin Slayer said with utmost seriousness. “When I was a child, I would lay in bed trying to find out how long I had to keep my eyes closed before it would be morning.”

Again, one of the big draws of this series for me and why I think it works is that it takes trauma seriously. The raping goblins aren't just a gimmick to make the series seem edgy. It addresses that these creature would really mess a person up and that the lingering trauma is treated with understanding, never like it's cowardice or foolishness. How this series handles Sword Maiden especially is something I really respect. She comes in to save the day at the end but it's clear it's taking everything she has just to be there. How she froze up when she was called on in the court to deal with the goblins and the relief like a bright light when Goblin Slayer came in to take the job. The position she's in of being powerful enough to face the Demon King but unable to fight "mere" goblins and no one aside from those who've personally experienced the sheer horror of the goblins able to understand, adding to her feelings of isolation and helplessness. It's really good stuff.

I remember when I first started with Goblin Slayer and I saw some people complaining that the series was kind of dull because he never fights anything other than goblins. One, that's just flat-out not true, as he's fought many non-goblin creatures. He just has no interest in fighting anything that's not a goblin. But even when it's just the goblins, I think this series does a good job at making the goblins always feel like a threat and shaking things up often enough. Giving them new tactics, new leaders, new bases of operation, even new breeds like the Goblin Paladin. Every time they're doing something even slightly different from the norm for them it always sparks some dread about what's coming. The moment this volume mentioned a band of goblins with identical tattoos marking them it was just an instant "Oh, that can't be good" from me, which leads into the Goblin Priest, a big cause for alarm given how useful Priestess has proven herself to be, which led into the weird demon arm thing. It's like complaining that a character never fights anything other than humans or dragons or vampires. The power level doesn't matter if it's the same kind of human/dragon/vampire every time. Be it the things that use goblins as their minions/followers or the goblins themselves, I personally think there's enough variety involved to keep things interesting.

A nice moment with Priestess visiting Wizard's grave (so this is the leaked image that got the false rumor started) and, something I'm really hoping for, the possible return of Fighter, even if it's just Priestess eventually finding the courage to see her again at least once. Again, the reason the goblins work is because what they do isn't just a gimmick. Several volumes after her first party's wipe, Priestess is still thinking about them, lamenting their loss, thinking about what could have been, and how difficult it'll be for them to see each other again after what happened. They weren't just Priestess' origin story, they were real (albeit fictional) people, taken before their time and violated in the worst way possible and they shouldn't be just a footnote. Be it for Priestess and Wizard's brother, they should and do still matter.

She strengthened her barriers as an attack came from a strange angle; Sage was thinking fast. It seemed likely that this thing, this shade—if it could be called that—learned by absorbing other living things. They were simply lucky that the creature it was trying to parasitize at the moment was so incredibly stupid. But... Sage gave voice to the obvious question. “How did the corpse of a goblin drop onto a mountaintop...?”

Holy shit, that's hilarious. And the best part is, there was build up to it. Back in vol. 6 when Goblin Slayer used a scroll to flood a nest he did believe there were some goblins he wasn't able to get. Throughout the series it's been noted he doesn't like using the same tricks too many times in a row in case the goblins learn from him, thus the importance of making sure every goblin he encounters he kills. If some escaped, yeah, it makes total sense he'd change to a different type of location for the Gate scroll, just in case he ever meets up with goblins whom are expecting a flood to pop out.

Second only to this with how good the set-up was has to be Priestess turning the blood from the Goblin Priest's ritual into water, ruining its sacrifice to the dark gods. She discovered she could do that last volume but it seemed like she never would again because she's forbidden from using her miracles to deliberately harm another living being (even a goblin). This was a very clever way of bringing it back, having her learn from her experiences while still being devote to the Earth Mother.

Priestess noticed that her hand was still clinging to his and blushed. She made to disentangle her fingers—hesitated—brushed his hand softly and, finally, pulled hers away. She was humiliated, pathetic, pitiful...and yet. I want to be... ...a source of strength to him. That day, she stored up the smallest of prayers in her heart. One day, she swore, she would be.

All shipping and such aside, this is something I really hope to see someday. That point in the series where Priestess is no longer Goblin Slayer's sidekick but rather his partner. Someone he can have truly walk and fight beside him as an equal, easing the burden on his shoulders, until the day all goblins are gone.

What kind of world is it where I'm thinking "Thank goodness, the princess was only severely beaten and nearly sacrificed to a dark god"?

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/GoblinSlayer/comments/g4llnd/read_through_light_novel_vol_8_random_thoughts/

[lunaslethifold]

A Summer in Ottery St. Catchpole: Part 2 (George Weasley x Potter!Reader)

Pairing: George Weasley x Female!Potter!Reader

Series Synopsis: Y/N Potter used to have a huge crush on George Weasley. She could hardly even function around him. Now fresh out of a long relationship, she can say with confidence that those feelings she harbored for years are gone. George, on the other hand, had barely even acknowledged her existence. But now that Y/N is more comfortable around him, he starts to see the real her. George starts to see her in a new light. Boy, is that bad news for him.

Warnings: none, I think. (let me know if I missed any!)

Word Count: ~2.8k

Find the other works in this series in my masterlist (pinned and linked in my bio :))

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support on this series! If anyone’s wondering, I have about 7 parts planned for this series. I’m very excited to continue it and thank you so much for your nice messages! I apologize if there are any delays for me releasing parts, it’s because I have a lot of work to do :( Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you think! Sorry for any grammar mistakes!

Y/N and Fred were bored. Very bored. So much so, in fact, that Y/N was going through her trunk. For fun. Fred was sat on the bed, watching her. How could they be so bored so early in the morning? There was no reason to be up, yet here they were.

“You know…” Y/N started, surveying the books she just pulled out of her trunk. “I could use a new muggle book to read. I’ve already read all these twice over,” she said, tossing them carelessly back in. “Maybe I’ll ask Hermione if she’s got any.”

Fred sat up and grinned. “Or…” he said, letting the anticipation grow for a second. “We could go find some new ones from the shop in the village.”

Y/N stood up from her spot, a new light in her eye at the opportunity to do something fun. “Fred, that sounds like a wonderful idea.”

-

Somehow the whole gang was roped into joining their trip to town. Fred invited George, for obvious reasons. Then, Y/N thought Hermione might want to visit the bookshop as well. Ginny overheard and was happy to accompany her friends. The five of them ran into Ron, who was holding a pair of gardening gloves that were missing 3 fingers. He had told the group not to ask, and so they didn’t, instead inviting him to find a replacement at one of the local shops, albeit with a little laughter. And wherever Ron went, Harry followed. 

By mid morning the seven of them had begun the short trek to town. Y/N seemed to already be cured of her boredom, as she was laughing loudly with Ginny and Harry. Ron and Hermione led the group, the former of the two still a bit embarrassed by his glove situation, and the latter excited at the prospect of new reading material. Y/N walked a little bit behind them, with Harry and Ginny on either side of her. Fred and George were at the back, talking about who knows what.

Suddenly, Y/N stopped in her tracks, pointing at the large tree that was a few yards away from them. She glanced at the two people beside her, and then took off running towards it. Harry and Ginny yelled something at her, before running after her. The three of them began to race up the tree, stopping only to yell at each other. Ron and Hermione hadn’t stopped walking towards their destination. Fred let out a light chuckle at their antics before also continuing on. But George didn’t. Fred looked to his side, about to say something to his twin, only to find he wasn’t standing there. He turned around and saw George watching the tree intently. Fred walked back to him.

“Oi, mate, you alright?” Fred said to George.

George didn’t look at him. His eyes were still trained in the direction of Y/N. “Does Y/N seem… different to you?” George said, breaking the silence.

“Different?” Fred replied, a little puzzled. “No.” George finally turned to look at him as Harry, Ginny, and Y/N began to climb down from the branches of the tree. He saw that Fred looked like he was contemplating saying something.

“What is it?” George asked, now curious to know what his brother wasn’t telling him. 

Fred looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. Ron and Hermione were already far ahead past the hill, while the other three were starting to climb up it. He lowered his voice. “Alright, I’m only telling you this because it’s in the past now, and I never keep anything from you. But you can’t tell anyone, alright?” Fred said with a serious look on his face. George nodded sincerely. “Well…” George leaned in. “Y/N used to fancy you, so she didn’t feel comfortable around you. But now she’s over it, so I reckon she’s acting more normal,” he said, shrugging. 

George gaped at Fred. Did she really have a crush on him? If he would have known… 

If he would have known, what? George shook his head. Snap out of it, he thought. You just think she’s pretty, that’s all. And she’s nice. And funny...

George remembered Fred was looking at him. “Y/N Potter? Had a crush? On me?”

“No, I’m talking to the tree,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Yes, you. Well, now that you’re seeing the real her, maybe you can be friends.” Fred began to walk up the hill, clearly ready to join the others.

“Yeah… friends.”

- 

A relaxing tune played as the nice smell of fresh paper filled the air. Y/N, Harry, Fred, and George were scouting out the horror section of the bookshop. Ginny had followed Hermione to the romance shelves and Ron was poking around the knick knacks at the front of the shop. 

George was still reeling from the piece of information that Fred had given him earlier in the day. He was trying to act casual, but he felt as if he was hyper aware of everything Y/N said or did. The heart in his chest seemed to race whenever she looked at or talked to him. 

Y/N had a deep, contemplative expression on her face. It was almost comical. Her hand reached out and she nicked one of the books off the shelf. “Look Harry, this book is about me,” she said, trying to contain her laughter. She shoved the cover in front of them. It was titled The Babysitter.

“Wha-” Harry sputtered for a moment. “You’re only one year older than me-” 

Y/N broke into quiet laughter at Harry’s reaction. Fred, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care about how much noise he was making and began to laugh loudly. George chuckled too, and one could even see Harry trying to cover up a smile. Several heads turned their way. George couldn’t help but grin at Y/N’s joyful expression. 

“That was incredibly lame, Y/N,” Fred said through his laughter.

She giggled and said, “Maybe, yes, but at least I’ll never be as lame as you.” For some reason, George found this incredibly funny and laughed even more.

As they quieted down, people stopped looking at them. Except for one boy standing nearby. He was a muggle, probably, and George wouldn’t have noticed him if it weren’t for Y/N. The boy’s eyes seemed to be trained specifically on her. His grin faltered slightly. And the worst part? Y/N noticed he was looking at her. She looked up at him and met his eyes. Her lips turned up in a half smile at him. The boy smiled back at her. George panicked for a second before quickly picking up a random book off the shelf.

“Hey, Y/N look at this one,” he said, stepping in front of her, effectively blocking Y/N from the view of the muggle. What are you doing?!, he thought, suddenly a little embarrassed. She smiled at him and leaned over to see what he was holding. All ill feelings he had seemed to wash away as he looked at her. George was holding the book upside down, sure, but it seemed to distract Y/N enough as she gently took the book out of his hands and began to read the back. 

“You know what, this actually does look interesting. I think I’ll take it,” she said, grinning at him. “Thanks, George.” He swelled with pride as she added it to the other two books in the basket that was hanging on her arm. “Cmon, let's go see if Hermione’s done.” He smiled at his sheer dumb luck and followed after her.

-

Y/N was having a pretty good day. She was spending time with her friends, eating candy from the local sweets shop, and had three new books in her bag. She felt like this was a day to remember, a stark contrast to how she had felt in the morning. Everyone was lounging around in the square of the town, looking at the windows of shops or the vendors on the street.

Y/N had her arms linked with Hermione's and Ginny's as they merrily walked to a nearby flower cart. She stopped to examine and smell her favorite flower. 

"Why don't you take it?" the woman who was selling them said.

"Oh, I couldn't-" Y/N started, surprised at the offer.

"Please, what's one flower? Plus, it would look lovely tucked behind your ear," she said, smiling warmly.

"Thank you very much," Y/N said, smiling back. She followed her advice and carefully placed it on her ear. 

She almost skipped away, feeling like her day was just made 10 times better. She joined Hermione and Ginny on a bench nearby, basking in the sun that shone on her face. It was a bit cloudy that day, but the spot they were at had the perfect amount of sunshine on it. 

The three girls chatted there for a few minutes, before a loud roar of thunder could be heard from above. Within a matter of seconds a downpour of rain began, and everyone was scrambling for cover. They took cover at a cafe nearby, where they found the rest of the gang. Harry, Ron, and Fred were sat in a booth and Hermione and Ginny squeezed in next to them. George was standing nearby, eying the summer rain through the window.

"I reckon I'll get us some drinks, yeah?" Y/N said, surveying her friends. She made her way to the counter where a longer than usual line was beginning to form, likely due to the amount of people trying to escape the rain. She stood near the counter, reading the menu written in chalk on the blackboards. She decided what to order and joined the end of the line. Someone took their place after her and tapped her shoulder. Y/N whipped around, a little startled. Her eyes met a boy whose face she oddly recognized, but couldn’t place her finger on it.

“Hey there,” he said, smiling at her.

Y/N smiled back politely. “Umm, hello!”

“I recognized you from the bookshop. Do you read horror often?” the boy said. That’s where she recognized him from! Earlier at the bookshop, when she was browsing the horror section with her friends, they had exchanged smiles. 

“Oh, I remember now. Yeah, I’d say I enjoy it from time to time,” Y/N replied.  

“You like horror books and you’re in my favorite coffee shop? A girl after my own heart,” he said. Y/N let out a small laugh. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Y/N Potter.”

He stuck out his hand. “Michael Smith.” She took his hand and shook it. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

-

When the rain had started, George was with Fred, Ron, and Harry. Fred and Ron were arguing about something in Ron’s shopping bag, and Harry was laughing at them. George was leaning on the alley wall, only partly listening to what they were saying. Normally he would’ve found it hilarious, but something else was in the back of his mind. It was like a looming cloud; everytime George stepped into the sunlight, it made its way back to him, invading his thoughts. 

Sensing that the conversation would not be ending anytime soon, George slowly let his mind wander. He thought about earlier in the day, when Fred had revealed Y/N’s secret to him. How long had she fancied him for? When did she “get over,” as Fred had said, her crush on him? Probably after Kenneth, George thought. That was when the change began. He thought back to that day, when she had bounded up to him and Fred in the corridor. Y/N had looked so excited at the idea of going with him. Okay, maybe there was something behind how she looked at him. How could he have been so blind to her feelings? I mean, she spent almost every bloody summer with us, he thought. Fred called his name and brought him back to reality. Snap out of it, George thought to himself. Why are you even worried about this anyways? It’s not like there’s any reason to dwell on it.

Just then the sound of thunder filled the air and a summer shower started. The four of them pulled out of the alleyway and into the nearest shop. Soon, Hermione, Ginny, and Y/N came in. Everyone except George and Y/N were sat in a booth. He stood nearby, looking out the window. 

George always liked the rain. For some, it ruined their day. But not for him. It was loud and spontaneous. It came out of nowhere and was basically unpredictable. A recipe for disaster. But not for George. It was calming, in a sense. He liked to look out the window and watch the droplets hit the pavement or soak into the dirt outside. 

So, yeah, he was a fan of the rain. But as he noticed Y/N waiting in line, he wished he had paid less attention to the weather outside and more attention to what was happening inside. He registered that Y/N was going to get them drinks. He had never really noticed it before, but now that he thought about it, it seemed that Y/N always knew what everyone’s order would be. George wondered if she made an effort to remember, or if it was just accidental. Either way, the thought brought a wide smile to his face. It warmed his heart that she so subtly showed she cared in small ways. But, when he looked up from the window he saw something that left an unsavory taste in his mouth. 

Y/N was standing in line, talking to a muggle. And not just any muggle, mind you, but the same muggle that was trying to look at her in the bookshop. George clenched his jaw as a scowl made its way to his face. There was just something about the way he was looking at her. Or maybe, the way that he had shook her hand. It made his blood absolutely boil. He saw Y/N laugh at something he said and George forced himself to tear his gaze away from them and to his shoes. His arms seemed to cross in annoyance on their own.

“Oi! What’s got your boxers in a bunch, George?” a voice brought him out of his fit. It was Fred, who had a lopsided grin on his face, with a hint of concern behind it that only certain people could recognize.

George plastered a half smile onto his face and said, “Nothing.” Fred sent him a questioning look, but hummed in acknowledgement. George tried to shake off the lingering, icky feeling that he felt. What was that feeling, anyways? He stood still for a moment, mulling it over, before he realized. Oh no, was George jealous? No, there was no way. He couldn’t be… could he? It’s just that she’s been around for so long, it’s natural that he’d be protective. Unless…

No, no, no. C’mon, it was out of the realm of possibilities. But the truth was that what he felt was undeniable. It was jealousy. 

But why? Why was he jealous of seeing Y/N talk with that boy who was so obviously interested in her? There was only one possibility that came to mind. Do I… fancy Y/N?, he thought to himself, biting his lip in thought. He shook his head lightly. It couldn’t be. But then why was he acting this way? He was having an internal battle in his brain.

 Bloody hell, he thought, I guess I do fancy Y/N. It was a wild thought, really. This girl who he had known since he was twelve quickly and suddenly captured his attention. 

George took a second to bask in the feeling of his revelation. A giddy smile made its way to his face. It was freeing almost, admitting to himself that he had a crush. He sighed and shook his head, bringing himself back to reality. At that moment, Y/N began to make her way over to them, balancing two drink holders in her arms. She set them down on the booth table, and began to pass them out to everyone. Choruses of “thanks” could be heard. 

Finally, she pulled the last cup out and walked over to George. She handed it to him, with a dazzling smile on her face. Well, dazzling to George at least. It was probably just a friendly one to her.

“Here you go, just the way you like it,” she said, before pulling up a chair to the booth. George’s cheeks heated up as he gazed at her. She was so beautiful, even here after a day of walking around in town. 

Maybe, just maybe, he could buck up the courage to ask her out.

Thank you for reading and I hope you liked it!