#and that’s not even mentioning the fact that you have to be taught stuff like finances and coding in basic math classes

[overly-hubristic-mad-scientist]

I can’t lie, whenever someone tells me “school never taught us how to do ___” part of me gets kinda annoyed because 9/10 (at least in Ontario) they did you either didn’t take the course because it was an elective, or it was a required class you never actually paid attention to.

[mourn-and-watch]

one super important detail about carver's 'pro-templar' stance is that he openly admits that he never saw magic as a threat before kirkwall. he can be petty and constantly annoyed by his siblings being all magical and special but he never thought of them as abominations who need to be locked up for everyone's safety. kirkwall is the reason he starts to express doubts and we know how fucked up the veil here is.

if he joins the order, he does that out of necessity but i'd say he's also that rare templar who's motivated not by fear for himself but by fear for the people he cares about and at least one of them is a mage. this city is full of demons and abominations and blood magic, situation here is a lot more complicated than in ferelden and there's also his not-so-almighty mage sibling who doesn't seem to be concerned about this. even though they can be killed by one of these things. even though they can become one of them.

also he desperately needs purpose and if he was never taken to the expedition he finds one and does so by his own choice. and for the moment he thinks it's the right thing to do but the order never helps him resolve his doubts. he's never proven wrong because there are still demons and abominations threating the city. he's never proven right because some things templars do are completely unjustifiable and straight up cruel. this is not the purpose he wanted. this is not the reason worth deeping the rift between him and his sibling even more than it already was but it's too late to quit just like that. it's not like he despised the templars. it's not like he didn't understand them completely. but the way he bitterly says "you don't understand this life. i didn't" to sebastian summarises how complicated his time in the order was all along

[7s3ven]

SINGLE DAD! X BABYSITTER! READER HAS ME FROTHING OMGG. Even better when the rest of TF 141 is involved

part 1 | part 2 (coming soon - rest of tf 141 introduced)

master list

MDNI 18+

Warnings: big age gap, babysitter! reader, reader is in medical school (but still legal guys)

You told yourself it was just a temporary summer job, something to fill your pockets over the Summer break as you moved into another year of university. Medical bills were not easy to pay off and your old job that paid the bare minimum did not help you in the least. All it taught you was that you had a nasty uppercut (from the time you actually hit someone and got fired).

So, you found yourself standing in front of John Price’s house. You stared up at the tall building, brows raised in surprise. He had understated how big his house was… it even had a garden and a pool. You may as well consider it a mansion.

You quickly rang the doorbell, smoothening out your tight blouse. Your much more appropriate one was in the wash so you prayed whoever answered the door did not notice.

It was a tall middle-aged who greeted you, beard cleanly trimmed and… a hat on his head. “Y/N L/N?” He asked you. You swiftly nodded, softly smiling when he stepped aside.

“So, medical school, huh? Training to become a doctor?” He asks as he brews you a cup of tea while you read over his terms and conditions.

“A surgeon, sir. Not much better, though.” You offer him another smile, hoping to ease the awkward tension.

“Right. Next time I need surgery, I’ll call you up.” He takes a sip from your tea, which you notice but you say nothing. “Just checkin’ the temperature. Wouldn’t want ya to burn yourself.” He hands you the mug, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment too long.

“I assume this is only a quick job for you? Just away to gain a bit of money to pay those student fees off?”

Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you nod. “Yes, sir. I know I should have clarified it but I’m a little desperate at this point. Besides, no retail places want to hire me… after I hit someone.”

Your words intrigued him. He let out a low chuckle as he sat across from you. “Now I’m interested.”

“Well… there’s not much to it… a guy kept staring at my chest. He said some vulgar stuff and next thing I knew, I was punching him.”

Price shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “The lad was askin’ for it. So, what do you think about the job? You’ll honestly be a glorified babysitter. Just do some cleaning and cookin’ here and there and make my baby happy and you’ll get a nice pay check every week.”

It all happened in a blur. You agreed to the job and weeks later, you found yourself at Price’s house more than your apartment. You hadn’t stepped foot into your apartment since two days ago, Price generously allowing you to use one of the guest rooms.

“Lila has a sleepover tomorrow.” Price mentions as you’re reading the instructions on how to make cookies for Lila’s bake sale.

Based on the cooking skills you had seen from Price, you doubted he could bake very well. In fact, all he could cook was steak, which was general knowledge for dads.

“I can drop her off if needed.” You offer while opening the packet of flour only for it to explode in your face. You smacked your lips together, grimacing. “Not a word.” You mutter to Price who’s chuckling under his breath.

“Wasn’t gon’ a say anything, love.” He helps wipe the flour dust off your face, still grinning in amusement.

In all honesty, your relationship with Price felt a little too domesticated, especially right now as you wore a frilly apron he had bought just for you.

“Your skirt’s too short, by the way.” Price grumbles, attempting to tug it down. “You sure no creeps stared at you on your way ‘ere? Wouldn’t want ya in danger.”

You push his hands away from your hips. “Even if people were staring, I’ll just punch them.”

You had tried to maintain a professional relationship with your boss but it was hard when he carelessly manhandled you and treated you like his wife rather than his daughter’s babysitter.

And all professional behaviour came crashing down when he unexpectedly stood behind you as you whisked the cookie batter.

“You look like a coke addict.” Price jokes, referring to the flour that still stained your face. “Like you got it everywhere but up your nose.”

“I can assure you, sir, I have never tried coke unless my friend daring me to snort sherbet counts.”

Price grins at your biting remark, his heavy hands falling to your waist. “Yeah? Heard it doesn’t feel too good with sherbet.”

“Not in the slightest.”

His hands trail dangerously low but you don’t have the courage to ask him to stop… nor do you really want him too. He seems to sense your willingness as he rests his face in the crook of your neck, body pressed up tightly against yours.

You feel more like his spoiled wife than a medical student just trying to pay her bills.

“You’re pretty, ya know that? Surprised you don’ have a boyfriend… or girlfriend. Or partner. Dunno what your label is.”

With shaking hands, you place the bowl filled with cookie batter to the side, afraid you’ll only spill it.

“Never met a woman as soft as you… most think I chased Lila’s mother away. But nah. Her mother ran off, leavin’ me with a baby. Not that I’m complaining, I love Lila… and without her, I wouldn’ have met you.”

You’re reduced to listening to Price’s words, stuck between his larger frame and the marbled kitchen counter.

“Sir.” You whisper but it reaches his keen ears. Everything after that is a distorted blur and you find yourself bent over the counter, clad in nothing but the apron, with Price right behind you.

Price was a mystery to you. How could a man be turned on by something as simple as an apron? Though, he was a single dad so it made sense.

Price is muttering praises in your ears as your knees tremble, threatening to buckle. You never imagined you’d be in your employer’s kitchen, having your back blown out by the man himself.

His hands were hungrily climbing your body, gripping every bit of exposed skin he could find. If it wasn’t for him holding you upright, you would have toppled to the ground in a heartbeat.

You feel Price lift a hand to grip your hair, tugging at your locks. He’s in a desperate stupor but you’re not any better, pushing back your hips to meet his harsh thrusts.

“Gon’ a fill ya up. Give you a baby of yer own. Fuck… be so pretty just like you. My perfect little wife.” He grunts in your ear. You have no energy to correct him; that you’re not actually his wife but you’d have no complaints if he bought you a ring.

If anything, his words spur you on more.

Your chest is heaving by the time you near your release. You’re whining like a damn dog, high pitched noises slipping past your saliva-slicked lips. And you only grow in volume as Price speeds up, pressing his body against your back.

He’s older than you, that’s a fact you knew from the start, but he’s definitely more experienced as well. His well thought out words have the desired effect on you as the coil in your stomach snaps.

Your fluids drip down your exposed legs, hitting the tiles kitchen ground in thick droplets. You hear Price swear under his breath, quickly pulling out and staining your back white.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment as he rests his forehead on your shoulder. Then he leads you towards his bathroom, ushering you inside and handing you a spare set of clothes.

“Imma place your old ones in the washing, yeah?” He mutters, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before leaving you to wash off.

You sit on the shower floor for a good five minutes, replaying the moment in your head. When you finally cleanse yourself of sweat, you slip Price’s shirt over your head, inhaling the intoxicating smell of his cologne. It was the one you liked too.

His clothes engulfed you as you stumbled back into the kitchen, hobbling a little.

“I guess I’ll… get going then.” You murmur, fidgeting with your hands.

Price reaches out a hand to brush a strand of hair away from your face. Then he nods. “See you tomorrow night, lovie.”

Right, you still had to finish those cookies and pick up your clothes.

[formula-ghost]

Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 1: Honey, Are U Coming?

SERIES SUMMARY: You’re Franco Colapinto’s best friend in the entire world, and you’ve agreed to accompany him along for the ride in his races with Williams. He finds it endearing how, per your therapist’s recommendation, you’ve started always bringing your diary everywhere you go, even the paddock. But when he crosses the line and turns the page, he never expected what’s inside… (Based on the song Read Your Diary by Måneskin).

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

WARNINGS: therapy heavily mentioned, reader is emotionally constipated, use of YN, reader is a lil FREAK in later chapters (affectionate because we don’t kink shame here), eventual angst and smut

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Meet me there where it never closes

Meet me there where it’s never hopeless

All is fair in love, oh

Honey, are you coming?

If you had to blame anyone for this whole ordeal, it would be your therapist. After all, she was the one who had given you the idea to start journaling in the first place.

The session had, frustratingly, gone like all of the others; you’d tell her about something you thought was innocuous and she’d ask you how that made you feel, and you wouldn’t be able to answer. You could feel your feelings all day long, but when asked to explain them, the words never came out.

Maybe it was a fear of being misunderstood or judged for your feelings. Maybe it was the fact that no one had ever taught you what to do with that bundle of emotions that rested in your stomach like a ball of yarn to be unraveled, except to avoid it altogether and stuff it down. Or maybe you just know how you actually felt, deep down, and this was your mind’s way of making it known.

Whatever the case was, your therapist suggested, in addition to your usual sessions, of course, that you start a journal. “It’ll be for your eyes only,” she assured, “you don’t have to tell me a single word of what’s in it. Just write whatever comes to mind, no matter what that is, as long as you get it out.”

So you took her advice. Worst case scenario, you thought, you’d just stop after a week or two if it didn’t make it better. But you couldn’t help feeling a little immature, like a little girl hiding a diary, when you went to the airport shop and bought a small, unassuming leather journal at a heavily marked up price and stuffed it into the bottom of your carry on.

Your therapist had suggested customizing the journal as you write your way through it—making it a safe place for your feelings and words. But for now, this would have to do. Traveling this much recently had been difficult, and you didn’t want to add the journal into the mix of your already chaotic life for the past few weeks.

Of course, you wouldn’t have had it any other way. The recent chaos and jet setting around the world was all due to the hard work and incredible luck of your best friend, Franco. He had finally made it to Formula 1, even if just for the remainder of the season, and when he had excitedly run over to your apartment to tell you the news, you had practically crushed him to death with the enormous hug you gave him. Despite his rookie status, he had somehow managed to get you paddock passes, flights, and accommodations all arranged for each of the races so you could spend your next few months flying around the world and waltzing around the Williams paddock with your best friend in the entire world.

You and Franco had met when you were younger and he had just moved to Italy to pursue his racing career. He had moved in right next to your family, and it felt like you were instantly connected. You introduced him to the country and he introduced you to the world of racing, and your friendship was a match made in Heaven. When he went to Spain, you followed, and now with his entry into Formula 1, you were still tagging along for the ride.

Of course, Franco wanted you there just as much as you wanted to be there. At first you had been hesitant to do it. You didn’t want to impose, and to this day Franco refused to tell you what strings he had to pull to get you access to the paddock, let alone flights and accommodations. “Cmon, come with me,” he had pleaded. “Think of the stories we’ll be able to tell one day! Besides, I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else by my side.”

“Franco, you sound like the protagonist of a cheesy rom com,” you laughed. “Don’t you think this is all… too much?”

“The tickets or my audition for the next Hallmark movie?” he teased, eliciting a small laugh from you. “No, I’m serious, YN. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I want you there with me, for every part of it.” He paused and looked down at his shoes, as if choosing his next words carefully. It was unusual of him, to be so worried about saying the right thing instead of just saying something. The grid had caught on soon that Franco was a talker. He continued, “I understand if you can’t come to all of them. But at least come to a few. It won’t be the same without you.”

There was a heaviness to his words that made you the slightest bit uncomfortable. Like his request was something deeper than just wanting the support of a friend. “Since when have you gotten so sentimental?” you teased, cracking a smile to lighting the tension.

He smiled back, “Since I achieved my dreams.”

Your slight smile stretched ear to ear at the reminder of how monumental a moment this was for him, and you enveloped him in another hug. “Oh Franco, I’m so happy for you!” you exclaimed.

“Happy enough to come with me?” He asked as you all broke the hug.

You lightheartedly exhaled at his instance. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The smile on his face was electric. You just couldn’t say no to him, so that’s how you ended up here, unable to say no to the steep markup on your airport shop journal, waiting for your unfortunately delayed flight from Azerbaijan to Singapore.

Even at only 4 races in, you had gotten used to doing your remote work in airports, but trying to open this journal and pour your heart out onto the pages right next to traveling strangers was… difficult, to say the least. It couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes that you stared at the blank page, but it felt like an eternity. You didn’t know what to write.

So you just began by writing how you felt physically. Tired. Nervous. Excited for Franco. Very excited for Franco.

This was supposed to be your journal, but as you got into the rhythm of filling page after page, the words were all about your best friend, the newest Formula 1 driver. You used to think that words couldn’t even describe how proud you were of him. You’d seen his hard work pay off with just a little bit of luck, and your heart seemed to swell into your chest when you thought of him in his Williams race suit ready to show the world what he could do. He’d gotten points in Baku, and you remembered your frantic heartbeat as you watched from the Williams garage and cheered in excitement at his performance. After the race he ran to you and you all practically crashed into each other going for a bear hug.

You had squeezed him with all your strength. “Franco, I’m so proud of you!”

He released you and smiled. It was a rare moment, seeing you this vulnerable. You were so happy that tears had formed at the edges of your eyes, and for a split second he looked at you and knew the true depth of those words. “So proud that you’re crying tears of joy?” he joked.

He had ruined the moment. You were so caught up in your raw emotion that you didn’t even notice the tears until he pointed them out, and your defenses kicked it as you replied, “I wasn’t crying.” Franco saw your walls go up again and cursed himself internally for talking without thinking, as he almost always did.

As you penned this memory, you felt all the emotions rushing back to you. That feeling of pride in your chest, the chaos of the garage, and Franco’s hands wrapped around you in a celebratory embrace—no, that made it sound weird. You looked down at the page. Why did that sound so… weird?

Once again, the moment had been ruined. Your flight was about to board anyway, so you exhaled and put the journal back in your bag, telling yourself you’d deal with that later. For now, you had a race to get to.

Singapore was humid and buzzing with life. Practices had gone well. On Saturday, you  hoped that the usual chaos of the paddock would distract you from your thoughts, but it was the opposite. The drone of noise—reporters talking, mechanics laughing, the purr of the car—all faded away, just background noise to your painful confusion.

Something was just…off. Before your flight you had written about your best friend and his first few races in F1. That was it. Then why did you feel like your skin was crawling every time you glanced at him on the other side of the garage? He had his headset on, talking to some race engineer about something you couldn’t even begin to understand. His gaze was so focused, his attention fully captured by the screen in front of him. He raised his hand to his mouth, thinking, before turning to the engineer and saying something.

You were enraptured by him. His passion was infectious, his determination admirable. Clad in his white race suit, he looked like he belonged here, like he had always belonged here. His hair gently curled over the top bar of his headset. His race engineer said something and Franco laughed, and again you noticed those little details that had become so usual to you; the way his eyes crinkled when he truly smiled, the scrunch of his nose, the blush that danced across his cheeks—whether from the warmth of the garage or the words of his engineer, you couldn’t tell.

Your observation (or, rather, staring) was interrupted by Franco’s gaze shifting from his engineer to you. He sent you a soft smile, and you gave him a weak one in return. You felt sick to your stomach as he politely excused himself from the conversation and made his way over to you.

“Hey YN, you good? You’ve been staring off into space for, like, five whole minutes.”

You brought your hands to rub your face, trying to bring some life into you. “Have I?”

“Yeah, thought you were checking me out or something.”

“Huh?” You felt a pang of anxiety at his insinuation.

“Well, I can’t help it that I’m so irresistible,” he replied with a smirk.

“Oh, Lord,” you laughed, exhaling in relief at his usual banter. “I just feel weird, but I’ll be okay.” You weren’t exactly lying.

The brow furrowed with concern. “You’re not feeling well? You want to go lay down for a bit?”

As much as you wanted to protest that you really were fine, the opportunity to get away for a few minutes felt like a godsend. You answered, “That’s sounds nice, actually.”

“Here, come with me,” he said as he gestured for you to follow him through the back of the garage and into the Williams motorhome.

You ended up in his driver’s room, a quiet haven away from the overwhelming chaos of the paddock. As you stepped inside it hit you just how awful you truly felt: your head was pounding, your stomach turning in flips, and your heart beating outside your chest. You practically slumped down onto the small couch, hunched over, covering your eyes with your arm to shield away the harsh fluorescent light.

You felt Franco settle beside you, breaking the silence with a soft, “You alright?” You just hummed in response, until you felt his hand meet your upper back, gently rubbing your shoulder blades as if his touch could smooth away your discomfort. But all it did was make it worse; you didn’t think your heart could beat any faster, and the turning of your stomach threatened to bring up your breakfast.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment. “Franco, need you at the media tent in five!”

Franco grumbled a reply that he’d be right there. Then he turned back to you, “You want to go back to the hotel? I can have someone take you.”

“No, I’ll be okay. I don’t want to miss qualifying.”

“YN, you look horrible.”

You laughed. “Thanks for the confidence boost.”

“No, I just… you don’t have to be there if you’re not feeling well, it’s okay.” Franco knew how stubborn you were. Never the type to admit any weakness, you could be on your death bed and still make it to the paddock to watch him race.

“No, really, I’m fine. Just give me a few minutes…”

He huffed, knowing it was no use arguing with you. He kneeled down to where you head was laid against the small table next to the couch, looking in your eyes. “Shit, YN, you’re

shivering—I’ve got a hoodie around here somewhere…” he began rummaging through his locker when another knock came at the door.

“Franco, media tent, NOW,” said the clearly agitated voice behind the door.

“Yeah, coming!” he replied.

He looked back nervous scratched the back of his neck, unsure of how far to push.

“I’ve got to go. Grab a hoodie and warm up, and if you feel any worse you come straight back here or I’ll end you,” he said, in an attempt to lighten the concern he felt for his best friend who sat before him, looking like a zombie.

“Understood,” you said, giving him a weak thumbs up.

He left the room and you sat there alone, taking deep breaths in an attempt to bring yourself back down to earth. You had truly believed it when you told Franco that you thought a few minutes in the quiet would fix you up, but your thoughts just kept racing, and your body reacted with it. The gentle comforting touch of his hand on your back left you spinning. It didn’t make sense—you two had been friends so long, the touch was nothing unusual. Just a friendly gesture. Then why did it feel like your skin was on fire?

Franco had been right, you were shivering, and to distract yourself from your thoughts you heeded his advice to find a hoodie to wear. You stepped over to the locker and found the one he brought—one purchased for him by one of his ex girlfriends, some blonde model who was nice enough but clearly wanted nothing to do with you. You didn’t blame her; you were nothing special, and your company paled in comparison to the excitements of dating a race car driver. Or at least, you assumed. It’s not like you’d ever date Franco.

Wait, what were you thinking? Dating Franco. The thought should bring disgust to your mouth. It did. Sort of. You weren’t shivering any more.

You put the hoodie back in the closet and took a deep breath. You decided to take the time between now and qualifying to see if writing in the journal could make you feel a little better. But when you opened the pages again, you just found what you had written last time and your feelings stuck.

You remembered a tactic your therapist taught you: sometimes your feelings can manifest physically. To calm down, ground yourself in your surroundings. Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, one thing you can taste. You brought your pen to paper.

I can see: The hoodie that Franco’s ex gave him. It’s crumpled in the corner of his locker. He wears it a lot, and it makes me wonder if he misses her. I don’t ask him stuff like that. That would be weird.

I can touch: The smooth plastic of the VIP pass around my neck. Franco refuses to tell me how he got it. I can’t believe he’d go through all this for me.

I can hear: The quiet silence of the room. Feet shuffling outside the door. Does anyone know I’m in here, hidden away like a secret? Did Franco tell anyone about me—about us? What even is us—why would he tell the paddock about a friend?

I can smell: Franco’s cologne, everywhere. It smells familiar, like home and a warm hug.

I can taste: the bitter taste of the maté I had this morning. Franco put me on to it when we were younger.

You went back and read through everything you’d written, seeing how many times his name came up—Franco, Franco, Franco.

And so you wrote it again. Franco, Franco, Franco. God, I feel like a little girl having a crush on the boy who sits next to her in class.

Wait. A crush? No, you were too old for that. That’s ridiculous. But reading the words you had written over and over and over again—what else could it be?

Of course I love Franco. He’s my best friend.

Reading and writing seemed to blur. Yes, you loved Franco. So you wrote it again.

I love Franco Colapinto.

Finally, you stopped. Your headache, stomach pain, and that stubborn heartbeat had all faded to calmness. You read it, no, wrote it, no—did it even matter anymore?

I love Franco Colapinto.

No. You scribbled it out and closed the diary. No, no, no no no no no.

You checked your phone. It was almost time for quali. You threw the journal to the bottom of your bag, took a deep breath, and made your way back out to the Williams garage.

On the way there you ran into a familiar face—Franco’s mother. You had heard she would be here for the weekend, but you hadn’t run into her yet, with everything going on. Upon seeing you her face lit up in a smile. “YN! Franquito just sent me to check on you, said you were feeling well?”

You cringed a bit internally at her knowing your situation, but smiled anyway. “Oh, I was, but I’m doing okay now. Ready for quali.”

So the two of you made your way back to the garage, making idle chat about your lives back at your respective homes outside of Franco. The more you all talked, though, the more it became apparent that both of your lives seemed to revolve around him; but it made sense for his mother, of course, even if he didn’t live in Argentina anymore. But you? You couldn’t shake the feeling that your connection to Franco was deeper and more problematic than ever now. His mother’s voice faded into the background sounds of the garage as your mind returned again to again to the words you had written: I love Franco Colapinto. It felt so childish, like it belonged in a pink diary, written in a glittering gel pen, surrounded by little hearts. It made you sick to your stomach.

“You know, YN,” his mother said, breaking you from your spiraling thoughts, “I’m so glad he has you. I was so worried when he left home, but when you all met it helped me sleep better at night knowing someone was looking out for him. And look where we are now! Oh, I’m so proud of him.”

“I am too,” you smiled, somewhat pained but still genuine.

She laughed, “Now I just keep telling him he needs to find a girl like you! Stay away from all those actresses and models, they’re always trouble.”

You laughed in response, though your heart skipped a beat. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll find a good one. But I think he’s more focused on the racing.”

“Well, I hope so,” she replied, a hint of lighthearted criticism in her voice.

The conversation came to a natural end with qualifying about to start any second. Franco, suited up and putting on his helmet, glanced to you and his mother behind the barriers, throwing you a wink before stepping in the car. You rolled your eyes. Everyone who had ever met Franco knew how much of a flirt he was, it was just part of his personality. It had never bothered you before. But to be the girl he was flirting with? To have it mean something? That was something else entirely, something you’d stuffed deep down. You told yourself it meant nothing, because it didn’t. Franco was just…like that. He was just your friend. Nothing more.

Franco had a respectable qualifying—P12—and the rest of the day went by as usual before your dinner plans with him, his mother, and the rest of the Williams team. It was awkward at first. You were sat by Franco and his mother on one side, who were talking to each other in Spanish, far away mentally from the dinner; and on the other was Alex Albon's girlfriend, Lily. Thankfully, Lily seemed very kind and made conversation.

“Oh hi, YN isn’t it? I’ve been meaning to say hello! I’m Lily, it’s nice to meet you, welcome to the wag club,” she joked.

“The wag club?” You were confused, was this some motorsports term you’d never heard of?

“Oh, you know, wives and girlfriends. The fans just call us wags,” she smiled. You were grateful that at least one person's girlfriend was kind to you. But her assumption brought a blush to your cheeks.

“Oh, I’m not—“

Lily wasn’t quite paying attention, or maybe you were too quiet compared to the busy atmosphere of the restaurant. “You know, it’s really great to have you here, you and Franco are so cute! It’s a shame what happened with Logan, but on the bright side so get to make new friends. I can introduce you to the rest of the girls too, it’s hard being in a garage full of guys so we have to stick together, you know.”

You cut her off, unable to handle her mistake any longer. “Oh, uh, I’m not… Franco’s girlfriend. We’re just friends.” 

Lily paused for a moment. “Oh! Um… sorry about that.” She nervously laughed. “I just thought, you know, since you’ve been at all his races so far…”

“Oh yeah, I’m not sure how, but he got me paddock passes for the rest of the season. I mean, once in a lifetime opportunity, right?”

“Yeah, that’s… I mean, wow. Alex can’t even get me that many passes.” Lily left the implication of her comment unsaid. Franco had gone above and beyond—he wanted you here more than anything. “Well, anyway, I’m sure the girls would still love to meet you!” she smiled. 

It was nice to have a friend other than Franco in the paddock. You passed the dinner telling funny stories back and forth about Franco and Alex’s embarrassing karting moments. The Williams team was beginning to feel like family.

Back in your hotel room, the chaos of the day faded away into a calm silence. You opened your journal and wrote about everything that had happened since you had left his drivers room. Again and again you returned to that sentence, now scratched out, but finally, you had to accept what you had so long avoided, what everyone around you could see plainly.

So you took your pen and wrote one last sentence of the night:

I am in love with my best friend, Franco Colapinto. 

[wolvietxt]

💭 thinking about …

𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗉𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝖺𝗅𝗉𝗁𝖺𝖻𝖾𝗍!

pairing : deadpool x reader  warnings : groping (receiving from wade), yukio :3, mentions of reader being shorter than wade wc : 1.6k a/n : unedited, and i skipped out a few letters near the end😭

𝓐 = affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

very very affectionate! all over you, 24/7, whether it be hugs or kisses. he’s super affectionate to pretty much everyone, whether it’s reciprocated or not, so with a partner, i think things would be 10 times worse (for the better) 💞

𝓑 = best friend (what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?)

pff you definitely went from friends to lovers! your landlord had dropped by to tell you that you had a new neighbour opposite you. you were very excited, and before you could even go over and say hello, he was already on your doorstep, box of cookies in hand. he told you his friend yukio made them. you invited him in, and soon became best buds pretty quick! he’s an extremely supportive friend, and while he can’t be there for you all of the time (because of missions and saving your entire timeline and stuff), he tries as hard as he can to! he’s an instant pick-me-up, his humour’s extremely comforting.

𝓒 = cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

absolute lovebug! he’s all over you, and prefers that when he's in your presence he has at least a hand somewhere on you. he’s always creeping up on you, only to wrap his arms around your waist and rest his chin on the top of your head. you can expect a hand to be creeping up your shirt as he does so😭

𝓓 = domestic (do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?)

settling down isn’t really on his mind at the moment, and he doesn’t expect that it’s on yours. if you ever mentioned it however, he’d be happy to hear you out! you practically live together as it is, so he’s all for you officially moving in! he’s surprisingly a pretty good cook, peter seems to have taught him a few things over time! as for cleaning, he’s not terrible, but he really fucking hates it, so it’s usually blind al who takes up most of the cleaning responsibilities in their apartment.

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

he’d probably be breaking up with you if you got hurt because of him, or if he fears he may be putting you in danger :( he’d just be gone when you woke up the next morning, with no warning or any way of reaching him afterward

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

not a stranger to commitment, and not opposed to it in the slightest! the thought of marriage isn’t really on his mind, he’s satisfied with you as his girlfriend. it’s not like he doesn’t want to get married, but he can’t wrap his head around why. the only thing that would change is he’d be able to call you his wife (which he does anyways)😭 but if you wanted to get married he’d be happy to comply!! 

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

very very gentle physically! once he’s fully grasped the fact that your injuries do not heal within seconds, he treats you like you could break at any moment😭 emotionally… he’s working on it. sometimes his constant joking was at your expense, and occasionally hurt your feelings more than you’d like to admit :( but!! he’s learning to read the room, and he’s getting much better at it!

𝓗 = hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?)

loooves hugs so much. you’re lucky you feel the same way because it would be horrible living with him if you didn’t😭he’s hugging you as much as he possibly can!! he thinks he has some kinda curse so he tells you he can only get any sleep if you’re nestled into his chest and his arms are wrapped tightly around your frame. he will always greet you with a hug before anything else!! he gives really good hugs too :3

𝓘 = i love you (how fast do they say the l-word?)

he’s saying he loves you from your first day together! you’re walking back to your apartments after a cute day out and he casually blurts, ‘bye, love you!’ he looks embarrassed after, but it soon becomes an inside joke, and something he says to you regularly throughout your friendship! it was only until he whispered into your ear one lazy morning, ‘i’m in love with you’ did you realise the gravity of what he felt for you💞

𝓙 = jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?)

doesn’t get jealous quick, but when he does it’s bad for whoever else is involved😭they are definitely being threatened by him!! his instincts are usually pretty good when it comes to stuff like that but yours are totally not. you can’t tell the difference to save your life between flirting and a good natured conversation, so his protectiveness can come in handy for you sometimes.

𝓚 = kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?)

he kisses anywhere and everywhere on you :3 very often too! hmm i think he really likes it when you kiss him all over his face, although he probably won’t admit it.

𝓛 = little ones (how are they around children?)

very good around kids! he’s not usually the most patient man, but around kids it’s a whole other story!

𝓜 = morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

mornings are spent waking up late because you were both up well into the early hours of the morning doing whatever you were doing. mornings are spent groggily showering together as he yaps on and on about god knows what. mornings are spent eating yesterday’s leftovers for breakfast as you giggle over whatever absurd story he’s telling you💞

𝓝 = night (how are nights spent with them?)

nights are spent cuddled up on the sofa mumbling incoherent sentences into his chest as you’re straddling him, while he’s bingeing his favourite show. you wanna sleep so bad, and he’s not stopping you, but you would much rather fall asleep nestled into him than alone in bed! plus, you love when he moves you around while you sleep :3

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

he’s very open right from the get go! but it’s harder to teach him to take things seriously :( he jokes about a lot of the things that he goes through, you presume as a coping method, but it’s really not healthy. he’s open to changing though, and slowly does after spending more time with you!!

𝓟 = patience (how easily angered are they?)

his patience is typically very short with most people (the exception being you, kids, and yukio :3) and it doesn’t look like that’s gonna be changing anytime soon😭

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

he tries so very hard but m’afraid he’s just not the best at it😭but that’s okay!! he has other strong suits! he remembers the very important things, but he could use some work remembering the little things too :) 

𝓡 = remember (what is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

hmm i don’t think he really has a standout moment but if he had to pick one, he’d probably say when you said you loved him for the first time :3

𝓢 = security (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

sooo protective! he feels that you’re so fragile compared to him anyways, so he’d do his absolute best to protect you in every aspect he can! hmm as for you protecting him.. i think he’d like if you ever made an outward show of affection toward him when someone else was hitting on him in his suit. he finds it super hot :3

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

he tries very very hard! sometimes the result of whatever he’s doing doesn’t exactly reflect that, that’s okay!! it’s the thought that counts! 

𝓤 = ugly (what would be some bad habits of theirs?)

his self-deprecating jokes :(

𝓥 = vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

unfortunately he’s really quite insecure about them, it breaks your heart to see that he can’t see himself the way you see him :(

𝓦 = whole (would they feel whole without you?)

no no no not at all! misses you so much when you’re away, even if it’s just for a short while, even when it’s just a day or two, your phone is always blowing up with his messages, he’s constantly checking on you, asking if you’re okay, when you’ll be free to call! it’s so comforting to know that there’s someone out there who cares for you as much as wade does.

𝓩 = zzz (what is a sleep habits of theirs?)

he is a very very active sleeper!! you can expect to be kicked in the night😭and probably hear him whispering something random as he’s rolling over, taking you with him. his dreams are so insane, you wouldn’t believe him if he wasn’t basically acting them out as he slept😭

[imfinereallyy]

“The demon is back.” Eddie pokes into Steve’s side to wake him up.

“Babe, please go back to sleep.” Steve shoves his face into the pillow, making his voice muffled.

“Steeeeve.” Eddie whines, “It’s really there I swear this time. And I locked the door so I know it’s the demon again. Nothing else can get inside.”

“Eddie.” Steve squishes his face even deeper into the mattress. “You do this at least once a week. I love you; I do. But I never look because there is no demon. And every morning, you wake up fine. So please, go back to sleep.”

“What if I promise never to mention it again if it’s not really there? Will you look then?” This time Eddie’s voice wavers, his actual terror showing.

Steve sighs and shifts his head to look at Eddie, “This is really freaking you out, huh?” He says it kindly. Steve can tell this is serious to Eddie. So even if he doesn’t believe it, Eddie does. And what’s important to Eddie is important to Steve.

Eddie nods back furiously.

“Okay, I’ll look.” Steve shifts his head towards the other side, where the chair by the window sits. There, sitting in that corner is a dark shadowy figure. “Oh.”

“See! I told you! Demon! Oh god, it’s gonna get us.” Eddie throws his hands up. Even though he’s terrified, he’s accepted defeat.

“No.” Steve says calmly. “It’s just El.”

Eddie pauses his rant, “What?”

“It’s just El. In the corner. She does that sometimes, watches people she cares about until she falls asleep. To make sure they’re safe.” Steve looks at Eddie.

“The door was locked! How are you so calm about one of the kids just watching us at night?”

“Honey, she has mind powers. I don’t think a flimsy lock from Home Depot is going to stop her.” Steve deadpans before shrugging, “And it’s El. She could ask me to kill a man, and I probably wouldn’t even ask questions.”

“What if she asked you to kill me?”

“I’d be conflicted.”

“I want to be mad, but honestly I think I’d hand you the knife.” Eddie sighs, looking down at Steve.

Steve scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t stab you. I’d obviously sneak some kind of poison into your honeycombs. Way less messy.”

Eddie goes back to nearly shouting, “Why have you thought about this?!”

“Honestly, I have a lot of intrusive thoughts. I just don’t speak them out loud.”

Despite the fact they are actively talking about his murder, Eddie can’t help but get all gooey with Steve in their bed. “Is this why you don’t get mad when I think aloud? Another reason why you just get me. Adding that tally to the ‘why we are great together’ column.”

“Yes, we’re pretty amazing. Can we go back to sleep now?” Steve smiles.

“Yes—wait, no.” Eddie corrects himself, getting himself back on track. He loves this man, but he is a sneaky little minx. “Why did El never say anything? I mean, this is not the first time I accused her of being a demon. Hell, we’ve been talking for literally five minutes, and she still hasn’t said anything. Also, what if she walked in on us doing, ya know, adult stuff?” Eddie blushes at the end. He’s acting like he hasn’t been whispering way worse things in Steve’s ear every night.

“First off, she won’t walk in on that. Apparently Max taught her about happy screams a long time ago.”

“Gross.”

“Yeaaa. Second, I’m pretty sure she’s asleep right now.”

Huh, now that Eddie thinks about it, he does hear soft little snores. Which is weird since neither he nor Steve snores, and they are both, ya know, awake.

“And I don’t think El speaking in a dark corner would have helped your fears. Like imagine just hear her soft “Hello” at 2 a.m.” Steve raises an eyebrow.

“I—okay I got nothing.”

“Fantastic can we go back to sleep now?”

Eddie gives one last shout, “You’re not going to stop her?”

“Are you going to tell her no? And make her worry?”

Eddie slinks down into the covers, “...no.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Eddie curves his body into Steve’s, seeking him out. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie, securing him to his chest. “Thank you for indulging me.”

Steve hums. “Anything for you baby. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Eddie kisses Steve lightly.

“I love you both as well.” El’s voice suddenly speaks into the silent room.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie screams.

Steve can’t help the giggles that come out of him. He tries to smother them into Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie can’t find it in himself to be mad.

———

some people seemed interested in more el + Steve sibling energy. And they are a sibling-like duo I love. So here’s a little something but more steddie involved. I think all three of their relationship would be very sweet. Both Eddie and Steve would protect el. I hope you enjoyed :)

[ghostbsuter]

This is the fourth time damian brought the college student over.

Damian, despite being 14, has been accepted to a gifted school as he had already been taught in the most subjects one usually learns at a slower pace.

(He still gets a headache over the fact his son won't get a normal childhood.)

Which is how he befriended the 17 year old Daniel, an overworked and sleepdeprived college student, getting dragged along and following with no complaint.

Bruce is, even if he wanted damian to befriend someone more around his own age, very welcoming of the student.

Alfred made sure the boy took enough food with him home, always leaving the mansion at point 4 pm.

It really shouldn't have been surprising when Bruce Wayne, yes, THE Brucie Wayne, summoned him to his office.

Danny entered the room fidgeting, giving a nervous smile to the man behind the desk and questioning what he did wrong to offend the patriarch of the family.

(Lies and slander, we, the readers, are fully aware that Alfred is the patriarch.)

"Uh— hi, Mr. Wayne." He sat when gestured to the chair, shitting bricks with how nervous he's.

The man nods in greeting, smiling. "Hello Danny–"

"Please don't kill me!" The teen in question blurts out, flushing in embarrassment once registered.

Taken aback and startled, Bruce snorts, stifling laughter by putting a hand against his mouth.

Shit.

"I don't know what I did! Very sorry if I offended someone!" He rambles, panicking and waving his hands around.

"Danny—"

"I must have done something! Why else would you call me? Oh god– I'm gonna be murdered by THE Brucie Wayne!"

At this point, the rich guy in front of him is barely restraining himself from laughing, trying his best to stay professional.

"Danny–! I- I won't murder you." He reassured, eyes crinkling from smiling.

"But–" he sniffs, both embarrassed and teary.

"I'm not gonna— danny." Bruce sighs, which sounds a lot like a choke, really. "Look, I just wanted a 1-on-1 talk with you about your friendship with damian and some concerns."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh."

Danny sighs in relief at this. "I can do some good old interrogation–" "it's not an interrogation–" "totally interrogation."

He huffs lightly, getting comfortable in his chair and preparing himself mentally.

"Alright Mr. Wayne! Shoot me!"

(Was that a pun? A joke to murder? Really?)

The man clears his throat, straightens his back and looks serious as he was before the accusations of murder.

"What are your intentions with damian and why become friends in the first place?"

Blinking, the teen brightens. "Oh, that's easy! Damian needs a friend. We just kinda clicked after I scared away a few pesky bullies."

Then he shrugs. "Besides, it's great training."

"Training?" Bruce asks, curious, tone light in the way that shows he's very interested.

"Yes. Despite his badly hidden murderous tendencies, love for knives, and slight lack of slang language and knowledge, he's still a kid." He nods.

"A young teen that goes through teen stuff that I barely remember going through and now get to relearn will be handy once Ellie becomes a teenager herself."

Batman was filing the information away, but Bruce kept going.

"Ellie?" He questions.

"My daughter– has damian not mentioned her? We always leave around 4 to get her from my sister. Sometimes, dami stays over for a few hours!"

Ah. Well. Seems like Alfred will have to make more food for the teen now.

"Would you like to stay for dinner today?" He asks, "Bring your daughter too. We won't mind you joining us." smiling and already planning for the new adjustments to make.

"On another note, what are your and your daughters preferences? Any allergies?"

Danny didn't even agree yet, not that he was gonna— mind you.

"No allergies, soft foods only, easy to eat." He answers, listing the stuff from the top of his head.

In a whirlwind of– of planning dinner?? Danny is out of the door and wide eyed.

"What just happened?"

(On the other side, Bruce face-palms, having forgotten to ask what age Ellie is. Damn in Bruce.)

—

On the fifth visit, Danny stayed for dinner.

Damian must know the age, for there are bowls with freshly cut fruits, yoghurt, and rice mixed with veggies and chicken.

On that note, where is damian?

Dick meets his eyes, asking the same quetsion with a look.

Just as Bruce was gonna ask, the door opened, and the cutest picture to ever exist was created.

(Dick RIPPED his phone out of his pocket, swiping a picture of the scene as fast as possible.)

Steph can't hold back the coos at the sight of Damian walking with a toddler into the dining room, her tiny feet propped up on his and in hand together.

She's wearing a Robin onesie and he is wearing his (stolen) Nightwing hoodie.

"Sorry, hope we aren't late!" Danny waves with a grin from behind the pair.

"You aren't, just perfect, in fact." Bruce reassures, waving the teens over to the free seats.

Damian leads the two to his seat, making sure they're next to him.

The conversation during dinner is one spoken fondly, Cass likes to make Ellie laugh with silly faces, Duke and Steph "secretly" feed her tiny pieces of strawberry and Dick is in a rather passionate discussion with both Tim and Danny.

Damian, once he makes sure no one is watching him, wipes the mess from Ellies face.

(Bruce was watching, looking away once damians face snapped to him. He wasn't aware his youngest had such a soft spot for toddlers.)

(It takes a while, but Danny and Ellie become family like every other person, while having not slept over yet, Alfred already has prepared a room for the two in the Family wing.)

(It's barely a week after that everyone bought and gifted him onesie's of their hero personas, with the excuse of them being the gotham vigilantes when questioned. After all, the Robin can't be a one man team.)

—

The Nightwing and his Robin.

[venuslarkspur]

Teen Hero Shenanigans

Part 3

Robin Vs Batgirl

Summary: Your Damian’s Twin Sister, after arriving 3 years after your brother, you never excepted to take the Robin mantle, until your brother runs away and you volunteer to take his place. Damian eventually returns and you are discharged from the role, after bottling up your anger you decide to go solo by running away and stealing the Batgirl. But you’re not alone, your sort of boyfriend joins you. The main problem is the boyfriend in question is your brother’s best friend, Jon Kent.

Warning: Reader has a pregnancy scare, mentions of vomiting and other pregnancy symptoms. Whether or not you want the reader to actual be pregnant will be up for debate on a poll, violence, sibling dispute, mentions of abortion. Panic attacks. Mention of underage sexual activity (just dumb teenagers) damaged fertility and menstrual cycles are mentioned. Heavy violence between Damian and Reader. Teen pregnancy. Emotionally Abusive Al Ghul Family. Mentions of infertility.

Pairing: Jon Kent x Batsis!Reader. Platonic!Damian Wayne x Twin!Reader

Notes: If you don’t agree with the events of the fight between Damian and Reader that’s fine, I like to believe Damian was holding back though. There will be a poll to decide the readers fate. HALF PROOF READ IM SORRY. Sorry if the storyline is choppy or you don’t like it, I’m a teenager writer and I’m still learning about what makes a good story 😭🙏

Words: 2.5k

—————————

You woke up with a headache and immediately went to get some water, Jon still sleeping away in the bed. In truth, last night you had woke up with a migraine whilst puking up your own guts; you didn’t tell Jon not wanting to worry him, you assumed it was anxiety but now your not so sure. Long story short you and your boyfriend had been intimate a few times but you didn’t think you could get pregnant from it, Jon being half alien you just assumed it was unlikely, you also thought that maybe the Lazarus pit strained your fertility, as you have had irregular periods for a while now. You were sure it was also partly because of your brutal training and harsh diets that made you begin your menstrual cycle later, in fact you had only started recently.

But you weren’t taught about that stuff by anyone, you were too focused on being the perfect heir that any “weak attributes” like a menstrual cycle wasn’t explained to you. So it was a nasty shock when you woke up a bit after your 15th birthday with blood down your legs and ruined sheets, nobody was more shocked than your father though. Who assumed you just shared tampons and sanitary towels with Cass, your periods were shown to be irregular and unhealthy. So eventually Bruce arranged for you to go see a doctor, he asked Barbara and your Aunt Kate to go with you.

It was quite sad to realise you had been missing a big part of adulthood because your earlier childhood had been too rough. This is why you enjoyed being Robin so much, it didn’t make you feel less like a girl oddly enough, it made you feel empowered. But you weren’t sure what to do now as you are bent over the toilet seat. If what’s happening what you think is happening then you better hide Jon and prepare for your father and Damian to be disappointed in you, not just as a teenager but as a vigilante as well. You were sure your older brothers at least would try and look after you, it would be great to bond with Steph as she has also experienced a teen pregnancy. Barbara and Cass would try and make you feel comfortable with whatever choice you make regarding your child.

If you’re even pregnant that is. You should be safe for now, the baby shouldn’t have a heartbeat which means Jon can’t find you out first, but first and foremost you need to talk to him.

————————

“We need to talk.” Jon was sitting on the windowsill watching your guy’s mini radar for crime in the area. He immediately sat up and asked “Oh shit, we aren’t breaking up right?” Looking a bit like a rejected puppy, you say next to him and kissed his nose before reassuring him. “I wouldn’t dream of it! It’s just..” you say as you placed a hand on your stomach. “What’s the matter?” He says looking from you to your hand, you weren’t sure how to communicate this, you never were. You’d have to use your actions, you placed one of his hands on your stomach and looked up at him.

“Oh-oh crap.” He scrambles to collect his words, “I can pee on whatever stick later but can we talk about this please? It’s all my fault.” You declare but he pulls you in by the shoulders, “absolutely not, it takes two to tango, plus I was taught much better than this.” He says and you look at him with an earnest look of hope. “I wouldn’t have chosen now but I honestly think we’re both capable, of course I’d want our kid to meet my parents at least but you don’t have room if you don’t- “Jon, please, I’m not even sure if I am yet.” You interrupted and he looked disappointed but nodded. “ it’s a shame, you’d be a great mother.” He said and your eyes widened. “Don’t mock me.” You replied but he shook his head, “I’m not, I can tell you would raise a good kid.” You blushed and didn’t reject him this time.

“Fair enough.”

————————

“Careful, you’re carrying precious cargo.” Jon shouts as you both handle your own share of crooks. You punch one in the face with as much power as possible, reminiscent of that of your father. “Jon, I haven’t taken a test yet it’s possible it’s just my anxiety getting to me, I’ve been having a lot of panic attacks lately.” You finish as he flies over to you after tying up the crooks, “your birthday is in a few days..do you maybe wanna bake a cake together?” He asks and you could have started crying there; “I’d like that.” You uttered and pressed a hand to your stomach, you were worried because if you actually were pregnant you would be two kids having a kid, which worried you, but you also knew Jon would be a great father; you weren’t gonna tell him that though.

You weren’t sure how great of a mother you’d be, nothing you ever did this was good enough for your maternal family, if you got rid of the child they might lecture you, if you keep it they could also be angry with you. There’s no consistency and no way to win, you were sure if that when the time comes, and worst comes to worst that your father and Steph would help you get the paperwork done to put your kid up for adoption. You knew Jon would be unhappy with this decision but you also knew he loved you too much to force you to keep the kid. You wondered how your siblings would react, you being the youngest and the first to have a kid. Worst of all; Damian’s reaction, he’d blame Jon immediately. You knew you needed some space right now.

“I’m going to stay out a bit longer, is that okay?” You told Jon, as he was finishing up. “Are you sure?” He asked and you tutted before nodding. And with that he gave you a kiss on cheek before flying away.

———————

You weren’t sure what brought you back to Gotham, it wasn’t exactly the most pleasant place, not to mention your family were here. But it became your home, you knew it was reckless with the possibility you were pregnant. But your mind was racing and part of you hoped you would lose it by fighting rather than having to choose to have it done yourself, you looked in your utility belt for your mobile phone. And for the first time you looked in your camera history, mostly pictures of you and Dick but some of where you have snook a picture of Jason. You giggled and didn’t notice the faint ‘swoosh!’ behind you.

“Hello stranger.” A voice that sounded like your twin brother was heard, and you turned around in the dark filthy alley and there he was. You turned around and clenched your fists, the damp puddles colliding with your boots were the only thing heard. “Damian-I” you cut yourself off, unsure what to say. “Come home please, don’t make me beg.” He trembled and gently moved closer, the most cautious you’ve seen him in a while. “You know I can’t, I want too. But I just can’t.” You replied turning back around and putting your phone away.

“Please.” He approached you, getting closer. Close enough to hug but neither of you had the guts. “No Damian, I’m finally doing something because I want to do it, I’m not coming home, it’s final.” You almost yelled and his brows furrowed. “Then you have decided, but so have I.” You heard the frustration in his voice. “What do you think you’re talking about.” You asked in your own frustrated tone, your face scrunching in anger; this being the first time you remember being so angry with him. “Don’t make me do this sister.” His voice becoming more desperate, “What?! What will you do?” You breathed out turning your head slightly.

“I’ll drag your ass back to the manor, don’t make me.” You could hear the venom in his voice, “Let’s see it then!” You swung backwards and kicked him as hard as possible in the gut. He held his stomach silently before quickly returning to his feet, you immediately ran at him and attempted to get as many punches in as possible while he recovered from your surprise. “You always let your emotions get the better of you!” He shouted before grabbing your foot as you went in for a high kick; he grabbed your leg and hit you back against a wall, but in retaliation you elbowed him as quickly as possible and leached forward. “Well, takes one to know one.” You said, playing a little game of cat and mouse and you both constantly got close to seriously wounding the other, but you’d both always find a way out of it.

You sensed he was holding back, but so were you; you thought you were keeping up with him, constantly blocking and flipping backwards if needed, but he pulled out a trick you didn’t see coming. He jumped and propelled himself using a nearby wall and kicked you right in the face, blood dripped down your lip and bruises adorned your face, he also had his fair share of wounds, but the strength of the kick sent you flying backwards; onto the cold concrete. “You done yet?” He mumbled as you held your stomach, worried. Damian went down to grab you by the shoulders and hopefully knock you out to “protect you.”

But you were swift and wrapped your legs quickly around his ankles and tripped him up, landing just over you, giving you enough time to return to your feet but not before punching his face with full force, causing his lip to bleed. You cartwheeled over him to avoid his kick in retaliation, but you grabbed his leg and slapped it hard against the ground, you knew there was a bit of wrath and pent up jealousy in this action but you had to keep him down, you pinned his wrists above his head and used your body against him to hold him. He clawed and scrapped at your wrists but you never let go. “What would grandfather say?” You asked and suddenly he wasn’t holding back anymore as he broke out of your grip and used his own legs to kick you in the chest, sending you backwards.

He pulled himself up with ease and you quickly matched his stance, “that’s not fair and you know it sister.” There was a hint of sadness in his voice and you knew immediately you had gone too far. The next couple minutes was brutal, no holding back any punches as you both pulled out some of your best skills, but you knew it was over when he pinned you to ground and held you by your neck. He raised his hand going to knock the air out of you lungs, you braced for it and coughed out a bit of blood upon impact. But it all changed when he position the next punch for your stomach, “Damian! No!” You screamed, horrified, in pure fear; and he held back, hearing the terror in your voice. He froze for a second, confused.

Your fear subsided as you basked in a familiar presence: two, red, hot lasers made Damian jolt back, as they were aimed close to his hand, close enough to scare him, but not to chop of his hand. “Enough.” You heard Jon’s voice, your heart fluttering. And you wondered why it was so romantic to you that he had come to save you, Damian looked bewildered but was even more annoyed when you pushed him off and scrambled over to Jon. He immediately took you in an embrace and went in for a kiss before remembering Damian’s presence, “how long has our family known?” You asked Damian and he stood up finally, looking incredibly frustrated but also wanting answers on what the hell just happened. Why were you clenching your stomach like that? And why was Jon so protective about it? Damian wanted to know.

“2 days, they aren’t happy.” He uttered and you and Jon looked at each other in shame. “Your family is so worried about you Jon.” Damian turned his gaze to your boyfriend, “seriously you left a note? With a half baked apology?” Jon hung his head in shame, “Shut up Damian! What do you know!?” You yelled at him but Jon held you back and eyed your stomach. You stopped immediately, hoping Damian didn’t notice the exchange. “What’s going on? Are you hiding something?” He said with urgency and moved closer.

“Just piss off Damian!” You lunged but was restrained by Jon who embraced you to hold you back and calm you down, one arm around your shoulder keeping you flush against him; and the other was wrapped around your stomach. Damian wasn’t dumb, and you knew that but you weren’t excepting him to place it all together by a few quick glances and Jon being less than subtle by cradling your stomach. “If what I think is happening is happening, it better not be what I think it is.” He clenched his fists, and you were more worried for Jon.

“What the fuck is wrong with you both?!” Damian shouted and hunched in frustration, you could see his teeth grating. So furious. “Tell me I’ve got this wrong, please for the sake of our friendship.” He met Jon eyes and you rubbed his back to comfort him. He struggled to get the words out but eventually worked up the bravery, “we aren’t sure yet, but still you should have been pulling your punches anyway! She’s your sister.” Jon remarked with annoyance but Damian matched his anger. “It’s not her I’m angry with right now.” He moved closer almost like he was ready to pounce on you both. “I’m telling father.” Damian whisper and your eyes widened. “Please don’t! I’m not even sure yet.” You replied but he argued back. “Doesn’t matter! You shouldn’t be out here alone anyway! Just come home and Jon might even be forgiven for all this if he’s the one that brings you back-“

“Don’t blame Jon, I recruited him.”

“And for all the other things?”

“You know that’s a two way street Damian.”

He bowed his head, you can tell there was so much he wanted to say and do but it’s as if you both telepathically agreed you were too tired for this. “Stay close, I’m bringing you home one way or another.” Damian declared, and disappeared out of thin air.

“You okay babe?” Jon said and met your eyes while cradling your face and brining your forehead to his.

“We need that test, now”

—————————

Taglist: @waterwyne @venusmorning @planetlotus @sugarrush-blush @skepvids @dreaming-of-the-reality @otterluver05 @godoreo22 @earth-to-name @krys0210 @mallowryblog @0924ours @type-ink

IM GONNA RELEASE A POLL ON WHETHER OR NOT YOU WANT THE READER TO BE PREGNANT <3 please make sure you vote I love y’all 💕

Quick Note: I’ve had some issues tagging people, please if you weren’t tagged and asked to be, check your settings please! I wouldn’t ignore anyone on purpose 💕 I’m also gonna be super busy with exams and I also need to get working on my teen trinity series for those who are waiting for that so I’m sorry but this won’t be updated for a week or so, sorry for the inconvenience 💗

- If you want to be tagged in the next part don’t be afraid to ask I try and tag as many as possible <3

POLL IS NOW CLOSED! <3

PART 4 IS UP

[thisischaostragic]

i have been holding space for the Agatha finale (i’m in queer media) and am pleased to report that my feelings about it have shifted quite significantly. follow me, my friends, to a more or less coherent, very long text post at the end

primary thing: this show is very much about motherhood. idk why that didn’t totally register for me in the first half given how often they mentioned Nicky, but realizing this changed my analysis a ton. Billy doesn’t just remind Agatha of Nicky — Agatha loves Billy like a son. (i know “like a son” is an oversimplification, but I’m sticking with it for this post.)

with that, my thoughts on Agatha’s arc almost completely flipped. when Rio shows up in E8 and says she has to take Billy, Agatha is revisiting her deepest wound all over again. her reaction is harsh, but it’s not some long-simmering revenge plan or a calculated effort to hurt Rio. Agatha is literally just reacting to the fact that, after all of the almost-reconciliation, the love of her life is taking her son again. i think she was trying to get Rio to fight for her or to say the trade was too high a price and bend the rules. Agatha was trying to get Death to act only as her lover, and looks devastated when Rio actually walks away instead.

and so, when Agatha goes to the morgue trial and says that “sometimes, boys die,” she’s continuing that realization that Rio isn’t personally chasing her down and causing her grief. sometimes, death just… happens. and “out of Death, life” is largely about Agatha realizing that Rio did bend the rules for Nicky, but also doubles down on the Nicky and Billy parallels. both of Agatha’s sons were literally borne of Death and living on stolen time. loss is inevitable.

i think Agatha genuinely believed that Rio could have kept Nicky alive and chose not to. we know that Agatha blamed herself for Nicky dying (“the truth is too awful”). so Agatha, who was taught by her own mother that nobody would ever actually love her for who she is, probably thought that the love of her life just… didn’t love her as much as she thought she did. going back to E1, i think “you don’t have a heart” is equal parts about Nicky as it is about Agatha herself. her main takeaway is that everyone will betray her, even when they claim to love her, and so she hides behind power and a god awful reputation so that she can keep everyone at arm’s length and never get hurt again.

ALL OF THIS IS TO SAY: when Billy is about to die, Agatha almost retreats back into the version of herself she became after Nicky died, but she doesn’t. she turns around and faces the pain head-on.

and I want to take a second to appreciate how immensely hard that would be. Agatha spent centuries killing people so she could be powerful enough to stay numb. Agatha spent all of that time pushing away the love of her life, who still loves her, who still sees her fully, and who Agatha is clearly still desperate to return to. Agatha realizes, probably to absurd amounts of despair, that she was wrong about all of it. and she still turns around.

it’s not about Agatha randomly sacrificing herself for a last minute villain kind-of-redemption. it’s about Agatha breaking the cycle she’s trapped herself in for an unfathomably long time, admitting that she knows Rio couldn’t change the outcome, and acknowledging that, yeah, she actually does love this kid.

and honestly?? i don’t think Agatha becoming a ghost counts as killing her. she’s literally still around, doing stuff, picking up brooches (👀 Rio wya), and getting a second chance at… not motherhood, exactly, but caring for a child. (and a queer child! and the idea of Agatha, who has been queer since the *1600s*, getting to tell this gay kid over and over again that there’s nothing innately wrong with him makes me actually sob.)

HOWEVER! i maintain some criticisms. i think Jen deserved to have an actual fight with the doctor who bound her. (the oops! it was Agatha All Along twist was… complicated. i have mixed feelings. essay for another day, but i wanted Jen to have rage time that everyone was just cheering for.)

i needed Death lore. how is she physically with Agatha so often if, as Agatha states, 120 people die every minute? is she Death the cosmic entity, or are green witches sort of responsible for decay on earth?

some of the plot elements were severely under-developed, and frustratingly, the vast majority of the underdeveloped plotlines had to do with Agatha/Rio’s romantic relationship, Agatha’s mother, and Agatha’s reasons for killing people. (the fact that they said she’s a siphon in interviews and not once on the show will never stop baffling me lmao.) i find it very frustrating that a LARGE chunk of the underdeveloped stuff relates back to Agatha’s queerness in some way.

however… i am willing to be generous about some of that, because i find it difficult to believe that this *extremely queer* creative team actually just disregarded major queer plot elements. i am far more inclined to believe that they were operating under a hostile corporation and pushing as far as they could, and in that case, they did a fucking phenomenal job.

i genuinely think that the way they landed the show opens the door for them to… dare I say it? … give Agatha/Rio a happy ending?? ghost Agatha literally need only show up to Rio’s house or cave or dimension or whatever and be like “heyyyyy, yeah that kiss was forgiveness and also i’m solid enough to use my hands now” and it would be believable. the fact that it would take them only 15 seconds to give us two fucked up lesbians having their version of happily ever after is actually pretty cool

anyway, this is an abridged summary of how my feelings abt the Agatha All Along finale went from like a 4/10 rating to an 8/10.

[marlair]

hi !! m not sure if u take rqs but if u do ,, do u mind writing the first years x a rllyyy short reader? any gender is fine !! <3

i didn’t expect you to be so tiny

synopsis: the first years with a.. really short prefect.

gn!yuu

ACE TRAPPOLA

this guy is average (i suppose) height, so he’d probably laugh right in your face about your height.

“HAHA bro how are you that tiny😂😂” coded

you, as a member of the short community, want to do nothing more than yank his hair.

smh.

if you needed to grab something from a shelf taller than you (most shelves in NRC), he’d probably watch you struggle for a hot minute and then laugh at you — only after that routine is he willing to help you out.

“loud sigh, fineeee, since you need my help so bad, i GUESS i’ll help you out”, he says.

though with his reaction, you think you’d much rather have just climbed onto a chair and done it yourself.

you are sick and TIRED.

DEUCE SPADE

he’s not as.. assholey about it as ace, but you can definitely tell he’s aware of your shortness.

the moment you stand in front of a shelf that is, in fact, taller than you — he’s already behind you and has the item you needed in his hands, smiling warmly.

you died.

he carries stuff for you because apparently, ‘you might not be able to carry it! because you’re, well..’

you appreciate it, of course, but —

— you can carry a single grocery bag, okay?

he underestimates you quite a bit because of your height, which is most of the time annoying, but it’s funny sometimes.

JACK HOWL

he’s like 6’3” what the fuck. and considering you’re.. cough cough really short, it’d probably be funny seeing you two standing next to eachother.

the contrast would probably bewilder some people, add-in the fact he’s really muscular and then it’d even be creepy to some.

like deuce, he’d probably underestimate you to some extent because of your.. rather diminutive height.

he’d have to look straight down to see you, and you’d have to crane your neck up to see him, which is honestly sad.

he doesn’t seem like he’d be hard to deal with, though.

he’d just sort of, not really mention the difference.

EPEL FELMIER

short people solidarity WOO!!!

he’d be shaking, crying, shitting, literally all the bodily functions, when he first meets you.

there’s someone in the school who is shorter than him!!

he’d be helping you grab things from shelves, resting his arm on your shoulder or head, and other things.

literally anything to validate himself in the fact he is taller than someone his age.

he’d tease you for being short, but if anyone full-on bullied you about it, he’d beat them up.

lmao.

the day you wear heels that make you taller than him is the day of his downfall.

SEBEK ZIGVOLT

okay, we have to remember what he grew up being taught, alright?

this man is a KNIGHT. bro is CHIVALROUS.

regardless of your height, he’d be helping you carry and grab stuff.

but when you’re short— and much shorter than him—, his, uh, coddling is amped up a bit.

“as a knight, i must protect you! especially because you are so harmless!”

you, who literally survived through multiple overblots: 🧍.

it’s sweet, though.

the effort is definitely there! 

[summerclementine27]

Meet Me in The Hallway🌷pt. 1

summary: Mr. Styles has possibly interested Y/N more than his literature classes and she finds herself pining for him over the months.

pairings: professor!harry, student!reader

warnings: small age difference, mentions of smut

word count: 4.7k

note: i wanted to make this one part but it will be too long so there will have to be a part 2

part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/summerclementine27/757559698881986560/meet-me-in-the-hallway-pt2

Tender days of mid-October

As I took my seat in the large lecture hall, a sense of anticipation loomed over me. Today, Mr. Styles was giving us the results of the last literature and theory criticism coursework I had handed in the previous week. This was my third class with him, one of two this school year, the other being Contemporary Literature. Last year, he taught me Introduction to Literature, a mandatory class for my degree. Though I dreaded it at first due to his choice of reading list, I ended up falling in love with the course because of the way he taught it. Some works I initially criticized him for choosing, he ended up using as examples and critiqued them himself, like "The Awakening" by Kate Chopin. Plus, it helped that he was impossibly handsome with his tall frame, tousled brown hair, and piercing green eyes.

When my friends noticed how much I liked his class, they were unfazed. However, as I became somewhat of a teacher’s pet in a class rudimentary compared to the others I took this year—such as Feminism and Literature, Historical Narratives in Fiction, and Postcolonial Literary Criticism—they realized that maybe the tall, green-eyed man was what had really piqued my interest, not discussing "Middlemarch" for four classes.

On days when I had his class, I dressed extra nicely, sometimes even daring to pair a clean collared shirt with a shorter-than-usual skirt. One time, I even left my wool trench coat on during the first period and stood up from my auditorium seat to take it off. Sitting in the back, the rows of chairs likely covered the lower part of my body, but I was sure the space between my long boots and short skirt was visible from his vantage point. Surely, my abrupt standing would grab his attention. What I didn’t anticipate was him pausing in the middle of a long train of thought to stare, then quickly catching himself and stuttering before continuing seamlessly as I knew he would. My friend Anika, seated in one of the front rows, noticed and turned to see what had caught his attention. To her dismay, I was playing games with someone totally unattainable again. But she knew I thrived on academic validation, and this little crush of mine would only drive me to excel in more classes.

"Are you serious, Y/N? He's our professor." she exclaimed once.

"I know, but he's just... different."

"Different? Or is it the way he looks at you when you answer a question?"

"Maybe both. Besides, this crush is making me work harder. You can't argue with the results."

"Just be careful. I don't want you getting hurt."

In fact, it drove me to do more than that. One time, Mr. Styles noticed my passion for poetry after I shamelessly defended the works of Sylvia Plath with a controversial view that modern poetry should not shy away from the stark realities of mental health. He gave me a few poetry anthologies and compilations, including his annotated copies. I fawned over reading his notes and even emailed him once, pretending that I had "accidentally" annotated something, forgetting it wasn’t my own copy after losing myself in the literature. He replied kindly:

Mr. Styles: "Please, feel free to annotate as much as you like. I would be honored to have your opinions inked on my favorite copies."

By the next semester, after encouraging me to join the poetry society, Mr. Styles nominated me for president, and I was thrilled to win. He insisted on celebrating, gently grasping my upper arm and smiling warmly as he said he expected nothing less. I brought a bottle of wine to his office, where he had asked me to meet him, only to find the entire poetry society there, ready to congratulate me. The gathering lingered for a few delightful hours before everyone left, leaving just the two of us to clean up.

"You really impressed everyone tonight, Y/N. Not that I'm surprised." He began once we were truly all alone.

"Thank you, Mr. Styles. I couldn't have done it without your support."

"Well, you deserve it. By the way, outside of class and school hours, you can call me Harry." He said in his thick Manchester accent.

"Only if you stop calling me Ms. Y/L/N." I joked.

"Hey! I only do that sometimes. Plus, I can't call out to you in class like, 'Y/N, will you read the next slide?' People will think..."

"...think I’m the teacher’s favorite?" I finished his sentence with a teasing smile.

I couldn’t take the lingering stares and supposedly accidental touches we were both guilty of. But I knew that if I really wanted this, if I wanted to be more than just a student he regretted being tempted by when I graduated, then I had to play the long game.

And indeed I did. I kept up my habit of always showing up well-dressed in elegant coats and well-fitting clothing. I accentuated my features with a light coat of makeup, even if I had to apply it on a bumpy bus ride to campus. I even signed up for his office hours, despite really not needing them, just to exchange thoughts and opinions under the guise of “wanting to make sure I'm on the right track.” I wanted him to get to know me more, to realize that despite my youth, I was mature and thoughtful.

At the start of the second year, he emailed me to come to campus a few times in August, a month before the start of term, to discuss my responsibilities as the founder of the debate team. The idea sparked in his mind after I excelled in the heated debate he chose to hold as our first-year final assessment. He was so in awe that he went as far as saying I could compete at a national level on the English debate team, which neither of us was certain of, but I accepted the compliment.

Our earlier meetings were spent cooped up in his office, reviewing why the last debate team failed almost a decade ago and planning the structure for the new team. We discussed everything from team dynamics to potential debate topics, ensuring we were prepared for any challenge.

On one of the hotter days in August, we took our meeting to the university courtyard, having grown tired of experiencing the last bursts of England’s so-called summer from his office window. It was a beautiful window, and a big one at that, but it didn’t compare to actually being outside. That day, I realized the majority of planning for the next few months had already been accomplished in our first few meetings, and I got the hint that he didn’t actually need my help now that I had settled everything I could that wasn’t on an administrative level. So naturally, I decided to have a little fun.

I was wearing penny loafers with black tailored pants that I got fitted for when I visited my mum in London in July. I had paired them with a light knit sweater that fit slightly loosely over my shoulders, often falling down to reveal a collarbone. When I saw him take off his blazer and loosen his tie, I took that as my green light to take off something of my own, knowing I was wearing a neat white tank top underneath. As I slipped the sweater off, covering my face with the fabric, I could see his face through the thin material, making out his features and briefly noticing his eyes on my body. Sitting up straight, I managed to remove the sweater from over my head neatly. Once he saw my face, a soft blush made it to his own.

"Did I mess up my hair?" I asked, as if I hadn’t planned on brushing down the strands that had likely gone astray or as if I was oblivious to the fact that I had just taken off my sweater in front of him.

"Um, yeah, a bit at the top," he said, chuckling as if he wasn’t just clearing his throat in a flustered manner before my face was revealed from under the sweater.

To my surprise, he reached out, inching himself closer to where I was sitting on the bench we shared. With two fingers, his index and middle, he gently brushed down the messy hair on either side of the top of my head.

"Thank you, Harry," I said softly.

However, nothing could have prepared me for what would happen later this year.

As the class settled down to receive their marks on the literature and theory criticism coursework, Mr. Styles walked in, dressed in a well-fitted navy suit with a crisp white shirt. He took off his coat and placed it on the edge of his desk, a departure from his usual habit of draping it over the back of his chair. He wasted no time before pulling out the papers from his leather satchel and making his way down the aisles of the lecture hall, passing out the papers to everyone. When he read out my name, I watched as his eyes searched for me across the hall, darting from one side of the room to the other. It was unlike me to skip his class, so he knew all he had to do was find me. I hadn’t planned this specific event, but I enjoyed it, nonetheless. Once he found me, he smiled sheepishly, yet much more subtly than he did when we were alone and made his way to me.

"Excellent work, Y/L/N," he said as he gently placed the papers on my desk. "I especially appreciate the effort of handwriting this," he remarked, although everyone knew he didn’t care if papers were written by hand or typed on a computer.

I had deliberately written my paper by hand after he replied to an email of mine. I had thanked him for letting me borrow his books, and his response was a charming note saying he’d enjoyed reading my annotations and adored my handwriting. For once, I was glad that my all-girls school had emphasized cursive writing, as I used it to add a romantic touch to my work.

When I finally read his comments and feedback, I was met with admiration and praise. In one of the margins, he had written, “Your insights are so compelling, it’s impossible not to fall in love with your analysis.” On the final page, at the bottom, he had added, “It’s a privilege to be your professor. Your brilliance shines so brightly that it’s clear this paper is a testament to your exceptional talent.”

Often times I worried that there actually was something going on between us, and that his praise and charming were remarks were not that of a proud professor, but of an infatuated man instead. So that day, I decided to address it.

As the lecture drew to a close, I lingered in my seat, carefully packing up my belongings with deliberate slowness. The classroom slowly emptied, the murmur of students’ conversations fading into the background as they made their way out. I wanted to be alone with Mr. Styles, to discuss something that had been weighing on my mind. By the time I made my way down the row of seats to his desk, the room was empty except for the two of us.

“Mr. Styles,” I began hesitantly, catching his eye as he gathered his papers. “I was hoping to ask you something.”

He looked up, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Of course, go ahead. I’m actually glad you stayed behind. There’s something I’d like to ask you as well.”

A sudden rush of anxiety gripped me. The possibility of crossing a line—whether I had done so with my subtle flirtations or if he were about to make a move that could alter our dynamic—was almost too much to bear.

My fantasies of him flashed through my mind. I had dreamt of intimate moments with him like kissing him, waking up in his bed, or better yet, on the couch in his office after a late romantic night together. I had once pictured us sitting on the floor around his small coffee table as we did one time when they ordered takeout during one of our August meetings except this time I would slip my shoes off casually and find a way to stroke my foot, clothed thin leggings, against his leg, looking at him with doe eyes as I dare to not so innocently asks if he ever thought about me sexually.

Hell, I even pictured him going down on me after laying me on his desk and even touched myself to the idea of riding him while he sat on his office chair. I would sneak into the small space between him and his desk and shut off his laptop while he graded my papers, cockily saying “We already know I got an A” – despite my crippling self-doubt without tangible affirmation – as I sit on his lap. In this fantasy he would laugh at my remark and gladly embrace me with a hand on my ass, the other intertwined among thick locks of my long hair, messing it up as I teasingly kiss him, ever so aware of the friction I’m creating between our crotches.

But still, to think that he would propose something to me in that moment, sexual or romantic, casually after class as if I haven’t been pining for two Octobers made me incredibly nervous.

I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice as I met his gaze. “Mr. Styles, well, first of all this has nothing to do with the actual course itself, maybe a bit but...” I trailed off “It’s... it’s been on my mind for a while.”

He raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his expression. “Sure, go ahead. I’m happy to answer anything.” He smiled shyly to comfort me.

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding as I prepared to voice my concerns. “Do you think that maybe my behavior in class, my enthusiasm, or even my approach to your feedback has influenced you to… um… maybe to favor me? Over other students I mean.” I began nervously, desperately searching for an expression on his blank face.

“Maybe sometimes I get a little excited and forget that you are my professor and not my friend or something, I think I may have overstepped my boundaries but… but you treat me as an equal which, by the way, I have always greatly appreciated. I mean, it has offered me an opportunity to grow as a student like no other, but I still worry…”I trailed off, now a stern look evident on his face and possibly even hurt.

He paused for a moment, his gaze thoughtful as he considered my words. “I appreciate your honesty and self-awareness,” he said finally, his voice steady but soft. “It’s clear that you’re passionate and dedicated, and I value that. But it’s important to remember that I strive to maintain fairness in all my interactions with students.”

I bit my lip, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. “I understand, Mr. Styles. I just want to make sure that if I take pride in these academic accomplishments… if I want to revel in the fact that I always receive praise from you and rarely any criticism – like todays feedback for example, which included no criticism, I want to make sure it is because I am worthy of it. And not because I won you over by involving myself in your extracurriculars or because we are… uh.. friendly.”

He looked at me with a reassuring smile, his gaze steady and sincere. “First of all, let me assure you that you are never inappropriate. The friendship we’ve developed is separate from our academic interactions. Outside of school hours, I call you by your first name to maintain that distinction. In the classroom, I evaluate you purely on your merit.”

He leaned forward slightly, his tone earnest. “The reason your feedback today contained no criticism is that your paper was truly flawless. If there had been any weaknesses or areas for improvement, I would have pointed them out without hesitation. I hold you in very high regard academically, and that respect extends to all aspects of your work. If I ever notice any shortcomings, I will address them so you have the opportunity to refine and grow.”

His expression softened, a touch of concern in his eyes. “The only issue I see here is that you are doubting yourself. Your achievements and the praise you receive are well-deserved. You have a remarkable ability, and I believe in your potential. My only hope is that you start to see in yourself what I see in you – a brilliant, dedicated student who deserves every bit of recognition they receive.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of relief and a renewed confidence. When I looked down at my lap I heard him continue:

“And of course I value the relationship we have fostered outside of class. Would I be the man I am today if you hadn’t introduced me to the wonders of Moroccan cuisine?” He tried to joke to ease the tension and unsurprisingly it worked as it earned him a soft chuckle of honest amusement.

“Theres the y/n I know and love” he bantered though I cant say my heart didn’t skip a beat at the mention of the word “love”.

“You know, there are many other cuisines you’re yet to try,” I said with a playful glint in my eye. “For someone who’s so well-traveled and cultured, it’s surprising how much you’ve missed out on when it comes to food.” I teased.

“Well, perhaps you’ll tell me all about it when we’re in Amsterdam for the debate competition,” he said with a smile, his eyes twinkling with genuine excitement.

I blinked, momentarily stunned. “Wait, what? You secured that for us?” My voice wavered slightly as my heart leaped with joy. “I can’t believe it! I’m so excited. This is incredible news!”

He chuckled, clearly pleased with my reaction. “I thought you’d like that. It’s an excellent opportunity, and I know how much you’ve been looking forward to it.”

I couldn’t help but beam, my excitement bubbling over. “This is amazing, truly. Thank you so much!” I stepped closer, touched by his thoughtfulness and dedication.

As I reached out, our hands brushed briefly, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver through me. His gaze softened, and I could see the sincerity in his eyes. “I’m just glad we get to share this experience together,” he said softly.

The moment felt charged, filled with unspoken words and mutual appreciation. I nodded, my heart full of gratitude and warmth. “Me too,” I murmured, feeling the depth of our connection more than ever before.

Time jump – December is getting ready for Christmas.

As we stepped into the hotel lobby, the excitement was palpable among the debate team. Amsterdam was already charming me, even though I’d only glimpsed it through the bus window. The streets were lined with picturesque canals and quaint buildings, each one more enchanting than the last. I couldn’t help but talk animatedly about how I’d dreamed of visiting the Netherlands ever since my father told me stories about the blooming flower fields when I was a child.

Harry, who had been sitting beside me on the bus, watched with a fond smile. “You really seem to love the city,” he said. “Maybe we could find a couple of free days between the training and the competition to visit the flower fields.”

My eyes widened in delight. “Really? That would be incredible. But managing a whole field trip with the debate team might be a bit complicated.”

He grinned, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Well, we could go alone. Just you and me. A little escape from the team.” He added. “We could explore some other things too if we’d like.”

The thought of spending time alone with him, wandering through a sea of flowers, made my heart race. I felt a warm blush creep up my cheeks. “That sounds amazing. I’d love that.”

When we checked into the hotel and were given our room keys, Anika, my vice president, and I realized that Harry and I had rooms on a separate floor. In fact, they were deluxe rooms though him and I booked standard rooms for everyone when we went over the budget. Anika seemed particularly perplexed by this.

“Why did you get such a nice room and I didn’t?” Anika questioned, her tone tinged with curiosity as she approached me in the lobby.

I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Maybe Mr. Styles thought I needed a little extra comfort. You know, as president” I joked, not really sure if that was the case. “Besides, he probably just had to make decisions based on what was available.” I found myself lying, knowing I was curious myself.”

Anika raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe he’s using the budget money to splurge on you. I’ve noticed you two have become quite friendly. Could it be that he has a thing for you?” she teased, knowing I have spent months pining and flirting.

I laughed, shaking my head. “I don’t think so, Anika. We’re friends, and that’s all it is. I don’t think he feels anything else.” I said, confidant of my words for the first time in this conversation. “Plus, you are the only person other than me and Harry that got her own room. Others are sharing and you likely have a king bed all to yourself.”

“Harry? Is that his name now?” she smirked. “I guess you forgot to tell me you are on a first name basis. Are you holding out on me Y/L/N?” she joked though she was never oblivious to the fact that you kept some encounters with Harry to yourself, as if it would fuel the fantasy somehow.

I raised an eyebrow and gave her a playful grin. “Oh, come on. You have to admit everyone in the poetry society calls him that when we are outside the university.” I said, knowing that it was only one guy who was a family friend of Harry’s who got the honor.

She chuckled, but there was a hint of curiosity in her gaze. “Right. But you can’t deny there’s something a bit… special about how you two interact. Just saying.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not holding my breath for anything more on this trip. We’re here for the debate, remember? That’s the focus. But if anything happens later…” I shrugged playfully as she returned my knowing smile.

“Fair enough. Just keep your eyes open anyway, okay? Sometimes things happen when you least expect them to.”

I heard Harry calling my name from the end of the hall. I turned around to see him walking towards me with a thoughtful expression.

“Hey, do you still want to gather the debate team for a brief practice session before the afternoon debate?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of concern.

I shook my head, smiling. “No, no need. You were right; they need a break. Plus, everyone has their notecards and seems prepared.”

Harry nodded, his smile relaxing into a satisfied grin. “Alright then. Let’s head to the elevator; it’ll be a bit quieter now anyway.”

We walked to the elevator together, and once inside, he pressed the button for my floor. The confined space seemed to amplify the gentle hum of the elevator, making it feel intimate.

Harry glanced at me with a soft smile, his eyes lingering a moment longer than usual. “Your hair looks different today. Did you do something special with it?” he asked, his voice carrying a playful undertone.

I felt a tinge of embarrassment, my cheeks warming slightly. “I just blow-dried it differently since I was in a rush this morning,” I replied, trying to sound casual.

Harry’s smile grew, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and something else I couldn’t quite place. “Well, it looks beautiful. I wouldn’t have guessed it was rushed.”

His compliment made my heart flutter, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Harry. That makes me feel a lot better about this hectic morning” I tried to divert the conversation, feeling nervous at his focus on me.

“Yeah, well, at least you have matching socks,” he joked, and before I could ask him what the hell he was talking about, he lifted his foot, revealing his own mismatched socks with a playful grin.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You and your accidental fashion choices,” I said, shaking my head with a smile, remembering that time I complimented his shoes only to find out he ordered the wrong ones online and couldn’t get them returned. He looked handsome in them anyway, I had told him.

He shrugged, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What can I say? I like to keep things interesting. And besides, it’s a good thing someone’s got their fashion game on point around here.” He said, brushing off the fact that it was a rushed accident.

I playfully nudged him. “Well, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. And for the record, I do have matching socks today, just in case you were wondering.”

Harry’s eyes softened as he looked at me, a warmth in his gaze that made my heart flutter. “Well, I must say, your socks are a lot less distracting than mine.”

I chuckled, feeling the tension between us ease into something more comfortable and light-hearted.

As the elevator chimed and the doors slid open to my floor, Harry didn’t make a move to exit. Instead, he turned to me with a charming grin, his eyes sparkling with warmth. “Let me walk you to your room. It’s the least I can do. After all, it’s not every day I get to be a gentleman,” he said, completely ignoring the fact that his room was directly across from the elevator.

I laughed softly, touched by his thoughtfulness. “You’re too kind, Harry. It’s just down the hall here,” I said, gesturing toward my door, which was a short distance away from his.

As we walked together down the hallway, the atmosphere felt lighter, filled with a quiet, pleasant tension. Harry’s presence beside me was comforting, and I found myself appreciating the little things—like how he occasionally glanced my way, as if trying to make the moment last just a bit longer.

When we reached my door, Harry reached out and brushed his hand lightly against mine as he opened the door for me. “Even so, a little extra time with you—well, when else can I talk about my accidental shenanigans and have someone listen intently?” His voice was low and warm, and his gaze lingered on me with an intensity that sent a thrill down my spine.

I felt a flutter in my chest at his words but remained blissfully unaware of the deeper implications behind his gaze. “Well,” I said, smiling as I unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Thanks for walking me. It’s always nice to have a bit of company, especially when the company is as pleasant as yours.”

Harry’s smile grew softer, and he took a step back, still holding my gaze. “Anytime, y/n. I’ll see you in a few hours. Get some rest.

“You too, Harry.” I said as he walked back to his own room.

——————————————————————

PART TWO IS NOW UP 🌷🌷

[osmanthusoolong]

“Is porn addiction real? Less so than claimed, argues Lisa Hagen in a bombshell report for NPR. In this article, the journalist explores the ‘masturbation abstinence’ and anti-porn addiction movement in the US, finding a landscape filled with pseudoscience, reactionary rhetoric, and shame. “In one study,” Hagen notes, “among people who self-identify as ‘pornography addicts’, the average frequency of porn use was less than ten times a year”.”

…

“Meanwhile, sex acts outside the norm are often configured as things that only exist to hurt and degrade women or pollute their relationships, rather than as things women could possibly be interested in. Several of the women I’ve talked to have spoken about being into kink, and about how alienated they feel by discourse that kink is just a cover for violence against women, rather than something women themselves can desire and instigate.”

…

“The subtextual ‘threat’ behind ‘wrong’ porn gets very queer, very quickly. An interviewee for NPR describes a common set of anxieties on the forums he frequented: ‘‘The common themes were ‘porn is turning me gay’ or ‘porn is making me cross-dress’ or ‘porn is making me want to be dominated’ or ‘porn is making me like transgenders [sic]’.” It’s pretty clear that men are feeling drawn to the taboo thrills of getting topped, gender-play and gay exploration, whether as fantasy or as real possibility; men are also, I noticed, sometimes seeing straight porn and identifying with the woman. This opens up possibilities and anxieties that ‘porn addiction’ forums seek to close off. If you’re thinking about this stuff at all, they say, you have an addiction that is driving you to seek out ‘extreme’ material, and you need help. Reading this as a queer guy felt like hearing the Kill Bill sirens going off: it’s so clear that any erotic charge towards sex workers of any kind, gay men, trans women, or stigmatised forms of sex are seen as polluting ‘proper’ straight life.

If you read through anti-porn forums and programmes as someone who knows what conversion therapy looks like, you will find its tells in abundance. Heavy emphasis on shaming, while also promising that the programme will provide a way out of that shame; advice that new desires might not go away, but can be ignored and managed; unspoken assumptions that monogamous, cisgender, heterosexual, vanilla sex is the sexual ideal; heavy use of pseudoscience; intimations that the reader is being purposely corrupted by the porn industry or a wider, conspiratorial ‘agenda’. UK Rehab’s page on porn addiction advises that “pornography addiction can lead to changes in sexual tastes, desires and practices […] which can cause huge problems for addicts in relationships. The addict may begin to engage in different forms of sexual experience and expression, which may include risky sexual behaviour […] Even in less extreme cases, as mentioned above repeated exposure to hard-core pornography can lead to changed expectations of partners, which can make attaining a “normal” sex life increasingly difficult”. What is ‘normal’ here? What is ‘risky’? What are the ‘tastes’ in question?”

…

“Women, in particular, are taught that men’s excessive sexual desires are the root of cheating and disloyalty and sexual violence (rather than the misogyny that makes men disregard women’s boundaries, for instance), and that they therefore need to surveil and police their partners’ porn use. This is furthered by the assumption that any desire to use porn at all is a marker of unmanageable sexual vice and voraciousness, which you’ll particularly find in evangelical/religious circles.”

The fact that people will argue in court that this problem that, again, doesn’t exist, is responsible for CSA and other sexual violence and not the structure of society and families encouraging and enabling such…

…

“Most people who think they’re addicted to porn aren’t. What they’re addicted to is policing their own genders and sexualities, hoping that if they just do so a little more successfully, all their personal and relational problems will fall away.”

This seems relevant to the constant discussion about the subject here, especially given the politics of the people who think porn addiction/porn brain/etc is real

[saucymunch]

yuta okkotsu x reader , fluff, a bit of angst, slight megumi x reader, demon slayer references , NOT accurate to manga (changed a little bit to better fit my story) , CONTAINS MANGA SPOILERS

the moment you overheard maki, panda, and toge talking about yuta’s missions abroad you froze in place. you were eavesdropping on their late night (2am) conversation. you wouldn’t call it eavesdropping, you were simply gonna go get a glass of water when you decided to wait and see what they were talking about (u were totally eavesdropping).

the three second years were carelessly chatting for hours on end in the common room. toge sprawled out on the couch, panda who melted onto the rug, and maki who was rocking back and forth in the giant lazyboy rocking chair that they had convinced gojo to buy one day at the mall. it was pouring rain outside, with thunder occasionally rumbling.

the sudden strike of lighting made you flinch a bit, as your hands gripped the wooden frame of the wall. but in this moment, you were hyper fixated on the fact that your boyfriend was going to be gone abroad in a couple of days. how could he not tell you? shouldn’t you be the first person he wants to go to? you were more confused than angry. honestly, you were more defeated.

your immediate reaction was to break into yuta’s dorm, and demand answers out of the boy. but before you could lash out, you took deep breaths, just as shoko had taught you. although you possessed the rare ability of the reversed curse technique, your regular technique forced you to visit shoko more often than the others. your regular technique was a powerful defensive cursed technique that depended heavily on your breathing abilities.

you mumbled to yourself in anger with tears of frustration spilling out of your tired and puffy eyes as you quietly retreated back to your dorm, deciding to just deal with this tomorrow morning.

the next morning came too early. before you knew it, you were standing in front of yuta. you had asked him to meet him, and he invited you over to his dorm room. his bags were already packed.

“why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” you asked, avoiding eye contact.

okkotsu’s eyes widened. he pursed his lips. his hand immediately reached for the back of his head as he scratched his head.

“y/n… i was going to tell you.” he stammered, jittery and clearly heart broken.

you match his gaze. “why didn’t you tell me first? why did i have to find out from the others?” you asked, holding back tears and biting the inside of your cheek.

“i- im so sorry! i was just so scared. even the idea of leaving you had me going crazy. also, gojo-sensei told me it would be a good idea to tell you as late as possible!” he reached for your hands, grabbing them for reassurance.

you grimace at the mention of gojo. “okkotsu! you don’t listen to gojo when it comes to this kind of stuff.” you scoff, and squeeze his hands.

you decide to forgive yuta, not like you had much time to be mad at him anyway. his plane left in four days, and on sunday morning, your lover boy would be headed to africa. gojo had to watch you and yuta kiss and coo and hug each other in the airport, which is behavior the bright red flustered spiky haired boy would typically shy away from because of his timid nature, but he didn’t know when he would see you again. he told you a couple of months, but you both knew it would stretch longer.

—

after yuta had left, you had slowly fallen into a slump. your training gradually got sloppier, you barely made it out of missions, you neglected your friendships with the other second years as you were locked away in your room most of the time. this went on for a month. even though you called and texted him, there was no facetime feature on yuta’s phone, and nothing was the same.

everybody was worried for your health, both mental and physical. you became even more frail as you skipped meals and had a difficult time breathing as you weren’t training your cursed technique as efficient as before. shoko had reported to gojo that your physical state was borderline self harm, as you hardly survived any spars or missions. a special grade sorcerer was rare and extremely valuable in the jujutsu world. when the higher ups had learned about your current condition, they were furious.

after one horrid month, gojo had finally dragged you out of your chamber known as a dorm to meet the new first years.

“okay! time for introductions~” gojo grins.

the three first years were sitting on a road curb as they stood outside of an abandoned school.

“y/n, this is itadori yuji. sukuna’s vessel!” your sensei explained.

the pink haired boy waved, sending you a bright smile.

“nobara kugisaki! a country bumpkin that uses a hairpin technique.”

the girl greets her coolly, saying something about how there aren’t enough girls at school.

“and finally y/n, this is megumi fushiguro, he possesses the famous ten shadows shikigami technique!” gojo beams, poking and prodding the boy.

your eyes visibly widen as you make eye contact with the spiky jet black haired boy.

“is something on my face?” your kouhai asks, face heating up as he brushes off his chin.

you shake your head. “sorry, no you don’t. you just have the same hair as someone i know.” you reply, chuckling softly at your foolish thoughts.

gojo forces all four of you into the abandoned building populated by curses.

“he told me to kill all the curses, right?” you ask the three first years, who were instructed to just watch.

they all nod as they run behind you, trying to keep up with your pace.

“y/n-senpai! how old are you? if you don’t mind me asking!” itadori curiously exclaims, causing nobara to nag him while fushiguro facepalms.

“i’m fifteen. why?” you inquire, looking back at him.

“woah- you’re the same age as us? just asking.”

you laugh and continue running through the building and up the stairs all the way to the rooftop just to be met with a crowd of curses.

“fushiguro. what’s your favorite color?” you ask as you unsheathe your nichirin blade from your pocket.

he furrows his brows, puzzled.

“hurry.”

“sorry- um, blue?”

you rapidly mutter a water breathing technique, releasing seemingly infinite ribbons of water to kill off all the curses in the building in a split second, afterwards causing the entire school building to be flooded with shimmery water that evaporates in less than a second.

the three first years just stand in awe. when they make it back down, they’re met with a proud gojo.

“so that’s the power of a special grade.” itadori admires.

nobara and itadori can’t stop cooing about how cool your technique is, while gojo explains your other breathing styles and techniques as you guys make your way to a sushi restaurant.

as you all get seated, nobara mentions something about how you need to fix your heavy eye bags and overall dead looking face, talking about how girls need beauty sleep. you simply smile and nod, but too tired to actually respond. if you were healthy, you would be overly excited at nobara’s words and you two would probably be inseparable. but you just don’t have enough energy. and gojo knows this. he knows how much you have been wanting to meet the first years. he knows that you need whatever help you can get. and he hopes that a fresh batch of friends will help.

“order whatever, it’s on me!” gojo shoots you all a tooth-achingly sweet grin.

nobara and itadori smirk as they bicker over what they should order for everyone.

a few months go by, and ever since your mini mission with the first years, your mental and physical health had drastically improved. one could say itadori, nobara, and megumi had saved you. you were now hanging out with the second years and first years often, and yuta’s calls and messages were becoming more and more rare. gojo had noticed you had taken a specific liking to megumi, and he had also been fond of you. the two of you would hang out separately, even spending some of your winter break together. gojo walked in on the two of you laying together, borderline cuddling, on HIS couch too. he didn’t know if you two were dating, so he resorted to asking the two first years. who both denied his suspicions. the white haired man asked maki, your best friend, and she had also denied it.

and it wasn’t like you loved megumi like you loved yuta. you loved megumi like a best friend. he was so easy to talk to, and was actually surprisingly really funny when you got to know him better.

nonetheless, you were able to reclaim your spot as one of the most powerful sorcerers in history, as you trained ten times harder than before. you were officially back to your normal self.

—

shibuya. nobody had suspected that halloween night would be so gruesome. you wondered if yuta was here, everything would be alright. the last time you two contacted each other was three months ago.

you were walking with yuji and megumi through the eerily empty streets of shibuya, the only sound filling ears were the echoing crunches of rubble beneath your feet. you quickly duck behind a flipped car to use your reverse cursed technique to heal a small wound on your foot, as yuji and megumi patiently waited in the middle of the road.

all of a sudden, you hear sparring noises. but spars dont last this long, and nobody was here to spar, they’re all here to eliminate, you think as you finish up healing your foot.

this cursed energy feels all too familiar. one you haven’t felt in over a year.

you turn around, to be met with yuta okkotsu.

your dark and tense expression brightens, eyes wide. you take in his almost unapproachable appearance. the once timid and sickeningly warm and sweet face was no longer there. instead, a cold, dark, exhausted, and straight up creepy face was standing just a couple feet away from you. his eye bags are heavy. his hair has went from spiky and messy to flat and styled into a side part.

but for some reason, the boy you once had to order for at restaurants, the boy who would hide behind you every time he hd to interact with anybody, the boy who was always uptight and nervous, was trying to kill your kouhai, yuji.

shoving personal feelings aside, you charged towards yuta, unsheathing your blade, as you held your katana up horizontally to protect yourself and your two kouhai’s, who were on the ground, coughing up blood, from getting killed.

yuta’s tired eyes had shot wide open, brows furrowing, as his katana had stopped pushing against yours. you used his moment of shock to try and sweep his feet off the ground, but unfortunately, he blocked your attack and hesitantly kept blocking and dodging your blade.

“y-y/n! y/n, listen to me. you need to stay out of this.” he orders, voice slightly shaking.

“those are pathetic words to say to your girlfriend who you haven’t seen in over a year.” you reply stoically.

all of a sudden, megumi appears next to you, with his frog shikigami, that get killed in a split second by yuta.

“leave her alone okkotsu-senpai.” the shikigami user says, attempting to deliver punches to the special grade, which were embarrassingly too slow for yuta.

“megumi-kun! it’s been too long. gojo had told me you and y/n were getting oddly closer during my absence.” the special grade boy uttered, smiling as he attempted to kick fushiguro in the stomach.

you grabbed yuta’s leg, and slammed him to the concrete.

“megumi, go check on yuji.” you instruct, as you held yuta to the ground.

megumi hesitantly left, and you released yuta.

“why are you trying to kill yuji? because if you keep trying, i’m not gonna hold back on you.” you firmly state.

“the higher ups want me to. y/n, i’m gonna kill itadori-kun and then revive him with my reverse technique.” he briefly explained s through labored breaths.

you eye him suspiciously. but seeing him so roughed up and exhausted broke your heart. you’ve dreamt of this day ever since the day he left. you wanted nothing more right now than to hug the life out of him and litter his bruised face with kisses. you wanted to take in every part of him.

he finally stood up and before he went to “execute” yuji, he whispered into your ear, “i love you so much. stay right here and don’t turn around until i tell you, okay?”

you comply and nod, unable to move because of your boyfriends suddenly dominant and confident behavior.

“just wait a little more sweetheart.” he commands, his lips grazing your neck as you feel his smirk against your skin.

your body tensed up at his words, and you were left paralyzed from his disgustingly sweet tone. eventually you shook your head and waited until yuta gave you the okay.

part 2?

[ramen8008]

The Avengers and whether Tony will allow them to Babysit Peter.

A List

Rhodey:

Yes only one other than Pepper I will fully trust to make sure Peter doesn't die.

Yes, Rhodey is cool other than the fact he always tries to make sure I don't do anything dangerous or fun. So it gets boring

Thor:

No. Point break you're great but I can't trust you and Peter not to cause absolute HAVOC.

YES YES! Lord Thor is the best. We tested how much lightning I could handle last time and we flew!! And he let me use his hammer (idk why he looked surprised I think he forgot about my super strength)

Loki:

He shouldn't even be on the list- but Mr. Stark. No, he comes near you and you or the world explodes.

Well I think Mr. Loki is cool and fun! So yes

NOT HAPPENING!

Natasha:

Yes.

She's scary but yes.

Bucky:

Oddly enough? I actually think he'll make sure Peter doesn't die. So yeah

OMG ROBOT ARM! AND he likes the Hobbit! We can talk all day!! YESS

Steve:

Again surprisingly no. Maybe? Mainly for his sanity. He could not keep up with Peter.

Okay rude! Cap is great and all but I am scarred for life from his PSA's. I can't do that again. I have severe PTSD from that.

Clint:

I UNDERSTAND in hindsight he is the only one who has experience with kids. I GET that. But no. Not the Clint I know. I still think his family is just a bunch of spies.

Hawkeye is SO much fun! He was really cool and he actually understood the references I was making and he taught me how to shoot a bow. AND the best way to prank each Avenger! YES

Banner:

Yes. Absolutely. Peter would have fun. Banner would have fun. He would make sure Peter can do all his science stuff in the lab too without exploding his homework

THAT WAS ONE TIME! And omg YES The Dr. Banner?! I would love that! I have so much I want to talk about!!

Wanda:

What? She's just a kid. SHE needs babysitting too.

Omg Yes! It'll be like we're hanging out! She's so cool!

Vision:

You would ASSUME that Vision would be a no brainer but due to his internet knowledge he understands whatever that slang nonsense that Peter speaks in and Vision speaks back the same. I'll come back to them having a conversation that doesn't make any sense!

Cap. You're just outdated. Unlike you we are both skibidi rizzlers. Don't be salty that you can understand the fam. We're slay and it's high-key sus you don't get our energy.

NONE of that was even remotely coherent. You don't talk like that normally. Why do you do this to me??

Strange:

I would. I really would even if it was just to annoy him but he would not let me. I called him once to look after Peter for me and the moment he heard the name "Peter" he hung up.

He's mean sometimes :(. BUT he is also magic which is really cool and annoying him is fun and I know he cares for me. Mentioning that to him is also fun. So yes

[ymechi]

Who is the real Creator?

I had to edit and remove some parts for this to make sense, I hope it is coherent if not please tell me so I can fix it and explain everything better. I did not expect people to be interested in this au so I was surprised! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

-TW: cult au, yandere, impostor au, mentions of being hunted down, mentions of trauma, mentions of character injuring themselves (nothing major)

-Gn reader and darling (please tell me if I mess this up message me and I will fix it)

Part 1, This is part 2, part 3, part 4

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

Reader ushered Darling inside giving them the blanket which they used to dry their wet self. They sort of reminded Reader of what a wet sad cat one of their neighbors used to own looked like after a rainy day. Darling sat on the kitchen table as Reader once again prepared some tea. Reader really should get a nice tea set soon, they mentally put that on their shopping list the next time they are going to the market.

Darling sat quietly at the table sniffing and not saying much, Reader had no idea what to say before it would have been so easy they knew each other in and out. Yet now. . . it was as if a hundred years had passed, a million things had happened. Reader was now not sure what to say.

They weren't sure if they even wanted to comfort Darling. Shouldn't Darling be comforting Reader? All they got was that half-assed hospital meeting.

If Darling is upset wasn't there a league of followers, acolytes, servants heck even Archons who would comfort them why come to them now out of all times and alone? Clearly something serious happened that they had to runaway alone to them out of all people.

Reader inwardly sighed.

They bought out a pan. One thing they knew how to lighten the mood up was pancakes, it was easy and they knew how to do that . In fact, they might get a master's degree in making pancakes, Reader should ask Nahida if that is possible.

(They tried not to think that it was Darling's favourite meal to eat after being sad.)

"So. . . What happened?" Reader tried to start.

Darling did not respond for a while just quietly staring at them. Their eyes were a bit dull and exhaustion was evident on their face. They seemed to contemplate what to say before they started.

"I. . . I asked to wield a sword, at first they were against it but I wanted to try y'know?"

There was no question who they were, the crazy cultist acolytes. Reader shuddered at some of their past interactions with them, they were good weapon wielders reader would give them that. . . Reader had first-hand experience after all.

Yet Darling was alone with the trigger-happy acolytes all this time.

Although Darling was the supposed Creator, they should have been fine, Reader looked over at them and they lacked any surface wounds.

They should have been fine right?

"It was fine at first they taught me proper stances but then I got a bit touchy with the sword, you know me how I get with stuff like that and then I," she sighed, "I cut myself like an idiot."

Reader rubbed their head and thought about it, they would not be here for a cut something else went on and they waited for Darling to finish.

"Then I bled," Darling was quiet for a moment, "it was red."

Hey, it rhymed Reader wanted to say to break the tension but Reader refrained. They did not get it at all. What was so wrong with red blood? Wasn't blood supposed to be red.

Darling must have caught on and they looked like they finally understood something. It was they who wanted to understand what was going on!

"Uhm yeah you maybe don't know but the Creator is supposed to bleed gold."

Oh.

"Oh."

That is all they could say really. They felt dumb for a second there they had been actively avoiding taking any religious classes or any mention of religion for their own mental health's sake. Perhaps if they did not avoid it as much they would have understood what was going on much easier but for now the single religious book they owned remained hidden and untouched in their drawer.

Now that they finally understood the problem it was quite the conundrum. Darling was supposed to be the Creator yet now they were not because of some gold blood requirement. What would happen to Darling? Would they accuse them of harming the "real Creator"? Hunt them down like they did to Reader? Would they come and hunt down Reader again?

Although they doubted they would be hunted down again as the "blessings of the Creator" thing, whatever that meant, Nahida told everyone else seemed to work and placate them.

"Now what?" A reader asked tiredly.

"I don't know I managed to sneak out while they were distracted but I guess they will find out soon to come and get me."

Reader grimaced and turned around to prepare to finally whisk the ingredients they were too distracted to do while they listened to Darling.

"So like did they hurt you after they found out or something?" Reader cringed at their wording. They could have said that better considering it was a serious topic.

"No they didn't they just healed me and left me in my room," Darling paused, "You should have seen some of the looks on their faces, like I killed their puppy or something. . ."

Reader tried to imagine what it was like worshipping someone only for that person not to be the god they worshiped. It must have gone bad for both parties involved. Darling was told she was a god only to be looked at in disappointment. The followers who eagerly awaited for their beloved Creator only for it to be an illusion.

"Yikes, I can't imagine it was pleasant."

"It wasn't."

They went quiet after that soon the pancakes were ready and Reader went out to serve them along with the tea. Reader had to admit they could make some good mean pancakes because Darling looked a bit better with some of the color returning to their face.

There was another knock at the door.

Another visitor? Who would come- They looked at Darling, oh right.

Darling once again looked pale and the grip on their utensils was trembling. What had they done to shake them up this much? Reader wasn't doing better either their heartbeat going frantic as unpleasant memories resurfaced. Damnit they thought they had gotten better.

"Reader it is me Nahida we need to talk, I am sorry but it is urgent."

Reader inhaled, thank the stars it was only Nahida.

They relaxed their shoulders and opened the door. Despite the rain, the Archon looked dry and Reader wondered what sort of magic they used and if they could learn it as well.

"I am sorry to interfere," she looked behind Reader, "but it seems you have the person we have been searching for," Nahida said while looking genuinely sorry.

Right, the only person Darling knew besides the acolytes in this world was the Reader. No wonder they were found out so quickly.

"Uhm- uh- How about some pancakes first?"

Nahida looked the the back of Darling who was hunched over and relented. She must have seen something as she agreed rather quickly. Reader closed the door as the Archon entered their home. Nahida approached Darling they did an elegant bow and Reader was suddenly hit that Darling was or now was the creator. Darling got someone as well respected as Nahida to bow.

Reader had seen the way people behaved in respect and reverence at Nahida and how the scholars, the Emirates, and merchants would listen and take in her input. So someone like Nahida bowing. . .

Reader never fully understood the weight and status of that position the so-called "Creator" held even after being hunted down over it.

Yet now it seemed very heavy.

How did Darling live with that?

Darling face grimaced as she saw the bow. Nahida looked worried.

"Is there something going on your grace?"

This was going to be an awkward conversation. How to explain to someone you were not the god you thought they were?

Darling looked at Reader before looking back at their untouched pancakes.

"I am not your grace Nahida I bleed red like the rest."

A tense silence followed.

Nahida to her credit seemed calm with the revelation. She had her point finger touching her mouth in a contemplative gesture.

"I see and that is why you are here."

The room was quiet for a while. Reader awkwardly wrung her hands and it was surprisingly Darling, the least stable person who spoke up again.

"Did you know?" Darling said in an accusing tone their eyebrows narrowed. Reader thought they almost looked angry. Where did that come from? How could Nahida have known if no one else including them knew?

"To be honest your-," she paused," I had my suspicions.

Wait what- That was the first Reader heard about this.

"And you did not bother to tell me! To tell anyone?!" Darling jumped up from the chair.

"Was it funny watching me being led on, all those expectations, all those promises my whole world getting fucked up - fuck can I even go back home to my family?!"

Reader jumped between them hiding Nahida behind them trying to calm Darling down who looked to be on the verge of crying or a breakdown.

"Look Darling I know you are upset, it's messed up but she didn't have anything to do with it okay? I am sure she had her reasons."

Darling took one glance at Reader's eyes and fell down on the chair, they hid their face in their arms.

"I am. . . Sorry. . . Shit."

That de-escalated quickly just as it erupted. They worry about Darling's mental health at this point.

"It is fine, I suppose this is a very difficult situation for everyone involved," said Nahida.

Reader wrung their hands together.

"Hey I know it's not the time but I did make extra pancakes let's eat first?" They tried not to sound pathetic.

The silence was their reply.

"You and your damn pancakes," Darling said and snorted.

"Hey! I only do it because I know it cheers you up!" they said and huffed.

Nahida who looked at them laughed, the previous suffocating tension was gone and Reader went up to get a plate for Nahida as well. Finally both Reader and the Archon sat down on their seat they all ate in relative silence but it wasn't as awkward as it could have been.

Once finished Reader poured some hot tea.

"Thank you Reader the pancakes were delicious I will have to ask you to let me eat them again sometime."

Reader smiled at the Archon.

"Of course, you are welcome any time."

Darling who watched them snorted. Reader looked at them with questioning eyes.

"What are you laughing at," Reader said in an accusing tone. Was Darling mocking them again?

"You speak like them now," Darling said with an amused glint in their eyes as they looked at Reader.

"Ohh, I guess I kind of do. . ."

"Nerd."

"Hey!"

Nahida once again took a look at them and laughed. Both snapped out of their bubble and looked at the Archon sheepishly.

"I am glad to see you two are getting along well, I hope both of you don't mind the topic changing to a more serious one," she looked at both of them and both nodded,"Before we start, I have a question for you Darling."

Darling looked apprehensive but nodded.

"Do the others know about you not being the creator?"

". . .Yeah they do," Darling said and looked at their empty plate.

"I see that does make things easier it is better it is out now that later knowing how overzealous some acolytes and followers can get."

Reader grimaced and Darling looked a bit defeated at the statement.

"How much do you both know about the creator?"

Reader and Darling looked at each other and it was Reader who started to speak.

"Honestly not much I avoid religious talk at all cost."

Nahida looked at Reader with sympathy.

"I guess I am the opposite I got to learn a lot, basically in each new era the creator descends into a new incarnation, and their vessel is not always the same," she paused thinking about what to say next, "They like to live peacefully with their people because of that they don't always have their powers with them but they can gain them over time, something like that"

"Yes that is most of it, it is presumed in this era the creator chose to be a normal human which we thought was you Darling. We also thought that the Creator's presence and powers were weak due to being a normal human in this incarnation. Despite you not being the Creator some part of what I said is true.

"Which part?" Darling asked.

"The part where the creator chose to be an ordinary human, despite having such a faint presence me being so attuned to Irminsul could still feel it, yet it was weak. That is why I was confused. Rather than being the Creator you Darling had gotten a blessing from the Creator."

"But how I have never met them" Darling interjected.

Nahida stared at Reader and once again Reader was reminded of those intense stares directed at them as if trying to solve a puzzle piece.

"No, the creator was - is still quite close to you."

"Wait really?" Darling looked at Nahida in confusion inching closer towards the Archon as if they went closer physically they would solve the mystery.

"Yes we are sitting beside them after all."

There was no question about who Nahida meant both she and Darling were staring at Reader.

No.

That is what Reader replied with.

Nahida shook her head.

"I am afraid it is true.

No way.

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

Taglist: @resident-cryptid @probablynoposts @esthelily @mitsukashi @charming-mage @chaoticfivesworld @irisxiel @dulcedelechenginamo

[kugimeloon]

lovesick!megumi x fem reader

Megumi was never into romantic stuff, he thought it was a distraction to his studies and a waste of time, No one really got close to him other than his best friends Yuji and Nobara which were the quite opposite of him (literally) 

Some may say he was cold, lifeless, and some might even go as far to say he has no heart, but none of these rumors are true. In fact when he gets close to someone he is the clingest baby ever, Just like a bat only being comfortable when the sun has set. 

A new school year was starting and Megumi thought that he wouldn't get close to anyone just like these past few years, but oh how wrong the urchin head is. Being intelligent meant him being in an advanced class, separated from his friends so he barely had time to see the two troublemakers. 

First day of school, he still had his old teachers from last year, same faces from last year blah blah blah.. But then oh you caught his eye. A new student, But you were different from the others..probably because he taught how beautiful you were, and how you were making his tummy roll..?? of course megumi being megumi, he brushed it off thinking he ate something weird, 

The school year goes by he notices how you smart you were and how you have a kind heart, Always helping people whenever you have the chance to do so, and not to mention you act kind to stray animals as well! He always saw you after class feeding stray cats and dogs.. Oh how that was making his heart swell…in a good way of course! But again megumi brushed off the feeling,

As the school years pass by he gets drawn more to you, he wants to know more about this feeling despite what his mind says. His heart says he wants to get close to you. He knew he couldn't keep this feeling to himself any longer and asked his friends for his advice, of course they were happy that their “heartless friend” has finally gotten himself a c̶r̶u̶s̶h̶  person who he's highly interested in and would like to know better. 

When the day finally came about him talking to you his friends of course had to spy on the two of you mouthing the words “go fushiguro!” and secretly taking pictures of the two of you interacting. 

The day he finally came to talk to you was his happiness day, Without his act in that day he wouldn't have become this close to you from small interactions, going home together to finally spending weekends together 

As you and megumi become closer to each other he gets drawn by your laughter and smile. He never thought someone could shine so brightly as the sun. 

He never thought he’d be consulting his father about this little attraction of his to a person. His father was very shocked but still gave him the best advice even though some were sarcastic. 

“My my, my son has grown up” satoru said with a grin knowing he’d tease his son about this for as long he can “Just ask her to be her boyfri-” Satoru continues but megumi shuts him up the second he said that last word with a slightly red face knowing he can't do directly do that.

“Aww, poor guys flustered now, is he?” satoru said with a smirk full remark, “But you should man up before some other guy steals her from you ya know” satoru continued, Oh how that hurt the poor orchin head and how it motivated him to confess his feelings for you 

.

.

.

Megumi then talked to you about meeting up a park in shibuya, you never mentioned this park to him but he somehow knew you liked it from hearing you talk with your friends, 

Oh how megumi was so nervous the morning the afternoon he was preparing for your “hangout” which satoru called it a date but megumi shook his head in disapprovement, 

Late afternoon arrives and his heart cannot take it on how adorable you were, even if you were just wearing a simple outfit it was too adorable for his fragile heart to take in

“You look..nice..” Megumi complimented though he taught more than just nice 

“Thank you gumi!!” you said happily, no matter how many times you call him that he’ll never stop getting flustered about the small nickname,

 After you say that nickname it always follows with megumi saying “stop calling me that..” followed with a deep red face, some might even say he's sick everytime you say that! It just shows how much the small nickname affects him but he didnt say anything today. He just smiled..? You didnt know if you were imagining things but megumi smiled for a brief second. 

While strolling down the park the air got a bit humid and you got a little craving for ice cream

when you asked megumi about getting ice cream, he simply said “No.” he despises sweet stuff, let alone ice cream. But he just couldn't resist your puppy eyes and your plea which made him say yes, You both decided to buy ice cream with megumi having a simple vanilla flavor and you got your favorite flavor! 

While eating, you bought decided to sit down at a bench for a while since your feet were hurting a bit, Your hair was kind of getting in your face so he tucked of a strand of your hair to your ear to not get disturbed, Megumi didnt even notice he did that action until you faced him with a kind of red face, he quickly turned away, with him now being the blushing mess. 

After you finished your ice cream megumi decides to ask you the thing he’d been waiting for all this time.. 

“H-hey..D-do you have a boyfriend..?” Megumi asks getting straight to the point still being a blushing mess.

“Haah? Noo why do you ask?” You reply to him with curiosity 

“I..wanted to ask if….” Megumi stops hesitating for a second if he should really confess right there and now, 

“If..?” you continued his words still wondering what he really wanted to tell you. 

Oh how megumi was thinking if he should continue his words, but he already started, he has to end what he started.

“If i could be your b..boyfriend” He says as quickly as he could, good thing is you could understand what he said even if the word was in a millisecond. But you just couldn't say anything in shock of his proposal of his love to you. The girl he had loved for months now, the girl that was the only one who could make his heart beat so fast that it could reach his ears, the girl who made him the happiest he has been.

He continues with his confession “You were my light ever since you entered my life, i always thought no one could ever teach me how to love…but then you came in..i love you so..much..i cant even explain it..” Megumi proposes to you with his face being velvet red. 

You simply smiled and said “Yes you can gumi, You can be my boyfriend” You said with a bright smile 

Ever since that day megumi was showered with love and care and he thanks his father for manning him up