#but alas. We find coping mechanisms and we do what we have to!

[joonie-beanie]

Hat Guy's ASMR Commissions: S Tier | [Scaramouche/Wanderer x Reader]

Summary: Subject: Your Commission For [Guided Masturbation Audio - 30 minute session] In which your asshole best friends order a commission from your favorite ASMR artist, and it's a lot more NSFW than you were expecting. "From this moment on, you’re going to follow my directions. I’d say “if you fail to, you’ll be punished” but we both know you’re probably just another people pleaser who will do whatever I say, as long as you know it will make me happy. But fair warning–I won’t be happy until you’re so fucked out you can’t speak a coherent word.” Content: Smut, Guided Masturbation, Toy Use, Name Calling, Degradation/Humiliation, fem!reader Word Count: 6.5k Note: this is kind of an untraditional smut, so just keep that in mind lol

“Sweetheart…you really need to find some way to relax.”

“I agree. If you don’t release your tension, it’ll do a number on your health.”

You really appreciate Lisa and Yae being so concerned for you, but…

“I know. It’s just…not that easy for me.”

By now, in theory, you should have figured out some better coping mechanisms and ways to destress, but alas.

Taking a book from the return bin, Lisa scans it, and then places it onto the go-back cart.

“Well, have you tried getting off?”

Her suggestion makes you jerk, your head swiveling as you glance around the library to see if anyone nearby has overheard. At your side, Yae giggles.

“Calm down…finals have just ended. No one is in the library anymore—they’re out partying.”

You sigh. 

You suppose she’s right. The only reason you three are here is because Lisa is working the closing shift, and because Yae had insisted that you come along to the library with her to keep Lisa company.

“Traditional porn, a good adult novel, ASMR—all would be good options,” Lisa continues.

“I’m not really into porn right now, and I don’t think I have the bandwidth to focus on a book,” you say, resting your cheek in your palm. “As for ASMR…I’m not a big fan. I’ve really only discovered one creator that I like…”

“Oh?” 

Now that piques their interest. 

“What’s their name?”

“He goes by “Hat Guy” on twitter,” you tell them. “He mostly just…posts audio responses to dumb takes, or makes ASMR mocking other ASMR trends, but his voice is nice, and he has a small fan base…despite him kind of being a little shit.”

“How cute,” Lisa laughs while Yae pulls out her phone.

“Well, then…since it sounds like he doesn’t have any relaxing content, maybe you should just go home and take a nice bath. Did you ever use that bath bomb I got you for your birthday?”

“No,” you mumble sheepishly. At your side, Yae taps your knee.

“Lisa is right. Go home and have a bath. I’ll keep her company until she’s done.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise.

“Are you sure…? I just got here like half an hour ago and now you want me to go home?”

“I just think some “you” time would be good,” she tells you with a smile. You pout your lips, but ultimately decide that…maybe she’s right.

“Fine, I’ll head home and rest, then.”

“Good girl,” Yae responds, patting your ass when you bend over to grab your backpack. You narrow your eyes at her, but aren’t truly mad.

“Be careful on your walk home~,” Lisa says as you start towards the exit. You wave at them both over your shoulder, and then leave the building.

A few seconds after your departure, Lisa turns to Yae.

“Alright, what did you find that you didn’t want Y/N to know about?”

Yae grins, loving that Lisa has already caught on.

“Look—”

She gets up from her seat and leans over to show Lisa her phone screen.

“I found Hat Guy’s twitter and saw that he’s accepting commissions, and look at one of the options~”

She points to something, and Lisa’s eyes hurriedly scan the text in front of her. 

When she has finished reading, she grins.

“Oh, my…well, that’s certainly tempting.”

“I was thinking maybe we can give it to Y/N as a… “you survived finals! Use this to relax” type present. Since she’s always doing thoughtful things for us when we’re swamped.”

Lisa smiles, putting a thoughtful finger to her lips.

“I agree. She’s brought us so many cups of tea over the last few months. It’s the least we can do.”

“Good,” Yae says with a nod, immediately clicking on the commission link.

“She deserves a little…fun.”

Between the end of the previous semester, and the start of the new one, your University has generously given you a long weekend. 

4 days, to be exact. 

Most of this long weekend you spend doing the chores you’ve put off, and working a few shifts at your job. 

It’s only by some grace that you end up with Sunday off. One final day to try and relax before classes begin tomorrow…

You do your best to make the most of it—mindlessly scrolling tiktok, folding some clothes, debating if you should order food out, and ultimately deciding against it, since you just went grocery shopping…

All in all, it’s a pretty mundane day.

…at least, until the icon for your email app appears at the top of your phone screen, and you swipe down the notification to see the title:

Subject: Your Commission For [Guided Masturbation Audio - 30 minute session]

Immediately, you freeze.

Surely, this is a spam email that’s somehow made it through the cracks. Because you definitely haven’t ordered such a thing.

Yet, despite your doubts at the validity of the email, you still click on it—wanting to read the contents before banishing it to your spam folder.

Dear Recipient,

Attached to this email is an mp3 file available for you to download. This file was requested and paid for by “Fox and Witch”, and is being sent to you directly at their request.

Please do not distribute this anywhere else on social media, as this is my copyrighted content.

If there is any issue with the quality of the file, please let me know.

Have fun.

-Hat Guy

Note:

Toys Needed = Dildo, Clitoral Vibrator or Wand

…you must have knocked your head on something earlier and are currently hallucinating.

Because there is NO WAY there’s an email from HAT GUY in your inbox. And that said email is for…for…

Well, you remember seeing a link on his profile about commissions, but you’d never clicked on it to see more than that. There’s no chance he’s out here telling people how to get off, though, right…?

With a warm face, you scan the email again. And then a third time.

You can only assume “Fox and Witch” are Yae and Lisa. And you did just tell them that you like Hat Guy’s content…

You bite your lip, staring at the mp3 file. 

There’s just no way…

Hesitantly, you click on it.

“Hmph. You must be really desperate if your friends were willing to pay for a half hour of my time. Most people are satisfied with 10-15 minutes, but no…they knew you’d need longer than that.”

Oh…fuck. 

Something in your tummy flips.

That’s him, alright.

You’ve never heard him talk like that before, but it’s definitely him…you could never mistake that haughty, belittling tone.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your gaze once again finding the title of the email.

Guided Masturbation.

If you’re not wrong, that means if you hit play, and keep listening, it’ll probably be a lot of Hat Guy telling you what to do…how to touch yourself.

Just thinking about such a thing makes more blood rush to your head—embarrassment blooming in your chest.

Sure, the idea of him bossing you around isn’t exactly unappealing. You’re sure he’d be…less than nice, and maybe even a little sadistic, and perhaps call you a few rude names, but—

You groan and place your phone face down on the table beside you.

“Nope, I can’t—I—”

Standing up from your couch, you trudge into your kitchen.

It’s dinner time—you need to make dinner.

You try to keep your thoughts from straying to your temporarily abandoned phone, and the email that’s sitting in your inbox—but it’s literally impossible.

Still, you manage to cook yourself a meal, and even partake in a little alcoholic drink. (Just because you’re treating yourself, and definitely not because you want to ease your nerves a bit.)

Once you’ve finished eating, you clean all your dishes, and then return to the couch. Your gaze strays to your phone, but you don’t pick it up—instead deciding to grab the TV remote.

You make it approximately 25 minutes into a movie before you can’t take it anymore.

Hitting the pause button, you throw the remote on the couch beside you and then snatch up your phone—alighting from the couch.

You grab your headphones on the way to your bedroom, and pop them into your ears only after you’ve gathered your dildo and vibrator.

Maybe this audio won’t be as hot as you’re assuming, and you’ll end up not wanting to touch yourself, but…better to have everything prepared just in case, right?

Taking a deep breath, you hit play.

The track restarts from the beginning. 

“Hmph. You must be really desperate if your friends were willing to pay for a half hour of my time. Most people are satisfied with 10-15 minutes, but no…they knew you’d need longer than that.”

“I also hear you’re quite the little masochist—but I could have assumed that, considering it’s me that you’re soaking your panties over. Just another slut who wants to be bullied, huh.”

You huff at his words, glaring at your phone screen. 

Did Lisa and Yae tell him your kinks or something?? Those bitches.

“Well, you’re in luck, because from this moment on, you’re going to follow my directions. I’d say “if you fail to, you’ll be punished” but we both know you’re probably just another people pleaser who will do whatever I say, as long as you know it will make me happy.”

Dammit, why is he right—

“But fair warning—I won’t be happy until you’re so fucked out you can’t speak a coherent word.”

With a shaking finger, you pause the audio.

You hate to admit it, but his words—the way he’s speaking to you—is already making you wet. 

You really, truly want him to bully you, and use you like a little toy.

So, guess that means you’re doing this.

Throwing any caution and shame to the wind, you hit the play button again. 

“Now…where to begin? I always like to start with an inspection. Take off your clothes, but leave your panties on. I’m not going to bid your needy pussy any attention just yet.”

You obediently do as he says, stripping yourself of your clothing until you’re left only in your panties.

“It’s unfortunate I’m not there to survey those titties in person, so you’ll just have to feel them up for me. Go ahead and grope yourself. Take a minute and massage your chest…I want to see if you’ll get wet from that alone. Although, you’re probably wet already just from my voice, aren’t you, slut?”

You click your tongue at that last part, (hating that he’s right), but nonetheless bring your hands to your chest. 

You cup your titties, and begin squeezing them—feeling the soft flesh beneath your fingers. 

“Good, keep going—squeeze a little harder now. Ah…I bet your nipples want to be touched, huh? Start teasing them, then—just enough to get them hard. I’ll give you 10 seconds—that should be enough.”

For some reason, the challenge of accomplishing a task within a certain time limit makes your pussy throb, and very quickly, you move your pointer fingers over your nipples—rubbing them lightly, and coaxing them to a peak. 

You’re ashamed to admit it, but they manage to get hard in the 10 second pause he gives you…

“Wow, look at that…what greedy titties you have—responding as I say, eager to be played with. Pinch your nipples and roll them between your fingers. Find the motion that feels best, and do it over and over again, until I tell you to stop.”

Resting your breasts in your palms, you pinch your nipples between your fingers—rolling and tugging them. 

Your eyes flutter shut as you touch yourself, each purposeful little tweak of your nipples causing your spine to twitch, and your pussy to clench.

It’s been too long since you’ve touched yourself like this…

By the time Hat Guy’s voice fills your ears once more, your nipples have started to get sore.

“Okay, stop there. I bet your cunt has started quivering, but I hope you know it’ll still be a while before I give you the chance to cum…unless, you somehow managed to orgasm from playing with just your titties? If that’s the case, congratulations! You’re the most needy and pathetic whore I’ve played with. So pathetic that I’ll give you a pass, and won’t even punish you for cumming without permission.”

The thought of being able to cum from nipple play alone makes you feel even more aroused, much to your chagrin—

“Now, let’s inspect that dirty pussy of yours. Spread your legs, and pull your panties down to your knees. I want you to stare at the crotch of your panties and feel ashamed at the wet spot I know is there.”

Taking a deep breath, you hook your fingers around your panties and tug them down your thighs.

As you spread your feet apart, you end up staring at the crotch of your panties—your lips pressing together when you notice there is, indeed, a very noticeable wet spot.

“Next, bend over. As low as you can go, with your legs still apart. I want to see everything.”

Locking your fingers together, you hesitate for a brief second before you bend over—feeling a strain in your leg muscles as you hit the point where you can’t bend anymore.

In this position, you know that you’re on full display.

“Look at you, presenting yourself to me…you really don’t have any shame, do you? If I were there, I’d be grabbing you and forcing you open wider, but since I’m not, you can do it for me! Grab your ass cheeks with both hands, and spread.”

Breathing a little shakily, you do your best to reach behind you and spread yourself. You feel your asshole clench as you do so, and the involuntary action maddens you, considering Hat Guy’s next words are—

“Such a tight little hole…I bet it’s twitching.” 

“Is it nervous, or hoping for an intrusion? Either way, anal is not the objective of today’s session, so let’s move back to your pussy. Go ahead and spread your folds with your hand. You have permission to bend over with your chest to your bed, if you feel your blood rushing to your head from bending down so low. And if you're not by your bed…where the fuck are you listening to this audio? In your car, or a bathroom stall? Pervert.”

That little quip at the end makes you smile, even as you stand up and move yourself to your bed.

You find it a little endearing how he’s bossing you around, but still managing to be somewhat considerate. You suppose maybe there is more to him than just being a brat on the internet.

Anyway—

Reaching one hand back between your legs, you slide your fingers between the folds of your pussy and spread them—opening yourself up as if he were there to inspect you.

“Now, rub your fingers at your entrance—feel how slick you’ve gotten…honestly, you should feel ashamed. Getting so wet for a no-face internet stranger.”

Sure, your panties were a little wet, but that doesn’t mean—

You move your fingers to your entrance—freezing at the amount of sticky arousal you feel. 

You...honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve gotten this wet.

“Smear the slick around your pussy, and make sure to get your clit. That’s where we’re headed next.”

You do as he says, perhaps a smidge overly excited that you now seem to be entering the main course.

As your fingers ghost over your clit, your pussy shudders.

“Bet you just clenched in excitement, huh?”

How does he fucking know—?!

“I'll be nice and will let you use two fingers. Press the pads of your fingers to your clit, and start making circular motions. Slow. 1…2…3…just like that.”

Breathing deep, you begin rubbing your clit with your fingers—repeating his count in your head, and following his pace. 

With each pass of your fingers, your walls squeeze tighter.

“You probably want to rush, or grind your hips on your fingers…but you shouldn't be acting so desperate just yet, so be a good girl and keep going.”

Huffing, you obey his command,

He goes silent for a few beats, really giving you a minute to continue hopelessly teasing yourself. 

By the time he next speaks, a needy exhale is leaving your lips—heady arousal truly being to pool in your lower tummy.

“Now you can go faster. Rub your clit to the beat of your heart. I assume it's racing, so you should be moving your hand a bit faster than before.”

You haven’t really noticed before now, but your heart is certainly beating much faster than normal…

The steady, yet swift thump of your heart is felt throughout your body the more you focus on it, and you quickly adjust your pace. 

A breathy little sigh leaves your lips—your brows pinching together.

You want to cum. 

“I wonder if you're close already, just from your fingers on your clit…haha. If you are, remember—you don't get to cum until I say so. So if you're close to cumming, edge yourself. Get right to the edge of your orgasm, and then stop. I'll give you 10 seconds after that to collect yourself, but then you have to keep going.”

Oh, fuck…

You suppose you should have realized that edging might be part of the equation, especially during a 30 minute session.

And, unfortunately, the thought of edging yourself for him makes you even hornier—pushing you closer to your first climax—or, well, edge.

“I bet you're probably thinking that 10 seconds isn't very long…that when you start again, you'll still be right at the brink of your orgasm, and will have to keep edging over, and over…hah, well…that's your own fault for being so hopeless.”

“Now, I'll let you set the pace. Find the rhythm and motion against your clit that makes you feel the best…you're going to keep that up for 1 minute—and remember, no cumming.”

Dammit—

By now, your lips are fully parted—quick little breaths fanning in front of your face and warming the sheets of your mattress.

You don’t want to edge, you want to cum, but he won’t let you—

“Also, why don't you go ahead and count aloud? I assume you're in private, so it shouldn't be an issue to let out your voice. And if you're not, well…I guess people will get to hear what a debauched whore you are.”

If this were 10 minutes ago, you’d surely blush and hesitate to follow his command.

But now…now you’re a little closer to being the debauched whore he’s calling you.

“I'll count with you so you don't rush it. 60…59…58…57—”

With headphones in, you hear your own voice in your head—mingling with his. 

His, unwavering, with a hint of mockery. Yours…quiet, and struggling to stay on beat.

You clit throbs beneath your fingers, and there’s a familiar flutter of your walls, despite your pussy currently being empty. 

You’re getting close. 

“I can only imagine how sinful you look right now…oh, right. Where was I? Hmm…let's just pick up from 30.”

Motherfucker—

You let your face drop into your sheets, your thighs tightening and knees shaking.

Fuck, you wanna cum. You know you can’t—know it’s not allowed yet, but—!

“5…4…3…2…1. Stop moving your hand.”

Perfect timing. Right at the edge of an orgasm—you pull your hand away.

You take a second to try and catch your breath while ignoring the unfulfilled ache between your legs.

“Your pussy must be throbbing, huh? Lucky for you, as your benevolent master, I’ll let you stuff it full. Grab your dildo and get on your bed on your knees.”

“Also, I assume you're soaked by now, but if not, and you need additional lubrication, use lube.”

You glance behind you at your dresser, where your bottle of lube sits, but ultimately don’t grab it. 

By now, you’re sure you can do without.

Grabbing your dildo, you climb onto your bed, and obediently get on your knees.

“Now, sit up and position the dildo beneath you. Rub the head between your folds, and then settle it at your entrance.”

You do as he says—a shiver of excitement raking up your spine as the tip of your dildo unexpectedly flicks against your clit while you get it into position.

“I'm going to give you 3 seconds to take it fully inside of you…What? I did say we'll be stuffing you full, and with how needy you clearly are, I figured I'm doing you a favor by letting you take it all in!”

Oh. That’s—

“So, I'll count to three. Oh, and if your dildo is too big, and you're scared to sink down onto it all at once, well…that's your own fault for biting off more than you can chew. But, I'm sure that greedy pussy will take anything it can get.”

It will.

“Ready?”

You take a trembling breath.

“3, 2, 1—!”

In one swift motion, you spread your thighs and sink down onto the dildo.

When the head bumps against the deepest part of you, you can’t help but gasp—the sound positively lewd.

“Ahhh…fuck. You made a cute sound, didn't you? How precious…now you're stuffed to the brim with dick, as you should be.”

Yes, this is exactly how you’re meant to feel…just a little slut who will do anything to cum for him.

Yet, despite his harsh instructions, he seems to pause for a second, giving you a chance to acclimate to the intrusion.

How cute.

“Why don't we start slow…I want you to lift your hips until just the tip of the dildo is inside of you, and then grind back down on it. Up…and down…up—”

To aid in the motion, you place your hands flat on the mattress in front of you, and then begin moving your hips.

Up…and down…

Your walls clench around the dildo, practically begging for more, but the man currently using you as his personal toy clearly isn’t inclined to give you such a thing.

At least, not immediately.

If you had to guess, he makes you continue at this slow, teasing pace for at least 2 minutes—your muscles beginning to strain as you resist going any faster.

Then, his voice fills your ears once again. You nearly sigh with relief.

“I hope your thighs aren't burning yet, because now we're going to pick up the pace. Imagine the gallop of a horse's hooves. I want you to grind on each downbeat. No need to make big motions—just grind on your dildo how you'd grind your pussy on my cock if I was there.”

If he were here, you’d wanna grind on his dick until he’s moaning louder than you are—

“Fuck…”

Fingers curling into the sheets, you find your new rhythm—the sound of your wet pussy beginning to fill the quiet room outside your headphones.

Sweat starts to bead on your brow—the arousal inside of you searing hotter, and your muscles getting tighter.

“I wonder if you can cum from internal stimulation alone…try to find your g-spot if you haven't already. I want you to bully it with your dildo.”

You can practically hear the grin in his words. 

Repositioning yourself, you find the angle that better allows you to rub that sensitive little spot inside you.

Almost immediately, a whine rips from your throat.

“Now…I'm going to issue you a challenge. I'll count down from 60 seconds again. During that 60 seconds, you're free to cum. So try your best, okay, slut?”

Please, you want to cum, but you don’t know if 60 seconds will be enough—

“60…59…58…”

Dammit—

With his challenge invigorating you, you continue messily grinding your hips.

Each pass of your dildo against your g-spot causes your pussy to shiver, and your thighs to shake—your orgasm creeping closer.

“33…32…31…”

A desperate sound slips past your lips, your eyebrows knitting together.

You want to cum.

You want to cum.

You want to cum, but—

You drop down onto your dildo roughly, almost in a pouting manner.

You need more time.

As soon as your climax finally begins to build—your walls clenching down on your dildo—Hat Guy reaches the end of his countdown.

“3…2…1…so…did you cum? Either way, I'm sure your legs are shaking. I wouldn't doubt that your sheets are getting soiled by your arousal, either.”

“Well, whether you came or not, don't worry—there's still more opportunities to orgasm yet to come! That being said, set your dildo to the side, and grab your vibrator instead.”

Exhaling, you manage to lift up your hips, and your dildo slips out of you. 

It flops onto your sheets, glistening with your arousal.

Your pussy mourns the loss.

Setting your dildo to the side, you grab your vibrator instead.

“You can go ahead and lay on your back. I'll give your knees a break…isn't that nice of me? You should say “thank you”.”

You clench your jaw as you roll onto your back, your eyes squinting at the ceiling.

There’s no way he’s serious, right? Counting is one thing, but thanking someone who isn’t here?

“Huh? Did you think that was just a suggestion? Go on.”

You wet your lips with your tongue.

“...thank you.”

There’s a brief second of silence, and then—

“...pfft, hahaha! If you actually did just say it aloud, you're more of an obedient people pleaser than I thought. What a precious little cock-sleeve.”

You want to punch him—

“Anyway, I haven't let you cum from your clit yet. I bet by now it's engorged and begging for attention…go ahead and put your vibrator on your clit. Turn it on low.”

The fact that even just touching your clit causes you to jolt proves that his words are correct.

Hitting the power button, you turn your vibrator on a low setting, and almost instantly—the orgasm that had started to fade away flares back to life.

“Good…I'll let you keep it there for a little while. Actually…I'm gonna go get some water. God knows how upset you'd be if my voice suddenly gave out and I couldn't give you permission to cum—”

You hear the sound of a chair being alighted from, and footsteps padding away from the mic.

“This little motherfucker—,” you pant, your chest heaving. 

You gently rub your vibrator around your clit—hoping that doing so will help you delay the orgasm that’s building—but it’s impossible to avoid.

After another minute, you can’t put it off any longer.

Your body tenses, your pussy tightening, and—

You tear the vibrator away from your clit.

If he were here, you think you’d honestly start to beg him for mercy. Of course, you’re sure he’d say that’s practically your first true edge, and you’re just being a little baby, but still.

You start the countdown from 10 in your head, and once it’s done, put your vibrator back on your clit.

Your entire body jolts as the pleasure that had been denied snaps back to attention.

You’re gonna have to edge again—

“How are you holding out? Did you edge at all—just from the vibrator being on low? At the very least, I bet you're squirming and panting.”

“Now, listen closely. I'm going to make you an offer.”

If his offer involves you cumming, you’ll do whatever it takes.

“I'm going to let you cum with the vibrator still on low—assuming you can. This time I'll be generous and will give you 90 seconds, even. But here's the catch. At the end of this session, you will be cumming. So if your begging cunt blots out any logic in your brain, and you decide to cum now, and then feel it's “too much” later, well. That'll be your own fault. Even if you're overstimulated, you'll be cumming again, so choose wisely.”

“Either way, you need to keep the vibrator on your clit for another 90 seconds. You just need to decide if you're cumming or edging. Get ready. To spice it up, this time I'm not counting aloud—I'll just tell you when to stop. So if you're planning on cumming, try not to waste any time. Because if I say stop and you're right there, I doubt you’ll be very happy. Now, begin.”

Risking an overstimulated orgasm after this is a dangerous game, but—

You press the vibrator harder against your clit. 

You need to cum—you don’t care about anything else right now.

Your free hand grabs at your breast—your toes curling, and your heart racing.

Your back arches off the bed, a symphony of miniscule whines and gasps falling from your lips.

Then, the tension inside of you reaches its limit, and snaps.

Your voice catches in your throat—your body spasming as waves of pleasure rock you.

You keep the vibrator on your clit to draw them out as long as you can, but after a few long beats, Hat Guy’s voice fills your ears once again. 

“Stop—that's time. So…did you cum? I wish I could see the state of you…I bet you're starting to look all fucked out. We're already at the 20 minute mark, after all.”

You can’t believe it’s already been 20 minutes. Yet, at the same time, can’t believe you’re not already closer to the end.

“Now, I did say you'd be cumming again, so why don't you go ahead and put your vibe on high? Let's try and force it out of you.”

It’s fine…it’s totally fine. 

Turning your vibrator on high will be totally fine.

You move the toy back to your clit and push the button until the vibrations are much more intense than before.

Almost immediately, heat rushes through your body—stemming from the still recovering nerve ending on your clit.

You’re over-sensitive. Fuck.

And yet…your pussy still flutters—your muscles tensing once again as another orgasm begins to build.

“Ahh, I bet you're squirming like a pathetic little worm. Is it too much? Do you want to beg me to let you stop?”

“Your toes are curling, aren't they? I wish I could hear you and see you panting like a bitch in heat. Should I throw you a bone? Would that satisfy that sad cunt of yours?”

You are writhing, and panting, and every other filthy thing he’s pegged you as. But—you don’t want to stop. You’re too far in now—your whole body shaking, and your breaths coming quick as the vibrator on your clit overwhelms you.

It’s overwhelming, but you can’t stop chasing that high. You—

“Actually…that's not a bad idea. Stop—now.”

Despite not wanting to, you immediately yank the toy away.

You hear yourself whining, unable to help it.

“Hopefully you didn't cum in the last 30 seconds. If so…whoops~”

You wish you could kick him.

“This final orgasm is going to be our grand finale, so we should really let the sparks fly. And maybe your juices, depending on how hard you cum.”

“Grab your dildo—shove it in.”

You scramble to grab it—your arm darting to the side to recover the dildo you’d discarded a short while ago. 

As soon as you have it, you spread your legs and press the head at your entrance—stuffing it in without any preamble.

A pleasant sigh leaves you as that full feeling returns.

“You're going to fuck yourself with it—however fast or slow, I don't care. And at the same time, turn your vibrator back on high.”

You can tell where this is going, and you honestly think it may kill you, but you follow his instructions nonetheless.

Turning the vibrator on high, you place it back on your clit and then begin fucking yourself with the dildo. 

Almost immediately, involuntary sounds slip out of you—your body writhing against the sheets.

The overwhelming strength of your vibrator on your clit now partnered with the messy rubbing of your dildo between your walls…you’re truly becoming the mess he promised to make you.

“Oh, and just so things don't end too soon, you need to hold out for at least one minute. I'll let you know once you have permission to cum.”

You hardly think it’s fair that he’s saying this now, considering you’ve already started fucking yourself, but even so, you want to listen—want to be a good girl who does what he says, and only cums when permitted.

Holding out for a whole minute when your cunt is already starting to spasm—your clit feeling like it’s on fire—is certainly going to be a challenge, though.

“You know…I bet if this were a live call, I'd be able to hear how wet your pussy is. You're probably gripping onto that dildo so tightly…as if it's a real cock that you're begging to properly breed you.”

If he were here you wonder how he’d fuck you. Certainly hard enough that you’d be able to hear the slap of his balls against your pussy—

“You must be panting, huh? So ready to cum…I wonder if you’d be obedient enough to cum when I say. Why don’t we try? We’re getting close to a minute, after all.”

Oh, fuck. 

You’ve never cum on command before, but you want to for him.

“C’mon, princess, I know you can do it…keep going…get yourself right there—”

Your chest shudders, and tears blot your eyes.

You’re trying. Everything feels so hot. 

The arousal in your tummy swells—tightening up, and searing your insides.

“Cum.”

A sob rips from your chest, and you grind your dildo against your g-spot one final time, before your body obeys, and releases.

With the vibrator on high, this orgasm is much more intense than the last. 

Your breath catches, your spine curving, and your hand releases the dildo in favor of grabbing onto your sheets for dear life.

Despite the clamping of your pussy around the silicone cock, it still manages to slip out of you after a few seconds—flopping onto your mattress, and poking wetly against your ass.

When the pleasure on your clit starts to turn to pain—you finally tear the vibrator away. You turn it off, and weakly discard it onto the bed beside you.

Despite no longer having any toys in or on you, your cunt and clit continue to twitch with aftershocks.

You take a deep breath. 

Hat Guy is still talking in your ears, but your brain is too scrambled to process what he’s saying. So, you just continue to lay there until his words sound more like words again.

“Alright, you must have cum by now. Take a minute to breathe. And when you’re done catching your breath, make sure you get up and go pee, and then get some water. Because I’m not about to be liable for any after-effects of this session.”

Despite being exhausted, you can’t help but quietly laugh.

“Good job making it through. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon…mostly because I’m sure you’ll be opening this file again to get off to, haha.”

“Later~”

The audio ends.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling.

Then, you roll onto your side, slowly get up, and head for the bathroom.

Can’t let Hat Guy be liable for you, after all.

The following morning, you wake up with sore muscles, and a determination to go and beat up Yae Miko and Lisa Minci about their “gift”.

Yeah, maybe you are a little less tense than before, and the stress that had been clinging to you after the end of the previous semester is now gone, but still. They deserve a good scolding.

First, however, you have to go to your 9AM lecture. After that, you’ll have time to run to the library.

Despite the soreness in your thighs, you manage to trek across campus and make it to your class with time to spare. You chose a seat somewhere in the middle, and then set your bag down in the chair beside you.

With nothing to work on yet, considering today’s the first day, you entertain yourself with social media apps on your phone as the lecture hall slowly continues filling up.

When there’s only a minute left before the class is set to start, there’s a tap on your shoulder.

Startled, realizing they’ve probably been trying to get your attention, you immediately take out one of your headphones. Before you can even turn to face them and apologize, they’re talking.

Except…the voice of the person beside you is…eerily familiar. Scratchy, attractive, and perhaps a little annoyed—

“Do you mind moving your bag? There aren’t very many seats left.”

Without saying a word, too stunned to speak, you reach over and move your bag to the floor at your feet. The man grunts, and takes a seat beside you.

As he pulls out his laptop, you finally build up the courage to look at him. 

Dark hair and eyes to match…slim fingers, but veiny hands…a black shirt and oversized jacket—

“Do you need something?”

Oh, fuck—you’ve been openly staring.

Your eyes meet his for the first time, and you open your mouth, but no words come out. The beat of your heart starts to get faster.

He cocks an unimpressed eyebrow at you.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

This is just too much—there’s no fucking way this is happening—

Unfortunately, before you can finally pull it together and try to redeem yourself, your professor takes the podium at the head of the room.

“Class! Welcome! While it might be a little unconventional to start the semester out on this note, I just want you all to know in advance: this class will heavily rely on cooperation with others. There will be many team projects. In fact—the person you’re sharing a table with will be your project partner for the whole semester!”

…what.

Beside you, the man sighs—clearly unhappy to hear about there being group projects, or you being his partner, or both.

“Great, looks like we’re stuck together.”

“Yep…,” you mumble in response, the first word you’ve managed to speak since his arrival.

He obviously notices, because his lips pull into a teasing little grin, his eyes remaining trained on your still-speaking professor as he whisper—

“Oh, would you look at that? She speaks.”

Your pussy clenches.

Mhmm, yep! 

You’re gonna go jump off a bridge.

[everythingannoyingpjo]

I hated everything Bob the Titan. Like I was a PJO super fan, so I read all the books (so I did know who Bob was BEFORE reading HoH), but that doesn't excuse having him be such a titular part of Percy and Annabeth's Tartarus experience while being introduced in a side book. In what world does that make sense?

This isn't even mentioning how strange it is to blame Percy for not wanting anything to do with Bob/manipulating him. Sure, perhaps Percy MAY have been a little out of line there (truly, I don't think so, though, it IS an argument), and it also didn't help that he was being blamed by the narrative for Bob and Calypso, as if either were ever really HIS fault.

(Finally, Percy has ALWAYS been like that. Bob wasn't needed to show him to be a slightly manipulative person. There were much more interesting ways to go about introducing Tartarus and exploring both Percy and Annabeth as characters. Percy especially).

Not much for me to add here. Bob being in the book never bothered me personally, but I can see how it would be annoying to have the focus taken away from Annabeth and Percy. Percy's POV is actually largely absent in Tartarus, and I think the reason for this (the only reason I can think of) is that Percy's PoV was probably quite dark during this part of the narrative, especially since it's the lead up to his break down when confronting Akhlys.

Percy has always been prone to blaming himself for others misfortune, so the fact that he blamed himself for what happened to Calypso, Bob, and Nico is not surprising to me, what did surprise me is that the narrative played it completely straight. Honestly the scene with Leo and Percy also really bugged me and I know I'm not alone in this. I honestly think Rick bit off more than he could chew with HoO trying to balance the arcs of about 10 different characters with conflicting viewpoints. (I'm counting Reyna, Nico, and Misc side characters here too.)

I think Leo suffers the most from this since his character arc required the most development imo, but so do Hazel, Frank, Piper, and Jason. These characters all have relatively "healthy" coping mechanisms so they didn't need as much focus and were pushed to the side as a result. Percy, whether because we know him better or because he's easier for Rick to write (experience will do that to you) didn't have as much of a problem, except again for those things which required a certain amount of nuance, which is a weak point in Rick's writing already!

I never considered the point of Bob's character was to show that Percy could and would mislead people in order to survive, but it's an interesting point and I like it. I slightly disagree, but only because I'm of the opinion that Percy was being honest with Bob when he said he would let Bob bring Hyperion back if he really wanted to. And we never find out if he is, because that scene is from Annabeth's point of view and she admits she isn't sure if he's lying or not. Another one of those things it would have been nice to come back to. ALAS!

But also we already knew Percy was willing to trick people to survive, didn't we? He tricks his opponents into doing stupid shit all the time in the first series. I guess this is just the first time we as the audience feel sympathy for the character he is potentially deceiving so it FEELS like a betrayal. Definitely something for me to think about. Thanks for your submission.

[nikaandtea]

top ted talks pt. 2

aka, songs written about josh/torchbearer, confirmed and not, all for fun so don't take it too close to heart (:

The Run and Go

with this song I believe Tyler has spoken before about how Josh is someone he would often call during difficult nights, and overall just someone he turns to for support. especially the chorus.

not wanting Josh to feel the weight of his own problems, but still needing him there mentally. it's a really sweet balance i think they found with one another, being able to cope in their own ways but with the assistance of the other. "cerebral thunder, and one way conversations" in my mind is like when you're having a panic attack, and the other person is 'having a one way conversation' with you as they do their best to calm you down. just a sweet song i think.

Tear in My Heart

tear in my heart pronoun change you will always be famous.

Morph/My Blood

double whammy for trench because they chose death for this album. morph is a track that i started associating with torchbearer post navigating mv. verse two, "He'll always try to stop me, that Nicolas Bourbaki He's got no friends close but those who know him most know He goes by Nico, he told me I'm a copy When I'd hear him mock me, that's almost stopped me". the idea of nico mocking the 'fake' torch, probably to stop him from fighting to get clancy to return home to the banditos, man. that morphing into someone else is a self defense mechanism, a way to protect clancy at a distance to keep him on track to their eventual goal. 'not done, josh dun' i mean cmon, they're just playing with us at this point. torch isn't done with the battle against the bishops, and will not give up on clancy no matter what. love this song.

my blood is just *chefs kiss*. the entire track is a similar idea. elaborating on the point that torch whole heartedly believes in clancy, and even when no one else believes in him, he will. it's just a very sweet dynamic, and i think it's what keeps clancy in the cycle of capture, escape, capture. knowing that torch expects him to return, that he holds the hope of winning this fight no matter how long it takes. "Surrounded and up against a wall I'll shred 'em all and go with you When choices end, you must defend I'll grab my bat". until their last breath, torch and clancy will have each other's backs, and i love that. they're truly everything.

(i would add choker, but i also don't have much to say plus i'm on the fence about it. im sorry scaled and icy you're my beautiful gf but alas you have no josh in you, maybe in another post)

Routines in the Night/Navigating

routines has a similar logic for me as run and go, as in it's also Tyler mentally opening up to Josh about his issues/ the halls of his mind.

as for navigating, little goes to say. we learn so much about torch's power in this as well i absolutely love this track as a whole. whenever clancy grabs onto torch we know that it helps him one way or another to find his way back/it activates the torch illusion to lead him back towards the banditos 'when our fingers touch i feel my way back home'. clancy thought he was just following torch, while in reality he just felt it. and don't get me started at the look they exchange when they finally reunite. the overall sound and lyrics of this track, suddenly cut to fade in 'my blood' as they meet eyes for the first time in years? insane. i n s a n e. torch means so much to clancy, we know that from the way dema citizens reacted to clancy, mocking his callouts for josh/torch. and torch going the lengths to make sure clancy makes it home? they drive me crazy.

once again, dear reader, thank you for reading my brainfart about these boys (:

[faythian]

Discourse on Lyse Hext

This screencap popped up for a background on my computer today, and it got me thinking about the discourse surrounding Lyse Hext. I do not think she deserves any of the hate/spite sent her way. My thoughts below (long post below cutoff):

Lyse comes from Ala Gannha. She was five years old when Curtis Hext, her father, bundled her and her sister, Yda, up and left. They went to Sharlayan, probably the colony in Dravania. Yda became an Archon; Lyse idolized her sister.

Papalymo was the one who had to tell a young Lyse that her sister and father were dead. To cope, she took on the identity of Yda. She lived as Yda for five or six years. She was always paired with Papalymo, who became a surrogate father for her. He is shown multiple times lecturing her, admonishing, and guiding her. While he knows it’s not a healthy coping mechanism, he still went along with her request to assume Yda’s identity and work. Or as much as she was able.

Then she lost Papalymo.

She decided to reclaim her identity of Lyse, but she didn’t have much of an identity to reclaim at the time. She needed to untangle herself from Yda, but did not get the time (either because she was thrust into the push to liberate Ala Mhigo, or because she herself would not give time for such a delicate task).

She is understandably shocked by her reception in Ala Gannha. She grew up fairly sheltered after the trauma of the uprising against King Theodoric, leaving at a young age, being a refugee, and then settling in a foreign land. Lyse still saw Ala Mhigo as her home, despite growing up in Sharlayan and not truly understanding what was going on in Gyr Albania. She was blinded and made naive by her father’s legacy as a hero of the Resistance.

The Legacy of Curtis will haunt her for a while.

She tries desperately to understand what those who stayed behind have gone through, trying to draw on what she knew best: Yda’s personality. Lyse does not start to truly come into her own until she leaves for Doma. There, she has no legacy to live up to. She also finds a friend and mentor: Hien. Hien is the same age as her but was brought up knowing who and what he was meant to be. If one watches carefully, while in Doma, Lyse is watching and taking note of Hien’s moves politically. She is also watching Yuuguri. Yuuguri knows the villages and their people, unlike Lyse back in Gyr Albania.

While we get to see some fantastic character development of her, it’s all in the background, as the Doman part of Stormblood is focused on Hien, Yuuguri, and freeing Doma. Unfortunately, upon returning to Gyr Albania, Lyse is still trying tactics that aren’t her own and trying to live up to other people's expectations and identities. She is not using what she learned in the way Lyse would use them; she is trying to do what Hien or Yuuguri would do, or how she feels her father might have used these ideas. She still hasn’t truly found her own voice yet.

When Conrad dies, he named Lyse the new leader of the Resistance. M’naggo accepts this, seemingly readily. Most people see this as a nepotistic move, and it is, but it’s also more. M’naggo, I feel, accepts this because she sees what Lyse represents to the Resistance—Curtis’ dreams and ideals.

His legacy.

Lyse now has the added burden of not only living up to her father’s image, but now his ideals and goals. We do see some of her struggles as she tries to lead the Resistance, a lot of that being how heavily she leans on the Scions and the Warrior of Light for help.

The game does a disservice to Lyse by not letting us see this struggle fully. All we get are snippets from which we then must infer what she is going through. She is a legacy without understanding and being given very little support from those she is meant to inspire and lead.

There were golden opportunities for others to truly assist her in discovering her own voice:

Urianger, who understood intimately how the shadow of one’s betters can cloud a person’s path and self perception;

Y’shtola would have been a fantastic mentor due to her more pragmatic view of the whole situation;

Conrad should have been more of a presence for her as he had local knowledge as well as historical knowledge (i.e.: Curtis’ actual goals);

and even Raubahn should have been there (and behind the scenes might have been) as he also knew Curtis, the Resistance, and what they were all up against, in addition to what it means to be a leader of a nation.

Instead, she was allowed to become a symbol of something she didn’t fully understand and set out on the balcony to wave and smile.

By the end of the main plot, she is seen as a leader, and she does show many traits of a good leader just coming into her own. But we are not truly shown her journey to this point. Lyse is just suddenly Leader.

The writing for her was fairly terrible. The lack of attention paid to her character and character growth throughout Stormblood was, at best, disappointing, and at worst appalling. We get to see Alphinaud’s continued journey, we get to see Hien and Yuuguri’s journey, we even get to see Fordola’s journey, but not much of the trials and tribulations of the character SquareEnix seemed to call the Main Character (if the posters and official art are to be considered).

As I write my narration of a couple of my own characters going through the MSQ, I will be visiting Lyse a number of times during this expansion and putting in those scenes that I feel are needed. I will be giving her mentors.

[crowandthefics]

Leslie’s slow decline into madness

A Toa fic

All parts!

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Hi, my names Leslie papadopoulos. My favorite jolly rancher color is red, I love mythomagic, and my brothers identity was stolen by a god.

Pretty wild, right? On my 14th birthday my brother, Lester went out and didn’t come back. I remember it well:

“Be back by 3 Lester, you wouldn’t wanna miss your sisters party,” Mom says, as Lester opened the door

“don’t worry mom! I’ll be back in time.” Lester huffs as he steps out.

Lester didn’t come back that day, or any other day. I spent the whole party saying

“I’m not doing that till Lester’s back!”

It was a rather sad party as you can imagine.

My mom made me blow out my candles before all my friends left. by then I had already figured out Lester wasn’t coming back any time soon.

My wish as I blew out my candles was for Lester to come home but the next time I would see him wouldn’t be for a long time.

Well, I never actually SAW him again, but one day he was on twitter for doing something stupid. I don’t even remember what, I just remember going to my mom all excited, and very scared because my brother was alive! And all the way in the way in LA… why was he there instead of at home? Why did he leave on my birthday? I thought we were close?

I cried that night.

Chapter two

I spent the weekend after my birthday crying. But alas I had to return to school on Monday.

I hardly payed much attention in class, how could I? My brother was gone! Why am I supposed to pretend like everything’s fine?

He was declared missing and I started believing he was dead if it wasn’t for all the images of him circling the internet.

Over the weeks my friends decided that I was to much work to be friends with. I don’t blame them, but it will always hurt.

I didn’t really make any new friends per say but this senior, Percy Jackson hung out with me. He could relate to losing people so he understood my pain as well as anyone could.

We weren’t friends but he shared my lunch period and didn’t have anyone else to sit with and neither did I. sometimes he shared his cookies with me!

The months were a blur. I didn’t know what to do so I retreated into fantasy. I already liked mythomagic but now it was my sole coping mechanism. As a result I started reading about the Greek gods.

Funny ain’t it? My brother was taken by the Greek gods and what did I hyper fixate on to escape reality? The Greek gods.

I collected every card and figure and knickknack that mythomagic made. It was all I could do to not to break down.

Then I started seeing things.

Chapter three

I started seeing things. The birds were huge monsters, a dog running down the street could look like hellhounds from my mythomagic cards, I saw teenagers holding swords.

I tried to ignore it for so long, what was I supposed to say?

“Hey mom that kid over there has a sword on his belt!”

Hell no, they’d put me in a mental hospital I’m sure!

…and my parents already lost a child, I can’t make them live with a mentally unstable child.

So I pretend everything’s normal. I don’t see weird things and I’m not breaking apart. But I learned quickly, it’s hard to hide that stuff.

“Leslie! Leslie, are you listening to me?” My mom asked frantically.

I had started crying in the living room, I couldn’t handle all the stress anymore. My brother was missing, I’m failing my classes, and on top of that I’m hallucinating now!

“I want Lester back!” I say through tears.

The rest of that night is spent like that, I wouldn’t listen to reason at.

The next week my parents put me in therapy at the first place they could find. I like to say it helped, all I really did was talk about Lester though. By this point he’d been gone for four months.

It wasn’t long after I started talking about seeing things that I was diagnosed with schizophrenia.

I thought I had things figured out on that until one of the ‘hallucinations’ attacked me, like physically hurt me.

I was out for a walk, my therapist told me getting outside more might help.

I fell to the ground before I could think or react. I couldn’t see the monster so I didn’t know what it was, all I could do was scream.

Then there was just dust and an arrow. A girl with green hair walked up and retrieved her arrow. She looked at me and shook her head, muttering something to herself before telling me: “you should get as far from downtown as you can.”

I didn’t ask questions. I got up and left.

What? Did you expect that I’d stay and find out what was going on? Hell no when straight home and pretended nothing happened, I told my mom I fell to explain any injuries. Apparently the rest of everywhere did to because I saw nothing online about monsters or archers in downtown New York.

It was calm for a while. Until mid June.

Chapter 4

Mid June. They found his body near the Empire State Building.

It was red and brunt, painful brunt. My brother had burned to his death.

He wasn’t crispy the way you’d expect from someone who burned to death, no, he was bright red, red like a cherry jolly rancher.

It confused people. He evenly brunt all over, how was the burn so uniform? It was mystery. A mystery I didn’t want to think about.

My mother tried to calm me down, I was screaming and crying. She offered my what was supposed to be my favorite candy, a red jolly rancher.

“Red red red red no that’s what Lester looked like!” I had cried

Red used to be my favorite color, now I can’t look it and not cry.

I tried to stay calm, I really did! But I couldn’t, my brother, Lester, my dumbass brother who played piano and was late to everything and used to think you eat sunscreen was dead and I wanted him back.

All I could do was sob, my father pulled me away from the scene and took me home. My mom stayed to handle things.

I sat in the center of Lester’s room, just talking as if to him.

“Hey Lester did you know that though Demeter has the worst attack power she has the unrivaled defense?”

“Lester Lester will you play Mary had a little lamb?”

“I’m boreddd Lester… I miss you”

It helped calm me down in the afterwards. His funeral would be the next week but I wasn’t ready to see him again.

Until then, I talk to the walls.

Chapter 5

I stare out the car window on the way to the funeral.

It wasn’t raining, it was bright and sunny. Lester would’ve been sad to know his funeral was on a sunny day. He always wanted a funeral in the rain, for dramatic effect.

At the funeral home I saw way more people than I expected. People I never met.

I was anxious around the people but I tried not to pay attention. Instead eating strawberries. They had been Lester’s favorite snack so we had tons of them.

I ended up talking to one of the people who I didn’t know. He introduced himself as lyre.

“I’m sorry about the loss of your brother,” lyre said, he looked almost guilty. I wondered why.

“No, don’t apologize. You didn’t kill him.” I slightly laughed. Coping with dark humor.

Lyre glanced around nervously before laughing as well, he looked rather awkward.

“Well, still. I hope you’ve been holding up alright,” lyre responded.

“Does talking to walls count as alright?” I ask, to which lyre only shrugs.

The conversation ended there. I felt a bit weird about lyre but I just moved on, I felt weird about a lot of things right now.

I talked to a lot of people who I didn’t know. A set of siblings: will, Austin and Kayla. They were sweet, but Kayla looked familiar to me and I couldn’t figure it out. I ignored that weird feeling too.

I talked about the concept of death with someone named Nico. He was actually really helpful and helped me calm down even in the slightest. “Death happens eventually to everyone. I know it’s so cliche, but it’s gonna be ok eventually. I know how it feels to lose a sibling.”

He also played Mythomagic to so we talked about that for a while. It was something I understood like the back of my hand and it helped to talk about something I understood.

There was a little girl, said her name was Meg. She put a hyacinth on Lester and gave me a potted plant; “so you won’t be as lonely, it can’t replace your brother but it’s something at least!” She told me. It was also a hyacinth.

I held that plant the whole day.

I certainly watered it with my tears.

I can’t remember his service, I just know I cried the whole thing.

I had written out a poem he liked and placed it in his coffin along with my mythomagic figure of his favorite god, Hermes. He liked him because tricks and pranks and shenanigans were some of his favorite things.

At the graveyard I helped shovel the dirt over the coffin.

Staring at his grave I broke down again. Seeing his name in stone made it real.

Long after the funeral was over I sat talking to the grave. As if having a conversation.

Then lyre was there, He just appeared.

“Oh- uhm- sorry hi.” I scrambled to form coherent sentences.

Lyre just sat next to me. After a few minutes of awkward silence he started talking: “I am responsible for his death.” He said.

I blink, “what?”

“Earlier you said not to apologize because it wasn’t my fault, but it was. My name isn’t Lyre, my name is Apollo, and I am responsible for the death of lester.” He took a breath. “I don’t usually tell Mortals about the world of gods, but your life was ruined by it so you are owed an explanation.”

I stare at her. “Explain,” I say sharply.

“I am the god Apollo. I’m sure you know what that means from your little card game-“ I cut her off, “mythomagic.”

“-yes that. How do I put this… I recently went through ‘trials’ of sorts, my father, Zeus made me mortal in the body of Lester papadopoulos. Which is why he disappeared and eventually died. When I ascended to Olympus I can only assume his body couldn’t handle the amount of divine power and burnt to his death. So, young Leslie, I can do nothing but apologize to you,” lyre- Apollo explained to me.

“… with all the weird monsters I’ve been seeing I can’t even say I don’t believe you,” I say, dumbfounded.

Apollo sighs. “If I could bring Lester back, I would, but I can’t.” He takes a breath. “I must be leaving now, goodbye, Leslie papadopoulos.” And he disappears in a puff of gold.

I was mad. Horribly mad. I look at my brothers grave. “Lester. I will make sure he doesn’t just- just move on without caring about what. I swear that to you. I love you.” I hug his grave.

And thus begins my insanity.

Chapter 6

I’m tired. I don’t want to deal with this anymore. I curse the heavens but there’s nothing I can do.

I hate the sun, I hate archery, I hate music- I hate everything Apollo stands for!

I tore apart my Apollo card, I tore a lot of my Mythomagic cards. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was scared and tired and angry, so angry.

Once I came to my senses I shoved the rest of my set in a box into the closet.

I went to my brothers grave so often. One day I was just talking to him in ramblings.

“Ya know what if I summoned Satan? Maybe if I do that I can trade my soul and everything will be fixed.” I laughed, leaned on his grave.

“How hard is it to kill god, do you think?” I asked him.

Things went just like that til I met Anne. Anne was a child of Apollo as she said.

“I fought against the gods in a war a few years back. The second titan war.” She explained to me.

Most importantly about Anne, she was willing to help me make sure Apollo never forgot what happened to Lester.

Anne and I became good friends quickly. And by August we had our plan.

Then, Anne and my plans were found out by a god.

Anne was killed by the gods.

I tore up the paper plans and sunk them in the water. I deleted any digital plans.

I removed all evidence of Anne from my life. I pretended none of that ever happened.

I decided I’d move on from the mess that has happened the last 9 months of my life. I had school to finish, I could make my life a life again.

But things could never be how I wanted them anymore.

My name is Leslie papadopoulos. I hate the color red, my Mythomagic set is long forgotten in a closet and my brother was killed by the gods.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

[bookishfeylin]

have you ever talked about the inherent tragedy of feylin's ending in acomaf

No but NOW I AM.

Ok ok ok

SOOOOOOOO

ACOMAF begins with them both being incredibly traumatized. Neither can sleep, neither are doing good, they both know the other is struggling, but they have a "silent agreement" not to talk about it and acknowledge Amarantha's still affecting them. They both use sex as a relief and as a coping mechanism because again they are both traumatized, and it likely grounds them both. But it's not enough, and sex can't save a relationship wherein the parties refuse to communicate with each other.

And this all comes to a head when Feyre eventually realizes what she needs to get better: freedom. Being coddled and protected stifles her, leaves her with nothing to do but wallow in trauma, and she wants to keep busy. Needs to. again i take issue with acomaf saying she wants to throw herself into danger because that's not realistic for ptsd and realistically she should WANT to be coddled post acotar and avoid danger at all costs. i personally feel like it'd be more powerful from a trauma-discussing perspective if she clung to being coddled as she wasted away and her journey in acomaf was about finding the joy in life and LIVING again and learning to not be afraid of danger and death but alas we got what we got, but the need to keep busy thing does make sense.

So after months of no communication or discussion about their trauma, as they're both sinking deeper and deeper into it, Feyre has realized what she needs, and she finally voices what she wants. But it's different than everything she's said and done before. The people themselves didn't want Feyre's help rebuilding and pushed her away. And Feyre didn't want a title previously, didn't want to meet his courtiers and begin learning the intricate court politics during the parties, and refused to engage with people during the tithe. But now she wants something different. She doesn't want to sit around anymore, suddenly wants to be involved, she wants to do THINGS but not in the careful safe environment where Tamlin initially tried to get her involved in politics. And Tamlin panics, and we get the study scene. Because he's also realized what he needs to get better, and that's assurance of her safety. Which he has when she's at home doing nothing, or when she's learning the ins and outs of court politics, or is followed around by a dozen guards, but cannot guarantee if she trains or is helping out around the court. Especially if she trains. Because Hybern is hunting her, and the other High Lords will kill her if they learn she has their magic, and he has no super-secret-hidden city to train her safely, no mind-reading powers to check on her in a moment's notice. She could die and he wouldn't know; would be powerless to help her. But Feyre does not know this. Feyre does not know of being hunting by the attor, or the likelihood that the High Lords will want the return of their power. She needs freedom. He needs her safety.

So Tamlin puts his needs, his PTSD, and his trauma before her own, the exact opposite of what he did a mere book before when he sent her home before she freed him, taking away her choices, her autonomy, and morphing him into her abuser.

So their relationship crashes and burns, defined and destroyed by trauma, as the expressions of their PTSD as written in canon--with Tamlin needing Feyre to be safe, and Feyre needing freedom and danger to truly live again--doom and damn their relationship, because their individual traumas warp them so the paths of healing for each mean they cannot heal together.

[weeandfrank]

Dear Frank,

I still sometimes write you letters here even though I know you no longer have access.

There's so much rattling around in my brain. So much I've wanted to say...to someone.

Life has felt so strange for some time. I have a hard time describing what I mean. I don't feel real. This doesn't feel real. I so often feel as though I'm playing pretend at living. At life. At being an adult. All the while at various times becoming bored of this game, of the rules that I don't really follow because I find them dumb or nonsensical...I lose sight of the point of the game...of how to win...I lose my competitive edge...it seems as though the other players have become distracted or wandered off...as often happens at parties ...the game has lost it's novelty...or sometimes I'm the one that's wandered off...

I was inspired to write back here by a book I recently read--I've been reading a lot lately...a healthier [relatively speaking] check-out coping mechanism for this existential depression as I'm momentarily terming it, than other alternatives. The book, I think know you would love, is called Normal People. The main characters, Connell and Marianne, write lengthy emails to each other as a means of staying in touch through long periods of physical distance. The dynamic between them is different--they are in love and you and I are siblings...but they understand one another better than anyone...I'm not going to attempt to give a synopsis as I'm notorious for butchering them; you'll just have to trust my judgement and look it up for yourself.

This book has elicited in me...longing. Heart ache. It's re-opened this yearning to be seen and to be known and to be the main character in my own tragic romance. I long to feel passion and to have my heart ache for someone. I long to feel. I've been in this strange, liminal space of...existing. I've strangely lost my sense of how to socially maneuver, how to flirt and, at times it seems, how to even hold a basic conversation; especially if my mind is set on existing publicly in my own space. Just yesterday I was at the diner down the street from my place...I ordered my food and took my table number scanning the tables for a seat. I awkwardly made eye contact with these two guys, obviously not from here...handsome...and tucked into a table next to them. Several more times we made eye contact and I shyly smiled but my mind went blank...one of them smiled and complimented my leg warmers as they left...I looked back at the anatomy notes I'd nerdily brought in with me to study while I ate and contemplated how I'd lost my mojo. Not that I ever had any mojo...and thus soared back down that mental spiral of my deficits and how many times in my life I've shut myself off to letting people in.

I tipsily allowed emotions to wash over me this evening. Recollecting that feeling that I used to have that "no one really knows me." The realization that I've sunk back into this self-protective space washed over me. Why would I continue to share parts of me that I find significant, vulnerable, valuable to have them disregarded and not valued...each time that happened perhaps I shut myself off a little bit more from exposing these parts of me...

And then I remember that I'm likely creating a dramatized story of these occurrences in my life because I feel insignificant and lacking in...gumption for life...

A friend asked my recently how things were going. I responded:

"I'm pretty good. I'm in the thick of school which...I don't think I ever fully wrapped my mind around the intensity this would be. It's been great. Life-altering. I'm dealing with a strained thumb which is just part of it I think. I need to find alternative ways to do things that doesn't hurt my body ... Turns out I have hyper-mobility in my joints. Don't know how I've gone 36+years of my life not Knowing that but alas, now I know."

It felt true. But...came lightyears short of answering the question of "how are things?" How can I answer this when, the truth is, I don't know. I couldn't answer with "nothing feels real" or "I'm just waiting for civilization to unravel" (as that's the direction we seem to be heading)...or "they're fine, just fucking fine."

It's been a long time since I've had a lengthy conversation with someone where I felt utterly unrestrained and not self-conscious in the sense that not only is it ok to share about my experience, it's desired and appreciated. And vice versa, I was eager to hear about the other person. Or that I felt a connection with a kindred spirit.

It at least feels nice to get some thoughts out. Even if they go un-witnessed. Even all this doesn't come close to capturing what I'm feeling, experiencing, the depth of longing. But, then again, I'm just remembering that an intention I had for this 36th year of my life was to embrace the ordinary, the mundane experience. Perhaps that's what's being called for here. Sitting with the strangeness that is existence and embracing the ordinary.

[mhaynoot]

if yjh is regression, mandala’s guardian is reincarnation and jhy is also meant to be seen as part of this ‘protagonist trio’, wouldn’t she be ‘returnee’?

she went to the demon realm; she came back from the demon realm. when kdj returned from the altered 1863rd worldline he also became a returnee, and the first thing he had to do was communicate with his companions that he’s returned through a star-stream enforced communication barrier.

that situation was far more artificial, but i think some comparisons can be made on a thematic level too! when a person leaves the world as you perceive and understand it, and then they return, inevitably changed…. it’s already a struggle writing on that wall the first time, but it’s easier still when you’ve never done it before. but now you have to continue writing after some absence, so how do you reconcile those changes? being changed by a world that is not familiar to you, only to return and find that the world you came from has become unfamiliar as well…

lee sookyung was not the person kdj once knew, the same way biyoo was not yjh’s 41st sys, the same way epilogue!hsy and epilogue!yjh were not [incarnation] kim dokja’s companions when they had to graffiti on the fourth wall to help him out.

the same way 1864!jhy was no longer wos!jhy who kdj requested into existence too, isn’t it?

the answer to all of these, when it comes down to it… is to keep writing on the wall :’) over and over until your message reaches them. mayhaps that’s the gist of being a returnee, in the end.

(and that’s my COMPLETED essay to this 👍👍👍 also, i was very flustered when i saw your response to my previous anon ask with the ‘wos characters each embody a message for kdj!’ i’m very glad you liked the suggestion though :’D)

ANON ANON HI YOU'RE BACK OMG HI *TWIRLS HAIR*

*slaps hand against thigh* fuck you're right she is returnee holy crap i forgot about that whole concept also isn't it neat that she's a returnee and kdj's white coat is the standard returnee uniform and isn't it neat that jang hayoung is the character that kdj was most directly involved in creating and his unending guilt in that ahahahaha like look at this dumb fool:

"Jang Hayoung, who was born into this world because of my greed, lived a life unrelated to me."

god i love him so much, he cares so deeply for all his kids in his fucked up little way.

okay okay so kdj is someone who kinda puts others into genres and classification. this person is the heroine, this person's genre is different, this is realism. it's a part of his coping mechanism and dissociation ala the fourth wall which made him very resigned to his own tragedy and unhappiness for a long time which is why he doesn't really cope well with changes. but through the course of the novel, he is forced to not only acknowledge but also understand change and it is particularly important in the industrial arc where he meets jang hayoung.

this is the basis of their wall writing talk as an extension of his revelation that adult or child, everybody changes. and he is horribly confused by it. confused by what he should do when the world and people around him changes constantly but there is this wall, this impossible wall that doesn't allow anyone to ever truly understand or know each other as we all change again and again as a natural occurance of living.

and jang hayoung, the returnee, his child, the one who he brought into this world more than any other, she points out straight away what he and every reader needs to do:

"Everyone has a wall and communication is impossible… that's obvious." I couldn't believe the friendly Jang Hayoung thought so. It was a bit surprising. Then Jang Hayoung continued, "However, we still have to talk. Even if there is a huge wall, there is a person behind that wall."

talk. we have to try and try again. always. even in the face of vast wall we keep between ourselves, continue to reach out.

Even if we can't reach each other, even if we can't meet each other, we should continue to pound away on each other's walls.

I think an important point is that it isn't about your messaging reaching the other person. because no matter how hard or how much we want it to, sometimes the message can never be sent, can never unchange the past, can never undo things. sometimes no matter how desperately we continue to write on the wall, that doesn't mean it will ever be read by the other person but that doesn't mean the act in itself is useless. because:

"It is just important that you left it." "The other party won't know so why?" "At least the wall has changed." I was speechless for a moment. Jang Hayoung spoke in a resolute voice. "Then one day, someone might read it."

because at the very least the wall has been changed. and you have returned differently. at least you have grown ever more couragous and strong. grown and returned with the strength to continue to live.

[space-axolotl]

questions

1. do you read or write fanfiction and why?

my answer to both is the same: it's a procrastination medium and a coping mechanism :D (i read somewhere that hurt/comfort is just projecting your hurt onto a character, and then trying to reverse-project the comfort onto yourself, which... sounds about right)

2. how and when did you discover fanfiction?

i don't remember :'D (it was a while back and my memory is bad)

3. how has fandom and fiction evolved since you found it?

i also don't remember :'DD (i feel like the answer is it hasn't)

4. do you still engage with it in the way you used to?

i grew out of my 'not like other girls' phase, so i think i'm a lot more active than i used to be, with comments, sharing, etc.

5. which fandoms do you enjoy reading/writing?

i've read and written for a lot of different pop culture fandoms (movies, shows, anime, etc.), just never have been sharing/posting in any of them (until my emotions boomed after Worlds Finals. Pain.)

6. who are your otps?

you and happiness <3

7. have you told anyone you write fanfiction?

my close friends know, that's all i'll say

8. what does fanfiction mean to you?

i love fanfic and the authors who write it, it's pure honest feelings and creativity, free of obligations and restrictions. no money, no deadlines. just UNLEASH, type out all your thoughts like a stream of consciousness >:D

9. do you prefer canon-based fanfiction or au?

aus, definitely. canon hurts :')

10. tell us about a fanfiction you’ve either read or written

i wrote the beginning of an Arcane time travel AU, where Ekko chronobreaks to the beginning of the show and fixes everything.

But he doesn't really have a character to anchor him to the past (Powder? Benzo? his anchor would be the firelights, but we don't find out much about them, so.) and I just, didn't know where to aim the emotional attachment I need as a basis off of which I write scenes.

[I would love to finish it, because Ekko's like. my son. and there's not enough fanfics of him. but alas.]

thanks @aryasage for tagging me to do this ^^

[senti-m3ntal]

i wonder if they're telling all their friends that I was the abuser? while they hurt me equally as well, just that my self esteem was so low that I showed no difference to what they were doing. you can't go below negative.

it's not that I'm not changing my way, no matter how selfish you think I am. hell I wasnt even asking for reassurance I was telling you. But you lied to me and said you would be there through thick and thin

It's that all of you 149ers are the same. say that you walk on eggshells while you put me in the same position many many times. how about eat your own medicine, bitch! normally I wouldn't complain because it's my own fault for not voicing it out, but if you get to complain about how it stressed you out and ruined your life despite me telling many times if I'm going overboard to ask me, why can't I? When it came to keeping your well-being safe, I made sure to always follow through with it! You can't say I'm lying; I literally stopped so many behaviours for your sake, and the only thing I didn't stop was the coping mechanisms that kept me going. If you're blameless I am too.

I'll accept all the other points you made - like, even though you said you wanted to hear me vent, sure! Excessive venting may stress you! Sure, me disappearing after saying cryptic shit might scare you too, and I accept that and will take the blame ! But bitch don't you dare act like I forced you to stay. I am very sure I told you it wasn't your fault if I did something, but your people-pleasing ass made your own coffin. go lie in it.

on one hand I want you to recover and find someone healthier to cling onto. But on the other hand I want whatever shared trauma bond we forged during these times to haunt you forever. I'm a bad person, but so are you.

well. If it isn't me, your hero complex will shatter due to everyone else with you. It's just that you never got to leave and shittalk them yet. I feel bad for them when the day arrives 🧡

alas, learn to love myself? more like learn to fucking say no. i understand if you're terrified of it from wanting approval or something, but almost every step of the way until the last i at least asked once in a while. i chose to trust you even though I could see the tension, because I believed you'd never lie to me - instead, you proved that I was right, and that you would NEVER tell me the truth and what you really feel about me from now onwards, and there's no point continuing because you believed you were right to hide it all. one 'i don't like -,' like you said about mfing fictional characters you didn't like me showing affection to, and I'd never fucking bring it up again and save us both the trauma! YAY. there was no right answer to the final outburst, only acceptance that things would never be the same. heh. bitch.

sure, if I bared my heart out and told you WHY I'm so irritated about it I'll probably get your empty love and care - and the nice part of me wants to try to salvage the relationship and show I'm a person or something. but you've proven that the only reason you stay is because you feel obligated to and want to have a saviour complex.

how did you end it again. ahem

go fuck yourself

[dykegirlfriend]

I do have commitment issues and I also hate situationships. I hate the limbo and when I start feeling too much without knowing for sure what the other person feels I just run away <3 it is not healthy but alas

soo understandable like not to promote unhealthy coping mechanisms but i run away a lot too so i feel you anon. also idk what is up with me but i never really like people who aren't interested in me? like sure i can admit they're gorgeous or it'd cute if we had something i could flirt if given a chance but i never really fall for them unless i know they're too yk? and by any rare chance if i find myself liking a person who probably doesn't like me back i do as you say run away stay away from them for a good while until i turn back my feelings to normal <3

[sunriseverse]

i don’t follow anyone else into mdzs and i’m having thoughts so they’re going into your inbox (sorry… *rattles my cage*) but you know that quote that’s like “when is a monster not a monster? oh, when you love it” well i’m thinking about it specifically in the context of yi city. that’s all bye bye (*cage rattles louder*) (wait i have more to say because in the short time xue yang was actually shown friendship or love or care or however you wish to think of it he just decided to stop being evil. he just got bored. and then it crumbled in an instant and he started being evil again and *i’m shot by a sniper*)

okay. first of all. how dare you come to me, in this the time of my convalescence, and whack me over the head with the iron anvil that is this quote in this context. i’ll literally never be the same again and it’s your fault (<3333)

secondly. i am so honoured you came to me with this!!!!!! i am not generally someone people turn to with their concepts and thoughts (as much as i wish it was different…………alas!), so thank you! i will attempt to answer this with the same care and love i can see even in your short ask. this is going under the cut because uh. it got long. oops!

the thing about xy is, to me, he reads very much as the other side of the coin that jgy is on, to drag my other mdzs beloved into this. in both cases, they’re seen as the lowest of the low—jgy’s mother is a sex worker, and xy is an orphan with no social status. both of them are demonstrated to be talented and have a drive to learn—jgy is a fucking excellent…….whatever his position with the nie is (i can never remember what it’s called, in cql or in the novel, but it doesn’t matter much; he’s undeniably good at his job), spy, sect leader, and yes, xiandu/chief cultivator. xy, on the other hand, is undeniably fucking brilliant—he manages to drag himself into cultivation basically without any help for most of his formative years, and then makes sense of wwx’s basically incoherent ramblings and more coherent, but still incredibly hard to parse to anyone who doesn’t 1. know what they’re looking at or 2. isn’t able to make incredible leaps of logic to connect his work—because wwx wasn’t just a genius, he was a literal, actual pioneer; no one had done what he was doing before—notes. i think this is part of why jgy keeps xy around for so long, even if he doesn’t enjoy his methods—he sees a bit of himself in him. (also, xy is dead useful—dead messy and slightly sadistic, too, but hey, we all have our faults, some of us are just a bit more bloody about them.)

the thing is, though—xy demonstratively did not have any sort of love shown to him at all, possibly ever, in any way, up until yi city. jgy, whose life sucks in so many other ways, had two saving graces of connection: his mother, and lxc. xy had………….no one. zilch. nada. sifir. ling. and so forth. you could argue this is because he makes himself unlovable, but if you think about that for more than three seconds, it’s wildly clear that it’s a (very shitty, self-destructive) coping mechanism—if they’re going to call me trash, if they’re going to call me insane, if they’re going to call me a monster, a nightmare—fine, i will be. i’ll take control of the narrative and show them just how bad i can be.

and then…………yi city. a man who doesn’t even know who he is finds him bloodied and weak, and doesn’t stab him in the back. he carries him to his home, and he cares for him. and xy, i would imagine, is waiting, this entire time, for the other show to drop. surely, he’s going to recognise him. surely he’s going to turn around and say, ah hah, i’ve got you now, you monster! i’m going to take you to the authorities and have them finish you off, because you are a bad person and i am a good person and that’s how this goes. and the entire time, he’s telling himself—as soon as it does, i’m going to kill him. as soon as it does, i’m going to take my revenge. but it………..doesn’t. xxc keeps weaving baskets with him. and going to the market with him. and living his life with him. turning his back and not assuming xy is going to stick jiangzai in it. (and probably telling him terrible jokes that barely count as jokes that xy laughs at far more loudly than he really needs to, because half the comedy is watching the gentle breeze be so goddamn bad at something.)

and xy, for the first time in his life, realises: oh shit. maybe i do want this. maybe i do want peace, of a mundane variety. maybe making myself sharp and harsh and hating and deadly wasn’t making me happy. maybe…………..being happy is letting your guard down around someone, and they don’t take advantage of it. (he would never think the word love, i think, even with a sword at his throat—“trust” is as close as he is ever going to allow himself to come to conceptualising it, less a fuckton of emotional development and growth, but i digress.) and like………..yes, it’s functionally a castle built on a bed of sand. at the start, xy deceives xxc into doing a fuckton of objectively bad shit. he’s the reason sl lost his eyes, and the reason xxc gave his up, and the reason the gentle breeze and the winter frost are no longer spoken of in the same sentence. but also—not to engage in therapy speak here, but this is something where you kind of have to employ dialectical thought: he can have done horrible fucked up things, and still want love. he can have hurt xxc, and be loved by him. he can have done bad, and have stopped doing so. he can be bad, and still be a person. (that last one, i think, is something xxc would fully agree with—were he to have found out xy was, well, xy, but living with him and not causing any trouble (unless you count threatening the farmers at the market who try and cheat a blind man out of his meagre savings, but i think a qing and i are both in agreement that this isn’t really a crime), i think he would not have killed him. i don’t even think he would have turned him in to the authorities. i think xy would be in for, possibly, in the future, a very long conversation he wouldn’t particularly enjoy due to its necessitating of laying things bare, but he would survive it. i think, at the end of things, xxc’s guiding philosophy in life is not, for all his idealism, that things are immutable—i think he would be pleased that xy has changed his ways, and decided to do good, rather than continuing to harm others.)

and then he fucks up. or sl fucks up. or they both fuck up. whose fault it is doesn’t matter; the end result is the same: xy’s temporary peace, his safe haven, crumbles. and he turns back to who he was before, because at least that’s easy. at least that’s certain. peace, happiness, trust—that’s all dust on the wind. you can’t put stock in that, his experience has clearly taught him that, once again, more harshly than anything else. you can love a monster, but if you leave it—it’s going to be a monster again, because that’s easier than trying to crawl on its hands and knees through the mud and pay penance by itself.

[deniigi]

I've recently started writing my own fics and I just wanted to ask you how you do it. I mean you're always updating and have multiple succesful WIPs and youre working on them all at the same time, and theyre all sooo goood and above all that youre doing a PHD if im not wrong, like please teach me your ways

Hi anon!

It’s easy, just requires 3 steps.

1. Have a brain that will not fucking turn off no matter what.

2. Leave behind your family, friends, fiance, and professional relationships to move across an ocean, to a country which is inhospitable at best. Be sure to find one which is as cold and rainy as possible so going outside is super unappealing.

3. Have a crazy research schedule which requires you to binge-write and binge-research for days on end followed by absolutely fuck all to do in between.

And voila! You’ve got the perfect recipe for churning out hella fics all the time!

More seriously (because I can’t tell if this is a compliment type of ask or an advice type of ask), I work on fics in blocks around my research. So because of my circumstances, I just need to do something like 4 or 5 hours of research/academic writing a day, which is an assault on my head/mental facilities, so I use fic to help me move into and out of that writing mode.

I also write absurdly fast (always have, always will–not just for fic, let’s put it like this: I have 3 years to write my Doctoral Dissertation and it’s not quite been 2 and I’m more than halfway through with my 4th chapter (out of 5). This is just my pace at things. I have been blessed with having only non-severe mental health issues, so this helps me move at a different pace than folks who have to use multiple strategies to get themselves into a good place for writing).

And I guess lastly, I have this like, compulsion to finish things. I really, really, really hate leaving a chapter fic unfinished, which is kind of why I hate them and struggle to write them. I hate it. There is nothing worse to me than seeing one of my fics unfinished. So I will bend over backwards to make damn sure it is not sometimes. (Technicolor is killing me right now because I’m not sure it is ever going to be finished and that little ‘?’ in the chapter section drives me to absolute fury. It is okay though. we must accept the things we cannot change sometimes–I say through gritted teeth) So like, to quell my anxiety/fixating over these things, I try finish WIPs as soon as humanly possible. I’m stoked right now because under fire’s ending means that I am freed of that burden.

Anyways, thank you for the compliment anon (if it was meant to be that) and I’m sorry I’m not more helpful in the advice thing (if that was what you actually wanted)!!

[zorosq]

comfort ; trafalgar d. water law

↻ fluff, hurt/comfort, possible ooc law, soft law <3

↻ pairing ↬ law x gn!reader!

@yuu-chan05 asked: Hiya! May I request a Law x female reader where she hugs plushies as a stress relief/coping mechanism? Cause I have two plushies, one is a polar bear and the other is a penguin. They are my two favorite animals and I hug them whenever I feel sad. I hug them when feeling stressed it gives me sense of comfort. I wanted see how would Law would react when he sees her like that for the first time because he is always working late. And then she just tells him that she feels sad/depressed for no reason and Law ended up cuddling with her and her 2 plushies for the rest of the night while watching movies (it can be in modern world or the canon world)

a/n i dont think that i mentioned any gender or pronouns in this one so i hope its fine making it gender neutral :) p.s this is unintentionally short🚶‍♀️

As the day come to an end, you became more sad. At the thought of a new day is starting just makes you feel depressed. It was completely normal for a person to feel drained for once in a while. At times like these, you were glad that Law haven't ask to move in together with you. So before you had gotten together with Law, you had found a coping mechanism for yourself.

You were doing just find with cuddling your plushies that were sitting at the both of your sides. That is, until you were interrupted by a knock. You thought that if you just stay silent, whoever that was knocking at your door would go away. "Y/n-ya, I know you're in there,"

Ah... it was Law... but you still wanted him to go away at the moment. You don't want him to see your pathetic state. You're an adult, you should know how to get yourself together alone. But alas, you had forgotten about the fact that you gave him the spare key to your house. It was because he once had left some of his stuff when he spent the night over. Damn you for forgetting to tell Law not to come over for today. And damn him for ending his shift early.

It wasn't long for him to find you in the bedroom. All cuddled up with your plushies and a blanket covering you. He didn't know what to say when he saw you. He tried to crack his brain for answers on what he should do. He was only a smart man in the other things but emotions. Law finds himself moving towards your bed and climbed onto the bed to lay down beside you.

He removed one of your plushies and put it beside him instead and in return, he hugged you. The moment you felt the familiar warmth enveloping you, you burst out into tears. He knows it was stupid of him to ask, but he did anyway. "Are you okay? Can you tell me what's wrong?" He asked.

His face may have not show it but you can hear the genuine concern lacing his voice. "I-I'm fine. It's just one of those days," You said, desperately clinging onto him as if he would leave the moment you let go of him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked. You shook your head in response. "Can... Can we watch movies instead? I want to forget about it..."

He hummed before carrying you out of bed in bridal style. (And not forgetting your plushies.) When you and Law had finally settled down on the couch in living room, you cuddled up to his side, feeling addicted to his warmth. You watched the rom-com that Law had picked for the both of you. It made your heart lighten a bit, distracting you from earlier thoughts.

You can also see the small smile at the corner of his lips. "Mhmm... Law... thank you for coming here..." You thanked, nuzzling into his neck. His arm came around your waist and pulled you closer to his side. "Anytime,"

[thekisforkeats]

Love Languages

Info: The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, rated T probably for swears. Canon-Compliant. Set post-MAG 22, with a coda post-MAG 159. Everyone is ND and everyone is trans because that’s just how my personal S1 Archives gang rolls.

CWs: Mentions of ableism and Martin’s mother. I’d say canon-typical worms but the worms don’t really come up except in passing.

I do not know anything about BSL, so I did not try to describe the signs.

Summary: A love language is not just about how you best show love and affection; it is also about the ways you best receive love and affection. And so, for someone like Martin, who shows love by going out of his way to help others, someone going out of their way to help him, well. What better way for him to realize just how loved he is?

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

The first time Martin went completely non-verbal after starting work in the Archives, it was the morning after giving Jon the statement about Jane Prentiss.

It wasn’t a surprising development, really. Martin didn’t go fully non-verbal that often, but when he did it was almost always a thing that started in the morning and lasted most of the day. Sometimes it wore off by the time he went to bed, sometimes it lasted until the next morning.

After his mother’s diagnosis, he’d been unable to speak for an entire week. That hadn’t gone over well--as much as his mother wanted him to be quiet, she didn’t like the “silent treatment,” as she called it.

Martin hated that she’d called it that, as though his non-verbal episodes were anything he did on purpose. Some days talking just felt like a chore; those days he could get by only forcing words out when he had to. But some days, the worst days, he just couldn’t talk. He could understand other people just fine, he could make noises, sometimes he could even hum. And he could definitely read and write. But speaking words, aloud? No. He could not speak, on these days, however much he may have wanted to.

As Martin grew older and learned more about himself, he learned words and reasons and coping mechanisms. He realized that some of the problem came from dysphoria and the longer he was on hormones the less often it happened. He realized that he was autistic (even if he never got diagnosed), and learned how to handle the episodes that still occurred. He took sign languages classes because it was a good and useful thing to know regardless, to be able to communicate with more people.

As many Deaf people had learned before Martin, he’d found himself in plenty of situations when nobody around him knew BSL, so he’d found a phone app that let him type out things he wanted to say and repeated them in a tinny, mechanical voice. Feminine, but he found it didn’t cause dysphoria; it wasn’t his voice. It was the app speaking for him, a robot lady translating his words.

Martin was fairly certain he was going to need the robot lady to speak for him today, and he was dreading the whole idea. The app got him a range of reactions from scorn to derision to faux sympathy. The last time he’d done so at work, the Institute library staff had regarded him with such pity that he’d called in sick the two other times it had happened since.

He’d woken early, because he was always awake fairly early, to ensure he looked presentable and got to work on time. He did not want Jonathan “Crisply Professional At All Times” Sims giving him that look again. The particular look that was “I highly disapprove of your sartorial choices but I’m not going to get into it right now because I have so very much else to do. Nonetheless, if I could fire you for what you’re wearing I would.”

Jon had a lot of looks. Martin fervently wished he could stop categorizing them; he very much disliked his boss, and very much wanted to stop thinking about Jon quite as much as he did.

Jon was attractive, that much Martin had noticed the first day he’d come in, with a jawline Martin would’ve loved to trace with his fingers, eyes sharp and deep and intelligent, salt-and-pepper hair that Martin would have tangled his fingers in gladly.

Except, of course, that Jon was also a prick who didn’t like Martin one bit and made that very clear. He’d put down on record that he thought Martin would “contribute nothing but delays.” Martin was not such a sucker for punishment that he would put up with someone who hated him just for a pretty face. The tiny potential blossom of a crush had been, well, crushed five seconds after it had poked its head above ground, by Jon’s declaration that he could dismiss Martin if he didn’t resolve the “dog situation” immediately.

Martin counted his lucky stars every day that Jon had not, in fact, dismissed him, despite having had to deal with a doggy mess. The luck was really in having Tim around, Martin figured; Jon actually seemed fond of Tim, and the other man had managed to smooth the entire situation over.

Martin had fallen asleep last night thinking about the new look Jon had given him yesterday: concerned. Truly, genuinely concerned, which had rather taken Martin aback. He’d been certain Jon wouldn’t believe him, would scoff and roll his eyes at the entire statement, and instead he’d just looked… concerned. 

And then Jon had offered Martin the cot that he’d woken up in this morning.

It wasn’t the look of concern that had Martin non-verbal, though; of that he was certain. It was the stress of the last two weeks, and dumping out the statement yesterday, and all the whirl of figuring out how to live in the Archives. Jon’s insistence on going with him to pick up basics with a toothbrush at the convenience store, and then coming back to be sure he was okay. Jon finding clean sheets and discussing how he’d do his laundry. Jon had expensed clothing bought online to the Institute, including next-day shipping, because he’d “lost access to his flat and thus his wardrobe in the line of duty.” It had all been bewildering and overwhelming and it was no real surprise that Martin was in the state he found himself when he woke.

Martin had known as soon as he’d opened his eyes. It was just there, the feeling of nope can’t talk today. He’d pulled on his binder and the same clothing he’d worn the day before and then fumbled around for his phone. Which… he didn’t have. The damn worm-hive-lady had stolen it from him. Well, shit.

He managed to avoid having to figure out how to talk while he went out to get breakfast, just pointing at a scone in the display and smiling at the guy behind the counter as if he wasn’t secretly irritated by the price of everything in Chelsea. By the time Martin got back, Jon was already in his office, so thank God he’d avoided that awkward interaction. He went to make himself tea, and had his breakfast in the breakroom, and brushed his teeth, and then went to get started on…

Wait. He didn’t even know what they were working on right now.

Well, he wasn’t going to bother Jon about it; however nice he’d been last night it surely must have worn off by now, and Martin had no interest in summoning one of his boss’ looks this early in the morning. Normally he’d still be on his commute at this hour.

After a moment’s thought, he went to go see what they’d recorded in his absence, and soon had a stack of statements on his desk. They’d gotten through five statements in the two weeks he’d been gone. Maybe Jon was right. Maybe Martin did contribute “nothing but delays.”

Pushing the thought aside, Martin focused on listening to the tapes, and was just finishing up listening to the second half of Father Edwin Burroughs’ statement when Tim came into the shared office the assistants used.

“Hey, you’re in early. You get the email?”

Martin raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

Tim snorted. “Jon claims he’s got something to warn us about, something that ‘won’t parse properly through digital means.’” He rolled his eyes. “Which is Jon-speak for ‘it’s a weird thing and I don’t want to admit it’s a weird thing because I have to keep my skeptic hat on to preserve my self-image.”

Martin chuckled in solidarity, then gestured toward the door to Jon’s office, to indicate that’s where their boss was.

“Not coming?” Tim asked, his own eyebrow raised. When Martin shrugged, he said, “Well, I guess if you didn’t get the email…” Tim also shrugged, then said, “Guess I’d better get it over with. Wish me luck!”

Martin gave him a thumbs up.

When Sasha came in, Martin silently directed her to Jon’s office as well, then heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn’t had to explain being non-verbal at all yet, and it was already nine o’clock. Maybe if he was lucky, Jon would warn them off talking to him and he’d manage to make it the entire day without having to explain the whole “non-verbal” business to anyone he saw on a regular basis.

Alas, it was barely thirty minutes later that Tim and Sasha returned to talk to him, both wearing expressions of mingled concern and guilt. When they spoke it was a flood of the usual, expected platitudes:

“We’re so sorry!”

“We didn’t know!”

“Are you okay??”

And such like.

Martin shrugged and nodded and shook his head in all the right places, and evidently Jon had played them the tape of his statement so he didn’t have to explain it all again (thank God), and he thought maybe, maybe he could even figure out what statement they were working on right now if he just listened to their chatter after they were done with the niceties, but then…

Well. Then Timothy Stoker happened.

Which is to say, Tim actually looked at Martin, and said, “You’re being awfully quiet. You sure you’re okay?”

And then he and Sasha just… sat there, looking at him expectantly.

Martin sighed and reached for a piece of scrap paper and wrote, I’m autistic and sometimes I go non-verbal. Today’s one of those days, but I don’t have my phone anymore, so no communication app.

As he held up the paper so the others could read the words, Martin braced himself for the ensuing reactions. Pity, probably, like those in the Institute library, and he couldn’t even call in sick to avoid it; he’d rather have scorn and derision. At least those reactions were honest.

What he got from them was not pity, however, nor even scorn.

Sasha hummed. “Autism explains a lot, actually. Don’t worry, it’s not a problem.”

Tim grinned and clapped Martin on the shoulder. “Yeah, why didn’t you just say so? It’s fine, you’ve been through an ordeal. And so you know--you’re hardly the only neurodivergent in the Archives.”

Martin blinked at Tim, then wrote: Wait, what? Who…?

“Would you believe me if I said all of us?” Tim said with a grin. “I have ADD, Jon’s… well… he’s Jon, and as for Sasha…”

Sasha sighed in fond exasperation and cut in, “Tim…”

“I contend that you cannot be neurotypical, Ms. James. You fit in too well around here.”

“I am not admitting to anything on Institute property,” Sasha said with aplomb. “And you shouldn't have either, but here we are.” She looked at Martin. “If HR finds out and they give you any trouble, let us know and we’ll figure out what to do.”

Tim, in the meanwhile, pulled out his phone. “Here, go ahead and use mine for now, until your replacement gets here or whatever. What’s the app so I can install it for you?”

Martin’s jaw had dropped open. Tim having ADD made sense; what did he mean about Jon, though? And Sasha? And what did Sasha mean about HR? And… and why were they being so… nice? So… understanding? It wasn’t an act, or at least he didn’t think it was. They seemed… genuinely fine with it. Accepting, even.

It was the strangest thing Martin had experienced in a while, and that was including the worm-riddled woman who’d stood outside his door for two straight weeks.

From there the day just… went on as normal. Tim installed the app on the phone, Martin’s robot phone lady spoke for him, the three of them did their work, and everything was fine.

Until, of course, the nature of their work reared its ugly head. They were discussing the statement of Leanne Denikin, case #0051701, which they had yet to attach a pithy name to; hence the discussion. It had long since become standard practice to attach a name to the “weirder” statements, to make them easier to discuss. (Jon insisted on using the case numbers on tape still, which was annoying, given that was the only place he did that.)

Martin was reading through the statement, and he typed into Tim’s phone: What do you think of this bit? “Be still, for there is strange music.”

What came out of the phone’s speakers, however, was garbled static followed by high-pitched screeching that startled Martin so much he actually dropped the phone.

Jon was walking in just as this happened; he stopped in the doorway, blinking. “What on Earth was that?”

“Martin’s robot lady gave Tim’s phone an aneurysm, I think,” Sasha said, eyeing Martin as well.

Martin scrabbled on the floor for the phone, pulled up the app (which had crashed), and typed, I don’t know what happened!! I was just typing in something from one of the statements!

Jon frowned at him sharply. “What are you doing with Tim’s phone? Are you quite well?”

“No, Martin is not ‘quite well,’” Tim said. “Non-verbal for the day.”

Then Jon did something that stunned Martin: Jon signed at him, specifically, “Do you know sign language?” He spoke aloud as he said this, too, but also raised his eyebrows and gave a quizzical tilt to his head to convey that he was asking a question.

Martin blinked rapidly, then signed back: “Yes, actually. But Tim and Sasha don’t.”

Jon nodded, then said aloud, along with signing, “Why are you non-verbal, exactly?”

“I have autism,” Martin signed. “Sometimes talking is overwhelming and sometimes, especially in stressful situations, I can’t talk at all. Woke up that way today. It should be gone by tomorrow morning.” Why was he explaining so much more to Jon than he had to the others? Maybe just because Jon knew sign, and thus could communicate in a language Martin found much easier than even the typing.

Jon frowned thoughtfully, then nodded again. Then, still speaking and signing both, “What were you typing into your phone?”

“Be still, for there is strange music. From the statement.” Martin gestured to the statement on his desk.

Jon’s frown deepened and he repeated the words. “‘Be still, for there is strange music….’” His expression went slack for a moment, and then he shook himself. “Right. Well. Just… just… I’ll be right back.” Then he abruptly turned and left the room.

Tim and Sasha exchanged bewildered looks. Then Sasha asked, “Do you know what that was all about?”

“I forgot Jon knows BSL,” Tim replied thoughtfully. “Hard of hearing on one side. Not that he’d have agreed to interpret all day or anything.”

Martin shrugged. It’s alright, he typed. This works just fine.

“Well, no, obviously not for some things.” Jon had reappeared as suddenly as he’d disappeared, holding a small brown notebook the size of Martin’s hand. “Here,” he said, thrusting the notebook at Martin. “This will work better, for communicating about the statements. You needn’t use it with me, of course, unless signing is also taxing.”

Martin stared up at Jon. There was an entirely new look on his boss’ face. Not any level of scorn or sneer, nor even concern. He was… nervous. Fidgety. Like he was offering a gift that he was afraid might be rejected.

Something went flip in Martin’s stomach and it was like the entire world turned upside down. Suddenly, in light of Jon’s actions in the last 24 hours, he saw the way his boss had acted toward him the last six months for what it was: a defense mechanism. Armor pulled up around someone fragile and soft and sweet, someone so terrified of rejection that he went about making sure it happened preemptively so he wouldn’t be hurt.

Martin had a sudden, fierce desire to hug Jon and tell him everything would be okay. It was so bewildering a sensation--he didn’t even like the man! At all!--that he just took the notebook with a nod and a signed “Thank you,” eyes still very wide.

Jon nodded in return. “You’re welcome.” He let out a breath, and seemed to relax a little. “Well. Then. I think we’ve found the name for this one, given the way Tim’s phone reacted to those words. ‘Strange Music’ it is.” He straightened himself. “Tim, you said something about the organ reminding you of articles you’ve read…?”

Tim nodded, expression suddenly serious. “Yeah. I’ll see if I can find them for you.”

“Right. Well, then, Sasha, if I could ask you to look through the Archive like we talked about? I’m certain we’ve had a statement from Jane Prentiss.” Jon then turned to Martin. “And if you wouldn’t mind helping me with ‘Schwarzwald?’ You used to work in the library, right?”

Martin was still staring at Jon in confusion, but nodded.

Jon actually smiled at him. Faintly. “Well, then, I’m certain you must know where to find the German history reference books, if you could go grab whatever they’ll let you bring down?”

The strangest thing about it was, Jon seemed sincere. Like he actually believed Martin did, indeed, know the library well enough to just… go up there and find the German history reference books. The faint, confident-in-his-assistant smile was a new look, at least directed at Martin; he’d seen Jon look at Tim and Sasha that way many times before.

Martin’s stomach was doing cartwheels. There were butterflies taking up residence in his intestines. His heart was pounding. How had he never noticed how nice Jon’s smile was? Soft and small, like he was afraid to let it actually take up residence on his face for too long.

Oh, God, oh, no. Martin could not fancy his boss. Jon hated him. Or, well, no, evidence suggested that perhaps Jon did not hate him, but Jon most certainly did not fancy him. This crush had to disappear, just as fast as it had come. This would not do.

He was going to be writing poetry again tonight, wasn’t he? Crap.

“Martin?” Jon’s tone was concerned rather than sharp, and the way Jon said his name made Martin want to sink into the floor.

Instead, he scribbled furiously in the notebook and held it up so all three of the others could see: Yeah, sorry, was just thinking about where that’d be. I’ll bring them down as soon as I find them.

Jon practically beamed at Martin’s use of the notebook and he nodded briskly. “Right! I’ll be in my office when you have the books, then.” He started to turn away.

Martin’s heart went pound pound pound because oh wow Jon was really cute when he let that smile take up more of his face. Throwing caution to the wind, he made a noise to get the other man’s attention.

Jon turned around, quirking a brow. “Yes, Martin?”

Martin signed, “Tea?” He, too, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to indicate the question.

Jon nodded. “Tea would be lovely, yes.” He smiled at Martin for a brief moment, and then suddenly looked flustered. He glared at them all. “Anyway,” he snapped in his ‘boss’ voice, the impact of which was ruined by the flush rising in his cheeks, “there’s still work to be done. So let’s… do it.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left the office.

Had Jon blushed because Martin had offered him tea? Did Jon like his tea that much? Was Martin imagining things? He had to be imagining things. He put his head down on the desk and wrapped his arms over it so he could grab at handfuls of hair. What was happening to him?

Sasha tried to make her voice serious, but couldn't quite manage it past quite clearly holding back giggles. “Mourn for poor Martin, working alone with Jon.” She looked at Tim. “We should call HR preemptively, it’ll be a bloodbath.”

“Nah, I think Jon’s softening on our boy,” Tim said with a laugh. He reached over to ruffle Martin’s hair with one hand while he took his phone back with the other. “Don’t worry, Marto. I told you he’d come around one day.”

Martin looked up at Tim with a stricken, betrayed expression. In the notebook: Is this how you comfort me in my hour of need??

Sasha shook her head. “For once, Tim’s being serious. You weren’t in the room when Jon explained things to us. He’s worried about you, he doesn’t want you to have to leave the Institute alone, he doesn’t want you to have to look for the Prentiss statement in case it’s ‘too traumatic’ for you to run across on your own. He actually asked us if we thought we should avoid any mention of Prentiss altogether in your presence.”

“I told him no,” Tim said. “I hope that was okay. You seem like you’d rather deal with trauma by facing it and figuring it out, rather than avoiding it entirely.”

Matin gaped at them. Really? he wrote. Jon’s… worried about me? Really? As if he hadn’t seen the evidence just now that Jon was, indeed… softening.

Tim gave Martin a very serious look. “I’ve told you before… I’ve known Jon, well, not as long as I’ve known Sasha, but for a long while now. He’s prickly and thorny, even to people he cares about, but that’s a front and I’ve said so. You just didn’t believe me.”

“In Martin’s defense,” Sasha put in, “Jon’s been awfully ‘prickly and thorny’ to him specifically.”

Tim put up a hand. “Oh, I agree. I have had words with our dear boss about the way he treats Martin, largely because I’m one of the few people he might actually listen to.” He looked at Martin. “I don’t want to take the credit, because it’s really been a remarkably fast turnaround, but I’d like to think I helped, a little.”

Martin frowned thoughtfully. Thank you, he wrote. If Jon’s at ‘I can stand Martin’ instead of ‘Martin is the source of all bad that happens in the Archives’ work might be… better than tolerable, for once.

“That’s the spirit!” Tim said with a grin. “Now, then, Jon did say to get back to work…”

Jon gave Martin another of those soft smiles when Martin brought in the tea, a smile which widened on seeing the stack of books he carried in right after. That afternoon, spent sitting and going through books and discussing the Schwarzwald statement, was the first of many they’d spend together, reading and talking and comparing notes.

Martin was feeling verbal again the next morning, but he kept the notebook. If nothing else, it was a good place to jot down poetry. And it came in handy when he found himself unable to speak the morning after Jane Prentiss’ attack on the Archives.

And the morning after Jon confronted him about his CV.

And the morning after Jon disappeared, leaving Jurgen Leitner’s body at his desk. (Martin blamed that on the corridors more than the body, really.)

Funnily enough, he didn’t need it the morning after the Unknowing. But he kept it with him that day all the same, the first gift Jon had ever given him, and one of the few things he had left of him with Jon in a coma.

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

When they reached Daisy’s safehouse in Scotland, Martin had hoped he’d somehow manage to dodge the threat of going non-verbal. He’d been the one to drive the car, over Jon’s protests; it was something to focus on, to keep him remembering he was alive and real. He’d clutched the wheel and driven north north north with Jon giving directions in the passenger seat.

Martin had finally figured out that it was the chance to stop and think about trauma that led to his being non-verbal, which was why it was almost always a thing that hit in the morning. Adrenaline would keep him running after a stressful event, and then he’d carry himself through the rest of the day trying to clean up whatever mess had been caused. But sleep was enough for his body and brain to both tell him to stop, to process, to deal with whatever he’d run into.

It was possible, in hindsight, that he’d gone non-verbal more than once since the Unknowing and just hadn’t noticed because he’d been barely interacting with anyone. He’d certainly had a bad bout the morning after his mother’s funeral, dealing with so much misgendering and fake smiles. And there had been more than enough trauma to try to process in the past year, so it must have happened before.

He’d just really, really hoped it wouldn’t now, because he didn’t want to put Jon through that. (Why he thought he was putting Jon through anything he didn’t really want to examine. It made him feel Lonely, and that was bad.)

At any rate, the realization of why he went non-verbal had led to him keeping busy in order to hold it off, in order to hold himself together. So he drove, and he puttered about the cabin poking into cupboards, and he talked to Jon, and he talked to the shop lady in the village, and he brought back food and made dinner with Jon, and everything was good and fine.

And then he woke up the next morning, in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, and he could not speak.

There was the smell of bacon and eggs and pancakes cooking, and Martin made his bleary way out into the main room of the cabin and peered at Jon, already up and dressed and cooking.

His boyfriend turned to look at him and smiled, one of those soft smiles Martin had come to love so much. “Sleep well?”

"Not really,” Martin signed. “I mean…” He gestured at his throat.

Jon nodded. “I figured you might feel that way this morning. I, uhh… hold on a moment, I need to….” He grabbed the pan of bacon and moved it off the heat, pulled a pancake off the griddle and deposited it on a plate, then turned off the stove and went to poke around in one of the bags.

Martin chuckled fondly. “What’re you looking for?”

Jon was still digging through his bag. “When I was grabbing essentials at the store, back in London, I was thinking, you’ve been through a lot, and the notebook I gave you before must be full if you even have it anymore. I know you were writing poetry in it, and… oh, here we go.”

Jon came up with another small notebook. This one was not plain and brown, the way the first one he’d gifted Martin all those years ago had been. This one was black, and had silvery stars on its cover that, as Jon held out the book and thus tilted it through the light, shimmered into rainbows.

“Just in case, you know, the shop lady doesn’t know BSL.”

Martin blinked at the notebook.

“It, uhh… I know it’s not your usual style,” Jon said, his voice suddenly nervous. He was looking down at the notebook as he spoke, instead of at Martin. “Not… retro. But… I saw it and I thought of you.” He paused. “That tape, where you were talking to Simon Fairchild. He talked about the ‘cosmic scale,’ and how we’ve never even been alive on that time frame, and you said… what was it? You said, ‘I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.’ And I just… that was… maybe the most… it was very… you. And there were other options, flowers or cursive writing, o-or… I don’t know, they all seemed so obvious, but this…”

Jon swallowed, and finally looked up at Martin. “I thought, after the Lonely, you might like a reminder that, you have value. That… that to me, you shine as bright as any star.” And then he flushed, and Martin knew it was for him, just as he now knew the flushes about tea all those years ago had also been for him.

Martin was gaping. Oh. Oh. Jon… loved him. Which he’d known, intellectually, but the emotional knowledge of it hit him suddenly, took his breath away. He knew it, all at once, in that “oh we could spend the rest of our lives together” way he’d never really thought he’d ever feel.

Jon had clearly misinterpreted the expression; he started stammering, “I-if… it it’s bad, I can… well, no, I can’t take it back, stupid, I should’ve just grabbed the one that had--”

Martin cut him off by reaching out to take the notebook from Jon and reached out with his other hand to cup the shorter man’s cheek. He smiled, and because he’d realized long ago how well Jon responded to physical touch, he leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead.

Then he pulled back to put the notebook aside on the counter and signed, “It’s perfect. Thank you.” A pause, and then, “I love you.”

Jon smiled, both speaking and signing, “I love you, too.”

And for once in his life, Martin knew that to be true, and trusted that knowledge. He was loved. He had been loved, and he would be loved for the rest of his life, whatever state his voice was in.

[themoonmunchkin]

Don't look!

Pairing : Bakugo katsuki x gn!reader, Midoriya Izuku x gn!reader, Todoroki Shoto x gn!reader.

Genre : fluff

Warnings : insecure reader, cussing, savage deku?, kinda angsty but overall super fluffy ^3^

Synopsis : you're insecure about your side profile but they're having none of it.

Not gonna lie, he probably wouldn't even have known that this was an insecurity that people had.

So when you first start dating he wouldn't think much of it when you cover your nose while laughing or when you contour your jawline extra hard.

Until one day you start letting your thoughts get to you again, you think about how everyone around you have such a beautiful side profile.

You start wondering why Katsuki even bothers to be with someone as "ugly" as yourself, I mean has he seen his face.

But anyways you start distancing yourself from the world again, start hiding your face with your hair, have mental break downs in the night, refuse to take pictures and completely shut him out while thinking you're being subtle.

But no, no, no- my mans noticed...and he's currently having a full blown panic attack on the inside.

He's really worried at this point and starts thinking about what he's done wrong, he tries to talk to you but you're always making excuses and running away from him.

Now, he's had enough and so he quite literally barges into your dorm room and demands an explanation as he keeps shouting at you until....

.....he takes in your tear stained face with fresh tears forming at the corner of your eyes.

You were seated on the floor with a hand mirror clutched to your chest, the same one that you use to point out all your insecurities in, your phone is on the ground next to you with a picture of a model, her perfect side profile on display...the same one that you always compare yourself to.

Cue in a confused, angry and sad boom boom boy 😔.

Who the fuck had the audacity to make his baby cry hmm 🤬.

But then his anger vanishes just as it comes and before you knew it, he's shut the door behind him, quickly walks upto you, swoops you into his arms and cradles you in his lap.

"Ssshhh....its ok baby, I'm right here". Bakugo softly coos in your ear while running his fingers through your hair and letting his other hand rub your back. "Talk to me honey, what's wrong?"

You pull back a little and look up at him into his pain filled eyes that still hold so much love for you and that's when you tell him everything.

You tell him about how you've always hated your nose, how you've always wished you'd had a more chiseled jawline, how you've been bullied about your side profile by your peers and how you've never felt good enough.

He still doesn't get it because you're genuinely the most stunning person he's ever laid his eyes on, but understands how this is something that seriously bothers you and so he's gonna do everything in his powers to yeet those insecurities out.

Now Bakugo isn't one to lie or sugarcoat something, but he's also not someone who'll let you sit and hurt yourself like that.

He takes a deep breath, cups your cheeks in his hands and looks at you with the most earnest look on his face.

"Listen here baby, you're right maybe you don't have the most chiseled jawline or the sharpest nose out there-"

You winced at that a little but he was quick to speak again.

"I'm not done yet-" he closes his eyes and thinks for a second, words have never been his thing as he's someone who prefers actions instead but right now you needed more than just a kiss or a hug, you needed security and reassurance, so he takes in another deep breath and opens his eyes to look at you again.

"-just because you don't have those doesn't mean you're any less beautiful." He said with a smile as you curiously looked at him. You looked so damn cute to him all he wanted to do was pounce on you right then and there, but he held himself back for your sake and the next things he said made you fall in love with him even more.

"What you have suits your gorgeous fucking face, you don't have to change for any stupid extra and no one's opinion, not even yours is going to make me view you any differently or make me love you any less." He leaned in and gave you a chaste kiss on your lips that pretty much took your breath away and then he pulled back with a cute blush on his face.

"So from now on only listen to me okay and no matter what-" he kisses you again and pulls back a second time "-I will make you look at yourself the way I and so many other people look at you".

Now he's had his fair share of insecurities and he's had a lot of people call him "plain looking" (which I still don't understand how when he's got some of the rarest and most beautiful features) even then those words about his looks have never really got to him.

But when it comes to you, he immediately knows something's up with all those self-deprecating jokes you apparently find to be funny.

Doesn't question you cause he doesn't want to scare you away, also because he trusts you to come to him if something is wrong.

But alas you and your stubborn ass refused to seek help from anyone and instead you chose to cope with yourself by putting yourself down in the form of those awful "jokes".

You've always tried to get yourself to stop this, but it soon became more than a coping mechanism, it was the only way you could hold yourself up without wanting breaking into peices.

That was dangerous.

But it's ok! It's still all fine and dandy until one day everything changes and you realise that all that self-deprecation didn't do shit.

Its Sunday today and you and your boyfriend Izuku have been walking around the shopping plaza for a while now.

The two of you were on a date, but you were also on a hunt for the new all might merch that your boyfriend has been fangirling about since forever. So far there was no luck on your end but y'all weren't about to give up just yet.

"OMG! I think I see it in there!" Izuku squeals cutely while pointing at what looks like a moderately big comic store that had an emo cyber punk looking aesthetic to it.

*Gasp*..."OMG! I think I see it too!! Let's go!!" and with that you grabbed his hand and were dragging your blushy stuttering mess of a boyfriend towards the store. It was adorable how easily he got flustered even after how the two of you were almost half a year into dating.

The two of you finally reached the store and stepped in, there it was the brand new neon tinted holographic Allmight figuring with working layers. Izuku's eyes sparkled as he ran towards it and immediately snatched it off the shelf.

"Yay we finally got it!" You cheered as you walked over to him and gave him a high five. The two of you had bright smiles on your faces as you talked about the figuring and walked towards the counter to pay for it.

You looked towards the counter where a young girl who looked about your age was working as a cashier, she had this bored expression on her face until she saw your boyfriend and it immediately changed into something you could only call as a flirty expression.

"Hey there handsome~ what can I help you with today~" she said in a sultry tone and gave him a wink. You and izuku were both puzzled at the fact that she not only just openly flirted with your boyfriend but also completely ignored your existence.

"U-um....er....we just need this figuring please". Izuku placed the box covered figuring on the counter and was about to pull his hands back when she quickly grabbed them and cupped them with her own hands.

"You sure, how about I give you my number and we ditch this place to go get coffee."

"Um -uh no thank you, I have a s/o!"

"Hmm...I don't see them."

"Well I'm right here and maybe you'd have seen me if you'd stop flirting with your customers and did your job properly." You said and at this point you were seething because even though she knew you were right there, she hadn't spared you a glance and pretend like you were completely invisible.

"Oh, so that's who you are....I was wondering why such an ugly person would be hanging out with someone like him-" she pauses and looks into Izuku's eyes with a bored expression "-you need to raise your standards, I mean have you looked at how hideous their nose is or how ugly their face is."

The two of you froze. Sure You've always made fun of yourself before but this was the exact reason why. You've always told yourself that if you'd make fun of yourself, you'd be desensitized to what others say to you but it's only now you realize that no amount of preparation would ever be enough to handle the real thing.

Shame. Humiliation. Pain. Fear.....This is what you felt at the momen-

"How. Dare. You." You turned towards Izuku and for the first time ever you were met with the most terrifying expression on his face. His eyes were dark and he looked...mad....like really really mad and you froze, the cashier looked like she was about to cry with the look he was giving her.

"I don't know who you think you are but you had no need to say whatever you just said and you are wrong because they have the most gorgeous facial features ever." at this he turned to you and softened his eyes a bit, he reached for your hand and gave you a gentle squeeze.

"I promise you sweetheart, you will always be the most beautiful person in my life and no one can tell you otherwise-" he looked at the slack jawed cashier with disgust and pointed towards her "-not stupid people like her-" he looked back into your eyes like you were the only two people in the store and pointed towards himself "-not me and lastly never will you ever tell yourself those kinds of words again even as a joke, got it."

Always openly staring at you in the most respectful way ✨.

Even before y'all started dating he would always stare at you in secret, but hey! it's not his fault you were so irresistibly attractive all the time.

Uhm...so moving on, he is observant as heck especially when it comes to you but unfortunately he's just as oblivious T_T.

He's always noticed how you'd get shy and walk away whenever he'd stare at you for too long and genuinely thinks it's adorable at how bashful you get.

But truthfully.....you're mortified, paranoid even at how much he stares at you.

I mean yeah it's adorable to see him so whipped for you but you're always wondering if he's secretly bashing your side profile in his head and the thought makes you wince ever single time.

But you always tell yourself to not let your insecurities define Shoto or effect your relationship and besides Shoto isn't a cruel person, he'd never think of you that way.....right...?

Oh God, he's doing it again, he's staring at you and this time it truly is terrible because he is seated right beside you. The two of you are seated wooden chairs, side by side in the U.A. library.

Your textbooks and notebooks are spread out on the table in front of you. You're in a more secluded part of the library opting to study in a more private area and boy oh boy did Shoto take advantage of that.

"Shoto, could you please stop staring at me like that". You held your textbook upto your face and looked the other way.

"But I want to look at you". Shoto pouted slightly and furrowed his brows at your actions, he reached for your wrists and tried to pull them down and to much to your inconvenience, he succeeded.

You see, while you still had a bunch of work left to do, Shoto had finished about 15 minutes ago. You told him to go back to the dorms but instead of listening to you, he denied your offer and has been staring at you with the most unreadable expression on his face.

"Why can't I admire the one that I love the most". He slightly tilted his head towards the side and flashed you the most genuine smile. Damn him for being so adorable but that's not enough for your insecurities to go away.

"Because I'm ugly". You finally said softly with your head hung low and tears threatening to fall. You wanted to shrivel up in a corner and fade away for sounding so vulnerable but at the same time it felt so good to let your thoughts out.

"You're....what..." His eyes were wide and his jaw was set a slack. Now this took him by surprise, he had expected a lot of things but never once had he expected....that. He gently grabbed your chin and tilted your face to meet his. "Love, you're the most beautiful person I've ever met, why would you ever say that."

"Because I'm not beautiful, everyone has such a gorgeous face especially from their side. I don't and you don't have to lie to me to make feel better about myself. I know I'm ugly and I'll always be that....just let me accept that and be Shoto." You said with your voice slightly raised and shaky from the lump in your throat.

Shoto's eyes darkened a little and his grip on you tightened a little but not enough to hurt you. To even think that someone as precious as yourself could ever have such awful thoughts about yourself- how long have you been silently suffering like this all by yourself.

He cupped your cheeks with his hands and met your eyes with the most determined look on his face. "Darling, I don't know who said that to you or even if that's an inside voice but, I will absolutely never let you accept yourself this way."

"Everything about you is perfect, from those gorgeous eyes that i always get lost in," he kisses your eyes.

"-to that perfect nose that helps you breath so you could live by my side another," he kisses your nose.

"-to those delicate beckoning lips that I wish to kiss forever." he finally captures your lips in a breath taking kiss just to slowly release them and look at you.

"And besides, you know better than to call me a liar baby, you know that I would never lie when it comes to you so let's pack up for today and let me show you how much I love you and how utterly enticing you are."